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Chapter Text

“Take off his helmet.”

Din’s heart skipped a beat at the drawling command. The ship's bridge was large and illuminated only by the thousands of stars outside the window. He felt frozen. Something invisible had paralyzed him the moment he boarded, making him think of wizards and magic. Even if his hands had been freed, he didn’t think he could do much more than stare at these enemies.

A ragged sound cut through him like a knife, and, for the first time since he had been attacked by the Imperials, he felt cold shivers run up his spine. All kinds of scenarios filled his head: torturing droids and laser weapons, preparing to kill him.

Trying to ignore the bloodcurdling sound, Din focused on the immediate problem: these people were going to remove his helmet, and, if that happened, his honor and anonymity would be lost. There was also the matter of The Child; all he’d been fighting for, not to let Imperials get hold of the baby, would go to waste if they found out about his powers. The Mandalorian spoke a little prayer in his head, asking that The Child’s hidden place in the Razor Crest was concealed enough to fool the stormtroopers until he could escape.

One of the soldiers holding him kicked at his shin at the emperor’s command, making him fall to his knees. He was looking to his sides desperately, searching for something that could help him, when panic rose to his chest as he found the sound source that had been saturating the room, but it wasn’t a machine. It was a man. Din’s eyes fell on the tall, dark figure behind the emperor.

It was Darth Vader. There was no mistaking him.

When it became clear that his baby’s powers were something bigger than anything he could comprehend, Din started his quiet research on The Force. There wasn’t a lot of information about it left in the galaxy; the Empire made sure of that, according to the rumors Din heard. However, he did find out about one last Force-wielder who lived: Emperor Palpatine’s right hand. There was no escaping from his powers; all fools who tried ended up dead, and The Mandalorian didn’t want to be added to that list, nor have him anywhere near his son.

Vader slowly walked towards him, his own masked face staring into Din’s. The paralyzing sensation became stronger as his face was forced slightly upwards. A soft hiss escaped into the air; his helmet dislocking.

“Please don’t,” He managed. Embarrassment filled his head. His honor was tainted at the plea, but he knew there was nothing to do if someone like the emperor or Darth Vader tried to see his bare face. “Any grace you may grant me, let it be this.”

Vader ignored him. Din imagined him sneering under the black mask. He lifted his hand to take the helmet off when a new voice interrupted him.

“Father, wait.” The voice spoke behind the Mandalorian. The softness of the cadence brought him out of his misery for a second.

Both the emperor and Darth Vader looked up. Din couldn’t see him, but whoever the newcomer was, he bought Din some precious time. He frowned, thinking hard. He was held still by the Force; if he could somehow change that, maybe he could take down the few guards that were in the room, but he was unarmed and knew that, even if he somehow managed to beat them, fighting someone like Vader would lead him nowhere.

“Young Skywalker, where did you get that?” Asked the emperor, the muscles on his jaw now tense.

Skywalker. That caught his attention. The name rang a bell in Din’s head, but he couldn’t remember where he must have heard it. Probably an agent of the Empire.

“It was in the Mandalorian’s ship,” The soft voice spoke again. “I thought only the Jedi used lightsabers.” He finally came closer and into Din’s line of vision.

His face fell under the safety of the beskar. This man -Skywalker- was holding The Child in one arm.

He was dressed all in black with his hood up. From what he could see, he was younger than Din expected, younger than himself even. He didn’t exactly appear menacing, at least not compared to Vader and Palpatine, but he could see a lightsaber hanging on his belt, and, next to it, held by this man’s gloved hand, was Din’s recovered Dark Saber.

Now he was in trouble.

The man turned on the saber, and the dark light hit his cheeks. Fear crept back into the Mandalorian’s bones.

“Mandalorian…” Darth Vader seemed to consider him. “You don’t wield the Force. So, how come you have this kind of weapon?”

He didn’t respond, he was too relieved at the thought that at least they hadn’t noticed anything weird about the child. Or, if they did, they didn’t show it.

Vader forgot all about Din’s helmet and closed his fist instead. His body slumped suddenly, and all oxygen seemed to be knocked out of him in a second. He bent over and made to bring his hands towards his neck, forgetting they were tied together behind his back. Pain filled his chest, but stopped as quickly as it had started.

Din took a deep breath and coughed, “I-I won it in combat! It b-belongs to my people.” He spit.

“I guess we’ll see about that.”

Darth Vader walked towards the hooded man –his son, from what he’d said– and accepted the saber from him. He turned it off after a glance at its blade and hooked it to his belt, next to his lightsaber.

He then turned towards the baby. The Child whined suddenly, and Din’s chest tightened; some silent encounter seemed to happen between Vader and the green creature.

“Leave him alone,” The Mandalorian spoke with a hard voice. “He’s just a baby.”

Darth Vader looked directly at Emperor Palpatine, and Din knew they could tell The Child was Force-sensitive. Palpatine stood up and slowly made his way towards the scene.

He felt blinded by the lack of information. How did they know? Could they sense it somehow? Unexpectedly, Skywalker threw Din a sharp look that he didn’t understand. He caught a glimpse of the blue eyes behind the hood as anger flooded him at seeing this man hold his child.

He wished he could kill these people. Sudden hatred for the Empire broke through Din’s head. He’d never felt so powerless.

It was the emperor who spoke next.

“Luke, I think this is your perfect opportunity to prove yourself to your father and me,” He said with a fabricated smile. “As any Jedi could tell, this child is strong with the Force… a bit old maybe, but he’s perfectly suited to learn the ways of the Force.” He caressed the baby’s ear with his long fingers before continuing. “You will train him. He will be a new asset for our Empire.”

Skywalker didn’t even flinch, “Yes, master.”

The Emperor nodded, satisfied, and sat back on his throne.

“Take the Mandalorian to his cell and keep a watch on him. We’ll soon find out how exactly he found the Dark Saber and a force-sensitive child all by himself. I trust you won’t have difficulties with this task, Lord Vader.”

“No, my Lord.” Vader obliged.

Din looked at the baby. His stomach felt hard as rock, and his eyes watered at the thought of anything happening to him. Glancing upwards, he found Skywaker’s eyes again. He was going to have to place this man, and fast. There had to be something Din could use against him. Maybe he would even find something that would help him get out of this place alive.

“Luke, you can go now.”

“Yes, father,” He handed the Child to Darth Vader and came to stand next to Din. The stormtroopers brought him roughly to his feet and followed them out of the room.

As the Mandalorian threw a last look at his son with wavering fear, he caught Darth Vader doing the same with his.

“Welcome to the new Death Star,” Whispered Luke Skywalker.

Chapter Text

Luke… Luke… You’re making a mistake. You’re not like him. 

Luke… Wake up!

Leia!

He woke with a start. His face was cold with sweat, and he could hear his heart beating in his chest. It took him a moment to remember where he was, but he quickly relaxed as he took in the imperial room his father had assigned him.

He had been dreaming, that was all. But no… He knew it wasn’t a dream, it never was when you were a Jedi. It was Leia: speaking to him, telling him to go back. Same as when he had called her in Cloud City years ago.

He pursed his lips at the memory. All that was before he knew she was his twin sister. He remembered the feeling when Ben Kenobi told him the truth. Luke had felt incredibly relieved, a sudden sense of belonging settling in his heart. The puzzle was complete; he found his father and his sister.

But Leia didn’t see it that way. She had had parents in Alderaan, and was mourning them. Growing up, she never had to think of Anakin Skywalker, like he did. Leia never wondered if he would love her or whether she was anything like him. And she didn’t follow Luke when he jumped in his X-wing to find their father again. He thought he understood her, but now he wasn’t so sure. Leia saw Vader as not worthy of her time, other than to destroy the Empire —someone who’d hurt her and her family. But Luke had been hurt too, and still came after him.

Leia made her choice, and he made his. They both needed to accept that. 

Luke took a deep breath and reached out with the Force. Everyone else on that floor was still asleep, including Anakin, whose room was just a few corners away.

He examined his artificial hand and wondered if his father had ever dreamed of anything. Did he dream about Luke? Or Leia? Did he think of their mother? Maybe he dreamed about the Emperor’s constant presence in his life. 

The thought of the emperor reminded him of the task set on him the night before, and a new weight was added to his chest. 

Palpatine entrusted him with training the Mandalorian’s son, teaching him the ways of the Force. While Vader interrogated him about his lightsaber… 

Luke didn’t understand what it meant for the bounty hunter to have a weapon like that. Dark Saber, the emperor had called it. Could he possibly be a Jedi? Luke had not felt the Force in the armored man, but only detected fear and anger regarding his capture and separation from his son. Luke didn’t think this special lightsaber had anything to do with the baby either, he was too young to have any kind of weapon, let alone something like that… 

Training the kid felt like an enormous responsibility. It wasn’t just Emperor Palpatine’s command, but also one of Master Yoda’s dying wishes. 

Luke, pass on what you have learned.

He sighed. His old masters wouldn’t approve of him now. He was too attached to his father and too whimsical about bringing him back to the light. Ben Kenobi would tell him to kill Vader and the Emperor. Luke thought about it many times, living in the Death Star, under the Emperor’s watch, it would almost be easy to finish the job. But there was no point in taking his life if Vader still lived.

Luke couldn’t kill his own father. Not now that he finally had him.

He would train the child. He could help him become a Jedi and keep him away from the dark side. And Luke knew he could do the same for his father. If he lost himself in the process… Well, that was a price he was willing to pay.

In the meantime, it was time to play the role of Master. It felt like the end of the road for him, seeing as the child was the same species as Master Yoda. He must be tremendously strong with the Force.

 He might as well get to work now that he was awake. 

—

Their first lesson didn’t go exactly as planned.

Luke ignored the stormtroopers' indications and personally picked up the child from his room, which wasn’t anything like a prison, as he had expected. The emperor ordered the baby to be put on the same floor as the Imperial Cadets and under constant watch. 

He found the benefits of being Darth Vader’s son every time he strode through the hallways. Rumors ran faster than speeders around the place, and all soldiers, admirals, and commanders stood a little straighter whenever they saw him. 

Luke assumed some of them must have known he used to be the rebel who blew up the first Death Star, but no one dared say anything to him. He was used to a certain respect as a pilot in the Rebellion. But these people’s feelings were deeply mixed with terror. 

Not so much of Luke, but of his father.

In any case, he found it convenient whenever he needed to bend the rules, like having private training sessions with the child.

Luke adjusted the daunted baby in his arms and ordered the workout room to be emptied. All trainees followed his command swiftly. He tried not to relish in the feeling of control it gave him. It was one thing to lead, another to exploit.

He sat in front of the kid with his legs crossed. The child had been quiet all the way here, and when he finally reached out with his senses, he was stricken to feel profound sadness in the small creature.

“Don’t worry, no one will hurt you here. You are under the Empire’s wing now. I’m here to teach you how to control your powers, I’m sure you’ll like that.”

The child just stared at him. This was going to be harder than he expected. 

“Let’s start at the beginning. I’m Luke. What’s your name?”

When it was clear he wouldn’t offer a response, Luke reached out with the Force, looking for another way to build a conversation. 

As it turns out, the green creature was talkative. His thoughts were all over the place, and Luke sensed confusion over most of them. He was worried about his dad, wondering what had happened to him. Luke let him know he was alright, although he wasn’t sure yet. Surely, Darth Vader had personal plans for the Mandalorian.

He kept searching the kid’s mind.

It took a while to find any memory at all. After what felt like hours, he stumbled upon old emotions: pain and fear. The flashbacks were blocked; either the child knew how to keep Luke at bay, or his mind was trying to erase the memories. 

“You’ve been trained before.” He murmured mostly to himself.

There was a lot of work to be done, and Emperor Palpatine would want it to happen fast to add the new asset to his main ranks. If Luke failed to deliver that… 

He shuddered and shook the possibility out of his head. He had to do this. He remembered Master Yoda’s words: There is no try. Luke was sure that was a lesson Palpatine would agree with. Do, or be punished.

He set back to work.

Realizing he wouldn’t hurt him, the kid started to trust Luke a little more, giving him information in return. His name was Grogu. He was fifty years old —a fact Luke was astonished to discover— and he missed his dad terribly.

“You have become attached to the Mandalorian. That is something a Jedi cannot allow,” Luke tried not to think of his own attachments. “Free yourself from the fear of losing or needing him. Trust in the Force. That will be all you need.”

Grogu wasn’t happy at that. He sensed frustration rising quickly in the baby. He was about to try to calm him down when something else picked at his mind, and he realized what it was just in time.

He lifted a hand to stop the blaster flying through the room. He turned around and there it was, floating just inches away from his head.

Luke picked it up and looked at Grogu, who had his own hands extended now, “You know, I could have you punished for that. You could’ve hurt me.” The child lowered his ears. “Luckily for you, I won’t. I know you are scared, but attacking people here won’t get you anywhere. You’re only putting you and your dad at risk.”

That got his attention. Luke figured it was too late to change the child’s feelings for his father, and trying it would be a waste of time. Instead, he thought he could use it to his advantage.

“I think a chat with your dad is in order.”

—

Luke took the green child back to his quarters and tucked him into bed. He seemed to be exhausted after attempting to attack Luke. Which made him think that, despite his great abilities in the Force, Grogu wasn’t too experienced.

It was late already, the Emperor would be expecting him soon. Still, he decided to visit the Mandalorian before heading to the throne room.

He reached the prisoner’s floor and closed his eyes to find the right cell. It only took a second; once he knew, he walked swiftly towards the door.

“I need to talk to the Mandalorian.”

Luke sensed the stormtroopers going still at the sight of him.

“Sir, we have strict orders not to let anyone in. The prisoner is violent. Lord Vader will interrogate him today.” One of them said.

“Just give me a few minutes with him alone. This is a top-secret matter set by the Emperor.”

“A-alone? Master Skywalker, I’m sorry. That’s not possible.” It was the other’s turn to speak.

Luke frowned, “That’s not what my father told me. What are your names?”

He could practically see them sweat under the white armor. Luke almost laughed.

“I’m sure we could let you in if you’re quick, sir. Just for a moment.” The first one offered.

“Of course. It’ll be just a minute,” He smiled gratefully, happy he didn’t have to pull any tricks, and walked inside. 

The Mandalorian’s cell reminded Luke weirdly of Jabba the Hutt’s Palace– cold, dark, and confined.

Other than that, the place was as plain as it could get. Just a bed and a toilet. Luke repressed a wince.

The Mandalorian was sitting on the bed, most of the armor and helmet still on, although all weapons had been stripped away. He stood up when Luke entered.

They stared at each other briefly before Luke spoke, “Had a good night?”

The man scoffed, “Cut to the chase, Jetii.” 

Luke frowned slightly at the name. He didn’t know any Mandalorian words, but this one was pretty self-explanatory, and the Mandalorian pronounced it like an insult. He decided to play along. It was okay if he wanted to be difficult; Jabba had made the same mistake back in Tatooine.

“I just spent a few hours with your son.” He said, folding his hands while focusing on the other’s reaction. 

Even without the Force, he would’ve noticed the new stance the Mandalorian had; worried and angry.

He took a menacing step forward. “I’ll kill you if you hurt him.” 

Luke didn’t back down, “Then we’d both be dead. I have a father, too. I’m sure he wouldn’t be pleased with you if anything happened to me.”

“I don’t care who your daddy is.”

“It won’t be so easy for you to lie once they take your helmet away,” Luke said firmly.

The tall one lowered his head. “My Creed is my responsibility. If any of you scums takes it off… Then I will have lost myself before Darth Vader or anyone else could torture me.” 

The security in which he spoke surprised Luke. If it were up to the Mandalorian, he would die before showing his face. He almost felt sorry for him. Honor and obligation were things Luke understood.

He changed the subject.

 “You knew about the Force— have you met any other Jedi?”

The Mandalorian considered him for a second. He seemed to get a new idea of Luke, maybe deciding how dangerous he was. “Kill me if you want, I won’t tell you anything.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t, don’t worry. I don’t want to make Grogu sad.”

He couldn’t read the man’s next emotion. It was like being accidentally shoved out of his mind.

“Grogu?” the Mandalorian murmured.

Luke shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t know his name?”

And I thought my dad had issues , thought Luke. But no. This man wasn’t anything like Anakin. He could see that immediately. Beyond all the beskar and coldness, something soft sprouted in him whenever the kid was mentioned, without fail. Luke was yet to find a spot as obvious with his dad.

For a moment, he thought the Mandalorian would sit down again. He lowered his guard slightly to give him a second, but that was just the opening the other was waiting for. He strode forward with two quick lunges and pinned Luke to the wall. He hit his head, blood trickling down his neck.

He tried to get hold of his lightsaber when the Mandalorian sized his gloved hand. If he had still had any real flesh left, he was sure he would’ve screamed. The Mandalorian pressed his forearm to Luke’s throat. He attempted to shove the man away, but it didn't work because he was much larger than Luke. 

“I want you away from my kid, Skywalker. I know there’s something you’re hiding. I’ve heard about you before… You’re more than just some pawn to the Emperor.”

Their foreheads were almost touching. Luke started to get dizzy, he thought he could sense the cool of the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“I’m going to find out exactly what it is you don’t want anyone to know.”

Anger rushed to Luke’s head. He lifted his free hand and used the Force to push the Mandalorian off him. The man flew across the room and fell flat on his back. Luke didn't take long to restrain him, using his legs to pin him down.

He turned on his lightsaber, and the green light illuminated the beskar. He brought the blade close to the Mandalorian’s neck. 

“You want to know who I am? I’m someone who can make your stay here a little less painful. All you have to do is help me with the Child.”

Luke didn’t feel any fear from him when he spoke next.

“Keeping the Child away from the Empire is all I’ve ever tried to do. If I’m not here to get him out, someone else will come, Jetii.” His voice was low and full of danger.

Luke focused on his visor, attempting to see his eyes. But the glass was too dark from the outside. “Who will come?” He knew better than to underestimate any possible rebels. “Tell me!”

The only sound in the room was that of Luke’s saber. The Mandalorian seemed ready to face death. He wasn’t going to tell him anything.

The door to the cell opened in half. The soldiers who had let Luke pass stared at them.

“Master Skywalker, sir.” One of them said. “Lord Vader will be here any minute to interrogate the prisoner. What should we tell him?”

“Nothing,” Said Luke, turning off his lightsaber and getting up. “Maybe the Mandalorian will feel a little more talkative with Lord Vader.”

He glanced at the man on the floor one more time and then strode out. He hurried down the hallway, keeping out of his father’s way. What would he say if he found out Luke lost control like that? He hoped he never did.

The visit hadn’t been helpful at all. Luke had the feeling it would be harder to deal with the Mandalorian than to train Grogu. 

Who was he talking about, saying they would be coming for the kid? Other Mandalorians? Or rebels? The Empire's overconfidence in their security was a problem; Luke knew intruders could break their way in if they tried.

He should’ve been calmer to try and win the information from him. Now it was up to his dad—Luke remembered Han being tortured by him before he got to Cloud City. According to Leia, it wasn’t pretty. He felt guilty about letting anyone face that.

He took a second to clear his mind. The Mandalorian’s information would be crucial for keeping Grogu and restoring the Jedi Order. 

Luke breathed deeply as he entered an elevator. He brought a handkerchief out of his pocket and cleaned the blood that poured from his wound. It wasn’t as bad as he’d initially thought. 

He sighed and tucked it away. The doors opened, and he stepped out into the throne room. He could see Emperor Palpatine staring into space.

May the Force be with me, he thought.

Chapter Text

He’d grown up listening to the stories and myths about the Jedi. He’d seen the hate many still felt regarding them. He even wore armor designed generations ago to combat the unpredictable sorcerers.

He didn’t think too much of them until the Child came into his life. The obvious powers he displayed were unbelievable and shocking in every sense. He had saved his life, and Din promised to protect him. One morning, he woke up thinking, if this was what a Jedi was like, maybe they weren’t so bad after all.

And then he met Darth Vader.

He was as vicious as he looked. His tall figure was intimidating, and his way of walking made Din think of a protocol droid. Just hearing his name made some people quiver in fear. But, in his opinion, worst of all was the heavy breath that accompanied him wherever he went. It was like having some kind of beast breathing right next to your ear.

He tortured Din for hours, but he didn’t start right away.

Vader made stormtroopers strip him down to his shirt and trousers, leaving his helmet on. He felt the air running under his sleeves, directly against his skin. He thought the interrogation process would involve more of the taste of the Force he got the night before in the Emperor’s throne room; paralyzing and choking. But it was a lot worse.

Hoping Din would be honest, he asked him direct questions at first.

“Where did you get the Dark Saber? Who did you take it from?” The static voice ricocheted off the white walls.

Din kept quiet.

“Were you aware that the Child you are carrying, a child you stole from the Empire, is Force-sensitive?”

Still, he kept quiet.

“What is your name, Mandalorian?”

To this, Din responded, “What is yours , Lord Vader?”

They stared at each other with pure hatred. Din had a hard time believing this was Skywalker’s father. As far as he could see, there were no similarities in them. This man was heartless, he seemed to enjoy inflicting pain and having power. Whereas his son looked almost like a performer on a stage, trying to live up to the expectations. But which ones? Being Darth Vader’s son? Or was it something else? 

Din forced himself to stop thinking of Skywalker.

Vader seemed to remember himself as well and ordered the stormtroopers out.

A droid was brought in before they left, and Din cringed. It was insulting to think of a droid taking care of his interrogation. The machine was relatively small, black, and round, with a needle sprouting from it.

“I expect you’ll have better responses for me after this, Mandalorian.” He activated the droid, and Din willed himself to hold his tongue.

The droid came closer and inserted the needle cleanly through the skin on his neck, which was partially uncovered without his cloak.

Initially, it was just pain. He thought he was screaming, but he couldn’t hear himself or anything else. After a while, the feeling changed into something else, taking form as memories. At least, they looked like memories, but deep down, he knew these images never happened.

Excruciating flashes danced in front of Din.

He saw his parents far away, unable to reach him. He saw himself as a kid, taking the Creed, drowning in a river. Another image was of the Armorer taking off her helmet, but he managed to look away just in time. It didn’t matter; the deformed memories just kept coming. The kid being tortured by the Empire. Bo Katan striking him with the Dark Saber, coming close to him and—

No! He trashed around, trying to avoid it. But this time, nothing saved him.

In the vision, she took off his helmet, and he wasn’t able to look away. It was Bo Katan first, then the Armorer, his father, his mother, Cara Dune, and Boba Fett. It was the child, who had yearned to see his face for so long.

And then, after the scene replayed a dozen times, it was Skywalker. Bending down and getting rid of Din’s cover. 

The blond spared the helmet a glance and then looked at Din again, tsking. “You’re not much more than this beskar, huh?”

He felt like his body was on fire. He’d never felt so much shame. He wanted to run away, to hide. He felt like when he was a child, helpless and heartbroken.

Skywalker spoke again, “I guess you and Grogu aren’t getting out of here anytime soon.”

Grogu.

His son, who was in this damned ship too. Skywalker hadn’t said where, but it didn’t sound like he was in danger. At least not at the moment. He wouldn’t let people like these have him so they could do who knows what with his powers.

He looked back at the Jedi and tried to imagine him as someone different. Someone who wouldn’t bend for the Empire. The kid’s— Grogu’s safety depended on this.

“Who are you?!” He asked the illusion. 

There was no answer. Suddenly, the Jedi’s childish smile morphed into something dark and disturbing. Now, Darth Vader stood in front of him.

Was this real? Or was it part of the chemical’s reaction?

He couldn’t see past Vader’s face. Din thought he was saying something because his head tilted slightly, but whatever it was, he couldn’t hear it. 

He closed his eyes for a second and focused on his breath. His body was cold, and he realized he was lying on the floor. He rested his forehead on it and sighed as the cool material touched him. He could almost imagine it was his helmet. 

Slowly, his hearing returned, and Din quietly wished it hadn’t, since the only sound in the room was Darth Vader’s mechanical breathing. He shivered.

“This will look good in my collection.” He was holding Din’s helmet. “Mandalorians… you always thought you could destroy the Jedi. When the Empire rose, I took care of Mandalore myself to remind your people that the Force isn’t something that can be destroyed. And now… My dominion over Mandalor will be undisputable once they see I’m the new owner of the Dark Saber. What is that thing you warriors preach? The one who wins the saber is the rightful ruler of the planet?”

Din didn’t say anything, he bit his lip as he managed to sit up against the wall.

“Where did you get it? Who else wants it?” Vader asked again.

He shouldn’t say anything. But he was so tired, and his muscles were screaming. “I t-told you. I won it in combat, from a Moff! No one else knows. N-no one will come.” He said.

Lord Vader stared at him.

“You lie now... But that’s okay. I know some of it is true.” 

Dank Farrik. Skywalker had been right; lying wasn’t as easy without his helmet. He’d never learned to do it right, he hadn’t needed to when his face was covered since childhood. 

“You should rest,” Vader said abruptly and turned around. “Maybe the after-effects of the chemicals will make you reconsider your behaviour.” 

He left the room with Din’s armour in his arms. Din let out a shaky breath and brought his legs towards his chest. The fact that he didn’t give Vader any important information did nothing to soothe his mind. 

No one came to get him, maybe letting him sulk in the pain for a while. Good. He wasn’t ready to leave the room yet; that would mean showing his face to anyone who passed him. 

Mandalorian no longer… He’d disappointed the Creed that saved his life and protected him when he was vulnerable. He knew people like Bo Katan would tell him the helmet didn’t mean anything, that showing your face or not had nothing to do with being Mandalorian, but he felt empty and purposeless now.

Din brought his hands towards his bare face and broke down crying. He was thankful for the loneliness; he knew it wasn’t for his sake, but it felt like one last moment for him to say goodbye.

What’s done is done, he thought. All that matters from now on is the kid.

Grogu…

He couldn’t wait to call him that.

Stormtroopers came to get him an hour later. Din was dozing off when the door opened. They dragged him out, not caring about his sore body or his grunts of pain. 

Din turned his head downwards, trying to hide from anyone who peeked at his face. His cell wasn’t far, but the ride felt longer than it was. He could barely walk; his limbs seemed to simply give up. Weakened and heartsick, the soldiers brought him to his room. 

The stormtroopers gave the clearance, and the door opened, pushing Din inside and closing the door again without sparing him another glance.

He slumped to the floor and sighed. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust to the low light and gain focus. Once he did, he let out a gasp.

Sitting innocently on his bed, shining and untouched, was his helmet.

Din leaped towards it and practically hugged it against his chest. He checked to see if there was anything different about it, but it seemed perfect. He put it on and felt immediately better. 

Maybe this was just a joke for the Empire, playing with Din to laugh at how desperate he was. But right then, it was the best gift anyone could’ve given him.

—

Days went on like that. It was hard to tell how much time passed. Din tried to pin the hours based on Darth Vader’s visits, but he quickly realized he never came at the same time every day.

His meals were scarce and plain. Once a day, a droid came into the room with a tray of food. He assumed it was night when this happened, since it was always after the torture sessions. That meant Vader’s interrogations happened sometime during the day.

The consequences of whatever it was they were injecting Din with were almost as bad as the hallucinations. He had trouble sleeping and broke into feverish states at random moments. His head hurt, and he found no strength in his muscles. He fantasied idly of taking the needle in his hands the next time the droid approached him, stabbing Vader with it. 

Din figured his visions would be of Skywalker, too– how ironic.

The topic of his helmet wasn’t brought up again, which made him wary. If Darth Vader or the Emperor wanted him to have it, then why bother taking it away from him in the first place? And why would Vader take it with him? He didn’t understand why someone would give it back to Din. Beskar was extremely valuable, and it would grant power to a non-Mandalorian.

He didn’t want to take any risks, so he tried to wear the helmet as little as possible and hid it under his bed the rest of the time. Taking it off didn’t get easier, and he got very anxious when they made him leave the room.

This was the only time when he had a chance to escape. Usually, Darth Vader led the way towards the interrogation room, ruling out any possibility of fighting. But afterwards, Din always walked back alone with the stormtroopers. The problem was that he was too tired to take them down. Trying it would make a quick defeat and probably earn him some more pain. 

It was getting harder and harder to think of a way out.

He kept thinking about Skywalker. Sometimes consciously, other times in his dreams. Trying to remember where he had heard his name before, he searched for a time when the blond could’ve made a mistake, let something slip. He still saw him in his hallucinations, cheeky and bright, looking Din straight in the eye.

And then one day, it clicked. Din gave more than he should’ve, and everything collapsed.

It was the same agonizing vision. The people he cared about were taking off his helmet, taunting him. The final one was Skywalker.

This time, he crouched in front of Din but didn’t go for the helmet. Instead, he unhooked his lightsaber and asked the same question he had when he visited Din in his cell.

“Do you know any other Jedi?” 

“No!” He said

“Come on, Din. You know I can tell when you lie. I gotta give it to you, though. You have a rebel’s endurance. You don’t give anything away.”

A rebel? Din was no rebel…

Din thought of his battle with Moff Gideon. He did that to protect the kid. He remembered earning the Dark Saber and offering it to Bo Katan Kryze, but she wouldn’t take it or fight him for it. He just wanted the kid. He wanted to have him trained…

Bo Katan had mentioned a Jedi who could maybe train him, a lost one who wielded the Force. And then another one she suspected of… A rebel.

Luke Skywalker! 

He looked at Vision-Skywalker again. It had to be him, the rebel who destroyed the first Death Star. Din thought he’d be a little older and serious, but he was certain now; this was him.

The vision kept pushing, “What other Jedi do you know?”

The other Jedi… Yes, he’d met another one. But only briefly. It was the night the Empire caught up with him. He’d found her where Bo Katan told him to look, and he’d asked her to teach the kid

“Ahsoka Tano!”

He hadn’t realized there had been a loud noise in the room until it suddenly stopped. Din focused hard to come back to reality, and Darth Vader was looking at him. His droid-like breathing had caught— Had Din spoken aloud? How much had he said?!

“What do you know of Ahsoka Tano?” Vader said in a murderous voice. It was the most dangerous tone Din had ever heard from him.

“Nothing! I know she is a Jedi, that’s all, I swear.” He sat up a little straighter, thinking of Darth Vader’s son. He had to find him soon.

“Do you know where Ahsoka Tano is?” Vader took a step closer.

“No.”

“Stop lying!” He extended a hand and reached through the Force, slowly choking him.

He thought that was it. Darth Vader would kill him like he’d killed hundreds before Din. He fell to his knees, his chest aching more by the second.

The door opened suddenly, forcing Vader to free him, just as it had the night he was taken prisoner. Din breathed deeply and coughed repeatedly. 

“What?!” The masked man said.

The terrorized trooper responded, “It’s Master Skywalker, sir. He’s had an… accident. The Emperor sent me to get you.”

Din looked up. What kind of accident could someone like Skywalker have in this place? Was he not as protected as Din thought? 

Vader didn’t spare another glance for him. He clearly had a soft spot for his son; it was the first thing Din could relate to with him. 

“Take the Mandalorian back to his cell.” He said and swiftly left the room.

The trooper who had come in with the news nodded and went outside to call Din’s escort. He stood up quickly, hoping to find out more about the accident.

They started their usual trip towards his room. They passed droids, soldiers, and admirals, and for the first time, Din didn’t try to hide his face. He listened intently to the scraps of conversation that reached him, but none gave any information away. 

What happened? Did the Empire know Skywalker was a rebel? They must have, everyone knew the name of the pilot who’d blown up the prior Death Star. If Din had heard about it, then the Emperor did as well. 

He thought hard. Could Skywalker really have turned? Could he be as vile as his father? Din hadn’t felt scared when he brought his green lightsaber to his neck, but maybe he should have. 

No… That can’t be right. He wanted to help the kid, to teach him about the Force. Could Din trust him?

His thoughts were broken by a new scene. He was coming out of the elevator when it happened; Lord Vader was hurrying down the long hallway, effortlessly moving people aside with a mere flick of his head. 

He held Luke Skywalker's unconscious body in his arms. The stormtroopers pushed the Mandalorian against the wall to let them through. Din caught a last glimpse of the limping blond head before they turned a corner. He looked perfectly innocent.

And there it was; the rebel who’d turned to the Empire’s side.

Chapter Text

The Force is mysterious and not always easy to grasp. Luke drifts in and out of consciousness many times. When he’s awake, he feels his muscles tensing and screaming to go back to sleep. He doesn’t have the strength to move or talk, and no one’s in the room with him. His whole body hurts and spasms every few minutes. 

He lets himself drift into the dark again.

He dreams repeatedly of Han and Leia. They stand in front of the Millennium Falcon, arms open and waiting for him, but Luke’s frozen in place, unable to do anything but stare. 

They’re in the Battle of Endor. He can tell from the camouflage clothes they’re wearing. They smile at him, a sight for sore eyes. Darth Vader comes close to them, and Luke can’t tell what he will do. Will he hurt them? Is he on their side? If he is, then where is Luke? Why isn’t he with his family? 

The scene changes, and flashes of new images cross his mind. The agony from his limbs seems to creep up to his head, and he moans in his sleep when he sees Emperor Palpatine walk towards him. He asks Luke about Grogu, but there’s nothing to tell. In the past week, he hadn’t been able to make the baby do much more than throw things at him and complain about his and his father’s imprisonment. What should I do, master? What should I do? Luke asks him over and over with no response.

He feels a pull then, far into the Force, tugging at him. Luke goes towards it, anxious to find some relief from the nightmares and worries. Something glints in the air. He stills, his eyes fixed on the silver color, and realizes he’s seen it before; it’s beskar. The Mandalorian’s helmet. It floats slowly towards Luke, and he catches it in his hands. What is the Force trying to tell him? Is the Mandalorian the key to training Grogu, like he thought? It doesn't feel right…

Suddenly, something starts humming. He looks up to see the Darksaber, but it doesn’t come to Luke, like the helmet did. He stares at it, transfixed by the black blade. A word occurs to him: Mand’alor.  

He wants to ask more of the Force. Why is it important? Will Mandalorians come to reclaim what’s been taken from them? 

The Force shuts off, bringing him back to reality.

He wakes for a second time. He doesn’t feel as bad as before; he feels more relaxed and warm. Maybe rest finally caught up with him. Still, his head feels as heavy as a droid, pinning him to the bed. He thinks he hears someone bustling in the room. Luke tries to place them, but finds it impossible. The Force is fuzzy and confusing, swirling all around him. 

He passes out once more.

Luke

A new voice. No, not new. Old, but familiar. Ben Kenobi.

His heart aches, he can’t see anything, and he grows desperate. He wants to speak to Ben, but something stops him. Luke searches his feelings in the black void of unconsciousness and finds something that sends a shiver down his spine: anger. 

He’s resentful of Ben for not telling him the truth. Not just about his father, but also about himself, all those years they were both on Tatooine, why couldn’t he just be honest? 

At least Vader didn’t lie to him. During his training sessions with him, Palpatine answered Luke’s questions and made him realize how his prior Masters hadn’t trusted him. It made him sulk, not wanting to believe it. But it was true, wasn’t it? Master Kenobi and Master Yoda did this before with Anakin, hiding things from him and sending him on missions he didn’t fully understand the meaning of. 

Well, look where that got them.

Luke, trust in the Force. And trust yourself.

Luke huffs in his head. He gives in to pain and lets the darkness swallow him again.

—

The intensity of the light hurts him even before he opens his eyes. He blinks slowly and takes a deep breath, his ribs complaining. The walls are gray, undecorated. The room has no windows, and he finds connecting with the Force is harder than usual. Luke lifts his gloved hand to rub his face, grunting from the pain.

Even in deep space, his bedroom is warm. He focuses and hears his father’s breathing. A feeling of comfort washes over him. Vader senses he’s awake and comes closer. Luke has never felt such anguish from him. 

“Son,” He hesitates but sits on the bed next to Luke. “How do you feel?”

Luke looks up at him. He’s surprised to see his father here, not afraid to let him see that he cares. It’s been so long since anyone showed him that kind of love, familiar and protective. He’s certainly never experienced it from a parent before.

“I’m alright… just sore.” He murmurs. He sits up with a wince and rests his back against the headrest. 

Vader looks at him. Luke wishes he could tell what he feels, but his father is good at hiding his thoughts. 

“How long was I out?”

“...A week.”

“A week ?!” If Palpatine was angry at him before, Luke’s as good as dead now. He starts to get up from the bed, ignoring the pain, but Vader stops him and pushes him slowly back down.

“You need to rest. The Emperor wouldn’t tell me everything that happened, but from the look of your wounds, I can tell you dealt with his lightning powers…” His face turns away from Luke’s direction. “He can be tough sometimes, but he’s a good master. You must listen to him, Luke.” 

Silence stretches for a few minutes before Vader speaks again. “What happened?”

“Emperor Palpatine was… disappointed in me. He’s expecting the Mandalorian’s son to be more skilled by now.” He looks down at his hands, his bare arms covered in scars. He thinks of the dream he had about the Darksaber.

He sighs. Of course, Grogu’s slow training wasn’t the only thing that drove Palpatine to throw his lightning against Luke. He was his Master, and Luke knew he could feel the conflict in him. How he still wanted to turn Vader. How he missed Leia and Han. How his anger wasn’t always genuine. 

It all came down to a battle of wills. If he gets tempted —truly tempted-- by the Dark Side, then his intentions of saving Vader won’t matter. They would both be lost before Luke could do anything about it, and the Emperor would have his perfect pawns, ready to destroy anyone and anything for him. Nothing else to lose.

He wishes his resentment towards Ben Kenobi would go away so he could speak with him. He would ask more about his father, about the Dark Side of the Force. Maybe he would even know more about Mandalore. He bites his lower lip.

“The Emperor sees your potential, Luke.” Vader tells him. “You are a very powerful Jedi, we can both sense that much. I think…” He trails off.

Luke gazes into his mask, but he can’t find his eyes there. It reminds him violently of the Mandalorian, when Luke tried to see past his visor, but all he saw was his reflection. Vader is repressing things; there’s conflict within his heart. It gives Luke hope, like maybe there is still a point to this fight. 

His left hand spasms from the aftershock of his encounter with Palpatine. Anakin reaches tentatively and takes Luke’s hand in his. He holds his breath.

He lets one of his hands hover over Luke’s and reaches out with the Force. He feels his muscles relax almost instantly, and the pain goes away. The sensation travels all the way up to his shoulder. He stares at his father in awe.

“I didn’t know Jedis could do something like that…” He whispers like it’s a secret.

“The Force is your most powerful ally, son. Trust it, and trust yourself.”

He’s taken aback. It’s the same thing Ben told Luke in the dream. Did Obi-Wan say that to Anakin when he was a Padawan learner? Was that a lesson both of them agreed on? 

Luke wonders at his father’s abilities. Everything he knows about the Force amazes him. He is so aware of it all the time now that it's hard to believe he used to live without it. He can feel other people and position them in the right place as easily as breathing. Levitation and meditation come naturally to him after training with Master Yoda. Even his dreams seem clearer and more comprehensible. 

He wants to know all there is to know. He yearns to be a Jedi like his father, to be one with the Force. And he wants to do good. Even through his frustration and impatience, Luke realizes his soul can’t stand to be a part of the Empire for much longer. It would break him like it did his father. 

He has to save Anakin. If Luke had any doubts about his goodness, they are erased after this. His concern over Luke is real; he can finally see the Jedi he used to be before the Emperor used him.

“Teach me?” Luke whispers again.

Vader doesn’t answer for a moment. Then he turns to grab Luke’s right hand. He carefully traces past his black glove, and Luke feels a pang of guilt coming from his father. They never discussed what happened in Cloud City, and maybe they never will, but Luke can’t help but feel sorry for Vader. They’ve come far from that moment. Luke had his chance at revenge when he accepted the Emperor’s offer, cutting Vader’s right hand, shocked to find that he had a prosthetic already. 

Luke sees a mirror in Vader. The way he cares about stuff and his impatience with others is the same as Luke’s— his excitement over their powers and their control of them. Even their battle style is similar, sharp, and quick. There’s only one thing he’s sure of: destroying his father would only mean destroying himself.

Revenge leads nowhere. Only forgiveness makes space for growth. He extends he’s arm now for his father to hold.

“Force healing is a very advanced skill, but I’m sure you would master it.” Vader holds his other hand over Luke’s arm, repeating the process. “You must focus on the Force inside you and the person you want to heal… You must transfer some of your life energy. This way, you accelerate the other person’s natural recovery.” 

Luke concentrates on what he says. The same soothing sensation runs through his right arm, as though a knot he didn’t realize was there loosens. He wants to hug Vader, but holds back.

“Have you been doing this all week?” He asks quietly.

Vader only nods and pulls back. Luke feels the urge to cry. He tries to hide his eyes, looking at his arms.

“There’s nothing I can do about the scars…” Vader murmurs.

“That’s alright. I didn’t expect you to…” A rush goes up to his cheeks. He decides to change the subject. “Father, how was the interrogation with the Mandalorian? Does the lightsaber he had mean something?”

Vader tenses at that. He gets up from the bed and turns his back on Luke. 

“It went… fine. He still has information that is valuable to me.” He’s quiet for a bit, and Luke holds his breath. “The saber is called the Darksaber. Mandalorians have been claiming it for generations. According to them, whoever wields it is the rightful ruler of Mandalore.”

The Mand’alor, Luke remembers. “That man is their ruler, then?”

Vader actually laughs at that. 

“He’s just a bounty hunter with bad luck and a knack for getting into trouble. Mandalore doesn’t exist anymore. It’s a cursed planet. Trust me, we took care of that.”

We . The Emperor and he. A lump forms at the back of Luke’s throat. He decides not to voice his concern about other Mandalorians coming for the saber. Maybe it’s paranoia, but he gets the feeling his father doesn’t want him involved in this.

He drops the subject, and Vader seems grateful for that. He looks at him but doesn’t come close again.

“Rest some more, a droid will bring food for you. I’ll talk to the Emperor, he’ll understand.”

He wants to ask him to stay. Luke knows he’s always safe with him, like a bubble where no harm can break into. No bad dreams or confusing problems, no theories about planets and people he doesn’t know or understand, no place where the Dark Side can reach him. Just his father cradling him while he sleeps.

Instead of voicing any of this, he nods, and Vader leaves the room.

He leans back on his pillow and stares at the large room. His robe is hanging on the back of the chair, his lightsaber on the plain desk next to it. He wonders if it was Vader who stripped him down and tucked him into bed. He hopes it was. 

Luke imagines his father carefully unhooking his lightsaber, maybe through the Force. Maybe he caressed his face and hair before starting to heal him. Maybe he spoke soft prayers, and maybe he’s changing his mind about his allegiance to the Empire. As he soothes himself with these fantasies, he drifts back to sleep.

—

Resting days are boring. Luke grows restless quickly and gets up after a few hours. Like promised, a tray of food sits on his desk, and he tucks into it with gusto. During his sicken state, he hadn’t noticed how hungry he was. The food is good, and Luke hums at the taste.

He doesn’t sleep much that night or the night after that. He occupies his time meditating and training. He does handstands, push-ups, and crunches. A droid brings him food in the mornings and afternoons, and runs diagnostics on him. Vader doesn’t come back, but he suspects the droid gives him updates on his health.

His hands insist on trembling, forcing him to sit down and massage them. He adjusts the connections on his prosthetic and manages to alleviate some of the problem, but his left hand is a little harder to fix alone.

Luke thinks about the Force, concentrating on his lifeforce, like Vader instructed him. His right hand hovers above the wrist of his left arm, encouraging it to heal.

He doesn’t feel anything. He frowns, closing his eyes, and breaths deeply. Nothing happens, and after half an hour, he gives up. Perhaps it doesn’t work on oneself. He puts his glove back on with a sigh and hopes the spasms will eventually stop.

After three days, he’s finally ready to leave the room. Tired of staring at the white walls and interacting only with droids, he puts on his cloak and hooks his lightsaber to his belt. It’s time to get back to his student.

—

Grogu sits on his bed when Luke enters his room. 

“Hey, buddy.” He keeps his distance in case the kid wants to throw something at him. “Bet you missed me.”

Grogu lowers his long ears. Luke doesn’t sense any negative feelings from him; hopefully, he’s finally adapting to his new life in the Death Star.

“We’re not training today. I just wanted to come and tell you I haven’t forgotten about you. How are you?” He takes a step forward.

Grogu doesn’t speak, but that’s alright. Luke reaches out with the Force and shares some emotions with him back and forth. The kid seems to have given up any hope of fighting his teacher, and he’s actually happy to see Luke. 

It makes him wonder how the stormtroopers have been treating him.

Luke breaks the connection and takes the opportunity to sit next to Grogu, who looks up at him and climbs onto his lap. He smiles warmly and holds him. 

“Listen,” Luke confides in a whisper, “I’m going to speak to your dad again.”

The kid lets out an interested squeal.

“Yeah, I think there’s something… important about him. The Force told me, you know? Sometimes, it lets us know things to guide our paths. It helps us find what we need and–” He takes a deep breath. “And you must trust it, and trust yourself.”

Grogu makes a noise that Luke takes as understanding. Luke considers the advice and his own emotions. 

Trust the Force. And trust myself.

If he does that, then he needs to keep the Mandalorian safe. He knows Vader and the Emperor won’t agree, but Luke senses there’s something about him, something crucial to Luke’s path and goals.

Despite what his father told him, only one word comes to mind when he thinks of the bounty hunter: Mand’alor .

Luke and Grogu do end up training after all. They don’t leave the room, but Luke guides him through some meditation for a few hours.

Once he’s sure most people go to sleep, he gets going.

—

The stormtroopers don’t even try to stop him this time. Probably thinking he has clearance, they salute him and open the door to the Mandalorian’s cell without protest. 

Luke moves his hand in front of them before entering. “You will forget I’m inside this cell”

“We will forget you’re inside this cell.” They both repeat in unison.

Just in case. Satisfied, he goes in.

An intense sensation shocks him as soon as he steps into the room. The Force is chaotic, and Luke knows something is wrong. He concentrates, not letting it overwhelm him, and finds the Mandalorian lying on his bed with his helmet on.

He looks strange without the rest of his armour, but that’s not what catches Luke’s attention. He hurries to his side and notices wave after wave of pain coming from the Mandalorian. His thin shirt is soaked with sweat, drowning in a fever.

Why is no one helping him? Do the soldiers not know he is in this state? Should Luke call someone?

No, of course not. The realization hits him like a bucket of cold water. The soldiers know, they expect it. How else would someone react after being tortured? 

Luke knew his father's interrogations weren’t benign, but seeing the consequences firsthand is entirely different. It’s hard for him to believe that the man who had healed Luke for days was responsible for this. He swallows hard.

“Mandalorian?” He says softly and holds his shoulders, trying to calm him. “It’s Luke Skywalker. I’m going to try to help you, okay?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond, and Luke isn’t even sure he is awake. He moves to remove his helmet when the bounty hunter grabs his wrists with more strength than needed (Luke doesn’t know where he gets that much force in his state) 

“I need to take it off,” He says with his hands still on each side of the helmet. “You’re not breathing properly, and I can ease your pain.”

“N-no,” He rasps. “No one can see my face… This is the way.”

Luke doesn’t know what that means, but he knows about the other’s reluctance to show his face. When they met, Luke decided that this was something he respected from the Mandalorian: his strong principles and clear head. 

He gives up the argument and finally takes his hands away.

“Alright, alright. Just… try to relax. I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise.”

He doesn’t think the man believes him; however, he doesn’t say anything else. Luke gazes at the helmeted head he’s dreamed so much about and focuses on the Force.

His hands hover over the Mandalorian’s chest warily. He reaches out and starts searching for the man’s energy in the universe. Luke takes a deep breath, ignoring the grunts and moans the hunter lets out from the pain.

Trust in the Force. And trust yourself.

He’s surprised at how easily he finds him. He feels his hands grow warm, and Luke pulls at his own life source, giving it away to the other man’s. 

The connection is strong, unlike anything he’s felt before. And he wonders if his father felt the same when he healed Luke. He can feel the Mandalorian’s relief as though it’s his own. He can give a little more. He knows, for he is aware of his powers like never before. The limit is as clear as water; he feels invigorated by this ability.

Luke keeps up the work for ten minutes before he tires. He pulls back and opens his eyes to find that the Mandalorian has stopped shivering and sweating. He still looks sick, but not in agony.

“Are you okay? I need you to stay awake for a bit…” Luke whispers. “What is your name?”

“You can call me Mando,” He grunts.

Luke frowns, “That’s not your name, though.”

“It is to you. What did you do to me?” 

He sounds tired and, to Luke’s surprise, scared. Maybe he thinks Luke would hurt him like Vader did. A stone sinks in his stomach at the thought, and guilt corrodes his insides. A Jedi is someone who keeps peace and helps people. But Luke is a source of terror, and so is his father. The decisions he’s making in this place are clouded and senseless. 

He will make it right; he’s capable of that much. He rests his hands on his knees and decides to start now.

“Nothing bad. I tried to cure you but… Well, I’ve never done that before. So, I’m not sure how much good it did. But you do feel better, right?” He stares anxiously at the helmet.

“Yes.” The answer is uttered so quietly that Luke barely hears it.

Relaxing, his body slumps father onto the floor. Anything he’d meant to ask the Mandalorian can wait. A feeling of righteousness fills Luke’s chest, but he’s not sure why. His heart aches at the thought of Vader torturing Mando—or anyone else, for that matter—and knows this means nothing.

He’s not a hero. Healing the Mandalorian doesn’t mean anything when he allowed this terrible thing to happen in the first place.

And yet, there’s a warm feeling inside him, as though a part of Luke changed when he made the connection. The Force is calling him here, letting him know through dreams about beskar and sabers. But it’s not the helmet that matters, is the warrior who wears it.

“I’ll stay with you,” He doesn’t know what makes him say that. “Just in case you have another episode like that.” He quickly adds.

“You don’t have to do that.” The Mandalorian is still lying on his back, taking deep breaths.

“I will anyways.”

“What about the stormtroopers? A-and your father?”

“No one knows I’m here. It’s late, they won’t be up for hours. Besides, I can sense if someone’s coming.”

“Hm, quite the rebel.”

Luke turns his head sharply. What did he say? 

“Rebel?! You’re crazy. It’s the fever talking.” He gets up and takes off his cloak, he folds it to use it as a pillow. “You can go to sleep now, I’ll keep watch.”

“Whatever you say, Skywalker.” He turns on his back, facing Luke. Probably not trusting him enough to turn his back on him.

Luke tries not to stare at him, unable to see if he stares back. But he thinks about this Mandalorian all night, and something flutters in his chest.

The Force is mysterious.

Chapter Text

Trusting people is challenging. You must lay your weapons and armour down, let your gaze down, and relax your muscles. You must learn to share your secrets, reveal weaknesses, and allow someone else to see exactly where they can hurt you. 

It’s like drawing out a map to explain where the earthquakes usually happen. Here’s the uneven terrain that never aligned properly. Here’s where the ocean meets the rivers. And here’s the real reason why it rarely rains. Now, please don’t mess with the environment!

As a bounty hunter, Din is no stranger to suspicion. He’s well aware that people seldom tell him the truth—whether it’s about why they’re being hunted or who’s chasing them (not that he bothers to ask). And when they say, “Let me go and I’ll forget this ever happened,” he knows, without a doubt, they’re lying. 

That’s why he keeps his thoughts to himself and doesn’t trust anyone if he can help it. The only ones he truly relies on are his clan. His loyalty to the Mandalorians is absolute—they count on him, and he counts on them. Lately, the kid has earned a place on that list, too.

Din’s affection for the green creature grows daily. Keeping him safe and teaching him how to defend himself is the most important thing to him. 

When he let himself get captured, he failed Grogu, breaking his promise to keep him safe and find his kind. Not to mention how he let the Mandalorians down, too. Although he tries not to think about that.

If he had better instincts, they wouldn’t be stuck on this piece of metal in the middle of space right now. He had turned every rock in the galaxy upside down trying to find a Jedi who’d help, and look where it got them. 

Well, he figures, if you look for the same thing as the Empire, you’re bound to attract some attention.

And he did find what they’re looking for. Her.  

Ahsoka was swift and brutal in action, showing Din what a fully trained Jedi can do. He trusted her, and still does, but probably shouldn’t. He knows basically nothing about her, and, even though it wasn’t her fault he and the kid got taken, the Mandalorian can’t help but feel stupid at how quickly he let his guard down with her.

Some days in his imprisonment are all about sulking in his feelings. Memories of his meetings with these Jedi replay in his mind over and over. He’s not so sure he wants the kid to learn about the Force anymore. Ahsoka seemed like a decent person. Then again, she was hesitant to train the kid. Darth Vader crafted himself in Din’s mind as a nightmare; someone who only inflicts pain. He doesn’t know whether the Emperor counts as a Jedi, but he’s a Force wielder and likely as powerful and cruel as his right hand.

And then there’s Skywalker.

He tore down rules and schedules to see Din twice. He went as far as to treat his wounds, directly against his father’s wishes. And, most baffling of all, he was the first person from the Empire who didn’t insist on taking his helmet. In his fevered gaze, Din thinks he might’ve seen respect in the other’s eyes when he mentioned the Creed.

He doesn’t know how much Darth Vader told his son about him– maybe nothing. But Din can’t bring himself to feel like he’s in danger with this Jedi. 

Of course, he’s brutal and undoubtedly deadly if he wants to be, but that’s just it: he doesn’t seem to want to be like that. 

Skywalker will kill you if he has to, but he’ll give you the chance to kneel in surrender first.

Din gets the feeling he’ll have to do just that. Dying in this prison is something he can come to terms with, after everything he’s lost –the Darksaber and his identity– he’s not even sure what kind of life awaits him out there. But Grogu needs to get out alive, and he’s running out of options. If he wants to escape the Death Star, he needs to believe someone out there will come back for them.

At first, he hoped Bo-Katan Kryze would. She was desperate for the Darksaber; with enough Mandalorians, maybe she would come for it, and help Din while she was at it. But that hope fades by the minute. No one would be that crazy. 

Boba Fett has had deals with the Empire before, according to rumors. He could pretend to be here on imperial business and free him, but Din knew Boba wouldn’t risk his neck like that. Besides, the last he heard of him was that he was on his way to Tatooine. Fennec Shand was probably with him; neither she nor Cara Dune would take the risk either. And he doesn’t blame them; it’s a suicide mission. Unless you have power within… 

He looks over at Skywalker, who sits on the floor. The Rebel turned Jedi. Didn’t he say Darth Vader doesn’t know he’s here? This is his idea, then. Din can’t imagine what someone like Skywalker would want from him. The Force (and the Jedi) is something he understands very little of, and a Jedi’s plans are a mystery to the Mandalorian. 

Skywalker was there every time, in his chemically-induced dreams, taking off Din’s helmet and trying to tell him… What?

A warm sensation settled in his chest the moment Skywalker healed him. He thought he was imagining that, too. But the feeling hasn’t left him since. 

Din doesn’t remember falling asleep the night before. He had no intentions of letting his guard down in front of a Jedi again , but the soreness and exhaustion he felt were enough to put him out.

When he wakes up, Skywalker sits in the same place he saw him last, resting his head against the wall and stealing glances in Din’s direction. 

He feels better than he has in days, even weeks. His fever is gone, along with the fog that clouded his head. He sits on the bed with a small grunt and picks up his gloves, which he took off when the heat waves hit him the day before. The Jedi turns his head to look at him, shaking off sleep.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Hm,” He doesn’t know what to say.  

“I tried to ease the fever again while you slept,” He says, still sitting on the floor. “I think it went better than the first time.”

“I–” He racks his brain for something to say. “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.” The Jedi speaks quietly.

Din takes a good look at him. He’s older than he initially thought, probably in his mid-twenties. He wears a glove on his right hand, his lightsaber hanging on the belt next to it. He seems worn out and boyish, like a kid who patiently awaits dinner to find out what his mother cooked for him. 

How could this be the rebel who blew up the first Death Star? When did things go so wrong for him?

He remembers Darth Vader carrying him down the hall the day of the so-called accident. After that, Din heard rumors here and there coming from stormtroopers and admirals, but he couldn’t piece together the whole story. Apparently, Skywalker had an altercation with the Emperor himself. Din's suspicions regarding the Jedi were only reinforced by this. If he isn’t fully on board with the Empire’s plans, he’s a fly risk. Easy to corrupt… And hard to trust.

Whatever the accident was, it didn’t sit right with Vader. He became unpredictable. He left Din alone in his cell for two days, and, when he came back, took all his anger out on the Mandalorian. He asked random questions that Din didn’t have the answers to, like why he was there or what he wanted to get out of the Empire. 

His visits became scarce, but he made Din tremble with each of them. The last interrogation didn’t involve any questions at all; Vader just enjoyed seeing him suffer. 

Every time before leaving, Vader took his face in his hands to remind Din about the helmet he lost, the honor the Empire broke, and the power they hold over him and the entire galaxy.

Din quietly promises to see his end. He didn’t care about the Rebellion before, and never paid much attention to it. Now, he prays every day for their success. Especially, he hopes Darth Vader sees his son suffer again. If that’s what hurts him the most, then Din is glad the Emperor saved a torture session just for him.

Skywalker seems fine now. Din eyes him warily but can’t find any sign of struggle. He’s wearing the same black outfit Din’s always seen him in, tight and practical for a good fight. He wonders what his abilities are like in combat; probably good if he trusts himself to be alone with the Mandalorian in a cell with no one the wiser.

Of course, Din isn’t a big threat in his state. He represses a grunt.

He rests his hands on his lap, subtly massaging his thighs. Din feels awkward without his armor and weapons. Silence stretches the room, and the only sound is the faint hum of computers and droids in nearby hallways. The Jedi stares at him before speaking again.

“Grogu is doing well. I’m training him, showing him the ways of the Force.” He rubs his neck absentmindedly. “He’s very strong.”

“He is,” He concedes. “He lifted a mudhorn once, long ago.”

Skywalker looks at him with his mouth agape. “A mudhorn ?! Force, that sounds like Master Yoda…” He adds the last part for himself.

“Yoda?” Din tilts his head.

“Oh, yeah. He was one of my masters. He was the same species as Grogu.”

The Mandalorian sits a little straighter at that. He’s looked for the kid’s family for a long time, but couldn’t find anything; no one had ever seen anything like it.

Except for Ahsoka…

“Where is he?”

“He passed some time ago,” The Jedi says calmly. “He lived for nine hundred years, and he was extremely wise. I was lucky to know him, I thought he was the last one of his species.”

Din deflates. If that Jedi Master is dead, Grogu could be the last one. And, if he lives as much as this master, he’ll be long gone before the kid even learns how to speak. He feels an unusual sadness at the thought.

“You knew,” Skywalker says. “About Master Yoda.”

Dank Ferrik. He keeps forgetting how well Jedi can read minds (or something like it). He decides it’s better to be honest, otherwise Skywalker will know.

“I heard of him.”

The blond man is visibly thrilled, his eyebrows going up. “You’ve met another Jedi, haven’t you?” He whispers.

Din doesn’t know what to say. Darth Vader discovered this days ago, evidently keeping the information to himself. A protective feeling settles in his chest when he remembers Ahsoka; he’s worried Vader will find her. Guilt eats at the back of his mind; he should never have shared her name with the Empire. He won’t make that mistake again.

“Briefly. It’s none of your business, Jetii.”

“You wanted them to train Grogu,” Skywalker says calmly, staring at Din.

He freezes in shock and opens his mouth only to close it again. He’s thankful for the cover the helmet provides.

“Stop reading my mind!” He yelps.

“I’m not!” The Jedi laughs, and it makes Din frown harder. “Honestly! I don’t read minds. I’m not even sure that’s possible…” He thinks momentarily about this before he keeps going. “I can sense feelings, and, if you have to know, a lot of the time it’s hard to know what you feel. You’re a mess.”

A mess ?! Now Din is downright offended. Who does he think he is? The Mandalorian is speechless.

“Anyways,” Skywalker chuckles. “I know because Grogu told me that you were looking for someone to train him. A Jedi.”

“Well,” Finally, Din gets his voice back. “He never got to be trained.”

“Oh, he was trained. Years ago,” He leans against the wall, his slim silhouette outlined in the dim light. “He lived in the Jedi Temple of Coruscant during the Clone Wars. He was trained by many masters there. Now that I think of it, maybe he knew Master Yoda… But his memory is fuzzy. He was there when the Empire rose.” A dark shadow settles in his eyes. “He’s been through a lot. As you know, the Jedi were massacred at the time, and Grogu had to escape. He’s incredible, not many survived that day.”

Silence falls in the room. The Jedi is pensive, his arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes lost somewhere on the floor. Din wonders what he thinks of the Empire after this. He’s surprised Grogu had training before, but he figures it makes sense, seeing what he can do. His heart aches, longing to see him again.

“He misses you terribly,” Skywalker says, bringing him back to reality.

He huffs, “Yeah, well, it’s not exactly my fault I haven’t been able to see him, is it?”

The Jedi tenses, pushing himself away from the wall. “That’s not what I meant. He’s attached to you. Jedi ought not to have any kind of attachments, it can lead to the Dark Side of the Force, and–”

Din frowns and rolls his eyes inside his helmet. “And I suppose you and your daddy aren’t attached.”

Skywalker gets angry at this; he uncrosses his arms and looks at Din with fire in his eyes.

“Don’t talk about my father that way. You don’t know us.”

Din gets up from the bed, ignoring the dizziness that flows through his head. “You say few survived the Jedi Purge. Well, why is your father a survivor? Where was Darth Vader when his people were killed?”

“What are you getting at? We both know you’re not a moral compass. I guess that Darksaber magically appeared in your hands, did it? We’ve all got blood on our hands, Mandalorian. Not just Darth Vader.” Skywalker takes a step forward.

“I’m sure you do, Skywalker. But daddy is always there to clean up your mess, isn’t he?”

“Shut up!” The Jedi frowns, balling his fists.

Din doesn’t. He keeps going. “You disagree with him. Why else would you come here against his wishes? Why would you risk your safety healing me?” He stares into the blond’s face, fearless. It’s the closest they’ve been since Din cornered him against the wall weeks ago.

“Because it’s the right thing to do.” Skywalker huffs.

Got you, rebel. He thinks.

Skywalker deflates, realizing his mistake. He doesn’t step back, though. “I don’t know what you think you’re–”

Din cuts him. “Now that’s a Jedi. You live up to the myths, don’t you? Doing what’s right, bringing peace. What the hell are you doing here, Skywalker?”

The young man flushes intensely. “None of your business.” He quotes Din.

There’s no way the Mandalorian will settle for that answer. For once, he’s the one who gets to push. He asks again.

“What are you doing here?”

They look at each other for a minute. Then, the Jedi’s shoulders slump as he sighs. “Would you leave this place without Grogu?”

The question takes Din by surprise. He tilts his head to look into the other’s eyes and wonders what hue they would be if he saw them helmetless. He breathes in and answers truthfully.

“No, I wouldn’t.”

“Exactly,” He gets the feeling Skywalker is staring into his eyes through his visor, although he knows that’s impossible. “I’m not leaving without my father.” It’s a whisper, but his tone is defiant.

He’s confessing, Din realizes. Suddenly, he’s hyper-aware of the warm feeling in his chest and finds himself thinking about a map again. 

It’s true, he would never abandon the kid in a place like this. He’s willing to die if needed, but he’ll do everything in his power to ensure Grogu is safe. There are roads upon roads trailing the map of his life, and one of them is particularly special. It leads straight to his heart, where his son will always be sheltered.

Throat tight, he notices how close he is to the Jedi and steps back. If the rebel disagrees with the Empire, it doesn’t matter. Because Darth Vader doesn’t, and he’s not leaving. He wonders what Vader would look like if he had to draw him on a map.

“Please help us,” It’s Din’s turn to whisper, defeated.

“I won’t let you escape, my loyalty is to the Empire.” Even as he says it, they both know it’s a lie, but the truth stays unspoken. “Besides, this place is a fortress. We wouldn’t make it far, and then we’d both be killed.” He brings his left hand to hold his gloved wrist. Din thinks he catches a tremor.

He wants to ask him about it, intrigued, but lets the question die on his tongue. 

“I’m sure Vader wouldn’t let anyone touch a hair of your head.” 

Skywalker doesn’t respond, lost in thought once more. The Mandalorian feels like he’s about to change into his imperial persona, as though he’ll remember his part, turn around, and never come back to see him, following his duty as a good soldier. He urges himself not to let the rebel side of the Jedi go away, the side that can get him out of here.

“At least let me see the ki– Grogu.” He pleads.

The Jedi sighs. Din lets himself hope this is it, his way out. No matter that he’s with the Empire, if he’s hesitant enough to help Din, that’s the crack he’s been hoping to find.

“Fine.” Skywalker folds his hands. “But I can’t bring Grogu here, he’s too heavily guarded. However, if you go to him… We can pull that off. There is one thing, though…”

“What?” The Mandalorian will accept any condition.

“You’ll have to take off your helmet. It’ll draw too much attention.” Skywalker winces.

Din is motionless for a second. His helmet. The only piece of himself still untouched. Except that’s not true, is it? Darth Vader made that clear, staring into his eyes, touching his bare skin. He can pretend all he wants, holding tight to the Beskar within this cell, hiding it as soon as the door slides open, but the reality is that he is no longer a Mandalorian. 

Only bathing in the Living Waters of Mandalore would restore his honor and status as a Mandalorian. And that isn’t possible, since the Empire destroyed the planet. He thinks of Bo-Katan telling him Mandalore isn’t cursed, that it can be taken back. 

For the first time since he was captured, his thoughts fall on the Darksaber. If his people considered him worthy of leading them before, they’ll change their minds after his capture, if he gets out of here at all. Bo-Katan made it clear, multiple times, that Din is the owner of the Darksaber and, therefore, the rightful ruler of their planet.

She’ll kill him if she finds out the saber is safely hooked to Darth Vader’s belt.

All of that can wait. The bigger problem is leaving this place. If it’s what it takes, then taking the helmet off once more won’t change anything… 

He looks at Skywalker. “I don’t think I’m even supposed to have the helmet, to be honest… Darth Vader, he, uh, took it from me.”

“I know.” He responds calmly.

“You do?”

“Yeah… I’m the one who brought it back here.” He scrunches his nose.

Din is speechless once again. 

“What? Why?”

“I already told you. It’s the right thing to do.” 

Din feels a tingling running up his neck. Skywalker’s rebellious self is more present than he thought. Farther than that, he is principled and intensely righteous. Of course, any rebel would be, but this simple act touches something deep inside him. It’s intimate, almost like he knew what this would mean to Din and went out of his way to do it.

Amongst the cruelty he’s experienced lately, the Jedi’s tenderness makes something contract against his ribcage, making place for itself and curling up there. He takes a deep breath.

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know how to show just how grateful he is.

“It’s nothing,” Skywalker represses an embarrassed smile. “For this sneaking out thing, would you wear a Stormtrooper armor? Helmet included.”

Din shakes himself out of his head, falling back to business. “Yes… I guess that would be okay. You just can’t see my face.”

“Good. I can find one.” He scans Din to get an idea of his size, and the bounty hunter shifts his weight from one leg to the other in an awkward stance. “Tonight. After my father and the Emperor fall asleep. I’ll come get you.”

The Mandalorian nods. Skywalker smiles broadly this time, puts his cloak back on, and turns his back on Din. Before leaving, he spares one last glance at him.

“Don’t worry, Vader won’t hurt you anymore.”

He stares, lifting his chin and letting out a soft huff. “Why do you say that?”

“I’ve got a feeling.” 

Din is starting to get used to that cheeky grin.

—

The Jedi is true to his word. The day goes by quietly and with no interruptions other than a droid that brings food, to which he is now used. After he eats, the blond head reappears at the entrance, this time carrying a white armor under his arm.

“Hey.” He says, a little out of breath, and levitates the armor towards Din like it’s nothing. 

He takes it and starts to put it on. “Where did you get this, Jetii?”

“There’s a supply a few floors up. There are tons of them. A simple distraction does the trick, I didn’t even use the Force.” He looks proud of himself for the achievement.

“Oh, you mean like the rest of us mortals?”

He rolls his eyes. “You know? I’m starting to think you’re just a bitter old man.”

Din throws him a dry laugh as he puts on the marble-colored boots. “You’re not that far behind me.”

“Yeah? How old are you?”

A pause. The Mandalorian hesitates. He doesn’t have to tell this man anything more than absolutely necessary, but Skywalker was kind to him earlier, and here he is again, helping him…

He owes him this much.

“I’m thirty-one.”

“Force, did you get your armor with a senior’s discount?” He jokes.

“Very funny,” He brings his hands to his helmet. “Turn around.” 

Skywalker does, still giggling at his joke. Din unlocks the helmet, a soft hiss escaping. “If you so much as peep–”

“I won’t.”

Din finds that he trusts him.

He lifts the helmet above his head, his hands shaking. He’s never purposefully shown his face with someone else in the room. The Jedi waits for him, staring at the wall. Din glances at the blond hair before switching helmets.

He’d caught a glimpse of the golden strands the day of the accident, the limp head falling onto his father’s chest, but he hadn’t noticed then how dark it was, almost brown. The information tucks itself into his brain. 

He puts on the Stormtrooper’s helmet, letting the Mandalorian one down and tucking it under the bed where it’s hidden. He makes a silent promise to come back for it and turns back to face the Jedi.

“I can’t see shit,” Din states.

The Jedi turns around, smiling. “Yeah, I know.”

“Got experience?” Din lifts his brows under the new helmet. The armor is by no means as heavy as Beskar, and he’s privately thankful for it, given his still-weak state.

“I sneaked around once before. In the first Death Star.”

The first Death Star? He didn’t know Skywalker had been in there before blowing it up. How did he manage to escape? Perhaps he was already an agent for the Empire then, but that can’t be, or he wouldn’t have destroyed it.

He tries to picture the Jedi in the white armor and laughs. “You’re too short for a stormtrooper.”

Skywalker freezes, eyes wide. Din’s smile breaks away, afraid he crossed a line. “I didn’t mean–”

“Remember your place, Mando.” He says firmly. His tone is still amicable, but professional.  

He hands Din a blaster. It’s small and practical; it fits his hand perfectly. 

“Don’t dream too much,” He adjusts his belt, checking his lightsaber. “It’s unloaded. If anyone asks, you’re TK-398, my escort.”

Din nods, not paying attention. He’s replaying the conversation, wondering where he went wrong to make Skywalker sober up like this. They were fine a minute ago, and he thought he was progressing in winning his help. 

Kriffing Jedi. Who the hell understands them?

“Ready?” He asks Din, who nods again. “Let’s go.”

—

Din would never have made it out of that cell without Skywalker.

When they cross the threshold, the two guards who normally stand on either side of the door have vanished. He asks the Jedi about this, and he just waves a hand and tells him he sent them on their way.

“They’ll be back soon, though. They believe something more important came up, but eventually they’ll remember they’re supposed to be here.” He acts naturally as they walk down the long hallway. “The trick doesn’t last long.”

Din holds on to his blaster. Even if uncharged, it’s a comfort for the Mandalorian to grab a weapon again. The tight armour against his sore body is like a shell, protecting him. He imagines it’s his own, and his muscles relax.

Hundreds of people are still bustling about, but anyone from the rank of Admiral and up has turned in for the day, including Darth Vader. He wills himself to think about that anytime they turn a corner or an elevator’s door opens, where he fears he’ll see the dark mask again.

The Death Star is massive. Din tries to keep up with the path, memorizing the way, but after a few minutes, he’s completely lost. There are elevators on all sides and floors, and giant crystal windows letting in the starlight. As far as he sees, there are no colors other than black and white, no decorations of any kind. 

The whole place is as depressing as his cell.

He suspects Skywalker feels the same way. Din walks right behind him, passing Stormtroopers on call. He’s good at playing along; soldiers stand straighter when they spot him, afraid to disrespect the Jedi. They have no idea he is nothing like Darth Vader.

No matter how much Skywalker teases the Mandalorian, he’s not the best liar, either. At least not in private. Din senses his discomfort with the sterile rooms and serious people of the Death Star.

He wonders whether Darth Vader notices his son’s sadness.

They hop into yet another elevator, going up.

“The cadet’s rooms are some of the highest. They are probably all sleeping by now, but Grogu’s room is guarded.” He turns to look at Din. “I don’t want to pull any tricks if I can help it. Got it?”

“I won’t get in the way.”

“Good man.” He blinks at him, and Din’s chest tightens. He keeps his head down until they reach their floor.

Skywalker moves swiftly, his robe flowing. Din can spot Grogu’s dorm at the end of the room. At least, he assumes that’s the dorm, since it’s the only one guarded by two troopers.

Like the rest of them, they stiffen at the sight of the Jedi.

“Master,” One starts. “We weren’t informed you’d be here so late.”

“Unexpected Jedi business. I won’t be long.”

The troopers glance at Din suspiciously, maybe wondering why he’s going in with the Jedi. He presses his lips and mentally prepares for a fight, but Skywalker manages just fine.

“Open the door. Or are you going to make us wait for a whole rotation?” His tone is authoritative and cold as a dead star.

Din holds his breath. Then,

“Of course not, Master. I apologize.” They bow their heads and let the door slide open.

Skywalker enters first, Din close behind him, anxiety growing inside him. This room is big and comfortable, unlike his cell. An empty tray floats in the middle of it, and behind it, Grogu is staring intently at it with an extended hand.

Relief knocks the air out of his lungs. A feeling is like coming out of hyperspace to see the planet you’ve been looking for, waiting for you. 

The kid turns his attention to them, letting the tray fall. However, it doesn’t reach the floor. Skywalker extends his gloved hand and levitates it towards the desk. “We don’t want to be noisy.” He whispers.

Din rushes to the bed, kneeling in front of the kid.

“It’s me, kid. It’s me.” Grogu leaps into his chest with no hesitation.

His eyes burn. He didn’t want to admit this to himself, but he thought he would never see his son again. The fear of losing him was so big that it kept him up at night. He feels it ease slightly as they hug. 

I’m getting you out of here. He promises in his head.

The kid whines excitedly, pointing to the tray. 

“Yeah, yeah! I saw that. You’re getting good.” He smiles. “I hear you’re learning lots, huh? Well done, kid. Just like we wanted, right?” He bites his lip, hating himself for his words, but he doesn’t want Grogu to think Din is in danger. “Listen to your Master. Is he good to you?”

Grogu nods and looks at the Jedi.

He lets go of Grogu enough to turn his gaze on him, too. He stands close to the door, hands folded with a clear expression, a different person than before. Not the vicious, cold Jedi Master. Not the Emperor’s pawn, nor Vader’s prince. Just a rebel. Quite the rebel.

Everything he told Din has been true so far, keeping his word. Even if there’s still a lot he doesn’t know about Skywalker, he has no doubts about his loyalty. The Mandalorian trusts him. 

He almost feels sorry that he can’t give him the same.

“We really shouldn’t stay long,” The Jedi whispers again. “Or they’ll come in.” He gestures towards the door with his head.

“No…, of course, I know.” Din sighs.

Eyeing the kid, he gently takes his small hands. “We’ll see each other again. I promise you… Grogu.”

Grogu lifts his head, excited. Din laughs, touched. They hug one last time, trying to buy time. For whatever reason, he is confident in his promise. He will see the kid again, no matter the cost.

Maybe sooner than he thinks.

He stands up, regarding Skywalker. One thing is true: they can’t be noisy.

If the Stormtroopers outside the room hear them, he doesn’t stand a chance. He only gets one shot at this.

“Let’s go.”

—

Din’s mind races as they start their way back to his cell. The Stormtrooper armor is his golden ticket. The Jedi said so himself, he’s sneaked around before, using one of these.

If he can get rid of him and find a good blaster, he can go back for Grogu.

Of course, that would leave him all alone, trying to find a ship to escape in somewhere in this labyrinth… It’s not the best plan, but it’s the best one he’s got.

He'll take care of things himself if the Jedi won't help him. 

“You okay?” Skywalker murmurs.

Dank Ferrik. He hates Jedi.

“Yeah.” He tries to sound normal.

“You’re a bad liar, Mando.” He smiles. “It’s alright. I suppose you’re a bit shaken up after seeing Grogu.”

An excuse. Thank the Mythosaur. 

“Y-yes, I missed him.” He searches the room, but some people are walking some meters away from them.

The blond man nods. “He was happy to see you. It’s hard, missing your dad.”

The raw confiding nearly makes the Mandalorian stop. He forces himself to stay focused on his mission. 

Finally, one of the elevators opens up to an empty, vast room. It looks like a charging base for droids. There are terminals all over the walls, and a window serves as the sole lighting source.

Din takes his chance.

He swiftly places a foot in front of Skywalker, and slams the but of his blaster against his face. The Jedi yelps, surprised, and takes a few steps backward.

Din doesn’t let the lack of exercise catch up with him; adrenaline kicks in and takes over.

He closes in on Skywalker, throwing a punch to his throat. Hands on his neck, he gasps for air. The Mandalorian takes the opening, forcing the lightsaber out of the other’s belt.

He holds tight to it but doesn’t ignite it. Din takes some steps back, confident in hand-to-hand combat. He’s considerably larger than Skywalker, and likely more trained. 

But he’s not a Jedi.

“You should’ve helped me, Skywalker.” He clenches his jaw.

“I’m s-starting to think I should’ve thrown you in the g-garbage compactor, asshole.” He coughs, looking up. His nose is bleeding, his eyes watering.

He’s never heard the Jedi curse before; he would laugh, except he’s too scared to die. 

Skywalker recomposes himself and attacks. He does a flip in the air, landing behind Din. With no time to process it, he loses his advantage. The Jedi elbows his diaphragm, and the hit is softened by the armor.

They are both quick and brutal. Skywalker is not afraid to hurt him; he jabs and hits with force. He’s probably regretting giving armour to the Mandalorian. He escapes from Din’s touch easily and doesn’t take long to discover the uncovered spots on Din’s body. 

Skywalker deflects his punches, moving with unusual fluidity. Din starts to mirror his movements, successfully dodging him. An invisible force pushes him against the wall, hard enough to dent the armour. 

Dizziness fills his head. The Jedi comes for his lightsaber, making the mistake of approaching Din. He turns the saber on, a soft humming running up his hand. 

The green light burns right next to Skywalker’s blond hair. He hisses, stepping back.

“That’s not a toy, Mando.” His eyes are swollen, the blood from his nose staining his chin and robes.

“Let me go! Just let me go and pretend you don’t know me.” He aims the lightsaber at the Jedi.

“Pass. The Emperor will know you had help. And, trust me, I’ll be his number one suspect.” He shifts. “Give that back.”

He doesn’t have time to make a decision, Skywalker wills the lightsaber out of his hand. It flies straight to him and points at the Mandalorian. “On your knees.”

Din’s only chance at escaping vanishes. The certainty he felt minutes ago is forgotten, as though it was never there. He thought he could do it: outsmart the Empire, convince Skywalker, save Grogu.

His prediction comes true. He kneels in front of Skywalker.

The blond turns the lightsaber off and drives his gloved hand toward him. For a moment, he thinks he’ll take the helmet off. Instead, he finds a bare spot in between the armour and lightly touches his neck. Din feels soft sparks on his skin and holds his breath.

The Jedi is going to say something, just like in the Mandalorian’s vision, but something else catches his attention.

He moves his hand away from Din, as though burned. His head turns left and right, and then he grabs the Mandalorian roughly by the arm. 

“Someone’s coming. Move.” 

A door opens at the Jedi’s touch, and he shoves Din inside a small room. 

A very small room.

Skywalker slumps next to him as the door closes. His back pressed against Din’s chest. Something tightens in the Mandalorian’s stomach, and heat rushes to his cheeks.

“What are you doing?!” He whispers.

“Shh! They’ll hear us.” He turns, facing Din.

Which is somehow worse.

Suddenly claustrophobic, Din grows desperate. He doesn’t understand why the situation freaks him out like this. Skyalker is pressing him in all the wrong places, his lightsaber nagging at his hip. 

Once again, he’s thankful for the cover the helmet provides.

He looks everywhere but at Skywalker. He leans on a shelf, noticing they’re in some kind of cupboard full of droids’ repair pieces.

Oh, this is his worst nightmare.

Chapter Text

Just kill him and be done with it.

Just kill him and be done with it.

Just kill him and be done with it.

Luke clenches his jaw as a restraining bolt from a shelf presses his back—thoughts of what would happen if he kills the Mandalorian run through his head. He could explain it– he could say he’d visited him to know more of Grogu, but the man got violent, forcing Luke to end his life.

Easy, right?

He bites his tongue. Even if that worked, he can’t bring himself to do it. He’s starting to think he made a big mistake bringing the bounty hunter out of his cell. A mistake that probably began when he made contact with him in the first place.

Minutes seem to last forever as they wait in the storeroom. The room is big enough for an R2 unit; there’s no other way out or hiding place inside. He closes his eyes, his chin almost touching the Mandalorian’s shoulder, and lets the Force flow through him, sensing all life-forms near them.

The feeling he had in the hallway is still there, growing stronger. 

Something clicks behind him. Luke gasps, bringing his fingers to the door to find that it’s closed. “They’re running a drill!” He mutters. “They can tell something is wrong.”

Suddenly, red lights turn on, making the Mandalorian’s white helmet gain an eerie look.

He closes his eyes again. Stormtroopers are quickly filling the halls, but he feels someone else, too. Someone with a higher rank, he thinks it might be a woman. The list he checked earlier that day, which contained information about rotations, didn’t mention any Admiral or Captain on call for this area today. Still, she could be from a different one.

“How could they know?” The Mandalorian whispers back.

“Well, I don’t know.” Luke rolls his eyes. “Maybe they heard the little commotion you caused out there.”

“You’re the one who threw me against the wall.” He says, angry.

“You’re a crybaby, Mando.” He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket; it’s the same one he used after he fought the Mandalorian the first time. 

“Are we stuck here?!” The Mandalorian whispers, slightly panicked.

“For now. Let’s hope they don’t find anything unusual and call this whole thing off.”

Luke unfolds the pale handkerchief and finds a small blood stain. He folds it again, this time on its clean side, and brings it to his nose. A hiss escapes his mouth from the pain, and he hopes nothing is broken.

The Mandalorian is looking at him. Luke wishes he could see his face, or at least know what he’s thinking. Their feet are tangled together, trying to stay up, and his left hand is awkwardly pressed against the hunter’s abdomen on the armor.

“Did you have to hit me so fucking hard?” Luke keeps putting pressure on his nose.

“I was hoping you’d pass out.” The Mandalorian admits.

Luke huffs. “And then what? Leave me there?” 

“Who’s the crybaby now, Skywalker?” He shifts slightly, making Luke roll his eyes once more.

“Stay still, will you? You’re worse than a womp rat.” He pulls the handkerchief from his face and stares at the now-dyed red fabric. “It’s cute that you think you could take me down that easily.”

“I had the upper hand, Jetii.” Luke imagines a smug look on his face.

“For half a minute.” His prosthetic fails, involuntarily closing his hand into a fist. He grunts in frustration and gives up trying to wash the blood off his face.

“Are you okay?” The Mandalorian tilts his head, curious, the helmet coming closer to Luke.

“Y-yes, it’s nothing. It’s just– I don’t–” He sighs.

“You don’t have to explain.” He whispers. 

The Mandalorian moves again, this time bringing his hand up and over Luke’s. He holds his breath, wondering if the man will take his chance on a new attack, but instead he opens Luke’s gloved fingers, catching the handkerchief. The fabric travels to his face and touches his chin with surprising gentleness. 

Luke inhales deeply, making the Mandalorian withdraw slightly. “Does it hurt?”

“Not there, no. You just… surprised me.”

He doesn’t say anything, resuming his task. Slowly, he cleans Luke’s face, each stroke a soft caress. The Jedi closes his eyes thoughtlessly, and the Mandalorian takes the opportunity to wash his neck, too. Leaving no trace of the injury.

Confusion runs down his spine, and nervousness pools in his stomach. He reconnects with the Force, trying to calm himself, and successfully discovers a thought that eases his mind.

Ignoring the threat outside, he feels a fulfilling sense of rightness. This is why he can’t kill the Mandalorian; the Force keeps bringing them back together. 

His anger and resentment dissolve, as though touched by water. It’s an old feeling that he can’t quite place. Years ago, the Rebellion filled his head with righteousness and responsibility; it made him feel like he was doing something worthwhile, and nothing else mattered as long as he was close to the fight and his friends.

All that changed after he discovered the truth about his father. His thoughts shifted, and the clear water became thick mud. The fight he used to care so much about went dormant; his life wasn’t for the Rebellion anymore, it was for Anakin Skywalker.

He has to get him out of this place and out of the Empire’s clutches. The Force guided Luke to his father. It draws them together, defining his decisions. 

The same way it’s doing with the Mandalorian.

What are you trying to tell me? , He thinks miserably.

The bounty hunter finishes the task, pulling back and leaving his hand hanging between their chests. Luke wishes he could see his eyes. “Why did you do that?”

“I don’t want anyone to know I punched the Empire’s prince on the nose.” He rests his back to the wall.

“I’m not a prince.”

“You sure look like one,” He huffs, and Luke flushes. “Everyone in this place cowers when they see you. You do whatever you want, walking with your stupid robes and flaunting that saber like a crown.”

The man has a talent for getting under Luke’s skin; he’ll give him that. He takes the handkerchief angrily from the Mandalorian’s hand and places it in his pocket once more, the weirdly intimate moment gone.

“I hear you are the one with a lightsaber as a crown.”

His head turns sharply in Luke’s direction, and he knows he has won this time. A smug smile tugs at his lips.

“You know about that?”

“Darth Vader told me.” He says. “Is it true? Are you the… Mand’alor?”

“Depends on who you talk to.” The Mandalorian concedes, crossing his arms. “I won the saber in battle. According to tradition, then yes, I suppose that makes me the Mand’alor. But I never wanted that, I didn’t even know about the weapon. I just wanted to save Grogu from the Empire.” A dry laugh. There’s a moment of silence as the irony soaks the room. “There’s… someone else who deserves the title. Someone who can bring Mandalorians together. But it matters not, the Darksaber is Vader’s now, and I’m a dishonor to my Creed.”

Luke is quiet. This Creed is a mystery to him, but it sounds a lot like the Old Jedi Order. He’s read about the responsibilities and expectations held upon Jedi before the Empire rose. Many things could get you expelled from it, like attachments or falling to the Dark Side of the Force.

Both of which happened to Anakin.

“You should be who you want. If leading your people is something that calls to you, then some weapon isn’t going to change that. And, if that’s not your path, that’s fine too. The Force shows us the right way.”

“Sounds like religious propaganda.”

“Just like your Creed.” He looks at him firmly. “You can’t always live up to the rules because people can’t be put into a box. Take what you need and then make your own rules.”

“What about the Jedi? Do you make yours?” 

“Mm,” He lowers his head. “Not on purpose. I suppose you were right earlier, I am attached. To my family and my friends, and maybe I shouldn’t be but…”

“It feels right.” The Mandalorian finishes for him.

“Yeah,” He lets out a shaky breath.

Luke picks up an antenna replacement from one of the shelves and turns it in his hand to have something to occupy himself with. He thinks about Tatooine, where he would work with tools like this all the time, next to Uncle Owen before dinner. He hadn’t thought about him or Aunt Beru in a long time…

He feels the Mandalorian looking his way, but doesn’t dare to look back. Finally, the bounty hunter speaks again.

“Can I ask you something?” 

“It’s not like we have anything else to do.” He checks the door, still locked.

“Were you going to kill me? Out there?” He gestures to the hallway.

Luke bites his lip, wondering the same thing. “I don’t think so,” He says, slowly. “It’s not the Jedi way.”

“I thought you made your own rules.”

“Well, I happen to agree with peace,” He winces when the Mandalorian tilts his head sarcastically. “I know, I’m not the best example. I hope Grogu does better than I.”

“Me, too.”

Luke’s eyebrows go up, indignant. “Whatever, Mando. Were you going to kill me?”

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away. He fidgets subtly with his gloves and takes a deep breath. After a beat, Luke senses insecurity coming from him.

“Din.” He murmurs.

“What?”

“My name is Din Djarin.”

They stare at each other. Luke smiles sheepishly and senses relief flow through the Mandalorian– Din Djarin. Clearly, this is a big deal for him, and he makes a silent promise to keep the name guarded like a treasure.

“It’s a good name. Nice to meet you, Djarin.” 

“I’m still not sure I can say the same to you, Skywalker.”

Luke nods, fair enough. He turns his head towards the door and reaches through the Force. The red lights went off at some point, but the lock stays firmly shut. He senses the danger fading away, and the troopers are clearing the floor and going back to their respective stations.

“The door should open any minute.”

“Can’t you unlock it with your powers?”

Luke shakes his head. “I could, but it would draw too much attention.”

Putting the droid antenna back in its place, he waits for another second before hearing a click . The door opens. He looks at Djarin. “I hope you’re sensible enough not to try anything else.” 

“For now,” He grunts.

“Works for me,” He pulls his hood up, checks no one’s around, and off they go.

They move through the Death Star uninterrupted for as long as three rooms before things complicate. 

“Master?” Someone calls from behind them.

Luke turns around, immediately recognizing the person in front of them as the presence he felt in the Force.

Admiral Grimes.

Luke’s never spoken to her before, but he’s seen her in meetings and at the cafeteria whenever he comes down for food, which isn’t often. He runs a quick analysis in his mind; she has no direct link to the Emperor or Darth Vader, usually working on lame tasks, like administrating droids and crafting reports.

He puts on his best smile and hopes Djarin will keep his mouth shut.

“Oh! Hello. I’m glad you’re here. Is everything okay?”

Her eyes widen slightly at his response, but she hides her surprise well. “Yes, Master Skywalker. What are you doing here?” 

She doesn’t seem as frightened or intimidated by Luke as the rest of the crew tends to be. She speaks freely and questions him without stuttering.

“I sensed a disturbance in the Force and decided to come check it out. I’m sure it was nothing, though.”

Admiral Grimes lifts her chin and directs her brown eyes to the Mandalorian. “I didn’t realize you were here, Master,” She returns to Luke. “A trooper informed me of unusual noises on this floor, asking me to come take a look.”

“And did you find anything?” Luke tries to live up to his most threatening persona. It doesn’t seem to do anything to her, and he starts to feel uneasy.

“No. Like you said, maybe it was nothing,” A fake smile pulls her lips. “You can go back to rest, Master. I’ll accompany this trooper back to his station.”

His chest constricts. If Din Djarin gets out of his sight wearing a perfectly camouflaged Stormtrooper armor, he’ll take his chance to escape once and for all. 

And Luke would most certainly be killed.

“That won’t be necessary. TK-398 is my escort.”

“Oh,” She hums. “I beg your pardon. I thought Jedi could take care of themselves.”

Luke can’t help it; a deep flush settles on his cheeks. “O-of course. This is just-”

“Are you alright, Master? You look pale.” She closely inspects Luke’s face. 

He frowns. Hoping she doesn’t notice his probably reddened nose, he throws her an imperious glance. “This is Jedi business, Admiral Grimes. I trust I don’t have to explain myself to someone like you. I’m sure you know very well what kind of influence I have here. Disagreeing with me could be seen as treason.”

That gets to her. She’s the one who flushes this time, taking a step back. “Naturally, Master Skywalker. I apologize if I disrespected you. My loyalties are with the Empire without question.”

“Then we’re on the same page.” Luke starts to leave. “Rest well, Admiral. And… Keep an eye out.” 

“Yes, sir.”

Luke lets out a breath, his heart finally slowing down. He and Djarin step into an elevator, indicating the correct floor. When the doors close, he slumps against the wall. 

The Mandalorian breaks down laughing. Luke’s eyebrows knit together. “Oh, was that funny to you?”

“Why? Couldn’t you tell with your magic powers?” He mocks Luke.

Mouth agape, he stares at Djarin.

“I was a bit preoccupied with not being captured! I’m sorry if I didn’t make it entertaining enough for you, sir.”

“Don’t worry, it was entertaining, all right. I would sell my tickets to the best pod race in the galaxy just to see that again,” Djarin laughs some more. Luke is starting to think he is unhinged.

“You’re crazy. This is serious, she could’ve turned us in and–”

“And what? I’m a prisoner already! I’d like to see them capture me again,” He straightens himself and takes a steadying breath. “But you,” He points a finger at Luke. “I’d love to see you in a cell, Jetii, to see if that brings you to your senses.”

“My senses? You’ve really lost it, bounty hunter.” Luke pinches the bridge of his nose.

Luke has no idea what he’s talking about. Seeing Grogu again made Djarin reckless, and it’s all his fault. He’s probably thinking he’s got nothing to lose. But Luke does, and he’s not ready to risk it.

“Perhaps. But you’re in trouble, she didn’t believe a word you said.” 

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because you’re a bad liar, Skywalker.” 

They reach their floor, getting them out of the unserious ambience of the closed room. Step by step, they find the way back to the Mandalorian’s cell, where Luke tricks the standing guards (who came back while they were away) once more. He waits for Djarin to change out of the armor, giving it back to him.

Luke doesn’t stay with him for longer than necessary. Heat runs through his body, thinking of the adventure he just had. He turns his back, finding the right path again. Armor ready to be returned with no one the wiser, he picks up the helmet and stares at it, pursing his lips.

Life in the Death Star is more boring than Luke expected. There’s not much to do other than meditate, get burned by the Emperor’s lightning punishment, and try to get his father to turn on his master. Frustration fogs his days, making him yearn for better times. 

He misses the fun he had in the Rebellion, the thrilling tickle he felt anytime he jumped on his X-Wing, R2D2 right behind him. He misses knowing Han and Leia would be waiting for him at the end of a long day.

Nothing is fun here. He tolerates plans of oppression, sees tortured passengers, and brain-washed kids. And he’s growing tired by the minute. 

He knew all that when he joined the Empire, and decided to play along. Except his confidence was stronger then, he thought his father would’ve turned by now. He thought he’d be able to convince him a lot faster, and save everyone who is under the oppressor’s feet. All he feels is problematic, and he’s lost.

His life isn’t fun anymore, besides tonight.

This mission was exhilarating. Sure, it terrified him when he thought Admiral Grimes had caught them, but the rest gave Luke the same thrill he used to feel in his younger years. Even fighting with the Mandalorian was fun, once he took the reins. 

Despite Djarin’s stupid ideas and the principles Luke didn’t understand, he can’t bring himself to dislike him.

Din Djarin has always been right about him so far. He knows Luke is more than he lets on, and that is beginning to be a problem. He can’t let the Mandalorian get into his head; Luke reminds himself that the only thing the bounty hunter wants is to get out of this place. He doesn’t care about Luke or the reasons that keep him here.

Djarin sees the truth: of the two of them, he’s not the only prisoner. Luke is trapped in a lie, and they both know now, he’s not a good liar.

Chapter Text

His adventure with the Mandalorian goes unnoticed on the Death Star. Luke didn’t get much sleep after he left Din Djarin in his cell and went to sleep, turning and tossing around in his bed. He worried that someone would discover what they had done and come to get him. Of course, no one disturbed Luke’s night, but this only ignited his paranoia even further, filling his short dreams with images of prisons and Stormtroopers.

In the morning, he woke up late for his lesson with Grogu. When he arrived at his room, the small child was so upset that Luke wouldn’t allow him to see his father again that he threw pillows and plates at him. Finally, Luke had to leave without even achieving a half-hour meditation.

Things didn’t improve after that. During their last training session, the Emperor had requested that he start attending meetings with Admirals and Generals to learn more about the Empire’s business. This was Luke’s nightmare; he didn’t think he could handle seeing firsthand what the government is doing to people everywhere without saying a word. 

Luke is no stranger to oppression. He remembers all too well how soldiers in white armor terrorized the streets of Tatooine; feigning ignorance about slavers like Jabba the Hutt, pressing on farmers and merchants for product dealings, and, of course, killing innocent people like Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. Even now, thinking about them opens a deep wound in him and stirs a thick fury that settles in his throat like a guest. What would they think of Luke if they could see him? It almost makes him glad they can’t. 

All this terror he has the power to stop, but doesn’t, and for what? The galaxy suffers daily, just for Luke to steal for himself some rare moments with his dad. 

If he thinks too much about this, he might throw up.

Palpatine is aware of his feelings. That’s why he appointed him for these meetings, of course. He wants to see Luke crumble, tossing his fake persona out the window so someone better can wear it. Luke won’t let him have it.

On his way to the first meeting, he has to calm himself, taking deep breaths, with each step he takes towards the boardroom, where several officials wait for him, including Admiral Grimes, who glances his way a little too often. He can tell she is unconvinced by the excuse Luke offered her last night for wandering a random corridor with his ´personal guard.´

He purposefully ignores her.

Gratefully, the meeting isn’t interesting at all. Nobody expects him to speak, since he has no information on the subjects discussed. Some generals address him directly when delivering their reports, staring at him with respect, and Luke nods professionally. It makes him think of Leia and how everyone in the Alliance admired her guts and resistance. She could command any room she walked into. Luke tries to channel her force now.

He pays close attention to find details that could serve the Rebellion, mostly out of curiosity and boredom, but nothing useful is mentioned. Grimes provides information about troopers and droid squadrons, as well as their roles within the station.

Last night’s drill on the Tech floor wasn’t brought up at all. This makes something tickle at the back of his head. Did Grimes fall for their deception, believing the alarms had only been a drill or error, and nothing to worry about? Or is there more to her silent obedience today?

What were the true consequences of Luke’s actions regarding Din Djarin and Grogu? How did Palpatine's knowledge of Luke's feelings come to influence his decisions regarding the meetings? What other hidden agendas might Admiral Grimes or other officials have within the Empire?

He’s paranoid. The Force serves your instincts when you are relaxed and in touch with your surroundings, and Luke is anything but calm. He needs to let go of suspicions and trust that things worked out for him. If they hadn’t, he would know.

Once he’s free of discussing the best type of helmet for soldiers' accessibility, he pulls his cloak tight around his shoulders and slowly walks away, just in case he senses anything out of place, but no luck.

If all meetings are like that, he can do it. Listening to old people talk about unimportant tasks is far from worrisome. Luke was afraid they would show him numbers of casualties and destroyed planets, or worse, make him make decisions about said planets. These things he can’t do. He realizes now that there are lines he won’t cross to keep his cover.

He tries to remind himself that the Force is guiding him at all times, showing him his path. At the right time, at the right place, always. He takes a deep breath.

The cafeteria is mostly empty when he arrives. The food is bad, and he doesn’t have any friends to eat with, but changing his routine every day can confuse anyone who might be keeping an eye on him on the Emperor’s behalf. He hopes this will be enough to shake them off. Luke’s trust in the Empire is stretching thin, and he’d rather not risk himself more than necessary.

Feeling like the Death Star itself, alone in deep space, he looks out the big window and rests his elbows on a table; his ribs are sore from last night's fight, and his throat offers some resistance when he swallows his food. Kriffing Din Djarin, did he have to punch him so hard?

Letting Djarin see Grogu was a mistake. He turned on Luke too easily. He bites his lip now, thinking of the trust he’d offered him. Luke gave him a perfect disguise to escape, and thought it’d be as simple as going in and out. It was foolish to let his guard down, choosing to believe in Djarin’s goodness. It only earned him bruises all over his body. 

He sighs and plays with his food. The gray and tasteless soup stares back at him, dull and uninviting. Good food is a luxury Luke lost many years ago, since the Rebellion doesn’t exactly offer feasts every day either. He wishes he could have a glass of blue milk with a spicy plate of Sketto Chuga, while Aunt Beru places a hand on his shoulder as she calls Uncle Owen down for lunch.

Leaving the untouched food on the table, he decides to go back to his meditations to free his mind of the past; Emperor Palpatine set a training session for him later, and Luke can’t afford to let him sense any of these feelings.

Training with Grogu today would’ve focused him, offering a relief from thinking and worrying. There are all sorts of feelings pooling in his mind, unresolved and disorganized. He needs a moment to connect with the Force to concentrate, forget about the past, and remember why he’s putting up with this situation– The Emperor, Admiral Grimes, Darth Vader, Grogu, and even Din Djarin.

He never got to find out if Djarin was going to kill him last night; he had dodged Luke’s questioning, letting his imagination run wild with possibilities.

Would he have let Luke unconscious on the floor for someone to find? It sounds like his style, but he gets the feeling there’s more to Djarin than meets the eye. Luke finds himself listing what he knows about him: name, status, opinions. He’s clearly not a friend of the Empire, but he’s far from an enemy. If he really is the Mand’alor, he supposes that could be a threat. Are Mandalorians ready to retake their cursed planet?

Most importantly, would they risk themselves to save their leader?

Vader should’ve killed him already, discarding the body where everyone could see it, so Djarin’s people don’t start a useless fight. Luke wonders why he hasn’t. What does Vader want with Din Djarin? If he were done with him, the Mandalorian would be dead by now. A sour feeling settles in his mouth at the thought. 

Luke can’t bring himself to believe the Darksaber is important enough for his father to keep Djarin here. And Mandalore doesn’t exist anymore; there’s no fear of upsetting its people or causing an uprising by killing one of their own. Keeping the leader alive inspires more hope than eliminating him.

The Darksaber has been hooked to Vader’s belt since he got it, but it was Luke who found it. Hidden in the cockpit of Djarin’s ship, its blade unignited but powerfully calling him. He'd felt its presence and Grogu’s in the Force as soon as he stepped into the hangar. 

A weapon like that gives his father authority and strength. Two things he already has enough of. No, something else drives him to torture and question Din Djarin.

The other Jedi.

As soon as he thinks about it, he knows it’s true. That’s the real prize Darth Vader is after. And Luke can’t allow him to get to it.

He turns around abruptly and jumps on an elevator, heading for his father’s office.

If he can put on an act for the Emperor, there’s no reason this should be any different.

—

Darth Vader’s quarters are cold. Luke’s only been here once before, and he’s tried to avoid coming back ever since. 

His father is standing in front of a large window, his hands folded behind his back. The stars cast an eerie light on his black helmet. Luke is never afraid of him, not since he knew the truth about Anakin Skywalker. He senses the conflict within him even now, and Luke is certain that part of him will rise, keeping his son safe when necessary.

“Father,” He inclines his head. “Can we talk? It’s about my mission for the Emperor.”

Better to start the conversation by mentioning Grogu; he doesn’t know how Vader feels about Din Djarin.

Still, Lord Vader doesn’t turn to face Luke. “You fear the task is too big for you.”

His ragged breathing is loud in the quiet room. Luke looks down at his hands. “I fear the kid is too old to learn. He’s… attached. The Force is strong with him, and I know he can grow stronger.”

“You must be strict with him, son.” He finally turns around, staring hard at Luke. “Attachments were the downfall of the Jedi.”

Luke frowns. “Yes, but isn’t that the point? It’s impossible to be rid of love and attachment. We’re not droids, we’re people. The Jedi of the past– well, I think they were looking at this all wrong.” He lifts his chin defiantly.

“Is that so?” Darth Vader’s voice is low, and if Luke were anyone else, he’d be trembling.

“I just think that caring for people isn’t a negative trait; it’s a motivator.”

Darth Vader walks around the room with control. Thinking about Luke’s words. He crosses his arms, looking at him. Luke holds his breath, expecting to find a new side of his father. They’ve never spoken so openly about the Jedi before. He wonders what Vader thinks of him. Does he see him as one of the last Jedi? Does he resent him for training with his own Master? 

“Anger is a motivator too.”

Luke deflates almost imperceptibly. The Dark Side pulls at their seams, waiting to see who will unravel first.

“Jedi are supposed to fight for peace, father.”

“Jedi aren’t supposed to fight at all,” Vader says. Luke freezes. “They got themselves into battle during the Clone Wars because they knew the power of violence. They were hypocrites; all they preached about was peace, and yet, they were leading the army. People viewed the Jedi as gods, but they were nothing more than prisoners of their own expectations. They wanted power, like everyone else. But they were cowards, too scared to find out about the Dark Side.”

His father’s deliberate wording of the Jedi, as though he hadn’t been one himself, annoys Luke, making his jaw clench.

“That’s not what I meant. Jedi met their downfall simply because they told themselves feelings can be controlled or avoided. You and I both know that’s not true,” He comes closer, standing next to Vader in front of the window. “What is power worth if the price for it is loneliness?” 

Their eyes shift to the stars outside. Millions of burning fires staring back at them in the dark room. Luke takes a deep breath and goes back to the topic of his student.

“Grogu is strong. But he is attached to his father. I came here to ask you to cease your work with the Mandalorian. The baby senses his pain and misses him deeply. He won’t cooperate unless his dad is safe.”

“The Mandalorian has information for me.” It’s very subtle, but Vader clenches one of his gloved hands, and Luke catches the movement just in time.

“Then trust me to get it for you. I can’t afford him getting hurt…” Luke presses his lips when he thinks of the day he found Djarin in a fever. “They come as a pair. If I am to train the kid for the Empire, then his father is my responsibility as well. What do you want me to do, Dad?” Luke's face softens, his eyes looking for Anakin. “You know what the Emperor will do if I don’t achieve this…”

Vader crosses his arms, defeated once more by his son.

Anakin Skywalker is there, fighting to be free. Summoning him is easier every day; Vader can’t hide his soft spot for Luke. This causes a soothing fire to blaze in Luke, too. He allows himself a small smile when his father relents.

“The bounty hunter is not important. He is worthless to us. But he knows about a Jedi who is still alive, and could be part of the Rebel Alliance,” He turns to Luke. “Find out where they are. I am certain our prisoner knows.”

Nodding, Luke asks. “What’s their name?”

Vader is quiet for so long that Luke thinks he didn’t hear the question, but then he says, “Ahsoka Tano. She was Kenobi’s Padawan during the Clone Wars.”

Luke’s face tightens, and he crosses his arms. Ben Kenobi: his and his father’s master. Ben kept an eye on Luke when Anakin couldn’t, and he taught him a lot about the Force. But he also lied to him about his family, and let Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru alone when stormtroopers went looking for them. 

He sighs. Let’s hope this Ahsoka Tano is better than her master.

“I won’t fail you, Father,” He hesitates but goes down on one knee before Vader, millions of stars shining on his face. “Thank you.”

A hand reaches out to his arm to guide him back up, staying there once he does. Luke dares his eyes to look up and stare into the dark mask.

“Luke, you’re my son. You… could never fail me,” Vader presses Luke’s arm softly. He feels his eyes sting, and blinks away a few times, nodding. “I’ll find your sister, I promise.”

This shocks Luke so deeply that he feels as though someone whipped him. His head snaps up, “W-what?”

“My offer still stands. We’ll overthrow the Emperor and rule the galaxy. You, me, and Leia, we’ll be a family.” There’s wishful thinking in his voice as he withdraws his hand from Luke’s arm.

He is so stunned by the turn of the conversation that all he can manage is a small nod. He can’t see Vader’s face, but he has a feeling he’s smiling, and that idea is more warming than he imagined it’d be. 

A family. They can be a family. It wouldn’t be easy to convince Leia, Luke knows that. But isn’t it wonderful to dream of a family?

For the first time in years, Luke thinks of his mother. He’s not confident enough to ask Vader about her, but his chest aches trying to imagine what she was like. Leia told him she died long ago, becoming nothing more than a ghost that haunts their lives. Maybe Luke looks like her. He smiles at the thought.

“Go,” Vader says as softly as he can manage with his respirator. “The Emperor must be waiting for you.”

As he walks out of the room, he stretches his mind to connect with the Force. There’s a new feeling in the room, something he’s never felt in here before. He’s glad to have his back turned when tears come rushing back to his eyes.

For the first time, Luke and Darth Vader share pieces of the same feeling: Hope.

—

The Emperor was expecting him when he arrived. Luke had no time in the day to clear his head, and the conversation he just had with his father is fresh and raw, making his heart beat faster.

Hands behind his back, he regards Emperor Palpatine, who sits on his throne. The immaculate hood partially covers the scarred face. Luke sometimes fantasizes about how he could’ve ended up looking like this. Against Jedi codes, he hopes it was painful.

The room is empty except for three inactive training droids. Luke is used to seeing them; they are the practice puppets Palpatine makes him fight against. 

“Young Skywalker, what is the report on the Force-sensitive child today?” He drawls.

“He’s powerful, Master,” Luke starts. “But I sense a lot of fear in him.”

“Good. Use that.” A creepy smile forms on his face, twisting his scars. Luke resists the urge to wince.

“Actually, I thought controlling his feelings would be a better solution,” He braces himself and continues. “I take full responsibility for his father, the Mandalorian warrior, to ensure the baby knows he’s safe and makes him feel relaxed. Otherwise, I don’t think he will ever cooperate with the Empire… Not even by force.”

He’s careful not to mention Djarin’s name. The bounty hunter trusts Luke, even if he can’t say the same about him. He’s not sure where the loyalty comes from, but there’s something about Djarin that keeps him awake at night with curiosity. He wants to learn more about him and his life, even after Djarin betrayed him.

The anger he expects from the Emperor never comes. Instead, he hums, thinking. “Yes… The Mandalorian could be useful to control the Child.”

That’s not how Luke meant it, but he allows Palpatine to create his own narrative in his head.

“I expect your work with him to improve, Luke.” His hands fall on the throne’s armrests. “Or else I will have to take care of this matter myself.”

“Yes, Master.”

“Have you had your first meeting with the generals yet?”

“My first one today.” He puts on a fake smile and tries to look excited. “I think it will increase my chances of helping the Empire. Thank you for the opportunity, Master.”

If Palpatine detects his feigned mood, he ignores it, nodding slightly. He lifts a hand to bring forward a training droid with the Force. “Let’s start, shall we?”

Luke trains for hours. The Emperor pushes him to his limits, but he never complains. He learned how this works long ago. It’s nothing like training with Master Kenobi, or even Master Yoda, who sometimes expected more of him. Palpatine is relentless and cunning; he finds Luke’s fears and resentments easily, pressing on them, constantly trying to get through him. If he shows any sign of exhaustion or contradiction, the Sith’s lightning powers are always ready.

On a good day, he can shut his voice out of his mind and focus solely on the Light Side of the Force. But today hasn’t been a good day. His adrenaline’s running high, his emotions twisting and pouring inside him.

He evades all the shots the droids fire, jumping and turning when needed. The green lightsaber hums in his hands, becoming a part of him and obeying every order Luke gives it. He thrives, achieving the tasks the Emperor sets. 

“Go faster,” Palpatine brings out five more droids, infesting the room with them. Shots come from all sides.

He takes a sharp breath, deflecting fire with his lightsaber. A shot nearly gets him, falling next to his foot. Teeth clenching, his resentment towards Palpatine grows. Vader is right, they could overthrow him together.

The conversation about his family resurfaces in his mind like a Krayt Dragon. It’s like rain coming down on him after years in the desert; heavy and restless. He can’t stop the feelings pounding in his ears, threatening to take control away from him.

“You’re angry…” He hears Palpatine say through a haze. “Use that!”

Luke is angry. And pretending otherwise won’t change that. He is angry at his masters who lied to him. He’s angry at Leia and Han for not coming back to him. He’s angry at his dad for severing his hand and torturing everyone he cares for. He’s angry at Emperor Palpatine for ruining his life and squashing the hope out of the galaxy. 

He’s angry at himself for not being good enough for anyone. Not a good Jedi, not a good Sith. Not a good friend or brother. Not even a good son. 

The feeling flows through him like nothing he’s ever experienced. Luke isn’t using the Force; the Force is using him. Time and space are nonexistent, and he doesn’t realize what he’s doing. His actions are not his own; they’re something bigger. And hungrier.

Fear makes its way back to Luke’s mind. What is he doing? He has no control. His vision blurs, and his arms only respond in frantic movements, as though he’s being hunted. Something cracked within Luke, leaving him alone in the dark with all this ugliness.

Slowly, he becomes conscious of his body again. Trembling limbs and a humming lightsaber in his artificial hand, he regains focus. 

The droids are destroyed, short-circuiting on the floor, and Palpatine is cackling behind him.

“Perfect, Luke! Perfect.” He looks like a child who just won a pod race. He finally gets up and comes close, gazing into his eyes, “How do you feel?”

“I-I’m alright.” His voice is hard. He turns off his lightsaber.

“Of course you are, boy. How do you feel ?” He repeats.

This time, Luke doesn’t think about it. “Unstoppable.”

Chapter Text

Din’s patience is wearing thin. For most of his life as a bounty hunter, he’s learned to be perseverant, taking his time to spot a target coming out of a bar or walking down the street, following criminals through dozens of planets, and travelling for many hours–even days– in hyperspace. It never bothered him; he knew his methods would pay off.

But he is tired of waiting.

The hours in the Death Star move slowly and quietly —although he’s thankful for the latter, since it means he’s out of trouble— and the confinement is wearing him out.

He gets up from the bed, determined to take action. 

Convinced there must be a way out of his cell, he runs his hands along the smooth walls, trying to find a vent or hidden compartment, anything that can help him. There are no controls or terminals from this side of the room, not even a droid could open it. He keeps looking for half an hour. The Empire must’ve made an error somewhere, he’s sure of it.

There is nothing. The room is sealed, impossible to leave. Defeat washes over him, his shoulders dropping. He knew it was a lost cause, but doing nothing all day made his heart tremble with guilt.

The bed at the end of the room is unmade, and it looks as useless as Din feels. The thin blanket touches the floor, hiding his helmet behind it. It’s early in the morning, and he doesn’t think anyone will come to see him, but it’s better not to risk someone like Darth Vader discovering that the Mandalorian is still in possession of it.

Fear has become bigger than honor. Inside the cell, he only puts the helmet on when he’s feeling particularly depressed.

He kneels, lifting the blanket, and picks up the silver helmet. A strong sense of shame fills his chest when he catches his reflection on the visor. He forces himself not to draw his eyes away. A sunken look stares back at him. 

Stars, he hasn’t seen himself in so long…

What a pale, sad man he has turned into. There are bags under his eyes from the lack of sleep. His skin is dry and cracked around the edges where the slack hair meets his face. His facial hair grew more than he’s ever allowed it to, forming an uneven beard.

He puts the helmet on, unable to stare at the colorless face any longer.

A soft hiss escapes from the mask, reminding him eerily of Vader with his mechanical breathing. What kind of man could there be under that darkness? Maybe the torture and malnutrition are supposed to make Din look like him.

Luke Skywalker gave Din this gift, sneaking into Din’s cell while Darth Vader tortured him. He doesn’t know how the Jedi had the helmet in the first place, and makes a mental note to ask him about it if he gets the chance.

Wearing Mandalorian armour is a sign of true honor, taking the culture everywhere you go. But, right now, Din is just glad he can hide himself under it, a chance offered to him all thanks to the Empire’s prince.

Kriffing Skywalker. The Mandalorian is growing tired of thinking about him.

Still kneeling on the floor, he sits over his stiff legs. He has nothing to do, so he gives the Jedi another tour around his head.

It’s obvious to him now that Skywalker isn’t going to let Vader kill him if he can stop it, and he doesn’t seem to relish in his pain, probably for the sake of Grogu, although clearly he doesn’t mind hurting him if he has to.

He won’t give him another reason to do so. His back still hurts from when the Jedi pushed him against the wall with his magic– the Force.

At that moment, Luke Skywalker had looked like a sculpture he could find on a royal planet, the blood dripping from his nose down his jaw and neck. How lucky Din is, really, to be able to say he fought against someone that powerful, even if he had lost.

Din is losing count of the number of times he could have gotten caught were it not for Skywalker’s help. If he hadn’t interfered, he wouldn’t have his helmet back; he would still be feverish and unable to walk from the torture, and he definitely would not have seen Grogu only a few nights ago. 

He thinks about his reunion with Grogu, alive and well. It didn’t look like Skywalker mistreated him or forced the kid to do anything he didn’t want to do; he even seemed to have learned more about his powers. 

That is the only true comfort he can find in his confinement; his son is well and training with a Jedi, just like they wanted. Din would tolerate a lifetime of torture to keep him safe —though, hopefully, that won’t be necessary.

Perhaps Grogu will save him, like he did with the mudhorn so long ago. With enough training, he could control his powers and find Din. They could work something out from there.

Of course, he would never ask that of the child. He knows how much energy it takes for Grogu to use the Force, and he wonders if that happens to every Jedi. Sighing, he gets up with a grunt and lies on the bed.

Even after Skywalker tried to heal him with his magic, Din still feels the aftershocks of the chemicals Vader induced in him. His limbs are weak and sometimes shaky, and he has headaches almost every day.

Rest will be good; he must save as much energy as possible. Hopefully, he’ll feel better after a nap…

—

When he wakes up, the blond Jedi is standing next to him. 

He blinks a few times, sure he must be dreaming. But then Skywalker smiles slightly and motions for him to stand up. 

“Come on, Djarin. You’re with me from now on.” There’s a tight darkness in his eyes that Din’s never seen before.

He sits on the bed, grateful he fell asleep wearing his helmet, and tilts his head to look at the Jedi. “With you? What does that mean?”

“It means I’m responsible for your behavior, so be a good boy,” Skywalker says. He sounds uncharacteristically serious, the usual youthful glint in his eyes going amiss.

Din swallows. Skywalker lowered his guard with him the last time they saw each other, and he won’t make the same mistake again. He keeps his gloved hand over his lightsaber as a reminder. 

He remembers, alright. The Mandalorian should never have dismissed the blond as harmless; he is dangerous and imperial. It matters not whether he was a rebel before; clearly, he’s not that person anymore.

Within these walls, Din is alone. And hopeless.

He gets up, obediently, and wonders where the Jedi will take him. Should he take off his helmet? As if reading his thoughts –once more– Skywalker addresses him,

“You can wear it anytime you want. No one will bother you for it… Not even Vader,” The seriousness drops ever so slightly. “He won’t be there, though.” 

Din is still processing this when the other man shows him a pair of handcuffs. “Stormtroopers gave me these for you. But I trust you won’t be stupid enough to try anything against me again, right?” He glances at the Mandalorian with a knowing look.

Din only nods, frustrated at how pliant he is being. But what else could he do? Skywalker tucks the handcuffs back on his belt.

“Where are we going?” Din dares ask him.

“Training.”

Din frowns deeply, confused, then remembers Skywalker can’t see his face. “What?”

Skywalker signals with his head for Din to follow, and only explains further once they’re out of the cell and deep down the hallway. Just like last time, no stormtrooper or officer says a word to the blond Master Jedi, and some people cower slightly at the sight of him. “Grogu refuses to train unless he gets to see you. So I’ve contracted a deal with him. And with my father.” 

Mouth agape, Din stares at the Jedi. Was he that persuasive? Din can’t begin to imagine how you convince someone like Darth Vader to give up on his personal desires. 

And Vader desires to catch Ahsoka Tano.

Even if he’s not sure why, Din swears to himself not to give the Empire any more information about her. She had been loyal to them and wanted to protect Grogu from the Empire as much as the Mandalorian. Maybe he shouldn’t have crossed the galaxy looking for her; Jedi attract the wrong sort of attention, he knows that now. But Din felt an odd sense of fondness towards the woman.

He’s glad she got the chance to run away, even when they didn’t. As they keep walking, his thoughts fall to his encounter with Ahsoka Tano.

Bo Katan Kryze sent him to find her, claiming they were old acquaintances and that she would help him on his quest. So Din set out to see her, hoping she could train the Child.

The planet seemed deserted at first, lifeless and burned away. Its trees were but branches, and the soil felt hard and ashen under his boots. But, upon a closer look, Din realized it was infested with imperial groups and people with enough ambition to be Darth Vader’s first hand if they wanted to.

He didn’t understand why someone with Ahsoka’s powers would end up here, instead of going into hiding on some long-forgotten planet on the Outer Rim. 

What could a Jedi possibly do in a place like this?

Scouting was the first thing to do. He rummaged through the town and cringed at every corner; the people here were scared and mistreated. No one would speak to Din, too afraid to do so. Stormtroopers patrolled the colorless streets and guarded prisoners (which Din was pretty sure were innocent civilians).

Once he was sure he wouldn’t find anything in the town, he spoke to the Magistrate. She owned a beautiful Beskar-made spear. Din stared at it hard, jaw clenched at seeing such a weapon in the hands of tyrants. The spear belonged to the Mandalorian people.

He could have it, the woman told him. All he had to do was capture the Jedi.

Was everybody looking for Ahsoka Tano?

Din set out to finally meet her, but not with any intentions of hunting her. He walked around the charred woods until he found her. When she saw him, Ahsoka forced him into a fight, but it quickly stopped when Din mentioned Bo-Katan.

“You came because of him.” She said, looking straight at the green baby.

“Yes. He has powers I can’t understand. I’m looking for a Jedi to train him.” 

Ashoka stared at the Child but didn’t offer to do much else. “I met someone like him. A Jedi Master named Yoda.”

“Did he train you?” Din tilted his head, hoping she’d know more about his species.

“No. My master was Anakin.” This didn’t mean anything to Din, but Ahsoka’s eyes grew dark at the mention of the name. He supposed her master must have died on the Jedi Purge.

Ahsoka and the Mandalorian spoke for a little longer. She explained to him how her and the kid’s powers worked—with the Force—although he didn’t grasp the whole thing. Concepts of spiritual senses that could run through you were difficult for him to believe in.

The togruta was kind and full of power. Din got on with her immediately, and so did the kid. Ahsoka assured him that she would speak more with the child in the morning to learn about his powers and abilities. The Magistrate was after her, and she was eager to liberate this planet from her domain.

The Mandalorian helped her. Despite his dislike for the Empire, he wasn’t a rebel. But he wasn’t indifferent to oppression either. A Jedi and a Mandalorian working together would be a surprise, giving them a good chance to free the town. 

Also, the reward of the Beskar spear was as good a motivator as any.

Taking down the Magistrate and her cronies was easy. If Din had any worries about Ahsoka facing her alone, they were tossed aside when he remembered her laser swords and how strong they pressed against his armour when they met.

They got their rewards. Din examined the spear with admiration. It shone and glistened against the soft sun. Ahsoka thanked him for the help and promised him she’d test the kid’s powers now that things were calmer.

Din was tucking away his new weapon when they saw it. An imperial cruiser was covering the gray sky, descending with ease on them.

The Magistrate had called for reinforcements.

Dread turned his stomach over. The ship blocked his escape route, and if he tried to fly the Razor Crest, they’d be onto him before he could lift from the ground. Din assumed they were there for the child, but Ahsoka was certain she was the one they were after.

“The Empire only likes the Force when they can control it,” She’d said, and then ordered: “Get the Child!”

It was supposed to be an easy escape. Stormtroopers were typically weak soldiers and easily taken down, if Din could sneak around unnoticed, they could be off the planet before the Empire was none the wiser. He offered to take Ahsoka with him and find somewhere else to train the kid. She refused, arguing that she had her own fight with the Empire, but it didn’t feel right to leave her there.

In hindsight, he wished he had jumped on the Razor Crest and left. He quickly saw that Ahsoka was more than capable of escaping on her own. As he helped her clear the way, he was astounded at the agility and finesse with which she took down each soldier with her white laser swords. 

Together, they passed two squadrons of troopers unharmed. Then Ahsoka told him she’d distract them and leave, urging him towards his ship. He didn’t need to be told twice.

He ran as fast as he could with the spear hanging on his back, his blaster held tightly in his hands. He was fast, but the Empire was faster.

At least a dozen troopers surrendered the Razor Crest. He shot two of them, but stopped immediately when his eyes focused on his kid being held by an officer in a dark gray uniform. 

“Mandalorian, I think the Emperor will be quite pleased to meet you.” He said.

That was the last time Din saw Ahsoka Tano.

— 

Grogu is already waiting for them when they arrive. Two stormtroopers are guarding him, so Din stays put; he doesn’t want to get any more injuries in this place. His muscles are still sore from his fight with Skywalker, not to mention the after-effects of that karking torture-droid.

The Jedi looks at the troopers and motions for them to leave. “You may return to your tasks now. I’ll comm you if I need anything.”

“Yes, sir.” They respond in unison and promptly abandon the room.

The moment they’re gone, Din rushes to Grogu. He holds him close to his chest, and the kid whines happily. It’s hard to believe they’re finally together again, even after seeing each other not so long ago, and Din lets out a relieved sigh.

He has no cuffs, nor does Grogu. They are in what appears to be a training room, full of weapons and no security except for Skywalker. It is the most perfect escape scenario Din has faced in the Death Star yet.

But he’s not stupid. He won’t make the same mistake twice; he’ll build up his patience until another opportunity shows up.

He puts Grogu back down and turns to face the blond. Skywalker is smiling ever so slightly; maybe he’s pleased Din gave up any intention to fight him on this.

“You can sit over there, Djarin,” He says, signaling a bench on the other side of the room, past some climbing walls. “And don’t try anything. If you even think about it, I shall know.”

Din rolls his eyes under the helmet and sits down. The Jedi lifts the kid and goes to the center of the room, closer to him. He feels a deep pang seeing Grogu with Skywalker. He hates to see the blond hold him like Din holds him. Speak to him like Din speaks to him. He even gives him the same smile Din gives him, which is the worst of all, because Din never lets Grogu see his smile, hidden under Beskar.

He takes a deep breath, trying to still his frustration.

“Okay, Grogu,” Skywalker says as they sit cross-legged facing each other. “I know you’re excited your dad’s here, but let’s keep our focus on the Force.”

Grogu lets out what sounds like a happy peep, closing his eyes and breathing in. Din has never seen him this calm (at least not while awake). The Jedi follows his lead, apparently used to this behaviour, and closes his eyes too, his hands on his knees. 

Din notices the blond is wearing only one glove and frowns. That’s the same hand that failed Skywalker when he tried to clean the blood off his face, before Din took over and finished the task for him. 

He didn’t think much of it then, but now it feels like something he shouldn’t have missed. Could this be from his accident with the Emperor? Is his hand burned or broken? He looks at it for a minute, as though he could see through the black glove. Nothing happens, not even a twitch. Maybe he’s healed. Maybe he has weird fashion taste.

“I can feel you thinking,” The Jedi tells Din suddenly, making him jump. “Stop it.”

“What are you doing anyway?” Din crosses his arms.

“Meditating.” 

He doesn’t offer more explanation, and the Mandalorian doesn’t ask. He huffs and tries to empty his mind for Grogu’s sake.

If Grogu finds this fun, he can’t tell. But, in Din’s opinion, the interesting part comes about an hour after starting their meditation. Skywalker seems satisfied with the kid’s work, and they move on to actually using their powers.

When the magic’s purpose isn’t to attack you, it’s an incredible thing to witness.

Skywalker teaches Grogu about levitation, making a little show for the child, lifting all kinds of objects around the room. He starts small, but grows bolder upon Grogu’s— and Din’s— undivided attention. 

A ball goes up in the air, then a chair, and then a dormat practice droid. Skywalker even levitates Grogu from his spot on the floor, which makes Din a little uneasy at first, but he quickly relaxes when the kid laughs. The Jedi turns Grogu slowly in the air, letting a smile grow on his face.

It’s a stunning display of powers. And he knows it’s only a fraction of what Luke Skywalker can do with this magic. Of all the Jedi Din’s met, he is the most hypnotizing. The way Skywalker’s hand goes up, the rise and fall of his chest, his deep blue eyes concentrating on his target…

Yeah, it’s definitely magical.

“How do you do that?” He knows the question won’t distract the Jedi. That’s probably impossible.

“Well, the Force is everywhere,” Skywalker starts, lowering Grogu back down and turning his back towards Din, while rummaging inside a trunk, searching for something. “It’s easier to manipulate it in a natural setting,” He pulls out a small ball. “You know, connecting with living things is straightforward.” He looks up, their eyes saying hello to each other. “It’s a pity Grogu won’t get to learn somewhere with greenery.” 

Spiteful comments run around Din’s head, tempting him to say them out loud, but he pushes them down. “Is it hard?”

“Not really.” He reveals the ball to the kid, letting it lie on his gloved hand, before levitating it towards Grogu. The kid catches it in his hands. “Good, Grogu. Now, can you return it to me?” 

The kid tries a few times, only managing it halfway. The ball starts moving in Skywalker's direction once, but it falls to the ground as soon as it leaves the clawed hand. Grogu’s ears turn down, discouraged, and his face turns to Din.

“It’s okay, kid. You’re doing great.”

Skywalker watches this exchange quietly, his face serious again. He takes the ball from Grogu and stares at Din. “Come here, Djarin.”

Din is struck. It takes him a second to move, unsure he heard right. But the blond’s posture is pretty obvious, motioning towards him with an extended arm. He gets up from the bench and stands next to Skywalker, facing the kid.

The Jedi takes his hand, placing the ball on it. For a moment, it feels like when Din took the handkerchief from Skywalker’s hand to clean his lips, their bodies pressing together. To this day, he doesn’t understand what made him do that. 

He looks away. Skywalker is standing right behind him, holding Din’s extended arm. The Mandalorian’s shoulders tense. Without his armor, his skin feels extremely close to the Jedi’s. He’s never touched someone without his armor, not since he was a kid. He thinks he might fade from such a vulnerable feeling.

Skywalker must sense his discomfort, because he takes a step back. “Ask him to take the ball.” His voice is gentle.

Din has to clear his throat before speaking. “Grogu, take the ball. Looks a lot like the one from our ship, huh?” This spikes the kid’s interest. “Yeah, come on, you can have it.”

Grogu extends his hand again, and, in a quick movement, the ball flies towards him. He looks at it with renewed interest.

“Good! That’s it, kid. That was great!” He moves closer to Grogu and then turns to the Jedi. “Did you see that?”

“Yes, I did.” He lets a hand rest on his face, massaging his jaw. “He’s very attached to you. Not that that’s anything new, of course.”

“Your point?” Din holds the kid close.

“Mm, not sure yet,” He mumbles, moving to stand next to them. He addresses Grogu. “I think that’s great for today. You’re a little tired,” He moves as if to take him, but then pulls back, second-guessing himself. “May I?”

Oh, how he wishes he could say no. He wishes he could punch that graceful face once more. Instead, he just nods, and Skywalker takes Grogu from his arms. Din feels naked.

“I’ll call the guards so they can take him back to his room.” 

“What? You’re not taking him?” Din frowns.

“No, we’re staying here a little longer,” He summons the stormtroopers over his comm. “I’m not done with you, Djarin.”

His heart skips a beat. What does that mean? Did Din misunderstand the Jedi’s intentions again? Was he just waiting for Grogu to leave so he could torture Din? His chest tightens at the thought of more senseless pain.

“Don’t worry,” Skywalker says, misreading the cause of Din’s tension. “I’ve pulled a little trick with the guards; they won’t do anything to Grogu.” 

Din nods absentmindedly while the blond goes to the door and entrusts the kid to the troopers. When he comes back, he moves back to the trunk where he found Grogu´s ball, and takes out—

He is stunned. In his hands, Skywalker is holding the Mandalorian’s Beskar spear. 

He tosses it to him. Din is grateful for his reflexes because he thought he was paralyzed from the shock. He catches it in his hands and examines it.

“What are you doing with this?” His voice is firm. “Does anyone use this? This weapon belongs to Mandalorians. You can’t have this.”

“I know,” Skywalker says calmly, walking to the center of the room, in front of Din. “No one uses it. I brought it here today. And I will take it back as soon as we’re done.” He reassures him.

“Done with what?”

“I told you. We’re training.”

The Mandalorian’s mouth is agape. He decides he will stop trying to understand Luke Skywalker, since it’s an impossible task. “So, what? You’re giving me a weapon? I thought you learned your lesson from the stormtrooper armor accident.”

“This is different. You’re a warrior; you need to stay in shape. And I do too. There aren’t people I can duel with here. It’s pretty boring,” He tosses his black robe aside, along with the handcuffs and weapon. “No lightsaber. You have the advantage.”

“And if I hurt you?” Unconsciously, Din positions his feet to start. He decides he needs the exercise and tells himself this will be a good challenge.

“You won’t.”

He huffs. “Arrogant scum.”

Skywalker’s eyes glint boyishly, readying himself. “I thought I was the Jedi who could read your mind.”

“You’re both.”

He laughs, completely letting go of any bitterness. “I told you, I can’t read minds. Especially not yours.”

They start sparring, slowly. Their movements are tentative, walking around in a circle, as though chasing each other. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s the Beskar,” Skywalker confides. Din tries his first strike, pushing the heavy spear towards the blond, who dodges it with ease. “It’s almost like it blocks out the Force. It’s harder to manipulate it around the material.” He jumps out of Din’s reach. “I can sense when you’re thinking, but… Well, I can never decipher what kind of emotions whatever you’re thinking about provokes.” 

This surprises and relaxes Din at the same time. He never could’ve guessed Beskar has this effect on Jedi. He’s satisfied to know Skywalker can’t, in fact, read his thoughts. 

Of course, all it would take to make Din vulnerable to him is to take off the helmet. He hopes Skywalker hasn’t run out of mercies yet.

The fighting is fun, but Din is out of practice. According to Skywalker, he hasn’t been training either, although his technique is flawless.

The speed at which he moves is unbelievable. He anticipates Din’s every move, jumping out of his way and using the Force gracefully, making Din stumble and pushing him softly out of range. It’s infuriating, and exciting. 

It’s only a matter of time before The Mandalorian realizes the best method to win is close combat. This, apparently, is Skywalker’s weak point, probably because he’s used to fighting with the lightsaber at a safe distance from his opponents.

They circle for a bit, taking their time. Skywalker takes the defensive, holding his arms up to cover his face and alternating the weight of his body back and forth in a soft rhythm. Din throws a blow at his head, but only hits his hand. He tries again, but the blond gets hold of the spear and pushes Din back. 

The Mandalorian adjusts his grip on the spear, positioning his feet right where they should be. This time, he goes low and manages to sweep Skywalker off his feet with the spear, earning a grunt out of the blond. 

“Yield.” He points the tip of the spear at his face.

He doesn’t. Instead, he kicks the spear out of Din’s hands. However, before he can stand up, Din pins him to the floor, straddling him with his legs. Skywalker extends his arm to his side, trying to grab the spear, but Din holds his wrist firmly; it’s the gloved hand. An urge takes over him, inciting him to take the glove off, but he doesn’t.

“Yield!” He repeats.

“Alright! Alright! I yield.” Skywalker stares up at him, his intense eyes piercing through his helmet.

How blue they are, even seeing them with the helmet on. The blond pants underneath Din’s body, and heat pools in his core and face. His free hand moves to the side of Skywalker’s head, supporting himself. Has the Jedi always looked so perfect?

Din is exhausted. All the injuries he’s sustained so far catch up with him. His muscles are screaming at him, his limbs trembling. He wants to take off his helmet and catch a breath. Instead, he just stares at Luke Skywalker a little longer. Such a powerful god, and yet here he lies. 

“Are you okay?” The Jedi asks, and he sounds almost worried.

Din is suddenly aware of the awkward position and lets go of the blond. He sits down next to him, panting slightly. “Yes. Just tired.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I know. It’s those fucking chemicals, from the droid.” He looks at the floor, hoping Skywalker won’t make him explain more.

“Here,” The Jedi kneels, coming closer and lifting a hand. Din’s expression is skeptical. “Do you trust me?”

Din doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to accept anything more from him. He wants to tell him to fuck off and leave him alone. But he’s tired, and the blond is sitting so close to him…

He nods.

Just like that fevered night, Skywalker doesn’t touch him. His hands hover over his chest as he closes his eyes. Din stares at him intently with apprehension, thinking of the warmth he felt the first time he was healed with magic. He wants to feel it again.

A frown forms between the Jedi’s eyebrows. Din bites his lip, waiting patiently, his lungs taking in as much air as they can. He wonders whether the Beskar makes it harder for Skywalker to use the Force on him. 

A minute passes, then two, and nothing happens.

Skywalker grunts, frustrated. He pulls his hands back and rubs the gloved one. “I-I’m sorry. I’m still getting the hang of it. Force-healing is… quite advanced.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, no. I know you’re in pain. I should be able to do something about it,” The last part he says mostly to himself. “I’ll try again.”

His hands move back to his chest, and they both take a deep breath. Din can feel his heart drumming in his ears, treacherously nervous. His limbs haven’t stopped trembling, and he feels a headache coming up, but there’s also something flowing beneath the surface.

“Anything?” The blond whispers.

“A little,” Din tells him.

Skywalker sighs, pulling away. “I-I don’t know why I can’t do it today.”

“Honestly, don’t worry about it.” Din extends his legs.

He catches Skywalker’s hand shaking, and the blond’s bitterness returns. “Fuck.” Barely a murmur. He tightens his fist.

“Is that a new injury?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He sighs, giving up.

The Jedi looks down with a sour expression, the tips of his gold hair falling over his eyes. Din stares at him in awe, intrigued by Skywalker’s life; his powers, his family, his intentions. A wrinkle forms at the sides of his eyes, giving him a stubborn appearance, and his shoulders drop. He seems so small. Is this the same person who just defeated him multiple times?

“Is it from the rebellion?” Din asks.

Skywalker snaps his head up at him, eyebrows going up.

“Come on,” He says. “I know who you are: the great rebel who destroyed the first Death Star. I didn’t remember your name at first, and I didn’t know your face, but it’s you, isn’t it?”

The Jedi looks embarrassed. “Yeah, it is.”

Silence fills the room, their thoughts loud enough inside their heads. Din remembers Ahsoka, remembers how powerful they had been together, and wishes he could have that with Skywalker. 

“Don’t you miss it? The Alliance?”

“No, my purpose is here.” The blond says, toneless.

“Why do you keep lying so much? It’s not like I’m going to leave this room and make a silly holonet novel about you.” Din tilts his head.

Skywalker rolls his eyes, “And why would I spill my guts to you?”

“Have you got anyone else?” Din states simply.

The other man is taken aback, stunned by the Mandalorian’s bluntness. For a moment, Din thinks he will become angry, but a deep sadness settles in his eyes instead, and his lower lip quivers imperceptibly. 

“So, what happened to your hand?” He asks quietly, his interest arising once more.

“I lost it,” Skywalker sighs. Din is stunned; none of the scenarios he created in his head covered a truth like this. “Years ago, fighting for the rebellion. The prosthetic sucks sometimes. It gives me trouble, that’s all.”

Din gets the sense there’s more to the story, but says nothing. At last, the mystery is solved. And he is not satisfied at all. All he wants now is to keep Skywalker in his imagination, stopping him from becoming too real, too human.

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be. It’s just a reminder of what the Dark Side brings out in people.” His eyes are lost on a spot on the floor.

Din frowns, trying to understand what he means. “Well, it’s okay if you’re upset about it. Angry, even.”

“Jedi don’t get angry.”

The Mandalorian throws him an incredulous look, and he smiles timidly.

“Fine. Jedi shouldn’t get angry.”

“But you do. You’re human, Skywalker. Not a machine.” Din crosses his arms.

The Jedi hums reflexively. Then, he seems to remember something and crawls over to grab his cloak, which lay forgotten on the other side of the room. He takes out three rations bars and offers them to Din. “Here, these will give you some strength. The taste isn’t the best, but they contain the right nutrients.”

Din looks up and reaches tentatively, accepting the bars. “You don’t have–”

“I told you, you’re my responsibility from now on. I’ll make sure your meals improve. I can’t let my warrior starve, can I? Beating you is too easy when you’re in this condition.” He jokes.

A small smile forms on Din’s face. He finally realizes why Ahsoka stayed on that awful planet for so long, and why Skywalker helps him time and time again. The Jedi can’t run away from who they are; their hearts beat too near compassion. 

Luke Skywalker will always be there to save people. Even when his robes are dark and his pupils furious, he can’t help it.

The light inside this Jedi flickers bright enough for Din to feel the warm fire, too. 

“Thank you, Luke,” Din tells him sincerely.

Skywalker– Luke–only nods, his cheeks pink. “Same time tomorrow?”

Chapter Text

Grogu’s performance improved considerably after the Mandalorian joined their training sessions. He is focused and easily understands the concepts of the Force. Every day, he waits for Luke and Din to arrive with palpable excitement.

Luke is proud of himself for allowing his instincts to guide him, following the Force’s messages. 

Messages that tell him Din Djarin is crucial to his life, though he is yet unsure as to why. 

There are moments of clarity in his mind, when he knows exactly what he ought to do, like how obvious it felt to him that using Grogu’s attachment to his father would make the child stronger in the Force, more determined. But something else compels Luke to Din, an interest and curiosity he can’t quite tame.

Being with him is peaceful. Even when they fight or bicker. The Force is calm around Din, maybe due to the Beskar helmet, and it soothes Luke’s heart. Similar to the desert, Din is dangerous when provoked, but warming when relaxed.

Luke is starting to trust him. It’s still hard to imagine exposing too much information about himself, wary of betrayal and fake sympathies, but he often lowers his guard after training.

After all, the Mandalorian was right; he has no friends left. And this is probably the closest he can get to having one again. It’s nice to pretend.

He hasn’t forgotten about Ahsoka Tano. He just needs more time to get Djarin to confide in him.

“You need to do better than that, Jetii,” Din tells him after Luke’s fist flies past and misses his shoulder.

“I’d take you down in a second if I had my lightsaber, Mandalorian.” He responds, biting down a smile.

“Bring it on.” 

They’ve been training for about an hour, their muscles hot and flexible. Grogu left with the Stormtroopers after Luke decided he had finally mastered all the levitation tests he set for him. Thinking of the kid’s progress puts a smile on his face; Luke never thought teaching would be so oddly fulfilling. 

He looks at Djarin, still in a fighting position. Luke hasn’t used his lightsaber since the last session he had with the Emperor.

He had tapped into the Dark Side then, giving in to his anger. It’s scary to remember how invisible the feeling was, how time seemed to stop, and his mind shut off, how he can’t remember, even now, what he did during those senseless minutes.

Turning to the Dark Side isn’t something that happens overnight. It’s like a disease, corroding your bones bit by bit, day by day, until one morning you find that you cannot stand up and pain is all there is. What if he is already infected? What if something dark is growing within him, chewing and savoring, when Luke meditates, or when he brushes his teeth? Normal duties, covering abnormal schemes.

What if his dreams are tinged with a dark veil and he can’t spot it?

It’s been two weeks, and he hasn’t touched the weapon again. To his surprise, Palpatine hasn’t summoned him again, and he is too glad about it to wonder why. Time with his father has shortened, too. Darth Vader is usually busy, shutting Luke down and locking himself in his office or the Emperor’s for hours.

It’s been a quiet fortnight, ruled by the bubble he creates every afternoon with his student and the Mandalorian.

After so long, he’s finally found a refuge in the Death Star, a place where he can have fun and let go of the Imperial persona he so carefully constructed for outsiders. Here, he can be himself again. He clings to these moments as if his life depended on it.

His weapon sits innocently on a small table. When was the last time he used the lightsaber against another human? He barely remembers… 

The Mandalorian is staring at him expectantly, noticing Luke’s consideration.

Nothing bad has ever happened in this place. The training room has become a home for the ritual that Din, Grogu, and Luke carefully crafted for themselves. This is nothing like training with Palpatine; there are no negative comments directed his way in here, only encouragement and youthful playfulness. 

The Dark Side can’t reach him. Not here. Luke is safe here.

He extends his hand and reaches out through the Force; the lightsaber flies to his gloved hand. A thrill runs down his spine. “Let’s see what you’ve got, Djarin.”

Training with Din is exhilarating. He grows stronger each day, coming back to the armored warrior Luke remembers from the night they met. After their first training session, Luke spoke with the officer in charge of prisoners to ensure the Mandalorian received proper meals twice a day, despite his displeasure.

Now, Din’s shoulders are broader, his hands firm and rough with the gloves he wears. He’s starting to find weak spots in Luke’s fighting, easily kicking and elbowing him constantly. They never hurt each other, although some blows cause them bruises that make them wince for the next few days.

He hasn’t tried Force-healing again. It didn’t work the last time he tried it on Din, and he never managed to make it work on himself. But it’s alright; sometimes Din needs a second longer to breathe, and there are days when his headaches are stronger than usual, but he’s naturally healing, and he’ll feel perfect in a few weeks.

Luke knows, for this same thing happened to Leia. 

Since mastering the Force, he has met no opponent that presented a challenge in combat like this –except for Darth Vader and the Emperor.

Djarin is brutal, especially in a hand-to-hand fight, and has no trouble grabbing Luke and immobilizing him, given that he’s much bigger than the Jedi.

Din’s advantage is over. It was fun to be equals, but he stands no chance against Luke’s lightsaber skills. 

Beskar is an incredible material. The Jedi’s green blade crashes viciously with Din’s spear, forcing them to press against each other's weapons a few times. Luke steps back, the humming vibrating through his body. He feels electric, a smile extending on his face. He gets the sense that the bounty hunter is smiling, too.

Jumping high over Din, he lands behind him and throws a kick at his back. He hisses and stumbles but doesn’t fall. He turns around quickly, raising his weapon. Luke ejects it from his grip with the Force.

“Karking– no Force if you have the saber!” He says, gritting his teeth.

“Having trouble, Mand’alor?” Luke laughs.

Din extends his leg forcefully, sweeping Luke’s legs and tripping him to the floor. Shit, he keeps forgetting to lock his stance.

“I don’t know. Are you, Prince Luke?” He takes the chance to pick the spear back up.

“It’s 'Master' to you.” The Jedi rolls his eyes, getting up. Their blades meet once more, and Luke sees his own sweaty face reflected on Din’s visor.

“I’m not one of your students.” He pushes forward, causing Luke to take some steps back. Suddenly, his back is pressed to the wall, his lightsaber closer and closer to his face by the second.

It would be so easy to die. If Djarin really wanted to, he could kill Luke now. It would only take more strength. Of course, if Luke were using the Force, he would get out of this easily. But even a small accident could be fatal, like his prosthetic failing and loosening his grip on the hilt, making the saber cut his throat.

Somehow, he knows no such thing will happen. The artificial hand has been working well after he added new connections to it. Besides, he reminds himself, he is safe here; he feels it in the Force. It’s all just fun and games.

Luke grins and scrunches his face, “Sorry, this is gonna hurt.”

“Wha-” He doesn’t finish. Luke bends his knee and hits him in the crotch (not too hard), getting out of the tight spot.

He points the lightsaber at Din’s face. “Yield.”

“D-dank Farrik!” The Mandalorian says, his voice tight, as he bends down. “I thought Jedi had some honor. That was low, Skywalker.”

Luke deactivates the lightsaber, tucking it on his belt, and offers Din a hand. “You said no Force.” He says, faking innocence.

Din takes his hand and straightens up. He pulls him firmly to him, staring into his eyes. “Fuck you.”

Luke grins widely.

—

Imperial meetings happen once a week. Admiral Grimes is usually in charge of them, displaying holographic images and issuing orders. She is assertive, resolute in her decisions, and trusting in her soldiers; nothing seems to slip past her. Her blonde hair is always tied in a simple, long ponytail, not one lock out of place. Luke’s never seen her in civilian clothing; her gray uniform looks perfect every day, matching her confident voice when it booms across the meeting room.

She reminds Luke so much of Leia that sometimes he can’t quite bring himself to look her in the eye. He reaches towards the Force to focus his attention on Grimes any time she speaks; otherwise, his thoughts spiral into his sister.

What must Leia be doing now? He remembers her perfect hairdos that would take hours, the regal appearance she unchangingly maintained. He remembers how she only ever drank hot caf in the mornings, and revised strategies after lunch. Or how her eyes drifted towards Han when she thought no one was looking, but Luke always seemed to catch it, touched by this effortless longing. Han never noticed, always thinking so much about himself that he forgot to lift his gaze from time to time. But he thought about her, Luke knew. He worried when they were out on missions or when Leia ventured to new planets by herself. He personally cleaned her blaster and helped her get off the space platforms by holding her hand. 

They gravitated towards each other constantly, even if they were both too proud to admit it. And Luke was glad he could witness it. As a Jedi, it’s endearing to see what love looks like. Especially since you can’t have it for yourself.

For the new Jedi order, he’ll make sure not to disapprove of attachments, but something tells him he’ll never have that kind of love. His mission is more important, and relationships take too much time anyway; time he doesn’t have the luxury to waste.

It’s as though his life is a constant, distorted echo of who he used to be: Admiral Grimes, sounding just like Leia, these meetings sounding like rebellion meetings, his training sessions sounding like his previous masters—an endless cycle of nostalgia.

He comes back to reality, staring at the hologram of a droid displayed in the middle of the dark room for everyone to see.

“A shuttle from Courascant will be delivered tomorrow with fifth-class droids,” Admiral Grimes is saying. “The Death Star’s population is growing every day, so refilling the staff is crucial to ensure proper functioning. Service droids such as the GNK-series will be stationed on the higher levels, assisting any admiral or general we see fit with daily administrative tasks.”

A general murmur of agreement goes through the board. Luke stares, picks up the datapad in front of him, and peruses the droid’s report. It’s a basic design, nothing too complicated, and it’s a very common droid on planets like Tatooine. A bunch of them used to run around—well, not run, since they were heavy— Toche station, and they weren’t of much help.

It doesn’t feel like the right choice for an Imperial outpost. “Are you sure about this?” He says, looking up at the Admiral.

She’s startled for a second, taken by surprise, but she quickly recovers, her neutral expression returning to her face. “Yes. Is there anything you’d like to add, Master Skywalker?” Grimes asks him.

All other faces go slack with surprise; Luke has never given his opinion on any of the meeting's subjects before.

“It’s just that–” He taps the datapad, changing the previous image with a new one of a small droid with a long neck and a round belly. “I sense third-class droids would be a better fit for these sorts of tasks. They are service-oriented droids, after all. And they’re smarter than the ones from fifth class. You could look into the LEP-series.”

Her brown eyes pierce him, but Luke doesn’t back down. Everyone else is silent. Through the Force, he senses a general wringing his hands under the table. It’s alright, let them cower, Luke thinks. He is a Jedi. He is Vader’s right hand. And, most importantly, he knows this. He didn’t spend his adolescence toying around with droids for nothing. Now, he trusts his instincts more than anything.

Finally, Admiral Grimes relents.

“I shall make a note of it,” She says, putting a tight smile on her face. “Thank you for the input, Master.” 

He nods, accepting the place she gives him. Something tugs at his heart when he meets her hard eyes, so much like Leia’s. He ignores it.

She addresses the whole room again. “That’s all for today. I expect you all to know your duties and carry them out. If you have any questions, come see me. If not, I’ll see you next week. Long live the Empire.” 

Everyone starts getting up, picking up their datapads and papers. Luke is making his way out when Admiral Grimes calls back to him. “Master Skywalker, may I have a word?”

He winces, his back to her. He takes a deep breath, assuring himself he did nothing wrong, and turns around. “Of course, Admiral.” He stands in front of her.

They are alone in the boardroom, and Luke feels more in control than before. He knows he could pull rank on Grimes if he needed to, like he did the night of the drill. But he hopes it won’t get to that.

“I want to thank you again for your observation,” She starts. Luke is startled; he expected a reprimand, not an apology, but he hides his reaction well. “I should’ve realized third-class droids are a better fit for these tasks. I spend my days analysing droids, but I admit I don’t spend that much time with them personally. I’m sure productivity will increase with your suggestion.”

Luke smiles genuinely. This is a version of the Admiral he’s never seen before, and it’s a lot more amicable than the one he knows. 

“It’s nothing. I’m the other way around, actually. I spent more time with droids than people, growing up. They can be good company.” 

A soft laugh escapes her, and it sounds just like a laugh Luke remembers well. There it is again; the echo. He realizes with a start that Grimes is very young, probably around Luke’s age. How did she end up in a place like this? Something softens in him.

“I’m not sure about that.” 

“Really! You should meet an R2 unit, they’re the most loyal droid out there.”

“I’m not a pilot.” She says, organizing papers on the table and shaking her head, amused.

“Oh, that’s alright. I’m sure there are plenty down at the maintenance floor, bored and waiting for a friend.” He supports his weight against the wall, grinning.

“Well, now that you mention it…” Admiral Grimes’s head turns to him. “There is a protocol droid we’ve had trouble with. The circuits are all wrong; apparently, there’s no hope for her. She assisted me for a while, and I’d hate to let her go… Do you think maybe there’s something you could do? With the Force, perhaps?”

He thinks about it for a moment. The Force wouldn’t help him much, but the circuits and electrical connections of protocol droids are surprisingly similar to the ones from his prosthetic. Besides, he has experience fixing C3PO anytime he needed it. It can’t hurt to take a look.

“Let’s check it out.”

As it turns out, the droid really was a mess. On the outside, it looked perfectly fine; shiny and conditioned. But once Luke aided Grimes to see the insides, he didn’t know where to start.

Some cables were burned, others were mixed with the wrong connectors and terminals. It was hard to determine where things were and where they belonged. He eventually did use the Force, guiding his decisions, separating right and left. The activity soothes him; he can almost imagine he’s on Hoth, working on his gold protocol droid.

Admiral Grimes sits on a chair on the other side of the machine, holding its arms while Luke works. The platform was buzzing with workers when they arrived, dozens of mechanics carrying devices of all kinds. Grimes spoke with a red-headed woman who was in charge, asking to see the abandoned protocol droid. She moved quickly when she spotted Luke, who never came down here, and showed them to a quiet workshop area.

Admiral Grimes thanked her and closed the door behind her, moving towards the droid and Luke. He felt an odd sense of giddiness at this new aspect of the admiral. Ever since his arrival at the Death Star, people regarded him either with fear or disgust. There goes the former rebel, they seemed to think, so unpredictable. Some believed he was a spy, and they wondered how the Emperor could be so stupid as to be lied to under his own command. Others assumed he must really have turned to the Empire’s side, for why else would Palpatine trust him?

No matter what they thought, each person cowered at the sight of him. No one spoke to Luke more than necessary. No one sat next to him at lunches or meetings. No one intervened at his orders. No one stared at his eyes –or face, even. He wasn’t Luke anymore. He was a deity, standing on an altar where power became fear.

Then there was Admiral Grimes. From the very first moment, she saw right through him. She’s not scared to stand up to him or get closer. She taps into the boyish, inexperienced parts of him. And Luke gets the feeling he can do the same with her. Like a kindred spirit, lost in space. He bites his lip, stopping the hope that rises inside him to escape from his mouth. Maybe, after all this time, he’s made a friend.

“So, what happened to her?” Luke points to the droid with his head.

“Cadets,” She sighs. “It was my fault, really. I sent her to supervise some trainees’ first session with blasters, and she ended up caught in the middle of fire.”

Luke chuckles. “They’re really not made for action, these.”

“Not at all,” Her lips purse. “How do you know so much about them?”

He hums, not wanting to share more than he should. “I worked at a workshop before.” He says shortly.

She nods respectfully. She’s not clueless, of course. Most people in the Death Star knew Luke had been a rebel.

“Was that before you learned about the Force?” She whispers like she’s sharing a secret.

Luke lifts his eyes to meet hers, finding a certain fascination there. She doesn’t seem to notice it, like she can’t help it. “Yeah, much earlier.”

“Did you notice you could manipulate the Force as a child?”

Her voice sounds almost mystical. He realizes this is what normal people wonder about Jedi. It must sound silly to most; a force that controls everything and its vessels in the universe. Jedi are lost and dead to the galaxy. Yoda said it himself; Luke is the last Jedi. And because of this, he must pass on what he has learned. He understands why the Force is such a mysterious and almost taboo topic for others.

“Well, not really. Maybe I could sense things in advance, like the weather. But it was messy, and I knew nothing about it.” He connects a yellow wire to the right port. “The Force is everywhere, you see. And if you don’t control it, it can be overwhelming.”

She nods, attentive. She’s even a better student than Grogu, he bites back a smile. 

“Could it be dangerous? If you don’t control it?”

“Mmm,” He thinks about this. Sure, it’s easy to lose control. But he doesn’t think it’s the Force you lose control of, exactly, but yourself. Once you learn how to focus on the energy that surrounds you, losing sight of it is impossible.

That’s the thing about the Force; all your life you stumble around in a dark room, trying to find the switch, and when you do, and the lights turn on, there’s no turning them back off.

But it is dangerous when the light isn’t enough. When you want to see more, feel more. And so you create your own fake light, only to realize it is not light at all, but darkness. And it’s all within yourself.

“No, you can’t lose control of it,” He tells her. “Some people get greedy, though. Their desire for power grows, and that’s dangerous.”

“I understand that.” She says.

“You do?” 

“I mean, wanting power isn’t a trait reserved for Jedi. It’s for humans. We all fall for it at some point, don’t we?” She tilts her head.

This is something Luke’s never thought about. Didn’t everyone want power? Jabba the Hutt had too much on his hands. Boba Fett surely wished for more. Lando had power in Cloud City. Even Han and Leia want power to defeat the Empire and rule the galaxy.

But Jedi were so simple; they were above vulgar temptations such as power and money. Like Ben and Yoda, who had nothing but knew everything. Maybe that’s why it’s harder for Jedi to rid themselves of these thoughts. If you can do anything, why wouldn’t you?

Does Luke want power? He wants to reform the Jedi Order. He wants to save his father and destroy the Emperor. He wants a family. He wants to be a good Jedi. He’s starting to think that having power might be the only path towards this life.

He looks directly at Grimes. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”

They work quietly after that. Admiral Grimes’s company is more comfortable than he expected. She watches his work but doesn’t disrupt. It takes Luke another hour, but he finally manages to put the protocol droid back together. 

“There,” He says. They bring the droid to a standing position, and Luke turns it on with a wave of his hand. “Hello.”

The droid’s eyes twinkle twice before they turn yellow, lifting its head slowly. It takes a turn to look at both of them, and she puts her hands up when she sees Grimes.

“Master Grimes! I am so very pleased to see you. I believe the new cadets could use more training, if I may say so…” She registers Luke again. “Hello, I am H9-S3.”

Luke smiles. “I’m Luke Skywalker.”

“Oh! Yes, of course, sir, of course. It is an honour to meet you.” Even for a droid, she sounds flustered. 

“Master Skywalker is the only one who managed to fix your circuits, H9.” She says with her hands folded one over the other. “You should thank him.”

“Most definitely! Thank you, Master Skywalker. Oh! For the Maker, you did an excellent job. I feel better than ever.”

Waving a hand, he says. “It’s nothing. I’m glad I could help.”

“Since you’re feeling so great,” Grimes steps up. “You can go back to work, I think.”

“Yes, Master.” The droid nods enthusiastically and is ushered away by Admiral Grimes.

She looks back at Luke before leaving the room, a glint in her eye. “Thank you, Master.”

Luke smiles at her, “See you next week, Admiral.”

She nods goodbye and walks out with her newly repaired droid. Luke tries not to think about the amount of help he offered to the Empire today.

— 

He lies on his bed late at night, staring at the ceiling. It’s been a long day, with not nearly as much meditation as he’d like. His mind’s eye is full of passing images, collecting feelings, and creating memories.  

Muscles sore from hunching over H9-S3 and his legs bruised from Din Djarin’s effusive kicks, he breathes deeply in and out.

His mind wanders to Din, to Din’s fighting style, searching for weaknesses and advantageous points. They´re not hard to find, since he doesn’t have his Beskar armor, but he’s restless with his movements, which makes it difficult to throw a successful punch at him without the Force.

He wonders what battling Din with the Darksaber would be like. A full-powered Mandalorian would be a challenge worthy of Darth Vader. He imagines walking around the training room, Luke’s green saber crashing with the black blade, while he jumps away to avoid getting hit.

Their training sessions are becoming more intense. He remembers the force with which he pulled him forward right at the end, their chests colliding. 

It’s not the first time they get like that, playful and physical. Whenever the opportunity comes up, they tumble to the floor, hands holding arms or shoulders. Luke’s breath quickens when he remembers the heavy body on top of him, almost resting against him.

What color are his eyes? He wonders every time he finds himself close to that silver helmet. What color is his hair? Are his cheeks as rosy as the inside of his hands? (which Luke’s only seen once, since the gloves never come off either). Is his voice soft and thick? Or firm and commanding?

He closes his eyes, head filled with flashes of  Din’s back pressing against his chest, of Din’s arm wrapping around his waist before throwing him away, of the grunts that come out of him every time Luke pushes him towards the wall.

His left hand travels down his chest and stomach. He bites his lip, a moment of hesitation and shame creeping into his head. Finally, he pushes under his pants, agitated, and finds that he is hard.

He feels warm as heat blazes inside him. Force, he hasn’t felt like this in a long time. Heat pools in his core. Wrapping his hand around himself, he lets out a relieved sigh and moves slowly up and down. 

The tension he feels next to the Mandalorian gets him like this. The tall man whose feelings he can’t make out, whose face he can’t see. It’s all the mystery and intrigue. The bickering and scoffing. 

Picking up his movements, he moans softly and bites his gloved hand, afraid to make any loud noise.

He is fully hard now, the fantasies and memories filling his mind. Force, when was the last time he felt like this? It's been so long.

So long since he’s wanted to lie with someone. So long since he couldn’t get someone out of his head. So long since he ached like this, his back arching, desperate for release. So long…

And then he remembers. Han.

Immediately, he stops. He pants, drawing his hand away. The last time he behaved like such a hormonal teenager had been when he first met Han.

Oh, what a smug man he was. Luke started to understand many things about himself when they became friends. To him, Han Solo looked like the coolest person alive, with his tight pants and exposed chest. Luke stared at him in awe as he piloted all the way to Alderaan. Of course, he hadn’t met many attractive people back then.

But that was the feeling. That feeling he couldn’t place whenever Biggs hugged him when they were kids; that feeling that made him stare at brunet, tall men for a second too long; that feeling that gave Luke a bolt of energy when Han spoke to him, staring directly into his eyes.

It was attraction. 

The teenage crush he had on Han lasted about two days, until he got to know him better. Sure, he was really hot and still cool. But a bit too cocky for Luke’s liking. 

Now, thinking of Han gives him no thrill at all. Especially when he remembers he is light-years away, and they’re not even friends anymore, because Luke abandoned him and the rest of his friends to fend for themselves.

He sighs, fixing his pants. His cheeks grow warm with shame, and he feels the urge to hide under the covers.

What was he thinking? He’s a Jedi. Not a clueless boy from Tatooine. He knows better than to give in to desires like this, giving in to temptation. Wasn’t it just mere hours ago when he thought of the simple lives of Jedi? There’s none of this. Jedi are above bodily cravings. They don’t need them.

Attraction leads to jealousy and obsession. The Dark Side looms close, waiting for him to fall, and he can’t let it win over his life.  

He buries the feeling, giving it a resting place right next to the tomb of anger and sadness. He must focus only on his student and Darth Vader– Anakin. The sooner he gets him back, the sooner all this will be over.

He turns in the bed and closes his eyes, casting the darkness away for at least a few hours.