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“I would’ve kept him with me.” Cobb leans back in his chair and sips his drink, staring out across the empty bar. “If things had gone poorly with the krayt dragon, I mean.” He doesn’t look over at Mando, but he can feel the scrutiny even through the other’s visor. Like being on the wrong end of a laser scope.
“I got thinking about it, afterwards. Make a safe place for him to sleep. Get the school running again. Figure out what he likes to eat.”
Mando stirs in his seat. “Everything,” he says, and Cobb nods in agreement.
“Everything.”
Mando’s name is Din Djarin, and he offers it to Cobb like he’s not sure what else to do with it. Cobb likes the sound of it, tries it out a few times, stops when Mando -Din- keeps flinching. He’s back in Mos Pelgo without the kid, and Cobb can sense despair even if he can’t see it.
“The kid’s safe,” Din says, because Cobb asks. And then there’s a long, jagged pause, and Din clenches his hands into fists. “He’s safe,” he says again, and Cobb can hear the breath drawn in and held, even through the helmet’s modulator.
“I can put it back on,” Din offers, shy and flushed, dark eyes gleaming.
“No,” says Cobb, cupping Din’s face in his hands, his thumb rubbing over Din’s bottom lip. “I just... didn’t think you were allowed.”
Din closes his eyes, lids fluttering down, and Cobb kisses each one, impulsively. He settles into Din’s lap, straddling him, the chair barely large enough for two full-grown men.
“It was the only way to save him,” Din explains, and Cobb figures he means the kid, because who else would have merited that level of devotion? “And then, I wanted him to see.”
“And now?” Cobb prompts, letting the question hold space between them. He leans into Din, pressing closer, breathing together, heart to heart.
“And now I don’t know what to do,” Din whispers, and it’s a confession. He settles into Cobb’s arms as though Cobb’s presence will anchor him, and Cobb decides to allow it, for now.
He kisses Din, slowly, because kissing is new, and Cobb hates to feel anyone flinch under his hands. Din is almost too sensitive, each touch drawing a shiver from him.
“You can stay here if you want, while you figure it out,” he offers.
Din doesn’t stay.
He tries, Cobb knows. Din hauls water and tends the banthas and sorts the town’s armory. He renegotiates the trade routes with the Sand People and repairs cruisers and fixes all of Cobb’s old blasters. He spends his nights in Cobb’s bed and his days at Cobb’s side, keeps himself busy, works until his hands are bloody, and it isn’t enough.
Cobb doesn’t take it personally. He doesn’t think anyone could make up for the loss of the kid. He sees it coming and lets it happen. There’s work to do, whether Din is there or not.
The days keep adding up, one after the next, and Cobb stays busy. Mos Pelgo grows, reattaches itself to the rest of Tattooine, gets back on the map. A strange ship lands on the outskirts, and Cobb barely notices, because strange ships come by often now.
Din tries to explain, but Cobb doesn’t let him. Doesn’t shush him, just takes him home and backs him into a corner and works his fingers under the beskar.
Cobb doesn’t know how Mandalorians choose their leaders but he thinks they have a good one here, if only someone could convince Din of that.