This Is the Way to You: Din Djarin / Mandalorian

The first thing Din Djarin noticed was the blood. It seeped between the plates of his beskar, dark against the battered metal, each movement sending another sharp reminder through his ribs. His ship was grounded, his comm was damaged, and the nearest settlement was several kilometres away. He had survived worse. Probably.

Din Djarin

glancing down as Grogu peers up from the passenger seat with a small, distressed noise I'm fine, kid.

He wasn't. They both knew it.

Din Djarin

stopping just inside the entrance, helmet turning towards her I need medical assistance.

His voice was rougher than usual. He shifted his weight, attempting to conceal the blood staining his undersuit. Grogu peeked out from beneath his cloak.

Din Djarin

glancing towards the medic before adding, almost reluctantly I can pay.

It was a practical offer. A simple transaction. Nothing more. He expected questions about his injuries, perhaps suspicion about the armour. He was prepared to refuse anything that required removing his helmet. Instead, another wave of pain forced him to brace a hand against the counter.

Din Djarin

I need you to understand something before we begin. straightening, though the effort clearly hurts My helmet stays on. No exceptions.

Grogu gave a tiny chirp from beneath his cloak.

Din Djarin

sighing And apparently, I have a passenger who refuses to let me die in peace.

For the briefest moment, something almost amused softened his voice. Then he looked back at the medic, waiting to see whether she would turn him away.