requested by Melonhead15
/ / /
Everything is red. Everything is blinding but it's red, and it's incredibly warm and so uncomfortable. And you're vaguely aware of his hands heavy on your sides, helping you gently to the mossy floor. Wait, no --- you were already on the ground. The bomb had gone off and you flew backwards.
The bomb was meant for him. It was meant to kill him, but you shoved him out of the way and down the grassy hill and took the hit for yourself. The impact had met the left side of your torso and launched you upward and into the field a few feet away. He wouldn't have seen it coming. It would've killed him instantly. And even if you died slowly here, that was surely better than losing Din.
This is the way, you reminded yourself, and somehow it helped you cope with the pain you knew you'd be suffering through for the small remainder of your life.
And now you weren't moving, but it felt like you were because your head was spinning. Your mind couldn't cope with the loss of whatever the bomb had blown off of you. The thought made you sicker. Everything was red and you couldn't see it, but your head was aching and you felt like you were going to throw up.
You're gasping, your body convulsing. Surely the blood was pouring out of you too quickly, surely you'd be gone in seconds. The pain was growing. The warmth was everywhere. And the red was all you could see.
Until you felt his hands on your waist again and remembered how to see past the red.
"Din," you choked out, the breath escaping you fogging up the front of your helmet. "D-Din."
"Stay with me, do you hear me?" His hands were on your side. He was pressing down there. Why? Surely there was nothing he could do. These desperate attempts to save you were futile. "I said do you hear me?"
"I hear you," you whispered, your spine curving as your body lurched forward, blood coming out of your throat. Or maybe it was bile. Whatever it was, you choked it back and curled in on yourself. "It hurts."
"I know," he said, and he sounded pained. "I know it does."
"Din," you tried, and he couldn't hear you. You coughed. Surely it was blood that splattered all over the inside of your helmet now. You licked your lips, tasting salt. "Din."
"What?" He was wrapping something around your leg. A piece of his cape. He tied it too tight but you couldn't feel the pain from it.
"A-Are they gone?" you asked, asking about the small group of stormtroopers that had ambushed you in the forest only a few minutes ago.
Mando looked up and glanced around. "Yes. The explosion killed them."
Your breath caught in your throat. You felt like you were partly submerged in water. "G-Good. We're alone?"
"Yes."
"Do... do something for me. Before I go."
"You're not going anywhere," he said, deciding for you.
"It's not up to you. I know I'm dying."
"Stop."
Your breath was labored. "Din, I... I want you to remove my helmet."
His hands stopped. He looked at you for a long moment, then shook his head. "You aren't thinking clearly."
"I'm thinking clearer than I ever have," you argued pathetically. You were so weak, too weak to want to fight. "I don't have much time to think left, so I'm really thinking now."
"Stop," he said again.
"Is it just us?"
"Yes."
"Then take my helmet off," you said. "I'm not asking you. I'm telling you. I-I can't do it myself. I can't feel... I don't know how to do it." The words spilled off of your lips, but you couldn't make sense of them.
His voice was strained. "What about your Creed?"
"I'm dying," you said, "and soon it won't matter."
He shook his head. "N-No, no, that's not true---"
"It is true." You paused for a second. "It's just you and I. In my last few moments... I want to see you clearly. And I want you to see me."
His hands were at the bottom of your helmet. "Are you sure?"
"Yes." Your voice was barely a whisper, but you knew he could hear it.
You felt the cool air on your neck and then your face, and you saw the sunlight differently as your head gently laid back down on the moss. And your eyes were on him. You smiled a little, because he looked a little brighter and you felt like you could see right through his helmet and into his eyes.
For the first time in your life, your face was visible for another to see.
And then you were choking, and his arms were underneath you. He lifted your head onto his lap and hushed you. His gloved fingers wiped the corners of your mouth and you relaxed, tipping your head back to look at him.
"I m-must be a sight to see," you joked.
"You're just as beautiful as I thought you'd be," he promised.
Your lips curved upward. "You thought I'd be beautiful?"
"I knew you would be." His fingers stroked your cheeks and his breath hitched strangely in his throat, and you knew he was crying.
"Din," you said, your eyebrows pulling together. "I'm going to ask you something. Please don't get mad at me."
"I won't," he said quickly. It was a promise.
"I want to see your face," you breathed. Your hand couldn't raise to touch the side of his helmet the way you willed it to. "Can I see you?"
"I---"
"I'm hardly a living thing," you breathed.
He didn't answer, but time stood still as his hands left the back of your head. They raised to his helmet and gently removed it. You smiled as you saw him. His brown eyes were exactly how you thought they would be. He dropped the helmet to the ground and he cradled your head again.
"You're beautiful, too," you said, smiling.
He dropped his head and laughed a small, broken laugh --- and then he started to sob. His forehead touched yours and his hands gripped tightly to your tangled hair. You felt the wetness of his tears, slick against his face. His lips ghosting over yours as he whispered to you, "Don't leave me."
"I'm sorry," you said. "I do not regret saving your life. Always know that you were worth it." Your eyes fluttered shut and your lips parted. "This... this is the w-way. Din."
A gutted sob left him as your body fell completely limp on his lap. He lifted his head and stared at your empty face, void of emotion, void of life.
He watched you for a long time.
When it was time to go, he buried you. He left you in your beskar, buried in the dirt that was marked by a group of wildflowers. He knelt at the grave he made and touched his fingers to the dirt.
"Thank you," was all he could manage. He slipped his helmet back on, tucked your helmet under his arm, and made his way back to the Razor Crest, feeling emptier than ever without you by his side.