Din exists.

Its the easiest way to explain his current behavior, not that anyone expected better. Hell, Paz had honestly worried it be a lot worse, dam’s that lost their kits, willingly or not, would often enter depressive episodes.

The fact that Din slept, woke up, used the fresher and ate without too much prompting was something he would not take for granted, even as he often found himself holding the others hand or tucking the omega into his own bulk to provide whatever comfort he could give.

A lot of omegas lost interest in life at the loss of a child, their packs often becoming more caretakers than family during the time it took for the person to heal.

If they healed.

Paz didn’t allow his mind to linger on that thought, Din had always been strong and Paz couldn’t let himself believe that Din strength would fail him now. That he would fade away from life.

It hurt to think.

Which was why Paz focus was on Din and Din alone.

Slave 1 wasn’t a spacious ship with four people on, Fett of course having his own quarters and Shand what went for a ‘guest’ quarters. Thankfully, recognizing the need, Fett had also arranged for a room Paz suspected had once been a weapon room for the two mandalorians, giving them privacy.

Not that he seemed to like leaving Din alone with Paz in his current situation but it was clear by the way Din clung to the alpha that he needed Paz.

So he and Din shared bunk and sheets, the two wrapped up in each other.

Mostly, Paz slept with Din covered up under his bulk, his helm pressed to the others back or his chin touching the back of Din’s helmet. Sometimes however, Din opted to curl up on Paz chest, pressing his head to Paz collarbone.

The sensation of another person, not in armor, was a luxury and Paz wasn’t quite sure what to feel about getting it on a ship that did not belong to the covert.

But, seeing as Boba and Din were starting to smell of each other, of the foundation of a pack, he didn’t complain.

Especially not when Fett had given them a door that could lock.

Currently, they were on their way to Tatooine, something about settling old scores according to the scarred alpha, a feral look in his eyes as he mentioned someone called Jabba’s palace.

The planet and person’s name had roused Din slightly, his hand tightening on Paz as he quietly murmured that he had a few jobs there.

If asked, Paz would say he was grateful he had never meet this Jabba character from what Shand and Fett filled him in on.

But…

A palace, overthrowing the ones that had it, taking over a cartel…

Paz had to admit, it was a good idea, it would certainly be a distraction for Din. Because for all that he simply existed instead of lived, Din could still fight as their sparring in the cargo hold some days proved.

Work out a bit of rage, maybe some sadness and maybe Din would finally start talking again.

Din tried but…

Paz understood.

He really did, it was why he simply held onto Din’s hand during the day or wrapped his arm around the others waist and during the night, wrapped himself around Din’s body.

Like tonight, laying on the bed in one of those few days Din decided to curl up on Paz chest.

Absently stroking the others warm back, staring at the dark ceiling without a thought in his head, Paz almost jumped when Din suddenly spoke.

“I took my helmet off.” He whispered.

Paz pressed his hand to Din’s spine, his mind taking in the words before he directed his arms to wrap slowly around Din’s tense body, the large shirt the beroya was borrowing for sleep shifting under his touch. “Our way is not the Only Way.” He stated slowly, uncertainly. It had been one of the stranger things he had been required to accept when he got out of the covert, meeting other mandalorians and he was already aware that Din had removed his helmet.

Dune had informed him, both on a planet called Morak and on the moff’s ship and why Din had removed his helmet.

So far, none of the other mandalorians he had meet followed the same Way as their covert did and Paz wasn’t quite sure what to make of that, what it said about not only their alor but also their Armorer, for teaching the Way as they did.

If there were other interpretations, that meant there were other ways to live, easier ways.

Not that Paz was sure about them, the way he had been raised fighting against the new things he had seen.

Paz felt Din nod into his collarbone. “Meet some of them… Boba says he’s not mandalorian but… by birth he is…” He trailed off.

Sighing softly, hugging Din tightly, Paz rumbled softly. “If you expect me to judge you verd’ika, that is not my place. Not when I’m so lost myself.” He stated softly, feeling Din body go even tenser and then lax against his chest.

Nuzzling their heads together in a light mirshmure’cya, Paz thought it over as Din played with the lose opening of Paz shirt.

“If you want to know what I think about you removing your helmet however,” Din went ramrod stiff in his arms, even as Paz started rubbing his back slowly in their dark, makeshift room. “I would tell you that foundlings are the future, it is for them we sacrifice. So in my eyes… you are our beroya, more honorable than most can imagine, worth your weight in beskar.” He rumbled reverently as he continued slowly rubbing.

He felt Din hold his breath, saw him through the dim view of his helmet that the omega lifted his head so their visors meet.

For a long moment they simply stared at each other, Din waiting on Paz to tell him he was lying and Paz simply waiting on Din to accept what he had said.

Finally, Din let out a tired, but relieved little sob and flopped back down, pressing his body warm helmet to Paz shoulder.

Din had been crying more this last week than Paz imagined he ever had before, but this was a different sort of crying than the heartbroken one.

This was the cries of someone that had found balm for their heart, for something that had been weighing on their mind.

“Gar cuyir oyayc, Ni cuy’ olar. Ni’ cuy’ olar.” Paz rumbled, hoping that tomorrow would bring Din more succor for his soul and troubled mind.

Beroya = bounty hunter

Verd’ika = Little soldier

Mirshmure’cya = Keldable kiss or headbutt, can be affectionate or violent

Gar cuyir oyayc, Ni cuy’ olar = you are alive, I am here.