Dark Angel With a Rifle

(AUTHOR'S NOTES: This micro-fic was written for one of Tale Foundry's weekly story prompts. The prompt this time was "The Forest Will Change You". I thought of Mando and how he's changed, and I was going for a cute scene. I kept spoilers as vague as possible, but this takes place at the end of episode 4, so for those who haven't seen up to that point, SPOILERS! The title is an homage to a music video by youtuber LilianHearts about the Mandalorian and "Baby Yoda" relationship to the song "Angel With a Shotgun".)

The cart rolled slowly through the nighttime forest. The Mandalorian warrior slept lightly, wary after that day's scare. A small weight on his chest and the scratch of tiny claws on steel roused him. He opened eyes hidden by his helmet, kept his breathing steady in feigned sleep. The small alien child stared back at him, hesitant. It somehow always knew his mood, though never saw his face. It probably sensed he was awake. The baby's expression was troubled, half asleep. Had it been dreaming?

Mando lay still, waiting. The green baby took that as permission and clambered up. It hooked clawed hands around edges of his breastplate and lay sprawled on its stomach. The human stared, confused. The night was warm, but his armor was cold and hard. Why sleep there instead of the blanket he'd provided?

The child cooed softly, went back to sleep, one ear pressed against the metal. Could it hear Mando's heartbeat with those big ears? The thought was an odd one, strangely comforting, yet terrifying that such a tiny creature trusted him so completely. This child had been the Mandalorian's prey, yet he'd lost his job, his reputation, nearly lost both their lives, to protect it. The bounty guild would never stop hunting them, ruining the babe's chance at a happy, simple life. So what now?

More than once, he questioned his choice. Never before had he shown mercy to a mark. It was more than that the child had saved his life with its strange power. Sympathy for a fellow orphan? Hatred of the Imperial remnants who sought it? He couldn't say.

The child whimpered in sleep. Those kind villagers called it his son. Mando had rolled with the mistake, lying low. He knew little of parenting, being childless. But weeks turned it from a lie into something more.

Another whimper, the babe clutched tighter to his breastplate. The warrior's arm curled gently, protectively around the boy until it calmed, asleep again. Mando closed his eyes, still holding the child.

Father and son slept peacefully as the cart rolled through the moonlit woods.