+ THE SINS OF THE PAST +

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"Indestructible"

By: Disturbed

Another mission, the powers have called me away
Another time to carry the colors again
My motivation, an oath I've sworn to defend
To win the honor of coming back home again
No explanation will matter after we begin
Unlock the dark destroyer that's buried within
My true vocation, and now my unfortunate friend
You will discover a war you're unable to win

I'll have you know
That I've become
Indestructible
Determination that is incorruptible
From the other side, a terror to behold
Annihilation will be unavoidable
Every broken enemy will know
That their opponent had to be invincible
Take a last look around while you're alive
I'm an indestructible
Master of war

Another reason, another cause for me to fight
Another fuse uncovered, now for me to light
My dedication to all that I've sworn to protect
I carry out my orders without a regret
My declaration, embedded deep under my skin
A permanent reminder of how it began
No hesitation when I am commanded to strike
You need to know that you're in for the fight of your life

You will be shown
How I've become
Indestructible
Determination that is incorruptible
From the other side, a terror to behold
Annihilation will be unavoidable
Every broken enemy will know
That their opponent had to be invincible
Take a last look around while you're alive
I'm an indestructible
Master of war

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Rating: T for violence, language and adult situations. Possibly M for later chapters.

Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance.

Summary: A young boy attempts to cope with the loss of his parents. The Mandalorians take him in as a foundling. Din was warned that the way of the warrior would not be easy; however, could he expect anything less from Mandalorians? A small series of loosely-connected ficlets/oneshots about Din's coming of age. Young/Younger Din Djarin. Pre-Episode 1 of The Mandalorian. Mandalorian/OC.

Disclaimer: This story is pure fanfiction. I don't own any of the recognizable characters from Star Wars / Disney.

Author's Note: Welcome to my second Mandalorian fanfic! If you haven't read it already, check out my first Mandalorian fic, "The Captive". This particular story has been poking at me for a while now. My main focus will still be writing "The Captive"; however, I just needed to get something down for this story, even if it ends up just being a series of shorter ficlets/oneshots loosely connected to one another. We'll see. It's a little "risky" telling a story that hasn't been delved into too deeply in the show yet, but hey...I'll take a stab at it and see what actually happens in Season 2! This is fanfiction, after all. :) Thank you, my lovely reader, and a huge thank you to everyone who's supported me for the past 18 years on this site. I appreciate all of your feedback. Looking forward to hearing from all of you! Cheers. xx IFHD

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Chapter 1: The Orphan

The young boy continued to shake involuntarily despite the absence of imminent danger. Though he was given a comfortable bed within a ship that now careened through space - far from the destruction that was occurring in his home planet - he remained rooted to the ship's cold floor, knees brought up to his chest, head placed upon folded arms in front of him. The hooded, scarlet robe that he wore brought him neither warmth nor comfort, its dirtied surface resembling the current state of his tan face. Try as he might, the child couldn't erase from his mind the last images of his parents, the shelter's thick, metal doors that attempted to hide him from the attack…

...and the battle droid that had every intent to kill him.

The images flashed again and again, forever ingrained in his memory.

He released a muffled sob as he continued to weep, the tears streaming down his face in uncontrollable, violent rivulets.

The day had begun just like any other. He had woken up to his mother's light calls for breakfast, nose teasing him with the smell of his favourite bantha-butter pancakes. It was her specialty. He had gotten out of bed so quickly that he almost tripped on his own feet as he stood. It was of no consequence; he was too excited about what the afternoon would bring! The previous day, his father had promised to take him out to the nearby forest and actually show him the essentials of hunting game. Using real weapons! Growing up, he was always told that, to be a proficient hunter, you had to think like the prey. And he was finally able to practice how to do exactly that. His father, thank the Being, finally believed that he was old enough to handle hunting weapons at his eight standard years. It was something that he had been looking forward to his entire life.

And then, in an instant, they were both gone.

The boy's breathing started to become shallow. Erratic. The small room that he was in appeared to spin, the dark, steel-plated walls coming closer as though to smother him.

Why was it that they had died and he had lived?

A pair of echoing raps sounded then, startling him. The boy sat up straighter as an imposing figure approached, movements confident and steady. The man towered over the boy as the t-visor of his blue helmet peered down intensely upon him. Though he did not intend to scare the boy, the boy cowered back to the sharp corner of the room, visibly trembling as the moment progressed.

"Nayc aaray, adiik," a modulated voice sounded.

The boy blinked a few times and remained in place. His lithe body remained tense.

"Gar vaabir not buyca ni?" the heavily-armoured man continued, taking an easy step forward with his hands held up in front of him as though in surrender. "Ni tegaanalir gar."

The boy's voice shook. "Hvem er du?"

"Ah." The warrior breathed out, finally realizing the issue. He expertly punched a code upon his right vambrace and repeated the boy's question out loud. The technology in his suit of armour instantly scanned his query, translating the words to Mando'a, his native language. 'Tion'ad cuyir gar', his helmet read. The boy had asked who he was. "Jeg er Two Stripes," he said in the boy's tongue. "Hvem er du?"

The astonished look on the child's tear-stained face caused Two Stripes to inwardly chuckle. Perhaps the little one hadn't been exposed much to technology and all of its capabilities.

After a few moments, the boy finally replied with, "Din."

Two Stripes repeated that he didn't have any intention of hurting him in the boy's native tongue. "Jeg skal ikke skade deg, Din."

Din remained skeptical and didn't move a muscle.

Okay, so the kid wasn't up to play. Never willing to back down from anything, Two Stripes tried again, digging an index finger upon his plated chest. Could the kid really not recognize that he was one who saved him from certain death? "Jeg er den som reddet deg."

The boy furrowed his brows. Was he the one who had saved him? He didn't know. The warriors he had seen as he was rescued all looked alike. They all wore the same type of armour, the same type of helmet. He hadn't seen anything like them before.

Two Stripes brusquely exited the room then without another word. Din remained where he was, not knowing what else to do. Where could he go? Surely there would be other helmeted men on this ship. And who knows what they would do to him?

A few minutes passed before Two Stripes came back with something in his hand. Din recoiled once more. For the love of the Being, if he was going to kill him, why would he wait this long? Perhaps he took delight in seeing his victims squirm.

However, Two Stripes only tipped his neck upwards non-threateningly, almost as a warning, then tossed Din a piece of bread. The boy caught it, a surprised expression overtaking his countenance. Din moved a piece of his dark hair from his eyes with the back of his hand and observed the peace offering, as it were, still unsure about whether to eat it or not. But he hadn't eaten in a day, and the gnawing feeling in his stomach was becoming more and more prominent as the smell wafted through his nose.

He bit greedily into the bread, devouring it in a matter of seconds.

Two Stripes could tell how famished the boy was and asked if he wanted some more.

Din nodded.

Two Stripes crossed the length of the hallway adjacent to the boy's room and made his way once more towards the food stores. He hadn't expected the mission to go this way. Hell, he definitely did not think that he'd be bringing back an orphan. That was damn well not part of the plan. At all. But how could he not? The kid was just caught in the crossfire. Another casualty of war.

"Two Stripes. A word."

He immediately halted and twisted his head to the sound of the voice. "As you wish, Armourer."

Two Stripes followed his clan's Armourer to the ship's forge, the room distinctly hotter than the rest of the ship. Plates and pieces of armour were arranged in rows upon the shining floors and numerous tables scattered around the large space. He couldn't help but notice just how neatly the Armourer had placed his tools upon his workstation, each one perfectly straight and spaced evenly from one another.

The Armourer didn't waste time on further pleasantries. There was a lot more work to be done, after all. "It was you who saved the boy?"

Two Stripes straightened his back and clasped his hands behind him. "Yes."

"And you brought him here?" The Armourer's tone wasn't angry. It was more of surprise than anything else. Perhaps he was even wearing an amused expression beneath his t-visor helmet.

"I couldn't just leave him," Two Stripes reasoned.

"You didn't strike me as the type." The Armourer turned on his heel and began to sift through his beskar creations, all carefully lined upon the metal shelf behind him. His movements stopped as he found precisely what he was looking for. "Then he is a foundling." The Armourer extended his arms, offering Two Stripes a smaller helmet that sat upon his palms. "And, by creed, he is in your care."

Two Stripes understood the ramifications of his actions, even before he had followed through with them. He also understood, even moreso, the tenets of his creed. Still, it failed to entirely lessen the impact of the news. "I am to train that boy? He doesn't even look like he can hold a stick without falling over!"

"This is the way," was the Armourer's simple reply. The matter had already been resolved, and Two Stripes knew it. "He will either become a Mandalorian or die trying."

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A/N: That was definitely awesome to get out of my head, woo! Fun fact: I'm using Norwegian as Din's mother tongue. For this fic, I'm exploring a somewhat different writing style than what I normally use, but I'm sure it'll end up being similar to that of "The Captive" sooner or later. The switch from first person to third person is definitely liberating, though! Hope you all enjoyed it. Let me know what you think! xx IFHD