❝ 𝘳.𝘦.𝘮. ❞ [ Pedro Pascal characters x reader ]

an attachment | bittersweet

prompt: (Y/n) comes a little too close to death for Mando's comfort

warning: descriptions of blood, etc.

word count: 1276

pronouns: she/her

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second-person point of view. . .

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Though guarded by the leather gloves that hardly ever left his skin, his hands could feel the warmth you were producing. More specifically, he could feel the warmth from the near mortal gash on your abdomen and the blood that kept flowing from it. It kept flowing and flowing, with no sign that it might stop.

That kind of warmth was frightening because he knew it was so fleeting. In a matter of moments, you could go cold. That was what frightened him; your death.

With a slight tilt of his helmet, he glanced down at the wound that rendered you unconscious. One of his gloves had been dyed red by this point thanks to the pressure he was applying to the area, while his other hand struggled to keep your body upright. He pulled your limp body through the alleyways and tunnels. He labored to find a balance between a pace that was swift enough and a pace that did not worsen your condition. 

Your injury, caused by a particularly ruthless target and his spiral-shaped dagger, was one The Mandalorian knew he could not treat in the confines of the Razor Crest. He could not save you. He knew that. 

But, there was someone who might be able to save you in a way he could not. Perhaps it was a mistake to bring you down under the city to the secret stronghold. There were going to be consequences, no doubt, it was only a matter of how severe they would be. The Mandalorian saw no other option, not in his frantic and fearful line of sight focused on only one thing: you living to see another day.

"What is this?" Her words echoed off the walls, deep and authoritative as they always had been.

"She's dying!" The Mandalorian desperately provided justification for his actions. "Please, help her." He stood in the doorway of the forge, waiting for permission to bring you any further inside. The Armorer took her sweet time to deliberate. Her eyes traced the scene before her. 

She saw the blood coating her Beskar handiwork that protected his body. He held you with a sense of guard she found unfamiliar from him. You hung loosely off The Mandalorian, utterly unable to process your surroundings.

"Very well," She granted with a hint of reluctance. "Bring her to the med bay." The Mandalorian did not need a further moment of instruction. He carried you across the forge's floor and to the med bay. He pushed past the equipment and with great care lifted you onto the old operating table.

Someone, asked by The Armorer, entered and approached. It took The Mandalorian a second longer than normal to realize the individual was present. They began to prep the medical equipment for a procedure unknown to him.

"You need to leave," They told him sternly as they began to further cut open your shirt.

"Please be careful," He requested softly, though the request was implied without him having to voice it. Slowly, he stumbled out of the med bay. He was unsure where to wait, without the slightest guess as to how long it would take for you to recover.

"Here," The Armorer appeared beside him. She extended to him a damp cloth. He accepted it, knowing precisely what its purpose was. He began to scrub away at the armor covering his body to rid it of the quickly drying blood that clung to the metal.

The Armorer did not move. She looked down at him with silent disapproval dripping from her demeanor. The Mandalorian could feel it, he did not need to analyze her body language. A twinge of guilt echoed through him.

"Why did you bring her here?" She asked him coldly.

"I didn't know where else to go," The Mandalorian confessed honestly. "I don't have the equipment to treat her on my own." He paused for just a moment. "I'm sorry."

"You must remove her before she wakes up," The Armorer instructed him clearly. He nodded.

"Of course." The Armorer did not move. She reminded still and silent, her mind trying to empathize with his position. To bring an outsider into the stronghold? What would drive a loyal soul to do such a thing. Maybe they were closer than other similar resources. Regardless, he took a risk not many Mandalorians would dream of. For what?

"You have an attachment to her," The Armorer stated the obvious. The Mandalorian nodded his head once again.

"Yes." He did not shy away from the statement. He did not have to conquer an answer, his words had been purely instinctual. That lack of hesitation led The Armorer to another vital question. She, however, was prevented from speaking it by the stomach-churning sound of a high scream.

It came from the med bay and it caused The Mandalorian to jump forward. He took two steps towards the room before The Armorer extended her arm out in front of him. He was halted--stopped from rushing to your aid. The Armorer's helmet tilted in his direction.

"And how deep is that attachment, Din Djarin?" This question forced him into a pause. The Armorer already knew the answer, she merely wished for him to vocalize the truth. Never in her life had anyone brought in an outsider. You were unconscious and would not remember being there, so it was not technically a violation of their code. Yet, the willingness to push those limits was shocking.

"I love her," He said. Ah, yes. The answer she wished to hear. The Armorer withdrew her blockade slowly.

"Very well." The Mandalorian stepped past her. He entered the med bay cautiously. His eyes landed on the old operating table, seeing your disheveled state. The one who had been tending to you was tightly tying some bandages around your torso. They stepped out of the way, to inform The Armorer the job was finished.

The Mandalorian stepped beside you. A thin layer of sweat coated your forehead. It had taken a toll on your body to survive the injury. You were not in the clear yet, though, and would not be for another day or two. Your breathing was shallow but consistent.

He placed a gentle hand on your face. Even though he was careful not to disturb you, you stirred while barely clinging to a dizzy sense of consciousness.

"Mando?" You barely had the strength to mutter the word. It was a struggle to even half-mindedly wonder if he was there.

"Don't move," He told you softly, the voice modulator barely picking up the words. "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have let you come with me to find the bounty." The Mandalorian knew if you were able, you would respond with some quippy remark about how he could not get rid of you if he tried. It almost made him smile bittersweetly.

"I'm so sorry," He whispered. "I won't let it happen again." Now, you would tell him that you could take a hit and that he need not fuss over you like he did The Child. Knowing this, he promised anyways, more so to himself than to you. 

He felt his mouth run dry with the desperate need to say something very in particular. You were not truly awake, were you? You were drifting between two states of being, meaning you would drift in and out of consciousness for hours before finally returning to him. Surely, you would not remember the events that took place there in the med bay.

"You're going to be okay. Try and hold on for me," The Mandalorian asked very little of you. "I need you to come back from this." I will, no need to get worked up, your words played around in his skull. "I love you." I love you too.