#letmandosleep2k23
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ficlet about a sleep-deprived mando below the cut:
The Mandalorian could deal with difficult bounties. The ones who put up a fight before being frozen in carbonite. He was used to it.
This time, though, his patience had been worn out. He had been on a long streak, hunting bounties after bounties with barely any breaks in between.
The Mandalorian was now pacing back and forth in the cargo hold of his ship. He was irritated, his hands were curled into fists at his sides. Short exhales and inhales were being picked up by his helmet’s vocoder.
The air within the helmet was hot, too hot. It was suffocating. A thin layer of sweat was covering his reddened skin. The Mandalorian abruptly stopped his pacing and stood still. He tried to get his breathing under control again.
His breathing exercise brought little to no comfort or soothing. He rolled his neck and shoulders before stepping towards the refresher. Only when the door which separated the cargo hold from the refresher had slid close did the Mandalorian remove his helmet. Despite his frustration, he carefully put it on the sink.
He almost did not recognise the reflection of himself on the tiny mirror above the sink. His jaw was clenched, his gums ached as a response to his teeth grinding. The Mandalorian removed his gloves and placed them with as much care on top of his helmet. He brought his naked hands to his jaw, massaging the skin, soothing the tightness and pain of his jaw away. His unkempt beard scratched the skin of his hands, when was the last time that he had shaved? He could not remember.
The artificial light of the refresher was harsh on his eyes. The Mandalorian had to squint, trying to shield his tired eyes from the unwelcoming light. The dark circles below his brown eyes were another reminder of his fatigue. His middle fingers massaging the sensitive skin was soothing, at least. He needed rest, a good night of sleep. He could not remember when he had a good night of restful sleep either.
His pointing fingers joined his middle fingers and made their way up his nose and in-between his furrowed brows, erasing any signs of irritability in the process. His four fingers then separated in groups of two before going opposite ways across his forehead. The Mandalorian gestured his hands down his temples before making them cross over his cheeks and letting them rest on each side of his nose.
With a sigh, his hands dropped from his face and he reopened his eyes. Exhaustion was still visible on his face but the anger was gone. The Mandalorian turned the faucet on and gathered some water in his cupped hands before splashing it on his face. The cold water was refreshing on his skin, reinvigorating his senses. He appreciated the softness of the towel as he patted his face dry.
He exited the refresher and turned the lights off. He covered his mouth with one hand as a yawn went up his throat. His steps were heavy and dragged on the floor made of durasteel. His eyelids threatened to close above his eyes with each step.
Once the door enclosing his cot slid up, he climbed up in it. The mattress flattened under his weight, it was not a thick mattress nor was it comfortable.
“It’ll do,” thought the Mandalorian. “It always has.”
The darkness of the small area was easy on his eyes which he was thankful for. He removed each piece of his armour, drowsiness evident in his movements as he did so. He may have been exhausted, ready to let his body plunge into rest but he refused to be neglectful towards his armour and put each piece on the shelves surrounding his bed instead of kicking them out of the cot. The loud clattering as they would’ve dropped on the floor would have not been appreciated anyway.
The Mandalorian left his flight suit on. He preferred it that way, it brought a sense of comfort and safety. In his line of work, being out for a few hours was dangerous. His ship was protected, he would know immediately if anyone was trying to break in but the thick layer of fabric prevented him from being too vulnerable to the elements. Even though the beskar his armour was made of was way more efficient at protecting him than fabric.
The Mandalorian finally let his head drop on his single pillow and instantly felt the waves of exhaustion crashing over him. He let them drift him away, submerging him away from reality and bringing him to the land of rest and darkness.
Dreams rarely accompanied his sleep but for the rare times they did, he liked to write down what he could remember. Below his pillow was a thin notebook, pages scribbled with incoherent sentences, urgently written down before the remaining flashes of his dreams would fade away as his brain woke up fully, pressing him with more important matters.
The Mandalorian may be an excellent bounty hunter who was feared by many. The armour, and more importantly, the helmet that he had made the promise to never remove in front of anyone may help hide the weaknesses of his humanity. The dark t-shaped visor prevented anyone from seeing the windows of his soul. Yet, there was no denying that the Mandalorian was still a human under all of that beskar and humans needed rest. He could not neglect himself and his health if he wanted to upkeep his reputation as a bounty hunter.
It wasn’t long before the Mandalorian’s breathing deepened. His lips parted slightly, allowing soft snores to breach them. His body welcomed sleep by letting go of the tension remaining in its limbs and muscles. His thoughts were quieted down as darkness absorbed them.
Fortunately for him, the galaxy will grant him a few hours of undisturbed sleep. The Bounty Hunter’s Guild could wait, his Creed could wait. Hell, the galaxy could even grant the Mandalorian’s yet-to-be-captured bounties some rest as well. Whatever would happen in this wide and unruly galaxy while his body and soul were asleep was beyond his scope and should stay that way.
AO3 link.
#din djarin#mando#the mandalorian#this has been sitting in my draft for weeks#was supposed to be smut but turned into a self care fic instead#cuz why not?#my writing#letmandosleep2k23
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