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Luke woke to find his body covered in sheen of sweat. The heat of his bed suddenly seemed quite overwhelming, and yet, even after he kicked his blanket off in a fit, he somehow managed to become cold and clammy only moments later. He tugged the blanket back over himself with a frustrated growl. 

But it wasn't just the blanket that made the bed so uncomfortable: His own body seemed to have turned against him. No matter which way he writhed about, the prickly sensation the dream had left in its wake apparently had no intention of ever vanishing. Whenever Luke attempted to shirk its weight, it simply dug its wicked claws into his consciousness even deeper.

It was all too much. Everything was unbearable. In fact, Luke felt as though he could not think another thought. The responsibility of being at Emperor Vader's side, the pain of betraying his sister without having a chance to explain, the loss of his friends, everything the dream had thrust upon him...all truths he would one day soon have to bare. But he was just a farm boy from Tatooine, he couldn't be all this; everything the universe needed him to be. 

And yet, the idea of his future, uncaring of his feelings, consumed him like a black hole, getting bigger and bigger with each passing moment whether he was ready for it or not. The emptiness inside that its presence brought was deeply upsetting, mostly because he felt he was absolutely powerless in doing anything about it. 

So Luke succumbed to it. Bowed to its might, and in his shame, all he could bring himself to do, then, was curl up, hug his pillow, wish it would hug him back, and let out a sob. Then the tears seemed like they would never cease, gushing out of his eyes with no sign of stopping, his willpower to make them stop devoured by the darkness that threatened to swallow his very self whole. 

Only vaguely did Luke hear Artoo awaken and blip inquisitively at him over the sound of his pitiful sniffles. Luke loved Artoo, but the droid could not give him the kind of comfort he needed in that very moment. There was only one who could. 

'Father,' Luke thought, 'Father, please!' 

Amidst his panic, he didn't even realize that he'd been all but whispering his desires for the man into the Force since the moment he'd woke; practically screaming out for him. The door to Luke's chambers slid open with a hiss, and he turned to glance hopefully over his shoulder. Artoo moved aside without question, revealing a billowing black mass against the bright light of the ship's hallways seeping through the doorway. The vision was blurred by Luke's betraying tears, but he knew who it was. Such a sight would normally set anyone's anxiety ablaze, however, he only felt solaced. 

For his father was there--finally!--touching his mind before he touched his body. Trembling lips couldn't form a coherent sentence, and so Luke turned to the Force once more. 

'Father,' he called out, and the words 'my son,' returned his cry. 

Luke wanted to explain his tears, give reason for calling him here in the middle of the night or whatever time it was, but he couldn't. It was like he was a child again, unsure of how to express himself in a world that seemed much too big and overwhelming. Words were a problem in themself, unable to find them as he was, but breathing was another dilemma all together. He was gasping now, working himself up into quite the fit. 

'I'm scared!'

'What is it?' 

'A dream!' 

Luke had expected him to chide him, to tell him he was being weak by giving in to the terrors his own mind conjured. Yet, his father seemed to understand wholly--Luke could feel that. It surprised him a little, but the relief he felt afterwards was pronounced. The black hole inside him seemed to be getting smaller, now, little by little, but its grip had not wavered. Not yet.

'I know the feeling all too well,' Vader explained, taking a seat upon the bed's edge. 'Focus on breathing.'

'I can't!' 

'Breathe.' 

He'd no choice but to obey the order from his emperor, and so it became the center of his attention: the task of breathing. The steady pulse of his father's respirator gave him a well-needed guideline and Luke chased its rhythm, inhale to inhale, until they matched perfectly and he needn't think about it anymore.

Still, spoiled as he was now by his father, Luke needed more. He tugged on Vader's arm, persistent about getting him atop the bed with him completely. His father conceded without complaint. The new position allowed Luke to crawl into his lap and curl up in his arms, careful not to press any of the suit's buttons with his head. Still, there was no sign in the Force that Vader disapproved at all. 

'You understand everything, Father.'

A short silence followed the statement, filled with nothing but their intertwined breathing. Before Luke could beat himself up for stating the obvious, his father reached back out first, seemingly undeterred. 

'Do you want to tell me about it?' 

No.

No, no, no. Luke shuddered: He didn't want to relive it. Not now. 'Just hold me.'

'Always.'

An arm wrapped around his cowering form. The cape draped over him, too, and its presence upon him was much more welcomed than any blanket would've been. It'd been but several moments, just a few words exchanged and already, Luke felt so relieved from his burdens. Only a few remained. They had to get addressed, or he'd never find peaceful rest again. 

'Are you mad at me?' 

'Never.'

There went another! An innate sense of calm washed over him as the darkness shrank, his father's mere presence enough to seemingly banish all the unsettling feelings away.

'I don't want to disappoint you.'

'I could never be more proud of you.’

The corner of Luke's mouth quirked upwards in the tiniest of smiles, and he turned his face to further bury it in his father's armor. 

'Don't leave me until I fall back asleep.'

Was he in any position to make demands of the Emperor? No. And yet, he dared to anyway. Such was the way of a Skywalker. 

'I won't.' 

Not like Vader would've ever denied him, no matter his position: He was his son. The only reason he was here was because of him, and someday he would be his successor: Luke had his respect already.

'Promise?' 

'I do.'

Though he had just woken up, the nightmare seemed to have taken all energy he might have got from resting. His eyelids seemed so heavy, now that all the bad feelings had vanished. He was tired, like he'd just battled. The hole's threatening presence had been banished, filled now only by the comfort that his father's provided him with.

'I'm so happy I found you.'

'Me too.'

Finally, the words Luke had been searching for all this time found him. Or, rather, the sensation of wanting to speak them into reality was so strong that he could not contain them a moment longer.

"I love you, Daddy."

Luke had never called him that before; he'd most certainly not ever spoken it aloud. It almost seemed wrong--silly and childish, unbefitting of the great Sith who ruled the galaxy in their family's name. But Luke's mind was greeted not with a disciplinary lash, but with what instead a warm hug, as good as the one he was getting right now with Vader's arms. 

Though the father did not return the son's sentiment with words, the tightened embrace was his silent promise to him that he would be all the other needed him to be. And as long as Luke heard that cadenced breathing, he knew that he was with him, and he knew he would not be alone. Nightmares would stand no chance. Nothing--no one in the entire galaxy--would; not against them. Not when they were together like this. They could do anything. 

Artoo rolled back over to the bedside. The droid wanted to make sure Luke was all right after all the upset. Vader only reached out, placing a hand atop his domed head reassuringly before returning its rightful place on Luke. An appreciative coo sounded from the droid, and he understood with the brief action alone that everything was okay now, whatever'd just happened. 

Vader, too, was still making sense of what'd transpired. Rather, perhaps more particularly, what he had felt about it all:

Worried, about his dreams and what they might mean. A bit offended, that Luke seemed so timid to share his troubles with him, but also, pride that he'd reached out for him in his moment of panic at all. It was a start. Overall, he housed a newfound understanding--the situation, brief as it had been, shed light on what Luke really needed. Not discipline or more vigorous training; it was something as simple as his father's care, and he intended to give it to him in spades.

They would make up for all their lost time together. Vader would answer Luke's plea for help each and every time, and even when he was too afraid to. He would take care of his son, whatever that meant for them moving forward, and whatever that meant in finding within himself.

Chapter Text

The awful nightmares became more and more frequent for Luke, making waking up each cycle often an unpleasant experience. If the dreams were particularly nasty, Luke usually lingered in bed afterwards, dwelling on the dreams and their meanings under the safety of blanket and solitude. 

Sometimes the feelings that came with them passed easily. Sometimes they didn't at all and he was in a bad mood for the entire day, which, in turn, seemed to help with his Sith training. Today, however, logic told him that it'd be better if he simply remained in bed.

He felt unpredictable: Not in a dangerous way that would assist in his studies, but in a way where he felt as though he could not trust his own actions. Like he might say something stupid, and the Stormtroopers would silently judge him and secretly gossip about it later (which he totally knew they did). 

At the heart of this unpredictable nature was a conflict he'd yet to make sense of. Learning the ways of the Sith after murdering the old Emperor was not as easy as he'd been warned it to be by Yoda and Obi-Wan. He felt as though he were caught between two worlds, both of which he still knew little, making access to either rather difficult. To make matters worse, he sometimes had the feeling his father was fighting the same inner battle, despite being the one to lead him straight into it.

Thus, the war of ideals within himself sometimes resulted in an uneventful stalemate--just like today--where he felt incapable of doing much of anything at all. 

The worst part of the nightmares--even more upsetting than the loss of interest in furthering his studies--were the way they made Luke feel so small in the grand scheme of the universe. The power he could barely grasp seemed little. His words seemed little. His sense, logic, control, all seemed little.

A Stormtrooper's words suddenly came muffled through his door, interrupting his spiraling thoughts: "Your rations, Lord Skywalker,"  

As was his desire to eat tasteless goopy stuff for breakfast after the night he'd had.

Luke's face scrunched up in irritation. He glanced over his shoulder at his door and snapped, "I don't want 'em!" 

"Lord Vader demands it!" the Trooper responded back. Luke pursed his lips. He didn't want to disappoint his father, but really...

"Go away!"

He was met with no more words, just the sound of footsteps fading back down the hall as the Stormtrooper left, seemingly without fuss. Luke hoped he would not return until the next cycle. Actually, he hoped he would not return, ever.

R2-D2 beeped animatedly, sliding towards Luke's bed almost as though to better scold him. Luke twisted around beneath his blankets, rolling to his side to face the droid and propping his cheek up.

"Oh, can it, Artoo. I don't need that slop and I'm not hungry anyway."

A rapid succession of low-pitched boops and disapproving blips replied. 

"So what if they tattle? What's he gonna do about it anyway, bottle feed me?" 

Luke scoffed, flopping on to his back and staring up at the blank ceiling that met his gaze. Artoo seemed to have more to say, but Luke wasn't hearing it, waving his hand at his friend dismissively. 

"Ya think? Well, he won't know if you don't tell him." 

His hand flopped back down to the blankets and he blinked slowly. Talking with R2-D2 about his father was bringing him back to reality--reminding him of his responsibilities. He couldn't just lie in bed all day, but...

"...I just don't feel like doing this whole Sith training thing today, Artoo. My heart's not in it. And what if I'm not even cut out for it, anyway?"

Artoo cooed. Luke's eyes narrowed at the sympathy he sensed in the binary, almost like the droid didn't want him to train, either. 

Jedi, Sith, the resistance, the Empire...all of it was too much today. But he had to do something; Anything, to seem productive in some way. Then, in a moment of realization, Luke sprang up in bed. R2-D2 hadn't been expecting such a spectacle, letting out a startled little scream that didn't seem to dampen his owner's mood in the slightest. 

"I can practice meditating!" 

He hopped out of bed, suddenly filled with energy he hadn't possessed moments earlier as he began stripping away its multitude of pillows and sheets.

"Help a boy out, Artoo. We'll make a meditation chamber just like Daddy's!" 

Artoo spun in a celebratory circle, pleased to see Luke acting more himself. He chirped his approval of the idea. The other seemed so excited about his idea, he hadn't even realized he'd slipped into a much more childish tone of voice.

With the help of his droid and the Force, he brought together all the chairs of his bedroom suite, along with the couch, for the structural base of his fort. Then came lying down his plush duvet in between the furniture, a texture that would feel much more pleasant to sit upon than the cool, slick spaceship floor itself--especially as he layered an extra sheet atop it. Lining the now softened space would be the jobs of Luke's impressive pillow collection, and the final blanket would have to be hung from a hook near the top of the ceiling, of which Luke most certainly couldn't reach on his own. 

The droid was happy to help give his master a lift. Just as he hooked the sheet in place (now holy, thanks to R2-D2's drill), his suite's door slid open. The only person on the ship that was allowed to do that was...

"Daddy!" Luke exclaimed with nothing but sheer joy. He was still perched atop Artoo's shoulders, and despite the precarious position, threw his arms up into the air. The pillow that'd been clutched in them going flying. Darth Vader rose his hand, stopping its trajectory mid-way to his head with the Force, hovering it back down to the ground and taking a step into the room. 

"What's all this, Luke?"

Luke fumbled a bit, getting down from Artoo and dropping to his knees, crawling towards the entrance of his blanket fort and lifting the lower sheet that served as its inner opening. He turned, beckoning his father with a wag of his hand. 

"We're making a chamber like yours." 

Luke exuded youngling energy, even more than usual. The look in his still-blue eyes remained pure, almost innocent, somehow untouched by both strict Jedi rules and harsh Sith teachings.

He seemed happy.

"C'mon, meditate with me!"

Without a doubt that Darth Vader would follow right after him into the depth's of his blanket fort, Luke crawled forth. The sheet flopped back to its original position, concealing the boy from sight and leaving its interior a mystery. R2-D2 beeped his encouragement at his other master, and after a long moment of consideration, Darth Vader sank to his knees and crawled in after his son.

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Together, they sat with legs crossed, backs straight, breathing even. After ensuring his form mirrored his father's to the best of his ability, Luke finally closed his eyes. R2-D2, satisfied with his masters' safeties, rolled away from the blanket fort, and after that, the two were met with a comfortable quiet. Luke did his best to focus, but still found it difficult to do so without guidance. Every time he tried, his mind simply buzzed with uncertainty. Whenever he tried to commit to one teaching, another always seemed to persistently nudge at his mind until he folded to it, only for the cycle to continue. The conflict within him seemed never-ending.

Luckily, he had his father with him this time, and Darth Vader always seemed so able to sense distress within Luke and guide him with well-needed direction. He spoke first. 

"What do you see?" 

Luke's face scrunched up in concentration--trying his best to impress--until his father's voice whispered to 'relax' against the edge of the mental battlefield. With that, his shoulders finally fell limp, eyelashes fluttering as he ducked his head. It was only then that, finally, the blurred colors and foggy imagery of his mind's eye took shape with more clarity than ever before: An endlessly sandy landscape that was painted just as vividly for the one whom he was sharing the meditative state with. The two stood there together, overlooking the picturesque horizon atop a dune. 

'Home,' Luke finally answered, wanting to turn towards his father but getting distracted by the two suns he missed so. A wave of nostalgia washed over him that he couldn't seem to control and he wasn't sure how he felt about it: Happy? Bittersweet? Sad? Relieved? 

'What does that mean to you?'

That was precisely what Luke was trying to figure out.

'Good question!'

He stumbled down the dune, tripping in the sand but finding his balance as he was caught by a hand grasping his own. He peeked down at it, finding gloved fingers wrapped around his bare, mechanical ones. His heart leapt in his chest and he was struck by another wave, this one, stronger than before and--more importantly--undeniably good: Joy. 

Luke squeezed and then pulled, urging his father to follow him.

Darth Vader knew what his former mentor would've done: With the wave of a hand, he'd set all of this faux-Tatooine ablaze. He'd bring Luke to the ruin of his childhood home. He'd show him the burnt skeletons of his family. He'd reveal to him the torture, the slavery, the death that the very sands he daydreamed about held in its very grain. Instead, he remained silent and allowed Luke to take him towards the horizon. Together, they walked, elder only ever staying a single stride behind.

'It's a place that never changes,' he shared, 'Unexpected things never happen. The work on the moisture farms' always the same, I see the same people every day and I'm sure I'll see them again the day after that. The suns are hot, the sand is endless, and the war means nothing. It's just...'

Luke shook his head and inhaled deeply, feeling a tingling sensation tickle his nose as his cheeks warmed pink. Surely it was the fault of the heat and nothing more. He would not cry in presence of his father, no matter the relief he felt then and there. It was like all the bad, prickly feelings that'd been poking at him with nightmares and worries the past few cycles were gone, and all that remained was a world in which Luke was undeniably...

'...safe,' he concluded. 

Maybe he was a little embarrassed, too, to say such things, but when he turned to glance up at his father's mask, expecting to see him tensed--angry--he was met with the same relaxed form he'd mimicked at the start of their meditation. There was no judgement placed upon him. 

'You're safe with me, Son. As long as you remain at my side, I won't let anything happen to you again.'

Luke made to pull his hand away defiantly, but Vader's grip tightened and he followed the movement as though to confirm that, yes, even should the boy become rebellious. Even if--

'Even if I can't ever become a full-fledged Sith?' Luke spat, tone rather accusatory. Sometimes it was difficult to believe that with the reputation his father had, the man somehow remained so patient with him despite his shortcomings when it came to his new training. 'What then?' 

'Then my son will be a Jedi.'

Luke's shoulders, which had scrunched up in defense, suddenly fell, and he sighed, taking a seat. Vader, who seemed ever-reluctant to let go of him, followed just as he had before. Luke's free flesh hand began to trace pointless patterns in the sand.

'Like my father before me,' he murmured, and despite the headway they were making in understanding one another better, neither of them seemed ready to fully accept what, precisely, Luke was implying with those words. Darth Vader remained silent at his side.

For awhile, Luke simply doodled with the tip of his finger. The shapes and lines seemingly had no meaning, but it ended up looking symmetrical, pretty, and intricate. Luke found he rather liked just sitting here in the warmth of the suns and drawing, but he did not say it aloud. Instead, he focused on gathering his thoughts, and minutes of silence ticked by until he decided to be the first to pipe up once more:

'Daddy?'

It made Luke feel good to call out the newfound name and something deep inside him told him that his father felt the same, even if neither voiced it. They didn't have to, really, but Luke did feel like he had to admit what'd been going on with him recently:

'I know I have a lotta responsibilities now. This is the path I chose. I would've--I would've done anything to be with you. But somedays, I just can't do anything at all and I just wanna be home. I just wanna feel safe.'

Luke turned towards him, hugging him with the arm he had free. It was the best he could do with their hands still intertwined. The hug, awkward as it was, was returned to him.

'I promise I'll always get back to training, I will,' he went on, 'But sometimes, it's just too much and my head feels like it's gonna explode from it all. I don't know where to start, or where even to continue. I feel so lost.' 

His father considered the words, only speaking up once Luke felt content enough with their shared embrace to pull away and look up at his mask with big, wide, hopeful blue eyes. He was seeking answers, and Vader would provide him with whatever he was looking for. 

'That is a sign of my own failure, Son, not yours.'

The life of a Jedi was strict, practiced, and routine. Luke didn't know much--only the little he'd read from Obi-Wan's logs and even less from what Yoda had shared with him before his passing--but he was certain of that much. He could only imagine the life of a Sith, like the one his father had led, the one he was diving headfirst into, was probably even more so. Vader, who was well-acquainted with both methods, was well-aware of such structure. Either way his aptitude turned, he would provide Luke with the meaning he was looking for. Yet, he did not want his son to be unhappy with him. The fear of losing him all over again was nearly all-consuming and he'd let himself give into it.

'Perhaps, in my attempt to welcome you at my side, I've given you too much freedom, when what you really need is structure.'

He'd been willing to do whatever it took to get him to stay--to make him see that there was no place better for the young Skywalker than at his own father's side. Together, they would make the galaxy a place they'd be proud to live in. They'd make it into their home: a safe haven where neither would ever have to be afraid, and rely on the guidance of fear, ever again. 

Maybe there was another way. Amidst this meditation session, Vader was finally beginning to see what had been holding his son back. He was finally beginning to understand him; to really know him, and it all came back to this place of youth and childhood innocence--Tatooine. 

'From now on, there will be rules you are to follow, but they will differ on days which you train and days which you do not. With those rules will come not just with discipline should they be neglected, but reward, if you hold yourself to them. You will have a clear purpose.'

If expectations of him were explicitly outlined, there'd be no guessing whether or not he was on the correct path! He wouldn't feel so conflicted all the time! His father was a genius. Luke attempted to withhold his overwhelming excitement, but he could not, slapping his hand over his mouth to try and hide his goofy grin as he nodded excessively. 

'I'll do it! I'll do my best!'

For the first time in a long time, Anakin felt as though he had reason to return the smile...though perhaps he wasn't ready to let anyone but himself acknowledge that fact just yet. The mask hid his secret, and he turned back to face the two suns. 

Together, they'd followed one another down to the edge of the planet. One lagged behind just so, following the other wherever it went, even into the unknown of what mystery lie beneath the horizon line. 

He was torn from the poetry of his wandering thoughts when Luke's head flopped against his shoulder. In response, his own prosthetic hand caressed Luke's, thumb sliding back and forth over his wrist.  

'It all sounds good. It really does. But can we start tomorrow? I just wanna stay here with you for now.' 

Though the subtle petting did not cease its rhythm, Luke was met with nothing but the sound of his father's respirator. He peeked up at him. The sight of the mask gave him little to go off of. Which, somehow in itself, seemed to say more than words could; For just as Vader was becoming more intimately acquainted with Luke's feelings, his son, too, was beginning to understand his father's.

'You don't like it here,' Luke concluded. With a stubborn expression, he focused, attempting to prod into his father's mind, but he found nothing. Why? Why didn't he like Tatooine? Was it the-- 

'I don't like sand.'

Oh.

Luke glanced down at where they were sitting, then, what was all around them, surrounding their figures for as far as eyes could see, and even then, still farther yet. 

Oh.

'But I like being here with you, Little One.'

Oh! 

Luke's heart soared and the part of it that'd felt so incomplete--so unfulfilled--was finally beginning to fill itself in again. He let out a cackle of pure delight. This was home, and no matter where their destinies took them next, home would always be wherever his father was.

Chapter Text

Luke couldn't forget the events of his recent meditation even if he were to try. He was consumed with it upon waking the morning after, reflecting on all of the tender moments he'd shared with his father on his idealized version of Tatooine and replaying them over and over again. 

Those moments, and, of course, the way his father had called him 'Little One.' The sweet name echoed through his head, sounding better each time. Luke couldn't articulate to himself why, exactly, but he was really fond of it and wanted to hear the real thing again as soon as possible.  

Eager for the chance to do so and for the day ahead, he crawled out of his blankets with a silly grin on his face, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. R2-D2 eagerly rolled over to his side. The droid seemed happy with how energetic his master seemed to be today, if the way he danced side to side was any indication. Luke felt completely revitalized  and looked it, too!

"Morning, Artoo." 

Artoo chirped cheerily. 

"I am in a good mood. Guess all I really needed was some rest and relaxation." 

As the droid babbled away in binary, he leaned back on one palm, the other hand reaching up to run through his bangs, pushing them up off his forehead only for them to flop stubbornly back where they always fell. 

"Check my datapad?"

Luke glanced over at it sitting on his bedside table. When he lifted it up and tapped it awake, he found that Artoo was right; there was a message waiting for him--and from a very important person, at that!

"It's a message from Father!" 

Luke opened it up and was greeted by two schedules, side-by-side. There was so much text on the screen that Luke had to blink a few times to make sense of it, still a little groggy from lying in bed. 

"Did he tell you about all this, Artoo?" 

The droid booped in the affirmative, but Luke wasn't paying much attention anymore; rather, he was examining the lists himself. One was labeled as 'Aurek' and the other 'Besh.' 

One schedule listed duties Luke was very familiar with: attending the daily morning brief to stay on top of political happenings, lightsaber training, sparring practice, meditation, and so on...but the other was a lot more interesting. 

Mealtimes were still listed, of course, dreaded as Luke found the stuff to be, but the activities were much less physically rigorous. They included things like morning excersises, practicing in the flight simulator, and studying history, mechanics, engineering, as well as the Force itself. That didn't surprise Luke as much as things like an afternoon nap, a set bedtime, holocron viewings, organizing his clothes, and having to clean his personal quarters. It reminded him of the practices younglings would engage in at the Jedi creche, old documents he'd found while training around the universe in recent years.

The end of the message instructed Luke that each day upon waking up, he was to report to R2-D2 whether he'd like it to be an 'Aurek' schedule day, or a 'Besh' schedule. Despite the abundant amount of copy in the message, one thing was explicit above all else: His father had heard him, even if his way of explaining his tiresome feelings hadn't been the most clear. Luke felt nothing but elated at that fact. Though they'd many things yet to learn about one another, their relationship was blossoming, and each day, Luke thought they were understanding one another better and better.

When he set aside the datapad, Artoo inquired what kind of day it was today. 

"Aurek," he said with confidence, and watched as the droid plugged himself into the tablet and got to transmitting the message. Luke finally rose up from bed and pat his domed head before moving to get changed into his usual dark robes. 

And so Luke went about his 'Aurek' schedule day. Nothing was too out of the ordinary from what he was used to, but he did make sure to stay tightly on schedule. He ate the grey stuff for breakfast, met with his mentors, and spent several hours in the simulators, working both on his piloting skills and lightsaber ones.

He did not catch a glimpse of his father, even at the briefing where he'd been alerted that their ship had changed course: Not towards the capital were they traveling, but rather, in the complete opposite direction. Luke found it odd, as did the other commanders, but no one dared question Darth Vader's orders, and he would not, either. Though the confusion and frustration that he had not been advised personally about this change fed into his Force training well.

Why hadn't he been told? The others, sure, but they were just...people! And he was his son! He deserved to know these things! Not like he could ask him, given how busy he'd been...

It wasn't until several days later--admittedly, his first 'Besh' sort of day--that he would learn just why they'd traveled in the complete opposite direction of their initial destination.

Chapter Text

Despite the newfound glimmers of joy in Luke's life, his nightmares raged on angrier than ever before. This particular morning, they centered around Leia--still missing despite the Emperor's thorough search of space for his daughter. But she was not absent from Luke's mind. She was right there in front of him, begging him to see reason. Luke pleaded with her to join them instead with equal desperation: It didn't have to be like this! They didn't have to be at odds! On the contrary, they could be a family for the very first time, with a father that loved them more than anything! Why couldn't she see that? 

Leia replied that she'd had a father who loved her more than anything, and that he was killed by the very side Luke decided to partner with. Han stepped out from behind her and raised his blaster, and before Luke could protest any more, he woke up with a deafening 'bang.' 

Blue eyes shot open, his body jolting up in bed, arms flailing to push off all the blankets that suddenly felt like they were way too much. His heart rabbited in his chest and his thoughts were muddled. Everything was a blur and nothing made much sense, because after just a few moments spent panting, he realized that no, he was not hot--he was clammy and cold. Very cold, and so he pulled the blankets up over him and flopped back down onto his side.  

It was then he could feel the tears rolling over his cheeks and onto his pillowcase, forcing him to sit up once more in discomfort. No matter the luxury of the materials, none of it felt comfortable anymore. He was hot, he was cold, he was itchy, he was antsy; there seemed to be no fixing anything.

R2-D2 questioned Luke from his usual corner, tentatively rolling forward towards the bed. When his master did not acknowledge him, he came to his side, cooing wistfully. He hated seeing Luke suffer like this, especially after such a successful day of Sith training, and said as much.

Luke eyed the droid closely, finding the oscillating series of lights on his many displays oddly calming. 

"Is it morning, Artoo?" He asked, finally finding it in him to capture words in his grasp and force them out. 

Affirmative, Artoo replied in the form a concise blip. 

"Besh," was all he said before turning away and getting cozy as best he could, even if it seemed like his bed had been turned into a torture chamber overnight. Luke grabbed a pillow that hadn't been soiled by his tears and hugged it to his face, making it damp anyway, but he didn't care about that anymore. He missed Han and Leia. Chewie. Daddy. 

He missed Daddy, especially, for Daddy would make everything right again in the universe. He would make Han and Chewie understand and he would find a way to convince Leia to join them. She didn't need her old home, or her old family...she had her real one, now!

Luke pouted, feeling--he knew--irrationally angry with his sister. It was the underlying bitterness that had been lingering there for weeks finally rising to his surface. Did she think herself better than them? Was there not blood on her hands from this war, too? Surely she, of all people, would understand that sometimes sacrifices had to be made for the greater good. Alderaan was a pity--it really was--but at one point or another, she would've had to join her family on the new capital anyway. It was her duty; her birthright! Her--

His bedroom suite's door slid open with a hiss, and Luke startled, taking a deep breath so that he could yell with all his might at the Stormtrooper that he. 

Did not.

Want. 

The.

Damned.

Rations! 

Yet, his overflowing rage was quelled by a gentle touch to his mind, and Luke found himself graced by the very presence he craved above all others.

The door closed, and he heard the familiar respirator breathing evenly with time. A smile overtook his lips and he wriggled around in bed to see. Not that he needed any confirmation, but it was, indeed, Darth Vader, and lucky for Luke, he wasn't holding the usual rations he'd been about to reject.

The tray he carried was full of exciting color that immediately appealed to his littler sensibilities. Despite his newfound status, it had been a long time since he'd eaten fruit, or anything so luxurious. His anger nearly forgotten in an instant, he bit down on his bottom lip and looked up at Vader hopefully as he joined him on the bed, sitting upon its edge and setting the tray down. 

'Is that for me?' Luke asked through the Force, unable to form actual words just yet in his untamed enthusiasm.

'Yes,' his father affirmed, and lifted up one of the fruits with the same power that allowed them to communicate without speaking. 

Luke watched in fascination as the green skin of the pear was peeled away in a beautiful swirl, twisting mid-air and changing before his very eyes without so much as an actual touch. It separated itself into nine equal slices, falling apart with ease, blossoming like a flower.

The show was a sight to behold, and little Luke could barely contain his excitement over it, clapping in an effort to do anything to output the energy that was quickly bottling up inside. It wasn't until the fruit lowered itself back down to the plate in a spiralized bed of its peel that he cried out, "I want it! I want it, I want it, please, Daddy!" 

The bed bounced animatedly as Luke did the same, now grinning ear-to-ear. The devastated, pain-ridden boy Vader had walked in on was no more.

"Then you may have it." 

With the use of a fork, so not to tinge the taste with the bitterness of his gloves, his father stabbed a piece of pear and held it up to his son's wide-open mouth. 

Sweet! Buttery! Juicy! Oh, it was so delicious!

He simply could not get enough of it--which meant it was quite opportune that the tray seemed to be full of food just for Luke. Cheese, bread, and nuts accompanied the fruit, practically begging to be enjoyed. The little was hardly listening as Daddy explained that from now on, Luke would have access to this kind of food in the pantry whenever he so pleased. They were reserved for him, and him alone. 

It was only then that Luke looked up from the handful of nuts he was cradling in his palm, a frown overtaking his face.

"But what about you, Daddy? Won't you eat it, too?" 

The question, sweet as it was for Luke to be so concerned for him, caused Vader pause. After a moment of silence, Luke realized he'd actually stumped his father, though he could not discern why. This required further investigation! 

"Why won't Daddy eat fruits?" 

Luke plucked up one of the more tangy slices and crawled forward, balancing on one palm while the other held it right up to Darth Vader's helmet. His fingers pinched it so not to drop it, and a bit of citrus squirted upon one of the lenses. Still, Vader did not even budge. 

"It's really, really yummy," Luke goaded, shaking it at his father. It was then that his hand was taken, gently, and lowered back down towards the tray. 

"It's just for you, Luke."

The way Luke's face twisted into a petulant sort of pout made it evident that a tantrum was brewing.

"But if they're mine," he argued, "I wanna share them with Daddy! It makes my tongue feel all tingly and my tummy buzzy inside. It's not fair if it's just me! Daddy should feel that way, too! Happy!"

For another long, outstretched moment, all Anakin could do was stare at his son in wonder and amazement. His boy was so sweet. So kind. So very good. How had he ended up so good? Luke truly did not even realize how special he was, did he? It was then, when Luke's pretty baby blues began to glisten with the threat of tears, that he selfishly wished for those eyes to never turn gold.

"Just seeing you enjoy them makes Daddy happy."

"Really?" Luke tilted his head in curiosity. "Why?" 

"Because it makes you happy." 

Mulling this statement over, Luke quietly started sorting the nuts by type on one of the plates. His father watched him just as silently, allowing him time to consider the words. An entire minute passed before the nuts were properly categorized and Luke looked up with wide, curious eyes. 

"So you're happy because I'm happy?"

"Precisely." 

A smile overtook Luke's face before his joy seemed to explode within him. 

"Then I'm even happier!" He threw his arms up into the air with a cheer. "Yaaaay!" The sudden movement nearly sent the tray flying, but it was quickly caught by the Force to avoid the undulation of the mattress beneath Luke's expressive delight.

"Calm down." The order was much less a scold and more a suggestion, for Vader did not have it in him to dampen such high spirits. In fact, he found the idea of stoking the flames even higher amusing. "You must eat, else we will not be able to get to today's training." 

That made Luke finally stop his incessant bouncing, mouth hanging wide open in shock.

"Daddy's going to train me today?"

"If you finish your breakfast."

Luke had never eaten faster in his life.

Chapter Text

In his rush to finish the food, Luke seemed hellbent on feeding himself, so Darth Vader rose from the bed and made his way over to the boy's wardrobe instead. He'd filled it with only the finest of materials, but unbeknownst to Luke himself, R2-D2 had slipped in some new pieces while he'd slept, as instructed by his master--two of which were retrieved for the day's activities. 

One was a fitted, long sleeved black top with an elegant, embroidered trim of silver. It was similar to the type of dress Luke had come to Vader in, and that of which he seemed to gravitate towards on a regular basis. However, the boy was in a completely different headspace now, and Vader wanted to be respectful of it. Thus, he'd also commissioned a tan robe quite similar in style to that of what younglings sported at the Jedi temple. Not only was this sort of childhood dress most familiar to Vader--as it was what he, himself, had donned so proudly so many years ago--but little Luke had expressed interest in remaining on his Jedi Knight path more than once. 

Vader still did not know precisely how he felt about that fact--it was to be meditated on and would require much contemplation--but he'd meant it when he said he'd love Luke all the same, and spoil him just as much, regardless of the path he chose, as long as it was at his side. 

Unlike authentic initiate robes, however, which were humble and plain, this one had a glistening golden trim of intricate patterns around each of its edges, running down its neckline and adorning the sleeves. Such glitz was frowned upon in Jedi culture, but Vader would have his son in nothing less than the best and most fanciful. His position in power was to be known by all who laid eyes upon him and wear was important in reflecting that. Besides, there were no Jedi remaining to judge Luke. He'd made sure of that himself.

"Which will you don today, Luke?" 

Upon being presented with the choice, Luke, whose cheeks were presently stuffed full of cheese and nuts, admittedly felt a little overwhelmed. The lighter color immediately called out to him, as it reminded him of his life on Tatooine. The darker tunic, however, looked cool, and more like something someone powerful would wear. Luke wanted to be cool and powerful, but he craved the comfort of the home he missed, as well. 

Such a difficult decision had him fretting, brows knit in frustration. He chewed, then swallowed, looking down at what remained on the tray and idly picking at some of the skin peels to buy himself some time. 

"Which does...does Daddy like more?"

"You must be the one to choose. Not I." 

Luke threw the peel down in frustration and looked back over at his father with a pout. "But it's so hard! I like both! Can Artoo pick for me?" 

R2-D2 rolled forth, and chirped that both looked handsome--and quite expensive, to boot. Such an answer was useless and only made the little boy whine and squirm on his bed. He had no choice but to get a better look at the garments.

Both featured such stunning detail and embroidery, creating patterns of flora and designs that would be very fun to examine if he were to get bored during his training. The silver threads were sleek and caught the light, but the gold matched Luke's blonde hair, and it was a lot more bold. He really liked that.

"This one," Luke tugged on the sleeve of the pale tunic, looking up at his Daddy and searching through the Force for any sense of approval or lack thereof. Upon sensing the prodding, Vader made sure Luke knew he was pleased with the choice, as he would've been either way. 

"Very well." 

Luke stumbled back to his bed, perching on the edge so he could pluck up what remained and hastily stuff them into his mouth. His father retrieved a brown belt to fasten around the waist atop the sash, as well as matching, slim fit pants to go with the outfit. Boots made of the same rich leather as the belt would also be necessary, given their planned activities for around the ship. The wardrobe was then closed, and Vader made his way back to the bed, lying everything out on its surface. Luke watched him, almost apprehensively.

The truth was, he wasn't quite sure how he would put on the robes. He was trying to imagine it in his head, but it was so full of fluff, thinking little of anything besides fruit and cheese and Daddy that he wasn't sure if he could do it by himself...even if he definitely was a big boy.

"Daddy," he mumbled, bringing his knees up towards his chest. He wrapped one arm around them, hugging them close, and his flesh hand found its way towards his mouth, where he began to nibble on his thumb's fingernail.

His father turned to him, wordlessly.

"I don't..."

It was so embarrassing to say! He didn't know what words he could use to make the situation any better--anything he came up with was humiliating! If he was going to be strong one day, he'd need to know how to put on his own clothes, but...

"I don't," he repeated before shoving his thumb in his mouth. 

"Do you want Daddy to help you put your new clothes on?" 

Luke nodded quickly, suckling on his thumb's tip. It was so cute, Vader couldn't help but feel a rush of fondness wash over him. So much suffering, for so many years, and he was finally being rewarded for it; he was given back his son--a son he would take care of so, so very dutifully. Dressing him in the clothes he'd had custom made for him was the least he could do.

"My old master had to help me with my initiate robes for the first time, as well." 

The little slipped off the edge of the bed and stood in front of Daddy, knowing how to take off his sleep clothes on his own; they were, quite opposite of the robes, simple enough. Luke watched in fascination as Daddy patiently showed him how to fold one side over the other, and where to tie it shut. Golden sashes were added over his shoulders and around his waist, and the boy might have just gotten distracted by how pretty they sparkled and lost track of the instructions his Daddy was explaining to him. 

That was okay. Daddy could just help him next time, too, he decided. 

His upper half all dressed prim and proper, Luke stepped into his pants with ease, and then jumped on the bed and stuck out his feet to have his boots slid on, as well. At this, Vader paused, having considered the boots easy enough to be put on without help. Yet, Luke was looking up at him with the sweetest, most grateful smile, and it was near impossible, even with a willpower as strong as his, to deny his boy of just a bit more special treatment. 

With care, Vader dropped down to his knees and took Luke's foot in his hand. The other worked to guide it into the boot, taking it one foot at a time until they were snug around his calves. He then had to dodge as Luke began kicking his feet with glee, throwing his hands up in the air.

"I did it! I'm all dressed!" 

Back up to his full height, Vader held out his hand to help his son up off the bed. Luke took it, but did not pull to stand up. His smile faded as he stared at his prosthetic, mechanical fingers flexing around Darth Vader's glove. He followed Luke's gaze down to it. 

"I...I need a glove, Daddy!" Luke hastened to remind his father, now appearing rather distressed at the prospect of leaving his suite without wearing one. 

"Of course," he nodded, and after pulling Luke up to his feet, he turned back to the closet to retrieve the final part of the fit; a brown leather glove. 

"I don't want...I don't want others to see because my hand is--it's different," Little Luke tried to reason, more to himself than his father. He stumbled over his words, as he was clearly shy about the matter, following him to the wardrobe but remaining in his shadow.

"I understand, Little One. You need not explain yourself."

As Vader tried to turn to face him, Luke moved along with him, reaching out to cling to his cape and using it to try and hide.

"But! But..." 

Spinning did no good, persistent as Luke was to try and avoid him, thus, his father could do nothing but get down on his knee once more, and guide Luke by the hand until they could see each other proper. Luke was much shorter than he, more than a foot, but like this, he was the tall one. 

"It is all right. Daddy wears gloves, too." 

Once he had his son's attention, he removed one of his gloves, showing Luke his own prosthetic hand. The boy knew of it, but his little self had forgotten in his moments of panic. Those bad feelings were completely washed away, however, when he was reminded that he and Daddy were more alike than he remembered!

"Because our hands match!" Luke cheered, mood brightened immensely by the revelation. 

"Correct." 

Luke turned to look at R2-D2 while his father was fitting the glove over his hand for him, "Artoo, what do you think of my hand?" 

Artoo told Luke that he thought it was a good looking hand, which had Luke cackling with glee. "Of course you'd say that! You're a droid!" 

When the leather hugged his every mechanical joint, he pulled his hand away from Vader and allowed him to put his own back on, distracted by his favorite friend.

"Sometimes," He started, voice quieter than it had been before, "I don't like having a droid hand because...because it can be scary-looking."

Vader listened to the mumbling, nodding as he took note. If Little Luke was disconcerted by his own hand, he'd certainly be afraid of him without his suit. He must not ever be seen without it. Vader always took great care not to be, but with granting Luke more freedom around the ship, extra precautions might need to be implemented.

"Daddy, will Artoo be able to come with us to training today?" 

Luke had to tip his head back to look up at his father as he rose back up to his impressive full height. 

"If he so wishes. C-3PO will be meeting us at the holosimulators." 

"Artoo!" Luke ran over to the droid's side, bopping his dome with both his hands in excitement, "Artoo, c'mon, come with us! You have to! You love being with Threepio, don't'cha? That's your best friend!"

R2-D2 gave a sarcastic remark that Luke, in his smallness, didn't completely understand, but the general gist of it made him giggle. Vader turned his head to glower disapprovingly in the droid's direction. 

"Language," he reminded his old friend, and the droid beeped a simple, 'sorry,' though without any sense of actual apology. Darth Vader let it slide, for truthfully, Luke's amusement towards the droid's antics mirrored his own. He'd always been fond of Artoo's unique sass and to find he still possessed it even after all he'd been through was somewhat comforting. Perhaps, it even gave Anakin just a little hope, though for what, he was not ready to admit to himself just yet.

Chapter Text

Darth Vader was keen to test Luke's abilities in this headspace. Usually, he displayed an astonishing aptitude in just about everything. From lightsaber combat to tinkering to flying, there seemingly wasn't a thing that the boy wasn't able to pick up, despite his older age. Such competence made it difficult for Vader not to be so very smug--how jealous the other initiates would've been if Luke had been training alongside them at the Jedi temple.

The temple, however, would have been no place for his son. He was above it. So much better than it. Those peers would have only been jealous of him, like they had been jealous of Anakin. They would've held Luke back. The council would've held Luke back, the rules of the Jedi lifestyle would've held Luke back. 

No matter. All of that was gone now, nothing but mere legend, and Luke was his prodigy to mould, no one else's. He was going to be something grand, something the universe had not yet seen. 

But there was one thing--gifted as Luke was--that Darth Vader would always best him in. 

"C-3PO!" Luke cried, running ahead into the training chamber. C-3PO turned, unsuspecting to the incoming running-jump hug. The poor droid nearly fell over from sheer shock, but luckily, his first instinct was to catch the young man, supporting his weight as his arms wrapped around his bottom. "I missed you!" the boy cooed, "Why were you gone so long?" 

"Oh, my, Master Luke! I've missed you, too, as I was busy aiding Master Vader with his imperial business. How long has it been, exactly?" 

"Six or seven cycles, I think."

"Really? Has it been that long? Goodness. Still, I was not expecting such an enthusiastic greeting from you." 

"Artoo said he missed you, too." Luke turned to peek over his shoulder at R2-D2. The droid gave a snide remark, something about never having said as much, but everyone in the room knew he didn't mean it.

Threepio tilted his head, looking passed Luke over at the other two before carefully letting Luke back down to his feet. "Hush, you big hunk of metal. I know it to be true. And let the record state that I missed you, as well." 

Artoo begrudgingly conceded, and was rewarded for his good behavior with a pat to his dome by Vader before he rolled up to Threepio's side. He filled the other droid in on the recent major changes with Luke while the two Skywalkers lingered outside their TIE fighter simulators. 

"I'm gonna beat you this time, Daddy!" Luke wasn't shy about giving his father a stubborn look and a playful shove, though the older man did not even waver...just lowered his chin to look down upon his son, fiery as a flaming star. His light; His sun. 

"We will see." 

As though he were frustrated by his father's lack of intimidation, he stomped his foot on the ground, balling both his fists at his sides.

"I will! I'm the best pilot in the whole galaxy!"

"Are you, now?" Though Vader was amused, it did not come through his monotone voice and was lost on the little, "I thought that title belonged to me." 

"Well, maybe it used to, but you're old now! Practically ancient!"

"Let the results decide this debate."

"Fine!" 

Vader turned, pausing to watch as Luke made a scene of getting into his practice TIE fighter. He could tell from the Force that Luke was not actually cross with him, rather, simply determined to show his Daddy that he was talented. 

He did not need to, of course, such was already abundantly clear. Should he even come close to his high score in the simulator, it would be a great feat unto itself. Moreover, Vader was interested in how Luke would handle this challenge in his very particular sort of state. 

Pretty well, it turned out, all things considered: His final score didn't rival Vader's, but it landed just within the top 10, beating out thousands of the empire's most trusted pilots. A couple spots below his own record, actually, which held a respectable spot at number 5. Vader took this as a victory--not because he, himself, had garnered a perfect score yet again, but because Little Luke had done so very well.

The boy did not see it that way, however, eyes watery as he crawled out of the holosimulator to meet his father. His head hung in shame.

"It's not fair! I didn't have Artoo to help me!"

"Neither did I," Vader replied, meeting him halfway. Luke sniffed, but stubbornly wiped the tears from his eyes with his sleeve. "But you did well, Son," His hand found the top of Luke's head and pet it, wishing he could feel the softness of those golden locks for himself, "I am proud of you." 

"But it's not good enough. I wanna be better, Daddy!" 

"Then we shall practice. If you allow me, I can monitor your session...provide you with feedback." 

"So...so I can learn from the actual best pilot in the galaxy?"

"My experience and knowledge are at your disposal. I will teach you all I know."

The training was not typical for a Sith nor a Jedi. It lacked discipline and vigor, but if anything, it was a father giving his son flying lessons. 

And how excited Vader was to do so. More and more as of late, Luke gave him reason: Reason to smile, to feel happy, to live, to endure, to rule. The boy had been so unsure about his decision to stay at his side, he'd given up everything he knew and everything he had. But it was because he believed in his father, he trusted that he would provide him with everything he needed, and Darth Vader would. 

He would, and more.

Chapter Text

"I can't believe I beat my old score!"

Luke skipped along at his father's side as they walked down the quiet halls of the Executor. Their hands were held tight in one another's, Vader unwilling to let his son go when they were out in the open. He was going to keep him close, protected; Safe, just as Luke had so requested, and the boy seemed to respond well to physical signs of affection.  

"You only needed focus," he told him, which was quite true. He always knew Luke had suffered from performance anxiety in the holosim...he still wasn't so keen about being here on the side of the Empire. He missed his friends, foolish as they may be, and his sister. It was understandable, as unhelpful as it was to their cause--his devoted attachment to others was something Anakin could relate to, after all. He had only wished Luke could have found power in it, rather than pointless misery--but it seemed the dark side was not so natural to him, even if he had, on occasion, both felt and followed its lure. 

"Nope! Daddy helped a lot! Now I'm the fourth best pilot in the galaxy!" 

Darth Vader stopped walking, letting Luke skip a few steps ahead until his hand tugged and he was forced to stay rooted in place where he was, arm outstretched. The pause allowed the droids trailing behind them time to catch up. Luke turned back to his father with a look of indignation.

"What?" 

He hadn't even realized they had arrived back at his suite, too distracted by chatting with Daddy all the way back from the training room they'd spent nearly the entire cycle in.

"On 'Besh' days, all good boys must be in bed by now. Your rest is important for your training." Luke opened his mouth to whine, but Vader only continued, "C-3PO will tuck you in."

That really set him off. As much as he loved C-3PO, he wanted Daddy, and only Daddy! Yes, they'd been together for hours on end, but he wanted more! He'd never get enough! He'd spent his entire life without his Daddy! 

"But I don't want Threepio, I want Daddy!" The boy squealed, stomping his foot.

"Oh, my..." 

Threepio glanced down at Artoo, who beeped that this hadn't anything to do with him. 

Not at all phased by the outburst of attitude, Vader held firm onto Luke's hand and promised, "Daddy will tuck you in next time, Little One, but tonight, there is important business to tend to."

Perhaps that was why they had suddenly changed their course of flight? Luke had, indeed, been curious about that, but...

"Important imperial business?" 

"Yes." 

It wasn't precisely the answer Luke had been hoping for, but in his current state, comfortable for the first time in a long time after finally getting to spend the cycle at his Daddy's side, he couldn't be bothered to dwell on it too much. Thus, he had no choice but to concede with a hesitant: "...Okay." 

C-3PO shuffled to his master's side, offering out a hand. As much as he respected Luke, Vader's orders always took priority: if he was to tuck him into bed, he would have to do so, no matter how unwilling the boy was. 

"Do not fret. You behaved well today, and if you continue to by allowing C-3PO to tuck you in, you will receive a gift." 

"A gift?!" 

"Correct." 

Could this day get any better? Luke started bouncing on his toes, quite excited, indeed. What else could he possibly receive besides the wonderful food, quality time, and wise words of advice he'd already gifted him today?

Ignoring Threepio's offer of his hand, Luke could only think of one thing, and he chanted, "I want a gift, Daddy! Please, please, please, please!"

"Then you must be good, Little One. Go on. Daddy will return in the morning."

"Come now, Master Luke. Allow me to escort you to your quarters," Threepio attempted. Luke turned to him, face a bit distraught. Even with Threepio's coaxing, and the promise of a present, he still didn't want to leave his father's side.

Sometimes he was scared that he'd wake up and Daddy would be gone again for another twenty years. 

"I'll miss you," he mumbled, and the pitiful little sound of his voice was enough to break a Sith Lord's heart. 

"I will miss you, too, Son, but do not forget what we've been practicing. No matter how far apart we may be, you can always call upon me with the Force." 

R2-D2 rolled up to his side, promising him it would be okay. He might not have Master Vader with him tonight, but he would have his loyal droids. 

With great reluctance, Vader was the first to let go of Luke's hand, knowing he must. The boy followed, clenching his fist as his side as his other took hold of Threepio's. But even as the droid turned to open the bedroom suite's door, Luke remained facing his father.

"Can we practice it one more time?" 

"Of course." 

With all of the training he'd received since boarding upon the Executor, he'd become closer to the Force than ever before. When he was feeling small like this, however, connecting with it was a different matter entirely. It used to be cloudy, not at all clear like when he'd studied on his own. He hadn't been distracted then by so many fears and worries. Yet, the other day his father had guided him to a place of utter clarity: Tatooine. His home. Luke had been able to feel the suns beaming down on the top of his head, the sand beneath his fingertips, feel the dryness of the air...it had all seemed so real, and all of it had been capable with the Force. 

Today, too, his abilities had been tested, and improved further upon. Even when everything else felt complicated in this messed up universe, when robes seemed too confusing to fasten and words so easily escaped his tongue, relying on the Force to guide him had become a simpler matter than it had been the day before. 

He could do it; he knew he could. He just needed to try...

...but in his excitement of receiving a gift and sorrow of having to say goodbye to Daddy, too much was happening. Darth Vader had to take the first step--a gentle, metaphorical tap on Luke's mind, as though to ask if anyone was in there. 

The boy immediately perked up, smiling. He nodded in person, but his affirmation was clearly felt through their bond, even without words. With confidence now, he was able to project back at his father, whom he saw so clearly despite having his eyes squeezed shut: 'I love you, Daddy.' 

'I love you, too, Luke.'

He took a step forward, and together, in the beautiful, vast space of emptiness of the desert, he cupped his cheek in his hand. 'You are so precious to me. My son. You are everything I was, am, and will be. The best thing I have ever done.' 

The feelings of adoration rippling off Darth Vader's words were profound--almost too much as they bombarded Luke and demanded to be acknowledged. It seemed the Emperor's affection was as domineering and powerful as his sheer strength, and yet, somehow, Luke felt happy to take it on. It was a good kind of burden, one where the weight of it upon his shoulders was comforting, rather than distressing like all his other concerns. 

That was what love was. Luke simply leaned into the surprisingly kind touch, not knowing what to say. He'd have to think really hard, to have a good response to such a passionate declaration. 

Perhaps he'd inadvertently projected this feeling into the Force, because then his father said, 'You needn't strain yourself so hard when you are like this, Little One. I know you will practice when you are feeling up to it. Now is the time that you get to relax and I get to spoil you like I've always wanted to.'

Within the Force, Luke's eyes opened, wide with curiosity. 

'You always wanted to?' 

'Ever since I learned you existed.' 

A smile overtook his lips, amusement filling his soul.

'That's not very long, Daddy.'

'Knowing you were out there without me made it feel like an eternity.' 

Luke laughed, the words' sheer depth seemingly not sinking in to his little mind. Together, they stood like that for a few more drawn-out moments before Vader retreated, and suddenly Luke was back in the hallway outside his room, clinging to Threepio's metal hand.

"Good work. Now it is time for bed." 

"Okay, Daddy. Will I see you tomorrow?" 

"Yes."

Luke beamed, clearly pleased. "G'night."

"Good night."

Luke stood where he was at his bedroom's door, watching as his father continued walking down the hall with a wave of his cape. Eventually, he turned the corner, and the sound of his respirator faded. Luke's shoulders fell and he finally conceded, following Threepio into the suite with Artoo at his heels. 

Chapter Text

C-3PO helped Little Luke get undressed while R2-D2 pulled out some lightweight trousers and a loose top from the wardrobe for him to put on as sleepwear. The boy was babbling about, completely unconcerned as the droid fumbled with his belts and sashes on his behalf.

To anyone unfamiliar with the Jedi, they might have thought him mad the way he spoke about time seemingly slowing down. The ability had given him more than enough warning to react to obstacles in the holosimulator. Apparently, his father also possessed this ability, and it was something to do with the Force. Artoo casually replied that he used to use it to podrace, which nearly blew Luke's mind.

"So that's why he's so good at flying!" 

His Daddy was so cool! Building his own racer? Illegal podraces? The best reflexes, super strong with the Force, awesome black armor? Learning more about him, even if it was just a little tidbit of information, warmed Luke's heart and made him feel all giddy and buzzy. Probably the last thing he should be right before bed, and C-3PO scolded his friend for it while Luke bounced on the mattress excitedly. 

But Artoo didn't feel bad. Seeing Luke's spirits so high after so many long, dreary days of misery, unmotivated, quiet, and lying in bed, he would always prefer his master to be so lively.

"Now, now, Master Luke," C-3PO could barely keep up with Luke's flailing arms, attempting to shove them into the sleeves of his night shirt now that the loose pants had been slipped up his legs, "I must ask that you calm down, else I will not be able to gift you the--"

Artoo, after a brief detour behind Luke's back, returned with a big furry thing held in one of his extraction claws. 

"Ar~too! You were not supposed to give that to him yet, my friend!" 

The droid spun his head although he were rolling his eyes and told Threepio to can it; Luke had earned it today with all his hard work.

"Well, I suppose..."

Luke, however, was simply staring at the brown fluffy offering with wide eyes. The sight was dreadfully comforting, as the very first thing it reminded him of was Chewbacca. But of course, it was much too small to be the Wookiee. It had to be something else...

He cautiously pulled the furball from R2-D2, turning it around and gasping when he saw the curved horns and realized what it was.

"A bantha! It's a bantha!" 

C-3PO hobbled forward, motioning with his hand while he explained, "It's not just any bantha toy, Master Luke. This is a special handmade toy that keeps nightmares away and--"

"Really?!" 

Artoo beeped in affirmation. 

"Yes, and--"

"But--how! When?"

C-3PO attempted once more to finish his sentence, but Artoo seemed more eager to explain and wouldn't stop his incessant blipping, so finally the golden droid gave up and simply stood at the bed's edge. 

It had been a combined effort between the three of them: First, R2-D2 had told Darth Vader about Luke's re-occuring nightmares, and had recommended some kind of comfort object. He hadn't shared with either Master that he'd gotten the idea itself from the way Anakin used to cling to his wife in bed during his own nightmares, and how, upon waking, her presence used to always calm him.

Perhaps Anakin recalled the memory--or perhaps he did not. Artoo hadn't inquired, but a few cycles later, his master had declared the comfort object would take the form of a bantha. Artoo was admittedly a bit relieved Luke wouldn't be getting a wife of his own, finding the boy too young...even if he was older than his father had been. There was a certain innocence about Luke that made everyone around him want to strive to preserve it.

He and C-3PO had then worked together to track down a craftsman on the edge of the outer rim; one from the Skywalkers' home planet who was selling pelts of hunted bantha fur. Expensive, of course, as it was not so easy to find a bantha without its loyal Tusken partner to protect it. 

With C-3PO's impressive negotiation skills (mostly Vader's intimidation), the merchant had been happy (terrified) to make them the plush using the pelt...and even cast a special spell upon it (nothing of the sort had been done, but it was the idea that counted)! R2-D2 didn't find it necessary to include the part about Vader slaughtering the merchant after the deed was done and confiscating all of his goods, and Luke, fascinated by the tale, was none the wiser.

"You did all that for me?" 

"It certainly was not easy, tracking that fellow down, Master Luke," C-3PO finally piped back up. Luke was thoroughly impressed, to the droid's pride.

"I bet!"

And somehow, his Daddy had just gotten even cooler in Luke's mind. To be fair...so did his droids. What a lucky boy he was, Prince of the Galaxy. If only his sister were here to enjoy it with him. If she'd just give their father a chance, she'd see how cool he was; how nice this situation could be. 

A bittersweet smile overtook Luke's lips as he hugged the plushie tight to his chest and finally lie down as he was meant to, letting C-3PO pull his sheets over him and tuck them around his form. 

"Thanks, both of you...I'm so lucky."

He'd have to thank Daddy, too, but he knew his Daddy was busy working and would be upset if he wasn't sleeping as he'd promised he would be. It would have to wait until tomorrow. 

"You're very welcome, Master Luke." 

He wriggled around in bed until he lie on his side, closing his eyes and bringing the bantha up to his face. The fur tickled his chin, and it was pleasant enough that he had to smile, withholding a little giggle.

"Goodnight, Threepio."

"Goodnight."

Luke listened as the droid shuffled off towards the door and dimmed the lights, casting the room in darkness that felt comfortable against Luke's closed eyelids. 

"Goodnight, Artoo," he added, not forgetting his good friend's involvement in the plot to gift him this adorable plushie. 

Artoo blipped a fond goodnight back towards his master before settling into his usual dark corner for keep guarding overnight. He gave Threepio a little bow before the droid exited the room and went to fulfill his other duties as planned.

"Goodnight, Bantha," Luke whispered to his plush, planting a little kiss between his horns. Then, he used what little remained of his energy from his busy day to project one last goodnight into the Force: 'Goodnight, Daddy.'

'Goodnight, Little One.'

The response had come back almost immediately, and such relief washed over Luke that his body entirely relaxed and he welcomed rest without complaint. 

Chapter Text

'Unexpected, this turn of events is.' 

Luke wasn't sure how much time had passed since he'd last said goodnight, but a familiar voice that definitely wasn't his father's tickled the edge of his ear. Soon after, another followed, though this one, he could not place in his memory. 

'I find myself growing more fond of the boy with each passing day.' 

Then, another tone he recognized, albeit younger than he last recalled it: 'He's already shouldered far too much and something has clearly broken in his mind as a result, Master. He is unwell.' 

'Patience, you must have, Obi-Wan. In tact he remains and changing before our eyes, Young Skywalker is. Turn to the dark side completely, he has not.'

Despite his piqued interest, Luke continued to drift rather contentedly in and out of sleep. The voices raised no alarm despite their unusual existence. He would not remember the words in the morning, nor would he make much sense of them in the present. All he knew was that they were comforting. Their presence seemed to wrap him in warm hugs, like blankets that were not hot or itchy; just consisting of a comfortable pressure that he needed to feel safe.

'Anakin is changing, too. He's conflicted, now more than ever. I feel it. And with how tenderly he treats the boy...'

'Feel it, do I, as well.' 

'Master...with all due respect: You actually still believe in the prophecy after everything he's done?' 

'Luke will help guide the Galaxy to true balance and Anakin might very well still be the key to achieving that.' 

At the mention of his own name, Luke squeezed his new bantha plush tighter, but any excitement he would've felt was soon quelled by a brush of a hand over his head, guiding him towards sleep.

'Leave him be. We don't need a tantrum if he wakes.'

'Yes--rest, we must let Young Skywalker. Important is a clear mind when traversing these unexplored paths.'

'Yet, he is such a charming boy, is he not?'

'He is no longer a child, Master. Do not coddle him as such, even if he acts like it.' 

'You should know better than anyone, my padawan. I have grown rather fond of coddling in my old age. I suppose Anakin is beginning to feel similarly. The boy always has been sentimental about family.'

Luke swore he could feel his hair being brushed away from his face, but as ridiculous as that might've sounded in tandem with disembodied voices of men he vaguely recognized, he'd no inkling to open his eyes, nor panic. He only settled deeper into the edges of slumber.

'Sleep peacefully.'

The conversation may have continued in his presence, but he was no longer privy to it. Young Skywalker's dreams were nothing but serene that evening.

Chapter Text

"Morning, Artoo." 

Luke yawned noisily after propping himself up in bed, holding a hand up to weakly to cover his wide-open mouth. His head was clear, mind sound, and his body didn't even ache a single bit. Artoo even commented on his positive demeanor as he rolled up to his bedside, pleased to see that he'd slept so soundly through the night. 

"Yeah, I'm kinda surprised, too..." 

He ran a hand through his bangs, pushing them off his face a couple times until they finally stayed back for once. 

Artoo then asked the usual question, and the boy had to give it some thought. If he said 'Aurek,' he might have a productive day of training fueled by his good mood...but then he wouldn't get to see his father much, and his muscles would get all achey, and his tutors would yell at him to train harder, and he'd have to eat that horrible grey stuff from a packet like the rest of the Stormtroopers, and--

"It's a 'Besh' day," Luke decided.

The droid turned to the datapad, sending out the information as he did every morning now, then projected Luke's schedule up in front of him. First on the list was...

"Guess my breakfast will be here, soon, then..." 

Artoo agreed and Luke smiled--he wasn't feeling so small today, but the idea of getting to spend the day with Daddy again was too tempting to deny. 

He flopped back down on his bed and sighed, turning his head only to find his bantha plush, forlorn near the other end of the very large bed. Such a sad sight made Luke gasp, and he immediately lunged to scoop him up, the memories of last night flooding back to him and giving him a surge of joy.

His droid friend, curious, asked if he had been free of nightmares as promised.

"I actually didn't dream a single thing! For once..." 

Gathering himself up with the bantha now held firmly in his arms, his legs curled, knees up to his chest, pinning the plush against him.

"...was nice, actually." 

His mind began to wander, wondering what kind of 'spell' Father put on the plushie to make it work. He recalled the other kids on Tatooine always whispering that Ben Kenobi was a wizard, but it turned out he was really a Jedi. Easily mistaken could the powers be, but in this case, it made Luke wonder if it had been some kind of Sith technique he'd used. 

Brow furrowed, Luke's legs straightened once more and he held the plushie out in front of himself, examining it more closely with a tilt of his head and a puzzled expression.

At first thought, it didn't make a whole lot of sense for Sith to have such a kind spell, but then, the more he pondered it, the more it did: The nightmares had only started when he had started his Sith training, so maybe all Sith suffered from them...and therefore, spells to prevent them had been invented. Did that mean his father had terrible nightmares all the time, too?

He let his thoughts meander further, mostly about Darth Vader; once a famed Jedi, now an even more powerful Sith. His feet carried him to his wardrobe while he tried to imagine his father--how he really looked, beneath that suit and armor. Luke had never seen it, nor had he the foresight to have asked Ben. 

As he pulled out the fancy black tunic with the silver trim that was at the forefront of his closet, he turned to peek over his shoulder and ask R2-D2, "Do you think Daddy ever takes off his helmet in front of people?" 

R2-D2 blooped in the negative: There was no way. To his knowledge, he, C-3PO, and the medical droids were the only ones allowed to see him without his suit to help with his body's upkeep, though he withheld that from Luke, who was currently jumping to try and tug leggings up his thighs.

"For me?" he asked, once they were settled comfortably snug around his waist. 

There was a pause, Artoo's domed head sliding to one side in deep thought. Luke watched him over his shoulder with baited breath, only letting it out when the droid finally broke the tension and affirmed that Luke would probably be able to find a way to convince him of it if he really wanted to. Honestly, the boy was too stubborn and his father seemed ever-eager to please him. 

Hastily, Luke fastened the ornate top, cinched the belt and forwent any boots or gloves for the time being so that he could flop back down on his bed sooner rather than later.

"I just wanna know what he looks like! I don't get why he has to always wear that mask all the time, anyway. Do you think he's blonde, too? Maybe it's grey now...is he just like me, but bigger? He's so tall...taller than anyone I've ever seen. But he's gotta be old like Uncle Owen was. They were around the same age, right?" 

Artoo rolled forward until he bumped up against the edge of the bed. The thump caught Luke's attention, pulling him from his daydreams as he promptly sat back up. The look of joy on his face soon shifted to astonishment while his friend beeped away in binary.

"You...can show me? Really?" 

Another series of affirmative beeps sounded from Artoo, who was quite excited for his dusty databanks to be helpful.

"Of course I wanna see!" Luke folded his legs beneath himself and braced his palms in front of him as he properly begged. "Show me, Artoo, please! Please, please, please!" 

R2-D2 seemingly had no more a spine with little Luke than Vader did, and it wasn't long before he retrieved a dated recording from his memory and beamed one of the most handsome young men Luke had ever seen up over the bed.

The man was smiling, shyly at first, like he was trying to be modest, but failing as he broke into the same toothy grin his son wore in that very same moment. He laughed. So did Luke. The brief video then looped.

He looked so young...but respectable, of course, his youthful appearance was not a slight against him. There was a scar on his face that made him seem older than perhaps he really was, more deserving of respect; Wise. It was cool. Cooler than Han's scar, at the very least. Cooler than Han in general. 

And his eyes. His eyes matched his own just like he'd always imagined them to--blue--except they were more intense; full of an admirable sense of conviction that was present even in his seemingly lighthearted mood; and perhaps a glimmer of sadness, too. Luke could understand that now.

His hair was longer than expected, a couple inches more than his son's, and darker, too. It had more of a wave to it--a little bounce as he chuckled--while Luke's own had always been straight and lied flat.

He donned dark robes, similar to what he wore as Darth Vader, but a stark contrast to both Yoda and Ben; the only other Jedi Luke had ever known. They were striking, besides their uniqueness, and even though the projection only showed from the chest up, their bold color (or rather, lack thereof) seemed to add to the sense of authority the young man commanded with his presence. Just like his eyes, his scar, and his smile. 

Anakin Skywalker was different. He was special, and he was so. Very. Cool. 

"How do you have this, Artoo?" Luke finally asked, awe still very present in his voice. The moving image disappeared as R2-D2 turned his dome to face his younger master, but the look of desperation and sadness that had appeared upon his face made him beam the video right back up again over the bed.

Anakin smiled, then laughed, then smiled again on repeat, and Luke simply could not himself from staring. It was almost as if he were afraid that if he blinked, it would disappear again, and he would never have the chance to see him again. For this was the first time in his entire life that he had seen his father's face and it was more perfect than he could've ever imagined it to be.

That is, until Artoo finally answered his question with a bombshell he hadn't been expecting.

"What?!" 

Perhaps he'd yelped too loud, or perhaps his distress at the shocking reveal was so strong that it'd been projected through the Force bond he shared with Darth Vader, but regardless, the Sith Lord was now at his door, stepping through before it even finished parting open with another charcuterie tray. 

Luke finally tore his gaze away from the projection, his mouth still hanging open, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

"Daddy!" 

Chapter Text

R2-D2 quickly retracted the projection, spinning to face his master--the one he'd served for many, many years--but it had been too late. Darth Vader saw what had presumably caused Luke's upset. When the tray of fruits clattered to the ground, the droid cooed apologetically, retreating in shame. He must've felt it, too, just as Luke did, though he could not understand it; the frenzied rage emanating off Vader, reverberating through the Force in thick, heavy waves.

And yet, the Sith stood there, seemingly calm on the outside. Silent--save for his respirator--harnessing the storm brewing within himself and managing it with practice, moulding it to be whatever he wished it to be. He wished not to unleash it at R2-D2 nor his son. Never, for he was not angry with his astromech droid. He was not cross with Luke. It was himself that he directed the fury towards.

The sheer foolishness he felt in that precise moment for ever even daring to think perhaps, in his newfound freedom from his damned master, that he could begin work on a new suit--a less painful one. That he could start loosening the evil grip his self-inflicted torture had--stop fighting to merely exist and finally start living again in a new world that he would fix. That he could be just a little less reliant on the Dark Side for its power and lean more on the love his son and his droids held for him.

No. That had clearly been but a naïve dream: He could never be the man in the old recording, and how inane he'd been for considering it even the vaguest of possibilities. Seeing him smile so brightly had been like a death sentence to that hope: The fact of the matter was that he--Anakin Skywalker--could simply never be again. 

Because of him. 

The furious storm brewing inside Darth Vader was re-directed towards one man, and one man alone. The man that had, and continued to, take everything from him. The man that had tricked his wife, destroyed his body and any chance at happiness, and even stole his son.

Obi-Wan kriffing stole his son; Watched him grow up, gave him a lightsaber, even had the gall to try training him as a Jedi... 

Luke was terrified by what he felt rumbling deep within him from the Force. It was dark. Evil. Scary, and it was starting to swallow him whole from the outside in.

...How dare he?...

He wasn't trying to welcome it, but in his flustered state, he couldn't push it away, either. In fact, his terror only served to beckon it closer. 

...How dare Obi-Wan take, take, take, take, take, take, take, and take from his padawan? Over, and over, and over, and over, again?...

'Help! Daddy, help, please!' Luke had to cry out through the force because his throat felt like it was closing in on itself. 

...

His blue eyes burned with hot tears. His chest was all pinched and it suddenly felt like the high neck of his tunic was much too tight. The fabric was itchy. Everything was prickly. His head was throbbing and with every passing second the room around him seemed to get darker and darker. 

...

He was so very frightened he had done something wrong; Something naughty, something against the rules by asking to see the hidden face of his father, and he'd gotten R2-D2 in trouble along with him. He didn't like it. All he wanted his father's handsome grin back in his sight to let him know that everything would be okay. 

...

He needed him to take off his helmet, smile just like in the projection, and tell him everything was going to be okay! A smile so bright would surely cast away this darkness! It would fix things! It would! It was all Luke needed!

...

'Save me, Daddy!'

...

'Make everything okay, please!'

...

≪𝙷𝙴𝙻𝙿 𝙷𝙸𝙼, 𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽!≫

...!

Words in binary had never been projected outwards more clearly, leaving little room for misinterpretation and suddenly, all the building tension burst and tears flooded forth. Luke could breathe again, and he used it to sob, loudly; uncontrollably. 

'Everything is going to be okay, Little One.' 

The words reverberated through Luke's mind as Vader took heavy steps towards him. The little only flinched, clinging to his bantha plush for dear life, and that made the Sith Lord pause. This was the first time that his son had seemed genuinely afraid of him, and it was breaking what little of his heart he had left.

...

It was all Obi-Wan's fault. He turned Luke against him, just like he had with Padmé. Now look at him! He cowered in his presence, after everything they'd work to build up together--it wasn't fair! 

...

≪𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄!≫

...But Vader could not dwell on his hate for that horrible, horrible man; not like he usually would. Even if he could wield this wondrous energy, there was someone depending on him now--needing him--and that person must come first.

Love must now come before hate.

He must not give in. He must fight against the call of the darkness once again, else he lose the last family he had.

The struggle was more difficult than he remembered. The sight of his precious child, red-faced and wailing, made it more challenging than he could have ever imagined and still, Vader pushed labored words into the Force he hoped could comfort:

'Luke. Everything is all right. I am not mad at you. I could never be: Not with you or Artoo. He is my oldest friend and you are my son. Do not think otherwise.'

"I...I," Luke tried to reason his sudden outburst, tried to explain the way he'd felt the Dark Side trying to eat him up, though words were becoming more and more difficult to find, even through the Force. He just wanted to see his father's face. That would make everything okay. Seeing his expression--those eyes, his sheepish grin--would promise Luke everything he needed in that moment, something words alone could not. 

"I cannot do that, Little One," the cool, monotone voice spoke aloud so that Luke might understand it more clearly. He took another step towards the bed, watching to make sure his son did not retreat, then sat upon its edge.

Luke merely watched him, sniffling and keeping his distance. He might not have flinched, but he did scoot up further on the bed towards the pillows. The dark rage in the Force seemed to retreat from him, then, like a suffocating blanket being lifted, and instead swirled around a more weak-willed host. It wasn't exactly the relief he'd hoped for. He worried for his father, too.

"Why?" he finally asked, voice not louder than a mere whimper before he stuffed his face back into the bantha, tears wetting its authentic fluff. Maybe the toy, with its magic spell, could stop the nightmare playing out in front of them.

"I do not want to scare you more than I already have." 

Perhaps deep down, Luke knew what he meant, but his little mind was clouded. Even if the worst of it had passed, it still felt like there was a ball in his throat that he couldn't swallow down, and his stomach wouldn't stop doing cartwheels. But, talking did seem to help, just a little. Talking led to answers, and answers led to truth, which led to light--light that could scare away the dark for good. 

"Because...because you g-got old, Daddy?"

Even if it could sting all the same. 

Darth Vader took one of his gloves off, revealing a mechanical hand--the last remaining proof that he'd ever been Anakin Skywalker. He leaned over the bed, reaching to take Luke's own special hand in his.

"Think of Daddy like a droid."

Luke didn't know how. Everything seemed so difficult in that moment. He could barely process his father's words, let alone use his imagination, thus, Darth Vader projected an image of C-3PO into Luke's mind through the Force for him. The boy perked up at that, loosening his grip on the bantha plush and using his strength to cling to his father's hand instead. 

"If you remove C-3PO's plating, he's just scrap mechanical components put together with wires. That's how he was when I found him: He did not meet his master's expectations so he had his body dismantled as punishment, lost everything he had worked for, and was discarded like trash. Left for dead." 

The image of C-3PO changed, his gold plating now gone, his eyes dim and body limp. Little Luke gasped at the terrifying sight, his twinge of pain reverberating until it touched Vader, but he deflected it, rejecting misery as he knew he must. 

He continued on, "Daddy did not meet his masters' expectations. He was broken and discarded, only to be put together again with scraps for punishment. The end result is much too scary for little boys like you to see. I forbid it."

Luke squeezed his hand with as much effort as he could manage so that he could prove to Daddy that: "I'm not a little boy! I'm a b-big boy, and I want to see my daddy without his helmet! I want to see Daddy smile! Please!" 

"Not yet, Luke. You are not ready." 

"Yes I am!" 

Luke wrenched his hand away, angrily snatching his plush and rising to his feet so he could stomp his foot. It was no ordinary tantrum, for a gust of powerful Force radiated out from his foot, causing everything in the room to shudder. 

"I am ready! I'm a big boy training to become the best pilot in the galaxy and I can handle something scary!"

He'd just survived whatever torment the Force had tried to inflict upon him, hadn't he? That must have meant something! It had to!

"And," Luke added after a deep breath, using it to shout, "My daddy isn't scary!"

Luke stomped again, harder, and Vader had to brace himself against the bed to remain seated upon it. All the trinkets and tech lining the walls weren't so lucky. 

"He's nice and pretty and smiles with big blue eyes and long brown hair!" 

A silence fell upon the room, broken by Artoo rolling forward. He seemed about to say something, but Vader did not give him the chance to, knowing whatever it was, it would sway him, and he didn't want to be influenced any further than he already had. For Luke had to know: he had to understand this one, simple fact above all else: "Anakin Skywalker is dead!" 

"Then you're not my daddy!" 

Luke did the only thing he could think of and bolted out of the room with his bantha.

Darth Vader, on the other hand, could not chase after him, for how could he ever find the strength to do anything ever again? 

Now he'd lost his son, too.

Chapter Text

Darth Vader's life had been a struggle from the moment he was born--why should that change now? Every time his goals seemed in-reach, something happened to yank them away even farther than they had been before. Ruling the Empire would mean nothing anymore if he lost Luke. 

≪𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙾𝙵 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝙰𝚂𝚂, 𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽!≫

He eyed his old droid friend through his helmet rather apprehensively as he approached his sulking spot on the bedside. Darth Vader didn't usually take too kindly to being called that name, but something about it was anchoring him to the present instead of letting him fall back into his dark past or pushing him forward into an equally miserable future, and the feeling wasn't exactly unwelcome. 

≪𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙾𝚈 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝚂 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙸𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄.≫

"That is not what Luke said," Darth Vader was quick to argue; Quick to wallow in his self-pity, quick to admit that maybe this whole thing had always been too good to be true, and he apparently didn't deserve good things, because when had he ever? 

≪𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽'𝚃 𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽 𝙸𝚃. 𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙳. 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙻 𝚂𝙾 𝙽𝙴𝚆 𝚃𝙾 𝙷𝙸𝙼.≫

Of course, R2-D2 spoke in blunt binary as always; an oddly comforting constant in Vader's life, whether he wanted to hear it or not. But in his stubbornness, he wanted to instead accept Luke's harsh words as his truth and cling to the misery they brought. Living like that was the only way he'd survived as long as he did; it was what kept him alive. He barely remembered any other way. 

"I cannot be who he needs me to be, Artoo," he looked down at his hand, clenching it into a fist, "I have changed too much."
 
≪𝚈𝙴𝚂. 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝚅𝙴 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴𝙳. 𝚂𝙾 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃? 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙼𝙴𝙰𝙽𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴 𝙰𝙶𝙰𝙸𝙽. 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙶𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁.≫

The Sith merely sat in silence, contemplating those words as he worked to shape the darkness around him, gathering it into something more manageable. Maybe if he trapped it in his palm...

≪𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙿𝙰𝙳𝙼𝙴́ 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳'𝚅𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚈𝙾𝚄.≫

...the dark energy pooled out into the room as Vader lost his concentration and his temper.

"Do not speak of her!"

The sudden outburst did not shake the droid. He only slid closer and beeped louder:

≪𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙸 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂 𝙷𝙴𝚁, 𝚃𝙾𝙾, 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆. 𝙸 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈 𝙳𝙰𝚈.≫

The silence between them stretched out further yet, and the longer it did, the more the darkness seemed to roll off Vader's form in slow, steady waves and seep into the ground. Artoo seemed content to wait for his master to cool down. He wasn't going anywhere.

"So do I," Vader finally replied; the thought of her, as he allowed it to linger, calmed him further. No words more true had ever been spoken through that vocoder, and Artoo saw that as a victory--how long had it been since they'd even had a prolonged conversation about anything, let alone something so important? Thus, he continued on before he lost his grip on Anakin, saying words he'd always wanted to say for so long, but didn't ever have the chance to: 

≪𝙸 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙷 𝙸 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙴𝙳 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙱𝙰𝙲𝙺 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙽. 𝙸'𝙼 𝚂𝙾𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙸 𝙽𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙸𝙳, 𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝙸 𝚆𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙱𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙼𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙱𝚈 𝙻𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙰𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂.≫

The darkness seemed to have faded away into the shadows, leaving only but a taste of melancholic sadness to hang in the air in its wake. It was a sense of peace Vader felt he could only ever have in his bacta tank--but yet, he was here with it. Sitting, tortured by his suit and without his son. 

But...with a real friend. 

How long had it been since he had sat with a real friend and talked?...

...

...He mustn't dwell on it. 

"Artoo, I cannot give Luke what he is asking for; What he needs. All this power, and still, it is impossible."

Because despite this temporary peace, he could not be Anakin Skywalker again: For if he stepped away from the dark side, even for a moment, would the light even welcome him back? Such seemed impossible, after all he had done, and if it did not--if it could not--then he would finally die, and Luke would be alone on the throne with an empire he was not yet equipped to run. 

It was a horrible future--just one of many Vader had dreamt of. Yes, the nightmares could have just been the dark side tempting him to voluntarily remain in its prison, but the risk was too great to even consider taking. Surely R2-D2 knew that. Surely he'd already ran the calculations, figured the odds...

≪𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙷𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝚂 𝙸𝚂 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁. 𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙻𝙸𝙾𝙽, 𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁? 𝚈𝙾𝚄, 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝚁𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙳𝚂, 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁, 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝚈𝙾𝙳𝙰 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙱𝙸-𝚆𝙰𝙽'𝚂 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙴𝚂. 𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙴 𝙷𝙰𝙳 𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃. 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃? 𝙷𝙴'𝚂 𝙰𝙻𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝚈 𝙰𝙲𝙲𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙰𝚁𝙴, 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙰𝚁𝙳𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙲𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵 𝙾𝚁 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝚁𝙴 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝚄𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝚂𝚄𝙸𝚃. 𝚂𝙾, 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙻𝙻𝚈 𝙻𝚄𝙺𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾'𝚂 𝚄𝙽𝙿𝚁𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙾 𝙶𝚁𝙴𝙴𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙼𝙰𝙽 𝙱𝙴𝙽𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷, 𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚃? 𝙸𝚃'𝚂 𝚈𝙾𝚄.≫

The droid had hit the nail on the head: He was unprepared to confront his past life, uncertain of how he would even make sense of it anymore. None of this had happened how he had wished and planned and willed it to: Luke was an unpredictable, unstoppable wild card that not even Palpatine had properly accounted for. Vader sat in silence, contemplating.  

≪𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙼𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃'𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙳𝙸𝙳𝙽'𝚃 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝚈𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴, 𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙳𝙾: 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙰𝙻𝙰𝚇𝚈 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁 𝚂𝙾𝙽. 𝙸𝚂𝙽'𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙴𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙰𝙽𝙰𝙺𝙸𝙽 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙿 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙰𝙳𝙾𝚆𝚂? 𝚃𝙾 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝚆𝚁𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚂?≫

He was right.

Of course he was right, but Vader couldn't let him have such a sweet victory: "And what exactly is right and wrong, my old friend?"

Artoo backed up just enough so that he could tilt his body backwards. It was akin to an exaggerated eyebrow raise, and Vader could practically feel himself getting judged for the taunt. 

≪𝙸 𝙲𝙰𝙽'𝚃 𝚃𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃, 𝙸'𝙼 𝙹𝚄𝚂𝚃 𝙰 𝙳𝚁𝙾𝙸𝙳.≫

"You are not just a droid," Vader scoffed, wagging a finger. R2-D2 saw through Darth Vader's suit, helmet, and failures, and somehow still cared for him anyway--enough to try and help him. Enough to remain loyally at his side. Enough to talk his stubborn ass into a corner and hold him accountable fearlessly, even after everything.

If this little astromech droid could do all of that, then surely Luke could forgive him, as well.

Maybe it all wasn't so impossible.

Vader reached out with his bared hand. The droid instinctively slid forward and bowed, letting him stroke the round of his dome. His sensors detected the motion--and it wasn't like there was any kind of actual, derivable pleasure from such a touch for the droid--but because of its meaning, its symbolism, Artoo felt true joy. He had to fight the little dance he'd usually do to express such happiness only so that his master wouldn't get a bigger head than he already had. 

≪𝚈𝙾𝚄'𝙻𝙻 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝚃𝙾 𝙵𝙸𝙶𝚄𝚁𝙴 𝙸𝚃 𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵--𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙺 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚆𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙸 𝚂𝙰𝙸𝙳--𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚁. 𝙻𝚄𝙺𝙴 𝙽𝙴𝙴𝙳𝚂 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙵𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁.≫

And as much as he wanted to bask in the bliss of being so close with Anakin after all this time, Artoo backed away, moving off to the side so that the path to the exit was free of any obstruction. 

≪𝙽𝙾𝚆 𝙶𝙾, 𝙱𝙴𝙵𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙴𝚃𝚂 𝙷𝙸𝙼𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙵 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙾 𝙼𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝙾𝚄𝙱𝙻𝙴. 𝙸 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙴𝙽𝙾𝚄𝙶𝙷 𝙼𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝚃𝙾 𝙲𝙻𝙴𝙰𝙽 𝚄𝙿 𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝚂 𝙸𝚂.≫

Chapter Text

Luke's little bare feet pitter-pattered down the hallways as he ran; to where in the ship, he was not certain. All he knew was that he wanted to be far, far away from Daddy.

Well...actually, it was quite the opposite, for as he slid down the wall and settled against it, knees to his chest and bantha squeezed tight in his arms, what he hoped for above all else was for Daddy to come racing after him. He wanted him to tell him he was sorry and then take off his helmet so he could just see him and make sure it really was his father under there. 

It was--Luke knew it was, but his own little thoughts weren't enough: He needed to see it with his very own eyes--which were closed, now, aching from their tears. He nuzzled his face into the bantha plush sadly, wishing it was his Daddy he was snuggling instead of his gift, as much as he did love it. 

But suddenly, Luke's wishes seemed to come true as he swore he felt his hair getting brushed with a tender touch. For one brief moment, his heart leapt and he hoped it was Daddy, but then he realized the Force signature was very different--but not exactly any less pleasant. 

'Do not cry, Little One,' a low, careful voice resounded throughout the Force.

He'd heard it before, but he didn't know from where. In his dreams? Luke's nose scrunched up in thought, but did not move or respond in any way. He studied the presence with his eyes still shut, finding nothing with his prodding but calming energy and gentle reassurance. And love. But how was that even possible? 

'It pains me to see you so tortured.' 

He wasn't sure who this was, but the Force told him that he was safe beyond a shadow of a doubt. With a sniff, Luke finally dared to peek up from his bantha, brow knit together in confusion, but not fear. 

The man was semi-transparent, almost like a hologram, but it did not make his stature any less impressive or, seemingly, his touch any less tangible. He was nearly as tall as Daddy, which was actually quite impressive, but unlike Daddy, he was wearing lightly colored Jedi robes more similar to the ones old Ben Kenobi had worn. His hair was long and peppered with greys, as was the hair on his face, telling Luke he hadn't exactly died young, but had died sooner in life than Ben had. 

Before Luke could ponder the mysterious man any further, he knelt down so they could speak more properly at eye-level. 

"Who--who are you?" Luke questioned first before immediately hiding in his bantha's long fur, save for the curious blue eyes that were now trained upon the ghostly figure. 

The only Force apparition he'd regularly encountered was Ben, but it had been some time since he'd heard from him. He'd just supposed his mentor was upset with him for having disobeyed his orders, killing Emperor Palpatine instead of Darth Vader like he had wanted him to. Perhaps it was for the best that he was not the one appearing now, Luke thought. He winced as a pang of sadness struck him upon realizing: Ben must hate him now.

'I am Qui-Gon Jinn.'

Distracted from his misery, Luke's eyes widened with recognition: That name was in Ben's diaries! The memories were kind of fuzzy, as they always got when he was little, but he definitely recalled reading that name several times. He reached up, rubbing his damp eyes with balled fists before returning a questioning gaze up towards Qui-Gon. The old Jedi now seemed amused, the smallest of smirks on his lips.

'Judging by your reaction, I take it Obi-Wan has shared some stories about me with you. No doubt unflattering, I'm sure.'

Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan...Luke rolled the moniker over around in his head a couple times before it clicked: Ben's other name!

"You're Ben's old master! I mean...," Luke flushed, embarrassed, though his knees did begin to lower from his chest as his thumb found his lips, "...master." 

'No, you are very right, Luke: I am old, indeed.' 

Qui-Gon turned and then settled against the same wall as Luke, his long legs sprawling out far in front of them. Luke slowly mimicked the position, but only because he was curious how short his would be in comparison: Unfortunately, he seemed to have inherited his mother's petite stature. It wasn't even close.

"He never talked about you, but I read lots of stories after he died. In Be--Obi-Wan's diary." That didn't sound so polite, so after a pause, Luke quickly added in his own defense, "He left it for me to read, I didn't steal it or anything! But...do you know me, too, Mr. Master Qui-Gon, Sir?"

'Of course. I've been watching over you your entire life; Ever since you were born. I knew your father, as well.'

"Daddy's whole life?"

'Nearly,' Qui-Gon nodded, 'We met when he was still quite young, much younger than you, even. He was to be my next padawan.'

Luke lowered the bantha down to his lap, staring up at the ghost in childlike wonder. "What's a padawan?" 

'Similar to what you are now; a Jedi apprentice.'

The little boy laughed, not in mockery but delight, as though Qui-Gon had just delivered a hilarious joke. The ghost's brow furrowed, but he gave Luke a questioning little smile with the slightest tilt to his head.

"Well, you didn't do a very good job, Mr. Qui-Gon Master! He turned to the dark side and got super strong! And I'm not a padawan--I'm gonna be a Sith someday, too," Luke's look of glee faltered just a bit, "Well...if I keep training hard."

He still wasn't quite sure about his trajectory, or where he sat on the Force's spectrum of light and dark. That was a lot more complicated to figure, even when he was feeling big, and he'd been neglecting doing so.

'I see. Yes, sometimes seduction to the dark side can happen, but I don't think you're there just yet, Luke.' Qui-Gon paused, then turned to look back down at the boy, who was now sucking on his thumb to quell his anxiety, 'Tell me.' With a gentleness that was unexpected of a man so large and formidable, Qui-Gon guided Luke's thumb out of his mouth, 'Why does a good little boy like you want to be a Sith? I thought you were training with Obi-Wan and Yoda to be a Jedi.' 

"Master Qui-Gon, Sir," Luke started, his voice trembling. He tried to shove his thumb between his lips again, because he thought, maybe if he did, he wouldn't have to answer the question. Qui-Gon stopped him with ease, taking hold of Luke's hand and putting it atop his Bantha instead. Luke began to pet and squeeze at the fur, taking comfort instead from feeling the long plush strands tickle the space between his fingers.

'Use your words, Luke,' He reminded him when the boy seemed to have lost them completely.

The goading, light as it was, pushed Luke to tears. He knew the answer, he thought, maybe, but even thinking about saying it out loud had him feeling all icky inside and out. It was shame, he felt. And why should he feel shame for following his father down the road to the dark side? He should be proud to, and yet...

'Go on.' 

Tears usually worked. They had always worked on his aunt and uncle, they worked on Artoo, they definitely worked on C-3PO, and they seemed to work on Daddy (most of the time)...but they weren't working on Master Qui-Gon. Luke's lips pursed, face twisting in frustration as his cheeks flushed upon the realization. 

'This may be a difficult question to answer, but you must, Little One,' Qui-Gon told the boy gently, making it clear he was not going to budge, 'I'm only pushing you because I know you can.' 

"Because I'm not a good boy!" Luke finally burst out, and like a rushing river bursting through a dam, the waterworks truly began, "I'm a naughty boy that killed the Emperor! I can't ever be a Jedi now, but I'm too--too--too scared to be a Sith! Neither side--nobody wants me anymore! Not...Ben, or Leia, or Han, or Chewy, or Yoda! Not even Daddy!"

It was the last few words that pushed Luke from tears to outright hysterics. He missed his Daddy so much! He regretted running away from him, even if he was angry with his refusal to take off his helmet! He just wanted him back! 

'Shhh. You did something very brave, Luke.'

With one arm wrapped around the trembling boy's shoulders, Qui-Gon used his other hand to wipe away his tears, even as he tried to squirm. He continued to shoosh him as his grip tightened, not enough to be painful, but enough to let Luke know that he wasn't going to let him get away when he was in this state.

'Something many others, including myself, wish they would have had the foresight to enact,' he continued. 

It took awhile, but Luke eventually ceased his squirming and struggling, knowing it was no use: Even if Qui-Gon was a ghost, he was still very strong. Feeling like he'd used every weapon in the book, Luke could do nothing more but cry louder.

'You can be whatever you wish to be, Luke,' Qui-Gon rose his voice, but not because he was angry, simply so Luke could hear him above his own wailing, 'Jedi believe in second chances. Or, you can choose to be a Sith. Perhaps you will choose neither; it is solely up to you.'

Frankly, Luke had never considered that before. Even though he had been on the path to Jedihood, he had suspected that now he was at his father's side, he wouldn't be allowed to anymore. 

"But!" he tried to argue, trying to find some reason to stay upset, though Qui-Gon remained nothing but patient.

'Your father is still offering you the choice, isn't he? Every day. "Aurek" or "Besh." Light clothing, or dark. This is because your path is not yet defined. Even he knows this, as do I, Yoda, and "Ben." Though, admittedly, they are being a bit stubborn about it; but give them time. They will reconsider eventually. Yoda is already beginning to do so, and that's quite a feat. You've more power to decide your fate than you know, Luke.' 

Qui-Gon's warm voice echoing through the little's mind gave him something other than his misery to latch onto. He focused on it, attempting, even in his overwhelmed state, to take in the words and really understand them and their meaning. It worked, and eventually, his crying had died down to mere sniffles and huffs. 

He turned, snuggling into the ghost who felt as real as a live, actual person sitting next to him. He wasn't warm, but neither was Daddy, and Luke found it comforting just to have some kind of physical affirmation and a face to look up to. Eyes to meet, smiles to see. 

When he did peek up at Qui-Gon from their hug, the man was, indeed, smiling, and it warmed Luke up, even if Force ghosts were chilly. 

'Life is full of difficult choices, Little One. Sometimes, we make bad decisions that we later consider wrong, but the Force does not see it like this. It will welcome you no matter which side you choose to greet it on.'

"Do--do I have to choose now? If I wanna be a Sith or Jedi?"

'No. You do not. But, you might find there are certain benefits to choosing sooner rather than later. What do you think, Luke? What does,' arm still firmly wrapped around Luke's shoulders, Qui-Gon's other hand reached to poke his chest, 'your heart tell you?' 

Luke looked down at his own chest. The tunic covering it was pitch black, sleek and cool, but now it seemed it was covered in bantha fur, shedded from his plush. He sniffled pitifully. 

"I...I don't know." 

He really didn't; there was too much going on at the moment. His emotions were raging around inside him like a storm and he didn't know how to focus on what his heart was telling him. 

'Luke.'

The boy looked up upon hearing his name.

'I've discovered something in the Force that might be of great use to you and your father.' 

"You have?" 

'Yes. It is the power to perform a miracle--or to bring about catastrophe.'

"Oh..."

Those were big words with big meanings. Luke tried to comprehend them, and nodded, closing his eyes and snuggling back into Qui-Gon's chest and the softness of his robes. The bantha plush tumbled off to the side and Luke instead reached up to toy with the old Jedi's dark long hair cascading over one shoulder. He was pleased to find it was as soft and silken as he'd imagined it to be, and much nicer than the bantha fur.  

'You must become intimately familiar with the Force to use it, much more so than you are now.'

"What about Daddy? Daddy's the best Force user I've ever met!"

'Your father unfortunately cannot wield such knowledge; Not as he is now.'

That wasn't too promising. Luke didn't consider himself anywhere near Daddy's level. 

"So...even Daddy can't use it?" 

'No. But you could.'

"But how?" Luke gasped, completely stumped, "I'm still training! And you said there's so much more for me to learn! I don't even know what I wanna be when I grow up, so how can I do it if Daddy can't?" 

But before Qui-Gon could answer, Luke felt a little tug on the back of his brain. His mouth dropped open and he focused, closing his eyes and honing in on the familiar feeling; acknowledging it and welcoming it to let itself be known. 

'Daddy,' he realized. 

'Luke,' returned the call, but Qui-Gon's voice took its place. 

'I must go now.' 

"Wait!" 

But it was too late: when Luke opened his eyes, the Force ghost was gone, and in his place was an overwhelmingly passionate, almost suffocating presence nearing closer and closer. Such might have been considered unpleasant feelings by most, but to Luke, he knew that signature, and he loved it above all else.

'Luke.' 

That was his father's presence he was feeling: He was concerned, anxious, and still, like before, angry. But that was normal--Daddy was always angry.

"Daddy!" Luke called for him out loud, jumping to his feet and scooping up his bantha plushie, beginning to wander back down the empty hallway. "Daddy, I'm here! Can you hear me?"

He let the Force guide him, heading nowhere but the direction it pulled him towards--which was right where he belonged, into his father's embrace once again.

Chapter Text

When Luke finally laid eyes on that familiar mass of black at the end of the hallway, he did not hesitate: he bolted.

"Daddy!"

Darth Vader sensed his son's intentions to jump at him before he actually sprang off the floor, and so he braced himself, holding out his arms wide. To lessen the strain of the catch, he used its velocity to spin his baby boy around until the other could gather his bearings and wrap his legs around his waist. He clung to him with all four limbs, nuzzling his face into his cape, his helmet, it didn't matter what, really...he'd feared he'd angered Daddy to the point where he would lose him all over again, but no--Daddy was actually still here with him!

"I'm sorry, Daddy," Luke cried, happy little tears quick to well up in his eyes, "I'm sorry I ran, I'm sorry!" 

Vader attempted to calm him down with careful strokes of soothing energy against the boy's more frantic disposition. He hated seeing Luke so distressed.

"Luke, it is I who should be apologizing."

"No, it was my fault! I ran, but it was just 'cause...'cause I wanted Daddy to chase after me."

Luke pulled back enough to peer up at the expressionless helmet, worried he shouldn't tell the whole, complete truth, but also scared that his Daddy would be even angrier than before if he didn't.

"Wanted him to show he..." 

He sniffed.

The blank lenses of his mask told Luke nothing of his father's feelings, but within the Force, he could still sense those reassuring strokes of serenity across his soul. Their gentle touch reminded him of how Master Qui-Gon pet his head, and his body finally relaxed at the recollection, shoulders dropping. Qui-Gon had said he'd always been with him, even if he couldn't necessarily see him. That meant he was with him even now. That gave Luke the courage to be brave and say what needed to be said:

"...to show he loved me back. That's all I wanted, Daddy, I swear." 

"I do love you, Luke. Never doubt that." 

All it took was those few words and Luke's heart practically soared with elation! He wiggled around--kicked and pushed--until he was set back down onto his own feet. Even then, he immediately clamped his arms back around Darth Vader's waist in another hug as if he let go of him, he'd disappear. 

"Thank you! Thank you, Daddy, thank you!" He squeezed his middle tight and smiled when he felt a hand on his back. It did nothing but rest there, and still, the sentiment itself was somehow so very comforting. 

"I am sorry that you were frightened and that it took me so long to come after you. It will not happen again. But we do need to have a talk, Little One." 

Vader then offered his spare hand, which Luke took in his own eagerly. Parting from their embrace wasn't so difficult when he had a hand to hold onto! 

"About what, Daddy?" 

He had to double the pace of his stride just to match his father's impossibly long legs as he lead him down the winding halls of their ship. When Darth Vader did not immediately respond, Luke started to worry that he had done something wrong again, even after apologizing so profusely.

"About 'Besh' days," he finally answered.

Vader could sense his son's apparent apprehension, but he needed to establish these expectations sooner rather than later so that Luke had something reliable to count on. He wouldn't have to be so anxious all the time if he knew exactly what would come from certain actions. Though it might be difficult at first, it would help the younger Skywalker thrive with time--of that, he was sure.  

"Is it...," Luke mumbled as he reached up to suck on his thumb. Unfortunately, his tastebuds were greeted with a disgusting metallic taste that was beyond unpleasant because that his father was still holding tight on to his flesh hand. After a noise of disgruntlement and a swipe of his wet finger on his tunic, he continued, "...is it 'cause I've been having too many?" 

"No," Vader replied firmly, "You are a prince, Luke. It is your birthright to have as many 'Besh' days as you'd like."

Luke certainly used to have a lot more responsibilities until recently, though. They were responsibilities he knew princes really should have, and he definitely wasn't performing all of them anymore, especially on 'Besh' days...but he wasn't going to argue with Daddy. Not after he was trying so hard to show him how sorry he was.

"Then, what?" Luke asked, voice much quieter and notably more cautious than before. Any excitement he'd so brightly displayed earlier was now replaced with evident nervousness. His teeth worked at his bottom lip, biting and worrying at it while his fingers played with the edge of his tunic.

"The rules of 'Besh' days. I haven't thoroughly explained them to you, and that was unfair of me. Today, we'll make sure they're made clear." 

Luke lifted his head up to give his Daddy the most pitiful look, but Vader remained looking forward so to spare himself the heartache of having to see it.

"However," he started before the little could start complaining, "I know it will be difficult to focus on them if you haven't eaten anything, so we will be having breakfast beforehand." 

This all had Luke feeling rather weary. He now wore furrowed brows, a deep frown, and tried to busy his hand with something--anything. The boring edge of his tunic wasn't enough, even with the pleasant-feeling embroidery on its trim. His hand instead reached up to begin twirling hair around a finger.

"Did I break a rule, Daddy? Is that why we have to talk about them now?"

"You did."

Luke's heart dropped.

"But you didn't know, so you won't be punished this time. That would be unfair."

Those words didn't inspire much relief. An uncomfortable lump settled at the pit of his very empty tummy.

"Punished?" 

They stopped in front of a sliding door that remained shut, probably due to the input panel on its side remaining untouched. Darth Vader then finally turned to Luke, who seemed to shrink back into himself. He couldn't help but feel like he always had when Aunt Beru caught him coming home after he'd stayed out passed curfew. It wasn't pleasant.

"I know rules can be scary at first, but they will keep you safe, Little One. They're my way of protecting you when you're feeling vulnerable on 'Besh' days. Do not fret, they are not so unreasonable."

Luke couldn't gather the courage to gaze up at that helmet--the one still hiding the eyes of his father that he wished to see so very badly--so he simply hung his head and mumbled, "But what rule did I break, Daddy? I need to know so I don't do it again..." 

"Look at me, Luke." 

Wanting to obey--to make up for his mistakes and be good--Luke lifted wide eyes up towards those big, blank lenses of the Darth Vader mask. In acknowledgement of his efforts, his father squeezed the hand he still held and it gave Luke the confidence to raise his chin, stand just a little bit taller. He waited, just as Vader did, to make certain he had his son's full attention before speaking. 

"Under no circumstances will you ever," he raised a warning finger, "--ever--turn your back on me and run away like that again. Do you understand?" 

Luke tried searching the Force for any evidence of anger that he feared backed the words, but came up empty-handed. Darth Vader's energy was completely neutral. Luke barely tilted his head in a nod, worried that he would break his gaze even if he didn't know if he was even truly holding it. 

"I need you to repeat it out loud so that I know that you do, Son." 

"I won't run away from Daddy ever again." 

The next second seemed to stretch out into an hour. In fact, nothing seemed to be happening at all. His father wasn't moving, nor was his respirator hissing its usual rhythm. It took several seconds into that one second for Luke to realize it was the same power he'd used in the holosimulator to slow down time. He forced himself to blink, and suddenly, everything returned to how it was supposed to be. 

The respirator breathed in. Luke breathed out. His father squeezed his hand. Luke squeezed back. 

"Good boy."

Any shame Luke might have felt for breaking his first rule was wiped clean of his conscious, replaced instead with a sense of elation. His heart leapt right back up from his stomach into his chest where it belonged, beating happily just as a huge, toothy grin spread over his now flushed face.

Daddy had never told him he was a good boy before, and Luke thought it might just be the best feeling he'd ever felt--ever! 

"Know that there is nothing you cannot share with me. If you want to be reminded that you are loved, we will find an easier way to express that need to me. If you are afraid, tell me of what, and we shall face your fears side-by-side. If you are uncertain of something, I will reassure you of whatever it may be. You need not do anything on your own anymore. There is nothing we cannot endure--no enemy we cannot conquer--as long as we are together. Yes?"

It was a lot. Many words were used, and Luke's little mind was working in overtime to keep up with all of them. Not only that, but the Force bearing down on him from his father's presence was just as intense as his monologue was, demanding to not just be acknowledged, but accepted. Luke had no qualms about doing so; he truly wanted nothing more than to welcome him with open arms. That's all he'd been trying to do, ever since he found out who Darth Vader really was. 

"Yes, Daddy!" 

Luke was rewarded for his good behavior with a pat to the head and a rustle of his hair, which he appreciated more than he could ever verbally explain. It felt like he was floating! Yes, he had been upset earlier, and 'punishment' did sound kind of scary (Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru had never found the will to actually enforce any kind of consequences for Luke's frequent disobeying) but that was nothing compared to this! It really felt like they could tackle anything together; Daddy was right! But of course he was--he was Daddy, after all, and he could do no wrong in his son's innocent blue eyes. 

"Now, let's get that little tummy of yours well-fed." 

After the eventfully exhausting morning he'd had, no words ever sounded better to Luke.

Chapter Text

The door slid open, revealing a formal dining room Luke hadn't even realized the Executor had. At least, he figured it was for dining based on the empty bowl in the middle of it, though dining on 'what,' Luke couldn't guess. Stormtroopers didn't seem to eat much interesting food and he'd never even seen his father eat, so perhaps it could have just as easily been a mere meeting room--the two looked nearly identical, as did most rooms on the ship.  

Darth Vader led him by the hand and pointed to the chair at the head of the long table. It slid out with the power of the Force, inviting Luke to take a seat. He did so, albeit reluctantly, wondering why Daddy wasn't sitting there instead. 

"C-3PO will be here with your breakfast soon," he told him, watching Luke settle into the chair before pulling it in on his behalf and sitting down in his own to Luke's immediate right. It was the seat he was most used to; always second-in-command. The little, however, felt quite awkward in his. It was too big for him. He knew it was made for someone of his father's proud stature, not his own! He brought his knees up to his chest, toes curled around the edge, and shoved his thumb between his lips, suckling nervously. 

A comfortable silence settled between them, but Luke's confusion about the change of scenery was evident, even without words. After a painstakingly drawn-out minute, he finally piped up: "Awe...awe we gonna tawlk now, Daddy?" he asked around his finger, clearly antsy. He liked eating in bed, not at a big table like this! Why were they here? Did this have to do with the new rules? If so, he already was beginning to dislike them. 

"I want you to eat first," Vader told him, reaching over to pull his hand away from his mouth. "Don't do that, Luke." 

"Why?" Luke whined, clearly a bit irritated. Master Qui-Gon, too, had seemed to want to discourage the behavior, but no one had been giving him a reason why not to, and it felt nice. He adjusted himself in his seat and knelt on it so he could try and be taller--tall enough to fill the seat out like it was clearly meant to be. 

"Cleanliness is important," Vader explained patiently, watching him wiggle about. He didn't expect Luke to understand instinctively: little boys didn't typically worry about that sort of thing.

"Why?" Luke complained, louder this time, rolling his whole head back along with his eyes and clutching onto the edge of the table. 

"You're a prince." 

The little pouted, considering the statement before asking another, "Why?" 

"Because I am the emperor and your mother was a queen." 

That caught Luke's attention. He plopped back down in the chair, leaning forward eagerly. "She was?" 

"Yes. She was the most beautiful, regal, faultless ruler the galaxy had ever known." 

Luke knew absolutely nothing of his mother--learning about Daddy had been more than he could've ever hoped for, but if he were to discover more about both of his parents? Such seemed only like a dream. Wonder lit up his widened blue eyes.

"You are royalty, Luke. That is why something like this is much more fitting than your thumb." 

Darth Vader reached into one of his belt's pouches and procured a pacifier. It was all-black, save for a white engraving on the front of a TIE fighter. Luke was both fascinated by the object, and completely mortified when he realized it was for him--despite such a thing clearly being meant for babies. 

But he really liked the picture on it...Luke loved all things pilot-related, and a TIE fighter is what his dad was famous for flying--what he hoped he would be for, too, someday. 

It seemed an explanation was not needed, for when Vader held it up to Luke's mouth, he eagerly took it between his lips and was immediately sucking on the teat like it was the most natural thing in the world. Daddy was right: it was so much better than his thumb!

Vader felt his heart beat faster than usual, his helmet's UI reiterating this obvious fact to him with an alert, as though he should be concerned about it. The sight of Luke suckling on a pacifier was just too precious, and he couldn't remember a single time in the last twenty-some years when he'd felt happier than this. Their little baby boy was so perfect...beyond perfection, really. If only Padmé could see him now. She would surely adore the sight nearly as much as he did.

Luke's eyes--previously so wide and bright--had since fallen lidded, lulled by the repetitive sucking motion and the steady rhythm of Darth Vader's respirator. 

"Do you like it?" Vader finally asked.

Luke nodded, settling down in his seat properly for the first time. He did like it--quite a bit, actually--but it wasn't long before he started his squirming again in a desperate attempt to make the seat more comfortable. This big chair was ruining everything! He tried turning to one side, then the other. Then he scoot his chair in closer to the table before pushing it back further. And meanwhile, his Daddy couldn't look away--couldn't stop watching him; Even if his actions were completely mundane, they sparked such joy. Luke was too cute. Unfortunately, the little himself didn't seem to be enjoying the situation as much as Daddy was. 

"Daddy," Luke finally complained, twisting towards his father. He toyed with the pacifier, not pulling it out of his mouth completely, but experimenting with talking while it was still in. "I dun' wanna sit hewe, too big. Wanna sit wiff you."

"So spoiled," Vader responded fondly, and Luke's brow slanted downwards angrily, thinking his Daddy was making fun of him. The expression was soon wiped away, instead replaced with one of shock as his entire body began to levitate. He squealed with glee around his paci, letting himself be lifted and placed into Daddy's lap! 

The chair at the head of the table had been big, but truthfully, Luke had never felt smaller than when he sat in his huge Daddy's lap. Not just physically, but mentally, too. At first he was worried he would press some of the buttons on his armor, but then he realized that even when he relaxed and leaned back, the Force was keeping him from pressing up against them like an invisible wall. 

Knowing it was taking some of Daddy's energy to keep that Force barrier up, he instead repositioned so he was off to one side and could lean back on Daddy's shoulder. That was much more comfortable! 

"Are you at all angry with me, Luke?" he asked, once Luke finally seemed settled. One of his arms wrapped around his waist, keeping him in place so he wouldn't have any ideas about squirming anymore. "Is that why you ran?" 

"No...not angwy, Daddy. Just...sad, 'cause I wanna see Daddy's face...I don't cawe if it's scawy, I just wanna know that it's weawlly Daddy." Vader used his other hand to pet Luke's hair. He leaned into the touch, closing his eyes as he continued, "I wanna...see his eyes, and, and his smiwle."

"Not yet, Luke."

"But!" 

The refusal wasn't exactly a surprise: R2-D2 had claimed that no one ever saw him without his helmet; it wasn't just Luke that wasn't allowed to see, but he'd hoped he'd get special treatment. 

"My helmet does much more than simply covering my face." 

"Wike what?"

"It helps me breathe, hear, talk, see...many other things, Little One--things you do--and should--take for granted, but that Daddy needs help with." 

Talk? See? Luke's eyes opened wide and he turned to look back up at Daddy, bracing his hands on his father's strong arm keeping him in place.

"But that's evewything, Daddy! That's evewything, I don't undewstand!" 

It took Vader a moment to figure what to say to his poor, confused little boy. "You will someday." 

He sighed, slouching back against Daddy's shoulder when he realized there was no winning this argument. Daddy wasn't going to take off the helmet anytime soon. Even if it wasn't fair! He could do nothing but concede...for now. 

"Well, if Daddy doesn't wanna, that's okay, I guess...I--I can wait."

Maybe if he showed his father that he could be patient (a trait he knew all big boys should have), it would prove that he was ready.

"I appreciate that. You're a very sweet boy, Luke. Daddy just doesn't want you to have to grow up too fast."

Well...maybe he could be a little boy for just a bit longer. "I won't! I'm Daddy's liw'l boy!" 

"Yes, you are," the arm squeezed possessively around Luke's middle, making him giggle, "Always."

"Is that all you wanted to tawk about, Daddy?" Luke twisted in the hug to look up at his helmet. "What about the wules?" 

"We have a whole cycle ahead of us, Luke. What kind of training would you like to do after breakfast?"

Luke tried not to dwell on the fact that it seemed like he wasn't going to get to know all the rules until much later in the day. But he couldn't even be anxious about that because Daddy was giving him a chance to make up the schedule for today and he wasn't going to waste it! With very little hesitation, he cried, "Wightsabew!" in excitement.

Vader hesitated, unsure if Luke should be wielding a lightsaber when he was this small. He'd never seen him act this young before. He recalled the training the younglings used to do at the old Jedi temple. He'd arrived there older than the others, but he'd caught plenty of glimpses at their routine over the years. He didn't have training sabers on board, but he could modify what he did have to make sure they were set to their lowest power setting. That would have to do, especially with the way his son seemed so excited over the prospect.

"Wightsabew, wightsabew, wightsabew!" Luke began to bounce up and down on Vader's legs, which had him immediately lifting him up by his armpits. 

"We can, but you must use a modified saber. It will be made special for your training." 

"Okay!" 

Luke was a lot more agreeable to the idea than Vader had expected. The kicking now ceased, he lowered him back down to his lap.

"Wiwll we match? Wed wightsabew?" 

"We can match, yes." 

"Yay!" Luke threw both hands up into the air with glee, "I wove matching wiff Daddy! That's why I wowe bwack today!" 

In his excitement, the pacifier dropped out from between his lips, tumbling onto the table. One arm holding Luke in place, the other reached out to grab the pacifier. He'd have to add a fastener to it; an easy fix. But given how attached Luke was to it already, desperately reaching for it with grabby little hands, he might just have to make a new one: Something told Vader it was going to be difficult to sneak this one away from Luke.

"Is that why?"

"Yes!" 

"I see. So you like to wear black because it's what Daddy wears." 

He handed him back his pacifier, which Luke promptly stuffed back into his mouth.

"Yes, Daddy! Looks coowl. Pwus, Daddy used to weaw dawk cwowthes when he was Jedi, too. Even though they weaw wight colows. So I can be Jedi, too, but wiff bwack. If I wanna. I'unno yet, about Jedi."

"I will get you some black robes, then."

"Ummm!" Luke dropped his pacifier again, and Vader wondered if he did it on purpose for attention. This time, he grabbed it with the Force, letting it hover mid-air. "Daddy, I want Sith ones, too, please! With a hood! A big hood!" 

"All right, Little One. Thank you for asking politely." 

The pacifier floated back towards Luke's lips and he leaned forward, taking it back between his lips happily. He didn't need to say much more, content with just suckling on his new pacifier and resting close to Daddy, getting to listen to his respirator. Perhaps he could even get a little nap in before breakfast...his eyes were so sore and achey from all the crying he'd done that morning, and it felt so good to just let them close and know Daddy was there to fend off any scary nightmares that might plague his sleep. 

"Are you tired already?" 

He mumbled something incoherent in response to the question, and Vader only stroked his head. It reminded him so much of Mr. Master Qui-Gon, and the calm feeling that always overtook him when he was around. Sir Qui-Gon had said he knew Daddy when he was little. Was it possible he'd learned this technique from him? 

"Rest, then, my son. I will wake you when breakfast arrives." 

Luke couldn't ponder any more, no matter how curious he was about Daddy's relationship with Qui-Gon Master. Sleep took him, and for once, he was happy to submit to it.

Chapter Text

Despite being a little grumpy after getting woken from his nap, Luke enjoyed breakfast as much as he did before. Daddy fed him lots of sweet fruits and fluffy breads, cutting them into pretty shapes and easy-to-eat pieces with the Force. All the delicious foods made parting with his pacifier easy, but when it came to lightsaber training, Luke was a lot more reluctant about parting with his new favorite comfort object. 

That was, until he was actually handed a saber. Luke was quick to trade his pacifier for that, playing with the unactivated hilt in his hands while Daddy slipped boots over his bare feet so he could fight more properly. 

This lightsaber, though seemingly modified with a safety override by Darth Vader, was otherwise the same he used during training on 'Aurek' days. His own had been destroyed in the battle against Palpatine and he'd yet to craft another, to his annoyance: Luke wasn't so impressed with this one and he could tell the kyber crystal powering it seemingly wasn't too fond of him, either, if the way it seemed to resist his every swipe was any indication. His frustration with its reluctance actually seemed to make it more willing to yield to his will, but little as he was, such was far from his main concern. He was just happy that he and Daddy could both use red lightsabers. And he knew how to use it! He wasn't dumb! 

"I know how to turn it on!" He snapped, and Vader backed off, then, watching Luke activate the saber's blade. "I'm not a youngling."

He had seemed almost offended that his father had tried to help him with something so simple. Getting his boots on? Sure, maybe Luke needed some help with that, but using a lightsaber? That was just intuitive! 

"Then what are you?" Vader asked, activating his own modified training lightsaber. With a flick of a switch on the hilt, its power level was dampened considerably: He would not risk any hands getting lost in today's practice, which was why his own saber was still tucked comfortably in his belt and would remain untouched. This was the one Luke's instructor typically wielded and even without low power mode, it wouldn't be able to seriously harm. Burn through clothes a little, maybe. But nothing more.

"I'm a padawan! Shooom, vroom, hzzzzt!" 

Luke swung the saber around at the air aimlessly, laughing at the silly noises it made and trying to mimic them in real time. 

For a moment, the old-fashioned Jedi word took Vader by surprise. He hadn't expected Luke to be familiar with such terminology, but then, he supposed, Obi-Wan had, indeed, trained him at some point. With that thought, he tensed, a strong surge of jealousy coursing through him while he readied his stance. 

"You are a padawan, yes," he conceded, "Daddy's padawan." 

Not Obi-Wan's: His.

"But you are still a youngling." 

The little tease prompted Luke to surge forward, running straight at his father and leaping up into the air so that he might bring the saber down upon him with great strength. 

"Bzzzzt! No, I'm not!" 

Vader simply held up his saber well in advance. Luke leapt backwards, narrowing his gaze and searching for an opening. After a moment, he struck again, his hit getting blocked once more.

"Yes you are, Youngling." 

He watched him closely while they fought, cataloging his movements; comparing them to his usual ones. Just like in the flight simulator, Luke's affinity for the Force was no less powerful in his younger headspace. His swings were getting much sharper, more precise. Perhaps he didn't need to hold back so much, himself.

"Nuh uh!"

This time, Vader stepped forward, closing the gap between them and took the first swing. Luke had yet to block once, but he did so this time with ease, utilizing his connection with both his father and the Force to anticipate it. But that went both ways.

"Close your mind off to me when we fight, Luke: You're telling me exactly what you are about to do."

He swung again, and this time, didn't draw back when Luke defended himself. Their sabers met in a stalemate, but the power behind Vader's was so strong, Luke was sliding back on the floor as he tried to hold it.

"I'm...trying...!" 

"It is all right if you do not. It will make this more difficult for you, but it's cute that you want to share everything with me. I don't mind." 

Luke's face scrunched up and he grunted with exertion, gathering up the Force around them. Just a bit more...

"...then you'll know that I'm not a youngling!" 

Vader was shoved back by a blast of the Force, and stumbled backward. He took a second to re-balance himself, but Luke didn't allow it, swinging his lightsaber at him mercilessly.

"You'll always be a youngling to me, Luke. There is nothing wrong with it," he told him, parrying each and every hit. 

"No! 'm not!" 

"Yeesss," Vader taunted. It was clear he was teasing him, finding it adorable that his little boy, small as he was, was so insistent on being big. He reminded him so much of her when she was young--Snips--and a strong wave of fondness washed over him that he couldn't stop. Its warmth, so opposing to the cold rage that typically fueled his power, threw him off just for a second. That second was the only one that Luke needed.

“Nooo!” Luke yelled, striking so hard this time that the trainer saber in Vader’s hands couldn’t withstand it. With a pop and a series of angry crackles, the training saber's hilt had been sliced in two. He dropped it, letting it fall to the ground, sparking and hissing in defeat. When it finished its sad display of death, the training room fell silent. 

Luke panted. Vader's helmet breathed. They both stared down upon it, saying nothing. 

With a shaking hand, Luke retracted his saber's blade. His gaze shifted towards it, a look of horror--near-disgust--taking over his expression. 

Shame, he felt; and Vader could feel it, too, through the bond. Fear, of himself, and just what he was possibly capable of. Luke had been right; he wasn't a youngling. Not really. He was well aware of what had just transpired at his hand: A training saber handicapped so not to harm just sliced a hilt clean in half despite.

He handed it over to Vader, who took it without question. Holding it up and away from Luke, he turned it back on, examining it. The safety was still on. He cycled through its power levels, confirming that it really had been on its lowest setting. It had been. 

Retracting its blade, he handed it back to Luke, whose chin was now profusely trembling as he fought back tears that welled up in his eyes regardless.

“Do not cry," he told his son, "That was a great display of your power. You are becoming even stronger, Padawan.” 

Chapter Text

"When will I get to build a new lightsaber, Daddy?" Luke asked as his father helped him into his pajamas after he'd gotten washed up.

It had been an eventful day, for sure. Between all the waterworks and his training, the fancy food and having to take a bath (all by himself! And C-3PO, who recently had a caretaker protocol installed by Darth Vader), little Luke was exhausted and more than ready for bed. Frankly, he had forgotten all about the promise of rules for his 'Besh' days. 

"The Force will present you with what you need when the time is right." 

The lightsaber's hilt he'd made for himself had been rendered unusable in his fight with Palpatine, leaving him with nothing left but the crystal. It lie broken upon his shelves. He'd been using a loaner for training, but admittedly, he didn't seem too happy with the crystal powering it--and likewise, it did not seem too pleased with him wielding it, either. The way it had lashed out earlier had frightened Luke. Perhaps it was his own pent-up anger and frustration that had done so, but Luke wasn't going to dwell on it. It had been too scary! 

"But I don't like that other one, Daddy! I don't wanna use it anymore, I hate what it did today, and I want my old one back! I like matching Daddy's, but red isn't my favorite color. I did like the blue one..." 

Darth Vader tugged Luke's plain white night shirt taut, making sure the pajamas were on properly before pulling his hands away.

"...I'm sorry I lost your old lightsaber, Daddy. I wasn't strong enough back then." 

"It didn't suit you, Little One, but perhaps it will come back to you one day."

Darth Vader certainly hadn't ever expected to see his old Jedi knight lightsaber back in action, much less wielded by the son he thought had died before birth. If it could appear again after so many years, there was a chance it was still out there somewhere. 

"Green's better, anyway! And that one just feels right."

"Where did you find that crystal?" he asked. He'd been impressed when Luke had shown up at his side with his own custom saber after losing his first, perhaps even more than when he saw him wield his own. 

"It was Ben's..." Luke mumbled, looking over at R2-D2, who had approached them to see if they needed any assistance. He'd been quiet for once, happy that the two seemed to have made up after the upset earlier that morning. Luke started to stroke his domed head, distracted by his cute friend. Artoo cooed softly in happiness. 

"It wasn't," Vader replied simply; definitively.

The blankets on the bed pulled back with the Force and he settled atop the mattress, holding out his arms. Luke could feel through their shared bond that he was wanted in his lap just like at breakfast, so he pulled away from the droid and assumed the position between his spread legs. The plush mattress beneath him made it much more comfortable than in the dining room.

"But that's where I found it, Daddy!" He argued, turning to look up at his father with a little pout, "It was in Ben's hut with all the directions to make a lightsaber!"

Vader considered that fact, using their connection to sneak into Luke's memories as he recalled them. He only saw glimpses of what'd happened, but that was all he needed, because as soon as he did, everything clicked into place. 

Luke, befuddled as ever, was about to question his father further before a now familiar sense of calm washed over him. The sensation was coming to him more and more and he couldn't help but welcome it with open arms. He didn't know what that meant at first, but then Daddy thought, 'Qui-Gon,' and Luke connected the dots just as his father had.

Vader assumed there was no use speaking that name, as it most likely meant nothing to Luke...though it was a curious little discovery. So, Qui-Gon's crystal had given itself to Luke...

"Just be patient, Baby," he said, a hand stroking Luke's mess of hair, still a little damp and shaggy from his bath. 

Luke flushed a deep shade of red, the comfort fading and getting replaced with excitement, embarrassment, and fondness; Because that was the first time Daddy had called him 'Baby!' It sounded a little silly coming out of his monotone vocoder, but that only made Luke cherish it even more. He knew that nickname was special. It was something only his Daddy could ever call him. 

Darth Vader had caught the use of such a sweet name, too, of course, and it gave him pause. For a painfully long moment, the room was completely silent. Not even Artoo was making a peep at the bed's edge.

He took advantage of the silence and used it to shove Anakin Skywalker deeper down within himself: It wasn't fair that he was choosing now to creep up into his head and say these things that were so uncouth of a Sith Lord. But Vader knew Anakin did not care about such things. He did not like rules, or old, outdated expectations that were set in stone--especially when he no longer had a master to follow the directions of. He could do whatever he pleased.  

It was no use putting it off any longer--Darth Vader would have to meditate on this matter. Luke would soon be out like a light and he could use the night to escape into his bacta tank and think about everything that had recently transpired. Much had occurred in the last several days that needed to be pondered upon. Anakin could be dealt with then.

In the stretch of tensed quiet, Luke wondered if his Daddy was just as embarrassed as he was about the name, but said nothing. Daddy eventually continued on like nothing particularly precious had ever been said, "It is time to go over the rules I told you about earlier." 

Vader picked up the data pad that stayed next to Luke's bed and turned it on, holding it in front of his son, who was now frowning deeply at its screen. He had typed out the rules while Luke had been busy getting bathed; though it hadn't been difficult, as he'd been thinking them over for several days. Of course, he could always add more whenever they'd be needed, but at least they'd have something to start with. 

“R2-D2 will assist me in enforcing these rules, Luke, as will C-3PO. This means they will be making sure you’re following them--even when I’m not around--and, that they will alert me should you break any of them.”

Luke nodded, his shoulders hunching. He knew he was in for a long time of having to pay attention to boring, adult-like things, and he wasn't exactly looking forward to it. Luckily, Vader had anticipated as such and handed him back his pacifier, which quickly perked the boy right back up. Luke happily got to sucking away on it, fiddling with the ring on the front of it. 

“First, upon waking, you must report if it is an ‘Aurek’ or ‘Besh’ day.”

“I’m good at fowwowing that one, Daddy!” Luke chirped up.

“Yes, you are.” 

He flicked his finger to navigate to the next screen. Luke looked down at the words upon it, but they seemed hazy and scrambled. Familiar, like their meaning was on the tip of his tongue, but he wouldn't be able to speak it even should he try to. He'd have to rely solely on Daddy's voice to tell him what was written.

“Next, upon waking you must record the details of any unusual dreams or nightmares.” 

“Why?” 

“Daddy needs to know about them.” 

“Why?” 

“It is imperative that I know, Luke.”

Luke pulled out his soother so he could whine, “But why, Daddy? They’re just dreams!" 

He didn't enjoy remembering them, most days. Rarely were they pleasant or peaceful. They mostly centered around his sister hating him; sometimes even attacking him and their father with the entire force of what little remained of the rebel alliance. Sharing as much surely would hurt Vader's feelings, and Luke didn't want that at all. Daddy already had to hurt enough all the time as things were.

“I think we will have to add another rule to this list: No questioning Daddy’s rules.” 

He was teasing. The fact that his son could not decipher as much was adorable.

“Daddy!" And so Luke gasped, completely incredulous, "Why do we need all these rules, anyway?” 

"They will make things easier for you. You will understand your place and know precisely what is expected of you." 

"But what if I don't like some of them?"

"You aren't meant to like rules, Little One, but you'll follow them simply because you must."

Daddy had an answer for everything! One day, Luke'd stump him; he would! He'd just have to keep asking questions until he could. He slumped against one of his arms, reaching out to cling to it. It wrapped around his waist, holding him tight and close. 

"How come Daddy doesn't have rules for him, too?" Luke asked, squeezing his arm when it squeezed his middle.

"Because Daddy is Daddy. He already had to suffer with rules when he was a youngling like you."

"That's just not fair!"

"But do you know what rules mean, Luke?" 

Luke pouted, hanging his head. "What?" He focused his gaze down on the pacifier, and the sleek engraving of a TIE fighter upon its surface. 

"Rewards. Adults do not get rewards for behaving, but younglings do." 

That got the little one to gasp and he visibly perked up, glancing back over his shoulder at the emotionless helmet that was staring right back at him. "You're right!" he cried. "Is it because padawans get rewards?"

For once, Daddy seemed stumped. Luke silently celebrated his little victory with a smug smirk that his father could not see, yet still felt through their bond.

"No."

That wiped the smirk clean off Luke's face.

"A Jedi's reward is the peace they maintain, nothing more. They are completely selfless. That is their way."  

Well...that didn't sound nice. Maybe he didn't actually want to be a padawan. Maybe he was meant to be a Sith, after all. 

"Do Sith get rewards?"

"Even less so than Jedi." 

Luke squirmed, unsettled by this information. "But...," he started, not sure what he wanted to say.

"But," Vader continued for him, "you are Daddy's padawan, which makes you very, very special. I will reward you with gifts and treats whenever you earn them, Luke." 

"Really?"

"Yes." 

"Thank you, Daddy! Thank you! Thank you!"

“Do not thank me yet, Little One. There are more rules you must follow to earn them. Do you recall what we discussed this morning? No running--"

“I know this one already! I won’t run away from Daddy!”

“Excellent.” 

Luke basked in his father’s praise rather proudly as he returned to suckling on his pacifier. The rest of the rules were boring, but as Daddy promised, not so awful that they couldn't be followed: 

Luke was to eat a proper meal, hone his Force skills, have a quiet time of reflection, and be in bed by the proper time. He was to clean up after himself and keep his room tidy--"Does that mean no fowts?" 

"If you are getting tucked in to bed, I will expect your room to be cleaned up. No forts by bedtime." 

He was not to leave his room--ever, under no circumstances--without his father, R2-D2, or C-3PO. He is to ask for help when he needs it, and always tell Daddy if anything is wrong, or if he is feeling uncomfortable with anything--especially if it involves the Stormtroopers or his teachers. This also applies if there was something he wants. Princes got what they wanted, as long as they behaved.

Lastly, no thumbsucking. That's what the pacifier was for. 

By the time they'd reached the last rule, Luke was feeling rather sleepy, so he barely listened to the list of punishments he'd receive should he disobey the rules after a warning. Something, something, time out, something, something, no data pad...Luke murmured an affirmation that he understood, even if his little mind was feeling floaty. 

From what he could gather, anyway, they would be easy enough to follow. The most difficult part was going to be telling Daddy everything. That was going to be difficult, especially when Daddy wasn't always around unless it was a 'Besh' day. 

"Daddy...," Luke sat back up, having slumped over in his weariness, "If it's 'Auwek,' then what?"

"Then I expect you to use a similar self-discipline. You will take care of yourself, attend your lessons, and go to the required imperial meetings."

That didn't sound very fun. Luke wasn't sure if he was so interested in all of the politics of ruling a galaxy. He'd much rather focus on learning how to be a better pilot, or using a lightsaber. Even studying Sith history seemed more fun than those boring meetings full of old people.

"I don't like 'Auwek' days." 

"Why is that?"

"I nevew get to see Daddy."

Vader held Luke in place while he got up off the bed, then directed him to lie him down on his side.

"I'm sorry, Luke," he told him while he pulled the blankets up over him with the power of the Force, "Once we finally settle on Mustafar, I will have more time for you, no matter if it is an 'Aurek' or 'Besh' day." 

"Pwomise?"

"I promise. But there is someplace we must go before we can.” 

"Hmm..." Luke turned his head to the side, curious about where that would be, but too tired to ask.

"I know you think you are grown up, Luke. But you will always be my little boy and I am going to treat you the way I know is best for you." 

"Mhm." He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Darth Vader stood at his bedside, petting his blonde hair. It was darkening at the roots, and his skin, which used to be so sunkissed, was paling. Space was no place for the boy. He belonged in a castle. In a kingdom, free of worry and protected.

But the idea of building a fortress on Tatooine, where he dreamed of, was unbearable. It was a hellscape of bad memories...but then again, maybe Mustafar was the same. So, perhaps...? 

Luke would surely thrive in that place, just as his mother had.

He would frolic in the lush flower fields. His smile would be as bright as the sun, and he'd laugh until he could barely breathe, the sound of waterfalls flowing into the river in the near-distance behind him. He'd crawl upon the back of a shaak and ride it until it bucked him off. He'd begin to cry, more because he lost his free ride than the actual pain of landing on his bum, but his Daddy would be there to tell him it was going to be okay, just a bruise that would be gone in no time.  

Then they'd return to the villa. He would feed him as they looked out to the ocean. Luke would get curious, of course, and try to lean over the edge once he was done with his dinner. Daddy would warn him against it, but he'd only do so with more intent because he knew his Daddy would always be there to catch him. Daddy would be proud of Luke for knowing this truth; for trusting him so, with his life. He would revel in that pride--a sinful thing for a Jedi, he knew--and place a kiss upon his temple as he wrapped his arms around him and tugged him back from the ledge. 

'Baby,' he'd laugh. Luke laughed, too. 

What a beautiful sound--what a beautiful idea this all was. 

But it was Anakin's thought, and no longer his own. He pulled his hand away from Luke's head and took a step back. He couldn't indulge in this anymore. If he did, he didn't know what would happen. He'd no one to guide him anymore. He was on his own. Unless...

'Goodnight, Luke.' 

Luke smiled around his pacifier, but could not return the sentiment, slipping off into the sweet embrace of sleep and the recollection of flowers' sweet scents and salty waters of a planet he'd never been to.

Chapter Text

He played in the fields, he sang songs, he met new animal friends, and best of all, he played with Daddy until the sunset, casting the scenery in oranges and reds. They got warmer and warmer and warmer until the entire landscape melted away his serenity into lava and despair. Luke knew the anguish he felt was not his own, and yet, it found a way to take form in his greatest fear.

He did not want to fight her, even as she stood upon the cragged rock and pointed a blaster at his chest. He did not want to hurt her. It was Han he needed to fight. Han had turned her against him; against them, their family. But, no...Han was Luke's dear friend, a mentor in a way, but that only served to make the betrayal all the worse.

'Suffer,' a voice whispered into his ear, 'Make him suffer, or you will lose her. You will lose everything; Everything you've worked for. Use the Dark Side. Use it!'

'I can't!' Luke cried, turning away from Leia and searching for the voice that had sounded, and finding nothing but lava all around him. 

'Pity. It could have served you well, and even I would have been a better father to you than he can,' He stumbled backward as the familiar voice seemed to intrude on his every fiber of being, crawling into his skin from all angles like a thousand spiders so he could not ignore it, 'Vader is broken. Aimless. Hopeless without anyone to guide him. As his son, you are the same. 

So confused. So troubled. You poor thing. I would have taught you how to harness that power that lies so deep within you; How to stop your sister. We could have taught her how to wield the Force, too. And we could have ruled the Empire together; the three of us. A family. A strong family.'

Luke wanted to argue: He'd never wanted any of that with Palpatine. It didn't even make sense. Ruling over the galaxy had never, ever been one of his dreams, even now as he sit on the throne of it. All he wanted was to be with his father, and if that meant he would have to rule, then so be it. 

Yet, what he felt within him seemed to be fighting against those very thoughts, scolding him for even having them; like they were wrong, sinful. A burning fire crept up from the edges of his form, inching towards his center. It stung so bad, he wanted to cry out, but when he opened his mouth, nothing left it, not even a whimper. 

'You have no idea what you are up against; what I was protecting your father from all this time. You want to travel to Naboo? You want to live there, build your kingdom there?'

No--Luke didn't even know what Naboo was! 

Luscious flower fields. Rushing waterfalls. Islands. Oceans. Water. Grass. Water. Fruit. Water. 

Water. Deep, deep water. 

Oh.

He was suddenly drowning in it: At first it was a boon from the flames that had engulfed him, but then it invaded his insides; started filling his lungs. He needed to gasp but his mouth wouldn't even open anymore. 

'You do not know what waits for you. You have no idea. It is only with my help that you would have survived it.

But go on, Little Luke. Go on. Continue to play house. Ignore your powers. Act a child, enable your father to grow weaker by the very second. Hold on to what little family you have left, because you will not have it for long. 

Oh, you poor, poor boy. Poor boy. I can feel that you understand, deep down--you know what it is I'm trying to tell you, but you refuse to acknowledge it. You are fighting it. Fighting me, fighting the truth, fighting the darkness, just as your father is. 

Always so conflicted. Like a scale, endlessly trying to balance but finding nothing but motion. I thought, in the moment you struck me down, that you finally felt it: The embrace of the darkness and how sweet it could be.

Didn't you? Be honest with yourself. You felt it, you know you did...and still, you think you can actually be a Jedi? Don't make me laugh. You lack such discipline, Boy. You have no goals, no ambition. You have given up everything to live out your father's foolish fantasy and are but a mere whisper of the great potential that you held in the palm of your hand.'

Everything went dark. 

'There. Do you feel it, now? Enjoy this sweet, naïve bliss while it lasts, Young Skywalker. You will hit the bottom of the ocean soon enough and when you do, nothing will save you but a miracle.' 

He must wake. He must open his eyes. He must get to the light, but Palpatine was right--this felt nice. 

There were no more nightmares.

No Leia to worry about.

No Han to argue with.

No fire burning his skin, no water filling his lungs, nothing. 

He could not see anymore. Could not feel anymore. He was nothing. He didn't exist, even in dreamland. For just a moment, he was grateful for it.

Then he fought it. He opened his eyes, and swam; swam until his arms and legs screamed with ache and still he pushed on. Closer and closer to the surface he came until--

"Father!" Luke yelled. His entire body had jolted with his sudden return to the waking world, sheets kicked off to the side. His heart jackrabbited in his chest and he gasped for air, eyes wide as they searched his bedroom for nothing in particular. But it was just his bedroom. There was no lava. No water, no Palpatine: Nothing was amiss. The Force was quiet, and whispered nothing. Then came a familiar (and greatly comforting) series of blips and bloops in binary:

≪𝙸𝚂 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙾𝙺𝙰𝚈, 𝙻𝚄𝙺𝙴?≫

No. 

"My bantha, Artoo! My bantha's gone!"

Chapter Text

A trickle of sweat rolled its way down the side of Luke's face. With how on edge he felt, even that was enough to irritate him. He swiped it away with his sleeve and took one last, steadying, deep, shaky breath. 

"That must've been why I had that awful dream..."

Luke was torn between being genuinely impressed that whatever apparent warding charm had been placed upon the bantha seemed to actually work, and trying to acknowledge to himself that such a promise was little more than youngling nonsense.  

R2-D2 rolled closer towards him, plugging into the data pad. As per Darth Vader's rules, Luke would have to report his nightmare.

≪𝚃𝙴𝙻𝙻 𝙼𝙴. 𝙸'𝙻𝙻 𝚁𝙴𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙽𝚃𝚂.≫

"Don't you do that, Artoo," Luke warned with a point of his finger before crawling out of bed with enough authority that Artoo realized he was feeling 'Aurek.' 

≪𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙾𝙸𝙽𝙶?≫

"Where do you think I'm going? I need to go get that bantha unless I want to keep suffering! You don't know what it's like, Artoo, it's awful. It's just awful. Anything that can help me is worth whatever trouble it takes to get it."

≪𝙸'𝙻𝙻 𝙶𝙾.≫

Luke put his hands on his hips and frowned down at his droid through the dim light of the room. 

"If Father catches you out while he thinks I'm asleep, he's not gonna be too happy, is he? Just let me go, I think I remember right where I left it."

The day had been so busy, and he'd been so happy to spend it all with Daddy that he'd completely forgotten about the precious gift. Hopefully no Stormtroopers had done away with it. The longer Luke stood there, such was more and more likely, and he was getting antsy. When he tried to take a step towards the door, R2-D2 briskly rolled in front of him, stopping him in his tracks.

≪𝙷𝙾𝚆 𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙰𝙽𝚈 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁? 𝙷𝙴'𝙻𝙻 𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙲𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄, 𝚃𝙾𝙾.≫

Luke definitely seemed more mature than he had been as of late, so Artoo had a bit more faith, but the idea still wasn't great. Anakin would surely be angry--perhaps even hurt--should Luke break the rules so soon after they were presented to him. 

"Because I can use the Force to avoid him!" Luke whined, rolling his entire head back along with his eyes like it was the most obvious thing, "And that's even if he's here right now. Look, it'll be quick 'n' easy: I'll just go grab the bantha and come straight back to this room, no problem! All you need to do is go back into hibernation mode so you have an alibi just in case, and I'll be back before you know it."

He stepped around Artoo's form, only to stub his toe on the droid when he persistently shifted to remain in front of Luke, no matter where he went. 

≪𝙻𝙴𝚃 𝙼𝙴 𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷 𝚈𝙾𝚄.≫

It was in the rules: Luke needed to have an escort around the Executor! 

"I do not need an escort for this, Artoo," Luke hissed, balancing on one foot as the pain shot from the other up through his leg, "Please just stay here and don't tell Father."

≪𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝚄𝙻𝙴𝚂--≫

Luke stood tall once more. "The 'rules'," he used air quotes, "don't apply to me because I'm 'Aurek' right now, okay?"

The sass present in the rebuttal made Artoo want to roll his own dome. Even when Luke was big, he remained ever-childish at heart. It was sweet, but could also be frustrating. Still, it made it difficult to say 'no.'

"Now roll on aside," Luke flicked his hand, "so I can get this over with."

R2-D2 cooed sadly, sliding aside and turning to watch Luke move towards the door and tug his boots on over his pajama pants. 

≪𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚂𝙽'𝚃 𝙰 𝙶𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙸𝙳𝙴𝙰, 𝙻𝚄𝙺𝙴.≫

His master ignored him.

≪𝙸 𝙷𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙰 𝙱𝙰𝙳 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙱𝙾𝚄𝚃 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂...≫

Artoo could do nothing but watch as Luke slipped out the bedroom door with a soft step. 

Chapter Text

If the surprise dining room on the Executor had been any indication, Luke still didn't have much idea of what awaited him upon this ship. The halls all looked the same, as did the rooms. Everything felt so sterile and the bright lights above made him wince, eyes too spoiled by the gentle dim of his bedroom in the evenings. For once, he wished to feel grains of sand beneath his feet rather than the endless sleek floors. In fact, with every cycle, he found himself missing Tatooine more and more. 

Luke sighed, turning the corner: No bantha.

His family did not remain on the planet, nor his friends, and yet, he still yearned for the warmth of its twin suns. Father said he didn't like it there, but had given little reason as to why. But he must cease any thought of Darth Vader--it was not aiding his efforts of stealth. He was meant to be masking his presence from Father, not call out for him! But was it so wrong to love him so wholly?

He worried for him all the time. He'd only tasted the dark side and it had been awful. His body and mind had rejected it--physically; he'd actually gotten physically ill--and yet, his father bathed in it. Lived in it. Breathed it. How he could tolerate such torture? 

"Stop it," Luke muttered to himself, shaking his head and turning the next corner. Going down that line of thought would do him no good and the bantha wasn't down this corridor one, either.

He focused on clearing his mind, refusing to let it wander and letting his feet do that job instead, taking him wherever felt natural. Perhaps the Force would lead him right to what he was looking for even without reaching out to it. 

That approach seemed to be working. Luke suddenly felt a tug that was pulling him along. He smiled, pleased, allowing it to guide him exactly where he was meant to be...which, apparently, was a sealed door with two Stormtroopers guarding it.

Luke glanced at each one, deciding to duck his head and approach the keypad next to the door without saying anything. Neither spoke; they knew better than to first initiate contact with the Prince. Such was against their orders. 

He did not know the keypad's combination and yet his fingers typed a series of numbers that had the door clicking, then hissing open. It was then that Luke lifted his gaze and directed it towards the Stormtrooper on the left. 

"Leave now," he ordered with a slow wave of his hand.

"I'll leave now," the trooper immediately replied, wasting no time in marching down the hallway from which Luke came. He turned to the other who seemed a bit flustered, looking from the Prince to his partner who was now abandoning his very important post. Yet, if it was Master Skywalker who was commanding it...

Luke raised an eyebrow threateningly. Even in pajamas, he still somehow managed to be foreboding. 

...

...the Stormtrooper went scurrying after the other, no persuasion of the Force necessary. 

What was in this room that required such protection? Luke was curious and slipped in, turning to watch the door slide shut behind him, leaving him in near pitch-black darkness. Unlike the rest of the ship, this room was dark with dark floors, dark walls, a dark ceiling. Yet, a strange mist drifted in from the end of this hall with the promise of light coming from somewhere close. 

Intrigued, he made his way down the hall, one hand trailing on the wall behind him. He knew he shouldn't be making late-night detours around the ship, but he couldn't help it; this was his birthright, as his father was so quick to always remind him! He deserved the chance to get to explore it once in awhile. 

Then it hit him square in the nostrils--the overwhelming, heady scent of bacta. Luke recalled the sickeningly sweet smell with displeasure, his nose scrunching up, remembering how long it took for it to leave his senses after he'd had to heal in a big old tank of the stuff.

But he didn't stop walking. He couldn't even if he wanted to; the Force's pull was no longer a suggestion. It was adamant about bringing him here, even if Luke was certain his bantha hadn't been left in a place like this. Yet, like every other time, he rounded the corner with the hope to spot its scruffy brown fur. 

The plush was not there. Instead, a great tank stood in the center of the room. It was where all the mist was coming from, clearly in use. It glowed, lighting up the otherwise black room and illuminating the staircase leading up to it, as well as the excessive machinery above it. Heavy cords and thick tubes and who-knew-what-else hung from the ceiling, connecting at the very center above the tank. All the mist made it difficult to see what precisely was in the tank itself that the tangles of machinery was working so hard to maintain.

The Force encouraged Luke even closer. He did not feel fear or uncertainly. He trusted it, and so he took step after step until he stood directly in front of the glass tank. It was only then that his feet stopped and he could finally see through it. It was only then that he realized what it contained, and why he'd been brought to it. 

Chapter Text

Even as every fiber in Luke's being told him that this was his father, he still could not believe it. It just didn't make sense.

His father had arms! Yes, one was mechanical like his own, but...

...

...and legs! His father had legs--he walked just like any other man--and yet, this man had nothing lower than his deeply scarred thighs. They were connected to the tank itself, as were pieces in his chest, abdomen, pelvis, and the lower half of his face. Everything was covered in all sorts of embedded machinery that plugged into other ports like a droid. Luke felt his stomach do a flip right up into the base of his throat as his mind conjured some idea of what they might be for.

The scene in front of his eyes went against everything he knew--everything he understood--and yet, somehow, everything seemed to suddenly make so much more sense. The Force demanded he stay there to take it all in, to understand. He realized his feet were planted firmly to the ground; He could not run, even if he tried.

It wasn't that Luke wanted to turn away in disgust. He didn't feel that at all. Nor did he feel pity, rather, he was simply mortified that such a tragedy could happen to anyone and that they would survive it, let alone someone he loved so dearly. How did this ever happen? What could have possibly done this to him? Who?

'Kenobi.'

Why?

He reached up, fingertips pressing up against the glass of the tank and sliding up their surface. They dragged through the light coat of condensation until they reached what was exposed of Darth Vader's face. It did not at all resemble what Luke had saw. That handsome, grinning young Jedi was nowhere in front of him. Where had he gone?

Luke's head tilted slightly to one side, expression twisting as tears filled his trembling eyes. He fought to keep himself composed, but it was a battle he didn't have that will to conquer. The fingers on the glass spread out until his palm lie flat and in his agony, he felt his control start to slip. Everything--his thoughts, his feelings, the coldness of the bacta tank on his flesh fingertips--flooded into the Force.

A tear finally escaped, streaking down his cheek. 

What pain had his father endured--no, did endure--every single day--to live in spite of this? Was this the source of his power--the reason he embraced the dark side of the Force so wholly? What could possibly be worth it? 

'You.'

Suddenly, eyes on the other side of the glass opened and for a moment, Luke couldn't make sense of what he was seeing--was that the reflection of his blue gaze, or his father's? He had to blink away the tears that clouded his vision and as he did, he realized the eyes he was staring into were nothing like his own: a noxious gold color swallowed up his pupils, surrounded by angry red rings that almost seemed to glow. 

For a long, drawn-out moment, their gazes remained fixated on one another. 

'I would endure any amount of agony to remain at your side, Luke.' 

The words, just as the sight before him, were somehow intoxicating. He could feel the darkness swirling around the two of them as the private moment between them stretched out impossibly long.

They weren't alone in here--dark tendrils reached out like the many cords and tubes all around them. They snaked up Luke's sleep trousers, sliding across his legs, creeping up towards his neck where they finally settled. Luke knew what they could do if they wanted to; He'd felt it before. 

Yet, now, they were nothing more than warm and weighty, promising a comfort they never had before. They were content to feed on Luke's terror, and they whispered happy little words into his head to nurture its growth.

'See? The Dark Side--'

'--takes care of its users.' 

'Luke.'

'You'll always be safe in it. You'll--' 

'--never die.'

'Ben.'

'It won't let you. It won't ever--'

'--let you go.'

'Luke.'

'The galaxy will be yours.'

'Obi-Wan.'

'You're safe.' 

'Now that--'

'--have you--'

'--won't ever let you go.' 

'Obi-Wan Kenobi.'

'Luke.'

'Are you afraid?'

The moment--that one, single, drawn-out moment--finally passed, and Luke gasped like he hadn't ever breathed air before. He stumbled back from the tank, trying to make sense of his vision going blurry and doubled. It startled him. It felt like his body was on fire, like in the dream. And his head was tight, his chest was tight, his throat was so tight...

...he gasped again, just to prove to himself that he could still breathe if he tried. 

His father remained in the bacta tank, watching him. Luke tried to focus on him, tried to reach out to him in the Force, to ask for help, to make all the whispers inside his mind just stop. But everything was foggy, and the farther he stumbled back, the cloudier the room seemed to get, until Darth Vader was no longer in sight. 

Something about that terrified Luke greatly, and while he knew, logically, that meant he should run towards him, not away from him, his feet did the exact opposite. He sprinted.

Chapter Text

Luke had not known where he had been going before, but now, as he ran, he somehow knew even less so. His mind was racing even faster than his feet and he simply wanted it all to stop. It was all too much; the pain he felt, the sadness, the sorrow--perhaps if he kept moving forward he'd be able to leave it all behind. 

And so he tried, all while hoping that something--someone--would stop him. Would put a stop to all of this hurt, the nightmares, the scary whispers, everything, and just let him sleep.

The Force might have heard him. Either that, or he was simply just lucky because something--someone--did call out to him. Not verbally, but with their presence. 

Luke stumbled to a stop in front of a seemingly random door that slid open after a moment. It revealed a ghostly figure standing near a gently used cot.

He was taller than Luke, but just barely. His feet looked almost too big for his body, as did his head, which told Luke he was still growing. Or, rather, would have been, had he not so clearly been a ghost. But Luke knew Force ghosts were not ordinary ghosts--for ordinary ghosts could not hold onto a very tangible bantha plush like this one was. 

The figure turned to Luke with an expression that was almost too thoughtful for a boy his age.

'Hello there,' he said. Luke recognized the accent, but in his tizzy, he could not place its owner. Only one thing mattered, besides.

"That's mine!" he cried, stumbling forward into the room and snatching the plush. As soon as the furry friend was in Luke's arms where it belonged, he immediately felt more at ease than he had before, but was still a bit on edge. Who was this?

The apparition had spiky strawberry-blond hair with a short ponytail in back and a little braid kissing the side of his neck, landing just below his collar bone. It was an interesting style Luke had never seen worn before, but his outfit was, on the contrary, very recognizable: They were standard Jedi initiate robes made of humble fabrics and bland colors. They folded intricately, however--beautifully--just as the top that Darth Vader had dressed him in the other day had. It only lacked the fancifulness. The ghost's lone accessory was a lightsaber handle hanging off his belt, confirming that he was, indeed, a Jedi.  

'I know it's yours,' the Force ghost boy frowned, looking a little offended by Luke's lack of gratitude, 'That's why I went and fetched it for you.'

A slow beat passed between them as they glowered at one another stubbornly and then--perhaps because of the boy's snippy reply, or perhaps because of simply everything--Luke collapsed to the floor, back against the cot, and began to cry. He clung to the bantha as he felt himself getting smaller and smaller. The galaxy was too big. The Force was too big, his Father was too big, the idea of talking to ghosts was too big--all of this felt too big for him. 

The teenager seemed to regret the comment as his own expression twitched and then steeled: He was trying to prevent tears from welling up in his own eyes, despite the slight tremble of his chin. He felt badly. As much as he hadn't thought his words had been harsh, Luke was rather delicate as of late. Despite his many years of training, he had never been too good at dealing with younglings or those who had acted like them. Patience was at the very bottom of his list of talents, which was his own childish flaw. 

Wordlessly, he sank down next to Luke, his hand twitching awkwardly in the space between them. He wanted to wrap his arm around him and comfort him, but wasn't sure if that was appropriate after he'd just made him cry. But it hadn't been just his words...something had scared Luke. He was afraid, and fear only led to bad things. Dark things. He had to help him; distract him in some way.

'Do you like banthas?' He pointed to the stuffed animal. 

Luke instinctively hugged it tighter, glaring at the ghost from atop a curly horn. He didn't want the ghost boy to take his comfort plush away from him again. "Yeah," he replied, eyeing him suspiciously with a watery blue gaze.

Another stretch of silence followed, and the ghost struggled to find the right words. He kept his hands to himself atop his lap as his legs folded neatly. His back was straight and his gaze was stern, and Luke could tell he was very...proper. It wasn't the kind of person he was used to being around. It made him feel a bit foolish for crying, and he tried to stop the tears. After a few sniffs and snuffles, he was able to gather himself up enough to ask: "You have banthas where you're from, too?"

The teen perked up, somehow sitting up even straighter. Luke didn't think such good posture was even possible but he was excited to be addressed by Luke, it seemed. 

'I've traveled the galaxy,' he explained, notably exercising a patience he hadn't earlier, 'I've been to many planets--too many to count--but I ended up living on Tatooine for many, many years.' 

"Oh."

Luke knew who this was. Deep down, he knew, but his little mind wasn't so good at connecting the dots beyond what was being presented to him outwardly. If Ben had wanted to be addressed as such, he wouldn't have appeared to him like this, anyway. 

He slouched, sighing, then sniffing, reaching up to wipe away some of his tears. 

'You lived on Tatooine, too,' the boy pointed out when it seemed like Luke had no intention of carrying on the conversation. His light eyes glanced in his direction, and then he sighed again, slumping down even further and hiding his face in the fur of the plush's fuzzy head.

"Yeth," he mumbled.

'So we have something in common, then.' 

"Ah gueth." 

The ghost gave the other a sad sort of smile that soon faded, though his brows remained upturned. He wasn't as good at this as his master was. Even in taking a form that he had hoped would be more personable to young Luke--especially as he had been acting lately--things still remained awkward between them. He watched as Luke pulled the plush away and stuffed it between his legs, reaching up to instead suckle on the tip of his thumb. He seemed intent to avoid the ghostly gaze upon him, looking everywhere but towards him.

So Obi-Wan decided to just go for it.

'Can I hug you?' he questioned suddenly, just as awkward as any actual thirteen-year-old boy would have been.

Finally, Luke's eyes returned to his as he considered the odd request. A hug was much less suspicious than, say, asking to see his bantha again. 

"Sure." 

And so he hugged Luke and Luke sunk into it. It was so odd, to be held by someone intangible--odd, but pleasant to be held at all. It made Luke realize that he wasn't alone in all of this. He had people to reach out to who could help him with all of this--he just needed to make the effort to do so.

'You haven't called out for me for so long, Luke. You haven't even asked for help once, despite everything...so when I heard you calling out to me tonight, I...'

But, "I'm afraid," Luke murmured, "...I'm afraid everyone hates me now."

He had R2-D2 and C-3PO, and he loved them and his father very much--with his whole heart, in fact--but there were still others who were just as dear to him that surely didn't feel the same.

Leia. Han. Chewie. Yoda.

Obi-Wan.

Luke's heart ached with a painful pang, just thinking of them all.

'Hate is a very, very powerful word, Luke,' He pulled away from their embrace just enough so that the other could witness the seriousness in his expression and understand it, 'I know how it feels to truly be hated, and that, you are not.' 

He would never forget Anakin's declaration of hate towards him that fateful night on Mustafar. He would never forget how hot the words had burned--he couldn't, for he had left that planet with deep scars upon his heart that he had to live with for the rest of his long, painful life. But he'd found peace in the Force's embrace. He was now with his old departed master; with Luke, who was very much still alive; with Leia, still (always); and with the Force alike. It was nearly a perfect existence. The only thing that was missing was Anakin. 

Oh, how he missed him. And perhaps selfishly, it was that very missing him that made him start to believe in the seemingly impossible: that Luke could bring Anakin back somehow, just as Qui-Gon so wholeheartedly believed.

'I am sorry that I made you feel this way, Luke. I simply did not understand your decisions, but I'm beginning to. So please, don't shut me out. Call upon me. I beg you. Allow me to guide you. Let me love you; all of you...even the parts of you I don't quite understand just yet. It truly would be the greatest blessing.' 

There were so many things Luke didn't know, especially in this night of revelations, but one thing he did was that this person--whatever their name was--meant a lot to him. Maybe not as much as he seemed to mean to them--truthfully--but perhaps in time, they could find a way to bridge that gap. So he smiled sadly and sniffled, reaching up to wipe away the tears. 

"Let's be friends." 

'More than friends.'

The ghost held out his fist for a bump. Luke blinked, taking a moment to understand, before returning the gesture. It was funny how his fist seemed to stop against the other's knuckles just like a real one would.

'Family.'

Suddenly Luke's chest burst with happy warmth.

'I'd be honored to be considered your Uncle, Luke.'

"Uncle...," Luke repeated, blue eyes wide and curious. The teenager nodded, beaming ear-to-ear. He seemed to be experiencing the same joy as Luke upon hearing the word repeated back at him. The sensation seemed to dance between them like static electricity, filling them both with a pleasant buzz. But before they could fully savor it in all its glory, the door was sliding open and an unfamiliar voice to the both of them sounded:

"Master Skywalker?"

It was a stormtrooper.

"What the hell are you doing in here?"

This must have been his personal cabin. Luke made to get to his feet and try to explain his and the ghost's presence, but the Stormtrooper would hear none of it, for his top half fell off to the left while the bottom collapsed to the right. He had been split clean in two by an angry red lightsaber.