Archive of Our Own ^beta

Han swore, snapping back his fingers from the sparking panel, wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm.

Gods, this blasted planet was hot. When Han had won the Falcon, fair and square, named himself captain and Chewbacca his first mate, he had to admit he thought it’d be...easier. Or more glamorous perhaps, though glamorous didn’t quite fit either.

The point was, they’d run into plenty of setbacks, not enough credits and had to take jobs Han would have rather avoided.

On top of that, while Han’s optimism had been tossed out the airlock years ago, he’d been so desperate to get off Corellia he hadn’t considered that even in his own estimation, the rest of the galaxy wasn’t much better, if not worse.

Case and point, Tatooine.

Unfortunately, since they didn’t have many contacts yet and they didn’t really have a name for themselves (though Han figured anonymity was probably a good thing), they were relying heavily on Outer Rim, often less than legal, jobs.

Tatooine was brimming with them, though Chewie (and Han) flat out refused to transport the enslaved. It was bad enough working with slavers but these repairs weren’t going to pay for themselves. It was a compromise neither of them were exactly fond of but it looked like it was going to be that way for the near future. Which unfortunately met Han may soon become quite familiar with this hell hole of a planet.

Well, at least he had the Falcon. That was all he needed.

A job’s a job, Han told himself, squashing down the conscience he swore he didn’t have. You had to be tough to survive in this galaxy. It was every every being for themselves. Though Han did have to admit, it was nice having a terrifying Wookiee as your second. Chewie may be a big softie, but he had a temper and struck an intimidating figure.

Speaking of, where was he? They’d dropped off their shipment and Han was wrapping up the repairs. He was ready to blow this joint.

Wiping his palms against his pants, Han replaced his tools in one of the pouches on his belt, glancing around the docking bay. He was debating going to look for him (or a cold pint), when his massive frame stepped through the doorway, awkwardly angled so he was almost walking sideways.

“Bout time,” Han called, bringing up a hand to shield his eyes from the suns. “You get sidetracked by some food or something? Why are you walking so funny?”

Han blinked as Chewie slowly got closer, realizing the Wookiee was carrying something, obscured by his arms.

“Chewie what is -?”

Tiny tan-clothed legs were dangling from Chewie’s arms.

“No!” Han leveled a finger at Chewie in a firm point. “I don’t know what’s going on, pal, but the answer is no!”

“He’s hurt,” Chewbacca replied, keeping his growls low, petting at a small head of blond hair buried into Chewie’s neck. “And scared.”

Now that Han knew what he was looking at, he could make out the trembling in the parts of the small frame he could see, along with bloody, tattered and in some areas burned clothing.

It did not paint a pretty picture.

But still.

“I don’t care, we aren’t a charity. Dump him off on someone else. Kid’s gotta learn to fend for himself.”

“No,” Chewie woofed. “The cub lost his guardians. There’s no one else. I found him hiding from slavers.”

Blast Chewie and his damn soft heart, especially for children and especially when it came to enslavement. Of course he somehow managed to find a hurt, lost and frightened child on the run from slavers while he’d been out on a simple supply run.

Could nothing in Han’s life be easy?

The child creating all of Han’s problems shifted in Chewie’s eyes with a hiccup, and Han’s own heart gave a traitorous twist.

“No,” Han shook his head, hating that he’d lost some of his sternness. “I’m the Captain, and I say you put the kid back where you found him and we forget he ever existed.”

Chewie shook his head, more ferociously this time.

“Whaddya wanna do, turn the Falcon into a nursery? Change our job description to kidnappers? We can’t just pick up any straggler you see!”

“I picked you up.”

“Now wait a minute, you got that backwards!"

Chewie shouldered past him, up the ramp, leaving Han spluttering after him.

“Hey!” Han followed after him when he’d regained his composure, pondering the best course of action.

While Han trusted Chewie – as much as two smuggling partners can trust each other anyway – they hadn’t quite figured out their dynamic. Han was captain, and Chewie generally followed orders, though he’d argue occasionally, or blame Han’s repairs for their predicament when it was clearly Chewie’s fault. Chewie had put his foot down on a few jobs Han was wavering on, but for the most part, Chewie followed Han’s lead as Captain.

This was...new and Han wasn’t quite sure how to handle it.

Because the truth was another part of their dynamic entailed the knowledge that Chewie could rip his arms. He wouldn’t. Han was almost certain he wouldn’t, anyway.

That didn’t negate the fact of it though.

Annoyed, Han tailed behind Chewie, who was still gently petting the child’s hair, trying to figure out the best way to convince Chewie to send the kid packing without losing a fight (or a limb) with a stubborn, big softie of a Wookiee.

Chewie arrived at the small area they’d designated as their med bay, kneeling carefully. Han crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the frame, watching as Chewie coaxed the child out of his arms with gentle croons and pets.

Huge bright blue eyes blinked out from behind Chewie’s arms, shining with tears. He blinked owlishly, glancing around his surroundings, body language screaming that he was preparing to bolt at a moment’s notice.

That suspicious gaze landed on Han and he attempted to dive back into the protection of Chewie’s fur.

Chewie chuffed, a warm, fond sound. Han had to admit, the fact that the kid apparently was unafraid of Chewie, trusting him to protect him, spoke of bravery.

And desperation, he reminded himself forcefully.

Eventually, the boy emerged from Chewie’s arms again, eyeing Han warily.

No doubt he’d heard Han’s words earlier.

Good, Han told himself, sneering under the boy’s gaze.

The kid didn’t flinch.

Chewie ruffled his hair, making the boy giggle a little. Making sure the child was settled, Chewie sat back on his haunches, opening a nearby drawer, giving Han the chance to observe the kid.

He was tiny, perhaps overemphasized by his too big clothes, ripped and hanging off his shoulder. Han could make out various shades of bruises and cuts littering his skin, and what looked to be burns on his hands. His blond hair was stained red with blood, soot and sweat. He was dusty and dirty and obviously running on fumes.

Before he could stop himself, Han asked, “How old are you, kid?”

Blue eyes turned in his direction, narrowing at him, his lips pressed together.

“Fine don’t tell me,” Han waved a hand. “The sooner you’re off my ship, the better.”

An undeniable flash of curiosity flickered across the boy’s expressive face before he could stop it.

“This is your ship?” He looked around in awe.

Gods even his voice was tiny, and so very, very young.

Han felt his chest puff in pride. “Yes. I’m the Captain.”

The boy turned back to him, eyeing him doubtfully.

“I am!” Han insisted, pointing at him.

“Don’t argue with the cub,” Chewie huffed, piling his gathered supplies on the cot next to him.

Han was about to point out the kid started it when his eyes widened at the stockpile.

“Chewie, no! That stuff ain’t cheap, ya know?” he protested.

The overprotective Wookiee ignored him completely. “Go get him some food and water.”

Han threw his hands up. “Should I give him all of our credits too? How about the ship while we’re at it?”

“Can I be the Captain?!” The boy asked excitedly.

“No!” Han shot down over Chewie’s barking laughter, glaring when the boy had the gall to look disappointed, his face falling in almost comical letdown.

Chewie shooed Han off in the direction of the galley and with a put upon sigh, Han complied. “Fine, but he’s getting the cheapest thing we got. And then he’s gone, ya hear me?”

Han stomped towards the galley, grumbling, closing the still open ramp while he passed. He wasn’t going to get out of this until Chewie got his mother-Wookieeing out of his system, it seemed, and Han didn’t anyone sneaking on their ship in the meantime.

Muttering in annoyance to himself about stubborn Wookiees who don’t listen to their Captain, Han grabbed a bulb of water and the cheapest ration bar he could find, pausing for a second remembering the cut on the boy’s lips, wondering if he’d prefer something warm like a broth, or a soft reconstituted bread.

No. Han wasn’t going out of his way – or using up the extra credits – for this unwanted stowaway. He was lucky to get anything at all, in Han’s book.

Reduced to an errand boy for some random kid with tooka eyes on his own ship.

Preparing a sharp remark, Han strode back into the med bay, only for the wind to be absolutely knocked out of his sails when he was met with the sound of soft, muffled cries, the boy trembling like a leaf in Chewie’s arms.

“What happened?” Han demanded.

“Bad memory,” Chewie cooed. “His guardians burned protecting them. He tried to save them.”

Han remembered the burns on his hands and winced.

“Bad deal,” Han admitted.

“He’s been on the run ever since. Poor cub.”

Han paused. “Who burned them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well are they gonna come after us for helping him?” Han demanded.

Was he the only one that cared about their skins in this?! Chewie’s stupid big heart was going to get them killed!

“Let them come,” Chewie growled.

“Chewie we are not risking our necks – or our reputation in one of our very few places we can actually do business, let me remind you – on some random kid!”

There was louder sob at that, and combined with the glare Chewie sent his way, Han shut up right quick.

What a godsdamned mess. Next time he was going on the supply run and he’d stick Chewie with the repairs.

Chewie mewled, petting the boy’s hair, pulling a blanket around the boy’s shivering frame.

Han refused to be swayed by the sad little cries and hiccups, uneven and bleeding hurt. No. Absolutely not.

When they’d quieted down a bit, Han said, “C’mon kid, we haven’t got all day. We gotta pay for this docking bay, ya know, and we’re wasting enough credits on you as it is.”

Chewie bared his teeth at Han, but immediately softened when the boy pushed out of Chewie’s arms, clumsily wiping his eyes, the exhaustion obvious.

“’M sorry I cried on you, Mr. Chewie,” he apologized quietly.

Chewie just petted his hair again with a soft huffing sound, directing Han to tell him, “He says just to call him Chewie.”

Luke glanced over at Han, nodding. “Thank you. Chewie, then. I’m Luke.”

“And I’m ready to be done with this,” Han interrupted. “Chewie, get back to patching him up. Here’s your water and your food, I don’t wanna hear any complainin’ -”

But he stopped at the look on the boy’s – Luke’s – face.

He was staring at the globe of water with unadulterated shock and want. Han could see the way his hands weakly fisted the torn clothing over his thighs.

He didn’t reach for it though, as much as he clearly was desperate too. Instead, he looked up at Han, searching his face suspiciously. Though he tried to hide it, there was fear in his eyes too.

Han’s stomach clenched uncomfortably at the sight of it. As much as he swore to himself otherwise, he didn’t want to be the source of fear for someone so small.

“What do you want for it?” the boy asked carefully. “I don’t have any credits, but I’m really good at fixing things.”

“Sure you are,” Han said.

“I am!”

“Whatever. On the house. Chewie’ll rip my arms off, besides.”

Chewie gave an affirmative woof.

Still, Luke didn’t look convinced.

Han knew water was a thing here – Chewie informed him to never buy it unless absolutely necessary since it was so expensive, and they kept it stocked on board.

For someone who grew up here – yeah, Han could see why he was suspicious.

Heaving a great big sigh, Han twisted off the cap and shoved it at the child. “I know you don’t trust me, but you trust Chewie, yeah?”

Luke nodded slowly, eyes darting from Han’s face to the water.

“Chewie’ll kick my ass if I so much as step one toe out of line, and as much as I don’t like to admit it, I don’t stand a chance against him.”

“Language,” Chewie chided.

“Oh come on, he grew up on Tatooine, he’s heard worse.”

Luke gave a little wobbly smile.

“C’mon kid,” Han encouraged, bolstered.

With a shaky, bandaged hand, Luke reached out, before suddenly snatching the water away like he was afraid the offer would be rescinded, gulping at the bottle.

“Easy there, kid, not so fast,” Han reproached, and was pleasantly surprised when the kid listened to him, taking his time sipping.

Seeing as Chewie was gingerly applying there limited and very expensive bacta to the boy’s wounds, Han set about opening the ration bar, shoving it in Luke’s direction.

“Slowly, now,” Han reminded, recognizing the look of desperate hunger in the kid’s eyes.

Again the kid listened, taking careful bites and chewing in between sips.

Han kicked himself for almost wishing the kid would complain. That flavor sucked.

He didn’t like the implication.

It was made even worse when Luke looked up at him and said earnestly, “Thank you.”

Well. He should be grateful. A lesser person (with a less stubborn Wookiee) would not have given even this.

The genuine attitude did have Han a little off-kilter though.

This planet was gonna eat him alive. Whoever had shielded him thus far had done an amazing job, though in all fairness, Han could see the toughness, the stubborn determination, the will to fight, to survive.

And, a sarcastic part of his mind pointed out, his seemingly genuine nature had suckered Chewie (and Han, begrudgingly) into helping him.

Han banished the thought with a firm shake of the head.

Chewie mewled sympathetically at a particularly violent explosion of bruises on Luke’s arm.

“Do you have spare clothes for him?”

“Spare – Chewie, you know I don’t!”

“Just while I mend these,” Chewie responded as he treated Luke’s arm with a gentleness most would be surprised to see in a Wookiee.

Not Han though. Even if the bleeding heart that was the source of the gentleness was a pain in his ass right now.

So Han stormed off again, digging through his worst shirts, settling a long, holey gray one that would come down to the boy’s knees, and stormed back.

Chewie was now diligently cleaning the blood, grime and ash off the boy’s skin and hair with a wipe, said boy’s eyes drooping at the motion.

Han opened his mouth to protest once again, but Chewie sent him a warning snarl.

“We are not keeping him, Chewie,” Han gritted between his teeth.

Chewie said nothing in response, which was concerning.

“Did you hear what I said?”

He was ignored again.

Carefully, Chewie started to maneuver Luke out of his tunic, a small sound of confusion coming from the boy, but he was too tired to do much else.

Chewie’s big paws were clumsy with the boy’s small clothing, but he managed, easing them off the child’s limbs and revealing more injuries in the process.

With a sad tsk, Chewie set to work spreading bacta over them, Han swallowing back another reminder of the price. It was clear this whole thing was going to be a wash. All the credits they’d gotten, wasted, on some street brat.

Don’t you wish someone would have helped you when you were one? His traitorous brain whispered.

Well they didn’t, he snapped back.

Once satisfied, Chewie snatched the shirt from Han’s hand, huffing at the quality, but set about sliding it onto the boy’s small body.

Han had to look away, something about the vulnerability unsettling him deeply.

What was wrong with him?

When he turned back, Chewie had removed Luke’s torn trousers and was working on the cuts and bruises on his legs. Han was right, the shirt did fall below Luke’s knees, and off his shoulders.

The boy himself was out cold, a sign of how truly exhausted he must be.

“Chewie,” Han tried for cajoling this time. “We can’t keep him.”

There was a long moment as Chewie finished up, packing away the medical supplies, tossing the trash and gingerly pulling the blankets over Luke, watching him a moment to ensure he was truly asleep.

Then he picked up Luke’s torn clothing and said, “I’m going to clean these up.”

He swept past, leaving Han at a loss staring at the young face slack in sleep that was somehow in his medical bunk.

Han leant over the sabacc table, deep in thought. Chewie was nowhere to be found, no doubt purposefully ignoring Han as he mended Luke’s clothes.

It wasn’t that Han necessarily liked it, but someone had to be realistic here. And they just couldn’t take on another mouth to feed, especially one so young.

He scraped a hand over his face. All of this would have been better if Chewie just left well enough alone! Sure, Luke probably would have ended up dead or worse, but how was that their problem?

The sudden sensation of being watched had Han jerking up, fingers on his blaster. He relaxed when he saw it was only the kid, wrapped in a blanket and watching him with wide eyes.

“Thought you’d still be asleep,” Han said, and it was true. He’d looked conked out when Han had left.

“Where are my clothes?” Luke returned in what Han assumed he believed was a threatening manner.

“Chewie’s patching them up, then he’ll give him back to you, okay? Believe it or not, he’s good at that kind of thing.”

“I believe it,” Luke replied, so quietly Han almost didn’t catch it.

“You should be resting. Heal up, before you go back out there.”

Luke’s eyes darted around the galley. “I’ve never been on a ship before. I’ve always wanted to – I love ships.”

Something softened in Han against his will, but he refused to give into it.

“What’s this?” the kid pointed at something with so much excitement he stumbled a bit.

“None of your business. If you’re gonna come in here, come sit down.”

Luke obeyed, albeit reluctantly, eyes scanning over everything he could find. He slid into the seat across Han, feet dangling off the ground.

A moment of silence passed where Han hoped the kid would get the memo.

“Can I see the cockpit?”

“No,” Han answered flatly, smirking when the kid sat back with a pout.

“Why not?” Luke demanded haughtily.

“Because I said so and I’m the Captain.” He pointed to his chest with his thumb for emphasis.

“I think Mr. Chewie – I mean Chewie should be the Captain,” Luke snipped.

“Is that so?” Han drawled.

“He’s nicer. And I bet he’s a better pilot.”

“I’m the best pilot there is and don’t you forget it.”

“I bet my daddy was better than you.”

“He wasn’t,” Han returned, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“I bet he was the best pilot in the galaxy!”

“Uh-huh.” Han made sure the sarcasm was clear, even for a kid.

Predictably, Luke bristled. “He was. And I’m gonna be just like him some day, you’ll see.”

“Oh, I will, will I?” Han baited.

“Uh huh! I’m really good! I’ve only driven my Uncle’s speeder -”

“Wait, what?” Han asked, quickly calculating his height.

“I mean, I technically wasn’t allowed, but -”

“Kid, kid,” Han held up his hands to stop him.

But Luke wasn’t interested in being stopped.

“What kind of model is this?”

Well this was one of Han’s favorite topics.

“It’s a Correllian freighter, but I’ve made all kinds of modifications myself.”

“Yeah, but what kind? And what kind of modifications?”

The slightly snotty tone was offset by his sincere excitement and curiosity.

And that was how Han found himself answering Luke’s surprisingly knowledgeable and insightful questions, getting into debates about the best engines and designs, brainstorming ways to make the Falcon even faster than she already was.

He was clever, Han would give him that. And he listened with a wide-eyed curiosity that made Han feel like maybe he wasn’t such a shit Captain after all.

When Chewie returned with Luke’s clothing a decent amount of time later, Luke was grilling him about how the navi-computer worked. Han was so engrossed in his explanation he didn’t even notice Chewie’s presence until Luke’s face lit up with pure happiness, and he clumsily stumbled off the bench and trotted over to him, hugging his middle. Chewbacca woofed warmly, patting his head.

“Guess your clothes are done, kid.” Han swallowed down the strange cocktail of jealousy, regret and sadness that the sight brought up in him.

Time to kick the kid out for good. All that life and talent, probably beaten down in the slave trade, if he survived at all.

But that was how the galaxy worked.

“Thanks, Chewie!” Luke chirped, examining the repair job with happiness.

They were still rags. Just now they were clean and less holey.

Han looked at the shirt he’d loaned Luke and felt a flare of shame.

He was a bright kid.

And the galaxy was going to snuff him out before he got a chance to shine.

“You really got nowhere to go kid? No one?” Han asked, because he’s a big idiot.

Luke clutched his clothes to his chest, his big eyes watering. Gods, Han hoped he hadn’t set off the waterworks again.

“No I – well, my Aunt always told me I should go to Old Ben, but I did, and he wasn’t there!”

Han cocked an eyebrow. “Old Ben?”

“Yeah. He lives out past the Dune Sea. Took me ages to get there. But he wasn’t there. I waited for a bit but then some of Jabba’s tax collectors came and found me. They were – they were gonna take me to Jabba and put a chip in me, but I’m the first freeborn in my family!”

Oh no. Han should never have asked.

Because they’d just been doing work for Jabba. That, combined with Luke’s story, was only going to make Chewbacca dig his woolly heels in even deeper.

“But I got away! Then I saw the Stormtroopers, I think they were the same ones that killed my family so I had to hide -”

“What?” Han cut in. The Empire was involved with this fiasco?!

Luke just hugged is clothes more closely to him. “And that’s when Chewie found me.”

He gave Chewie a watery smile.

Han whirled on Chewie. “Why didn’t you tell me the Empire was here?!”

“I had more important things on my mind.” Chewie stroked Luke’s hair, fluffy now that it was somewhat clean and dry.

“We gotta get outta here,” Han muttered, thinking quickly. It wasn’t that they were in Imperial trouble per se, it’s just that what they did wasn’t strictly legal. The Empire could be real sticklers if they were having a bad day.

Like say, losing a kid they were supposed to burn alive with his family. Or kidnap, though Han wasn’t sure why they’d want a scrawny no one from Tatooine.

“We need to find this Old Ben,” Chewie interrupted, as though they had anything more pressing to do than to jettison the boy and save their own asses.

Which got him thinking…

“Maybe they’d give us a reward if...” he gestured vaguely to Luke and Chewie roared, causing Luke to slap his hands over his ears.

“Alright, alright, just a thought,” Han conceded.

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t check later. Just in case.

“Storm’s coming,” Luke said, eerily.

Thrown, Han could only manage an annoyed, “What?”

As if on cue, a haunting whistling echoed outside the Falcon, quickly followed by the sound of a wave of sand pelting against the outer walls.

Han buried his head in his hands, massaging his temple. “A karking sandstorm, just what we kriffing need.”

Luke giggled a little, and Chewie once again chided, “Language.”

“For all I know the little brat summoned it somehow,” Han growled.

“I can’t do that but my aunt says – um, said, that I was real good at predictin’ ‘em.”

“You couldn’t have predicted it earlier?” Han snapped, not believing him one bit.

But when he looked up, the most awful look passed over Luke’s face, and he screwed it up in an obvious attempt not to cry.

“I couldn’t bury them. My aunt and uncle,” he whispered in horrified confession. “I couldn’t – there were so many of them, and I’m too little, and I promised Aunt Beru I’d run! But...do you think they’re going to be okay?”

Han had no idea what Tatooine funeral rites were, nor their belief system. Strangely enough, he found he didn’t want to the lie to the kid, so, as the winds howled outside and all around them, Han said, “They’d be happy knowing you’re okay.”

He might believe in the afterlife exactly, but he did believe that if there was one, knowing Luke was safe would give them peace.

Luke hesitated with a hitching breath, and Han knew what he was thinking, because he was thinking it too.

Was he okay? He wasn’t really safe, was he? After this temporary sanctuary, what was he going to do?

Chewie watched him with damnably knowing eyes.

Dank Farrick.

“Well, guess we’re stuck here for a while, hey kid? Want me and Chewie to teach to play sabacc?”

Tentative, hopeful eyes peeked out at Han from Chewbacca’s fur.

“You’re not gonna kick me out?”

Even Han wasn’t so heartless to kick a kid who’d just lost everything he’d ever known out into a sandstorm when he couldn’t even take off with in his ship until it blew over anyway, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud.

“Can’t get the ramp down in this mess.”

Now that was a lie, one Chewie snickered at but didn’t call him out.

It would be difficult. Sand everywhere and all that.

Luke cautiously moved over to him, eyeing him with curiosity. “What’s sabacc?”

Han grinned in spite of himself.

He wasn’t grinning once Luke got the hang of it, Chewbacca chuffing when Luke triumphantly beamed up at him when he won a round.

Fucking karking hell he was clever, and it was damned endearing and charming, even as Han loudly protested Luke cheated.

So had Han. That was the point.

Quick learner. He was proud.

And Han had a fleeting, embarrassing thought that he couldn’t let this light go out.

Han silently cursed Chewie has the Wookiee fed a grinning Luke warm grains.

“Oh stop,” Chewie chastised. “Tomorrow is Life Day after all.”

And Han groaned as Han led Luke off to bed, “Oh, not kriffing Life Day.”

“What’s Life Day?” Luke asked innocently, and Han groaned again.

The sandstorm did not let up. Han slept restlessly through the night, the sand pelting against the walls of the ship with furious ferocity.

His mind kept wandering back to the kid sleeping in his medical bunk.

Damn, Chewie.

They were gonna have to find this Old Ben, weren’t they?

Cause while Han had bowed to a lot more than he intended today, he would not cart around a snot-nosed brat across the galaxy.

He would not.

He was the Captain, dammit!

Han screamed into his pillow.

And like hell Chewie was getting his Life Day present.

Han caved almost immediately and gave Chewie his Life Day present.

He knew the fluffball was sentimental and had picked him up a cheap plasti Life Day tree and some orbs while they were on their last mission, tucking them away for just this occasion, since the Imperial Blockade meant that Chewie wouldn’t get to spend it with his family.

Well. Han saw the price of the tree, and it was worth the credits not to have the grumpy Wookiee second in command. It was nothing more than that.

He’d woken to the sand still pounding the ship’s hull, indicating they weren’t going anywhere. Curse this blasted planet. Happy kriffing Life Day.

He’d stumbled out of his room, scrubbing his eyes, coming to a stop outside the galley when he heard a child giggling over the din of sand.

Then there was a silence, and a soft voice almost swallowed by the storm outside, “Chewie. Is it okay to be happy? When...when my aunt and uncle are dead?”

And Han’s heart lurched dangerously.

Chewie mewled, soft and sympathetic and sad. Han could only assume that Chewie was nodding, reassuring the child.

So what was Han to do but avoid the conversation, return promptly to his room and retrieve the hidden, cheap plasti-tree and globes.

“Ta-da!” he presented with flourish as he entered galley, praying to all the gods he didn’t believe in that they’d moved on and the kid wasn’t crying.

While Luke eyes were red and swollen, his face still bruised but healing, he was spooning a sweet sugary cereal into his mouth and sipping on a warm drink, Chewbacca at his side, a Wookiee guardian angel.

“Happy Life Day!” Han cheered, proudly placing the tree onto the dejarik table. “Got some ornaments too! Figured, if we’re gonna be stuck here, might as well, eh? And! I got some of the foods you told me you like to eat to celebrate, or...approximations of them anyway.”

There was an awkward moment where Chewie seemed unsure what to say before Luke said brightly, “Happy Life Day!”

Han took the lifeline the kid was throwing him.

“Happy Life Day, kid. Gonna help out with the decorations?”

“Yeah! If that’s okay, Chewie.” He glanced up at the Wookiee.

Chewie ruffled his hair fondly.

“Well, I gotta get some caf in me, but then we can get started,” Han said, heading to the caf machine.

“What’s Life Day?” Luke piped up. “I asked Chewie but I...couldn’t quite catch it all yet.”

“It’s a Wookiee holiday,” Han answered easily, ignoring the way Chewie absolutely melted over Luke’s admission.

“About finding freedom and escaping the Empire. But it involves a lot of uh, gifts and red robes and globes, and a decorated tree, and food. Though a lot of people celebrate it, Wookiee or not.”

Luke hummed. “That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, I’m sure you like the sound of food, you little womprat,” Han responded without heat.

They pass the morning eating, Luke asking questions of them both, Han grousing that he isn’t Chewie’s translator but translating anyway when Luke asked Han to teach him Shyriwook.

Overall, Han is enjoying himself, he could admit it. It’s been a long time since they’d had time to relax, and the forced nature of it all was in some way absolving.

Luke was an absolute shining star of joy too, and that was hard to resist, especially when they started to decorate the sad, cheap Life Day Tree Han got. The kid was an odd mix of careful and impulsive that made him unpredictable.

Soon they had a drooping, decorated tree, half tilted in one direction because the light pack pulled it down, shining in the galley.

“Is this a real tree?!” Luke asked, ecstatic. “I’ve never seen one before!”

“No, just a flimsi fake,” Han answered, dismissing the immediate knee jerk response to offer to take him to see a real tree some day. Must be the Life Day spirit Chewie was always talking about.

Luke’s face fell a little but he still seemed completely entranced.

“Can we play sabacc?” Luke asked.

“No, kid,” Han snorted. “My ego is still recovering.”

“Awwww.”

“But we can try dejarik. Fair warning, it’s Chewie’s favorite game and he always wins.”

“Okay!”

Han couldn’t help but be further endeared by the enthusiasm.

Fast damn learner. And Chewie was too damn nice to threaten to rip a child’s arms off.

So Luke won again.

Mid-day – or probably, the sandstorm was still raging – found Han in his apron, fighting with Chewie about how to cook his hodgepodge of not-up-to par ingredients.

Luke was admittedly adorably covered in flour, doing his best to help, but he was really too small to see over the counter. Based on his quips, Han could tell he’d helped cook in the past though.

Some of them weren’t the most helpful.

“Is this your first time baking?” he asked with innocent consternation, and Chewie barked a laugh.

Chewie had an old holovid up, and soon enough, they’d cobbled together a meal for what they had on hand that was about as close to traditional Life Day foods as possible. It was a somehow bland but overly salted mix of starch, meat, and vegetables in a gravy, with a cookie as dessert.

Luke stared at it like it was the banquet of kings.

If Han ruffled his hair too, that was his secret.

But Chewie definitely saw him. For once, he kept his thoughts to himself.

They slowly enjoyed their food, watching a tinny holiday holo that made little sense as the storm continued to howl outside.

Luke laughed and asked questions about Chewie’s family, which Han translated, perhaps a little more at ease thanks to the splash of brandy he’d put in his caf. The kid tried to mimic Chewbacca’s singing at one point, but not in the mocking way Han was used to other jerks doing, but in an honest to gods attempt to learn. It was adorable and hilarious.

It was...nice.

Han wasn’t typically one for this gimmicky shit, but he had to say, it was a nice reprieve.

Especially since...well, he had looked up if there were any bounties that matched Luke’s description.

There was.

For a young, blond-haired, blue-eyed Tatooine boy, matching Luke’s age. Alive, unharmed.

The payout had Han’s jaw dropping.

He could… he and Chewie would never have to work again if they cashed in on this. Though he’d probably have to forget about Chewie, who would never forgive him if he turned Luke over.

Even if the specifics of the bounty gave Han pause.

Unharmed.

No, Chewie would never go for it.

Maybe it was the whiskey talking, but Han didn’t want to go for it either.

He hated himself for it, but he’d deal with that later. What else was new, anyway?

“Can I please see the cockpit?” Luke pleaded. “It’s Life Day.”

“No,” Han denied, though he could admit the eyes were effective, so he hedged, “Maybe later, huh?”

Luke beamed.

Luke ended up first snuggled up first against Chewbacca, and then Han when Chewie went to attempt to contact his family through private channels. Han had grumbled about it at first, but ended up lazily stroking the boy’s hair as he napped against Han’s side.

The trust. The implicit trust Han would keep him safe.

Han pulled him closer, watching the cheesy holodrama as Luke snored against him, a comfortable, warm weight.

Han should be working on other things, in this unforeseen, forced down time.

But it was nice. An absolute mess, but a nice one, something Han hadn’t experienced in a long time.

Luke eventually woke up, and maybe it was the whiskey, or the general languidness Han was feeling, but he asked Luke, “Hey kid. Any reason you know the Empire might be after you?”

The kid froze up and Han regretted it, but it told him immediately that Luke knew something he wasn’t saying.

“Kid,” Han chastised.

“Not supposed to talk about it.”

“But you know something,” Han wheedled.

The kid hummed, curling up further into Han’s side. Han held him closer, stroking his back.

He waited and his patience paid off.

“I don’t, not really. I just know I’m not s’posed to talk about how I can predict sandstorms and stuff or the bad people will come get me.”

That gave Han some pause, because he didn’t seen why this would be cause for concern other than maybe a weird mannerism.

But then, Han thought for a minute. Vague memories of people with powers – the Jedi – now illegal and hunted.

Could Luke be?

Han decided it wasn’t worth knowing. Not right now. Sides, he didn’t really believe in that stuff anyway.

But he knew others did. Chewie included. He had a soft spot for them.

“Kay, Kid,” he accepted, idly playing with his hair.

Chewie was onto something, it was oddly soothing.

“Do you think it was my fault they got killed?” Luke whispered.

Han’s throat tightened. “No kid. No, it wasn’t your fault.”

Luke’s breath hitched, but he didn’t cry.

“Is it okay if I ask your name?” Luke asked at the most emotional scene in the holo, designed to tighten throats and draw tears.

Han was immune, his eyes and throat were just dry, that’s all.

“It’s Captain Han Solo,” Han responded. “Don’t forget the captain.”

“Kay,” Luke giggled.

And gods dammit, Han ruffled his hair again.

“Can I see the cockpit?”

“No!”

Chewie returned some while later with a hastily wrapped gift, presenting it to Luke, who took it with awe, even as Han thought the kid was never going to be able to take whatever it was with him once he was out on the streets.

Luke unwrapped it reverently, grinning brightly at the wonky Wookiee plushie it revealed. He practically squealed, jumping up and hugging Chewbacca tightly.

“I’m so sorry I don’t have you anything!”

Chewbacca lifted him and swung him around, drawing another peal of giggles from him, before Chewie drew him close, like he was a plushie himself.

A gift himself.

For kark’s sake. Kriffing Life Day. Kriffing over-dramatic holos.

“You’re so tall,” Luke laughed. “Do you think I’ll ever be as tall as you?”

“You’re a pipsqueak through and through kid,” Han drawled.

“Hey!”

Han had the dark thought that Luke would probably never grow up to be taller. He was clearly scrappy and clever, but he was still young and small.

Chewie danced around the galley with Luke in his arms to a bad Life Day song, the child smiling and giggling.

Gods, it was so syrupy sweet.

It felt surreal. Like he was in some kind of fever dream. Nothing that could ever last.

And so, why the fuck not? “Still wanna see the cockpit, kid?”

Luke lit up brighter than any sun.

Chewie carried an exuberant Luke into the cockpit, exaggeratedly pointing out some things that Han explained.

Luke was over the moons. When Chewie set him down, he bounced around pointing but never touching, though he gave Han heart palpitations nonetheless.

His excitement was infectious. It reminded Han of how much he loved ships, even still, something he sometimes forgot when he had to shell out credits for yet another repair.

And Han couldn’t help answering his questions, even as he guided him away from the more important switches that could get them into trouble.

“Whoa, hold on kid,” Han chuckled.

Han wished he could open the shields so Luke could see outside, but right now, he’d see nothing but a wall of sand.

Soon, Luke was tired out, his questions slurred with exhaustion, his wonky Wookiee gift tucked safely in his arms.

He was safe sleeping in Chewie’s arms as the two of them sipped on some Correlian Brandy, sharing quiet Life Day cheers.

“Happy Life Day, you softie,” Han teased.

Chewie woofed back.

The question of what they’d do with Luke was one Han would face tomorrow. Sober. Maybe.

The storm died down the next day, leaving Han stewing about what they were going to do about the kid now that Han no longer had a reason to begrudgingly let him stay.

But he can’t just toss the boy out anymore.

Just...sensible, that’s all.

The kid, once again dressed in his now repaired clothes, seemed to sense his time was up. He was visibly anxious and insecure, clinging to Chewie throughout breakfast with a despondent wariness that was also in some ways defiant.

Han hated it. He hated how Luke had gone from the kid who’d happily snuggled in his arms yesterday, to the one once again fearful of his offering of food.

Han caught himself trying to cheer Luke up multiple times against his own volition. Chewie had already warned him quite sternly that they would not be leaving Luke unless they found someone trustworthy to care for him.

And gods dammit, Han couldn’t disagree.

But they did need to get a move on.

Which meant that they needed to search their one lead, this Old Ben.

Chewie was also being clingy, petting Luke, pulling him close, lifting him into his arms almost absently.

Oh, this was bad.

Chewie had adopted a cub.

He couldn’t keep him. They all knew it.

Han thought they did, at least.

He hoped they did.

But Han found himself stalling.

Funny, he’d been so eager to get rid of the kid before, but now.

Now, he couldn’t really stomach it.

Luke was so tiny. Gods he was so small.

Han had wondered again about his age, but hadn’t pushed.

He tried to keep reminding himself of his mantra. This kid was not their responsibility. The galaxy was a tough place.

But they had a chance here to make it better for someone, didn’t they? To try.

Han shut that thought down quickly.

They’d find this Old Ben, or someone halfway decent, and that’d be that.

That was not that.

They did end up finding Old Ben – or more accurately, he found them, pounding on the Falcon’s ramp until Han opened it, blaster in hand. A man stood, expression cool and deadly, fading auburn hair and sharp blue eyes.

“Whaddya want, old timer?” Han snarked.

“Where is he?” the man snapped.

“Don’t know who you’re talking about,” Han sneered.

“Don’t make me ask again,” the man warned.

The threat was enough that it sent a chill racing up Han’s spine.

He tensed, preparing to tell the man where he could go stick his threats when a tiny child barreled past him with a cry of “Ben!”

The man’s expression completely transformed into one of pure, raw, gutted relief. He dropped to his knees just in time to catch Luke in his arms, rocking back at the strength of the collision.

“Oh Luke,” he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing kisses onto blond hair.

“They died, Ben,” Luke sobbed. “They bad people killed them! An’ I tried to find you, but weren’t there!”

“I know, I know child,” Ben hushed, one hand cradling Luke’s head to his shoulder and the other wrapped around his back. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry. Oh thank the Force,” he whispered, and Han watched with a strangely detached feeling as true gratitude filtered over the man’s face.

They’d done what Han wanted. Washed themselves of the kid who’d been a drain on their credits and a pain in Han’s ass. So what if Han had actually started wondering about traveling the galaxy with Luke, showing him the sights, teaching him how to survive. Luke had proven he wasn’t lying about being a good mechanic, and he was a fast learner. Han didn’t doubt he’d be a good pilot someday.

Chewie ambled up behind Han. “I thought I told you to watch him?”

“He’s fast. Who’s that?”

“Old Ben, I’m guessing.”

As if sensing the question, Luke turned in the man’s hold. “That’s Captain Han Solo and his first mate Chewbacca. They saved me.”

Han took note of the formal titles and almost smiled. “Who is this, kid?”

“This is Ben!”

The man’s expression was blank as he studied them.

“You have my gratitude,” he said, dipping his head. “Luke is...very precious to me.”

“Yeah? Well where were you, huh?” The moment the words left his lips, Han wasn’t sure why he said them. It was like he was itching for a fight, like he wanted to find a reason this man wasn’t a suitable candidate for Luke’s care.

A wave of sharp agony crossed the man’s face, quickly hidden. “I was called away on urgent business,” Ben murmured. “I...should have been there.”

Han thought of Luke’s tears, the trauma he would carry with him the rest of his life, and sneered, “You should have.”

Ben’s expression crumpled.

“It’s okay,” Luke whispered, hugging the man. “It’s okay.”

And Han, because he is the biggest dumbass in the galaxy, cannot just let Luke go.

“Come inside, the both of you. Chewie and I want to have a little talk with this Ben.”

Interrogation more like. Chewie woofed his agreement.

Han holstered his blaster, but kept a grip on it.

It was clear, Ben wanted to disagree, but Luke grabbed his hand and pulled him eagerly forward.

“Ben, you gotta see the inside, it’s so wizard!”

Han felt a swell of pride at the kid’s honest praise as he chattered away about the modifications they’d done, leading a baffled Ben up the ramp and towards the galley.

“Keep an eye on him, eh?” Han muttered lowly to Chewie, closing the ramp behind them.

They all sat awkwardly around the dejarik table, Luke and Ben on one side, Han and Chewie on the other, the Life Day tree between them.

Ben turned down their offer of food, but asked if they had ‘something stronger’ when it came to drinks and Han arched an eyebrow, but came back with three glasses and a bottle of brandy.

Nodding with satisfaction, Ben took a sip, murmuring his thanks.

“Can I have some?” Luke piped up.

“When you’re older perhaps,” Ben smiled.

“Awwww,” Luke whined. “I hate it when people say that.”

Ben chuckled. “I know you do, dear one.”

Luke snuggled into Ben’s side, pouting. The man smiled down at him, stroking his hair, expression one of carefully guarded affection and absolute relief.

“I thought I lost you,” Ben whispered. “I was so scared when I got back, I -”

He broke off.

“I’m here, Ben,” Luke mumbled, clearly moments away from sleep as much as he was trying to fight it. “And I got to see a ship, ‘n celebrate Life Day.”

“I see that,” Ben nodded to the sloppy tree with a warm smile.

“Chewie made me this,” he held up the plushie with pride, “An’ Han let me see the cockpit! And we watched holos and ate a lot of food!”

“That sounds lovely, dearest,” Ben murmured, eyes wet.

“Have you ever celebrated Life Day, Ben?”

“Not in a long time, young one.”

“Nex’ year, maybe we can celebrate together.”

Ben didn’t answer as Luke drifted off asleep, watching him with fondness before he took a shaky breath and downed the rest of his drink.

Han refilled it without asking, and Ben dipped his head in gratitude.

“I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done,” he croaked. “If I’d have lost him -”

He cut himself off hastily, his face ghastly pale, taking another sip of his drink. “I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Whatever credits you have should be enough,” Han snarked, wincing when Chewie elbowed him in the ribs.

Covering, Han took a sip of his own drink.

“Would you mind telling me how Luke came to be in your care?”

So Han told him, with Chewie’s help – turns out the old man understood Shyriwook. Ben listened intently, sometimes with a small smile, other times looking absolutely pained.

“Thank you,” Ben said again when the tale was done. “I don’t want to even think about what could have happened.”

Han didn’t want to either.

Speaking of, it was time to begin the interrogation.

“So. What are your intentions?”

“Intentions?” Ben repeated, raising an eyebrow.

“With Luke. We’re not gonna just hand him off to you, you know.”

Something flickered over Ben’s face too quick to catch, but his lips quirked up in a smile. “Oh?”

“That’s right pal. So you better start doing some convincing.”

Chewie growled in agreement.

“Let me ask you. What would you do if I do not meet your standards?”

“Find someone who does,” Han responded snootily. “And I’m asking the questions now. So?”

Ben’s expression softened. “I will take care of him. I will guard him with my life.”

“If that’s true, than why did Chewie find him alone, scared and hurt on the streets of one of the most cutthroat places in the galaxy?”

Ben had the good grace to look ashamed, as Han thought he should.

“I was called away on urgent business. I know now that it was a trap. Or perhaps a diversion. I regret it deeply.”

All of them took a drink, as though silently remembering Luke’s lost guardians.

“I knew his father. We fought together in the Clone Wars, and things didn’t...end well for him. So Luke’s aunt and uncle kept me away from him, not wanting me to give him ideas that would get him killed like his father. But I always protected him from afar. You would not believe the trouble he gets in to.”

Han snorted.

“They told him to come to me, if he was ever in danger.”

Han considered this with a sour twist of his lips. “So Luke does know you?”

“Yes,” Ben confirmed, even though it was obvious by Luke’s reaction at seeing him. “They allowed me to see him a few times.”

“How did you find us?” Han asked, not sure he wanted the answer.

“Asked around,” Ben fired back.

“You’re lying.”

“How else would I have found you?” the man posed carefully.

Han thought about how Luke’s guardians had been burned, about the bounty, about what Luke said about how he had to keep quiet.

“Look I really don’t care. Probably best for my hide if I don’t know. But I do know there is a bounty for a kid matching his description for the Empire. A really, really high one.”

Chewie snarled in restrained frustration so as not to wake Luke.

“Yes, I looked it up. I was curious, sue me,” Han replied, waving a hand.

Ben’s expression had gone frightfully blank. “And you intend to turn him in for it? Or are you extorting me to pay it?”

“Oh, I know you couldn’t pay it,” Han said before he thought about it, once again receiving a furry elbow to the side.

“I’m just saying that you need to watch your back, alright? Especially if we’re leaving the kid with you.”

Gaze unnerving, Ben asked, “And you won’t tell anyone about young Luke here?”

Sighing, Han answered, “No. Never saw him. Not worth the trouble to say that we did. We’re not exactly in good with the Empire, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Good,” Ben said primly, taking another sip. “Do I meet your standards? Am I good enough to leave Luke in my care?”

Han bit back a sigh, pondering. Luke knew him, and seemed to like and feel safe with him. And Han was ready to leave him on the street a mere day ago, so this was already an improvement. Hopefully, sentients could be monsters.

Why was he hesitating?

“You’ll protect him. Right?” Han finally settled on, his voice low and threatening.

Ben nodded. “Yes. With my life.”

Han still wasn’t convinced, but they couldn’t keep living in this charade forever.

They couldn’t keep Luke forever.

Chewie growled a low vow, one Han recognized. It was a sacred promise.

Ben seemingly recognized it too, bowing his head and taking Chewie’s outstretched paw to seal the pact.

“He is very special, isn’t he?” Ben said as he pulled away. “He’s destined for great things. I’m glad he found you both.”

“Yeah, well, don’t thank us too much pal cause you’re not out of trouble yet. This planet was dangerous enough for him without that bounty.”

“Excellent point,” the old man winked, and Han’s stomach sunk. “Which is why I’d like to hire you for your services to get us out of here.”

“Now listen here, I’ve already done enough for that brat -”

“I’ll pay you,” Ben interrupted, eyes twinkling.

That brought Han up short. “How much?”

Han didn’t like it – Ben didn’t have all the credits he offered but he swore his friend would pay the rest at destination – but he agreed. Like Chewie would let him do anything else if it meant spending more time with his adopted cub.

They left soon after Ben picked up a few things from his and Luke’s old homes. It was barely enough to fit in one bag.

Luke was practically bouncing off the walls, so excited to see space. Even when he was sitting still, which was rare, his excitement was palpable.

Ben made sure he was buckled in after securing the child in an ugly, brown poncho with an “It gets cold in space, dear one. Trust me.”

They took off without a hitch – a blessing in itself – and after plugging in the coordinates, Han turned to Luke with a crooked grin. “Ready, kid?”

“Yeah,” Luke breathed.

Han pulled back the lever, stars turning into blue streaks around them.

Luke gasped loudly and Han smiled even further.

Maybe he couldn’t be there when Luke saw trees or water, but he could be there for this.

The next few days were spent playing games, watching holos, and teaching Luke about the ship. He helped with repairs, smiling when he fixed something, and Han was struck with a pang about what could never be.

There were tears, as Luke came to grips with the fact his family was dead and he’d left the only place he’d ever known. He and Chewie were practically inseparable, both clinging to each other as their destination got closer.

Han found himself shutting off more and more.

He always knew this was temporary. Nothing in the galaxy stays.

Gods, he hopes Luke lives. A long, happy life in this grim, dark galaxy.

Their destination is a space station, a fairly large one capable of housing thousands of people.

Han very determinedly does not ask questions.

He inputs the code Ben gives him and they are granted access to dock.

“Alright,” Han says, flipping some switches. “Here ya are, safe and sound. So about that payment.”

He spins in his chair, only for his heart to stutter.

Luke’s eyes are shining with tears as Ben slowly strokes his back.

“You will get it,” Ben assures. “My friend will be waiting, and can transfer it to you however you see fit.”

Ben stands with Luke in his arms. “I’ll gather our things.”

By ‘things’ he meant the one bag by the door.

One glance at Chewie proved his eyes were glassy as well.

“Pull it together, fuzzball.”

The credit transfer went smoothly. Han was still somewhat new to this sort of thing, but the person in question was obviously seasoned with dealing with off-the-grid payments, which only helped confirm Han’s suspicions about this outfit.

But he said nothing, and did his best not to actually collapse in relief when he saw the amount, and that it went through.

Whoever Ben and Luke were, their safety was worth a lot to these people.

If his suspicions were correct, should Han leave Luke with these idealists who’d get him killed?

It was over now, he assured himself. It’s not like he and Chewie could have provided him with much stability anyway.

He found Chewie holding Luke close, petting his hair and cooing softly to him, Luke crying in his embrace while Ben hovered off to the side, giving him space.

“But you could stay, couldn’t you?” Luke cried as Han approached. “And we could celebrate Life Day together.”

Chewie warbled sadly.

Luke sniffled. “I’ll never forget you. Never. And I’ll treasure the gift you gave me, always!”

Chewie rumbled, setting Luke down with obvious gentleness.

“Will I ever see you again?”

Chewie patted his cheek.

Han cleared his throat. “Alright, we gotta get going -”

He didn’t get to finish before Luke threw himself at Han, wrapping his arms around him in tight hug.

It took a moment for Han to collect himself before he untangled himself and knelt down, hugging Luke again.

“Why do you have to go?” Luke whispered.

“We got stuff to do kid,” Han managed.

“Like what?” Luke whined, and Han chuckled at the petulance of it.

“Important stuff. I’m a big Captain after all. Best pilot in the galaxy.”

Luke didn’t take the bait. “Will you save other kids like me?”

Han swallowed. “If we can.”

He knew they wouldn’t. But for a moment, he wished they would. For a moment, he wondered if they could.

“Thank you,” Luke whispered. “For everything.”

“Anytime, kid,” Han murmured.

“Will you give me your comm? Or Ben, since I don’t have one. That way, I can send you messages on Life Day!” He pulled back, staring at Han imploringly with those damned Tooka eyes.

He shouldn’t. He really shouldn’t. They would never see Luke again. Better to just end it now.

“Sure, kid,” and out of the corner of his eye, Chewie moved to converse with Ben, nodding and pulling out his comm.

“Luke. Listen to me.” Luke’s bright blue eyes fixed on him, shining with an undeserved trust. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you ever feel unsafe, you comm me and Chewie, and we’ll come get you. Got it?”

Luke nodded clumsily. “Will you take care of yourself too?”

“Yeah,” Han scraped out. “We will.”

“You have to tell me about all of your adventures,” Luke ordered.

“Alright,” Han acquiesced, though he knew he wouldn’t.

“And you have to take care of the Falcon, she’s a good ship!”

“Hey, who do you think you’re talking to?”

Luke gave him arch look and Han barked a laugh.

“I will,” he relented. He ruffled his hair.

“Well kid, time for us to go. Don’t forget who taught you if you make it rich playing sabacc.”

More tears brimmed in Luke’s eyes, but he nodded solemnly.

He was a damn good kid.

Ben appeared and lifted Luke into his arms.

“Thank you Captain Solo, Chewbacca,” Ben nodded. “I am forever in your debt. You have my comm, if you ever need assistance. And I’m sure young Luke here will be contacting you.” He smiled down at his charge.

And Han couldn’t think of a good comeback, so all he said was a firm demand of, “Take care of him.”

He turned his back on Luke as Chewbacca said one last goodbye, ignoring the child’s waves as he started the takeoff process.

Both he and Chewie were silent, long after they entered hyperspace.

Luke’s absence was palpable. How did the child make such a lasting impact after only a few days?

But soon it faded, and they took other jobs.

Luke did contact them from time to time, mostly with questions that Han was too depressed to answer. Over the years, the messages became less and less, and in the images, Han and Chewie got to see Luke grow up, in a way.

It warmed Han’s heart as much as it hurt it that Luke didn’t seem to forget about them. Just as much as they couldn’t forget him.

Luke messaged every Life Day. It was undeniably something they looked forward too, and they always messaged him back.

In their chaotic lives, it was a constant.

Until one year, Luke didn’t send a Life Day message. They’d both waited all day for it, their excitement turning to moping turning to dread.

Had Luke moved on? He was vague in his messages about specifics, but he’d never given the sense that he was looking to cut them out.

But he was older. Perhaps he’d outgrown them.

Or was it worse? Was he hurt or dead?

Han had seen the reports of skirmishes between the Empire and the Rebellion, the growing unrest. He had plenty of suspicions about who he dropped Luke off with.

On some nights, he kicked himself. He could have kept Luke with them, away from whatever politics he’d gotten wrapped up in.

While they were walking back to their ship after their latest job, Han and Chewie stopped dead at an Imperial Wanted poster.

It was for Luke. In the image, he was in a bright orange flight suit.

So he did learn to fly afterall, Han thought.

The description labeled him a terrorist of the Rebellion. The bounty was exorbitant.

Worry churned in Han’s stomach, thinking of the missed Life Day message.

“We should go find him, huh? Make sure everything is okay? Maybe talk him out of this Rebellion thing?”

“Or help him,” Chewie growled.

“Like hell I’m joining the Rebellion.”

Han joined the Rebellion.

It was embarrassing how all Luke had to do was give him a speech about he knew Han was better than he liked to pretend, and how Han hadn’t wanted to let him down.

Plus, he missed the brat, who clearly needed someone to look out for him after Ben’s death.

And he had delusions of being a Jedi now?!

No. No, no, Han would put a stop to this before it got Luke killed.

So Han and Chewie stuck around, and the next Life Day they spent drinking and reminiscing on the Falcon over Han’s sad Life Day tree, eating the finest meal rations could provide, listening to bad music and watching bad holos. Chewie practically wept when Luke revealed he still had the plushie Chewie gave him.

And Han thought he was so glad Chewie ignored him that day. He was so glad, so proud, he made a different choice, to try to make someone’s life better. He was so glad Luke was here, alive.

“Happy kriffing Life Day,” he cheersed, smiling when they all cheersed back.