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English
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Part 44 of Empire Reimagined One Shots , Part 8 of Whumptober 2025
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Whumptober 2025
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Published:
2025-10-12
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1,538
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1/1
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Face to Face

Summary:

Piett is the only one who can assist Vader in dire circumstances.

Notes:

Look at me actually managing to write drabbles! xD xD For the sake of my schedule, I have to make a lot of these shorter, but you know---this is really good for me! I hope you enjoy!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Piett watched in horror as Lord Vader—-the man with the power of the gods at his command—-stumbled and went to his knees, the fabric of his trousers smouldering immediately near the furnace. 

 

Not exactly a furnace.

 

Piett didn’t understand what it was precisely. 

 

It had something to do with an ancient entity—all the strange and terrible things that seemed to surround the Force. Or at least the Force as Lord Vader used it. 

 

Piett felt woefully unequipped to accompany his Lord on such missions. But for some reason, Vader insisted it be him for these extremely covert jaunts.

 

He’d carefully tried to object once.

 

“My Lord, I am merely human and certainly no one’s idea of an impressive specimen at that. Surely—”

 

“Are you questioning my orders, Admiral?” Vader had intoned without looking up from the repairs he’d been doing to HIS OWN ARM.

 

Yes, he damn well was, but there was no way in the galaxy he was going to say that out loud.

 

“Merely that for optimal success, my Lord—-”

 

“What need do I have for physical strength in a companion?” Vader asked, laying down a tool and tilting that helmet up at him. “What I DO require is trust. So it must be you, Admiral.”

 

Piett supposed there was a compliment buried somewhere in there, but he thought unprintable things anyway.

 

 A strange sound emitted from the vocoder.

 

“Take your displeasure somewhere else, Piett,” Lord Vader ordered, and if Piett didn’t know better, he would say the Sith was AMUSED.

 

And now here they were with all of Piett’s worst fears confirmed. He didn’t know why this thing was affecting Lord Vader so potently and there wasn’t anything the Admiral could do or he would be killed instantly by the heat. 

 

So he did all he could from the relative safety of the rock ledge he stood upon.

 

“Lord Vader!” he yelled over the strange roar from the glowing—furnace? Stone? Artifact?---- “Lord Vader you must get up!”

 

Vader shuddered and one black gloved hand came to rest upon the same surface he knelt upon. Immediately, flame shot up his arm, burning off the prosthetic synth flesh and leaving bare metal.

 

Piett was in full blown panic at this point. He was no help to Vader dead, which he would be if he leapt down there. But somehow he had to give his commander a chance. 

 

He drew his blaster and took careful aim at what he hoped was the center of that bright furnace and then he fired six shots in succession.

 

The thing pulsed and he was blown off his feet to land painfully against the rocky face of the rough hewn stairs they had used to get down here.

 

He rolled to hands and knees, a strange imitation of Lord Vader’s position, and spat blood, but he saw immediately that something had shifted.

 

Vader had managed to stagger to the edge of the ledge and Piett sprang forward to assist him.

 

He could see that strange glow starting to grow in strength again and Vader put out a hand—the prosthetic metal bones.

 

Piett seized it and hauled with all his strength, yelling in agony as the hot metal burned his hand, but he did not let go.

 

And somehow, miraculously, stupendously, Vader managed to get one knee on the ledge. Piett fell back, his vision blurred with tears of anguish as Vader crawled forward to safety. 

 

But it was not enough. Something in Piett’s gut knew they had to get out of the influence of that thing completely.

 

“My Lord,” he panted, moving to Vader who was still on his hands and knees, his vocoder sounding strange. Likely damaged.

 

He slid a shoulder under Vader’s arm and heaved himself to his feet, taking Vader with him and staggering under the colossal weight. But now he had adrenaline as his aid, and they made it to the foot of the stone stairs.

 

“Come, my Lord,” Piett ordered, his own lungs straining for air. “One foot at a time.”

 

So they made their slow, torturous way up those stairs. Piett was certain that they would die at any moment, but the Force had other plans it seemed and they found themselves at the entrance of this cursed place—fresh air blowing blessedly at his face as a light rain spattered upon them.

 

There was the shuttle, straight ahead.

 

“Not far now, my Lord,” he encouraged, but Vader made no response.

 

Piett stumbled and moved them forward, supremely conscious that if he went to his knees, he would not be able to get them both back up again.

 

They had left the landing ramp down and he got them both into the passenger hold before Vader fully collapsed.

 

Piett immediately sprang to the medical compartment in the bulkhead and found the respirator. But then he hesitated. Did he take off the mask? How was he to assist his Lord to breathe if he did not?’

 

“Helmet…first,” Lord Vader wheezed, naked metal arm waving weakly.

 

It was so strange and awful to see him so helpless.

 

Piett obeyed, finding the latches for the helmet and lifting it away.’

 

“Peel…mask…down…” Vader ordered.

 

Piett had once seen the back of Vader’s terribly scarred head during that horrific time in the asteroid field. But never his face.

 

“NOW…Admiral…”

 

He obeyed, wondering if this was to be his last mission before Vader executed him for seeing his face.

 

Bleary, pale blue eyes met his in a face that was dead white and crossed by awful scarring. 

 

Piett didn’t hesitate now, however, and fitted the oxygen mask over his commander’s mouth and nose before turning it to the highest setting.

 

“What now, my Lord?” he asked, the vicious throbbing of his burned hand making him clench his jaw.

 

“Executor…” Vader managed.

 

“I meant for your care, sir,” Piett told him. Kark it was hard not to look at his face too much. His very human face. Lord Vader had expressions.

 

The corner of Vader’s lips curled up a little.

 

“I…will…make it…Admiral,” he wheezed in rough tenor tones. Lord Vader’s real voice.

 

“Yes, my Lord,” Piett answered, and rose immediately to run for the cockpit.

 

Vader’s best chance was Henley now.

 

Piett set the course and lifted away from the planet, deeply glad to have it behind them as he pulled back on the hyperdrive. This was the first time he’d piloted a craft when Lord Vader was also aboard, but he doubted his commander was in a position to be critical about it. 

 

Piett rose once they were in hyperspace and move toward the back. He was feeling faint now and knew that shock was a real possibility. He gave himself a potent painkiller and sprayed his palm with antibac, trying to avoid thinking about how much damage had occurred. He hadn’t been able to close his hand since the burn. 

 

“Admiral…” Vader said from his prone position.

 

“My Lord. How can I make you more comfortable?” 

 

He’d already placed a cushion under Vader’s head and covered him with all the emergency blankets they had. 

 

“Kneel.”

 

He obeyed so that Lord Vader could see him, kneeling at his side like a knight of old.

 

“Speak of…my appearance…at your…peril,” Vader said, those eyes more deeply blue now. Piett wondered how many years it had been since another being had looked into Vader’s real face. “Even…Veers,” Vader stated, glaring.

 

Lord Vader glared.

 

He must not think like this.

 

“You have my word, my Lord,” he said seriously.

 

Vader closed his eyes and nodded slightly.

 

Piett dropped them out of hyper space four hours later, having lived lifetimes between each of Vader’s labored breaths.

 

Henley was waiting with four med droids and a grav sled in Lord Vader’s private hangar, and whisked him away the moment the shuttle touched the deck.

 

Piett moved stiffly to the landing ramp, watching them go, when he realized that a tall General was approaching him with purpose.

 

“You too,” Veers said sternly, grey eyes scanning him swiftly. “Doctor’s orders.”

 

“He doesn’t even know what happened…” Piett slurred, grateful for his friend’s strong arm around his waist as he felt his body begin to give in.

 

“No, but Lord Vader does. Come on.”

 

Veers guided them both to the lift and then, out onto the deck. Piett only registered where they were going when the doors hissed open to reveal the most state of the art medical facility they had on the Lady.

 

“This isn’t…” he tried and Veers snorted.

 

“Orders, Admiral. Only the best for you. Come on.”

 

He assisted a med droid in laying Piett onto a soft medical bed. From this position he could see Henley working swiftly over Lord Vader’s dark form. The CMO cast a swift look over his shoulder.

 

“Sedate him now. Those are third degree burns. He’ll need surgery.”

 

Piett wanted to protest that this was Lord Vader’s private medical area. That he shouldn’t be here. That he could—-

 

But the hypo was already hissing into his neck, and the last thing he saw was Veers’ face as the General placed a warm hand on his shoulder. 

Notes:

Prompts--- 8: touch, scalding 22: ICU