A/N: I saw Episode VII this afternoon. I knew someone was going to have a bad day. Doesn't mean this scene didn't make me sad. *Sniff* Anyways, threw this together in less than an hour. I know there are a couple other stories out there like this, but I don't think the emotions in this scene can be overstated. I think he knew it wouldn't end well, and he went anyways. Sadness.

Warnings: Heavy spoilers, canonical character death (boo!) and general sadness.


"BEN!"

The second that one syllable was uttered, carrying across the bridge to the dark figure, now paused in its travels, Han realized something. That little feeling in his mind, the one that kept him and Chewie alive for so many years, was gone. He didn't have a bad feeling. He didn't have a good feeling. He was…empty. As Han slowly stepped forwards to meet the figure, something else started filling that hole. It wasn't cowardice or courage, fear or fearlessness. It was something deeper, something Han couldn't put a name to at that moment. Han stepped forwards, meeting the figure on the bridge. "You don't need that mask, you know." The figure bowed its head, removing the mask. The face revealed was that of a young man. Han looked at him, seeing himself in the young man, known as Kylo Ren to most, known as his son, Ben Solo, to a few, and he realized what that growing feeling was. It was love for his son and belief in his ability to come home. Han realized that even after all this time, he still loved his son, and that he believed that there was still some form of light in his son. Leia's personality must have rubbed off on him at some point, he thought briefly.

Few words were spoken, but those that were carried weights of their own. Hope. Pain. Belief. Remorse. Darkness. "I have this pain, and it's tearing me apart." Ben, his little boy, Ben, gulped out. "Help me. Give me the strength to do what I must." His eyes were filled with despair and remorse. The anger and rage was gone, replaced by grief.

Han's heart reached out to his son. Yet even as he took ahold of the proffered blade, as he listened to his son, looked into his eyes, promised him anything, Han's years of smuggling, of cheating, of evading bounty hunters, told him exactly what he had already known from the moment he saw that dark figure on the bridge across the abyss.

His son was a Sith. And he knew when he was being bluffed.

Even as the crimson blade tore through him, as he struggled for his life, as he touched his son's face one last time, as his son whispered, "Thank you," as the deadly humming stopped and as Han drew his last breath, he knew.

He still believed in the Force.

He still believed in hope and redemption.

He still believed in his son.