Deviations from the original fanfiction:
-Anakin can hear, but barely.
-Anakin can only see loose shapes.
-Sgt. Sal has a similar appearance to Luke. (This is important later in the story.)
The Millennium Falcon raced through hyperspace, fleeing from the Sith planet of Korriban. With nowhere to go, Han Solo, after agreement from his two companions (and acceptance from one), decided to return to the Alliance. The trip from Korriban back to Coruscant, where the Alliance were still located, would take five days.
Han wiped fresh tears from his face as he left the pilot seat. He... he couldn't look at her lifeless body; the body of his wife- his wife, whom had he just wedded not long ago.
Chewie wrapped his furry arms around Han, offering sincere condolence to his friend, who had, again, broken down into choked sobs.
In the main hold, Anakin stared blankly at his opposite wall as he cradled Luke in his arms. Tears were drying up on his mangled face; he wasn't crying anymore, simply drowning in a sea of denial. Reaching down, he squeezed his son's hand, muttering to himself that Luke was just asleep, that his son was simply tired, though his voice crackled with grief and disbelief. His eyes were terribly hollow, for it seemed as if his very soul had been sucked out and ejected into space. He brought Luke closer, wrapping the limp body in his warmth, holding his deceased child as if he were an infant.
He gazed upon Luke with kind, adoring yet immensely sad eyes, dotingly tracing circles around his son's face with his single hand. Luke's eyelids were slipped shut, while one of his limp arms was next to Anakin's abdomen, almost as if he were clutching the fabric of Anakin's jacket.
He- he heard a noise... was- was that a moan? It was distant, but- but- it- it must be... It must be Luke! Anakin jerked up as if he had suddenly snapped out of a trance and stared at his son's graceful features, praying that there was movement. The young man's face was peaceful, albeit lifeless. For a split second, Anakin's addled brain was convinced that Luke was having a bad dream.
"Shh... it's okay, Luke... nightmares are okay... Father's right here, Father will protect you... Shh... it's okay... you're safe..."
He slowly bent down and pressed his lips to Luke's greasy, grime-covered forehead. Once more, he brings his son's limp body closer, lifting his son's head and letting it rest against his father's chest. Anakin smiled at his son's mop of blonde hair, cuddled the young, cold cheeks against his own ruined, grey-mottled-with-pink skin, and with a raspy voice, began to gently hum a lullaby. He ran his hand through his son's hair, combing the strands with his spindly mechanical fingers. Murmurs of useless comfort escaped his lips, a slight smile of sadness sprouting on his face.
Anakin's eyes traced down to his son's bloodied, severely mutilated legs. The red blood had darkened and dried, leaving hardened trickles running down paled skin. Anakin's eyes flashed with hurt as he frantically caressed his son's head with a shaking hand. With a croaking, devastated voice, he asked his son,
"Oh, my precious Luke... Tell me, is your leg hurting a lot?"
He received no response and, consequently, chose to speak no further. The only sounds left in the Falcon were the harsh, rasping breaths coming from his own self, and the soft swishing of the fabric of Han's vest as Chewie moved to a different position and wrapped his furry arms around Han's shoulders.
For just a second, Anakin could swear he heard a sob. He looked down at the tiny, huddled form in his arms, hoping his little boy would wake up.
Luke looked the same as he had for the past three hours.
Anakin was silent as tears formed at the corners of his eyes. He turned away, looking around, as if searching for the familiar blue streaks of hyperspace for comfort.
Luke's left hand slipped from Anakin's cradle of broken love, swayed a little, and finally, it dangled lifelessly, just like the rest of the body that lay inside the father's desperate, solicitous arms.
Anakin held his meal in shaking hands, mechanical feet skittering against the ground. "They must be hungry... the must be hungry..."
His left leg was giving him trouble again, but he didn't mind. He had ignored Chewie's attempts to get him to eat- too sure that he can carry on, too sure that his children were still alive, too convinced that since it is mealtime and that surely, they would want food.
He made it to Leia's bed first. The corpse rested on the bed, covered by a thin white blanket. Han, aided by Chewie's emotional support, had moved the twins' bodies there, though Anakin, in his incoherent state of mind, would constantly remove them from their temporary resting place and fondly place them in his lap, giving hopeless attempts to warm their cold bodies up with the minuscule amount of heat that he held in his torso.
Anakin fell to the floor, his legs clanking against the Falcon's metal. The bowl of stew that he held in his hand threatened to spill over; Anakin set it onto the ground, hoping to stabilize the swishing liquid. The man took a moment to recover from his collapse, then slowly rose to a kneeling position, picking the stew back up.
"Leia, sweetie, wake up," he whispered near her ear, then squinted his eyes, anxiously hoping his daughter would stir in her sleep (and not have a fit if she wakes to him by her side). With the Force, he spooned out a bit of stew and held it close to her mouth. Seeing that she did not move, the dispirited man set down the stew and spoon, then moved closer, hunched down, and brushed his left stump – his flesh stump - against her cheeks. "It's time for dinner, sweetheart." He murmured in the most soothing voice that his damaged vocal chords could manage.
Again, Leia did not respond.
"I'll come back later, darling," he promised to deaf ears. Yes, his sweetheart was only asleep... yes, she'll wake up, she is simply too tired... he'll let her rest... he'll wake her up later... he'll let her sleep...
Anakin limped to his son's side, urging the frozen form to open his mouth and have some stew; again, he came to no prevail.
Dejected, he set the stew down, and began cradling Luke's head, holding it next to his chest. They're just asleep. They'll wake up soon.
He remained there for an unknown amount of time, drowning in the silence and inaction. The only noise he could hear was the quiet, repetitive wheezes of his breathing.
A flicker of hope came ablaze in his chest as his nearly useless ears picked up a few indistinct sounds. Was- was it someone else's breathing? Or was it footsteps? Was- was his daughter- was his daughter waking up? He swiftly turned around, the gears in his mechanical legs whining in the process, as the pace of his heartbeats drastically increased-
Leia! Leia's awake, she's awake, she's awake! I- I must- she must be hungry... I'll... I'll feed her... yes, she would like some stew... yes, something soft, something easy to swallow...
Leia remained there, in the still position that she had been in for far too long. She hadn't moved a single inch. He carefully pulled her from the bed, sat onto the frigid floor, and sheltered the dead body in his arms. His nearly blind eyes begrudgingly focused themselves onto her chest, observing it for a while, pleading that it would rise and fall, or even just heave a little... anything remaining to show signs of life...
Leia's body did not twitch a single bit.
He... he did this... Sidious... that monster that took everything from me... he killed my precious children, he killed my beautiful wife! He- he must've- he must've killed my mother, too! I will find him, I will murder him, I will avenge my family... no, I will torture him, I will torture him for eternity! I will make him beg for mercy... I'll make him know how it feels to have everything be taken away from you... HE- HE DID THIS, HE-
His blood roared, pounding against his temples and his hopeless ears. Anger swelled inside his body, coursing through his veins, pulsing with his heartbeat. He took a deep breath, quickly calming himself. "Luke would be upset if I start leaning into the Dark Side again," he mumbled to no one in particular. Closing his eyes and drawing the Light towards himself, he continued, "My son should smile when he wakes up. I want to make him happy."
He rose from the ground, and gently set his daughter next to his son, wrapping them both in Luke's white blanket. The blanket was adjusted so that the twins could, in Anakin's mind, be kept warm while they sleep.
He bent down and kissed their foreheads, then sat onto the edge of the bed and closed his eyes. His hand fumbled its way to Leia's, and his fingers tangled themselves around her smaller ones, squeezing them with all the affection that he had ever held in his heart. With a croaking voice and salty water trickling down his cracked face, he once more started humming a lullaby.
Han stared at Anakin, his eyebrows furrowing into a frown. His father-in-law hadn't had a single bite of anything today, nor any drink. No water, and he rejected brandy... drinks ranging from non-alcoholic Ardees to zoochberry juice, nothing would go down the man's throat. (Well, other than his saliva, Han supposed. But then, without lubrication from outside fluids, his throat was probably parched, especially with the dramatic, or traumatic, day that they had both gone through.)
Currently, the man was sitting by his children's side. For all Han knew, he had been there for quite a few hours. It was as if the former Sith had been secluded from time, just staring at either the wall or the dead bodies lying on the bed. Anakin was obsessively rocking his children, with his left leg awkwardly splayed to the side. Han soon noticed the untouched bowl of stew laying on the ground.
The Corellian scoundrel inhaled, then walked a few short steps and stood next to the downcast man. "Anakin?"
The man probably didn't hear him; he was still rocking his children, with that small smile -created from a concoction of emotions and states of mind that went from delirious to brokenhearted grief- plastered on his face.
Han touched Anakin's shoulder, making the older man jump and turn to face his son-in-law's direction. Unfocused, watery blue eyes searched for a moment before finding Solo's face. "You ca-came- just in- in time, Solo. Can- can you wa-wake Leia up? I-I'm sure she will be ve-very pleased to- to see you."
Han sighed, and peered at his wife's corpse for just a few moments before grief and nausea overwhelmed him. Turning away, he closed his eyes and set a hand on Anakin's shoulder.
"Anakin... I know how much it hurts, and I know how much you love Luke and Leia... but you gotta let go."
The voice cracked with pain. Han took a choked breath, then added,
"We both do."
Anakin bowed his head towards the floor and shut his eyes. There was a disturbing silence that ran between the two, as Anakin's mind took the time to process what he had just heard. Then, suddenly, he looked back up at Solo.
"C-c-" he struggled forcing the words out from his mouth. The tips of his mouth trembled, his cracked lips quaking as he took a deep breath.
"Yes?" Tears were forming in Han's eyes now, as his eyes involuntarily moved back to gaze at his fallen love. He wouldn't think of Leia, he wouldn't look at her corpse...
"C-can I stay- stay with the- them? Just for- for a li-little while more?" Like a bawling child, his breaths hiccupped as he stuttered.
Han nodded, squeezed the man's shoulders again, then quickly stepped out from the room. His tears were threatening to spill out and trickle down his face; once he made sure he was far enough for Anakin to not able to see him, Han leaned against the wall, buried his face into his hands, and broke down.
"Th-thank y-you," he heard Anakin croak from inside the room. Then came a quiet sniffle.
Soon, Han swore he could hear someone else crying too.
He couldn't let go. He couldn't let go... he couldn't let go...
He couldn't help himself to not weep, yet tears fell down his face like waterfalls, streaming on the cracks and splits, stabbing the unhealed wounds. It hurt- it hurt so much- as if someone had taken his heart out and chopped it into countless little pieces, then mercilessly sprayed salt on top...
He couldn't let go.
"No," he mumbled suddenly, almost as if waking up to some strange realization.
"I mustn't cry... I'll wa-wake Luke and Leia up if I- I do... they ne-need their- their rest..."
A/N.
Hopefully this is decent :)