A/N: Thank you to my wonderful brother Kaayvan for betaing this for me. And for putting up with all my Star Wars-related chatter over the last four days. (I'm marathoning the movies. My eyes are so tired and I'm movie'd out, but I'm almost done.)
Luke Skywalker had never thought about whether he deserved to be a hero. Then again, he supposed that people rarely did. Usually, it came down to a mixture of survival and doing what one thought was right. That was what it had been like for him, in any case. One day, he had been a nineteen-year-old farm boy who yearned to explore the galaxy; the next, he was the face of the new Jedi Order, with everyone looking to him to lead the way into a new era of peace.
The legend of his adventures grew until it felt like there wasn't a corner of the galaxy where someone didn't know his name. And with that legend came expectations. They were useful for the most part; everyone expected him to be powerful and wise, so they listened to what he had to say and didn't double-cross him. But there was a certain degree of pressure that came from knowing that everyone expected him to be perfect.
In hindsight, he couldn't help but wonder whether he had been too young for the responsibility. He would never regret leaving Tatooine, or any of the events that followed. Still, while he had done his best, he had been ill-prepared for the change; after all, he had barely even known himself at the time. Han and Leia had helped to keep him grounded, teasing him whenever they thought he was getting too caught up in his persona. But it had always been there, hanging over his head, and he had felt guilty whenever he failed to live up to it.
Perhaps, if he had been older, he would have been better able to handle the duality.
Perhaps, it wouldn't have made a difference.
Luke Skywalker never thought about whether he deserved to be a hero until, suddenly, that was all he could think about. The moment he stood over his sleeping nephew with a lit lightsaber in hand, his whole world shattered, crashing down around him in an avalanche of thatching and regret. In the aftermath, after he crawled out of the wreckage of everything he had dedicated the last twenty years to, all he could see was fire and destruction, and all he knew was that it was his fault.
The galaxy had built his legend up so high that he had started to believe he was worthy of it. But while the legend of Luke Skywalker was infallible, the man wasn't. He couldn't be what they needed him to be. He couldn't save the galaxy; he couldn't even save his own nephew.
He was nothing more than another in a long line of failures.
If he hadn't stretched himself so thin, he might have realised the dark turn Ben Solo was taking and stepped in before Snoke could get his claws into him.
If he had been the hero they all believed him to be, he might have overcome his terror sooner and found a way to reach the boy.
If he had been the legend they all knew, he might have been able to return.
But he didn't deserve to be anywhere near them. He couldn't bear to see the accusation in Han and Leia's eyes when they found out what he'd done.
He might be the next in the line of failures, but he would make sure he was the last.
The Light Side and the Dark Side were locked in a constant cycle of violence and death. Whenever one gained power, the other did as well in order to balance the scales. But what if the Light Side was just as dangerous as the Dark Side? What if the Jedi were just as likely to falter and fail and hurt the galaxy as the Sith?
If the Jedi line died with him, then maybe the Dark Side would die with Snoke and Ben.
Luke could only hope.
