Luke wakes up to a blinding white light washing over him.
His eyes are closed, that much he can assess, but the light still manages to pierce through his eyelids and startle him into awareness. His mind is still foggy, having just come out of unconsciousness. It takes a few moments for the pain to hit him
And when it does, it hits him hard.
His entire body aches.
He thought he knew pain before. But being attacked by sand people, crashing his speeder, barely crawling out of several battles with his life, they all seem like minor scrapes compared to the pain he's feeling right now.
Every part of his body feels heavy as lead. His lungs burn with the effort it takes to draw in a breath. Sharp waves of pain travel up and down each of his limbs. Even his eyelids ache in protest when he attempts to open his eyes, so he merely gives up.
Maybe that bright light is death. Isn't that what people talk about? Seeing a bright light right before entering whatever afterlife it is their world believes in?
Or maybe he's simply disappearing like Ben did, becoming one with the Force?
With some effort and even more pain, Luke finally manages to force his eyes open. He immediately squints against the light shinning down on him. It's even more blinding than before.
While blinking rapidly to adjust to the light, he wracks his brain trying to remember how he got here.
Wherever "here" is.
He was with Leia and Han, pretending to be envoys from the outer rim to gain access to Cymoon 1, he remembers that much. They managed to get to the reactor and start the process of blowing the place right out of the galaxy.
Then Darth Vader himself showed up.
After that, his memories blend together in a haze of explosions and blaster fire. Only a few moments stand out. He remembers freeing slaves, confronting Vader, narrowly escaping, hopping onto a speeder, racing towards the Falcon, Vader chasing after him, getting a shot in…
The speeder.
The last thing he remembers, he was crashing his damaged speeder in a desperate attempt to get away from Vader.
Is he dead? Or maybe he's still laying in the wreckage of his fiery speeder, too far gone to feel the flames slowly engulfing his body?
Calm yourself, Luke, he thinks desperately. You're awake. That's a good sign.
If he was dead, he wouldn't still be in pain, right? Every time Ben's spirit appears to him, he appears as he knew him on Tatooine; completely whole. His body isn't cut in half by a lightsaber wound.
So it only stands to reason that death makes people whole again. And right now, Luke doesn't feel very whole.
He curses inwardly. After that encounter with Vader and the severity of that speeder crash, he should be dead. How he's still breathing is beyond him. He's not even sure he wants to continue breathing. The thought of facing Mon Mothma and admitting that he was the one that nearly cost them the mission by going after Vader is more terrifying than the prospect of death.
All the rebels are instructed within the first week of training and told again before each mission that if they see Vader, they are to turn and run immediately. If that means the mission is a failure, then so be it. Even High Command realizes that when Vader becomes personally involved in a battle, no amount of blasters or cannons can stop him. Of course, some rebels ignore that order and try to hold Vader off.
There's rarely a body left to send home.
Luke never thought he would be one of those people.
He always thought that when he faced Darth Vader, he would be prepared. He dreamed of the moment for months; storming up to Vader, pulling out his lightsaber, and fighting for the vengeance his father was unable to seek himself. Even if he couldn't best Vader, at least he would put up one hell of a fight.
But it only took Vader a few minutes to snatch the lightsaber right out of Luke's hands and nearly kill him and his friends. It was pure luck that they managed to escape his grasp. They could have made a swift exit if only he hadn't overestimated his skill and went to face a Sith Lord on his own.
Vader was right. Luke is no Jedi.
Ben, wherever you are, I'm sorry.
Growing restless, Luke peers downwards to look over his injuries. He just wants to know his legs are still attached so he can get out of here and back to his friends. The thought that he doesn't even know where his friends are doesn't stick in his head for long. Those worries are best left for when he's fully lucid.
His jacket is gone, his shirt and pants are both covered with dirt and sweat, and his belt and boots are missing. Otherwise, he can't spot anything amiss.
Except for an IV drip sticking out of his arm.
He blinks a few times, wondering if the pain is making him hallucinate. He has no memory of making it to the Falcon, much less to a med bay. Did Han and Leia somehow manage to come back for him without Vader noticing? It doesn't seem likely, but what other explanation is there?
But something about that IV… it bugs him.
If it weren't for that IV, Luke wouldn't even know that he's in a med bay. He's still wearing the clothes he crashed in. He has no bandages, no bacta smeared on his skin, they didn't even bother to wipe the dirt off his skin. Not to mention no pain relief. All they gave him was an IV. Something so basic, designed only to keep him alive, not to heal him.
Tearing his eyes away from the IV, Luke looks around, taking in his environment.
He's in a room. A small room. The walls and floor are almost blindingly white. Bright fluorescent lights bare down on him so intensely that looking straight at them feels like staring directly into the twin suns on Tatooine. Besides the IV and the cot that Luke lays on, the room is completely bare.
Luke has been in many Alliance med bays in his time, more than he would like to admit, and none of them looked anything like this.
This looks too austere. Too… suffocating.
Despite his grogginess, Luke can sense that something is terribly wrong.
His hairs stand on end as all his senses scream at him to just get out.
He tries to raise the arm not connected to the IV. His muscles ache in protest, urging him to stop his efforts. He's almost inclined to listen to them. But the panic wins out over the pain.
With a small grunt, he manages to move the useless limb over his torso and flop it down on top of his other arm. He grips the needle between his thumb and pointer finger and rips it out.
Blood starts trickling down the small hole left by the IV. With all the strength left inside his body, Luke slams his hand down on the cot and uses it to push himself to the floor. Sharp pains shoot up his legs, traveling through his stomach, into his arms, setting his whole body aflame. There's nothing to do but grit his teeth and keep going.
He hits the floor back first, his legs slumping over to the side like a rag doll. The groan of pain bubbles up in his throat, but he swallows it down.
If he doesn't know where he is, that means he doesn't know who might hear him.
Turning himself onto his stomach, he slaps his hands down onto the cold linoleum and starts sliding his body towards the door. He has to bite down on his lip to stop from hissing in pain when the IV wound rubs into the floor.
His head pounds, black dots floating around in his line of sight. If he moves a centimeter further, he feels as though his organs will shut down from the strain he's forcing on his damaged body. He can't possibly keep going. But he has no other choice. He needs to get out. The Force is screaming the danger of the situation at him, too loudly for him to ignore.
If he could just reach the door…
With a woosh sound, a blast of cold air suddenly smacks Luke in the face.
He closes his eyes, relishing the feeling on the countless tiny cuts the mar his cheeks and forehead. It reminds him of getting cuts while messing around in Beggar's Canyon with Biggs and running home to Aunt Beru, crying like it was the end of the galaxy. After wiping his tears and washing his wound with what little water they had to spare, she would blow on it to cool it down. It didn't do much in terms of actually healing him, but the motherly gesture never failed to make him feel better. For just a moment, he allows himself to go back to that time and take some small comfort from it.
When he manages to drag himself out of his memories, he finds himself eye-to-eye with thick black boots.
"Contact Lord Vader. He wanted to be alerted when the boy awoke."
Luke is far too sapped of energy to tilt his head up and see the source of the voice, but the mention of Vader's name gives him all the answer he needs.
He's been captured by Imperials.
His arms finally give out.
The Imperial in the black boots kneels down in front of him. Luke grimaces at the withered face and the beady eyes of the officer who is now right in his face. He wants to fight him, snap at him, spit in his face, do something to show his utter hatred of them and everything they stand for. But he can barely even keep his eyes open.
"And what are we to do with you in the meantime, rebel?" the officer whispers with a smirk.
"We don't need him awake until Lord Vader arrives," the other voice supplies. "He needs to be hooked back up to that IV if we want him to survive the first round of questioning."
The Imperial officer's smirk turns into a little frown, obviously not fond of the suggestion.
"Very well. You got lucky this time, rebel."
He takes the blaster from his belt and, before Luke can even attempt to crawl away, smacks him over the head with brute force.
When Luke falls unconscious this time, he dreams of Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru and a time when leaving Tatooine was a blessing instead of a curse.