Active Headcanons: Not a headcanon so much as the premise of the story, but Luke, Leia, and Padmé are selkies
Trigger Warnings: Character death, body horror, torture mention,
"You summoned me, my master."
Vader's voice boomed from beyond Luke's limited range of vision, and Luke twitched, trying to hear him better. He was frightened, the galaxy around him seemed unusually large and threatening. It didn't help that he couldn't speak, could hardly move, was slowly sickening… dying.
"You wished to have your son returned to you before any untimely deaths," Palpatine sneered from somewhere above Luke.
Luke's fingers tightened somewhat on his knee as he tried to breathe steadily. His eyes wouldn't focus. Palpatine was threatening his father, mocking him for Luke's weakness!
He desperately wanted to live, to have his blanket returned to him, but he was unable to communicate, and he suspected Palpatine wouldn't have been terribly interested in hearing what he had to say, even if he could speak.
Vader's presence was prickling with apprehension, "Untimely death, master?"
Luke felt the floor under himself begin to rise, and he trembled, pressing himself down against it. He didn't want his father to see him in this state. It wasn't as if the Sith would be interested in helping him, after everything else that had come between them.
As the platform lifted him up to floor level, however, he cracked an eye open at the dark being, tears running down his cheeks.
He was dying.
He would die in front of his father, and he knew exactly how to stop it. But he couldn't.
He wanted to call out, but his tongue was uncooperative, having ceased functioning at the extended separation from his substitute coat.
"Luke!"
Vader's voice was loud, comfortingly alarmed, and the floor shook suddenly as he pounded up to Luke's prone form.
In spite of himself, Luke smiled as his father cupped his cheek gently in one hand. Vader's free hand ran over his back, searching for any sign of damage.
His strength flagging, Luke shook his head weakly. There was nothing to find, searching only wasted precious time… Precious time with his father. In his arms.
"Pathetic," Palpatine snorted, and Luke tried to look, only to find himself needing his father's gentle guidance to look up at the elder Sith. "This boy gave you trouble, Lord Vader?"
Luke shook his head slowly. It had been a week away from his coat and lost in Palpatine's custody. A week of cruelty and neglect, and a week for sickness to set in.
"I would like… to take him home, my master," Vader said, his voice halting and pained.
Luke struggled to move his head, to look back up at his father. He couldn't speak, but maybe just his eyes… maybe a loving look, compassion, could tell Vader what his voice couldn't.
"Very well," Palpatine said, gesturing, "I care not what you do with the boy."
Vader wrapped his arm around Luke's legs, lifting him gently, and Luke collapsed against Vader's chest, thinking heartbrokenly about his friend's coat, how it felt to slip away into his neglected other form. The sensation of his legs binding together, becoming a thick, strong tail and allowing him to swim as he had never dreamed of…
Vader's breathing had begun to speed up, and Luke could hear him thundering through the ship, before he began speaking to the weak bundle in his arms, "We will return home, Luke. I expect this to be some form of ploy."
He didn't really expect that, though, Luke thought. A smile tugged at his lips again. His father knew he was dying. He only desperately wanted the young Jedi to survive.
"I cannot imagine what you have done to fool my master," Vader continued, marching up the ramp to an imperial shuttle, which shuddered, and lifted off. "I only hope that there are no side effects."
Luke weakly reached up, brushing a lock of lightening hair out of his eyes. Everything about him was becoming more washed out. His eyes felt blackened for the bags beneath them. He was sick. Fatigued. Dying.
Vader sat down hard, and Luke found himself squashed against Vader's chest plate as the Sith's rhythmic breathing was broken by a gasp, "Oh, my son… what did he do to you?"
Luke shook his head. Nothing. Palpatine had beaten him, yes. Interrogated him. Shouted and demanded and forced and…
But that wasn't the reason for his weakness.
He just needed his blanket back. Had Vader disposed of his X-Wing? Would he have died instantly, were his coat destroyed?
He imagined the soft sensation of the old, tattered blanket in his hands again. He could nearly feel himself draw fresh strength from it. As if it were nearly close enough to save him.
"My little boy," Vader said, sounding unbearably sad as he pushed Luke's hair back from his unfocused eyes.
Luke struggled to look back at him, aching at seeing him in such pain. Was this how it was going to end? His father looking at him, pleading with him to stay, and himself, unable to express his own salvation?
"I am so sorry."
Vader seemed to be measuring him, cradling his head in his palm, before slowly drawing out a lock of hair, examining its unhealthy paleness.
"Palpatine is truly cruel," Vader murmured, "I can only imagine what he did to you."
It was nothing! Luke thought desperately, He's not to blame! None of this is permanent!
The ship docked, and Luke felt his father shift, standing slowly.
As his father carried him from the shuttle, he struggled to open his eyes, looking around. They were still on Coruscant, far above the other buildings. Slowly, he looked up to see the spires of his father's castle.
Once, it had seemed unreachably distant, and impossibly dangerous.
Now, it was almost a relief to know this was where he'd die.
Vader pulled Luke's cloak tighter around him, hiding him from any prying eyes that might have dared to sneak this far above the crowds.
Luke was grateful. He didn't want his friends to hear that this was how he'd died. Leia would never forgive herself, for not having been there to lend him her own coat. Han would probably die trying to get Luke's blanket back, to have any shard of his boyfriend to keep in his life.
And he didn't want the Alliance to see their hero, weak and drained in the arms of a Sith Lord. He was happy for the opportunity to die in peace. Having his father close, out of the eyes of the galaxy…
His head fell to Vader's chest, his neck unable to support it.
Death seemed a surprisingly easy thing all of a sudden. He'd always thought he'd fight to his last breath, taking every last moment of his life trying to tear down the Empire, but this… This wasn't the pain and terror he'd imagined.
His father was with him, stroking his soul, and supporting him. He wasn't being violently torn from the galaxy so much as it was just… slowly, gently floating away. Death wouldn't come suddenly. It would be a slow and calm descent until a final release.
It was already happening.
And he wasn't afraid.
He was suddenly lowered from his father's arms, and he twitched, desperately trying to reach out, to cling to him.
Vader's hands caught his, squeezing them tightly and reassuringly as he addressed someone else.
Opening his eyes, Luke caught sight of a medical droid, already hurriedly bustling around. Suddenly frightened, he looked up to Vader. Was there still a chance? Still a chance that Vader, the butcher: Vader, the single man army: Vader, the miracle worker could yet find a way to free Luke from his curse?
The droid quickly grasped him, slipping needles into him, taping them to his skin, seeming as if it was taping together his failing body.
"How long does he have?" Vader rattled.
"Perhaps two hours, if we are fortunate."
Vader looked back down at Luke, and Luke felt his utter despair radiating from the Force. His father seemed to be screaming that this wasn't fair, that it wasn't supposed to be like this!
Luke managed to nod, reaching for his father's hand. This shouldn't have been how it was. But without his blanket, he had no lifeline, no way to cling to his dissipating soul.
Vader reached out, stroking Luke's hair behind his ear as he began to speak. "It was to be perfect. You and I would have been so happy, Luke."
Luke gave him a weak, wavering smile.
Part of him wondered if Vader could have found his coat for him again, but he didn't want to ask.
It was most likely too late for that now. If his coat wasn't returned, Vader would never realize that Luke had been a selkie, that it had been his own mistake that had killed his son.
Tears came to his eyes again as he remembered Vader's hands on his wrists, binding him to take him to the Emperor… He remembered being marched through the halls of Cloud City to his father's ship.
How easy it might have been then, to tell Vader that he needed the blanket that sat stuffed into a compartment of his X-Wing's cockpit.
But at the time, he had been in shock. Broken and horrified by the claim Vader had laid on his life. He hadn't trusted Vader yet; he had thought there was a better chance to be saved by another.
Vader caught the tears on a bent finger, his mask somehow managing to convey compassion as he met Luke's eyes. "You must want your friends."
Luke choked on a breath, crying all the harder. He did. He wanted Han and Leia to be with him. The thought that they might never know his fate clawed at the inside of his chest, and he looked up at Vader with wet eyes.
Tell them, he plead wordlessly. Tell them I died at Palpatine's hands. Tell them I loved them.
No one would ever truly know what had gone wrong.
Palpatine would think him weak, but that didn't matter. His father, his friends… they would believe he died a hero's death, at the hands of a villain.
His father would never have to know it had been an accident. That his son's blood was on his own hands.
It was better that way. Luke didn't blame him, not really. It was hardly advertised that he had such a clear and exploitable weakness. If Palpatine had been able to get the coat, it was likely that he would have been forced to do so many more things that would have torn him apart.
It was best this way.
Best to die before his father.
Best to never see his friends again.
Vader stood up suddenly, slipping his hands free from Luke's. Luke gave a small gasp, unable to make any louder sound, and Vader looked back at him, gently laying a finger against his lips, before exiting the room.
Frightened at the sudden prospect of being alone, Luke looked up at the meddroid, which had stilled, deactivating as it hovered beside him. Needles still hung from its hands, as it had failed to tidy them away after removing them.
It had identified that there was nothing to be done. Studying its features, Luke imagined that it must have been sad to discover that. That it couldn't fulfil its job, that a patient whose life was still wanted would die, and it would be unable to help.
Trying to forget that his father was absent, Luke tucked his arms against himself, pulling his cloak and the generic, useless blanket about his shoulders.
He shouldn't have been surprised that Vader didn't want to watch. How could he have ever expected a Sith, famously self-centered and selfish, to watch his child die? It was only what he'd wanted, and that meant less than nothing.
If he knew one thing, it was that he asked for too much.
His eyelids grew heavy again, the strength his father's presence and concern had given him fading. His eyes slipped closed, and he let out a small breath, containing a silent, suppressed sob. It was all over.
His dreams. His destiny. The Jedi. And in spite of himself, he had to admit… democracy.
As much as he hated the thought of being the single most powerful fighter of the Alliance… it was true. Without him, there was little chance Palpatine could be defeated.
The galaxy would stagnate in darkness.
It was all his fault.
He trembled, crying. There was nothing he could do anymore. It was too late. The droid had been optimistic when it had given him two hours. He was slipping away already.
Suddenly, he felt a touch on his arms, and struggled to open his eyes.
Vader had reappeared.
Luke began panting for breath, his failing lungs ignoring his need for oxygen. He wanted Vader to know he was glad he was back.
"I am afraid I could not bring you your friends," Vader said in a brokenly measured tone, "I have only what I could find on your ship."
Luke smiled tremulously. That was… that was something.
Vader's hands shook as he sat an open box next to Luke, slowly removing items, and showing them to him.
A holo of Han, Leia, and himself elicited a small smile. They were laughing, Leia wore her coat around her shoulders as if it were nothing more than fashion. She looked so happy, so beautiful… And he and Han gripped each other with a strength Luke couldn't recall possessing. They loved one another. It had been enough.
Vader drew out a soft toy, nestling it against Luke's heaving chest. Luke tried to bow his head, to smell the soft, plush fur again. It had been a gift from Han, one of a pair. A much larger one sat at home, in his empty, darkened quarters.
A datapad was offered, and replaced in the box when Luke failed to show interest.
If only Vader had got his blanket, Luke thought, watching Vader offer him a few more useless items. Vader had gone through his cockpit, pulling out all personal effects… But the blanket didn't make an appearance in the box. Vader must have thought it was a rag, and thrown it away.
Vader opened another small compartment in the box, and withdrew something that had not been in Luke's cockpit.
Carefully, he unfolded a picture frame, propping it sideways so Luke could easily view its contents.
A man and woman stood, side by side. Anakin's arm looped around a woman who must have been Luke's mother, and both their hands rested on her womb.
"We loved you," Vader murmured, gently stroking Luke's hair again.
A lump grew in Luke's throat, and he reached for the frame, touching his mother's cheek. She had died to bring him into this galaxy, because a selkie's baby had to inherit their coat… somehow, it had been destroyed, leaving Luke with the frail substitute, but…
She had died. For him. And now her gift was going to waste, Luke was dying himself, having never passed on the coat to a new baby.
"I'm sorry!" he choked, looking up desperately at his father. It was a mistake! He should have never been born, his mother should have kept her coat, and instead he was wasting it. He was just… failing… again…
"Oh, little one," Vader said again, falling to his knees next to Luke's cot, pulling him into his arms.
Luke slid down after him.
In his father's strong, protective arms, the fall through air felt almost like slipping into water. For a glorious moment, he was a seal again, graceful, smooth and powerful.
It wouldn't last.
He was surprised he wasn't already dead. After the rapid fading of what strength he had had, he was amazed that his breath still echoed in his ears, that he could find strength to put his arms around Vader's neck.
And… had he spoken?"
He fell back again, looking up into Vader's mask, foggy through his tears.
He… he couldn't have. Without his coat, he couldn't speak at all, not after this long away….
Slowly, he reached up, feeling at where he had felt his father's touch.
Sure enough, a ratty child's blanket rested around his shoulders, and he felt his heart shatter. He would live. His father had accidentally returned the only thing that could save him.
"Father!" he gasped, tears pouring down his face as he pulled the blanket off his shoulders, pushing it towards Vader, "Father!"
Vader gently pressed the blanket back to Luke's chest. "Yes, I see."
"No!" Luke shook his head, running his fingers over it, feeling its familiar holes and frayed edges, "It's my…" he broke off, realizing Vader might not understand. "I'll be okay." Tears prickled at his wrung-dry eyes, "I… I'll be okay…"
"How?" Vader's voice was harsher than Luke thought it needed to be, and the Sith's entirety prickled with harsh emotion. He was afraid to believe it, yet, Luke thought.
"I…" Luke took a deep breath, weakly pushing himself up in Vader's arms, "I'm a selkie… You found my coat."