Cruelty
Three-year-old Luke Skywalker awoke to the sound of blaster shots outside his home. He slid out of bed and pulled his poncho off its hook and put it on, silently climbing the steps to the surface. He emerged into a cold, dark night, the sky speckled with stars. Luke looked around for the source of the shots, finding it to be a squad of stormtroopers. His aunt and uncle lay unmoving in the sand at their feet. One of the troopers laughed and nudged Uncle Owen with his toe.
"Let this be an example to all other farmers around here. When Imperials ask for water, you give it to them!" He poked at the man with his blaster barrel.
"No... please," Owen begged hoarsely. The soldier showed no mercy. Luke's huge blue eyes widened as he witnessed the murder of his guardians, but he choked back his tears and shoved his fingers into his mouth. He squeaked as he bit his hand a little too hard, and the troopers looked his way.
"Look, they had a kid," one of the troops pointed out, motioning at Luke with his blaster. "Should we take him?" Their leader stepped forward.
"Negative. Just kill him and leave him with the other bodies."
"You weave mah fawm awone!" Luke cried, pulling his hand out of his mouth so he could speak.
"Shut up, pipsqueak," the squad leader snapped, stepping towards Luke and backhanding Luke across the cheek. Luke whimpered as tears leaked from his eyes. His cheek split open and began to bleed where the trooper's armored glove connected with the soft skin of the three-year-old's cheek. One of the troops cracked Luke over the head with the butt of his blaster. Luke fell unconscious, and the stormtroopers, presuming him dead, left.
...
When Luke awoke, he had a headache the size of Tatooine. Blood had turned his blonde hair a rusty shade of red, and it had dried and cracked on his cheek, where the cut was swollen, full of sand, and oozing. Luke stood shakily and peered at the horizon, starting to cry. He knew his aunt and uncle were dead. The binary suns had just begun to rise as the three-year-old started in the direction of Mos Eisley spaceport. He knew the way. Uncle Owen had drilled it into him before he was talking in full sentences.
...
Luke crawled into Mos Eisley and collapsed in the street, too tired and thirsty to move any farther. As the morning dragged on, Mos Eisley began to awaken. Vendors opened shops and stands, ships landed and departed, and jawas searched scrap piles for salvageable materials. No one paid attention to the tiny, half-dead boy in the street. Except one. On the way back to his ship, 24-year-old Han Solo noticed a tiny crumpled form in the road. Diving out, he scooped it up before it could be hit by a land-speeder.
Once clear of the road, Han took a good look at the thing in his arms. It was a boy! Practically a baby, but a boy nonetheless. He was wearing a grey poncho and tan trousers, but no shoes or shirt. His hair appeared to be blonde in places but was splotched with an unhealthy red. His cheek was encrusted in blood, and a large cut on his right cheek oozed pus.
Han rushed back to the Millennium Falcon, ran up the ramp and closed it behind him. He hurried to the main hold and set the child on the dejarik table.
"Chewie! Get a medkit!" Han cried, pulling the child's filthy poncho off and tossing it away and checking for other wounds. There were none, though his feet were blistered quite severely. Chewbacca emerged with a medkit.
"What happened? What's this?" He growled, passing the medkit to his friend.
"I don't know, pal. He was laying in the street. I don't know where he came from or who he belongs to." Han ripped open an antiseptic wipe and began to clean the blood and sand from the boy's face. The child squirmed as it stung and opened his eyes. "Hey, kid," Han said softly, pulling the now soiled cloth away from the boy's face. He cowered and shrank back as if expecting to be hit. "We're not gonna hurt ya. My name is Han, and this is Chewie." He gestured to the hulking tower of mass behind him.
The poor child's blue eyes widened in fear as he had an accident, leaking on the table.
"I sowwy," he said quietly, eyes downcast.
"Hey, hey, it's okay," Han soothed. "Uh, Chewie, stay with him. I'll be right back." Han left the room and returned shortly with a ripped up t-shirt, an old rag and a roll of electrical tape. He quickly wet the rag with water and went to the boy, who was chewing on his hand.
"I Luke," the boy whispered around his fingers. "Thank you fo savin' me."
"You're welcome, Luke. Can I clean you up a little?"
Luke nodded and continued to chew, allowing Han to take his trousers and pull-up off and dispose of them. Han picked Luke up and set him on the floor, then wiped his back and bottom off and took the shirt he had ripped and fashioned a covering of sorts, securing it around Luke's waist with the tape. He wiped up the puddle on the table and placed Luke back up on it, sticking a bacta patch to his cheek.
"What will he wear?" Chewie asked.
"We'll find something. For now, he's fine."
"He's naked!"
"No, he's got..., that," Han retorted, gesturing to the makeshift diaper. Han started to bandage the little boy's feet as Chewie offered him a protein bar to chew instead of his hand. Han finished cleaning the wounds and lifted Luke to his hip, walking towards the cockpit. "C'mon Chewie. Set a course for Alderaan."
...
And so it begins. I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! I hope I can manage to make these chapters decently long. Each chapter I've written is about three and a half pages long in my notebook, which averages at about 1000 words, I guess? I've always struggled with longer chapters. I'll add the AU bits at the end of each chapter.
Age difference.
Luke and Han meet way early.
Leave a review and tell me what you think!