Warning for major character death and suicidal thoughts in this, so please be careful and read at your own risk.


Come With Me: When Luke dies over Endor, Vader defects to the Alliance. But six months later, he gets thrown back in time, and he swears to find a way to change what happened.


Vader had never flown an X-wing before this dogfight, with one of the survivors of the Inquisitorius dogging his footsteps. Even then, it was embarrassing how easily the ship slipped out of his control over the remote jungle planet he'd been sent to. He was the greatest pilot in the galaxy, and now he was tumbling at breakneck speeds, burning through the atmosphere, and onto the surface below.

Although he supposed it wasn't like he'd been trying all that much to live.

He clutched the controls and half-hoped he was about to die.

Why was he even here? he asked himself for the umpteenth time that day. Padmé was dead. Luke—he forced himself to acknowledge it, as he had every day for six months, as he would for the rest of his life—was dead. Why. . .?

Leia.

Because Leia was his daughter, even if she hated him, and he still had a legacy to respect. After everything he'd done in the service of terror, after all the pain he'd caused to his loved ones. . . he had to make sure their sacrifices hadn't been in vain.

How could he face them, if he ever saw them again, if he didn't?

That was his mantra. He repeated it to himself as the ground neared, the canopy green and close and unyielding.

But he made no move to level out his fall, or save himself, as he plummeted.


He woke up an indiscernible time later, the back of his head sticky with blood.

He gasped as his eyes flew open, waiting a moment for his eyes to adjust to the light streaming through the cracked cockpit. Thank the Force the planet's atmosphere was breathable—the small, silver mask that covered half his face was struggling, but it was working. He could breathe. His life support seemed similarly intact.

For a moment, he let himself feel grateful—the Princess would have killed him if he'd damaged the compact, padded suit she'd struggled to get him. He was fairly sure she'd only done it in the first place out of a spiteful, bitter respect for what her brother had sacrificed to bring him back; she would not fight so hard a second time. He did not want her to.

It was good that his life support hadn't been damaged, he told himself sternly. A miracle, even.

So what was it that hurt so much. . .?

He found out when he went to shove the cockpit open and collapsed, wincing. There. The nose of the X-wing had been smashed in by the impact, on top of his legs. They weren't broken, and he was sure that he could eventually get free, but pain signals were being consistently fired across his nerves.

He couldn't move like this. He needed help.

For a moment, he eyed the X-wing's controls. It look like the comm unit was still intact. . . maybe he could try calling for help? As much as everything in him rebelled against it. . .

The Inquisitor.

He cursed out loud.

He'd completely forgotten about the Inquisitor!

Had he managed to shoot them down, too? Or were they still circling overhead, watching for their prey? The thought irked him—he was the hunter, had been for years, this was why the New Republic had given him this task. They hadn't wanted to, but they'd had to.

He was the best starpilot in the galaxy. That could never change. . .

. . .especially with his son dead.

Dead. The word rang in his mind. Every time he remembered, it was like a punch to the gut all over again.

Luke was dead.

Luke, who'd survived twenty three years on and off Tatooine, in the midst of a war, only to throw it all away for a man who deserved nothing of it.

Luke, he reminded himself, who had given it all for him, and would give it all again if he meant his father survived. And in this case, surviving meant searching the Force for this Inquisitor.

So he did his best to shove any and all deprecating thoughts to the back of his mind, and cast his senses out like a net, searching, searching—

There was no Inquisitor nearby.

That wasn't what caught his attention.

The Force felt dark, in a way that it hadn't since Palpatine had. . . died. It was a mass of creeping shades and shadows. But if he focused. . . there was light as well. A few sparks, hidden among the darkest folds, but they were there. The shadows couldn't snuff them out.

That still wasn't what caught his attention.

What caught his attention was impossible, unbelievable, and broke his heart all over again because he knew it was wrong, because—

One of those spots of light was near (and dear) to him. As familiar as the twin suns they'd both lived under, and as bright; it drew nearer, nearer, until Vader's heart hammered in his chest and tears pushed into ducts long since burned away.

A shadow climbed onto the crumpled nose of the X-wing. Confusion radiated from it—of course, his shielding had been terrible for those early years—but then there was a snap-hiss, some careful manoeuvring, and a lightsaber beam shot through the viewport. It hummed as the transparisteel melted around it.

After a few minutes of cutting—and panicking, on Vader's part—it fell free, and the figure kicked it to the side. That was when Vader got his first full view of the person.

The orange light of this planet's dying star shifted over messy blond hair, a tanned face with a cleft in the chin, glinting off the edge of a nose that was so much like a certain senator's it made Vader's chest hurt twice as much. That nose wrinkled as the boy frowned down at Vader, those blue eyes scanning him from head to toe in obvious concern.

Luke Skywalker asked, "What happened?"


"What happened?"

Vader studied the cuffs around his wrists. He was not surprised they were there. He could not even blame Rebel High Command for putting them there. He was a dangerous enemy who destroyed everything he touched.

His chest ached.

"Darth Vader," repeated the questioning voice, loud and clear. Mon Mothma. And didn't that bring up bitter memories of the Old Republic, of the Senate, of Pad"You have agreed to answer all our questions. What happened on the Second Death Star, between Commander Skywalker, Emperor Palpatine and yourself?"

Murder.

Death.

Pain.

"Vader."

Mothma blinked in shockand she wasn't the only one. "Excuse me?"

"My name is no longer Darth Vader. I am no Sith Lord. I am just Vader." He didn't dare claim the name Anakin Skywalker. He would not defile that legacy.

Mothma's lips twisted. "Be that as it may, Vader, what happened on the second Death Star?"

Vader closed his eyes. The sound of his respirator was very loud in the echoes of the interrogation room.

He didn't answer. He couldn't answer. To talk about it would be would be

He shook his head.

Mothma took a deep breath, and placed her hands palms down on the table. "I will ask this one last time, Vader," she said gently, but with a core of steel. "What"


"—happened?"

Vader blinked, hard, and realised his face was wet.

Luke was still staring at him. "Are you alright?"

Vader glanced down at himself. His life support was intact, his limbs were still in the mechanical state they'd been in when he'd crashed, but. . . "Am I dead?"

Luke frowned. "No? That would mean I was dead as well."

But you are, Vader wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat.

Luke glanced around, eyeing the X-wing, then held out his hand. "Come on. There's an Imperial base on this planet—I don't want to get spotted. We should get out of here."

"An. . . Imperial base?"

Impossible. Not necessarily more impossible than the fact that Luke was standing in front of him, apparently alive, but nonetheless impossible. Mothma had told him before sending him on this mission that there had been an Imperial base, but it had been destroyed by the Alliance almost immediately after Endor. This was entirely—

His breath caught in his throat. That was something he could do now, with only a breathing mask, and it only reinforced the pang in his chest tenfold.

"What—" he swallowed. "What's the date?" This was impossible, but. . . nothing more so than his son being alive, standing in front of him. That was a miracle.

Was he hallucinating?

He was probably hallucinating.

But he hung onto Luke's every reaction anyway as he furrowed his brow. "The date?"

"The year."

Luke's brow cleared. "Oh—twenty AFE."

AFE. After the Formation of the Empire.

Vader blinked. He still had a great many questions to ask, because that. . . That was almost four years ago.

Well. Four years ago from where he'd been before. It was the present, here and now.

So the darkness he'd felt in the Force?

That— that was him.

Him and— and Palpatine.

Anger swelled in him; he tasted bile at the back of his throat. Why? He was dead. Why couldn't he just stay dead. Why couldn't anyone just stay dead

"We need to go," Luke said, and Vader stopped dead. "Are you coming with me?"

Come with me.

His old Master was alive, yes. But so was Luke.

I feel the conflict within you, left get of your hate

His son, his dead, tortured son, was alive.

It is too late for me.

"Yes," he said. "I'm coming."


It was getting dark, and Luke admitted that he'd been on a solo mission when he'd crashed his X-wing himself, so they should probably find shelter for the night. There were mountains to the north, complete with caves; they trekked over there for a few hours, and set up camp in the driest one they could find.

Luke seemed to have caught onto the fact that Vader didn't want to talk, and he respected that despite the burning curiosity Vader could sense from him. He chattered inanely as they walked, occasionally pausing for breath or to listen around them for approaching Imperials. There were always none—Vader was monitoring the area with the Force, although Luke in his untrained state couldn't be expected to know that—so he quickly got back to chattering again.

Vader watched him in awe.

He had never met this boy. Not truly. He'd heard him scream across the Death Star's hangar as Obi-Wan was cut down; he'd taunted him, shaking with rage, on Cymoon-1. But he'd never had a conversation with him. He'd never had anything as precious as these moments, where he was animated and enthusiastic and friendly. He'd only ever seen these moments through the blue of a spy's hologram.

This boy was not the tortured last of the Jedi, doomed to defeat his father and his father's Master or die. This boy was not the angry Padawan-in-training, viewed through the steam and shadows of a carbon-freezing facility.

This was a farm boy who still held the twin suns in his eyes.

Vader loved him.

When they finally reached a suitable cave, it was small—all the better for conserving heat—and dry. There was also, as something so convenient it seemed like indulgence, a small hole in the roof.

"Good for starting a fire," Luke observed. And it was cold as the sun dropped below the horizon, with a few trees outside for wood, so that was what he did.

"Han taught me how to do this," Luke said as he knocked two flints together, sparks flying. "You remember me talking about Han earlier? Han—"


"Han!" The Princess snapped, her face as pale as the snows of Hoth as she stared at Vader, the body he was cradling, its face. The hand holding her blaster aloft trembled. "Han!" A hand flew to her mouth to stifle a sob. "Han!"

"What is it?" he asked. Vader had found Leia standing a little way from the Ewoks' celebration, away from the others, and Han jogged over to them now. His face was worried. "What's wrong"

Then he clapped eyes on Vader.

He swore. His hand flashed to his blaster, bringing it up to fire

And the Princess wrestled it out of his grip.

"WhatLeia!"

"Han," she got out through gritted teeth. Perhaps it was the tears on her cheekbones; perhaps it was the waver in her voice. But Han listened as she said, "Look."

Han looked.

First, he seemed to notice the searing red gash across the side of Vader's mask from before Leia had realised who he was carrying, and looked mildly mollified by that. Then his gaze slid down to the body in Vader's arms.

"Luke?" he asked, taking a step forward. Vader flinched at his voiceit was more vulnerable than anything he'd ever heard from the smuggler, but Luke did have that effect on people"Kid!"

Vader knelt down, and settled Luke onto the ground. Han was on his knees in an instant, tapping Luke's shoulder, feeling for his pulsethen feeling for it again.

And again.

And again.

Behind him, Leia let out a quiet sob.

"He'she's dead," Han said shakily, like he couldn't quite believe it. Then he was on his feet again, fumbling for his blaster, glaring daggers at Vader"You killed him!"

Vader didn't deny it.

It was his fault Luke had died, because of him his son was dead—

Han fired.

Despite the point-blank range, the shot went wide. Han's hand was shaking too hard and it hit Vader in the arm instead. The flesh part of his arm, admittedly, but the pain was nothing.

He wouldn't have dodged it even if Han's aim had been true.

Tears soaked Han's face. "You!"

Leia placed a hand on his shoulder. "He was your son," she hissed. Vader didn't even feel a twinge of surprise that Luke had told her. He couldn't feel anything at all. "He was your son, and you killed him! How could y"

"Son?" Han asked, but heand everyone elsedecided there were more important things to focus on. "Luke is" He choked on the words. "Luke is dead!"

The words were like a punch to the chest.

Luke was dead.

Vader fell to his knees.

Gently, he reached out to rest a hand on Luke's head and tilt it to face him. His son's eyes were closed, slightly scrunchedforever frozen in the rictus of pain he'd died in. He did not look like he was sleeping.

In Vader's experience, dead loved ones never did.

"Get away from him!" Leia snapped. "Youyou monster, you—" She broke off with another sob. "Luke—Han—"


"—Han taught me a lot of stuff actually," Luke ploughed on. "How to keep the Falcon from falling apart, how to survive, how to rile Leia up in three words or less—" He broke off when he saw Vader's face. "Are you alright?"

Vader jerked back. "It's fine."

"Are you sure? If I'm annoying you, just say—"

"No! No," he repeated at Luke's surprise, "no, it's fine. You just. . ." He swallowed. "You—"

"What?" Luke looked genuinely worried—about him, his father, a man who'd done nothing and didn't deserve any of this

He look down at his hands. "You remind me of someone I used to know."


Luke insisted on taking the first watch and would accept no protest of any form, so Vader tried in vain to get some sleep.

It didn't work. He woke up sweating after only a few hours, images of violet lightning flashing behind his eyes, screams starting and never stopping—

Father, please—

No. No, no, no.

And then there was the other part of the dream, where she smiled at him, flowers in her hair, and hugged their son, Leia casting him an odd but not venomous look, the entire family gone to play in the waters around Varykino. . .

That part of the dream hurt the most. It was the part that hurt more than any of his others dreams combined.

Because unlike those dreams, this one had no hope of ever coming true.

Tears leaked out of his eyes but he forced himself to look. In the dim cave, the light of the three moons was enough to see by. He traced with his eyes the shape of Luke's nose, his chin. . .

He was alive.

He'd also fallen asleep on his watch, Vader observed with more fondness than exasperation, so there was no point in Vader sleeping now. He pulled the emergency blanket off him—when had he put that on? It must have been Luke, an observation which stuck a needle in his heart—and gently tucked it round his son.

He stirred slightly, murmuring, but didn't wake.

Vader took a deep breath, and gazed at him for a few moments more.

They were fine. Luke was alive.

But for how much longer?

Four years—no, three—was not nearly enough. He deserved more. He deserved better than the fate the Force had laid out for him, better than the death his father had doomed him to.

This was time travel. And though it was hardly a common occurrence, Vader imagined what Obi-Wan would say in response to it.

That is the way of things, Anakin. You have to let him go for the greater good. The Force has chosen a path, and we, as Jedi, must follow it.

"The Force can go to hell," Vader whispered.

He was in the past. He could change things. His past self was here—he could— he could go to him, use whatever words necessary to convince him to change. To save his son.

Luke had believed there was light in him. The least Vader could do was believe there was light in himself.

He would have to contact Darth Vader soon, he realised. He was the most powerful Force user in terms of raw strength to ever walk the galaxy. His presence here would not go unnoticed for long—he wouldn't be surprised if Palpatine was already contacting his past self, there has been a great disturbance in the Force—and he couldn't—

He took a breath.

He couldn't risk leading the Empire to Luke, or he might risk robbing his son of the three years he did have.

He needed to leave.

But he couldn't make it to Darth Vader alone.

In the silence of the pre-dawn mists, Vader made his decision.


By the time Luke was awake the next morning, Rebel X-wings were already combing the mountains looking for him.

Vader had tinkered all night, building some sort of beacon; he switched it on when he heard the engines' familiar purr and they were at their doorstep within the hour.

He prodded Luke awake when he spotted the garish orange flight suits trekking their way down the mountain. His son yawned and groaned, stirring slowly. Vader smiled slightly at how vulnerable he looked in that moment; he had certainly never seen him in any state like that before.

He was quietly in awe that he felt safe enough to sleep in front of his father.

But then, he didn't know he was his father, did he?

"What is it?" Luke mumbled.

"A group of Rebel pilots have landed and are approaching us. I believe they are your squadron," Vader informed him.

"The Rogues?" Luke pried his eyes open at that, almost panicked. Judging by what Vader had learned from their antics after Endor, he was probably worried about being caught off guard by them and teased mercilessly.

At least he was around to be teased by them. Antilles—


"Antilles seems weirdly down, don't you think?" a Blue Squadron pilot from a few tables overone of the only tables not gawking or glaring at Vader and his entouragemused. "Why'd you think that is? We blew up the Death Star! The Emperor's dead! Vader's. . ." He threw a glance at Vader, flanked by his guards, sitting in the mess hall and staring at his plate, and assumed wrongly that he couldn't or wouldn't hear him. ". . .neutralised, whatever that means. We've won!"

"Not yet," his friend chided.

"Well, no not yet, but nearly! What's his problem with the galaxy today?"

Vader almost wanted to butt in and inform him what, exactly, was wrong with the galaxy, but the pilot's friend beat him to it. "Didn't you hear? Skywalker died on the Death Star. You know they were close friends."

"Luke's dead?" There was a moment of real sorrow thereLuke had had a great many friends in the Alliance; it appeared this man was one of themand then he tried to lighten the tone with, "Damn. He owed me twenty credits."

The joke fell flat. Vader doubted he'd ever expected it to do anything but.

The pilot scratched his head. "I. . . kriff. What was Luke doing on the Death Star?"

"Facing Vader and Palpatine, I heard. Jedi business." His friend waved his fork like he was trying to imitate one. "I don't know. But I bet it was Vader—" He didn't have to look to feel the pointed glare shot his way. "who killed him."

Vader clenched his fists under the table, the cutlery started rattling, his guards exchanged alarmed looks. . .

But it calmed down soon after. The man was right. About all of it.

Vader had killed his son.

"Then why's he here? Why's he not dead? He killed Luke!"

"I don't know." His friend sighed. "But it must have been Vader. After all, he killed the kid's father; why not the son as well?"

Vader's cupgiven to him under the mistaken assumption that he could drinkcrumpled where it stood.

"And now we're all left to mourn him. Us, the Princess, Solo, Antilles"


—Antilles had never been the same after Luke's death, Vader had been told. Now, seeing the faint concern on his face get wiped away by the sight of Luke, alive and well, Vader could tell the difference for himself.

This version of Wedge Antilles smiled more. It was a more cheerful smile as well—both cheeky and exasperated at once—and it provoked a similar one in Luke.

Watching them together, Vader felt a pang in his chest. These weren't soldiers—at least, not the self-sacrificing Jedi and pilot they would become. These were boys.

They shouldn't be fighting in a war.

He shouldn't have been fighting in a war against them.

Vader had a great many regrets. This was just the tip of the sarlacc. But it seized him and dragged him down nonetheless.

"Hey," Antilles asked, once he'd fully lectured Luke about not crashing his X-wings in places they couldn't find him, "who's this?"

"Oh—this is my companion, he crashed his ship here too. We banded together to make it easier to survive. He's—" Luke frowned at him. "I don't think you ever told me your name."

"Couldn't get a word in edgewise?"

"Shut up, Hobbie." But Luke flushed—he probably thought it was true.

Not wanting to make this anymore awkward for him than it had to be, Vader supplied, "My name is. . . Ani."

He winced inwardly the moment he gave it, but it was too late now. He already had memories of Padmé and his mother every time he looked at Luke; this would be no different. He hoped.

"Alright, this is Ani," Luke said. "He was flying what looked like an Incom fighter, from the wreckage—it was an X-wing, right?"

Knowing full well he was digging himself into a hole he wouldn't be able to climb out of, Vader said, "Yes."

"You with the Rebellion?"

"Uh," Vader said, "no. I'd like to," he added, at the sheer panic that crossed Luke's features—I am not an Imperial, I will not sell you out— "but as of right now, no."

"Then where'd you get the X-wing?"

Vader swallowed. "I found it in a junkyard. Put it back together for fun," he lied. "I flew here to test its hyperdrive, but I think it's faulty because I was planning to shoot to the next system over. And then it crashed," he added wryly, "so I'm not sure that was the only thing wrong with it."

"We could drop you off at your home planet, I'm sure," Luke offered.

"No," Vader said, a little too quickly judging by how Luke started. "I've wanted to join the Rebellion since my son died," he explained, ignoring the pain in his chest as he said it. It was true. "This seems as good a chance as any."

Luke and Wedge exchanged looks. They both knew they weren't technically supposed to bring back random recruits they met on missions—there was the risk of Imperial spies, after all.

"You'd better contact High Command to get authorisation," Wedge suggested, then grinned, "Commander."

"Shut up," Luke grumbled, and followed his second-in-command out of the cave to set up a relay through the X-wings. "I'm on it."

Vader was left with the rest of Rogue Squadron, a situation he found he didn't particularly want to be in.

"What happened to you?" one of them asked bluntly. Another hissed at him to be quiet, but he ploughed on, "Why do you need a breathing mask?"

"I was severely injured," Vader answered. The words were practically on rote by now; he'd had to explain himself a lot more than he was used to since joining the Alliance after Endor. "My lungs were damaged. The mask. . . the suit—"


"the suit has to go," Leia said, crossing her arms across her chest. Her constant and consistent disdain for him was clear in her voice. "The Council's made a decision."

Vader raised the area of skin where he used to have eyebrows. "May I ask how they came to this decision?"

"They want to send you after all these Inquisitors which are suddenly popping up after Palpatine's death," she explained. "But they don't want you terrorising anyone you might run into because you're. . ." She waved a hand up and down him: the black mask, the durasteel limbs, the overdramatic cape. ". . .you."

"I understand," he said. And he did. "I will submit to whatever reforms they have in mind."

Leia narrowed her eyes at him. He knew his docility made her suspicious, but they'd had that shouting match alreadyshe knew exactly where his docility came from, and she didn't like talking about it anymore than he did.

She didn't like talking to him at all.

"Good," she snapped, and swept out of the room.

The reforms to the suit were a relief, almost. No more heavy life support, or terrifying maskhe didn't even have a respirator. The medic assigned to him had been disgusted with him at first, then disgusted at the job done on him on top of that. She'd set about fixing it as much as she could, as fast as she could, no matter what her opinion of him was.

It resulted in no mask but a clear breathing mask that covered half his face. The suit


"—keeps me alive," he explained. "It's quite light—lighter than what I had before, at least."

"And are those prosthetics?"

"Yes."

"You lost your limbs and your lungs?"

A faint smile quirked his lips. "It was an accident at work."

"An accident at—"

Fortunately, that was the point which Luke and Wedge returned, stalling any further questions.

"They're sending a shuttle to pick me up anyway," Luke explained, "since I don't have a ship anymore. Leia said that Ani can come on the shuttle as well, provided he's not allowed to know where the base is until High Command has talked to him." He glanced at Vader. "Is that alright with you?"

It took him a moment to find his voice. "That's perfect."


The shuttle ride was a surprisingly short one, for how long it had taken Luke's squadron to find him. Vader hadn't spent nearly as much time as he wanted with Luke on the shuttle when they were touching down on the planet Luke wasn't allowed to name.

Vader knew the name of it anyway. He'd ordered an attack on this base four years ago himself.

But that would be difficult to explain, so he kept his mouth shut.

Vader watched Luke run a hand over the lightsaber at his hip—the lightsaber he'd lost of Bespin, he recognised with a twinge. He still wasn't used to people being able to see his face—to see his eyes—so he didn't glance away fast enough when Luke looked up and noticed him staring.

"It was my father's lightsaber," he explained, his voice unnaturally loud in the silence of the hold. His face lit up at the mere mention of the man. "He was a Jedi."

Vader wanted to cry.

He wanted to show Luke his lightsaber, the lightsaber he would make himself someday, which he'd been carrying since Endor. He wanted to show him what a great Jedi Luke could—and would—be.

But he'd left that lightsaber in the crashed X-wing—

This lightsaber is your life. . .

—and now he'd probably never see it again.

"Then," he tried, the words as clumsy as all attempts at affection were for him, "from what I've seen, I'm sure your father would be proud of you."

I am proud of you.

Luke's cheeks coloured. He lowered his face, slightly bashful, but he was still smiling. "You think?"

Then my father is truly dead, Luke had said, before he walked to his death.

Vader swallowed. "I am sure."

Luke opened his mouth to say something else, then there came an announcement over the comms that they were starting the landing sequence, and a few minutes later they were climbing out into the murky atmosphere.

Vader had cast his senses out before exiting, so he was expecting the petite storm of ferocity and worry that was Leia Organa to descend on Luke immediately, but his son was not.

He staggered back under her hug, then cringed when she started her rant.

"—reckless, gonna get yourself killed—"


"killed," Leia snapped at Vader, eyeing him and his prison with distaste. "Luke was killed. Killed by Palpatine, and his murderer's Empire is still thriving. And you're just going to sit there and let it?"

He blinked at her slowly. The rasp of his own respirator was irritating to his ears. "What would you have me do?" he said finally. His voice was just as apathetic as it had been for weekssince the Council had interrogated him, since he'd been locked in this cushy prison and started providing the necessary information, since. . . everything.

"Anything! Luke gave his life," she snarled the words, "to bring you back to the good side—you are not going to throw it away like this!"

"I am providing your Rebellion with information"

"And that information is fast becoming outdated. It's of limited value. How long before they decide you're more useful as a death to break Imperial spirits?"

"I hadn't realised you cared whether I lived or died."

"Oh, I care. I want you to die," Leia said baldly. "But I don't want Luke to have died in vain, and I don't want to believe I'm the biological daughter of a man irredeemable in every way, which is how it looks at the moment." Vader jerkedthat was the first time she'd acknowledged their biological relationship to his face. "So prove me wrong, Anakin, and prove Luke right."

Vader winced. She was right.

It hurt.

But he deserved the pain—then my father is truly dead—so he dealt with it.

"What would you have me do?" he asked. He tried to reach for something other than apathy inside him as he said it. The familiar anger wouldn't come, no matter how much he coaxed itwho was there to be angry at anymore, except himself?but one thing did come.

It came when he remembered Luke's determined I feel the good in you, let go of your hate, the way he'd smiled slightly when the door to the walker had slid open, his hand tossing his lightsaber away from him as he declared I am a Jedi, like my father before me. . .

Vader clenched his fists.

Please, Father!

Please!

Luke had given everything to save what was left of Vader. Vader would give everything he had left to save Luke's Rebellion.

"Apparently some Dark Side cult of the Emperor's has a few surviving members." Leia wrinkled her nose. "The Inquisitorius? They've been wreaking havoc since Palpatine died, and the Council would very much like a Force user to go after them."

"And they think I'm the best option for that?"

"Well, our only other Force user is dead," Leia deadpanned, "seeing as he went and got himself killed"


"—killed one day!"

Luke tried for an awkward grin, meeting Vader's eye over Leia's shoulder. Vader looked away hastily, heart hammering in his chest, throat tight.

It wouldn't happen this time, he swore. It wouldn't.

He wouldn't let it.

After a moment, Leia detached from her—unknown—brother, and approached him. "You're Ani?" she asked. He nodded. "Then you need to come with me. Luke," she looked to him, "you need to go to a debriefing of why you crashed." He had the decency to wince at that. "I'll take him from here."

Luke gave a mock salute, then scampered off. Leia rolled her eyes.

"This way," she told Vader, gesturing forward.

Horox III, he remembered, was a Rebel outpost, not a base. It only had a few hastily erected buildings around the main airfield, where Leia was leading him now. He could still hear the laughter of Luke and his friends, echoing through the stagnant atmosphere.

"Mon Mothma is who you'll be talking to," she told him. "She'll assign you your role in the Rebellion, see if you're up to the task." And test your loyalty, she didn't need to add. This period had been particularly bad for Imperial spies, he knew—he'd been the one to send them in.

But if it was Mon Mothma interviewing him. . . that was perfect. Of all the leaders of the Rebellion most likely to believe his story and help him, of course it would be Padmé's friend.

Nevertheless, it was with a mounting tension that he entered the small building that was apparently designated as the outpost's command. Things were going favourably so far, true, but. . . he couldn't trust that.

Everything relied on this conversation going right. He couldn't get to Darth Vader on his own.

And if he didn't change the past, what was the point of even being here?

Leia led him into a room, where a guard checked him for trackers, weapons, listening devices and anything else that might threaten them—they'd already done it on the trip, but it was best to be prepared, he knew—then he was pushed onwards.

The final room he came to a stop in was brightly lit but sparsely furnished, with only a round table and several chairs around it. Vader took a seat in one of them at his escort's gesture, then his escort left the room. The door clicked shut behind him.

Vader took a deep breath, feeling the oxygen rush down his throat and into his lungs, and closed his eyes. Tried to calm his nerves.

Then he reached out in the Force around him—Leia had moved on, was heading back to where Luke and his friends lingered on the airfield, but he could feel the command staff around him like buzzing bright lights. He delicately picked out of one person's mind where the holocams in this room were placed—and where the people monitoring them sat.

They weren't too far away. It was barely an effort on his part to reach out, cloud their minds slightly. He couldn't afford to have anyone but Mothma know about this.

She came in moments later. He opened his eyes as she strode in, her white robes swaying in time with her movements, just in time to see the calculated, appraising stare she fixed him with.

"I understand you want to join the Rebellion," she said.

"No," he answered candidly, making sure the minds of the people monitoring this were still clouded. "I don't want to join. But I'm a Jedi, and I need your help."

She stiffened, her eyes widening slightly the only sign of the alarm—and surprise—radiating into the Force.

Her hand slipped into a fold of her robe, where he assumed a blaster was hidden. "That's a bold statement to make," she said levelly, meeting his gaze. Her eyes moved across his face, but he saw no horror at his scars.

Instead, her gaze fixed on one scar, the scar that bisected his right eyebrow, and he sensed the realisation begin to dawn in her mind.

"I was a Jedi, before Order Sixty-Six. My name was Anakin Skywalker." He waited for that to settle it—though her mind was shielded, he heard the words Padmé and Commander Skywalker flicker across it—then repeated, "I need your help."


Vader still didn't know how he'd convinced her to help him—nor even how he'd convinced her to keep it a secret. She'd sat down across the table at some point, he'd lost his grip on the staff watching them at some point, but he wasn't sure when or how.

He just knew that she had helped.

She'd acquiesced to his one request—I need to get near to Vader—and granted him a single Imperial shuttle.

That would be enough. It had to be.

He knew where and when he had been at this point: over the shipyards of Kuat, having repairs done to the Executor. He set his course for there and waited.

For a single moment, he stretched out to the outpost below, felt Luke's bright presence for the last time. It was calm, dimmed with sleep, and he shook himself out of his inaction.

The longer he stayed here, the more likely that the Emperor could follow the Force here.

He punched the button and leapt to hyperspace.

Four sleepless days later, he arrived at Kuat.

He remembered the Imperial codes—at least, well enough to fool the exhausted deck officer who hailed him. He docked on the ship, he met the troopers escort. . . and he knocked them all unconscious.

He could have mind-tricked them, he supposed. But it was getting tense, and he was nervous.

He stole armour to disguise himself, despite the hell it was trying to get it on over his respirator, and marched through the halls.

It wasn't long before he was marching on Darth Vader's quarters.

The door slid open with a hiss when he entered the right code. He tore the helmet off his head, then, and dropped his shields—just in time to feel the festering darkness this galaxy was so rampant with jerk in shock.

Its source whirled round, cape snapping at his heels; Vader didn't need the Force to feel his past self's glare fixate on him, feel him reaching out to strangle him for the audacity of coming in here—

Vader batted the attempt away.

His counterpart jerked back in shock. The lights shifted over the contours of the mask—Vader had been assured by the Rebels and the emotions he felt in his subordinates that that mask was terrifying, but right now he didn't see it.

Right now, knowing what he knew about him, Darth Vader was not a terrifying man.

He was a pathetic man.

"You do not want to kill me," he told him, and let him feel the truth of the words in the Force.

Darth Vader told a step forward and reached for his lightsaber, switching it on. Its buzz was the loudest thing in the room.

"Jedi," he spat, even if they both knew it was a lie.

"I am not a Jedi," Vader spat back. He had expected this sort of reaction, planned for it—but he was irritated by it nonetheless. "I am a warning."

Darth Vader immediately stiffened at that.

He pointed his lightsaber at him. "You are a person, one whom I shall have no qualms about killing if you don't—"

"If you kill me, Luke will die."

He froze, then dropped his hand. The lightsaber fell back to his side, unlit. "What did you just say?"

"If you kill me, your son, Luke Skywalker, will die," Vader said calmly—except he wasn't calm, because everything depended on this— "Is that clear?"

"You lie. I—"

"There will be no dreams to warn you this time, Anakin—"

"That is not my name—"

"—only dreams to haunt you after he is dead. You will have no warning, unless you listen to me. I am your warning." He spread his arms wide. He felt Darth Vader's gaze fix on his breathing mask, the brown hood over the top half of his face. "Kill me, and you kill him too."

His past self took a breath. "If it is Skywalker's destiny to die—"

"We are not liars," Vader interrupted. "Do not lie to yourself. He is your son." Darth Vader was oddly quiet. "It will destroy you when you lose him, and nothing, no power in the Dark or Light Side of the Force, will bring him back or make it stop hurting. It will rip you apart, and others will kick you back into shape just long enough for you to do something useful, and then you will fall apart again. A shattered man. You will lose everything," Vader stressed the word, "but nothing compares to losing him."

Darth Vader still wasn't moving.

"Just as nothing compares to losing her."

That got a reaction from him. A burst of static spat from his vocoder, then he was striding forward, feet kicking up his cape behind him, until they stood face to face.

Vader was so used to looking down at everyone that it was odd, staring directly ahead. It was even odder trying to work out where on the mask he should look to meet his counterpart's eyes—but that had been a common thing, he remembered. No one knew where to look to meet his eye.

No one, except Luke. . .

Darth Vader was staring at him intently, so Vader made it easier on him by lowering the hood.

He jerked back.

Vader knew what he was seeing. His health had improved massively since Leia had foisted medical intervention on him, but they'd left his face alone. There'd been more important things to worry about than skin long since scarred.

He looked exactly the way he had when he'd sat in his hyperbaric chamber, staring at the only mirror present, mourning the man he'd become.

"You. . ." Darth Vader seemed at loss for words. "Who are you?"

Vader didn't know.

"A shattered man," he said.

Darth Vader shook his head. "That's not an answer. Why are you here?"

"I don't know why the Force sent me here, to this time," Vader said candidly. "But I am here because I have seen the future, and I won't allow it to happen again."

"And what would you have me do?" his counterpart snapped. "What will prevent the terrible future you prophesise?"

Vader knew that wasn't what he was asking. He waited, until he said—

"What will help me save Luke from— from. . ."

He couldn't finish the sentence. Half-turned his head away even as he said it.

Vader watched him for a moment. The only sound in the room was both of their breathing, automatically in sync. They were the same person, after all.

"Leave the Empire," he said. "Leave everything else behind, while you still can."

Darth Vader turned as if he'd been slapped, taking another half step back.

Come away with me.

Leave everything else behind while we still can.

"I will not," he got out heatedly, the words more reaction than rhetoric. "Luke will turn to the Dark Side, help me overthrow Palpatine, and they we will rule the galaxy as father and son, I—"

"Luke will not turn!" Vader shouted. The words tore out of his throat, leaving it aching and raw, but he didn't care. "I have seen it—I have lived it. He will not."

"And what else have you seen?" Darth Vader was trying to hide the panic and desperation in his voice, but despite the vocoder, it wasn't working. "What will happen?"

How will I lose the only family I have left?

Vader looked away.

"Luke will come to you on Endor," he said. "At the site of the second Death Star's construction. He will hand himself in to the local garrison; they will give him to you. And he will beg you to come away with him."

Come away with me!

Come with me.

"He will insist there is still good in you. He will urge you to let go of your hate, and come with him.

"You will ignore him."

Then my father is truly dead.

"You will take him to the Emperor. Palpatine will taunt him with the destruction of the Alliance and his friends until Luke attacks him. You will defend him. The two of you duel.

"Luke puts away his lightsaber after a few minutes, and says he will not fight his father."

Darth Vader sucked in a breath out of sync with the respirator. "Foolish child," he muttered.

"He will maintain this stance until you threaten his. . . friends." He did not trust his past self enough to tell him about Leia. "Then, he will become angry and attack, overpowering you and slicing off your hand. Much the same way you had when the two of you first met.

"Palpatine will tell Luke to kill you, and take your place at his side."

Fulfil your destiny. . .

"Luke will refuse."

"What." Darth Vader stepped forward again, hand twitching. "Stupid boy. Palpatine—"

"Luke will throw away his lightsaber, saying that he is a Jedi, like his father before him. And Palpatine will believe him.

"He electrocutes him, mercilessly, until he is screaming and crying and dying for help, and you. . ."

Vader's voice broke.

He squeezed his eyes shut and continued, "I just stood there. Frozen. I did not move to help him. Luke, my son, was writhing on the floor in agony, and I didn't move. I barely blinked. I couldn't hear anything except a high-pitched keening.

"Then he was gone.

"Palpatine may have gloated in the interim. He may have drawn out Luke's death, prodding him, before announcing that he was going to die and letting him take the full brunt of his power. That seems more like him, but I don't know what happened. I was barely aware of my surroundings.

"But I felt it when he vanished.

"It was like a cord in my chest had snapped, or a piece had been hacked out of my heart. It was a light in the dark going out, and when I realised what had happened—what I had let happen. . ."

He was shaking now. His voice, his arms, his legs. He was shaking all over, his eyes squeezed shut. That one image, that one horrible image of Luke lying lifeless on the throne room floor, was branded into his mind. He was sure Darth Vader could see it too.

"I was apoplectic. I lost all control. I think I seized the Force and threw Palpatine down a reactor shaft, killing him, but I don't know and I don't care. I just know that he died.

"And so did Luke."

He opened his eyes again, well aware that his cheeks were soaked. His past self had barely moved throughout the whole story.

"So that, Vader, is what will happen if you don't leave the Empire. It will die anyway, as will its leader, and you will only lose your son because of your inaction." He lifted his chin. "No nightmares here, Anakin." A shake of his head. "The dream is real this time."

Darth Vader watched him carefully as he turned to leave.

"That is your warning. And the choice is up to you."


Vader left his past self on those parting words, and strode back out of the room. Darth Vader let him go. When he strode through the hallways sans his disguise, no one stopped him. He assumed orders had been sent out there, as well.

He took the shuttle he'd come in, and went.

It was in a dusty bar on Dantooine, several weeks and hyperspace jumps later, that he finally sat to reflect on all that had happened. The sun was setting over the fields, and he was just thinking about how there used to be a Rebel base here when he felt the light touch of a Force presence behind him.

His heart stuttered. Was that—

He turned.

The boy made an odd ghost, his otherwise bright colouring muted and blue. Vader was familiar with how it worked, having been visited by Obi-Wan multiple times after Endor, but his old Master had never thought— never mentioned

"Hello, Father."

"Luke," he breathed.

His son sat himself down in the seat opposite him, and turned his gaze towards the sunset. The window was grimy; a variety of amber and gold hues radiated out from each spot of dirt and grease, giving the view a strangely ethereal look.

He supposed it was fitting, given that he was talking to a ghost.

He clutched a hand round his drink, bought from the credits he'd scrounged in the shuttle. "I'm sorry."

Luke's smile was sad. "I know you are. I forgive you. You have to know I've never held it against you."

"You should. I handed you over to him, I practically killed you—"

"I've let go of that. If I hadn't, I couldn't be here. It's not the Jedi way."

"Luke—" He shook his head. "I've tried to change things, here. They could be different, you could survive—"

"I know. That's why I'm here."

"Why—" He blinked. "Why are you here? Why did you never come before?"

"I'm not a Force ghost. I never did the training to become one. I will never be able to manifest myself whenever I like, however I like. I will never see Han and Leia again, until the day when they both pass into the Force as well." He blinked harshly. "Nor you, Father."

"Then how are you here now?"

"The Force itself sent me." He held out a hand. "I'm here to take you home."

Home.

There was no home there—not anymore.

Not without Padmé and Luke.

He shook his head fervently. "No. I can't—I have to make sure I change things here. I'll not leave you, I've got to save you—"

"You already have." There was some weight behind the words, according to the mystic look on Luke's face, but Vader had no idea what it could be. "The timeline has split, Father. Look."

He nodded towards the screen above the bar, playing the Imperial news. Flashing letters appeared on the screen.

EMPEROR PALPATINE ASSASSINATED. LORD VADER TO ASSUME THE THRONE.

"I work fast," Vader muttered.

Luke laughed. "You do. And this galaxy is moving towards the better because of it." He held out his hand. "Now it's time to return to ours."

Vader eyed the hand. "If I go. . ." He took a deep breath. "I'll never see you again?"

"I'll always be with you, Father," Luke promised, "if only in spirit." Then— "I, and my mother."

Vader's head snapped up.

He croaked, "You've met her."

"I have."

Vader had so many questions, so much he needed to know. Did she hate him? Did she mourn?

Was she proud of Luke, Leia, all they'd accomplished?

But Luke was holding out his hand again, and Vader was powerless before that look on his face.

It was a look of utter serenity—the Jedi Luke could have and should have been, had he lived.

The Jedi he still might be, in this galaxy.

"Come with me."

Come with me.

Vader took his hand.