I need a Beta reader to help my dyslexic ass properly process words, sometimes I swear it jumbles and starts to look Swedish.

I own nothing

If you spot any grammatical mistakes or spelling ones please feel free to point them out so that I can fix them, sometimes they slip past me and I'm not all that good at grammar and spelling due to my dyslexia, I do use spell checker a lot. feedback is always greatly appreciated whether negative or positive. Enjoy :)

Chapter One

Hope is Reckless

"Wooohooo!" blue eyes widened in awe as tiny particles of sand flew past his view finder, the sun's rays bounced of it slightly impeding his ability to see but it did not worry him for he'd done this many times before, he was a master at this, he knew the sky was where he truly belonged, it was in his blood.

His blonde hair was covered in sweat and sand which clung to his forehead like a wet rag, his small hands firmly clasp the controls until his knuckles turned white, he was truly meant to walk the sky.

He bit his lip in concentration, he was close he could feel it. It was only a little ways past Beggars canyon and then he'd find his destination, the stone needle a small ring-shaped rock formation which only the most elite pilots could past through, Luke was determined to be the youngest piolet alive to do it.

He knew the ride would be awfully risky as the harsh pointed brown rocks were a hazard many experienced pilots had warned him of, his uncle had warned him many times not to fly unattended let alone near the stone needle. The glare of the suns between the circular rock formation made it almost impossible for anyone to judge the distance and paired with the dangerous climate it was a huge risk, this place was further up in the mountains which trapped in heat and made it rise and cook anyone within minutes, he'd heard that some pilots even pasted out at the controls. But Luke Lars wasn't just anyone he was born to do this, he was born to be a pilot, the best one the galaxy had ever seen and he'd be damned if he let his paranoid uncle and some stupid rocks stand in his way of chasing his dream.

"Luke slow down you're coming in too fast!" His friend Biggs' voice made its concern known over his intercom, it's signal crackled as static distorted his voice slightly. He really needed to get that fixed, the stupid thing was older than him and sometimes malfunctioned in a way that would pick up other channels from across the galaxy, it truly was a fossil, but it was his fossil.

His Skyhopper was his pride and joy; his uncle had acquired it just after the Clone Wars and he'd got quite a bargain for it too, the model was outdated even back then and he'd got it second hand as a faster way to travel around Tatooine but Luke had other plans for it of course, he planned to convert it into a hyperspace compatible aircraft, capable of withstanding space and making advanced hyperspace jumps. He'd never been to space before, but he'd read all about ships, he was certain he'd be the best pilot in the galaxy. He's been making modifications to it to make it faster and handle better. He truly loved his hopper.

"Don't worry Biggs I got this!" he laughed his blue eyes sparkled with childish wonder. He made a quick glance back to see Biggs' Skyhopper not to far behind him he narrowed his eyes in challenge. Biggs' family were quite wealthy by Tatooine standards and could therefore afford the best for him, although he felt envious of his best friends Hopper as it was the newest model out he'd never made his feelings known since Biggs never treated him like he was below him so it just didn't seem fair for him to belittle him and act so cold towards his oldest friend.

Biggs rolled his eyes and adjusted his thrusters "Don't get too cocky Lars!" he teased and moved his Hopper behinds his young friends.

Luke stuck his tongue out at him and skilfully dodged past some nearby boulders and stared out in awe, he was so very close he was going to thread the needle and he'd do it before Biggs got the opportunity to do it, the thought made his heart swell with pride. "Shut up will you I got this!" he shouted; his eyes narrowed he was so close.

He wiped his forehead and glanced at his sweaty hand, even from inside his Hopper he wasn't safe from the unbearable heat of the Tatooine suns, he thought he'd have gotten used to it by now but Tatooine was unpredictable and most importantly dangerous. He felt a shiver of anticipation run down his spine and tingle in his bones, he fast approached the narrow opening of the stone needle and his heart began to beat at an impossibly fast pace, his hands tingled and shook with anxiety.

His eyes blurred slightly but he never moved his gaze away from the perfect opening. "Warning! to low terrain! Warning! to low terrain!" he glanced at the central control panel flashing it's warning in deep red texts "Oh no not good." He groaned.

"Luke watch out!" Biggs called out over his intercom, but it was too late.

He pulled up as sharply as he could but his left wing made a terrible sound as it scrapped against the left pillar, white and blue paint particles flew past his view finder, his heart pounded in his ears as the ship shook and spun, the constant spinning paired with the intense glare from the suns made him feel slightly disoriented and sick, his eyes throbbed at the glare and he was sure the sight had burnt holes in his retners . He grasped the forward thrusters and frantically hit the button for the stabilizers and by some short miracle made his landing launching himself forward in his seat and catching his forehead on the clutch controls.

"LUKE!" Biggs made his landing nearby and frantically ran towards the wreckage; his larger hands fiddled with the cockpit, he hissed as the metal scorched and blistered the palms of his hands, he managed to fumble it open but a part of him wished he hadn't, inside sat Luke looking smug as ever arms folded against his chest, eyes wide in stunned awe.

His shocked eyes met his and he burst out into hysterical laughter "That was amazing! Biggs, I did it!" he cheered, grasping the sides of his Hopper he jumped out and inspected the damage, a deep cut ran down his forehead, but he ignored it, to stunned to even acknowledge it.

Biggs glared at him, clearly unimpressed "You could have gotten killed!" he scolded slapping his arm lightly.

"I know! But I didn't!" he cheered in disbelief.

Biggs stared at his Hopper and signed; the damage was extensive it's a miracle Luke was still in one piece. Half of the left wing had completely fallen off somewhere and the right one was smoking, from the looks of it his stabilizers were fucked, and his engines fried, not the mention the broken view finder, Luke truly was lucky to be alive. "Look at your Hooper what's your uncle gonna say?" he questioned.

Luke stared at it and shrugged "Who cares it's my birthday!" he laughed "I can't believe I thread the needle on my birthday!" he cheered. He was sure that once the shock wore of Luke would start to panic, his uncle had given him strict orders to never fly, he was sure to go ballistic once he saw the extent of the damage to his most antique ship. Birthday or not Luke Lars would most likely be grounded for the next 2 seasons if he was lucky, but most likely for life—yep definitely for life.

Biggs sighed and rubbed a hand through his wet hair "You're impulsive Lars you're lucky you made 12." Biggs chuckled and patted his shoulder.

He chuckled "Let's head to Touché Station I think she's still alright to fly, plus I got to tell everyone about this!" he boasted.

Biggs stared at him in disbelief "You're kiddin right? Surely, you're not serious that things fried Luke, I'll call my dad to tow it to your uncles, hopefully by the time you get back he'd have calmed down."

The short ride to Touché Station was uneventful He couldn't help but think about his Aunt and Uncle at home, they must be furious. He frowned and placed his head in his arms and watched the world go by from his seat in the speeder, there was nothing really to see just endless miles of desert and occasionally bones, but it was moments like this he treasured, it allowed him to contemplate and analyse his situation, he was reckless—uncle Owen had said so many times before that he was immature and reckless and one day that would get him killed if he wasn't careful.

His eyes glossed over, suddenly melancholy. He couldn't help it, he didn't know why trouble followed him everywhere he went, it stuck to him like a plague, it was in his blood to be reckless—whenever he went near a speeder his blood tingled and all logic went straight out of the window. Was his father the same way? He couldn't ever remember a time where he'd asked of him much beyond a name and gotten an honest answer—his father was dead he wasn't naïve uncle Owen had said so many times before, but that didn't stop him from wishing it wasn't true and that, by some miracle the mysterious man would come and take him away from his pain and help him to understand himself so much better than his uncle ever did. He was an outcast here, but at least they'd be outcasts together.

He allowed a stray tear to slide down his cheek, or so he thought. The harsh climate of Tatooine made his tears all but boil and evaporate before he could shed them.

Father

The word felt so alien to him, he'd never had a father of his own, he couldn't even remember his name, uncle Owen didn't allow him to ask questions about him which only fed his animosity because deep down he was jealous—jealous of his friends for having parents, jealous of the close relationship Biggs had with his parents that he'd never have. He felt unwanted—unloved and he knew he shouldn't, life wasn't horrible at home but it wasn't good either, Owen and Beru weren't his parents, he wasn't loved and wanted in the same way that his friends were and he never would be.

What his name again? Anniyen? Aviken? He couldn't remember.

He felt a gentle hand grasp his shoulder "Luke you okay buddy?" he turned to stare into Biggs' concerned eyes, he managed a smile and nodded "Just thinking." He mumbled

His eyes narrowed "Well, we're here buddy don't you wanna tell everyone about your hopper? You've been gloating about it nonstop since it happened."

He winced "You were right." He mumbled, folding his head into his arms some more, now that the initial excitement and adrenaline had worn away, he was replaced with a cold guilt that ate away at him slowly as the hours ticked by. He knew that what he did was beyond reckless and one wrong move would have gotten him killed he just wished his uncle would've understood why he'd done what he'd done, understood the helplessness that came over him when he saw a way out. He wouldn't understand—never would understand, he'd berate him until tears and ban him from flying, not that it stopped him from doing it anyway.

Biggs gently caressed his shoulder, it was meant to be comforting, but it wasn't. "About what kiddo?"

"My stupid uncle, he'll ground me for life." He whined, his blue eyes peeking out from under his blonde hair.

His friend smiled "Don't depress yourself Lars, I was just as reckless as you when I was your age." He reassured, but he could hardly believe it. Biggs Darklighter—reckless? He was always the voice of reason in his life, his best friend. They'd been friend for as long as he could remember; it was always Biggs that had his back and looked out for him, he supposed it was because he was older than himself, at 16 years old he was lucky to have him in his life so long. Not many avoided the military draft, especially out in the outer rim where Laws were but a phantom concept. It was only a matter of time before the Empire found him, every day they were edging closer and closer to the outer rim and as his Aunt said, "exploiting the good people." Whatever that meant. He never really cared all that much for politics—he didn't understand what they were fighting for and against all he knew was that he had to obey the Empire, or they'd be heavy prices to pay for his disloyalty.

He shuddered. His friend Windy recently had his father taken captive by the Empire, said something about being a rebel sympathiser—whatever that meant, he'd come back horribly disfigured missing fingers, teeth, tongue and eyes, the incident scarred his friend.

He looked at his friend, whose black hair clung to his forehead like a wet bacta patch, his skin was tanned from years under the Tatooine suns, it aged people over long exposer; he just wished it'd age him so he wouldn't continue to look 9. "You do not understand Biggs, he'll blow it way out of proportion, I-I'll never leave the house again." He sulked, slumping dramatically into his seat.

Biggs made a swift movement to get out of the speeder, he walked around to offer him his hand, but he just stared at it as though it was alien. He sighed "Come on I doubt that's true Kiddo, he'll be angry but give him a couple of days."

He buried his head back into his arms and sighed "More like years, my house will become the spire of Stygeon Prime." He mumbled, he knew it was petty to sulk, aunt Beru had told him so many times before "Do not sulk little boy, they're many in the galaxy who'd die for what you have." She'd lectured—yeah right, people would die for passive aggressive guardians? He highly doubted that, he'd rather be anywhere else but home right now.

He groaned, regretting even stepping foot out of the house today, birthday or not—he was always causing trouble and this time he'd be in for more than a lecture on responsible flying, heck, he wasn't even old enough to be flying. Why couldn't the Hopper just fix itself? Maybe if he closed his eyes and wished on it long enough it'd magically fix itself and he could go home and forget all about this dreadful day.

Biggs rolled his eyes "you're so dramatic Lars."

"Look it's Wormie!" he froze, he knew that voice. It was Camie Marstrap, she was a couple of years older than himself at only 14 years old, but he never really knew what to think of her. She was cold, he wasn't entirely sure if she was teasing him by calling him Wormie or other degrading pet names for his lack of height but she and her boyfriend Laze Loneozner always had something nasty to say to him. They were only civil with him because he was friends with Biggs, plus he didn't trust Laze at all he was 18 and involved in all sorts of dodgy stuff he'd rather not ask about, what was contraband and why did he go on about it so much?

He spun around and groaned, Laze had his arm wrapped around Camie's waist, there hair messy and clothes dirty. He'd rather not ask how they'd gotten that way. Behind them stood more of their friends, he wasn't entirely sure on their names, but they didn't look friendly. "Don't call me that!" he grumbled.

Camie smirked "What's the matter Wormie? You're supposed to be happy on your birthday." She teased.

"He's just upset he crashed his Hopper." Biggs stepped in for him, and he was glad for it.

Laze analysed him with his dark brown eyes, he shuddered slightly and looked away. Laze broke out into a grin. "Happy birthday Runt, how old are you now?"

He looked up from his arms "Twelve." He mumbled back.

He moved closer to the speeder and fiddled around inside his tunic pulling out a poorly wrapped parcel of some kind, it had Imperial Trade logos on it and had obviously been through a lot before ending up in Laze's hands. "I got something for ya then, here." He handed him the parcel and he examined it some more, apart from the labels it was circular in nature.

He looked up at Laze's grinning face and raised his brow. "What is this?" he asked.

He rolled his eyes "A gift, have you never had a gift before? Open it." he pressed, his friends snickered at his inexperience.

He looked over the Biggs who shrugged and stood nearby, he turned to look at Camie and Laze with suspicion, Laze was never nice to him, so why would he get him a gift? It just didn't make any sense. He shrugged his shoulders and tore into the wrapping revealing a bottle of some sort, the liquid inside seemed to be of a crimson colour but he struggled to tell with the dark coloured glass which held it. "Why would you give me a gift? I don't even know what this is." He asked.

Laze smirked "Corellian wine, finest in the galaxy you're a man now 'bout time you started actin' like it." He patted his shoulder roughly and he flinched in his seat.

Luke frowned "Where did you get this?"

He smirked "Imperial shipment to Coruscant, those braindead bucketheads left the crates in the open I seized the opportunity." Laze boasted.

He stared "But that's stealing!" He exclaimed

"Who's around to stop me? You? Good luck with that Runt" He smirked, his taller frame smacked Luke on the head roughly, he winced at the treatment.

He screwed open the bottle and took a sniff, the pungent scent immediately repelled him back somewhat, Camie and Laze cackled. The scent wasn't pleasant, it reminded him of the type of drinks his Aunt and Uncle would have around life day, foul smelling and forbidden. He rubbed his nose to try and rid himself of the acidic smell radiating from the bottle, it burnt his nostrils whenever he breathed it in. why did adults drink this stuff it can't be good for you?

Camie leaned over the side of the speeder and smiled, not a pleasant smile. "What're you waiting for take a sip Wormie!" Camie taunted.

He shook his head and held the bottle to Laze "I shouldn't." he protested.

"Do it!" Laze's friends began to surround the speeder, Biggs was pushed uncomfortable close to the side of it, but all protests died on his lips.

"Honestly Lars it'll be fine, just take a sip and discard it on your way home, you don't want any trouble." Biggs whispered in his ear.

"Is this even safe? You are supposed to be the voice of reason here." He protested.

Camie leaned back of the speeder and rolled her eyes. "he's scared, Wormie's a coward." She taunted. "I dunno why, you're late to the party anyway, Fixer's been drinking since he was 7." He looked down at the drink, shame overwhelmed him as his cheeks turned red. Laze had been drinking since he was 7. Was that even safe? Why hadn't Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru let him do it sooner then?

He glared at her and grabbed the bottle back from Laze. "Am not!" he angrily protested.

She glared back "Then do it! What're you waiting for." She urged.

He closed his eyes tightly and pressed the bottle up to his lips, allowing the liquid to pour inside. It was bitter but not unpleasantly so, strangely enough the longer he kept it in his mouth the sweeter it became. Screwing his eyes tighter he took a fierce gulp and cringed as the liquid burnt its way down his throat and settled in his empty stomach like acid. It left an unpleasant aftertaste in his throat and left his tongue feeling furry.

Hands shaking slightly, he took another mouthful of the liquid and found this one to be a lot sweeter than the last. It had this strange effect on him that he didn't quite understand, but the more mouthfuls he took the calmer and giddier he became. His head felt empty, like it was pumped full of warm air that jumbled his thoughts with every sudden movement. He couldn't really concentrate on much at all. He swore he could feel it tingling and burning in his very blood. Strange.

He barely registered the firm grasp of his hand as it removed the bottle. He felt sick, his head was spinning worse than any Hopper crash. The speeder door was opened, and he was turned around to face Biggs, his friend's hands firmly placed onto his shoulders, holding him there.

"You've had enough buddy." He frowned, his friend's voice whispered near his ear, but he couldn't remember him ever moving that close, his voice sounded so far away, why couldn't he think straight? He didn't like this—he didn't like this at all, he was scared.

He took in a shaky breath and placed his feet firmly on the ground, or at least he hoped he had. When he stood up the ground begun to spin worse, his legs shook, and he lost his footing and fell straight onto the floor.

Biggs rushed to his side "Careful Luke, come on take it easy you're very sick." He sounded—scared? He'd never heard Biggs ever sound this scared about anything before and it unnerved him. He rolled onto his back and frowned. It was dark, this was bizarre, was he dreaming? He could have sworn it was afternoon when he'd taken his first gulp. When he concentrated, he realised that Camie, Laze and their gang had gone and he was cold, the cold air biting into his skin and teasing his bones with every caress. What happened?

He groaned "M-my head." He whimpered.

Biggs helped him stand on shaky legs and shifted his small frame back over to the speeder. "I should get you back home." He said, it sounded more like a mumble to him.

His head was so fuzzy it hurt. Biggs reached over to clasp his seatbelt firmly around his torso. He couldn't go home in his state, he was disoriented, he felt sick uncle Owen would only get more upset if he saw him. He bolted up and struggled weakly against the seatbelt "N-no." he mumbled.

Firm large hands pushed him back down into his seat until he stopped struggling, he felt weak, where was his energy? Why did it feel as though his senses were more alert? He could hear every single bug which crawled across the sand, smell every stench in the air, even Biggs' strong cologne. "Luke you fainted, I'm not a medic you could have been seriously hurt." Biggs explained his eyes wide with concern and fear. He'd fainted? He couldn't have he would have remembered doing so? But it would explain the loss of time and why he felt so disoriented.

"I said no!" he snapped, He didn't need to go home, he needed to find a way to fix this, Aunt Beru would probably faint if she saw him. If the Hopper didn't get him grounded for the rest of his life this surely would.

Biggs grew impatient "You're unbelievable! You drunk the whole bottle, that's not safe for an adult let alone you, a twelve-year-old boy, you could be suffering from severe alcohol poisoning." He snapped back.

"I-I feel fine." He mumbled back. He knew he didn't, and that Biggs was most likely right, he felt horrible he could bare keep his eyes open in his state. He leaned back against the seat and carefully moved his hands in front of his face, they were shaking, and his world still hadn't stopped spinning. He took in a shaky breath and fond his eyes to be a lot sharper than he remembered them to be.

Biggs fiddled around in his pocket and threw him a water stick, he fumbled around with it for a few minutes before opening it. "I'm not a babysitting droid Luke! You need to grow up I'm not always going to be around to make sure you preserve your life and stay out of trouble." Biggs lectured.

"I don't need you too, it was an accident!" he defended himself as best as he could in his foggy state, he had to admit that the water had worked millions on him, it helped him to think clearly for a little while which was a plus.

Biggs sighed and flopped into the driver's seat. "Everything seems to be a constant accident to you." He whispered

Biggs was right, he knew he was, but he was too proud to admit it too him, he was a disaster. Even on his birthday of all days he'd managed to mess everything up so badly. Why did Uncle Owen even keep him around this long? He felt a stabbing ache in his heart, it wasn't uncommon, but he knew he'd start crying soon if he continued this talk, he shuddered and sniffed back the tears he knew were coming. "I can't help it okay? Don't turn into my uncle, not today." He whispered

His friend huffed and clasped his own seat belt firmly shut and leaned against his window in silence. "You don't know how lucky you truly are kiddo." Biggs muttered back, breaking the uncomfortable silence which hung awkwardly between them. He hated silence, it always made things worse than better Aunt Beru would do it whenever she knew he was right, it was her way of attempting to be a bigger person. He found it damn right patronizing; he didn't need it from Biggs as well.

He didn't know why it made him angry, he felt it all bubbling over. He wasn't lucky, if this was lucky then he'd hate to see unlucky. He wanted freedom, he wanted to go wherever he wanted without his uncle screaming at him later, he wanted to fly, he was practically an adult by Tatooine standards so why did everyone feel the need to patronize him constantly? "Really? Because I am not! You know nothing of my situation." He choked back the rising feeling in his chest as best as he could, it wasn't fair. After today he'd never get off this rock.

A hand rested gently on his shoulder "I know not having a dad has been hard for you, you look for him in everyone, even me. But I'm not your dad and I can't look out for you forever." His friends' tone was gentle, his hand gently rubbing his shoulder, it was meant to comfort him but only angered him further. He flinched away from the hand.

"I do not want you to be my father, just kriff off about it alright?" He cried, his barrier of self-preservation broken by just one word—one word and he always seemed to crumble, and he didn't understand why, why it hurt him so much to think of him. Was he happy amongst the stars? He hated to ask but he wondered how he felt leaving him behind.

Biggs sighed and flopped back in his chair, his brown eyes stared at the stars for a little while before moving to fix his gaze back onto him "You should treat your uncle with more respect, he's done a damn good job to raise you, he could've turned you away to Family Services." He said.

His shoulders were shaking from his crying, his eyes red and sore from rubbing so hard at them, he was turned away from his friend he didn't want to give him the satisfaction of his tears, didn't want him to know he'd won this fight. "Stop talking about it, just drive me home." He mumbled through his tears wiping snot on sleeve.

"Very well." He muttered back, moving over to start up the speeder. They drove in silence for a little while, which he was thankful for, it allowed him to gain his composure.

His friend sighed "I know you're hurting Luke, but doing dangerous stunts will only get you killed faster, do you want that?" he explained

He wasn't sure what he wanted right now, maybe home he didn't know he just wished he could get the argument with his uncle over and done with quickly so that he could forget this terrible day. He remained silent.

"I see." Biggs replied.

He sighed and sat up in his seat rubbing his eyes dry once more. "I do not understand why I think of him." He replied.

His friend smiled, a strained smile. "He's your dad you miss him, it's natural." He replied.

He looked back out the window, his homestead was in the distance and his anxiety seemed to be waiting there for him. "But…I never knew him." He whispered.

Never knew him

His anxiety skyrocketed the second he saw the destroyed Skyhopper parked intimidatingly at the side of the homestead, mocking him for his recklessness. He bit his lip and fiddled nervously with his hands before turning to Biggs who was too busy driving to notice his growing hysteria.

"I-I thought you said your dad fixed it for me." He shakily enquired, he could hear his heart in his ears, Uncle Owen would be utterly furious with him, it wasn't the first time he'd displeased his uncle, it just seemed the older he got the more of a burden he became to the old man. He already knew that his presence had been a burden since the second he was brought to his Aunt and Uncle; it was his Aunt Beru who'd convince the man to let him live with them.

Biggs turned to him and frowned "I said my dad would move it home for you, I never said he'd fix it." He replied, tapping his fingers against the clutch controls. He was nervous, Luke could see that. Biggs didn't want to end up being blamed for what had happened. He frowned; he should be equally to blame in his opinion.

He bit his lip and felt a sickly stir of anxiety swim around in his stomach. His stomach acid suddenly boiling to an excruciating stir which boiled in his blood and left him agitated. The effects of what he'd drunken hadn't fully worn off yet, he still felt weak and disoriented. He wondered if this was just another late side effect of his recklessness. "B-but my Uncle." He weakly protested.

His friend stopped the speeder outside his homestead and fixed him a worried half smile. "Just be the bigger person and admit you're sorry and it won't happen again, the worst he can do is ground you." He advised, his larger tanned hands rested gently on his shoulders, giving him a comforting squeeze.

He looked around and tensed in his seat. It was way past his curfew, I knew only that. The twin suns had long since set and the sky lit up the desert with thousands of tiny stars, he wondered if each star had a planet and whether someone out there was feeling the exact same as himself. A light foggy mist settled on the ground as the once scorched surface rapidly cooled down and recovered from the vicious on slaughter of the suns heat. The effect was always one of the most beautiful things about Tatooine, when the suns set it left a colourful almost otherworldly mist which covered the distant sand dunes in a blanket of colour, without the proper equipment it was almost impossible for someone to navigate themselves through the desert at night and not to mention extremely dangerous.

The tuskin raider camps of Tatooine usually made their raids at night, where security was not as tight and visibility near zero. His Uncle had fought some of them off over the years, but others were not so lucky. Camie had her speeder stolen and her mother beaten to a bloody mess when a band of 20 tuskins invaded her homestead and ransacked the place. Tuskins always held animosity towards the human population of Tatooine, Aunt Beru told him that over the last 30 years it had gotten worse, an urban legend he was often told by other locals was that a man once slaughtered a village of Tuskins seemingly in a fit of uncontrollable rage. He shuddered, no wonder they wanted revenge.

He sighed and just admired the sky for a moment, it always seemed like his freedom was so close yet always so very far away. "I don't want to be grounded." He mumbled.

His friend removed his grip and sighed "Tough luck, your actions have consequences." He replied.

He frowned at that "I didn't hear you rushing to stop me, if anything you encouraged me." He countered.

There was a silence, an awkward one.

"And I regret that." His friend eventually replied, his voice laced with fatigue, whether it was about the time or himself he didn't know. Either way it rubbed him the wrong way.

He turned his head to stare at his friend, who made every move to avoid eye contact, he was busy fiddling with controls. "You're just happy you're off the hook for now." He mumbled.

Biggs jerked back from the controls as if they'd burnt him. He fixed him a cold glare, frustration boiled beneath his brown eyes "Look I've had enough of your self-righteous attitude for today Luke, I moved it and drove you home the least you could do is thank me." He snapped.

He jolted out up out of his laid-back position and fixed his friend with an equally as cold glare. Thank him for what? Why was Biggs suddenly being so cold towards him? He always thanked him and helped him out he just couldn't understand why he'd say something like that. He knew he was thankful, so he didn't bother saying it this time, surely, he'd known, right? "Thank you for what? Getting me in trouble for the hundredth time?" he replied, his shock was evident on his face.

The disbelief in his friends eyes soon turned to rage "You get me in trouble all the time, you never bother to help me out!" he hissed back, his hands fiddled something and suddenly his door was unlocked and opening itself.

Was he really kicking him out? "That's not true and you know it, I help you all the time, you're a big lair." He protested.

"Really? When?" his friend accused, his eyes scrutinized his every move as he moved to grab his discarded back at his feet. His hands clumsily grabbed it and fiddled awkwardly with it for a moment, the alcohol had really messed with his motor skills.

"Look can we just not argue right now?" he pleaded

His friend turned away from him and huffed "Fine, goodnight." He replied plainly.

"Whatever." He mumbled back, dragging his feet across the sand as he made his decent towards his home stead, he felt more like he was doing a death march to his own funeral. He took in a deep shaky breath and entered.

Hands immediately smothered him, the smell of lavender assaulted his senses and his shoulders seized up in terror. "Where have you been!" Aunt Beru's form held him at arm's length, her hands placed firmly onto his shoulders, her eyes were wide in terror and every wrinkle on her face was crinkled up in concern, her eyes analysed his filthy form with such a possessiveness that it made him shiver.

"I-." he was so frozen by the frantic display of concern that he'd stumbled on his words. Aunt Beru had never rushed at him like this before, it frightened him and made his already fragile composer waver and threaten to collapse.

Gentle hands grabbed his face, he heard her inhale suddenly. His blood froze in his veins "What happened to your face? You're filthy! Were you attacked?" she frantically grabbed a washcloth from the refresher and dabbed his sliced face with the tenderness of a new-born. He'd been so caught up in the events of today that he'd totally forgotten about the deep gash running down his face. He flinched as the washcloth dabbed over the cut, scrapping dry blood, sweat and sand from the wound causing him to winced in pain and discomfort.

She dragged his arm and led him into the refresher, grasping him under his arms she lifted him to sit on the side of the sink. She rummaged around the refresher looking for medical supplies, before coming back with a mirror, a tube of bacta spray and a gentle anti septic and cotton pads.

They sat in silence as she treated his wound, he winced when the anti-septic stung his face painfully, it felt like someone had placed vinegar into his wound it stung so bad. His eyes watered but he made no move to stop her nurturing touch, he deserved the pain.

He looked down at his hands which were caked in dirt, his nails cracked he suddenly felt very self-conscious. "I-is Uncle Owen home?" he whispered

The dabbing stopped for a moment before continuing, this time slightly rougher than before "He's outside you better get dressed and talk to him-." She replied, her tone held far more composer than before, she said it almost diplomatically.

Her words were cut off by a loud crash, the door to the refresher clanked heavily against the wall, he sat up stiffly, his eyes wide with terror, Aunt Beru stopped her work and gently grasp his shoulder, her eyes blank.

"You better explain yourself real quickly boy." His Uncle stood in the doorway, his large frame seething with and anger which threatened to boil over and light the homestead a flame. He'd never seen anything quite like it before, his eyes her almost crazy looking with rage. He'd never disobeyed his uncle much beyond a refusal to do a chore.

"I-I." he stumbled over his words, his small fatigued frame shivered and shook like a leaf, his anxiety boiled over to an almost dangerous level. His Aunt grabbed his small quivering hands in her own, but the action did nothing to easy his hysteria.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" his uncle hissed, pointing a large, chunky finger in his direction.

He remained silent, afraid that if he opened his mouth, he would make the situation worse, he didn't really trust himself to say anything intelligent.

His uncle inhaled sharply; his nostrils flared as he held back himself from exploding. They'd gotten into arguments before, but it was always a quick slap, or he'd be sent to his room for a while. "it's O two hundred, your curfew was twenty hundred, where have you been boy?" he sneered, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

He stared at his feet, he wanted to lie, but he knew it was wrong of him to lie, people didn't like lairs—he didn't like liars, so he sugar coated the truth only slightly, the last thing he wanted was for his Aunt and Uncle to know that he has been flying and drinking. "T-touche station." He stammered.

He frowned "All day? I find that hard to believe." He replied, his tone held his usual patronizing tone only this time it was much worse.

He mumbled under his breath, he didn't need his right now his head felt woozy and his limbs felt sore, he just wanted to go to sleep and forget he ever woke up and maybe—by some miracle he'd go to sleep and never wake back up. He didn't want to face them now, let alone in the morning when he'd be coherent enough to take it.

Aunt Beru grasp his face with both her hands, her stare was unnerving, what was she looking at? She'd already tended to his cut why did she feel the need to look at him like that? He didn't like it. He groaned as his stomach did a 180 as his bile bubbled and rose, he swallowed it back down and tried his best not to shudder, he felt warm—why did he feel so warm?

She placed a cold hand to his forehead and wiped his filthy mattered hair from his forehead. He didn't feel so good suddenly, and it wasn't just his anxiety. He felt sick. "Luke…Have you been, have you been…drinking?" his aunts eyes widened in horror and her hand gently caressed his cheek whilst the other remained firmly on his forehead. He was grateful for the coldness of it, he was burning up, threatening to erupt and slowly cook, just like his nightmares he shuddered.

He looked down in shame at his shaky hands he couldn't bear to lie to her but he also couldn't face telling them the truth, after all it wasn't his fault, how was he to know that it'd make him sick?

His uncle grabbed his chin roughly, pushing away his aunt's gentle touch, he winced at the treatment. "Answer your Aunt when she asks you a question, have you been drinking?" he sneered, his patience running severely thin at the total disrespect he was being shown.

He shuddered "I-it wasn't my fault-"he weakly protested.

"You are too young to be drinking boy!" he roared his grip tightened to a point where he was sure it would leave bruises if he wasn't careful.

His Aunt recoiled back in disgust, knocking medical supplies all over the floor in her moment of shock "Luke how could you!" she cried.

Guilt consumed him like he'd never felt it before, it quite frankly festered and left a deep-seated feeling of disappointment and rage. It wasn't his fault! It was all Camie and Laze's fault! They'd been the ones to antagonise him, he'd just wanted to prove to them that he was an adult just like them—and that whatever they could do he could do also! Plus, Biggs said it was alright for him to do it and he was older. "It was an accident!" he cried

His Uncle's glare burnt hole into him. He knew-he knew. One look and his uncle could make him feel so inadequate; could make him spill all his secrets and sins, all it took was one look and suddenly nothing was more frightening than lying to him, his stomach knotted and pounded against his flesh in defiance. His uncle always made him want to run and hide like the five-year-old timid boy he used to be, he wasn't five anymore! And he refused to let his uncle look at him like that – make him feel guilty, inadequate, not again, he was a grown up now and he expected to be treated like one!

"Just like my Skyhopper, boy?" he spoke calmly, but his eyes betrayed him. the beast behind them carefully caged, waiting for a moment to strike—a moment to consume him. It was a test, a game. He'd wanted to wear him down, break away his fragile shields of self-preservation and confidence until he admitted what he'd done, how badly he'd messed up today, but he refused to give him the satisfaction of his surrender. He was stubborn, just like his father—and in a way his uncle was the same.

He paled and bit his lip, a careful tenacity burnt fiercely behind his blue eyes "I-I didn't mean to." He shook, his resolve slowly crumbled as he struggled to fight back, his intoxicated state made it difficult for him to think coherent sentences, he just wanted to forget about today, his twelfth birthday—maybe it would be simpler if for once in his life he gave in, stopped fighting—stopped trying to be the bigger person, stopped being stubborn; it was a far cry from his mind set only seconds ago, he knew that. He needed his uncle to understand him, just for once—listen.

"You flew my hopper, didn't you?" his question held a slight hiss, a warning. His aunt stood awkwardly by his side her eyes stared at him, but no emotion seemed to pass over them because she didn't want it to, it hurt; she'd cut the cord, severed him from her affections and his young mind couldn't entirely understand why.

He flinched and looked down "Yes..." he softly replied, she didn't trust him, didn't want to hear what he had to say—but why would she? It disappointed him that she'd not even thought about how he felt about this whole thing, she was always the voice of reason in his life; the one who held him when he cried, stuck up for him when things got a little to much for him, comforted him when he felt fragile and –lonely? Only to selfishly severe their connection when he messed up, shutting him out and shattering all thoughts of apologising and explaining himself. She didn't care about his feelings.

"After I strictly told you not too." He coldly added.

"Yes…" he whispered

Uncle Owen approached him, keeping a safe distance between himself and the sink he was occupying and for a moment he just stared at him, a thousand emotions flashed throw his brown eyes, Sadness, Betrayal, disappointment—anger. "And you think of yourself as being above my rules now do you boy?" he shouted; his saliva escaped his mouth in tiny droplets as he unleashed his pent-up fury. He flinched back from his seated position, wincing as he fell into the sink, droplets of expelled saliva dropped onto his face and mingled with his sweaty forehead.

"N-no sir." He stumbled, grasping the sink, pushing himself out of it to stand in front of his uncle, who's giant frame towered over him like the great zillo beast had over coruscant so long ago.

He squared him up his cold glare, brown met blue in a tenacious battle of wit and so far, his uncle was winning. "Then, Why." He grasped his chin harshly, forcing his small face suffocating close to his own "Did you crash my Skyhopper." He hissed.

His wide blue eyes stared. "I-I just wanted to…fly." He whispered

The grip of his chin loosened as his uncle let out a fierce cackle, the awkwardness of it caught him off guard momentarily "Well congratulations you've just earned an award for the worst pilot in the entire galaxy, I hope you're proud of yourself." He remarked mockingly

Aunt Beru gently wrapped an arm around uncles "Owen please-"she started

"No!" he snapped, releasing her hold on him, his finger pointed accusingly at her "He is irresponsible, he is drinking! And obviously finds himself to be above my rules now." He shouted.

He silently seethed watching the two of them bicker about his so-called disrespect and irresponsibility. His breathing came out in laboured pants, his chest aching and his blood tingling as his temper rose—how dare his uncle call him a bad pilot? He was the best pilot in the outer rim! His friends had all told him so, flying was what he was born to do, he'd been doing in since he was 6 years old! What did his uncle know about anything? He never took an interest in what he liked to do, never encouraged him to be the best version of himself—it infuriated him to be disrespected in such a way, hit at the heart of his insecurities and told he was the worst at the only thing he knew he was the best at. Afterall it was Luke Lars who'd thread the needle, a task thought impossible for even the most experienced pilots; he'd show his uncle not to hit at his insecurities like that. "I'm not a bad pilot! I thread the needle."

He snapped back; in a moment of anger he'd felt better. Felt like he'd meant something to the world other than being an orphan of a bunch of moisture farmers. For a split second he felt better, it felt good to wash away the humiliation he felt from never feeling like he was good enough in his Uncle's eyes—but the elation was gone the second he'd opened his mouth and muttered those words; replaced with a humiliation deeper than just being inadequate in his uncles eyes—he'd proved him right. He'd lashed out, that's what his uncle had wanted, he wanted a reason to ground him, when he already had one; perhaps he was lashing out now in spite? He closed his mouth firmly shut in horror and stared at his Aunts conflicted orbs staring back at him, he tried to swallow down the feeling that he'd dug a hole for himself even deeper—so deep that he felt there was no way he could possibly talk his way out of it. He truly hated himself.

"You what?" their disbelief, chilled him to the core, his anxiety rising once more to nibble at his skin and fester just long enough to allow his stomach bile to rise once more. "I-I'm sorry." He replied, his voice wavering and no longer confident. All previous anger had dissolved into an overbearing shiver that prickled and goose bumped his filthy skin.

"Do you have a death warrant boy! How could you be so stupid? You deliberately disobeyed me!" his Uncle screeched, he smashed the palm of his hand harshly against the sink surface behind him, trapping him between the surface and himself.

Tears prickled his tired eyes and every cautious blink felt scratchy as sand particles irritated his corneas and burnt his tear ducks. It's my birthday!" he snapped back

His Uncle stepped back from there heated position and tore at his thinning grey hair in frustration "I do not care if it was Empire Day boy, you do not disobey me, and you do not have the right to go and do as you please!" he snapped back, seething, his temples throbbed from the stress, he knew he was developing a killer headache that was bound to be a migraine by the end of this mess.

He shook against the counter, he didn't think he had the strength to move from his position, he felt sick, dizzy—what was wrong with him? "I thought you would let me because it's my birthday." He whispered.

"I do not care for your birthday! You are a reckless uneducated, mess!" he scolded, his words cut deeper than any wound he could ever possible get from flying, this was what his uncle really thought of him—his was his own words, and nothing made him want to curl up and cry more than that. He didn't have a father or mother to run to, didn't have anyone else who cared about him—he only had his aunt and uncle; and, even they didn't want him—thought of him as a disappointment, uneducated, reckless a mess.

His aunt gently grasps his shoulder bringing him into her warm embrace, it usually calmed him, made him feel so much better when nothing else ever did. He didn't mean to cause them so much trouble, didn't mean to skip school and constantly get kicked out, didn't mean to let his mind take over and drive him to do dangerous things—he couldn't explain it, it was this thing inside him, it constantly told him to do things—made him anxious for not obeying it, made his him feel as though every cell in his body was tingling for adventure—danger, he'd always been like it, always difficult and he couldn't understand why he was like this, why he acted so erratically, so reckless.

"Owen! He is twelve." His aunt scolded; her tone held more authority than usual. She kept him clutched to her tight, his tears running down his cheek in a silent stream of pent up frustration and hurt. His eyes stung and his head pounded, he pressed his face into her dress not caring if his snot and tears soiled her dress and made his face sticky and itchy. He was already filthy; he hadn't showered in a week.

His uncle paced his breathing became erratic, his thoughts a jumbled mess of twelve years of pent up frustration and displeasure, it was bound to come out eventually he only regretted that it had to have been the boy's birthday. "I do not care! He has gone too far! I should have seen it coming, he is becoming more and more like his father! I should've known that dirty blood would cause me problems!" he shouted, his voice seemed so much louder and more pronounced as it bounced off the refresher walls.

He wiped his wet and puffy face with his filthy sleeve "M-my father." He mumbled, pushing his aunt away.

His uncle glared once more "I told you too forget it." He snapped.

Fury built up in him. He couldn't do this anymore, he couldn't stand the secrecy, he needed to know—he deserved to know. This was his father after all, a man he'd dreamt of every night since he was three years old! A man he longed to just talk to, longed to fly away from this dust ball with. And the one person who could tell him anything about him was keeping everything from him. It was selfish, unfair! He was sick of it all, sick of seeing everyone have parents, sick of postponing parent—child meetings at school because he was so humiliated to be the only one there who didn't have either. Sick of the ruthless teasing and bullying from those who were more privileged than he—sick of everything being so…complicated…

Biggs had said that you can wish for one thing for your birthday, you couldn't tell anyone, but it almost always came true; he'd soon found that to be just an illusion, a farce created to give people false hope. He'd wished for his father every time and he never returned never came to get him… He'd been told he was dead—but he'd also been told he was alive? He wanted to know, that was his wish this year.

He wanted to know the truth "No!" he shouted, his temper reaching a boiling point.

His uncle recoiled back, he hadn't expected such a fierce response, such hatred in someone so young "I'm sorry?" he replied, his confusion evident in his tone.

His balled up his fists, tears once again streamed down his cheeks and wet the collar of his shirt "I am sick of you Uncle, sick of you treating me so badly." he shouted

He laughed at the audacity of such a statement "Badly? If it wasn't for me, you would be a dirty orphan boy." He snapped back.

He took in a deep breath, trying so desperately to steady his boiling rage, his eyes were sore and puffy, his fists clenched so tightly they were white. "I demand to know who my father is!"

There was an uncomfortable silence, broken only by his rapid inhalations and sniffles as he tried to stop the mucus from leaking out of his nose.

"Go to your room, you will wake up tomorrow and fix the Hopper, you will not leave your post until it's done, am I clear?" his uncle plainly replied, his tone left no room for arguments, but he wasn't going to back down—not this time!

He shook his head in disbelief, he Aunt grasp his shoulder to try and get him out of the refresher but he violently lashed out, pushing her hands away from his—he didn't want her comfort, didn't want her to suddenly pretend to care; he was hurt and she wouldn't stop him from learning about the truth—not this time. "No! I am not doing that! Not until you tell me who my father is, I deserve to know!" he angrily protested.

"You're pushing your luck very thin tonight boy." His uncle threatened

"Tell me!" he cried, his frustration reached an impossible climax as he hiccupped back his tears and raging anxiety.

He fixed him a glare so cold and devoid of emotion that it made his tears freeze on his cheeks, he looked—defeated? "You want to know?" he hissed.

"Yes!" he pleaded, rubbing fiercely at his eyes until they were puffy and sore.

"Owen don't! -" his Aunt tried to protest, but nothing could stop it now, nothing could stop and make him forget what he was about to hear—nothing could make it right ever again.

His uncle painfully grasped his shoulders, kneeling until he was level with him, brown eyes met blue and for a second the only emotions that passed between them was defeat, hopelessness and a molten fury. "Your father was a maniacal mad man, who murdered millions of women and children without so much as a second thought. Despite your filthy blood I took you in and made you safe, now you will shut your mouth and go to your room or you'll regret it."

His blood froze in his arteries.

Mass murderer?

Murdered millions…

He choked back a sob, his disgust boiled, and a scream lodged itself within his throat, he tried to get it out, but it didn't budge. His hands shook violently from the shock of it, internal tremors shook his body like he'd never felt before, every nerve within his body shook and cried, protesting and lurching his brain into a panicked frenzy of jumbled thoughts and raging emotions fiercer than any sand storm. He…he couldn't breathe! His chest burned as if the very oxygen within his lungs was trying to escape through a thin tube! He was initiating self-destruct and setting his lungs alight with a molten acid the likes of which he'd never seen. His vision blurred and suddenly everyone and everything seemed so very far away, voices echoed in his mind, but he couldn't make sense of anything—not when his chest was constricting and his vision failing.

He collapsed to the refresher floor with a fierce cry of anguish, he couldn't have! His father was a pilot like himself, he'd, he'd told him so before, many times! He took in a sharp pained breath, his minded raced through thousands of different scenarios until it suddenly occurred to him.

His uncle was lying.

He screamed; he'd lied to him! He'd done it again! He'd won—he'd done this all to get back at him for his moment of confidence! Said it to hurt him, to…to spite him! His uncle always lied; his uncle always lied. He looked up through blurry eyes at the concerned faces of his guardians and glared "you're a big lair, you always lie!" he shouted through tears.

His uncle turned away and rubbed his face "Believe what you wish but I will hear no more from you tonight, you are grounded for the next 4 seasons." He replied

He let out another cry "That's not fair!" he protested

"Life is never fair my boy." His uncle mumbled back.

"I-I hate you! I never want to see you again! You ruin everything, you ruined my birthday!" he sobbed and screamed, his aunt crouched down onto the floor and took him into her arms, this time he didn't fight—he pressed his face into the crook of her neck and sobbed, she patted his back and whispered reassurances to him, despite her anger at him for his outburst she allowed him the time he needed to calm down and centre his thoughts and emotions together properly.

"You ruined it perfectly fine on your own." He laid there until he was perfectly content once more, exhausted and puffy faced he laid against her pitifully sniffling. The scent of her perfume calmed him, just like it always did.

He murdered millions…

He hiccupped against the soft material of his aunt's mantel.

Lies, all lies…

Thank you for reading! Please review and tell me what you thought and thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favourited!

KisaraTheDragonCharm 😊

Friday 21st February 2020