Ben instantly throws his hood back over his head as he exits the Falcon. He can hear C-3PO calling out to him from inside the ship but pays the droid no mind. His pace is quick as he makes his way from the spaceport and into the Wealth Level proper. The buildings on this level are a bit grander in design than on the Produce Level, though great fossilized bones are still featured prominently in the construction. Ben pays no mind to the planet's unique architecture, his thoughts are elsewhere – namely, on finding Han.
He fists his right hand in the dark fabric of his cloak to physically keep himself from grabbing his lightsaber – the weapon's design is too particular, too memorable. Once, he had thought this a boon, something visual and impressive to help inspire fear and awe. Now, it is nothing but an easily recognizable burden.
His heart beats violently in his chest as he reaches out with the Force, shouldering past Pau'ans and Utai and offworlders alike. He finds his father's presence, the light dimmer than a Force-attuned individual's would be but still no less familiar to Ben. It is rough, like sandpaper or like calloused hands enveloping his much smaller ones, teaching him how to fly. He breathes a sigh of relief when he senses that his father has not gotten too far away. Ben keeps himself open and follows that intangible connection straight to Han.
The streets here are far more crowded than the Produce Level, so Ben's progress is not quick, but he has no qualms with pushing his way through the congested avenues. It might be rude, but it is a far cry from the worst thing he has ever done. He takes a right and a left and then another right before he finds where Han has hidden himself away – a cantina, of course, or rather, the alleyway behind a cantina. Ben can hear hushed voices from where he is and tucks himself in against the wall.
" – the hell have you been, Vullen? I've got people waitin' on me, ya know?" Han says, his tone thick with irritation.
"I apologize for my lateness, Solo." Han's companion says, their voice thick with an Utapese accent. "I was delayed, but I believe you said you would arrive alone?"
"Ain't I alone right now?"
"… I suppose." The being Ben assumes is a Pau'an agrees, their voice low.
"Listen, I really can't waste anymore time. I've got the credits; you got the information I was asking for?" Han asks impatiently.
Ben wonders if he should make his presence known and break up this little meeting. He probably should, they really do need to get out of here as soon as possible, the longer they spend planet-side, the higher their chances of being spotted become. He doesn't either way, part of him morbidly curious to see what his father has deemed so important.
"It was not easy to find – they prefer to remain hidden, your friends, especially these days."
"They're not my friends." Han grumbles.
"Whatever you say, Solo." The Pau'an says with a deep sigh. "Here you are, the data that was promised."
"Yeah, thanks." Han says not sounding particularly thankful.
"And Solo?"
"Hmm?"
"I'm so glad you never watch your back." The Pau'an says with grave finality. They call something out in their native tongue which Ben doesn't understand. It hardly matters, Ben knows the implication without needing to recognize the words being spoken – it's a trap.
With the sound of blaster fire already ringing out, Ben jumps from his hiding spot. He finds Han, blaster in hand, snarling at the wounded Pau'an on the ground, currently trying to scramble away from the enraged Solo. Han doesn't see the blast coming straight for him, but Ben does.
"Look out!" He cries, his tone more frantic than he would have imagined. He reaches out without a second thought and stops the bolt of red, hot plasma mere seconds before it hits his father in the back.
Han whirls around and backs up clumsily as the frozen bolt nearly brushes his nose. He curses as he trips over the fallen alien, landing in a heap on the ground, his back against the ossic wall behind him. He watches with something close to awe as Ben sends the blaster bolt back towards its sender, hitting them square in the chest.
Ben turns his attention to the Pau'an who has tried to crawl away in the scuffle, but has not been able to make it far, wounded as they are. Their hands clutch at a bleeding blaster-wound on their right leg, the blue material of their robes singed around the injury. Their face contorts in pain, revealing sharp teeth, though that pain seems forgotten as they rise into the air, supported by only the invisible hands of the Force.
"Who are you working for?" Ben growls. He searches the area around them in the Force for more threats, but the coast seems to be clear, for now. "The Empire? Jabba?"
"It's true that there are many bounties on Solo's head, but I seek none of them. This was personal, I assure you." The Pau'an responds, trying and failing to sound casual, their voice cracking with pain.
Ben can feel the Darkness, that inky substance that coats the insides of his veins. It urges him to wrap the Force around the alien's throat, to choke the life from them. To reach into their mind and rip their memories away. To twist and rend until he has wrung every bit of truth from their mind. He resists.
"You're lying." He says, his voice low and gravely.
"Yeah, Vullen, I mean, what the hell did I ever do to you?" Han asks, picking himself up and brushing the dust and dirt from his jacket and pants.
"Balmorra," Vullen responds plainly.
"Balmorra? What are you even…" Han begins but stops short. Ben can see the recognition cross his father's face. "Oh, yeah… But what about the Charros deal? I thought we were square!" He finishes, sounding indignant.
"Oh, we are nowhere near even, Solo." The Pau'an responds lowly.
"Who are you working with?" Ben growls through clenched teeth.
"I've told you already, no one." Vullen answers, having the audacity to seem annoyed by Ben's line of questioning. "Both the Empire and Jabba want Solo alive, I want him dead." Vullen spits. "And good luck contacting your new rebel friends - I've heard Hoth was a massacre." The Pau'an grins awfully, his attention solely on Han.
Ben's stomach lurches anxiously at the mention of Hoth. A massacre? They've received no news from the Alliance since arriving on Dagobah, but with how finicky the longrange comm system can be on the Falcon it is possible that they could have missed some crucial communique. This is something that he should have foreseen, but he hadn't thought it an issue. He hadn't expected the Empire to find Echo Base so quickly. Why? Because they hadn't last time? He needs to stop thinking like that.
The muscles under Ben's left eye twitch with tension and he tightens his grip on the alien who hisses in pain and no small amount of fear. He knows that they will be safer with Pau'an dead and he knows that snuffing the alien's life force out would be all too easy. It would be nothing more than wrapping his influence around Vullen's throat and closing his fits, crushing the being's windpipe - but he doesn't do that. Perhaps it's weakness, or foolishness that insists on some form of mercy, or perhaps Ben feels that hands are already slick with too much blood. Either way, he doesn't kill the alien, he doesn't want to.
"You will forget everything about this encounter." Ben says, his words laced with suggestion.
"I will… no," Vullen closes his eyes and shakes his head. "Your mind tricks will not work on me, Jedi."
I'm no Jedi. An acidic voice spits back on pure instinct alone, rattling around in his head like an enraged curse. Ben forces that anger and fear down as he reaches into the Pau'an's mind carefully, scanning for entry, weaknesses, an opening. When he finds one, he concentrates on that and pours more of the Force into his words.
"You will forget about this encounter entirely." Ben says slowly. The alien's black eyes gloss over in an instant. "You will have no memory of ever dealing with Han Solo." He adds at the last moment before pulling away.
"I will forget about this encounter entirely and I will have no memory of ever dealing with Han Solo." Vullen intones, their face blank, impassive.
Satisfied that the alien has been thoroughly 'mind tricked', Ben waves his hand over the Pua'an's head, knocking them out with the Force. He turns on his heel to round on Han, anger overtaking the peace he had forced himself to find and the relief that he refuses to explore right now. He opens his mouth to speak, to shout, to say something, but Han beats him to it.
"Nice job, big guy." He says with a cool smirk, as though he'd not nearly lost his life a moment ago. "Gotta say, that whole Force thing seems like it comes in handy." Han winks.
Ben breathes in and out once very slowly, seething, his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. He grinds his teeth.
"Let's get back to the ship." He grounds out. He reaches out to grab Han's sleeve but pulls his hand away at the last second. The last time he'd held his father's arm, he was steadying the man as he drove his lightsaber through his chest. Ben's hand shakes from the memory alone. He jerks his head violently in the direction of the Falcon and sets off, looking back once only to ensure that Han is following him.
Ben does not stop as he enters the Falcon, does not stop until he gets to the cockpit. He sinks into the passenger's seat behind Han's.
"Get us out of here." He practically growls at the pilot who wanders in just a moment later.
Chewie'd gotten all of the pre-flight checks done while Han was off meeting with his would-be murderer, so they are able to take off without further delay. Ben knows that he can relax the moment they hit hyperspace, but his body doesn't seem to get the memo. His fingers dig into the armrests of the chair he's slumped in, shoulders set in a rigid line. Anger runs through him as fluid as the blood in his veins. It is old and familiar, the anger of a lonely son. It tastes bitter like broken promises and abandonment.
"What was all of that about?" Ben asks, trying to force his tone to remain calm and not quite succeeding
"Vullen and Chewie and I were all working this big weapon smuggling job on Balmorra a few years back. Things went sour, Chewie and I cut our losses and got out, Vullen and his crew didn't… I thought I made it up to him by passing him a sweet deal on Charros about a year ago. Turns out he's still mad." Han answers flippantly earning a hearty laugh from the Wookie.
Chewie responds that he told Han that Vullen was still angry with them and reminds the man that the last time the two of them saw the Pau'an they'd threatened to kill Han.
"I mean, lots of folks threaten that," Han says with a laugh. "But very few actually try and go through with it – and no one's succeeded so far." He adds with a wink and Ben's stomach plummets into the soles of his boots so quickly and violently he is sure he will be ill.
Chewie rumbles that Han doesn't normally give them the opportunity. Han's only response to that is a casual shrug.
"No," Ben says slowly. "I don't mean that, I mean - you couldn't go one trip without trying to make a few credits on the side? Is Organa not paying you enough?" He snaps, unable to contain it any longer.
Han swings the pilot's seat around so that he is facing Ben fully. His father leans back and regards him with confused mixture of amusement and exasperation.
"Make a few credits?" He repeats, a humorless puff of laughter escaping him. He shakes his head. "I was spending credits - my own, in fact. Credits I got back, by the way." He adds, pointing at Chewie. "Trying to get information for your people."
"My people?"
"Yeah, well, ya know…" Han begins, suddenly sounding a bit awkward. "L - The princess has been trying to get ahold of the Alliance, but all of the comm signals have been jammed or closed for the past week or two. She asked me to try and find something out, see what's goin' on, so I contacted Vullen. I figure he hates the Hutts and the Empire as much as anyone else; thought he'd be safe to get in touch with - clearly I was wrong." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a datacard. "This information probably ain't worth the card it's printed on."
"You were getting information on the Alliance?" Ben asks dumbly. Ben hadn't even considered that, though it fits with his father's track record of doing stupid things for the right reasons - rushing out on an icy Hoth night to save his friend from freezing to death, crash landing his ship on an enemy base, confronting his son…
"Yeah, well tryin' to anyway." Han shrugs again and runs a hand through his hair. "Thanks for your help back there, by the way, really saved my skin - way I figure it, we're even now."
Ben nods tersely, having nothing to say to that - nothing that would make sense to the other man, at least. He could tell Han the truth, the cold hard one that rests like a stone in the pit of Ben's stomach, that they're nowhere near even, that they never will be. He could tell Han that though he'd saved his life today he will only take it years from now. Ben doesn't say any of that. Instead he says nothing.
Luke clambers into the pilot's seat of the Shadow, ignoring the guilt stirring in his stomach. Han will be back with the Falcon in a day. He is not abandoning Leia and Ahsoka and Rey on this planet, and he's left them with most of the supplies, only keeping a few days' worth of rations for himself. They will be fine. He does feel bad for taking Ben's ship, but he promises himself that he will return it… one day.
Pre-flight checks are not easy to run on your own at the best of times, but they are especially hard when your dominant hand has been left in the mud just outside, but somehow, Luke manages.
He sits back only when the ship has hit hyperspace, blinking tears from his eyes. He cradles the stump of his right arm into his chest before tucking it into the front of his jumpsuit. He closes his eyes but they fly open at the sound of enraged beeping coming from behind him. He whirls his seat around.
"Artoo?" Luke gasps. "What are you doing here? I didn't know you were…" Luke starts, but the droid doesn't let him finish, beeping rapidly. Luke has been slowly picking up binary over the past couple of months, but his brain can't translate quick enough. "Slow down, I can't keep up, buddy." R2D2 warbles something indignant before demanding that Luke return to Dagobah.
"No, Artoo." Luke says grimly. "I can't… I'm not going back – and don't you try to re-route us on your own, I'll be watching you." He warns.
R2D2 rolls back and forth anxiously, before freezing, perhaps finally noticing Luke's injured state. He warbles softly.
"I – no, it was… Listen, I don't want to talk about it right now." Luke says. R2D2 beeps sadly. "But you're probably right, I should… take a look at this."
He pulls his arm carefully out of its temporary sling and pulls back the singed material of his sleeve, hissing in pain as he goes. The adrenaline from his fight with Leia is wearing off and he is feeling the full impact of her blow now, and not just physically. He still can't believe that she fought him, that she'd drawn her blade against him at all. He knows that she wouldn't have killed him and suspects that she hadn't meant to hurt him intentionally, but it hardly matters now.
Her strike was a clean one, straight through the wrist. The wound was cauterized by the hot plasma of the lightsaber's blade, so luckily, he won't bleed out at the very least. He stands weakly and makes his way over to the ship's 'fresher.
Mud and dirt and muck cover the charred skin on the end of his arm, and he realizes quickly that he should probably clean the wound before he wraps it. He turns the knob on the sink and sticks his handless wrist under the water. The tepid water is far too warm, and he cried out in agony as a renewed sense of burning washes over him. He waits for the water to cool more before sticking his injured arm back under the flow. The cold water relieves a bit of the pain, at least temporarily. He tries to scrub at the dirt caked onto the wound but the pressure of his fingers on the burned flesh is too much to take.
He pulls a roll of bandages out of a small first-aid kit on the wall, there's no bacta unfortunately, but there is a small bottle of pain relieving pills so he grabs those as well before he sits down on the seat of the toilet and gets to work. He begins to awkwardly wrap the bandages over and around the area, something that is also much harder to do with only his non-dominant hand. Once that is done, he pops a couple of the pills into his mouth and swallows them dry.
He stumbles back out into the ship's cockpit and stares at the controls. The coordinates he had set were random ones. According to the ship's navcomputer, he's headed towards somewhere just outside of Eriadu. Once he gets there, he'll have to come up with an actual plan, a real and solid one – something more than just 'steal a ship and get to my father.' Luckily, he seems to have plenty of fuel.
He's not even sure how to get in contact with his father. Can he just show up at an Imperial base and say, 'Hi, I'm Lord Vader's son, can you take me to him?' Surely not. He might be able to contact his father through the Force, but he hasn't done that since the first night on Dagobah. Still, it can't hurt to try – but maybe only after he gets some rest.
Luke crawls into the large bed in the captain's quarters of the ship and curls up into himself. He can hear R2D2 beeping at him, desperate for his attention, pleading for Luke to talk to him, but Luke just can't right now. He'll be with his father soon and then… well, he's not sure what will happen next, but he's still sure that he made the right choice.
He could never 'confront' his father as Master Yoda wants him to, could never fight him, kill him – never. He won't let Leia do that either. If she confronted their father, she would only be giving into her anger, into the Dark Side – can't Master Yoda see that?
Is this what Old Ben had wanted for Luke? Is this why the old Jedi had watched over him all those years? Not simply to keep him safe, but to collect him when the time was right as a weapon to use against his own father? It doesn't make sense. That's not what Luke imagines a Jedi would do. Jedi help people. That's what Rey had told him, but apparently, she's less of a Jedi than she had led him to believe originally.
Luke wants to help people, wants to help his father, and he knows with a certainty that feels like the Force that he can – he's just not sure how quite yet. That's a problem for another day. His body feels heavy, weighed down with exhaustion both physical and emotional. He closes his eyes and drifts off into a dreamless sleep for the first time since the Death Star.
Darth Vader had known the moment the Devastator had arrived in the Hoth system that his children were not there. The rebels, however, were. He had attacked them with the full force of the Empire with the order to capture as much of high command as possible. It is a shame so much of the pitiful rebellion escaped, living to run and scramble and hide another day, but he will find them – they cannot run forever.
Those rebels that were captured did not have any information on where his children are being hidden. Vader had torn open their minds, searched every memory they possessed, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Useless, all of them – now useless and dead. He had returned to Mustafar directly after the attack on Hoth, intent on continuing his research and trying to reach out to his son.
He is surprised when it happens. He is meditating in his hyperbaric chamber when he feels something click into place, a familiarity washing over him.
Father, His son's voice begins. Vader can feel the boy's distress, though whether it is physical or merely emotional he cannot tell. Where are you? Vader wastes no time in projecting the coordinates of his location. The connection closes immediately and Vader begins preparing for Luke's imminent arrival.
He is not worried about the rebels using that information to find him. His fortress on Mustafar is no secret. Should they want to attack him here, they know where he is already, they would not need to use his son for such games. No, Luke is coming to him – finally. He had known the boy would see eventually. He only hopes that his daughter is with him as well.
A full standard day passes before his son pops into the atmosphere above the lava planet. Vader senses it instantly. He is filled with some warm emotion. He decides that it must be vindication, as he would never allow himself to feel anything softer.
He strides down to the starport in time to see a black Baudo-class star yacht descend shakily onto the landing platform. The gangway opens with a hiss and Luke stumbles out, his right arm tucked carefully into the open front of his jumpsuit. The stormtroopers flanking the starport all raise their weapons at the sight, surely believing Vader's son to be concealing a weapon of some kind. Vader knows this is not the case.
Luke stumbles down the gangway, tripping over his own feet, his skin is sickly pale and as Vader draws nearer he can see the sweat beading on his son's brow, light-colored hair sticking to his forehead in clumps. The temperature readouts in the lenses of Vader's mask inform him that his son is running a high-grade fever. Vader orders the troopers to stand down as he makes his way over to Luke.
"Father," Luke rasps weakly before crumpling to the ground in a heap.
It takes Vader only three long strides to reach his son. He scoops the boy up as gently as he is able, one arm slung under his knees the others supporting his shoulders. His son's head lolls to the side, listlessly, his right arm falls out of where it had been tucked away to reveal a clumsily wrapped bandage – Luke's hand having been cut off at the wrist. Vader quickly reigns in his rage, not wanting to harm his son further.
"You," He turns to face a nearby personal assistant. "Send a medical droid to the guest quarters – but it is not to touch him until I give the word." The assistant bows quickly before running off to complete Vader's command.
Darkness and anger swirl around Vader in thick clouds. What have those rebels done to his son? As soon as Luke is well enough, he will tell Vader exactly who it was that maimed him. When they encounter the terrorist scum next, Vader will take care of them personally.
His raging is cut short by the sight of a droid rolling down the gangway of Luke's ship – a familiar droid. The silver and blue astromech is just as Vader remembers it. He'd assumed… well, he hadn't given much thought to what became of R2D2 after his duel with Kenobi on Mustafar. How the droid had found his son is beyond Vader.
"Artoo?" He asks softly – too softly, though the harsh electronic rasp of his vocoder makes the sound harder and deeper. He takes a step towards the droid out of pure instinct alone, his son still held firmly in his grasp.
R2D2 stops short, perhaps in recognition, before racing forward, beeping a storm of angry-sounding expletives. A small taser pops out of the droid's front and it brandishes the thing at Vader menacingly – or as menacingly as an astromech droid can brandish any weapon.
Vader stops abruptly. Something cold shifts inside of him. He does not care what the astromech thinks of him – it is nothing but a droid. It matters even less that it had once belonged to him as Anakin Skywalker, or that it had been given to him by… Vader turns, his cape whipping violently behind him. He must see to his son.
R2D2 follows Vader from a distance as he stalks away from the landing platform and towards the fortress proper. It warbles threateningly, demanding that Vader release the boy at once.
"He is wounded." Vader says very plainly, surely the droid can see that. "His injuries must be seen to – and he is ill, likely an infection."
The droid continues its assault, but Vader pays it no mind. The doors of Fortress Vader fly open at his command, at the slightest push of the Force. Vader whisks his son through the halls and towards the guest quarters and the room he had had prepared the moment he had known Luke was coming to him. He is aware that guest quarters are not even close to suitable living arrangements for the boy, but with time a more permanent residence can be set up.
A Med-droid wheels into the room but stops at Vader's command. All of the medical droids he owns have been programed to inflict as much pain as possible to help Vader harness the Dark Side, but such torture is unnecessary for his son. He kneels in front of the droid, his joints protesting the action angrily – he ignores them. He reprograms the droid himself; he will have to be sure that no others are allowed in this room, or near his son at all.
Luke stirs where he lays on the bed, his head rolling to face Vader, his eyes opening slowly. He blinks several times as if taking in his surroundings, or perhaps adjusting to the dim light within the fortress. Vader wonders if additional lamps can be procured.
"Where am I?" The boy asks dazedly, his voice dry and cracking around the edges.
"In my fortress on Mustafar." Vader explains, one hand deep in the innerworkings of the medical droid. "You've been injured and you are ill." He stands, his work on the droid completed. The droid rolls over to Luke who shies away from it weakly. "This droid will treat you and fit you with a cybernetic hand." One that fits, one covered with synthetic skin that blends seamlessly with his real flesh, not like the painfully tight ones attached to Vader's body.
"My hand," Luke rasps, lamenting the loss. Vader understands, he remembers losing his own hand well along with the loss of his other limbs. It is painful and shocking, he never felt quite whole after.
The medical droid slowly and carefully removes the bandaging from Luke's arm, the cloth stained with sweat and dirt and blood. It reveals a clean cauterized slash through the wrist, clearly the work of a lightsaber – is Vader's grandson the culprit? The skin around the charred wound is red and inflamed with infection, though, luckily, it has not had the chance to spread far.
Vader feels his son's agony acutely, it flows from him undisturbed by shields or blocks. There is physical pain there, of course, but also deep emotional turmoil. Vader sends soothing sensations to his son through the Force hoping to alleviate some of the discomfort the boy is feeling.
Vader backs up as the medical droid begins its work, nearly bumping into R2D2 in the process. The astromech beeps curiously and looks at Vader in a way that he knows from all of the time they had spent together in a life long-lost, is assessing, confused. Vader's hands ball into fists at his sides.
"Stay out of my way unless you wish to become scrap metal." Vader snaps. R2D2 backs up quickly, but not without spouting nearly every curse he knows in the Sith Lord's direction.
Vader watches Luke twitch fitfully at the medical droid's ministrations before passing one hand smoothly over the boy's head, lulling him into a peaceful, Force-induced sleep.