Anakin had tried so hard not to think about what had to be done. If he did, he'd find a way to talk himself out of it, and he knew he couldn't do that.
When Padme had first revealed she was pregnant, they had both felt so many different things, shock, terrified, excited, happy. He was going to have a family, a wife and a child. He knew it violated the protocol of the Jedi order, but he didn't care. He had fallen in love with Padme, they had run off and gotten married, and now they were going to be parents. They were young enough and both stubborn enough that they decided they could deal with whatever the universe threw at them, they were going to make this work. They were going to be a family.
That had been the plan anyway. When Padme first went into labor they were both anxious and nervous but still looking past that moment to when it was all over and they would welcome their child into the world. But the hours drew on and the baby wasn't any closer to being born. As time went on, Padme's pain got worse and more than once she started to reconsider if she could even go through with the birth. When the time finally came, Anakin had thought she was going to die, something had gone wrong, she almost bled out and required surgery. The experience had terrified them both beyond anything they'd ever known, and shortly afterwards they'd both come to the same conclusion, if they could barely even make it through the birth, how were they going to raise this baby, their son, for 18 years? It was an overwhelming thought that hit them both like a concussion missile.
The medics had showed him how to hold the baby, how to pick him up, how to support his head. He'd weighed 8 pounds at birth, he had one lock of dark blonde hair on top of his head, and if it was actually possible, he already had bags under his tiny eyes. Once the initial excitement all wore down, he fell asleep and stayed that way for most of the day. They took turns holding their son and just looking at him in complete awe, and heartbreak, knowing as much as they wanted to, they couldn't keep him. They were a couple of teenagers, neither of whom had any experience with anything like this. The galaxy was full of people who could give a child a good home, and there was a temple not far from the med bay, they would take the baby. It was simple enough, but it left a million burning questions, who would adopt their son? Just what kind of home would he grow up in? Would it be here on Coruscant or another star system entirely? Anakin quickly realized he couldn't beat himself up with those questions or they'd both lose their minds. They had to trust that a loving family would take their son, somebody who was older, more experienced, maybe already had other kids of their own, somebody who knew what they were doing.
They kept the baby for two days. There had been so much turmoil just getting through the birth that Anakin didn't think either of them could stand to lose their son on the same day he was born. He'd heard people say first time parents worried about everything, and even though they'd decided to give their child up for adoption, he found it was still true. Every time a medic came in the room they bombarded them with questions about the baby, did he look alright? Was he supposed to sleep this much? Was he breathing right? Was he fully developed? Padme was too weak from the whole ordeal to nurse the baby, so he was fed bottled formula. He slept all day and most of the night but when he was hungry he could make a deafening racket. Every time they fed him they looked in his eyes and thought about what it would be like to keep him, to raise him, to forge ahead with their original plans, to hell with the consequences. They tried to imagine what he would look like when he grew up, what he would be, what he would do, but it became too painful to try.
Anakin paced Padme's room in the med bay in a stupor. She and the baby were both sound asleep, the medics had advised Padme to stay on bed rest for the next few days while she recovered from everything her body had been put through.
That in itself especially seemed to seal Anakin's decision. Padme was too weak to walk out of here, so he had to do it. It was up to him to take their baby and...he still tried not to think about it. He walked over to the crib and gazed down at their son, asleep, seeming not to have a care in the galaxy. He was beautiful. A nagging voice in his head told him that this was wrong, that he was making a mistake, unfortunately he couldn't see any way around it.
He swaddled the baby in his blanket and carried him out of the room and out of the med bay. Outside the sky was gray and looked like rain. Anakin felt like he was outside of his body watching himself in a holofilm set to half speed, everything felt like it was happening slowly. Every step he took, he could swear he heard the sound of his boots echoing inside of his skull. Halfway to the temple, his heart leapt in his throat as he felt the tiny body in his hands start to wriggle around. For a moment he thought the baby would wake up and start crying, but he kept his eyes closed and after a moment stopped moving, for which Anakin was thankful, this was hard enough to do without his son staring up at him.
With every step he took, a voice inside his head was screaming at him to turn around and go back to Padme, they would keep the baby, they would find a way to raise him. His better judgment, or at least what he considered to be it, forced him to keep moving forward. The temple was in sight, in a few minutes it would all be over.
He looked down at the baby, sound asleep, unaware of what was happening.
"Your mother and I both love you very much, little one," he found himself saying, and forced himself to swallow a hard lump in his throat as he added, "but we believe this is for the best." He hoped they weren't wrong. He tilted his head down and kissed the crown of his son's head. He hoped when his son was older that he would understand.
Anakin felt his heart pounding in his ears as he climbed the steps to the temple. A hooded priest was standing outside the door, as if he'd been expecting him.
On the way, Anakin had considered telling the priest the whole story so he would know they weren't just a couple of selfish teenagers abandoning their kid. As he climbed the steps though, a knot formed in his throat he couldn't push down and he realized the words were beyond him. It would be too hard to explain, too painful.
As he stood with his son cradled against him, staring at the old man, it took every ounce of strength Anakin had to hold the baby out and plead with the priest, "Please...find my son a good home."
The old man took the baby, no words were exchanged between them, he slipped inside the temple and the huge doors closed, and just like that, it was all over. Anakin stood there for a moment in a stupor blankly staring at the doors, feeling like he'd sold his soul to the dark side. A few faint thoughts ran through his mind, he should go in and demand his son back, take the baby and go back to the med bay, he and Padme could figure out something else. But searching his own feelings, he knew as much as he hated it all, there simply wasn't anything else he could've done. He had to practically drag himself back to the med bay. On the way back it did start to rain and before he returned it poured down on him.
When he returned to Padme's room he saw she was just starting to stir. How could he tell her what he'd done?
As it turned out, he didn't have to. She saw the empty crib, and saw him standing there soaking wet and empty-armed and her eyes welled up with tears. He took two steps towards her and collapsed on the side of her bed and the two of them held each other and cried for the son they gave up. Anakin expected they would both die of heartbreak before the night came. Somehow they made it to the next day, and then the next day, and gradually Padme recovered until she was well enough to leave the med bay. They returned to their empty home and had to face the empty cradle and baby clothes they'd accumulated for bringing their firstborn home in. At that moment Anakin could've put his fist through the cradle, but instead everything was banished to the room that was only half prepared for their child, the door was locked and the room was untouched for years. The wounds were too fresh for either to consider the possibility they might actually have another child someday, but when enough years had passed for them to think about it, they were silently grateful they'd kept everything.
Vader's mind flashed forward to when Luke was born. He'd been smaller than his brother, he was born sooner, it was a stereotype all babies looked alike, he looked similar to his brother but there were obvious differences, a smaller nose, brighter eyes, light blonde fuzz on top of his head. Anakin was flooded with a wave of melancholic thoughts, about Luke's brother they'd given up several years ago. Where was he? What did he look like now? Who was taking care of him? Did he know anything about his birth parents?
He remembered when Luke had colic. More specifically he remembered the nights he let Padme rest and walked and rocked his inconsolable son as he bawled at the top of his lungs, tears streaming down his face staining it bright pink. He also remembered when Luke started teething and Anakin doused a rag in brandy and had Luke gum it until the pain subsided. Babies needed so much care, especially when they were sick or hurt, and his mind wandered again to the baby he'd given up. Who had taken care of him through all these childhood ailments?
All those nagging thoughts weren't near as bad as the nightmares though. For years, the same dreams haunted him over and over. He'd walk into the nursery and find the crib empty, and he'd hear a baby crying somewhere. Not Luke. To someone who didn't have kids, all babies crying probably sounded the same, but there was a distinct difference in Luke crying and his brother. Night after night Anakin was plagued by nightmares of hearing his eldest son somewhere nearby and not being able to find him. As years passed the dreams would sometimes change, instead of a baby cry he would hear a distant voice calling 'Father? Father, where are you?', and every time, he would wake up just before he found his son. In a way, it was almost a relief when he was put in his life support suit. It could tend to his body's every need and function, sleep became almost an afterthought. You didn't have nightmares when you didn't sleep, and after publicly becoming Darth Vader, he slept as little as necessary.
A soft moan drew Vader out of his thoughts. Han murmured something in his sleep and pressed the side of his face even harder against Vader's shoulder, he tucked his knees as close to his chest as he could around his father's armor and controls.
He looked down at his son, still feeling in awe that this was happening, that it was real.
"Welcome home, my son," he said quietly.
With his mask and helmet back on, Vader carried Han back to his room, the young man in his arms hummed occasionally in his sleep but was unaware of anything going on. The room was dark, Han's bed hadn't been slept in. Vader pointed a gloved finger and the top sheet moved down. He eased Han onto the bed and pulled the covers back over him. He could see Han from a better angle this way, and his mind wandered. He remembered all the nights when Luke was a little boy he'd come running into Vader's chamber at night when he had a nightmare or was upset. There were many nights after Padme died that the boy was inconsolable and wouldn't leave his father's side. Vader always had to wait until Luke had cried himself to sleep before taking him back to his own room and tucking him in. Many times he'd gaze down at the sleeping child and still think about Luke's brother. A few times he'd look at the small blonde child in the large bed and try to picture the two of them sleeping side by side, as it should've been. Almost, he realized with something resembling amusement, similar to the way he'd first found the two of them in bed, with Luke rolled over on his brother. It brought a melancholic feeling to his heart, Luke should've been able to grow up with his brother...and Anakin's first son should've gotten to know his mother before she died.
Since the lava pit, Vader made it a point to avoid mirrors as much as possible the times he had to remove his mask, he knew what he looked like: ugly, horrific, above all else he looked old. Some days he genuinely felt it...right now though he felt himself teetering between feeling ancient, and still feeling like that teenage boy who laid eyes on his child for the first time. It still felt so unreal at times to see Han, to see this grown man and know this was his child, that this much time had truly passed, had changed both of them so much. He guessed it was just human nature, when you were deprived of contact with someone for so long, your mind just froze them as the last time you remembered them. Even though intellectually you knew time passed, people grew up, got older, it was still hard to accept when you weren't able to see the transition yourself.
He was only faintly aware of his hand reaching down towards Han, he brushed the tips of his glove against the young man's face. Han made a small sound in his throat and turned his face to lean into the touch.
Vader felt a knot in his throat. He knew that he and Han would never have the same relationship he'd had with Luke, it had been hard to accept but it was a fact he couldn't change. He'd resigned himself to the fact he would take whatever he could get from this young captain, who had had this concussion missile dropped on him about his heritage. He was also grateful that Han and Luke had bonded at least, he was sure that was the only thing that had brought Han back that first night after the blood test revealed the truth. Everything Han had said was true, as a father he couldn't help wanting to know every single detail about his son's life, but he knew he couldn't pry, he knew this was a lot for Han to adjust to and he was overwhelmed enough as is even if he didn't show it. If he pushed too hard it would only drive Han back out of his life right after he found him. So he stood back and waited for Han to come to him, it had certainly taken long enough, but it was finally starting to happen, for which he was eternally grateful. He'd listened to Han ramble on and on about his life growing up, and it had been two of the best hours of his life. It wasn't as good as being there to witness his son's movements for himself, but it was enough.
Han turned over in his sleep and about knocked the covers on the floor, Vader pulled them back over him and tucked in the corners so he'd stay covered up this time, then turned and left the room.