Mind Tricks

by Corellian Blue

(first published 2003, revised 2016, 2020)

Trigger warnings: mental health issues, suicide

I

The ashes were still smouldering when Han Solo pulled up on a borrowed speeder bike.

He remained on the bike, staring at the remains—ashes; charred wood; charcoal; warped, black armour. Smoke curled in his nostrils, and the thud of the speeder's idling engines pounded in his ears. A chill prickled the hair on the back of his neck, and for a moment he felt certain someone was watching him. But there was no sign of life in the small clearing. There was nothing here except for himself, the shuttle Luke had used to flee from the Death Star and the remains of Darth Vader.

It hadn't been difficult to locate the clearing. Luke had explained to Han that he had escaped from the Death Star as it had collapsed around him, and eventually landed a stolen shuttle a few kilometres from the Ewok village. Using his lightsaber to slice up dry, fallen timber, the young Jedi had constructed a pyre and burnt Vader's body.

Luke's father, Han reminded himself. And Leia's father as well.

It had been difficult to wrap his brain around the idea that Luke and Leia were siblings. It had seemed an overly convenient reason for Luke to drop out of the race to court Leia, but one Han was more than willingly to grab hold of and hang on for all he was worth.

It had meant he could stop believing his delusional thinking that Leia was set on discarding him in favour of Luke, even though Han knew without doubt that Leia loved him. His recent disturbing behaviour should've been enough for any woman to re-consider whether he was worth the effort; Han would've dumped himself if he'd been Leia.

Han had totally misread what he'd thought the princess had wanted to tell him as he had tended to her wound. He had put his error down to the anxiety that had shadowed his every step since his release from the carbonite; the same affliction that made him irritable and caused his right hand to shake—an oppressive despair weighing down his shoulders since his return from Tatooine.

His symptoms were disruptive enough that he had sought out medical help. His innate distrust of drugs had not made it easy for him to accept the drofic the doctor had prescribed for him. But the spice derivative had help to ease his anxiety, clear his mind and restored his confidence so that he felt comfortable in leading the Pathfinders task force to disable the Death Star's shield generator.

For a while, Han had felt like his old self, the way he had been before Bespin. Before he'd been tortured by Vader and imprisoned in carbonite. But his self-confidence had disappeared, along with the drofic capsules, during their third day on the forest moon of Endor.

The mission had started out smoothly. The four-day hyperspace trip to Endor had been circuitous but allowed them to hide their Rebel origins and had given Han the opportunity to settle into his new position as a field-commissioned general. He had even grown relaxed with Leia dispensing the medication to him every ten hours. He had suspected she took pleasure in playing this part in his recovery and was grateful it was one less thing he had to worry about.

General Crix Madine's strategy to land the task force on the moon had worked remarkably well. The encrypted code had provided the stolen shuttle with clearance to deliver parts and technical crew to the moon's Imperial base. Except the shuttle had conveniently 'developed' engine and repulsor trouble on descent through the atmosphere and had crashed some 50 kilometres from the shield generator, exploding on impact.

The Imperial search and rescue vessel that had surveyed the crash site would have detected no survivors, especially as Pathfinder members had safely disembarked once the shuttle had dipped below sensor range, before the shuttle had headed off on autopilot to meet a fiery end. The task force had been left with no means of escape from the forest moon, but they knew that if the Alliance failed to destroy the Death Star there would be no Rebel Fleet to return to.

The trek towards the shield generator had been uneventful. For Han, the most difficult thing had been keeping his temper with the droids. Luke had suggested that Artoo might prove useful in gaining access to the generator bunker, and consequently Threepio had been enlisted to act as translator for his astromech counterpart. Suitably camouflaged, the droids had joined the team.

The Pathfinders task force had been within ten kilometres of the shield generator when they encountered the first Imperial scouts. Part of a speeder bike patrol, the six scout troopers had parked themselves near a ford in a river and had been enjoying a meal break in the dappled sunshine. As it would have been difficult to cross the river with the two droids unless they had access to the ford, there had been no other choice but to take out the Imperial scouts.

The option of trekking around the scouts and the ford was not possible as they were unfamiliar with the topography and it would have taken additional time that wasn't available. The Rebel Fleet was on its way and the defensive shield around the Death Star needed to be disabled.

Han had conferred with his 2IC, Lieutenant Jax Perron, and Luke. They agreed that the squad needed to take the troopers out and it had to be done quietly. That was Han's first bad decision, which was surprising as he'd still been on the medication at that stage.

As the leader of the Pathfinders, Han had dispatched the junior members of his team to sneak up on the unsuspecting Imperial scout troopers. The Imperials had not gone down without a fight. A young Rebel corporal—the only woman in addition to Leia—had been killed in the skirmish. A felinoid squad trooper had also received a grievous chest wound. Three Imperial scouts were either killed or captured, but not before Luke and Leia had sped off on a speeder bike to chase down the other three who had escaped.

That had been another bad decision: allowing Leia to accompany him as part of the command crew.

Experience had proven that Leia would not be afraid to leap into the fray when things got tough. But Han should have recognised that his relationship with her would compromise his better judgement when it came to her safety. He had forced his team to lose precious time as they waited for Leia and Luke to return. They had used the precious time—time they did not have—to stabilise the wounded squad soldier and offer him empty words of encouragement.

After nearly an hour, Luke had come jogging back to the ford, hardly out of breath. He had become separated from Leia and was surprised and worried that she had not returned. At that point, Han's world had caved in on him. No quantity of medication could calm the fears he held for her or ease his anxiety.

The look of delight on the face of the only surviving Imperial scout trooper had pushed Han to the edge. The trooper's helmet had been removed, his arms and legs bound, his mouth gagged, but the triumphant glee in his eyes had been unmistakable. Han had instinctively reached for his blaster and pressed the muzzle to the trooper's temple. Luke had calmly reasoned with the Corellian that killing the scout trooper would not get Leia back. Han had argued that it would make him feel a whole lot better, but he hadn't pulled the trigger. Instead he had back handed the scout trooper across the face with his blaster.

Han's next mistake: send his team off to tackle the shield generator on their own, while he, Chewie and Luke had gone in search of Leia. Han's 2IC was a seasoned lieutenant with years of experience as a commando, and he had not questioned Han's decision. In fact, Jax Perron had even voiced his support; Leia was, after all, the Princess of Alderaan.

Han hadn't been entirely convinced by Perron agreeing with the decision so readily; he had suspected the elder man was simply happy to see the back of an over-promoted Corellian smuggler. Regardless, Han's first loyalty was to Leia, not the Alliance, and so he had parted company with his team, albeit with the promise of rendezvousing near the shield generator the following morning. Han had had no intention of fulfilling that promise unless he'd found Leia safe and well.

Han, Luke and Chewbacca settled their packs on their shoulders and had barely ventured ten metres away when two muffled blaster shots had echoed throughout the forest—the scout trooper and the mortally injured felinoid had been taken care of, revealing that Lieutenant Perron had the guts to make the calls when they mattered.

It had taken most of that day to locate Leia. Having the droids along had proven to be fortuitous for if Threepio had not sprung the trap that had ensnared them in a net, the Ewoks may never have captured them and taken them back to their village.

Leia had been holding onto the drofic capsules for Han, which meant it had been nearly twenty hours since his last dose of medication. The Corellian had been frantic for Leia's safety and furious that they had been delayed in their search, but Luke had convinced Han and Chewbacca to hand over their weapons to the Ewoks and allow themselves to be bound and taken prisoner. Luke had explained that he felt the fierce little creatures would be able to help them. But, as Han soon discovered, it had appeared that before they would receive that help, the Ewoks literally wanted a piece of him for dinner. His anger and distress had significantly ramped up.

When Leia had suddenly appeared along one of the village walkways, Han had been verging on the homicidal. The relief that had flooded through him at the sight of Leia had overwhelmed him. She had looked tired, a little dishevelled, and her fatigues were a good deal dirtier. The Ewoks had prevented her from approaching Han, but just the sight of her had slightly eased his irrational thinking.

Han was unsure exactly why the Ewoks had then freed them, but it had occurred shortly after he'd experienced one of the strangest delusions he'd had since his release from the carbonite: Threepio floating in a wooden throne, high across the forest canopy, screaming to be put down.

Han's reunion with Leia only solved half his problems. The adrenaline rush provided temporary relief from his symptoms, but he needed the drofic if he was going to survive the rest of the mission. He hadn't wanted to push Leia for the medication, hadn't wanted to make it look as though he was only happy to see her because she had his drugs, so he waited for a chance to ask her.

The Ewoks officially accepted them into their tribe and offered their assistance, and Han was starting to think that perhaps this mission might work out after all, that he might be able to make amends for some of the errors that had occurred. But while Han arranged to retrieve their weapons and sought additional supplies, Leia and Luke had disappeared from the hut.

Han's next mistake had been to go looking for them.

He had seen Luke and Leia from a distance, shadowy figures on a walkway, holding hands as they stood intimately close to one another, speaking in hushed voices.

Han had tried not to over-react, tried not to think the worst. Leia and Luke had always been close. He knew Leia loved him, not Luke. She had told him she loved him; they had been sleeping together since the flight to Bespin. And although the Corellian couldn't be sure what had happened between the princess and the young Jedi during the time he was frozen in carbonite, he was certain Leia would not betray him.

If he had known then what he knew now, Han may not have approached her. For this would have been when Luke had revealed to her that he was her brother and Vader was their father.

No wonder then that Leia had been distraught when Han had approached her and had found it difficult to respond to his demand that she tell him what was going on. Anger, anxiety and paranoia had clouded his judgement, and Han had grabbed her by the shoulders, forcing her to face him when she had turned her back.

"Could you tell Luke?" Han had snarled at her, his fingers digging into her arms. "Is that who you could tell?"

Han now closed his eyes in self-disgust.

Is that who you could tell?

There was no excuse for treating Leia so aggressively. No matter what his mental state.

Is that who you could tell?

He loved Leia. He would willingly kill or die for her.

Is that who you could tell?

It had taken her tears to bring Han to his senses. If anyone else had shaken the princess like that, they would've worn her fist in their jaw. But because Han had reacted this way towards her, she had cried.

Han had held her, wrapped his arms around her, hugged her to his chest, apologising for everything he had said, done and thought.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Leia's tears had not lasted long, and when she had lifted her head from his chest, her face held no accusations or recriminations.

Her sympathy toward him had brought on a new wave of self-loathing. She had excused his behaviour, refused to blame him for his treatment of her. He had hated himself even more when he asked her for his medication. To his own ears, he had sounded like a desperate drug addict.

Unfortunately, Leia had not been able to provide him with relief as the drofic capsules had been lost, along with her pack, during the high-speed pursuit through the forest.

Looking back on it now, Han had no idea how he'd managed to survive the rest of the mission. Perhaps adrenaline, or his need to protect Leia, had driven him on. He had reunited with his team, much to the disgust of Lieutenant Perron, Han suspected. There had been a few more questionable decisions on his part, a few fortuitous shots with a wavering blaster hand, and an awful lot of chance, good luck, and the surprising assistance of the Ewoks. In the end, they had succeeded.

The destruction of the Death Star had led Leia to reveal to Han that Luke was her brother. At first Han had thought he was hearing things, that this was another delusion his mind had conjured up. But she had assured and then re-assured him that it was so. She had, however, held off telling him about Vader until after the celebrations. Leia had left it until this morning, just after breakfast and before she returned to the medical frigate to attend to have her blaster injury.

Vader is Leia's father.

They hadn't made love last night, but they hadn't successfully made love since Bespin; the-after- effects of the carbonite stretched all the way to the bedroom. Han wondered—even if he had been capable—whether he would've wanted to make love to Leia if he had known then that Vader was her father. The revelation had shocked him to the core. How could she be the daughter of such a monster? There had to be some mistake. But then Luke had re-affirmed what she had told him, and he knew it was the truth.

Vader is Leia's father.

The princess had given him space to come to terms with her heritage and departed for the medical frigate without him while he ostensibly remained behind to attend to repairs on the Falcon. She promised to return by that evening, having arranged a private celebration to be held on the Falcon for Luke, Lando, Chewbacca and the two of them. She had also promised to bring back more medication for him.

That idea made him nauseous: Vader's daughter was supplying him with drugs. Drugs to combat the sickness that her father had forced upon him. Drugs he loathed, but now relied upon for his sanity.

Han closed his eyes as a white-hot rage of self-disgust surged through him. His contemptible thoughts were not worthy of Leia—he was not worthy of Leia.

Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, he flicked off the engines and dismounted from the speeder bike. There was only one being who was responsible for all of this. The pain, the suffering.

Vader.

Han unconsciously pulled the blaster from his holster as he strode towards the pyre. He was firing the DL-44 before he knew what he was doing, struggling to ignore the tremors in his fingers. The shot was off target, his accuracy affected by the shaking of his hand, and it sliced through a log of wood instead of the helmet he had aimed for. His failure inflamed his fury, burning through him, vibrant and uncontrollable.

Han brought his left hand up to steady his right, found it improved his aim as the blaster bolt ripped the armoured chest-plate apart. A memory of Bespin—aiming for the same spot on Vader's body—flashed through his mind, and he chased the remaining shards of armour through the ashes with repetitive blaster shots. His success fuelled his anger and he directed the laser bolt back towards the helmet, each pull of the trigger sparking a snarl to rise from deep within his throat.

Then just as quickly as he completed his final shot into the pyre, Han turned the blaster back on himself and brought it up to rest, double-handed, under his chin. He closed his eyes and gently squeezed the trigger.