Author's Note: I would like to first thank all who reviewed the first three chapters! I hope you enjoy this one! Oh, and as a slight warning, this chapter does contain inappropriate language.
"LUKE! LEIA! GET YOUR SORRY ASSES OVER HERE!" the shout of their furious father Anakin echoed down the block as the twins made their way back home. Anakin was leaning against the mailbox, which was without a doubt the only thing keeping him from falling face-first onto the sidewalk.
"Shut the hell up, Skywalker!" a neighbor taunted.
"You shut the FUCK UP!" Anakin hollered, chucking the empty beer can he had been holding at the upstairs window of the house next door.
Luke and Leia hated to see him like that, but sadly, that wasn't the worst of it. There had been countless screaming matches and sleepless nights of worry in the Skywalker household, mainly caused by how drunk Anakin happened to be. The depressing thing was that their home life hadn't turned completely awful until their father sunk deeper and deeper into the abyss of his depression with alcohol as his coping mechanism, as he tried desperately to cope with the loss of Padme, Luke and Leia's mother, almost 18 years ago.
The kids got the brunt of the abuse, because they were the only ones who could stand to listen to Anakin anymore. Both Leia and Luke could see the blame in his eyes when he was intoxicated, as if he was certain that his twins were the cause of Padme's demise, as she had died tragically in childbirth. Eighteen years had gone by in a flash, but the emotional scars from her death were still forever present.
Luke and Leia glanced at one another as their father went into an all-out tirade.
"Where the f-f-fuck were you?!" he slurred. "Nobody listens to m-m-me in this g-g-goddamn house!"
"Dad, please, go in the house," Leia tried to coax, grabbing his arm. He ripped his arm away from her and stumbled to the front door on his own, before whirling around to look at Luke.
"And you!" he chastised, wagging a finger at his son. "You're a coward. You're a goddamn coward for what you did!"
Luke's expression crumpled as Leia herded Anakin back into the house. Luke remained outside the door, seated on the concrete steps, as Leia erupted into a tirade of her own against Anakin.
"Don't you EVER talk to him like that again!" Luke heard her scream, muffled by the wooden front door. "Do you seriously believe that YOU had nothing to do with what he did?! You make his life hell every day he has to live with you here! You're the coward!"
Luke winced when he heard a loud slap. As if he was on autopilot, he suddenly stood up and burst through the door. He wasn't prepared for what he saw: Leia was crumpled on the floor, hand to her face, and Anakin was stumbling about. Without even thinking twice about it, Luke punched his father square in the face, knocking him backward onto the floor.
"You're the coward if you hit a woman. Your own daughter!" Luke yelled.
He didn't bother to see if his father was okay, but instead went back to Leia, who had picked herself up from the floor, her face still stinging.
"Thank you, but I think I can defend myself," she said, rubbing her reddened cheek with her hand, tears welling in her eyes.
Luke pulled her into a hug. "I know."
They watched their father roll around on the floor in an attempt to get back up, before ultimately passing out in a drunken stupor.
"C'mon, let's get ready to see if we can go tonight. We'll call an ambulance to come get him, and we'll leave before it gets here," Luke suggested.
Leia pulled away from her brother and nodded. "I'll go gather our stuff. Can you call 911? I can't keep my emotions in check right now."
"Sure, sis. I'll be up in a minute."
Leia climbed the stairs while Luke just stood there for a few moments and watched their father. The ambulance would take him to the hospital and possibly put him under observation, but ultimately nothing would change. They had been through it all too many times before.
Their father was hell-bent on killing himself, Luke knew, and unlike his son, his weapon of choice was alcohol instead of a sharp knife.
In the second floor of the cramped home, Leia was frantically stuffing suitcases full of she and her brother's clothes and belongings. Luke eventually made his way up the stairs to assist.
"Did you call 911 yet?" she asked, trying to zip an enormous pile of clothes into her suitcase.
"No... I checked on him, though, and he just blacked out. I figured that we needed a little more time to get out of here."
Leia hefted the packed suitcase onto the floor, and quickly reached for another empty and smaller one. She quickly swept the beauty products that had been neatly organized on top of her dresser into the bag, and zipped it closed.
"What a way to tell Dad, huh?" Leia said, with an exasperated huff. "I'm not leaving a note, either."
Luke nodded solemnly as Leia handed him an empty suitcase to fill.
"I just packed the basics. Stuff you can dress in layers in, you know? And I've packed enough sunscreen and shampoo for the both of us, so you don't need to worry about that."
For what Luke had lost as a newborn when his mother died, he had gained in his sister. She was basically the mom that kept everything together in the household, from making sure to pack snacks and sunscreen, to giving out advice, whether Luke wanted to hear it or not. Luke wandered down the short hallway into his room, and sat down at the edge of the bed to get one last look. Leia must have mopped up Luke's blood from the suicide attempt up from the hardwood floors, because the only thing that remained was a slightly darker stain in the corner of the room. He noticed that the pocket knife he had used to slit his wrists was now gone from the dresser, and he figured that Leia had probably confiscated it.
A room full of memories: some good, and some bad. He decided to get down to packing, and began throwing clothes haphazardly into his suitcase, along with a few toiletries. It was almost time to go.
The twins hauled their suitcases-two for each of them, plus a sleeping bag each-downstairs to the foyer. Anakin was still passed out, so Luke quickly dialed the authorities. As soon as he gave the dispatcher the address, he hung up the phone, and they headed out.
Both of them tacitly agreed to run part of the way back to the bar and to Han, to both make up time and to stay as far away as possible when the ambulance and the police showed up. The suitcases weighed them down, but when they heard the sirens whooping up the street of their childhood home, they were already blocks away.
"Leia!" Luke panted, trying to catch up to his sister. "I think we can stop running, for now."
They slowed to a walk.
"I hope that Han isn't too drunk to drive us now," Leia said, annoyed.
"How are we even going to pay Han? Do you have any cash? I mean, I had some saved up, but..."
Leia unzipped the duffel bag that was slung over her shoulder and pulled out a large coffee can.
"My babysitting fund. Babysitting money for the last, oh, three summers?"
She discreetly opened the can, and inside was a thick stack of bills that covered the walls of the can.
"Nice thinking," was all he managed to say. He grabbed a wad of cash that he had stuffed in the pocket of his jeans and threw it in the can.
"Uncle Owen didn't pay much, but I've got some saved up."
Leia closed the can and stuffed it back in the bag. "Great. Let's go."
Han Solo guzzled another beer as he waited his turn to play pool, the neon beer light above the table flickering off and on.
"Damn it, how am I supposed to line up my shot when I can't even see in this dump?" complained Han's competitor, Greg.
"Ah, quit complaining. I could sink that shot with my eyes closed, and hands tied behind my back!" Han chided. "You're not going to win the bet by bitching through the whole game."
Greg hit the cue ball, and missed the shot completely. The barfly spectators roared, and Han's sly grin returned.
"Here, I'll show you how it's done," he assured, leaning down against the table, pool cue ready to strike. He pulled it back, and just as it was about to hit...
"HAN SOLO?!" A female voice burst through the front door of the bar. Han hit the cue ball so hard that it flew straight off the table and onto the floor, and the barflies immediately began to chide him.
"Who the hell is asking?!" he replied angrily, whirling around, only to come face to face (or, rather chest to face, considering their height difference) with Leia once again.
"I'm asking," she replied snidely. "Luke and I need to get out of here, and we'll give you a bonus if we can leave tonight."
Han looked around nervously at the other bar patrons before dropping his pool cue and ushering Leia by the arm over to a quiet corner.
"I told you; we need to keep this under wraps," Han explained to Luke and Leia. "And besides, we leave on my terms!"
Leia rolled her eyes. "We'll give you fifty dollars cash, right now, if you take us tonight. Otherwise, you might as well forget it, because we're leaving tonight, one way or another."
Han looked around the bar at all the nosey people staring back at him. He finally nodded in agreement.
"Fine. Put your stuff in my van out back," he said sternly. "And don't talk to anyone!"
Author's Note: I should probably mention that this story is also crossposted on Archive of Our Own, so you can read it there, if you prefer. Thanks for reading this far, and I'd love to hear what you think if you'd just hit that little review button and leave some words! Thanks!