AN: I have very complicated feelings about Anakin Skywalker. Han doesn't. His feelings are very simple.
Shoot first. Kill it, if you have to (Time Travel, Han Solo Style)
By Indygodusk
Chapter 2 - Go Faster. Save her.
Han woke up feeling hot. Very hot. He couldn't hear much except his own breathing and the clank of distant machinery, so it looked like he'd made this trip all alone. Ben had warned Han that he might not make it. Han wished he'd been wrong….
Feeling melancholy and not wanting to open his eyes and face his problems yet, Han focused on the strange feeling of having a body again. Despite lying on what felt like a hard stone floor, his body barely ached at all compared to those last few years of being on the back end of the sixties and living on the run from life's disappointments. He didn't feel young, but he did feel younger than the last time he'd been alive. The last time he'd felt this good had been in his fifties. If Ben had asked, Han would've preferred being back in his thirties, the age he'd met and wooed Leia when he'd been at peak levels of handsomeness, though he'd still been quite spry and a silver fox even when older. No matter what age, he'd always been charming.
Despite not knowing the year or even the planet he'd woken up on, Han felt a small kernel of satisfaction blooming in the back of his mind at having a purpose again, especially a righteous one. Which was all well and good, he told himself, but don't forget that this is going to be a pain with no backup and no funding. Being a hero was a lot more work than just running a single blockade. At least you get to shoot all of the irritating people, he consoled himself.
He should probably get up and get started on finding a blaster and a ship along with figuring out his first step in taking down Palpatine. Maybe Ben was smart and sent him back before Palpatine got so scary powerful, even better if it was to a time when the man had his pants down so Han could snipe him in the back while he was distracted and then walk away whistling. Han's life was rarely that easy, but there was always a first time for everything. After all, he'd been dead and wasn't anymore. He'd gone back in time. Ben had come back to the Light side and actually asked his dad for help.
Anything was possible after that.
Like failure. He felt the muscles in his stomach clench. Failure was a big possibility. Han had failed at so much over the years, but now the stakes were so much higher. If he failed to kill Palpatine, all of the bad stuff would be his fault this time. If he got into trouble, no one would be rushing to the rescue.
He was a stranger to everyone he'd ever known. Chewie wouldn't care about some random smuggler and, if this had worked the way Ben intended, his wife hadn't even been born yet. It was weird picturing a galaxy without the option of flying around with Chewie as a co-pilot. He could no longer watch Leia dominate a room by her sheer presence or drop in to visit Luke and help him with some harebrained scheme. Of course, he hadn't had good times with Leia or Luke since Ben had gone crazy and Dark, but Han had done his best to pretend those good things weren't there because he hadn't looked, not that they were gone for good.
Why had he agreed to this again? Where did he even start with this scheme? Thoughts whirling, Han's first instinct was to run away. Just for a little while, just until he got his head on straight… but he didn't have the means anymore. The Millennium Falcon was gone and he was broke and alone. There was no escape from the end of all life and the Force. Stupid Force mumbo jumbo. Could this get any worse? The floor was getting less comfortable by the second. If there was something worse he was forgetting, it was sure to pop up at the least convenient moment with or without his help. No use borrowing trouble.
Opening his eyes to a dark stone ceiling, Han sighed in self-pity, sat up, and found himself face-to-face with a glowing blue man.
"Gah!" Han shouted, scrambling back until his shoulders slammed into the wall, hand scrambling at his side for a blaster that wasn't there. The Force Ghost—for what else could it be—was a middle-aged, pale-skinned human with light hair and eyes. He was dressed in a long, voluminous robe and clothing of unrelieved black. This was the bad thing he was forgetting—karking Vader!
The instinctive terror and echoes of trauma twisting through his body were going to get old fast if the guy was planning on sticking around. (Please don't let him stick around!) He'd always secretly wondered if it was worse to get tortured by Vader for specific information versus just to cause pain, but he'd never had the gumption to ask Leia about it, not when she still woke up with nightmares from her interrogation on the Death Star even decades later. Han had a lot of reasons to hate Vader, but he'd worked with people he hated before. He could get over it. He'd have to get over it or he'd die of a heart attack before accomplishing anything.
At least he didn't have to deal with the intimidating death's head mask and freaky robotic breathing. If you could forget what Vader had done, Han told himself half-hysterically, the guy wasn't even half-bad looking. He would even go so far as to call him handsome. You could see hints of Luke and Leia in his face and some of Ben in the impatient scowl twisting his lips and wrinkling his brow. Maybe Han could try and pretend he was someone else. Anakin was a lot less scary than Vader. Han would just have to focus on seeing only Anakin when he looked at the ghost from now on.
Breathing out shakily, Han looked around and tried to get his heart to stop feeling like it was going to jump out of his chest like a con man running from creditors. He was in a dimly lit room empty of all furniture except for a stack of generic crates against the far wall. The walls and floor were made of rock and there were no windows, just the outline of a door and a reddish-gold light leaking in where it didn't meet the floor. Through the door, he could hear a faint rumble and regular chugging sound that made him think he was inside some kind of factory with heavy machinery. The wall and floor felt almost scorching hot against his skin and the current of air blowing in under the door felt even hotter. Sweat beaded on his upper lip and began dripping down his back, quickly soaking through his shirt. If asked, he'd blame the sweating on the heat and not on terror.
"About time you stopped being lazy and got up," Anakin said as he rose to his feet.
Han's eyes went wide as he stared up at the ghost. Stars, was he tall. How had Luke and Leia ended up so short with a giant like that for a father? Their mother must've been tiny.
Anakin huffed at Han's lack of answer and glared down at him. "You're running out of time to save her. I've got a plan, but I can't do it without a body of my own." His lips twisted. "I'll never know what the twins saw in you. Unfortunately, you're all I've got to work with." Expression going cold and commanding, he crossed his arms over his chest. "Obey me or die, killing everything you love in the process."
"Now wait just a minute, you hypocrite!" Han clambered to his feet and jabbed a finger at the Force ghost. "Don't you dare start in on me. You're the so-called Chosen One who didn't do his job right in the first place! Why should I listen to anything you have to say? You were a monster. The only good thing you ever did was kill the Emperor," Han dropped his hand to his hip and scoffed, "and you didn't even do that right."
Lips thinning and eyes taking on a disturbing glow, Anakin's breath hissed through his teeth as he dropped his hands to fist at his sides and stepped forward into Han's space.
"What, you got something you want to say to me?" Han goaded, meeting him stare for stare. He'd already died once. What more did he have to lose?
A vein in Anakin's temple throbbed. "I may have been a monster, but at least I had a son who'd rather die than kill me."
Flinching back, Han felt a breathless wash of rage. He clenched his fist so hard he felt something pop in his hand. The ghost gave him a superior little look and Han lost it, swinging his fist at Anakin's head. His hand swished through without connecting and Han found himself staggering to the side trying not to fall over.
"Are you done being stupid? You obviously weren't much of a loss to the world…or to your family. At least my son loved me."
"Luke saving you had more to do with his soft heart in general than anything about you personally," Han spat. "He didn't even know you, neither of your children did. Leia would've killed you just fine and slept like a baby afterward, though you never even realized she was your daughter, did you? I bet you only recognized Luke from his last name. If he'd been Luke Lars you wouldn't even have looked at him twice. You certainly weren't any kind of parent to your kids. At least I never hunted my child like prey. I never tortured my daughter or maimed my son!"
This time Anakin was the one to flinch, filling Han with vicious satisfaction. Han stepped forward. "And at least my son," voice breaking, Han had to swallow to wet his throat enough to continue as the fire of his rage snuffed out into cold ashes, "at least he knew I loved him when I died." He liked to think that that had made a difference somehow. Mostly he tried not to think about it at all. At least now, when the memory assaulted his thoughts he could tell himself that his sacrifice had helped Ben return to the Light side. Sure, Ben then saving the woman he loved had doomed the galaxy to extinction, but it was the thought that counted. Good intentions paving the way to hell was a Solo tradition, so Han couldn't blame the kid, especially when it was so much easier to blame Ben's grandfather—Anakin Skywalker.
"So did mine," Anakin said, pride twisting into anguish on his face. "Though I should've done more," he breathed raggedly. "I wish I'd done more."
Their eyes locked in a strange moment of mutual understanding. Those were Han's regrets and wishes too. They hurt. The air felt too heavy and intimate for such near-strangers and former enemies and Han wanted to look away. Anakin must've felt the same because he jerked his head to the side to compose himself, looking down to shake out his sleeves and straighten the fall of his tabards. Though the fabric was darker than the creams and browns Luke and Old Ben had favored, Han realized that Anakin was wearing traditional Jedi robes.
For a moment it was too familiar—the style of robes and expression on the other man's face. Han blinked and it wasn't pre-suit Vader standing there with his head down pretending he was fine, it was Han's best friend and brother-in-law Luke looking like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, knowing he was making mistakes despite his best efforts but determined to keep trying to help people and refusing to give up on hope, the man Luke had been before Ben's actions had broken him and his fledgling new Jedi order. Ben's actions had broken Han too. In the end, Ben had broken even the Force. Never let it be said that his kid was an underachiever.
However, Ben was trying to fix his mistakes and redeem himself. Han was too. Anakin Skywalker must have been feeling the same since he'd bothered to show up to help. Maybe Han should give the guy a break…?
Shaking his head briskly, Han stomped on the spark of empathy bubbling up from his gut. What was he thinking? Give Vader a break? Might as well volunteer to let Vader break his face and all the bones in his body. No, he would not feel bad for Anakin Skywalker.
Still not looking at Han, Anakin said, "Here and now in the past, none of the mistakes leading to those moments have happened yet." Clearing his throat, Anakin's expression hardened as he moved to the door and gave Han an impatient gesture. "If I have my way and you don't screw up, they never will happen. So hurry up!"
Han pursed his lips sourly, the last spark of nascent sympathy in his chest dying a swift death. As he moved towards the door, his knee gave a little pop as he walked, protesting waking up on the floor. It was so weird to have a living body again. "If we're in the past and I'm actually alive again, why is my body younger than before but still so old?"
Anakin rolled his eyes, looking for a moment more like a surly teenager than a tyrannical adult. His relation to Ben had never been more apparent. "Because if you were your real age you'd still be a snot-nosed little kid and by the time of your death you didn't run very fast. I suppose I could've made you younger, but I was hoping being older would make you less cocksure and stupid." He smirked at Han's obvious irritation. "Now move faster. Time is running out."
Smile dissolving into worry, Anakin jerked his head towards the door. "If you don't save her, my younger self might just let the galaxy burn again. If that happens, I'll make sure that the flames get you early this time."
"Charming," Han muttered under his breath. "As soon as I get a blaster, I'm shooting you." Picturing it was almost enough to make him smile.
"Better men than you have tried," Anakin said over his shoulder as he floated through the closed door and disappeared.
"I can see why," Han said. Pausing, he looked up at the ceiling. "Hey Force, is there any way I can trade this guy out for Ben? Either of the Bens?" Only silence answered him. Sighing, Han gave up and pushed open the door.
Outside, the hallway was the same dark stone. To the left was a factory floor lit by flickering orange bulbs and showers of red sparks where droids were assembling some sort of machinery. It looked like an illegal operation to Han, which meant guards who'd beat him up or worse if he got caught. To the right, the hallway ended with an unguarded door. The ghost had disappeared, so Han followed his instincts and went for the door. If the lady Han was supposed to save was on the factory side instead, Anakin could just come back and be helpful about it. The electrical panel next to the door was only secured by a single loose screw, so it only took a few seconds for Han to disarm the door alarm and slip out into a tunnel lit by flickering bulbs.
"Go faster, save her," Anakin demanded, flickering into view for just long enough to talk before disappearing again. "There's a door up ahead on the left," his voice echoed from the empty air. Grimacing at how creepy that was, Han took off at a trot. He found the door and slipped outside into a warren of narrow service passageways. The heat was even worse out here.
"Can't you go any faster?" Anakin snapped, appearing up ahead at the next crossroads. Casting impatient looks back at Han, his hands clenched and unclenched.
Han wondered if he was battling the temptation to Force-choke him. Could a ghost still Force-choke? Han really hoped not.
"I've seen half-dead stormtroopers move faster than you do." The ghost paced back and forth, casting no shadow but also not illuminating the dim walls despite the blue glow around his body.
"They were probably running away from you," Han panted. He was going as fast as he could already, but the space was tight and it was unbearably hot, not to mention he was old.
"I could make you run faster," Anakin threatened in a dark voice, glancing up at the low ceiling and then to the side. "Hurry."
Han was trying to trust Luke's word that Vader was redeemed and Ben's that he would help kill Palpatine. However, the longer they spent together, the more Han just wanted to knock the guy over the head with a wrench and toss him out of an airlock into space. At least Vader—no, Anakin. Calling him Anakin made him marginally less scary. At least Anakin couldn't hurt him too much without dooming the Force. He had to care about saving the Force, even if he didn't care about Han. Really, Han was the one holding all of the cards here.
"Maybe I'd move faster if I wasn't so old," Han said pointedly, deliberately slowing down. "I'm not some spry youngster like you, after all." Sure, the fate of the galaxy hung in the balance right now, but Han had decided when he got old that he had the right to be petty and vindictive to people he didn't like. He definitely did not like Anakin Skywalker. He considered a hobble, wondering if he could make that vein on Anakin's temple throb even bigger. Han remembered cutting his finger and it hurting because he expected it to hurt, the spirit mimicking the memory of being alive. Could ghosts crack teeth or choke on spit? Have an aneurysm? He couldn't remember, but it might be fun to find out with Anakin.
Eyes narrowing, Anakin twirled on his feet, cloak flaring dramatically as he stalked away. "This way."
Han followed him. "By the way, where are we?" he asked.
"A wretched place," Anakin said without turning around.
"Really." Han looked around at the blank passageway. "That doesn't narrow it down for me." Han saw a door up ahead and hoped it was finally the one leading out. He picked up his pace. "Is Palpatine here? Because I'm going to need a blaster if I'm going to take him out."
"A blaster? More like a miracle," Anakin said oh-so-helpfully as he stopped in front of the door. "Not this one." He pointed down the corridor. "Keep going. Go faster."
"Gee, whatever would I do without your optimistic and helpful attitude," Han said sarcastically. "You sure you don't have somewhere else to be? Hair appointment? Helmet fitting? I wouldn't want to keep you."
"Take the next door on the left." Anakin looked almost cheerful for a moment, which was disturbing.
"Oka-ay," Han said, keeping an eye on the ghost over his shoulder as he opened the door and stepped through into a large room.
Unfortunately, Han was so focused on keeping an eye on Anakin that he missed the fact that he was walking out into the middle of an illicit exchange. On the left side of the room stood a single humanoid in head-to-toe matte gray armor covered by an ink-black cowled cloak edged in sharp red lines with columns of disturbing symbols embroidered along the hem that blurred and writhed when he tried to look at them too closely. He stood with his arms crossed and a credit chit sticking out of one hand.
On the right stood a small gang of humanoids in a ragged line. They were all dressed in matching yellow gang jackets and armed with cheap blasters and bludgeoning weapons in the style of local enforcers. Their orange-skinned leader stood in the center wearing a wide green hat decorated with dark red spines and yellow-brown teeth with a strip of red fur as a strap under his narrow chin. His red eyes blinked rapidly as he moved his wide, spade-like hands through the air "—just as we described, but the price—"
Everyone froze when Han stumbled out into the middle of the room. "Whoops," Han said with a breezy smile, "wrong door." Backpedaling, he saw Anakin step right into him and tripped trying to instinctively jerk sideways to get away. His foot landed on cloth and something went *crunch*. Ice scraped up his back just as the lights in the room dimmed and flickered. The cold should've felt good in the heat, but instead, it made his skin want to crawl off his body and dive into a vat of soap.
A glance down showed him standing on a dirty gray cloth covered in faded gold embroidery that moved when he tried to focus on it, similar to the red symbols on the armored guy's cloak. The cloth glowed faintly blue because Anakin was still standing too close. Jerking away from Anakin, he saw pieces of what looked like a broken metal pyramid fall from the bottom of his foot. Han thought he'd seen something similar in the back of Luke's locked closet once. It was probably some rare and expensive Jedi artifact. Han winced.
At that point, people started pulling out blasters, clubs, and whips. Han put up his hands and kept retreating. Angry shouts echoed through the room as everyone started speaking at once.
"Who the—!?"
"—broke it—!"
"How dare—!"
"—pay for this!"
"Woah woah woah," Han said urgently, putting up his hands as he backpedaled. "Let's just all calm down and talk this out!" He tried to retreat the way he came only to slam his back into the closed door. Reaching behind himself, he fumbled for the handle, but it wouldn't turn despite his frantic jerking.
"A little help," he cried out to Anakin as the guy with the club lifted it into the air and started advancing.
The armored man was down on his knees touching the broken pyramid with shaking fingers. Throwing back his helmeted head, he screamed anguish and rage. The loud noise echoed through the small room like an explosion, making everyone grab their heads and fall to their knees in pain.
"Run," Anakin said succinctly into the ringing silence that followed.
"That's it?!" Han yelped as he jumped to his feet and took off running, ducking a blaster bolt. "You slime-sucker, can't you use the Force? At least knock them down or make them forget me!"
"Perhaps," Anakin said, effortlessly keeping pace with Han and not even seeming to notice the blaster bolt passing through his chest, "but this is more expedient—from a certain point of view as Obi-Wan is so fond of saying—and it got you moving faster. I should probably say something compassionate like this is going to hurt me more than you… but I'd be lying." Laughing at Han's expression, Anakin disappeared between one blink and the next.
Growling, Han dropped his chin and ran for his life, winding in and out of twists and turns in the tunnels. Someone caught his arm, yanking him back and throwing a punch. Grunting, Han twisted hard and started to grapple. They slammed against the wall, punching and kicking at each other. Crying out in pain, Han wiggled his arm free and elbowed the other guy in the face. Reeling back with a roar, his attacker shoved a hand inside his yellow jacket and came out with a blaster. Han charged, hitting the man's wrist at the joint, twisting and digging in with his thumb between the tendons, making the muscles spasm and knocking the gun loose enough for him to catch it in his other hand, point it at the guy's chest, and pull the trigger.
Pathfinder Rex taught him that handy trick during prep for the Endor campaign. Too bad Rex hadn't been Rey's clone dad. He'd have made a much more palatable father-in-law than Palpatine. If anyone cared to ask, Han would happily trade his current father-in-law for Rex too.
Han could hear more people coming after him down the tunnels. Doing his best to ignore the ache in his torso, he started running again. Skidding around a corner, Han slammed through a pair of large double doors on his right and stumbled out into a dusty, crowded street and the glare of what felt like a million suns overhead. Blinded, he squinted through the tears and roughly pushed his way through the crowd. The streets were covered in sand, which sucked at his boots with every step. The gun in his hand was too conspicuous for such a crowded space, as was a running figure, so Han made himself slow down to a casual stroll as he shoved the gun through his belt and pulled out the edge of his shirt to cover it. Most of the people looked poor and unfriendly. Street carts full of cheap goods lined the market streets, but up ahead were buildings with signs advertising storefronts and offices.
As the crowds thinned, he saw the street he followed branching off into a gated courtyard paved in patterned blue bricks leading up to an ostentatious building covered in thousands of glass sculptures shaped like an ocean wave full of colorful fish. The bright building looked wildly out of place compared to the rest of the poorly constructed sandstone neighborhood, probably owned by and catering to rich offworlders. Parts of it had fallen into disrepair on the upper levels and areas farther back from the street, but it was trying to hide its age with holographic displays that brought the glass to life and focused the eye on the front and center. The holograms were only partially succeeding as they kept glitching, revealing large areas of dirty, broken glass and once-majestic glass spires scoured into blunt nubs by sandstorms. The sign on the gate read, "The Belluria Hotel, by appointment only."
All he could see past the hotel were locked gates, high walls, and narrow streets covered with yellow sand under a pale slice of sky, the sun hidden from view by the tall buildings in this area. The people up here looked richer than the ones down in the market, but no friendlier. They all had closed expressions and kept their heads down, mostly traveling in groups for safety. It felt familiar, but that didn't mean much. Han had spent half his life hanging out with criminals in wretched, unpleasant places just like this.
Looking back the way he'd come, Han had started to relax, thinking he'd lost his pursuers. Then a Besalisk crouched down to look at something in a store window, giving Han a clear shot down the road to see the armored man in the black and red cloak climb up from a stairwell and stalk out into the road. The crowd parted around him like he had a forcefield keeping them at bay. The armored man swept his hooded head from side to side as he searched for Han. The Besalisk started to stand up, saw the cloaked man, and blanched, dropping back down into a crouch and pretending to be absorbed in the wares again. Clearly, the guy wasn't someone Han wanted to tangle with.
Ducking down between the wall and a group of women holding baskets, Han followed them as they walked up the street. The women slipped through a side gate leading to the hotel and closed it behind them, leaving him exposed just as a speeder pulled up in front of the main gate. A richly dressed young man hopped out, leaving his speeder running behind him as he strutted up to the sign and rang the bell.
A door to the side of the gate opened and a droid rolled out. "Do you have an appointment, young Master?"
"No, but I need a room. I'm—"
The droid retracted back into the wall. "The Belluria Hotel is by appointment only."
"Hey, get back here and let me in!" The young man stomped his feet and started waving his arms, screaming about how important he was and that he was going to get his father involved.
Han didn't need an engraved invitation to take advantage of that. Striding forward like he had every right to be there, he hopped into the speeder, disengaged the brake, and took off. The rich kid didn't even notice, too busy arguing with the porter droid.
About to congratulate himself, Han looked over his shoulder only to see the gang leader in the toothy green hat staring straight at him as a speeder pulled up next to him. The leader hopped on the back and it came zipping after Han. At least it wasn't the scary armored dude in the black cloak, Han tried to comfort himself as he gulped and peeled off down the street.
Putting his head down, he did his best to lose them. Not knowing the town, he took a wrong turn and found himself heading out into the desert and distant canyons. Han decided to roll with it, stopping only long enough to make sure he'd ripped out and disabled the tracking transponder before he took off again. The speeder had a full tank of gas along with packets of fancy food, flavored bottled water, and even a medkit, all human standard. Luckily Han had spent a lot of time smuggling freight on desert worlds over the years. Canyons meant caves where you could hide. It was hot, dusty, and unpleasant out in the open desert with no cover from searchers or the planet's two suns baking down on his shoulders. Han could think of at least four planets with double suns, so that didn't narrow down his location much.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he finally turned into a canyon where he was hidden from view and got a little shade. Whenever he thought about turning around and going back into town to find a room with air conditioning, he'd make himself stop and climb up the tallest rock to look back at his trail. Unfortunately, a plume of dust always trailed after him in the distance, evidence that he wasn't alone out here. It could be the yellow jacket gang, the armored guy in the creepy black cloak, or even the rich guy wanting his speeder back. Either way, Han wasn't willing to risk getting caught, so he was stuck out here for the time being.
Stupid, useless Anakin Skywalker. Didn't he want Han to save her? His wife, mother, sister, ex-girlfriend? His favored pet? After that stunt with the gang, Han wouldn't be surprised if it was a tooka. Whoever she was, how was Han supposed to save anybody from way out here?
It took him way too long to find a cave big enough to hide both him and his speeder. Parking and disguising the cave entrance with a tarp from the trunk, Han pulled out a bottle of water and took a big gulp. Wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve—which turned his sandy cheek into a muddy cheek he discovered with a grimace—he decided to wait for nightfall and then sneak back into town to figure out just where and what time he'd been dropped into.
Of course, right when he'd gotten comfortable on a nice pile of sand mounded to his liking, he looked out of the gap in the tarp and saw a line of Tusken Raiders passing by his cave single-file on Banthas. At least he knew where he was now: Tuskens and twin suns meant Tatooine. Well, hell. What deity had he offended to end up back on this cesspool of a planet?
Tuskens meant trouble if they found you alone, especially a raiding party, but Han just had to stay hiding in his cave. He couldn't think of anything that would entice him to go out and risk getting hurt or killed. So long as he didn't do anything stupid, he'd be fine.
Famous last words.
AN: Thanks for reading! I wanted people to think this was Mustafar for the first half of the chapter. I hoped that worked. Please let me know your thoughts.
I amuse myself below:
Alternate chapter ending / Omake part 1
At least he knew where he was now: Tuskens and twin suns meant Tatooine. Well, hell. What deity had he offended to end up back on this cesspool of a planet?
With a burst of light and a swirl of flower petals, Anakin Skywalker appeared in the middle of the cave, arms raised in a heroic pose. Sending Han a rakish smile, he put a hand on one hip and winked. "Why yes, I am considered a god among men. Nice of you to notice, unfilial son-in-law."
Jaw on the floor, Han fought the conflicting urges to either turn to stone or start puking.
Omake Part 2
"Tooka got your tongue?" Anakin asked, arching one brow. He shifted into a new pose, hand on his chin. "Don't be shy, your God is here to hear your prayers," he winked, "and your praises."
Pulling his blaster and leveling it at Anakin's glowing chest, Han pressed the trigger and held, firing until the auto-safety kicked in to stop the gun from overheating. Full of smoking holes, the tarp in front of the cave fell to the ground with a crash, revealing the shocked faces of two masked Tuskens and one very hairy Bantha through Anakin's transparent—and completely unharmed—body.
Frowning, Anakin crossed his arms. "That wasn't very nice."
There was only one more thing Han could do. Turning to the Tuskens, he said with utmost seriousness, "Shoot me."
Omake part 3
There was only one more thing Han could do. It was only a mere legend passed down through whispers in dark corners, but he was desperate. Dropping into a crouch, he grabbed a handful off the floor and threw it. "Eat sand, Vader!"
"No!" Twirling in midair, Anakin Skywalker gave an unholy shriek and vanished in a puff of smoke, his voice echoing through the rock and fading away. "I don't like sand! It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere…."
The End (of Omake)