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The crackle of the saber in his ribs was a sensation he’d never forget – not because of the pain, but because of the person who dealt the blow. He’d probably been overly romantic when he assumed that Rey would never strike him. Even now, he was so like his father, always hoping for the best and dreaming of realities he knew could never come true. Who was he to think she might spare him? He staggered, falling backwards, his mother’s whisper still in his ears. He had only just told Rey, with so much conviction, that he could never return to Leia, and now he realized in a lightning strike of clarity that he’d been so, so mistaken. He had known that his mother had always held out hope for him, but he never thought she would reach out to him with her last breath.
It was his last breath as well, he observed distantly. He leaned heavily against the side of the metal hull, gasping air into his ravaged lungs. How fitting, that he should die at the same moment that he realized he had something to live for. He couldn’t bring himself to be bitter about this turn of events, though. He’d been so blind to the many offers of hope and home that had been offered to him, why on earth would he be granted them now? He’d been on borrowed time for a while, if he was honest with himself. It was only surprising that the end was arriving here, with this scrappy girl standing over him, looking bewildered at her own actions. If he had the breath, he would have reassured her, but he didn’t trust himself to speak. He remained quiet, looking up at her, content that the light-bathed face of his killer would be his last sight.
He was entirely stricken, then, when she bent to her knees next to him and rapidly patched the gaping hole in his side with merely a touch. Oxygen rushed back into his chest, and he kept staring at her. Tears ran down her face, and it was with wonder that he began to comprehend that they were spilled on his behalf. She gazed back into his eyes, unmarked now by the scar that he had felt mend itself over his cheek. He was frozen. In the back of his mind, he was aware that he had been given back the rest of his life, whatever that was worth. A life in which his mother was dead, but not at his own hand. He’d never considered that possibility, that his mother would die naturally and not at his own hand. That he wouldn’t be there at the moment, either finished by her or there to end her. As it stood, he didn’t even know where her body was. He’d expected his own body to drown in the crashing waves of this wreck, but it seemed he wasn’t to be granted the simple answer. He remembered where he was when he heard the scavenger’s soft voice next to him.
“I did want to take your hand,” she murmured, and he took in another breath. It was all he was capable of at the moment. “Ben’s hand.”
The waves kept crashing. He was unaware of anything after that, until he finally noticed that he was alone, and that the damn girl had taken his fighter. It was a strange mercy – he couldn’t imagine having to fly that ship now that everything had changed. What had changed, he wondered? He had almost died, but he didn’t. On some faraway world, his mother had died, but that shouldn’t have altered anything. He reached a hand up to his cheek, and felt the absence of that angry scar that carved his face in two. That was it, he realized. He wasn’t split to the bone anymore. With the removal of that mark, his own division had left him. Inexplicably, he felt no loss. He ought to despair now that the Order must be behind him, now that he knew he must stand against Palpatine, but he felt only a nervous sense of anticipation. He stood on shaking legs and strode to the edge of the metal outcropping, watching the water churn and feeling a strange stillness. Usually after an encounter with Rey he felt his warring desires roiling within him, his care for her at odds with his loyalties to the dark.
“Hey kid,” came an old, familiar voice, and he turned to see the person he most feared in the galaxy. His father approached slowly, and Ben felt his tenuous peace shatter. He had only just decided to heed the pull to the Light, and already he was made to atone for his worst crime.
His father told him he missed him, and his reflex told him to kick and scream.
“Your son is dead,” he insisted, no longer sure who he was trying to convince.
“No. Kylo Ren is dead. My son is alive,” Han answered without hesitation, and Ben didn’t have the heart to contradict him again. He wasn’t sure if he would be telling the truth anymore. He grasped at the nearest truth he could find, trying to remind himself of the reasons he couldn’t go back.
“You’re just a memory,” he said, feeling a phantom pain in his side that he didn’t expect. A few moments ago, he could have been a mere memory too.
“Your memory,” his father argued, and it was true. “Come home,” Han ordered, and Ben wracked his brain for reasons why he couldn’t. There must be something.
“She’s gone.”
“But what she stood for, what she fought for – that’s not gone.” You still have a home to return to, his father was telling him. For the first time in years, he believed the words his father said. There was nothing else to be done.
The words that came out of his mouth were familiar and pleading. “I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.” He winced inwardly at the memory of his darkest moment, but Han seemed unfazed.
A withered hand reached up to his face, and his dam broke. Even after the last time, even after their last, lethal encounter, his father still reached for him. His mother still reached for him. Would he never run out of second chances?
The look in Han’s eyes told him he never would. He felt the last vestiges of Kylo Ren crack. “Dad,” he gasped, and the man’s eyes were warmer than the Tatooine suns. Even as Ben choked and cried, Han’s gaze was calm, constant.
“I know.”
He’d always known, then. He’d known when he saw his son’s face on that bridge, and he’d known when he felt the same blade pierce him just as it had pierced Ben. His boy had never truly gone – now Ben would admit what his father had sensed to be true. The call of the Light had never left him in peace, no matter what he did. The sensible thing, then, would be to answer it. He was merely wasting his own time the longer he resisted. He felt a sense of resolve, and his dad’s smile grew.
Without more warning, he spun and threw his lightsaber as hard as he could, watching it whip into the waves with satisfaction.