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“Father,” Luke called.
Vader cursed and just walked faster, the sharp rap of his footsteps echoing through the obsidian floors. His castle on Mustafar was vast, and drenched in darkness; if he could leave Luke behind, the boy wouldn’t be able to find him, and he wouldn’t have to answer questions—
“Father, you are trailing blood,” Luke snapped. “Stop running away and look at me!”
He froze in front of a vast pair of double doors. He could throw them open with the Force, vanish into the depths… but Luke deserved better than that. His son’s worry was an amber spike in the Force, higher and louder than the two-pronged tower of his castle.
“What happened?” Luke asked. “Where did you go? How are you hurt?”
Vader let his respirator fill his lungs with oxygen and turned. The vast, broad windows on either side of the walkway cast crimson light onto Luke’s concerned face.
Vader said, “The Emperor is dead. Your mother took the throne temporarily, with the aim of returning it to a Republic. You and Leia are safe.”
“That’s not what I asked, Father.” Luke took a few steps forwards, eyeing the trail of blood Vader had left, eyeing where it leaked from the armour over Vader’s right shoulder. “I asked how you’re hurt.”
“A red guard caught me in the arm,” he admitted.
“I hope you killed him in return.”
“Of course I did.”
“Good.” Luke revealed a few teeth in a smile, and rested a hand on his good shoulder. “Come to the medbay with me.”
“It is a minor wound.”
“Minor wounds don’t bleed like that. That’s a deep wound. And other than that, your respirator is about to malfunction from lightning damage.”
“Is it indeed?”
“I can hear it stuttering. You’re too busy avoiding me and my questions to notice.”
Vader didn’t respond to that.
Luke slid his hand down to take Vader’s, not flinching at the cold durasteel under his touch. He smiled at him, and gently tugged him in the direction of the medbay.
“C’mon,” he said. “Or I’ll tell Mother.”
Vader released a breath. “I suppose I have no recourse to argue with that.”