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When working closely with a Sith Lord, one came to expect and anticipate all kinds of violence, explosions, death, bullshit, and general fuckery which could be associated with those who possessed insane and superhuman capabilities and had possibly low levels of self-control and intense anger management issues.
Not that Piett would ever be guilty of saying or thinking such a thing.
It was simply survival.
Quite honestly, Piett enjoyed working under Lord Vader despite the inherent risks involved with existing in close proximity to the man. He was a terrifying force to be reckoned with but when all things were said and done, it was a privilege to work for him. Lord Vader had high expectations and didn’t tolerate failure but whatever he asked for (demanded), he always gave twice as much in return.
There was a reason that the Executor was consistently the most requested ship to work for in the Galactic Navy. And while the ship itself was a thing of beauty, something worthy of admiration in its own right, it was the Commander of the ship which drew everyone’s attention and respect.
Everyone had heard the stories. Everyone heard the warnings and everyone knew the risks involved.
But Darth Vader was worth working for, providing one had their shit together and was ready for everything that entailed.
As well as the ability to adapt, because that list of risks kept getting bigger and bigger.
In most recent years, that list seemed to gravitate solely around one person.
Luke Skywalker.
The infamous and elusive Rebel who was responsible for the destruction of the Death Star.
A Jedi and apparently a threat so dangerous that Lord Vader focused every spare minute of his time and resources into tracking down anything and everything about him. He did so even when placed on other assignments from the Emperor himself, unwilling to be deterred and willing to go about it in secret if necessary.
Piett knew this because he was the one who covered for the Sith Lord whenever he went off on his solo missions to look for the kid. Though to be fair, it had been several months since that had happened. Not since before Bespin. It seemed ridiculous that so much time and energy should be put into finding one person… but that was far above Piett’s pay grade to question. He was loyal to Lord Vader, first and foremost and if the Sith Lord was prioritizing the capture of this one Rebel commander, he wasn’t going to be the one to question him about it.
Piett was adaptable and intimately acquainted with Lord Vader’s eccentricities when it came to Skywalker.
Which was why, when Lord Vader entered the bridge and promptly commanded Piett to move the Lady several systems over and to do so immediately because he had a location on the Rebel, he did it without even blinking, promptly entering the coordinates that were given to him by Lord Vader.
The ship made the jump into hyperspace and it was several long, tense hours wherein Lord Vader stood silently at the bridge, staring at the blue streaks of hyperspace with focused intensity before they finally arrived in the Outer Rim Territories, dropping out of hyperspace near one of the smaller moons of Nal Hutta. It was largely uninhabited but had several unidentified complexes on the surface with readings confirming that there was indeed heat signatures indicative of life forms present.
Lord Vader promptly confirmed that Skywalker was on the moon below and then strangely ordered for several specific members of the 501st, General Veers, and Piett himself to join him in the hangar bay and assist in reclaiming Skywalker from whoever was holding him below. It was something that had never happened before but he wasn’t a fool enough to think that it didn’t mean something.
His reasons for having them were not explained during the short trip to the surface of the moon, only the typical general orders and formations given for the anticipated confrontation ahead. Vader and four of the Stormtroopers were going in first to deal with the brunt of the mercenary group and the rest were to follow and pick off any stragglers but ordered to primarily search for Skywalker. Piett was staying in the back, assisting when and only if needed.
An order that he appreciated. It had been a long time since his days hunting pirates and while he had certainly been in his fair share of scraps, he wasn’t ashamed to say that he was out of practice.
The sky was grey was grey and the atmosphere when they disembarked the shuttle was somewhat grim. The landscape was dreary, open, with nothing to mark the horizon line and few, if any signs of life. It was mostly rocks and stones and what appeared to be a old, abandoned outpost ahead of them.
“I want Skywalker alive and unharmed.” Lord Vader said tightly, staring ahead at the complex. He unsheathed his lightsaber with a hiss and a hum. “Kill everyone else.”
Then he moved, striding confidently forward to begin the work of death.
Piett waited with several troopers as Vader and his elite stormed into the outpost. The door exploded off its hinges with a bang and immediately the sound of shocked cries, screaming, and blaster fire cut through the air as they disappeared inside.
It didn’t take long for the screams to quiet down.
“First floor, all clear.” Appo’s voice crackled through Veers commlink. “Proceed with caution and begin the search for Skywalker. Over.”
“Copy that.” Veers said promptly. He turned to them. “Alright boys. Let’s go to work.”
The scene inside was no less than what they expected. Upon initial entry, it was utterly gruesome, with over a dozen fresh corpses littering the ground, surrounded by blood and gore or having been brutally cut into pieces by one very pissed off Sith Lord. The sound of blaster fire continued above them, which, in any other scenario would have been the cue to get the hell out until everything was clear. As it was, with Darth Vader leading the charge, they moved ahead with their orders and began scouting the place for Skywalker.
Aside from the dead, it was dank and unkept inside. The building had obviously been abandoned for a long time, dirt and dust covering every surface, broken pieces of every kind of stuff imaginable littering the ground. The lights were at a low setting or broken entirely, giving it an eerie sort of vibe. A small space heater was plugged in to the corner of the main entry for warmth and some used plates of food strewn about haphazardly. It had obviously been a smugglers hole for quite some time and no one is home, nothing to see here was the message they wanted to give the place.
The troopers split up into groups of two as there were dozens of rooms to check, all of them proving to be either empty or very close to it, with nothing of any value inside. A few had cots or some sparse personal belongings which no doubt were the private possessions of the now dead pirates. Five minutes later, still no sign of Skywalker though. Frowning, Piett went back the way they’d came to recheck the main entry for signs of something they’d missed.
The occasional sound of blaster fire permeated the air as the upper levels were cleared of the remaining stragglers but only a few. It seemed most everyone inside had been on this floor.
Which meant that what they were guarding had to be close by.
A sudden quiet, very muffled bang caught his attention and Piett paused, uncertain where it had come from but thinking it had come from somewhere… below. He turned around in a slow circle, eyes narrowed as he looked for anything that seemed out of place.
There.
A small section of wall with an old bookcase that looked only seconds from falling apart was just barely lifting off the rest of the wall, a barely visible seam of black the only clue that it was an old, secret doorway.
Pleased with himself, Piett stepped over several corpses and carefully pried the hidden door open. It revealed a short staircase leading down into a dimly lit basement level and without hesitating, he began to descend.
It was cleaner down here, less dusty and obviously where the smugglers kept their treasures for safe keeping. The floor was durasteel and he had to be mindful so his shoes didn’t click too loudly as he walked.
He inched along the dark hallway, straining to hear something – anything really – and was rewarded by the sound of hurried shuffling? dragging? packing? as well as a few notable grunts of pain and a sudden, “Shut up, you stupid little shit.”
Holding his breath to not give away his position, Piett silently continued forwards, turned a corner and was met with a lit doorway leading to a spacious room. The door itself, a thick metal one, looked to have been bashed in and off its hinges with incredible force. It must have been the noise that’d drawn his attention in the first place.
“I told them we couldn’t trust those stupid bastards –“ Peering around the corner, Piett was met with the sight of a slightly larger room, empty except for one was very big, very pissed off trandoshan hastily packing supplies and then one banged up looking Luke Skywalker, huddled in a corner.
Piett ducked back behind the wall before he could be seen as the trandoshan twisted around in a fury, and raised his commlink.
“I’ve located Skywalker.” He whispered. “He’s being held in the basement level of the building. Be advised, hostile is a trandoshan, reinforcements requested now.” He said, voice calm but urgent. He pocketed his device again and held his blaster at ready.
His reinforcements came quickly.
Six of the 501st appeared within the minute, with others likely on the way. Piett gestured to the proper doorway and they responded immediately, moving like a well-oiled machine, deadly, competent, and one in purpose. The 501st were known as Vader’s Fist for a reason. Piett followed behind as the last trooper went through the doorway, falling into perfect formation, a halfmoon circle around the last remaining hostile force.
The trandoshan had reacted quickly, swearing up a storm and yanking Skywalker to his feet and putting him in a chokehold, to use as a shield. The trandoshans huge muscular arm wrapped tightly around his neck and he seemed prepared to snap it the moment anyone so much as twitched an eyebrow.
“Release the rebel!” Commander Cody ordered, he and the other clones leveling their blasters at their opponent with calm, deadly efficiency. Piett did the same. The trandoshan may be completely surrounded but that didn’t mean much. They were a strong race, competent and dangerous fighters, notoriously difficult to kill and a capable of regenerating their own limbs when necessary. They were popular bounty hunters and hired guns for criminal organizations and even a strong group of soldiers were often hard pressed to try and kill one.
“Like fucking hell, I will. I’ll break his neck before I let you take what’s mine.” The pirate snarled. He opened his maw, revealing his sharp teeth to likely spit more words at them only to be cut off at the familiar, undeniable sound of approaching death. The way his reptilian eyes widened in horror told Piett that he didn’t seem to know who it was that had come for Skywalker.
Well. Now he knew.
Lord Vader entered the room like a black specter, every movement perfectly controlled, inhumanly graceful and lethal, his red lightsaber humming at his side. His familiar mantle was nothing short of terrifying. He paused in his advance only when Skywalker began to choke as the grip around his neck tightened dangerously, cutting off his air supply.
The Sith Lord was completely still but his rage was almost palpable, the air practically vibrating with energy. Some of the light fixtures overhead were sparking and exploding in tune with his anger and while Piett couldn’t see it, he knew that the glare underneath the mask being directed at the trandoshan was enough to strip paint off a wall.
“Skywalker is mine.” Vader practically snarled.
The trandoshan shifted uneasily. “Look. We can work something out –“
Lord Vader clenched his fist and immediately there was a series of horrific, loud snapping sounds and Skywalker seemed to be shoved or pulled out of the way as the trandoshan immediately collapsed on the floor, spitting up blood even as he died because there was no way anyone could survive for more than a few seconds as pieces of their spine were literally ripped out of their skin by invisible hands. With a few quick, confident strides, Lord Vader, in a clean and easy stroke of his lightsaber, decapitated the mutilated, bloody corpse with cold fury.
“And I do not negotiate.”
Then, with an air of satisfaction and easy nonchalance, the lightsaber was switched off and the cylinder returned to his belt, Lord Vader turned to Skywalker who was still sitting where he’d been shoved to the ground, staring at the dead reptile with wide eyes, somewhat unfocused eyes.
“Luke?”
Blue eyes turned to stare up at Lord Vader and maybe it was his imagination but Skywalker, who was painfully thin and certainly worse for wear, almost seemed to wilt in relief as he refocused on the black death in front of him and then proceeded to offer the Sith Lord a very bright smile.
“Hi!” He said, coughing hoarsely but somehow grinning dopily, like the man in front of him wasn’t his huge, terrifying and very deadly enemy.
Piett blinked and judging by the brief silence that followed, he had a sneaking suspicion that Lord Vader was somewhat surprised as well.
Skywalker seemed ignorant of the reaction his greeting caused and started trying to stand up, though he couldn’t seem to get his feet underneath him. He slipped and nearly toppled over when he tried to lever himself up, the process being made more difficult by the fact that he only had one -
“Where is your hand?” The Sith Lord demanded suddenly, his voice booming with sudden akin to outrage.
Skywalker blinked, breathing heavily from his efforts and glanced down at the stump and then stared.
“Holy shit.” He breathed, alarmed. He raised his arm to eye level and stared as if he’d never seen anything like it before. The neural ports and connectors for a prosthetic were in place, small but visible and proving that there definitely should have been a hand there. “That is… not normal.” Wide blue eyes turned back to Lord Vader. “It’s… it’s gone. I don’t know where it is.”
Piett bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing because it was becoming quite obvious to everyone that Skywalker was out of his mind on what had to be some pretty incredible drugs.
Thank the Force for that because Piett was confident none of them wanted to be around if Skywalker managed to escape again.
“I’m so good.” Luke suddenly said, nodding and nodding and nodding in response to a question none of them had asked as Vader reached out and wrapped a hand around Skywalker’s bicep, pulling him carefully to his feet. The Sith Lord then took the stump in hand, eyeing it with a critical eye and seeming to be personally offended that it was missing all while Skywalker kept talking. “Like, awesome. And I didn’t say anything they wanted to know. Nope, not a God damned word. Not even when they, they friggin kicked me and used the stunner stick thing on me.”
In response to this, Vader’s head jerked up and he let go of his wrist only pull at Luke’s white tank top, lifting it slightly to reveal dozens and dozens of stun marks and black and blue bruises across his stomach and side. That type of consistent electrocution and pain should have made standing up impossible.
“I told them they kicked like little girls but I didn’t tell them you were coming,” Luke continued, wavering slightly and wincing when Vader pressed a hand against the bruises, feeling for broken ribs. “I thought that might have been a not great thing to do. Cause like, what if they decided to leave and took me with them? So, so… I definitely didn’t say anything.”
Vader finished his inspection of the rebels most obvious injuries, letting his shirt fall back into place. “You did very good, Luke.” He said simply and honestly, witnessing Darth Vader praise his long sought after captive was not what Piett was expecting but fortunately, he had trained himself for the unexpected and decided to let it slide and think about it later only after he’d had a few drinks.
“I… did try to make them stop though. I told them that, that…” Luke stumbled slightly almost falling to the floor in an undignified heap before Vader reached out to grab him by the arm and steadied him once again. Skywalker continued as if there hadn’t been an interruption at all. “…that my dad could totally beat up all their dads and that they were going to be really… really very not, like, happy once he got here. They only laughed though and that wasn’t fair because that was like, the best threat I could think of.”
Luke sighed dramatically, his expression that of someone who was extremely doped up – and really, if Skywalker didn’t have one of the most recognizable faces in the galaxy and wasn’t a known Jedi and warrior who had done the impossible and survived several encounters with Darth Vader and escaped, on top of evading capture from Force knew how many hunters who were looking to cash in on the most prized bounty award to ever come into existence, then Piett would totally believe that he was a college student who’d been tripping out on Corellian weed for a few days and was now pouting at the perceived injustices of life.
All things considered, Piett doubted very much that Skywalker would be this easy to manage once whatever those damn pirates had pumped him full of was out of his system and he realized exactly who he was talking to.
As it was, Vader was being… unusually accommodating. He was still supporting Skywalker and keeping him from falling flat on his face because he was not currently coordinated enough to do more than stand very still, and, granted it might have been a precaution just to make sure Skywalker didn’t evaporate or something. Piett was well aware of the rebel’s propensity for sudden and last minute escapes. Whenever that happened, it usually meant he had to hire new crew members.
Except… it didn’t look very precautionary. Lord Vader’s grip wasn’t harsh or impatient or anything else he’d come to expect from the Sith Lord. It seemed unusually gentle and if Piett didn’t know better and were it anyone else, he’d say the Sith Lord was drinking in the sight of the Rebel like he couldn’t believe what he was looking at. That, or Skywalker’s retelling of his drugged and empty threats to his captors had silenced the Dark Lord completely and he was wondering if this boy was really the threat to the Empire he’d been looking for for the better part of four years.
He sure wasn’t painting a very threatening picture. Looks were deceiving though, even when in the form of a drugged, 5’9, twenty-three year old moisture farmer from backwater Tatooine.
But when Vader raised one gloved hand and carefully, almost hesitantly brushed dirty fringe out of Skywalker’s eyes and then lightly traced a dark bruise on his cheek, Piett thought maybe they had this whole thing wrong because he never could have anticipated that either. Sharing a glance at Veers, he was relieved that the general seemed equally confused by the proceedings and making a valiant effort to hide that confusion. Piett figured he could cross fevered hallucination off his list of sudden and possible ailments.
When Lord Vader finally spoke, his normally harsh and commanding tone was almost a soft rumble, tinged with undeniable amusement.
“It is a true wonder that a threat of such gross detail and sophistication did not engender the response you anticipated, my son.”
Piett almost choked on nothing and might have continued to do so if General Veers hadn’t suddenly pounded him on the back. Piett quickly waved him off, coughing but not wanting to draw attention on them because what. He couldn’t decide if his sudden asphyxiation was because Lord Vader, the Black Death, the Emperor’s Fist, the man he’d worked for for almost half a decade had suddenly developed a previously nonexistent sense of humor in a period of .5 seconds or if it was because Luke Skywalker, the Hero of the Rebel Alliance and the Destroyer of the Death Star was apparently his… his son?
What in the hell?
Swallowing thickly, Piett could only stare at the two, both literal legends in their own right, and hindsight whispered to him that it was probably the latter.
His son.
Oh gods.
Oh Force.
Luke Skywalker was Lord Vader’s son.
The events of the last few years suddenly flashed through his mind – the rage that came with the knowledge of Skywalker’s identity, the obsession to find him, the number of resources put into learning everything and anything about the kid, the sheer size of the alive only bounty, and then the morosity and disappointment after the events of Bespin that no one could completely understand.
His son.
Almost everything and absolutely nothing made any sense and where in the hell had that even come from?
Piett forced himself to breathe normally, marginally appeased when he saw that he was not the only one having a reaction to this complete and utter bombshell. He had a faint suspicion that his expression mimicked that of a stunned dewback and it was only the years of experience and having been there to witness some of the worst and more surprising aspects of Darth Vader’s person that helped him wrangle it back to something that hopefully resembled calm and professional.
Vader’s mask twitched their direction, staring them down like a damn Krayt dragon eyeing its next meal, and Piett immediately straightened up at attention, feeling a slight chill go down his spine when the seconds passed by like minutes. Long, agonizing minutes. It had been a while since he’d been under this type of scrutiny from Lord Vader and he didn’t miss the feeling of awaiting his untimely execution.
But. Lord Vader didn’t seem to be in a choking mood.
In fact, it seemed like he was judging their reactions to the knowledge he’d allowed them to know. What he wanted them to know. This was why he was so specific about who came along on this mission. Because there was no way in any hell that Lord Vader had called Skywalker his son in front of them on accident. Lord Vader was many things but forgetful and stupid was not one of them.
His trusted admiral, a general, and the troopers who'd served him for almost twenty years. Away from any potential spies or enemies or foreign agents that could overhear this sensitive information onboard the Executor.
“However,” Vader continued after a moment, redirecting his attention to Luke, who seemed to be beginning to flag in the energy department. “We have not the time to pity those who suffer from such egregiously low intellect, Luke. Nor do they deserve such pity. You are injured and in need of a medic.”
“I do not want any shots,” Luke insisted immediately, his arm swinging wildly to the side in order to emphasize how much he obviously did not want a shot. His expression changed to something that seemed almost haunted and his shoulders began to hunch towards his ears as he drew into himself a little, his breathing growing heavy and fearful. “No more questions. Father, I… I don’t – I can’t, just… no more questions. No shots, please. It hurts too much.”
Father.
Holy fucking hell.
Skywalker's childish threats hadn't been so empty after all.
If Lord Vader gave a response to Luke’s concern, likely the result of some form of interrogation drugs, then none of them were privileged to hear it. However, Skywalker seemed to relax a little in response to something that was said.
“Okay." He breathed out in relief. And then, "I’ve…. really, really wanted to talk to you.” He said softly, leaning into Lord Vader’s side and yup, his words were definitely slurring now. “Like… Bespin. Bespin sucked. A lot. That was super, duper shitty of you… but I still really, really wanna talk to you.”
One gloved hand rested hesitantly, gently on top of sun bleached hair in some facsimile of comfort or affection. “I have wanted to talk to you too, my little one. And we will. You have my word.”
Moments later, Luke’s eyes finally fluttered shut and his knees gave out completely. The young rebel would have hit the ground were it not for Vader catching him midfall and lifting him up easily into his arms.
“Admiral, alert medical and tell them they have a patient.” The warmth directed at Skywalker was gone and Lord Vader was all business once again, stalking towards them and no less frightening despite the fact that he was cradling one Luke Skywalker protectively against his chest. Thank the Force because that was what Piett knew how to work with. “I want a team ready in my private hangar by the time we return to the Executor. And I will not be pleased if they are late.”
“It will be done, My Lord.”
“Good. Destroy any and all evidence that Skywalker was ever here. His presence aboard the Executor is not to be made public to anyone outside this room. That includes the Emperor. Am I clear?” He added, and holy hell, apparently today was not only a day for witnessing the most unexpected family reunion in the damn galaxy, but it was also a day for treason.
Because of course it was.
Piett could literally feel the cold glare behind the mask and the punishment evident if they should fail. He could almost feel an invisible hand wrapped around his throat as it was and he could only hope it was his imagination.
Fortunately, his loyalty was and always had been to Lord Vader before anyone else. That placed treason at the bottom of his priority list for now and made for one less thing to worry about.
“Crystal clear, Sir.”
“Excellent.” The Dark Lord turned on Veers. “General, kill any remaining pirates and then see to it that this complex is destroyed. A private discussion is in order for all present once my son has been seen to.”
“Of course, Lord Vader.”
With that, Lord Vader swept past both of them in the direction of his shuttle and Veers, despite appearing uncharacteristically flustered, instantly turned and began barking orders at the few Stormtroopers that were present while Piett pulled out his communicator and commed Medical.
Only six more hours, he thought morosely, waiting for the connection to go through to the ship in orbit above them.
Six more hours and what was promising to be one hell of a discussion until he could go to bed and lay awake all night staring at the ceiling of his quarters and try to make sense of everything he’d just learned.
During his time working with and for Lord Vader, he'd learned to not be surprised by anything that happened. Expect the unexpected was generally a good rule to live by.
And the unexpected surprise aside, while he was ready and willing to follow the Sith Lord into whatever treasonous plan he might have in mind, Piett wasn't entirely convinced he'd be able to keep up with two Skywalkers on his bridge. The experience was sure to give him a run for his money.
They would be the ones to send him to an early grave. He was sure of it.