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“No. I am your father.”
The words barely penetrated through the ringing in his ears, the screaming pain stabbing up his right arm.
“No, that’s not true, that’s impossible!” he cried. His lips were numb. His head ached from the blow he’d taken earlier, and his arms from blocking Vader’s powerful blows. He pressed against the gantry, against what was suddenly the only real thing in the galaxy.
“Search your feelings. You know it to be true.” Vader’s voice was as sure as death itself.
All that was in Luke’s feelings was pain.
“No!” He adjusted his grip, the gantry slippery from the sweat on his—palm. He only had one hand to hold on with, oh stars, oh suns…
“Luke.” Vader’s voice demanded his fraying attention. Luke turned his dizzy gaze towards the man claiming to be his father. “You can destroy the Emperor. He has foreseen this. It is your destiny. Join me, and together we can rule the galaxy as father and son. Come with me. It is the only way.”
Nausea rose up in his throat and Luke swallowed it down, determined to at least keep this one point of dignity in front of the Sith he had come to Cloud City to kill.
Stars above, he had come to kill his father. Ben knowingly sent him here to kill his father.
Ben, why didn’t you tell me? he thought in anguish, pressing his face against the cool metal. Tears ran tracks down his cheeks.
Vader clipped his lightsaber to his belt and held out a hand. He lifted his head and stared at it, unable to get his eyes to fully focus.
A hand. His father offered him a hand, moments after cutting his off.
Luke took a shaky breath.
There was no way to undo this. There was no way to unknow this. His hand would forever be gone, like his naive belief that his father was a good man.
He glanced down.
There was only one thing he could do now, one action he could take to end the violence.
He would not follow in his father’s footsteps.
A calm settled over him like the warm blanket Aunt Beru had made one winter, comforting and sure.
He would not allow his father to force him to betray his ideals, everything he’d worked for and believed in all his life.
Luke felt a distant, panicked flare in the Force as all his muscles relaxed and he let go.
Air whistled past him and the walls fell away in a grey blur. He closed his eyes, and leaned into the cold rushing around his body as the last thing he might ever feel, a blessed reprieve from the heat consuming his body.
Leia, Han, I’m sorry…
The cold suddenly constricted around him like a vice and he cried out. His body screamed in protest - his wrist, his stump, lit up like a signal flare.
Then the air was moving again, but now it was—upwards? He was going up?! No!
He writhed, the tears falling faster at the pain of trying to move, but then his cry was choked off. He couldn’t move at all, frozen as if he’d never been rescued on Hoth. His head spun.
The nausea surged back up with a vengeance as he changed directions midair again to be lowered almost gently onto the grated walkway. The cold metal laying directly on his skin was too much. He vomited. It burned on its way up his throat, and fell through the grates.
He sobbed. He couldn’t stop shaking. His head pounded, pounded, pounded with each beat of his heart. Luke curled in on himself, shifting slightly to stay away from the vomit.
A hand grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet without mercy. His ears rang and his stomach spasmed, but nothing came up.
When had he last eaten? Before he left Dagobah, surely, and it had been a long flight…
Why was he worrying about food?! His father was— Was—
“You will be alright, my son.” That voice, that had once spelled danger, death, anger at his father’s killer, rumbled right next to his ear. Luke winced.
The world swayed dangerously, threatening to tip him back into the oblivion he was just pulled from. He leaned away from the feeling, right into a warm, solid body. That hand held more securely onto his arm, and a heavy fabric draped half over him. He gasped in air, but he still felt like he couldn’t breathe. His heart beat weirdly in his chest, a disjointed beat.
“Can you walk?”
Could he walk? He doubted he could stay upright. What were they even...saying?
His ears rang, drowning out all but the rumble of the voice.
He was in danger, wasn’t he? Shouldn’t he do something about that?
Luke tried to push the warm body away. His wrist reminded him with a shriek of pain what had happened, and he screamed. His legs gave out, but something caught him before he could hit the floor.
Right. Father. Hand. Vader…
The world tilted, and his head was leaned against something dark, his wrist cradled against his body. He was swaying, but not moving. Was he…?
No longer forced to stand, exhaustion slammed into him like a speeder. His eyes fluttered shut, and he forced them back open. The world was blurred, and the lights just made him more nauseous.
Father… His father was holding him. That had to be alright. That had to be…
The galaxy dissolved.