Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i am a man with a heart that offends

with its lonely and greedy demands

sufjan stevens

—

Sometimes, Luke wondered if they had done it on purpose. If his Masters had devised his isolated upbringing as a way to keep him in the Light.

To say he had been totally alone for his childhood would be a lie. Aunt Beru had soothed his scraped knees with bacta, and Uncle Owen always watched over his shoulder as he tinkered with the vaporators. They loved him, he knew; Aunt Beru always poured more water for him than herself. Uncle Owen pretended not to be worried when he didn’t come home in time for dinner. 

And then they were gone. Charred, ashen bodies in the sand. Hands that had once sewn his torn clothing and taught him to shake the sand out of vaporator parts unrecognizable.

He didn’t allow the sadness to wash over him. He couldn’t, not with those droids still wandering and old Ben watching him with something akin to fear and that girl who called to him, whose voice soothed a longing in his heart he didn’t know he had.

He felt Leia’s grief as they moved to attack the Death Star. Her shoulders were taut, her gaze focused. She seemed to jump at the opportunity to comfort Luke after Ben’s death, but refused to hear any of it for herself. She celebrated with them after, threw herself into Luke’s arms as he exited his x-wing with pure joy so unlike the Leia he had come to know.

But when things quieted down, he felt the dampening of her mood. The quiet contemplation. He knew, because he felt it too. He let Han ruffle his hair and Wedge press spotchka into his hand, knowing full well he was barely of age to drink. He tried to protest, but suddenly remembered he wasn’t a farm boy anymore.

So he drank, and tried to chase the images of burnt corpses and the feeling of Biggs’ life snuffing out from his head.

Luke wondered what it was like for her. To grow up with parents, real parents. Not caretakers. Not an aunt and uncle who meant well but sometimes kept him at arm's length. He didn’t have the heart to ask her. Not now, now that there were no bodies to bury and no soil to bury them in.

He managed to build up the courage a few years later. Now that they had been to hell and back, back to hell and back again. Now, he hugged his sister. Held her close under the torches that lit the Ewok’s huts and listened to their joyful cries.

Let me see you with my own eyes.

She knew now, and knew that the horrible truth Luke harbored was hers to share. He didn’t tell her what happened in the end. He knew it didn’t matter. One good deed was not enough to replace what Darth Vader had stolen from her. She had lost much more than a hand.

“What was it like?” Luke asked, though he hardly registered himself doing so. Leia lifted her head from where it rested on her brother’s shoulder.

They had lost so much time together. Years of childhood come and gone; memories they should have had of each other replaced with war and screaming and falling bodies. 

“What was what like?” Leia questioned. She started a bit as the Ewoks lit another bonfire behind them, and followed Luke as he let them away from the celebration. He looked out over the forest, considering his answer carefully.

“I never had a family. Not really. My aunt and uncle took care of me, but… it always felt like an obligation. They loved me, but I wasn’t theirs.” He turned back to her. “What… What was it like? To have parents?”

Leia came up beside him again, and he felt the warm weight of her hand on his shoulder. “I… I’m not sure it was much different from what you had. I knew that they loved me. I knew that there was no wrong I could do that they wouldn’t forgive, eventually. I knew that no matter what, they would always love me just the same.”

Luke kept quiet. He allowed his eyes to wander back to their friends, to where Lando roared with laughter as Han spat a mouthful of gin to the ground. Leia’s hand squeezed his shoulder.

“You have a family, Luke.”

—20ABY—

Jakku was hot. Though the absence of twin suns made the sand easier on the eyes, it did not lessen the stifling heat of the desert.

It shouldn’t have bothered him. Wouldn’t have bothered him, had he not grown so acclimated to the winds of Coruscant and shade of Yavin IV. Uncle Owen would have huffed and called him soft, but Luke had no reason to visit a rock like this ever again.

No reason, except that Yavin IV didn’t feel like home anymore. That the Temple walls Luke had so painstakingly restored felt as though they would suck him into a black hole. He couldn’t stay there. It wasn’t safe anymore, nowhere was safe for him.

Selfishly, he knew the reason for his avoidance was the knowledge that there would be no one to return to. Not anymore. He had seen to that.

At first, he wondered if pure nostalgia had called him to the barren planet. It was a desert, after all, though it had far more dunes than his former home. He’d felt that pinprick in the back of his neck, something pulling him through the stars, and followed it without question. He had been floating aimlessly for too long.

Artoo beeped inquisitively.

“I dunno, Artoo,” Luke mumbled. “I just… I heard something.”

Artoo beeped again, and Luke let out a laugh.

“ Magic? Really? I swear, sometimes you’re just as bad as-”

No. No. He couldn’t say his name again. It wasn’t right. Luke had lost the right to speak his name, and he knew it when he watched him shrink smaller and smaller as he fled Yavin IV.

Coward.

“You stay here, alright? Guard the ship. I’ll be back soon.” Luke lifted the top of the cockpit, grimacing as the hot air hit him in waves. He left his cloak, knowing it would be no use to bring it. He made sure to pull the glove firmly over his hand, shuddering as he imagined the sensation of rough sand in the circuitry. 

Artoo let out a concerned whir as Luke’s feet hit the sand. He shook his head, slinging his pack over his shoulder. He smiled up at the droid.

“Don’t worry, buddy,” Luke said as he gestured to the dilapidated Star Destroyer. “I don’t think it’s going anywhere.”

—11ABY—

Ben was afraid, and Luke couldn’t say he blamed him.

The Jedi had tried his best to soothe his nephew’s mind. He told him stories of his grandfather. How fear had driven him away from his family, and love had brought him back. He tried to tell the boy that the nightmares were not real, that he could choose his own destiny, that the twisted thing that whispered to him in the night was lying. 

Luke tried to control his own fear. His fingers twitched to his lightsaber sometimes, and he fought to keep the nausea at bay, disgusted with the notion.

When he wasn’t afraid, Ben was bitter. Angry that the child Luke had brought back with him to Yavin IV could float more stones than him. Curled in on himself when his uncle praised Grogu’s ability to heal through the Force.

Luke had tried to explain, to tell Ben that Grogu had a forty year headstart on him, and there was no need to compare himself. Ben spat back venomous words to him, that he knew his uncle preferred the child to him, that his mother had dumped him off and now Luke didn’t want him around either.

Luke pushed aside the wounded feeling in his chest to curl his arms around his nephew. Ben thrashed against his hold. He tried to pull back, beating his fists against his uncle’s chest. Luke didn’t yield. He remembered wishing that Uncle Owen would hug him like this, when he felt alone and scared and needed an adult to tell him everything was okay.

Ben’s energy quickly fell away, and he sagged against his chest. He let his damp face rest on the black material of Luke’s clothes, and whispered that it wasn’t fair. Luke held him firmly upright, determined not to let him fall.

In the end, he let Ben choose where he wanted to be. Reminded him of his meditation exercises as the boy pulled a bag over his shoulder and watched eagerly as the Falcon entered the atmo. Ben hugged him briefly before bounding forward to run up the ramp, launching himself at his father.

Luke turned to enter the Temple before Han could catch his eye, the bitter feeling of failure gnawing in his chest.

—20ABY—

The inside of the Star Destroyer was in surprisingly pristine shape, Luke marveled as he wandered its tilted halls. The hard exterior, once built to protect the inside from the harsh vacuum of space, had preserved it well during its time in the desert. 

It had been almost sixteen years since the end of the war, give or take a bit of time dilation, and it still shocked him to find states of the Empire in disrepair.

It had been a looming presence all his life, like a beast that refused to be slayed. A krayt dragon shifting under the sand, not always visible, but determined to live no matter how many settlers and sand people tried to kill it.

Specks of sand blew through the cracks of the hull, a jarring reminder of times long gone. He could wander the ship; feel the waves of nostalgia for his first adventure, the rescue of his sister that took place so long ago. Everything had changed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to pretend they hadn’t, though the impulse to hide in the past pulled at him.

There had to be something here, something that called to him. He wondered idly if his father had quarters on this ship, if it had been high enough ranking to house the great Lord Vader within its reinforced walls. Maybe he had left something behind, and it called through the Force for his son to retrieve it. 

But the ship was empty. Just a graveyard, and Luke wondered if this was really the reason the Force had called him. To force him to lament on simpler times.

Luke would have laughed, years ago, at the implication that life in the Rebellion was simple. There was nothing simple to a young farm boy about rescue missions, about running through crowded streets with half a dozen stormtroopers on his tail. Nothing simple about lying with another pilot when the lights went out, often a man as bright-eyed as he was, exchanging dreams and intimacies he thought impossible on Tatooine.

None of them ever lasted more than a week. Eventually, when the novelty of having another man’s hands on him wore off, Luke stopped engaging. As he grew older, watched more of his friends die at the hands of the Empire, he found the connections more draining than comforting. He’d felt justified as he learned more about the Jedi, shielding himself from intimacy behind the Sacred Texts.

Luke thought, once, after the war, that he could indeed find happiness. Old Jedi teachings be damned. Happiness came in a flurry of Darktroopers, in covered hands and a soft voice hidden behind a sheet of metal. For a moment, Luke thought the Jedi must have been wrong. He lost himself in it, allowing himself to indulge for the first time since he was a young pilot in the Rebel Alliance.

It was different from squeezing into a bunk with another rebel, seeking comfort after another fight with far too many casualties. It had been accidental. They had stumbled from their own lives into each others, and decided to make a home of it.

The Mandalorian never kissed him. He couldn’t, and Luke never found it in himself to be upset about it. The sensation of worn leather gloves against his cheek felt far more intimate than any kiss could. The feeling of the man’s name on his tongue meant more to him than any touch.

Not that it mattered.  

Luke wanted him to leave. Told the Mandalorian to go, and tried to drive him away. When he refused, the Jedi decided to take matters into his own hands. 

He had no delusions that the Mandalorian would still be there if he returned. It had been too many cycles for Luke to trick himself into thinking he would still be waiting. With any luck, he would have returned to his people, and wouldn’t allow himself to be held back from greatness anymore. He was destined to make history as their king, and deserved it. 

Luke only hoped the stories of Mandalore’s new king would make it out of the Outer Rim. That they would last for centuries. The thought comforted him, even now.

There was a clanging down the hall, ripping through the crypt-like silence of the ship. Luke took a cautious step forward, reaching through the Force. The presence did not seem to be threatening, and he found himself moving towards it with purpose. In the back of his mind, he recognized that the Force pulled him forward, the same way it had on Moff Gideon’s ship.

Luke found himself in a large cavern, and realized after a moment that he stood in the engine that once powered the ship. Parts had been stripped clean, valuable pieces taken and likely sold in one of the few settlements he flew over upon entering the atmo. 

He reached out to touch a dusty reactor piece, the sensations in his artificial hand dulled from the glove, and its many years of use. 

The people here must get by on scavenging, Luke thought to himself. It was all he had time to think before he sidestepped quickly to avoid the falling piece of scrap metal that nearly took his head off. He squinted up at the vague form of a humanoid above him, and before he could stop himself he had called out, “Hey, watch it!”

The humanoid turned to look down at him. Their head and face were covered by thick burlap and a pair of goggles. A bag stuffed full of parts slung over their shoulder, and they continued to work at the ship as they called back down.

“ You watch it! I was here first, go find your own spot.”

Luke hesitated. The voice sounded much younger than he anticipated. “I’m not a scavenger.”

The humanoid scoffed and began to descend, letting themself slide down with the rope between their gloved hands. “You’re on the wrong planet, then.”

“I’m not.” Luke was getting more and more agitated by the minute. He felt that pull again, and knew that whoever they were, this was why he came here. He felt bitterness towards the Force rising up that he hadn’t felt since he was a student on Dagobah. It was throwing him another youngling, expecting him to know what to do, even after he failed Ben and Grogu.

Luke had long since given up his dream of teaching.

The humanoid reached the ground, tugging their rope down from where it hooked into the rafters. They pulled their goggles up and their face covering down. The human girl squinted at Luke, suspicion clear on her face. “Then why are you here?”

Luke studied her for a moment. He felt her strength in the Force now, and the mistrustful haze that surrounded her. She couldn’t be older than ten, but carried herself with a weariness beyond her years. She was young, but moved like she had been taking care of herself for a long time. She probably had.

“I’m looking for someone.” Luke settled on.

The girl rolled her eyes, leaning down to inspect the scrap metal she had dropped. She tried to buff the dust and sand off of it as she spoke, reaching up to gesture vaguely with her other hand. “Settlement is that way. You won’t find much else.”

“What’s your name?”

The girl’s head shot up. The mistrust had returned, and she stood up to cross her arms tightly over her chest. “Why?”

There was a time when Luke would have been much more patient, much more open to the girl’s hesitance. Now, standing in a dusty old ship on a desert planet, growing uncomfortably hot under his black tunic, was not that time. “Because I think I’m looking for you.”

The girl seemed to consider him for a moment, before shaking her head and turning to haul up the piece of metal. “No, you’re not.”

Luke fought the urge to bury his face in his hands. “Kid, I don’t have time for this.”

“Good.” The girl snapped back, struggling to drag the scrap metal toward the exit. “Neither do I.”

Luke watched her wrestle with the metal, weighing his options. He could listen to her. He could just turn around and leave, but where would he go? 

He only considered it for a moment, before pushing the idea out of his mind. He knew he wouldn’t leave her here, couldn’t leave her.

 Sometimes Luke didn’t recognize himself, after everything. But he hadn’t changed so much that he would leave a child alone in the desert. He remembered what it was like to be alone in the desert, speeding away from the wreckage of the only home he’d ever known.

Luke sighed. He lifted the scrap metal out of her hands, hoisting it over his shoulder. The girl’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not sharing with you.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Luke grabbed one of the bags off her shoulder. “Just thought you might need a little help.”

The girl snorted, nodding to his robes. “And you’re going to walk in that? ”

Luke fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll manage.”

“Fine,” The girl hoisted one of her bags over her shoulder. “I’ll just take it from you when you collapse in the sand.”

“Don’t count on it, kid.” Luke mumbled.

—11ABY—

Luke should have known better than to think he could hide from a bounty hunter. 

Well, hide was not necessarily the right term. He’d had no real reason to leave the Moff’s ship in such a hurry, only the whispers from Jedi Masters of old who preached isolation. Who warned of attachments and feared the galaxy that still worked to eradicate their kind. 

The child had shown him memories. Images of flashing silver armor that always swooped in to save the day, of a man who attacked without hesitation but held his child gently when it was all over. Not a day went by that Grogu did not think of him, the man in the armor who always came back. 

Sometimes it ached to think about. Luke remembered what it was like to be taken from his home and thrust into training. Sometimes the longing for their parents overwhelmed Ben and Grogu, and Luke felt like he was drowning in it. 

Luke knew that while he may have been Ben’s family,  he was nobody’s home.

It became easier to manage after Ben left. Grogu was quieter, more clingy. He held onto Luke whenever he could, sitting on his lap during meditation or in the hood of his cloak while he made dinner. Luke should have discouraged it. It promoted attachment, encouraging Grogu to depend on him. 

But he couldn't. Not without admitting that he depended on the child just as much. 

When a silver ship entered the atmo, Luke’s fear of being found only lingered for a moment. He only sensed one presence on the ship, though it was not one he recognized. Not until Grogu let out an excited cry, sending memories of sitting in strong, warm arms in the cockpit of an old ship.

Buir. Home.

Grogu refused to stay inside while Luke went out to check. He clung to Luke’s shirt, babbling excitedly, pulling and pointing to the door. Luke walked cautiously anyway, clipping his saber to his belt and warning R2 to stay inside.

The ship was not the same one from Grogu’s memory. It was smaller, sleeker; a one-person ship. Vintage, if his eye for ships was correct. Luke stayed back as the ramp lowered, even as the child tried his best to jump out of his arms. The Mandalorian disembarked, and Luke noted that he too walked slowly, as though he expected the Jedi to cut him down on the spot.

Grogu wiggled, reaching his arms out, but Luke stayed still. He tried to keep the wariness out of his voice, projecting himself as the calm, collected Jedi Master the galaxy knew him to be. “How did you find us?”

“I had some help,” The Mandalorian spoke after a moment of hesitation, his gaze locked on the child in Luke’s arms. “You aren’t easy to track.”

Luke swallowed. “Good. It’s the only way I can keep him safe.”

The Mandalorian nodded. He took a step forward, and Luke fought the urge to step back. “I know. I only told people I trust. And I told nobody where you were. I just…”

Luke saw that his gloved hands were shaking. 

“I just wanted to see him. Please.”

Something inside him cracked. He felt the serene exterior of Jedi Master slip off from him as he crossed the distance between them. The Mandalorian seemed surprised by the movement, standing perfectly still until Grogu reached out to him. Luke pushed Grogu into his arms, and he hesitantly raised them to accept the child.

Grogu cooed, both of his little hands reaching up to his father’s helmet. The Mandalorian let out a shaky laugh, lifting the child higher in his arms. His head dropped down to tap gently against his son’s. 

“He missed you.” Luke spoke softly. He knew the sentiment was unnecessary, but he said it anyway.

The Mandalorian ran a gloved hand across one of Grogu’s ears. The child dropped his head onto his father’s shoulder, and the Mandalorian looked up, pressing his hand to the back of Grogu's head. His voice was soft, cracking slightly as he uttered, “Thank you.” 

Luke suddenly felt sick. 

“Don’t.” He shook his head, taking a step back. He thought about the way Ben clung to his father when he left, and felt horribly selfish.  “Just… Don’t thank me.”

The Mandalorian watched him, cocking his head slightly. “Okay.”

Luke cleared his throat. “Stay with him as long as you want. There are plenty of empty rooms.”

I’m all alone here.

“I don’t want to interrupt his training.” The Mandalorian spoke with hesitance, though Luke felt the hope flare up in him. 

“You won’t. I collect him for training. Until then, he can stay with you.” 

It’s for the best , Luke thought, that the child would have his father now. Luke had been growing too reliant, too attached to the child and the comfort he brought. He knew that Grogu grew attached to him as well, and it was best to pull away. The child was already attached to the Mandalorian, and though Grogu would long outlive them both, it was best to limit those feelings. 

Grogu was not his son, nor was Ben. Luke would never be allowed to have a son, or a daughter. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the piece of him that never left Tatooine tried to bargain with that rule. 

Nobody can stop us, it begged in the long hours of the night. Nobody is left.

Sometimes it tempted him. He yearned to love, and to be loved in return. He longed to give his undying affection to someone who needed him, someone who would love him in return. He wanted to right the wrongs he experienced in his youth, the aching absence of a father. 

It tempted him, until he remembered the fate of his father. The Force showed him flashes of the past sometimes, and he would dream of a planet covered in fire and a scared, helmetless voice pleading for the life of his family. Of a young man selling his soul in a rash attempt to save his beloved wife, his children. 

Family was not in store for him. Luke’s path had been laid before him long before he knew how to walk it.

It didn’t mean he couldn’t wish.

—20ABY—

“I’m Luke, by the way.”

The girl trudged on ahead of him, feet slipping in the sand dunes.

“You wanna tell me your name, or do I just keep calling you kid?”

The girl shot him a withering stare over her shoulder, and for a moment she reminded him so much of Leia he held back the instinct to shrink in on himself.

Luke sighed, adjusting the sheet of metal over his shoulder. He glanced back behind them, where the Star Destroyer, and likewise Artoo and his x-wing had begun to fade on the horizon. He spared a fleeting worry that other scavengers might try to disassemble his ship, before remembering the spark of electricity his little droid shot out in times of danger. 

His ship would be just fine. It was in good hands.

“Those ships aren’t so intimidating when they’re grounded like that, huh?” Luke spoke more to himself than the girl now, though she paused in front of him. “The lack of Stormtroopers helps too.”

“You’ve seen one?” The girl slowed her pace, turning to look at him with curiosity rather than contempt. “Back when it was…?”

The girl pointed to the sky, and Luke couldn’t hold back a grin.

“I took one down once,” Luke let pride bleed into his voice, and knew that Master Yoda would have scolded him for it. “I was in the Rebellion.”

“Really?” The girl had moved beside him now, keeping her pace even with his. “What was it like? Did you fly a lot of ships?”

“Well,” Luke shifted the metal again as they came to a steep crest of sand. “Mainly just the one. I was an x-wing pilot, mostly, but I helped out on some other missions too.”

“Like what?” The girl seemed to have thrown any caution out the window, and watched him eagerly. Luke wondered what it must have been like for her on this planet; seemingly alone and growing up on the scraps of a war before her time.

“Herding nerfs.”

The girl blinked. “The Rebellion… herded nerfs?”

Luke suddenly let out a laugh at the look on her face. “Not normally. I hadn’t been with them long at this point. My sister sent me out on a mission with this friend of ours, a smuggler. We were supposed to get supplies, but the bantha head gambled all the money she gave us.”

“How does this lead to herding nerfs?” The girl interjected. She stumbled slightly in the sand, and Luke grabbed her arm to pull her steady without much thought.

“If you’d let me finish, I’ll tell you.” Luke chastised. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he sounded just like Aunt Beru. “The quickest way to get the credits back before my sister found out was to run a bounty. My friend sent me into a casino to see what bounties I could get. I was just a fresh-faced farmboy, and I was pretty proud of myself when I came back with a deal to run a couple nerfs to another planet.”

“I thought bounty hunters turned people in. That's what everyone at the outpost says.” 

Luke laughed. “Han and I were the worst bounty hunters in the galaxy. But he never made the mistake to gamble our money away again.”

“Is that really all that the Rebellion did?” The girl seemed a bit disappointed. “Fumbling bounties and herding nerfs? I thought you would have better stories.”

“Well, there was this one time where I was thrown into a fighting tournament on Coruscant. And another when I rescued my friend from being frozen in carbonite.” Luke exaggerated his expression, pretending to think. The girl brightened. “I don’t know, though. I think I need something to balance it out. I mean, I know nothing about you, and here I am giving you all my stories.”

The girl hesitated. “You’ll tell me more about the Rebellion?”

“The whole way there,” Luke promised. He reached out through the Force, willing her to feel him. “All I want is your name.”

“Rey. Can you tell me about the fighting tournament?”

Luke smiled. “Of course I can, Rey.”

—12ABY—

Luke didn’t notice it at first.

It was a strange feeling. He was not accustomed to the feeling of ignorance. He had been, a lifetime ago, back when he gazed at the sky in childlike wonder and dreamed of heroics in between speeder races and moisture farming. When he was nothing but a boy with a too-big tunic and an overwhelming desire to get himself killed.

He pretended, now, that he knew everything. It was expected of him as the last of the Jedi Knights. He supposed he could call himself a Master now; the senators of the New Republic did, and he had given up trying to correct them. 

Luke Skywalker, the crackshot flyboy from the Outer Rim; who became Commander Skywalker, savior of the galaxy and hero of the Rebel Alliance; who became Master Skywalker, the last Jedi, who would single handedly rebuild the long lost Order.

They looked at him, stars in their eyes, and thought he could build worlds with the touch of a hand. They looked to him, questions on their tongues, and expected him to know the answer. 

It was too much, all of it, and so he ran. He ran from the New Republic, from the expectant looks and dependency on him to rebuild the galaxy. He ran from his sister and her well-meaning gaze, the worried hand on his shoulder. He ran from Lando’s confidence in him and Han’s hand in his hair and Chewie’s roaring laugh.

He ran, and grew used to his solitude. Grew comfortable in the distance between him and his nephew; the quiet mornings of meditation before the sun crested the horizon, and the way his scarred arms trembled in the rain, lightning never feeling too far off. 

Until he felt the wailing of a child behind his eyes. Until he sliced through Darktroopers like water, until he held a green baby safe in his arms, and swore he felt the damp heat of swamp air on his face, and a voice telling him that we are not this crude matter.

Until he watched a man say goodbye, with trembling hands and watery eyes; removing his helmet, his life , to look upon his son with his own eyes. 

Until he noticed the same man, with armor all sharp angles and hidden weapons, had been watching him for a very long time. 

Until, until, until.

Months had passed before Luke realized. Months of curt nods, of waking up early to pick Grogu up for training, months of watching the Mandalorian disappear to the back of the Temple for the night. 

He couldn’t be sure exactly when he noticed. It may have been when the Mandalorian lingered one morning, stood still for a moment after passing off his son, and Luke had paused, waiting. He thought for a moment the Mandalorian might speak, but he turned and retreated to his ship instead.

It may have been when Grogu convinced his father to come along one afternoon, to watch all the stones drift around them in meditation. The Mandalorian sat on the stone ground with legs folded, praising his son in a soft voice. Luke had allowed himself a moment to crack open an eye, only to find the helmet tipped towards him. He had looked down from where he suspended himself in the air, and almost parted his lips to speak, when the Mandalorian’s concealed gaze returned to his son.

Or, it could have been the midmorning after a bad storm, when Luke needed to burn off nervous energy. His chest and arms buzzed uncomfortably as he strapped Grogu to his back and took off through the trees. The child cooed in wonder through the jumps and flips, and Luke almost smiled. He bounded off rocks and branches, and nearly lost himself as he came to the clearing used as their makeshift landing pad. 

The Mandalorian stood before his ship, spanner lax at his side. One of the ship’s hatches lay open, various tools spread around the matted grass, but the Mandalorian had eyes only for them. Luke paused, Grogu’s hand in his hair and little voice cooing in his ear. 

He had been gone for a while, running bounties and picking up supplies. It almost surprised Luke to see him on their planet once again, to be reminded that he and Grogu were not alone anymore. 

It surprised him more how happy he was to see the Mandalorian again. Luke smiled slightly, raising his gloved hand in greeting, feigning ease as he felt stars burn in his chest. 

He couldn’t quite describe it. Not really. He only knew that familiar, aching feeling of loneliness, and the way it evaporated like steam in the Tatooine heat when the Mandalorian drew near.

That, Luke decided, was a problem for another day.

—20ABY—

The stories of the Rebellion kept Rey engaged during their trek through the desert. Luke found, as they continued, that he didn’t mind the grains of sand in his shoes as much as he did before. He ignored the dry discomfort in his mouth that came from talking too much, and the way his arms ached from carrying Rey’s findings from the Star Destroyer.

The girl burned nearly as bright as the sun above them. Rey carried a mixture of determination and wonder at the galaxy around her that made Luke nostalgic for the other pilots of the Rebellion.

She was not as reserved as he once thought, not as bitter from her life on Jakku as their first meeting would suggest. It wouldn’t be the first time he met someone who was more open to connection than they first seemed. 

“I could be a pilot.” Rey announced to him as the settlement drew near. She watched him as though daring him to say otherwise. 

Luke suppressed a smile. “I don’t doubt it. It’s not just about skill or luck. You need the right attitude, and you certainly have that.”

Rey paused for a moment, looking up at him with a bit of uncertainty. Her confidence seemed to evaporate. “You… think so?”

“You remind me of a young pilot from the Rebellion. He didn’t have any experience either, but he knew he could do it. That’s why he succeeded.”

Rey nodded, the comment bolstering her. Luke saw the tentative light in her eyes. “Yeah. I could be a pilot.”

“You could get yourself off this planet. Go wherever you want.”

Rey’s eyes snapped up to him. “ No ,” she spoke quickly. “No. I won’t.”

She looked away again, eyes drawn to the outpost as it drew ever nearer. Humanoids and creatures alike roamed, moving in solitude under open burlap tents.

“I’m sorry,” Luke spoke after a moment of careful consideration. “I didn’t mean–”

“I’m not leaving.” Rey snapped. Her guards raised again, her Force signature muting into anger and sadness. 

And fear, bubbling quietly and carefully suppressed.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” Luke clarified, slightly taken aback. What had triggered such a response in her? Was it shame of the planet she resided on, defensive pride in her home? “I only meant that… You belong out there. You could do a lot, with a spirit like yours. Even as young as you are.”

He felt her anger simmer, her jaw set. It faded into a feeling of quiet resignation. “I can’t leave.”

Can’t, or won’t?

Luke kept the question to himself. “I can’t make you do anything. I don’t think anybody could; I’m sure you could take out a wampa if you put your mind to it.”

The distraction worked. He felt her curiosity poke its head up against her will, and she tentatively turned back to him. “What’s a wampa?”

Luke bit the inside of his cheek to fight a smile.

Niima Outpost, as it read in huttese on the standing stones they passed under, housed an air of hostility and resentment that could rival Mos Eisley. The settlers of Jakku moved around each other in unease and mistrust, hunching their sun and sand burned bodies over their prizes as they milled to line up outside of the outpost’s only building.

Rey moved through with ease, and Luke found himself falling behind to follow her lead. She walked to an empty spot beside one of the basins of dirty water, pulling a matted scrubber from beneath the brown tinged liquid. Luke settled beside her, and she gestured to the sheet of steel.

“We have to clean them. Unkar Plutt won’t buy dirty goods.”

Luke nodded, carefully lifting the metal over the lip of the basin and lowering it into the water. He longed to use the Force, as the strain of his arms protested. But he knew they weren’t safe here, that any chance of his status being recognized could put not only him, but Rey in danger.

And he hadn’t had the chance to explain yet. To tell Rey exactly why he came here. He needed her to trust him so he could keep her safe, and something told him that the use of a strange power she didn’t understand wouldn’t help that.

They both worked quietly, Rey’s gaze focused as she methodically lifted the miscellaneous parts from her sack and scrubbed away, digging sand and muck from the grooves. Luke followed her lead, grimacing as he dipped his glove into the dirty water, careful to keep from submerging the opening around his wrist.

He held every piece he moved through out to her, waiting for her approving nod to move onto the next. This was her livelihood, after all.

They placed the wet parts back into the rough sacks, and Luke lifted the sheet of steel once again, careful to keep his grip. He quietly used the Force to prop it up in his arms, holding it in place while still giving the illusion that he carried it on his own.

They joined the winding line to this Unkar Plutt’s shop, and Rey paused.

“How do you want to split it?”

Luke glanced down at her, shifting the bag on his shoulder. “I thought you said you wouldn’t share.”

Rey eyed him skeptically. “You carried them all this way.”

“Yes.”

“And… you cleaned them.”

“I did.” 

“And you don’t want a part of the payment.” 

Luke grinned. “I told you. I’m not a scavenger.”

Rey didn’t seem to have anything to say to that. They moved up a few spots in line in silence, before she turned back to him.

“Why are you here?”

“To help you sell these parts.” Luke replied easily.

“No. Why are you here ? On Jakku?” Rey’s eyes were narrow, as if she had only realized just now that it made no sense. He could practically feel the gears turning in her mind, and he knew he had been caught out. That an old rebel war hero had no business on a planet the Rebellion-turned New Republic had not been to in sixteen years, helping some poor desert girl sell her goods.

“It’s… complicated,” Luke settled on. Rey didn’t seem satisfied, something akin to suspicion growing on her face.

“You said you were looking for someone. You thought it might be me.”

Luke shifted uncomfortably, casting a glance at the people ahead and behind them in line. He shifted closer to her and dropped his voice. “Rey… Have you… ever heard stories of the Force?”

“Force?” Rey asked, a bit too loud for his comfort, and Luke shook his head.

“Not here. It’s not safe.” Luke winced as Rey’s frustration grew. He spoke hastily before she had the chance to question him again. “I’ll explain everything, Rey. But we have to be secure. Alone.”

Rey pursed her lips.

“I need you to trust me.” Luke implored. He hoped the Force would guide her, however unaware of it she was. 

A lifetime ago, the Force had instilled in him a blind trust of old Ben Kenobi from the outskirts of the Dune Sea, even as a child. He always knew in his heart that old Ben meant safety, though now he struggled to understand what part of that was his Master reaching out through the Force, and what was his own optimistic nature.

Relief flooded him as Rey slowly nodded. He felt the small inkling of confusion in her feelings. As though she didn’t understand exactly why she trusted him.

Good. That was good. She was strong in the Force, stronger than he had been at her age. He only hoped she would be as inclined to believe it as he was.

–12ABY–

Luke knew something was wrong before the Mandalorian’s ship had the chance to land. 

Grogu was asleep, curled in a mess of blankets and Luke’s robes after a long morning of meditation. After almost two years on Yavin IV with Luke, close to a year of that time with both Luke and his father, the child’s progress rendered him near unrecognizable.

The Mandalorian had told Luke one night, after Luke deposited a snoring Grogu into his arms, about how much the Force tired him out. Luke prodded the subject curiously each time they met, questioning until he gained a clear picture from the Mandalorian.

He had seen flashes of the trauma Grogu experiences throughout his long life. He saw the Temple on Coruscant burning, smelled the charred flesh and acrid smoke of blaster fire discharge. He saw the inside of Grogu’s pod, felt the fear as bounty hunter after bounty hunter argued over who would have his head, the danger that caused him to suppress his own powers.

Luke also saw a young Sith laying ruin on the night the Temple burned, of a face terrifyingly familiar both through the Force and his own reflection, and a blue lightsaber he could still feel humming in his hands.

Luke realized early on in their training that Grogu knew more than he did, of both their history and what the Force made them capable of. The thought terrified him at first, fear that he could not help the child after all. He slowly swept away this fear as he guided Grogu through their meditations, and settled the child into the rhythm of the Force once again. 

They were teaching each other, Luke marveled one day as they floated stones to one another. There was a special feeling to it, to the idea that he would never stop learning.

The Mandalorian’s familiar presence faded into the Force as his ship approached, and Luke hardly had the chance to reflect on the fact that he could now recognize it as easily as he recognized Leia, when a sharp spike of pain shot through him.

Luke stumbled back, shooting a hand out to steady himself against the wall. He very nearly checked himself for blaster holes, right hand on his lightsaber before he realized that the pain wasn’t his.

It was the Mandalorian’s.

Luke stumbled out of the Temple, leaving Grogu to nap on his bed. He ran to the clearing they used as a landing pad, very nearly out of breath by the time he reached it. The Mandalorian’s ship descended into the spot beside Luke’s x-wing, and Luke waited with bated breath.

His robes whipped around him, his hair pushed back by the winds generated by the ships approach. He hardly noticed when they slowed, when the ship landed dully on the ground and the engines powered down. He focused solely on the presence in the ship, the slow and sluggish movements dulled by some unseen injury.

The sight of the Mandalorian nearly made Luke question his connection through the Force. The Mandalorian looked as strong as ever, shoulders set back as he descended. Luke only had a moment to notice the man’s slight limp, the stiffness of his movements, before he let out a quiet kriff and promptly fell, his body’s momentum carrying him straight to the ground.

Luke rushed forward to the collapsed heap at the bottom of the ship’s ladder. His heart hammered as he turned the Mandalorian over onto his back.

“ Hey ,” Luke studied the Mandalorian’s helmet, gripping the cape slung over his shoulder to pull him up into a sitting position. His head lolled slightly, though not enough to signify that he was unconscious. “Mando. Can you hear me?”

The Mandalorian groaned.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Luke mumbled. He cast a quick glance at the Mandalorian’s body, noting where blood matted through the torn fabric of his flightsuit. “Okay. I’m gonna help you up. If I support you, you think you can walk?”

The Mandalorian nodded once. Luke loosened his grip on the cape, steadying himself to wrap an arm around the Mandalorian’s back. He gripped his upper arm with his other hand, waiting for him to find his footing before slowly pulling both of them up.

The Mandalorian leaned on him heavily, and Luke could hear his ragged breathing from under his helmet. The temple was close, no more than a hundred yards, but it took them minutes to reach it. The Mandalorian struggled with each step, and Luke heavily weighed the pros and cons of simply floating him the rest of the way. He had no desire for the man to strain himself so hard he collapsed again.

“Don’t… use your magic on me,” The Mandalorian grunted as they approached the steps to the Temple. A curl of amusement warmed in Luke’s chest, unbidden. “I’d rather stay out here than get thrown like a sack of spice.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Luke lied. “Though it would make this easier.”

“A Master Jedi can’t support one Mandalorian?”

“Not for me. I could do this all day.” Luke shot him a wry smile, and the Mandalorian let out a short laugh. “For you. How long have you been like this?”

The Mandalorian didn’t answer. His feet slowed to a stop as he took a breath. “Just… give me a minute.”

Luke debated his options. He glanced back at the Mandalorian. “Sure I can’t use the Force?”

“Yes.” The Mandalorian answered him without hesitation. 

“Fine.”

That was all the warning Luke gave before shifting his grip. He leaned down, sweeping the Mandalorian’s legs out from under him and hoisting him up, gripping him around his back and under his knees.

“Dank Farrik! ” The Mandalorian exclaimed. He threw his arms around Luke’s shoulders involuntarily. Luke tightened his grip around the Mandalorian, grimacing slightly as he began the ascent up the stairs.

There weren’t many, and it only took him a few minutes of staggered movement to reach the top. He lowered the Mandalorian back onto his feet, breathing deeply as his arms ached. 

“You… you’re stronger than you look.” Was all the Mandalorian said. Luke laughed, out of breath, as they entered the Temple.

Luke hesitated for only a moment before turning them in the direction of his own bedroom. It wasn’t ideal, what with Grogu there, but he wasn’t sure if they could make the trek to the very back room the Mandalorian had taken residence in. His room was closer, and if the Mandalorian swayed any more on his feet Luke would ignore his request not to be floated to his own room.

He settled the Mandalorian on the right side of the bed, watching Grogu closely where he slept on the other side. The Mandalorian seemed to freeze at the sight.

“He’s tired out from training. He shouldn’t wake up.” Luke murmured. Despite his own words, he leaned down, scoopingthe nest Grogu had made himself into his arms and moving it to the desk in the corner of the room. Grogu hardly stirred, snuffling further into the blankets. 

The Mandalorian relaxed marginally. “Good. He’d just try to heal me.”

Luke crossed the room to the pack that held his medical supplies. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“It tires him out. Especially if it’s this bad. He slept for over a day the last time.”

Luke hummed. Grogu had healed minor wounds on him, paper cuts from the old texts he poured over or bugbites from the many insects that resided on Yavin IV. It was true that they exhausted him, and Luke didn’t want to see how much of a toll it would take to heal his father.

Luke paused when he approached the bed again, medpack in hand. “Where are you hurt?”

The Mandalorian looked at him. He raised a hand to gesture; his right thigh, the space just beneath his ribs on his left side, and his upper left arm. All places just in between his plates of armor, hit with precision. Luke nodded, setting the medpack on the bed and beginning to pull out supplies. 

“That’s it?”

The Mandalorian hesitated. “I… My face too. I think. I can taste the blood.”

Luke paused, bacta spray in hand. “Well. Let me take care of the ones I can see first, and I can leave you a mirror to do the rest.”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond. Unbothered, Luke carefully pulls the torn fabric on his arm aside, assessing the damage. The wound is long, spanning downward from the space just beneath his pauldron and to the crook of his elbow. It doesn’t seem too deep, made from a slash instead of a jab.

Luke forgoes the bacta spray, instead grabbing a large bacta patch from the medkit. He hesitated for a moment.

“Can I rip this to access it?”

The Mandalorian sighs. “Go ahead. I’ll need to get another one anyway.”

Luke nodded, gripping the sides of the brown fabric. He tears it down, fighting to keep from staring at the exposed skin of his arm. It’s the most he’s seen of the Mandalorian’s body since the cruiser. He never removed his helmet around Luke again, even in his months on Yavin IV, and memories relayed to him by Grogu have given him context into the Mandalorian’s creed.

The removal of his helmet on the cruiser was for Grogu, and Grogu only.

Luke smoothed the bacta patch over the Mandalorian’s arm, pressing it carefully with his thumb. The Mandalorian’s shoulders drop as he secures it into place, relief tangible as the bacta begins its work.

Luke moved on to the wound on his side. He doesn’t ask before tearing the fabric this time, though it's not as necessary for him to do so. This wound is short, no more than a few inches. Roughly the width of a small knife. A prod and a wince relay to him that it’s deeper than the other one, though not an alarming amount.

This one gives the impression of carving, a failed attempt to stab him. Whoever did this didn’t have the chance to ensure the wound would be enough to keep the Mandalorian down.

Luke takes the bacta spray from the bed, carefully spraying it over the wound before grabbing another bacta patch. This one will require more care, more time to heal. When he smoothed the patch over the Mandalorian’s side, he allowed his hand to linger, far longer than necessary to secure it.

A foolish part of Luke thinks that maybe, if he holds it tight against the skin for a little longer, he can will the Mandalorian to stay in one piece.

The stab wound on the Mandalorian’s thigh proves to be the largest source of pain. The wound is deep with clean edges, a straight vertical line. Luke can imagine the length of the blade that was sunk into the man’s leg. It bleeds sluggishly, and though it's clear that the Mandalorian sprayed it with bacta, it wasn’t nearly enough, and combined with his constant movement it didn’t seem to do much at all.

Luke fought the blush that rose to his ears as he tore the fabric around the Mandalorian’s thigh, the implication of doing so too much for him to consider. He pointedly ignored the dark hair that speckles the man’s leg, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. He hoped the Mandalorian didn't notice his distraction.

He wipes the blood away as best he can, spraying the bacta over it in a thick layer. The Mandalorian let out a sharp gasp as Luke pressed the bacta patch onto his leg, flinching, the first time he showed any verbal reaction to Luke’s touch. It prompts Luke to find his voice.

“What happened?”

The Mandalorian shifted, his fingers curling in his lap.

“I found another Mandalorian.”

Luke paused, his hands frozen over the bacta patch on the Mandalorian’s leg. “I thought that would be a good thing.”

The Mandalorian shook his head. “It would have been. A long time ago. Now…”

Luke swallowed, drawing back, unable to justify staying close for any longer. “Why did you fight?”

The Mandalorian stilled. The feeling that he pushed his luck nags at the back of Luke’s mind. The Mandalorian trusted him with Grogu, to train him and care for the child while he’s away. He trusted Luke not to kill him, to give him emergency care when he was in need.

That didn’t mean he trusted Luke with anything else. His name is an example of one such thing.

Luke opens his mouth, an apology on his tongue, when the Mandalorian lifts a tool from his belt.

Luke never gave much thought to the things strapped to the Mandalorian’s chest and belt. The Mandalorian always seemed over prepared for everything, a symptom of life as a bounty hunter. He had lost track of just how many tools and weapons he had seen the Mandalorian produce, seemingly out of thin air. 

It wasn’t until the Mandalorian pulled the hilt from his belt, until he held it out for Luke to take, that he understood what he was looking at.

Luke stepped back from the bed, igniting the saber. He stares at the inky blade, mouth open in surprise as he studies the way it glows tinged with white in the stillness of the room.

“Where did you get this?” Luke breathed. 

The Mandalorian looked up at him, hesitation clear in his movement. “Do you know what it is?”

Luke shook his head. “It’s a lightsaber. I can feel the kyber, but… I’ve never seen one like this before.” 

“I got it from Moff Gideon. On the cruiser, before you rescued us.”

Luke extinguishes the saber. “Moff Gideon had a lightsaber? But he’s not…”

Can non-Jedi build lightsabers? Luke finds himself cursing his lack of knowledge of such things, things he was meant to know. Things he would have learned, had his training been less unorthodox.

“He didn’t build it.” The Mandalorian seemed to read his mind. “He took it from Bo-Katan Kryze.”

Luke shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

The Mandalorian looked down, a humorless laugh escaping him. “Neither do I. I only know what Bo-Katan told me.”

“Which is?”

The Mandalorian goes quiet. Luke realized he was still looking at the blade, and held it out in offering. He doesn’t take it.

“It’s called the Darksaber. It was built hundreds of years ago, by a Mandalorian. Some say that he was a Jedi too.” Luke looked down to the Darksaber, running his thumb over it. The Mandalorian continued after a moment of hesitation. “Whoever wields it can lay claim to the throne of Mandalore, but only if they win it in combat.”

Luke blinked, his eyes snapping back to the Mandalorian unwillingly. “And you…”

The Mandalorian shifted, his discomfort clear in the way he held himself. “I didn’t know. The Moff had Grogu. When Bo-Katan saw me with it…”

Luke doesn’t hear him, not fully. “So you’re the king of Mandalore.”

“No.” The Mandalorian responded quickly, a knee-jerk reaction. “I– I don’t know. She said they can lay claim to the throne. Not that they have to.”

Luke huffed out a laugh. “I’m sure they didn’t bother with semantics when passing down the legend; who wouldn’t want that?”

The Mandalorian didn’t respond, and Luke pressed on. “So you found another Mandalorian.”

The Mandalorian nodded slowly. “They saw I had it and thought it would be the perfect time to prove themselves worthy.”

“But you won.”

The Mandalorian nodded slowly. 

“If you didn’t want it, you could have let them win.” Luke continued. “Do you want it?”

The unspoken question was clear. Why are you here instead of rebuilding Mandalore?

Part of the answer lay napping on Luke’s desk, curled in a nest of blankets and robes. The other part…

Luke wasn’t sure. He couldn’t seem to get a good read on the Mandalorian, no matter how hard he tried. He claimed not to want the saber, yet he fought for it. He didn’t use it, yet he kept it clipped to his belt. 

Luke placed the Darksaber in the Mandalorian’s lap. “It doesn’t matter now. What matters is that you keep those bandages clean. And…”

The Mandalorian tilted his head up at Luke as the Jedi grabbed a small, handheld mirror from his desk and tossed it over. The Mandalorian caught it, then turned back to Luke.

“So you can spray bacta on your face. I’ll be outside.”

The Mandalorian looked back down at the mirror. “Thank you.”

Luke smiled. “You’re welcome, Mando.”

He was almost out of the room when the Mandalorian spoke again.

“Din.”

Luke paused, turning on his heel. “What?”

“My name. Din. Don’t…” The Mandalorian– Din’s voice was quiet. “You don’t have to call me Mando. I think we’re past that.”

The feeling of burning suns bloomed in Luke’s chest once again. “Sure thing, Din.”

The name was the sweetest thing he’d ever felt on his tongue.

–20ABY–

Rey held him true to his word.

They traveled away from Niima Outpost as the sun began to sink below the horizon, painting the sand in blinding hues of orange and purple. They walked in the same direction they had come from, back towards the old Star Destroyer, and Luke was suddenly hit with the question of where Rey lived .

She didn’t seem keen on telling him where they were going, only hoisted the bag of too few ration packs, bartered to them by the very unpleasant Unkar Plutt, over her shoulder. At one point, she pulled his arm with a ferocity that almost made him laugh, an urge he fought to keep down so as not to anger her further.

He did need her to keep an open mind, after all.

She rounded on him when Niima Outpost was nothing more than a blur behind them, crossing her small arms over her chest. 

“So?”

Luke couldn’t help himself. “So, what?”

The look on her face made the jest worth it. She sputtered, stopping in her tracks to stare at him. He relented quickly, placing a hand on her shoulder to urge her to keep moving. She did, begrudgingly.

“What do you want to know?”

“You said something about a force.”

“Not a force, the Force. You haven’t heard of it?” Rey shook her head. “I’m not surprised. Ever heard of the Jedi?”

She shook her head again, and Luke nodded. 

“They lived a long time ago. Back before the war, before the New Republic and the Empire. They were warriors, but also keepers of the peace. They served the Republic, the old Republic, before the Empire rose.”

“What does this have to do with–”

“Let me finish, Rey,” Luke reprimanded softly, and Rey quickly closed her mouth. “They died out a long time ago, wiped out by the Emperor. They believed in the power of something called the Force. The Force is… I’ll say it's an energy. It moves through everything in the galaxy, and binds everything together.”

Luke paused, watching Rey closely. “The Jedi had a special connection to the Force. They could harness it, wield it, and use it for good. They used it to protect people all across the galaxy for hundreds of years. Their connection to the Force posed a threat to the Emperor. He could never have true power while they still lived. That’s why he killed them.”

“I don’t understand.”

Luke nodded. “I know.”

“But what is the Force?” Frustration bled into Rey’s voice. “All you’re doing is telling me about some thing. Some energy . What does it mean ?”

Luke hesitated. Then he paused, glancing around them. Niima Outpost was long gone by now, and though a few specks of life moved around on the horizon, they were alone in the dunes. He nodded, slowing to a stop. 

Rey watched him as he reached into her bag and pulled out a ration pack. As he held it out to her in the palm of his hand, she looked at him, unimpressed. 

“That’s the Force?”

Luke didn’t respond. Instead, he concentrated, though it took nearly no effort at all to make the pack float a few inches above his hand.

It wasn’t nearly as impressive as lifting an x-wing out of the swamps of Dagobah, or sweeping a hand over a Stormtrooper’s helmet to let them pass. But it seemed to be enough.

Rey’s mouth dropped open. “How–”

“The Force moves through everything. Me, you, the stars…” Luke’s mouth twitched slightly, a smile fighting to rise. “Even a ration pack.”

He lowered the ration back into his hand, and placed it back into the bag. 

“So you’re…”

“I’m a Jedi.” Luke confirmed. “One of the last.”

There was a beat of silence before Rey asked incredulously, “ How old are you? ”

Luke coughed, caught somewhere between offense and amusement. He ran a hand along the short beard covering his chin. Leia assured him on their last comm call that it didn’t make him look too old, it made him refined, though he questioned her judgment now. “Younger than I look, believe it or not.”

“But if you’re a Jedi–”

“The Emperor tried his hardest to eliminate every last Jedi, but he didn’t succeed. Some lived, and passed their knowledge on to me. I’ve gathered what knowledge I can from relics left behind. There aren’t many left.”

Rey let out a puff of breath, wonder alight on her young face. “Wow.”

Luke smiled slightly, before he caught a glimpse of the setting sun. “It’s almost dark. How far is your settlement?”

Rey continued to stare at him. She fidgeted, and Luke frowned.

“Rey?”

“I don’t live in a settlement.” Rey admitted. “But it’s not far.”

She moved to continue walking. Luke watched her with a sinking feeling.

“Rey,” Luke spoke softly, already fearing the answer to the question on his mind. She glanced back at him. “Where are your parents?”

Rey was quiet, but the look in her eyes was all the answer he needed. She dampened in the Force, the carefully suppressed fear he felt before bubbling up in her, and Luke nearly choked on it.

“They’ll come back.” Rey spoke with a confidence she did not feel. “They’ll come back for me when they can.”

“How…” Luke swallowed. “How long have you been alone?”

Do you even remember what it was like to have a family? Have you lost your way so much?

“I’m not a baby,” Rey spoke defensively, jutting her chin. “I’m nearly nine.”

A pang shot through Luke’s chest. He struggled to keep it in check, not to let the pity show through his eyes, the way her words threatened to choke him with the way they tightened his throat.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Luke kept his voice even, though it trembled slightly.

“They left when I was four,” Rey said. She rushed to continue. “But they didn’t mean to. They’ll come back for me. They promised.”

Though Luke’s heart had gone cold through the conversation, he nodded. Rey relaxed at the motion, relief that she would not have to justify herself palpable on her face. Luke watched her as they continued to walk; watched this determined burst of light fight her way on a planet that was beneath her, that held her captive, not knowing what could be waiting out there for a child from the desert, if she only had the confidence to search for it.

“You still haven’t told me why you’re here.” Rey pointed out as the sky began to sink into an inky blue, and the first stars twinkled faintly above them, trickling in one by one.

Luke cleared his throat. “I was called here by the Force. It pulled me here. I knew there was something important on this planet.”

“It can do that? Tell you where to go? Is it alive?”

Luke huffed out a laugh. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, kid. The Force isn’t alive , not in the sense of sentience. It’s alive because of the beings it ties together.”

“Beings? Like… people and stuff?”

“Exactly,” Luke smiled. “ Luminous beings. All of them.”

“And it told you to come here?” Rey asked skeptically.

“In a way. It doesn’t tell me things, not like that. It’s a feeling. It pulled me here, and led me exactly where I needed to be.”

“Where you needed to be for what?”

Luke didn’t respond, simply shrugged. Rey huffed at that.

 They continued through the sand, Luke’s out of practice feet slipping more than Rey’s. She led him to a hunk of metal in the distance, its shape familiarizing to him as they approached.

The AT-AT walker had collapsed on its side, legs splayed out beside it. Rey swung the hatch open with practiced ease, her little arms straining slightly at the weight. She had to pull it with her whole body just to get it open. She hoisted herself into it, then gestured for Luke to follow.

Various trinkets laid around the interior. Luke recognized a flight helmet identical to the one on his own ship now, red paint chipped from time in the desert. He leaned down to pick it up as Rey pulled her ration packs from her bag, stacking them neatly in the corner.

Though it had deteriorated, the helmet was in surprisingly good shape. Minimal scratches covered the visor, and the inside was clean, free of sand. 

“I found that,” Rey said proudly from where she sat on the ground. “Just a few weeks ago. Unkar Plutt offered to buy it from me for a quarter portion, but I wanted to keep it. I cleaned it myself. Hardly any of the paint came off.”

“You did a good job.” Luke praised. He set the helmet down gently, as though it was a priceless Jedi artifact. “Can I ask you something?”

Rey poured water from her canteen into the ration, watching as it hissed and popped, the bread rising quickly. She nodded, and Luke lowered himself to sit across from her. He crossed his legs, placing his hands on his knees.

“Have you ever… felt anything like I’ve described?”

Rey paused, ration bread halfway to her mouth. “The Force?”

Luke nodded, and she dropped the bread back into the cup. She leaned close to him, bewilderment on her face. 

“You think I’m a Jedi ?”

“You aren’t born a Jedi,” Luke clarified. She wilted a bit at that, and he continued. “But certain people are born with a… connection to the Force. The boundary that separates us from the Force is thinner around these people than others. Force sensitive. Force sensitivities can be trained to be Jedi.”

“So you think I’m that? Force sensitive?”

“I don’t think you are, Rey, I know you are.”

Rey’s mouth dropped open. “How?”

Luke broke off a piece of her ration bread, taking it for himself. “Why did you trust me enough to bring me here? To your home?”

“I…”

“You only just met me today. You allowed me, a complete stranger, to come with you to Niima Outpost. You let me carry your things. And now, you’re letting me take your bread. You wouldn’t do that with anyone else. You’re too smart, you’ve survived too long to make that mistake. So why did you trust me?”

“I don’t know,” Rey mumbled. “I just… I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just felt–”

Her eyes widened as she spoke, and she stared at him. Luke smiled. “You’re strong in the Force, little one. I reached out to you today, and you felt my intention. You called me to Jakku, Rey.”

Rey’s brows furrowed. “I didn’t even know about… anything . How could I call you?”

“Not on purpose.” Luke considered his next words carefully. “I came here because I felt… I felt like I needed to be here. I thought maybe it was an artifact at first, something the Empire might have stored away on the Star Destroyer. But it was you.”

Rey looked back down at her ration bread. “What do you do now?”

Luke knew. He knew the second he looked up and saw a determined little girl staring down at him. 

He would have to comm Leia.

“Will you let me stay here with you? And take care of you until your parents come back?”

Rey’s eyes shot to him. “You’re not… leaving?”

“Why would I leave?”

“I don’t know. You were looking for an artifact. You didn’t find one, so now you’ll look for another one. What would make you stay here?”

“I was called here for a reason, Rey. I thought it was an artifact, but it isn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that I was called.”

A glimmer of hope shot through Rey’s chest, and Luke felt it like it was his own. “Will you train me? Like you said they did with Jedi?”

Luke hesitated, thinking of Yavin IV with a sinking heart. He pushed the thought away. “I can try. I can teach you to meditate, to control it. But… It's dangerous, Rey. You’ll have to be careful not to let anyone know. To keep your emotions in check.”

Rey nodded eagerly, sitting up straight. “Can we start tomorrow? Can we start now? ”

Luke laughed in spite of himself. Her excitement washed over him like a wave, infecting him. “Tomorrow. For now, eat. And then sleep. It’s been a long day.”

She nodded, tearing into her ration with newfound vigor. Luke drummed his fingers against the floor of the walker. He would have to slip out, comm Artoo to bring the ship over, so he could send a message to Leia. For now, he watched Rey eat, his heart fuller than it had been in a long time.

–12ABY–

Luke couldn’t quite label what had changed between him and Din.

Well, he could label some things. For one, the Mandalorian tagged along to their afternoon meditation more often than he ever had before. He became a fixture on the floor beside them, firmly on the ground while Luke and Grogu floated, seemingly content to sit in silence and clean his blasters.

For another, he began to bring Luke things from across the galaxy. Before, if he returned from a planet with a more civilized people, he would occasionally bring food or toys wrapped tightly in a kerchief to give to his son. Grogu loved everything Din brought, and Luke didn’t have the heart to tell him Jedi were meant to be unattached from material things, so he allowed it. It livened up the little corner of his room where Grogu resided while Din was away.

The first thing Din brought Luke was a battered leather journal with the Jedi’s symbol emblazoned on the front. Luke nearly fainted when he saw it, jumping up from his meditation stance to eagerly flip through it.

“It’s just some guy’s journal,” Din had explained somewhat meekly. “I looked at it. A lot of bad poetry. But I recognized the symbol.”

“Where did you find this?” Luke grinned from ear to ear as he ran a hand over the ink. It was dated with the old dating system of the Republic, some fifty-odd years before. Din was right; there was a lot of poetry. But it was an artifact nonetheless, a relic from a time long gone.

“I took it from a bounty.” Luke raised his eyebrows, and Din shrugged. “He didn’t seem to care about it. He tried to use it to outbid me for his bounty. The way I see it, it belongs to you.”

Luke laughed. “From a certain point of view, you could say.”

Din cocked his head slightly, and Luke didn’t bother to explain the inside joke. He clutched the journal to his chest, his heart swelling. He caught the Mandalorian’s arm as he turned to take his leave, resting his hand in the space just below his pauldron.

“Thank you,” Luke whispered. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

Din nodded, and Luke released his arm as Grogu toddled into the room from down the hall, eagerly raising his arms for his father to hold him.

It only grew from there. Soon, Din began to bring back enough food from his adventures for both Luke and Grogu to taste. Then it was a blaster, shiny and new, as Din gruffly explained that his lightsaber may not be enough someday. Then a new holopad, one Din reasoned he could use to store more data about the Jedi artifacts he found. Then it was a cloak, dark and sleek, nicer than any of the clothes he wore around the Temple, but still matching his black attire. 

(Din hadn’t said anything about this one, had simply left it on his bed while he and Grogu were running in the forest, and Luke never worked up the courage to ask what it meant.)

Luke felt his heart begin to ache when Din was away, the loneliness he had grown so comfortable with suffocating him. Feelings so carefully tucked away by his training began to make their way up through his chest. He felt nearly the same amount of excitement as Grogu when he felt Din’s presence approach in the Force, and nearly the same sorrow when it faded into the atmo.

He accepted the gifts with gratitude; tucking the journal away into his desk, keeping the blaster on the nightstand with his lightsaber (though he never used it), and filling the holopad with data. The cloak, he never had the courage to wear, but he ran his flesh and blood hand over it while Din was away, keeping it tucked safe in the back of his drawer.

Luke began making recordings of every Jedi text he found, settling on the hard stone ground in front of Artoo whenever Grogu was down for a nap. He read them aloud for as long as he could, running his hands under every line. He did so partially out of fear that the texts would one day be destroyed, and partially because meditation wasn’t enough to keep his lonely mind at bay sometimes.

It was how Din found him one afternoon. Luke had absorbed himself into the text, speaking softly to Artoo, who had a surprising amount of patience with him after doing this for nearly two hours. Luke had found himself so engrossed in the teachings he missed the moment Din entered the atmo, jumping when he heard the door open.

“You can shut that off now, Artoo,” Luke smiled as the blinking light dimmed, and Artoo spun around, beeping and whirring. “Yeah, I know, that was longer than usual. Thank you for sitting still.”

Artoo rolled away, past Din, still complaining about his boredom.

“I got a little worried when you weren’t there to greet me.” Din’s voice was dry, and it took Luke a moment to realize he was joking. He grinned, closing the book and stretching his back.

“I can usually feel you coming. I guess I got distracted this time.” Luke grimaced as he stretched his legs out. He moved to stand, when Din reached down a hand to help. He took it gratefully, pulling himself up onto stiff legs.

“Were you recording yourself?” Din inquired.

Luke smiled somewhat bitterly. “These texts are all that's left of their teachings. If anything happens to them, they’ll be gone forever. Artoo’s a bit more sturdy than they are.”

Din didn’t respond, only tilting his head forward ever so slightly. Luke watched him; he hadn’t stepped back from helping him up, and Luke realized with a small jolt to his nervous system that he hadn’t let go of his hand either.

He slackened his grip on Din’s hand, and Din allowed his hand to drop, leather fingers of his gloves running smoothly over the leather of Luke’s own. 

“Run into any trouble?” Luke asked, mostly to fill the silence.

“I always run into trouble,” Din replied. “Or trouble runs into me.”

Luke smiled wryly. “Trouble that runs into you doesn’t live to tell the tale, though.”

Din tilts his head further, considering him. “They live if I can help it.”

“But some of them aren’t smart enough to take that out.”

“I can’t be faulted for that.”

Luke laughs unexpectedly, raising a hand to cover his mouth. “No, you can’t.”

Din laughs too, the sound low and rough through his modulator. This close, Luke thinks he can nearly hear his real voice through it. He doesn’t let himself wish he could hear it clearly; that train of thought is a slippery slope, and one he only allows himself to slide down alone in the cover of night, with Din and Grogu safely on the other side of the Temple.

“Grogu will be thrilled when he wakes up,” Luke continues. “We weren’t expecting you for another week. He missed you.”

Din hummed, the noise of acknowledgement low and thoughtful. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his helmet tilting minutely up and down, as though assessing Luke. His voice was low when he spoke again, tentative. “Did you?”

Luke blinked. “Did I what?”

He can feel the breath Din takes before speaking again. 

“Did you… miss me?”

Luke’s heart hammered in his chest. The question feels like an offering, one he had been too afraid of to extend himself. An offering, like the blaster, the journal, the holopad. The cloak. It was an offering to something they both knew they felt, tangible in the air when they were alone. More tangible than that when they were apart.

He nodded. Parted his lips to speak, his mouth uncannily dry. He hesitated, once, twice, before settling on, “More than I thought I could.”

The Mandalorian let out a shaky breath, so loud his modulator picked up on it, filling the air between them with a rough punch of noise. He raised a hand to brush his fingers against Luke’s chin. The touch was barely there, merely a soft graze of worn leather on the underside of his jaw, but it pushed all the air from Luke’s lungs.

Luke tilted his head downwards, leaning into Din’s hand. Din hesitated less when he moved his hand to cup his jaw, running the pad of his thumb across the wisps of hair Luke had missed while shaving that morning.

Luke swallowed hard, the action only highlighting the press of Din’s hand against him, and sighed through his nose. He could feel the blood pounding in his ears as he lifted his own hand, smoothing it down the divots of Din’s chestplate. He lifted the other, his left hand, when a sudden desire to feel the beskar for himself rushed through him. 

The armor was cold, though it warmed marginally beneath his real hand. His hand traveled up, slipping into every groove of the beskar as it wandered. When he reached the top, he ran a thumb over the lip where the armor ended and the flightsuit began. Din’s breath grew ragged, his chest heaving beneath his armor.

Luke could nearly feel his body heat through the thick brown fabric, but only nearly. He traveled further still, toying with the frayed ends of Din’s cape, appreciating the fabric beneath his thumb, until he reached the cowl that covered the Mandalorian’s neck.

Din froze.

Luke paused, his fingertips still brushing against the cowl halfway up Din’s neck. It had ridden down a bit, and he could see a sliver of tan skin poking out. The sight made his head pound. “Is this okay?”

“I…” With the hand that wasn’t holding Luke’s jaw, Din clenched his hand at his side. “I can’t…”

Luke dropped his hand down to rest in the crevice where his neck curved into his shoulder. “I know,” he whispered. “I know, Din. I would never ask that of you.”

Din’s shoulders dropped, his muscles relaxing. The hand by his side drifted to Luke’s lower back, and he gripped the black tunic like a lifeline. “Before…”

“It was for him,” Luke nodded. “He’s your son. I wasn’t meant to see it.”

Din nodded jerkily, relaxing even more when he realized he wouldn’t have to explain himself to Luke. “This is the Way.”

Luke nodded again. He will not allow himself to fault Din for his beliefs, even if a small, unbidden twinge of rejection makes itself known in his chest.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Luke reassured. “About the way I feel about you.”

Din’s hand drifted, tracing along his jaw and into the soft hairs at the nape of his neck. “How do you feel?”

“Like…” Luke struggled to find the words. “Like I can’t breathe without you. Like you were always meant to be right here with me.”

Din sighed, low and straining. He surged forward to press his forehead tightly to Luke’s.

“ Cyar’ika, ” he breathed. Luke didn’t know what it meant, only that it made his heart fill to bursting.

–14ABY–

A woman’s cries follow him into the night.

Luke doesn’t recognize her, but a nagging voice tells him that she should. She pleads with someone unseen, crying that she cannot follow him down his path, until a pressure surrounds her throat. She gurgles, and Luke can feel it around his throat too, gasping for breath, clutching at the grip that is not there, until she collapses on warm, ashen ground.

He clings to his throat every time he awakens, though oxygen flows unimpeded through his lungs.

Luke dropped his hands after one such night, trailing the branching patterns of his scars down to his chest. 

It comes to him more often than he would admit, this dream. He worried about the woman the first time he had it, what would become of her and the child she so obviously carried. He drove himself nearly mad, chasing data about volcanic planets in a panicked haze, the urge to tear off in his x-wing only staved off by the fact that Din was off on a bounty, and no one else could watch after Grogu.

The fear simmered into sorrow as he came back to himself, the feeling that this memory had happened long ago, and there was nothing he could do to change it. To save her.

It took countless more nights of waking up with her sobs ringing in his ears for Luke to realize what he was seeing.

It was the first time the Force had ever shown him his mother. She was beautiful, he thought bitterly as he stewed his tea late one night, unable to drift back to sleep. She resembled Leia so much he nearly couldn’t stand it. He had collapsed into sobs the first time he realized who she was; had heaved and cried so loud that Din stumbled in with a blaster, his helmet haphazardly shoved onto his head, only to drop it and lower his arms around Luke’s shoulders instead.

Luke didn’t sleep for two days after that night, nausea hitting him in waves whenever he closed his eyes to see his father draining the life from his mother. 

Din slept in Luke’s room sometimes. On the nights he insisted he didn’t need much sleep, he shed his armor, though he kept the brown suit, and rested his covered head on Luke’s pillows. Grogu joined them sometimes, when they weren’t busy with activities unsuited for a child, and tucked himself into Luke’s arms.

The dreams didn’t come to him at all those nights. He felt safe in the circle of the Mandalorian’s arms, reassured by the comforting weight of Grogu between them. But he couldn’t expect Din to sleep in his helmet and flightsuit every night.

Luke glanced to the small window, hazy morning light shining through the cracks of his thin curtains and casting strips of pale blue on the floor. The sun must not have quite risen yet. He longed to go back to sleep, to awaken well rested and greet Din and Grogu when they awoke. 

But he itched beneath his skin, a faint restless buzzing keeping him from rest. He stood, breathing deeply. He considered meditation to put his mind at ease, but the thought of sitting so still only made him grimace.

He usually liked to have Grogu with him when he went on runs, to strap the child to his back in a faint reminder of Master Yoda that made him slightly wistful. But he could survive without, opting to let Din rest. 

He had only just returned from his latest bounty and supply run the day before; holding Luke soundly against himself when he lowered himself from his ship, Grogu between them, before pressing his forehead to Luke and Grogu’s in turn. It made Luke’s heart sing.

(Later, when Grogu was down for his nap, Luke made Din sing in return, the sharp grip of a hand in his hair and weight on his tongue feeling like a reminder of everything sacred in the galaxy.)

Luke stood from his bed, shedding the loose sleep pants from his legs and grabbing one of the tight sleeveless shirts he used for training. He pulled it on, along with a pair of loose pants, and grabbed his boots. He slung a canteen of water to his side, wincing as the door to his room hissed open louder than he expected. 

He glanced at the room across the hall, the one Din had moved to when they became… Din and Luke. Its occupants made no sign of stirring, and so Luke continued to the entrance of the Temple. He fought off the urge to make a cup of caf; he knew all too well how jittery it made him without food on his stomach, and how nauseous it made him to eat so early in the morning.

Luke breathed in the dry air of the morning for a moment after descending the stone steps of the Temple. The creatures of Yavin IV had yet to stir, and the air was still. He allowed himself a moment to gather his thoughts, before breaking out into a run.

He ran faster than he did with Grogu, always so careful not to jostle the little one on his back. Without him, Luke was able to push himself. The ground beat in a steady rhythm beneath his feet, the pounding of the blood in his ears grounding him. He only jumped when necessary to clear the terrain. It was another difference to running with Grogu; with Grogu he liked to show off a bit, and make the child laugh sweetly as they soared through the air. The sound was music to his ears.

He ran far, for a long time. The sun had crested the horizon by the time he stopped, casing dappled golden light through the brush. The birds began to sing, fluttering above him. Luke breathed heavily, pushing his sweat-damp hair from his face, when the air around him froze.

Something pulled at the back of his neck, back in the direction of the Temple, as his heart stopped then beat wildly all at once.

Din and Grogu are in danger. Something is coming. Someone is coming. Din and Grogu are alone and you aren’t there to protect them. They can’t feel it. They don’t know that something is wrong. You need to go, now, now before it’s too late–

The canteen slipped from his hand, but he was long gone before it hit the ground.

Fear clawed its way up Luke’s throat as he ran, desperately moving through the brush. He stumbled, falling hard into a tree, pain flaring up in his arm as it sliced open. He ignored it and kept running. 

Intruding thoughts of Din in pain, crying out, of a single drop of blood finding its way out of Grogu’s frail body fuelled him to keep going. His lungs burned sharply with every breath he took, his body screaming in protest. 

They were already there when he made it past the treeline.

Two Mandalorians in cold black armor painted with stark red lines stood before the Temple. They were armed to the teeth, as much as Din always was, and much bulkier than him. Din was at the top of the stairs already, fully armored, Luke noted with relief.

“You aren’t welcome here.” Din’s voice was low, seething, as his hand rested on his blaster.

The taller Mandalorian took a step forward. Luke saw Din’s grip tighten on his blaster. “So this is where you’ve been hiding out, hut’uun? A Jetti sanctuary?”

“I’ll only warn you once,” Din ground out. “Leave this planet. Now.”

The shorter Mandalorian let out a harsh bark of laughter. “Oh, hear that, vod? The Mand’alor’s given us an order. Should we obey?”

“This hut’uun is no Mand’alor,” The larger Mandalorian replied coldly. “He hides here, under the warm blanket of the New Republic, while his people suffer and Mandalore lays in rot. Don’t think we didn’t see the x-wing. No, Mand’alor, we will not leave until we have what is ours.”

“Take it, then.” Din snaps harshly. “I don’t want it. It’s yours.”

The larger Mandalorian took another step forward. “That’s not how it works, and you know it. I’m going to earn it.”

The Mandalorian steps forward, towards Din, and a bolt of white hot anger sears through Luke. It nearly blinds him in its intensity, and he raises his hands before he knows what he’s doing.

The Mandalorian stops in his tracks, grasping at his throat. A strangled cry escapes him, held back by the way his body convulses. He convulses, shakes and struggles, but Luke does not allow him to hit the ground.

He stays upright, posed in his misery, as his brother cries out and approaches him, trying to pull him back down to the ground.

Luke feels himself twist into something he has never become before. He feels the Force flow through him, power beneath his ribs and fury surging in his fingertips. He doesn’t register the way Din’s gaze snaps towards him, then back to the Mandalorians. 

“Luke.”

Luke’s fingers twitch, knocking the smaller Mandalorian onto his back as he turns to lunge, realizing what’s happening. It would take so little pressure to lift him up, too, to use his anger to snuff out the ones who dared to threaten their safety here–

His head is wrenched to the side, and he sees his own reflection in the visor of Din’s helmet. Din has a grip on his chin, forcing him to look away, the other hand raising to grip his outstretched hand like a vice. 

All at once, the pressure drops, and both Mandalorians collapse to the ground.

The anger drains from Luke’s body, a cold horror setting in. It climbs down his throat, washing him in a wave of ice down to his stomach.

“I…”

“Luke.” Din relaxed his grip, moving to hold the sides of Luke’s face. His voice is shaking. “ Cyare. ”

“I’m sorry,” Luke whispered hollowly. “I… Oh, Stars , I didn’t–”

The Mandalorians stirred, pushing themselves up off the ground. Din pushed Luke behind him, and if he was in a different state of mind he would have been amused by the gesture, that Din thinks he would need protection after he spent their first meeting slicing through a battalion of Darktroopers.

But now he shakes, the reflection of himself in a cold mask of cruelty in Din’s helmet remaining behind his eyelids each time he blinks.

“Leave now,” Din says, his voice carrying across the morning air. “And if one word gets out about this place, there is nowhere you can hide from me.”

The Mandalorians thankfully stumble to their ship, the shorter one supporting the larger. The latter turns just before the ramp. “Don’t think there won’t be more. The longer you hide, the angrier we’ll be.”

Then they’re gone, their junk ship receding into nothing, and Luke knows they’ve reached the beginning of the end.

–16ABY–

Luke moves around the ballroom in a haze. Chandrila is cold, the winds of the city-planet carrying through the open window and settling deep in his bones. 

Leia is somewhere nearby, discussing treaties and barters and tariffs with various senators. Her hair is twisted into beautiful patterns of braids on her head. Luke thinks he might see a strand of gray, despite the fact that they haven’t yet reached their mid thirties. He doesn’t want to go looking for his own, knowing they would likely be greater than Leia’s.

Some of the politicians engage him in conversation. He half-listens, a polite nod here and a hum of assent there to keep from causing trouble. They nod approvingly at his sleek black clothes and call him Master Jedi. They thank him for his service.

Luke feels as though he moves underwater most days. Coruscant is cold and smooth. The buildings are tall and pale, and people move like they’re trying to make the Kessel run. It goes on forever, stretching on past the horizon, and Luke knows it isn’t an illusion; the city really did take over the whole planet.

Din had told him he didn’t view him any differently, after what happened on Yavin IV that day. Luke wanted to believe him, desperately. Instead, he locked himself in his room.

Din may have sworn he didn’t see him differently, that he still loved him, that he was not afraid. It didn’t matter. Luke was afraid of himself.

“–Tell me again how you made that shot, Master Jedi, I wish I could have seen it! And without a targeting computer–”

Luke begged Din to leave. The words bolstered the Mandalorian at first, misunderstanding him, asking if he needed to go for Grogu’s safety, that he could wait out the heat of the Darksaber, or lose it and come back, so they could be safe.

“–And the Emperor too, people swear he was dead before it blew–”

Din was quiet when Luke told him to take Grogu. He asked if really, after everything, after everything he had gone through to get Grogu to Luke to train, everything they had gone through together and the years they had spent, if that was what Luke wanted him to do.

Luke knew the question was meant to be rhetorical. It was meant to snap him to his senses. To make him think he was wrong. He said yes anyway.

Din refused.

“–Your plans for rebuilding the Order, Master Jedi? Surely you must have something–”

Luke packed his bags. He shoved everything into them, taking great care in not leaving anything behind. Almost anything.

His hands trembled as they passed over the cloak in the back of his drawer. He left it on the bed.

Din was waiting for him by his x-wing.

“–Excuse me, do you mind if I borrow my brother for a moment?”

Leia’s arm slipped through his, pulling him through the crowd. She leaned on him, soothing his upper arm with her thumb. Luke sighed, closing his eyes for a moment as they walked, leaning into her touch. She was a gentle presence at the back of his mind, pulling him back into himself.

“You looked like you needed a rescue.” She murmured, leading him through hallways that became less crowded as they walked.

“Thank you.”

Leia nodded. She pushed on a door control, the panel sliding open to reveal a small balcony overlooking the city. It was barely big enough for the two of them, more of a perch than anything else. It felt like an otherworldly comfort after the grandiose of the main Senate building.

“I found this a while back,” Leia said, closing the door behind him and pushing the button to lock it. “Early on in the New Republic days. I don’t think a lot of people know about it.”

Luke looked down at the city below, eyes not quite following the rush of speeders as they flowed through traffic. Leia slipped her arm around his again, resting her cheek against his shoulder as she joined him in watching the city below.

“I could feel you across the room,” Leia murmured. “Your sorrow.”

Luke gripped the railing. 

“I’m sorry,” He rasped. “I should have reigned it in.”

“That’s not what’s troubling me,” Leia reprimanded him softly, the way she always did when he apologized. “I’m worried about you. You’re so… distant.”

“I’m a Jedi Master,” Luke reminded her, though without any real weight to his words. “I’m supposed to be distant.”

Leia shook her head. “And what good did that do the Jedi Masters of old?”

Luke said nothing.

“I want you to be happy again,” She whispered. “I miss my brother.”

Bile rose in Luke’s throat. “I’m sorry I’m not what you want me to be.”

“ Luke ,” Leia gripped his arm tightly. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it. You’re… You’re torturing yourself. Have you ever considered–?”

“No.”

Luke knew what she was going to say. He wished with all his heart that she would drop the suggestion.

He could still feel the cool weight of Din’s– no, the Mandalorian’s helmet against his skin for the last time. He could still hear the pleading that they could work it out, together. They could get through it. He would find a way to lose the Darksaber.

He remembered the way he felt when the Mandalorian tried to lift his helmet. Luke had stopped him.

I’m not worth that.

Din Djarin was born to be a king. He would not admit it, still stuck somewhere halfway between the frightened little boy from Aq Vetina and the unsure bounty hunter who gave everything to cradle his child in his arms. Somewhere, deep in his subconscious, he had to know that it was his destiny. Luke knew from the way he studied the Darksaber when he removed it from his belt to sleep.

Luke would not hold him back. And he would not force him through the agony of keeping his son from him. There was nothing more he could teach Grogu, anyway. It was time to stop running.

The Mandalorian was born to be a king, and the Jedi was born to be alone.

“I can’t stay here.” Luke admitted to his sister, cupping her hand in his.

Leia closed her eyes, her mouth drawn in a tight line. She tried for a smile. “I was dreading the day you would say that to me.”

Luke curled his arms around her shoulders, resting his face in her hair. He longed to grip her tightly, to hide away in the comfort of her hair, but he didn’t want to ruin her braids. Leia held him with no such caution.

“You’ll come back, won’t you?” Her voice was small, smaller than he was used to. He didn’t like it.

“Of course I will,” Luke struggled to breathe, his chest aching with every movement. “Of course, Leia. And I’ll stay in contact.”

Leia sniffed, then nodded.

 “Okay,” She pulled back, seemingly pulling herself together. “Okay. I trust you.”

Luke pushed a strand of hair that had been knocked loose out of her face, when he noticed the tears that slipped down her face.

“Don’t cry,” He murmured, though he knew he was guilty of the same. “Don’t cry, Leia, you’ll ruin your makeup.”

Leia laughed, looking away as she dabbed at her eye carefully. Luke pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“This isn’t goodbye,” Luke promised. “Just… I’ll see you later.”

Leia nodded. “Be happy, Luke. I know it isn’t easy for you, but I want you to try.”

–20ABY–

Rey breezed through her training. It was strange to watch, almost uncanny. Her connection to the Force was unlike Luke had ever seen before.

They developed a routine, one they both settled into easily. Artoo awoke both of them at sunrise, whirring and beeping in their limited space until they both stirred.

(Artoo and Rey had taken to each other in a way that made Luke nervous. The last thing the galaxy needed was for the two of them to put their heads together. Well, Rey’s head and Artoo’s dome.)

They meditated. It was the one thing Rey truly struggled with. She moved at a mile a minute, even more than Luke had when he was young. She struggled to keep her emotions in check, whether out of frustration that the parts they used for floating moved jaggedly around her, or anger that the parts they scavenged weren’t worth enough.

Her fear was still there, and Luke reluctantly relented that there was nothing he could do about it. It had nothing to do with the Force. She didn’t speak about it, simply reassured him that her parents would come back for her.

Luke didn’t like it, but he held his tongue. She was more stubborn than Leia. 

After meditation, they made breakfast. Depending on what they found while scavenging, they either split a portion or had their own. On the rare occasions they had their own, Luke always tore a piece of his off to shove onto Rey’s plate. She was still growing, and he told her as such.

Their routine would vary after that. The life of a scavenger was uneasy, rocking back and forth like a ship in an asteroid field. Sometimes, they could go days without setting off again, and fill the day with light training or stories that Rey demanded Luke tell. He didn’t think he was much of a storyteller, but she seemed to enjoy them anyway.

Sometimes, they would have to go out multiple days in a row, unable to find anything Unkar Plutt deemed worthy of more than a few portions. Luke grew used to this, his early days of moisture farming on Tatooine coming back to help him with the walks through the desert. It came back with muscle memory, and he thought with a small smile that Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru would be proud that he hadn’t forgotten his roots.

After the sun set, they would sit outside of the AT-AT. Luke would talk Rey through the teachings, sometimes go into his x-wing to retrieve the texts and read them aloud to her. Artoo still had the old recordings, but Luke thought it was a waste of time to play them when he had the texts right there. 

That, and he wouldn’t allow himself to waste time mourning the life he had led when those recordings were made.

They would train or talk until Rey started yawning, and Luke would usher her to bed. She often protested, but relented when he used the Force to tickle her face with her own hair, huffing and sending him scowls that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Months passed in the blink of an eye. Luke traded his black clothes for light tunics he bought from Niima Outpost, storing his dark clothes in the x-wing. His hair and beard grew longer, shades of blond returning to him after days in the desert sun.

Strangely, he now looked closer to the way he did when he was nineteen than he had at twenty four. Even with the specks of gray he noticed coming in at his temples, even with the now recurring back pain that came from being forty. He commented this to Rey one day, who giggled.

“You must have been an old looking nineteen.”

Luke made her meditate for an extra hour the next day.

He commed Leia at least once a month. The connection was weak, only made possible by the New Republic advancements Leia had pulled strings to install into his x-wing. He hadn’t managed to convince Rey to talk to her yet, the girl going uncharacteristically shy at the thought. She holed herself up in the AT-AT while he talked to Leia. 

Luke always took the opportunity to speak to Leia about Rey’s family.

“I can’t find anything,” Leia had said the last time, frustration bleeding into her voice. “You’re sure she doesn’t have a last name to give you?”

“If she had one, she doesn’t remember.” Luke replied sorrowfully. 

“Luke, you and I both know the truth of this,” Leia’s voice was staticky. “More likely than not she was sold to the slavers. Her parents, if they even were her parents, won’t come back for her.”

Luke swallowed. “I- I know, Leia. But part of me wants to hold out hope for her. She’s… she’s so sure. I want to believe she has a family.”

Leia just watched him, and he frowned.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that… we both know blood isn't everything. Sometimes the families we build are more important. Oftentimes, they are.”

Luke nodded, glancing out the side of the cockpit, where Rey had snuck out to whisper something to Artoo.

“There's not much out here for her. I just want her to be happy. To be taken care of.”

“You’re out there for her,” Leia spoke softly. “And you’re taking care of her. I can imagine that makes her pretty happy.”

Though he never would have thought it possible after the life he lost on Yavin IV, it made Luke happy, too. 

It made it all the worse when he felt it slipping away from him, as he had with his lives he led so many times before.

Niima Outpost was quiet that day, as Luke and Rey quietly scrubbed their findings by the basins. She chattered on with him, talking about parts and power converters in a way that made Luke laugh, though he wouldn’t tell her why. 

A long-fingered hand dipped into the water beside him, pulling out one of the parts he had set aside after cleaning. 

“That doesn’t belong to you,” Luke spoke coolly. The Rodian clicked and scoffed, slinging a stream of insults in a language Luke had become accustomed to. “I don’t care. Give it back, now.”

They complied, dropping it back into the water. Instead, they crossed over to where Rey sat, jerking the converter out of her hand. She protested, trying to grab it back, but the Rodian held it above her head, admiring it. 

“ Hey! ” 

“It’s alright Rey,” Luke put a hand on her shoulder to pull her away, gripping it and holding her close to his side. He raised a hand, allowing the Force to carry his words. “You’ll give that back to her.”

The Rodian cocked their head, repeating the inflection of his words. They dropped the converter back into Rey’s hand.

“You won’t take anything that doesn’t belong to you again, from any of these people.”

The Rodian agreed, nodding. 

“You’ll go back to where you came from.”

The Rodian said their goodbyes, turning to walk straight out of Niima Outpost without a second glance. Rey pressed her face into the side of Luke’s tunic and giggled. He winked down at her.

When he looked up, he found that Unkar Plutt was watching them from his shed. The Crolute pulled the grate down to close his shop, reaching for a commlink, and Luke’s heart sank.

Rey didn’t understand his urgency as he led her back to their home in the AT-AT walker.

“You worry too much, Luke,” Rey insisted. She pulled on his arm, but he didn’t relent. After she spent too long dragging her feet, he grabbed her under the waist to sling her over his shoulder. She protested, poking his back. “Unkar Plutt doesn’t know much of anything. He never leaves Jakku.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Luke mumbled, already mapping out travel times in his head, how one short comm call to the wrong person could bring this all crashing down. “He could make a lot of credits off of the bounty of a Jedi. More than he could ever make here.”

Rey had stopped trying to wiggle out of his arms, going limp and allowing him to carry her. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and Luke felt the fear flare up in her again, stronger than it had ever been before through their training bond. “But you can’t leave. You said you would stay with me until my parents came back! There’s still so much you haven’t taught me!”

“That’s why you’re coming with me.”

“What? But I can’t–”

“If he caught wind of what I am, Rey, what we are, you’re in danger, too. And I won’t leave you here alone,” Luke tightened his grip on the girl, the mere thought of setting off without her turning him cold. It was strange how fast she had burst into his life, how resistant they both had been, and the way he now could not imagine going on without her. “We’ll come back, when we know it's safe.”

“But–”

Luke deposited her in the sand next to their AT-AT, ducking into the hatch. “Artoo, get in the ship. Send a message to Leia. We’ll leave before nightfall.”

Artoo beeped, bidding good riddance to the sand, and hopped out of the AT-AT to whizz off towards the x-wing. 

“I can’t come with you.” Rey hoisted herself into the walker as Luke began grabbing the ration packs, counting up their supplies. 

“The ship is bigger than it looks.” Even as he said this, Luke knew they may have to stop off on another planet before reaching Chandrila. The x-wing would be a tight fit, an uncomfortably long journey for the both of them, and he considered what nearby planets would have commercial transports for them to use. He could always pay to store his x-wing and return for it.

“Luke, I can’t ,” Rey grabbed his arm. The fear had returned to her eyes. “What if they come back while I’m not here?”

Luke stopped in his tracks, his eyes drifting closed. He swallowed. “Rey.”

“I can’t risk it,” Rey insisted. Luke felt his heart crack nearly in two, her words stinging him. “They’re my parents.”

I’m more of a father to you than you’ve ever had in your life. 

The thought felt horribly selfish, protesting his own importance, and Luke pushed it down. Instead, he impulsively snapped, “What if they don’t come back, Rey?”

Rey jumped back like he burned her, and guilt beat in his chest. She stumbled back, and her fear boiled over. He had never raised a question to her parent’s loyalty, and he knew in a way it had comforted her. To think that he really believed that they would come back.

“They will!” Rey shouted, betrayal cracking her small voice. Anger rose in her, he could feel it searing in her chest. “I know they will, you don’t know anything!”

Luke couldn’t help raising his voice when he replied back. “What I know , is that they left you in the care of that sleaze. What I know is that I found you alone and unprotected. What I know is that Leia can’t find any trace of you in any New Republic database, and we are on a planet that wouldn’t hesitate to sell either of us to the highest bidder.”

“If you never thought my parents would come back, then why would you tell me you’d stay here until they do ?”

“I wanted to hope for you, Rey. And I couldn’t leave you here, I couldn’t let you fend for yourself.”

“So you pitied me?” Rey demanded. “I was perfectly fine! I never asked for your pity!”

“Not pity. You haven’t felt real care in your life, Rey, because nobody ever bothered to show you any decency. So don’t confuse love with pity. It’s a horrible way to live, trust me.”

Rey sniffed. Tears rolled down her cheeks, angry and despairing. Luke wanted to swallow his tongue, to surge forward and hold this little girl in his arms; to tell her that he loved her as his own daughter, and he would give his life, his Jedi texts, everything just to put a smile back on her face.

He didn’t get the chance.

Rey turned to sprint out of the walker, flinging herself out of the hatch and taking off. 

“ Rey! ”

Artoo beeped at him from his place in the x-wing as he dropped down into the sand. Rey was fast, and he cursed. 

“Stay with the ship, Artoo!” Luke called over his shoulder as he followed. “If we don’t come back, send out an emergency message!”

Artoo responded with a concerned To who? , but Luke didn’t reply. He was already gone, chasing after the speck in this distance with dark hair bouncing around her and sorrow following her in the Force.

If he was a younger man, less achy from nearly a year in the desert, less weary from his forty years of life, he could have caught up to her easily. He remembered a time where he ran for fun, to clear his mind. A time when he had an old Master murmuring teachings in his ear from his place on his back, and a time after that when his movement was encouraged by the lilting laugh of an identical child.

The years seemed to follow him as he chased Rey. If she noticed him following her, she didn’t seem to care.

The old Star Destroyer loomed in the distance when he finally caught up with her. She panted, collapsing to her knees in the sand. She heaved, and Luke quickly rushed forward, slinging his canteen of water off of his shoulder. He rested a hand on her back, pressing the water into her hand.

She retched into the sand, and he winced, reaching out through the Force in an attempt to soothe her. She was too tired to shut him out, and he wiped gently at the sweat that coated the back of her neck, and made her hair cling to her skin.

“I’m sorry,” Luke murmured. “I… I’m sorry, Rey. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

Rey didn’t reply. Her retching slowed, and she reached for the water. He gave it to her gladly, allowing her to drain the canteen, supporting her shaking hands with his own as she drank. She fell back off of her knees to sit, and despite the heat, Luke wrapped an arm around her frail shoulders.

It was times like this, that he was overwhelmed with just how small she truly was. How young . She had reached nine years old during his stay on Jakku, a fact that she flaunted proudly after counting the tick marks she carved into the walls of the AT-AT every day. 

All he had wanted in that moment was to bundle her up and keep her safe forever, so she would never lose the excited spark that faded with the loss of childhood. 

“You’re right, aren’t you?” Rey whispered hoarsely. “They won’t come back.”

Luke pressed his nose into the damp hair on her temple. “I don’t know, Rey. Nothing is for certain.”

“But you don’t think they will.”

Luke swallowed. He would not lie to her. He could not lead her on with false hope, allowing her to carry sure confidence in a half-truth. He did not work in certain points of view. “No. I don’t think so, little one.”

Rey shuddered, struggling against herself to accept his words. The anger had long faded, a misplaced and knee-jerk response. She had blamed him, because she needed someone to blame. Someone to be angry with. Luke would rather she blame him than herself.

She had not done anything wrong. She was starlight, a bright burst of energy in a lost void of loneliness. 

“I love you, Rey,” Luke murmured. “I want you to do what you need, but more than that I want you to be safe . If you want to come back here, I won’t stop you. But let me make sure it will be alright for you when you do.”

Rey sniffed, turning in his arms to bury her face in his cream-colored tunic. She nodded, the movement impeded by her placement against his chest, and relief flooded through him. Luke relaxed, brushing his gloved hand through her damp hair. He would keep her safe. He would give anything to do just that.

A large ship passed overhead, casting Jakku in shadow. Luke looked up, and his heart sank. 

Unkar Plutt was not connected to the Guild, or even to the Hutts.

The Star Destroyer gleamed overhead, and Luke suddenly felt as if he had stepped back in time, staring up at an Imperial ship in the desert. 

How did they get here so soon? How had they managed to keep a ship this large in such good condition? Did they have more stationed around the galaxy than the New Republic had noticed?

The movement against Imperial remnants had slowed significantly, with most believing they had eradicated the worst of them when they captured Moff Gideon eleven years before. Leia had protested against the Senate when they moved to slow their efforts, begging them not to let their guard down. But the spoiled and lazy Core world politicians; young ones, who had not seen the Galactic Civil War in a great capacity, merely waved her off. 

“‘Paranoia’”. Leia had ground out during one of their calls. “ That’s what they say. ‘The poor Princess has been through a lot. She doesn’t realize that we’re safe now’.”

He realized, now, why traces of the Empire had dissipated. Under the eye of the New Republic, and in secrecy, the Empire had doubled its efforts to rebuild.

Luke stood quickly, jostling Rey. She looked up, confusion and hurt morphing into fear as she looked up at the sky. She allowed Luke to pick her up, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“It’s okay,” Luke rambled unthinkingly as he began to rush back in the direction of the AT-AT. “It’s okay, it’ll be okay.”

He froze as he made out the white armor in the distance, the Stormtroopers striking fear into him he hadn’t felt in a long time. The x-wing was gone, and his comm beeped in his side bag. He shifted Rey in his arms, pulling it out, as Artoo told him that he had taken control of the ship before the Stormtroopers had the chance to reach it.

“Where are you?” Luke asked urgently. Artoo relayed coordinates of a safe and isolated dune close by. “Good. Okay. Yeah, I’m glad you saw them, Artoo. We’re on our way.”

Luke thought bitterly of his lightsaber, stashed safely in the cockpit of his ship, untouched in the months he had been on Jakku, except for his lessons with Rey.

“Okay, Rey, it’ll be alright, but we have to move fast.” Luke turned to follow the coordinates Artoo had given him. Rey didn’t reply, but she trembled, her grip tightening around him. “It’ll be alright…”

A stun blast whizzed past them, the Stormtroopers calling out, and Luke took off in a run. 

Luke may not have been as fast as he was when he was young, but he was still faster than them. The Force was his ally, and the troopers were slowed by their heavy plastoid armor, sweating in the sun. He heard them behind him, attempting to chase him on foot before falling back. He felt the vibrations of their speeders before he heard them, his heart sinking.

He stopped, dropping Rey onto her feet. He spoke into the comm. “Artoo, send out a distress call. Rey is on her way.”

“What are you doing?” Rey demanded. Luke didn’t reply. He kneeled, slinging his extra canteen over her shoulder, and slipping his side bag onto her small waist. He had to tie it extra tight to ensure it wouldn’t slip, and he pressed the comm into her hand. “Luke, what are you doing?”

“You’re going to run.” Luke left no room for argument. “You’re going to follow these coordinates and run as fast as you can, do you hear me? Get on the ship and tell Artoo to take off. He’ll help you fly. The Force is your ally. Allow it to guide you, to fuel you, always.”

He pushed her forward, but she didn’t move. “What about you?”

Luke stood. He reached into his tunic, to the old blaster he kept strapped to his side, hidden from view. It was as new as the day the Mandalorian gave it to him. He never allowed it to fall into disrepair.

“I’ll hold them off while you run. Now go. ”

“But you said you wouldn’t leave me.” Rey whispered. 

Luke rested his forehead against hers for a moment. “I’ll find you again, little one. I promise.”

The speeders were getting closer. Luke pushed her again, and with tears streaming down her face and fear in her heart, Rey began to run. Luke drew his blaster, turning away from her as she retreated. He aimed down sights carefully, waiting as the three landspeeders drew ever near.

His first shot bounced off of the hard hull of the first speeder. Cursing, he aimed again. He found a crevice in the metal of its front; a small flaw in its design, which gave him access to the red-hot engine.

It never stood a chance. The shot blew the engine in a burst of light, the speeder crashing and grinding into the sand, flinging its occupant into the air. The Stormtrooper landed with a crunch he could hear even at the distance between them. He aimed for the second speeder, realizing only a moment too late that the flaw in the first speeder was not consistent with the others.

Luke closed his eyes, lowering the blaster.

I’m one with the Force and the Force is with me. I’m one with the Force and the Force is with me. I’m one with the Force… 

He moved through the blaster fire like water. Their blasters were not set to stun anymore, he realized, a fact that sent a cold chill down his spine when he realized why. 

They didn’t want him . 

The realization struck him, and he lost focus. White hot pain exploded across his shoulder, skin hissing as it burned. He turned back to the speeders, preparing to jump, to attempt to grab onto the Stormtrooper and fling him off, to take control of the speeder, when he heard a scream behind him.

Rey.

Luke whipped around, ducking in between the blaster shots. He ran as fast as he could. His lungs burned and his shoulder ached, and he suddenly felt like he was running through the jungle of Yavin IV again, the same desperation clawing at him as it had on that day. The same as he had when he raced through Cloud City, Leia’s voice screaming it’s a trap, it’s a trap in the back of his mind.

 Always running to save the ones he loved; always too late, always destroying it, allowing them to slip between his grasp.

The fury, hauntingly familiar, began to build up in his chest once again. It built up as one of the speeders behind him raced ahead, to the little desert girl who had turned to run back to him, screaming his name.

The Stormtrooper scooped her up, pinning her arms down to her side to hold her in place. Rey screamed again, dropping the commlink in the sand. She called Luke’s name, her fear reaching him through their training bond.

It was the last thing Luke felt before he realized the other speeder was still behind him, and another round of blaster fire shot through him. 

Luke Skywalker collapsed in the sand.