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Chapter Text

Darth Vader stalked the small confines of the tiny ship, pacing slow steps back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He tilted his head and listened in the Force, feeling for any tiny mechanical signatures. He thought he’d gotten rid of every tracker, every bug, but he had to be sure. The lives of those beings under his care depended on it.

He’d even gotten rid of the bugs in his suit, taking a knife and cutting the final one from where it had been embedded in the skin of his neck. Master Sidious had been thorough, after all- any master must monitor their slave.

Just Sidious, thought Vader to himself, removing the honorific from his mind. He’d taken every precaution. The dark lord would not find them.

He didn’t intend to live long enough to need worry about his former master’s pursuit, but for the sake of the children, he had to make sure their flight was completely undetected. So far, he’d succeeded in that mission.

No one knew where they’d gone. No one was coming after them. The Empire would never find them.

The children sat in a row upon the only cot in the small, cramped cabin of the ship. They sat the way they’d been taught, utterly still, backs ramrod straight and hands folded neatly in their laps. Their hair was cut all in the same fashion, regulation-short buzzcuts, and their uniforms were identical in every way. They bowed their heads when he passed, as they’d been taught- or, well. The two who were aware enough to notice that he’d passed them bowed their heads. The other- he stared straight ahead, eyes blank and glassy and empty. His Force-signature, once strong and passionate, was near-nonexistent. He was a shell of a human being, having given up, the way Vader had seen so many give up in the past. Someone who had broken under the torture, someone who was dead in the mind and who’s body had yet to catch up.

At their destination, there was a person who could save him. Likely the only person in the entire galaxy. Someone who could save all three of these children who each suffered from some incurable ailment.

Two, Five, and Twelve.

Two had a fever that all the doctors of the Empire could not seem to cure. Twelve suffered from a myriad of tiny issues that no amount of bacta could fix- cuts and bruises that stayed on his skin, brittle bones that broke early and often. And Five- Five had shut down one day, had simply stopped speaking and responding and eating and drinking. He’d have died long ago if food and drink had not simply been forced into him.

Five was dying anyway. All three of them were. These children were emaciated, pale, feverish, dying.

Vader was dying, too. Perpetually dying, forced alive by the metal suit, his breaths rasping in and out in a slow, regulated pattern. If anyone simply…turned the suit off, he’d expire in minutes.

He’d be lucky to receive such a peaceful death. The person they were going to see was- was kind, he knew. Kind and- and honorable- and just. The kindest man he’d ever met. But even the most forgiving of people had a limit. Vader intended, shamelessly, to fall upon this man’s mercy, using himself as a bargaining chip for the children’s lives.

This was their only chance.

*

When they landed on the desert planet, it was nightfall.  Vader guided their tiny craft expertly down to the surface, dodging the Hutt surveillance nets with skillful ease.  He landed their ship in a gorge, where the closest settlement was a whole day’s walk away, and their destination a few hours’ walk at least.  The ship might be seen by some, but he doubted it.  Jawas would have the thing fully stripped the moment they left.  They were efficient creatures.

When Vader opened the hatch of their ship, Two and Twelve bolted to their feet, standing at attention.  Five remained seated, staring at the wall.  Without the other two beside him to support him, he began to list to the side.

Vader’s ventilator cycled in, out.  He stepped close to the children- he heard Two inhale- and bent down, gathering Five in his arms.  With some fumbling, he settled the child on his hip- he’d never done this before.  But it turned out to be easier than he thought.  Five was small.  Skinny and light.  Vader hardly noticed the weight at all.

“Follow me,” he muttered, but his vocoder made it come out harsh and loud.

“Yes, Lord Vader,” Two and Twelve chorused.  They fell into step behind him, out of range of the sweep of his cape.  They’d follow him until they could not go on any longer, he knew.  Until their legs gave out underneath them, if he so required.  Until they broke.

They were all broken already.  Vader most of all.  At least, for these three, there might be- a way back.  Not through anything he did, but through the efforts of the man they were going to meet.  If he deigned to help them.

He would, thought Vader.  He’d help. 

Kenobi never could ignore a child in need.  He could never see suffering and simply walk past.  No matter what he did to Vader- with him, these children would be safe.

Kenobi was a Master Healer- the only one who might actually deserve the title, in Vader’s opinion.  He had a low opinion of doctors in general, only reinforced by the failure of the Empire’s doctors to help the children in any way.  They couldn’t even reduce Two’s fever.  But Kenobi…during the war, Kenobi had pulled off many seemingly impossible healings.  And while Vader knew much of it was exaggeration (Force-healing was very flashy) he was at the end of his rope.  He was desperate, and while he doubted Kenobi would be able to do anything like the rumors that had once circulated about him, he also thought there was a good chance he could cure these children of their ailments.

The only thing Vader took with him was a canteen of water- nothing else on that ship would be of value, not even their imperial credits.  Perhaps the hyperdrive, but it was too big to carry.

They set out across the dunes.

*

A long march through the night.  Vader didn’t ever need to slow his pace, mechanical limbs registering no fatigue.  He marched in a soldier’s rhythm, his steps timed perfectly to match his breaths.  Two steps for every breath- it was slow enough for the children to keep up.  There was nothing he could truly do for them, except get them to Kenobi, so he didn’t try.

What he did try, in a rare, stupid moment of sentiment, was to look up at the stars and find some comfort in the last night of his life.  Anything that might bring him some semblance of peace, anything at all.  But he could no longer feel the sand beneath his feet, for his feet were only prosthetics.  He could not smell the fresh air, because of the helmet covering his face.  He could not see the true color of the sky, because the eyes of his helmet filtered everything into shades of red.  At this point, he barely remembered what the color blue looked like.

When Two stumbled an hour in, momentarily falling before scrambling back to her feet, he pretended not to see.  She watched him carefully, fearfully, expecting retribution for her slip-up.  But he gave no sign of having noticed, and merely continued on.

Exactly halfway, he stopped and offered them a drink from the canteen.  “Offered” was a stretch.  He ordered them to drink, and they drank.  Exactly two swallows, all they were ever allowed during normal training hours when their handlers pushed them to the brink of their endurance.

“Double rations,” he rasped.  When they didn’t move, he ordered them to drink again, and they took another two swallows each.

Once Two and Twelve had drank, Vader tilted Five’s head back and poured a small measure of water into the child’s throat.  He took great care that Five wouldn’t spit it back up, nor spill any drops- water was sacred on Tatooine.  The respect of it was carved into Vader’s bones.

Then the march began again.  The man half-encased in metal, his two little shadows, and the broken doll he held on his hip.  They travelled across the dunes, away from anyone who might bother them, away from the Jawas and the Tuskens and the scavengers out at this time of night, braving a crossing at night when the dunes would be cool enough to cross and not baking under the heat of the double suns.  Through his listening to the Force, Vader avoided them all, making a beeline for Kenobi.  It was the only thing that mattered. 

It was all he had to do.  Get to Kenobi.  Get to Kenobi.  Get to Kenobi, and this hell of an existence would end, and the children would be safe, and-

Well.  Vader saw no reason to think beyond those simple truths.

*

When they reached the hermit’s hovel, little more than a cave carved into the side of a rock, it was nearing dawn.  A soft light covered everything- Vader assumed it must be pink, or orange, but to him it was only a brighter shade of red.  The heat of the suns would bear down upon them soon, but it didn’t matter- they’d reached their destination. 

This place looked unassuming to anyone who was looking for a Jedi.  They would certainly not look here.  Vader hadn’t, for years.  He’d never even considered Tatooine.  Now, his mouth curled in triumph- clever Kenobi, to hide here.  Those clever choices would keep the children alive.  Sidious would never consider it either.

Vader’s ethereal senses told him the man was inside.  Inside, and awake, and aware of their presence.  Inside, likely clutching his lightsaber, likely going through all manner of shock and fear and- whatever else it was that Jedi did upon discovery.  It was usually some form of running for the hills.

But in order to run, Kenobi would have to pass them, for they stood outside the only exit.  In time, he would emerge.

He could wait.  Slowly, Vader put Five down, resting the child in the sand.  He removed the lightsaber from his belt and placed it on the ground two paces before him.  Then he backed up so that it was out of reach and went to his knees.

Two and Twelve knew that when Vader was kneeling, it was because someone very important was approaching.  Someone cruel and sadistic and prone to killing anyone at the slightest hint of disrespect or disobedience.  When Two saw Vader kneel, her fear spiked- she darted forwards to where Five still sat in the sand, unresponsive.  She grabbed his head and pushed it down, bending him forward until his forehead rested in the sand.  Then, trembling, she did the same.  On Vader’s other side, Twelve copied her.

Vader saw this display, a show of utter submission not brought on by anything even approaching respect, but only of fear.  If he had a heart that could still feel pity, he might have felt something.  Instead he only wondered how long they would wait.  Would Kenobi let them bake in the heat of the day?

It was not to be.  After only another moment, a figure emerged from the shadows of the cave.  Older, wearier, broken in a thousand different ways.  And yet.  Achingly familiar. 

Looking at Kenobi now was like looking into his own past.  Suddenly, Vader was glad for the helmet that filtered out most color.  He thought, if he saw this man full in the flesh, it would be a most unique torture.

The exiled Jedi stood before them, looking at them all, at the Sith Lord kneeling before him and the three prostrated children.  The only sound was the wind fluttering the edges of their clothing and the in-out cycle of Vader’s ventilator.  No one spoke.

Kenobi’s eyes drifted, for a moment, to the slow rise of the double suns.

“Come for me at last, have you, Darth?” he said, with a voice softened by tragedy and trauma and heartache.  “There was no need to threaten me with children.  If the Empire has found me, then it has found me.  I won’t make a fuss.”

“Master Jedi,” said Vader, unable to look Kenobi in the face for longer than a few seconds.  He knew the man wouldn’t see the direction of his gaze at all, hidden as it was by the sightless mask.  Even so, his eyes drifted to a safer target- his own lightsaber, lying in the sand.

“These children are dying,” he continued, cutting right to the heart of it.  Since receiving his suit and his vocoder, he no longer spoke unnecessarily.  His new voice was grating and intense and mechanical- it could not show a range of emotion, it could not articulate whispers or shouts or sobs.  “They are Force-sensitive.  Once, they were Jedi children.  The others are dead.  These are all that is left.”

Vader swallowed, a difficult and painful maneuver that he usually tried not to do.  It hurt his ruined throat.

“You were the best Force-healer the Order had ever seen.  I have brought them to you in the hopes that you could…that you could help them.”

Kenobi just stared at him, eyes gone wide, one hand resting on the lightsaber attached to his hip.

Vader bowed his head.  “I beg of you,” he said, none of his emotion coming out in his machine-like voice.  But the words he’d uttered with his mouth had been broken and hitched.  “I offer my life in exchange.  Please.  Help them.  You are their only hope.”

The shock remained on his face, but Kenobi studied him, head tilting, trying to puzzle him out.

“Your life?” he repeated, quiet and disbelieving.

“It’s all I have to give,” said Vader, knowing it wasn’t enough.  But nothing would ever be enough.  “My life is all I can offer you.”

Another few minutes passed in silence, as the sun rose further and the temperature creeped upwards, and the children remained in their positions, frozen.

“I suppose it is,” said Kenobi, after a while.  He turned his attention away from Vader to the children, gaze sweeping over their uniforms and their tiny, rail-thin bodies and their perfect, identical haircuts.  “Children,” he called, voice pitched into tenderness.  “It will be hot out there.  Please, come inside.  Rest your tired legs and have some food.”

Kenobi’s voice oozed compassion, was drenched in concern, dripped decency and trailed benevolence.  To Vader, who hadn’t heard a word of kindness in years, it was…extravagant.  Odious.  That Kenobi could deal out such words without concern for their number, that he could say these things and mean them, and then say them again and again even after pain upon pain upon pain- suddenly, to Vader, he seemed a rich man indeed.  The richest man he had ever met, perhaps.

The children didn’t move.

“Go,” said Vader, choking on his words in his haste to get them out.  “Go with him.”

Two didn’t need telling twice.  She scrambled to her feet, only glancing back at him a moment, shaking with terror.  She grabbed at Five and hauled him to his feet, taking his hand and pulling him along behind her.  Twelve stood along with her and followed, bringing up the rear- and then they were passing Kenobi and disappearing into the cave.

Now it was just the two of them.  The Jedi Master and the Sith Lord kneeling in the sand.  Kenobi took a step towards him, bringing out his lightsaber.

Vader thought about closing his eyes, but didn’t.  He could do Kenobi the courtesy of looking at him in his final moments.  He wondered if Kenobi would make it quick, or if he would draw it out.

But the Jedi stopped his approach at the lightsaber lying in the sand.  He bent to pick it up, rolling it back and forth between his fingers.

“I don’t want your life,” he said, looking at the hilt in his hand.  “The act of killing a man is worth nothing to me, even a man such as you.  For that is what you are, Darth Vader- a man is all you ever were, and all you ever will be.  Too much of my life has been wasted on you.  I- I cannot waste any more of it.”

With no warning, he ignited Vader’s saber, seeing the red blade emerge with a kind of gentle disappointment.  To Vader, who only ever saw in shades of red, the color didn’t even register.

“This lightsaber does not belong to you,” said Kenobi.  “This is the blade of Kirak Infil’a.  You have twisted the crystal inside beyond repair and bled it into this tormented color.  It screams out, in the Force, for release.  For death.”

Vader wondered if Kenobi could hear his soul, as well.  Screaming and screaming and screaming somewhere deep down.

The Jedi laid the bleeding saber down back in the sand.  Positioned his own blade, still in his other hand, over the middle of the casing.  Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he ignited his own sword and plunged it downwards into Vader’s- Kirak’s- lightsaber.  Kenobi’s plasma blade pierced through the casing and the crystal inside, shattering it into a million pieces, exploding it into fine dust.  The casing splintered apart and the wires fizzed out and the burning red blade died instantly.

The Jedi Master disengaged his lightsaber, after that.  In a smooth, practiced motion, he returned it to his belt.

“That is all I wanted, in exchange,” said Kenobi.  “I hope one day you can find peace with yourself, and with the Force.”

And then, sparing Vader no more words, he turned back and retreated into his cave.  Inside, Vader could hear him calling to the children, asking their names, asking if they were alright.

Vader listened, for a while, to those kind exchanges, to the soft words being spoken and the even softer responses.  He listened and imagined what they must be doing, in there, and remembered a time when Kenobi had spoken words like that to him. 

He stayed where he was, on his knees in the sand, long after the suns came up and it began to get hot.  Somehow, he could not summon the will to rise and leave.  Perhaps- even if Kenobi wouldn’t kill him, he could stay here, just outside the entrance.  Baked alive by the twin suns sounded like as good a death as any, truthfully.  He’d be dead long before it reached high noon.

Time passed.

It would inconvenience them to need to drag the body away, Vader thought eventually.  He should move.  Find some hole to crawl into, out of the way, and die there.  But even though he agreed with that thought, he could not find the willpower in him to get up.

He was just- done.  When he’d gone to his knees before Kenobi, just before dawn, he hadn’t ever expected to rise again.  And now- now he couldn’t. 

He just…sat there.  Listening to their speech.  Thinking of nothing and everything.  Feeling the hot air creep into his suit, onto his helmet, feeling the headache start to form and the first stirrings of heat-related discomfort.

It wouldn’t be long now, Vader thought.  Not long at all.

Chapter Text

“Not your designation,” said Ben, handing the child in front of him a bowl of cold soup.  In this heat, the cold should be soothing to their throats.  “Your name.”

“It’s just Two, sir” said the child, radiating fear, radiating trauma.  The three children sat perfectly still as he checked their hurts, as he looked over the cuts and bruises littering their faces.  He noticed how they situated the unresponsive one between them, pressing their bodies against him so that he, too, sat up straight.  It warmed his heart- even in the depths of hell, in which they had been surely living for who knows how many years- these children still had empathy.  They were trying, as best they could, to protect their companion.

“And this is Twelve, and that’s Five,” Two continued.  “We’re at your service, sir.”

“I see.  I understand you came with Vader.  Do you know who I am?”

Two worried at her bottom lip with her teeth.  “I- I heard Lord Vader say…but I’m sure I was mistaken.  I’m sorry, sir.”

“What did you hear?  It’s alright.”

“Well-” her face reddened, and she looked at her feet.  “I thought I heard him say you were- a- a-”

“Yes?”

She flinched.  “A Jedi.  I’m sorry- I misheard- I apologize, sir.  I know they’re evil and bad.”

Ben smiled.  “You heard right.  Ben, Jedi Master Healer, at your service, my dear.”

“But- but-”

“I know…what you’ve been told,” he replied, crouching down so they were at eye level.  “But I’m no threat to you.  I’m a healer and a doctor.”  And a soldier, long ago, but he didn’t say that. 

He addressed all of them.  “You have nothing to fear from me, children.”

Naturally, they didn’t believe him.

*

A little while later, when he’d coaxed some food into Two and Twelve, Ben tried to get more information out of the children.  He sat with Five, the child small and loose-limbed, and looked him over with the Force.

Puppet-like this child might be, appearing to the untrained eye to be an empty shell.  But Ben knew there was still someone in there.  Five hadn’t given up- he’d just withdrawn into himself, a self-defense mechanism.  He’d collapsed so far into his own Force-signature that he no longer knew how to get back.  Ben had seen others in this state- but never a child so young.  What must he have endured, to get to this place?

That was alright.  Ben had helped people lost in that way before.  He would do everything in his power to bring Five back.

“Now,” he said, directing his questions at Two and Twelve- but mostly Two, who had appeared to be the most aware of the three of them, the most coherent.  She was actually speaking, despite the raging fever Ben had felt on her forehead.  She was the oldest of the lot.  “I apologize if this question upsets you, but…I must know.  How did you come to be here?”

“We came on Lord Vader’s orders, sir” said Two calmly.  “We must always follow orders.  Good soldiers follow orders, and we are good soldiers.”

The words chilled him to his core.

“I see,” he said, neutral.  “Do you know why he ordered such a thing?”

He could still feel the Sith Lord outside, his presence a dark stain on the Force.  Why hadn’t he left already?

“We’re defective,” said Two, glancing down into her lap.  “I thought…when he took us, that we were going to go away like everyone else did.  We were labeled as defective just yesterday, sir, and everyone who is defective goes away.  They told us they’d start again with a new batch.”

She blinked back up at him, meeting his eyes.  “Did everyone else come to you, sir?  Is this where the defective soldiers go?”

Ben took in a breath that was only a ragged gasp.  “I’m afraid not,” he choked out, wrestling with his own demons- his memories.  “You are not defective.  Nothing- no amount of hurt, no amount of failure, can make you so.”

“Yes, sir,” she said, having been trained never to disagree.

“It’s Ben,” he replied in desperation, his soul twisting and his skin crawling.  “Just Ben.  Please, use my name.”

“Yes, Ben.”

It took her some time to work up the courage to speak again.  In the meantime, he cleaned their wounds with tenderness and attempted to coax them out of their stiff uniform jackets.

“Ben?”

“Yes, my dear?”

“Is Lord Vader going to take us back?  Is that why he’s…waiting?”

“You can feel him?” Ben was surprised.  She must, then, have had some manner of training. 

“Yes, sir- ah, um.  Yes, Ben.”

“He will not take you back,” he promised her.  He could, at least, promise that much.  Now that the children were in his care, he’d die before allowing such a thing.  Vader was powerful, yes, but without his lightsaber, his threat was much reduced.  “You are safe here.”

“…But, but then…”

“Yes?” he prompted, after she’d lapsed into silence.

She appeared to wrestle with herself.

“But where will he go?”

Ben startled.  He hadn’t expected that at all.  Neither had she, for she looked at her hands once again and bit her lip, as though chastising herself.

“You care about him,” Ben said in wonder, looking at her in a new light.  Her and all the children- he searched Twelve’s face, watched the way the boy subtly leaned towards Two, watched the exhaustion and the innocence in their expressions.  How they must have suffered!  Ben had never thought, not once, that they would ask after the welfare of a Sith. 

“No,” said Two, voice ringing with fearful denial.  “Sympathy is for evil Jedi.  Good soldiers feel nothing.  Good soldiers care only for the glory of the Empire.”

“There is no Empire here,” Ben replied, gentle as he could be.  “And compassion is all we have left in these dark times.  Please, tell me.  Tell me why it is that you fear him, and yet worry about him.  I dearly wish to know.”

“He’s,” said Two, unbending enough to allow him to divest her of her uniform jacket.  She wore a high-collared shirt underneath, steel-grey as the rest of her outfit, lined with red and buttoned up to her throat.  It looked so uncomfortable.  “He doesn’t- he never hurts us.  Even when I think- even when I think he’s going to.  And he’s the only one.”

“The only one who doesn’t hurt you?” said Ben, clarifying.  His mind was racing.  Could it be?

Could it truly be?

“Yes, Ben,” said Two.  “And we’re not- not supposed to talk to him.  Because he’s, sometimes he’s…”

She trailed off.

“Please,” said Ben, nearly begging.  “Please.  Tell me.”

She inhaled sharply, looked him in the eye, and did so.

“Sometimes he’s nice.”

*

When Kenobi emerged again, it was almost too late.  Vader had spent over an hour in the heat of the suns and he was losing coherency. 

“Vader,” said Kenobi, and the Sith Lord tried to look at him.  But even under his mask, his eyes had trouble focusing.  “Why are you still here?”

There was truly only one answer he could give.

“To die,” he said, just as his suit began to sound an internal alarm: too hot.  It made him want to laugh, looking at the blinking light at the edge of his field of vision.  The suit would now go into emergency mode, trying its best to cool him.  It would try until it could try no more.

…Maybe he should turn it off.

“At my hand?” said Kenobi.

“If you wish,” said Vader, his ventilator cycling faster as the systems in his suit made decisions for him, trying to keep him alive.  He couldn’t control the speed of his breathing.  “If not…. then the suns…”

“I see,” said Kenobi.  The voice he used on Vader was not the kind one he had directed at the children.  It was flat, and hard, and unforgiving.  “Why did you not bring the children to me sooner?  Why did you wait until there were only three of them left?”

“I am a coward,” Vader replied, for it was the truth.  He had no dignity left, no pride that would prevent him from uttering the simple fact of the matter.  “I have always been a coward.  I feared my master, and I obeyed him when I shouldn’t have.”

Vader was calm in the face of his imminent death.  Truly, it…comforted him.  The knowledge that none of it mattered anymore.  Hell awaited him, or oblivion, or wherever it was the Sith went when they died and the Force could not accept their souls into the harmony of its existence.  He welcomed it with open arms.  “Also, I… didn’t know where you were.  I only know now because of a Force-vision.”

“You had a vision,” Kenobi echoed, unbelieving.

“Yes.”  His ventilator continued to cycle, in, out.  In, out.  Speeding up by a small margin with every breath.  The headache, which he’d had for over an hour, was beginning to hurt in different ways.  The metal of his helmet was so hot that it was now burning his head from the inside.

Vader would die the way he was born- burning. 

Minutes ticked by, precious minutes, and Vader’s head burned and his mind swam and his consciousness dwindled.  His vision began to spot over and go dark, and the only thing he could see before him was the figure standing illuminated by the light of the twin suns.

Vader swayed on his knees, tilting.  He tipped over, unbalanced, dizzy- he fell.

His head landed in the sand.  His body, too.  The machine sent off a slew of different alarms, then- low oxygen, high heat, low water- the lights in his vision blinked and different tones sounded in his ears.

With the last of his strength, he brought a mechanical arm up to fumble at the buttons on his chest.  He typed the override code, flipped a switch, and finally, reached for the power-

“Stop,” said Kenobi.  Vader could no longer see him at all.  But he heard the words, and his fingers twitched- did the Jedi want him to leave it on?  Leave the machine to run until it could go on no longer, drawing out Vader’s death as long as possible?

Well.  Vader had given Kenobi his life in exchange for the children’s care.  If this was what the Jedi wanted, if this was how he wished Vader to die, then that was how it would be.

He lowered his hand and let it lie.

He closed his eyes.  They weren’t working anymore anyway.

*

His eyes snapped back open.

It had only been an instant, or maybe it had been a thousand years.  Vader jerked back into awareness, realizing something had changed between one breath and the next, realizing he’d lost time, somewhere, somehow.

Someone was holding him, an arm around his back and under his legs.  He felt himself be supported by those arms, and by the Force, which cradled him and made him light. 

Light.  He hadn’t felt the light side of the Force in years.  He felt…weightless.  He felt…cool.  Blessed, blissful coolness.  Nothing hurt.  Nothing burned. 

He must have made a sound, or- or something- for he felt Kenobi adjust his hold.

“Sleep,” said the Jedi Master.  “You won’t die today, Vader.  Even you.  Even you…. Today, you’re safe in my hands.  Sleep.”

When the Force-suggestion came, Vader did not resist.  He let it carry him down.

*

The cave was deep- it had to be, in order to be habitable.  Ben only lived in the very back of it, where it was coolest, where the air was clear and fresh.  He carried the man, half human, half metal, past the children and into that coldest part.  He laid him down upon the stone floor, arranging his limbs into the recovery position, and then he did what he could.

The machine was working hard, sucking air in and pushing it out at a rate too high for the long-term.  With a nudge of the Force, and the lucky guess of a button-press, Ben calmed it down. 

He didn’t want to poke around at the life-support system too much yet, for he still didn’t understand it enough to be confident in what he was doing.  All he did was remove Vader’s cape, his gloves and boots, and those pieces of armor that could be slotted out without breaching the seal of the suit, like the metal guards on his upper arms and legs.  With the Force, Ben did a quick sweep of Vader’s internal organs, checking for new heat-related damage- but it hadn’t been too late.  The suit had done its work, keeping Vader’s core cool, working overtime to insulate the Sith from the elements until the very end.  After this period of overwork, the machine’s power was much depleted, and it didn’t take Ben long at all to realize that it couldn’t be charged.  Not in a cave on the outer rim.  It would last a few days longer, and then it would shut off.

If needed, there would likely be a few things he could do to keep the life-support going- and he knew Vader was a mechanic.  But Ben was hoping they wouldn’t need it at all.  He knew the man beneath the suit would need a lot of care- care best given on Coruscant, in a hospital and a sterile environment and a bacta tank.  But on Tatooine, all Ben had was himself.

Nothing was a lost cause.  Not for a Jedi Master Healer.  Not even out here in a cave in the desert, on an outer rim back-alley planet with little to no modern medicine.  Ben might have to get creative, but there was certainly hope here. 

But much of that would have to wait.  For now, all Ben focused on was keeping Vader alive through the day, making sure he was not suffering from heatstroke, and reducing the pain he was in with the Force.  Ensuring the Sith would not get worse and would sleep for many hours.  With slow, back and forth motions of his hands and the Force, Ben wove a net of light over him, as one might do for an infant, or a Master for a troubled, sickly Padawan.  A monitoring spell, meant to comfort and protect and cradle.

There, it was done.  Now, if Vader woke, Ben would know.  If Vader took a turn for the worse, Ben would know.  For now, that was the best he could do or would do.  Anything in-depth was going to wait- the children came first.

*

Twelve was very brave when Ben examined him, even allowing him to remove his shirt to look over a series of nasty bruises.  Ben kept up a constant stream of chatter, to calm the child and acclimate him to his voice.  He spoke about nothing and everything- life on Tatooine, the animals he’d seen, the banthas and the eopies and even the great krayt dragon who lived in the deep desert.

Twelve was shy to speak to him, but did utter a word in response every now and then.  It encouraged Ben greatly.

“I do believe I can heal these bruises now, is that alright?” he asked the child after his examination, raising his hands and displaying his palms.

“Heal my…?” whispered Twelve, eyebrows scrunching up in confusion.

“Yes,” said Ben.  “I’m a healer, you see.  It will not hurt.”

“O-Okay, Ben,” said Twelve, still sounding a little scared but trying to hide it.  He sat up so straight when Ben touched him, stiff, looking determinedly at a spot over Ben’s shoulder.  When Ben’s palms met skin, the child shivered.  This boy was used to being touched, but never in kindness.  It broke his heart to see it.

He closed his eyes and called on the Force.  These skills were…rusty, a bit, for nowadays he could not use them in the manner he’d grown used to during the war- the flashy, overt displays of Force-healing he’d become famous for.  No, all he did nowadays were tiny things- he could not work as any kind of doctor, nor even a midwife, lest he bring suspicion down upon himself.  The most he could do was subtly draw out infection from a festering wound as he passed, or whisper a blessing under his breath, or reach into a slave’s skin from afar and deactivate the chip inside.  Some days he hated himself that he didn’t do more.  Tatooine was a planet of suffering, and if it had been years earlier- well.  If it had been years earlier, Ben would never have been on this planet in the first place.

He tried to keep his head down and stay out of the way, these days.  The only times he ever used these skills were for the only family who knew what he truly was- those rare times when he had been allowed to see Luke, only in a healer’s capacity.  Once, it had been when the infant developed a raging fever, and Owen had practically dragged Ben down to the farm to “fix it.”  Though he knew he shouldn’t take pleasure in a child’s suffering, the memory of being able to once again hold Luke in his arms, even for the brief moment required to draw out his fever, would be something Ben carried with him forever.  A beautiful, golden memory to be treasured and held and looked at in the darkness of the night, when his demons were close and hungry.

“Godfather,” Padme had whispered to him so long ago, as he’d placed the newborns in her waiting arms.  The birth had gone well, all things considered- the twins had been born premature, so Ben had had to monitor them closely, but the worst was over.  “We- we wanted you.  Take care of them- watch over them-”

“Of course,” he’d replied, more concerned about the newborn babies than their mother, because it was an easy birth as far as twins went, and to heal her bruised throat had only been the work of a moment, and he’d thought she was- he’d thought she was fine.  “Anything for the three of you.”

He’d never intended to end up on Tatooine.  Originally, they had planned to flee to Alderaan- Ben and Padme and the twins.  But it was not to be.  That night, after Mustafar, while they traveled in hyperspace and the galaxy collapsed around them, he’d been thinking only of the children.  In his foolishness, he’d placed his monitors only on the babies.  He’d slept near them on the floor so he could be close if they needed anything- premature twins, he’d been thinking-

-he’d woken hours later, roused only when Luke and Leia started to cry.  By that time, Padme’s body was already cold.  She’d taken her own life in the night.

He couldn’t bring himself to regret the choice he made, after that.  Bail could give Leia a wonderful, happy life.  Luke, in turn, would be happy with Owen, who protected his family with a fierce devotion Ben was jealous of.  It- it wouldn’t be right, to try to insinuate himself into their lives when they didn’t need him.  Luke and Leia deserved a proper family- a mother and a father and stability, not a half-sane, broken relic of a forgotten people and a forgotten time.  Sometimes- sometimes the best thing he could do was simply remove himself from the equation.  If that meant he couldn’t see them- or- or speak to them- or- if that meant he must be alone-

-so be it.

He was still here, growing older, but happy to do what he could if ever Luke or Leia needed him.  Tatooine was a much more unstable planet, so he’d opted to live here in exile where he could protect Luke in the place of the armies Leia would have surrounding her.  One old, lonely, idiot of a Jedi who’d forgotten his monitor spells and had let Padme die- it was not as good as an army.  But it had to be better than nothing.

He could still be of some use.  One time, Luke had slipped, climbing down from the roof of his house, and had broken his leg in three places.  He’d never have been able to heal properly without an extensive surgery, something the family could not afford- so to Ben they had come, once again.  That memory wasn’t happy, colored as it was by Luke’s tears.  Still, after mending the boy’s leg, he’d been able to tell Luke that, no matter what, he could always come to Ben for help-

Owen had thrown him out of the house.

They hadn’t called upon him in a while, now.  Ben assumed that meant all was well.  And he did not wish, ever, that Luke might get hurt again just so that Ben could see him.  His own desires, his own weaknesses, were nothing compared to Luke’s pain.  If the price for Ben to see his godson was a fever, or a broken bone- it was far, far too high.

Ben threw those memories from his mind as he focused on the child before him, a child in pain, a child in need, who had endured all manner of hardship to be here.  Ben was inadequate in every way, but in this, he could help, and he would. 

He called on the Force and his palms began to glow, a soft, orange light emanating from within.  To do this felt like dusting off an old piece of furniture- removing spiderwebs and dust, peeling layers back until the true form of the thing beneath shone through.  It had been such a long time.  But not long enough to forget.

Ben inhaled slowly, feeling the Force, opening himself up like a conduit and allowing it to flow through him.  He was surprised by how familiar it was.  He was surprised by how much he still remembered.

The bruises faded, becoming lighter and lighter, until suddenly they disappeared and left only smooth, healthy skin beneath.

“You’re so warm,” said Twelve, leaning into his touch, slumping, bowing over Ben’s hands.  “And- and right.  In here.” He gestured at Ben’s head, and then let his hand trail down.  “Everywhere.”

“It’s not me you’re feeling,” said Ben, eyes softening.  “That is the light side of the Force.” 

He’d healed more than just the child’s bruises.  He’d also shored him up inside, easing anxiety and depression and paranoia, the byproducts of a life of torture.  There was so much to repair, still, and a few bruises were the least of it.  Tomorrow, Ben would take much more time, going through and healing Twelve’s bones, repairing the old scars from multiple badly-healed breaks and the brittleness that he’d sensed from his preliminary examination.  But right now, more than anything, Twelve needed sleep.

Twelve yawned, eyes drooping, unable to fight it now that his body didn’t hurt. 

“That’s right,” said Ben.  “You can sleep.  Right on this cot, here- this is my bed, and you are welcome to it.  It’s likely that Two and Five will join you soon.”

“Mkay,” Twelve whispered, and allowed Ben to lay him down and cover him up, shirtless but still in his scratchy uniform trousers.  Ben would need to find all the children some new, more comfortable clothes immediately.  Perhaps he could do something with Vader’s cape.

“You are safe,” said Ben, and briefly put a hand on the child’s brow.  “Sleep.”

Twelve slept.

*

“It’s daytime.  We can’t sleep,” said Two as Ben approached, for she was next on his list.

“Why not?”

“It’s not regulation standard.  We must be active from 0500 to 2000 every day.”

“What time is it now, do you think?” he asked her, sitting down and preparing to do the same healing as he’d done on the first child.

She was brought up short.  “I- I don’t know, Ben.  But it’s not- it’s not nighttime.”

He hummed.  “There are many time zones across the galaxy.  And many planets rotating around different suns.  Somewhere out there, it’s nighttime.  Somewhere out there, it’s past 2000.  Perhaps, today, we could follow their clock.”

“Yes, Ben.”

“Let me see about that fever of yours.”

“Yes, Ben.”

He felt along her face, feeling the skin beneath burning and burning.  Her eyes held that glassy look that most feverish people did, and yet- she was still coherent.  He hummed to himself as he worked, senses turned inward, looking through the Force at her signature and the scars upon it.

Sometimes a fever like this would happen to Jedi who were unconsciously sustaining themselves with the Force.  Symptoms of exhaustion that began with a fever and spiraled into deep sickness, sometimes ending with death if the Jedi in question didn’t stop.  It was seen in Jedi sent on long, dangerous missions, in Jedi who were trapped behind enemy lines for days, weeks, months.  It was seen when a force-sensitive was in a state of constant danger and could not ease up on their abilities, even for a second, and in doing so, they drew too much on the Force and injured themselves.  To see it in one so young…

It was understandable.  Two was the oldest.  She might even be a teenager, her body too small due to her poor nutrition.

“You’ve been protecting everybody,” said Ben in quiet awe, feeling tears rise to his eyes.  “You’ve been picking up extra work for your companions who were falling behind.  You’re the reason Five is still alive…”

Her breath hitched, and she looked into her hands.

“My dear, you must let go.  It is killing you.  You must rest.”

“No,” she said, before flinching and checking to see if he was angry- when his expression did not change, she risked a clarification.  “No, I can’t- I don’t know how.”

“Let me help you.  You are safe.  There is no one for you to support.  I will take care of Five, and Twelve is already asleep- you have no one to worry for.  Please, let me help you.”

Her eyes darted towards the back of the cave, where the echoes of a ventilator could be heard, cycling in, out, in, out. 

Truly, Ben thought, this child must have a forgiving, compassionate soul.

“Even him,” he said, trying to keep the crack out of his voice.  “You have my word.  I’ll take care of him too.”

She hesitated a second longer before nodding, once, quick and decisive. 

“Thank you.”  Ben smiled gently at her.  He took one of her hands.  “Close your eyes.  I’ll help you.  Imagine you’re holding onto a rope so tight.  Imagine it is burning your hands.  All you have to do is let go.  Imagine letting go…”

It took near an hour of coaxing, but Two, at last, let go.  She did so all at once, air leaving her in a sharp exhale, and Ben felt her body and mind relax.

“That’s it,” he whispered.  He put a hand on her head, called on the Force, and drew the fever and the heat away, like finally managing to wipe away a stubborn stain.

“Oh,” she muttered, collapsing forwards into his arms.  He patted her slowly on the back. 

“There you go.  You’ll be alright.  You’re safe, my dear.  Rest.”

She nodded into his shoulder, and he drew his arms around her and picked her up.

“No one can do that,” she mumbled as he walked towards the cot.  “They called so many people.  But no one could make it stop.”

“Healing comes from the light,” said Ben.  “And the light cannot be coerced.  They couldn’t heal you, Two, because they didn’t know how to ask instead of demanding.”

“Trilla,” said Two, as he laid her down beside Twelve.

“Pardon?”

“My name.”  She blinked wearily up at him.  “It’s Trilla Suduri.  And I’m not supposed to have it anymore, but I kept it.  They couldn’t take it away from me.  I kept it.  It’s a secret.”

“Well, Trilla,” said Ben, smiling.  “I, too, have a secret name.  Can you keep it?”

She nodded, eyes wide.

“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi.  It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“’bi-Wan,” she mumbled, and closed her eyes.  “I’ll keep it.  If you keep mine.”

“Cross my heart,” he replied, and held her hand until she was asleep.

Chapter Text

The last child- Five- needed a lot of help.  Ben knelt before him and checked him over, doing a full sweep with his eyes and inner senses.  His heart twisted in pity- there were so many things, so many scars upon body and soul, so many hurts a child of his age should not have had to bear.

Ben took care of the immediate first.  The child, in this state, was an invalid- there were certain parts of him that needed cleaning, certain stains that needed wiping away.  Ben treated the boy as if he were an infant, removing the itchy, restrictive clothing, cleaning him, and swaddling him in a makeshift diaper and a spare blanket.  He passed his hands over the boy’s body and lifted the bruises away, drew out infection from his cuts and closed the skin, shoring him up as he’d done for Twelve and wiping away the fever as he’d done for Two.

He decided not to attempt to locate the boy’s mind immediately, as these surface-level healings took a toll on the body, and there was no reason not to go slow.  He’d let the boy be saturated in his Force-signature, allowing him to get used to it first.  Tomorrow, or the next day, Ben would sit down in an extended meditation, both hands on the boy’s forehead, and search the Force for the missing child. 

But for now, all he wanted was to take care of the physical.  To heal the boy’s body, nourish it, and allow it to sleep.  When Five was clean, Ben sat with the child in his lap and, after mashing his soup into an easily-digestible paste, spoon fed him.  He only gave the boy a little, to acclimate him to the change in diet.  More would come later.

In the same manner, he gave Five a bit of water and then rocked him back and forth, singing some lullaby, something Ben’s own Master had once sung him when he’d been hurt or ill.  In no time at all, Five was asleep, deeply so as his body shut down in order to process the healing he’d been given and rest from his pain.

Ben laid him down between the two others so there would be no chance of rolling off the bed, happily noticing that they were all deeply asleep.  He murmured a blessing over them, voice lilting up and down in another song as he wove his spell around them, a net of light.  There would be only sweet dreams today.

Every patient would be attended to.  Every person would have a spell, and he wouldn’t sleep until they were safe, and he wouldn’t forget a single one- not this time.

When he was satisfied, Ben turned from them and looked towards the back of the cave.  As he’d worked with the children, he’d heard the background noise of the ventilator, taking air in and out in a steady rhythm.  He knew many in the galaxy felt only fear upon hearing that noise- for good reason, as Vader was a name to be feared.  But this noise in particular didn’t scare Ben, nor inspire any feelings of revulsion.  A ventilator was a life-saving tool, and he’d heard that sound many times before in his life.

A pity it had been twisted into an instrument of torture- an instrument of fear.  Not just to those who witnessed it, but also to its user.

*

Ben was halfway through sewing Vader’s cape into a child’s-size tunic when he felt a twinge from the first of his monitor spells at the same time that he saw the Sith Lord twitch.  The rhythm of the ventilator changed not at all, but Ben knew Vader was now awake- awake, and watching him through the sightless eyes of his mask.

While he sewed and waited, Ben had thought of what he would say.  The words he might exchange with this man who he’d once loved more than life itself.  All the history and pain and violence between them, and the genocide of the Order and a thousand burning worlds.  He’d had plenty of time to run through different scenarios in his mind, and he wasn’t stupid- Ben’s lightsaber sat secure on his hip, ready to be drawn should the Sith decide to attack him upon waking.

But he had a feeling that wouldn’t happen.  Rather than radiate that unhinged aggression and bloodlust that had been Ben’s last impression of him, Vader felt only of pain.  Pain, and fear, and emptiness, a kind of all-engulfing grief and despair at the world.

His Force-signature reminded Ben of an animal- abused, hurting, but- resigned to its fate. 

They looked at each other.  Ben put his sewing down, but didn’t move, taking his time looking Vader up and down.

“Why?” said the Sith in his harsh, synthetic voice, the first to break the silence.  He, also, didn’t move from his position on the ground, lying on his side.

“I am a healer,” said Ben, packing all that lay between them away inside himself.  When he’d been sitting there, sewing- and even before, when speaking to Trilla- this is what he’d decided.  “And you are a patient.  I can help you, so I will.”

“You can’t help me,” said Vader.  “No one can.”

“You’re repeating words that have been told to you.”  Ben got to his feet, walking over to the prone man.  He sat down right in front of Vader.  “They are lies.  They have always been lies.”

The ventilator cycled.

“Can you sit up?”

Vader moved, then, but slowly.  He got his limbs underneath himself and pushed upwards, rising to his knees.  With Ben sitting down, they should have been of similar height, but Vader appeared much larger, with the bulk of his armor and his helmet adding several inches.

They faced each other.

“Where are the pressure seals?” said Ben.  “Around the neck, the elbows, and the knees?”

“Yes.”

“Positive pressure in the helmet, negative pressure in the torso?”

“Yes.”

Ben had thought as much.  He’d gathered that from his preliminary examination, though he was glad to have confirmation.

“Does the shoulder armor come off, or is it part of the suit?”

“It comes off,” said Vader.  “But- not without…”

“…not without removing the helmet,” said Ben, looking.  “Yes, I see.  The helmet comes off, then?”

There was no response.  Ben lifted his hands-

“No,” said Vader, flinching back.  “I will die.  I will die.”

“I don’t think so,” said Ben, calm, very much not mentioning the fact that Vader had been rather eager to die only a few hours before.  He greatly preferred when his patients were not suicidal- not that he’d be taking any chances.  If he didn’t trust Vader alone, he wouldn’t let him out of his sight or out of his monitors.  He would not make the same mistake twice.  “If the helmet is pressurized differently than the rest of the suit, that means there is a functioning, airtight seal on your neck.  Removing the helmet will not prevent the ventilator from doing its work.”

“I can’t live without it.  I must have it.  I must wear it.”

Though these words were Vader’s, Ben could almost hear another voice superimposed.  How many times had those phrases been drilled into him, for Vader to repeat them so blindly?

“Even the eyes, Vader?  Even the armored top, which appears to only serve as a decoration?”

And to make the wearer seem more menacing.  To make the wearer look like a droid, unfeeling.

“I will- I will-”

“If something happens,” said Ben, speaking as he would to a frightened child, “I’ll put it right back on.  But it must come off eventually.  There is only so much power in your suit, and once it’s used up, I have no way to charge it.  We must get you out of this.”

“You’ll put it back on?”

“If it appears to me that you are in danger, then yes, I will put it right back.”

Vader gave no verbal response, but after a moment he bowed his head ever so slightly forward.

With a click, and a hiss, the top came off, that large sheet of black metal that framed the back of Vader’s entire head.  Ben laid it on the ground.  Then he reached up again to remove the second part- the main bulk of the helmet, the piece that framed the eyes and that awful, grill-like mouth.  This, too, was only decoration.  The main air intake for the ventilator was below the chin, worked into the bottom piece of the helmet. 

Ben fumbled for a moment, for there was no visible way to remove this second piece.  The sides of it appeared to be welded to Vader’s skull, a pale expanse of scarred skin Ben could only see a glimpse of in the back.

Large hands made of metal came up, very slow, telegraphing their movements.  Skeletal prosthetic fingers reached for specific spots along the side, depressing buttons, helping Ben lift the second part of the helmet away.

A series of needles peeled back from Vader’s skull, one by one, and Ben was horrified by how long and thick they were.  They left blood in their wake, welling up from the holes they’d created.  He counted at least nine, all at different points along the helmet’s edge- that’s why it had appeared to be welded to his skull, because it was.  It was held in place by needles.  The inhumanity-!

Ben looked at those needles.  To him, they looked like jagged teeth.  He looked at the rest of it, too- the large, bulbous, sightless eyes and the intimidating, triangular mouthpiece.  The ventilator had not horrified him.  Nor the evidence of clear and extensive injury on the Sith’s body.  But this.  This hurt him to see.

When he pulled the torture mask away, his eyes followed it.  He held it in his hand and looked down at it rather than look at the face it revealed.  It took Ben a bit of time, and a bit of courage, to look up and see the man beneath.

Pale as a corpse, with an unhealthy bluish tinge.  Scarred so badly that it warped and disfigured his face, with half of one ear missing and the edge of an eyelid on the same side pulled down and fused with the skin of the cheek.  There was no hair on him at all, anywhere- no eyebrows, no eyelashes, and he was bald as could be.

Ben looked, and remembered, and cataloged these images in his mind, matching them with what he’d once known.  The same cheekbones.  The same nose.

The same man who Ben had once left facedown upon burning sand.  Over the years, he’d forgotten what side it was that Vader had lain on.  Now he could see that it was the right side.

Vader’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut, likely in response to the light that must be blinding him after so long behind a mask.  His mouth was completely covered by the bottom piece of the mask, the part connected to the seal around his neck (and the only part that appeared to be functional rather than decoration).  Even with the helmet gone, the ventilator continued its work, taking air in, pushing air out. 

“There you are,” said Ben.

“I need it,” said Vader, still with his mechanical voice.

“No,” said Ben, sadly.  “You never did.”

With his foot, he kicked the mask away from them both.  The needles and the eyes and the horror.  Vader would never wear it again.

“I’m going to remove those shoulder pads now,” said Ben, reaching slowly and laying a hand upon the armor.  Even with that simple touch, Vader shuddered, refusing to open his eyes.

It was a simple process.  Ben merely had to unclip it from the back of the neck, and then lift it over Vader’s head, taking great care not to bump the bottom of the mask and disturb the life-support.  He was surprised by how heavy it was, and he saw Vader’s shoulders relax as the weight was removed.  But really, Ben shouldn’t have been surprised.  He’d seen how every aspect of this suit seemed to be designed for discomfort.  For pain.  Why should the armor not be the same way?

Underneath the armor, Ben got a better look at how the life-support worked.  There was a central computer (now setting off a thousand different errors due to the removal of the mask) set into a hard shell encasing Vader’s chest.  The shell only wrapped around the torso, helping provide a negative space for the lungs to expand, but the rest of the suit inflated and deflated just a bit with every breath.  Ben frowned.

“I don’t think negative pressure should have been used,” he said, feeling at the mechanism with his hands, running them over the hard shell and feeling where it connected to the flesh of Vader’s torso, underneath the thick fabric of the suit.  “If anything had compromised the seals, you wouldn’t have been able to breathe.  Furthermore, you would have no control over what you breathed in… the risk of aspiration…”

“It was- so I could speak,” said Vader, twitching every time Ben’s hands made contact.  “There’s a filter in the mouthpiece.  It catches…most things.”

Ben shook his head.  “In this day and age, that shouldn’t matter.  And Coruscant was cutting-edge.  There are many better ways to do this.  What you’re using here was standard two centuries ago.”

There were other questions he wanted to ask.  Why are you still on ventilation, when, by the end of the war, we were able to grow synthetic muscles, replace damaged nerves, remove scars, and transplant hair, skin, and organs?

And that was only for the scientific medical community.  A Jedi Master Healer could do much more.  Truly, in the heart of the Empire, even if there were no Jedi, Vader should have been able to have a much higher quality of life. 

That left only one reason as to why this had been done.  It was more effective than any hobble or gag.  More effective than a chip and a detonator and a bomb collar.

“No one can help me,” said Vader, repeating what he’d said before - what he’d been told.  After all, what better slave than one who shackled himself? 

He still wouldn’t open his eyes.  “Not even you.  Whatever you’re doing is only for your own amusement.”

“Did they bring in Jedi to try to heal you?” asked Ben, curious. 

A long, long pause.

“Yes,” said Vader.

Ben hummed.  “And I suppose they were killed when they were unsuccessful?”

“Yes.”

“All of that,” said Ben, momentarily closing his eyes, “was only a game played by the Sith.  The light cannot be coerced.  You know this.”

To that, Vader did not reply.  Ben’s fingers continued to trail over the outside of the suit, exploratory.  Eventually he found what he was looking for- slits in the fabric, held closed by magnetic strips.  There were two, one higher, one lower.  Opening them didn’t compromise the seal of the suit, so Ben did so, just to confirm his suspicions.  What lay inside was small, unassuming, and black to match the rest of the suit (Ben nearly chuckled, it was such a stupid detail) but it told him all he needed to know.

Two ports.  One for food, one for waste, as Vader’s damaged organs could no longer handle doing that themselves.

“Can you swallow?” said Ben.

“A little,” Vader replied.  “Sometimes.”

Ben nodded.  “I intended to focus only on your lungs today- but perhaps I will be able to do something about it once we get the rest of the mask off.”

“You’re going to take it off?”

“Of course.  I told you we must get you out of this.”

“But I’ll die- I must have it-”

Vader cut himself off, and the ventilator cycled.

“I know I have no right to anything,” he continued after a moment, in the same voice he used all the time.  Monotone, robotic.  “Not even the manner of my own death.  But I- I dearly do not wish to suffocate like that.  Not- just like that.  It’s been my constant fear for years.  Anything but that, Master.  I would take the desert instead, if I had a choice.”

Oh, but there were so many things Ben could say to that.  He didn’t reply at first, picking apart what the Sith had said, turning it over in his mind.

“Usually, I don’t mind the use of my title,” said Ben, reaching down, running his hands over Vader’s right shoulder, down to his elbow, down past the seal of the fabric and onto the skeletal, metal prosthetic.  Vader was pliant under his hands, allowing him to touch as he liked, moving his limbs where Ben wanted.  “After all, I did work thirty years to earn it.  But in your mouth, that word is twisted.  I believe it always has been.”

He curled his fingers over that hand, and he noticed that even these prosthetics were meant to seem intimidating.  They were bigger than normal human limbs.  Clunky and bone-like, with random, strange, decorative ridges that had no use other than to inspire fear.

“Master-”

“Ben,” he corrected, holding Vader’s hand and looking back up at his scarred face.  “My name, now, is Ben.  I’d like you to use it.”

Only silence met that statement.

“And- when you’re ready, I want you to open your eyes.  I promise the light, this far back into the cave, is not harsh.”

More silence.  After a moment, Vader nodded, but didn’t speak nor open his eyes.  For now, Ben left it alone.

“I told you I would help you.  I told you that you are my patient.  I told you that you were safe in my hands.  I meant it, Vader.”

“But I,” said the Sith, and shook his head, once again cutting himself off.  He didn’t elaborate further.

“If you die- when you die,” said Ben.  “It won’t be today, and it won’t be at my hand.”

He could tell that Vader didn’t believe him.  No matter.  Perhaps actions would speak louder than words.

“I saw you begin the shut-off sequence before,” said Ben.  “Is that all there is to it?”

“How cruel you are,” said Vader.  “There’s no need to lie and say you’ll help me.  I will not resist.”

“Yes,” Ben agreed, awash in memory.  They clung to his soul so tightly- those moments in time that were branded onto his spirit and would never leave him as long as he lived.  The memory of watching Vader burn had once cut into him as easily as any knife- but now, after so long, it had faded to a permanent, dull ache.  An infinite sadness that, rather than giving way to despair, merely became part of him, as did many of the hurts he had endured.  The memories of the Temple, a place of love and happiness- turned to ash.  The cold, sightless eyes of the dead, the Jedi family he’d known and loved and lost in thirty years and the blink of an eye.  A mother he’d forgotten to watch over, filled with despair, taking her own life in the night with her children sleeping peacefully mere feet away.  A boy’s laughter, heard from afar, a happy child who would grow up watched over and loved and cared for only from a distance.

These things undid him.  They made him into someone else.  They took Obi-Wan and killed him and put Ben together from the pieces of whatever was left.  Ben did not feel anger.  Ben did not feel such a paltry thing as hatred.  He desired no revenge nor any recompense.

Emotions like that only led to more pain, and Ben was made of pain.  There was no room for any more.

“You’re right,” he told Vader.  “To leave you upon that burning shore, all those years ago, was cruel.  I thank the Force that it gave me the chance to put some of it right.”

“I know you hate me.  I know the Jedi must have justice.  You don’t have to pretend.”

“I’m not pretending anything.  How do I turn it off?”

Vader opened his eyes, and they were a searing, clear, familiar blue.

Ben flinched- he’d been expecting pits of sickly yellow; he’d prepared for yellow, he knew what he’d see- but this-

“The override code is 377801,” said Ana- Vader, while Ben gasped, clutching at his own chest, feeling his heart race.  “Flip this switch, then press this button.  The suit will shut off, and I- I’ll suffocate to death.”

“Okay,” said Ben breathlessly, trying to recover.  He looked again, making sure those eyes weren’t an illusion, making sure he hadn’t simply hallucinated.  He’d have done what he was about to do regardless of an eye color, but to see them now only strengthened his resolve.  “Okay.  Just a moment.”

“I’m ready,” said Vader, looking him in the eye.  “Ben.”

They stared at each other for a moment, the air charged with words left unvoiced.  So many things had gone wrong between them.  A slew of tiny misunderstandings between two brothers that had spiraled out of control, spiraled down into a sudden, irrevocable decision and a massacre.  It had devolved into a fight above ash and fire, into shouts of I hate you and I loved you, and it had ended with a man who was, in truth, still little more than a boy, crying out in agony while his body caught fire- crying out for help when there was no one left who would help him- not even the man who had raised him, the man who claimed to love him.  The man who, despite the pain and the years and the heartbreak- loved him still.

Ben called on the Force.

This wouldn’t be like what he’d done with the children.  Those hurts had been nothing compared to this- like a single candle to a burning inferno, or a lonely rock to an avalanche of boulders.  Ben reached deep, deep within himself, tapping into everything he had left inside him, the years of solitude he had endured, the time he’d spent in meditation shaping his broken soul into some measure of peace.  He reached into his own heart, his core of light which he’d cultivated like a miser during those dark and lonely years, determined not to let that metaphorical flame go out.  He reached and reached and surrendered himself to it completely, giving all he had to give.

The light cannot be coerced.  To heal, Ben must feel compassion.  To heal, Ben must feel love.  To heal, he must not feel anger, fear, nor hatred. 

And he truly didn’t.

With eyes that flashed white, with hands that now glowed a thousand different colors- like a rainbow- Ben put his palms on each side of Vader’s head.  He leaned forward.  The air smelled like ozone.  His hair stood on end.

Ben brought his head down and kissed Vader’s brow.  The Force rose around them like a massive wave, a strong tide, pulling everything away.  The light glowed, for an instant, brighter than the double suns. 

Chapter Text

In his desperation, as a last resort, Vader had come to the only Jedi left.  Master Kenobi- Ben was, if not the last, then the last Jedi he knew of.  He’d stopped actively looking for them long ago, but kept an eye on the reports- more survivors died every year.  Now they were mere rumor, a myth, wiped from history and public knowledge as though they had never existed at all.  Because of him.  Because of him. 

He’d saved three children, three out of the countless others who’d died, not to mention those who had died at his hand.  Master- Ben was right to ask him why he hadn’t come sooner.

The Jedi haunted Vader’s dreams.  They dogged his steps, ghostly presences lingering on and walking alongside their murderer.  He felt them, sometimes, when he was deep in meditation.  The souls of his victims crying out for justice.  They whispered to him, but, until recently, he’d always shied away from their voices.

There was no need to listen.  He knew what they’d say- monster.  Murderer.  Senseless killer.  Oath-breaker.  He agreed with that assessment completely, for it was cold fact.  But he couldn’t quite bear to have those words spoken from the lips of the dead, not when he was already contemplating ending his own life, not when his lightsaber was so close and at hand all the time.  He threw himself into anything, as a distraction- going where Sidious told him, terrorizing the galaxy- all to get away from those ethereal figures who called out to him, never-ending.

One day, after so long, after years, Vader had realized that the children were dying.  The young Inquisitors Sidious had been training to one day be his Apprentice’s replacement were Force-sensitive, the only children to have been spared from the massacre at the Temple.  Forced to forget their culture, they’d been raised according to the Empire’s wishes, never allowed to leave their compound, tortured and pushed to their limits and beyond them into perfect little soldiers.

At least, that had been the plan.  But Sidious pushed too hard.  The children dropped like flies, over the years, breaking under the abuse.  Finally, Vader had woken up and had realized that these three were all that was left.

He’d gone to his master.

Worry not, Sidious had told him.  We’ll pick from healthier stock next time.  Force-sensitives never stop being born, after all.

What will you do with them, master?  Vader had asked.  He was required to call Sidious master, or the man would show him that not even a Sith Apprentice was safe from a painful punishment.

Why, I’ll let them die, of course, had been the reply.  Perhaps we should have them fight to the death- but it will make poor sport, as they already appear so weak.  Perhaps the Hutts will want a few broken slaves in exchange for better trade.  They always find some use for a Force-sensitive, after all.  Wouldn’t you agree, my loyal Apprentice?

That night, Vader had slept and dreamed of the Jedi.  This time, broken and worn down, he’d let them speak.  He’d opened his mind to them, welcoming them, expecting them to swarm around him and hurl their insults.

Kenobi, they’d said instead.  Their message was urgent.  They’d been trying to tell him for so many years- it was nearly too late.  Kenobi.

Tatooine.

He’d left the next morning.

*

The last time Vader had seen a Jedi Master perform a Force-healing was…a long time ago. Perhaps too long, for he’d forgotten what it was like.  The sheer awe such a spectacle inspired from the average civilian- with the claps of lightning and the colors and, occasionally, thunder- somewhere along the line, he’d decided- he’d been convinced- it was all merely parlor tricks.  Something to show off.  Something that might work on a cut or a bruise, but not on anything serious.  Certainly not on himself, or on someone he loved- or on anything that mattered.   He’d since reevaluated his opinion, a little bit, but the doubt lingered.

When Mast- when Ben had said he was going to help, Vader hadn’t believed him at all.  Other people, over the years, had said similar things.  Doctors, the top of their field, starting off confident and cocky only to kneel and beg in front of the Emperor when they inevitably failed.  Surviving Jedi, captured, threatened, trying their best- only to fail as well.  Specialists and researchers and analysts- Sidious had called everyone.

The best they’d come up with, after all that effort, had been the suit.  It kept him alive and allowed him to be mobile- what more did a Sith Apprentice need?  Vader did not need comforts like food or water. Vader did not need to see in any color other than red.  Vader did not need to speak in whispers, or sing, or shout, or cry.

After all, why should he?  Why should he be allowed things that he had deprived others of?  He’d killed and killed and killed.

The suit was torture.  The suit was pain.  The suit was daily penance that allowed him to go on living with himself.  Sometimes, on his darkest days, Vader thought- if he’d managed to survive Mustafar unscathed, he might have ended his own life long ago.

Even the suit didn’t stop his death wish, in the end.

He’d expected to die on his knees in the sand of his birth planet, as he deserved.  When Ma- Ben had brought him inside the cave, he’d expected to die there.  When M- Ben had begun to remove the suit and armor, he’d thought it was some sort of elaborate game.  Perhaps it was some kind of power play, or a desire to see Vader suffer.

-Ben was good, Ben was kind, but Ben had every reason to hate Vader.  To him, it made perfect sense that Ben might want to exact some revenge before the end.

Whispering sweet nothings, saying things like I’ll help you was a unique way to do it, but everyone had their quirks.

He’d let the man do what he wanted.  Had even told him the override code for the suit.  In a moment of weakness, he’d asked Ben not to let him suffocate.  But since Ben seemed determined to remove the mask, it appeared that Vader’s wishes would not be taken into account.  Honestly, it was fair.  He’d come for judgment- he should be able to accept the verdict he was given, even if it came with false kindness.

When Ben had begun to call on the Force, Vader had thought oh, he’s committing to his charade and then what is he trying to prove and then-

And then nothing.

Ben put his hands on either side of Vader’s head, and kissed him, and the Force overtook him and carried him away.

It raced through him, and he braced for pain, but none came.  Instead, it felt like ice, sharp and sudden.  Like electricity, buzzing and crackling.  Like a thousand tiny stars that fell down into his veins and exploded along his nerves, again and again and again.

What was this- what was this- was he dying- what was happening-

Instinctively, he struggled, trying to free himself from Ben’s hold, but the Jedi’s hands seemed to be glued to his head.

His skin felt too tight, everything was wrong, everything was right.  Vader’s thoughts whited out into blankness as it all reached a crescendo, and he twisted in Ben’s grasp, shaking and shivering-

Suddenly, he began to choke.

There was something in his mouth.  It made him gag.  His chest felt tight and wrong, restricted by a hard shell.  He tried to inhale, but he couldn’t because that same shell was compressing his ribcage.  It pushed all the air from his lungs, and then he tried to gasp, but the machine made him pull air in and it was at the wrong time and it rushed in through the thing in his mouth and he gagged again, and then coughed, and he couldn’t inhale-

-he brought up his hands to claw at the mask, but it was stuck fast-

“Hold on, hold on,” said Ben, quickly shaking himself and removing his hands from Vader’s head, reaching down to punch in the override code.  “You’re alright- just give me a moment-”

The machine forced Vader to suck in air, but again it wasn’t at the right time, and he inhaled his own spit.  The wracking coughs that overtook him were interrupted by another forceful push out.

Ben flicked the switch and hit the power button as fast as he could.  The machine shut off immediately.  Quickly, his hands were at Vader’s neck, frantic, ripping away the bottom of the mask, breaching the seal without any care at all.  The tube in Vader’s mouth was pulled out, freeing him finally to gasp and splutter and heave.

Vader found himself pulled close, his face positioned over a shoulder.  He was a mess- there was fluid leaking from his mouth, nose, and eyes.  His throat felt raw and his head felt stuffy, and he coughed and coughed and coughed as Ben patted his back.

“That’s alright,” Ben murmured.  “Take your time.”

Somewhere, Vader’s coughing turned into sobs.

“Can’t- can’t breathe-” he said in his own voice, free from any vocoder.  It was a weak voice, hoarse from disuse and damage.  He couldn’t get it above a whisper.

“My dear,” said Ben, holding him close.  “You’re just crying.  Sometimes it can feel like that.”

“I’m dying- I’m dead, I’m-”

He couldn’t see anymore, his eyes stinging, his vision obscured by tears.

“Let it out.”  Ben patted his back.  “Let it go.”

Vader pressed his face into Ben’s shoulder and cried hard.  It was uncontrolled, but quiet, and the only thing comforting him was the fact that he wouldn’t wake the children sleeping further up the cave, crying with a voice that could still only make whispers.  He couldn’t wail, so he didn’t.

Ben just held him, patient, adjusting his hold to make him more comfortable, and that gesture alone prompted another round of tears.  A kind touch- he’d never- not in years-

“You- you healed me- you-” Vader managed to choke out, after a while, inhaling and exhaling.  In, out.  In, out.

“Yes,” said Ben.

“I thought- I thought-” His breath hitched, and he kept gasping, still feeling like he was dying, a little, and having the lingering feeling that he still couldn’t breathe.  After all, Vader hadn’t been able to consciously use his lungs for so long- it was what he was used to.  It was what he knew.

“I know what you thought,” Ben murmured.  “I’m sorry for scaring you.”

He could breathe.  He could.  He took extra breaths just to prove it to himself, marveling at the way his muscles worked, at the way his ribcage expanded and contracted when he wanted, not at the whims of a machine.

“Don’t apologize,” said Vader, swallowing- and it didn’t hurt, it didn’t-  “I-I’m a monster, I’m a coward, a- a disgrace, and a- and a wretched, broken creature.  You shouldn’t- you can’t help me.  No one can help me.”  He took another, shuddering sob.  “No one will help me.”

People screamed when he came close.  Anyone who saw him out of the suit- doctors, caretakers- would flinch back in horror and revulsion.  Children cried when they saw him, or hid behind their parents-

-and for good reason.  For good reason.

“You aren’t a monster,” said Ben, in defiance of these facts.  “You’re a man.”

He pressed Vader in close, holding him tight.  He stayed there until Vader had cried every tear he had left, until his sobs were only the occasional hitched breath.  Until even those breaths evened out into a normal, natural, healthy rhythm.  In, and out.  Warm air puffed gently against Ben’s shoulder.

“How I’ve missed you, old friend,” Ben murmured.

“I missed you, too,” Vader replied in a whisper so soft that it couldn’t be heard.

*

The double suns rose slowly above the horizon, the second day since Vader had made the irrevocable decision to leave the Empire and flee with the children.  Already, everyone was awake, their sleep schedules thrown off since Ben had compelled them to sleep during the day.  Ben himself was exhausted from the work he’d done the day before, but he’d managed to sleep a bit after working on Vader, (making sure to set up his monitors first) so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.

Ben sat beside Vader, with Five in his lap, just outside the cave.  They were in the shade, watching the other children run and play in the sand before the suns came fully up and ruined their fun with the heat.  Twelve was goading Trilla, who was reluctant to join him, glancing every now and then at Ben and Vader as if they would scold her for doing so.  But every time she did this, Ben nodded encouragingly, and after half an hour, Twelve had managed to drag her into a game of chase.  Twelve wore the tunic Ben had fashioned out of Vader’s cape, while Trilla and Vader each wore Ben’s spare tunics (though his clothes were comically big on Trilla, none of the children would be wearing those restrictive uniforms under his watch, and Vader’s suit was more machine than an outfit.  Once it was no longer needed, Ben had cut it away with extreme prejudice.)  He only had a few different clothes, plus a cloak- they were wearing his entire wardrobe.  For Ben, to suddenly find himself housing four people, needing to feed and clothe and support them- he was deep in thought about what kinds of jobs he might be able to undertake that would pay more.  Perhaps he could find a way to work as a doctor, if he was smart about it.  Perhaps.

He watched Twelve call to Trilla as they raced through the desert, using the Force to push waves of sand at each other.  They were acting like children, as children should be.  Even Twelve, who Ben had initially thought of as shy- he wasn’t shy.  He’d been afraid.  There was a difference, and once he’d begun to trust Ben, his true personality had come out. 

As they played, from his place cradled against Ben, Five watched them.  His eyes tracked their path through the desert as they ran, following them, and it warmed Ben’s heart to see it.  It was progress, even if only a little.

None of the children had flinched back in fear when Vader had first emerged from the back of the cave, looking like a stray cat unsure of its welcome.  Ben had healed his breathing, and then had pushed it by also doing work on his throat, so that Vader could swallow- it wasn’t good for a healer to attempt more than one large healing at a time.  Helping the rest of Vader’s body, his other organs, his digestive system- that would have to wait until his body rested and adjusted to the first major change.  They’d make do with what they had, as the ports in Vader’s abdomen were able to be used even without the suit.  Ben would need to purchase a few things (tubes, bags, a syringe, sterile pads) to feed him properly in the interim, but they’d make it work.

And the children didn’t mind at all.  They hadn’t reacted to Vader’s scars, the melted nature of the right side of his face, nor to his complexion, pale and hairless as it was, with deep, indented marks around his lips and chin from where the mouthpiece of the ventilator had resided for years.  No- Trilla had smiled, briefly, glancing up into his blue eyes.  Perhaps the knowledge that there was a man under that mask comforted her.  It certainly comforted Ben.

The suit was gone.  And it would stay gone.

“Why did you do it?” said Vader, running metal hands over metal limbs.  To avoid looking at Ben or the children, he picked at the decorative ridges on his prosthetics.  Now that the suit was gone, those limbs looked too long and too large.  “Why would you save me?  What do you want?  …What will you do with me?”

Ben rocked the child in his lap gently back and forth.  He looked out to the rise of the suns.

“Do with you?  Nothing.  You can leave, if you want- though I’d recommend waiting until nightfall.”

“Just like that?”

“Yes,” said Ben.  “I am no jailer, Vader.”

“No,” Vader agreed.  “I suppose you aren’t.”

He looked down.  “I keep comparing you to- him.  And I shouldn’t.  It’s beneath you.  But it’s all I know.”

“That man is not worth your thoughts,” said Ben.  “He holds no power over you aside from that which you give him.”

“Is that how you live your life?”

“I try to,” Ben replied.  “Some days, it goes better than others.”

Out in the desert, Twelve managed to tag Trilla, who shrieked in delight and fell head over heels down the side of a dune.  She rose to her feet immediately and sent a wave of sand at the boy as he jumped down to roll beside her.  Their laughter echoed around the sand and it was a sunny balm on Ben’s heart.

How quickly they had bounced back!  He knew they were not all better- such things took time, especially a recovery from the years of abuse they had gone through, body and soul.  It wasn’t something that Ben could fix like a mechanic- people were not droids.  But he could help.  He would help.  He would give them the space they needed to grow and heal, to act like children, and to play in the sand.

“Why did you spare my life, Ben?” Vader asked him.

“I wouldn’t have, if I’d thought you were going to continue your path of destruction and death.  But you left the Empire.  You came out here and brought the children to safety.  Did you know she asked about you?” said Ben, glancing at Trilla.  “I’d thought- if you were truly beyond help….none of the children would care about you.  But they did.”

“Still-”

“Master Qui-Gon liked to tell me that violence breeds violence,” he continued, eyes on the children and their fun.  “And hatred- only more hate.”

“Don’t tell me a proverb stayed your hand-”

“It’s the truth,” said Ben, surprising himself with the harshness of his voice.  Five startled at his tone, and he spent a few minutes soothing the child in apology.  He couldn’t look at Vader anymore.

“I’m not-” said Ben to the ground.  “I can’t be what you’re looking for.  I can’t measure you by your deeds and pronounce just penance.  After all, what could possibly make up for what you’ve done?”

He heard Vader’s breath catch.

“There is no justice in the galaxy that can undo your sins, Vader,” he continued, feeling himself shake.  “No amount of suffering on your part that could ever make amends.  Even if you burned in a fire every day for the rest of your life, it would still not be enough.  Do you think I haven’t wished it?”

He raised his head and looked back.  “Do you think I never felt hatred?”

“You must,” Vader whispered.  “You must hate me- I- what I did to you-”

His voice failed for a moment, but when Ben didn’t interrupt, he took a shaky breath and continued.  “There are no words that can express it.  There’s no explanation.  There’s no excuse.  It’s my fault the Empire exists at all.  It’s my fault the Jedi are hunted- and what I did at the Temple-”

Ben flinched.

“I could die for the shame of it,” said Vader, pressing his metal hand against his eye, voice thick.  “The evil of it- the atrocity- I- there’s no apology I can make…that could even begin to come close to encompassing all I’ve done.  But you must know- you must know I feel…the most abject guilt and sorrow, and I- if there was anything I could say, I would say it.”

He began to cry again.  “I’m glad Mustafar happened.  I’m glad you did what you did.  I wish- I wish you’d killed me right there.”

“So did I, some days,” said Ben.  He wasn’t ready to speak of the rest.  Vader was right- there was nothing he could say.

“Why- why didn’t you?” said Vader.

“I thought you’d slide into the river.”  Ben forced himself to speak the truth- the truth of the hatred and anger that had once consumed his soul.  Obi-Wan’s desire for revenge, felt in the heat of that awful fight, a desire that had eaten him alive until there was nothing left.  “I was hoping your death would be excruciating.  I thought, at the time, that…that a quick death would be… too good.”

Five shifted in his lap, curling up, yawning and falling asleep, undisturbed by the weighty nature of the conversation happening over his head.  Normally Ben might be concerned with the amount the child was sleeping, but, well…his body was recovering.  It was only natural.

Vader wiped his eyes and nodded.

“It’s the greatest regret of my life,” said Ben.  “I raised you.  I promised you I’d always be there.  And I wasn’t, not when you truly needed me.  I should have picked you up off that shore and taken you with me.”

“I understand why you didn’t,” said Vader.  “I deserved to lie there.”

“I spent years alone, after that day,” Ben continued as if Vader hadn’t spoken, getting to the heart of it.  He didn’t mention what had happened after- Padme and the twins and the days spent on Alderaan before fleeing to Tatooine.  Some things, he just was not ready to speak about.  Some things, Vader could not know.  Not yet.

“I spent too long pacing the desert, turning over everything that happened,” is what he did say.  “Thinking on what you did and didn’t deserve.  Thinking on the choices I’d made.  Sometimes, I went months without speaking.  Sometimes it was months before I saw another living soul.”

He reached out, very slowly.  Closed the space between them and put his hand on Vader’s shoulder.  With equal slowness, a large metal hand came up and settled against Ben’s hand, the touch feather-light.

“I’m tired,” said Ben.  “I’m a lonely, lonely man.  Everyone I ever loved is gone, now, and all I have of them is the empty space they’ve left behind.  And your space- it was the biggest.  I kept thinking about what you would think.  About what you would say.  I kept turning to tell you things, only to remember you were no longer there.  You were the ghost that haunted me, tormented me- and I missed you.  I grieved you.”

A tear, the first he’d shed in years, trailed slowly down his cheek.

“So- so- to see you there, after all that time…to see you returned to me…I realized then that I’d been a fool.  And that I- despite everything- I loved you still.”

Another tear joined the first, and Ben screwed up his face.  “I can’t give you justice, Vader.  I can’t give you forgiveness on behalf of the dead.  But somehow, somewhere, this cycle must end.  I don’t have to pass the rest of my days in solitude, in loneliness and bitterness.  I don’t have to feel hatred and let it kill the peace I have begun to cultivate.  And so…there’s a space for you here.  With us.  You can leave, but- you can also stay, if you want.”

Vader slipped his hand under Ben’s hand where it rested upon his shoulder, and lifted it to his lips.  He pressed a light kiss to the back of the knuckles, and then held it with both hands to his chest, curling his body around it as though it was the most precious thing in the world.  Even like this, his touch was so light, especially for prosthetics as large as these were- Ben knew that, if he were to pull away, Vader would immediately let go.

“Please,” said Vader.  “Call me anything you want.  Anything.  But not that name.  It’s the name he gave me, and I- I don’t want to think about him anymore.  Please.”

“Anakin,” said Ben without hesitation.

“Of course I’ll stay,” said Anakin, pressing Ben’s hand to his heart.  “If you’ll let me.”

“I will,” said Ben.  “I want you to stay.  Please.  Stay.”

Anakin smiled, and he stayed, and he sat beside Ben and watched the children playing in the desert.  He inhaled the clear, fresh air and thought it smelled like the dawn.