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Chapter Text

Owen Lars never intended to get involved with Jedi. He didn't even get involved in politics on Tatooine, though he helped Beru's liberation projects wherever he could. Largely that was to keep Luke out of trouble, but it also just didn't hold with his ideals. Stay home. Don't get involved.

He only did it because one or two Jedi were family. When it came to the Rebellion, the same logic applied there.

Therefore, perhaps inevitably, becoming Emperor was the last thing he had planned. But he had to do it anyway.

Luke returned to them three years after he left to fight in the stars, carrying a prosthetic hand and a lot of pain. The prosthetic hand was in a box he carried gingerly under his right elbow, his right arm ending halfway down the forearm. That astromech droid he'd convinced Owen to buy after the red one was faulty trailed him every metre he trekked through the sand from the passenger shuttle he'd come in, beeping encouragingly.

The money Luke had been sending them, though modest, had been enough to buy several new droids for the farm. Owen's pride had been insulted by his nephew's charity, especially when Luke was paid essentially nothing for his work, but those droids helped now. They meant that he had finished the workday early, and was at the homestead when Luke limped in, instead of miles away from a nephew who needed him.

He and Beru heard the footfalls on the steps at the same time, exchanging a hard look. Who the hell was that? No one traipsed down into their homestead without tripping their perimeter sensors.

When he stormed out of the dining area to check, staring down into the courtyard, he saw Luke pause at the bottom of the steps and turn. When he lifted his hand, his astromech friend floated down the steps, so he didn't have to take them on his rollers.

"Luke?" Owen called, not admitting to the leap of joy in his chest. Luke looked up at the sound of his voice and gave him a weak smile. "Luke, what're you doing here, you—"

"Luke!" Beru had already pushed past him and leapt down the steps to seize Luke in a hug. "I'm so glad you're here! How are you?" She pulled back, taking in his scarred face. His pained expression. His missing hand.

"What happened to you?" Owen snapped before she could say anything, marching down the steps. "Are you alright? Did the Rebels allow this? If they—"

"They didn't allow this, Uncle Owen. This happened."

He stopped next to Beru, right in front of Luke, and looked him up and down. The boy was still shorter than him, but he had grown taller and filled out. He wasn't the awkward teen he had been when he left. Pride would've swelled in him, if he didn't also look like he'd been to hell and back.

"Then what the hell happened? Who did this?" He and Beru exchanged a look. He saw her gaze flick to where they kept the blasters and rifles, then to where she had her medical pack for when escaped slaves came through here. Without a word, he took off to dig it up, while she took Luke by the arm.

"Come with me," she said. As Luke went to follow, R2-D2 whistled and trundled alongside them both. Beru smiled at him. "Hello, Artoo."

Owen knelt in the sand next to the pipe that Beru's supplies were stashed in and yanked the bundle out, unfurling it to check everything was inside. It was a beige cloth patiently sewn with pockets, filled with supplies, then rolled up and secured; only half of the pockets were full, but that was usually the best they got. He rolled it up again and went to meet his family in the dining area.

"I'm not injured, don't worry," Luke said before Owen even got within sight of the door. "You don't need those, Uncle Owen."

Owen rounded the corner to see Luke already looking at him. "I see your spookiness hasn't faded," he said. He sat opposite Beru and Luke and unfurled the pack anyway. "Humour your uncle."

Luke snorted, gaze skipping across the supplies. "It hasn't. And my spookiness tells me I don't need what's in there."

"It helps, then?" he pressed. "Did you get training?"

"I did. Yeah."

"I thought you said that Old Ben died." Luke's messages had been sparse these past few years. But the very first one he sent, from hyperspace in an X-wing, telling Owen before the holonews told him first that he was now a hero of the Rebellion and public enemy number one of the Empire, had mentioned Ben's demise.

Owen hadn't known how to feel about that. He hadn't liked Ben, he hadn't liked how he'd kept all those secrets and gone against his will about Luke over and over again, but he'd had to respect him. The man had lost everything and still managed to be kind.

"He did," Luke said. "I found another Jedi Master."

"They're still out there? The Inquisitors didn't get 'em?"

Luke frowned. "What're Inquisitors?"

"Not now." He wanted to hear about what'd happened to Luke, not think about another time Luke had been injured badly. "The important thing is: you found a Jedi Master? How?"

"Ben told me where to look."

"Before he died?"

Luke fidgeted. "No. After. He came back as a ghost." Before Owen could say he thought that the stress might be getting to Luke, Luke added, "That's something Jedi can do, by the way."

"I don't believe that, but alright."

"You sound like Han."

"That smuggler who saved your life?" Another person Owen was torn on—he sounded irresponsible by how long he'd put off paying his debt to Jabba and not being careful about incurring it in the first place, but he had saved Luke's life. A lot.

"Yeah."

"I don't know how to feel about that."

"Luke," Beru prodded gently. "What happened to you? Your… hand." Her gaze moved from Luke's stump to the box on the table. R2-D2 gave a sad whistle.

"Yeah. That's what's important right now." Something clicked in his mind. He remembered how that Inquisitor had cut off hands in the Anchorhead market and not so much as blinked over it. "Did the Jedi— the training—"

"No!" Luke looked horrified, which was reassuring. "Stars, no. Vader did that."

"Vader?"

Luke had said in his sparse messages that Vader was after him, that his bounty was massive. Had Vader caught Luke? Had he tortured him, the way the Inquisitors were said to do? Had he—

"He didn't torture me, Uncle Owen. He lured me into a trap, but I got out. Minus a hand."

"Does it hurt?" Beru asked.

"The wrist doesn't. The hand that I'm missing does. It hurts, and I can't touch it."

She laid her hand on Luke's left one. "I'm going to kill him," she said tightly.

"You can't."

"Don't underestimate her."

"I don't, but you can't." Luke closed his eyes. "Because he's my father."

Owen and Beru stared. "What?"

"He's my kriffing father!" Luke shouted. He shook off Beru's hand to slam his on the table. "Why couldn't you have told me this before? Why did you—"

"Vader," Owen said, "is Anakin?"

Luke deflated, watching them both. "You didn't know."

"No. We didn't." Owen exchanged a look with Beru.

"I thought— I thought you knew, and you didn't want me Jedi training in case…" Luke swallowed.

"In case the same thing happened to you?" Owen scoffed. "Ben told us that Anakin died. I wanted him to stay away in case that happened to you."

Luke blinked. Beru put her arm around his shoulders, shooting Owen a look to stay quiet for a moment. Owen acquiesced.

"I thought you were trying to protect the galaxy from me," Luke said quietly.

"Of course not." Beru's tone showed no horror, but Luke could probably sense it with his magic anyway, like a sandstorm hovering out of reach. "We—"

"What do I care about the galaxy, Luke?" Owen burst out. "We've got no time for them. I care about you."

Luke hiccupped. "Thank you."

"How did you find this out?" Beru asked—demanded, more like. "Are you sure it's true? If Vader told you, he may be manipulating you." Owen nodded with her, knowing her train of thought. Slave masters who had children with their slaves sometimes leveraged a relationship—true or false—over that child. You had to be sure that sort of thing was true before you did anything with it.

"Vader told me. Right after he cut off my hand and asked me to join him so we can rule the galaxy."

Owen scoffed. "You're not qualified for that job."

Luke's scoff-laugh came so suddenly he nearly choked on it. "Thanks, Uncle Owen." Beru glared at him.

He looked between them. "Don't tell me you weren't thinking the same thing."

"I wasn't, but I'm glad to have another reason to say no." Luke's voice grew lighter after Owen's gruff joke, though it still trembled. He rubbed the stump at his wrist.

"Does your sister know about this?" Beru asked. Owen grunted to himself at the reminder—perhaps it was perfectly believable that Old Ben would lie to them about Vader. He'd lied about Luke's sister until it was beneficial to tell the truth.

Luke shook his head. "Vader tortured her," he said. "He held her back and made her watch them obliterate her planet." He was clinging to the stump of his wrist, now, shivering. "That man is our father—"

"That's Shmi's son," Beru murmured. Owen had been trying not to think of that. He tried to envision what his stepmother would do in this situation, tried to remember what she'd taught him about gentleness that his father had been too gruff to, but all he could think was that this would break her heart.

"It is," Luke said. "You always told me that Grandma said my father was a hero, Aunt Beru." Owen glanced at Beru, narrowing his eyes at the confirmation that she had been filling his head with stories behind his back, but he couldn't really bring himself to be angry. "And— even when I knew—"

R2-D2 bleeped. Luke cut himself off; both he and Owen glanced down at him.

"He says you should put on your hand, Luke," Owen translated. His binary was usually nothing to brag about, but recently their translator droid had shut down in a sandstorm, so he'd had to brush up. "What does that mean?"

Luke huffed, then reached out to flip open the case he had with him. A fancy prosthetic, with synthskin and everything, sat inside it. Somehow the sand hadn't wormed its way into that case yet, so it was pristine.

"Why don't you have it on? That's gonna be a more pleasant experience for you."

"It's strange." Luke sounded almost whiny, and now Owen was in familiar territory again. The teenager he'd raised was still under the scarred muscle of the man he'd become. "It's more pleasant, sure, but it's still—"

"Luke." They stared at each other. Luke's chest heaved, and Owen thought he would have to be the one to capitulate for once, but Luke lowered his gaze.

"I can't," he admitted. "It's hard with one hand."

"I'll help you," Beru offered. She reached for her screwdriver, which was conveniently in the liberation pack Owen had brought and scanned the other contents to check she'd have everything else she needed. "We can figure out the kinks of this together. Owen," she raised her gaze to his, "go and get some food for Luke. I don't know how long he's been travelling for, but he was always hungry."

"I'm not—"

"Owen, go."

Owen went. Luke needed comfort, which Beru had always been much better at than him. He could help by getting Luke food—he wasn't hungry because he was upset, and he was probably upset partly because he was hungry—and staying out of the way until he was needed.

The Marstraps had sent them another shipment of rice for them to store, and Beru had been planning to celebrate by making blue rice pudding. Luke loved that, so when he reached the kitchen, Owen reached for the sack and scooped out more than enough for the three of them. Threw the butter in the pan and was waiting for it to melt when he let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

Anakin was Vader.

His brother was the man who'd led those Inquisitors and trained them to be… what they were.

Owen had only met Anakin once. His partner—Luke's mother, he hoped—had been far more likeable, though he couldn't remember her name. But even if he'd only met his brother once, it felt like he'd known him for years, because of Shmi.

His mother had talked endlessly about her Jedi son. She'd been so proud of him. What had happened?

He sighed sharply and went to pour in the rice. It sizzled as it hit the butter.

"What the hell, Kenobi?" he muttered, stirring it thoroughly as he added more. "Why didn't you tell us the truth? Luke deserved to know from us, not from him."

"I did not want to admit it."

Owen jumped, nearly spilling rice all over the floor. When he whirled around, Ben Kenobi was sitting at the tiny kitchen table.

He was blue.

Owen put down his cup of rice. "I thought Luke was hallucinating."

"Maybe you are as well."

"Oh, don't pull that nonsense with me, Ben." He turned to toss the sugar into the pan in a rapid, disgusted movement. "Alright. So, Jedi can come back from the dead."

"I wouldn't say that. I'm not alive."

"You can talk, and that's bad enough. Why the hell didn't you tell us about Anakin?"

"The good man that was Anakin Skywalker, the man I considered to be my brother, died when he became Darth Vader. I told you the truth," Ben said, unfazed, "from a certain point of view."

"The human man that is Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader, whatever he wants to call himself, and who is my stepbrother, is not dead. You can't separate them like that."

"Vader—"

"And you shouldn't have lied to us. We deserved to know the truth about our family."

Ben regarded him with sad eyes. "I told you the truth I did in order to spare you pain."

"I might believe that nonsense," Owen said humourlessly, "if you hadn't hidden the fact that Luke has a twin sister from us until it was useful for you to reveal it."

"If I hadn't told him that Princess Leia was his sister when Artoo delivered that message, then there would have been no reason for us to rush to your homestead so that he could break the news and beg your blessing to rescue her. Those stormtroopers would have come, and you would have fought them on your own."

"Your fortunate timing is not an excuse for nineteen years of lies, Ben."

"We separated the twins to protect them. I told you that before. Not telling you about Leia protected her." Ben hesitated. "You did not know Anakin before. There was no need to frighten you."

"Frighten us?" It took a moment to click, but— "You thought we wouldn't take in Luke if we knew," he guessed. He gave a humourless smirk, stirring the rice pudding with short, aggressive movements. "How dare you? Luke is Shmi's grandson. He's our family. So is Anakin."

"He did not consider you as such."

"That doesn't matter. We'll still look after our own."

Ben quietened his voice. "I understand this may be difficult to believe. But I was trying to protect you—you, Beru and Luke—from hurt."

"You go in there and tell Luke that you protected him from hurt."

Ben closed his eyes. "We told him that it would be a trap. Not to go. He went anyway."

"You didn't tell him it was a trap set by his father!" He stopped stirring the rice pudding, added the cream and last few ingredients, then left it to simmer. "What happened?"

"On Bespin? I wasn't there. You would be better off asking Luke, I'm afraid."

"To Anakin. I assume you were there."

"Not for enough of it."

"Tell me what you do know, then. You don't get out of this. Not this time."

Ben sighed. "Owen—"

"Why's my brother a murderer, Ben? Let's start with that."

"The Clone Wars were hard on us all. Anakin had always been more… happy-go-lucky in his approach to killing than I endorsed, but largely it was limited to droids and Separatist enemies. And the occasional slaver we ran into."

Owen nodded. "Good."

"Not good!" Ben glared at him. "Not for a Jedi."

"So he wasn't a good Jedi. That doesn't make him an Inquisitor."

"Sith."

"I don't care what it's called, tell me what happened, Ben."

"I don't know!" Ben let out. "I was away from Coruscant. The chancellor was a Sith Lord. Anakin was worried about Padmé, his wife, and their unborn child."

"Children."

"Yes. Children. When I returned to Coruscant, after nearly being shot down by my own troops, I found that he had committed himself to the dark side, the Sith, and the Empire, and had slaughtered every last Jedi and child in the Temple." Ben finally stood from the chair, resting his knuckles on the counter. "When I went to find him, we fought, he nearly killed Padmé, and I thought I had killed him. It was not until Luke was ten years old that I discovered he was still alive."

Owen swallowed. "And you call him your brother?" he asked. "You left him for dead."

"He had already killed hundreds. If I had succeeded in killing him, he would not have killed thousands, as he has done."

The rice pudding was boiling over. Owen turned off the heat and shook his head in disdain. "He was your brother."

"He was my brother. I loved him." Ben stared at Owen. "You did not know him. I did. I loved him. And there was nothing to be done for him."

"So you left him."

Ben bowed his head. "So I left him."

Owen's anger was a living thing in his chest, but he wasn't heartless. He didn't know what to do with the grief that was pouring off of Ben like sweat. Was this the great sadness that had always dogged his steps? Was this what had turned him from the Jedi Knight Owen had done surface level research on into a crazy old wizard?

He thought of how happy Ben had been when Owen let him meet Luke for the first time. He thought of what Luke, and the mere act watching over and protecting Luke, must have meant to a man that deep in despair.

"When you gave us Luke and told us our brother was dead, you thought it was true at the time," he said. That had to be it, if Ben had only learned he survived ten years later.

Ben nodded.

"And then when you did learn he was alive—I won't ask how—you didn't tell us. To protect us?"

"Yes."

He had never given Ben enough credit for how much he looked after them. It stung his pride, that was why. But just as Owen had fought tooth and nail to protect his nephew, Ben had fought to protect his, as well. Just, as far as Owen was concerned, in the wrong way.

"Is there still nothing to be done for him?" he asked.

Ben looked at him warily. "Naturally," he said, as though it were obvious. "The dark side has utterly consumed him. He's more machine now than man, twisted and evil."

"Don't say that," Owen said. "Luke's part machine now as well. That's not making him any less of a man."

Ben grimaced. "I apologise," he said. "I didn't intend for that. What I meant was that you do not understand the nature of the dark side. It consumes everything you are. Leaves nothing of the good person behind."

"He fought Luke and asked Luke to join him. He didn't kill him."

"You shouldn't underestimate your nephew's power. He's a very attractive asset to Vader and the Emperor as well as the Rebellion."

"Did Anakin know about the dark side before he turned to it? Knew what it could do?"

Ben frowned. "Of course."

"And you don't know why he turned."

"No."

For the second time that day, Owen thought of Beru's work. The complicated choices that people in terrible situations would make. The sacrifices they committed to, again and again. They were so often for family.

Owen put the dish with the blue rice pudding into the oven and set a timer for two hours.

"You want to speak with him," Ben observed. Damn Jedi.

"Yes." Owen turned to leave the kitchen. Luke and Beru should be alright by now, but even then, he wasn't sure how he was going to spring this on them. The pudding will be out in an hour, Beru, make sure you get it, because I'll be in hyperspace by then?

"Owen, don't. He will only kill you for keeping Luke away from him."

"Then his rage is about family?"

"Not as you define it."

Owen swallowed. "I don't think you're sure of that, Ben."

"I am."

"I am going to talk to our brother," Owen informed him. "And if I can, I'm gonna bring him home."

"He will not come. Trying to find a shred of humanity in him, any sense of familial loyalty or love…" He cut himself off and shook his head. "It would be like trying to dig for water in the desert."

"Finding water in the desert is the family business, Ben." Owen allowed himself a wry smirk. "But if you're digging in the sand for it, you're looking in the wrong place."

"That's not what I meant by that metaphor, and you know it!"

Beru and Luke had their hands clasped together. Luke was murmuring stories from his time in the Rebellion to her; she was laughing gently and mourning at the right moments. It was such a sweet atmosphere that Owen felt awful for shattering it.

But shatter it he did. He marched in, ignoring Beru's warning look, and sat opposite them again. "I have blue rice pudding in the oven," he started. "It'll be out in two hours."

Beru smiled. "That's good news."

"I'm also gonna take Luke's ship and find Anakin."

"What?"

Owen held out his hand. "Luke, calm down. I know what I'm doing."

"No, you don't."

"Alright, I don't," he snapped. "But Vader is your father. He's my brother, and he's Shmi's son. We deserve a conversation with him."

"He'll kill you."

"Plenty of things have tried to kill me. Anybody who built a protocol droid with as many wires loose as Threepio is not gonna be the one who succeeds."

Luke scoffed a laugh for a moment before his eyes blew wide. "You mean, See-Threepio—"

"I've got to go, Luke," Owen said. "I'll tell them it's family business, and they'll let me through."

"They will not."

"They'd better, 'cause that's my plan, and I'm sticking to it."

"You'll get shot down unless I'm with you. He wants me. He doesn't care about you."

"I'm not putting you in danger."

"Then don't go," Beru hissed.

"Someone has to. Stars know it won't be Ben." He waved a hand at Beru's baffled look. "But I'm not putting you in danger, Luke."

Luke squared his shoulders. "If I don't go with you, you don't go either."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Why is that ridiculous?"

"Because you're my kid." He slammed his fist on the table. "You're my own. I have to take care of you."

Luke swallowed, tearing up. Owen worried he'd gone too far, but Luke clasped his hand and clung to it.

"I'm your kid," he said. "But I'm his as well. And I'm an adult. I'm coming with you, or you're not going."

Owen stared at him, imploring. "Don't do this. It scares me enough when you're with the Rebels."

"I'm not afraid." Luke lifted his chin, and Owen saw him as he was twelve years ago: a slight, strong little boy, so stoic in the face of his aunt and uncle's frantic preparations, ready to run at the first sign of trouble.

"I know," he said. "But…" Luke wasn't that kid anymore. If that Inquisitor came by again, Owen wouldn't be able to beat her any more than he had before. But Luke might.

He let out a breath. "You want to do this." He intended it as a question, a check in, but it didn't need to be, so it petered out. It was a fact.

"He's my father," Luke said. "Aunt Beru has been reassuring me about that." Beru squeezed his shoulder as it began to heave. "I want to find out more."

His voice trembled. He might say he wasn't afraid, but that too was different this time: he knew what there was to be afraid of, understood it intimately, and dutifully was. But he was brave anyway.

"Alright," Owen said. "We'll go. And Ben—it's family business. He should come, the lying bastard." He didn't intend for it to sound affectionate.

Luke stared. "You can see him? Hear him?"

"Unfortunately."

"You can't go, Owen," Beru cut in. "Am I the only one who sees this is insanity? You can't go."

"He's our brother, Beru."

"He can kill you. Or just hurt you, like he did Luke." She shook her head, tears brimming. "We can't protect him. Not from this."

In a second, Owen was around the table, kneeling in front of her. He took her hands.

"Hey," he said softly. "Hey, Beru. Look at me."

She looked at him. Her tears glimmered, then she blinked them away, and she was dry-eyed.

"We'll be fine," he said. "All of us. We're fighters—especially you. We can do this."

"I'm a fighter, and I know what fights I can win. This isn't it."

"It is." He stroked his thumb over the back of her hand. "We can do it. We're enough. Remember? We're enough." She swallowed.

"You and me," she finished.

"Yeah."

She lifted her head to look at Luke. "I'm coming," she said. "We all are."

Two hours later, they all fit on Luke's ship. Barely, but they did. R2 beeped cheerfully when he raised the landing ramp. Owen cradled the dish of blue rice pudding in his hands awkwardly; they'd brought it as a mid-flight snack, which seemed unbelievably foolish now.

"Where do we go, Luke?" Beru asked, sitting in the co-pilot's seat. She'd taken a few piloting lessons in Mos Espa, once, in case she needed to fly a getaway ship. The way she was staring at the navicomputer with a puzzled expression drained Owen of confidence in how much she remembered, but also warmed his chest at how endearing the expression was on his wife.

Luke froze. "I have no idea."

Ben, who was sitting on the nose of the ship because there was no space for him to stand inside, and also because he was a ghost with no regard for the limits of physical space, said, "The Mustafar system."

"The Mustafar system," Luke and Owen said at once. Beru raised her eyebrows and turned to where Owen was looking. She did a double take when she spotted Ben, but clearly decided this was not what she wanted to focus her attention on right now.

"Alright," she said. "Let's go to the Mustafar system."

Luke was shaking with nerves. Owen dug out a spoon for the blue rice pudding and offered it to him, which he gratefully accepted. It was a small thing, but the tiny smile it produced would have been worth a gesture a thousand times grander.

Chapter Text

Owen was planning for things to go wrong as soon as they exited hyperspace. They usually did when he was around a trouble magnet as powerful as Luke. He and Beru were murmuring together about evasive manoeuvres—neither of them knew how to do them, but they'd heard of them, and heard they were a good idea—and what to say if they were hailed, what to say in order to get through to Vader, what to say at any point. It was after their fifth "I don't know" that Owen was starting to feel that he'd made the wrong decision, and Beru was staring at him like she wanted him to admit that. But he couldn't turn back now.

There was the matter of his pride, of course, which was what he would cite if asked. But when he looked at Luke, sitting stoically in the pilot's seat, clutching R2-D2's claw and staring into hyperspace with a grim, hopeful look on his face, he knew that wasn't the true reason they had to keep going.

Coincidentally, Luke was also the reason they didn't get blasted to slag in the first two minutes. The moment they dropped out of hyperspace, he reached for the comm. When it started blinking, he answered it, even as R2-D2 plugged his arm into the socket of the console. Several warning shots flew for them; R2-D2 made sure they flew past them at a safe distance.

"Who is this? This is a restricted system—"

"And this is Commander Luke Skywalker of the Rebel Alliance," Luke declared, his voice strong and hoarse. "I'm here to surrender myself and my companions and to speak with Lord Vader privately. I know he is here."

Silence reverberated down the comm. Owen and Beru exchanged a look, then stared at their boy. He still looked like he'd been to hell and back, but his face was flushed and suns-touched, his shoulders set, his voice stern.

"Commander Skywalker, do not move your ship from your current flight path."

Another stray missile shot for them. R2-D2 steered them away from it. Luke retorted, "That'll be difficult if you don't stop firing at us."

"I'm sure the pilot who killed all those people on station DS-1 can manage."

Luke grimaced as the comm clicked off.

Owen watched him for a moment, then went to sit in the co-pilot's seat. "What's DS-1?"

"The Death Star." Luke's voice was tight, but more so it was tired.

"Ah." He glanced at the comm. "Don't listen to him. You're a hero for that."

Luke snorted. "You don't believe in heroes."

"I don't, but I've heard plenty of people say that you're one."

"That guy doesn't." He sighed. "It's alright. I've accepted it."

Owen exchanged a look with Beru, not knowing what to say. Before she could come over to take over the comforting, he said, "I'm proud of you, you know?"

Luke blinked. Swallowed and ducked his head. "I know."

His ducked head meant Owen could ruffle Luke's hair. It didn't do anything; it was shorter now than it had been on the farm. "You've grown up."

"Thank you," Luke said. "For being my father. When he—"

"You don't need to say it, Luke. You're my own." The comlink crackled. He glanced up at it. "I hope you don't think otherwise."

Luke met his gaze, nodded, then reached for the comlink. He hit the button to transmit his voice. "Commander Skywalker speaking."

"Luke."

Luke's eyes closed. He took a deep breath, then glanced at Owen and back to the comm.

"Father," he said.

"So you have accepted the truth. Are you here to join me?"

"I've accepted that you were once Anakin Skywalker, my father." Owen glanced up, then, to see Ben materialise behind Luke, reaching out a hand as if to place it on his shoulder. It went straight through, but Owen gave him a nod of respect anyway. "We're here to talk and see what that means."

"We?"

Ben stepped aside to let Owen lean over and speak directly into the comlink.

"Hello, Anakin." He met Luke's eyes, then Beru's. "We thought you were dead."

Vader let them land. Grumpily. Making all sorts of threats and insults over the comm, until Owen finally understood what Shmi meant when she'd said that young Ani's tantrums could be cataclysmic.

Owen had been afraid before. He was afraid every time he faced a Tusken attack, or Jabba's men, or that time the Inquisitor had stood in front of him with a lightsaber at his throat and demanded that Anchorhead tell her where the Jedi was. Now made them all look like a dune compared to the desert, but he stood his ground anyway, as he always had.

Luke was looking at him sideways. He could probably sense it. Owen flattened his mouth into a line at the sympathy in his gaze. "I'm not afraid," he said gruffly.

His nephew smiled. He didn't try to take his hand or reassure him, which was good. Owen wouldn't have been able to stand for that. "I know," he replied.

They stepped out, down the landing ramp and onto a long black walkway, R2-D2 staying with the ship. Owen looked around the planet with disdain. The heat punched him, as powerful as Tatooine at noon. Lava flows spat and gouged holes in the volcanic hillsides less than a hundred metres below the walkway and landing pad. Clearly, Imperial safety laws had as much jurisdiction here as they did on Tatooine.

But despite the heat that choked the air, he had never felt so cold. Misery ate into the stones of this place deeper than erosion ever could.

Vader's residence itself was as dramatic a castle as you could get: a two-pronged tower speared the sky, storm clouds that flashed white wreathing its tips. Owen snorted.

Luke shivered. "What's funny?"

"Nothing." He spotted black on black, a figure moving towards them across the walkway. "Is that Vader?"

"Yeah." Luke side-eyed him. "You've never seen a holo of him before?"

"With what holoprojector? He looks…" Owen studied him more closely as he approached. Bug-eyed lenses in a mask designed to be faceless, with a grill like the bars of a cage over his mouth. His cape flowed behind him, making him seem much bigger than he was, though he certainly didn't need it. The lights on his chest flashed.

Owen shook his head.

"What?" Luke asked.

"Look at him."

"I am. He's…"

"Faceless and terrifying? Yeah. He's been designed to be."

Beru, coming down the ramp just behind them, realised what he was getting at. "He's trying very hard to be, as well," she said, stopping behind Owen. She put a blaster in his hands; Owen took it.

"He doesn't need to try very hard."

"But he does anyway," Beru said.

"Makes you wonder what's underneath that mask." By now, Owen could hear Vader's respirator. So, Vader didn't just use the suit to be intimidating; he needed it to breathe.

Vader stopped in front of them—or rather, he stopped in front of Luke. He barely spared Owen or Beru a disdainful glance.

"I am surprised you came," he said.

"Don't worry." Luke gestured to the walkway, stretching over the lava. "There's a perfectly good gantry to throw myself off if I need to again."

"You did what?" Owen snapped at him. "You didn't tell me that."

"You will not be doing it again, Luke," Vader informed him.

"He definitely won't."

"I do not need your input, Lars."

Owen frowned, studying his stepbrother. "You're taller than you used to be. Did you add extra height to yourself?"

"Your bravado is worthless. I sense your fear."

Owen sucked in a breath. It burned, full of ash and smoke. "We're here to talk about Luke."

"I have very little to say to you about my son."

"And here we assumed you'd want baby pictures," Beru said. "Don't be a fool, Anakin."

"That is no longer my name."

"Then I guess you've forgotten your mother's name as well."

Vader stiffened, pointing at Owen. "Do not speak of my mother, Lars. Not when your father bought and took her—"

"She was my ma too. We're brothers. Why do you think we took Luke in?"

"To hide him from me," Vader snarled. "Just as someone else who called me brother did. Your platitudes hold even less meaning than his."

Owen glanced over Vader's shoulder. Ben was standing there, staring at Vader with nothing but devastation on his face. But he felt, incredibly strongly, that even if Vader were to turn around there and then, he would not see him.

"Is this where he did it?" Owen asked. "Destroyed your life and left you to burn?"

"You presume too much."

"We thought you were dead, Anakin!" Owen glared. "We received our nephew, a baby a few days old, and we knew that he was alone. His grandmother was dead. His grandfather was dead. His mother was dead, we were told, and his father was dead."

"That was a lie."

"Beru said to me—" He stopped. "Beru said to me that we were gonna give him the happiest life we could. To make up for that tragedy. We couldn't always do it. Tatooine is dangerous. But we did our best, and we did not work that hard for you to permanently hurt him the moment he finds out he's not an orphan after all!"

Vader just kept staring at him. Owen stared back.

There was a tickle in his throat. Then a pain. Owen reached up to touch it, ignoring Luke's horrified gaze—before Vader lashed out his fist, and an unseen force yanked Owen several feet into the air.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. Blots of red, from the lava and from his own blood vessels, crowded his vision. His throat writhed around the grip like a furious snake, bolts of pain screaming with every twitch.

He choked.

"Do not speak to me," Vader ordered, "of tragedy."

"Stop!" Luke was on Vader then, grabbing his outstretched arm. Owen felt another force trying to frantically tug him down, to no avail. "Stop it, you're hurting him!"

"That is the point." Vader squeezed tighter.

Owen's scream throttled in his throat, like a cork barricading a barrel of water.

Beru lifted her rifle and fired. Luke got her signal and dived out of the way just in time to avoid having one, two, three, four, five, six bolts unloaded into his shoulder. Instead, two of them impacted off of Vader's side; he buckled but didn't release Owen and brought up his other hand to catch the remaining storm.

She kept firing until the trigger no longer responded: out of power. She reached for ammunition—and Vader yanked the rifle out of her grip.

It flew into his. He lowered his hand from Owen, without lowering Owen, and used both hands to bend the barrel of the rifle into the shape of a horn.

"Let him go!" Beru snarled in unison with Luke's shout.

Vader held out his hand again, and the blaster Owen had been holding shot into it. He clipped it to his belt. "You are next."

"You're a monster," Luke accused him. "Aren't you? You know you'll never kriffing live up to him, so you'll get rid of him instead of actually acting like a father!"

Owen's knees hit the ground before he registered anything else. Air rushed into his lungs like someone was taking sandpaper to them, red and raw. It was agony, but it was the agony of living. Somehow, he found a way to stand up through it.

There was a hand on his shoulder. Beru—steady Beru, always there when he fell. "I love you," he rasped. He'd been about to die and hadn't said it to her in years.

Then again, he'd never needed to. "I know," she whispered back, and helped him to stand.

"Are you alright, Uncle Owen?" He nodded. Luke whirled back to Vader. "I hate you."

"Don't bother hating him, Luke," Owen got out. He hated him right now, he felt he had plenty of reasons to, but… "That was… jealousy…"

Murderous jealousy, yes. But if he were thinking practically, he remembered when he was first dating Beru, and her ex-boyfriend had proposed to her. He'd loved her enough to want her to choose for herself, but the jealousy he'd felt would have been enough to pull a trigger all on its own if he'd let it get that far.

Which was exactly why he hadn't.

Raising Luke had been a privilege. He'd be jealous too, if he had to watch another man do it.

"How dare you." Vader's tone was colder than the depths of night in the desert; Owen half expected to start choking again. "You are nothing. You are the son of the man my mother married simply because it was a superior life to slavery. You should learn your place in this."

"It's right here." He reached out his fingers, until they brushed Luke's shoulder. "Supporting Luke."

That seemed to give Luke the strength to say what they'd been avoiding. "And I'm here to talk," he said. "And I want our family to be here with me."

"They are not my family."

"Am I?" Luke challenged.

Vader said nothing. There was a change in the air, something getting colder.

Luke noticed it, but he didn't seem to know what it was; he continued doggedly. "Well, am I? Because they're mine. And I don't see how you can want me but not—"

"Quiet, boy," Vader hissed.

It was then that Owen registered, around the cacophony of pain in his throat, the distant sound of engines.

Vader pulled a comlink out of his belt. "Vaneé," he barked into it. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I have been trying to get a hold of you, my lord. The Emperor made contact half an hour ago when he entered the system. He has decided to pay you a visit during your sojourn."

Beru paled. "The Emperor is here?"

"You are all fools," Vader said, turning away.

"Is this the Emperor you wanted me to help you destroy?" Luke bit out. But Vader wasn't listening.

"Fools," he repeated. When he turned back, he stared only at Luke. "You have brought him here like a shaak to the slaughterhouse. Sidious will want him dead. Dead, or turned."

"Turned?" Beru asked.

Luke said, "To the dark side. To be like… him."

"It is the way of the Sith. If the apprentice does not kill the master, they are struck down and replaced. And if Luke does not join the Sith, he will be killed." He turned to him. "You must join me. You must help me strike him down. We must destroy him now, before he destroys you."

Luke glared at him. Owen was almost concerned by the unfathomable amounts of hatred that he seemed to be feeling for Vader. "I will never join you."

"Then stay out of the way!" Vader barked. "Lars."

"What?"

"You speak of tragedy, and jealousy, and support. You speak of protecting Luke." Vader scoffed. "Are you willing to die for him?"

That Inquisitor had not been a Sith, if Ben was to be believed. But she'd been close enough.

"I always have been," he said.

Vader had a throne room. Owen sneered at it, eyed the binders that the old man—Vaneé—snapped on him, and grimaced when he was forced to kneel.

"I don't Shmi would be happy with any of this," he said, glancing up at the throne. Vader wasn't sitting, just standing in front of it, but the meaning was clear.

"Do not speak of her."

"Yeah. I won't." He shook his head. "Only 'cause you know I'm telling the truth."

Luke and Beru had been hurried to the other side of the castle, near another landing pad. They were under strict orders to hide—especially Luke, to hide himself in the Force, however that worked—until whatever happened did happen.

"You will have to be silent when my master comes in. You are the distraction. He may kill you, or expect me to kill you, and I will allow it without question if it keeps his attention."

Owen met his gaze. "Good," he said.

Vader turned away. He still had Owen's blaster on his belt, Owen noticed. He'd forgotten to give it back.

"Do you miss her?" Owen broke out.

His brother froze. "Who?"

"Who else? Ma."

"What an inane, pointless question."

"You never visited her grave. What am I supposed to think?" He smirked, bitterness rising into him. "Luke was so sure his father was alive as a kid. He used to water the flowering cactuses we put around her grave so it would look nice for you both, when you came to visit her."

"Silence, Lars."

"You can't—"

"Silence. He is coming."

It was only a few moments later that the darkness fell over them. Even Owen, Force-sensitive as R2-D2, felt that cloying, oily presence wrap around him like the drool of a stalking beast. He stiffened, instinctively ducking his head down, as he'd been told to do. The clack, clack, clack of a cane echoed behind him.

"Lord Vader. You are being strangely distant today. I am unaccustomed to not being greeted immediately."

"My apologies, Master," Vader replied, still hovering next to his throne rather than sitting down. "I was… distracted."

"I can see that." The footsteps stopped right behind Owen, a cane poking his heel. "What has this poor man done to attract your ire? I'm impressed he came this far without you killing him. Is this another agent of yours who failed to capture Skywalker for you?" Palpatine laughed. It made Owen shudder violently. "Oh, I can feel his fear."

The cane poked around more. Owen, studiously not thinking of his family or who he was doing this for, lowered his head further as if it would protect him from this situation. The amusement of a tyrannical emperor was the only reason he was still living, and he didn't underestimate that, even as the cane tapped his shaking back, his arms, the folds of his clothes.

"Are the Rebels really so poorly garbed nowadays that this is what your agents must wear to blend into them? What a disgrace." The footsteps moved around and in front of Owen to inspect his face; for one fraught moment, Owen dared look up.

Emperor Palpatine looked utterly different than he had in the holos Owen had seen. Gone was his faint, benevolent smile, the gracefully aging face of the Chancellor of the Republic. Age had carved lines into his face as if with a scalpel, and his skin folded around his mouth as he smiled until it almost swallowed his lips. His eyes were sunken, drowning in wrinkles, but they didn't look much like Owen's da's had at the end: they were not cloudy or unfocused, but held a razor-intent, glowing with the intensity of the suns.

His heart nearly stopped in his chest. He decided, there and then, that if there was one thing in the galaxy that would never happen, it was that this man would never get his hands on Luke.

Palpatine scoffed. "This terrified thing is no agent, surely? He's far too old to be of use to you in catching Skywalker. He appears more like a farmer."

Owen kept his mouth shut. Vader betrayed him anyway.

"He is," he said. "This is Owen Lars."

Palpatine almost rolled his eyes before he caught himself, but Owen noticed. He allowed himself a tiny smirk. "Explain to me what that name means, my friend."

"This is the man who raised my son."

Palpatine's mouth opened for a moment before closing, his smile widening grotesquely. "Oh?" he purred and crouched in front of Owen. "Your stepbrother? That was a fortunate find for you, then." Quick as a striking snake, he took Owen's chin in his grip, his yellow fingernails digging into his skin. "Do you have any idea what you have taken from the Empire, Lars? Not only have you stolen my dearest friend's son from him, robbed him of the joys of fatherhood. You brainwashed one of the most powerful beings into the galaxy into fighting for a ragtag group of insurgents who will never understand or accept his power."

Owen spat. It wasn't very effective and dribbled down his chin to hang from Palpatine's fingers like cobwebs, but it did its job. He let go of him.

"Better he's with the Rebels than with you," he said.

"I'm intrigued as to why he's still alive, Lord Vader." Palpatine discreetly wiped his fingers, still dripping with Owen's saliva, on his robes. They left a silvery trail. "I would have thought that if you ever got hold of your stepbrother, or his wife, you would have dealt with them instantly. They serve no purpose for you except as revenge. Why…"

He trailed off.

"You knew I was coming," he said. "Did you not? I alerted Vaneé of my intentions. Did you bring him here intentionally, for me?"

Vader floundered but went with it. "Yes, my master."

Palpatine's smile widened. "Liar."

Owen had no idea what was going on.

"I have often despaired of you, Lord Vader." Palpatine walked slowly, step by step, past Owen, trailing his fingers through his hair. When he passed, he mounted the throne and sat there, resting both his hands on his cane. "The way of the Sith is betrayal. It is to ensure both the master and the apprentice are strong through constant plots, machinations, and schemes to overthrow each other. Our hunt is immortality, but immortality is only for the strong. My master sought it and found it—and I robbed him of it as soon as he let his guard down."

He shook his head. "To your credit, you have not wavered in your strength whenever overcoming the challenges I deal you, but I have often feared that your ambition died with Padmé. Not once did you challenge me."

"I am loyal to only you, my master."

"Your attempts at lying are pitiful. We both know that I have written in my will and the law that only the one who successfully kills me may inherit my empire or call themselves Emperor. That law has always been written there for you. Were you to act as a true Sith should." He stared at Vader. Even seated, far shorter than him, he made Vader cower. "But you never have, until now. If your ambition died with Padmé, was it resurrected with the discovery of her son?"

Vader shifted. "I remain loyal—"

"You do not," Palpatine hissed. "Because you have taken your stepbrother as bait, just as you did to Princess Organa and that smuggler when you failed on Bespin, and if I am correct your son will be travelling towards us right now. Drawn by the compassionate heart you once shared with him, and that you now know how to exploit so well."

"Luke is not on his way here, Master."

"You are going to bring him here to kill me," Palpatine decided. "Good. I admire your confidence that if faced with the choice, he would rather side with you to kill me, not vice versa. You are the one he holds a personal hatred for, aren't you? But a good plan never lacks a gamble. When he arrives, we will see how the dice fall. Whichever of us he chooses to join will become his Sith Master, and he the apprentice. But in the likely case that the Jedi's hold on him is too insidious," he tutted and shook his head, "we will have to kill him, Lord Vader. That sort of risk cannot be entertained."

Owen surged to his feet. "Don't you touch—!"

Palpatine blasted him back with a handful of violet fire. Owen's back and head slammed into the stone floor, the metal of the binders superheating; his wrists were in rings of flame. He screamed.

When the galaxy materialised again, Palpatine laughed. Owen's eyes were blurry with tears, but he blinked them away.

"When do you expect Skywalker to arrive, Lord Vader?" he asked. "Shall I expedite matters?" An unbreakable grip fixed around Owen and yanked him forwards, until his knees crunched into the base of the throne. When the fire was unloaded into him this time, crackling lightning, it lanced up his bones and rattled his teeth like glass beads in his skull. His already-hoarse throat screamed. He was screaming. It did not stop.

He didn't know how long that went on for before Palpatine grew impatient. He ceased his barrage and shoved himself to his feet. "Did you time your plan poorly, Lord Vader?" he demanded. "Where is your son?"

Owen prayed that Vader would say nothing. Vader said nothing.

Palpatine's nostrils flared. "I have been waiting for you to make your move for twenty-two years. I will not wait much longer before I simply rid myself of my current apprentice in favour of a new one." He turned sharply around, saw Owen still lying on the floor in the foetal position, breathing raggedly. As if in spite, he unloaded another round into him. Owen had no air left to scream with.

But Vader stepped between them. "You will kill him," he said.

"Yes. I will. Is that a concern to you?"

"I need him alive."

"Skywalker is already on his way. This farmer has no more use to us."

"I still need him alive."

"His pain and death are of far more use to us. Step aside so I may inflict them." Palpatine's voice was a snarl, now, almost loaded with rage. For the first time, Owen wondered what he must think of their taking in Luke. Raising him outside of Palpatine's toxic influence, so he could not use and abuse him the way he did his father.

Vader did not move.

Palpatine laughed. "Lord Vader, do I sense sentiment in you? Are you defending your stepbrother?"

"Let him do it," Owen whispered, quietly enough that only Vader should be able to hear him, half-disguised under his pained panting. "Let it distract him so you can kill him."

His brother did not move. "I need him alive," he repeated.

"Then I need neither of you alive." Palpatine snarled. "What a weakness sentiment can be."

His lightning lashed out fast, but Vader was faster. With a snap-hiss his lightsaber ignited, deflecting the lightning as precisely as a mirror, shoving Palpatine back. He slid across the polished floor of the throne room, then brought up his clawed hands for another assault.

"You were the Chosen One of the Sith!" he hissed. "Our greatest jewel! Yet you have been nothing but a disappointment since first you swore yourself to me!"

Vader lifted his lightsaber, anticipating another assault, but Palpatine aimed for Owen. It danced around Vader's feet, lancing through Owen's chest; he felt his heart stutter painfully. Every muscle squirmed, twisting out of position like a thousand omnipotent cramps. He shrieked.

"What are you doing!?" shouted a voice from the door.

Owen pried his eyes open, and his heart both swelled and broke. Luke, his boy who'd grown into a man, somehow looked so small in the massive doorway, taking in the violent scene. Palpatine turned to him.

"Greetings, young Skywalker," he said. "It seems Lord Vader did not miscalculate his timings after all."

Luke flung out his hand. Owen's blaster, fastened on Vader's belt, flew into it; he fired. Fifteen, twenty shots flashed at Palpatine's chest, but he flicked them all aside like the kids at Tosche Station did chewing gum.

"Did you think a clumsy blaster could destroy an immortal Sith Emperor?" he mocked as Luke began to back away. With a lazy flick of his wrist, the door slammed shut, cutting off his escape, and the blaster flew out of his grasp. "Your father has failed you, young Skywalker. I look forward to taking you as my apprentice."

Vader roared and swiped at Palpatine with his saber. Palpatine's own lightsaber burst from his sleeve and caught the strike neatly, holding back the massive force of it with one hand. With his other, he formed a fist.

Luke fell to his knees. Owen crawled along the floor, reaching for him, despite being metres away.

"Back, Lord Vader," Palpatine ordered. Vader backed off, deactivating his lightsaber. Palpatine released Luke, who sucked in air like a pump. He tried to climb to his feet, but his legs were shaking too much; he collapsed. Owen kept crawling towards him, but he was too far. He wouldn't be able to put himself between his nephew and danger before the Emperor stopped laughing.

But one thing wasn't.

He dragged himself forwards. Palpatine was staring down Vader, saying something else—more hateful, cutting words—but Owen's galaxy narrowed to two points. Luke's strangled gasps for breath. And the blaster that had clattered to the floor, now less than a metre away from him.

A foot away from him.

Inches…

When Palpatine turned around, Owen rose to his knees and pointed it. "Put your hands up."

Palpatine raised his eyebrows and did not raise his hands. "Your nephew had no power over me with a blaster, Lars. It amuses me that you think you do." Vader angled his lightsaber as Palpatine turned, until it was pointed right at the small of his back. "I am immortal compared to a backwater rat like you."

Vader lit his lightsaber. Palpatine's reflexes were fast enough that he dived forwards just in time to avoid being skewered, then whirled on Vader, teeth bared. He lifted his hands just as Luke lifted his.

A force thundered through the room, lifting Palpatine like a soft toy and impaling him on the blade, belly to back. He gasped, staring down at the saber in his gut, then glared up at Vader.

Vader deactivated his lightsaber. Palpatine stumbled, but his hands were still crackling with light, his own lightsaber waving drunkenly in the air.

"Your efforts are in vain," he still panted, and repeated like a mantra: "This will not kill me. I am a Sith. I am immortal—"

Owen nailed him in the back, through his spine to his heart. He gasped.

"Like your Sith Master was immortal?" he drawled with all the cutting scepticism he'd ever treated the Jedi with and shot again. Palpatine's brains slopped along the floor.

Luke turned away before he was sick.

Vader rose to his full height, clipping his lightsaber back onto his belt. Palpatine's body, still stiff on its feet, flopped over, hitting the floor with a wet squelch.

Owen fixed his eyes on Vader, even as electrical shocks still cramped and spasmed through his body. The blaster twitched out of his grip. "You saved my life," he said.

"He put it in danger!" Luke protested, clambering to his feet. "Uncle Owen, are you—"

Owen caught Luke. They clung to each other, shakily, like two plummeting ships. "Still. He saved my life."

"Is that true?" Luke demanded.

For once, Vader didn't look at his son for the entirety of the conversation. He deigned to look at Owen, instead.

"I did not do it for you," he informed him.

A blue shimmer in the corner drew his eye; a smirk tugged at Owen's lips. He'd said that once before.

He knew that it wasn't the whole truth.

Running footsteps. Someone pounded on the closed door—Vader moved his hand, and it opened. Beru stormed in. "Luke!?" She clapped eyes on both her nephew and husband, huddling together. "Oh, Luke, what did you do? Why did you run off—"

"He's reckless," Owen said.

"Far too reckless," Vader agreed.

Luke glared at them both. "I felt your pain!"

"Compassionate, too," Vader added, and his tone was longing.

Owen took a deep breath. "We're family, Anakin," he said. "That's why I took care of Luke, and of Shmi. That's why we came for you. Do you see that?"

Vader watched Luke. "We have now killed the Emperor over it."

Beru's eyes finally found Palpatine's corpse on the floor. She gasped, her hand going to her mouth.

"You called him Master," Owen said.

"I did." Vader poked Palpatine's body with his foot. "I had intended for Luke to rule the galaxy. For both of us to, as a family."

"You're not qualified—" Owen began.

"But we are not the ones who killed the Emperor. You are. By his laws, the crown is yours."

"What?" Luke gaped, looking between them. Owen felt like he should be reacting similarly, but he was exhausted. He and Beru shared an apprehensive look.

"It was all of us," he dismissed. "Luke threw him. You stabbed him."

"Indeed. That can be argued. But he was correct in saying that that would not have killed him. Sith have survived far worse than a mere stomach wound in the past. It was your shot that killed him."

"I wouldn't be a good emperor."

"Neither would any of the other candidates, I assure you. You are not familiar with the Imperial elite."

"And I don't wanna be."

"If you abdicate, someone far worse than Palpatine would seize control."

"I can't abdicate if I never accepted it," he grumbled.

"It must be either you, or Luke."

"Luke? He's not—" He broke himself off, looking at his nephew.

So, this was what Vader was playing at. He didn't expect Owen to be the Emperor. He expected—wanted—him to reject it. To pass it on to the other two men who had killed Palpatine. But they both knew that Owen could not and would not trust Vader with the crown, so he would have to force it onto Luke.

Luke was an adult now. He could make his own decisions. Owen couldn't force him to stay on the farm for another season, and he couldn't force him to rule the galaxy for the rest of his life.

"Do you wanna be Emperor?" Owen asked. "Do you think you could be?"

Luke snorted. "Stars, no." Vader stiffened.

Owen sighed. "I'm left cleaning up your mess for you again, then," he said tiredly, but without bitterness. He wasn't gonna let Vader pressure Luke into this, so he'd let him pressure Owen into it instead.

"Owen," Vader said, "wait. You cannot—"

"I'll take it. For one month." He'd see how much damage he could do for Luke's Alliance, then run back to the farm to watch it implode. At least he'd be able to give his friends who'd had their farm taken over by the Empire their land back.

Beru met his gaze, eyes sparkling. She knew exactly what he was doing—she always did. They clasped hands.

The blue shimmer in the corner finally sharpened into a man. Ben watched them debate; when he caught Owen's eye, he nodded. Owen felt a peculiar twinge in his gut when he saw the naked hope on Ben's face.

Maybe he wasn't the only one who could get his brother back over the next month.

He looked at Vader. "I'll need someone to look after the family business in the meantime, though."

Vader stared. "Under no circumstances, Lars."

In all honesty, Owen hadn't expected him to accept.

"That's a shame," he continued. "Luke would probably have needed the company. A good, hardworking month on the farm while you get used to your new hand will be good for you, won't it? Got any Rebel friends who'd like a month off?"

"Plenty," Luke said with a smile. Vader tensed up, realising what he'd missed out on.

"One month, Lars," he said.

"And then?"

Luke was still smiling. Ben was still watching Vader with heartbreak and pride mingling in his eyes. Owen squeezed Beru's hand, thought of the flowering cacti on Shmi's grave, and waited for his brother's reply.

"Then…" His respirator cycled for many more moments. But his gaze was resolutely fixed on Luke. "Then we come home."