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Of all the ways Luke expected to die in this war, this isn't one of them.
He expected to fall beneath the Emperor's red blade once he was finally apprehended and brought before him for either death or Fall. He imagined, especially in the wake of Bespin, for his father to tire of Luke's continuous refusals to join him and put an end to his life himself, choking him from light-years away or running him through with his saber when they next met. Once or twice, while evading bounty hunters, he thought one of them might get a little overzealous and forget about the "alive" part of the bounty on his head while trying to catch him.
Never, not once, has he thought that flying would be the death of him.
Yet here he is.
"Anything, Artoo?" Luke wheezes, coughing up blood, which is never a good sign, and trying not to scream in pain when the coughing jostles his body. There is a metal pole currently running through him and keeping him glued to the seat of his downed X-Wing so he is helpless to do anything until someone finds him or… well, or he dies. He can't even reach the controls to release the hatch so he can breathe unregulated air in his final moments.
At least he's not alone, though.
"Negative. The crash destroyed our long range comms. No Rebels are close enough to pick up a short range signal."
Luke sighs, biting back a whimper when a minute movement disturbs the gaping wound wrapped around the pole, and brings up his shaking left hand to wipe at the blood that dribbled out of the corner of his mouth earlier. Breathing is not exactly an easy feat, his lungs struggling to function the longer he sits there waiting to die slowly.
"Kark it all. This might be the end, buddy. I'm sorry."
He can't see Artoo but he can hear the whirring of his dome spinning around in anger and worry. He looks down at the binary translator as the astromech starts spitting out beeps.
"Skywalkers don't die in ship crashes. You will not be the exception to the rule. I will send a short range message in case someone picks it up. You will not die here."
Luke smiles sadly. He appreciates Artoo's vehemence but he knows there is no hope for him. The rest of Rogue Squadron is busy fighting off the Empire's TIEs and Star Destroyers. Home One doesn't even know he's been hit, he's pretty sure, and even if Leia or Mothma knew, they couldn't afford to send a ship to scout for him when they're still engaging the enemy. And the chances of Luke lasting until the battle is over are slim to none.
"Let's face it, Artoo, I'm not getting out of this one. But I won't stop you - send whatever message you want. Who knows, someone might intercept it in time to at least retrieve my body from here."
It's clear Artoo doesn't like that talk for he lets out a string of beeping that the translator shows as a bunch of asterisks on screen. Luke snorts then groans when some more blood dribbles out of his mouth, then leans his head back against the headrest as gingerly as he can.
While Artoo is busy sending out distress signals, Luke closes his eyes and lets himself feel the Force swirling around him. He's more in tune with it than he used to be - though he doubts he'll ever be as one with it as his father seems to be - but he's not exactly sure if the panic and mourning flitting around him are real or if he's hallucinating from blood loss already. He smiles all the same, happy with the idea that his death would sadden the Force even if he's not entirely sure it isn't just his imagination, then opens his eyes weakly to stare at the button that would open the cockpit.
He reaches towards it with the Force, a struggle since it feels like walking through molasses or trying to pick up wet soap with oily hands, but he manages to find enough strength to press the button. The hatch opens with a hiss, not all the way on account of the pole running through the cockpit, but enough for Luke to take in as big a breath as he is able to and savour the feeling of fresh air in his lungs.
He slumps back against the headrest and closes his eyes.
***
When he saw the X-Wing being shot down by one of his TIE pilots right before being blown up by another Rebel, Vader didn't think much of it beyond a vague sense of satisfaction that the Empire had crushed another Rebel before he went back into the fray. He shielded one of his pilots who was being cornered by two X-Wings, blew up one of them, then prepared to circle back and start looking for his son - for Luke must be here somewhere in this mess of ships and floating bodies - but stopped short when an immeasurable wave of panic and excruciating pain swept over him in the Force.
Eyes blown wide, heart in his throat - though he would never admit it to anyone - Vader started looking for his son in the Force at once, hoping foolishly that the source of that pain hadn't been Luke.
It had been.
He'd taken off at once, leaving behind Imperials and Rebels alike, no longer caring what happens to any of them. He had one priority in this world - though he hadn't shown it very well, he will admit - and it was his son. No one mattered as much as Luke did and no one ever will.
Now, Vader is desperately looking for his son as he circles the random planet below for any sign of Luke. Finding him in the Force is tricky, for it is clear that Luke is grievously injured and struggling to remain awake, so his presence is dim and fickle. He curses himself for not checking the downed X-Wing the second he saw it go down to see if Luke was in it. Granted, he has such faith in his son's abilities as a pilot and Force-user that he never expected one of his own pilots to get a lucky enough shot to damage Luke's ship so badly that he'd go down.
A mistake he will not make again. If life has taught Vader anything, it should be that tragedy doesn't discriminate between the worthy and the wretched, the skilled or the useless. If it did, then by all rights, Vader would be six feet under and Padmé would be here instead, being a better parent than he can ever hope to be, and his son might still have all his limbs intact.
Frustration and worry are starting to cloud his tenuous hold on his control the longer he searches for Luke without success when he intercepts a frantic binary transmission from the surface of the planet. He doesn't even waste time looking at the translation: he understands the meaning immediately and more than that, he would know that cadence and that vocabulary anywhere.
Punching in the coordinates relayed by Artoo, Vader steers his TIE around and heads towards his son's location at full speed.
***
A black, icy, all consuming presence bearing down on him with equal amounts of possessiveness and protectiveness brings Luke back to reality.
He comes to with a gasp that turns into an anguished scream when he jerks awake and disturbs the pole running through him, and it takes a moment for his muddled thoughts to come together into something resembling coherent. When he finally feels like he can think, he realises what he felt is his father, inspecting him in the Force like an angry, overprotective mother krayt dragon. His eyelids flutter shut as the cold sensation of Vader's Force presence soothes some of the burning pain in his side but then they snap open again when he realises that his father is getting closer.
"Kriff. Kriff. Kriff," Luke curses under his breath, voice weak and barely audible.
If anyone has a chance to get Luke out of this and keep him alive, it's Vader. But that implies Luke being in his father's custody, and that way leads to Palpatine and the Sith ways possibly being forced on him. He'd rather die here than be healed only to be turned to the Dark Side by that monster.
Rage explodes into the Force the second he finishes that thought and Luke knows that his father heard it. His heart constricts, feeling awful for causing that response in his father, but he's too exhausted and in too much pain to try to apologise mentally - even if it would be a hollow apology.
Just as he thinks this, a familiar TIE Advanced x1 swoops down next to Luke's X-Wing and lands none too gently. Vader exits it and rushes towards Luke at an inhuman speed and stops in front of him as his mask swivels around to no doubt take in the scene.
"Father…" Luke rasps, smiling weakly. "Looks like the Emperor won't need to kill me after all. Nor you, I suppose."
Artoo beeps angrily behind him but Luke can barely keep his eyes open let alone read the translation on the console.
Vader straightens and fixes his mask on Luke; he can just tell he's being glared at and for a moment, he wonders if this is how all children interact with their parents - say dumb poodoo and then get glared at in disappointment. He wouldn't know. All he has for reference are Owen and Beru.
"Cease your incessant yapping, droid. I will get him out," Vader growls before he jumps on top of the X-Wing and peers inside at the mess the pole made out of the cockpit and Luke's own body. "How did this happen, young one? You're a better pilot than this."
The admonishment stings, even if Luke can privately agree with his father's words. He can't help being a little mad at himself for being affected by Vader's words at all, since his opinion shouldn't matter one whit to Luke. But it does. It probably always will.
"Hit my head when I took a shot from an Imp," Luke explains weakly. He coughs again, spitting some more blood, and Vader pulls out his lightsaber immediately and starts cutting into the ship to free Luke. "He damaged my wing so I lost control and couldn't get my head back together in time to stop the crash. I tried to steer it somewhere safe, but I was disoriented and landed in this abandoned factory. And, well, this pole wasn't too happy with my landing, as you can see."
His father doesn't seem too amused by Luke's attempt to inject some humour into his tale. He rips chunks of Luke's ship away and tosses them aside, then severs the pole as much as possible before jumping back down to the ground and circling to the back of the X-Wing.
"The pilot died right after taking the shot or I would've killed him myself," Vader declares darkly as he starts hacking away at the ship in the back as well.
Luke's mouth twists. "I don't take joy in his death. I'd rather none of us fought each other at all - all this loss of life is senseless and unnecessary. The Emperor is the one at fault for all of it and you know it, father."
Vader makes a noise that Luke interprets as a hum.
"Just the Emperor? Not me as well? Regardless, I have made my intentions regarding him very clear, my son. It is you who refuses to join me in destroying him."
Artoo's beeps seem to be moving up and away before Luke hears a thump and the sound of the little astromech rolling around. Vader got him out.
"I would join you if it didn't mean becoming a Sith," Luke insists vehemently, regaining a bit of strength as passion bolsters his spirit for a moment. "And I didn't add you to the list because I know, even if you won't admit it to yourself, that you are a victim of Palpatine's dominion as much as everyone else in the galaxy. One doesn't become a genocidal lunatic overnight just because."
Anger, indignation, worry spike in the Force. Luke can feel his father directly at his back. The hum of the lightsaber doesn't worry him as it might've done once, but he doesn't know if it's because he trusts his father or because he can feel his life slipping away the longer he stays like this.
"It didn't go through the seat, good," Vader observes. "Removing you from the ship will be slightly less painful then."
"And where will you take me? To the Emperor? To the Executor to hold me as prisoner until I break? What's the point?"
A spike of anger and fear in the Force then a hand lands on his shoulder and grips it firmly.
"The point is you are my son and I will not let you die here. To hell with the Emperor and to hell with the Rebellion! I will not lose you too!"
"But I will not turn. What, then?"
"I don't care!" Vader yells, his vocoded voice booming in the silence of everything else around them. Even Artoo stops spinning around and beeping. "You will live and you will be a Jedi if you must, but I will not let anyone take you away from me like they did her!"
Instinctively, Luke knows who her is. He doesn't know her name, doesn't know anything about her, but he knows Vader is referring to his mother. He can feel the pain, the sorrow, the regret, and the longing that come with that mention and Luke knows this much at least: his father loved her, whoever she was.
He sighs.
"Alright then. Help me, father," he whispers and he tries not to let the hope Vader's words have instilled in him become too great. Still, he doesn't succeed. The Force only confirms the sincerity in the desperate words and Luke has to smile, feeling lighter, because he was right. Despite what everyone said, has been saying since he learned of Vader, his father is not a lost cause. No one who loves so fiercely could ever be lost. Love isn't a weakness; it's not a sinking stone dragging one down into the Dark, but a life jacket keeping one afloat, dragging them to the surface and into the Light.
Nothing Ben or Yoda say can change that conviction.
Vader jumps back down and comes around to the front again then gently, oh so carefully, bends down and angles himself in the best position to pick Luke up. Luke can't contain his screams of pain as he is lifted but he can tell that his father is being as careful not to jostle him too much as possible. They descend the skeletal remains of the X-Wing gingerly, Luke barely able to see it through the blur of pained tears in his eyes, then Artoo joins them, beeping frantically.
"A shuttle is almost here, droid. Calm yourself. I couldn't fit Luke in my TIE even if I tried," Vader rebukes.
Luke sighs and leans his head against the man's shoulder, suddenly sapped of all energy. He closes his eyes, feeling himself getting farther and farther away from reality but a sharp poke to his consciousness in the Force brings him back.
"Stay with me, Luke!"
"Too tired…" he mumbles right as the sound of a shuttle reaches his ears. He's already slipping away into that nothingness again, too exhausted to keep his eyes open for long, but he thinks he can hear his father barking something at him urgently. He knows it's important and that he should listen, but the darkness is dragging him down against his will.
He passes out.
***
"What course should I set, Lord Vader?"
Piett is standing next to him, back straight and his hands folded behind it, staring through the transparisteel into the medical room Vader has been monitoring for the past hour. The Rebels have scattered, though not without casualties, and there is no reason for the fleet to still be here.
He knows his answer should be Coruscant. It's what a Sith Apprentice would do. What Darth Vader would do. Should do.
But Luke is being operated on by a medical droid, an oxygen mask over his face and the operating table covered in his blood. Luke, his son , thought death on an unknown planet in the Mid Rim would be preferable to his father saving him.
Padmé would be so ashamed.
"As far from Imperial Center as you can, Admiral. I don't care where."
Piett doesn't so much as flinch. Vader knows the man's loyalties lie with him first and the Emperor second, has known it for some time, and he's been counting on it even if he hadn't expected it to be under these circumstances.
"Yes, sir. Right away."
The Admiral salutes, knowing he doesn't need a direct dismissal, and marches away to give the orders. Vader focuses all of his attention back on his son and squeezes his hands into fists as he stares at Luke's pale figure lying on that operating table, so small and so weak.
Did she look like that when she birthed him? Did she suffer as she died? Did she at least hold Luke before succumbing to whatever killed her?
He'll never know.
And maybe it's only right that he doesn't when he wasn't there with her as he'd promised. He abandoned her. He won't make the same mistake with their son.
***
Luke wakes up wet and sore.
A 2-1B droid is busy drying him off, lifting his arms and legs one by one to towel them dry, and a monitor is beeping rhythmically somewhere on Luke's right.
"Wh…" his voice cracks and he coughs, which makes dull pain in his side bloom into existence.
"Here, have a drink," the droid says and helps Luke into a sitting position as it hands him a glass of water.
Luke drinks it slowly, glad to get rid of the dry feeling in his mouth and throat, then leans back against the pillows with a sigh.
"I didn't expect you to wake up so soon. Perhaps your Force sensitivity has something to do with it," 2-1B muses and gets back to drying Luke off.
"Where am I? What happened?" But even as he says it, it all comes to him in flashes. The hit. The crash. The pole impaling him and Vader saving him.
"You are aboard the Executor in Lord Vader's private medical unit. You underwent surgery two days ago and have just been removed from your last bacta bath."
"Huh." Luke barely remembers the conversation he had with Vader but he can recall his father's words about wanting Luke alive, even if it means Luke staying a Jedi. He's glad to see him keeping his word and not turning him over to the Emperor while he was unconscious.
"I will now dress you then fetch Lord Vader."
The droid does as it says, leaving Luke alone in the room, but he isn't left with the silence for too long.
Vader steps inside, bringing with him that familiar icy blackness, though it seems tamer and warmer than usual. He walks over to Luke's bed and stops next to his head, simply staring at him in silence for a moment before he does the unexpected and lays a gentle hand on Luke's head, petting his hair slowly.
"I am glad to see you awake, my son."
Luke, though confused, smiles at the affectionate words and gesture and even leans into the touch selfishly. He never thought he'd have something like this, never allowed himself to hope, but now that he has it, he doesn't think he can live without it again. Maybe he's just a naive farm boy from Tatooine who never outgrew his longing for a father, but Vader's touch and obvious love in the Force is something he's been craving forever and he won't deny himself the pleasure of having it bestowed upon himself now.
"I'm happy you kept your word," Luke replies.
"I would never lie to you, Luke. Now, how do you feel?"
Luke allows the change in subject easily, not really eager to get into too heavy discussions so soon after waking up anyway.
"Sore. But not like I've been impaled by a metal pole anymore, so that's good." Amusement emanates from his father and Luke grins up at him. Vader's hand is still carding through his hair. It feels nice.
"You can stay in your bedroom now that you've been removed from the bacta tank. Would you like me to carry you or would you rather be wheeled there?"
"Can't I walk?"
"No. You aren't to strain yourself for the next week and that means no walking until later, at the very least."
Luke sighs, a bit annoyed to be bedridden but secretly pleased by his father's attention.
"Carry me then, I suppose. It's not like you haven't done it once already," he jokes.
Vader nods seriously, removing his hand at last, and picks Luke up with ease before he walks out of the room and down some empty hallways until they reach a set of rooms that look oddly barren. There's an egg-shaped pod in the middle of the living room, which Luke eyes curiously but doesn't ask about, then they enter a bedroom, decorated nearly exactly the way Luke always imagined his room would look like when he was younger.
Vader places Luke in the bed, pulling the blankets over him and tucking him in like a child, then straightens himself up and hooks his thumbs in his belt.
"I will let you rest, young one. Artoo is somewhere in here, causing havoc no doubt, but I will send him to you so he can call for me should you need me."
He turns away, starting to leave the bedroom, but something tightens in Luke's chest and tugs at him, willing him to call out, "wait," before his father can leave.
"Can you… uhm…"
Vader walks up to the bed again.
"What is it? Are you in pain?"
"No, no. It's just…" Luke sighs in frustration. "Could you stay here for a bit? Do that thing you did earlier? It uhm… felt really nice."
He knows he's probably blushing redder than a tomato, but he refuses to take it back.
Vader seems stunned, for he remains silent and unmoving for a long moment.
"...yes. I can stay. Scoot over, young one."
Surprised it actually worked, Luke blinks dumbly for a second then pushes himself to the side and watches, stunned, as Darth kriffing Vader takes a seat on the bed and lies down with his back against the headboard. It's a rather amusing sight solely on account of its ridiculousness, but something warm and tender blooms in Luke's chest. Hesitantly, he scoots closer to his father, looking at his mask for any indication that he should stop, and when he finds none he gingerly places his head on Vader's thigh and lies back down.
A hand falls on his shoulder, gripping it gently, and another starts carding through his hair again.
Luke relaxes, melting into the touches and the warmth of his father's body, and closes his eyes.
They don't speak. The only sound in the room is his father's respirator and a ticking clock somewhere on a shelf. The rhythmic sounds and touches lull him into a peaceful doze, aided by post surgery exhaustion, and Luke snuggles closer to his father.
"I love you, father," he mumbles, half awake but meaning it with all his heart.
Vader freezes for a second but resumes his petting once more, and Luke doesn't think it's his imagination when he feels the man relaxing underneath him as well.
"I love you as well, Luke."
Luke smiles and finally lets himself fall, not to the Dark Side, but asleep. He dreams of a man with dark hair and blue eyes, whispering loving words and promises to the pregnant belly of a woman with brown curls and the most beautiful face he's ever seen. No darkness and no tragedy breaks the happy bubble of Luke's dream and so he sleeps peacefully for a long time. His father never leaves his side.