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Darth Vader has been in a lot of situations. Between his time better forgotten at the Jedi Temple and that spent helping Darth Sidious run the galactic empire, he has seen and done plenty of things one might consider strange. He can say, first hand, that none of them compare to this.
He wakes up, in a bed. He doesn’t remember the last time he laid down in a bed, much less the last time he fell asleep. Very strange. The second thing he notices is that he is facing an unfamiliar wall. Which is likely not good, but then, he is Darth Vader, anyone foolish enough to attempt to capture him will feel his wrath. The third thing he notices is that his vision lacks its usual red tinge. The fourth is that he has arms—well, he has one flesh arm, one metal. It seems he is not in the suit any longer. Very, very strange.
But not nearly as strange as the fact that when he glances around the room, he spies another person in bed with him. They will die for this. Vader approaches them cautiously, rolling them over.
“Kenobi,” Vader growls watching the man in question blink his eyes open slowly. When they land on Vader, Kenobi smiles. At Vader. Darth Vader, Lord of the Sith.
“Good morning, Anakin,” Kenobi says pleasantly. What sort of trickery is this? Vader reaches out for the Force, waiting for the familiar presence of the Dark Side to envelop him. It does not. It’s simply gone, as if the Force had never existed in the first place. How is he supposed to Force choke Kenobi now?
Vader reaches for his side, instead, his hand grazing air where he should encounter his lightsaber.
“Where is my lightsaber?” Vader demands.
“You know I love it when you play with the children, dear,” Kenobi starts and Vader nearly whacks him for that, dear, why is he calling Vader dear? “but, I’d rather we didn’t roleplay like that in the bedroom.”
“What?”
“Anakin,” Kenobi says, sounding fondly exasperated. “You cannot seriously intend to act out the children’s favorite story in bed can you?”
“What children?” Vader snarls, the only children he had ever sired are long dead and buried.
“Are you feeling alright?” Kenobi asks, going to lift a hand, Vader doesn’t know what Kenobi thought he would gain from attacking in this state, and his form was incredibly sloppy. Vader grabs Kenobi’s hand out of the air, his metal fingers tight around Kenobi’s wrist.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
“Checking your temperature,” Kenobi says slowly, not even bothering to try and retrieve his hand. “What on earth has gotten into you? You’re worrying me, darling.”
“Do not call me that,” Vader says flatly. “What kind of game are you playing?”
“Anakin—”
“Do not call me that either.”
Kenobi stops talking and just stares at Vader for a long moment, but the two of them are interrupted by rapidly approaching footsteps. Vader’s eyes narrow, he glances at Kenobi and doesn’t let go of his wrist. Reinforcements, perhaps? If they have access to the Force and lightsabers, Vader will not have as good a chance of winning this as he would like. Without the Force, it is also impossible to tell who is approaching until the door to the bedroom opens and two younglings stumble in.
Vader stares them down, trying to assess their threat level. They do not seem afraid and they run to the bed, clambering up and toward where Vader and Kenobi are.
The boy, apparently completely unafraid of Vader, slams directly into Vader’s chest, wrapping his small arms around Vader’s torso.
“What do you think you are doing?” Vader demands of the small child.
The child who has the gall to giggle at Vader. At Lord Vader. “It’s too early to play, Daddy. Can I have a muffin for breakfast?” the boy asks before Vader can process the first half of his statement.
“What you eat is none of my concern, boy. What did you call me?”
The boy looks up at him, he has light blue eyes and blond hair… Vader would try not to think too hard about that, save for the fact that the boy glances at Kenobi, who is holding the girl, before answering hesitantly, “Daddy?”
Vader stares at him. Waiting for him to take it back. He does not.
Vader attempts to search the Force to see if the boy is lying, but the Force is not there. The boy does not look the type to lie, and when Vader looks closer he cannot deny the resemblance the boy shares with himself and Pa—his mother.
His son.
He doesn’t bother waiting before scooping the boy into his arms, pulling him away from Kenobi. Vader doesn’t know what sort of trickery—treachery this is, but whatever has caused this will be dealt with and executed swiftly.
“You requested a muffin for breakfast?” Vader questions the boy, who’s… snuggling closer to the Sith Lord.
“Yes,” he responds, with another giggle.
“Good. Then you will have a muffin. Any son of mine deserves to have what he wants,” Vader decides with a nod.
“Then can I have a waffle for breakfast?” the little girl in Kenobi’s grasp asks with a soft gasp. “Because I’m your daughter.”
Vader stares at her, then turns his cold gaze to Kenobi. “Hand me the girl,” he demands.
Kenobi gives him a look that Vader doesn’t bother deciphering because he shrugs soon after and passes the girl—Vader’s daughter to him. He pulls her securely in his other arm.
“Yes, you may also have whatever you please,” he tells her, wrapping them both securely in his arms before standing so he can go investigate. There must be a kitchen around here somewhere. Although they are clearly not in a ship any longer, but dwelling on a planet. Perhaps in the Mid Rim?
Eventually, he locates a kitchen down a set of stairs and a few hallways. Here, he deposits his children on the counter so that he can get to work finding them something suitable for breakfast. He discovers a tin of muffins on the counter and pulls one out for the boy, setting it down on a plate he finds in one of the drawers. He stares down at it, it’s hardly a balanced breakfast. That will not do. His children need to be strong and hearty.
The refrigerator yields great results where he discovers not only a drawer filled to the brim with fruit, but also microwave waffles. Vader doesn’t quite know what a microwave is, but he isn’t going to let that stop him.
“Where is the microwave?” he questions the children because they are his children and so they are intelligent and will know what that is when he does not.
The girl giggles and points at a metal box with a handle and a keypad above what Vader presumes is an oven. The oven—if that’s what it is—is very primitive. Perhaps they are on the Outer Rim then. The thought makes Vader’s blood boil, he did not leave the Outer Rim for his children to be brought back. He slams one of the waffles down inside the microwave probably too hard and shuts the door, frowning at the keypad.
“How long do you want it in for?” he asks the girl, who tells him a minute. He nods, and hits the one which automatically turns on the machine. Huh, perhaps it is smarter than he originally thought. Though, if Vader had his way, the device would be completely automated. Perhaps that is a project for later.
While the waffle microwaves, Vader pulls out a suitable amount of fruit and sets to work preparing it for the children. It has been a long time since he has done this, but it comes back to him fairly naturally and soon he has a plate full of cut up fruit, a muffin for the boy and a waffle for the girl.
He pushes the breakfast in front of them and stares at them as they begin to eat. Kenobi wanders in soon after that. He seems to pause, taking in the scene.
“Why are the children on the counter?”
“Because I put them there,” Vader says, turning slowly to Kenobi, but he keeps one metaphorical eye on the children. Oh, how he misses the Force.
“And why did you put the children on the counter?”
“Where else are they supposed to go?”
“Perhaps at the table, or on the stools at the counter, or even the couch?” Kenobi suggests, rattling off different places.
“It was easier to keep an eye on them here while I prepared breakfast and I did not know there were seats at the counter.” He crosses his arms over his chest defensively. Vader is above this. He shouldn’t even be arguing with Kenobi. He could grab a knife and stab him and have it be over with, but, that would traumatize the children and those are his kids. They are precious, and Vader will protect them.
“Anakin—” Kenobi barrels on before Vader can correct him again. “—are you sure you’re alright? What has gotten into you today?”
“What has gotten into me?” Vader asks, attempting not to sound hysterical. He doesn’t know if he succeeds. “What has gotten into me is that I’ve found myself on a strange planet, unaware of what I’m seeing is real—which it is clearly not, considering I still have all of my limbs, meaning that this is some kind of vision meant to torment me where my children are alive! You are here and young! And I cannot feel the Force!”
“Oh dear,” Kenobi says. All three of the other people in the kitchen are staring at him. “You know what, Anakin, why don’t you stay here and rest up? I’m going to call off work so I can take the kids to school, and we can call our counselor and see if we can make an appointment today.”
Vader just stares at him. Kenobi swallows and nods. “Alright, dear one, you get yourself some breakfast and I’ll take care of Luke and Leia.”
Luke.
Leia.
His children. His perfect, beautiful children.
“Will they be safe at this school?” Vader asks suspiciously.
“Yes, of course,” Kenobi answers easily, confidently enough that Vader supposes he can trust Kenobi on this, even if it is one of the few things he can still trust Kenobi on.
Vader simply nods and prepares his own breakfast as Kenobi bustles around the house, dealing with the children. It should not be easy to trust Kenobi, and it is not. Vader is holding himself back from snapping at the man and pulling his children back into his arms where they belong. He does not. If only because Kenobi clearly knows what’s going on here better than Vader does and thus will be more easily able to care for the children.
When Kenobi gets back an hour later, Vader has investigated the majority of the house, but he is stopped in one of the hallways upstairs, staring at a photograph.
Kenobi finds him there, still staring.
“What is the meaning of this?” he demands, practically snarling. If he misses anything about the suit—which he doesn’t miss the suit itself much at all—it’s the vodocoder that deepened his voice and allowed him to sound easily intimidating. He could use some of that intimidation right now.
“You don’t recall?” Kenobi asks, he sounds sort of sad—forlorn.
“Recall a wedding, apparently to you? No, I do not,” Vader snaps.
“Why are you so angry, dear?” Kenobi asks softly. He sounds patient, the way he used to when Vader still lived with him as a Padawan.
“I am angry because the last time I saw you, you betrayed me. You tricked me using my pregnant wife as bait so you could kill me, and then when the time came, you didn’t even have the guts! You sliced off my remaining limbs, and left me to burn to death! I would have died, painfully, slowly, if the Emperor had not been there.”
“Oh dear. I don’t know if we should get you to a doctor or a psychiatrist first,” Obi-Wan says, gently laying a hand on his shoulder. Vader wants to snarl and throw him off, but he refrains. For now. “Probably a doctor to make sure you haven’t hit your head or anything, huh. We have a few hours before Paula says we can come in, so let’s get you to urgent care.”
Vader grumbles, asking why they don’t have a medical droid at home, but Kenobi either doesn’t hear him or is purposefully ignoring him.
After getting to urgent care, they wait another hour before Vader gets checked out by a nurse and a doctor, and is put through a series of machines and tests—none of which Vader has ever seen or heard of before despite the many treatments he’s had before.
“Well,” the doctor says, coming back to their room. Vader glares at him. He’s the one who forced Vader into this stupid gown without a proper closure at the back. “There’s nothing medically or physically wrong with him. We believe he’s experiencing a mild bout of psychosis. But considering he has no history of having any such problems, it could be something else. You should take him to a trained psychologist if you want to know exactly what’s going on with him. As it doesn’t seem like it’ll cause harm to himself or others, we’d rather not treat him here.”
Kenobi nods in understanding, while Vader gnashes his teeth in frustration. How dare these pathetic lowlifes speak about Vader as if he isn’t even here? Vader is about ninety nine percent sure that if he still had the Force, everyone in this room (except maybe Kenobi) would’ve been choked by now.
He dearly misses his ability to choke whoever annoyed him. Especially because that in and of itself would annoy Kenobi, who is too much of a coward to Force choke Vader back.
As soon as they’re outside of urgent care, Vader turns on Kenobi. “I want a divorce.”
“You—you what?” Kenobi splutters. Vader smirks, he likes seeing Kenobi—the so-called Negotiator—all ruffled.
“I want a divorce,” Vader repeats.
“I don’t—Might we talk to Paula first? Before deciding on any drastic actions,” Kenobi asks, sounding almost meek. Vader revels in it.
“I do not know this Paula and so I do not wish to speak to her.”
“This is precisely why we do need to talk to her, she might be able to help jog some of your memory.”
At this, Vader frowns deeply. “There is no gap in my memory. I simply have different memories than you.” He ponders for another long moment. “Ah. It was the Sith artefact the Emperor had me transport yesterday. That must be how I am here.”
“But—Sith aren’t real,” Kenobi argues. “They’re made up! In those books the kids like so much.”
“Books? Show me these books,” Vader demands.
Kenobi shrugs, and takes Vader back to the transport which disturbingly sits on wheels, on the ground. He doesn’t like it, and refuses to pilot the death contraption. Especially when given how primitive it looks compared to Vader's own ships.
Kenobi brings them back home—Vader does not cling to the side of the “car” as Kenobi had called it. He does not. Kenobi is a liar.
At their—it’s disgusting that Vader has to call anything theirs, as in his and Kenobi’s—house, Kenobi takes him to what must be the children’s room. There’s a bunk bed and toys litter the floor, but are pushed off to the side so as not to block the floor. There is also a large bookcase against one wall. Good, Vader’s children need a good education.
Kenobi takes him to the shelf lined with books all labeled to be in the same series. He picks one up and stares at the cover. “Why are my children reading… rebel propaganda?” He waves the book in Kenobi’s face and ignores the pang he feels when he sees the illustration of his own former Padawan.
Kenobi just sighs and pulls out another book.
Vader, though, shakes his head. “This is no better. My children will never swear loyalty to Sidious. Only I will remain under his thumb until I can defeat him, then my children and I will rule the galaxy side by side.”
“You know, you’re starting to sound a lot like that Darth guy,” Kenobi says, he sounds tired. Another one of the books is unceremoniously shoved in Vader’s hands. He stares down at it. His own mask stares back up at him.
“… That is me.”
“ You’re Darth Vader? The most evil character they’ve introduced so far beyond the Emperor and maybe Darth Maul?” Kenobi asks, to which Vader nods dumbly, stuck staring down at the illustration of himself. “Okay, so no more stories at bed after wine.”
“This has nothing to do with drinking, Kenobi,” he argues. “Let me prove to you that we are one and the same.”
“And how do you plan to do that, Anakin?” Kenobi asks, still sounding tired.
“Have I read all of these books to the children?”
“No. You’ve sat in to listen every night, but you always fall asleep so I read them a chapter every night.”
“Then what is something I cannot know unless I have read these books.”
“Who was Darth Vader’s apprentice then? Before he turned.”
Of course Kenobi would go for the worst questions first, the bastard.
“Ahsoka Tano,” he answers easily nonetheless, and no, his throat doesn’t squeeze as he says it.
“Hm. Who is Vader’s Admiral on the Executor?”
“Piett.”
“Who was Darth Vader’s Jedi Master?”
Vader stares at him. Surely this author did not write Kenobi, into these books. That would be ridiculous. Nevertheless, Vader must answer. “You were.”
Kenobi stares at him like he’s suggested something absolutely abhorrent. “No, Qui-Gon Jinn was.”
Vader shakes his head. “Impossible. Qui-Gon died when I was nine, at the hands of Darth Maul.”
“No,” Kenobi says slowly. “His apprentice—his unnamed apprentice dies in that battle.”
“You are his apprentice, and you kill Maul,” Anakin says, frowning deeply. “It makes sense, if you are alive here and the rest of the Jedi and Sith are fictional, then you could not be part of the series.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because Anakin Skywalker lives and breathes here, where Darth Vader is not real. Where I come from, Anakin Skywalker is dead and I am all that remains.”
“I don’t think it quite works like that. Have you ever seen a therapist back where you’re from?”
Vader stares at him, jaw twitching. “I do not need therapy, I am perfectly fine and well adjusted, thank you.”
“You said I cut off your limbs and left you to die, I think that would traumatize anyone.”
“I am beyond feeling traumatized, such words do not apply to me. Tell me more of your stories, how do they end?”
“There isn’t an ending yet,” Kenobi says thoughtfully. “The book introducing Darth Vader is the most recent one. There really aren’t that many books out for how popular the series is. There are the three I showed you, and a few shorter spin offs about side characters. Right now, Ahsoka is preparing to lead the Rebels in a charge against the Empire. The book ends right before one of the new characters—a Rebel extremely strong in the Force is about to blow up the Death Star.”
“The Death Star is not even finished yet,” Vader says, vaguely dismayed.
“Oh, that’s not the worst part,” Kenobi responds, grimacing slightly. “Based on the one book about Sidious set in the past, and this new one, it seems like the Rebel who blows up the Death Star is… well, your son.”
“My son would never be a Rebel.”
“You said he was dead,” Kenobi says gently.
Vader stops to think about this. “No, the Emperor said he was dead. I could have sworn I felt the child—children and Padmé both, but I took the Emperor’s word for it. He will pay for this. As will whoever has been hiding them from me.” He casts a sideways glance at Kenobi.
Kenobi pauses, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “Perhaps, perhaps you cannot change the past, but maybe you can change your future? If the children are alive, they must be kept safe. From the Emperor—if he is anything like in the books.”
“Sidious will not lay a hand on my children. I will slaughter him and take over the Empire to hand over to my children.”
“I presume you have a plan then.”
“I will make a plan. I want a phone call with the author of these books. If they have any more information I need it.”
Kenobi shakes his head slightly. “I’ll see what I can do, dearest. In the meantime, we need to get the children from school and I believe I may have promised them ice cream.”
Vader sighs, but he cannot turn down the opportunity to see his children again. Safe and alive.
It’s also strange when Kenobi gets an ice cream for Vader as well. Which is ridiculous, Sith Lords don’t eat ice cream… do they? Vader’s never been a Sith Lord who’s been able to eat before. It’s too late now, Kenobi has already spent the credits on it, so Vader might as well take it. It’s odd. Sweet and cold and exactly the kind of thing Anakin would have liked—especially on Tatooine.
Luke and Leia babble about their day at school. Vader is strangely happy to just listen to them. They sound very happy. Good.
Kenobi pilots them home again, only after Vader ensures that the children are completely secured in their seats. Once there, he tells Vader that he somehow managed a call with the author of the books. Vader snatches the phone from his hands.
“What is going to happen next in your book?” he demands.
The person on the other end laughs. “You’re not the first one to ask that.”
“Yes, but it is imperative I know to ensure my future.”
“Look, I don’t give out details to every guy who calls—”
“I am not every guy, you are writing about me. I am Darth Vader,” he says, and is met with a laugh. Vader huffs through the phone. “Did you ever give Vader a name before he had Fallen?”
“Not in publication, no.” The person is speaking slower now.
“Anakin. His name is Anakin Skywalker, a name you can’t use because it belongs to me— to this person. Who’s married to Obi-Wan Kenobi, who was supposed to be Anakin’s Master. Not Qui-Gon.”
“How… How do you know all that stuff?”
“Because that’s how it happened to me. Now do I need to go over there and show you that I look exactly how you envisioned or will you tell me what happens next so I can change my future.”
“Luke—he was on Tatooine. With Qui-Gon, or, well Obi-Wan, I suppose. He joined the rebellion after his aunt and uncle, Anakin’s step brother and his wife, were killed by Stormtroopers. He saves Princess Leia from the Death Star. You don’t figure out Leia is your daughter until the end. You fight with Luke, more than once, but… eventually you defeat Sidious to protect Luke, even though it kills you.”
“That cannot happen,” he grits through his teeth.
“I’m sorry, that’s the way I planned it.”
“Then I will change it.” Vader hangs up the phone and throws it at Kenobi without another word. He spends the rest of the day plotting, with his children carefully tucked in his lap. No, Dark Lords do not enjoy cuddling, but they do need to ensure the safety of their children.
Kenobi hovers off to the side, seemingly unaware of what to do or how to help. He doesn’t bring up the topic of divorce again. Neither does Vader.
Once the children are tucked safely into bed, Vader reluctantly follows Kenobi back to the room he woke up in. They get ready for bed silently, neither truly regarding the other.
At least not until they actually have to get into bed. Together.
Vader grimaces, but he won’t let Kenobi win, so he slides in first. Kenobi follows shortly after.
“I believe I will wake up tomorrow as myself and you will have Anakin back.”
Kenobi nods solemnly. “I hope it works out for you, I really do,” he says, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of Vader’s lips. “I think I’d love you in every universe. Remember that, okay?”
Vader swallows a lump, but nods. He lays there, staring at the ceiling for a long time before he falls asleep. When he wakes, he is himself again, back in the suit. This time, though, he has plenty of work to do.
-
Obi-Wan wakes up to a warm weight curled around his body.
“Anakin?” he asks groggily.
“Obi-Wan,” Anakin responds, sounding way too awake for the morning. “You would not believe the dream I had last night. It was so vivid. I swear I could feel everything. I was Darth Vader. It was so cool.”
Obi-Wan groans, leaning over to press a kiss to his husbands lips. “Not now, dear, it’s too early for that.”
Anakin pouts, but he’s satiated by Obi-Wan kissing him.
Three months later. The new book comes out. Obi-Wan gets it the day it’s out, and doesn’t bother waiting for the children before reading it. He’ll gladly read it to them again.
A slow smile spreads across his face as he shuts the book. Darth Vader, now aware of both of his children, is leading a double life, keeping them safe from the Emperor while still working for the man. In addition, as a subplot, a man named Ben, claiming to be Qui-Gon’s former Padawan has re-emerged on the scene. Apparently much to Vader’s delight and horror.
Obi-Wan can’t wait for the next book.