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Luke's chest hurt.
His face hurt. His head hurt, his legs, his arms, his lungs, his eyes, Suns, his eyes. They burned mercilessly, the frantic scrubbing of tissues doing nothing to soothe the irritated skin.
Today was a mistake. These feelings weren't fully unfamiliar; in the past, he had felt a hint of these emotions before, dipped his toes into the pool of turmoil he was feeling right now, but today he was drowning in them.
Rebels. So many rebels dead. Gone.
Under his command.
He threw his alarm clock at the wall, unbothered and even welcoming of the shattered glass coming from it.
His fault. All his fault. He had led his men into a death trap without even knowing it. Another accomplishment of the great Commander Luke Skywalker.
'Great'. He could almost scoff at such a title if he wasn't so drained from crying. Luke didn't think he could say a single word without his voice cracking. He wasn't sure if he had the strength to stand, or even sit up straighter. He wasn't sure if he had the strength to breath. He felt like he needed a respirator.
He choked out another sob.
Luke had wanted his men unafraid. Not foolish or naive, but courageous. Bold. To not be chained down or hindered by fearing the worst possible outcomes. He almost fainted at the slam of regret. Maybe a little bit of that fear would've saved them.
He knew the way most of the Rebellion looked at him. The poster boy. Untouchable.
Whether he wanted to or not, he couldn't help feeling the same at times. When adrenaline got the best of him, when the victories came one after another. Until he eventually would come crashing down.
Tonight was easily the worst it had ever been. He hadn't felt this level of pain, this level of grief, of anguish, in a very long time. He had almost forgotten the feeling.
He was not grateful for the reminder.
After that nightmare of a mission, he was forced to come back from the massacre alone. Pilot his ship all the way back in silence. He didn't even remember the ride back. He wasn't even sure he was the one that did it.
Captain always goes down with it's ship. That's what he swore to. And he would've if there were anyone left; but the ship had been empty when he had to leave, the merciless Republic not even giving him an option to bring anyone's body back. Not a single one.
He sat on the floor, sitting up against his bed, aching with agonizing regret. He wanted someone to scream at, someone to hit, someone to kill, someone to hold. But he had done enough damage for one night, and the last thing the Rebellion needed was for their proud Commander to crumble. The Rebellion might crumble with him.
An excruciating headache seared through his skull, but this one wasn't caused by his pathetic meltdown.
Vader.
Luke had learned to shield his thoughts from the Sith Lord's watchful eyes and invasive hands. It had taken a bit, but it became almost second nature, only getting hard to maintain the more stressed he was. The more the Dark Side hissed in agitation, begging to be danced with.
His… his father, as loathe as he was to admit their relation, seemed much more present than usual. Whether it be paranoia or reality, he wasn't sure. What he was sure of, however, was that he had to actively try to shield right now.
It wasn't second nature, it was an effort. It was laborious, it almost hurt. And he was sick of it.
He felt Vader bang against his shields once more. As if he needed this right now.
He leaned his head back, feeling new, angrier tears slip from his itchy eyes. He could easily sob another hour, another year even, over his father. The despair he felt about… everything.
But not right now. He heaved another breath, another hateful sob wrenching itself from his chest. Not now. He wasn't even sure who he was begging to. Please, not now.
He wished there was an offensive tactic, a way to fight back instead of wait and shield. He couldn't dare step out, let his thoughts or feelings wander free or slip through the cracks, because his father would always be there. Keeping watch. Waiting.
Vader was notoriously an impatient man, but Luke doubted his father would ever tire of this cruel game.
His hands clenched and unclenched into the fabric of his clothes for the millionth time. He just wanted to be alone. Wanted Vader gone. He knew he couldn't rid himself of his father forever, but not even for right now? Was it too selfish to want even a moment in peace? Why was he forced to even grieve guarded?
Luke sat for a moment, harsh, uneven breaths coming from him. More tears slipping, falling, tracing his features, getting into his mouth and ears. Hate burned inside of him. Untamable anger. He knew the dangers of it. Master Yoda and even Ben had warned him to not engage with any of it. Not form attachments. Not feel.
But how could he not?
Another throb in his head. Vader again.
He clenched his jaw. An impulsive, livid idea came to him.
If Vader wanted his thoughts so badly, he could have them. All of them.
The temptation was sickeningly sweet, the idea to have a single cathartic moment.
Not giving himself a second to reconsider, he felt himself fully lift his shields in an instant. The relief he felt for an instant was incomparable. But awful all the same. It felt like vomiting.
Immediately, he clashed into Vader, the flood of rage and grief and hate slamming into his father full force. Let him feel. Let him be knocked down. Let him drown in them.
He wasn't quite sure what he expected in response. He hadn't thought it through.
The first thing he felt from his father was… surprise. Naturally. Even though it was hard to imagine the great Sith Lord being taken aback by anything, any human would be caught off guard. If Vader even was human. Ben's words echoed in Luke's mind. He's more machine than man.
Luke didn't retract his feelings. Not yet. Vader had not… moved. He usually felt his father's hunger, his father's dark side, his father's rage.
He did not feel it now.
Puzzling. Luke furrowed his eyebrows, still hellbent on showing Vader just what he was. How he felt. What Vader had done to him, the anguish him and his sick men cause.
But Vader's surprise slowly morphed into hunger. Luke's anger intensified against it.
Of course. Of course Vader would only see this as an opportunity. A weakness.
He was ready to take on whatever storm his father would conjure. Whatever lie, whatever twisted promise, whatever deranged persuasion. He was almost begging for it, begging for something he could direct his anger at. And who better than the man who caused all this?
But before he could get a chance, the hunger was gone.
Luke felt ever so slightly hollow. He suspected his father did too.
A new emotion sprouted from Vader's end.
Confusion.
And even worse, concern.
Luke felt rooted in place for a moment even though he was already sitting. But he only got angrier. Who was he to be concerned about anything? How dare he be confused?
How dare he? How dare he?
How-
You are in great pain, my son.
Luke almost reared back.
He sat for a moment, staring blankly ahead, tears slowly dripping.
He couldn't form a thought. He could barely think anymore. All he could do was feel.
Where would he even begin, where would, how could, why did-
Everything came spilling out of him. It felt endless, materializing into a tsunami of agony.
He threw it as hard as he could at his father once more.
And to his surprise, Vader let him.
He didn't push or pull back. He didn't encourage Luke, didn't coax him to embrace such feelings or shame him for feeling any at all.
He simply let it be.
You wanted my shields down! Luke managed to convey, practically spitting at his father. Are you happy now? Are you finally satisfied?
A pause.
Luke's chest heaved with great effort as he breathed like someone that went mad.
Of course not. Came the reply. You are not with me.
Luke felt lightheaded. He could shout for an eternity, and cry even longer than that.
What a sickening response that was.
More hate, more pain, more everything. He wasn't sure if he wished to simply convey or inflict, but his father stayed all the same. It made Luke even angrier. How did he not flinch? Not buckle under it's weight? Was he immune? Ignoring it? Enjoying it?
As much as the thought could serve to fuel Luke's rage, it oddly did not. Because somewhere deep inside him, he knew it wasn't true. His father wasn't enjoying any of this. But he stayed.
Luke's face scrunched up with bewilderment and agonizing frustration. The confusion made him sick. Why did everything have to be so difficult for him? Why couldn't he even hate in peace?
What did his father want?
Vader could easily take advantage right now. Luke knew he was being unwise, but he felt he couldn't stop this sweet release of everything he'd been carrying. For once, someone was just taking it. Letting him feel. It was intoxicating. It was sobering.
But why was it Vader?
His head swam with all the tricks he could be playing, tried to think of any possibilities he could be missing.
But the Force rang with truth. He felt no malice from his father. Only a steady hum. A still body of water, not separate, but absorbing Luke's hurt. Taking it. Trying to level it.
His head pounded and pounded and pounded. Nothing made sense. It was becoming unbearable.
You did this. Luke managed to hiss. You did this to me.
He didn't fully believe himself. He knew it was his fault. Those were his men and they died under his command. All his fault.
Another pause.
I did no such thing, Luke. My men served their duty, as did yours. Their choices were their own. It was neither of our faults.
The absurdity of Vader's words hit him like knife to the gut. Luke immediately threw more turmoil at his father, slightly dismayed at the type that came out. It was incredibly imbalanced. He meant to hurl hatred and spite, not anguish and confusion. It made him feel like a child. Like his child.
But he had decided to throw his shields down, so what he felt was now his father's.
And to his growing dismay, Vader's concern grew, as did a new emotion.
Pain.
From his father.
Luke could've vomited.
How disgusting.
How tragic.
That meant he was still able to feel pain. And yet he massacred everyone anyways. Luke couldn't fathom it. He didn't want to. He didn't want to know his father.
But Luke stayed.
Seething. But present.
You will never know pain. You will never know loss. He spat once again.
A wave rippled from Vader's side, as if Luke's words had made an old wound flare. Maybe they had.
You are not the only one who knows grief, my son.
Then why do you cause so much of it if you know it so intimately? Luke hissed. He was making his father mad. He knew that. He knew it was irrational to want to provoke such dangerous man. But he just couldn't help it.
In war, death is inevitable. I suggest you get used to such a concept as Commander.
More tears spilled out.
I am used to it! He lied. My aunt and uncle were only the beginning. This is all your fault. You did this.
Luke waited like a wild animal seeing what else he could attack, what else he could sink his teeth into and rip to shreds.
Regret is… not fitting for you. It would serve you well to rid yourself of it.
Pain flared in Luke's chest.
He spluttered and stumbled, unable to form a sentence.
Vader seemed to be ruminating.
I am familiar with such… feelings.
That made Luke pause.
They do not serve you. Rid yourself of them. His father repeated. Something about the way he said them made them more than just a simple command. It was deeper. Earnest. A warning.
It felt less like an invitation to the dark side as it did plea to not come near.
Why.
Why would his father want him to rid himself of regret instead if harnessing it?
He let the question whisper across the string of their bond. Let it unravel with as much desperation as he felt.
His father did not answer.
Luke groaned in frustration once again, gripping his hair.
But slowly, something from Vader's side began to form.
It took Luke's breath away.
An aching, burning, tormentous cloud of regret from his father's side. It was overbearing, filled with a relentless longing that seemed to plague Luke from head to toe.
It hurt.
It hurt so bad.
He could hardly breathe.
He could hardly think.
He might go insane if he had to bear it a second longer.
And this was… from his father.
…His father felt this?
What could he possibly have to feel regret about? He was a monster. A terror. Surely he didn't have terrors of his own?
What happened?
Luke once again let the question float across to his father, but as it as it was sent, the regret was gone instantaneously.
Luke felt he could breath again.
Sweat dripped down the side of his neck. He wasn't sure he wanted to ask anymore. How horrible must it have been for Darth Vader to regret it? What could a Sith Lord possibly have to lament?
They are of no use. His father's voice rang out definitively.
Luke listened, still in shock.
You will move on. And do better next time.
Luke swallowed.
He couldn't let go of what had happened. He couldn't. Not now, not ever.
But the thought of carrying… that with him was horrifying.
His eyes watered again. Tears resumed pouring out. Had they even stopped to begin with? He wasn't sure. All he knew was that he was defenseless against them.
Slower waves of despair came rolling from Luke. His father absorbed them as well.
Wretched cries came from Luke's hoarse throat. He couldn't care less if his father heard him or not. Maybe he could rid himself of this torture if he cried enough. He just wanted this suffering to leave him.
He wasn't sure how he knew, but his father seemed to want the same for both of them.
Exhaustion threatened to pull him under. He slowly moved, breaths practically spasming into themselves, and heaved himself onto his bed.
He pulled the covers over him, snot and tears and sweat getting all over his sheets.
His head flopped onto his pillow.
His shields had not gone up. He wasn't sure he could replace them if he tried.
He hated his father.
But he craved his presence.
Whether he craved specifically Vader's presence or just the presence of anyone was unknown to him, and he had no desire to find out.
Depression and restlessness and stabbing guilt still churned in his stomach.
But another feeling accompanied those.
It was slow at first, almost afraid. But it seemed to gain the courage to join Luke where he laid.
Comfort.
His father's comfort, ever so gently pressing against him.
Luke's head ached. He didn't want his father's comfort. He didn't.
But he dove headfirst into it nonetheless. And he hated himself for it.
He couldn't stop, couldn't pull himself away, and Vader didn't make him. He laid there for minutes, basking in calm. Basking in the steady hums of safe. His breaths soon slowed from ragged hiccups to slower sniffles.
The unfairness of it all stung with such ferocity he could hardly stand it. He had always wanted to know his father, to be able to love him and be comforted by him. But this was so backwards. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
This wasn't who Anakin Skywalker was supposed to be.
Why did he have to be soothed by his father, but only while they were both enemies at war?
It hurt and consoled all the same.
And a part of him wanted to stay in this moment. He couldn't remember the last time someone stayed with him like this. In the turmoil of his emotions it was like his father was just… holding him.
Luke was too exhausted to feel the usual burn of embarrassment that came with being too emotional. He was too confused, too angry, too hurt to try and make sense of what was happening. He pulled the covers even higher until they almost swallowed him whole.
His pillow was soaked with tears.
The silence began to buzz in his ears.
It was too dark.
Too quiet.
Too empty.
His heart thrummed painfully against his ribcage. He begged it to slow down. Or to stop. Luke blinked a few times, his face beginning to contort with panic.
Suns, he was so tired. His throat was scratched and raw, his eyes felt like they were melting, his chest and limbs shook with remnants of anxiety. He couldn't bear the thought of crying all over again, but he wasn't sure his body would let him rest. The adrenaline, the things he had seen and heard and felt, it was like they would be running through his veins, keeping him awake until he died.
Luke.
He flinched. He had almost forgotten his father was still here. That he could feel every thought and emotion that passed through.
Luke didn't reply, nervously waiting to see if his father had anything else to add. Perhaps he was sick of his pitiful tantrum. Perhaps he was sick of Luke altogether. Luke didn't even try to think further on why that particular thought hurt to think about.
He swallowed. His throat burned.
He almost… wanted his father to say something. To talk to him. Just once, outside of the pain of war and death.
He sniffled.
This was all so unfair-
Rest, Came his father's calming command.
Luke buried his head in his pillow, muffling another choked cry. A sick part of him was slightly relieved his father hadn't left yet. That it was just the two of them. Jedi Knight and Sith Lord. Father and son.
He wanted to rest. He wanted to so bad.
But how could he even sleep like this? How could he ever sleep again? How could he close his eyes without seeing- seeing their mangled bodies, hearing their wretched screams and pleas, feeling their blood splatter onto him.
Luke's heartrate began to pick up once again.
His breathing was close behind. Another exhausted sob pried it's way from inside of him. He gripped the covers, wishing to be free of his all consuming agony. It seemed never-ending. Fresh waves of dread began to form and swirl, he was being pulled under again, he couldn't breath, he was drowning-
But a stronger pulse of calm ever so slowly washed over him. It carefully surrounded him, softly scooping him up into it's arms. And Luke… let it. He let the arms of solace slowly wrap around him, let the fingers of consolation card through his hair.
Luke found he could breathe again.
He felt shielded from guilt's sharp claws and trepidation's fierce bite. He had forgotten what it was like to feel protected, to feel slowly rocked against someone's chest.
His eyelids slowly began drifting shut.
His endless tears slowed from a pour to a drip.
Even his sporadic whimpers became soft inhales.
He still felt the pain, but it was dulled, as if distant or muffled. As if saved for another day, not for him to worry about right now.
Luke still felt the grief, he doubted it would ever leave him. But for once, right now, in his room, he wasn't… alone.
His father was there with him, his steady presence lulling Luke to sleep. Luke didn't find himself shying away from it but rather leaning into it.
His father held him tighter.
He shouldn't relish this comfort, some far away part of him knew that, but he didn't have the energy to reject it just because of who it came from.
For the first time in his life, he obeyed his father and let it consume him, slowly sinking deeper into that still body of water that cradled him so lovingly.
A yawn escaped him.
Sleep, my son.
Luke let out one last shuddering breath before he listened to his father, finally surrendering to the soothing song of sleep.