Work Text:
Luke slammed his fist against the door again and again, any pain that should’ve accompanied the action had long since worn down to an aching numbness that threatened to eat away at his entire being.
The skin of his hand was split in multiple places and dried blood left a flaky coating along his palm and wrist. Red spots stained the durasteel floor right under the door, and Luke couldn’t tear his eyes away from them.
It was too cold in the room, as if the heaters simply couldn’t reach the cursed depths of the filthy ship.
The light beige of his pants were stained and covered in grime from sitting for so long on the floor.
As his right hand beat the door methodically his other hand hung uselessly, tethered together by the force forsaken cuffs binding his wrists.
Angry red circles were carved into his wrists where the cuffs bit into his skin, and they sent small trickles of fresh blood down his arms. And yet he continued weakly banging his fist into the door. Hours upon hours of raging against his captors had left him spent.
But he couldn’t give up. Because he knew. The pirates that had somehow managed to ensnare him back on Nar Shadda were undoubtedly planning on collecting the enormous bounty that was on his head.
And that meant that he was coming.
Vader. His father. And this time he’d have no way out. There was no way he could do anything with no access to the force. He was quite thoroughly kriffed.
“Have you not tired yourself out yet?” The voice was dry and currently the bane of Luke’s existence.
He was doubly kriffed. Because behind him, sitting on the floor of the dirty cell with him was none other than Admiral Piett.
Luke didn’t answer him, he never did, he was currently too busy ignoring the man’s existence. Unfortunately it didn’t stop the admiral from making the occasional wry comment.
Pulling back his hand, he hit it once more against the door. One of his nearly scabbed over abrasions broke open and blood spilled down his arm once again.
“Kriff.” He spat, his voice dry and rough from hours spent shouting and cursing his captors to the nine hells of Corellia and back.
“Vulgar language will not make them release you.”
“E chu ta.” Luke threw over his shoulder, “I don’t need your input, karking Imp.”
Piett didn’t deign to reply to that, but he did let out a long suffering sigh. Good. If Luke was miserable then Piett would be miserable too.
The admiral really had no reason to be upset anyways, since they were going to be delivered to the Empire. Then again… maybe Vader would execute the officer for being so incompetent.
Luke couldn’t decide if he’d be happy about that or not. On the one hand, Piett was insufferable (a word that Luke learned when the man used it to describe him about two hours into their capture) but on the other hand he wasn't sure if wishing death on annoying people was really the Jedi way.
“Rebels.” Piett said, “Incapable of accepting defeat.”
Luke glanced over his shoulder, the admiral was sitting against the wall in the back of the cell, his stiff gray uniform looking woefully out of place in the dingy room- then again the spotless fabric was dirty and rumpled.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” He huffed, turning away from the door for the first time in hours, “We never give up.”
Piett looked at him, face caught somewhere between annoyance and indifference. “Delaying the inevitable isn’t the best battle strategy.”
“It’s worked for us so far.” Luke sneered, “And your kriffing Empire isn’t inevitable, or permanent.”
The admiral exhaled, turning his eyes from Luke to the door behind him, “Do you really want to be so close to the door when the pirates return?”
For a moment Luke glanced back at the entrance, then his face hardened into a scowl and he glared at the Imperial.
“Don’t change the subject!” He snapped, “You know damn karking well that the Alliance isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.”
“Neither is the Empire.” Piett sniffed.
Luke’s scowl deepened, but he scooted away from the door. As annoying as Piett was, he was right that Luke did not want to be anywhere near the door when it was opened.
The admiral wasn’t wrong exactly, the rebellion wasn’t making a lot of headway, but of course the Empire wasn’t getting any closer to wiping them out.
There was currently a galactic stalemate. But Luke could easily be the piece that would sway the odds one way or another. That was why Vader wanted him right?
‘Join me, and we can rule the galaxy as father and son.’
The memory sent a shudder through him, it had barely been a couple months since that revelation. And needless to say he wasn’t taking it well.
His silence didn’t go unnoticed, Piett was watching him again, this time with an almost appraising eye. Luke shifted slightly under the scrutiny, his earlier scowl had softened into a frown and he let out a deep breath.
“What is it Admiral?” His tone dipped towards mocking on the last word.
The man shook his head a little, a contemplative expression on his face, “You are much younger than I assumed.”
Barking a short laugh, Luke crossed his arms over his chest, “Everyone says that.”
“Probably because it’s true.” Piett replied, “You aren’t exactly a hardened war criminal.”
Luke smirked, lifting his chin ever so slightly, “You sure about that Admiral?”
Maybe he imagined it, but he almost thought he saw the corner of the Imperial’s mouth twitch upwards. And wasn’t that an unsettling thought? That Imperials were actually capable of feeling things.
Not sure what to think about that, he turned his attention back to the cuffs around his wrists. They were obviously force suppressants, this wasn’t the first time he found himself stuck in similar cuffs.
Unfortunately all his past experiences told him that they were pretty much impossible to get off. Not that he was going to give up so easily.
Again he tugged at the cuffs, chaffing his skin against the cold durasteel. Little trails of blood traced their way down his skin every time he wrenched at the binders.
“You are only hurting yourself.”
Irritated, he shot a glare at the man across the cell, “Thanks for stating the obvious.” He snapped, “But a few scrapes won’t matter much when I’m publicly executed.”
That seemed to shut the Imperial up. And Luke turned his attention back to pulling at his binders.
Piett was quiet for a few long minutes and Luke noticed with no small amount of annoyance that the man had regular cuffs around his wrists.
Where had these incompetent pirates scrounged up a pair of force suppressing binders anyways? Before when he’d found himself in suppressant cuffs, Han or Wedge or some other rebel would show up to help him.
But Han was gone now. Frozen in carbonite by the same man that cut off Luke's hand, the same man that claimed to be his father.
Another shudder wracked through him and he dropped his hands into his lap. The blood on his arms and hands left stains on his pants and shirt.
“There are worse ways to die.” Piett said finally, his voice strangely quiet.
That tore a bitter laugh from Luke’s lips, “Yeah,” He agreed, “But I’m not going to die.”
Absently he tugged at a bit of fabric on his pant leg that was torn. If Vader found him, he wouldn’t kill him. In a way it’d be mercy if he did, but Luke knew it wasn’t going to happen.
“You seem sure of that.”
“I am,” Luke answered, “Vader isn’t going to kill me.”
Piett frowned, “Lord Vader nearly killed you the last time the two of you met.”
Bepsin.
Luke winced, looking up at the ceiling for a long moment, struggling to keep his breathing steady and his mind focused. He lost his hand. And he was sure that he was going to die at that moment but…
“He wasn’t trying to kill me.” Luke murmured, his eyes distant.
Piett didn’t reply to that, and Luke glanced back at him to see that he too was looking off into the distance, probably trying to make sense of what Luke just said.
“Don’t think too hard Admiral.” It was Luke’s turn to smile dryly, “You’ll never make sense of it.” His voice quieted and his eyes dropped to the floor, “Even I’m not sure I can.”
Nothing made sense. Not anymore. Vader couldn’t be his father, and yet he could feel the truth. He had waited years for his dad to come take him away from Tatooine. Vader didn’t care about him. But was that a bad thing?
If the man knew about him, if he came for Luke back on Tatooine, then his aunt and uncle would be dead. Or worse.
The silence between them stretched, long and awkward. Until finally the admiral shifted, Luke noted the way he favored his right arm when moving. Most likely it had been broken in the scuffle with the pirates.
“I’m sorry.”
Taken aback, Luke froze. Those were two words he never thought he’d hear from an Imperial, let alone an Admiral. It was kind of unnerving.
“F-for what?” He asked, quickly controlling his confusion.
Piett looked at him for a second before answering, “You got involved with the wrong crowd.” He said finally, “That doesn’t make you a bad person. Just an idealistic child that got in over his head.”
A full minute passed before Luke could articulate what he thought about that. “Wha-? I’m not a child!”
Again Luke found himself wondering if he was crazy or not as he was certain that he caught the ghost of a smile on Piett’s face, before it was gone once again.
It was enough though. Piett was clearly amused. Luke could feel his face heating up, it wasn’t funny! He was an adult!
“I guess everyone looks like a kid when you get to be old, huh?” He spat out the first words that came to mind, “What are you like, sixty something?”
That didn’t offend the admiral as much as he was hoping it would. As usual the man kept a straight face, and a level voice as he responded.
“That is wildly inaccurate.”
Rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, Luke let his head fall back to rest against the wall. For a long moment the only sound was breathing and the occasional shuffling when Luke or Piett moved slightly.
It nearly made Luke jump out of his skin when the silence was disturbed.
The door hissed open and instinctively Luke jerked to his feet. Blood rushed to his head, making the room sway and black spots dance across his vision, but his hand slammed into the wall to steady him.
Two pirates stepped into the room, one a broad shouldered weequay with too many piercings, and the other was a nikto with a manic gleam in his eyes.
They didn’t enter all the way, instead pausing in the doorway and checking to make sure they weren’t going to be jumped. So they were somewhat intelligent.
“Meal time.” The weequay gruffed, dropping a tray to the floor.
It landed with a loud smack and Luke jolted slightly.
“Eat up worms,” The nikto sneered, “We wouldn’t wantcha to starve eh?”
The weequay smacked his companion harshly across the back of the head, “Shuddup Deso.”
The nikto, Deso, scowled and whirled to slam a fist into the other pirate’s gut. The weequay didn’t even flinch.
Luke stood rigidly, his eyes locked on the scuffle. He could take them, if only he had his lightsaber, or at least access to the force. The two were tough looking, and Luke doubted he could win a straight out brawl with them.
But desperation was enough to override his common sense.
In a split second he lunged forward, aiming for the space between the weequay and the wall. It was impulsive and so very stupid. But anything was better than falling into Vader’s grasp.
He didn’t even make it to the door before he was blocked, a thick arm shot out to close the gap and Luke very nearly ran face first into it. Thinking fast, he dropped his weight and slid under the arm.
For a moment he was free of the room, but as he clambered to his feet a heavy boot collided with his back, knocking him forward onto his face. It stayed on his back, crushing his ribs until he couldn’t breathe and stars began dancing across his vision.
Then it moved. Only to slam into his side. Whatever air was in his lungs was forced out and he gasped, another kick followed, and then another.
The pirates were speaking, jeering at him as his body jolted with the force of the blows. The pain gave way to numbness and a rising anger, and for a split second he was glad for the force suppressing binders, because without them he might have unleashed his fury on them.
He didn’t have long to consider it though, as a heavy kick landed on the side of his head, sharp pain seared through his temple and instantly everything started to fade. It was like having bad reception on the holonet, everything flickered in and out.
Distantly he even thought he heard Piett talking, he sounded angry. Luke barely got a glimpse of him pushing the weequay pirate before getting a sharp punch across the jaw.
It was all a blur as his body was lifted up, and for a second he felt like he was flying. And then he landed. The floor was hard.
Somewhere far away the door closed and Luke realized that he was alone. No, not alone. He could feel a pair of hands, they grabbed his arms and rolled him over so that he wasn’t kissing the floor anymore.
That was good. The floor tasted awful.
“That was a foolish move.” It was Piett.
Luke groaned as his ribs were jostled. They were bruised… maybe broken. Either way he was going to be feeling them for a while.
“Yeah well,” Luke forced out, his voice weaker than he’d like, “I’m not known for my great wisdom.”
“No.” Piett agreed, “But I am starting to see how you pull off your reckless and utterly absurd escapes.”
That enticed a short laugh from Luke, though he regretted it almost instantly.
“Ow.” He groaned again, bringing one arm up to wrap around his chest.
“They did do some damage.” Piett informed him, “I was unable to stop them.”
That was odd. Luke turned his head slightly and peeked his eyes open a bit to see the Admiral kneeling next to him.
“Why would you want to stop them?” He asked, “I’m a rebel.”
“Indeed.” Piett conceded, “A rebel that Lord Vader insists upon retrieving alive and unharmed.”
Once again a shudder tore through Luke, but he couldn’t exactly be angry at the Admiral for standing up for him. There was a sizable welt forming on the man’s jaw.
“Well I’ll put in a good word for you.” Luke offered dryly.
Piett raised a brow at him but said nothing. In truth Luke wasn’t sure if he even held any sway with his fathe- Vader. Most likely he didn’t.
“You should rest,” The man said finally, he turned a disdainful glance towards the food on the tray, half spilled on the floor, “I wouldn’t eat that.”
Again Luke barked a quiet laugh, “No, I don’t think I will either.”
They fell into comfortable silence after that- or as comfortable as it could be between an Imperial Admiral and a Rebel hero.
Luke scooted from his exposed place on the floor to a corner that felt somewhat safer. And as he curled his body in on itself he could feel exhaustion eating away at him.
His eyelids drooped once and he jerked. It was stupid to fall asleep locked in a cell with the enemy.
But his head hurt. He was so so tired.
His eyelids drooped again.
And he was gone.
•*•*•*•*•*•
Admiral Piett sat against the wall of the cell, pointedly ignoring how dirty it was and how his uniform was utterly ruined.
His attention was currently focused on the huddled form in the furthest corner of the cell.
Luke Skywalker.
The slippery young rebel that seemed to evade every attempt at capture. He had even slipped away from Lord Vader himself more than once. And now here he was bound and beaten by a band of useless pirates.
The boy had gained quite a name for himself, but here and now, curled up in the corner of a dirty cell Luke Skywalker seemed painfully young.
This was the infamous Rebel Hero? Destroyer of the Death Star? The focus of Lord Vader’s obsessive search? This boy that lay exhausted on the filthy floor?
Piett knew that he was barely over twenty, and yet he looked even younger than that, especially as he lay sleeping. The tension in his face was gone, leaving soft features stained with blood and bruises.
For so long Lord Vader had sought this little rebel, with an obsessive ferocity. Piett couldn’t help but pity the poor boy. It didn’t seem as though Lord Vader wanted the boy dead, but at the same time Piett couldn’t imagine anything good being in store for Luke Skywalker.
There was nothing he could do in regards to the boy’s fate. It seemed a pity that someone so young should have the weight of so many crimes upon their shoulders. But Skywalker had fallen in among the wrong crowd. Nothing could be done about that now.
Piett was loyal to his superior officer. Lord Vader was an impressive warrior and a capable leader. But there was a certain brutality in everything he did. It was necessary of course for there to be order.
And yet, someday, when the rebels were finally crushed there would need to be something more than harsh military force. Something that could dole out justice but at the same time offer mercy.
Skywalker shifted slightly in his sleep, a quiet sigh escaping his lungs, and then an even quieter moan as the movement jostled his undoubtedly aching ribs.
The boy wasn’t sleeping well, every half hour or so he would stir. He was restless, wounded and desperate. It was a testament to his complete exhaustion that he was able to sleep at all.
Their capture had been a rough affair, and the events that found them in the same place at the same time were entirely bizarre.
But that was not relevant to their current situation. All that mattered was that soon the pirates would deliver them to the Empire.
Skywalker would face the consequences of his actions, and Piett would return to running the Executor… if Lord Vader didn’t execute him for his failure.
A small almost imperceptible frown settled across his face and he turned his eyes away from the boy in the corner. It couldn’t be much longer before they were handed over to the Empire.
Lord Vader always responded immediately whenever there was any word of Skywalker’s capture. Each and every time he would arrive too late or find it to be a case of mistaken identity. And each of those times ended in death for those involved.
Piett glanced towards Skywalker again. This time Lord Vader would not be disappointed. This time Skywalker would find that there was no escaping the Empire.
There was the sound of scuffling outside the door. It almost was hardly loud enough to hear, but Piett reacted automatically. The door slid open just as he pulled himself to his feet.
Several pirates entered, one of them was the weequay from before and Piett’s hands clenched into fists as the scum’s eyes landed on Skywalker.
The boy had stirred as soon as the door opened and was now struggling to his feet. He looked even more rough than before, a large bruise had formed on the side of his face where he’d been kicked, it was swollen and would undoubtedly grow to become a black eye.
“On yer feet,” The pirate barked, taking a step towards Skywalker.
The young rebel wasn’t in any condition for this. He staggered upright and pressed a hand against the wall to support himself, but even then he stood slightly hunched over, his free arm cradling his ribs.
He did not cut a very impressive figure. The weequay seemed to agree, because he took a step closer to the prisoner. It was instinctual. Piett stepped very deliberately in front of the approaching pirate.
“Git outta the way.” The scum demanded.
“May I remind you that the bounty on this prisoner specifies alive and unharmed?” Piett said, his voice sharp.
“Git outta my way ya kriffing windbag!”
Two other pirates stepped forward, prepared to attack, but they didn’t get a chance to do much before the entire cell was filled with a bone chilling sound.
Piett didn’t relax. In fact he grew more tense, spine straightening automatically. Behind him Skywalker sucked in a breath, and Piett resisted the urge to glance back at him.
Then, standing in the doorway was Lord Vader, black armor shining dully in the dim lighting of the cell, and helmeted head turned towards Skywalker.
For an eternity no one spoke or moved. They were frozen.
And then a grating voice came from behind Lord Vader.
“As you see my lord, Skywalker is here, we would have brought him to you,” It was the leader of the pirates, “There was no need for you to-”
The words were strangled as a familiar choking sound replaced it. Lord Vader was furious. Piett had worked with the man long enough to know that all of these pirates were going to die.
The choking died out as a sickening snap cut it off.
Lord Vader didn’t even move. But the other pirates did, suddenly they were scrambling away from the man with startled cries and alarmed shouts, like a flock of birds startled from their perch.
But their efforts were halted almost instantly, like puppets held back by their strings they all jolted mid motion, hands flying up to claw at their throats.
Piett had seen many beings die in such a way, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling. He noticed distantly that he was spared from the unfolding death, but he could hardly focus on that.
Horror churned his stomach as the pirates fell to their knees one by one, gasping raggedly as their lives were stripped away. Skywalker’s breathing was quick and shallow behind him, the boy was terrified- and rightly so.
Piett had seen much worse suffering inflicted upon those that had failed Lord Vader. But the man didn’t seem in the mood to prolong the punishment.
The whole time, the black helmet didn’t move, Lord Vader’s attention was locked on Skywalker, unwavering, unrelenting.
All at once the pirates’ necks snapped. Their heads yanked at awkward angles as the sharp crunching sound of bones breaking harmonized with the wet squelch of flesh and veins tearing.
Together the bodies dropped to the floor. Nothing but worthless lumps of flesh that would rot and be forgotten.
Piett kept his focus strictly on his commanding officer, Lord Vader moved forward and Piett stepped aside easily. The man stalked straight towards Skywalker, his black cape snapping behind him like the crack of a whip.
After so long hunting the young rebel Piett wasn’t sure what to expect upon his inevitable capture. Maybe torture, public execution…
He certainly didn’t expect for Lord Vader to hesitate…? The man stood a few feet away from Skywalker, frozen.
The two stared at each other, the second in command of the Empire uncharacteristically hesitant, and the infamous rebel hero very obviously terrified.
Slowly, almost haltingly, Lord Vader raised one hand and Skywalker flinched visibly. But the hand didn’t strike the boy, it didn’t curl around his throat to choke the life from him. It rested with unnatural gentleness upon the side of Skywalker’s face, right where the colorful bruise was.
The boy made a choking sound, but it was just him trying to hold back a sob.
“F-father.”
The word was quiet, filled with emotion and uncertainty. And Piett took a full minute to register it.
“My son.”
At Lord Vader’s words, Piett’s mind ground to a halt and all thoughts fled in the wake of such a revelation.
Oh. That made sense.
And at the same time Piett could feel disbelief warring against the logic. Luke Skywalker was Darth Vader’s son.
Lord Vader had a child. And that child was the poster boy of the Rebel Alliance.
The sheer absurdity of it was enough to leave Piett completely blind sided. All he could do was stare as his superior officer freed the young Rebel of the binders and then stood there in silence.
Skywalker’s eyes widened as he stared up at… his father… then he nodded weakly. He was visibly exhausted, in fact he appeared ready to keel over.
“Admiral.”
Piett snapped to attention, gracefully ignoring the cuffs still on his wrists. Lord Vader was facing him now, but one of his hands was wrapped around Skywalker’s upper arm. Oddly enough it looked more like a supportive hold rather than a restrictive one.
A very faint feeling crept along Piett’s skin, hovering around his throat like ghostly fingers.
This was the end.
Skywalker’s ice blue eyes landed on him, they were still alight with panic and defiance. But they sharpened as Piett swallowed tightly and turned considerably paler.
The boy lifted one hand, curling his fingers around Lord Vader’s arm, a gesture that would result in anyone else dying a brutal death.
“He tried to protect me.”
And that was that. The slowly encroaching invisible death dissipated, as if it was never even there in the first place.
“The Executor is awaiting our arrival.” Lord Vader said, as if nothing had happened, “Once we are aboard, you will see that our course is set for Mustafar.”
“Yes my lord.” Piett responded stiffly.
He was honestly too stunned by his continued existence to respond in any other way. Automatically he fell back into his formal manner.
Skywalker caught his eyes again and there was something in that gaze that was almost like trust, but much more shallow and high strung. Piett let his discipline slip just enough to give the boy a tiny nod.
Vader moved then, supporting Skywalker as the boy found his balance. Side by side the two of them walked towards the door of the cell, carefully stepping around the corpses.
Piett stood still for a long minute, watching them, before he followed. He doubted that Skywalker would be escaping this time. In fact, he was fairly certain that he would be seeing a lot more of the boy in the future.
What an unsettling thought. May the force have mercy upon the galaxy with not only Luke Skywalker but also Lord Vader on the loose.
Piett got the distinct feeling that Emperor Palpatine would not know what hit him.