Archive of Our Own

Everything was fine. Luke was not, in fact, sick. His brain did not actually feel like a giant, swelling cotton ball, and he didn’t feel like his eyes were about to pop out of his head. Nope. 

Everything was fine. 

That’s what he told everyone who asked if he was alright as he prepped for their next mission. People asked that a lot since Bespin, but usually they were asking about the trauma inflicted on him by Vader. 

By his own father. 

Not that they knew that part. 

It was almost a relief that they were asking about his red puffy eyes and the sniffling he was trying to hide. He’d missed out on too many missions with Rogue Squadron since Bespin. He was tired of sitting around at base, waiting and worrying for his squad mates. 

So, while deep down he wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed and asleep, saving the galaxy waited on no illness, and he’d have to suck it up. Besides, it was a routine scouting mission. 

What could possibly go wrong? 

The answer to that question was, apparently, very wrong. 

The moment they dropped out of hyperspace, an Imperial ambush was waiting for them. 

Kriff! A distant part of him thought as they immediately took evasive maneuvers. Even as Wedge made the order over the comms, he could feel his body respond sluggishly. Normally his reflexes were faster than most people’s due to his ability in the Force, so he had to hope sluggish for him was normal for everyone else. Otherwise, he was in serious trouble. 

It was odd, fighting while sick. He dodged and zipped through the endless stars, and yet it felt like someone else was doing it. He didn’t feel one with his X-wing, as he normally did. His mind screamed what would happen if he couldn’t get it together, but he also couldn’t force his body to react the way it was supposed to. 

I’m in trou–

He didn’t even have a chance to finish the thought, not as his wing was clipped by incoming fire and his X-wing began to spiral out of control towards the planet below, Artoo’s screeching the only sound his stuffed up ears could hear. 

Everything is not fine. He should have stayed at base in bed, his pride be damned. 

He clenched his jaw as his grip tightened on the controls, using all of his strength to get the fighter back under control as he entered the atmosphere. Which planet was he crash landing on? Were there any Tie Fighters on his tail, following to finish the job off? He didn’t have the brain space to answer either of those questions, not as he wrestled, the ground coming ever closer and closer, until finally, just when he was about to resign himself to becoming one with the Force, he managed to pull the nose of the fighter up, leveling it out as he went careening towards the trees. 

He had seconds to act, to find a good landing spot, but he was already so close to the top of the trees, he barely saw the lake and the clearing around it in the distance. Turning towards it, his X-wing flew ever closer and closer to the treetops, until finally he was forced to admit that he was going to hit at least some of the trees, and he just had to make it happen in such a way that he wouldn’t lose control and go nose-first into the ground, or worse. 

His fighter hit the top of the trees just as the forest broke away, revealing the shore and the lake below him, but the impact had the X-wing violently rip to the side, and he barely had time to remember the ejection switch before it hit the water. His breathing quickened as he heard Artoo manage to unlock himself from his pod, as his fingers ripped at the seat restraints while he watched the sky disappear, water quickly replacing it. Already, the fighter strained under the pressure, starting to rapidly leak as he sank. 

Gritting his teeth, he reached for the lightsaber at his hip…only to come up empty. He could see Artoo floating above him, staring down at him, the astromech’s screams garbled and jumbled in the water. 

He sucked in a deep breath and dove into the Force, reaching out and pushing as hard as he could. The joints of the cockpit window gave way, and he was instantly in the freezing cold lake, disoriented, trying to find the surface. 

It took too long, at least in his groggy, befuddled mind. It could have been mere seconds, for all he knew, but eventually he broke the surface, gasping and immediately coughing. His head dunked back under briefly, and then back up as the desert boy in him inwardly panicked, forgetting all of the swim lessons Leia and Han had given him in a brief moment. 

At least, he thought he had, but his body seemed to remember, because his stiff limbs were already moving him towards shore. As he moved, his entire being protested, and his head was pounding, the cotton feeling in his brain getting heavier and heavier with each stroke through the water.

Just a little further, he repeated over and over in his head, just a little further and you can nap. 

Even as he thought it, he wondered if that was really true. He didn’t hear the tell-tale screech of a TIE bearing down on him, but that didn’t mean that Imperial forces weren’t alerted to the crash site. 

Yet even as he reached the shore, knowing that didn’t change the fact that his body suddenly felt hot, too hot, and in addition to his raging sinuses, there were now multiple deep aches starting to form in his back, torso and joints, likely from the crash itself. 

He was in deep trouble, but he was too tired to care. 

The moment he pulled himself away from the water, he collapsed face-first onto the sandy beach, losing consciousness the moment his cheek hit the sand. 

 He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, sleeping. Every once in a while, he woke up, though he barely remembered anything about it. Just blurry images, and the feeling of his new injuries getting worse, and his body getting hotter and hotter. Dangerously so, he thought, but he was too tired to do anything about it. What were people supposed to do when they were sick and injured? Sleep. 

So sleep he did. 

He didn’t completely wake up until Artoo was screeching in his ear, and he felt the droid bumping into him over and over again. He distantly remembered that he was a downed Rebel pilot, and the most notorious one, at that. Surely Imperials were searching for him, right? 

He forced his eyes open, staring out across the darkened shore, wanting desperately to go back to sleep, but knowing Artoo wouldn’t allow it until he was safe. With a groan, he managed to get his hands underneath him to push himself up, and the movement felt agonizingly heavy and slow. 

Artoo was still making desperate noises, and when Luke looked around him, he noticed the survival pack from his X-wing was sitting beside him. He hadn't retrieved it when he’d surfaced…it seemed far fetched that it would have gotten loose in the crash and floated its way exactly to him. So how….? 

He looked to Artoo, hearing the droid’s worried warbles, and pieced it together. 

“Thanks,” 

Or, he tried to say thanks. He realized, with horror, that his throat was completely ravaged, to the point that speaking the word was barely a painful whisper. 

Kriff. The danger wasn’t Imperials looking for him–it was his worsening illness that Artoo was freaking out about. 

He needed to find shelter, and he needed to get out of the soggy clothes he still wore. 

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he removed his helmet (which he realized now that he’d fallen asleep in, which likely didn’t help the crick in his neck), and his flight harness, dropping them on the sand. Then, with some weight removed, he pushed himself to his feet, grasping the survival kit to his chest as though he were a child hugging a stuffed bantha. Finally, he took tentative steps towards the forest. Artoo made a satisfied beep, then rolled determinedly forward. 

Perhaps he’d already scouted out shelter? Luke didn’t care to think about that too hard. He’d trust the droid to get him where he needed to go, so he followed after him, trying not to focus on the pounding in his head. 

He was right. Artoo had scouted out shelter–a cave, not far from the shoreline. He stumbled in, leaning against the rocky wall, and slid down. Immediately Artoo was there, chewing him out, probably for not immediately getting a fire going. 

“Okay–” he couldn’t finish, couldn’t even get the word out. He gave up on trying to reassure the droid, so he instead set to work opening up the survival kit and taking stock of what he had. 

Rations. Good. A blanket. Fantastic. Water and a water purifier. Even better. A fire starter. Necessary. 

Medicine and a basic first aid kit. 

He tore into that one immediately, pulling out bacta patches and gauze until he found what he was looking for–fever reducer. It wasn’t the best fever reducer he’d ever used, but it would do the trick. He took a few pills, using some of the water to down them. His throat protested, but he ignored it with a wince. 

With that taken care of, he set about getting a fire going. It was, again, slow work, but Artoo helped as much as the little droid could, pushing kindling into the cave, and soon enough Luke had a little fire going. He removed the majority of his soggy clothes and set them up to dry, before pulling out the blanket and lying down next to the fire, nibbling on some rations. 

Finally, he could go back to sleep. He should really try to figure out how to signal the Rebellion to come get him, but everything he’d done so far had already exhausted him. Perhaps they were already looking. 

Yes. He’d sleep some more, and when he woke up, he’d find his friends had found him, and he could go home. 

He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of the fire on his skin, and slept. 

It wasn’t his friends who woke him up early the next morning. 

It was someone entirely unwelcome. 

Again, it was Artoo’s furious screeches that had his eyes flying open. The anger in the little droid’s tone had him instinctively reaching for his blaster, thinking it was Imperials, but then he heard another noise that had his blood run cold. 

Mechanical breathing. 

His hand tightened on the blaster even as he realized that there was no weapon he had that could stop Vader from taking him. Hell, even with the Force, he didn’t have the energy to escape and somehow run to safety. He was still trying to blink his eyes back into focus–he could see the blurry black outline of Vader stark against the early morning sky. 

Adrenaline gave him enough energy to push himself up. He was about to throw off the blanket to fight or run (he wasn’t sure which), but he realized at the last second that his clothes were still drying and not on him and he was not about to run away or fight Vader in his undergarments. 

Actually…maybe that would surprise Vader enough to give him the time he needed to escape–

No. No, it wouldn’t, and even if it did, he had too much pride to fight Vader in his undergarments.

Running away in nothing but them seemed just as embarrassing… 

He didn’t have a choice, though. Vader, unhindered by illness and injuries, seemed to take stock of the situation much faster than he could, and the next thing Luke knew, the blaster was being yanked from his hand by the Force. It was so unexpected, though, that he stumbled forward, and his body didn’t have the reflexes to catch himself and he ended up back on the cold ground, his body protesting from the sharp pain in his knees. 

“Were you ill before or after you crashed on this planet?” 

Luke frowned, his brows knitting together as he tried and failed to process the question. 

“What?” 

He could marginally get the word out, though it still cracked and didn’t sound like his normal self. That had to be some improvement, right?  

“Were you ill before or after you crashed on this planet?” 

Luke stared at Vader, struggling to get the words to make sense. When he didn’t respond, Vader made what Luke thought was an annoyed sound. 

“Clearly, questioning you will do me no good.” 

Panic set into Luke’s stomach. “I won’t ans–HEY!” 

His voice cracked and disappeared on the word ‘hey’ as Vader suddenly picked Luke up and threw him over his shoulder. Artoo was also screeching indigently, and Luke was way too close for comfort as he heard Vader’s deep rumble tell the droid, “If you are so insistent on staying with your master, you will follow.” 

Luke barely had time to comprehend the fact that Vader understood droidspeak as Artoo spat back something that was probably petulant and rude. 

“Your master needs medical assistance as soon as possible. You are aware of this.” 

Another annoyed response from his droid. It was a wonder Artoo hadn’t attacked Vader himself. This time, Vader didn’t respond as he started moving…somewhere. Anytime Luke tried to get a view of anything but Vader’s back, he was met with the man’s cloak flapping in his face. 

“Put me down!” He tried to sound convincing and forceful, but his throat made it sound more like squawking than anything else. He would have been more embarrassed by it had he not been wrapped up in a blanket like a burrito and slung over Vader’s shoulder as though Vader were transporting a new rug, not his son. 

His son…

It occurred to him, in that moment, that this was the first time he was ever being held by his father. It was not how he imagined, and it was certainly not by someone he ever pictured. He’d always imagined some comfort in being held by his father for the first time, but this was just…mortifying and infuriating. 

“I said put me down!” 

He tried to yell, but it just sounded like a mouse squeaking. Somehow, that was worse than just speaking normally. 

“You are in no state to make demands for anything. You need medical assistance.” Vader replied firmly. The sound of his boots crunching in the leaves disappeared, replaced by what Luke thought was boots on sand. Was he going to dump him in the lake…? 

“I am not going to dump you in the lake,” Vader answered his question with annoyance. Luke jolted, and before he could protest about Vader reading his mind, he added, “Your mental shields are non-existent.” 

Luke scowled, about to rip into him, but again, Vader beat him to it. “You have excellent shields. Believe me, they are normally annoyingly strong. But in your current state of health, you are likely unable to maintain them.” 

Well, the explanation made sense, but he wasn’t pleased by who was making it. 

“Why do you even care anyway?!” 

“Because I am your father, even if you are a stubborn, petulant rebel.” 

He said it so easily, that for a moment Luke was taken aback. Not for long, though. 

“That’s not what you implied when you cut off my hand.” 

This time, Vader didn’t have a response for him, and to Luke’s horror he heard and felt Vader walking up a ramp, probably of a Lambda-class shuttle, if he had to guess, which meant that the Empire officially had him. He didn’t have any tricks up his sleeve, and even if he did, he wasn’t well enough to enact them. 

“No, you are not,” Was it just him, or was that amusement in Vader’s tone? “If there is one good thing about you being so ill, it would be that you can no longer escape me. Like it or not, you are under the care of the Empire now.” 

The words clanged through him, even as Vader brought him into what he quickly found out was the cockpit after Vader deposited him in the copilot seat and strapped him in. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he could get a burst of energy and– 

“You will sleep now, son.” 

“The hell I will–” 

“Sleep,” the word was a firm command, and almost as though he had no control over his body, Luke’s eyes closed and he drifted off into a deep slumber. 

When Luke awoke, he was not where he expected. 

Or…actually, it was exactly where he’d expect and want to wake up–a comfy bed with warm blankets and plush pillows. Except, as the obviously Imperial medical droid floated around him, scanning and taking his vitals, he shouldn’t be there. He should be in a cell, waiting to be tortured and interrogated. 

Shouldn’t he? 

“If the boy gets worse, it will be your life, droid,” he heard Vader snarl at the droid, who didn’t seem phased by the threat. Was that programming, or was it just so used to Vader’s threats that it no longer cared? 

But to his surprise, he heard Artoo say something that seemed rather in support of Vader’s statement. 

“The patient is stable, Lord Vader. He has a fever from a common cold, made worse by exposure. The wounds from the crash include a minor concussion, a broken rib and stiff muscles that will need minor treatment. The most important thing will be plenty of rest, and drinking plenty of fluids. I will leave medication as well.” 

He was hearing things wrong. He had to be. Vader had cut off his hand and traumatized him. He wasn’t capable of caring for something as minor as a cold. 

Wasn’t he? 

“I will ensure that he follows orders,” Vader promised, and by the tone, Luke realized that Vader was well aware that he was awake and watching his whole ordeal, even though from Luke’s point of view, he had his back turned to him. 

Until, that is, he turned around, pointing at him furiously. 

“You will allow this droid to fix you, and then you will stay healthy until I say so. Do I make myself clear?!” 

Again, the whole conversation did nothing but confuse him. 

“...Are you doing this because you want me to be healthy before you torture me? Or before you send me to your Emperor?” He had heard a rumor that, as evil as the Emperor was, he enjoyed looking at pretty things. Maybe dragging a sick and injured Luke before him was an Imperial social faux pas? 

Except Vader again didn’t answer the question. He just stared at him for a few mechanical breaths before he turned back to the droid, pointing that accusing finger at it instead. 

“If I find that you have failed, you will be melted down for parts. Inform me if the patient is not cooperative.” 

Then before anyone could respond, Vader turned on his heel and stormed out of the suspiciously normal, albeit very Imperial, bedroom, leaving Luke with more questions and confusion than he’d ever had before. 

Vader remained maddeningly perplexing over the next several days. Luke wouldn’t describe it as overly coddling…no, hovering was a better word for what Vader was doing. 

Any time he had an appointment with the med droid (not set up by him, by the way, so he had no idea when these ‘appointments’ would be), Vader was there, hovering and demanding answers about every minute detail about his health. Whenever he needed food, Vader weirdly delivered it himself and then just. Hovered in a corner, glaring while he ate. He initially tried refusing to eat, but that led to a huge argument, which he could barely keep up with due to the state of his voice, and it ended up with Vader mostly chewing him out about maintaining healthy habits like eating three meals a day and “any organization, legal or not, should be stressing such basic self responsibilities, does your Rebellion not care about it’s soldiers at all?” 

Except Luke was well aware that the Imperial Navy was worse in that regard, from the many stories he heard, but pointing that out did not help his case whatsoever. 

By the time his throat was mostly better and he was trying to get over a residual cough, he was convinced that Vader had developed sometime between Bespin and finding him on that planet a strange need to make sure his son (him) was alright. He was convinced, but he was also extremely confused about it, and asking only made Vader ignore him, leave the room, or force him to go to sleep with the Force (which was a new, annoying thing he’d learned the Force could even do). 

“Why are you walking about?!” Vader thundered when he’d walked in to find Luke at the port window, staring out into the stars as he debated on what to do with this newfound realization. 

“You heard the med droid. I’m healthy enough to do it. It’s even supposed to help me get back to normal,” he said the last sentence with a mocking tone on reflex. Had it been Han there, he would have cracked a joke right back at him. Leia probably would have agreed with the droid and would have provided him with exercises to get his strength back, but Vader? He didn’t seem the joking type of guy. 

“The droid could be wrong.” 

“It probably isn’t, and you know it. What, are you thinking I’m going to try escaping the moment I’m at full strength?” 

“No. That is impossible. I have ensured that.” 

“Because I haven’t foiled your impossible to escape plans before,” stars, he was glad to have most of his voice back. It still sounded a little rough, but he could at least hold a conversation, let alone an argument with his father. 

Artoo said something and then laughed in a way that told Luke he had plans cooking up, insane plans, probably. In response, Vader said, “You forget, droid, that I am well aware of your antics, and I have planned for them.” 

That got Luke to turn around and face them. Artoo was bumping angrily into Vader’s leg, and Vader…didn’t really seem to care. Rather, Luke got the sense that Vader was glaring down at Artoo in a strangely….fond way? 

“Do you…know my droid?” 

“I do,” Vader used the Force to push Artoo away, with surprisingly gentle care, though Artoo clearly didn’t view it that way by the way he screeched furiously. “He was my droid, once.” 

Luke stood there frozen. Even without his brain feeling like cotton, he still struggled to comprehend the implications behind that statement. “You–he—what about Threepio?!” 

“I created Threepio,” Artoo spat out something, “...but evidently, he does not remember it.” 

Now Luke wanted to sit in order to process this, but he’d already made such a big deal about staying upright that he didn’t dare do it. He should have a conversation with Artoo as soon as he had time alone…and a way to translate the droid’s speech. 

“Why are you here?” 

Vader finally looked up at him. “It is my ship, and you are my son.” 

“No, I mean…well, actually, your answer is part of the problem.” He held up his prosthetic hand. “Considering our last meeting, you made it very clear that if I didn’t join you that you’d destroy me. You tried to–” 

“I did not try to. If I was trying, you would not have left Bespin alive–” 

“You’re dodging what I’m really asking here. You’re a lot of things, Vader, but you’re not stupid.” 

“I am pleased you can at least admit that,” 

Was…that a joke? …. Was Vader the type to joke? Again, the implications behind that was…a lot to process, and he was too tired to start trying. 

“I also didn’t take you for a coward, but apparently answering my actual question is too scary for you to do–” 

“I am not afraid, Young One!” Vader pointed at him furiously. He’d noticed that, too–Vader liked pointing when he emphasized things, just like Han. He highly doubted either one of them would like that comparison, though. 

“Then why are you ignoring my question–” 

“Because I am not supposed to care about your well being!” Luke’s mouth snapped shut, stunned, but Vader wasn’t done, set off into a furious word vomit as he began pacing the room. “I am a Sith, I am not supposed to care, and yet I have cared since I found out about your existence! But I am a Sith, and Bespin did not go the way it was supposed to, and I made things worse and maimed you, and now you barely can stand accepting medical help from me, but considering you foolishly went on a mission while sick, maybe you just don’t value your health as much as I do!” 

Luke’s mouth had dropped open again, not sure at all where to start with any of that. Why were so many massive revelations happening while he was too tired to figure out what it all meant? But Vader was still ranting, going off about the Rule of Two, and how that meant that he had to either kill his master or kill him, and of course he didn’t want to kill him (which was news to Luke) but he didn’t think he had the strength to kill his master, which is why he needed Luke’s help, but a Jedi wouldn’t stand a chance against the Emperor, and–

It all became a huge jumbled mess of words, a jumbled mess of words that would be massively helpful information to the Rebellion, and Vader was just…well, it was as if Luke’s question had broken a dam, probably one that had been there for years, building in pressure, and now it was all flooding out. 

“Okay, okay!” Luke finally managed to get his bearings enough to stop the tirade. Who knew Vader could be so talkative, given the chance? Was that just because he was his son? “I think I…no, I don’t really get it on a fundamental level, but I think I do on the surface level, please just calm down!” 

That got Vader to stop and whirl on him. “I do not do calm.” 

Luke reached up and massaged his temples. The gesture somehow caused him to feel Vader’s spike of weirdly fatherly concern in the Force, but he didn’t bother to stop. Maybe he should go back to bed. “Yeah, I gathered that. I don’t understand how you can do everything at a ten, all the time, nonstop.” 

“I do not understand why you are so obstinate about everything.” 

“Yeah, well, seems like there’s a lot we don’t understand about each other.” He dropped his hands from his temples, looking at Vader–his father–and perhaps for the first time, beginning to understand…well, not him, per se, but rather that he was more than the monster he’d wanted to destroy all of these years. 

And if he was more than a monster…if he was capable of caring for his health so adamantly…perhaps, somewhere deep down, there was still good in him. The life of a Sith prevented it from ever coming to the surface, but perhaps he just needed someone to help push him back to the light. 

A long, dangerous, and very exhausting plan began to form in Luke’s mind and he sighed, rubbing his face. Again, there was a spike of concern in the Force, stronger this time. 

“You are not well–” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m not well.” He was already moving towards the bed, anticipating the mental break that sleep would give him from this whole mess. As he sat down on the bed, Artoo rolling up to stand vigil beside him, he looked up at Vader, placing a steadying hand on Artoo’s dome. “Your answer was…a lot. Too much to handle right now.” 

“You asked,” Vader sounded almost defensive. 

“I didn’t say I didn’t appreciate it…just that it’s a lot, and to your point, I’m not well. It’s probably going to take a while to sort through it. So, I’m going to go back to bed,” that earned him an approving noise from his father, “and when I wake up, we can start figuring it out.” 

“Assuming you are well enough,” 

“Yes, assuming I am feeling up to it. Regardless…what I’m saying is, I’m committed to figuring this out with you long term…but only if you are, too.” 

“I was ready the moment I learned of your existence.” 

Luke tried and failed to ignore the warmth that spread through his chest at that. 

“....And I will endeavor not to sever any more limbs for your obstinance.” 

And the warm feeling was gone. Was that Vader’s version of an apology? After a moment of staring at Vader, Luke decided it was. 

Baby steps. 

“Goodnight, father.” 

He watched as the word father sent a jolt through Vader, and he stood a little taller, practically looming over him. 

But despite the words being spoken in Vader’s typical, booming dark voice, Luke felt the warmth in Vader’s reply. 

“Goodnight, my son. Get well soon.”