Work Text:
The echoing siren of the doomed station blared all around them, foretelling the imminent destruction. Officers and troopers alike hastily abandoned their stations, fleeing in all directions, scrambling madly to escape. All around, explosions could be heard as the battle station finally began to surrender to the onslaught of attacks raging from the battle outside. The floor shook violently as the walls dented and groaned; the pipes ruptured as the wiring sparked, catching fire, the power flickering before going out.
Amidst the chaos and panic, no one seemed to notice the young man stagger his way through one hallway after another, every man trying to save his own skin.
Panting heavily, Luke could feel the cold beads of sweat run down the back of his neck and forehead as he tried to ignore the increasing strain in his shoulders and back as he tried to support his father’s weight.
“We’re almost there, keep going, okay?” Luke urged as his father staggered dangerously, doing his best to support his arm over his shoulder, gripping the older man’s hand tighter, while the elder kept his severed one tucked into his chest.
Suddenly, the station shook with another impact.
Grunting, he tried to quicken their pace, but his father was faltering. His head lolled with each step and the young Jedi could tell he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Finally, he lost his footing, falling limply to the ground. Still clinging to him, Luke fell with him, doing what he could to soften his fall.
Recovering as best he could, he wished to could have taken this moment to rest his aching body but he knew the longer they remained, they were in danger. He could rest later.
Hovering over his father’s motionless, crumpled body, he could hear the long, laboured, wheezes of the respirator and the deathly rattle coming from his father’s chest as it rose and fell slowly.
He doesn't have much time.
Throwing his father’s limp arm quickly around his neck, he took a deep breath as he tried to lift the fallen man to his feet but found him impossible to move.
“Father, please.” The young man pleaded as he slid an arm around his father’s back, again trying to lift him. He strained one last time, gritting his teeth so hard he thought they might shatter while the veins in his neck bulged as he felt his back stiffen to almost breaking.
“You have to-” Another powerful impact caused him to suddenly lose his already unsteady footing, sending him toppling onto his father’s fallen body, earning a pained groan from the dying man. Panting, he weakly pulled himself up. His arms and legs shaking as a burning slowly enveloped them. Trying to push past the increasing discomfort, he looked ahead and saw, thankfully, the opening of the large hanger before them and just beyond, an Imperial shuttle.
All he had to to was get them there.
Looking down at his father, he took hold of his wrists and using what was left of his strength, he began to pull, bodily dragging his charge across the hanger floor towards the waiting ship.
Sweat was now dripping from his brow as he heaved and tugged the ex-Sith’s body to the ship and up the ramp, the weight so great he felt he may pass out.
“One more,” he grunted, finally getting his father into the ship. Dragging him into the back of the shuttle, he deposited him as carefully as he could onto one of the bunks.
Straightening to leave, he stopped when he felt something grip his tunic. Looking down he saw his father’s head turned towards him, his arm weakly reaching out to take hold of him.
“Hey,” he smiled down at him.
“Son,” the older man wheezed. “I…am…”
Gently pulling from the weak hold, he placed a hand on his father’s struggling chest. “It’s okay. Just rest. I’m gonna get us out of here.”
His father said nothing, only turned his head to face the roof of the bunk, his hand limply falling off the side. His strength was depleting. Gingerly, Luke took his father’s hand and placed it by his side.
“I’ll be back,” he whispered before running to the front of the shuttle, throwing himself into the pilots chair. Carefully guiding the crafts slow take off, he concentrated on keeping the ship steady as burning debris began to fall around him. Another rumble shook the shuttle, this time followed by an intense heat which he could feel slowly start to surround him. Oh boy.
“Hold on!” He shouted towards the back. As swiftly as he could, he flew the shuttle out of the hanger only to be propelled even faster with the sheer force of the flash fire that now engulfed the hanger.
And within seconds, the second Death Star exploded. A golden, burning light surrounded by a ring of fire.
Looking out to the stars, Luke watched as the rest of his surviving fleet flew to safety. Pressing the intercom, he spoke loudly. “Home One, this is Commander Skywalker. I am piloting an Imperial craft. Repeat, this is Commander Skywalker. I’m carrying a severely wounded passenger. In need of immediate assistance. Over.”
“Copy Commander. We have alerted Redemption. They are expecting you. ”
He nodded. “Thank you. Skywalker out.”
Running a hand through his hair, he breathed a deep sigh of relief, the tiniest of smiles pulling at his lips. He let out a little chuckle as it all started to set in. They actually did it.
And not just his friends.
Him.
He had set out to accomplish the impossible. Something every one else had told him was a lost cause. That his father was forever lost to darkness, never to return. And if he was being honest with himself, he didn’t think-
He was pulled from his thoughts by weak, echoing coughing, travelling from the back of the craft.
Ignoring the persistent ache in his muscles, he hurried back to where his father lay. Looking down at the panel in his chest, whatever those buttons meant, he knew a single light flashing red wasn’t good. Quickly, he searched the small space.
“There must be medical supplies here somewhere,” he muttered to himself, looking at the adjacent bed.
“Under,” came a weak voice. Turning, Luke saw his father once again watching him.
Dropping to his knees, he found what his father meant. There was a small, sliding door along the side of the bunk. Pulling it open, he found a variety of emergency supplies, including blessedly, an oxygen mask and tank. “This should do it.”
“I…do not…have,” his father took a few more shaky breaths, “long…left.”
“Don’t speak,” Luke admonished gently, pulling the tank closer, unfurling the mask to its full length. “Let’s get this on you.”
“Son,” he rasped, his chest taking in deeper, more struggling breaths. "You…nee-”
“Father,” Luke again cautioned as he reached out to carefully remove the ex-Sith’s helmet followed by his mask. As Luke pulled it away, the real face of Anakin Skywalker was revealed.
The face before him was nothing more than that of an old man, deathly pale and severely scarred. Two deep, cutting scars ran from the top of his bald scalp to around his left eye. His eyes were bright blue but tired and unfocused. His gaze rested on his son as he gave a little smile, finally able to see his child for the first time. Luke returned the smile as he pulled the oxygen mask over his father’s battered head, nestling it over his nose and mouth.
The moment the aid was secured to his face, the old man let his eyes drift shut as he reached a shaking hand up to hold the mask to his face, simply allowing himself to breathe.
As the pain and tightness in his chest began to slightly subside, the old man slowly opened his eyes again to look at his son.
“Better?” Luke asked, a tiny smile at the corner of his lips.
His father nodded, resolved to momentarily enjoy the absence of pain. “Tired,” was all he managed to say.
“Try and rest some. I’ve conta-” he was cut short by a sudden pang of pain in his lower back, travelling down into his legs. He stretched, massaging the the tender area but it only seemed to aggravate it further. He groaned in pain, clenching his eyes shut.
“Luke,” his father rasped worriedly, trying to get up. “Son.”
“I’m…okay,” he managed, riding through another wave of pain. “I’m okay, Father.”
“Try…to breathe.” The old man advised, frowning concernedly.
“I… think it’s easing a bit,” Luke replied. No sooner had he said that, black spots began to dance before his eyes, his vision becoming blurry. “I’m-” he wavered on his feet.
“Sit.” His father, however weak, commanded and Luke found the air around him close in as an unseen force pushed down on his shoulders, beckoning him lower to the floor until he was sitting level with his father.
His head was beginning to swim.
“Force….Lightening…” Anakin began, blinking wearily. “Has horrible…after-effects.” He took a few deep breaths, licking his lips. “I have…had first…hand experience. You-”
-need to rest, son. Or else it will get worse. He could hear his father’s voice speaking to him but he sounded as though he were far away, like an echo. He nodded weakly to show he was still listening but found his head getting heavier and heavier, his eyes drooping shut. The last thing he felt was a soft, gloved hand pull him closer until his head was resting on his father’s chest. Soon, his head started to rise and fall slowly against his father’s breathing, the hand slowly moving to rest in his hair, gently caressing. I’m here, son.
It sounded almost like a whisper as the world around him slowly faded. I’m here.