There was blood everywhere.
It coated his hands in a thick red blanket, dripping from his fingers into a cool puddle on the floor below him. It taunted him, told him of his failure, that he was to late. The destructive power of his sons abilities had destroyed the worn down warehouse they were trapped in, and he could see the bodies of two people laying behind the scene.
The boy was struggling beneath his hands, tears streaming down his face, crying out in pain whenever Vader tried to help him. His gun and badge lay next to him, slowly being sucked into the flood of dark red that was getting to big to fast. Putting pressure on the wound, Vader desperately tried to stop the constant flow of blood that came from his son, his precious little one.
But it wouldn’t work. Luke’s struggling became weaker and weaker. Vader rarely felt fear, but the built-up anxiety in his chest was getting worse, and the idea that he would lose his child just as he got him back was slowly becoming a reality, one that would soon break him. The ambulance wouldn’t be here for a few minutes, minutes that Luke did not have to spare.
“Luke, please listen to me,” Vader would not acknowledge the desperation in his voice, “you need to stop struggling, it will make you lose energy.”
Luke would not listen. His eyes were beginning to roll into the back of his head and there was blood at the side of his lips.
“I can’t lose you again.”
This is not how Vader pictured this going. He should feel elated at holding his son for the first time, for finally having him safe in his arms, away from the horrors of the world. He should have raised him, kept him safe, watched him grow. He should have been there for his first words, his first steps. He should have been able to know his child; it was his right!
He once again cursed Kenobi and Amidala. Because of their betrayal, because of their selfishness, Luke had been kept from him, raised by practical strangers. It baffled him, how Padme could give up such a precious life. Did Luke haunt her, remind her of Anakin to the point of abandoning her child, their child to a life of worthless farming.
When Vader had first met Luke, he didn’t know who he was. How could he, having been told his son had been killed along with his mother. The young man, whom he had merrily passed off as an incompetent detective, had confronted him over the death of his family, unaware that his true heritage stood in front of his loaded gun. Vader had laughed, taunted him, told him how his uncles screams had echoed around the small farm shed.
Luke’s eyes had filled up with tears, but it was his determination in his eyes that had reminded him of his supposedly deceased wife. Vader had passed it off, a desperate attempt at trying to heal old wounds. He had gone for his gun, about to shoot the young man before his partner came out from behind, knocking him out and taking him into custody.
Now Vader was grateful that the other police officer had interfered, because he would have most definitely shown his young one his monstrous side, without even knowing who he was.
It was there in the police precinct, being questioned by the chief of police, that he had pieced everything together, all because of a simple slip of the tongue.
The chief had said the detective’s names, Skywalker and Antilles, and Vader remembered his stepbrothers fear, not for him and his wife, but for something, for someone else. He remembered hearing him pleading with someone on the phone before he had burst through the door, determined to destroy this lose end to his former life.
When he was released from custody, all thanks to the work of his old friend, Ahsoka, he had looked back, right into the fury filled eyes of the brave detective that had held him at gun point. Blue. And not a normal blue. A blue so brilliant that it looked straight through you, a blue so bright it didn’t seem quite human.
He knew those eyes. They looked at him every morning in the mirror.
He became obsessed with the officer who shared his old name, whose eyes held answers he didn’t think he needed. He went through article after article, scoured data bases and brutally questioned anyone who had any information on the blue-eyed boy that was haunting his dreams.
Finally, after months of desperately grasping at strings and momentous amounts of research he found it. A birth certificate. Hidden so effectively he would never had found it without knowing what he was looking for.
Mother: Padme Amidala Skywalker
Father: Anakin Skywalker
It was to much. Vader had burst into tears. He was lucky only Ahsoka was there. Loyal Ahsoka, who had brought him a blanket and a promise to stop at nothing to return what was rightfully his to his arms.
It was so cruel. To have had him dangled within his reach, only to have him pulled away. He could only image holding his son in his arms, watching Luke embrace his heritage and accept his father.
But he knew that was too much to ask for.
As soon as he had discovered his son’s existence, he had been pulled from the local station, transferred to the other side of the country by an unknown force. Someone was monitoring him, had discovered that he knew the truth, someone had betrayed him.
He made sure Ahsoka would never see the light of day again. He questioned her mercilessly, tortured her, beat her until he told her what he needed. He even used his hidden abilities to force her into submission. And she told him everything.
She told Vader about how Padme had lived, how she had given birth to their child and had agreed to send him away, how Kenobi had taken him to his stepfamily and told him to raise him as their own. She told him how she and Kenobi had looked over him and had helped and guided him to apply to the police academy, in hopes of swaying him from his true heritage, to make sure he never became the monster his father had become.
She told him how he was his father’s son, how he was determined and brave, yet kind and caring. She told him how he had wanted desperately to know his family, yet when his mother, his living, breathing mother, had wanted to meet him, Luke had turned her down. How he had been so broken by the idea that his mother had left him, how her duty to the senate was more important to her then him, how she had remarried and had a daughter without ever contacting him.
It broke Vader to know that his child was alive, it broke him to know that his wife had survived, and it broke him to know how much he had lost, how much had been stolen from him in the last 20 years.
He planned everything out. Vader used Ahsoka to find Kenobi. It was simple. He knew Kenobi would rescue his friend, and when he came Vader tied him to a chair, sneered and beat him, and made him look into his eyes and told him that he would find his son, that Luke would come with Vader and he would make up for lost time, that he would show Luke his true heritage.
Kenobi had looked at him with fear in his eyes, fear for Luke. How dare he? He stole Luke from him, he had no right to care for Luke.
That right belonged to Vader, as it always should have. Vader should have been the one to raise him, to guide his precious baby to adulthood. Vader should have been the one his son confided in, and Vader should have been the one to hold him as he cried.
Vader didn’t count on said son coming to the warehouse where Vader was holding his former friends. He didn’t count on Luke’s reaction to the news of his parentage, and how much his denial punctured his heart. He didn’t count on Luke’s abilities to manifest in such an intense way, to the point of the windows shattering and the walls caving in around him.
Vader had not been afraid. He remembers what had happened when his powers had come to be, a small 9-year-old trapped in a boat, watching the seas rise and fall with his emotions, relishing in the death of his master. His mother had held on to him after, telling him he was not a monster, that this was normal for people like him.
But Luke was older, inexperienced, and had never heard of the such beings that his father’s blood tied him to.
However, Vader had not countered on Kenobi escaping his bounds, pulling a gun on his little one and firing.
The look of utter betrayal in his son’s eyes had sent waves of rage and fury through Vader’s body. He killed Kenobi and Ahsoka instantly, felt the blood stop rushing through their bodies as invisible hands squeezed their hearts until they stopped.
He had rushed over, pulled his son into his arms and cried out for help. He rang the ambulance, told them of the gun wound and prayed they would make it in time. All the while, he felt his son’s energy slip away.
And now, as he held Luke in his arms, blooded rushing down his body, tears streaming down his face, he could only think about how small his child was, and how much time they could have had together.
Weeks later, in a small cottage, decorated in vines of beautiful colours, located in a remote town in the outer rim, a woman would cry out for her son, for her precious little boy, as he had marched alongside his father, helping him build an empire, completely unaware of how much he had broken his mother’s heart. She would cry for the mistakes she made and for the babe she had once lovingly cradled in her arms. She would cry for her old husband, her heart still belonging to him, no matter what anyone else said.
But most importantly she cried for her daughter, who recently declared war on her father and twin brother, without knowing who they really were.