Chapter Text
Luke’s fingers hurt.
He tried not to think about them hurting, because thinking about it made it worse. The little metal wires did not care if his fingers were sore. They poked him anyway. One of them had made a tiny red bead on his thumb. He sucked it quickly and wiped it on his shirt before it could drip on the droid’s circuits. If the man with the whip saw blood on the parts, he would be angry.
The room was dark except for the yellow lamp hanging above the workbench. It buzzed like an insect. Everything outside the circle of light was shadows. Luke did not like the shadows. They felt thick, like they were watching him.
He was very hungry.
His stomach made small noises, like a shy animal. He pressed his elbow against it and leaned closer to the broken droid. If he fixed it quickly, maybe they would give him some food. Maybe something warm. He tried to remember what warm food tasted like.
Aunt Beru used to make stew.
The thought came suddenly and made his chest hurt in a different way. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see and feel his aunt and uncle. Aunt Beru leaning over the cooker, the way she would give him a little taste of whatever she was making befird givibg him a big hug. The way Uncle Owen would ruffle his hair when he found him tinkering with a gadget ‘You’ll strip that hydrospanner if you keep twisting it like that, boy.’
Luke’s mouth twitched a little as he continued his work. Uncle Owen had never really been cross. Not properly.
Drifting out of his thoughts, Luke stared down at the little droid in front of him. It was a small service unit, its dome was dented and one of its photoreceptor's were cracked.
Around him the droid’s inside bits were laid out carefully the way Uncle Owen had taught him, in tidy little rows. Uncle Owen had said if you laid things out properly you wouldn’t lose them in the sand. There wasn’t any sand here, but Luke still lined them up. It felt right.
Luke liked droids. They made sense. They broke in ways he could see. They did not shout or hit. If you put the right wire in the right place, they worked again. Simple.
People were not simple.
He did not understand why the men had come to the farm. He remembered Aunt Beru’s hand squeezing his shoulder too tight as they had shouted and pushed and broken things. He remembered Uncle Owen standing in front of them, but it didn't stop the man with the blaster from staring at him. He didn’t understand all the words. Only the way the men smiled without kindness as he gestured towards Luke. He remembered Aunt Beru yelling at him to run and he had.
He hadn’t run fast enough. Or maybe there had been nowhere to run. He remembered the noise most of all. Loud cracks that hurt his ears. He remembered falling, and sand in his mouth. He remembered not wanting to look, and looking anyway to see his aunt and uncle upon the ground, their eyes completely hollow and empty.
Luke blinked hard and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, smearing dirt across his face. Crying made it harder to see, and he had to see to work. To be useful.
They had told him he was ‘useful’. One of the men had laughed and said, ‘The kid’s a natural with machinery.’
Luke did not know what a natural was. He only knew that when something was broken, he wanted to fix it. He had always been that way. If a vaporator rattled wrong, he would sit beside it and fidle with the wires until the sound stopped.
Life seemed so much easier when he was fixing things. It had always made him feel… steady.
Here, nothing felt steady.
He did not know how many sleeps he had had in this place. There were no suns to watch. On Tatooine you could always see the suns. One would dip, then the other, and you knew the day was done. Here there was only dark and lamp-light and the sound of distant voices echoing through stone corridors.
Sometimes he tried to count the times they brought him food. But sometimes they forgot. Or maybe they did not forget.
He twisted the hydrospanner carefully, tongue poking from the corner of his mouth. The wire slid into place with a faint click. He held his breath and pressed the activation switch.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the droid’s photoreceptor flickered blue and It made a soft, questioning beep.
Luke smiled, just a little. ‘It’s all right,’ he whispered. ‘You’re fixed.’
The droid swayed and emitted a series of grateful chirps. Luke imagined it was thanking him. He liked that thought. He liked pretending it would remember him kindly.
A sound echoed down the corridor.
Boots.
Heavy ones.
Luke’s smile vanished. His heart began to thump so hard it made his ears ring. He pulled his hands back and wiped them on his trousers again, though they were still greasy.
The door slid open with a harsh scrape.
Light from the hallway cut across the floor like a blade, the brightness hurt Luke's eyes As the vad man came striding in
Luke did not look up higher than the man’s belt. He never did. He did not want to see the whip hanging there.
As he drew closer, Luke desperately wanted to run. Run and run so far till the bad men couldn't find him ever again. But he couldn't... Luke may not know much, but he knew that if he ran, he would be gone like his aunt and uncle were.
The man with the whip came to halt in front of him, Luke felt his cold eyes staring down at him ‘Finished?’ He grunted.
Luke nodded quickly. ‘Yes.’
His voice sounded small in the big room. He hated that.
The man with e whip stepped forward, boots thudding. He prodded the droid with his foot. The droid beeped obediently.
Luke’s fingers curled against his palms. He hoped that meant it was good enough. He hoped.
The man withe whipe eventually let out another grunt. ‘You’ll start on the next one.’ he said.
Relief washed over Luke so suddenly his knees felt wobbly. Not angry, then. Not this time.
The man with the whip turned and left. Luke let himself breathe properly. He reached out and touched the droid’s dome gently before it trundled away, through the door.
He wished he could go with it.
The door hissed closed behind it, leaving Luke alone in the dark once more.
With a soft noise that might have been a sigh, Luke sat back onto the ground. Another broken machine waited on nearby. He could not stop. He would not stop.
If he kept fixing things, maybe they would not hurt him. Maybe they would forget about him.
Maybe one day he would see the suns again.
He tried to remember exactly how they looked setting over the sand, twin circles of fire sinking together. He held the picture tight in his mind as he got to work.
Luke picked up the next broken unit. It was heavier than the first, and he had to drag it closer. The sound of the metal scraping on the stone floor hurt his ears, but he kept on tugging till it was properly in place
Satisfied, Luke picked up the hydrospanner again. His hands were still shaking a little from before, but he tried to hold it the way Uncle Owen had shown him—firm, not tight. Tight made your fingers tired faster. He was about to lean over the droid, when a shout split the air beyond the door.
Another shout followed, louder this time, sharp and angry. Then came a noise he knew too well—blasterfire, cracking and echoing down the corridors.
There were always noises in this place.The bad men liked shouting and fighting, especially when they were bored. sometimes they liked to make others—usually Luke—shout in pain just because they could.
But this—
This was different... Fear rolled through the closed door like hot air before a sandstorm. Luke could feel it, thick and sour and it clung to him like grease.
Immediatly, he dropped the casing and scrambled backwards, metal parts clattering around him. Hide. He needed to hide, he thought frantically, trying not to trip over his own feet as he did.
He squeezed himself into a corner behind a pile of dismantled droid limbs and plating. Something sharp scraped his shoulder and his eyes welled up from the pain, but he refused to make a sound. In his hands, he clutched a hydrospanner. It was too big and oily and he was too small, but it would have to do of whatever scared the bad men came for him.
Luke listened to the sounds of blaster fire and shouts grow closer and closer. Voices shouted orders he didn’t understand. Something heavy crashed against stone. The ground seemed to tremble as a man screamed.
Luke squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands over his ears, the hydrospanner trapped awkwardly between his fingers and his head.
He didn’t want to be here.
He wanted the suns. He wanted warm sand between his toes. He wanted Aunt Beru’s arms around him and Uncle Owen’s hand ruffling his hair.
Help me, he thought, the words loud inside his head though he did not dare whisper them. Someone. Anyone. Help me.
Slowly, the noises slowly stopped one by one, till all that remained was the sound of two sets of footsteps that were drawing nearer. Coming to the door.
Coming to Luke.
Please don’t come in, Luke thought desperately. Please. I want to go home. Please… someone… anyone.
The door hissed open and light spilled across the floor.
Luke curled tighter behind the parts pile. He could see only boots from where he hid. He squeezed the hydrospanner tighter until his knuckles hurt.
Please… please…
‘Luke?’
The voice was soft. Gentle. It was nothing like the voices of the other grown-ups here.
‘Luke… it’s all right, little one.’
Luke didn’t move.
It could be a trick. A game. The bad men liked playing games. He pressed himself flatter against the cold wall, wishing more than anything that he could become invisble
‘I know you’re scared,’ the voice said. ‘But search your feelings, Luke. You know I won’t hurt you.’
Luke frowned, just a little.
Search his feelings? What sort of nonsense was that?
And yet—
He did know.
Somewhere deep inside, beneath the fear and the hunger and the dark, there was a small, steady feeling. Like when a droid’s wiring was set just right and you knew it would power on before you pressed the switch.
This felt like that.
Carefully, slowly, Luke uncurled from the corner. He kept his fist tight around the spanner, just in case. Slowly, oh so slowly, he peeked around the droid parts.
A man stood in the doorway.
He was not dressed like the others. No armour. No harsh lines. His robes were worn and dusty, as though he had travelled far. There were speckles of grey in his hair and beard, and his shoulders looked tired.
But his eyes—
His eyes were gentle.
Sad, too. As if they had seen many things they did not like. But kind. So very kind.
Luke stared at him. There was something familiar about the man. Something he couldn’t quite name. Like a memory half-remembered.
‘Who—’ Luke began, his voice cracking. He swallowed and tried again. ‘Who are you?’
The man smiled softly. Not a cruel, sharp smile like the man with the whip had, but a soft, kind smile.
And for the first time since he had been taken, warmth spread through Luke’s chest.
‘I am Obi-Wan Kenobi,’ the man said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. ‘And I’m here to rescue you.’
Luke jerked awake with a sharp breath.
For a moment he didn’t know where he was. His heart was thumping just like it had in the dark room. But there was no buzzing lamp. No stone walls. No whip.
Instead, golden sunlight poured through the small window beside his bed. It warmed the blanket tangled round his legs. Outside, birds were making a racket in the trees by the river.
Luke blinked up at the ceiling
He was home.
With an annoyed sigh, scrubbed at his eyes with both fists and sat up, pushing his sandy-blond hair out of his face. It had been a while since he’d dreamed about the bad place. He didn’t like when it came back. It always felt too real.
He swung his legs out of bed and padded across the wooden floor, artfully avoiding the bolts and dirt parts that lay scattered upon the wooden foot. . The house smelled like… something burning.
That meant Uncle Ben was cooking.
Luke made a face before he even reached the kitchen.
Obi-Wan Kenobi—though Luke just called him Ben—was standing at the stove, sleeves rolled up, peering suspiciously into a pan.
‘Ah,’ Ben said without turning round. ‘I was beginning to wonder if you intended to sleep until noon.’
Luke leaned against the doorway and folded his arms. ‘It’s eight-thirty... Besides, it's a saturday.' He pointed out
‘A scandalously late hour, regardless of day.’ Ben replied gravely as he stirred something in the pan that hissed in protest. ‘In my youth we were up at the crack of dawn.’
‘You’re always up at the crack of dawn,’ Luke said. ‘You’re old.’
'I'll have you know, young Luke.' Ben said, pointing a spoon at him 'that age is merely what happens when one survives long enough to become right about everything.'
Luke rolled his eyes as he padded over and peered into the pan. He immediately recoiled at the sight of the bubbling brown concoction. ‘What is that?!’ he explained, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
‘Breakfast.’
‘It looks like swamp.’
‘You haven’t even tried it.’
‘I don’t need to,’ Luke said firmly. ‘Not after last time.’
Ben placed a hand dramatically over his heart. ‘My culinary skills are tragically underappreciated.’
‘They’re tragically dangerous,’ Luke muttered, already heading for the cupboard.
He pulled out the bread tin and turned to the toaster. Toast was safe. Toast didn’t try to poison you.
Behind him, Ben gave a soft huff that might have been a laugh.
Within a few minutes, the pair were sat at the small kitchen table with their toast. Luke’s legs swung under the chair, not quite reaching the floor, and the morning sun made warm squares on the wood.
Luke was quiet. Ben always said he was a chatterbox, but this morning the words felt stuck somewhere behind his ribs. He stared at his toast as if it might tell him what to say.
Ben sat opposite him, watching without making it obvious. He had a mug of something that smelled like herbs and something sour. When Luke glanced up, he noticed, as he often did now, the little changes that had sneaked in when he wasn’t looking. There was more grey in his guardians beard than there used to be. And there were a few more lines around his eyes, like someone had drawn them there with a careful pencil.
But the eyes themselves never changed.
They were still kind and patient. They still looked at him like Luke mattered.
‘Did you have a nightmare?’ Ben asked gently at last.
Luke’s mouth tightened as he grabbed his cup of blue milk ‘No.’ he said, pointedly not looking at the former Jedi.
Ben didn’t argue. He didn’t laugh or call him a fibber. He just took a slow sip from his mug and waited, as if he had all the time in the world.
Luke sighed, hard and loud, because silence made him itchy.
‘Maybe,’ he admitted, very quietly.
‘About the bad place?’
Luke swallowed hard before nodding once. His left hand unconsciously moved to the top of his left arm, his fingers pressing lightly through the thin fabric of his plain pyjama top. He could feel the skin there, a little different. A little tight.
The burn was still underneath. A reminder that the bad place had been real.
There hadn’t been time to take the tracker out properly. Ben had looked at Luke with that same kind face and the same gentle eyes, and then he had done what he had to do. Luke remembered the smell more than anything—hot metal and sharp air—and then Ben’s hands shaking afterwards, even when he tried to hide it.
Luke’s throat felt thick. He wanted to run. He needed to run. Run. Run so the bad men couldn't—
the feeling of a warm hand on his shoulder cut through his thoughts.
‘Breathe, Luke...' Ben said softly as he leaned across the table, his warm hand wasn't shaking as it had done then. ‘Remember what I taught you.’
Luke’s throat felt tight, and for a second he didn’t want to. He wanted to push the feeling down and pretend it wasn’t there, like he sometimes did when he was at school and a loud noise made him jump.
But Ben’s hand didn’t move. It didn’t grip. It didn’t yank him anywhere. It just rested there, steady as the river.
Leting out a sigh, Luke closed his eyes and reached deep.
He tried to do what Ben always said—let the feelings pass through him instead of getting stuck. It was hard, because his feelings were big and messy and sometimes they came all at once.
He breathed in.
He breathed out.
He tried to put the jumble of fear and sadness somewhere else. Into the Force. Like dropping a stone into water and watching the ripples spread.
There is no passion, only peace, he told himself. Over and over again, because repeating it made it feel more real. There is no passion, only peace.
The words didn’t fit perfectly in his head, like shoes that were a bit too big, but he held on to them anyway.
Ben’s hand stayed on his shoulder the whole time. Gentle. Reassuring. Like an anchor.
That, more than anything, was what calmed Luke down.
Slowly, the tightness in his chest eased. The bad place felt further away again, like a dream instead of something waiting behind the door.
Luke opened his eyes.
Ben was still watching him, concern soft in his expression, like he was checking Luke was really back here with him.
Luke swallowed, then gave a small nod, as if to say, I’m okay.
Ben’s hand squeezed his shoulder once—quiet approval—and then, only then, did he let go.
‘Finish your breakfast. We’ve training to do.’
Luke groaned, though he was grateful for something normal to complain about. ‘Do we have to?’
‘Yes.’
‘Even on Saturdays?’
‘Especially on Saturdays.’
The river glittered under the midday sun, its water rushing over smooth stones, cool and clear. The trees nearby swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves whispering like they were sharing secrets. It was the sort of spring day that felt made for lazing about and throwing pebbles and doing absolutely nothing important at all.
Unfortunately, Luke’s day involved something important.
And it was boring.
‘Again,’ Ben instructed.
Luke let out a dramatic sigh that was meant to make Ben feel guilty. It did not work. Ben stood by the riverbank with a mug of tea in hand, looking maddeningly calm, as if making a nine-year-old repeat the same movements a hundred times was perfectly normal behaviour.
Luke shifted into position anyway. Bare feet in the grass, arms raised, shoulders set. He went through the kata the way he’d been taught—slow steps, controlled turns, careful breathing.
He tried to do it properly.
He also tried not to die of boredom.
Ben watched without saying anything for a while, which somehow made it worse. Luke could feel Ben noticing every mistake. The angle of his wrist. The way his elbow wandered. The fact that Luke’s mind kept drifting to anything else in the universe.
Luke’s jaw tightened. He made a sharper turn than he was supposed to, mostly out of spite.
‘You know,’ Luke said, voice pointed, ‘this would be easier if I had a lightsaber...’
Ben didn’t even blink. He took a slow sip from his tea.
‘As I said,’ Ben replied mildly, ‘when you can sufficiently block me, then you can have a lightsaber.’
Luke scowled. ‘I can block you.’
‘Mm.’
That little sound—mm—was the worst. It wasn’t even an argument. It was Ben calmly being right at Luke, and Luke hated it.
He half-heartedly replayed their last fencing lesson in his head. They’d used sticks because Ben said Luke wasn’t ready yet, and Ben had beaten him with irritating ease, even though Luke knew he was improving. Luke had managed to tap Ben’s shoulder once, and Ben had acted as if it was nothing, which was deeply unfair—
‘Focus, Luke.’ Bens voice interrupted his thoughts.
‘I am focusing,’ Luke muttered, rolling his eyes, but his gaze drifted to the river anyway. He spied something small splashing near the bank.
Luke’s hand twitched.
The water rippled—and a frog shot up out of the river with a startled croak. It wriggled frantically in mid-air, legs flailing as it floated a few feet above the surface.
‘Luke.’
Ben’s voice was stern now.
Luke looked over at him with an innocent grin. ‘What?’ he said as the frog drifted lazily in a circle around him. ‘I’m practising... You said I needed to learn control.’
The frog bobbed up and down as if agreeing.
Ben folded his arms inside his sleeves. His expression was not impressed.
‘The Force is not a toy for your amusement, my young padawan.’ He said chidingly.
Luke rolled his eyes. Ben only called him a padawan when Luke did something he didn’t approve of—Though never when other people were around, as if it was a private sort of scolding.
Luke never called him master though.
Luke never said that word.
Not to Ben. Not to anyone.
‘I’m not amusing myself,’ Luke replied as the frog did a slow spin over his shoulder. ‘I’m improving my fine motor skills.’
Ben lifted a grey eyebrow.
The frog suddenly shot sideways and Luke yelped, scrambling to regain control. It dipped dangerously close to the ground before he steadied it again.
See?’ Luke said quickly, flashing Ben a grin as if that fixed everything. ‘I’m improving already.’
But the grin didn’t last.
Ben’s face had gone strange. Not angry. Not even properly stern. Just… far away. His eyes looked tired in a different way, like he was looking at Luke but also looking past him, at something Luke couldn’t see.
Luke had noticed it happening more often lately. Little moments where Ben would pause, like his mind had tripped over something. It happened when Luke made something float, or when he said something cheeky, or when he tried to sneak a ride in the speeder when he thought his guardian wouldn't notice. Ben would always go still and get that look on his face, as if he was seeing someone else
Luke didn’t like it.
It made him feel like he’d done something wrong without knowing what.
His shoulders slumped a bit. The frog wobbled in the air as Luke’s focus slipped, and it gave an offended little croak.
Luke sighed and made himself pay attention again. Carefully, gently, he guided the frog back towards the river. He lowered it until its webbed feet touched the water, then let go. The frog plopped in and immediately swam away, vanishing beneath the ripples as if it had never been there at all.
Luke watched it go for a moment, then looked back at Ben, trying to decide whether to ask about the look.
He didn’t.
Instead, he swallowed and said, a little quieter, ‘There. Back where it belongs.’
Ben blinked, as if he had to pull himself back from somewhere far away. Then his mouth flattened into a line and the sternness returned properly, like a cloak settling back on his shoulders.
‘That was childish, Luke.’
Luke scuffed his heel through the grass, making a little trench. ‘It was funny.’
‘It was unkind,’ Ben corrected, though his voice wasn’t sharp. ‘And careless.’
Luke huffed. ‘It was a frog. It’s fine.’
Ben’s eyebrows lifted, and for a moment Luke thought he might be in real trouble. But Ben just sighed, the long sort of sigh that meant he thought Luke was making his life harder on purpose.
‘You are not learning this so you can frighten small creatures,’ Ben said. ‘You are learning so you can choose what you do with your power.’
Luke made a face. ‘I did choose.’
‘You chose poorly.’
Luke’s mouth opened, ready with something clever, but Ben stepped closer and crouched down so they were eye to eye. The river glittered behind him, bright and peaceful, making Ben look almost like he belonged in a story
‘The Force connects all living things, Luke,’ Ben said quietly. ‘Even a frog. Even someone you’ve never met. It is not there for tricks.’
Luke shifted his weight and looked away at the water ‘But you lifted three boulders yesterday,’ he muttered.
Ben’s lips twitched, the tiniest hint of a smile trying to escape. ‘That was different.’
‘How?’
‘I was not showing off,’ Ben said, as if it was a very serious fact.
Luke’s eyes narrowed, but he was unable to supress the grin that crossed his face. ‘You totally were.’
Ben’s shoulders shook once, just slightly, like he was holding back a laugh. He didn’t deny it. He never did when Luke caught him.
And Luke liked that—liked that Ben didn’t fixate on mistakes forever. He would tell Luke off, yes, but then he would move on, like the river did. Like you were allowed to mess up and still be okay afterwards.
Ben stood, straightening his robes. ‘Again.’
Luke groaned loudly on purpose and went back into position, feet planted and arms raised.
This time, he tried—really tried—to keep his eyes forward.
Mostly.
The river shimmered in the corner of his vision, and for just a second, he wondered if he would be pushing it if he lifted something bigger than a frog.
But when Ben cleared his throat, Luke quickly returned to the kata, trying—really trying—to focus.
Luke wasn’t sure what had woken him up at first.
He’d been sleeping well. Training days always made his limbs heavy in a good way, and evenings with Ben—mending little gadgets at the table, listening to Ben hum tunelessly while he pretended he wasn’t fussing—usually meant no nightmares came sneaking in.
So when Luke’s eyes opened, he lay there for a moment, blinking into the dark, confused.
Then he heard it.
A sound slipped through the dark.
Faint at first. Like someone hurt and trying not to be loud.
A whimper.
Then a low, broken moan.
Luke shot up, instanly wide awake.
He sat still, listening, heart thumping slowly harder. The sound came again—soft words, muffled, and a breath that didn’t sound right. Not like sleeping-breath. Like… scared-breath.
It was coming from Ben’s room.
Luke swallowed as he slid out of bed, bare feet meeting the cool floorboards. He moved carefully, because his room was a mess of his own making—little piles of parts, bolts, and the half-taken-apart gadget he’d sworn he’d put away hours ago. He tiptoed around them, wincing when a loose washer rolled under his heel and made the tiniest click.
Luke crept out into the corridor. The house was dark, lit only by moonlight slipping through the small window at the end of the hall. It painted the floor in pale stripes.
Another whimper met his ears.
Luke hurried to Ben’s door and pressed his hand to the panel. It hissed softly as it slid open.
Ben’s room was much like Lukes, except a touch more barren and significantly tidier. Lying there on the bed, the former Jedi was sleeping...
But it was far from peaceful.
His face was pale. His brow was damp with sweat. He twisted beneath the covers, frowning hard, as if he was fighting something that Luke couldn’t see. One hand clutched the blanket so tightly Ben’s knuckles had gone white.
‘No… no…’ Ben murmured, voice rough and small in the quiet room.
Luke’s chest squeezed.
It wasn’t the first time Luke had seen him like this. Ben didn’t have nightmares as often as Luke did, but when he did, they were… worse. Like Ben was falling down somewhere and couldn’t find the bottom.
Luke padded to the bedside and reached out.
‘Ben?’ he whispered, then louder when his guardian didn’t react. ‘Ben?’
He shook his shoulder gently at first, the way he’d learned, the way that usually worked.
Ben didn’t stir.
‘I have failed you…’ Ben muttered, tossing his head, jaw clenched.
Luke shook him again, harder. ‘Uncle Ben, wake up.’
Ben still didn’t wake.
Luke’s throat went tight. He didn’t like this part. He didn’t like when grown-ups were helpless. It made Luke feel small in a way he hated.
He shook Ben again, both hands on his shoulder now. ‘Ben! Wake up!’
Suddenly, the man's eyes flew open.
He shot upright with a sharp gasp, panting hard. His gaze darted round the room as if he expected to see someone standing over the bed.
Then he saw Luke.
For a heartbeat, Ben’s face went blank with shock.
‘Anakin?’ he breathed.
Luke froze.
The name hit him like a sudden cold splash of river-water.
Anakin.
His father.
Ben didn’t talk about him much... he always spoke about him like he was picking up something sharp. Luke knew the bits he’d been told, the safe bits: He was a Jedi Knight. A Good pilot. Ben’s friend. He was a man who had smiled in old stories and flown ships through things Luke couldn’t even imagine.
Sometimes Luke could pry a little more out of him, if he asked at the right time. Once—only once—Ben had had too much Corellian whisky and had laughed until his eyes went shiny, telling Luke about some ridiculous adventure from the Clone Wars, and Luke had thought he might burst from wanting to hear more.
But most of the time, when Luke asked, Ben would go quiet and get that far-off, melancholic look. Like he was staring at something only he could see.
Now Ben was looking at Luke like that again, only worse. Like he truly wasn’t seeing Luke at all.
Luke’s stomach twisted as he shifted awkwardly under the fomer Jedi's gaze.
‘No,’ Luke said, voice coming out smaller than he meant. ‘It’s Luke.’
Ben blinked.
Once. Twice.
His breathing slowed a little, though his chest still rose and fell too fast. Recognition came slowly, like the sun creeping over the horizon.
‘Luke?’ Ben echoed, as if testing the word. Then, more firmly, as if it anchored him. ‘Luke.’
He turnd away as he dragged a hand down his face and let out a long breath. His shoulders sagged, the fight going out of him. After a long quiet momement, he finally turned to face him. Ben tried to smile, but it looked like it hurt.
‘What brings you here, my young friend?’ he asked, and Luke could hear the effort in the lightness of his voice.
Luke opened his mouth.
He could have said, You were crying. He could have said, You looked scared. He could have asked, Where you having a nightmare about my father? He could have asked a hundred questions that buzzed in his head like that lamp in the bad place.
But he already knew he wouldn’t get an answer. Ben wouldn’t tell him. Ben would smooth his face and say he was fine and change the subject, like he always did. Like grown-ups always did.
Luke’s fingers curled in the hem of his pyjama top.
‘I…’ he began, then swallowed. The lie came easier than the truth. ‘I had a nightmare.’
Ben’s eyes softened immediately. Luke knew Ben knew he was lying, but the man didn't call him out on it. It was easier this way for both of them.
'May I…’ Luke’s voice went smaller, even though he hated that. ‘Can I sleep with you tonight?’’
Ben just looked at Luke for a moment—kind, tired, and something else Luke couldn’t name. Maybe grateful.
He nodded and shifted over, pulling the covers back to make space. ‘Come here,’ he said quietly.
Luke didn’t need to be asked twice.
He climbed onto the bed, careful not to kick Ben, and wriggled under the covers. The sheets were warm, smelling faintly of soap and old books and the tea Ben always drank. Ben’s arm settled around him, not tight, just there—steady and solid, like the hand on his shoulder at the breakfast table.
Luke’s head found a place against Ben’s chest, and he listened to Ben’s breathing slowly calm down as he watched a faint square of moonlight on the ceiling.
He knew Ben’s feelings were big too. Big and messy and sometimes they came all at once, just like Luke’s did.
And he knew that sometimes, his guardian needed Luke just as much as Luke needed him.
Luke yawned, his eyelids growing heavy again. He shifted closer without thinking, seeking warmth the way a droid sought a charging port.
As he drifted off, Luke made himself a promise, simple and fierce, the sort of promise a nine-year-old could understand.
As long as Luke was here, Ben wouldn’t be alone with the bad dreams.
Not if Luke could help it.
And as long as Luke was here, he would help. Even if he didn’t always know how. Even if all he could do was show up in the dark and say I'm here.
Luke’s fingers curled in the blanket, and he finally let himself relax.
In the steady warmth of Ben’s arms, the bad dreams—for both of them—felt a little further away.