#*with that

"I don't know what happened," Ingo lied through sharp teeth, "-they were just like this when I woke up." 

Also with complementary Piett POV thrown in the mix :)

As a technicality, Captain Firmus Piett had the codes necessary to get into any room on the Executor. The engine rooms, the bridge, the techs' dormitories—all of them. And while there were some rooms he'd certainly never enter out of respect for their inhabitants, in some cases that respect was also tempered by the simple knowledge that if he did enter them he'd be risking both his job and his life.

He was walking past one such room when a childlike scream from within it had him crashing through the door, consequences be damned, blaster out.

Blaster out and ready.

Vader's quarters were as austere and monochrome as one would expect from his commander, save the colourful fluffy toys littered all over the floor. Piett trod carefully, avoiding the pink bantha on principle: if he remembered carefully, it squeaked.

As he crept, he reached for his comlink and keyed in a short message for Lord Vader. He was on the bridge; he should be here soon.

If he couldn't sense his son's terror as it was.

The child was still screaming.

Piett picked up his pace. Little Luke's room was in the very back of Vader's quarters: the farthest away from approaching enemies, but also the farthest away from allies. He could hear something like shushing from inside the room, and heavy footsteps, and—his blood froze—the hum of a lightsaber. 

"Luke," the voice was saying, somewhat hoarse with stress and age, "Luke, be quiet, youngling, stop screaming—"

Luke screamed louder.

"Is it the lightsaber? I can turn that off, see, it's off, but you have to stop screaming and come with me—"

Piett burst into the room.

Luke's bed was against one wall and the boy was cowering against the corner behind it, sobbing. An aging man approached across the brightly carpeted floor, lightsaber hilt in hand, a massive section of the metal wall carved away as if by a laser.

Well, Piett took a split second to muse, he knew exactly what security upgrades Lord Vader would order next.

His blaster—set to stun for so many reasons, the least of which being that Vader would want to give the intruder his full attention later—snapped up and he fired.

The man—Jedi—whipped round just in time for his saber to snap to life and deflect the bolt. Piett took his moment of distraction to take three long strides and plant himself between the Jedi and Luke.

Luke's screaming died down a little; he wrapped his arms round Piett's leg and hiccupped, "Peet?"

"Yes, Luke," he murmured, shifting so that his body  almost entirely shielded the little boy. "I'm here. I'm here."

He eyed the door—he'd left it wide open, but what did that matter? The Jedi would never get off this ship alive.

He shot the Jedi again and again it was deflected, sizzling uncomfortably close to him this time. If he went  down, let the Jedi get Luke...

His finger tightened on the trigger again—

And it was wrenched out of his hand and into the Jedi's.

Luke sobbed. Piett had to wonder if he'd felt the action, the way he could feel the individuality of each trooper and the way his father could feel the shape of a trachea before he  crushed it.

The Jedi lifted the blaster, flicked it off the stun setting and levelled it at Piett. He had the nerve to look regretful for a moment—

Then a shadow filled the doorway and Luke shouted "Dada!"

"Are you sure, Kenobi," Vader boomed, stalking forwards with his lightsaber buzzing in his hand, "that's the decision you want to make?"

Kenobi didn't hesitate. He took the blaster off Piett and shot at Vader.

Vader caught it on his glove but Kenobi didn't flinch; the distraction was enough for him to whip his lightsaber out and crash it down—

A flash of red and Kenobi's saber fell to the floor.

He stared at the stump of his hand in dismay for a split-second and that split-second allowed Vader to take the other one.

Piett blinked. It had barely lasted a minute.

"You have grown weak, Kenobi," Vader growled, summoning the blue lightsaber to his hand as the Jedi fell to his knees, "and foolish, if you thought you could escape with my son alive."

"If I have to die to ensure another innocent boy doesn't go the way Anakin did..." Kenobi wheezed. After a moment, Piett realised he wasn't wheezing because he was tired—he was wheezing because Vader held a death grip on his throat. "Then so be it."

Vader lit the other lightsaber and brought them against Kenobi's neck, one red, one blue, ready to scissor his head off in a moment. Sweat rolled down Kenobi's temple.

"Dada!"

Vader jerked. Piett jerked too, automatically reaching out to the small boy as he darted out from behind him.

"No, Luke, wait—"

Luke threw himself at his father, who dropped the blue lightsaber to bring an arm up to catch him. He cradled him against his chest.

Even without the Force, Piett could feel how terrified he was.

"Dada," he whispered, and the hand holding him constricted.

Vader extinguished his red lightsaber and hooked it to his belt to hold Luke properly, the boy sobbing into his shoulder.

Kenobi gaped at the display.

Vader tossed the blaster back across the floor to Piett with the Force; he caught it and found it had been set back to stun. He took the hint.

He shot Kenobi before he could even gasp.

"Have the Five-Oh-First escort him to interrogation," Vader ordered and Piett reached to obey. Though he knew interrogation wasn't Vader's primary goal here.

His thumb was rubbing soothing circles on the back of Luke's head.

"And have these walls reinforced before Luke has to sleep in here again. I—"

He stuttered slightly, helmet tilting down towards the golden little boy in his arms, beginning to fall asleep on his chest plate.

Piett shifted on his feet. It never got any less surreal, seeing his lord act like a human being.

Vader's arms tightened around Luke. "I never want anything like this to happen again."

Thank yooou.

after two sick days and a three-day weekend