#aaaaaaaaangst

The memories flooded back. Alderaan—no, that horrid Death Star, after stopping off on Alderaan to send the plans to the Rebellion. Master Obi-Wan's pained expression, and that awful, awful, gut-wrenching sensation that was the death of that wonderful planet. Hoping the plans reached the Rebellion in time; rescuing Leia; the firefight in the detention level; and—

He squeezed his eyes shut, for all that it was pitch dark in here.

Vader.

Vader, furious that Master Obi-Wan had escaped on that smuggler's ship, and turning on the padawan who'd been shot into unconsciousness moments before—

He tried to calm himself, his lungs seizing up with how much air he was gasping in, but it was a futile endeavour. The dark side was thick around him.

He didn't know how long he lay there, knees to his chest, staring out into a darkness he couldn't see an end to.

At least he knew why it was so hot, now. He knew what Vader did with captured Jedi.

What had Master Jarrus and General Syndulla told Obi-Wan, all those years ago?

Mustafar is where Jedi go to die.

He tucked his chin into his chest.

He knew it was a long time he spent in that darkness, if only because the light stung when someone cracked his door open. Even with his limited access to the Force—what was it about this cell?—he could feel Vader's chilling presence.

"What do you want?" he tried to snap. It came out weak and pained; tired. Vader didn't look impressed.

"I want you dead," he said bluntly—there was even a hint (or more, to be honest) of malicious glee in his voice. Anticipation. "But I want Kenobi dead more, for now."

"And that stops you from killing me because. . .?" It came out stronger that time, which Luke was grateful for.

"He has twenty-four hours to rescue you. He knows where I am. He'll have to come here himself to save you—I made that very clear in my message—and he knows he does not have the strength to face me." The dark anticipation in Vader's voice was only growing. "Once I have his head, then you will die."

Luke swallowed. His throat was dry. "How generous of you."

"Indeed." Vader was already turning away. "Twenty-four hours, boy."

The door slammed shut again, leaving Luke in the hot darkness.

He struggled the breathe, but not for the heat, this time. He curled up again. He placed his head against the cool stone.

A tear tracked down his face to pool on the floor. More heat.

Once more, time seemed to barely exist as he lay there, staring at nothing. All he could think about was Vader's words.

Twenty-four hours to live.

He and Master Obi-Wan were the last two Jedi in the galaxy, with Kanan dead and Ezra missing.

Twenty-four hours to live.

Except for Master Yoda, wherever he was, but Obi-Wan had said he was old. He wouldn't survive ten years; that wasn't enough for him to train a padawan into knighthood.

Luke had always been alone. The last Skywalker; the last Jedi. And now he was going to die.

Twenty-four hours to live.

What did most people do, when given an ultimatum like that? Throw a party, so they could enjoy life to the fullest? Talk to their loved ones, make sure they knew how much they meant to them?

Another tear joined the first; another. It was forming quite a puddle, now.

Luke had no loved ones.

His mother had died in childbirth, Master Obi-Wan said; Luke barely even knew her name. Master Obi-Wan was his teacher, his master, the man who'd raised him. . . but he preached the Jedi doctrine of non-attachment so fiercely that sometimes Luke wondered if he loved him at all.

He would come to save him; Luke was sure of that. But because Master Obi-Wan was the most selfless, compassionate person Luke knew. Not necessarily because he loved him.

And that just left. . .

Father.

Father, I'm sorry.

He was aware that he was crying out into the Force, well aware Vader could probably hear him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

I'm so, so sorry.

A Jedi sought no revenge, and Luke was trying not to be the exception. He had sworn not to face Vader with anger in his heart; if he ever killed him, it would be out of righteousness, not rage.

But the fact was that the same man who killed his father was going to kill him too. It made him sob all the harder.

His entire face was sticky with salt, now.

Red and hot and flushed—

The door flew open, Vader's massive bulk looming in the doorway like death's shadow. Luke whimpered and shrunk back, curling back into his ball, but a hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him upright.

He yelped. Vader threw him out into the corridor; Luke hit the floor hard. Even more tears flooded out and even with Vader standing there, judging him, he didn't have the energy to wipe them away. He flinched, and waited for the hum of that bloodthirsty lightsaber—

That had not felt like twenty-four hours.

"That— that was not twenty—"

"Kenobi responded more quickly that I expected."

The words chilled Luke to the core. He glanced at Vader's waist, half-expecting his master's lightsaber to be hanging there alongside Vader's own. It wasn't.

It gave him enough hope to snipe, "And what was his response?" Maybe he wasn't dead—

"He said," Vader informed him, the fury in his voice mounting, "that his padawan was called Luke Skywalker, and that if I held someone hostage, I should bother to learn their name before issuing my ultimatums."

Something inside Luke died at the words. Master Obi-Wan wasn't coming. He wouldn't have responded like that if he was.

Luke should be glad. He should be glad his master wasn't going to die on a fool's errand, trying to save him. At least now he could maybe train someone else, ensure the legacy of the Jedi lived on—

But he had left Luke to die.

If there was any hope left that his master loved him, it fled.

Luke was alone—

"He knew exactly what he was doing," Vader continued, entirely unaware that a part of Luke had just shattered, all the fight fled. "He knew I wouldn't kill you once I knew your true heritage."

Wait—what?

Luke blinked, lifting his tear-stained face to view Vader. The dark lord was doing the same to him: Luke could feel his gaze roving over him, from the dimple in his chin to his nose to the shape of his eyes.

"You are Anakin Skywalker's son."

Luke frowned, but—sure he was signing his own death warrant—nodded.

The last thing he expected was for Lord Darth Vader, scourge and terror of the galaxy, subservient only to the Emperor himself, to fall to his knees before him.

He reached out his hand. With the tenderest of touches, he cupped Luke's cheek and wiped his tears away with his thumb. Luke couldn't help but lean into the touch, even as his confusion only grew.

Nothing made sense.

Nothing made sense, but one idea was starting to emerge from it all. One possibility, one desperate, desperate hope: