Chapter Text
Darth Vader stalked the small confines of the tiny ship, pacing slow steps back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He tilted his head and listened in the Force, feeling for any tiny mechanical signatures. He thought he’d gotten rid of every tracker, every bug, but he had to be sure. The lives of those beings under his care depended on it.
He’d even gotten rid of the bugs in his suit, taking a knife and cutting the final one from where it had been embedded in the skin of his neck. Master Sidious had been thorough, after all- any master must monitor their slave.
Just Sidious, thought Vader to himself, removing the honorific from his mind. He’d taken every precaution. The dark lord would not find them.
He didn’t intend to live long enough to need worry about his former master’s pursuit, but for the sake of the children, he had to make sure their flight was completely undetected. So far, he’d succeeded in that mission.
No one knew where they’d gone. No one was coming after them. The Empire would never find them.
The children sat in a row upon the only cot in the small, cramped cabin of the ship. They sat the way they’d been taught, utterly still, backs ramrod straight and hands folded neatly in their laps. Their hair was cut all in the same fashion, regulation-short buzzcuts, and their uniforms were identical in every way. They bowed their heads when he passed, as they’d been taught- or, well. The two who were aware enough to notice that he’d passed them bowed their heads. The other- he stared straight ahead, eyes blank and glassy and empty. His Force-signature, once strong and passionate, was near-nonexistent. He was a shell of a human being, having given up, the way Vader had seen so many give up in the past. Someone who had broken under the torture, someone who was dead in the mind and who’s body had yet to catch up.
At their destination, there was a person who could save him. Likely the only person in the entire galaxy. Someone who could save all three of these children who each suffered from some incurable ailment.
Two, Five, and Twelve.
Two had a fever that all the doctors of the Empire could not seem to cure. Twelve suffered from a myriad of tiny issues that no amount of bacta could fix- cuts and bruises that stayed on his skin, brittle bones that broke early and often. And Five- Five had shut down one day, had simply stopped speaking and responding and eating and drinking. He’d have died long ago if food and drink had not simply been forced into him.
Five was dying anyway. All three of them were. These children were emaciated, pale, feverish, dying.
Vader was dying, too. Perpetually dying, forced alive by the metal suit, his breaths rasping in and out in a slow, regulated pattern. If anyone simply…turned the suit off, he’d expire in minutes.
He’d be lucky to receive such a peaceful death. The person they were going to see was- was kind, he knew. Kind and- and honorable- and just. The kindest man he’d ever met. But even the most forgiving of people had a limit. Vader intended, shamelessly, to fall upon this man’s mercy, using himself as a bargaining chip for the children’s lives.
This was their only chance.
*
When they landed on the desert planet, it was nightfall. Vader guided their tiny craft expertly down to the surface, dodging the Hutt surveillance nets with skillful ease. He landed their ship in a gorge, where the closest settlement was a whole day’s walk away, and their destination a few hours’ walk at least. The ship might be seen by some, but he doubted it. Jawas would have the thing fully stripped the moment they left. They were efficient creatures.
When Vader opened the hatch of their ship, Two and Twelve bolted to their feet, standing at attention. Five remained seated, staring at the wall. Without the other two beside him to support him, he began to list to the side.
Vader’s ventilator cycled in, out. He stepped close to the children- he heard Two inhale- and bent down, gathering Five in his arms. With some fumbling, he settled the child on his hip- he’d never done this before. But it turned out to be easier than he thought. Five was small. Skinny and light. Vader hardly noticed the weight at all.
“Follow me,” he muttered, but his vocoder made it come out harsh and loud.
“Yes, Lord Vader,” Two and Twelve chorused. They fell into step behind him, out of range of the sweep of his cape. They’d follow him until they could not go on any longer, he knew. Until their legs gave out underneath them, if he so required. Until they broke.
They were all broken already. Vader most of all. At least, for these three, there might be- a way back. Not through anything he did, but through the efforts of the man they were going to meet. If he deigned to help them.
He would, thought Vader. He’d help.
Kenobi never could ignore a child in need. He could never see suffering and simply walk past. No matter what he did to Vader- with him, these children would be safe.
Kenobi was a Master Healer- the only one who might actually deserve the title, in Vader’s opinion. He had a low opinion of doctors in general, only reinforced by the failure of the Empire’s doctors to help the children in any way. They couldn’t even reduce Two’s fever. But Kenobi…during the war, Kenobi had pulled off many seemingly impossible healings. And while Vader knew much of it was exaggeration (Force-healing was very flashy) he was at the end of his rope. He was desperate, and while he doubted Kenobi would be able to do anything like the rumors that had once circulated about him, he also thought there was a good chance he could cure these children of their ailments.
The only thing Vader took with him was a canteen of water- nothing else on that ship would be of value, not even their imperial credits. Perhaps the hyperdrive, but it was too big to carry.
They set out across the dunes.
*
A long march through the night. Vader didn’t ever need to slow his pace, mechanical limbs registering no fatigue. He marched in a soldier’s rhythm, his steps timed perfectly to match his breaths. Two steps for every breath- it was slow enough for the children to keep up. There was nothing he could truly do for them, except get them to Kenobi, so he didn’t try.
What he did try, in a rare, stupid moment of sentiment, was to look up at the stars and find some comfort in the last night of his life. Anything that might bring him some semblance of peace, anything at all. But he could no longer feel the sand beneath his feet, for his feet were only prosthetics. He could not smell the fresh air, because of the helmet covering his face. He could not see the true color of the sky, because the eyes of his helmet filtered everything into shades of red. At this point, he barely remembered what the color blue looked like.
When Two stumbled an hour in, momentarily falling before scrambling back to her feet, he pretended not to see. She watched him carefully, fearfully, expecting retribution for her slip-up. But he gave no sign of having noticed, and merely continued on.
Exactly halfway, he stopped and offered them a drink from the canteen. “Offered” was a stretch. He ordered them to drink, and they drank. Exactly two swallows, all they were ever allowed during normal training hours when their handlers pushed them to the brink of their endurance.
“Double rations,” he rasped. When they didn’t move, he ordered them to drink again, and they took another two swallows each.
Once Two and Twelve had drank, Vader tilted Five’s head back and poured a small measure of water into the child’s throat. He took great care that Five wouldn’t spit it back up, nor spill any drops- water was sacred on Tatooine. The respect of it was carved into Vader’s bones.
Then the march began again. The man half-encased in metal, his two little shadows, and the broken doll he held on his hip. They travelled across the dunes, away from anyone who might bother them, away from the Jawas and the Tuskens and the scavengers out at this time of night, braving a crossing at night when the dunes would be cool enough to cross and not baking under the heat of the double suns. Through his listening to the Force, Vader avoided them all, making a beeline for Kenobi. It was the only thing that mattered.
It was all he had to do. Get to Kenobi. Get to Kenobi. Get to Kenobi, and this hell of an existence would end, and the children would be safe, and-
Well. Vader saw no reason to think beyond those simple truths.
*
When they reached the hermit’s hovel, little more than a cave carved into the side of a rock, it was nearing dawn. A soft light covered everything- Vader assumed it must be pink, or orange, but to him it was only a brighter shade of red. The heat of the suns would bear down upon them soon, but it didn’t matter- they’d reached their destination.
This place looked unassuming to anyone who was looking for a Jedi. They would certainly not look here. Vader hadn’t, for years. He’d never even considered Tatooine. Now, his mouth curled in triumph- clever Kenobi, to hide here. Those clever choices would keep the children alive. Sidious would never consider it either.
Vader’s ethereal senses told him the man was inside. Inside, and awake, and aware of their presence. Inside, likely clutching his lightsaber, likely going through all manner of shock and fear and- whatever else it was that Jedi did upon discovery. It was usually some form of running for the hills.
But in order to run, Kenobi would have to pass them, for they stood outside the only exit. In time, he would emerge.
He could wait. Slowly, Vader put Five down, resting the child in the sand. He removed the lightsaber from his belt and placed it on the ground two paces before him. Then he backed up so that it was out of reach and went to his knees.
Two and Twelve knew that when Vader was kneeling, it was because someone very important was approaching. Someone cruel and sadistic and prone to killing anyone at the slightest hint of disrespect or disobedience. When Two saw Vader kneel, her fear spiked- she darted forwards to where Five still sat in the sand, unresponsive. She grabbed his head and pushed it down, bending him forward until his forehead rested in the sand. Then, trembling, she did the same. On Vader’s other side, Twelve copied her.
Vader saw this display, a show of utter submission not brought on by anything even approaching respect, but only of fear. If he had a heart that could still feel pity, he might have felt something. Instead he only wondered how long they would wait. Would Kenobi let them bake in the heat of the day?
It was not to be. After only another moment, a figure emerged from the shadows of the cave. Older, wearier, broken in a thousand different ways. And yet. Achingly familiar.
Looking at Kenobi now was like looking into his own past. Suddenly, Vader was glad for the helmet that filtered out most color. He thought, if he saw this man full in the flesh, it would be a most unique torture.
The exiled Jedi stood before them, looking at them all, at the Sith Lord kneeling before him and the three prostrated children. The only sound was the wind fluttering the edges of their clothing and the in-out cycle of Vader’s ventilator. No one spoke.
Kenobi’s eyes drifted, for a moment, to the slow rise of the double suns.
“Come for me at last, have you, Darth?” he said, with a voice softened by tragedy and trauma and heartache. “There was no need to threaten me with children. If the Empire has found me, then it has found me. I won’t make a fuss.”
“Master Jedi,” said Vader, unable to look Kenobi in the face for longer than a few seconds. He knew the man wouldn’t see the direction of his gaze at all, hidden as it was by the sightless mask. Even so, his eyes drifted to a safer target- his own lightsaber, lying in the sand.
“These children are dying,” he continued, cutting right to the heart of it. Since receiving his suit and his vocoder, he no longer spoke unnecessarily. His new voice was grating and intense and mechanical- it could not show a range of emotion, it could not articulate whispers or shouts or sobs. “They are Force-sensitive. Once, they were Jedi children. The others are dead. These are all that is left.”
Vader swallowed, a difficult and painful maneuver that he usually tried not to do. It hurt his ruined throat.
“You were the best Force-healer the Order had ever seen. I have brought them to you in the hopes that you could…that you could help them.”
Kenobi just stared at him, eyes gone wide, one hand resting on the lightsaber attached to his hip.
Vader bowed his head. “I beg of you,” he said, none of his emotion coming out in his machine-like voice. But the words he’d uttered with his mouth had been broken and hitched. “I offer my life in exchange. Please. Help them. You are their only hope.”
The shock remained on his face, but Kenobi studied him, head tilting, trying to puzzle him out.
“Your life?” he repeated, quiet and disbelieving.
“It’s all I have to give,” said Vader, knowing it wasn’t enough. But nothing would ever be enough. “My life is all I can offer you.”
Another few minutes passed in silence, as the sun rose further and the temperature creeped upwards, and the children remained in their positions, frozen.
“I suppose it is,” said Kenobi, after a while. He turned his attention away from Vader to the children, gaze sweeping over their uniforms and their tiny, rail-thin bodies and their perfect, identical haircuts. “Children,” he called, voice pitched into tenderness. “It will be hot out there. Please, come inside. Rest your tired legs and have some food.”
Kenobi’s voice oozed compassion, was drenched in concern, dripped decency and trailed benevolence. To Vader, who hadn’t heard a word of kindness in years, it was…extravagant. Odious. That Kenobi could deal out such words without concern for their number, that he could say these things and mean them, and then say them again and again even after pain upon pain upon pain- suddenly, to Vader, he seemed a rich man indeed. The richest man he had ever met, perhaps.
The children didn’t move.
“Go,” said Vader, choking on his words in his haste to get them out. “Go with him.”
Two didn’t need telling twice. She scrambled to her feet, only glancing back at him a moment, shaking with terror. She grabbed at Five and hauled him to his feet, taking his hand and pulling him along behind her. Twelve stood along with her and followed, bringing up the rear- and then they were passing Kenobi and disappearing into the cave.
Now it was just the two of them. The Jedi Master and the Sith Lord kneeling in the sand. Kenobi took a step towards him, bringing out his lightsaber.
Vader thought about closing his eyes, but didn’t. He could do Kenobi the courtesy of looking at him in his final moments. He wondered if Kenobi would make it quick, or if he would draw it out.
But the Jedi stopped his approach at the lightsaber lying in the sand. He bent to pick it up, rolling it back and forth between his fingers.
“I don’t want your life,” he said, looking at the hilt in his hand. “The act of killing a man is worth nothing to me, even a man such as you. For that is what you are, Darth Vader- a man is all you ever were, and all you ever will be. Too much of my life has been wasted on you. I- I cannot waste any more of it.”
With no warning, he ignited Vader’s saber, seeing the red blade emerge with a kind of gentle disappointment. To Vader, who only ever saw in shades of red, the color didn’t even register.
“This lightsaber does not belong to you,” said Kenobi. “This is the blade of Kirak Infil’a. You have twisted the crystal inside beyond repair and bled it into this tormented color. It screams out, in the Force, for release. For death.”
Vader wondered if Kenobi could hear his soul, as well. Screaming and screaming and screaming somewhere deep down.
The Jedi laid the bleeding saber down back in the sand. Positioned his own blade, still in his other hand, over the middle of the casing. Then, without a moment’s hesitation, he ignited his own sword and plunged it downwards into Vader’s- Kirak’s- lightsaber. Kenobi’s plasma blade pierced through the casing and the crystal inside, shattering it into a million pieces, exploding it into fine dust. The casing splintered apart and the wires fizzed out and the burning red blade died instantly.
The Jedi Master disengaged his lightsaber, after that. In a smooth, practiced motion, he returned it to his belt.
“That is all I wanted, in exchange,” said Kenobi. “I hope one day you can find peace with yourself, and with the Force.”
And then, sparing Vader no more words, he turned back and retreated into his cave. Inside, Vader could hear him calling to the children, asking their names, asking if they were alright.
Vader listened, for a while, to those kind exchanges, to the soft words being spoken and the even softer responses. He listened and imagined what they must be doing, in there, and remembered a time when Kenobi had spoken words like that to him.
He stayed where he was, on his knees in the sand, long after the suns came up and it began to get hot. Somehow, he could not summon the will to rise and leave. Perhaps- even if Kenobi wouldn’t kill him, he could stay here, just outside the entrance. Baked alive by the twin suns sounded like as good a death as any, truthfully. He’d be dead long before it reached high noon.
Time passed.
It would inconvenience them to need to drag the body away, Vader thought eventually. He should move. Find some hole to crawl into, out of the way, and die there. But even though he agreed with that thought, he could not find the willpower in him to get up.
He was just- done. When he’d gone to his knees before Kenobi, just before dawn, he hadn’t ever expected to rise again. And now- now he couldn’t.
He just…sat there. Listening to their speech. Thinking of nothing and everything. Feeling the hot air creep into his suit, onto his helmet, feeling the headache start to form and the first stirrings of heat-related discomfort.
It wouldn’t be long now, Vader thought. Not long at all.