Chapter Text
The moment he saw the Falcon break through the sky, something inside him twisted violently.
That kriffing ship! Barreling into the present like a memory he could never seem to bury. That cursed freighter had always lurked at the edge of his mind, tethered to the man he’d already killed. Now it was back, dragging those old ghosts into the light.
“Blow that piece of junk out of the sky,” he spat. The words ripped out of him like shrapnel, sharp and involuntary.
Officers leapt to obey. Two TIEs screamed out of formation, targeting the Falcon’s tail. From the command deck, Ben watched with his arms crossed tightly over his chest, every muscle wired with tension.
The first torpedo struck wide.
The second hit dead-on.
The Falcon shuddered violently midair. A burst of flame ripped through her flank. Stabilizers tore free in a shriek of metal, and the ship lurched into a deadly spiral, trailing smoke and fire like a wounded animal.
This was it. The final page in the story that should have ended long ago. The Resistance’s myth, its last remnant of Solo’s legacy. It would burn here on his order. He had already killed the man.
Now he would kill the memory and let the past die.
But then, he felt her.
Just a flare of her presence in the Force. Blinding, visceral. Panicked. His breath caught in his throat.
No.
No, no, no.
He hadn’t sensed her before. The thread between them had been quiet, faint, buried beneath other noise. But now it pulled taut, like a cord snapping to attention around his ribs. A sudden, impossible certainty flooded him.
Rey was on that ship.
And he had—
No.
Desperation surged through him as he reached out to steady the ship with the Force, the air around him crackling with raw energy. The effort scorched through his nerves, locking his limbs, grinding his teeth.
The Falcon spiraled faster, out of control. He felt every fracture, every strained bolt and shattered weld flying apart.
It was falling too fast.
He reached with every ounce of strength he had. The ship groaned in response, straining as the nose began to lift. The terrifying plunge eased, smoke peeling away from the hull.
But the crash was inevitable.
The Falcon struck the salt flats, hard. Its rear hit first, then the body— skidding in a molten scar across the canyon floor. The groan of warped metal echoed for miles before settling into an eerie silence.
Ben sagged against the control panel, chest heaving. His hands trembled. Sweat stung his eyes.
But he could still feel her there.
Weak. Her force signature was dim and flickering.
But alive.
“Prepare my ship,” he rasped, already turning toward the corridor. “Now.”
Voices called out behind him in confusion, panic. He didn’t hear them. Didn’t care.
His boots hit the floor of the deck in a steady, pounding rhythm.
Rey was alive.
And he was going to reach her before the fire did.
The shuttle had not fully cleared the hangar before Ben was leaning into the yoke, shoving it harder than protocol would ever allow. The ship groaned in protest, but he needed speed, needed momentum. Every second he could shave off the descent counted.
The Falcon looked like an open wound on the salt plain. A black, smoking crescent was gouged deep into the white crust, glowing faintly red where the metal had seared through. His breath couldn’t keep pace with his pulse.
He landed too fast. The struts shrieked against the impact, but he was already moving out of the cockpit before the repulsors powered down.
Heat and smoke slammed into him the moment he stepped out, thick, acrid and choking.
He sprinted into it, the Force thrumming at his fingertips, desperately scanning ahead, reaching for the flicker that had not yet gone out. Rey was still there. She felt dim, but alive.
The Falcon was barely recognizable.
Its hull had split along multiple seams. Metal curled outward like torn skin. Fire licked along the exposed plating. Girders twisted underfoot, steam hissing from ruptured valves. He stumbled through shattered glass and debris, the smoke blinding him.
Then he felt her.
The tug was unmistakable.
He nearly fell as he surged forward, slipping over what remained of the gunner’s barrel. It had been buried in a slope of mangled wreckage. His stomach turned.
She was inside, barely still strapped to her seat. The cockpit frame had buckled. Her head hung forward; her hair matted with blood. One restraint had snapped, leaving her slumped sideways.
Worse— blood was pooling beneath her, soaking through her tunic, trickling steadily from a jagged piece of metal embedded in her side.
His chest caved in on itself.
“Rey-”
Her name cracked from his throat. He dropped to his knees, forcing his trembling hands to move. The Force shivered under his touch as he tore the broken plating free, metal screeching as it bent to his will.
He was inside the cockpit in seconds.
Her skin was cold and clammy beneath his fingers and her head lolled unnaturally when he touched her. His panic spiked.
She was dying.
“No, no, no. Come on-” He fumbled with the belts. They tore loose, and his breath faltered as she slipped into his arms. He cradled her carefully, wary of the shrapnel still embedded in her side. Her weight felt too light.
But— her breath.
It was faint, barely a whisper against the silence. Shallow and fragile.
But it was there.
He pressed his forehead to hers.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, half command, half plea. “You’re going to be okay.”
He rose, carrying her close. The Force coiled around them instinctively, shielding them from heat and smoke as he stepped out of the wreckage.
A low, guttural sound stopped him.
Chewbacca.
Ben turned, just long enough to reach into the Force and push aside debris from the co-pilot’s bay. Pain echoed back at him, but it was not fatal.
“I’ll get help,” he shouted over the roar.
He turned again and started to run.
Salt crunched beneath his boots as he sprinted. The wind whipped through the canyon, dragging smoke behind him. The Resistance base loomed ahead, carved into the rock like an old wound. Its shields trembled, dim and unstable.
He felt them before he saw them.
Clusters of Resistance survivors huddled within the dying base, their fear surging like heat through the stone walls. A few dozen lives trembled in the Force. And threaded through that fear, something sharper.
Recognition.
He kept his pace steady. The ridge fell away to reveal the gates, with turrets pivoting to lock on his direction and doors beginning to close.
Then a voice broke through the comm static, startled and sharp.
“Wait—Is that... Rey?”
It hit like a spark to dry tinder.
“It's Kylo Ren!”
“No—look! He’s carrying someone!”
“That's Rey!”
“He’s not armed!”
Ben stopped just outside the threshold. Smoke coiled around him, wind tearing at his cloak. He dropped to his knees and laid Rey gently on the salt, her hair fanning against the scorched crust. She looked lifeless. Colorless.
“Help her,” he pleaded, voice fraying at the edges.
No one moved.
He scanned the faces beyond the gate—shocked, wary, fingers twitching near triggers.
“Please,” he said again, louder this time. His eyes darted between the slowly shuttering doors and the soldiers frozen behind them. “She’s not breathing right.”
He looked down. Her skin had gone pale beneath the soot, lips parted just enough to show the shallowness of each breath. Too shallow.
A blaster cocked.
Finn’s voice rang out, cutting the tension like a blade. “Back away from her.”
Ben didn’t move.
From the shadows behind Finn, Poe emerged, weapon raised. His face was torn between fury and disbelief.
Then Leia stepped through the ranks of soldiers. Her presence rippled through the air, quieting it like a sudden hush across a battlefield.
Ben barely saw her. He didn’t lift his gaze from Rey. He hadn’t seen his mother in years. He’d imagined this moment, though he hated to admit it.
But never like this.
She walked slowly, her hands lowered but steady. Her voice was calm, the same tone she’d used to silence entire command rooms.
“Stand down.”
No one moved.
She repeated it, this time colder. “I said stand down.”
The weapons lowered one by one, some reluctantly, others in disbelief.
He stayed frozen.
Then, Leia’s voice softened.
“Ben.”
He flinched.
It wasn’t the name. It was how she said it. Like it still belonged to him.
“I need you to carry her inside.”
Ben nodded, unable to speak.
He gathered Rey back into his arms.
This time, the doors opened.
And they let him in.