Chapter Text
Vader doesn't think of what happened to Anakin Skywalker. That man is dead, washed away with the blood that had been scrubbed out of the Jedi temple on Coruscant when the Emperor had decided to take it for the palace. That man had trusted traitors, liars, and the very men who had ruined his life, had destroyed his body. That man had killed the woman he loved most in the world.
And killed a child who had never lived along with her, a son or daughter and a grandson whose face Vader never thinks of.
Until, that is, his past comes rushing up to meet him in the form of Ahsoka Tano. The moment he senses her on the rebel ship, feeling out through the void of space to probe at his mind, it comes flashing back to him. It's all Vader can do to continue to fire at the ship, anger and sadness pouring through him like a flood.
He takes as deep a breath as the suit will allow. He can use this, fuel his concentration with it. Somewhere, out there deep in space, he feels Ahsoka swoon.
He doesn't want to think about why she's on that rebel ship, why she hadn't found her way to his side the moment the treachery of the council was revealed all those years ago. She knew better than most how true the Emperor's version of events was, had seen the council for what it was even before the man that Vader does not like to remember he ever was had seen it.
Yet with her alive, he can not deny it. That man existed, with all his hopes, his dreams, his fears. He did not die that day when a man he though was his brother cut him down. No, he's alive, somewhere inside Vader, and it's all Vader can do to keep Anakin's rage and fear closely held enough that he does not tear apart the Devastator, shake it to pieces in the vault of space.
He retreats for days, meditating. Hoping. Vader reminds himself that hope is a vain thing, that it leads to nowhere but pain and the Light. There is only here, now, and the order that he can bring to the world.
He is a peacekeeper, after all.
And the war is over. He is a general no longer, has not been one for years. So he has fallen back on the age-old task of one who can wield the Force. He follows the will of the Emperor, cleanses the galaxy of the slavers, and the drug lords, and the smugglers. And it is usually enough.
Yet somehow, even after a week, he cannot seem to push out the questions that nag at him. And so, with no orders beyond rooting out dissent at his own discretion, weeding out the rebels from Lothal who have somehow found themselves time to create a little battle group, Vader decides to make a trip to Arkanis.
***
It's damper than he expected. That's the first thought Vader has when his shuttle lands at the Imperial Academy, and he almost chuckles to himself at the absurdity of it all. Coming to a planet he little cares about, to the flagship academy of the Empire, known to be exceeding all performance standards, on an inspection mission drummed up simply to satisfy Vader's own curiosity.
It's not as if Arkanis matters any more, he reminds himself. He'd seen to that personally at the end of the Clone Wars.
He feels his face twist the little that it still can behind the mask. Whatever value Arkanis holds for him is dead and gone, that future cut off when Kenobi stepped down from the ship on Mustafar. But Tarkin had little need of him right now, the rebels were lying low, and he had not been able to stop thinking about this one little piece of the future he can grab onto and see.
He sweeps down the long ramp of his shuttle, nodding to the officers who have lined up to greet him. At the end of the line of instructors, a man stands waiting, sharply dressed cadets arrayed behind him in straight, unwavering lines. His eyes are cool.
The first thing that Vader thinks is that Brendol Hux is not as handsome as his son will be. Then he reminds himself that that son may never exist. Then he wonders if, in another world, he and this man would have become friends. He thinks not. The chill in Commandant Hux's eyes is nothing compared to the ice Vader remembers seeing so long ago, but it's truer, deeper. Yet as he sweeps forward, the man gives him a little half nod.
“Lord Vader, welcome to Arkanis. I must say, your inspection was a little unexpected.” Hux's voice is cool as well, yet precisely courteous. Vader is beginning to think this has been a bad idea. Why pick at a wound he has left behind for a decade and a half?
“I was nearby. I have heard promising reports about your academy.” He's also heard reports from the inquisitors about another program on Arkanis, but he doesn't want to inspect that. He still finds the inquisitors as a group rather distasteful. All that fury and so little proper use of it. He'll leave their little program here alone unless he has to.
“I hope we can live up to your expectations. I can have someone give you a tour now, or would you rather see the quarters we've arranged?” And Vader almost sighs. It's as though they never read the reports.
“I shall be staying on my shuttle. I would relish a chance to talk to you, though, Commandant.” And Hux's eyes widen just the slightest bit, perhaps with worry, perhaps with something else. He's only a little easier to read than Vader remembers another red-haired Hux being.
“Very well. Let me show you to my study.” And they march off, cadets scattering in every direction.
***
Arkanis is entirely unsatisfying. Thinking back, Vader can't remember why he thought visiting there would be a good idea. He remembers a comment by a younger man named Hux, that his father had never cared for him.
He's not surprised. Hux senior is cold and unyielding, yet nakedly ambitious in a way his son never seemed to be. Vader can't wipe away the though of the younger man running through the snow, screaming for Kylo to wake up. This older man is nothing like that. He is almost relieved to go back to his station near Lothal, to meet up with Tarkin's ship for a conference. Wilhuff Tarkin is a man he understands, a man who has never betrayed him, a man who has nothing to do with a world that can never be.
***
Vader manages not to think about Anakin's hopes for years. In fact, it's only in the pain that threatens to wash him away after Tarkin dies that he thinks back to Anakin Skywalker.
It feels as though the rebels have ripped yet another part of him away. First his faith in the Jedi, then the padawan, then finally, they've killed the one friend remaining to Anakin, torn the last link between Vader and the man who had not died on Mustafar.
And he hadn't expected it to hurt this much. But it does. He's shared too many dreams, spent too much time with Tarkin for it not to matter. It's left him without the only person he trusts beyond the Emperor, the only one he knows has known everything and never betrayed him.
Even Kenobi's death does not make up for it.
And the pain is getting worse with every scrap of knowledge he can glean from the reports that are slowly trickling in on the rebel forces. Just minutes ago, a man walked in with yet another intelligence briefing, this one collected by ISB. And it's all Vader can do to stop himself from hurling the man from the room with the Force, slamming the life out of him. It's wasteful, and, he reminds himself, it isn't the young officer's fault that Yularen is dead as well, that this report will be the first one in years from ISB that Vader knows cannot have had Yularen's careful eyes run over it.
He scans it quickly, then turns back to the first page more carefully. There's a name on it, a name he hasn't seen in print for almost twenty years.
“The pilot who made the fatal attack run is believed to be Luke Skywalker, new addition to the rebel alliance and native of Tatooine. Intelligence suggests this is the same rebel implicated in the illegal actions that led to the release of Princess Leia Organa from Imperial custody.”
Vader's eyes blur and he feels his hand clenching. The door in front of him makes an ominous creak, then crumples. He cannot think, cannot feel. There is only a wave, expanding out from him, bulkheads screaming as they try to hold in place. An alarm somewhere far away starts to sound. He cannot breathe. The desk crumples to the floor, metal legs pooling on the ground, molten. A man runs through the door, and without a though Vader tosses him out, sees him slamming into the wall through the twisted empty door frame.
Yet the man is enough to break Vader's concentration, and he pulls back to himself, breathing steadily, the mask and suit quickly lowering his heart rate, his pulse. This is not the way.
He breaths deeply, releases the Force. He may have a son. The future may not be lost. Yet is a future without the only man he had left to him, a future with a son who has killed his only friend.
Hope is a strange thing.
***
Hope is indeed an odd thing. Vader hopes, those first few months after seeing Skywalker's name, that he will get another glimpse at the future which may still exist. Yet it does not come, and he slowly resigns himself to the fact that, even if it does somehow still exist, he is not to see it. It seems that part of Anakin did indeed die on Mustafar.
He's shocked, then, when a familiar flash dances in the back of his mind as he meditates after just loosing the rebels on Hoth. It's been almost three years since he learned of his son, and in all that time, he's not had a single vision. Yet now, his mind sparks and flashes as it did all those years ago.
Kylo Ren is immediately recognizable, standing on the bridge of that ship. Yet now that Vader has years more experience, he can see the subtle markings that show this is not a ship of the Republic. There are stormtroopers at the doors, white helmets more like those the Empire has designed than any a clone ever wore. The stark black uniforms are closer to the clean lines of the Empire than those worn during the Clone Wars. Even more tellingly, as Vader scans the personnel around them, he notices a name on a nearby major's armband, some part of the insignia. Tarkin.
So Kylo is part of the Empire. Vader feels a flash of pride, a little confusion. Yet Kylo is turning around, and he snaps his eyes back to his grandson, eager to catch a glimpse of his face after all these years. Vader's breath catches in his throat (a fleeting thought of how odd it is to be able to feel that, after all these years) as he sees into that dark hood. Kylo, and he is sure it is Kylo Ren, is entirely hidden by a dark mask, scarred and pitted as though it has seen years of use.
A man jumps quickly out of Kylo's way as he stalks out of the bridge, cloak flaring behind him. Vader turns quickly to follow, watching the bridge crew from the corner of his eye as Kylo and he pass by. They seem terrified of something, and with a start Vader realizes it's his grandson. He feels an odd rush of something, and it takes him a moment to identify pride. These men clearly think Kylo is a force to be reckoned with.
Kylo sends the stormtroopers he passes scurrying away, and Vader almost smirks. It's all too familiar, too much like when he walks through the corridors of the Executor. No wonder Kylo thinks so highly of him.
Vader has a fleeting thought that maybe Kylo cares too much because his own father disappoints him, but he pushes it away. He will turn Luke, will bring him to the Emperor. Kylo's presence on this ship, this very Imperial ship, has to be a sign.
The door slides open faster than any mechanical door should, a squeal of wrenching metal. Inside, a red-haired man is sitting at a desk covered in papers, one hand typing something on a datapad, the other clenched around a thin knife, spinning it absently through his fingers.
It's Hux.
Kylo's already at the edge of the desk, hands planted on it firmly, leaning over the general. So, Vader thinks to himself, this must be before...
“Hux!” Kylo's voice is tight. “You can't release my prisoners without my authorization!” Vader can hear the anger simmering below the surface. He's glad of Kylo's control. He seems to be channeling his emotions rather well.
“Can't I?” Hux's voice is a sneer. “He was doing us no good. By letting him escape, he may lead us to the resistance on Onderon.” Vader doesn't know what prisoner they're talking about, but it's a ploy he and Tarkin used many times, and it's a good one. A twinge runs through him at the thought of Tarkin. He finds himself missing the man at the oddest of times – talking to Piett, looking through reports on the second Death Star, interrupted while meditating in his chamber, and now here. Kylo is speaking again though, and Vader focuses back on the pair in front of him. He doesn't know how long he'll have here, and he wants to catch every moment.
“Fine. But he was my captive. We are in joint command on Finalizer. Thus, we make joint decisions.” Kylo's voice is almost petulant, but Vader is glad that he's recognized the sense in Hux's actions. This must be sometime after their argument about the troopers. Hux looks as though Kylo's words are actually physically painful, and the hand holding the knife stops spinning it, clenches tight.
“As much as I hate to admit it, you are correct. Empire only knows why the Supreme Leader has seen fit to inflict you upon me. Yet in the future, I will inform you of my decisions.” It's said grudgingly, yet honestly. Kylo seems to recognize that, and huffs out a breath of air, taking a step back from the desk. As he opens his mouth to speak again, the scene dissolves.
Vader comes back to himself with a feeling that's brighter and stronger than any he's had in years. He has not lost Kylo, has not destroyed that future. And he's proud, so proud that he feels as though he'll burst out of the suit, that the smile trying to stretch across his face will shine through the mast to terrify those around him. Kylo, real again, and part of the Empire. Kylo, real, and devoted to order, to justice, to passion. It is more than he hoped for.
***
The lieutenant looks a little uncomfortable as he stand in front of Vader. He's never reported personally to Vader before, and his face is drawn, concern evident in the flutter of his eyes around the room. Vader gestures for him to speak.
“You were correct, my lord. Commandant Hux did indeed have a child some years ago. A boy, I believe. Would you like me to send him a message?” The lieutenant's eyes are perplexed, as though he can't imagine the relevance of Vader's recent query. Vader himself only nods.
“No. That will be unnecessary. Leave me.” And so, that at least is still true. There's an odd pulse below Vader's ribcage.
Hope is an odd thing.
***
When Luke refuses to join him on Cloud City, Vader reminds himself that he knows more than Luke does, that he has seen his grandson. As he meditates that night, he sinks to the place he remembers, feels for the flashes that used to come so frequently to Anakin. They've only come once to him, but he thinks that this night, having been so close to Luke, they may come again.
They do.
Kylo is standing in a forest, pressed against a tree, alert and motionless. Vader gasps a little at the crackling saber he holds. It's odd, wrong somehow, the blade unfocused. When he sees the crossguard, he realizes what's wrong. The crystal must be cracked. Vader wonders why Kylo has chosen this crystal, or more likely, why it chose him. Then, without warning, a blaster bold whizzes through the air a food away from Kylo's face. He's out and running towards the source in an instant, saber held before him to block any other bolts, red light a glow on that dull black mask. Yet even as Kylo runs, a bolt sails out from behind them, and an assailant crumples out of a concealed hiding place, his chest a smoking ruin.
Kylo grinds to a halt, shoulders shrugging up in annoyance. He scans the woods around him, but sees nothing. Vader feels nothing there either, but he isn't even sure if he would in the vision. He can feel the Force, but only dimly, and he's certain he could do little more than raise a light breeze here.
Kylo cocks his head, as though listening, then snorts to himself.
“Last one, was that? Damn Hux and his stupid sniper rifle. That one was supposed to be mine.” There's no real annoyance in his voice though, and he stoops to pull a pair of tags from around the dead man's neck. Vader notes with interest the symbol on the man's jacket. The rebels. So he doesn't manage to make an end to them. He sighs a little. Well, at least Kylo and Hux seem to be making a good job of it.
He is satisfied.
Kylo turns to stomp off though the woods and Vader gathers himself to follow. His son may be a rebel, but this powerful, passionate man is true to the Empire, and he has always been the one Vader cared about.
A shuttle comes into view through the trees, Hux standing at the entrance flanked by three stormtroopers. As Kylo walks up the ramp the general's lips quirk in a little smile.
“You're not supposed to be part of ground operations,” Kylo snaps at the man.
“Who says I was?” Hux responds, careless tone in his cold voice.
“You shot that man. We don't have another sniper that good.”
“Did you see me do it?” Hux questions, and there's a tinge of amusement in his otherwise frigid voice.
“You were there, Hux, don't deny it.” And Kylo sounds almost angry, though more for Hux's evasions than about the kill itself. Vader draws a little closer to them. A look passes between them, or at least, across Hux's face and the set of Kylo's shoulders. Then they're making their way into the shuttle, tension almost forgotten. Vader can see the troopers all breathing a sigh of relief. It seems they are at least somewhat aware of the... charged... relationship of their co-commanders.
Hux leads the way to a middle cabin and the shuttle lifts off. As soon as the door closes, Kylo strips off his helmet, and Vader gets the first glimpse of his grandson that he's gotten in years. There is sweat streaking Kylo's face, a healing bruise high on one cheekbone. Otherwise, he looks just as Vader remembers him, odd and dark, yet expressive. Hux comes a little closer and smiles.
“I couldn't let you have all the fun, now could I?” And his voice is still ice, yet there's dark laughter underneath. The annoyance is still bright in Kylo's eyes though.
“Did we get anything out of this except for some dead resistance members and personal amusement for you?” The frustration leaking from Kylo's every pore is almost tangible. Hux seems unperturbed.
“An aid. We think he may have worked with Organa personally.”And Vader winces. Organa then. He wonders if it is the Princess herself or some child. He hopes a child. He intends to recapture the princess himself, to make her pay for Cloud City, for Tarkin's death. Yet his slight flinch is nothing compared to the flash of hatred through Kylo's eyes.
“Good. Give him to me and...” Kylo's voice trails off as the vision looses coherency.
Vader comes back to himself with a start. A broken red lightsaber? An odd choice, but what does he know of Kylo's path? What even does he know about Kylo's master? He thinks back to those earlier visions. Kylo had seemed a Jedi, then a frightened child dressed in black as deep as the night. It's an odd puzzle. Who has taught his grandson about the dark side? Clearly not solely Vader himself, or Kylo would not need to call out his name as desperately as he did in Vader's memory.
Something else tickles the back of his mind. Ren. Now why does he think that name sounds familiar? It has something to do with the dark side, with a half remembered bit of lore Anakin Skywalker learned years ago.
Just as he's about to set to worry the problem until he teases the strands apart, an alert comes through. The Emperor has summoned him.
***
As Anakin stares up into Luke's eyes, he smiles a little. His son, real, and kneeling before him, tears clouding those eyes that are so much like Padme's. He can see it now, see it without the veil that Palpatine cast over him for so many years. Luke and Leia, his son and his daughter. In all the hurt that he has left after him, in all he has done to destroy the very thing he desperately wanted to protect, at least he has left these two beautiful pieces of himself behind.
And Kylo. Anakin's heart clenches. Kylo, who he's always loved more than any image of his children, who is still closer to his heart than Luke, than a daughter he has only seen a few times. Kylo, who was as important to save as Padme, and just as impossible. Kylo, who he has held onto tighter than any other piece of himself.
Kylo, who will make the same choices Anakin has made, and suffer the same. Kylo, lying in the snow with his blood pooling around him, Hux bowing panicked over him.
Anakin can't breath, his lungs unable to work. Luke is almost sobbing, holding tight to him. Anakin smiles a little, but he can't let go of the thought of Kylo, clinging to life in that icy forest. As he feels his life slip away from him, he find himself desperately wishing that Kylo can see the path back to the light, can make the choice he has just given his life to make.
Hope is an odd thing.