Chapter Text
His head was fucking pounding.
Ben groaned, low and guttural, his mouth dry as ash and his eyes fluttering open just enough to be punished by the assault of sterile white light. He tried to lift his arm—tried—but it may as well have been buried under a pile of bricks. His body felt like it had been flattened, steamrolled, then thrown in a freezer just to make it worse.
And what the hell was all the beeping and booping?
"Where the fuck—?"
Then it hit him.
Hard.
Like the actual car that had come out of nowhere.
Rey.
A memory surged—her face, wet with tears, wild with fury, the way she'd shoved him back with that little firecracker strength of hers. Then the door. The smell of her hair. The way her hands had trembled around that empty revolver. His rage. His voice. The things he'd said—Christ, what the fuck had he said?
Then: the car. The blare of a horn. Glass exploding like firecrackers. A sickening crunch of metal and bone.
Ben winced, trying to breathe. His jaw ached like hell. Something on his face stung sharp and dull at the same time.
The door creaked. A voice called out faintly, distant through the cotton in his ears:
"Mr. Solo? You're awake?"
He didn't answer. Couldn't.
"You're awake?" the nurse repeated, softer this time, stepping closer.
Ben gave the faintest nod—
Big mistake.
A low, guttural groan slipped out as pain sliced through the side of his face and down his spine like a hot wire. His hand shot up instinctively toward his jaw, only to freeze mid-air—everything fucking hurt.
"Easy, easy," the nurse soothed, turning toward the doorway. "He's responsive."
Ben tried again, forcing his mouth to open, lips dry and barely moving.
"I—"
The door burst open.
"My baby!!" came the panicked, familiar shriek.
Leia. Her heels clicked furiously against the floor as she rushed to his side, tears already streaming, hands cupping his face so gently despite the wires and gauze. "Oh God, oh my sweet boy—Ben, you scared me to death—don't ever do that again—you hear me?"
She kissed his forehead, her voice shaking, and Ben blinked slowly at her, his throat closing with something he didn't dare name.
Then came the lower, rougher voice. "You're okay...thank God."
Han.
Not weepy like Leia, but shaken. Really shaken. His dad stood just behind her, hands in his jacket pockets like he didn't know what else to do with them. "Dumbass," he muttered—but there was no bite to it. Just relief.
And then came Luke—smiling, worried, eyes already assessing. Always the watchful one. He placed a hand on Ben's ankle through the sheets, as if grounding him.
"You scared the hell out of everyone, kid."
Poe hovered behind him, trying to hide his grin but failing miserably. "I mean, I told you to stop being dramatic, but this was a little overkill even for you."
Ben gave the smallest snort, and winced again.
But before he could say anything—before he could even think straight—
The room shifted.
A colder presence filled the air like a thundercloud rolling in.
"Everyone out," a new voice said. Sharp. Steady. The kind that didn't need to be raised to command attention.
Anakin Skywalker stepped into the room like he owned it.
Because, in a way, he did.
Silver hair slicked back, tailored black suit immaculate, not a speck of dust daring to touch him. His eyes locked onto Ben's—and for a moment, just a flicker, something...human crossed his face.
"Except for him," he added quietly, eyes narrowing as he stepped closer to the bed.
Ben's heart stuttered.
This...was going to be a very long day.
——————
Anakin Skywalker stepped closer.
His grandfather didn't speak right away. His hands were trembling slightly as he approached, the leather gloves clutched in one fist, undone. His usually stern expression had fractured—ever so slightly—around the eyes.
He reached out, carefully, and touched Ben's bandaged cheek.
Ben tensed.
Anakin's voice came quiet. Too quiet. "Benjamin... how do you feel?"
Ben swallowed. His throat burned, but he forced out the only answer he could manage.
"Like hell."
Anakin gave a weak laugh. "You look it."
He sat beside him, folding his gloves slowly. "The doctors said the impact missed your spine by two inches. You could've... well. It doesn't matter now."
Ben looked away.
There was too much in the air. Too many things unspoken.
Anakin leaned in. "You have to come home. There are meetings lined up. Statements to be made. Everyone's watching."
Ben scoffed, the sound low and gravelly—and immediately regretted it. Pain shot up the side of his face like someone had shoved a hot wire through his jaw. He winced hard, breath hissing between his teeth.
He really had to stop fucking doing that.
Anakin's eyes flickered with worry for all of half a second. Then it was gone—buried under the iron spine of a man who didn't let emotions linger too long.
"You are coming home," Anakin said again, firmer now, final. "Enough of the melodramatics, Benjamin. You don't have to marry Phasma immediately, but you will announce your engagement. After your face heals."
Ben blinked once, then rasped out a half-laugh, half-cough.
"Yeah," he muttered, voice dry. "The money maker."
Anakin didn't smile.
"Exactly."
Ben stared at the ceiling. The light buzzed faintly above him. He could already feel it—the leash tightening again. He wasn't even out of the hospital bed yet, and they were already pulling him back into the orbit. Back into the expectations. The legacy. The performance.
He exhaled slowly.
He really should've just stayed unconscious.
⸻
Rey groaned softly, slumping over her textbook as if sheer proximity might force the information into her head. It wasn't working. The formulas blurred. The diagrams wavered. Her vision kept doubling every time she tried to focus, and the pounding behind her eyes had only gotten worse since morning.
She scratched something out. Rewrote it. Erased again. Her fingers were trembling, her breath uneven. Her head was a mess—scatterbrained and static-heavy—and she knew why. Two weeks in and she still couldn't forget about—
Stop it.
Not now. Not here.
You're in class. Get your shit together.
The bell rang, saving her from another round of self-directed fury. She stood slowly, careful, but the room tilted just slightly to the left. She steadied herself with a hand on the desk, jaw tight. She was fine. Just tired. Just—
"Rey?"
She looked up to see Professor Kaydel waving her over. The woman was effortlessly polished—mid-forties, glowing skin, the kind of calm smile that could diffuse a bomb.
Rey blinked and made her way to the desk, still woozy.
"Big news," Kaydel said, almost vibrating with excitement. "A new scholarship program in California. It's part of New York Polytechnic's expansion initiative—they're opening a satellite division on the West Coast, and they've asked for top student nominations."
Rey tilted her head. The kind of nod that said great... and you're telling me this because...?
Kaydel didn't even pause. "I signed your name."
Rey's stomach dropped.
"What?" she whispered.
"Don't freak out," Kaydel said, grinning. "You got in."
Rey could barely blink.
"You—what?"
"The only thing you'll have to worry about is the student housing," Kaydel continued, unbothered by Rey's slack-jawed silence. "They'll cover tuition, books, travel. Everything. All you need is about two grand for your share of rent for next semester."
Rey's throat tightened. Her brain scrambled to form words, to argue, to understand—and then Kaydel handed her an envelope.
Heavy. Stuffed.
"I said don't freak out," Kaydel warned, raising a hand before Rey could speak. "That's five hundred in cash. It's not much, but it's something."
Rey opened her mouth again, tried to form a protest—
"Nope. No. Don't you dare," Kaydel said, folding her arms. "Rey, you've been in my class for over a year. I've seen how hard you work. How much you fight for everything. And I'm telling you—this is the universe throwing you a bone. So for the love of God..."
She leaned in, eyes warm and steady.
"Take it."
"Of course you're gonna take it!" Rose screamed, practically leaping onto the bed like she was on a trampoline.
Rey laughed breathlessly, now in Rose's bedroom, the familiar scent of vanilla lotion and laundry detergent wrapping around her like comfort. She couldn't stop smiling—still couldn't believe it. Rose had just gotten the news she was officially accepted into her nursing program in California, and Rey... Rey had gotten into her own program too. Despite never even signing herself up.
"I can't believe it," Rey said through a laugh as Rose tugged her up, bouncing with her. "We're actually going to—"
"Cali-freaking-forniaaa!" Rose sang, spinning dramatically.
Rey burst into laughter, her cheeks turning pink. "Rose! Your mom's gonna come in and tell us to stop acting like maniacs—"
"Oh, would you stop it and let yourself have some fun! We're leaving this dump behind, Rey. New lives! Sunshine! Boys!"
Rey's laugh was pure and unstoppable, her feet sinking into the soft mattress as they jumped like children—wild, free, and for a moment, without any weight pulling them down.
Then—knock knock.
The door opened, and Mrs. Tico stood in the doorway. Stern expression. Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised.
Both girls froze like toddlers caught red-handed.
But then—her face cracked. "My girls..." she said, voice wobbling with joy as she stepped inside.
And then she laughed—really laughed—and climbed up on the bed beside them, kicking off her shoes.
"My girls are going to Californiaaaaa!" she screamed, raising her arms, and the three of them screamed it again in harmony.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Rey felt something sharp and beautiful and terrifying all at once rise in her chest:
Hope.