AN: This is a completed story that I am posting in 9 or 10 parts. The latter half does require some editing and refining, but it is not a work in progress and should be posted over the next couple of weeks - work and real life willing.

I got an overwhelming response to Instinct and a few people commented and PM'd me with questions about how Luke became an Imperial Agent. Well... this is that story. So, Insidious is a prequel to Instinct. And yes, it is called in Insidious for two reasons, one of which is pretty obvious.

The story is not beta read... so all typos, grammatical errors and what-not are all mine!

Disclaimer: I make no claim to the copyright of Disney/Lucasfilm. Star Wars and it's characters and situations are not mine... I just play with the toys in the sandbos for a little while and my only profit is the fun I have.

Insidious

Part One

The Teacher

Puny.

That was the initial word that came to his mind when he first saw the boy. 'Scrawny' was the second.

Puny and scrawny.

The boy was sitting on the ground, covered in dust and dirt with his clothes in disarray, wiping the blood away from a split lip; a large bruise already darkening the skin under his eye. A crowd of youths were running helter-skelter down the street away from the scene while hooting and laughing and shouting insults in both Huttese and Galactic Standard…

"Wormie! Wormie… Squirm back into the sand, worm-boy!"

"… echuta gaggalak…"

…and he had no doubt that they were the reason for the boy's current condition.

The child stared at the blood on the back of his hand and, with more blood running from his lip, he wiped the offending fluid onto his ripped tunic. He was a pitiful sight, sitting there in the middle of the street forcing the few speeders that slowly traversed the road to veer around him eliciting further angry shouts from the drivers.

But there were no tears. No self-pity. When the boy looked up he did so with a hardened gaze at his bullies' retreating backs.

There was a part of him that wanted to go to the boy now, right now. A part that wanted to pick him up out of the dust and the sand and set him on his feet. A part that wanted to tell the child of his father and of his hidden and unrecognised power that even now he could feel within the Force. The boy's power swelled with his anger and hate, it crashed and dashed against the solid rocks of his own concealing shields, and rose and fell with the tides of the boy's pain and upset, and yet it was a power that lay unnoticed and unrecognised by the child himself.

He had to quashed his instinct to intervene, quelled it by reason and logic; to approach the boy now would be foolhardy and it could lead to his exposure, something he could not yet risk.

No, a more subtle approach was required for the son of Anakin Skywalker; just as it had been required for Anakin himself.

He turned away, pulled the cowl of his robes further down to obscure his face and walked away as the beaten child dragged himself up from the sand and dirt.

ooOOoo

The Pupil

Holding his arm to his chest, sure that his ribs were fractured this time, and with a groan of pain Luke Skywalker pulled himself to his feet. He licked his lips, experimentally probing at the cut on his lip and grimaced at the vile taste of blood and the feel of sand in his mouth. He gagged and spat out a glob of the revolting concoction.

Sand got everywhere!

He glanced down Anchorhead's main street… it's only street… watching the backs of the boys who had attacked him recede and disappear into the afternoon heat haze. He could still hear their laughter.

He hated them. Hated Fixer who had the hardest punch and the sorest kick. He was certain his legs were covered in bruises. He hated the others who had held him tight and fast so that Fixer had free reign to kick and punch at his leisure.

Someday, he promised himself. Someday he would be big enough and strong enough to defend himself. Someday, he would be able to wrestle free and return some of the punishment Fixer thought was his personal responsibility to deliver every time he spotted Luke in town.

The boy turned where he stood and took a hasty step back as yet another speeder veered around him, its driver, a Dug, cursing loudly in Huttese as he passed.

"Loca Kung!"

Luke shrugged, he had been called worse.

"Luke!" He winced at his Aunt Beru's shout, and looked up with one eye swelling so much that his vision was already obscured. Fixer had really landed one this time! He squinted at Beru Lar's as she hurried over, almost colliding with a figure in dusty dark robes. She paused, frowned and glanced briefly back at the man, before dismissing him and rushing to Luke.

His aunt kneeled before him, brushed the hair from his face and turned his head this way and that as she inspected the damaged. "Oh, Luke," she despaired, "What happened this time?"

His tongue probed his cut lip again, before he answered. "Nothing… we were just playing."

"Playing?!" Beru's voice was incredulous as she dabbed at his lip with the sleeve of her dress. "This isn't playing, Luke."

The boy shrugged again, more embarrassed with his aunt's fussing than he was by the beating he had taken.

"I'll have your uncle speak to their fathers," Beru told him, standing and looking up and down the street to see if she could spot the perpetrators. "Was it Laze again?" She asked, giving Fixer his true name.

"It was no-one, Aunt Beru. It was a game," Luke protested becoming exasperated and a little panicked, knowing if his uncle spoke with Fixer's father that the next beating would be worse. It always was when adults got involved. "Please, don't say anything."

In answer Beru spun him around and propelled him towards their waiting landspeeder telling him, "Forget Owen, we'll go to Tosche Station right now and see if Laze's father is there and get this sorted out."

Luke had a protest on his lips, but he stilled it, swallowed it, knew it wouldn't do any good. So he trudged along with his aunt to the speeder with the air of a man about to climb the gallows.

ooOOoo

The Teacher

During the following weeks he visited the area as often as he dared, blending in and becoming a familiar figure in Anchorhead; a settler looking for supplies. He kept to himself, but could now greet the usual faces with a nod and a few words about the local news; the latest Tusken raids, the projected moisture harvest and how the price of fuel had risen even here in the Outer Rim since Palpatine had come to power twelve years before and…

"I never caught your name, buddy?"

He smiled, didn't answer, his attention hooked now by a small figure dressed in Tatooine whites and creams; tunic, boots, pants and hat, who was walking down the street with a large cluster of other youths trailing at his back while calling insults, threats and goading each other on. One of the bigger boys ran up and delivered a hard slap to the back of the boy's head, knocking the hat askew.

"Damn shame," the man beside him muttered, "but the kid needs to stand up for himself. It's the only way to beat the bullies."

"Who is he?" he asked, despite knowing, keeping to his role.

"Kid's called Skywalker. Luke… I think. Scraggy little beggar. He lives with the Lars. I asked Owen about him once, but he's a private man, just said he was the son of some distant relative. Orphaned at the end of the Wars. Damned good of them to take the kid in, if you ask me."

"Yes," he intoned, distantly, his attention focused solely on the boy. "Very good of them."

Skywalker's face was flushed, adrenalin already coursing through his body. His hands were fisted by his sides and his back was stiff as he walked; he was ready for fight or flight. But which one? Intrigued and, despite the risks, he allowed his shields to slide, to loosen, just enough to reach out into the Force for a tentative touch.

And what a storm he found.

Young Skywalker's feelings were a rage of emotion; hot, searing anger, and ice cold fear battled within. He was both confident that he was not going to back down or run away, but at the same time he knew… he knew… he was about to get badly hurt.

The boy's head suddenly snapped up, he stopped dead and intense blue eyes met his.

He slammed his shields back in place, watching Skywalker's forehead crease with confusion, just as the crowd of youths of descended. Despite himself he winced as Luke was tackled to the ground and the other teenagers surrounded him like a pack of womp rats swarming round a weakened Eopie. Feet kicked, fists bludgeoned until…

It was time!

"That's enough!" He bellowed, crossing the road to intervene.

He was ignored by the group and he suddenly realised that every time he had seen the boy bullied and battered, he had never once cried out. Skywalker took his beatings with a quiet dignity, not giving his tormenters the satisfaction of a cry. Which only served to infuriate them.

His own fists grabbed a handful of cloth and he hauled the tallest boy away from the group and tossed him to the side. The youth's feet slid in the sand, arms windmilled in the air and he fell into the sand on his butt.

The thuds, grunts and catcalls of the beating stopped and silence descended.

Enraged the teenager jumped back to his feet, chest out, face red with embarrassment and fury. "You etchuda stupid kung…. Do kee know who I am?"

He closed his eyes, reaching into the Force for calm, now was not the time to display his own powers, but he was close…. so close. "I under Huttese. I understand Galactic Standard. Speak one or the other but not this bastardized version of both."

The youth took a step closer. He was a good head taller, stockier and physically powerful. However, size, bulk and physical strength had never intimidated him before and it wasn't about to now.

"I strongly suggest that you leave… now," he folded his arms, slipped his hands into his sleeves.

Indecision flashed in the youth's face, his eyes flitted to the other boys standing behind the stranger, and then to the boy lying in the dirt. "This doesn't concern you, old man," he squinted in sun, trying to see into the heavy cowl of the man standing before him.

There was smile in his words when he replied. This bully had no idea how much this concerned him. "I think the boy has had enough for today, or perhaps I should have a word with your father?"

The youth's hand slipped to the neck of his tunic and fisted it closed. The movement was telling and it confirmed what he suspected; this boy was as much a victim of violence as his prey was. They were at an impasse and one of them had to back down or take action against the other.

The boy licked his lips and took a step back and looked around the man to the gang waiting and watching behind. "Come on, guys…."

There was movement behind and the mob began to stroll around Luke and himself to gather at their leader's back.

The large boy smirked, cleared his throat loudly and spat in the sand as he backed away. "We'll see you later, Skywalker." The threat was implicit in his tone.

He watched them wander away down the street and into the afternoon heat haze.

There was a groan from behind and he turned, crouched and offered his hand to Skywalker. The boy paused, looked up and studied the hand and the robes of the man helping him. "I'm fine," he grunted out, pushing himself up to sit and ignoring the extended hand. "I can look after myself."

He allowed himself a chuckle; the boy's face was a medley of bruises and blood trailed from one cheek where a boot had grazed it, shredding skin.

"So I've noticed…." He said with a smile, his voice trailed away and glanced up the road, his eyes following the path that Skywalker's tormentors had taken.

He could feel the boy's eyes on him, his curiosity and a hint of gratitude for stopping the fight. He knew what the boy saw; an aged man of average height dressed in dark robes, white of hair and blue of eyes, face lined with the harshness of life.

"I've seen you around," Skywalker commented squinting up at him in the sunslight.

The boy was supposed to have seen him in town. That had been the idea of his visits to the place; to become a known face, to become less suspicious and less of a threat to the locals.

"And I have seen you, young one," he responded, pointedly looking back up at the road and at the path the boy's bullies had taken. "I could help you, you know," he said, eyes trailing back down to Luke who was still sitting in the sand.

He watched Luke tenderly touch his jaw where a dark lump was beginning to form. It needed a cool pack or some ice to curb the swelling, but he knew that these things were rare on Tatooine and that the boy would have to suffer until he healed.

"I could teach you to defend yourself," he added, lifting his cowl over his head against the beat of the suns.

The boy wiggled his jaw, winced, still not taking him up on his offer, but he could feel Luke's interest had been piqued.

He closed his eyes, called upon the Force for guidance, and clamped his hand on Luke's shoulder. "I could teach you. Teach you to fight back. They would never touch you again. No-one would…"

He left those words hanging in the air, seeing and feeling the boy's curiosity spike. Seeing and feeling the child's desire to be free…

"Only I can give you freedom."

The boy's eyes… so blue like his father's… gaze up at him, gazed into the heavy cowl. "What would I have to do?"

Ah, yes… he was a child of Tatooine and just as suspicious as Anakin was before him. He did not expect to get something for nothing, he knew there would a price to pay. That would come, but not now. Now was not the time to discuss payment.

"Learn," he told the boy, putting a smile into his words, "that is all young one. Nothing more. Learn what I have to teach and one day you will be free from their torment."

He offered his hand again and this time, after another moment of hesitation, Luke reached up and took it.

ooOOoo

To be continued...