Yay, this is the final chapter of Part One. Angst warning. Then it's on to Part Two, which will be father-son fluff and angst.

OooOoo

He was so happy! So excited! So...scared. He could hardly wait to tell his friends his news. Not that he knew quite what to say or how they'd react. A blunt hi, my Dad is Darth Vader and I'm leaving with him didn't seem like a great idea. Well, he'd figure out something. He knew they were all aboard the Falcon—Han, Chewie, and Leia. It used to be that the four of them would hang out, but he'd become the outsider. His mood faltered momentarily—but no, it was his choice to avoid seeing Han and Leia together. However, did it truly matter any longer? His petty jealousies of the past needed to be put aside; Leia and Han were truly his friends, no matter that they sometimes hurt him without meaning to. Pain was a risk, he realized, of true friendship, and the test of that friendship was facing the pain and trusting them.

Luke ran up the ramp and made his way to the lounge. "Hi!" he exclaimed impetuously, sharing his joy before reading the atmosphere, which was...tense. He hesitated. "Am I interrupting?"

"I'd say you're right on time. And in a good mood, for a change." Han propped his leg up on the gaming table. "What's up, junior? Gonna read us the riot act?"

*What is a riot act?* Chewie asked curiously, but there was an edge to his tone, as if he was deliberately diverting the conversation.

"Long story."

*You do not know!*

"'Course, I know! I just...I'll tell you later, okay?"

Luke smiled uneasily. "Uh...why do I feel like something is wrong?"

"You tell me." There was an odd expression on Han's face, one that Luke couldn't interpret. "Did you talk to Vader like I suggested?"

"Han!" Leia scolded and sat very straight. "We've been...talking about you."

Well, Sith, that didn't sound good. "Oh? Well...I'm fine. Honestly. Thanks for caring."

She looked briefly at Han. "I don't think you are. Did you...talk to the counselor?"

"What?" This was foreign territory. He had thrown an offhand comment to Han, but— "Or course not. Why would I?"

"Luke, you've been... I mean, your emotions..." She looked at Han for support.

"Kid, you've been a wreck," the Corellian said bluntly. "Up, down—always down lately. But when Vader was here, you were flying high."

His lips parted, but he couldn't come up with a response.

Chewbacca pushed himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning. *Pup, you have been sad. Before, with him, you were happy. Until he left. We all know this.*

"I just said that," Han interrupted. "Did you do the head-talk with him or not?"

Luke nodded. He needed to say something, but he hated this. He hated that his friends were treating him like he was fragile and needed to be kicked down a flight of stairs at the same time. His good mood began to evaporate and he tried desperately to cling to it, to stop sliding downward. "I...yes, and I'm fine. I told you."

Leia made an aborted gesture with one hand. "Luke...I just want you to know that I haven't reported any of this to the Council yet."

His pulse pounded behind his ear. "Any of what? About Vader? Or that I've been a little..." He felt guilty, but about what exactly? "About Stenness? I...told the truth. I know it wasn't..."

"Krit, no. There's something else." Han leaned forward, elbows resting on the table. "We've been wondering..." He hesitated and looked at Leia, who returned a disgusted frown at his reluctance.

"Luke," she said, none too gently, "how did you pay for the clothes?"

"What clothes?" he responded automatically before— Did they mean his uniforms? "What does it matter to you?"

"I know the tailor. My father was his patron." There was pain in her voice that seemed ridiculously out of proportion for the subject...unless she was thinking about her father, not clothes, Luke thought, ashamed of his first reaction.

"Luke, he said you paid in full for four bespoke-quality cashmiri uniforms, two pair of nerf calfhide boots, and a butterfly moth silk cloak. That's a small fortune. Where did you get the credits?"

Chewie shifted on his feet and growled softly at her.

"C'mon," Han snapped, "We know where he got them. Vader, right?"

He had no words. He could cope with an ambush when he was in his x-wing and TIEs came out of nowhere, but this...these were his friends. Sithspit, why hadn't he thought of this, prepared some excuse, a reason. His mind raced. He won the money gambling. People paid him for his help. An unexpected inheritance from a long-lost relative— No, too close to the truth.

But wait, he was here to tell them the truth. If they would just stop talking—

"Whatever you did," Leia continued, "I'll forgive you because I know it wasn't deliberate. He manipulated you. But I need to know what you told him."

Forgive? Her arrogance grated on him. "You'll forgive me, will you? How generous."

"Yeah, maybe it is." Han's eyes were as sharp as weapons, angry and disgusted. "What bought you? Information? Your body? Your soul? Just what was the price of a Jedi?"

Unexpectedly, Chewie snarled again, this time at Han, who shook his head in frustration.

"What do you think I did?" Luke whispered, but inside he was screaming: You're my friends, what are you saying?

"Then the money was from Vader." Leia brushed a hand across her eyes. "Luke...did you betray the Alliance? If you needed credits that badly, I would've—"

He whirled toward the entryway, not wanting to see their faces, wishing he could undo the last few minutes, start over, relive them—or the last six months, the last year, his entire life, just... No. He faced her again. "Yes, the credits were from Vader. I didn't commit treason, Leia." He could hear the anger in his voice and in his breathing, which had suddenly started to come too fast. Or was it too slow? He couldn't tell, could barely focus. "And I didn't do whatever the hell you're thinking, Han."

"Then why—"

He was close to losing control and that frightened him because he didn't know what would happen if he did. "So I could dress like a Jedi, all right? Are you done with prying into my life, walking all over my privacy like I'm your property?" Oh, hells, when had his fingers curled around the hilt of his lightsaber? And when had Han shifted, laying his hand, falsely casual, across the blaster at his hip?

*Stop!* Chewie growled—at Han and Leia, Luke thought, but he couldn't be certain.

"I came here to tell you," he continued, his voice shaking with fury that he struggled to contain, "that I'm leaving the Alliance and you, my so-called friends. And before you ask, yes, I'm going with Vader. Satisfied?" Well, he wasn't satisfied, not by a long shot. "He's taking me home with him," he announced defiantly.

"No!" A single tear ran down Leia's cheek and Han rose to stand by her, hand now openly gripping his blaster.

"Why? Why? How can you go with that monster? You know what he is, what he's done—to me, to everyone, to Alderaan— Luke, he's a—"

"He's my father!" he shouted, his fury uncoiling and lashing—

Luke. Control your anger. For both our sakes.

Oh, Sith! His father was witnessing this nightmare?

I'm shielding your Darkness from Palpatine, but it is so strong that I may fail. You must stop. Stop, my son.

Darkness? He struggled to control himself with deep, cleansing breaths. Deliberately uncurled his hand from the lightsaber. Became aware that his face was wet, whether it was from rage-sweat or tears, he didn't care. "My father," he repeated. "Do you understand now?"

In the long silence that followed, Han wiped his mouth and turned sideways, hands first on his hips, then thrown helplessly in the air before dropping back to his sides.

*Your father was a great Jedi.* Chewie said finally, slowly as if he studied a puzzle. *Anakin Skywalker...Ah...I knew of him, but not of this fate. We thought...*

"Yes." Luke nodded, relieved that his voice didn't shake. He had a speech prepared. All his explanations, in order, had been ready to lay them out for the people he cared about. Before they did this to him. "He is Anakin Skywalker," he said carefully. "He was a Jedi. When he reverted to being a Sith, the Jedi leaders concocted the story that he was slain by Darth Vader because his defection was a great setback for them. Vader is the name the Emperor gave him for his own purposes. But my father has always been Anakin Skywalker. He is the leader of the Sith Lords."

Han's arm snaked around Leia's shoulders. "This is insane. He's brainwashed you, kid. Filled your head with lies."

"No." Luke shook his head. "I have a bond with my father. I am part of his soul, as he is part of mine. I know."

*I believe him.* Chewie's head tilted. *Han-o, he tells the truth.*

"Maybe." The dark eyes narrowed. "And did you know he was your father when you rescued him on Stennis?"

He looked at his friend, feeling ill that Han would see this as a betrayal. "Yes."

The gaze was cold. "You always knew?"

Luke shook his head. He wanted so badly to say yes, to tell them that it didn't matter what the rest of the galaxy thought. That he'd always known Vader was his father and had always loved him, but— "Just since...Cloud City," he admitted reluctantly.

Han inhaled sharply and shook his head. "Damnit," he muttered as Leia slumped against him. "And that bastard cut—"

"That bastard is my father," Luke snapped. "I'm going home with him. Nothing will stop me—not you, not anyone."

*No one is trying to stop you, pup.* Chewie patted his arm.

Breath left him in a shuddering gasp. Perversely, he was disappointed that they didn't care enough to try to keep him.

I will keep you. His father sounded almost amused.

He wanted to explain, reaching out to search for emotions from them that weren't angry or disbelieving or confused, but not finding any. "I need to go home. I need to find out about myself and about the Force. I need him to teach me." He gazed past them, struggling for words that would have meaning. "I feel so many conflicts. I'm confused about who I am. I'm afraid I'll damage everything that's special to me, even my friendship with all of you, if I continue on my present course. I don't know how long I'll be gone. But I promise I'll come back someday."

Leia twisted her hands together so tightly that they must have hurt. "What do you think you'll find at home?"

"Everything, I hope," he said with a touch of sadness. "All my answers."

Chewie tilted his head. *Then come with us, pup. Han-o wishes to repay his debt to Jabba, so we will be journeying to Tatooine anyway. Don't go with Vader. Join us.*

"Just like old times," Han said, but his voice was thick with sarcasm that made Luke flinch.

He tried to smile and pretend he didn't hear the sentiment behind the words. "I'm not going to Tatooine. It's not my home. Though I don't intend to mention that little fact to the Council when I resign my commission." He looked at Leia. "If you won't tell them."

"l don't know what I'll do," she said, openly distressed. "About any of this."

Han shook his head. "If you're not from Tatooine... Krit, kid, that's where we met you. Remember? In the cantina?"

*I don't think the pup has had a total memory blackout. He is trying to tell us something. What is it, Young One?*

Sometimes he felt closer to Chewie than the other two. Maybe it was his age or his wisdom. Chewie reminded him of Vader. "I was raised on Tatooine, but—" Luke drew a deep breath. "I am Sith. And I'm going home to Sith."

There came a harsh bark of laughter from Han. "There's no such place as Sith. You've lost it, kid."

"It's real."

"Well, I've never seen it."

"You haven't been everywhere," Luke replied as evenly as he could manage, "even though you'd like everyone to think so."

"Sith?" Leia slumped back in the chair. "Luke, it's a place of legend, a horror that wicked maidservants tell their young charges to punish them. It's not real."

He reached for her hand. "It's real. It's not a terrible place. It's my home. And I need to go there to find out who I am, what it means to be Sith. I need to find the pieces of myself that are missing."

Han snorted. "So Vader really is a Sith. This is all coming from him, isn't it? Every Sith-lying word of it."

He released Leia and looked at Han. "Yes."

"I never would've told you to talk to him if I thought you'd come up with this load of—"

*How will you get to Sith?* Chewie interrupted. *It is on no navigational charts.*

Your friends are remarkably obtuse.

His lips twitched at his father's observation. "I meant it when I said that Vader is taking me."

"Ah!" Han and Leia uttered identical sounds of dismay and looked at each other.

"This is ridiculous," Leia stated. "Vader wants to destroy you. You're the last Jedi, Luke! He and the Emperor have killed all the others. You can't hand yourself over to him. Han's right, he's lying to you."

"Here's where we have a difference of opinion." He planted his legs apart, arms folded to hide his nervousness. "I trust him. He doesn't want to kill me—he wants me to become a Sith."

"You just said you are a—"

Luke waved his hand. "Sith can mean a native of the planet or a follower of the Sith sect. Or both. We agree I'm the first, and he thinks I should become the second." He felt them struggling with the truth. "Understand this: I am Darth Vader's son."

He felt something...a fierce tide of pride from his father. Pride or...victory?

*You mean Anakin Skywalker's son, don't you?*

He looked at Chewie, nonplussed. "I...yes. Of course. I...he's my father." He is, they are...either, both...

Who does that make me? Vader, Skywalker...either...both?

This time the silence was complete and extended. Spontaneous murmurs of denial were bitten off, and he knew his friends finally believed it. He wanted to probe their thoughts, but accepted that it would be a hideous violation of privacy. So he waited, head raised proudly, for their responses, and part of him gloried in their consternation. Now they were finally beginning to realize just how special he was. Not a farm boy, not just a pilot nor a struggling Jedi.

A Sith.

That explains much, Young One.* Chewie's voice quavered.

"Everything, I should think."

*This is why you love him.*

"He's my father." How he loved the sound of those words! He could repeat them over and over and never tire of hearing them.

Leia clutched one hand to her throat. "What's happening to you, Luke? Are you going to become one of them—a Sith Lord? Is that what you want? You're supposed to be a Jedi! Can you so easily throw away your destiny? Destroy everything Ben and Yoda taught you?"

He laughed shortly. "Ben and Yoda, who lied to me about my father's death?"

"Luke...the Sith are evil."

"Are they?" He stared into her eyes, willing her to listen. "That's what we are taught. That Siths are evil. I am Sith. Am I evil?"

To her credit, she didn't give him an immediate response. She studied him carefully before she replied, "No."

"That shoots down the first myth, doesn't it?"

"Only if you're really Sith. How do you know Vader isn't lying to you?"

"I already explained!" He could feel the Darkness skittering along the edges of his mind and pushed it back, wondering how long and how far away he could shove it.

"If you believe all this, you're further gone than I thought." Han walked up to him, too close. Their eyes met. "Never in my life," the steely voice was scarcely above a hiss, "have I been so disappointed in someone."

Luke gasped and stepped back. In his dreams, this had never happened, nothing even close to this. What could he say or do—

Chewbacca stood abruptly. *When do you leave?*

He still stared at Han wordlessly until two shaggy arms reached out and pulled him into a rough hug. Luke choked on a mouthful of fur and fumbled to get it off his tongue. *May good wishes travel with you, Young One. My thoughts will protect your path.*

"Thanks, Chewie." He extricated himself from the embrace, blushing for no good reason.

Luke...damage control...

He sighed. "You can't tell anyone. No one. Only you three know who my father is." He focused on Leia, focusing cold resolve at her. "Palpatine doesn't know I exist. If you tell anyone else, word will reach him. Then everything will be lost."

Leia frowned, struggling to interpret the little hints of information he'd given her. Finally she nodded. "You have my word."

Han shrugged and Chewie nodded. He waited, hoping for gentle understanding but receiving nothing more from them before giving up and turning on his heel and leaving the Falcon. He paused on the ramp as he heard Leia break into sobs and Chewie shout at them, *He's just a boy!* But there was no turning around. They would need time to discuss this without his suffocating presence. He'd told them only one fact, but it proved to be an insurmountable truth to accept. His parentage and his entire life, everything they thought they knew about him, were lies. The only truths they'd ever really known were those they had seen—his spirit, his friendship, his love—and those didn't seem to be enough. Chewie understood, but Han and Leia— He hoped that he could retain their brotherhood, but he feared he'd lost both of them.

Lost them, like everyone else in his life, everyone who left and never came back...

Except his father, his lost/found father.

In the chill air of the hanger, safely away from them, he began to shake from the shock of the confrontation, his knees weakening. He had to hide, shut everyone out, before he—

Before he what?

In a deserted corner, hidden in the shade of a half-wrecked X-wing, Luke leaned against the cold concrete and slid down the wall, drawing up his legs and clutching them in an effort to stop himself from flying away. Maybe they were right about him. He'd been this way as long as he could remember— up/down/up/down down down until he drowned.

Hadn't he? Had he always been this way or...did it happen...when? He couldn't remember yesterday or the day before or last month or last year or being ten years old with a belt shredding his back over and over because he'd said something, done something, and Han and Leia hit him over and over and there was a huge explosion and a million screaming voices and fire everywhere and he was burning crying and the desert was so hot and someone—someone— no one—

A strange sound was torn from his throat. Grief, alone, always alone, didn't fit anywhere, different, everything hurt, he hurt, yesterday, today, no tomorrows—

You will learn to live with the scars.

Will I? he screamed wildly. When when when?

When the Beast is finally fed.

The beast? What? What do you—

Nothing, Vader said. Nothing at all.

Luke sobbed his sorrow and Sent the terrible thing that rushed into his mind unbidden, the shameful, sad thought he had never wanted to admit: I never thought you'd come...

His words hit something hard, something that resonated and amplified his despair. It slammed into him and he was gasping for air, groping for oxygen that wasn't enough, never enough, he needed to be smaller, tiny, invisible, open and closed at the same time, up and down and inside out—

"Luke? Krit!" A helmet tumbled to the floor next to him and orange filled his vision. Hands grabbed his arms. "What is it? What's wrong? Are you hurt?" The hands moved over him, searching for wounds that couldn't be seen.

"Hurt...hurt...hurt," he gasped between sobs. "Can't...b-breathe!"

"Okay. Take a long breath... Try again. Luke, just one...inhale...yeah. Hold it. Exhale. Another breath. That's it, keep it up." The hand rubbed his back, circling in rhythm with the words. "Breathe, one two...let it out. Good boy."

Luke...stop, you must stop. Control yourself. Listen to your friend. Breathe with him.

Friend? He kept gasping, over and over, obeying the commands, until it settled slowly into a steadier pattern.

"You're okay. Let me get someone. You want Han...? Leia...?"

"No! No!" He tried to wipe his face. "They'll just hurt me again."

The man moved to sit beside him and put an arm around his shoulders. Wedge, it was Wedge. "What the hell did they do?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. Not th-them. It was me, it's always me." Exhausted, he manage a miserable sideways glance at the other pilot. "I'm s-sorry. I don't know why— I don't know what I'm— I'm sorry."

"Krit, Luke, you have nothing to be sorry for. I'm surprised you took this long to let it out."

"You are?" He swiped his sleeve across his face and blew his nose against it.

"With everything you've been through the past two years—yeah, I'm surprised."

His legs were cramping. He stretched them out. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Wedge laughed shortly. "Why? You think I haven't cried at night in my bunk? This war is too much for all of us. And you... Luke, you're more...sensitive...than most of us. Things will always be tougher for you. Coping will be harder."

"Will it?" How could Wedge understand what it was like for him?

"I think I can," Wedge said, startling him. He'd only asked the question in his head, hadn't he? "Like...it's a sunny day, then the shadows come and block the light and you can't see clearly any longer."

Astonished, he realized he was seeing Wedge for the first time. "How do you know?"

The dark eyes tried to disguise pain, but couldn't. "I had a brother."

"You do? Did? Why didn't I know?"

"You never asked." The words were soft, not accusatory, but still Luke felt guilty.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

Silence lengthened between them until Luke thought Wedge wouldn't answer.

But he did, and it might have been better if he hadn't. "He killed himself," the other whispered. "Finally. After wanting to for so long. Hiding it. Hiding the pain...not from me, I knew but I couldn't do anything to fix it or stop him. I tried and tried."

Tears ran down Luke's face again; this time they weren't for himself. They were for his friend. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah?" Suddenly Wedge glared at him. "Then don't you do that, Luke! Don't you dare! Don't you ever believe that getting out is easier than whatever you're living with. You're not alone even when it feels like it."

He nodded. "I know. I won't, I won't ever do that."

I won't let you.

I know.

His father's glow surrounded him and he shared it with friend, wrapping his arms around Wedge. Later...tomorrow...he'd tell Wedge he was leaving. Not about Vader, never that. But tell him and reassure him and promise him. "You don't do it either, Wedge. Let's promise each other."

Wedge nodded and with unspoken agreement, they struggled to their feet. "Okay. Let's wash our faces and get dinner. I'm starving and we're late—damnit, we'll get leftovers."

"Well," Luke said with a shaky grin, "let's not cry about it. C'mon."

Oh, he would miss his new/old friends. But he would have his father to fill the empty place, and that would be enough.

Wouldn't it?

OooOoo

Continued in The Road Home, Part Two