Whumptober 2020

No. 20/7: Field Medicine/Enemy to Caretaker

Finally time for some physical angst!

Darth Vader slowly stood up after regaining consciousness and looked all around.
His fighter had crashed in a forest, destroying at least a dozen of trees which now laid half burned on the ground. The Sith Lord had been thrown against a plant, but his armour had done its job and had successfully protected him after he had ejected his seat. The TIE Advanced, on the other hand, was completely torn apart: Vader had been very lucky to be cast out of it in time.

He stretched his sore joints and looked up at the sky: the battle between Imperials and Rebels was still raging above the planet.

That sight, though, reminded him of why he had ended up there.

His fighter had collided with an enemy's.

And said enemy was no other than his son.

Dread streamed through Vader's veins. Forgetting everything else, the Dark Lord used the Force to levitate blankets, a survival kit and a medical pack he had left in the crashed ship: he had seen his son almost die once, he wouldn't risk another time.

It wasn't long before he identified the boy's presence - it was like a novastar, a light that couldn't be ignored - and he immediately followed it.

Luckily, Luke's ship hadn't crashed so far away from Vader's. The Sith noticed some pieces of durasteel scattered on the grass after a twenty minutes walk, and he quickened his pace.

When it appeared in front of his eyes, the X-Wing left Vader stunned. Its conditions were far worse than he expected: it was completely burned, half buried in the terrain, screwed up as if it was a sheet of paper. And a small orange figure was right in the middle of that hell.

Vader couldn't help but scream his son's name as he rapidly opened the main hatch with the Force to get in more quickly. He climbed on the cockpit and finally managed to reach his son: he didn't expect him to be in such a bad shape.

He was unconscious, his soft features devastated by a huge gash across the left side of his face. His prosthetic hand had been partially melted by the heat and the skin of that forearm was scorched. Blood marked the orange suit in various points, a large piece of transparisteel protruded from the boy's abdomen. He was breathing, but only barely: the pulse Vader found in his wrist was fainting rapidly.

Vader cursed the Force for having let that happen. Why was his son always in danger? He hadn't done anything wrong and he deserved much better.
And now he was going to die and Vader was going to lose his meager chances to get to know his only child...

What was he thinking?! Luke would survive. He was going to save him.

With little to no effort Vader scooped the Rebel pilot up as if he weighed nothing, being careful not to worsen any of his injuries. Luke furrowed his brows at the movement and whimpered slightly, but did not wake.

The Sith Lord slowly left the destroyed ship and walked with his son in his arms until they reached a particularly big tree. He gently laid the youth beside the trunk so that the sun wasn't hitting him; this time Luke half opened his eyes, only to close them a second later.

However, Vader didn't even notice it: he was far too worried because of that gaping wound in his son's midriff. He didn't like it at all: it was pouring out blood at an alarming rate. Even the Dark Lord's gloves were stained in red.

This time, instead of cursing, he called upon the Force to look for help as he opened the medkit.

~~~

Reality had been a dense fog for the last few hours. Luke remembered almost nothing: only a huge crash, fire and a lot of pain. And someone calling his name.

He woke up and sank again in the sea of unconsciousness a thousand times before he actually came around.
He opened his eyes slowly, gathering all his little strength, trying to ignore the flaring pain he was starting to feel all over his body.

What he saw made his blood freeze. He was laying on his back on a comfortable blanket  and he was covered by another one, facing the starry sky. His head was in Darth Vader's lap, and Darth Vader was cradling his head in his hand as if Darth Vader holding Luke Skywalker paternally was the most normal thing in the galaxy.

Luke panicked, memories from Bespin still too fresh for him to stay put. He wanted to sit up, stand and escape, but he couldn't even lift his back from the ground: as soon as he tried, a tremendous pain pierced his abdomen. He fell back where he was before,  letting an unwilling yelp escape his lips.

The sound alerted Vader, who, much to Luke's dismay, turned his masked head to him.

"Do not move" the Sith's voice demanded, although he strangely sounded softer than usual. "You're gravely injured. It is a miracle you are still alive".

Luke was afraid of Vader, but he wasn't a fool: he knew when it was the case to listen. He obeyed and held still, trying to keep his crazed breathing under control despite the shock and the physical pain.

"What happened?" he asked weakly as soon as he could. He was disgusted by the pleading tone his voice had assumed, but he couldn't do anything about it.

"You crash landed" Vader explained. "It was almost too late when I found you. A piece of transparisteel barely missed your stomach, I had to use all my supplies to cauterize and patch that up".

Luke touched his midriff self-consciously, wincing slightly. For sure it had been a close call since he could feel intensely that cut's depth.

"This is a truce, right?" he asked sheepishly.

"No worries" Vader said with the sweetest time his vocoder could muster. "You are safe. I am here, just rest and regain your strength".

Luke nodded his head, too tired to say more.

"Thank you" he murmured. "You saved my life".

Vader cupped the son's cheek with his gloved hand, and Luke closed his eyes. Despite everything, his father was making him feel safe.

"You are most welcome, young one" the Sith said. "Anything for you".

And Luke fell unconscious again between peaceful dreams.