Chapter Text
When Vader kills Kenobi, it's oddly anticlimatic.
This is what he has wanted for two decades: it has been his main goal, the source of his rage and everlasting hatred. His purpose. To kill Kenobi. To get revenge.
And yet, when Kenobi dies, looking like an old, weak man aged far beyond his years, all Vader feels is... emptiness.
He stares at the worn Jedi robes--all that is left of Kenobi--and feels--he feels cheated. The gnawing hunger in him that made him chase after Kenobi for years... it isn't satisfied.
He does not understand. He defeated Kenobi. He got his revenge at last.
He should be elated.
Kenobi is gone.
He's gone.
Gone.
Darth Vader stands still as something inside his damaged chest squeezes painfully and shrivels.
***
Time passes.
Months, then years.
There are orders to follow, the rebels to crush, kill, and intimidate.
There is Luke, his son. The sight of him is as painful and as it is bittersweet, because the boy is so much like the foolish young Jedi Vader once was. And so much like his mother.
In the end, it's no surprise that he loses the duel to his son. He doesn't want to fight him. He doesn't want to kill him. And truth be told, he isn't powerful enough anymore. It should have been impossible. Luke is a powerful boy, but he still is nowhere near as powerful as Anakin Skywalker was and nowhere near as well-trained or experienced.
But Vader is not Anakin Skywalker. He cannot draw from the Light Side of the Force as Anakin Skywalker once did. He cannot draw much power from the Dark Side, either. Ever since Kenobi's death, his rage and hatred feel muted, superficial, not strong enough to use them. Not strong enough to fuel him.
The truth is, Vader is a shell of his former self. In his prime, he could hold back a lightsaber with the Force alone, toy with Reva as if she were still a youngling, not even bothering to ignite his own lightsaber. He could stop a launching spaceship and destroy it like it's nothing. But it feels like it happened in another life, not just thirteen years ago. Thirteen years ago, Kenobi was right there, and Vader's rage and hatred made him the most powerful Sith Lord to ever live.
But Kenobi is dead now and Vader doesn't know how to hate anymore. Or rather, he still hates, but it's a weak imitation of the real thing, nothing like what he felt for Kenobi.
He feels empty. Without his hate, he is nothing.
So when he saves his son, and the suit--and his broken body--is too damaged because of the Force Lightning, Vader is almost relieved. He knows that he could probably use the Force to support himself until Luke gets him hooked to life support, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to.
He's tired.
So very tired.
Tired of living in this metal cage, tired of having nothing, feeling nothing, and going through the same motions. Kill, kill, kill, with nothing to look forward to. He's been half-dead for years.
When he dies, it's a relief.
He hopes his children will live a life he never got to live.
A free one.
***
He doesn't expect to wake up after dying. For all his rejection of Jedi teachings, there is one Jedi belief he wanted to believe in: that after death, all Force users become part of the Force. Frankly, the thought appeals to him. He does not want afterlife to exist. He does not want to be judged for all the things he has done.
(He tells himself he has no regrets, but it is a lie. Sometimes he dreams of them when he sleeps in his bacta tank. They watch him with accusing, judgmental eyes on their small faces. We trusted you, they say.)
If this is afterlife, it is a very odd one.
He's in a long corridor with strange, glistening walls. Every time he touches the wall, it sends ripples through him, a powerful shiver that goes through his connection to the Force.
What do you want? a voice says.
There's an echoey, otherworldly quality to the voice that makes Vader doubt that the speaker is a mortal being.
What do you want? it asks again.
"I do not understand," Vader says. He startles at the sound of Darth Vader's mechanical voice. Part of him expected to sound like Anakin Skywalker, but if this isn't real, it makes sense that he will be what he sees himself as. He is Vader. He has been a Sith far longer than he was a Jedi.
You were chosen by us, the being says. We made you what you are. You were supposed to bring balance, but you have failed your purpose. The Dark One is not defeated, and the world will fall into darkness very soon once again.
Vader goes still. Sidious isn't actually dead?
He considers it. Truth be told, he finds it hard to care. He has never been good at caring about the bigger picture. He only cared about people, whether he hated them or loved them. He doesn't care about Sidious. He has a deep resentment toward him, the same resentment he felt toward his slave masters and the Jedi Council, for the shackles they put on him. But it isn't true hatred. He doesn't care enough to hate Sidious or do something about his return. He trusts that Luke and Leia can take care of the problem far better than he can. They're better at caring about the bigger picture than he ever was.
What do you care about, then? the voice says.
Kenobi's face flashes to the forefront of his mind.
"I want revenge," he says slowly as it comes to him. "Revenge against the real Kenobi. Killing that old man was not satisfying at all. I want more." He wants to punish the real Obi-Wan Kenobi, the infuriating, treacherous Jedi Master who betrayed him, not the old, fragile man that he killed.
The being--the Force?--reaches into him, into his mind, and looks into it.
He feels bare. Transparent.
But he has nothing to hide. He shows the Force the empty pit that existed in his chest ever since Kenobi died, the insatiable thirst for revenge still unquenched.
The Force says, I see.
And then it ripples, and Vader wakes up.
***
Vader stares at Anakin Skywalker's face. It stares back at him in the mirror.
He takes a deep breath, and then another, just because he can. Force. He has been doing it for an hour, and part of him still cannot believe his body is no longer broken. It is surreal, after twenty-three years of living in pain, dependent on his metal suit and the claustrophobic bacta tank.
He can breathe. He's young and healthy, his body in peak physical condition. He's forgotten what it felt like not to be in constant pain.
He has hair now, shoulder-length golden-brown hair that makes it clear how old this body is. He looks just like Anakin Skywalker did before Order 66.
His eyes are blue, which surprises Vader a little, before he realizes he's being foolish: his eyes have not been yellow in years, not since he mastered the Dark Side. There's nothing visibly differentiating him from the twenty-two-year-old Skywalker.
And yet he feels like an impostor as he finally leaves his cabin on the Resolute. His heart beats so fast he feels nearly dizzy. He isn't nervous. He is excited. He can feel Kenobi, his Force signature like a beacon somewhere on the ship.
He cannot wait to kill him.
Vader reinforces his mental shields and takes a deep breath as he passes the clones, who salute him. There is no reason to be anxious. No one will suspect anything. He looks just like Skywalker did. Sidious fooled the Jedi for decades, hiding right under their noses. Vader can fool the clones for a few minutes.
"It's good to have you back, General."
Has Skywalker been away on a mission?
Vader nods, remembering to smile. The smile feels strange on his face. Everything feels strange. Being back on this ship, seeing smiles on people's faces, friendly greetings--it all is very surreal. And irritating. He doesn't like being reminded that Skywalker was loved and respected by his men. Vader has become used to people fearing him in the years since the fall of the Republic. Darth Vader isn't loved by anyone. He doesn't need or want to be loved by anyone.
All he wants is to kill Kenobi. Then he will figure out what to do next with the second chance the Force has given him.
He marches through the ship toward Kenobi's Force signature, his hand resting close to his lightsaber. Skywalker's lightsaber, the one Kenobi stole after he left him to burn alive.
The Force signature leads him to Kenobi's cabin--or rather, the cabin Kenobi always took when he was on the Resolute.
Vader stops in front of the door and stares at it.
Then, he pushes it open.
Kenobi is seated on the floor, his eyes closed. Meditating. He is meditating.
He looks... right. Shiny red hair, flawless skin, perfectly trimmed beard, and immaculate clothes. The perfect Jedi. He looks just like the Kenobi who betrayed him--who will betray him again if Vader does nothing.
Vader's fingers clench around his saber, his heart beating so fast he feels flushed and too hot.
Two seconds and Kenobi will be dead. He won't even realize what happened.
No. That would be too fast. Too merciful. Vader wants to make him suffer. Suffer as he suffered.
Perhaps he can cut off his hands at first. Or a leg. Or burn his face with his lightsaber. Or--
"Will you ever learn to knock, Anakin?" Kenobi says, opening his eyes and smiling at him in a long-suffering, affectionate manner.
Vader cannot breathe. He certainly cannot speak. He simply stares at Kenobi, torn between a rush of violent, toxic hatred and an equally violent, toxic hunger that makes his chest tight. Hunger for revenge.
Kenobi's smile fades. He raises his brows. "Anakin? Is something the matter?"
His eyes are so kind.
Liar.
Vader wants to hit him. He wants to destroy him. He wants to wrap his hands around that pale throat and choke him. And yet, he doesn't move.
"No," he hears himself say woodenly.
Kenobi frowns and gets to his feet. "Anakin, I can tell that something is amiss," he says in his insufferably posh Coruscanti accent.
Vader's metal hand clenches into a fist. He wants to kill, but he cannot move. "Everything is fine," he bites out, watching Kenobi's approach warily.
Kenobi's frown deepens. "Then why are you so closed off in the Force? I can barely sense you."
"Can't a man have some privacy?" Vader snaps, watching Kenobi's hands. If they touch him--
They do. They settle on his shoulders and squeeze.
Vader shudders. Kill him. He should kill him now.
"Anakin," Kenobi says softly, looking him in the eyes. "I worry for you. I may not be your Master anymore, but I can sense how tense and stressed you are. I wish to help you, dear one. I wish you would--"
"Shut up," Vader grinds out.
Kenobi's brows furrow. "Pardon?"
Vader glares at him, turns, and stalks out of the cabin before he might do something he will regret.
Dear one, echoes in his ears as he strides down the corridor. Dear one.
Sithspit.
Vader wishes he could take out his anger on the clones, but of course he can't do it while he's pretending to be Anakin Skywalker. Because he isn't that Anakin Skywalker. He will not allow a silly endearment from Skywalker's childhood to crush his resolve. He will kill Kenobi. He will. It's just a matter of time.
Dear one, Kenobi's voice sounds in his ears again, warm, affectionate, and soothing. Dear one, dear one, dear one.
Vader feels sick to his stomach, because his chest is so full, and for the first time in two decades, the bottomless thirst inside it is quenched.
What does it mean?
He refuses to believe it wasn't revenge he wanted as he chased after Kenobi all over the galaxy. It cannot be.
He hates Kenobi. He does. He loathes that traitor.
Dear one, Kenobi's gentle voice sounds in his ears again.
"Shut up," Vader growls through his gritted teeth.
Tomorrow. He will try to kill Kenobi tomorrow.
There is no try, Yoda's voice says in his head, as if mocking him.
Vader hates. He hates Yoda, and he hates Kenobi, loathes him, utterly abhors him.
He also feels more alive and stronger in the Force than he has felt in years. In decades. It makes sense. He's had half of his body--and half of his midichlorians--absent for twenty-three years. Vader has never been stronger.
The power... it is intoxicating.
He missed it.