Han tossed back yet another shot, sighing as the alcohol burned down his throat. The buzz brought forth by the liquid made the edges of his vision tint, his mind more relaxed than it had been in months. He let his eyes flutter closed as he leaned against one of the thick trees that covered every square inch of the forest moon, the lively hum of the music dancing in his ears.

A muffled shuffling emitted from behind him, dragging him only partially out of his hazy stupor. The sense of alertness constantly surrounding him from the war drained blissfully to the back of his mind—he knew he was with friends. Something, or more likely someone, settled beside him, a deep, breathy chuckle making its way through the thick of the celebratory sounds.

"The Han Solo I knew was always able to hold his alcohol far better than what I'm seeing now." Han cracked an eye open, glaring playfully at the fuzzy outline of Lando Calrissian. He had yet to change out of his new General uniform, the crisp eliteness to it surprisingly fitting on his old friend. "You getting old there?"

Han fully sat up, blinking away the dark spots dancing in his eyes before pouring himself another glass from the bottle by his feet. "You are not one to talk about age, last I checked."

Lando smirked, snatching the bottle away from him to pour his own drink. "Hanging around Luke and Leia all the time is sure to make you feel ancient though."

"Your point is noted."

Lando suddenly gripped hard at his chest, barely holding back a violent cough. He pulled back his glass, staring at it in full bafflement. "What in the galaxy are you drinking?"

Han shrugged, taking another gulp without so much as a wince. "It's whatever those creatures handed me. Pretty sure they brewed it themselves."

Laughing with another cough, Lando sat his glass down, resigning to simply stretch out beside his friend and thoughtfully watch over the Rebels' celebration with the Ewoks, everyone giddy with elation and marveling at the fact that they had survived an impossible situation. It was a game-changing day that would rattle the galaxy as much as the destruction of the first Death Star had. They still had a long journey from here, but for now they could say that they did it.

"Hey, Lando," nudged Han, hazel eyes darting around the Ewok village in a sudden hyperfocus. "Have you seen Luke around?"

Lando shook his head, joining in the visual search. "He's probably just doing what we're doing. Cooling down, contemplating everything that happened."

"Yeah, but..." Han trailed off, fingers tapping rigidly on his glass, the condensation dribbling down into his palm.

Lando quickly moved to pat Han's shoulder, years of experience of comforting each other and drinking an unhealthy amount of alcohol allowing him to naturally fall into a position of reassurance. "He's fine. I haven't known him as long as you, but he seems like the type to not let his friends worry unnecessarily."

Han snorted, the humor barely registering. "Then you must not know him at all."

"Maybe. But I do know you. You act tough, but you let your worry overtake you. I haven't seen you this smitten since...damn, since me."

Han flashed him a teasing smile. "You just love flattering yourself."

Lando elbowed him fondly, the both of them giggling like teenagers, a quick effect of the horrid alcohol they had consumed. "I'm just saying. Being around you constantly? Well, a person's entitled to seek a little alone time now and again."

"Glad to know you hold such happy memories of our relationship."

"You took my ship, remember?" snickered Lando.

"And I recall a certain someone damaging that ship quite recently despite—what was it?—oh yeah, promising 'not a scratch'."

The older man had the decency to look embarrassed, his smirk quickly morphing into a grimace. "It was all Nien, I swear. That guy's a terrible co-pilot."

"Oh sure, blame it on the co-pilot. I'm sure Chewie's never heard that one before."

Lando rolled his eyes. "That's because Chewbacca knows what the hell he's doing, unlike you. You should let him pilot more often."

"Over my dead body," Han snapped, swigging yet another shot. "No one pilots my baby unless absolutely necessary. Not even Chewie."

Lando raised an eyebrow, leaning into Han's shoulder. "You let me," he singsonged.

Han flushed pink. "Well—"

"And Leia sure did a damned good job on Bespin."

"Yeah, out of necces—"

"And I'm willing to put credits down that you'd let Skywalker after just five seconds of him shining those baby blues—"

Han blew out a frustrated sigh, "Alright, alright! Some people can fly her, but it's a very short list." He thrust his finger into Lando's face, nose scrunching in annoyance as the other man laughed at him, the sound carrying amongst the trees.

...

As the hours ticked away, Han and Lando grew more drunk, their words slurring into incoherency. Leia caught Han's eyes from across the village and shook her head exasperatedly. Han simply raised his glass to her, showing off a delirious smile before slumping back into Lando. It felt good to just relax and take his mind off his worries.

It felt good to connect with an old friend he thought would never speak to him again.

Brain still muddled, Han barely made out Leia's outline as she approached them, her uniform still on as well—her rank brandished proudly over her chest. She crossed her arms, standing over them and shaking her head as she reached down and knocked back a sip of the brew. Han blinked at her, watching as she plopped down by his feet and stared at him intently.

"See something you like?" he gurgled, watching her roll her eyes as his standard roguish smirk came off as more of a cheesy flash of teeth.

"Your continued flirting with me continues to be aimed in the wrong direction, Han."

Lando sat up from where he was draped over Han's lap, dark eyes glistening. "You see how gone he is too, right?"

"He's very bad at hiding it."

Han slapped at Lando's head, shoving him off his lap as his friend continued to laugh at his expense. "Would you two quit it with Luke and I? We've barely even kissed."

"But you have kissed," insisted Leia.

"Doesn't mean anything."

"Oh, it means something," Lando chimed, ducking away from another swat.

"Where is the kid anyways? He's been gone all night."

Leia shrugged, settling the almost empty bottle in between her criss-crossed legs. "He disappeared a few hours ago. Wedge said he saw him head off into the forest, but didn't want to bother him."

Han frowned, his neck bristling with trepidation. "Shouldn't someone go check on him?"

Leia and Lando shared a look. "I don't know what happened when he went up to confront Vader, but I was able to feel enough that he needed his space. He's..." Leia sighed, rubbing her forehead to relieve the throbbing ache. "He's troubled."

Lando waved a hand. "You feel it through that Forcey stuff?"

"Yeah. Luke calls it our 'bond'. You know, cause we're twins apparently."

"Still not over that piece of information."

Han ignored the two of them, vying instead to stare intently at Leia. There was something else she wasn't saying. Brown eyes skirted nervously up at him before looking back down at the ground.

He got to his feet in a haste, startling his friends. "I'm going to look for him."

"Han—"

"No," he grunted, sobriety pushing itself to the forefront of his brain as he steadied himself. "I need to make sure he's okay."

He was met with a long stretch of silence before Leia nodded in understanding. "You be careful too, then."

"Don't wait up for me."

...

Han swore at the millionth low-hanging branch that whacked him in the face. He swiped aggressively at the leaves and twigs, his hatred for the little forest moon increasing even further. He had hiked down the general direction Antilles had pointed out for him, but after a few minutes he was beginning to see why Lando and Leia had been so concerned about letting him go. He had no sense of direction outside of his instincts, and rationally, he knew Luke could be virtually anywhere in the dense trees.

The knowledge that Luke knew the area as well as he did and could be just as lost kept him pressing forward.

It wasn't until he smelled ash and smoke that he finally halted in his tracks, spinning on his heels in a search for its source. Squinting in the darkness and peering up into the canopy, he noticed faint silver wisps dotted with the twinkling orange residue emitting from an open flame dancing above his head. He had no way to know if it was Luke, but it was a start.

Quickly, he darted through the trees, maneuvering back and forth until he finally came across an open clearing—a mound of four-foot chunks of wood alight and placed neatly in the center, passionately burning the last of its contents. Han swallowed thickly. He knew what a funeral pyre looked like.

He patted his holster to make sure his blaster was still pressed up against his thigh, his thumb nonchalantly flicking the safety off in one deft motion. Keeping close to the trees, the mass of underbrush concealing him in the shadows—finally an aid and not a hindrance—Han peered around the blazing pile. What he found was not a rogue Imperial still parading around the woods in a futile search for glory against the Rebels, but instead a huddled shape blending neatly into almost invisibility with its dark rags on. It wasn't until the shape adjusted that Han was able to make out the familiar pale blonde mop of hair, his guard lowering as he did so.

"Luke?" he called softly, softening his steps so he wouldn't startle the young man. Luke, however, did not move from his position of his face buried into his knees. Once he got closer, Han was able to see his shoulders quivering and hear faint hiccuping, all telltale signs. Han slid to his knees, gently stroking Luke's lower back in small circles. "Kid...what's wrong?"

Luke's head shakily rose, his eyes bloodshot and rimmed with red, his face streaked with moisture and sticky from his running nose. Han's heart crumpled in on itself; he hated seeing Luke—happy, overly positive, bright Luke—in a state of such misery. Knowing that Vader had been the cause of it only ramped up his anger, him aching strongly to wrap his hands around the durasteel-covered throat and tear out each individual wire that connected to the Sith's life support system.

"You didn't have to check on me," Luke monotoned, ignoring Han's question. His voice was scratchy and dull, saturated in such anguish that Han could barely breathe. He watched as Luke hastily scrubbed at his eyes, sniffling roughly. "I was coming back soon."

Han sighed, reaching out and tugging a wayward curl behind Luke's ear. "Kid, you've been gone for hours. You can't disappear and expect us not to worry."

Luke shrugged, still distant. "I told Wedge."

"Luke..."

"I just want to be alone, Han!" Luke bit out from out of the blue, jolting Han enough to pull his hands away. There was a force behind Luke's words, an immense, unsettling power. Han's mind momentarily clouded over, whispering the command for him to leave without a second thought. Luke must've felt it as well, because his eyes widened and he scrambled upright, clenching Han's elbow with a frantic gasp that snapped him straight from his reverie. "I'm sorry, kriff, I'm so sorry. My emotions are all over the place, I'm still a little dizzy—"

"Luke, Luke, it's okay, I'm fine."

Watery blue eyes gazed up at him, the pupils dilated and unfocused. Han gripped Luke by the biceps, holding him close to steady his hyperventilation. "You've gotta tell me what's going on, kid. You've never been like this, not since..." Han trailed off, not wanting to regurgitate old memories of Bespin and make the already fragile situation worse.

Luke visibly gathered himself, bunching up the fabric of Han's shirt with white-knuckles and squeezing his eyes shut, a lone tear streaking down his dirty face. "I...I confronted Vader and the Emperor."

Han nodded solemnly, gritting his teeth as he thought about what those monsters had done to his friend.

"And...Vader died right in front of me," Luke opened his eyes only to avert his gaze from Han's patient hazels. "He died...saving me from the Emperor."

Han's brow furrowed, and for a moment, he wanted to ask what parallel universe this event had happened in, but he held his tongue. Instead, "He was manipulative. Trying to get you to join his side by convincing you he could be your mentor. You can't let him get to you, Luke."

The last thing the Corellian had been expecting was for Luke to suddenly whimper, launching himself into Han's arms and burying his face deep into his mud-stained jacket. "No, no, no..." he sobbed into the coat, gripping desperately at Han's shoulders. Han shushed him softly, perplexed beyond belief. "You'll hate me...hate me."

Han reeled back. "What? Luke, I could never hate you, what are you talking about?"

With one last hiccup, Luke's gaze drifted into the clearing where the funeral pyre lie. Han followed his direction and swallowed, unnerved. "You...gave Vader a funeral?"

"I had to," gasped Luke, the grief he had kept tucked away finally spilling out in a jumble of incoherency. "He saved me."

"And I'm beyond grateful that you're alive, but kid, he's—"

"My father."

Han's blood chilled in his veins, slowing his heartbeat as he processed the words. Bile rose up in his throat as he stared down at the stony expression on the young Jedi's face. "What did you just say?" he murmured, brain malfunctioning.

Luke stared silently up at him, shoulders shaking still. "You heard me."

"I...I don't understand. I thought Anakin Skywalker was your father."

"He is...was...should..."

Forgetting about his shock for the briefest of seconds, Han scrutinized Luke's stark white face and the limpness of his muscles. His words were beginning to veer into gibberish, his blank stare never locking on any one thing. He pressed the back of his hand to the young man's forehead, noting the clamminess.

"Hey, maybe we should get you a medic. As skilled as you are, I don't think anyone can fight Darth Vader and the Emperor and leave unscathed." He tried to rise a chuckle out of Luke with no result, making his frown deepen. He finally noticed the tattered mess that was Luke's tunic, the patterns of the torn seams oddly linear and jagged. "Kid? Hey, I need you to stay with me."

Lightly patting Luke's face, Han attempted to help him to his feet—a gradual, yet necessary task. Luke followed bonelessly, only upright due to Han supporting him.

They barely made it two steps out of the clearing before Luke folded in on himself, eyes rolling backwards as he swiftly plunged into unconsciousness. Han cursed loudly and violently as he caught the fainting Jedi, his thin physique making it simple for Han to lift him into his arms.

...

Cold, metal fingers ran down his arm, a violent shudder erupting from the point of contact and burning colder than the iciness of Hoth. The beeping of life support machines clanged raucously in his skull, interlacing neatly with the foreboding wheeze of a final breath, his father's soul fading from his eyes as he did nothing to stop it.

    Luke...

He shot awake, chest tight and right hand not responding to his frantic attempt to reach out and grab the closest thing near him. But his right hand didn't exist. It was a stump of flesh—an everlasting reminder of that fateful day. Yet another hand—a human hand, thank the Force—suddenly materialized by his side, holding his arm gently enough to not disturb his weakened muscles.

Luke blearily gazed up and found Han staring down at him, the entire top half of his body slung over the bed Luke sat in. The warmth from his hands radiated stronger than even his Force presence, and Luke hummed, a goofy smile bubbling over as the pain medication tickled his brain. "Hello."

Han's eyes crinkled softly, joining the worry lines engraved deep in his forehead. He absentmindedly stroked Luke's arm, eyes never once straying to the missing prosthetic hand.

The beeping from Luke's dream returned from beside him, and he whipped over to see a medical droid tinkering with his prosthetic and adjusting the IV line that pumped fluids up the young man's left arm.

"Rebels brought 2-1B down to the moon from the ships, figured it wasn't safe to move you too much."

Luke continued to blink at the droid, still slow to process. "I...wasn't safe to move me?"

Han sighed. This was the fourth time Luke had woken up confused, leaving him to explain what had happened. The first time he had been in complete shambles, demanding answers in a fretful disarray over Luke's injuries, only to almost be removed from the room by the frustratingly indifferent medical droid. Now that a few hours had passed, others had come to visit to check on both of them, and Luke was finally returning to some semblance of sensibility, maybe he would finally get some truth out of him.

The medic had said electrocution. Han's mind had inundated with nightmarish scenarios of the young man being brutally tortured and barely escaping with his life. To think that anyone could do that to another person rendered him breathless and numb, and the worst part was that Luke had tried to keep it from them.

All because Vader was somehow his father. Han definitely needed clarification there, seeing as Luke had been delirious when he had said so, yet he wasn't sure how ready he was for another staggering revelation about family relations. Like Lando had said, he was still sort of processing the fact that his two closest friends were actually twin siblings separated at birth.

He knew how much Luke had matured over the four years since they had first met, yet Han still saw him as that wide-eyed kid most of the time, gazing tenderly up at the stars and seeking to help others with a fierce determination that he so obviously shared with Leia. Times like these however, when Luke was at his most vulnerable, is when his youth really shown through. He had gone through so much in just a short amount of time, and Han didn't even know where to begin to ease his mind.

He probably would never be able to.

"The doc said you had some kind of seizure. Aftershock from electrocution."

Blue eyes finally adjusted to meet his, Luke's eyebrows furrowing as he processed the words and their meaning. "Oh... I guess I didn't think to get that checked out."

Aggravation bubbled in Han's gut, his worry building up into an explosion of frustration over Luke's lack of self-perseverance.

"Do you think you mean nothing, Luke?"

"What?"

"Risking your life left and right, disappearing without a care for telling anyone, keeping everything buried down inside until it kills you, all of it. Do you not realize that there are people that love you? I mean, kriffing hell, I feel damn sixty years old these days with how many heart attacks you've given me."

Thankfully, Luke's solemn gaze confirmed his coherency this time around, so Han wouldn't have to repeat himself again when he woke up in a few hours with that same confused look on his face.

He reached over the mountain of blankets and gripped Luke's left hand, staring him down and daring him to challenge. "I need you to start talking to me, you hear? I love you. I love you more than I want to admit. I cannot lose you, especially not because of your stubbornness or Jedi martyr-tendencies or whatever. You, Luke Skywalker, have made me a better kriffing person, which is something I didn't think was possible. Nothing, and I mean nothing will ever change how I feel about you. So please, for my sake, for your sister's sake, don't close yourself off from us. We want to help you."

Luke shakily blinked at his stinging eyes, squeezing Han's hand back as his throat clogged with emotion. "I'm sorry," he choked.

Han shook his head furiously, "No, no, don't be sorry. I just want you to know that you aren't alone, Luke."

The bed creaked in protest as Han put his full weight onto it, leaning over to brush a soft kiss along Luke's temple.

2-1B turned from the machinery, unperturbed by the two organics' conversation. "Excuse me sir, but I need to refasten Commander Skywalker's prosthetic now."

"Oh, uh, yeah, yeah." Han awkwardly flopped back into his chair, cheeks a little pink before he caught Luke's warm smile flashed in his direction. He returned it with his own, content with the fact that Luke was finally opening himself up to actually confide in others with his secrets. The war was over now; they had plenty of time to talk, plenty of time to remember, and plenty of time to grieve. But most importantly, plenty of time to grow even closer, because as much as he griped at Lando and Leia about their teasing, Han Solo knew he was smitten.

...

A/N

Me writing this almost 4K-word one-shot with ease while simultaneously struggling to write only 2.5K words for my creative writing class assignment? It's more likely than you think.

Lol, I wrote the first half of this a few weeks ago when I was in an inspired-writing mood and I recently got around to finishing it because I love sappy, over dramatic scenes of hurt/comfort. Thinking about doing a Prince Luke Organa AU next, but I have to kinda mentally map what scene I wanna do first so...look out for that whenever that happens XD.

Also, side note (since I'm sure many of you will be asking me), I might see TROS only because a friend of mine really wants to see it, so I'm doing it for her. For the most part, my expectations for SW died with TLJ. I will try to give my honest opinion about it whenever I see it if y'all are interested though. Yet I still only primarily consider OT, PT, and TCW canon (rogue one counts as OT canon) when I write, and that's not gonna change lol. So...mini PSA there I guess.

Other side note, guess who wrote an entire 4-page scene analysis essay of the throne room scene from ROTJ for their film class? If you said me...you are correct! Love using my SW knowledge to make good grades lmao.

Welp, I love writing these one shots! Always love to hear what you guys think cause I really take my writing seriously and want to go somewhere with it in the future (don't mind me, a creative writing minor over here), and I don't think I ever would've gotten the confidence to continue publishing my works without all my wonderful readers! :)

Love you guys!

*space hugs and kisses*

- lucky_ducky_123