Spooktober 14: Galaxies

a/n: you're laughing. i just spent four hours writing an unedited star wars au and you're laughing. 

(for any star wars nerds wondering, this takes place directly after order-66. but you'll probably figure that out fast.)

The VCX-100 is a lot smaller than the heavy cruiser Peter had gotten used to in the past few years he'd been training. It probably didn't help his claustrophobia that he was hidden in a cargo compartment.

It's been a long twenty-four hours.

He still felt shell-shocked by it all. He couldn't quite tell if his trembling was from the ship taking off or if its just him, his uneasy heart, his tired body struggling to stay awake-- it felt like just yesterday he was bouncing jokes back and forth with men he had called friends, drinking shitty caf, losing at sabacc and laughing about it. He misses all of it. He misses...

Peter swallowed.

"Alright," a man calls out. "Great job, Dum-E. We're in hyperspace and we're not on fire. I'd consider that a win, huh?"

A response of beeps in binary, which Peter only sort-of knows, but this man clearly was fluent-- because he lets out a boisterous laugh. 

"Sure, I'm proud of you." (A pleased whistle follows.) "Go find something to do while I fix your brother. Go, get out of here. Don't blow anything up."

Wheels go whirring off in another direction. Peter remains quiet and still.

One may wonder what the reason was for Peter's decision to be a stowaway, particularly on a ship he wasn't familiar with, even more so with a stranger-- and, well, the reason is that he's screwed either way.

There's a scar forming over the bridge of his nose from a blaster shot that seared across his skin yesterday. His hair was uneven, singed and burnt from the impromptu haircut, the lack of braid against his neck making him shiver. In his pocket, a heavy weight crodium hilt, humming, waiting anxiously for the next fight.

He still doesn't know why. There had been war, and just went it seemed like it was all on the precipice, just when it seemed it was push-to-shove, suddenly--

"This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi. Trust in The Force. Do not return to the Temple... that time has past."

... So he's heading to...

...

He doesn't know where he's going. Only that he needs to get there faster than they can find him, they being everyone. All of the clones. All of the Empire. When his emergency shuttle crashed on Corellia, he was just wired enough to find the closest ship to sneak on, and that brought us here.

He thinks it's a bounty hunter's ship, which obviously doesn't bode well for him. The Empire already has signage everywhere demanding the retrieval and subsequent death of any Jedi survivors, so Peter has to make sure he's quiet, very very quiet--

A droid crashes directly into his knee. Peter stares at it, his eyes wide. Fear strikes through him as he puts his finger to his lips in a silent plea. 

A questioning beep.

"What was that?" The man called out from across the ship.

Peter quickly shakes his head, and he's shaking again now. "Please, no," he whispers.

The droid is silent. It rolls back and forth for a moment. It swivels around and leaves, and Peter sinks back against the wall with relief. He's too tired to fight, and if the bounty hunter catches him in his ship, he may as well already be dead.

The droid makes a low, repetitive chirping noise. The man grunts. "Why're you asking about rations? I ate, I promise."

The droid beeps again. There's the sound of a dull, metallic thud. 

"Ow!" The man exclaims. "You run into me again, I'm deconstructing you and selling you to Jawas. If you want to check ration supplies that badly, you already know where they are. Go, kriff off. Stop bugging me."

Dum-E happily wheels back over to Peter. It extends a lighter and ignites it, lighting the boxes around him. The droid gently runs into his feet.

"What is it?" Peter whispers.

The droid runs into his feet again and chirps. Peter looks at what the astromech is lighting up, and then sees the ration packs beside him. He looks back over, hesitant.

"Thank you, but I can't take those," He says, hushed. "That's stealing."

The droid runs into his feet for a third time. Flicks the igniter on and off. Starts beeping rapidly.

"What are you going off about over there?" The man yells. "Don't tell me we've got ants again. I've been specifically avoiding Endor because of those bastards."

"No, no, no!" Peter becomes frantic. He quickly shakes his head at the droid. "Shh! Stop! Shhh!"

"What the kriff is going on over there?" The man walks over, and kneels down beside the droid, then stalls completely. "Oh, well look at that! You found a mynock."

Peter can't breath. His hands are numb, his face is numb, and he can't breathe. His hand twitches towards his robes. "Are you gonna kill me?" He stutters. 

The man's face twitches. "Not yet. Get out from under there. How old are you?"

Peter scrambles out from under the cargo hutch and immediately puts distance between him and the man. He sways a little once he's on his feet, and the man goes to catch him, but Peter's instincts are working faster. He sees the man raise his hands, and Peter's falling backwards, trying to stumble away from an incoming attack as fast as he can.

"Hey, easy," the man holds up his arms and takes a step back. Peter's eyes dance around, taking in as much of the environment as he can. 

For what it's worth, the man doesn't seem dangerous. He's wearing a scrapper's apron, and it's covered in engine fuel and dust and grime, like he's come right out of a ship yard. He looks more like a mechanic than a bounty hunter. 

"You're just a kid," the man scoffs. He crosses his arms over his chest. "You look like shit, did you just come from the frontlines?"

Yes, Peter wants to shout. Yes, and I'm scared. I'm lost. I don't know what to do.

Peter doesn't say anything, still trying to catch his breath. His hand lingers over his belt, where his saber is tucked underneath his robes. The man's eyes flick to his hand, and then they narrow.

"I'm Stark," the man says, slowly. "Tony Stark. And I'm definitely not a taxi service, if that's what you were thinking."

"I didn't," Peter blurts.

Tony's eyebrows raise. "Oh, I see. So you knew you were a stowaway, then?"

Peter flinches, his insides curling up in shame. Every part of him screaming, this isn't the code!  "I-- I did, yeah. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I'll be out of your way at the first stop, I promise."

"Okay, well hold on," Tony scoffs, stepping closer. "You definitely aren't of age, I'm not just sending some runaway out in the galaxy. Especially when our closest spot is Tatooine. Nobody deserves to go to Tatooine."

"I'll be fine," Peter says quickly. "Tatooine is fine, really!"

Tony looks at him disbelievingly. "Uh huh. Well, until we're there, why don't you eat something? You're lucky I have extra on hand. You can tell me a little about why you're out here all alone."

Peter fidgets, his hand coming up to the ends of his chopped-up hair. His nervous tick of tugging on his braid trying to come back from the ashes. "Are you a bounty hunter?"

Tony cocks his head to the side. "Are you a bounty?" 

Peter freezes.

"Oh," Tony makes a noise of interest. "Joy. The stowaway is a little criminal. What the kriff did an eight year old like you do to get a bounty on your head?"

"I'm not eight," Peter snaps. His fists clench. "And I'm not a criminal."

He's not a criminal. He's not a criminal, he's just trying to survive. He's doing all of this to survive. He's following the orders of his Master. He's following-- he's--

"Good soldiers follow orders," a clone grits out, firing a blaster at his face. He's shoved back in a blink, his back hitting the wall, a burning streak across his face and hitting a new target-- no, no, no--

"Kid," Tony snaps his fingers in front of his face, and kriff, he's a lot closer now. Peter sucks in a sharp breath and flinches away. "Hey, you're alright. I was just kidding, okay? I'm not gonna take you in, even if you are a bounty. Something tells me you didn't do anything wrong."

Peter blinks rapidly. "Something?" He asks shakily. "What kind of something? What do you mean?"

It's a stupid question to ask. He knows it's a stupid question. But if there's even a chance, even the slightest chance, that there's another survivor out there, one sending messages through the Force, he has to take it.

"What, you mean like the force?" Tony snorts, a glint of amusement in his eyes. Then it fades away, something horrific passing over his eyes. "Oh, kark, you're a Jedi, aren't you?"

Peter exhales stiffly. On exhausted legs, he stands up tall, straightens his spine. He nods once, his chin jerking. There's only one way he's getting out of this now, and he has to be strong for the other potential survivors. For Ben.

"They all turned against us," Peter explains, his voice tremoring. "The clones. I don't know what happened. One minute, we were training, and the next, I was dodging blaster shots from my best friends, and-- and now I don't-- I don't have anywhere to go."

He doesn't mention his Master, the vacant look in his eyes, the warmth of their Force bond going devastatingly silent, null. His throat hurts. He feels like he's choking with every word.

"If you could just get me to Tatooine," Peter continues. He tries not to sound like he's begging for his life, but they both know that he is. "I don't have any other chance, I'm-- they'll kill me."

Tony stares at the wound on his face, and is silent for a very long few moments. With every passing second, Peter feels his blood run colder, his stomach sink further. Dum-E beeps sadly at his feet, and Tony heaves a massive sigh.

"...What did it say?" Peter asks.

"It looks like you're staying with me," Tony drawls. He turns around swiftly, heading towards the cockpit. "You know how to fly a ship, kid?"