Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Luminous beings are we.  Not this crude matter."
- Yoda, Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back

As soon as the shot connected Poe knew, with the clarity of someone who had walked into multiple battles before and lived, that the shot was crippling. The controls of the x-wing were failing, the electronics shot, and as he fought to keep control of the rapidly descending aircraft Poe could hear the distressed calls of Black Leader! over the comm as his squads realised what was happening, but there was little Poe could do with a craft this damaged besides making sure he brought it down far away from the Resistance cells fighting below.

They shouldn’t have been here, he thought as he gasped at a sudden surge of electricity from the smoking controls. This battle was too soon, too volatile, with both sides fighting for control on a backwater jungle world, and now with one good shot in a flurry of thousands, millions, the best pilot in the Resistance was careening towards the ground, crashing in a flurry of smoke and flames, shouting as he heard the rapid binary of a droid in distress, doing his best to pull Black One out of its death spin and level it out as the ground raced to greet him.

The impact whipped his body forward before snapping it back, his helmeted head cracking against the back of his seat as searing pain from shattering transparisteel made itself known, and he felt rather than saw the piece lodged in his thigh, something that made his mouth fall open in silent pain, the kind he hadn't felt since the First Order technicians had gone to work on him in an attempt to rip the location of Skywalker's map from his still-breathing body.  He struggled to reorient himself, his mind fuzzy in a way it hadn’t been since his crash escaping the Finalizer well over a year ago. This time, though, instead of being unconscious he could feel the heat of the flames as they licked hungrily along Black One’s titanium hull, gaining momentum as the flames caught on the oversized roots that dotted the landscape.

With uncharacteristically clumsy movements Poe freed himself from the restraints of the cockpit, desperate to escape the heat, but when he attempted to haul himself up the pain almost made him scream, and he realised, with a slight haze to his thoughts, that his arm was bleeding and that he could feel blood trickling down the side of his face as well. He clenched his teeth and tried again, managing to push the window of the cockpit open, yelling in pain as he did so and falling back a moment later, chest heaving.

“BB-8?” he tried, words slurring slightly, but there was only silence, the comm system severed. “BB-8!” he tried again, louder this, but there was no sound to indicate the little droid’s presence panic seizing Poe's chest as he tried to wrench himself around, stopping only when the movement caused the piece of transparisteel lodged in his thigh to twist, leaving him panting.

The sudden sound of a lightsaber made him freeze, and for a moment he wondered if Rey had managed to make her way here, to get him out, but no, no, the hulking dark figure currently crouched before him certainly wasn’t Rey, even if he made something in Poe’s chest ease all the same. You came.

Kylo Ren peered down at him from behind his mask, still, and as Poe coughed, feeling the smoke burning his lungs, he wondered absently if Kylo had decided to kill him after all, if Poe’s ragged pleas in the darkness had ultimately fallen on deaf ears even as he’d felt Kylo’s will waver and waver and waver—

Another stab of pain lanced through him, making his body go limp against his seat as the flames inched ever closer, but it was nothing compared to the agony he felt at being moved and the feeling of something being yanked from his thigh as Kylo’s leapt into frantic action, gloved hand straining forward as he extracted Poe with a combination of the Force and sheer brute strength and stars it hurt, it hurt more than anything Poe had ever experienced, and he shouted before he could stop himself even as he felt Kylo tuck him against his chest, stumbling from the burning wreckage of Black One.

“BB-8,” Poe croaked, voice scratchy from the flames.  He tried to twist out of the grip of his too-late rescuer because stars BB-8 had been with him through so much, had trusted him, he couldn’t lose him he couldn’t lose him—

“Gone,” Kylo said, interrupting Poe's thoughts, his mask failing to hide the animal panic in his voice as he used the Force to deflect and redirect shots from a battle that never should have ended in Poe bleeding out against too-dark robes. Kylo’s movements were hurried and almost stilted, his filtered breathing uneven as he laid Poe against the soft ground, hidden behind the burning wreckage of Black One, sheltering him from the rest of the battle.

For a moment Kylo seemed to freeze, as if doubting his next course of action, but then Poe coughed and winced and Kylo sprang into action again, tearing off his cloak to tuck it under Poe’s head even as he tried to survey the damage and minimise it but Poe, who had never ached this much in his life, doubted it was possible.

“Artery—“ he tried to say as Kylo’s hand skirted over the red-stained patch on his thigh, only to tilt his head back with a pained gasp as Kylo pressed down on it, and maybe Poe would have been fine if that had been the only injury, if either of them had been carrying medical supplies, but it wasn’t, and he could almost feel Kylo’s fear as the other man realised the full extent of the damage.

It was too late, Poe thought weakly, even as every part of his mind told him to fight. It was too late and he was going to die here on some oversized jungle planet with this oversized weapon of a man in front of him, desperately trying to save his life, and the thought made him laugh in disbelief, an action that continued until he felt Kylo’s hand press down on his chest, oddly gentle.

Or not so odd. Poe had more cause than most to know that Kylo Ren could be a very gentle creature when he chose to be. He wondered what the others would have thought had they known, and in lighter (stolen) moments, the ones no official organisation knew about, when it had been just him and Kylo and the stars, he had allowed himself to entertain fantasies of bringing Kylo not back to the light, for neither extreme had ever suited Kylo, but at least away from Snoke’s influence. He’d never know how that would have turned out now, now with the blood pouring so freely from his body and the spottiness already present in his vision, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to die with the last thing his eyes saw being Kylo Ren’s mask.

"Please," he whispered as Kylo tried to staunch the blood flow from too many injuries, his furious, inhuman noises muffled by the mask. Kylo's head snapped up when Poe spoke, however, and Poe suddenly found it even harder to breathe but he struggled because he needed the man behind the mask, the man he had allowed into his heart once again despite his better judgement.

"I need to see—“ Poe broke off with a cough, trying to give word to what he needed, and to his horror he could taste the iron tang of blood in his mouth and feel a trickle of it running down his chin from the corner of his lips. Kylo was a flurry of movement, his hands unhooking the mask and throwing it away, away, somewhere Poe could not see because he was busy trying to keep the blood in his body, one gloved hand clutching at his side. When Kylo’s hand rejoined his Poe used his teeth to pull the ripped glove from his other hand, where a wound on his palm bled sluggishly, and with shaky movements he reached up, resting the bloody hand against Kylo’s face.

“Hey,” he said weakly, and he heard Kylo choke back a sob. “Guess we ran out of time.” It hurt to speak, and judging by the stricken look on Kylo’s face it hurt to listen to as well.

“No. No,” Kylo snarled, pushing Poe’s hand aside to try and cover the wounds on his own, his hands looking so much larger than Poe’s in that moment. “I can fix this. I can fix this,” Kylo said, hands flying from Poe’s side to the wound on his leg, to the gash on his head, to the slash on his neck, but he didn’t have enough hands to pull the smoke from Poe’s lungs. Poe laughed weakly. It hurt.

“I’m so sorry, Poe,” Kylo said as he pushed against Poe’s wound, blood leaking between his gloved fingers. “This is my fault, I waited too long—“

“Ssh,” Poe murmured, reaching up with another shaky hand to cup Kylo’s face. “You can’t fix this.”

“No!” Kylo shouted, more a sound of pure bestial agony than an actual word, tearing his head away from Poe’s touch and leaving bloody, smeared handprints on his pale skin. Kylo beseeched the sky, the agony slowly taken over by rage as he snarled and hissed and screamed words that Poe could no longer hear, or perhaps Kylo was whispering and his proximity to Poe and Poe’s rapidly tunnelling senses only made it seem like Kylo was yelling. He was barely aware of Kylo crawling closer to his side on his knees, but when Poe reached out weakly and felt a now-ungloved hand grip his bloody palm he could not help but smile.

"Hey there," he said. "I love you. Did I ever—did I ever tell—" It hurt. It hurt to breathe. To speak. He tried anyway, forcing the words past bloodied lips, but when he realised Kylo was speaking he narrowed his eyes, trying to concentrate, and he felt his heart drop when it registered that Kylo was begging, tears sliding down his face as he howled words lost in the carnage of the battle still raging around them. It wasn’t until Kylo’s face twisted into an expression of inhuman wrath and desperation that Poe could hear him again.

“Not him,” Kylo snarled (begged). “Not him, please, anything but this, anyone but him, help me, grandfather, please!”

"Ssh, it's all right," Poe said weakly, trying to grip Kylo's hand, but it was too much energy. He’d lost too much blood. He kept trying anyway. "You're so strong, Kylo, so strong, and I—" The blackness was threatening to overtake him but he gritted his teeth and forced it back as best he could, his grip on Kylo's hand becoming stronger. "Use your strength. Defeat Snoke. And know—" a pained noise "—know that I loved you for all the time you allowed."

Kylo's expression was even more panicked now. He was still begging, pressing his bloodstained hands to Poe's face, to his body, and Poe had just managed to summon the energy to whisper another sluggish "ssh" when he felt something change, like the very air around them had come to life, and he forced his eyes to widen from their half-closed state as Kylo's face became a mask of concentration, a wild, determined look appearing in his eyes as he began to speak, his voice stronger, his eyes never leaving Poe's. His hands did though, reaching out as if to pull some unseen strings towards himself, and when Kylo drew his hand back in to his own chest he gasped, as if in pain.

"Hear me," Kylo whispered, and his voice was a beautiful thing, Poe thought deliriously, "I will give everything, all the power in my body, everything I have. For the love I bear for this man—“ his voice faltered then and he sounded impossibly small, impossibly young as he pressed his ungloved hand to Poe's forehead and whispered, fiercely, “fix this.”

It was if every tendon in Poe's body had been set on fire. His back arched off the twisted metal Kylo had lain him against, his mouth falling open as a gasp wrenched itself from his throat, and suddenly it was as though he could feel everything, his mind so brilliantly alight with new sensations even as his body died around it.

Kylo's eyes were still fierce on him, his mouth twisted as he did his best to focus on whatever he was doing, and Poe realised he could feel Kylo, could feel the desperation and fierce determination as if it were his own. He reached out to brush against the new presence in his mind, but Kylo never faltered even as Poe felt Kylo’s mental presence envelop his own, a facsimile of a lover’s embrace. Poe gasped, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation as the rest of the pain in his body was chased away, and when Poe opened them again there were two more figures kneeling at Kylo's side, two men in long robes, their hands resting firmly on Kylo’s shoulders, translucent forms flickering, faces twisted in concentration that matched Kylo's.

"What—“ Poe tried to say, turning his head to look at the ghostly figures.  He latched onto Kylo's presence, feeling the flickering energy that made him who he was even as Kylo’s mental presence continued to burn hot in Poe’s mind.

Then the presence faltered and Poe realised, with a start, that he could feel Kylo fading, his energy depleting as he continued to channel whatever he was weaving into Poe’s body. It was both heady and terrifying, and when he looked back into Kylo's face he saw something beginning to dim in those brilliant eyes. He tried to talk again but he didn’t have the strength, his hands falling to his side as he tried to visualise the questions in his mind while his body succumbed to its wounds, and stars how horrifying it was to know one was dying when there were so many things he still wanted to do, so many things he hadn’t said.

Kylo's eyes suddenly closed, his body going limp, half-covering Poe's, Poe's blood staining his face and hands and robes. When his eyes opened again they were even dimmer, Kylo's entire body drained of strength. Poe could feel Kylo's presence in his mind receding, dying, and Poe thought with horror that that was what was happening. Kylo was dying, just as surely as Poe was, and Poe must have made a noise of distress for Kylo looked back up, breathing shallow.

With rapidly weakening movements Kylo reached out and hauled himself up, pressing their foreheads together, his hand on Poe's shoulder, resting against a wound that Poe could no longer feel, and then the strange energy was back.  It was as though every other sense was heightened, like he could feel all the energy of the world, all its connections and people. He could certainly feel Kylo, whose presence was continuing to fade, and Poe whimpered.

“What have you done?” he tried to say, but with the promise of death closing in he could only manage a weak groan that made Kylo’s body shudder. The warmth in his mind increased and Poe drew comfort from it as best he could, accepting it for what it was and what it once could have been. Behind Kylo the two translucent men still stood, their hands gripping Kylo’s shoulders, but even they were fading, hard eyes set in grieving faces. Somewhere blaster shots were firing and a victory cry went up. Poe didn’t know from which side, and soon it wouldn’t matter.

“Kylo,” Poe whispered, but he could say no more, trying his best to project the question out. Kylo made a soft keening noise, weak and tired, too quiet against the backdrop of the battle. He reached out to rest one hand against Poe’s temple, and Poe could tell by the slackening of Kylo’s jaw that he was sighing, even if Poe could not hear it.

"Save me. Save us," Kylo whispered, and then the light left his eyes and he fell forward, slack. Still.

It was the last thing Poe saw before the world faded to black.

*

Poe woke up with a flavour in his mouth that tasted of fear and the feeling of every one of his senses being simultaneously overloaded. He gasped, trying to squeeze his eyes tighter against it, but it was still there, in his head, this flowing current of everything and nothing, and it was a few moments before he was able to gather the presence of mind to force his eyes open.

Once he had, he wished he’d kept them closed.

The room was familiar, achingly so, but then again, Poe thought as he sat up slowly, it should be. He’d spent almost half his life in this room, stashing schematics in the drawers and slapping holographic posters on the walls. He wondered if this was a dream, or if he had ingested something dubious before sleeping, and wouldn’t that just be his luck, to accidentally eat something on base that gave him disturbingly realistic dreams of his childhood bedroom.

There was no time to dwell on that, though, for as soon as he considered it he found himself assaulted with a barrage of new images, memories, ones of being shot down and fire and pain blood and Kylo Ren’s pinched and slackening face above him as he reached out to Poe and whispered in a heart-wrenchingly sincere and determined voice, save us. The force of the memories made Poe gasp and pitch forward and before he knew it he was scrambling out of bed, desperate to reach the ‘fresher, and he only just managed before he was retching up whatever he had apparently eaten the night before, his fingers scrambling for whatever purchase they could grasp at as he continued to dry-heave after emptying his stomach.

“No,” he whispered. “No!” An angrier shout, one that was followed by another round of dry-heaving because Poe had died, Kylo had died, but now Poe was here and it didn’t make sense.

When no more bile was forthcoming Poe pushed himself up, wondering if the Resistance had found them, if the Resistance had rescued them and relocated him to his old bedroom to heal, even though he knew that was ridiculous.

It was only years and years of controlling himself, however, that prevented him from screaming as he looked in the mirror to see a face that he hadn’t seen in over sixteen years staring back at him.

*

The last time Poe had seen Kes Dameron had been the day he left to fly for the New Republic, intent on fighting to ensure the horrors his parents and others had endured under the Empire never had the chance to occur again. Kes’ face had been pinched, but he’d been supportive of Poe’s decision, and his presence had brought Poe peace.

Now, as Poe into the worried gaze of his father, all he felt was horror and confusion along a strange flicker of worry and fear that he knew weren't his own.  No, they were his father’s, and it felt wrong to be sensing these things, even though they'd been unavoidable the moment Kes had walked in, chasing the sound of shattering glass. Poe wondered how it must have looked, walking in to see the mirror in pieces and Poe standing there with his hands up in a defensive gesture as the glass shards floated in front of him, and he almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. Yesterday, Poe had been dying in the blackened shadow of his fallen x-wing, Kylo Ren’s determined (weakening) form above him. Now it appeared he was trapped in the body of his seventeen-year-old self, the world seeming so much larger than it had before he’d woken up in his small room with its single bed and soft colouring.

Force. The Force. Poe had the Force. He may not have ever felt it before like this, but stars he knew what it looked like, knew the signs, and he’d known it for certain when the glass had all but exploded and he’d been able to hold it back with an instinctive wave of his hand, like something within him had suddenly roared to life protectively. He, Poe Dameron, could command the Force, and it swirled around him like agitated ripples on a pond, a constant ebb and flow that carried with it everything and nothing. It was overwhelming, impossible, and he wondered if Kylo had ever felt this lost before his mind shuddered and froze in its tracks. He barely heard his father’s worried questions before he rounded on him, actions a lot calmer than the whirlwind mess in his mind before he asked, as evenly as he could, “What day is it?”

Kes’ answer had Poe squirming past him. He barely registered the sound of breaking glass as the shards he’d been suspending careened towards the floor. He was too intent on his new mission, only pausing to pull a pair of shoes on, his mind a litany of Kylo and Ben as he stumbled down the trodden dirt path towards the hanger where the speeder was stored. He didn’t need the ripples to direct him, but their presence was as comforting as they were disconcerting, gently pointing him in the right direction as he started up the speeder and shot forward. Something in Poe seemed to know what to look for, and he let that part expand as far as it could. He had to see. He had to see.

It wasn’t until the great Massassi Temple rose up before him on the horizon that he allowed himself to think clearly about where he was going. He didn’t stop, though, if anything pushing the speeder harder, soaring down the hill and then up the slope that marked the temple itself, but as he neared he had to suck in a breath, one not borne of exhaustion.

Farther than his eyes could see and concealed bodily by great stone walls he could sense others, like bright lights on lake waters, and the closer he got the more he could feel them as the ripples parted around their flickering signatures. He knew the moment they became aware of his own presence even as something in him reached forward, as if searching, until—

Skywalker.

He recoiled as soon as the presence registered, shutting down the speeder and scrambling off, and he wondered if this was a side effect of Skywalker’s strength, for Poe certainly had no prior knowledge of the man’s presence, not like this. He had met Skywalker, sure, knew of him, and Poe had caught glimpses of him whenever he’d used to sneak in to visit Ben, knew him to be his mother's old friend, but this knowing of him was different. Poe Dameron had never known Luke Skywalker, not through the Force, but as he closed his eyes and listened to the ebb and flow of the tide that carried him he knew, as a child knew its parents, that it could be no one else.

He also knew, as the powerful presence seemed to shrink from him before flaring out, that Skywalker was drawing closer, protective and suspicious and something else that Poe could not identify, not with the Force alone. So Poe waited, rooting himself to the spot as Skywalker came to sniff him out like an animal trying to guarantee the safety of its territory and offspring, but Skywalker wasn’t the goal here. There was another presence, the one he had come out here to feel and the one that stood apart from the others, equally as powerful as Skywalker.

The name Ben was a strange one after all these years. Ben was a sullen, lonely boy with too-large ears and awkward features, a strange caricature of a youth that Poe, at seventeen, had loved with every inch of his being. Ben was the rushing rivers of Yavin IV, the curling moss vines and the early sunset, and the strange comforts and smells that had gradually come to form an image of home. He was support, he was frustration, and he was pain. Ben brought with him memories of days spent sitting by angry waters and rolling in the dirt, of watching holovids on the floor of Poe’s bedroom, of climbing stone walls and sneaking around and oh, how Skywalker must have known, but he’d never said anything and Poe had allowed himself to entertain the idea that Skywalker, somehow, hadn’t known he and his nephew would often sneak off to the surrounding woods, learning each other’s bodies with the fumbling determination and vigour of youth.

Poe had loved Ben, had loved him with a desperate fervour that had made him feel alive, and when he’d been told Ben is gone it had felt as though the very planet had been pulled cruelly out from under him.

Kylo hadn’t been sunsets and ebbing rivers. Kylo had been the storm and Poe the centre he raged around. Kylo had been anger and pain and the fractured remnants of the boy that had once been Ben, both more and less than the youth who’d taken Poe’s hand and sworn, at age fifteen, to always fight by his side, and Poe had loved him just as fiercely, just as desperately; had loved this raging beast enough to break the rules and reach forward to touch, to soothe where no one else had. He remembered that first night, when Kylo had shouted his rage and defiance, reaching out with invisible fingers.

He remembered holding that same storm against his chest as Kylo had yielded to him at last, taking from Poe the comfort he had been denied for so long.

Now Kylo was gone too, and as Poe waited anxiously by the entrance, the one he had never used formally before, he wondered what he’d be left with. He felt something shift in the air, and for a moment he swore he could feel a hand squeeze his wrist the way Kylo had always done to reassure him, but the sensation was gone as quickly as it appeared and Poe knew it to be a figment of his wistful imagination. Skywalker’s presence drew closer, but he found he didn’t care. Skywalker was a hero of his, always had been, but when the man himself finally appeared all Poe could focus on was the figure who stood beside him, hand hovering over the lightsaber Poe could see attached to his hip.

“Ben,” Poe said breathlessly as Skywalker and Ben drew close, their confusion and wariness all too easy to read. There was a surge of something around them as Poe reached out through the lapping currents to reach the essence of Ben he could feel so instinctively, as if Ben were an extension of himself, and it wasn’t until he heard Ben gasp and flinch that he made himself stop, recoiling painfully, taking in Ben as he had been at fifteen, taking in Ben, not Kylo, and suddenly something in his chest began to ache as the adrenaline that had carried him here deserted because no no no Kylo was dead Kylo was gone and Poe, Poe had died too, had he not? He had died but he was here and Ben was here—

He reached forward through the currents again, trying to wrap himself around the flicker of Ben’s presence, something in him sighing as if this was home and he wasn’t aware his legs had given out until he found himself cradled lightly in Ben’s arms, a panicked “Master!” leaving Ben’s throat before Poe felt a comforting touch to his forehead, distantly registering that he was being lifted.

“Ben,” Poe said, managing to infuse sixteen years of love and loss into one single word. “You died.”

He felt Ben’s arms stiffen around him and the part of him that was still thirty-three knew he must have been confusing the boy, but he grasped at Ben’s wrists anyway and said fiercely, “You were dead, Ben. And then you died again.” He smiled, aware of Skywalker rushing to kneel at his side. “If you ask me,” Poe managed to say, “that was very inconsiderate of you.”

Then, for the second time that day, he let the darkness claim him, feeling the jagged touch of Ben’s worry as he slipped into sleep.

*

Skywalker didn’t believe him. Not that Poe was surprised. After all, Poe barely believed the true story, but seeing as the true story was more ridiculous than the lie, he figured this was the best place to start, at least until he was able to figure out a game plan now that he’d suddenly found himself sixteen years in the past with memories of a life he had not yet lived.

“A dream,” Skywalker said as Poe’s eyes snapped to Ben, who was watching him with a strange expression that made Poe’s chest ache. Poe cleared his throat.

“Well, yeah, crazy as it sounds,” he replied, sucking in a breath when he felt Skywalker reach out with the Force, something in him instinctively accepting the gentle probe while something else seemed to be fighting the urge to violently lash out. Poe closed his eyes and pulled in air between clenched teeth, forcing his body to relax using tactics he’d learned commanding the New Republic’s Rapier Squadron. He jumped when he felt a touch at his elbow, his head snapping up to meet the hurt gaze of Ben before the younger boy schooled his features back into their customary sullen frown. Poe prodded the ripples, envisioning calm and apologies, and some of the tension left his shoulders when he felt Ben reciprocate the gesture, even if it was hesitant and unsure. He tried not to question how natural it felt when Poe knew he should’ve been bungling around like a directionless shyrack, especially since he knew he couldn’t chalk these skills up to the discussions he’d had with Kylo.

Poe’s breath caught and he had to duck his head to hide the way his eyes misted at the thought, and he chided himself for being so foolish. Now was not the time to grieve. Now was the time to gather his wits together, to figure out a game plan. He had been sent here for a reason he was sure—“save me, save us,” Kylo whispered in his memories, voice desperate—and, as he eyed Ben carefully, he thought he could figure it out.

Save me. Save us.

Save Ben. Heal the galaxy.

Ben touched his elbow again and this time Poe didn’t flinch.

Skywalker cleared his throat and Poe realised, somewhat distantly, that Skywalker’s eyes were blue. He laughed before he could stop himself, caught up in the absurdity of the situation, wondering why he was only internalising this now when he had never bothered to learn the eye colour of his Skywalker.

Then again, Poe thought, his Skywalker had always done all he could to conceal his eyes, and was far more broken and beaten down than this Skywalker. They all had been, Poe thought with a pang, and the memory was enough to kill the laughter completely. The General’s eyes weren’t blue. They were brown, warm like her son’s, and so, so sad.

He toyed with the hem of his tunic for a moment, mindful of Ben’s confusedangryworried presence hovering just behind him.

“Ben,” Skywalker said, and Poe felt Ben shift behind him. “Please, leave us. Go tend to the others.” He then tempered the almost harsh command with a much softer, “I know Rey was looking forward to showing you something.” Ben hovered for a few more seconds, indignant, but after a few moments he growled and stormed out. Poe ran a hand through his hair.

“Tell me about this dream, Poe,” Skywalker said then, curiosity and worry evident in his voice.

“Vision,” Poe said flatly, looking up at Skywalker with hard eyes and a grim set to his mouth. “Trust me, sir, when I say that you’ll want to listen. It’s a bit of a jumble, but it—it felt real in a way I’ve never experienced.” Then Poe sighed, feeling the crushing weight of all that had happened fall over him. “It was like looking into a mirror,” Poe began heavily, “except everything was wrong. So, so wrong…”

*

Skywalker let him stay at the temple that night, and Poe had the mental presence to send his father a quick message on one of the computers hooked up in one of the training rooms. Ben was like a shadow for those first few hours, silent and menacing, and it had made Poe smile even as it jarred him.

Ben had never been this silent, not around him. Kylo had, sure, but Ben was not Kylo.

But he could be, Poe told himself. If you don’t do something, in less than six months he will be. The thought made his head spin, memories of Kylo's death and all he had faced in the past two years bubbling to the surface, threatening to overwhelm him completely, so as he waited for Kes’ reply Poe reached back, encountering nothing but Ben’s mental reticence, something that made Poe snort even as he plunged his hand into the ripples of the Force and gave a sharp tug as easy as if he’d been doing it for a lifetime, something that clearly surprised Ben if the indignant squawk and stumbling recovery were anything to go by.

“Please, Ben,” Poe said, infusing his voice with a plea that belayed his display with the Force.  He sighed in relief when he felt Ben’s arms circle around him carefully. “Thank you,” he whispered, tucking his face against Ben’s chest and just breathing him in, feeling the Force flow around them.

“Poe?” Ben asked, voice teetering on the verge of the low husk Poe knew it would one day become. “In your dream I died, didn’t I.” It wasn’t a question, and Poe exhaled harshly, wrapping his arms around Ben’s slender waist as more images of Kylo raced in unbidden, of gunfire and blood and so much pain it was like he was back there again, bleeding out as Kylo screamed at the sky. He didn’t realise he was crying until he tasted the tears that had slipped down his face and then it was as if he couldn’t stop, his body giving one convulsive shudder before he was sobbing the rage and pain and despair against Ben’s chest.

“Ssh,” Ben whispered awkwardly, one hand reaching up to cradle Poe’s head, and if Poe hadn’t been so tired, so mentally exhausted, perhaps he would have felt embarrassed as he, a man almost midway through his thirties in mind, sobbed against the chest of a fifteen-year-old, but he knew this might be the last chance he got. To save Ben he’d have to rise above his own problems, above the grief he felt over losing his life, over losing Kylo. To save Ben he would have to bear this alone. So he let himself cry, let himself have this one moment of weakness, and when Ben moved to lower them both to the floor Poe didn’t protest, a low moan of pain leaving his chest when he felt Ben’s lips press hesitantly against his forehead before he hid his face in the junction between Ben’s neck and shoulder and sobbed again, held in this strange new reality only by the sensation of hesitant fingers in his hair and the feeling of Ben’s chest rising and falling.

“You died,” Poe whispered. “You died and I couldn’t save you, Ben, because none of us could save you. I won’t ever let that happen again.”

Ben’s fingers tightened wordlessly in his hair at that and his worry and confusion made the air seemed thick around them, but he said nothing. He held Poe as he needed to be held until the main lights flickered out for the night and they were left illuminated only by the blue-green glow of the lone operating console, Poe’s agonising breaths filling the air.

Neither of them noticed when the console pinged with Kes’ answer.

*

Ben didn’t ask about the dream again, not even when they’d been woken by the gentle thrum of machines as the temple had powered up, stiff and sore from spending the night on the cold stone floor, and Poe didn’t volunteer anymore information about it. He couldn’t. He returned home once to grab some of his things and he accepted the hug his father offered, allowing himself one more moment of weakness as he let his tears soak into his father’s jacket.

“I’ll visit,” Poe promised, and Kes smiled, soft and sad.

“You’d better. You’re just around the corner. I’ll keep the A-wing maintained. Your mother—“ Kes broke off then, looking at a point beyond Poe’s head before refocusing on him. “Your mother would be proud, Poe. A Jedi. This isn’t the path either of us would’ve seen for you, but Luke and Shara—they were good friends. She’d be happy to see you training with him now.”

“Not a Jedi,” Poe said, and Kes’ eyes widened as he stared at the ghost of the man who had once been Black Leader before Poe cracked a small smile and said, “I’m still going to be the best pilot in the galaxy.”

Kes only nodded and hugged him again, and Poe could feel the loveprideworry emanating from him, emotions that followed Poe to the speeder he’d parked out front. He stopped then, turning his head to the tree that grew so proud, marking the Dameron homestead. It felt different now, Poe realised, far more than just a simple tree, and when he closed his eyes he almost thought he could follow the roots of it to the planet’s core, vibrating with all the life on Yavin IV. It was a heady feeling, one that almost overwhelmed him, but just as he thought he’d shake apart with the intensity of the currents that carried with it all life on this little forest moon there was a nudge, gentle but encouraging, and he opened his eyes, watching the tree with a soft expression as the wind whispered around him, pressing gentle kisses to his cheek.

Then he exhaled, climbed aboard the speeder, and made for the temple.

*

The students were excited to have a new addition to their little group, and their eagerness surprised Poe, warming something inside of him. What was even better, though, was the way Ben interacted with them, relaxed in a way he never was around Skywalker as he walked some of the younger ones through some of the basic steps of the Soresu lightsaber form.

“The goal here is to protect yourself and your allies,” Ben cautioned as Poe himself moved to copy the stance, the movements strange and alien as he held the practice ‘saber he’d been given tight in his hands. “You won’t meet many Dark Jedi out there, but you’ll meet plenty of assholes with blasters—“

“Master Ben!” one of the younger students gasped, his red lekku trembling at the curse word. Ben stopped and Poe felt the brief surge of self-directed irritation in Ben war with the pride he felt at being called master. Neither of them bothered to correct the student, though they knew Skywalker wouldn’t like it, but they didn’t have to.

“He’s not a master, Jarrus,” little Rey Antilles scolded, but any irritation on Ben’s part was swiftly belayed when she amended her statement with, “Not yet, anyway. You will be though, right, Ben? Like Master Luke?”

“Well,” Ben saw, drawing the word out, “maybe not exactly like Master Luke.” The smile on his face said he was pleased by the comparison, though, and for a moment Poe’s eyes were caught on Rey, her hair neatly parted in three familiar buns on the back of her head. It had been a shock to find her here, and he’d had to hide the strange pang as he thought of the Rey he’d known, blue lightsaber blazing, confident in her power. He thought of Finn, too—Finn, who had never wanted a war but who had fought for his friends anyway, bringing BB-8 back to D’Qar and storming Starkiller Base, all for Rey. He didn’t realise he’d spaced out until Ben called his name. Poe just grinned from the back, giving Ben a cheeky wave that belayed the seriousness of his thoughts, watching as Ben returned to instructing the younger students, showering special attention on Rey as she successfully demonstrated the proper form. This was a part of Ben Poe had never been allowed to see in his own timeline, and for a moment his stance faltered as the sadness overcame him. He was aware of Ben’s frown of worry as he dragged a hand over his face to clear some space in his mind, but he shook his head, the universal symbol for not now.

It didn’t even occur to him to question how much they were attuned to one another as he brought his practice ‘saber back up in a protective stance, ready to follow Ben’s instructions to hell and back.

*

“You shouldn’t have this level of control,” Skywalker said, watching as Poe levitated the objects around them. “Not this early. This is the control of a Jedi Master, someone who has been training for years, not a mere two months.”

Poe sighed as the words pierced his concentration, one of the levitating chairs wobbling before he managed to right it, distantly aware that he himself was floating, cross-legged, in the air, held aloft by the Force. Slowly, carefully, he tried to lower both himself and the objects, but when he caught sight of Skywalker’s face he cursed and let one of the chairs crash to the floor, more because he thought it would alleviate Skywalker’s suspicion than a genuine loss of control.

By the way Skywalker frowned at him, it hadn’t worked, and Poe had barely managed to stand before he noticed something hurling towards him and suddenly it was like that time in front of the mirror, Poe’s body reacting instinctively to the danger as he halted the object with a cut-off cry of alarm, feeling the Force within him surge as he held the chair in place only to feel it keep pushing.

Skywalker, he realised with widening eyes, casting a disbelieving look at where Skywalker stood, hand outstretched, pushing against the chair even as Poe tried to hold it back. Soon he was panting, unused to this feeling, like he was trying to shove against an immovable wall, but he grit his teeth and held on even as sweat began to bead against his brow. The calm that had allowed him to meditate earlier was gone, replaced by a burning frustration and rage that was slowly building in his chest, and with a cry he released the surge of power before falling to his knees as the chair sailed across the room, crashing loudly against the stone walls.

“I’m sorry,” Skywalker said after a moment, lowering his arm and standing there as if nothing was wrong, but when Poe looked up Skywalker’s eyes were wide and conflicted and he could see the faint beams of perspiration on the Jedi Master’s forehead.

“What—what the hell was that?” Poe demanded, staggering to his feet.

“A test,” Skywalker replied before sweeping out of the room. Poe groaned. So there was that cryptic Jedi nonsense his father had once grumbled about, but he was soon distracted from the thought by a familiar presence, one that he could feel lurking by the door.

“Ben?” he tried, feeling a strange surge of resentment come from Ben’s direction, but before he could say anything else Ben retreated and Poe was left to catch his breath in the empty chamber, wondering what in the hell he'd gotten himself into.

*

Ben’s mind was a flurry of thoughts and impulses, a kaleidoscope of emotions that never failed to steal Poe’s breath away. Once, he might have thought Ben’s mind chaotic, without rhyme or reason, but while it was chaotic at times he knew now how it worked.  Kylo had been capable of an inhuman focus when something caught his attention, the rest of the world simply melting into the background.  It didn't surprise him that Ben had the same inklings of it.

Being the focus of Ben's attention versus Kylo's was similar, Poe thought as Ben sat across from him, legs crossed and dark eyes intense. It was like being in the eye of a storm, one of those massive ones that Poe knew raged across the great water worlds of the galaxy. Once, in the cockpit of Black One, he’d looked down flying over the planet Manaan and seen one of them, a galaxy’s worth of chaos and destruction contained in one surge of weather. He’d been flying with Rapier Squadron that day, coming back from a milk run on the Outer Rim, and he remembered laughing at something A—at something someone—

Poe faltered, his mind drawing a blank as he tried to recount the man’s name, only to fail, able only to recount the man's impossibly bright eyes. He never forgot the names of the people that served under him, not ever, and that he had made him frown, drawing his attention away from Ben so that when Ben reached forward to touch Poe’s mind, to slip in the way he had done so many times in Poe’s timeline, Poe wasn’t expecting it. With a roar his mental fortresses sprang to life, a flurry of engine sequences and rapid binary skittering across the surface of his thoughts, instinctively protecting what lay underneath in a way Kylo had taught him long ago. He’d never been able to keep Kylo out, not entirely, because at the end of the day Kylo had been Force-sensitive whereas Poe had been about as Force-sensitive as a kath hound, but Kylo had assured him that it would be enough to buy time, and sometimes that was all one needed.

The Force, it turned out, really did change everything, and it wasn’t until Ben flinched and backed away that Poe tore the defences down, breathing heavily.

“Ben, I—“ Poe croaked as Ben scrambled to his feet, not letting Poe see his face.

“Master Luke is calling me,” Ben said, storming out of the room in a flurry of brown robes.

Poe, sitting alone on the floor, didn’t bother to call him out on the lie.

*

“Be mindful of your feelings,” Skywalker reminded as Ben’s vibroblade clashed against Poe’s with a violent clang, the force of the action sending vibrations up Poe’s arms. Ben, he noticed, seemed largely unaffected, his pale face twisted into a snarl of concentration as he easily parried one of Poe’s attacks, whirling around with a grace that had never failed to make Poe’s lungs seize in his chest.

“I am mindful,” Ben said as he forced Poe back again, trying to leverage his height to bear down on Poe, who grunted with the effort of holding him back before he ducked and feinted to the side, barely bringing his blade up fast enough to deflect one of Ben’s jabs. He was quickly tiring, though, and if the savage glee in Ben’s eyes was any indication, the other boy could feel it. It was enough make Poe worry, especially with Ben’s sudden distance, something that set Poe’s thoughts racing. He couldn’t afford to lose Ben now, he knew, but with each passing day the chasm between them seemed to gape more and more and it was terrifying, terrifying to think that he was already failing, that Kylo had trusted him to fix this and here he was unable to do it. He was failing Kylo as surely as he was failing Ben and the thoughts were enough to distract him, sensing Ben’s next move too late and hissing as the blunted end of the vibroblade struck his wrist, causing him to drop his own weapon even as Ben pushed him to the ground.

“Do you yield?” Ben asked, going for dispassionate but sounding far too eager. Poe swallowed, looking up into Ben’s eyes, and what he saw there made a shiver of apprehension go through him.

“Never, Benji,” he said, trying to plaster a cocky grin over his face, but he wasn’t sure who he was talking to when he said that: Ben, Kylo, or the strange darkness that seemed to cackle in glee at Poe’s distress. Quick as he could he rolled out of the way and reached for his weapon, managing to bring it up just in time to deflect Ben’s next blow, and this time he could feel the anger simmering just under the surface. He had to swallow a grunt even as he kicked Ben’s long legs out from under him, sending the other boy crashing to the floor, but ultimately Ben’s more advanced training and physicality won out and soon Poe was panting against the mat, the tip of Ben’s blunted vibroblade levelled at his throat, the Force holding him firmly down and Poe felt panic creep into his vision as he realised he couldn’t move.

“I said, do you yield?” Ben hissed, something dark and ugly in his voice and try as he might Poe could not help the gasp that escaped his throat as he looked into his eyes, seeing not Ben’s face but a mask, dented and worn, and when he blinked he was alarmed to see the walls of the Finalizer stretching around him and Kylo Ren standing tall and intimidating before his eyes and stars, stars no, this couldn’t have all been a dream, a trick played on him by Ren. He tried to move but his hands were held down by unyielding metal restraints, one wrist sore from where he’d been struggling earlier.  He knew there was something important he had to keep from Ren but for the life of him he could not remember.

“The Resistance will not be intimidated by you!” he hissed, locking eyes with Ren and daring him to try something else, but to Poe’s surprise Ren seemed confused, masked head tilting to the side as if he had no idea what Poe was talking about. Then Ren reached out with one hand and Poe could feel the rage and determination welling up in his chest.  This time it was different, however, like something was whispering to him, do it, he’s weak, he’s weak, and without thinking Poe listened, imagining Ren far away.  Then he closed his eyes and pushed, and it wasn’t until he opened his eyes again that the mossy walls of the Massassi Temple reappeared, revealing Poe not strapped to some torture rack above a desert hell planet but sitting up on one of the training mats, hand outstretched not towards Kylo Ren but Ben, whose eyes were wide with shock.

Skywalker was herding the other couple students from the room and when he returned Poe barely registered the man’s questions, the ones asking him if he was okay.

“I—I don’t—“ he tried, but he choked on the words, temporarily overwhelmed, his breathing coming in a panic as the room began to spin, the tingling in his fingers spreading up his arms and out to his other limbs. “Where—Ren—the droid—the map—“ He tried to push himself up but his arms felt like lead. Somewhere in his mind Poe knew he was panicking. He tried the old pilot techniques but they didn’t work.  He could still hear Ren’s distorted voice, could feel the phantom pain in his head. With blind, searching movements he reached out, as if trying to ground himself, but his hands were only met with air. So, with an alien sort of desperation, Poe tried the Force, tried to reach out and out and out and there, there was something he could latch onto, so he pushed forward, heedless of the way the pillar he’d located faltered for a moment, as if in shock, before something grabbed his hand and the pillar cracked.

It was like coming home, Poe thought as he slipped into the opening afforded to him, a barrage of familiar and chaotic thoughts subsuming his own, oddly comforting.

Ben. Ben, not Ren.

He tried to dig deeper, to find something in Ben’s mind that he could anchor himself to, and when he found it, when he found that kernel of warmth in Ben that spoke of Poe and acceptance and joy(resentment)love(jealousy), he embraced it, feeling the warmth twine around him as his mind calmed. He sent Ben a wave of his own emotions, lovehappinessreliefjoy surrounding them as they breathed in tandem. When he felt able he located the resentment and jealousy in Ben’s mind, following it to its source, soothing it as best he could.

“Poe?” Ben asked, voice wrecked. Poe opened his eyes. Realised, in a part of his mind that did not particularly care, that Skywalker had left them.

“Ben,” he said. Ben kissed him and Poe whimpered, tangling his fingers in Ben’s hair before he drew back, framing Ben’s face with his hands, feeling Ben’s emotions stir to meet his own. “Ben,” he whispered. “Ben. Ben. You foolish boy, you have nothing to worry about from me. I’m not—“ a small, breathy laugh “—I’m not trying to take your place. You are Master Skywalker’s apprentice,” he said firmly. “You. Not me. Ben. Look at me.” Ben did. Poe’s heart shuddered at the sad look in his eyes. “All I want is to be able to control this. Then we’ll be what we always promised. You and me, the Jedi and his pilot.”

Ben didn’t speak right away but Poe felt the relief wash over them.

“You’re powerful, Poe,” Ben murmured eventually. “Master Luke senses it. And there’s—something else. Sometimes it’s like the Force can’t tell who you are. Like you have to fight through different levels to reach the bit of you that I know, that I could always reach so easily before… before the dream. Before the Force. And sometimes, when it flares within you, it’s like I’m seeing a different person entirely. Different people. Please, Poe. I don’t understand any of this, I…”

Poe shuddered. “I don’t either, Benji,” he admitted, the old nickname serving to calm him more than Ben. “But I—I need you to trust me, all right? I know it’s hard but right now I just—I need—“

“What?” Ben said, sounding suspicious, his body already beginning to stiffen against Poe’s.

“I need you,” Poe blurted, and he watched as Ben’s hard expression fractured, dark waves of hair bouncing around his head as he nodded. This time, when Ben reached for his mind, Poe let him in with a breathy exhale of relief, following the shining tendrils that linked their minds together, losing himself in Ben’s thoughts as he felt the other boy’s focus shift solely to him. But there was something else, something dark and strange and foreign that Poe hadn’t sensed in his earlier urgency, a slimy little creature with dark tendrils that was trying to hide itself from Poe, and when Poe reached out it seemed to recoil with a faint snarl that made Ben stiffen again. Poe let it go.

For now, this was enough.

*

Snoke was an abstract concept to him. A being supposedly more powerful than Kylo, who could reach across great distances and manipulate the very fabric of the Force, Poe had never had the misfortune of seeing Snoke in person. He’d merely been there to witness the wreck that Snoke could reduce a person to, as he’d been witness to the fear and devotion Snoke could inspire in others. Sometimes Kylo had spoken of him, always with reverence at first and disdain that Poe, a Force-null, would dare know his name, but over time that reverence had faded, replaced by anger and fear.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter whether Poe had a name to Snoke’s face or not, because as he kissed Ben’s hair the way he’d once kissed Kylo’s, thinking of that dark slithering creature he’d glimpsed in Ben’s mind he swore, in the darkness of the room he and Ben shared, that he wouldn’t let Snoke win again.

*

The visit to his father was sorely needed, Poe thought as he directed the speeder towards the Dameron homestead. Ben was due for some more advanced training today, more lightsaber forms that Poe could not yet keep up with (give him a good old fashioned blaster any day), and as he powered down the speeder and slipped off, careful not to catch his robes on anything, he thought he’d made a good decision to come here, intent on getting some more flying practice in. Already he could feel the gentle waves of Force energy emitted by the tree, calming nerves he hadn’t known were so frayed, and he spared a moment to laugh even as he fell to his knees in front of it.

Four months, he thought as he reached forward to touch the young bark. Four months he’d been here. Two remained. Selfishly he realised that part of the reason he’d come here was to see if maybe he could centre himself, if maybe the tree had any wisdom to offer in regards to dealing with a being like Snoke, but he didn’t know.

And anyway, the tree couldn’t talk.

He almost wished the General were here. She’d always had a plan for everything, but then again so had Poe, and it was disconcerting to realise he had nothing to go on, no basis for dealing with ancient Sith Lords, or whatever the hell Snoke really was. The General had known about Snoke, Poe knew, but he thought, with a pang, that he no longer remembered how he knew that. Had she spoken with him, perhaps? Mentioned it in passing? But no, she couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have. She hadn’t known about Kylo and Poe, hadn’t known that her son had been so close—

Had she?

Poe squeezed his eyes shut, trying to dredge up some of the old memories, things that he had allowed himself to push to the side as he trained his body and mind in new techniques for the powers he had slowly come to call his own. He thought about the Resistance, about the Leia Organa, but when he tried to shift to the faces of the other people he had known he encountered only blurss. He remembered a laugh, booming and bright, and boasts about—about something, something important. There was a woman with dark hair, but when he tried to reach for her name he came up empty. Black One, he could still remember Black One, and as Poe stood he found himself looking down at his side, as if searching for someone. A rapid string of binary screeched through his mind, and Poe tried to remember the names of Rapider Squadron, of Red Squadron and Blue Squadron and Black Squadron and the men and women and other beings he would have given his life to protect.

He faltered when he realised he could no longer remember any of them. Only that they had existed. A blurry face on a larger man, short blonde hair on a fierce woman, arrogant boasts from the scowling mouth of an Abednedo.

A small sliver of worry crept into his thoughts as his father greeted him with a smile. He wasn’t just running out of time, he was running out of memories.

*

They said dying brought clarity, peace, but there was nothing clear or peaceful about this. The Jedi also said that meditation brought peace, alongside stability, but there was none of that, either, nor were there the answers Skywalker had hinted at. Instead there was only Poe, cross-legged in the centre of one of Skywalker’s meditation rooms, eyes closed as he drifted through the ripples of the Force, images of Kylo Ren dying before his eyes replaying themselves on the back of his eyelids.

Answers, Poe thought bitterly as he rose to his feet. What nonsense.

*

The blade of Poe’s new lightsaber was a deep orange, glowing with the strength of Hasaq’s sun, and Ben grinned when he saw it, activating his own lightsaber and lightly tapping its blade against Poe’s, watching the sparks fly.

“The Jedi used to have ridiculously complicated rituals that they went through to get these crystals,” Ben admitted, eyeing the glowing blue blade that sprung from the hilt in his own hand. His grandfather’s, Poe knew. “To recover your first crystal was a journey in and of itself. Tedious.” Ben paused. “They were weak. All of them. Unable to see past their own noses.”

Poe glanced up, vaguely unnerved at the fierce scowl on Ben’s face, at the sudden shift in mood, and before he could stop himself he said, “Then help Master Skywalker build a new generation of Jedi, Benji.”

Ben’s silence was disturbing, not even a reaction to the nickname. “Sometimes I don’t think I was meant to be a Jedi. I can’t be like Master Luke, Poe.”

Poe rose to his feet, deactivating his lightsaber as he reached out to wrap his arms around Ben from behind, his mind a flurry of thoughts—of Kylo, constantly torn between light and dark, unable to exist fully on any one side no matter how hard he tried; no matter how hard he threw himself into training. Part of that was Snoke’s fault, Poe knew. Snoke, who already had a decade in Ben’s head; Snoke, who had spent years grooming Ben, breaking and reshaping him into the version he wanted; Snoke, who hid like a slimy coward in the depths of Ben’s mind, weakened and angered by the new bond forged between Poe and Ben but unable to do anything lest he give himself away.

Sith Lords could be fools, as it turned out, and Poe hoped Snoke’s arrogance would keep him from discovering that Poe knew who he was. What he was.

What he was doing.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he pressed his face against Ben’s shoulder blades. This wasn’t as tall as Ben would get, Poe knew, and he was determined to enjoy it while it lasted.

“Then perhaps you don’t have to be either extreme,” he said, voice soft, feeling Ben shake before he stopped himself. “Can’t you be both?”

“I don’t know,” Ben said quietly. “I—I never thought I could. Sometimes I feel so… torn.”

“You can,” Poe said, overcome by a sudden surge of fierce protectiveness as he registered that this was the problem. This.   Forcing Ben to be one or the other, pushing him towards two extremes, and stars Poe didn’t know how he had missed it for so long with Kylo, but he hadn’t had the Force then. He hadn’t understood the pulls, which he knew were so much worse in Ben, and that he suspected would’ve been much worse in himself had he not lived another lifetime entirely, giving him over thirty years of mental and physical discipline and an outlook on what life was like without the Force. It gave him an advantage here, he knew, because Poe had never believed in the light and the dark, not really. He knew it was different for Force-users, sure, but knowing was different from experiencing, and so Poe, he simply was. He didn’t care about the dark and the light, though he knew enough to be wary of them from Skywalker’s tutelage. He had a lifetime of knowing who he was, what he could be, and it steadied him.

Ben didn’t have that. Ben, all his life, had only been told that he had to be one thing (and later in his life, the opposite, Poe thought bitterly), and that anything else was a failure, and Poe wondered how the adults in Ben’s life had been so blind to how he was faltering under all of it. Poe didn’t blame himself for never noticing when he had been in the throes of youth himself, it would be ridiculous to, but now he knew better. Now he could help. Forcing Ben to choose between the light and the dark was killing him slowly either way, and Poe knew Ben could never dedicate himself to the light the way Luke had. Ben was too turbulent, too emotional, and Poe thought, with a grimace, that this must have been why the Jedi had always separated children from their families so young.

His mind caught on the faceless image of someone he’d once known, someone important, a dark face shrouded in smooth stormtrooper armour, but though he tried he could not claw at a name, so he let it go. The sentiment was there, though, and whoever that stormtrooper (that friend?) was Poe imagined he must have gone through the same thing the Jedi children of old did: separated from their family, disciplined to dedicate their lives to an archaic code, raised in perfect little soldier images. Different from the First Order only in ideology and their use of the Force.

Poe exhaled harshly, his hands digging into the fabric at the front of Ben’s tunic, his face still buried against Ben's back.

“You can be so much more, Ben,” he hissed fiercely. “So much more than just the light or the dark. Stars, you’re so strong. I know about the darkness. I know it calls to you when you close your eyes, when you think about your grandfather. You think of him every time you wield that lightsaber—“ a gambit saying that, for he didn’t know, though he could guess “—but you don’t need to darkness to make you strong, just like you don’t need the light. Not just the light, anyway,” he amended. You don’t need Snoke, he didn’t say, for that would be giving away too much.

“What do I need, then?” Ben asked shakily.

"You.” He felt Ben’s breathing change, could feel Ben’s heart thumping against his hand. “You need you, Ben. Nothing else. You don’t need to be the light. You don’t need to be Skywalker. But you don’t need to listen to the shadows in your mind, either, the ones I know speak to you when no one else is there.” He knew he was toeing the line, but he pressed forward nonetheless. “You don’t need to be one or the other. You can be both, Ben, and damn whatever anyone else tells you. You need you. No one else.”

“No,” Ben said, turning in Poe’s embrace and pressing their foreheads together in a way that made Poe’s breath hitch as his gamble paid off. “I need you, Poe. Maybe I—maybe I don’t need anyone else, but I need you.”

His voice when small at the end, impossibly young, and Poe let his eyes flutter shut, feeling the warmth Ben was projecting through the bond, the one Poe had forged between them when he’d anchored himself in Ben’s mind.

“I know,” Poe said, and when he felt the force of Ben’s affection wrap around him he thought it almost felt like flying.

*

The fight was over something silly, in the end, and the part of Poe that was still in his thirties said he should have seen it coming even as he watched Ben storm out of the temple, leaving him and Skywalker standing there with twin expressions of regret.

“I should have known he’d react like that,” Skywalker said tiredly, shoulders drooping as though he’d forgotten that Poe was still present. Then again, Poe thought, he was eighteen, the oldest of the students at the temple, and perhaps it wasn’t so odd that Skywalker had been slowly opening up to him, displaying less and less of the strict Jedi Master routine and more of the cheeky farmboy Poe knew he had once been.

“It’s hard to predict Ben’s moods sometimes,” Poe said glibly, even as he agreed with Skywalker’s words. They were silent for a moment before Skywalker spoke, his soft voice catching Poe off guard.

“I’m not what he needs.”

“Sir?”

“Ben. I’m not what he needs. When Leia brought him to me I thought it was the right choice. He was young, he was angry, and Leia worried that—well. She worried. And she and Han were never there. I thought it would be what was best. Planning, in retrospect, is not my strongest suit.” It was said almost sheepishly. Poe, for his part, merely inclined his head, waiting him out, feeling oddly comfortable. He wondered if that had anything to do with the fact that Master Luke was Leia Organa’s brother.

“I wonder if it would have been better for him had I told Leia to take him with her. If he hadn’t been trained at all.” His words were sad, and Poe thought he sounded disconcertingly close to his Skywalker.

“Master Luke,” he began, watching as Skywalker inclined his head in an oddly youthful gesture. Then again, Poe thought, this Skywalker was still young, younger than the one he’d once known, at least, and stars at least he could still remember that, more and more memories vanishing with each passing week. Skywalker was still waiting for him to speak when Poe shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

“Forgive me, sir, but Ben is too powerful to never have been trained,” Poe said. Then, taking a chance, he added, flatly, “And with Snoke in his head perhaps the General thought you’d be able to lessen his influence.”

Skywalker stiffened abruptly, eyes widening. “How do you know about Snoke?” he demanded, and Poe exhaled, happy that Skywalker hadn't caught on his slip-up regarding Leia Organa.

“I’ve been in his mind,” Poe said, “and I look where everyone else turns away. Snoke’s always been there. Waiting. With all due respect, sir, the question isn’t how I know about Snoke, but why all of us have failed to do something about him.” He turned back towards the temple, intending to let Ben stew like the child he sometimes insisted on being, before he stopped. Reevaluated. And promptly felt as though he’d been punched in the gut.

“Poe?” Skywalker queried stiffly when Poe refused to move, and it wasn’t until he felt Skywalker’s hand settle tentatively on his shoulder than he snapped out of it.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked.

“Sorry?” Skywalker said, sounding confused. Poe turned around, looking after where Ben had gone.

“I’ll be back, sir,” Poe said, “and I promise, when I return, that I’ll—I’ll tell you everything. Please just. Trust me.” It was easy to believe Skywalker and the General were related with the searching look Poe was given, but when Skywalker nodded Poe ran towards the forest, cursing himself for being so foolish.

In the past when Ben had run off Poe had always let him go, convincing himself that space was what Ben had needed, glad that Ben wasn’t there so that Poe could stew in eighteen-year-old bitterness, writing the whole thing off as Ben being immature. Hell, he’d even relished the separation, his pride refusing to let him apologise first, always waiting until Ben had crawled back to him, sullen and sorry.

And all those times Poe had left him alone Snoke had struck, using the boy’s loneliness, his desired to be loved, to gain an even bigger foothold. Poe broke into a run. Three weeks. That’s all they had left. One month before Ben was meant to storm the temple, slaughtering Skywalker’s students and setting in motion the war of the next sixteen, seventeen years.

It took him awhile, but he eventually found Ben, the Force leading him to where Ben was crouched on the bank of the river—the same river that ran close to Poe’s home.

“Ben,” Poe said softly, stepping forward.

“Leave me alone,” Ben hissed angrily, and were he sixteen years younger and sixteen years stupider Poe might have done that, but he knew that if he did he’d lose Ben as sure as he knew every inch of Black One. Ben was lonely, achingly lonely, and it had taken Poe far too long to see it, practically giftwrapping Ben for Snoke whenever he or anyone else had left Ben to himself for so long, mistakenly thinking it was what he needed and not taking into account what he wanted.

Poe knew what he wanted, now.

Slowly, carefully, he stepped forward, enveloping Ben in his arms and stars Ben was already so much taller than him, even at this age, like he might explode from within Poe’s arms and his own skin.  Poe whispered, softly, “you're not alone. You're not alone, Ben, I promise, I promise. I'm sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything,” Ben said, trying to jerk away, but Poe just held on tightly.

“Not for this,” he said, “but for every other time I let you stew like this. For every single second I fed your belief that you weren’t loved. For every time I made you feel alone. Ben. You are not alone. Please believe me.”

Ben shuddered against him and Poe held him tight the way Ben had held him all those months ago, when the weight of the situation had been too much to bear, and Poe was abruptly struck by how capable Ben was of loving. Poe manoeuvred them until they were kneeling comfortably on the forest floor, his arms still around Ben as Ben shuddered against his chest, running his hands through Ben’s hair the way Ben had for him five months ago, something within him emitting calmness and reassurance as they listened to the rush of river as it flowed past their little spot on the bank.

“I know,” Ben said then, and Poe hummed in question. Ben sucked in a breath and Poe knew that whatever he said next would be serious. “I’m not alone. I never have been. Poe, there’s something I have to tell you.”

*

Later that night, as they sat together on Ben’s narrow bed, Poe still stroking Ben's hair, Poe made a promise.

“I’ll help you,” he said. “I’ll help you get rid of him, Ben.”

“You can’t,” Ben mumbled. “He’s too powerful. He knows about you. Not about our link, I’ve been able to hide that, but he’s known about you ever since the Force awoke within you.”

“We’ll get rid of him, Ben, if that's what you want,” Poe said, feeling Ben hiss at the thought, but though Poe could feel Ben's conflict at the idea of ridding himself of Snoke, of the strange friend he'd had in his mind for years, Poe knew that Ben had made the decision of what to do with Snoke the moment he'd verbally confirmed his existence. Still, Poe had listened to the whole story on that riverbank, listened as Ben described the years of Snoke's whispers, of wishing to be powerful like his grandfather, and when Ben had finished Poe had suggested, carefully, that perhaps Snoke wasn't the friend Ben had always thought.

It had almost sparked another fight, but in the end Poe had convinced Ben to come back to the temple.  To listen.  He’d begged off of Skywalker’s questions when they'd stumbled in, mind racing with ways to help rid Ben’s mind of the creature that was Snoke.

In the present, Ben sighed. “You think too loud.”

“Shush,” Poe said. “I wonder why I love you sometimes,” he teased, but immediately knew he’d made a mistake when Ben stiffened and pulled away. Poe, filled with a moment’s worry, reached out after him, but Ben’s next question made him stop in his tracks.

“You love me?” Ben said, his voice small, and Poe saw him wince when it came out a tentative question instead of the forceful declaration Poe knew Ben had meant it to be. Slowly he reached out, entwining their hands.

Maybe, were he younger, eighteen not just in body but in mind, he would have said something more flippant—“you know I do, what a silly question”—but here, now, with the skittering memories he still possessed, he realised that wasn’t what Ben needed.

“I love you,” Poe confirmed, infusing his face and voice with every ounce of love and sincerity he possessed, and when Ben launched himself forward and buried his face against Poe's neck Poe held him there safely, dragging his hands up Ben’s back to clutch at his shoulders. Briefly, he felt a flicker of recognition—this was something he had done before for an older, more fractured Ben, for Kylo, and the thought made his breath hitch as a spark of rage and fierce protectiveness trickled through him. “I love you, Ben. Let me help you. You don’t need him. Let me help.”

You can’t have him, he thought to the sinister being in Ben’s mind, uncaring whether Snoke heard him or not. He is mine. When Ben lifted his head to whisper a surprisingly firm “all right” Poe almost imagined he could hear Snoke’s scream of rage echoing through the Force, cut off by the way Ben kissed him, firm and insistent, pushing Poe back against the mattress, Poe having to break off a breathy gasp when he felt how easily Ben manhandled him, even just shy of sixteen.

“Ben,” he murmured, but Ben wasn’t listening, pressing insistent kisses to Poe’s neck and mouthing at his collarbone where it was exposed by Poe’s sleep tunic. Poe closed his eyes against the sensation, gasping when he felt Ben bite down, fisting his hands in Ben’s hair and relishing in the way the younger boy hissed, a spike of pleasure shimmying across the bond as Ben’s hands slid up under his shirt, and stars he’d missed this, missed this so much, his body warming to the knowing touches while Ben slowly tugged Poe’s shirt over his head, mouthing up his chest before biting down again, this time on Poe’s throat, making Poe tilt his head back instinctively as he moaned, remembering the last time they’d done this, when he and Kylo had been—

The thought brought him up short, his change in breathing taken by Ben as pleasure, but even though Poe wanted to continue this, wanted nothing more than to surrender himself to Ben, he knew he couldn’t. His body may have been eighteen but in his mind he was still Commander Dameron, in his thirties, mentally twice the age of Ben. It didn’t matter if Ben knew that or not, Poe did, and stars did it take a considerable amount of control to pull back, to turn the harsh kisses and ragged breathing into something softer, more soothing, but he couldn’t—he couldn’t let this go further, not when he wasn’t who Ben thought he was; not when, for all that his body was eighteen, his mind was more than twice the age of Ben’s fifteen.

So as carefully as he could he took control of the situation, slowing the pace from their previous frantic actions to slow, sensuous ones, until the hot flash of immediate desire died down enough for him to speak.

“Benji,” he said, and when Ben looked up Poe felt his heart ache. “Ben,” he said again, sitting up, back against the pillows, cupping Ben’s face and sighing when Ben’s pale hands came up to cover his own. This was what Snoke had taken away from him, Poe thought. This was what Snoke had sought to destroy, this beautiful boy who was capable of so much love, of so many things beyond what Snoke had led him to believe. Kylo had been such an unstable man, jagged and angry, and though Poe had loved him as fiercely as one could love in war he'd hated that Kylo had had limited choice in determining the course of his life, not how most people did.

He looked at Ben as he was now, his features still soft in a way Poe knew he would never outgrow, and he tried to see his Kylo in him—tried to see the shattered man he had kept meeting up with, the shattered man who had pushed him against the wall in some old, run-down ruins and melted into Poe’s touch like he’d been starving for it. The shattered but healing man he had loved.

Kylo was there, Poe thought, there in the dark rage that still lit Ben’s eyes sometimes, but also in the gentle, almost reverent way Ben kissed him, in the way his strong hands had pushed Poe against the bed and worshipped him mere moments ago. Kylo Ren had spent years running from the ghost that was Ben, but Poe rather thought some aspects of Kylo Ren had always been present in Ben as well, as strange as the thought may be. And as Poe kissed Ben gently, letting Ben manoeuvre them under the covers, Poe’s head coming to rest on Ben’s chest, he thought he would burn the entire galaxy to save them, Ben and Kylo Ren both.

Poe closed his eyes. He knew what he had to do.

*

Skywalker was expecting him, his movements oddly practiced.  Nerves, Poe thought, and how odd was it that this man, the slayer of Darth Vader, could be nervous of him?

Then again, Poe thought as he turned around, fixing Skywalker with his command look, the one he knew he had used in another life even though he no longer remembered when, perhaps Skywalker had reason to be worried after all.

“We need to talk,” he said bluntly as Skywalker cocked his head to the side.

“We do,” he agreed, and Poe held his gaze for a few more moments before looking away. Ben was training the children, determined to show little Rey something Poe wasn’t supposed to tell Skywalker, and he would’ve smiled were it not for the reasons he was here. He didn’t sit, instead remaining standing, his body squared in the unconscious posture of a man who’d spent almost half his life fighting a war.

“I lied to you,” Poe said then, grimacing at the words. “I lied to you. I lied to Ben. And I hate that I did it, I really do, but you gotta listen to me when I say I had no choice. I thought it was the right thing, but maybe I should have told you earlier because there’s so little that I remember and—“ Poe sucked in a breath. Skywalker remained silent. “I lied to you about the vision. About the dream. It wasn’t either of those.”

“Then what was it?” Skywalker asked.

“A memory,” Poe said, and he watched the minute twitches of Skywalker’s face even as the Jedi Master held onto his calm with a determination that Poe could respect, especially since he could barely control his own tumultuous emotions at the moment, the Force around him less like ripples and more like growing waves. “My memories, to be exact. Probably should’ve let you know earlier, but it took me awhile to realise I was forgetting and even longer to decide how to proceed from there.” He smiled wryly. “So here’s the thing, sir: I’m dead. Well, not physically, at least not here, but I’m on borrowed time.”

Skywalker looked at Poe like he’d grown a second head and Poe plunged forward, eyes intent. “What I told you I saw in the vision, all of that was true, but it was true because they were memories. My memories. And in my memories, Master Jedi, your nephew succumbed to the influence of a dark creature named Snoke and slaughtered all the students in this temple. All save one.” Skywalker’s eyes darkened as he heard that but before he could continue Poe pushed on. “Where I come from, we spent years searching for you after you hightailed it out. The General—sorry, your sister, Leia—headed up a group known as the Resistance, spawned to fight an increasingly powerful remnant of the Empire known as the First Order, and recruited me from the New Republic, and Ben…” He closed his eyes. “Ben became Snoke’s apprentice, renamed Kylo Ren, and believe me when I say Snoke did his absolute best to break him. He almost succeeded, too, and if you think what happened to Alderaan was bad…” Poe huffed out a mirthless laugh. Skywalker said nothing.

“We were fighting the First Order and my craft was shot down. I was a goner. I knew I was. Then Kylo—“ he faltered at Skywalker’s frown, but pressed on “—Kylo saved me. Pulled me from the wreckage. Died to bring me back here. I still don’t know what he did, but you must understand, I watched him die. I watched him as he channelled the Force into my dying body with the help of two men who might have been ghosts and I watched as the light left his eyes, telling me to save us both. Then I woke up here. And I came to you. To Ben.  It sounds crazy, I know, but that's the truth.”

He looked Skywalker dead in the eye, dropping all the masks he’d been carrying these past months, and at last he saw Skywalker’s calm break as the man struggled to take in all Poe was telling him.

“No,” Skywalker said then. “I don’t know what you saw, Poe, but you’ll forgive me if this is a little hard to believe without proof with all you've been keeping hidden.”

“Proof?” Poe snapped. “What proof do you need? Do you think I’d make this up? What do you want me to tell you, that when Rey found you you were almost a broken man from over a decade of hiding away, regretting your failures with Ben? Do you want to hear about how everyone the General ever loved was ripped away from her? How billions of people died, how we died, because—“ he broke off and looked away, fighting to get his rage under control, not liking the sickly feeling the dark side lent it.

“Take it from me,” Poe hissed then, and perhaps years ago—his years, not the years of this body, soft and youthful and free of the scars that had spelled the end of his so-called innocence—he would have flinched at the idea of yet another Force-user rummaging through his mind, but he knew, with the clarity of the experienced soldier he was, that this was the only way. “You can feel the change. You sensed it that first day.” He leaned forward. “So take it from me if you don’t believe me.”

“I do not wish to hurt you,” Skywalker said. Poe laughed lowly and tapped the side of his head.

“I’ve had worse. Trust me.”

Skywalker paused, then asked, softly, “You mentioned two men behind Ben—“

“Kylo.”

“—when you… died. Can you describe them for me?”

Poe closed his eyes, trying to envision them. The memories of his death were still sharp, some of the only ones untouched as time wore the others away. “Older men. Bearded, the both of them, in old Jedi robes. One darker than the other. The one in the darker robes was taller, but the smaller one was… more sad.  Tired.  I didn't recognise them.”

Skywalker was silent again, and at last he said, "I understand."

"Sir?"

"The Force.  I understand, now, where you got it from, if what you are telling me is true.  Why it acts like it does with you.  Why you have the control of someone with years of training, but sometimes act like three different people."  Skywalker paused.  "Obi-Wan was already strong with the Force," he mused cryptically, and though Poe knew the name he had no face to go with it.  "He was a calm presence in the Force.  Like gentle waves.  But if Obi-Wan was calm discipline my father was brute force.  Both of these I have sensed within you.  That's--" Luke look vaguely sheepish "--why I tossed the chair at you.  When you threw it back, it was almost as thought I could feel him.  But there was another, a third, familiar and yet not.  I now assume it to be my nephew."

Poe blinked, processing this, trying to figure out what this meant for him as Skywalker peered at Poe as though he were searching for something. Poe tilted his chin up but decided on saying nothing.  They were here to discuss Ben, not Poe's strange Force affinity, and Luke eventually shook his head. Poe couldn’t help but think of his Skywalker, old and sad and beaten down by the world around him, defeated where Master Luke was still hopeful, or at least willing to hear him out, if his words were any indication.

“I’m forgetting,” Poe said then, softer this time. “I’ve been forgetting more and more the closer we draw to… the date of Ben’s fall. I don’t know what will happen to me when the memories are gone, but please. I still remember things related to people I know here, now. It’s enough. I need you to take these memories so that someone, anyone, will remember when I no longer can.

“Please,” Poe said, pleading now when Skywalker hesitated. “Take them."

This time Skywalker nodded, and Poe closed his eyes in relief as Skywalker reached forward. It was so much easier now, with the Force flowing freely between them, to allow another Force-user access to his mind, but where Kylo’s touch had been sharp edges and grim determination with a gentleness that had not come without effort, Skywalker’s was calm and sure. Poe let the amusement unfurl between the connection, one last happy moment before the dam broke.

You’ve done this before, he thought, and he felt the way Skywalker shied back as if chastened even as he gave Poe the equivalent of a mental flick, and Poe wondered if it was because of the strange echo even he could hear—the echo of another voice, older, belonging to an old man with sad eyes but a strong spirit. He said nothing more, however, bringing the memories to the forefront of his mind, organising them as best he could before he pushed them at Skywalker, withdrawing as he felt Skywalker sift through them.

Poe felt the moment Skywalker stumbled upon the last one, felt the sudden pain that flooded the connection as Skywalker watched his nephew, almost two decades older, crouched in front of Poe with an expression of panic and desperation on his scarred face, desperation that changed to fierce concentration as he pushed everything he was into Poe, acting as a conduit for the Force that was flowing so freely between them the way it never had before.

“You can’t tell Ben,” Poe said as Skywalker drew back, and Poe knew it was only the years of Jedi training that had kept the man from stumbling as the weight of the memories sunk in. “Please. You cannot tell Ben. He does not need to know about the man he once became; he does not need to know of the things he did, willingly and not, for that monster of a creature.” His voice deepened to a snarl as he thought of Snoke, his one regret being that he would never be able to feel Snoke’s throat break under his hands. The anger swirled in the air again before Poe felt a wave of calm wash over him, and he realised his hands were clenched at the same time he noticed Skywalker’s hand on his shoulder, his presence a beacon of peace in the Force.

So much softer than Ben, Poe thought, even at his most dangerous.

"Tell the General," Poe implored, even as a wry, sad smile curved his mouth. "I think you were always weaker apart. She missed you.” He tapped the side of his head for emphasis, watching as a flicker of regret stirred in Luke’s sad eyes. "She was always so strong, but so alone. With Kyl—Ben and I gone..." Poe squeezed his eyes shut at the thought, a deep-seeded ache unfurling in his chest as he thought of Kylo, a man who had been so broken but who had loved so fiercely. In the end, Kylo had loved him enough to die for him, for them, to give them this final chance, and that more than anything spurred Poe to keep going, his words spoken fiercely and with no small amount of heat. Without thinking he reached out, grabbing Luke by the arm, noticing the way the great Jedi Master stilled under his touch. “You cannot let this happen again,” he whispered, eyes narrowed. “This cannot be allowed to happen again or Kylo Ren died for nothing.”

Poe took another deep breath, and Luke remained rooted to the spot.

"Leia knows about Snoke. She always knew. What I know—" his face twisted twist briefly and he grimaced at the weakness. "Kylo—" Poe stopped again as the name made Luke stiffen under his hand, feeling the hot rage curl in his chest and with it a darkness he had never known prior to the Force. He swallowed it and pushed forward. Skywalker may not wish to think about his nephew as Kylo, as anything other than Ben, still trying to process this new information, but Poe, Poe had to make the distinction, had to draw a line between Ben and his Kylo, the one he would never see again, and the young boy who shared his face, whom he still loved despite it all. “Kylo told me what he could, but there were things even I wasn't privy to. Do not underestimate Snoke. If I forget, when I forget, you have to save Ben. You didn’t help him before,” Poe said, knowing it was a low blow as he saw Skywalker’s eyes narrow, “but save him here. You and the General. Save him here, help him here, when I am gone. If not for him, then for me. For Rey. For the galaxy.”

Skywalker was silent, watching him with pursed lips that did little to hide the pain he was in, a pain Poe could sense in the Force. Finally, Skywalker spoke.

“An old friend once told me: do or do not, there is no try. At the time I thought he was full of nonsense.” Skywalker paused, frowning. Poe pictured him with the beard he’d once been so used to Skywalker sporting, back when he’d returned from his exile with Rey in tow, a legend made flesh once again. Then Skywalker smiled wryly, a lifetime of doing the right thing written into that small expression, along with the last remnants of cocky youth. Poe didn’t let it distract him from the contained anger that rolled off Skywalker’s body, but it wasn't directed towards Poe. “I still think he was full of nonsense sometimes, admittedly, and this is one of the few areas where I still disagree with him.” Skywalker turned away, as if seeing something Poe could not, but Poe just waited, body falsely relaxed. Finally, Skywalker turned back to him, and when he did his eyes were determined. “You have my word, Poe Dameron, that I will do everything in my power to protect my nephew, though I see in your face that you don’t believe me.”

“You—“ Skywalker held up a hand and Poe fell silent, thinking about his Skywalker’s resentful gaze and hunched shoulders and the ragepainsorrow that had clouded his features at every mention of Kylo Ren.

“I understand why,” Skywalker said, a note of grudging acceptance in his voice. “Knowing what he was capable of doing…” Skywalker trailed off, but Poe read the words he did not say: it’s hard to look at him the same way. Poe felt the anger stir, but then Skywalker continued, “I love my nephew, Poe. And it’s become obvious to me that you do as well. I make no promises, but I—I will not fail him again. I’ll not fail any of them that way again. At the very least, Poe, we will drive Snoke out. This I swear to you.”

The confession sounded like it hurt, and Poe closed his eyes, prodding at Skywalker’s mind briefly. Skywalker let him in, dropping his defences, and Poe slid among them with an affinity he knew was not his naturally, an affinity that might've once belonged to Kylo Ren, even as he assured himself that Skywalker was sincere in his intentions. When he withdrew and opened his eyes again all he could manage was a small sigh.

“He deserves to be happy,” Poe said. “Your sister deserves to be happy. Rey. All of us. I’m sorry, sir, that it had to be you, but you and the General… there’s no one else I could trust with it, and even with all of this, I hope—well, I hope you can take comfort in knowing you’re working to stop what happened to Kylo from happening here. We died—“ and it made him wince to say, even now, even knowing that all he was was a dead man on borrowed time “—to give the galaxy that chance at happiness and peace, but someone always, always has to bear the burden of what happened to us.” He looked directly into Skywalker’s eyes as he said, “Do not let our sacrifice be in vain.”

He stood then, suddenly anxious to leave this room, to leave the stone walls with the curling moss and return to Ben, to run his fingers through Ben’s soft hair and breathe in the comfort that only Ben, in any form, was able to give him. The thought of Ben made him pause, however, and before he could stop himself he halted, feeling Skywalker’s gaze on him again, heavy and wary and so, so very tired.

“And one more thing,” Poe said, turning back to where Skywalker still stood silent. He could not keep the pleading note from his voice entirely, and so he did not try to, instead letting the plea ring clear, hoping he looked every bit as young as his physical age as he begged: "Don't make him give up his attachments.  Don’t give him a reason to feel alone and abandoned. That's what let Snoke gain a foothold. Let him be grey; it doesn't make him a failure. Your nephew's life and happiness should be more important than any Jedi code." He sighed, closing his eyes, thinking of dark hair and dark eyes and that beautiful, familiar face and the scar he had spent countless nights memorising with his fingertips in another life. “He was never solely meant for the light or the dark. It took everyone too long to realise that last time, and he paid the price for it.”

He looked away from Skywalker, away from the man’s intense and too-knowing gaze, and as he left the room he couldn’t help but say, loud enough for Skywalker to still hear, “we all did.”

*

Strictly speaking, they didn’t need to be this close. Had there been manuals for how to proceed in driving an ancient Sith Lord out of a young boy’s mind Poe doubted it would have been suggested in there, either, but when they entered Master Luke’s meditation chambers two weeks later with joint hands the older man didn’t question it, merely gesturing for them to sit, which they did.

“We need to seal Ben’s mind off from Snoke,” Skywalker said without preamble. “I’ve been checking some of the old holocrons for shielding techniques and I found something that I think will help us, but I’m guessing you’re already aware of some of them, Poe, and that you’ve spent these past couple weeks teaching them to Ben.” A knowing look. Poe just gripped Ben’s hand tighter, knowing the younger boy was nervous, even if he was determined not to show it. “As for Snoke… I have no basis for this, you must understand. Ben, you will have to fight him within your own mind. I imagine he will not give up easily, but should you need us, both Poe and I are here. We will meditate, and when you feel ready, you must engage. He is likely already aware of what we are planning, so we must act quickly.”

Ben nodded, curt and determined. Poe felt a surge of protectiveness. Then Skywalker lowered himself to the floor, watching them carefully.

“Ben,” he said softly, and Ben looked up, questioning. “I’m sorry, Ben. You would have been a great Jedi, but I understand now that perhaps the ways of the Jedi are not suited to all Force-users. Your mother comes to mind.” Skywalker smiled then, carefully placing a hand on Ben’s shoulders and softening when it wasn’t shrugged off. Poe smiled, gripping Ben’s hand again. Then he closed his eyes, clearing his thoughts of anything except Ben, anchoring himself to Ben’s mind once more.

He felt the moment Ben engaged Snoke, felt the Sith Lord’s wrath as his would-be apprentice tried to thwart him, and he held on fast as Snoke began to strain forward, trying to tether himself to the footholds he’d gained in Ben’s mind. I’ve got you, Ben, Poe thought urgently as he felt Ben shudder, then again as he felt pain blossom between the link, and Poe realised that Snoke was trying to severe his bond to Ben at the exact same time Ben did.

No, Poe thought, snarled, his voice echoing, so much stronger than his real voice, and he wondered if this was how Ben was hearing him in this moment, a pillar of strength, the eye his storm could collect itself around. You cannot have him, Poe thought. You cannot have him for he is not yours. He is mine. He is his own. And you are not welcome here.

He was hit with a blast of pain as Snoke lashed out again, Ben's pain, and without thinking Poe took it into himself, allowing Ben to fight without distraction, but it hurt, it hurt, and for a moment Poe thought he was dying again, his control fraying as the pain mounted, and that was when he felt it, like his mind was splitting even as the Force seemed to explode around them. Distantly he thought he could feel Skywalker adding his strength to them, doing his best to shield his nephew and start constructing walls as Ben fought to push Snoke out out out, and there was a moment when he felt Skywalker recoil, as if surprised, but then Skywalker’s efforts redoubled and it was the three of them against Snoke.

Later, after they lay panting on the floor, victorious but exhausted, Poe swore that, for the rest of his life, he’d relish the sound of Snoke’s enraged roar as he was forced out at last.

*

Peace was a strange thing, Poe thought as he ran his fingers through Ben’s hair, listening to the sound of Ben’s breathing as he slept. In all his life Poe wasn’t sure he’d ever known true peace, not after the vestaments of youth had been stripped away, but he didn’t think he minded. He wasn’t built for peace, he’d decided long ago, and nor, he thought, was Ben, as Kylo hadn’t been. He held no illusions over the future as a result. Snoke had been driven out Poe wasn’t foolish enough to think that this was the end of it, not while Snoke still lived.

Ben had been so tired afterwards, Poe as well, and they’d all but collapsed on the floor of Skywalker’s chambers after all was said and done, where they’d remained for hours, heedless of the time or even the sensation of Skywalker draping a blanket over their entwined forms, but since then…

Poe exhaled. Snoke’s marks were too deep to get rid of just like that, his influence over Ben spanning decades, but Poe knew that now, with Snoke gone, there was at least a chance, though he found himself wondering if he’d get to see this new future he’d helped bring about. The memories had continued to desert him more and more quickly after they’d forced Snoke out, like they’d been holding out all this time, waiting for Poe to fulfil his promise to Kylo before they let go, leaving Poe only with the bare bones—who he had been, who Kylo had been, and who Leia Organa, Luke Skywalker, and Rey Antilles had been in a timeline he had ensured would no longer pan out the same way.

Poe sighed, curling against Ben’s bare chest, the fractured memories spiralling in his head. Once upon a time almost seventeen years ago on a little forest moon Ben had been awake this night, lightsaber out as the Knights of Ren wrecked havoc on Skywalker’s new generation of Jedi. Now he slept soundly on his side, curled around Poe, his chin nestled comfortably atop Poe’s head, and Poe couldn’t bring himself to regret anything even as he wondered what would happen, if the existing memories would desert him completely or if he would be forever left with these half-formed almosts as warnings, for despite his words to Skywalker he was not sure what he would be left with.

Perhaps he would be left with nothing, Poe thought, and he would forget all about General Organa as he knew her; forget all about the son who had become Kylo Ren.

The thought was disconcerting. He didn’t want to forget Kylo, not after everything, but he did his best to dismiss the worries from his mind, knowing it wouldn’t matter any which way, though he also swore he’d fight the Force tooth and nail if it thought to take his memories of Kylo from him.  For now he attempted to make his body relax, concentrating on Ben’s steady breathing and the possessive but comforting arm Ben had draped around Poe’s waist, listening to the hum of the Force as it flowed around them, the ripples extending from his conscious mind.

It wasn’t until he closed his eyes that he felt it, and he couldn’t help but exhale as the ripples seemed to reverse their direction, flowing into him instead of away—a quiet thing, a gentle wrecking, one that made him shudder and gasp as the holes in his memory began to fill in until he was practically shaking with all the things he had forgotten in his quest to save the man he loved. He remembered his squad, the Resistance, D’Qar, and the cause he had dedicated his life to. He remembered BB-8. He remembered tumbling out of a hostile Star Destroyer with nothing but adrenaline and a guilty stormtrooper (Finn), and snarling as he fired the shots that would destroy Starkiller Base.

He thought about Kylo, fractured in a way Poe hoped he never would be again.

For a few moments Poe could only lay there, still with his head against Ben’s chest, though he snapped his eyes open when he realised he could no longer feel Ben under his touch, and when he pushed himself up he saw, to his dismay, himself, all eighteen years, still sleeping peacefully with Ben at his side, chest moving up and down as he breathed. His eyes widened, air he realised he no longer had trying to leave his lungs, and before he could stop himself he made himself reach out, only to start when he saw his own skin, shining in the darkness.

A glimmer in the corner of the room caught his attention and Poe drew in a sharp gasp as he saw Kylo, his Kylo, standing with one translucent hand outstretched. The joy that surged in Poe’s chest was almost suffocating and by the way Kylo’s eyes softened Poe knew he could feel it too, as surely as his own. Poe didn’t think twice about taking Kylo’s hand and letting the other man pull him gently to his feet, and he didn’t comment when Kylo pulled him close, shimmering bodies tingling where they simulated touch. Poe spared once more glance towards their younger selves (their new selves) where they lay on the bed. There was so much yet to do, with Snoke still out there, but Poe was realistic enough to know that as he was, there was nothing more he could do for them.

Going forward, that Ben and Poe would have to forge their own paths, independent of the mistakes of lives they’d never know. Poe hoped they would have the support they’d need, even as he felt Kylo draw him against his chest, a strange sensation without physical bodies but a comforting one nonetheless.

“I missed you,” Kylo said simply, softly nuzzling Poe’s neck, and in the echo of those words Poe could hear other things too: I’m sorry. I love you.

Thank you.

Poe brought Kylo’s forehead down to meet his own, turning his back on the figures on the bed. This was their fight now. His, finally, was over.

They stood together like beings made of stardust, and Poe let his eyes flutter shut as he felt the Force all around them, binding them, lapping gently at the forms they’d created for themselves. He looked at Kylo, seeing in his eyes the life of the galaxy, luminous and achingly beautiful, and smiled.

It was a new age for new heroes, so he took Kylo’s hands in his own, closing his eyes as he felt the Force stir around them, their nonphysical forms beginning to fade.

Then, together with Kylo, Poe let himself fly.