Luke accepts his offer

“Father,” Luke croaked out, not entirely sure of the words that streamed from his lips. The authenticity of that word shocked Luke as he stared wearily at the black-garbed man, his right hand extended out and beckoning him to join. Through his own sickly and blurred vision, Luke almost thought he could see a face shining through that previously empty mask. Praying himself away from the instrument, he cautiously began to crawl back toward Vader: his father. The boy felt as if he had no control over his actions; it was as if The **** itself were guiding him toward the very man that had just mutilated him. The man that also created him.

He sobbed as he finally made his way to the beginning of the gantry, looking down at the metallic flooring as he was too humiliated, too afraid, to stare down Vader. The pain was throbbing in his right wrist as sweat beneath his armpit stung the open wound. He knew he wouldn’t last long if he didn’t get medical care. “Arise, my son,” the Sith Lord commanded. Luke nervously stood and glanced at the menacing mask - oh, what had he done? Why didn’t he jump when he could have? What were Leia and the rest going to think of him?

Poor Luke didn’t have much time to think.

Shock set in once he finally stood to his feet and slumped into Vader’s arms. He was in a delirious state for the next hour or so: Vader was carrying him in his arms, still naked, as he brought him back to his personal shuttle. So many eyes were staring at him - whether that be his missing hand, his exposed penis, or his familiar face, well, he wasn’t quite sure. “F-Father,” Luke moaned once more. He saw that masked head peer down at him, curiosity and wonder seeping from that black abyss.

Luke closed his eyes and allowed fate to take him whoever it saw fit.