AN: Everybody knows I don't own Star Wars, especially given that I never would have killed Han. Well . . . I've become rather obsessed lately with thinking about how he could survive TFA and I decided to experiment with one of those ideas in a fanfic. Incidentally, should the people at Lucasfilm decide to use the same idea, I WHOLEHEARTEDLY GIVE THEM MY BLESSING TO DO SO. Go ahead, don't credit me, don't pay me any royalties, I don't care, just bring Han back!

And in case you were wondering, yes, my "Defenders of the Force" fics are still on, but I feel like I need to get TFA out of my system before I can continue them.

"Without a Heart"

By EsmeAmelia

Chapter 1

"Thank you . . ."

Kylo Ren yanked the lightsaber out of his father's chest, ripping through his innards, setting a fire that burned every part of his body. Han gasped for the life-giving air that wouldn't come, voicelessly cried out in searing pain, a realization of what was happening slowly penetrating the fog that was overtaking his mind.

He was dying.

Death . . . the thing he had always been terrified of, the thing he had spent the better part of his life running from . . . it was happening . . . death . . . he was dying . . . dying . . . and this time there was no way to cheat it . . .

The world in front of his eyes was blackening . . . but there was his son . . . the bringer of his death . . . his son had killed him . . . the world was fading . . . no . . . he couldn't go out yet . . . just one more moment . . . please, just one more moment . . . oh shit he was dying!

Ben's face was still there, like a moon in the rapidly-growing darkness. Han didn't know where he got the strength to do so, but somewhere in the fog was the ability to reach out to his son one final time. His hand brushed Ben's cheek, that cheek he had squeezed countless times, that cheek he had wiped tears from countless times, still Ben's cheek, still the son he loved . . .

Then he was falling.

Falling . . . falling . . . falling . . . falling into death . . . falling away from his wife and son forever . . .

And there was nothing.

. . .

"We are gathered here today to pay tribute to the life of one of the galaxy's greatest heroes. A man who was not only a great pilot, but a friend, a husband . . . and a father."

Leia was amazed by how calm she could make herself sound, even when performing her own husband's funeral, even when all she wanted to do was lock herself in her room and cry. But no, here, in front of the Resistance, she had to be General Organa, the courageous leader, the beacon of hope for the galaxy.

The one who never cried.

"General Han Solo was a rare kind of person. The kind who could drive you crazy one minute and charm you the next."

She stood in front of a display that contained as many holos of Han as she could find, along with various possessions of his such as the medal he'd been awarded after the Battle of Yavin and even one of his old vests. There was no coffin, since Han's body had exploded with Starkiller Base. It felt wrong to have a funeral without a body, but what choice did they have?

"Beneath that rough exterior was a brave, caring, compassionate person whom I was proud to call my husband."

In the front line of mourners stood Rey, Poe, Chewie, the three droids . . . and Luke. Leia had barely gotten to talk to her brother since his return – in fact, he hadn't talked much to anyone. Maybe it was Han's death or maybe it was just that he'd lived alone for so long, but there seemed to be a barrier around him that wasn't there before.

"He was taken from us far too soon, but we can honor his memory by not resting until the First Order is stopped and there is peace in the galaxy once more. When we remember how he never gave up without a fight, we too can find his courage in us."

He never gave up without a fight. Except when he hadn't fought their son.

"His death will not be in vain. He would want us to keep fighting until the First Order is vanquished."

Why had she written so many nothings into her speech? Why was she turning it into propaganda for the Resistance? Was she using her husband's death as a tool to motivate people?

"And now, if anyone else wants to say a few words on Han's behalf, they may come up and do so."

Predictably, Chewie was the first to volunteer. As the Wookiee made his way to the podium, 3PO eagerly hobbled up next to him, volunteering to translate Chewie's words. Leia couldn't help but imagine the look on her husband's face if he knew 3PO was speaking at his funeral.

As Chewie gave his speech, Leia managed to slip into the crowd of mourners, next to Rey. The former scavenger stared ahead at the holos of Han, tears streaming down her face one after the other. Leia put her hand on the young woman's shoulder, though she knew that would do little good.

"Why does it hurt so much?" Rey whispered. "I only knew him those few days . . . but it feels like I knew him forever." She slowly turned to face Leia with red eyes. "It's ridiculous . . . I know it . . . but he was the closest thing to a father I ever had."

Leia wrapped her arm around Rey's shoulders, trying to ignore the invisible fist squeezing her heart. The closest thing to a father she ever had . . . and yet Han's real child had killed him.

She swallowed, looking to the side, trying to get a glimpse of Luke, who was simply staring ahead, not acknowledging anyone. She didn't know what words were exchanged when Rey found him; she didn't know what they had told each other.

But she knew what Luke hadn't told Rey.

. . .

So . . . this was death.

Han had heard many stories about what might happen to non-Force-sensitives after they died without believing any of them. Sure, Luke had told him about Force ghosts, but they had the Force, which he didn't. He had always expected that he would just end when he died, go into a dreamless sleep and never wake up.

But he was thinking . . . which meant he still had something that resembled consciousness. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified. There may be consciousness in his afterlife or whatever this was, but what else was there?

Whatever it was, it didn't resemble any of the stories Han remembered. It was dark . . . completely dark, and instead of floating around, free of his body, he felt weighed down, as if he were strapped in something. There was a dull pain, too, centered on where his chest might be if he were still in his body . . . maybe it was some trace memory of his last moments alive.

And there was the sound.

It went in, out, in, out, in, out, a hiss that resembled Vader's mechanical breath, except this was weaker, raspier, as if Vader were gasping with every breath – if that were possible. Was this punishment for bringing another Vader into the galaxy?

Was this all there was? Would this trapped feeling and torturous sound go on forever?

"So Han Solo, you're finally awake."

That voice! Ben's voice . . . was he dead too? Did Chewie avenge Han's death before Ben could redeem himself?

"I know you're awake, Han Solo, so OPEN YOUR EYES!"

Eyes? He had eyes? He could open his eyes?

Where were his eyes?

"OPEN THEM NOW!"

His son's voice sent a jolt of pain into his ears . . . wait, ears . . . ears were close to the eyes, right? He concentrated on that general area . . . yes, these were eyes . . . he still had eyes and ears in whatever form he had taken after death.

His eyes opened.

At first there was only a large sea of blurs . . . white blurs . . . black blurs . . . maybe some other colors too. Where was Ben? Would he even look like Ben in whatever this afterlife was? Maybe he was one of these blurs . . . maybe every blur was a dead person . . . maybe Han himself was a blur . . .

But then he blinked . . . wait, why did he still need to blink when he was dead? All right, whatever, it wasn't like he knew the rules of being dead. He blinked again, again, again, and every time the blurs seemed to shrink into actual shapes. Finally one of the large black blurs took on the shape of a person . . . there he was . . . there was Ben, standing over Han, no mask, glaring down at his father.

"I thought I was finally rid of you," he snarled. "A great weight had finally been lifted from me – but then Supreme Leader Snoke decided that you were worth something alive and ordered us to fix you."

Fix him?

Wait . . . alive?

He wasn't dead?

He wasn't dead?

"B-B . . ." He had to concentrate his entire being on his mouth just to utter one sound. "B-B . . ." His voice was a raspy whisper. "B-B-Beeennn . . ."

"THAT'S NOT MY NAME!" Ben shouted, baring his teeth like a wild animal.

"W-Well . . . I-I ain't . . . callin' you anything else . . ." Why couldn't Han speak anything louder than this raspy whisper?

And if he was alive, then where was this Vader breathing sound coming from?

Now a wicked grin was slowly spreading across Ben's face. "You have many questions . . . oh yes, I sense it." He leaned in closer to his father. "Do you want answers? Well for starters, you've been unconscious for weeks."

"N-noooot the first t-time . . ."

Ben smirked. "Carbon freezing? You think that's the worst thing that ever happened to you? Allow me to prove you wrong." His grin was starting to resemble Palpatine's. "Go on, look."

Han slowly, painfully turned his stiff head – and only now did he feel the tube in his neck. His mouth automatically made the motions of a gasp . . . but no air was sucked in, no air came out . . . no air was coming in or out of his nose or mouth at all.

He wanted to pant in terror . . . but he couldn't pant . . . he couldn't breathe. With great effort, he turned his head further, seeing that he was strapped into a bed of some sort, a blanket covering his legs, but he seemed to be naked.

That wasn't what captured his attention, though.

What captured his attention was the gray metal plate enclosing his chest . . . no, embedded in his chest. In his chest . . . and the tube in his neck was plugged into it.

Suddenly dizziness overcame him like he was about to faint. Maybe he would have fainted if his son's voice hadn't distracted him ever so slightly.

"You didn't think you could have a lightsaber go through your heart and be perfectly all right afterwards, did you?" He tapped the plate with his finger, the sound ringing in Han's ears. "You can't breathe on your own anymore – you're just like my grandfather now." His finger ran up to the spot over where Han's heart would be, rubbing it up and down. "And that's no longer a heart that beats inside you." His grin never faded as he savored every word. "It's a machine. A machine that can be turned off."