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Ashoka had always been prone to nightmares.
Some of them were visions; some others, simple fears magnified in a child's mind. But they were always there, as if her thoughts simply did not know when it was time for them to lay down and rest.
When she became Anakin's Padawan, her nightmares only got worse; between the intense fighting, the heart-breaking losses and the ever-lasting anxiety the high stake missions brought, it was near impossible for her troubled mind to let her sleep.
Of course, along with the nightmares, came a person to shake her awake from them. It was custom for the Padawan to move in with the master once the Jedi training began, so Anakin usually had a first-row seat to her nightly terrors, especially since their link had solidified. He didn't seem to mind, though. On the contrary, Ashoka felt relief coming from his side of the bond each time he comforted her after she jolted up drenched in sweat, like he took his own comfort by knowing she was safe.
Ashoka also knew he had nightmares of his own. She had seen him squirming in his bed multiple times, brows furrowed in pain or fear, sweat gleaming on his brow. The first time she had woken him up from it, in the frenzy of the dream, he had punched her right on the nose, and had made her promise she would never do it again. "I'm used to it," he had said, "and it's easier for me to fight the panic on my own."
Ashoka didn't want to be hurt by the statement, because she knew the words were supposed to protect them both. Yet her insecurities kept making her wonder whether he deemed her too untrustworthy to show his weaknesses in front of her.
That night, Ashoka broke her promise. The nightmare had started as usual. She could hear Anakin turning around on his bed in the other room, sighing softly or muttering some incoherent words. Like every other time, Ashoka had the urge to go to his room and hug him close, squeezing the pain away. She had to remind herself that it would only make things worse for him in order to stay lying on the bed.
And then, the scream sounded.
It pierced through her ears, shaking every semblance of calm away. It was a cracked voice, full of agony, one she didn't know could ever belong to her master.
She pushed her warm covers off of her right there and then, getting off the bed and sprinting to her master's room.
Anakin was tangled in the sheets, sweat all over his shirtless body. His face was consorted in a labyrinth of pain and worry, his lips slightly open as he groaned, then screamed again.
Ashoka's heart broke into a million pieces to the sound. Without thinking, she stormed to the bed, gripping Anakin's shoulders tightly to wake him up. "Master!" she shouted, not knowing exactly what to do, "It's just a dream, wake up!"
With a sharp intake of breath, Anakin sat up in nanoseconds, and Ashoka had the right mind to dodge his fist this time. He looked around frantically, his chest heaving up and down, seeming to not recognise the room.
"Anakin?" Ashoka mumbled, thinking it might be easier for her master to orientate himself if she called him by his name. "It's alright, it was just a dream..."
Another sharp breath from Anakin, before he put his face in his palms, slightly trembling. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, probably to calm his nerves, and Ashoka just stood there. What was she supposed to do? Hug him, as he did when she had nightmares? Maybe ask him if he wanted to talk about it?
Anakin's attempts to breathe normally were interrupted by a loud sob.
Oh, Ashoka was pretty sure she could feel the broken pieces of her heart flow around her chest at the sound. He sounded so defeated, like a broken toy abandoned in an empty park.
As Anakin cried, tears flowing through his eyes in streams, Ashoka moved forward, intending to place a reassuring hand on his back, just like he had done for her in the past. But as her fingers grazed his shoulder blades, her master flinched away so violently he almost fell off the bed.
Ashoka drew her hand away, not wanting to alert him more. Anakin was curled in on himself, his eyes screwed tightly, his hands trying to cover his face as if expecting a blow there. Ashoka had no idea what to do, just awkwardly standing next to his bed as he hyperventilated, shoulders heaving. What so horrible thing had her master gone through to draw such a reaction from him? Anakin was unbreakable, a steady, unwavering rock refusing to be removed no matter how strong the waves were. Ashoka admired this trait of his, and wished that one day her own Padawan would think of her this way. Yet now, that face - or perhaps that mask - had been knocked off, and Ashoka wondered whether Anakin had always had these cracks she had just noticed.
"Master? What can I do to help?" Ashoka asked, her voice as soft and reassuring as she could master.
Anakin took a deep breath, uncurling inch by inch, straightening his back and spreading his legs on the mattress as he wiped away his tears. "By the moons of Gozgo, Ashoka, don't call me that right now," he mumbled, that defeated voice squeezing the pieces of Ashoka's heart, hurting her soul and her spirit. She could feel the pain, the mild fear, but mostly the tiredness of her master through their bond, and the young Padawan wished she knew what had troubled her master so much. And why didn't he want to be called master?
Not wanting to upset him more, Ashoka simply nodded, "Alright, ma... Anakin," she corrected herself. A shy grin blossomed on her master's lips at her words.
Silence engulfed the room for a moment, as Anakin fought the aftereffects of the nightmare, and Ashoka simply stood there, examining her bare feet. She half had the urge to go back to her room to wear some socks, but she wanted to be there if her master needed her help.
After four minutes had passed in total silence, Anakin's side of the bond cooled down, his suffocating feelings subsidizing in a far away corner of Ashoka's mind. Her master relaxed, letting his back rest on the wall behind him, and patted the spot next to him. "Come on, sit down next to me. Don't want you to stand there," he exclaimed, some of the colour returning in his voice.
Ashoka did as he requested, but not before she murmured, somewhat annoyed, "You didn't seem to mind me standing yesterday when you let me do the same balance exercise for half an hour."
Her master snorted, his mouth forming into a smirk. "That's part of your training, Snips. I get to decide when to tire you to death and when to let you rest."
"And yet you tell me the Republic is democratic," Ashoka grumped, making Anakin laugh at her face. Her heart melted at the sound.
When the wind was the only thing to be heard in the room once more, Ashoka decided to push on the reason she had ended up here in the first place.
"What was the nightmare about? If you want to tell me, of course."
Anakin swallowed, furrowed his eyebrows, changed his position on the bed, as if deciding wether to tell her. Ashoka remained silent, giving him space. The truth was, she was dying to know what had scared her master, not only because of curiosity, but also because she cared about him a lot; maybe even too much.
In the end, Anakin dragged his hand through his hair, a grim expression settling over his face as he answered in only one word, "Zygerria."
His voice was colder than Ashoka had ever heard it, laced with primordial fury. But she knew her master, and the cracks of despair on his voice did not go unnoticed. Anger had always been Anakin's shield against hopelessness, and Zygerria had been the place she had first noticed it at. Even though it had been almost two weeks since that mission went wrong, Ashoka could see that whatever effect it had on her master did not subsidize. The small bursts of fury at the Jedi Council, the far-off look he had while they were training, the way he always stayed close to Obi-Wan as if to protect him... They were undeniable signs of it.
He went on, without any further questions from Ashoka, "I had... visited the planet before. Only that time, I was the slave, not the slaver." Anakin's eyes were glued to the wall in front of them, not sparing a single glance at her.
Ashoka was aware that he had once been a slave; Master Obi-Wan had told her about it, but she had no idea what exactly had occured or how long he was in chains before he bacame a Jedi. It was an unspoken rule of their relationship: Anakin naver talked about his past, and Ashoka was not supposed to press on the matter.
Yet this time, she did, using the same feather-soft tone, "How so?"
Another swallow, as if something was choking him. "It was where Watto, my owner, bought me and my mom from. I was an infant, less than two years old, so I don't remember much of the place, but when I arrived there during our mission... kriff, Ashoka, the sounds, the smell, the sheer look of this place was so... so... familiar, and... and I had those dreams, like, like I was in my younger mind and... kriff-"
Anakin was weeping now, with his fist covering his mouth as if to stop himself from sobbing. Ashoka couldn't bear it, couldn't stand seeing her master in such a state, couldn't stand not knowing wether those sleemos were dead, just like they deserved-
"I can't believe I'm crying over this..." Anakin whispered in a choked sob, and Ashoka almost growled. She put her hand on his shoulder in determination, and was immensely relieved when he didn't draw away. "M - Anakin, that's bantha crap. You have every right to cry, and nobody forbids you from doing that except yourself. I don't know who taught you that kriff, but what I do know is that Obi-Wan would be out of his mind if he heard you right now."
A tentative smile blossomed on her master's lips, as he let his fist draw away from his mouth to wipe away his tears. "Yeah, you're right. You're right," he mumbled, taking a deep breath.
Ashoka waited for him to calm down before she asked, "What did you say about the dreams?"
Anakin shrugged. "They were force-sent visions, I think. It was like I was watching through the eyes of the baby me when I was in Zygerria. I think being in the city again triggered them."
"Was that what you were dreaming about tonight? Was it another vision?" Ashoka said, trying to understand.
He shook his head. "No. It's just that... Zygerria was ten times worse once the visions started. I couldn't sleep at night. I tried to walk through the city and I would remember my mom screaming or the smell of dirt the road used to have. I had one of those episodes with the kriffing Queen present, and she made us go back to her quarters and explain to her what it was. She already had her suspicions about me being a slave, but when she was made sure... Thank the Force we left shortly after that, because I don't want to know in what ways she would have exploited my past to break me into serving her."
Another pause. Ashoka was ready to believe that Anakin would not tell her anything else for the night - and well, for him, it was more than enough - but her master surprised her by continuing on.
"She offered to let you and Obi-Wan free if I pledged my loyalty to her. And my whole body recoiled at that, because there is no way I'll ever become a slave again willingly. But... I thought about it, thought that maybe it's the best thing to do, and I felt so much guilt when I realised that I couldn't do it. I was keeping you enslaved, I was the one to blame for how Obi-Wan returned, I-"
"Do not dare finish that sentence," Ashoka growled. She was out of her mind because of that boiling fury in her chest. "It wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault. You're the one who got us out, who saved us... Being enslaved to her wouldn't solve anything. She would have probably betrayed you and kept all of us at her beck and call. In any case, no matter how selfless the Jedi are supposed to be, you are not to go and give over your freedom just so you can your friends."
For a moment, Anakin remained silent, still avoiding her gaze. Then, he spoke again, his voice quiet, too quiet. "In the nightmare, I was back on Tatooine, and... Watto was whipping me, like the good old times..." Heavy sarcasm characterised the end of his speech.
Ashoka didn't know what to say. He must have been so young, too young, when he was a slave... How did he manage to bear the whippings? Or, who would be cruel enough to do that to a little child?
Brutes like the Zygerrians, she answered at her own question.
"How old were you?" Ashoka asked, her voice quiet.
"The first whipping I ever took was when I was around five years old, maybe younger. But I had been beaten before, so the heavy punishments started when I was around three."
It was chilling how Anakin talked about the beatings like it was just another Sunday. Back then, Ashoka supposed it was. Even now, to some extent, because he went back there in his nightmares.
Her master didn't say anything else. Ashoka didn't either, she just moved closer to him on the bed and wrapped her arms around his middle.
He was surprised, maybe even scared at first. Ashoka could feel his tense muscles under her fingers as he awkwardly hugged her back, pasting her shoulder blades. Why was he acting like this? He had hugged her a lot of times in the past, to comfort her after night terrors or give her strength after a particularly rough battle. Yet, Ashoka was never the one who initiated the gesture, out of respect for their rank difference.
Soon, Anakin melted into her touch, gripping her shoulders tightly, as if to say thank you. Ashoka squeezed him a little more in answer, letting him know that she was here, that he wasn't alone, that he would never go back to that place, that she wouldn't let him be enslaved again...
And maybe she had sent those thoughts through their bond, because she was pretty sure the wet dots she found on her shirt weren't anything but tear drops...