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Chapter Text

Rex stared down at the three children who, just moments ago, were fully sized and appropriately aged. Ahsoka, or the child version of her, anyway, was the first to push herself off the ground. Rex was suddenly very happy that they were wearing clothes, though they weren’t the clothes they had been wearing a minute ago. 

Ahsoka stared up at him, her blue eyes narrowed.

“Who‘re you?” She growled, crossing her arms in an adorable manner. Rex, the rest of the 501st, and the 212th all stayed silent, gaping at their Jedi with confusion and morbid curiosity. Finally, snapping out of his stupor, Rex kneeled down so that he was eye level with her and removed his helmet. 

“Commander Tano. You’ve… de-aged,” Was all he could think to say.

“What?” Ahsoka huffed, still glaring at them. 

“I’m Captain Rex of the 501st. You are Commander Ahsoka Tano, Jedi Padawan. Do you remember how you got here?” Rex tried to clarify. Ahsoka shook her head, and Rex sighed. Of course she didn’t. 

“We were fighting a battle and you, your Master, and your Grandmaster got hit with some sort of weapon,” 

Ahsoka’s eyes widened and she turned back to where the other two were, right as Obi-Wan was stumbling to his feet. Groaning, the teenaged-General’s eyes widened as he took in his surroundings.

“General!” Cody exclaimed out of habit, before copying Rex and kneeling down.

As Cody explained the same thing Rex told Ahsoka to Obi-Wan, Rex noticed that Ahsoka was handling things pretty well. Already, she was looking around with wide-eyed wonder, while Obi-Wan looked like he was about to have a panic attack.

“Where’s Master Jinn?” Obi-Wan squeaked out. Rex and Cody shared a confused look with each other.

“I’m afraid we don’t know. You’re safe with us, though. Your Padawan and your Grand Padawan are here, too,” Cody soothed.

Standing, Rex took notice of the encroaching storm clouds. 

“We should move them to camp,” He told the others. Scooping up the squirming Togruta in his arms, Rex watched as Cody did the same to Obi-Wan, who huffed and insisted that he didn’t need to be carried. 

“Sorry, General. It’s rough terrain; don’t want you getting hurt,” Cody replied, and Obi-Wan responded with a grunt before allowing himself to be carried. 

“I’ve got Skywalker,” Kix told them as he approached the bundle of rags Rex now noticed was the child-version of his General. Guilt flooded him as he realized that he had forgotten about him. Though, he rationalized, baby Skywalker was really quiet. Unnaturally so.

The tiny version of his General stared up at Kix with wide, terrified eyes, but didn’t run or fight or even say anything. He just allowed himself to be picked up with no complaint, which was so utterly not-Anakin that if Rex hadn’t seen the General de-age in front of him, he probably wouldn’t have known they were the same person. 

“Kriff,” Kix said as he readjusted the shivering child so that he was more comfortable. 

“What’s wrong?” Rex asked, concern for his Jedi brother filling him. 

“He’s super light,” Kix said in response. “He’s also burning up,” He added, motioning for one of the other clones to pass him a blanket from one of the kits. 

“We need to get to camp,” Rex stated, a new urgency energizing him. 

“Agreed. Let’s go,” Cody ordered, and the battalions hurried back with three children in tow.

It took about a half hour for them to make it back, which was a half-hour too long. Ahsoka kept asking a lot of questions, Obi-Wan kept insisting that he didn’t need to be carried, but Rex’s biggest concern was Anakin, who still hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle. 

The sound of rain pelting the tents was near deafening as Rex laid Ahsoka down in a makeshift crib he had some of the other clones set up.

“I don’t need a crib, I’m almost 5!” Ahsoka told him, indignantly. 

“Sorry, Commander. It’s all we got.”

Cody set up a sleeping bag for Obi-Wan, who still looked like he would rather be anywhere else. 

“What about the weird boy? The one who was really loud?” Ahsoka asked, and Rex turned to her in confusion. 

“What?” He questioned, but luckily Obi-Wan was there to elaborate. 

“The other boy that was with us. He had no shielding and was broadcasting very loudly,” Obi-Wan elaborated, and Rex frowned. 

“Why was he so scared? And why did it hurt to look at him?” Ahsoka questioned again, and Rex looked to Obi-Wan for answers. 

“He has a very bright Force presence.” Was all he said as his explanation. 

“Well, how about I go check on him. Cody, do you mind staying here and keeping an eye on them?” Rex stated, turning to his brother, who nodded.

“Hey! I’m 13, I don’t need a babysitter!” Obi-Wan protested, but Cody shrugged him off. 

Exiting the tent, Rex hurried to the make-shift tent that Kix had designated as the medic station. Entering the tent, he was immediately greeted to the sight of Kix, who looked like he was about to murder the next person who stepped foot inside. When he saw that it was Rex, however, he relaxed and let him in.

“Sorry, Captain. Just been non stop with our brothers trying to see him,” Kix explained, and Rex nodded.

“Is he okay?” Rex inquired.

“Well…” Kix answered, causing Rex to grow a few more gray hairs. 

“He’s severely malnourished, dehydrated, has several wounds that are infected, and that’s just the physical problems,” Kix rambled off, already going back to cleaning a nasty looking scratch on the child’s cheek. 

“Can I talk to him?” Rex asked, talking to both Anakin and Kix. Kix hesitantly nodded, while Anakin stayed silent and unmoving, his eyes trained on the floor.

Kneeling, Rex smiled at the child form of his General. 

“Hey, there, General. The name’s Rex. I’m sure you’ve already heard the story of what happened?” Rex questioned, to which Anakin gave a slight nod. “Great. Do you want a snack?” Rex offered, pulling out one of his ration bars and a canteen of water. Anakin eyed the food with the sort of desperate greediness only starving animals had, yet he still hesitated.

“It’s okay, here,” Rex assured, pushing the items towards him. 

With one last wary glance at both Kix and Rex, Anakin dug in, devouring the ration bar and chugging about half of the water, before hesitantly pulling away. He screwed the lid back on, looked at Rex, and not-so-subtly squirreled it away under his pillow. Rex chuckled, which seemed to confuse the small child. 

“Anakin, one of your arms was broken at some point and hasn’t healed correctly. It’s a miracle you can still use it, really. Now, I’m going to have to sedate you in order to fix it before it causes more damage,” Kix explained, to which Anakin slowly nodded again, though fear still lingered in his eyes. Kix went to work straight away, sedating him and laying him down. It was only when Rex left the tent that he realized that Anakin hadn’t said a single word during any of it.

“Captain! The children are gone!” Jesse yelled to him, panicked. Rex was up in an instant.

“What? What do you mean, gone?” Rex hissed, already rushing towards the tent where they were supposed to be. 

“They must have snuck out!” Jesse explained as Rex burst into the tent, only to find it empty.

“Osik! We have to find them, now! Gather the men, quickly! It’s not safe for them out there,” Rex ordered, exiting the tent and marching back to his. 

He quickly geared up while Jesse woke up the others.

“There’s some vehicles headed our way, Captain!” Jesse called out when he was done.

“Republic?” Rex questioned, grabbing his pistols.

“Unknown, but-“ Jesse was cut off by a screech of alarm from one of the others.

“Clankers! Look out!” Someone yelled. Rex cursed and rushed to where he heard the battle. Jumping into the midst of it, he realized that he would have to save himself and his men before he could search for the Jedi.

The children would have to wait.

Dooku hissed in annoyance as the young Togruta fled into the forest, along with a child-sized Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

“After them!” He ordered, his arm throbbing where Skywalker’s Padawan had bitten him. A flurry of ‘Roger, Roger’ answered him.

“What about this one, sir?” One of the droids questioned. Speaking of Skywalker…

Dooku turned around to see the child version of one of his greatest enemies staring up at him with wide eyes, before quickly shifting his gaze back down to the ground.

Dooku stared at the child, eyebrows furrowed.

“Why didn’t you run, little one?” The question was mocking, if curious. “Did the Jedi not teach you self-preservation?” 

Skywalker didn’t answer, he just shuffled nervously while staring at the muddy ground. 

“Answer me, child,” He ordered, taking a few threatening steps forward, to which Skywalker responded with a flinch. Good, he feared him.

“I’m not supposed to run, Master,” Skywalker answered, trembling ever so slightly. Dooku raised an eyebrow at that, before snorting and walking back to his ship. He motioned to the droids to force the youngling to follow, expecting a commotion to follow suit. However, he was greeted to silence. Turning around, he saw the droids looking at each other in confusion while Skywalker trailed behind him willingly like a lost tooka. 

“Hmm,” Was all Dooku said before continuing towards his ship.

Once on board, he was once again surprised by Skywalker’s obedience. The child simply found a corner and sat down silently, knees to his chest and eyes cast downwards. Dooku found it hard to believe that this pathetic weakling was the biggest threat to his legacy. Weren’t children supposed to wander and get into trouble? Even Jedi younglings weren’t immune to the call of mischief. And, considering how Kenobi had kicked his shins and how Tano had bitten his arm, Skywalker was behaving perfectly. Yet, despite this, Dooku couldn’t shake off the feeling of wrongness whenever he glanced at the small, fearful child huddling in the corner.

A loud grumble caught his attention, and he turned to the source. Skywalker flinched as Dooku turned to him with eyebrows raised. It was then that he noticed how thin Skywalker was, and how Dooku could count every bone under his skin. 

“Have the Jedi not fed you, youngling?” He taunted. Skywalker flinched again, though he didn't say anything. 

Dooku didn’t know much about children, but weren’t they supposed to cry or whine or throw a tantrum when hungry? Skywalker seemed to be half starved, and yet he didn’t make a sound. Not only that, but he was shivering violently, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. 

Skywalker squirmed, daring to look up at Dooku a few times. 

“What is it, child?” He asked, impatiently. Skywalker’s behavior was odd and unpredictable, something he didn’t much care for.

“Master, I… I have to go to the bathroom,” Skywalker squeaked, and Dooku huffed. Of course. 

“Droids, take young Skywalker to the bathroom,” He ordered. One thing that he really did not want was a child-sized Anakin Skywalker pissing on his floor. 

Turning back to the window with a sigh, Dooku watched as they transversed through hyperspace.

“Obi-Wan! Anakin! Ahsoka!” Rex called, heart hammering in his chest. Piles of broken droids littered the forest floor, the aftermath of battle. Smoke and burning foliage filled the air, but he paid them no mind. 

“Rex!” Ahsoka squealed as she leapt down from a tree branch into his arms. 

“Ahsoka, wait!” Obi-Wan yelled after her as he too left his hiding spot.

“General! Commander! Thank the Force you’re alright!” Rex cried as he set down Ahsoka and removed his helmet.

“Where have you been? We’ve been looking all over for you and poor Rex was going sick with sorry!” Kix scolded. 

“We’re sorry,” Obi-Wan said, ashamed. Ahsoka looked guilty, but she shook it off.

“We sensed something off and we went to investigate!” She protested.

“Alright, we’ll deal with that later. For now, where’s Anakin?” Rex cut her off, his worry swelling in his chest once more.

Ahsoka and Obi-Wan shared a glance before they both looked at the floor, ashamed. Now, though, tears pricked at Ahsoka’s eyes and heartbroken shame flooded Obi-Wan’s. 

“Ahsoka, Obi-Wan, where is Anakin?” Rex asked again, more urgent this time.

“We met Master Dooku, but he was a Sith! He tried to grab us and we fought back. We ran, but Anakin didn’t follow,” Obi-Wan explained, now crying. Dread and panic warred in Rex’s chest as he absorbed the information.

“No…” he whispered. 

“Do you know where they went?” Cody questioned, to which both Ahsoka and Obi-Wan shook their heads. 

“Those must have been the ships that exited into hyperspace,” another trooper exclaimed, but Rex felt like he was underwater. 

Dooku had Anakin. Anakin, who was currently a scared, shivering child who may or may not be mute.

“We have to find them,” He whispered in Mando’a. The other clones stopped their arguing and stared at him.

“We have to find them,” He said again, louder and in Basic this time. He stood, put his helmet back on, and started giving orders.

“Jesse, Fives, Echo, Kix, you four are with me. Cody?” Rex said, turning to the Captain of the 212th.

“I'll take Ahsoka and Obi-Wan back to the temple. Waxer, Tup, and Boil will join me. The rest will stay with you,” He stated, and Rex nodded.

“The rest of you, fan out. Search for clues,”

This was getting frustrating. Two hours had passed in absolute silence, other than the grumbling of the miniature-Skywalker’s (Skycrawler? Sky… what other movements did infants utilize?) stomach. About an hour in, Dooku couldn’t stand the noise and had the droids feed the child. Then, another hour of absolutely nothing. Really, Dooku didn’t know why he was complaining. After all, this was how he wanted children, especially Skywalker, to behave around him.

So, why, pray tell, was he so bothered by the fact that he got his wish so easily? 

Dooku turned around abruptly, causing the young child to violently flinch, as if he expected to be struck. Dooku blinked, unsure of what to make of that. He hadn’t done anything yet, and something told him that this was more than a simple fear of the Sith. Had… had the Jedi abused him? Dooku knew the Jedi were corrupt, but child abuse? It didn’t seem plausible. But, then again, how else could he explain the child’s behavior? He frowned, tilting his head. If the Jedi had dared to strike a child, even if it was a child who would grow up to be the greatest pain in his ass imaginable, then Dooku would make them pay.

Of course, that raised the question of if it was the Jedi caretakers who abused him (possible, but not probable), Kenobi (not likely), the Jedi as a whole (very unlikely), or if it was a specific Jedi who may have helped to take care of the child. The last one seemed the most likely, but the possibility of multiple Jedi abusing children was, quite frankly, terrifying. 

What if Qui-Gon was one of them? 

Dooku froze at the thought, fury filling his veins at the idea of someone even thinking about striking his former Padawan. 

Dooku had tried to be the best Jedi possible, and for the most part, he was. And yet, he had failed in one crucial area: attachment. He had loved Qui-Gon like a son, though he would never admit it, and Qui-Gon’s death had pushed him over the edge.

Skywalker whimpered fearfully, and Dooku realized he had been glaring. A surprising flash of guilt sparked in his chest before he shoved it away. It wasn’t his fault!

“I’m not going to hurt you, child,” Dooku growled. Skywalker looked anything but convinced.

Force, Dooku was bad with children. He had tried to comfort the boy, and it had the opposite effect. In fact, it looked as if Skywalker was on the verge of tears.

Chapter Text

Anakin had always had problems with people taking his food. First, it had been other slaves stealing food from his mother and him. Anakin was angry at them, but he could understand. 

Then, it was his Master who took their already meager rations away as punishment, or sometimes, just to remind them that he could. Anakin was the one who was responsible for bringing home the food to his mother. Those days where he went home empty handed, fresh bruises littering his skin and his head held low in shame were the worst. He felt powerless, and the look on his mother’s face hurt more than his empty belly or battered body.

Next, it was his fellow Padawans at the temple, who stole away his meals only to throw them out or dump them onto him. This angered Anakin the most. Perfectly good food that he could have only dreamed of on Tatooine, wasted, just to make a point. Just to be cruel. He especially hated these times because he was powerless to fight back. Sure, he had been powerless to stop it before, but this was different. It was different because his new Master had promised that they weren’t like the others. He was promised that nobody would try to snatch away food from him or beat him just because they knew he couldn’t fight back, but his Master had lied. Anakin was being beaten and starved and he couldn’t fight back because if he even dared to defend himself he would get in trouble. His Master’s disapproving, disappointed stare was the last thing Anakin wanted. 

So Anakin missed meal after meal as he was relentlessly bullied. He reverted back to his old ways of eating, the ones that kept him and his mother alive. He was told he would never have to use them again, but that too, was a lie. He ate fast; they couldn’t take what he’d already eaten. He was always on alert. If somebody approached him, he fled. It wasn't worth the fight. He couldn’t afford to be picky, he never knew when his next meal would be. He always stockpiled whatever he could. He trusted nobody, as he never knew who might try and steal his food.

These rules kept him alive and, for the most part, relatively well fed. There were times when the bullies were relentless and he was unable to eat a proper meal for a few days, but that was nothing new. He would survive just as he had done before. 

Of course, all of this meant that Anakin was underweight and malnourished, to which his Master told him he needed to eat more and to eat healthy things. 

Anakin wished he could heed his advice, but when you struggle to eat anything at all due to it constantly being stolen, you take what you can get. 

It became routine for him, it became normal, unquestioned. He would go to the mess hall and get his food. Some days he would be allowed to sit and eat, but other days he would be targeted on his way to the far corner he had been banished to. If he was allowed to sit, he would hunch in on himself, trying to seem small and unnoticeable. Nothing special, his body language would scream. Leave me alone, I am not worth your time . Sometimes it would work and he would quickly devour his food. Some days it wouldn’t, and he would go hungry. Either way, he would deposit his now empty tray and leave. On the days where he went hungry, he would leave with a grumbling stomach and unshed tears burning his eyes. 

It wasn’t like Anakin did nothing about it at first. He had reported it to the older Jedi, like he was instructed to do. They told him that they would look into it, but nothing would happen. No change occurred, and everything only got worse. So, Anakin gave up on that. Instead, he resorted to his old habits, and it worked, more or less. 

He expected that, like all things, it would either continue as it was or his tormentors would grow bored with time and leave him alone. Of course, as luck would have it, he was wrong.

It started the day after he had a special training session with Master Plo Koon, one where he showed off his lightsaber skills that he had learnt. Anakin found he quite liked the Jedi Master. He listened to him, and since Anakin couldn’t see the Master’s eyes, he could pretend that there wasn’t any pity in them. 

It went rather well, if Anakin said so himself, and he was invited back to another session in a few weeks. Of course, when word of this got out, the bullying only got worse. Now, instead of his food being taken from him, he was blocked and forced out of line entirely. For days on end, he wasn’t allowed to have any food. Normally, the Padawans wouldn't dare to do something quite as bold, but Obi-Wan was away; offworld on some mission. So, with nobody around who cared about Anakin’s sudden drop in weight, they were free to torment him. Anakin was forced to scavenge from bins when nobody was around or steal food from other initiates. He hated doing so, but he would do what he could to survive. He would figure something out, but in the meantime, this would have to do.

Mace Windu always made sure to keep his eyes on Anakin Skywalker. The kid was a magnet for trouble, and the Jedi Master trusted him as far as he could throw him, which was actually surprisingly far. The kid really needed to eat more. It was that thought in which he decided to follow the Padawan to the Mess Hall one day. Kenobi was out on a mission, leaving his Padawan alone for a few weeks. In the five or so days Obi-Wan had been gone, it seemed that Anakin’s weight decided to go fuck itself. He was skin and bones, and anybody looking hard enough to see that the Padawan was essentially starving. How and why was a mystery Mace intended to find out. How could Anakin possibly be starving in a Temple full of food? Was he just incredibly picky? From the stories Obi-Wan told him, Mace severely doubted it. And besides, if the kid was that picky, surely Obi-Wan would have told someone in case of something like this. 

As he made his way through the halls, he noticed some of the other Padawans emanating guilt or quickly shuffling away, as if they were caught doing something they weren’t supposed to be doing. Confused and suspicious, Mace decided to turn away from the main hall and enter through a back entrance to avoid prying eyes. Something told him that barging in wouldn’t give him the answers he wanted.

Instead, he slunk into the room mostly unnoticed and stood in the darkest corner closest to him. He watched as Skywalker entered the room, his head hung low and slightly curled into himself. The boy’s eyes darted around the room like a feral animal checking for predators before slinking into line.

Now Mace was thoroughly perplexed. From what he knew of Skywalker, he was proud and wasn’t fond of submitting to anyone. He was notorious for fighting tooth and nail about it to the point where Mace suspected he was an egotistical bastard. To see him submitting like this was… interesting. On one hand, Mace thought that Anakin needed to be taken down a notch, but on the other, something about this was wrong. The Force growled, letting its displeasure be known. 

Then, as Mace watched, Anakin was roughly shoved out of line by some much bigger Padawans. Anakin glared at them with anger clear in his eyes, his fists clenching, and Mace was afraid for a second that he was going to fight the older initiates. Instead, Anakin simply turned and stalked off to the darkest corner in what Mace was sure was the entire floor. There, Skywalker simply huffed and sat down, sulking angrily as he glared at the other initiate’s food with jealousy. Mace found that he couldn’t blame him for his obvious resentment, both for the Padawans standing in his way of a meal and the others who actually got to eat. 

To see a youngling treated in such a way by other younglings was disturbing, especially if those younglings were Jedi younglings, who were supposed to be kind, or at the very least, not malicious, unlike what he was seeing the others act like. It didn’t matter if Mace had an inherent dislike for the child, he would not allow anyone to be treated like this. 

The line was almost entirely gone now, with only a small group of kids lingering at the front of the line, effectively blocking Anakin from even attempting to get food. If Anakin got anywhere close to the area, they would shoot him cold glares until he left again, retreating back to his shadowed corner where he would continue to sulk, his bony fingers clasping each other in a weak attempt at self-comfort. 

Mace liked to think of himself as above certain emotions, but the truth was that seeing this behavior in Jedi Padawans was shocking and disgusting. To see a Jedi, even if that Jedi was still in training, purposely prevent another from feeding themselves was, well, heartbreaking. 

Then, to make matters worse, when the tone that indicated that the next class would be starting soon chimed, he saw some of the bullies go over and approach Anakin. The boy saw them coming and tried to shy away, but he was blocked by another. Mace narrowed his eyes, a growl threatening to escape. The bullies grabbed Anakin, who went limp in their grasp either out of exhaustion or submission, and shoved him around, dumping their food scraps on him. Mace couldn’t hear what they were saying from where he was, but it was clear that they were taunting the poor child as well. One of the bullies grabbed the boy and roughly threw him to the floor, where Anakin let out a yelp of pain. Finally, they left, laughing as they left their exhausted, starved, and most likely injured victim behind. 

Mace was beyond furious at this point, he was pissed . These Padawans came into his temple, disrespected his rules, and abused another Jedi on his watch? No way in the Correlian hells would he let that slide. 

He left his corner and quickly exited the room, following the small group of bullies. The sound of laughter met him as he rounded a corner and saw them.

“Nice job, J!” One of the bullies congratulated another. Mace scowled, appearing behind them, his looming presence radiating anger. The group noticed him, as well as a small crowd of other Padawans who were finishing up before classes. 

“Padawans,” He began, watching in a small amount of satisfaction as the bullies whipped around, their eyes going wide as they noticed him. 

“Oh, uh, hey, Master,” One of them, the one called J, greeted clumsily. 

“All of you, with me, now,” He growled, the Padawans wilting under his scornful gaze.

Chapter Text

Afraid of Dogs (2020)

Anakin didn't like dogs, which was something he thought everyone felt. Everyone he knew feared them, and those who didn't either learn to quickly or are killed. Dogs are dangerous, and while he fears them, he does not hate them, either.

Dogs, especially massiffs, were used by slavers. They struck terror into the hearts of slaves, their mere presence discouraging any rebellion. The threat of them being unleashed upon you, tearing your flesh from your bones as your family and friends watched in horror was not a pleasant thought. 

Anakin had scars from them, too. A chunk missing from his left side from when one bit into him and refused to let go, a nasty gash on his shoulder from when that same one lunged for his throat and had thankfully missed, and an array of scars on his right forearm from a different dog. Everyone knew and feared dogs, which is why it was so surprising to him when one of the Jedi brought one in, and everyone was completely in love with it. 

”Anakin, why don't you come over and pet the puppy?” The creché leader implored. 

”That thing’s a baby?” Anakin asked, his horror evident on his face.

”Well, no, we just call it one because they are special to us,” He explained, a frown plastering his features. 

Anakin stared at the other younglings all cooing and petting the dog with affection in their eyes. Why they would want to be close to a dog was beyond him, and the fact they seemed to genuinely enjoy the dog’s presence was mind-blowing. On Tatooine, it was rare for even mothers to show that much affection for their child, and this wasn't even a human or a sentient species! 

Anakin stared at the dog in clear distrust. 

”No, thanks,” he replied to the Jedi, who’s frown deepened. He was obviously disappointed in him, though Anakim found he didn't much care right now.

Anakin turned back to the holopad he had been studying, trying not to look at the dog or the children gathered around it. 

What seemed like an eternity passed, with Anakin trying very very hard to focus and to banish his fear into the Force with no success. He kept his eyes cast firmly down, afraid to look up and see a snarling face with gleaming eyes heading right for his throat and- and-

He cut himself off from that train of thought. As it was, seeing the dog had shaken him up more than he cared to admit. His pulse had quickened and his breathing was shallow. His heart thundered in his chest and his grip tightened on the holopad. 

The tone that signaled it was time for the next class rang out and Anakin could hear the other younglings hesitantly leave the room. Anakin didn't follow them, he instead kept his eyes glued to the screen despite the fact that he wasn't reading anything in fear of looking up. 

”Anakin,” the teacher spoke, his voice low. Despite this, Anakin flinched at the noise and refused to look up.

“Anakin, please.“ He tried again, and this time Anakin’s gaze slowly lifted to meet the man’s. But Anakin didn’t see the Jedi and the  (admittedly soft-looking, dog) Instead, he saw an angry Master and a bloodthirsty hound.

(2021)

Once upon a time, a long time ago, the Jedi Council had made the brilliant decision that all Padawans must take upon themselves a pet of some sort. However, the Council was also very stickly about their ‘no-attachments’ rule, and so by the end of their training, if the pet was still alive, the Padawan would have to give up their beloved companion. In Anakin’s opinion, it was unnecessarily cruel to both the animal and the Padawan. 

But, whatever, he didn’t make the rules. In all honesty, he had expected the Council to discontinue the practice after the war had started. Instead, he was where he was, waiting in the apartment he shared with both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. Why, you ask? Well, Padmé had taken Ahsoka to a pet shelter to help her find her perfect companion. He would have gone with them, but he was barred from doing so from the Council on the account that he burst into tears every time he saw a Tooka kitten that was just too small .

Bored out of his mind, he wondered what pet Ahsoka would choose. He himself had chosen a small, desert-dwelling lizard that much preferred to be left alone. It was better that way, because if he forgot to feed it, it would survive, and it didn’t require his constant attention. He would, of course, just spend a few hours of his spare time every now and then just to watch and talk to the little guy. His name was Yoshi, and Anakin missed him every now and again. He was a good pet.

Obi-Wan had told him about the pets in their lineage. He himself had chosen a gecko of some sort, or maybe it was some other sort of small reptile. Obi-Wan didn’t seem to know. He had named the critter Solstice, for no particular reason other than that it sounded cool. It probably died of old age long before Anakin was around.

Qui-Gon had somehow acquired some sort of rare green tree snake from some far-off planet, which he supposedly raised for many long years until he became a Knight and released the snake (her name was Smaragdine, which apparently meant ‘emerald’ in some language) into the wild, where she had supposedly thrived and reproduced. Good for her.

Dooku apparently didn’t care much for animals, and so had just gotten a low maintenance chameleon. It apparently didn’t have a name other than Chameleon, and it died of natural causes long ago. 

Yoda had told the story of his pet many times. The story went that he had raised a rare species of tortoise from birth, of which he would apparently ride when it got big enough. The tortoise’s name was, get this, Yado. Master Yoda ended up outliving it.

Anakin didn’t know anything farther than that. All he knew was that reptiles ran in their lineage, and he fully expected Ahsoka to follow that pattern. After all, there was a war going on, and she wouldn’t be able to take care of a full-time pet. Besides, with five plus generations of combined knowledge about the care of reptiles, it seemed obvious what her choice would be…

And that was why he was so surprised when she came through the doors with a giant kriffing mastiff. Anakin froze, his heart stopping and then thundering back to life with vigor. It beat in his chest so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it. His mouth was dry, too dry, and he couldn’t seem to force the air into his lungs. He couldn’t look away from the creature, with its jaws full of curved fangs ready to rip his throat out, or its bristling spines that would love to be drenched in his blood. It’s eyes were wide and eager, no doubt waiting for the Master’s command to kill him, to chase him down and tear his flesh from his bones until he was nothing but a bleeding corpse in the sand. Anakin waited, every moment feeling too slow and too fast, his mind blinded by terror. He was frozen to the spot, waiting for the command that would surely be coming any moment now, and he would never see Mother again because he was about to die here, he was sure of it, why else would there be a dog trained on him? What he had or hadn’t done didn’t matter, all that mattered was that the Master had a dog, and was just waiting, toying with him, watching him fight with his own blind panic until they grew bored and released the hound on him. He was more sure of it than anything else. He held his breath, closed his eyes, and waited for teeth to brutally close around his neck until he was laying lifeless in the desert sands. 

Force, what was taking so long? This horrid anticipation would kill him long before the dogs would. As it was, he was curled up in as small a ball as he could, fruitlessly trying to protect his face and neck, though he knew he was only delaying the inevitable. He was crying, he realized, and he knew that was bad because he wasn’t supposed to waste water. Mother would gently scold him in that loving tone of hers, and then she would make everything better. Except, she wasn’t here now, and he was alone with the Master and her dog.

Except, that didn’t sound right. It had been Ahsoka who had entered through that door, had it not? That door on Coruscant, at the Jedi Temple, not on Tatooine… 

Where was he? He could have sworn he had been on Tatooine just moments before, trembling before a cruel Master and her hound, but that wasn’t possible because now he was back in the temple, yet Ahsoka was gone and Kix along with some other clones were there instead, injecting something into his flesh arm. He let the clones do whatever they were doing, too busy trying to collect his scattered thoughts. 

His limbs felt too heavy and wrong , as if they were removed and badly put back on again. His teeth and tongue didn’t sit right in his mouth, and his jaw ached horribly. The taste of vomit was overwhelming, as was the throbbing, blinding pressure behind his eyes. His vision was splotched, and no matter how hard he rubbed at his eyes the spots would go away. 

He was dazed and confused, and he watched with muddled thoughts as the clones lifted him onto a stretcher. Where was Ahsoka? He needed to see her…

“She’s safe, Sir. She’s in her room,” one of the clones told him, though he sounded far away. The clone frowned down at him, taking out a light and shining it in his eyes. Apparently unsatisfied at what he found, the clone motioned to the others that they needed to go. 

They transversed through the halls, though Anakin felt far away from it all, as if he were watching the event through someone else’s eyes. Someone was speaking to him, but he couldn’t make out what they were saying.

Against The Wind (2020)

(In which Anakin discovers Palpatine’s true identity early thanks to a vision, forcing Palpatine to kidnap him and send him to Kamino, where he is chipped and processed)

It had been another day of boring council meetings that Obi-Wan had been allowed to attend, despite his status as Knight, aka, not a Master. It was no secret that he excelled in political negotiations, no matter how much he despised them. And, with Anakin off taking a tour of the Senate, there really wasn’t much else for him to do. 

He was startled out of his thoughts when the tone signaling an incoming call rang out. With a sigh, Obi-Wan realized it was from the Senate.

“Oh, Anakin, what have you done now?” He muttered to himself as Master Yoda answered the call. To their surprise, it was Chancellor Palpatine, looking disheveled and uncertain, which was an immediate red flag.

“Chancellor, what seems to be the issue?” Mace said in lue of greeting, preferring to instead cut to the chase.

“Oh, Master Jedi! Thank the stars you answered. I was giving Anakin a tour of the Senate, you see,” Palpatine began, and all eyes went to Kenobi, who let out another sigh.

“My deepest apologies for whatever he has done now, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan said, to which Palpatine’s frown deepened.

“No, no, he hasn’t done anything wrong, at least, not on purpose. You see, we were passing by one of the many board rooms when he collapsed. It was quite dreadful, see, he started shaking. I called medical, but before they arrived, he came to. I don't think he was in his right mind. He was rambling, something about a Sith Lord? Then he ran off! Oh, dear, I do hope he’s alright,” Palpatine explained. A jolt of alarm rippled through the council. A Sith Lord? Did he have some sort of vision?

“Hmmm. Find him, we must. If a vision, he had, not in his right mind, he may be. Worse, gone to challenge the Sith by himself, he may have,” Master Yoda mused. 

“Oh, dear. I’m not quite sure what a Sith Lord is, but I’m sure it is not something he should face himself, especially in his current state,” Palpatine added. “I will be of whatever assistance you need of me.”

“That’s very kind, Chancellor, and you are correct that a Sith Lord is definitely not something a Padawan should face. Or a lone Master, for that matter,” Mace Windu said.

Anakin stumbled through the streets, uncertainty and pain in every move he made. He couldn’t remember much of anything, not even how he got where he was. He was on Coruscant, he knew that much, but the last thing he remembered was going to the Senate building to meet with the Chancellor. After that, there was nothing. He simply woke up in an empty alleyway, feeling as if he had been hit by a speeder.

It had taken hours before he could find the strength to sit up, let alone get to his feet and stand. So, a day or two had passed, with him fading in and out of consciousness in that alley, all the while hoping that he’d wake up and see Obi-Wan by his side, ready to save him.

Chapter Text

Meditation. Anakin hated it as much as a Jedi could possibly hate something. That was why he was in such a bad mood when Obi-Wan insisted that all three of them (he, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka, that is) meditate together. They had done so before, but this time he was expected to dive really deep into the Force, not just scrape the surface as he had only done before. And, considering how just barely scraping the surface was enough to blind him, he was really not looking forward to this. 

Master Yoda always said that the Force was a stream. Anakin called bullshit. For him, the Force was a raging, untamable rapid; it was a sun brighter than a supernova and it was constantly screaming. Its deafening, thunderous noise never stopped, and it screamed in his ear where it would whisper to others.

To make things worse, he couldn’t back out of it this time. Yoda told him that, essentially, he had to do this. And he couldn’t half-ass it either.

So, that was how he ended up in a meditation room with his Master and Padawan. They had pulled out everything they possibly could to “help him focus and reach his full potential”, which was absolute nonsense. He was already one of the best Jedi in the order, and yet they weren’t satisfied. They wanted him to be better, and they thought that meditation could achieve this. 

Candles were scattered throughout the blackened room, just barely illuminating their faces. Yoda was there, too, because he apparently had nothing better to do.

Biting back a huff of irritation, Anakin allowed himself to be guided into the Force like he was a youngling. 

Anakin opened himself up fully to the Force, and was unable to hide a wince. The Force was as blinding as ever, it seemed. Anakin was content to stop there. After all, going farther in would be painful, and he could accomplish whatever he needed to do from where he was. And yet, Master Yoda and the others urged him forwards, egging him to dive deeper into the deafening madness that was the Force.

Anakin sent out a wave of displeasure, just so they knew how he felt, and then obeyed. He grit his teeth against the burning feeling that surged under his skin and pressed onwards. Why was he doing this again? Really, he should just stop there and tell everyone else to shove it, that he was done with this bullshit. But then, Anakin sensed something, something just a little bit further down. He didn’t know what it was, as he had never gone this deep into the Force before. Curiosity, combined with the other’s insistence that he keep going drove him towards it. By now, pain throbbed in his skull and through his body, blinding and never-ending. Had he been more connected with the physical world, he would have felt the blood dripping out of his ears, nose, and mouth. He would have noticed as his limbs cramped and as his body began to convulse. The others noticed, but he did not. He also failed to notice their alarm, or hear their cries for him to give up, to stop and come back to them.

He was so close. Finally, he reached whatever it was that he had found, and he embraced it. A sense of peace and tranquility unlike anything he had ever felt encompassed him, consuming his mind in a blanket of light. He rushed through the universe many times faster than the speed of light. Systems flashed in his mind as he hurried past them, galaxies merging together, until finally, he came to the edge. He was thrust into the unknown, into the nothing and into the everything. And the rush of speed halted suddenly, and everything was still.

There were so many colors, many of which he hadn’t even known existed. They swirled and grew, ebbed and flowed in hypnotic patterns. He was nothing, just an observer of the kaleidoscope that was everything. There were stars and planets and so many different things, but they were far away, in a plane of existence entirely separate from the one he was currently inhabiting.

He had no thoughts, no feelings, he simply was, and at the same time he wasn’t. He was an outsider looking down at the universe and wondering what it would be like to be one of them. Time ceased to exist, as did space and reality.

A spike of alarm shot through the blanket of serenity. He was one of them, wasn’t he? He could have sworn…

He must have been wrong. After all, everything beyond the infinite plane he resided in was chaotic and confusing, and he felt so at home, here in the meaningless color. Had all of what he thought was real just been a bad dream?

The Force, the Jedi, the war, the Sith, everything he had thought so important slowly lost all meaning. He didn’t know what those were, other than that they were unimportant. 

It must have been a dream, and now he was awake. This was reality.

But then, why did he feel like he was forgetting something, something important? He felt like he needed to do something, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember what it was he needed to do. 

There was someone he needed to talk to… no, multiple people. What were their names again? He couldn’t remember. What were ‘people' anyway?

Maybe the chaotic, blinking mess of planets and stars could help him remember. 

Slowly, he began to move towards it, and then he was inside of it. For a moment, he was bombarded with thoughts and feelings that felt foreign to him, before they slowly started to regain their meaning. They were important, he knew, though he couldn’t remember why.

He didn’t know what they meant, either. It was as if they were in a different language, or from a different world entirely, which he supposed made sense. 

He hopped from planet to planet, hoping to find something that would remind him of what he was doing. All around him, he felt a raging battle between darkness and light, with a sliver of gray in between. There was no color here, or tranquility. It was so unlike what he had just been through that that juxtaposition was jarring. 

There was a planet near the middle of the chaotic mass that seemed to call to him. There were multiple, actually, but this one’s call was stronger. He focused on it, and then he was there, in some sort of… temple? Was that the right word? 

There were colors here, but they were different from the ones he had grown used to. They seemed to be built into everything, as if they were an accessory and not an actual part of anything. He reached out and touched it, and to his surprise, he felt nothing. These colors were… well, he didn’t know what they were, but they were different from the abstract colors of his own realm. 

He turned and gazed at the surrounding area. It was full of light, though the light was being choked by the dark. Little, unimportant beings transversed their little realm, seemingly unaware of what lay beyond their universe. Everything seemed so small and far away, though he knew he was walking among them.

None of them seemed to notice him. A few paused as they walked past, looking around, before continuing onwards. 

He felt a nudge, and he turned to see a similar being to himself. He felt it was a she, or at least something close to it. She was a blinding ball of light, much like how he was a swirling ball of color.

“Salutations, colorful one,” She greeted without speaking. She moved in certain ways that were somehow translated to thought. She herself was foreign and strange, yet he could understand her.

“Greetings, light one,” He returned the greeting. 

“Why have you come here, colorful one?” She questioned, her light glowing a little brighter in confusion.

“I do not know,” He replied, truthfully.

“What are you, then? I have not seen anything quite like you around here,”

Instead of answering with words, he broadcasted an image of where he came from. Her light dimmed slightly in contemplation before it returned to normal.

“You are not of light, or dark, or gray. You are of color,” She stated, curiously. 

“Yes.”

“Then you are welcome to stay in my temple of light, colorful one,” Then, she disappeared, leaving him to wander the strange halls she called her own. 

Ahsoka was pulled out of her meditative trance by the feeling of something being horribly wrong. She opened her eyes just as Obi-Wan and Master Yoda did, and she immediately found the source. Anakin was on the ground, convulsing, with blood pouring from his ears, nose, and mouth.

A spark of alarm and panic came from both her and Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan was the first to approach, trying to help. Finally, Anakin stopped seizing, and instead lay there, motionless.

“What happened?” She asked, horrified. Obi-Wan shook him, yet he remained seemingly lifeless.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan replied, frantically checking for a pulse.

“I-Is he…” Ahsoka couldn’t bring herself to finish the thought.

“No, but his pulse is weak. He needs to get to the healers, fast,” Obi-Wan told her numbly. 

“Called them, I have,” Master Yoda told them, looking grim.

Ahsoka could only stare in dismay as her mentor and brother-figure lay there, looking small and fragile in a way she had never seen before.

“In critical condition, Young Skywalker is,” a small, green creature said to a nearby ‘human’, as the light one had called them. For some reason, the name seemed familiar, and he wondered if that was who he was supposed to talk to. Pausing, he decided to listen in on the conversation.

“Oh, Force. What… what happened?” The human asked. He could sense… despair coming from the human. Despair, grief, and guilt. The emotions translated to colors, which he found familiar and comforting.

“Know this, we do not. Possible, it is, that too far into the Force, he went, and lost, he became,” The small green creature explained. He could see the thinnest blue outline of sorrow around the creature, as well as a sickly green shade that represented guilt, before it faded and was replaced by light.

Lost? Was this ‘Skywalker’ lost in the ‘Force’, as they called it? Perhaps he could find them and bring them back. Maybe that was what he was supposed to do?

The human was silent for a moment, the hue of despair growing stronger around it.

“Unprecedented, he is. Know what would’ve happened, we did not,” The creature stated, firmly.

“May I see him?” The human questioned, to which the creature nodded and hobbled off. The human followed close behind, still radiating sadness. He reached out towards the human, curious, and wrapped around it gently. The human paused, their sad blue turning to a surprised yellow-green. It looked around, the hues that surrounded it becoming more and more colorful with different emotions. There was confusion, nervousness, and the ever-present sadness. 

Then, the human closed its eyes for a moment, and the colors faded to light. It then continued on, following the little green creature, now without emotion.

What curious creatures, he thought, to prefer the colorless light to a vibrant existence.

The human and the creature did not converse, and instead transversed the halls in silence. They stopped in front of a doorway, the human seemingly hesitant to go inside. 

He urged the human along, sending it a wave of reassurance to hurry it up. He then followed the human inside, to where another, slightly larger human lay. This human was pale and had… What was the word? Blood? Yes, that was it; blood. This human had blood running down its nose, ears, and mouth. Something told him that this was a bad thing. What was more, he couldn’t sense anything around the human. It felt hollow, like it was simply an empty shell with nothing inside.

The first human stepped forward, grabbed a cloth from somewhere, and wiped away the blood on the second human’s face. Once more, sadness turned the first human’s aura blue, but this time it was mixed with the pale pink of affection. 

He didn’t really care, however. Something was telling him that he needed to be in contact with the second human. Reaching out, he gingerly embraced the limp form…

And everything went white.

Anakin stumbled back, gasping and stuttering, his memories and thoughts returning to him completely. 

“WHAT. THE. KRIFF,” He yelled, breathing heavily. Standing, he looked at Obi-Wan who was still gazing sadly at Anakin’s body. His body, which he himself was not currently in. 

“Looks like touching myself solved part of the problem,” he said, then paused.

“Wait, no, that sounded wrong. What I meant was that, to put it simply, I am now a ghost. Just my luck,”

Anakin sighed, and turned to Obi-Wan.

“Hey, Obi-Wan! Master! Stinky head! Pay attention to me!” Anakin yelled, waving his hand in front of Obi-Wan’s eyes. This accomplished nothing, though calling Obi-Wan a stinky head did make him feel somewhat better.

“Kenobiiiiiii!” He screeched, dive-tackling his former Master. To Anakin’s surprise, he went right through him and instead crashed head-first into a wall. 

“Ow, ow, ow. Hey, how come that still hurts? Aren’t I a ghost? This is bullshit. Absolute bullshit, I say,”

Then, a thought occurred to him.

“Wait a minute. Everyone thinks I’m in a coma. I can do whatever I like! I can say…. dirty words,” Anakin mused to himself. Despite nobody being able to see or hear him, he looked around.

“WEINER!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. Sure, it was a little (very) immature, but it felt good to say.

“Colorful one?” A ball of light said from beside him.

“Kriff!” He swore, jumping in shock.

“Colorful one? Is that you? What happened?” The ball of light questioned.

“Well, apparently I meditated so hard I yote myself into the fifth dimension where I became a god, returned to find my human body in a coma, only to then become a ghost, which solved absolutely nothing and in fact made things worse,” Anakin explained, frowning. The ball of light did not respond, and, in fact, continued to be a ball of light. 

“So… I guess I’m going to go haunt people?” 

The ball of light flickered in both amusement and agreement.

“That would seem the best course of action. Perhaps you will be able to return to your human form soon, colorful one,”

“I sure hope so. My friends need me,” Anakin replied with a sigh.

“Then I wish you the best of luck,” the ball of light told him, then faded back into nothingness.

It took Anakin a couple of seconds for him to realize he just had a conversation with a sentient ball of light that was also a god. It took Anakin a few more seconds for him to realize Obi-Wan had left the room. 

Grumbling, Anakin decided to find Master Yoda first, if only just to mess with him.

Finding the little troll was easy enough. Haunting him, however, proved to be much more difficult. For one thing, it was difficult interacting with the physical world, though it was getting easier. For another, either the tiny goblin was super oblivious or had lived so long he had stopped giving a shit, because nothing Anakin did affected him. Anakin tried tugging on the Master’s robes, only for him to glance around, and then keep walking without reaction. He tried levitating his gimmer stick when he put it down for meditation, but he didn’t even glance in Anakin’s direction. 

Anakin soon grew bored with that, and decided to haunt someone else. Closing his eyes, he contemplated who he wanted to bother. Then an idea struck him. When he opened his eyes, he found he was right where he wanted to be. 

“Must be another perk of being a ghost,” Anakin mused to himself, checking his surroundings. His instincts told him it was night. Perfect, he thought.

Anakin saw him walking down the hall towards where Anakin was standing, accompanied by a pair of droids.

Snickering, Anakin snuck behind the elder man.

“Dooku,” he whispered. The man in question jumped slightly, then paused and looked around.

“Dooku, I know what you’ve done…” Anakin gurgled sinisterly. 

“Who’s there?” Dooku called, his hand on his saber.

“I am the ghost of your innumerable sins, Yan…” Anakin stepped it up a notch, growling out the man’s first name menacingly. 

“Show yourself!” Dooku snarled, leering at the hallway suspiciously. The droids accompanying him glanced at each other, confused.

“I am the smoke in your eyes and I am the shadow that follows you. You will never be free of me! I will haunt your dreams for all eternity!” Anakin cried, getting way too into his role as ‘vengeful spirit’. 

“I don’t believe in ghosts. I know this is a Jedi trick! Show yourself, now!” Dooku hissed, igniting his lightsaber.

“You could just be losing it, Dooku… After all, you’re getting older. This was inevitable, and you know it,” Anakin suggested, whispering it right in the older man’s ear. Dooku whirled around, trying to find whoever it was who was talking to him.

Dooku didn’t respond, and instead spun around slowly, scanning his surroundings. He scowled, took a deep breath, and walked on.

“You can’t ignore me, Dooku,” Anakin rumbled, only for Dooku to do just that.

The leader of the Separatists entered his room and locked the door, which was useless, considering how Anakin could float through walls. Anakin unlocked the door, opened it, and slammed it shut again, loudly. He heard Dooku curse from the other room, followed by a loud crashing sound. Anakin went around the room, breaking random shit, rattling objects, and slamming cabinet doors. Dooku was trying to ignore him, but Anakin could tell he was getting to the other man.

As Dooku prepared for bed or whatever, Anakin grabbed some flimsy and a stylus and wrote a quick note. With a shit-eating grin, Anakin approached Dooku from behind and slapped the note onto Dooku’s back with as much force as he could, which was a surprising amount. Dooku stumbled forward, startled, before igniting his lightsaber and spinning around. When he realized nobody was there, he snarled in frustration. 

Putting away his lightsaber, he tried to get the note off his back, only to fail, as Anakin had put it in that one awkward spot that was impossible to reach. The Sith had to resort to using the Force to get it off. He read it, before gaping at it, incredulous.

Anakin couldn’t hold in his laughter at the man’s expression, which caused the man to jump. 

Dooku narrowed his eyes and tossed the note away.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like being told to ‘suck my fat phucking knuts’?” Anakin taunted, grabbing the man’s cape and pulling it over Dooku’s head. Dooku’s cry of rage was muffled by his own cloak, which caused Anakin to cackle some more. Sweeping the Sith’s legs out from underneath him, Anakin watched as he fell. Then, an idea occurred to him.

He could end this, right here, right now. He stopped laughing, and was instead filled with a sense of… well, he didn’t really know what it was. 

Anakin grabbed Dooku by the collar and quickly found a location perfect for his plan. A base that Master Windu was about to storm. Perfect. Laughing, Anakin teleported them there and dropped Dooku at Mace’s feet. The Jedi Master leapt back in shock, his eyes widening with surprise before he quickly recovered and lunged forward. Anakin watched as Dooku was arrested and led away. Satisfaction, excitement, and a sense of wary hopefulness spun in his gut. He grinned. Perhaps this ghost thing could work out after all.

Anakin watched Dooku’s journey the entire time, not satisfied with leaving until he was locked away deep in the Jedi temple. Then, finally feeling comfortable with leaving Dooku alone, he turned and sought out Master Yoda once more.

Perfect, he thought with a grin.

[Anakin: surprise, motherfucker!

Windu: that’s MY line, ASSHOLE]

Anakin snickered as he finished writing his second note as a ghost, before subtly placing it on Master Yoda’s back. He watched as the other Jedi stared at the Grandmaster with shock and horror, unable to contain his laughter. It seemed that nobody wanted to tell the old Master that someone had placed a ‘kick me’ note on his back, so he simply went about his day like nothing was amiss. 

Anakin followed the old Master into a Council meeting, where the other Masters openly stared at the note, appalled. Still, nobody said anything.

“Hmm? An issue, is there?” Master Yoda asked, to which the Council Members all awkwardly averted their gazes, causing Anakin to break down in laughter. 

Wheezing, he watched with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as literally everybody shuffled into their seats, refusing to make eye contact with Yoda.

“Hmph. Happening, what is?” Yoda grumbled, unimpressed.

“Oh, uh, Master Yoda, it seems that, well, umm…” Obi-Wan stammered, approaching the Master and reaching down to remove the note. With a wince, he showed it to the diminutive Master, who scowled at it.

“Did this, who did?” 

At this point, Anakin was on his knees, leaning against one of the chairs, unable to catch his breath. Obi-Wan shrugged helplessly, and Master Yoda let out an irritated sigh, then started the meeting.

This was a meeting that Anakin was technically prohibited from attending, as he was not a Jedi Master or a Council member, but really, what were they going to do? Kill him?

And so he eavesdropped, and found himself incredibly bored. They were talking about what to do with Dooku, but in such a way that Anakin wanted to groan and repeatedly bash his skull against a wall. 

Then, he caught sight of a massive spider hanging out in the corner of the room. Grinning like a maniac, an idea came to mind.

Grabbing the spider, he used the Force to keep it hidden from any prying eyes. Giggling mischievously, he crept up behind Obi-Wan, who Anakin knew for a fact was arachnophobic. 

He paused for a moment, though. This was kind of a dick move, wasn’t it? It would surely embarrass his Master in front of the Council…

But then Anakin recalled the many, many times Obi-Wan did something similar to Anakin, and suddenly he didn’t feel so bad anymore. Grinning once more, he dropped the spider onto his Master’s hair, and let chaos ensue. 

Cackling, he watched as Obi-Wan froze upon feeling something in his hair, before reaching up to grab whatever it was, only to realize that it was a spider. He then screeched and leapt up from his seat, clawing frantically at his head. The other Masters, realizing what was happening, jumped up to help. Plo Koon and Mace Windu tried to remove the spider by hand, but Obi-Wan was too busy freaking out. 

While everyone was distracted, Anakin [unfinished]

[Coming up: Anakin pranks Ahsoka and the Clones when they use a ouija board, AND continues to prank Ahsoka by throwing blankets over her head when she’s alone.]

“If there are any ghosts here with us, speak now,” Ahsoka said. She and a few clones (Rex, Jesse, Fives, and Echo) had decided to try and use a ouija board. Anakin couldn’t help himself, really. It was too easy to mess with them when they were, quite literally, inviting him to do so.

“This isn’t going to work. Ghosts aren’t real,” Jesse said, sounding bored. Anakin grinned, levitating the board slightly. Ahsoka’s eyes widened in shock, and all the clones glared at Ahsoka.

Anakin realized that, with a Jedi there, the clones would never believe that it wasn’t Ahsoka doing that. So, he dropped the board on Jesse’s head. 

“Hey!” He yelped, glaring daggers at Ahsoka.

“It wasn’t me!” Ahsoka exclaimed. 

“Sure,” Fives drawled.

“It wasn’t!” She protested.

“Who was it, then?” 

The more time Anakin spent as a ghost, the more everything changed. It started with a seemingly eternal itch in the back of his mind, and he started to see other ghosts. He had been under the impression that every Jedi had joined the Force when they died, though it seemed that, like him, there were exceptions. Whatever the case, they mostly ignored him, and he ignored them, too. But some stared, their jaws agape, with fear, wonder, awe, trepidation, curiosity, and so much more in their eyes. They did not know what to think of him, and it was true that he was different from them. For one, he was technically alive still. For another, he looked different. While the other ghosts were tinted with a slight bluish hue as if being viewed through a holoprojection, Anakin shone with an ethereal light that only seemed to glow brighter with time. A vortex of color surrounded him at all times, and judging by the squinted, averted eyes, it was likely that he was painful to look at. 

The ghosts themselves were mostly Jedi of the past, Masters who had long since died and were forgotten. He didn’t know most of them, though one familiar face had him doing a double take. 

“Master Qui-Gon?” Anakin exclaimed, softly-glowing eyes wide in surprise. 

“Anakin? You look… different,” Qui-Gon ‘greeted’. Anakin supposed there wasn’t much need for formalities as a ghost.

“Wow, thanks. I’d like to see you try to be an extra dimensional deity that exists outside time, space, and the universe itself, only to then be shoved back into your mortal body. See how that treats you,” Anakin retorted, though there was no real heat behind it. 

Qui-Gon dipped his head apologetically.

“My apologies. I did not mean to offend. And anyways, I heard you’ve been busy,” Qui-Gon said, raising an eyebrow half in amusement and half in accusation. 

“Oh you know, being a fourth dimensional being for a while has its ups and downs. And its widths, and its lengths. And its… well, whatever the fourth dimension actually is. You get the point,” Anakin said with a snort.
“I can’t say I do. After all, I have never been to the fourth dimension,” Qui-Gon replied, tilting his head.

The Jedi’s minds were like rooms. They were small, confined to one suffocating area. Some rooms were bigger than others, some even had two or three rooms. Master Yoda’s mind was a castle, large and spacious, yet even it felt too small for Anakin. Master Yoda’s mind was a castle and so he was a king, but Anakin was a God and compared to the infinite universes that resided in Anakin’s skull, the castle was but a tiny speck that was all too confining and maddening. 

Anakin’s wings were the night sky itself, burning masses of feathers made up of shattered glass. His eyes were the cores of a thousand stars glowing in sync, his skin made of a million planets. His blood was fire that shed light when spilt and itched under his skin, yearning to be free. It was meant to bathe the universe and to cleanse everything with its burning, eternal flame. Every breath he took was the birth of a solar system and every exhale was the heat death of a lonely, long-vacant universe. Every heartbeat was a supernova, every thought a supermassive black hole, every movement the formation of all that was and all that would be. Every step he took was the buildup and breakdown of the universe itself, living and dying and being reborn again and again. He was a god, a bridge between the realm of mortality and that which is incomprehensible to man.

Chapter Text

[An AU where Anakin is made to stay on Mortis while Obi-Wan and Ahsoka are put back on their ship. Anakin must now cope with his new, very dysfunctional family. Also, only about the first five minutes of the Mortis episode actually happened]

Anakin had never imagined that it would be possible for one to hate their family. Surely, if that hate was justified, then that family would be more a collection of blood relatives than an actual family. He himself had been brought up with a devoted, caring mother, who he knew loved him deeply. 

He wished he could say the same thing about his other ‘family’.

Time on Mortis wasn’t exactly reliable, so he had no idea how long it had been since they (The Father, The Daughter, and The Son) kidnapped him out of his own ship. The Daughter, his sister of sorts (he didn’t really know, it was kriffing complicated) had asked him if he was the Chosen One, and then proceeded to teleport Obi-Wan and Ahsoka back onto the ship, and then back to where Rex was waiting. Or so she told him.

After that, he had to go through a series of tests that proved that he was the Chosen one. Or something. 

It was then explained to him that the Father had created him to keep the Son and Daughter in check before they destroyed the Universe, and if they showed signs of wanting to do so, he was to kill them. 

“Yeah, just kriffing kill god. Got it,” Anakin had sarcastically replied. Unfortunately, his new ‘family’ didn’t seem to understand sarcasm. 

If there was one good thing to come out of it, however, it was that he himself had changed. He was stronger, more capable. Power surged inside him that the Jedi could only dream of. He could create and destroy with such ease that it was like second nature. Creating for him was akin to the process of breathing. A deep inhale of all that was needed, then a short pause to absorb it all, followed by a slow exhale of whatever it is he had envisioned. 

Where creating was like breathing, destroying was like a heartbeat. One part imagination, one part action, just mere half-seconds apart. Where creating was more of a process, destroying was a snap of the fingers; sudden, yet assured, like the sound of finger hitting palm.

He saw the world in swirling color, as if someone had dyed the air all the colors of the rainbow. It was always in motion, the colors always shifting. Sometimes they meant something, sometimes not. Objects that were stained with an unequal amount of one color often had an interesting past. He wondered if people were the same. He wouldn’t know; it was just him and his ‘family’ on Mortis.

If he wanted to, he could sit and listen to that object’s history. This wasn’t so unusual, as it was a gift naturally given to some Jedi, but Anakin himself had never been gifted with that aspect of the Force. Now, he suspected he could see into an object’s past more clearly than any Jedi. 

Occasionally, the Father would give him a relic from the Mortal world. The object always varied. Sometimes it was a scrap of metal, sometimes it was a stone, sometimes it was a branch, one time it was even a skull of some kind. They were always painted with different hues, but in time, those hues were exchanged for the colors of Mortis. 

Mortis was mostly monochrome, and he hated it. There was color, yes, but the majority was blinding white, pitch black, or dreary gray. It was bearable if he kept his distance from the others, where the color had its chance to be vibrant. Whenever the others were present, however, the colors were overcome with the grayscale that was his family’s presence. It was maddening, to be trapped in a small world with three others who turned everything around them colorless, with no escape. 

Nothing was ever still, nor was it quiet, either. He could hear the thrumming humm of the Force, but he could also hear the ebb and flow of life just outside his reach. He wanted so badly to be a part of that noise once more. 

There was plenty of noise of Mortis, but it was absolutely silent in the way that mattered. There was nothing but the stifling silence of the Daughter, as if she stuck your head in an endless pit of clouds and cotton. There was nothing but the chaotic screeching of the Son, who screamed like a ship being torn apart from the inside. There was nothing but the droning buzz of the Father, as if a thousand insects were singing a monotonous song without emotion. 

He missed the soft, gentle tune of his friends’ Force presences. They were often quiet, but firm. More and more often he found himself daydreaming about somehow running away from this wretched place and returning home. He hoped they would remember him. He hoped they would still love him.

When Vader- No, when Anakin awoke, he was immediately met with an alarming issue: he couldn’t breathe. 

Oh, kriff, he couldn’t breathe!

His eyes shot open and he was immediately blinded by white, sterile lights. He must be in his pod, without his mask on, then. But, why couldn’t he breathe? It must have been malfunctioning.

He struggled, gasping and trying desperately to breathe, and found that he couldn’t move his limbs. They were foreign and strange, and they didn’t feel like they were his. 

White armor appeared at the edge of his vision. A stormtrooper? But that wasn’t possible. Stormtroopers weren’t allowed in his pod. Unless the reason he couldn’t breathe was because this stormtrooper had somehow sabotaged it in an attempt to kill him, in which case, they were succeeding. 

Wait. The Death Star. The Emperor’s death. Luke. Lightning. He remembered.

So, where in the Nine Hells was he?!

Was it all just a nightmare? A bad dream? A vision? Or maybe an extremely vivid near-death hallucination?

Someone was yelling but he couldn’t quite understand. Without his mask to feed the noise directly into his eardrum, he had trouble filtering the sound. 

Black circled at the edges of his vision like a vulture, creeping in, waiting for him to drown in it. 

The stormtrooper was standing over him, now, and Anakin recognized clone armor. He was, unfortunately, too busy suffocating 

Chapter Text

“Hey, look what I found in Master Skywalker’s room!” Ahsoka exclaimed, producing a small piece of curved wood from her pocket. The clones all leaned in to see, curious as to what it was. It had small symbols carved into it, and it looked well cared for; there were no stains or blemishes and it was neatly polished. 

“What is it?” Jesse questioned, holding out his hand. Ahsoka dropped it into his palm, where he turned it over, inspecting it.

“I don’t know. It was under his bed with a bunch of other stuff, including his secret candy stash, which is how I found it. There were a bunch of them, but this one is the prettiest,” Ahsoka explained, watching as Jesse passed the object off to Rex. She produced a few more from her pocket, showing them off to the clones and placing them on the table.

“What do you think it’s used for?” Fives asked, grabbing the one she passed to Rex from the other clone and holding it up to the light.

“Careful, you might drop it! And anyways, we should put them back. They might be important,” Echo scolded, snatching it from Fives.

“We will, we just want to look at them some more, first,” Hardcase replied, managing to snatch the object from Echo. He brought it close to him, then dangled it in front of Kix’s face.

“What’s it made out of?” Rex inquired, taking it back from Hardcase.

“I don’t know, some sort of wood?” Ahsoka replied, shrugging. Rex ran one of his fingers over the carvings before passing it back to Ahsoka. 

“Well, I should probably put them back…” Ahsoka mused, placing the object in her pocket, along with the other pieces. The clones nodded in agreement.

“Before you do, what do you guys think of the possibility of peace with the Separatists?” Hardcase asked the group, leading to a long, drawn-out discussion. By the end of it, Ahsoka went to bed, completely forgetting all about the small pieces of wood in her pocket.

Ahsoka and the clones were woken up by Anakin running through the halls, desperately searching for something. His eyes were wide and panicked, and he didn’t stop to talk to anyone. The clones gathered in a group, watching their General with bemused expressions. Ahsoka blinked at the scene in front of them, unsure of what to make of her Master frantically dumping out bags with tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

“Where are they, where are they ?” He hissed, pacing around in a circle. 

“Master, what’s wrong?” Ahsoka asked, warily. 

“Ahsoka! Have you seen my japor snippets? Please, this is really important,” Anakin begged, desperation in his eyes.

“Japor snippets?” Ahsoka questioned, confused.

“Yes, they’re these small pieces of wood. They kind of look like jewelry. I keep them in a small box under my bed, but some of them are gone, and I really need those!” Anakin ranted, hands reaching up to tug at his hair. Ahsoka blinked at him, realization dawning on her. Guilt flooded her, and she looked down in shame.

“Yeah… I took them,” she admitted, pulling them out from her pocket. Anakin slumped with relief, scooping them up with shaking hands and clutching them to his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Master. I didn’t know what they were, and I just wanted to show some of the clones,” Ahsoka explained. Anakin gave her an irritated, disappointed look, but didn’t scold her. Instead, he let out a deep, shuddering breath, pulling out a cloth from his pocket and carefully wrapping the japor snippets in it. He then lifted the cloth to his face, muttered something in a foreign language into it, and gently placed the velvet cloth into a small box. 

“I’m really sorry,” Ahsoka murmured, staring at the floor.

Anakin sighed, then placed his hand between her montrals and whispered in the same foreign language, his eyes closed. When he was done, he opened his eyes and stepped back.

“What… what was that?” Ahsoka asked, confused.

“I forgave you,” Anakin stated.

“Forgave me?” Ahsoka questioned. He had forgiven her before, but never like that. Was it a human thing? Was this because this was something serious?

“I know it was a simple mistake, but the gods might not realize that, and I don’t want you to get hurt because you didn’t know any better,” Anakin explained, only confusing Ahsoka more.

“What gods? And why would they hurt me because I accidentally took your japor snippets?” Ahsoka inquired, bemused.

“Taking someone’s japor snippets is a very serious crime, Ahsoka. To take a japor snippet without permission is to insult the gods themselves. Especially to the Goddess Leia, who forged the japor from her own scales and fire. And trust me, you do not want to be on Leia’s bad side,” Anakin said, as if that explained everything.

“Okay. What gods?” Ahsoka asked again, a little concerned. She never knew her Master was the religious type.

“The gods of Tatooine. They protect the- their people,” Anakin cut himself off. He seemed to remember where he was and backed up a bit, eyeing her cautiously. Ahsoka frowned, confused and a little hurt. Had she said something wrong?

“Can you tell me more about them?” Ahsoka tried, wishing the wariness in her Master’s eyes would vanish. Instead, he shook his head and took a few more steps back.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve already said too much,” Anakin told her, before turning on his heel and rushing off to his quarters. Ahsoka stared after him, bewildered and hurt.

“Skywalker has willfully disobeyed our order to the highest degree! Not only that, but he lied about it for years, too!” Mace argued, the Council in various states of shock and betrayal and anger; the latter of which was quickly released into the Force.

“I-I knew there was something between them, but I thought it was just a crush. I would never have imagined something like- like this,” Obi-Wan stammered, his betrayal, confusion, and bewilderment obvious in his usually-guarded expression.

“Marriage. With a politician, no less,” another Council member grumbled. 

“He broke our rules and is still breaking them at this very moment! We have to do something about this outrageous behavior!” Someone snapped. The others nodded their heads and narrowed their eyes in contemplation.

“We could expel him,” one Council member suggested. Obi-Wan looked and felt sick at the prospect, but said nothing.

“We can’t expel Skywalker. He is too valuable in our war against the Sith,” Luminara pointed out. 

“I’m inclined to agree. Unfortunately, we cannot expel him due to his key role in the war, as previously stated. However, that is not the only solution. There is always the option for a memory wipe,” Mace stated. The room went silent. 

Usually, a memory wipe was reserved only for those who had touched the dark side. But, this was an unusual situation, and drastic times called for drastic measures.

“Hmm. Work, that could, but difficult, it would be,” Yoda pointed out. 

“It’s our best option,” Koon conceded, though he didn’t seem too pleased with the idea. 

“We should point it to a vote. Everyone in favor, say aye.”

A chorus of ayes echoed throughout the room. Obi-Wan swallowed, guilt bubbling in his chest, a toxic, burning, vile substance. 

“Aye,” he echoed, his voice solemn, hoping only that one day Anakin would forgive him. 

The others stared at him in surprise. It was for the best, he knew. And it would keep Anakin closer to him, a selfish need that Obi-Wan despised but was powerless to fight. 

“It is decided. Skywalker’s memory will be partially wiped so that only his memories of the Jedi will be present.”

Obi-Wan’s comm began to beep in the tone he used to signal emergencies. Pushing away his horrid guilt, he glanced at Master Yoda, and, with Yoda’s nod, dismissed himself to deal with the emergency, albeit hesitantly. He couldn’t help but feel he was betraying his Padawan, no matter what he told himself.

The rest of the Council waited until he was out of the room and out of earshot before continuing.

“Masters, with all due respect, I have an additional idea that I feel should be introduced,” Luminara said. Mace nodded at her, signaling her to continue.

“The Kaminoans advertise a chip that can be discreetly inserted into the brain that can, well, ‘tame’ a person, for lack of better terminology. It will drastically lower the chances that he offends again, and might even fix some of his behavioral issues.”

A few of the Council members seemed uncertain, but the rest nodded eagerly. It was well known that Skywalker had many issues with the Council, and they had grown quite tired of it rather quickly. 

“And it can be removed or deactivated if needed?” Koon questioned. 

“I believe so, yes,” Luminara replied. “I believe we can also opt to make his loyalty to the Order stronger by having the chip amplify his already-present feelings. We can make his respect greater or lower his ego.”

“We’ll look into it,” Mace said, seeming rather pleased at the idea of a tamer, more respectful, more humble Skywalker. 

With a plan in motion, the meeting was ended and the Council dismissed.

Anakin awoke with a groan, his eyes feeling heavy and his limbs numb. Where was he?

He blinked open his eyes and saw that he was in the Healer’s ward at the Temple.

The Temple! His home! He loved being here. But ‘loved’ was too strong of a word, he realized. It hinted at passion, and Jedi did not do passion. And he was a Jedi. Yes. 

Anakin pushed himself up so that he was in a sitting position.

Why was he here? 

Anakin closed his eyes and tried to remember how he got where he was. He remembered walking with someone, but they were nothing more than a shadowy blob in his memory. Try as he might, he could not recall any details about who they were or what they were doing. 

Anakin tried recalling anything further than that. Carefully, he tracked through his more prominent memories and found more of those blobs. If he counted correctly, there were two or three of them. He couldn’t remember how he felt whenever those blobs were around, either. He could remember himself laughing or smiling, but in the presence of those shadows, he couldn’t recall his feelings.

Chapter Text

“Sir, Sir! Come quickly! It’s the General, something’s wrong with him!” One of the newer clones frantically called, waking Rex up immediately. In less than a second, he was on his feet, alarm and adrenaline spiking through his veins.

“What?! What’s wrong with him?” Rex asked, already grabbing his helmet and blaster. He followed the shiny as they rushed off in a panic.

“I don’t know, Sir! But whatever it is, it’s- it’s bad,” the shiny told him as they raced through the halls.

A small crowd was gathered around something that was writhing on the ground, making strangled-sounding gurgling noises. Rex realized that something was someone, and that someone happened to be his General. 

It was a gruesome sight. Blood pooled from General Skywalker’s nose, ears, and mouth while he thrashed and writhed on the floor. His eyes were partially rolled back into his skull.

“Kriffing kark! Someone get Kix in here, ASAP!” Rex ordered as General Skywalker’s thrashes weakened.

“Already here!” Kix said, shoving some dumbstruck shinies out of the way.

“Tell me what happened! Was he poisoned? Did he take something?” Rex snapped while Kix administered first aid. 

“We don’t know, Sir! We found him like this!” 

Anakin hated this time of year. He hated it so much he didn’t care if he wasn’t supposed to hate anything. It was the same two-week period, every year since it happened that had him hiding in his room, drinking away the bad memories. 

In those two weeks, two years ago, he had his 19th life-day, lost his mother, lost his arm, witnessed the start of the war, got married, and was given a group of men to lead. He went into war, unable to legally drink and already maimed for life.

“Rex, please tell me we’re not where I think we are,” Anakin said, voice strained. 

“If that ‘where’ is Tatooine, then I’m afraid that we are, Sir,” Rex replied, pulling some cargo out of the wrecked ship. They (Anakin, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, Rex, and R2) had been retreating from a battle-gone-wrong when they were separated from the rest of their troops. 

“What’s so bad about Tatooine?” Ahsoka questioned, dusting herself off.

“Ask me that when we’re not on Tatooine because if I have to answer that now I might scream,” Anakin retorted.

“Anakin, stop being so dramatic. It’s really not that bad,” Obi-Wan told him, scanning the horizon.

“Easy for you to say! You’ve only been here, like, twice, and you’ve only seen Jabba’s Palace! And the first time, you didn’t even leave the ship!” Anakin snapped, crossing his arms.

“What’s wrong with him?” Obi-Wan demanded to know. He had gotten word that his former Padawan had collapsed suddenly, before having a seizure and going into a coma for two weeks.

Ironically, the first symptom Anakin remembers having is memory loss. Ever since he was a child, there were these long gaps in his memory where everything was… not 'gone' exactly, but more like it was… fuzzy. He didn't know how else to explain it other than that he could recall faint thoughts, ideas, and sensations, but nothing else. At first, he thought it was just his mind protecting him from traumatic events. 

But then he moved to the temple, and it kept happening.

When Taru first saw the child, wandering alone through the crowded market, she thought she must have been hallucinating. Surely, the Force wouldn’t be so kind as to have the Chosen One themself stumble into her hands. But they matched the descriptions the Elder Prophet gave, and they bore the distinctive star/diamond shaped birthmark on their wrist. Not to mention their blinding Force presence. 

All it took was a moment. Anakin, already bloodied and bruised from the other Padawan’s attacks, was weakened by exhaustion and pain. The biggest of the bullies, who had at least a 100 pounds and a few feet on Anakin, not to mention a couple of years, grabbed Anakin by the neck and shoved him back against the top of a railing. Anakin’s head was forced down, as were his shoulders, but the back of his neck couldn’t follow, as it was blocked by the railing. A sickening crunch sounded, followed by the worst feeling in Anakin’s 14-year life. 

Numbness.

He felt as if everything below his neck were detached. He could just barely move his limbs, but it wasn’t enough to keep him upright. He crumpled to the floor like wet cardboard, taunted and humiliated by the Padawan’s laughter. 

They dragged him away from the railing and into a nearby side-room. The attack had been planned well, with the hallway they were in essentially abandoned, and nobody around who could (or would) help him.

Tatooine’s twin suns beat down on them with fury, their gold-white glow blinding. Rex understood why his General hated this place.

They were searching the Dune Sea for some sort of ancient relic that would help to end the war. Skywalker, and by extension the 501st, were delegated for the task due to Skywalker’s familiarity with the place. Rex remembered hearing somewhere that Tatooine was Skywalker’s home planet.

“I’m starving ,” Ahsoka remarked.

Rex told him that every clone was given a number at birth. Anakin didn’t know how to tell them that he, too, had a number. It was etched into his mind, into his soul, and into his skin. On his neck behind his ear tattooed in bluish-black ink was an identification code as if he were cattle.

Rex wasn’t deaf or blind or stupid. He knew how the other Jedi acted around and reacted to General Skywalker. He just didn’t know why . The Council acted as if he were on a mission to purposely offend and maliciously disobey them. It was as if he were a rat in a mouse-only club. Rex once asked about it and all Skywalker had said was that the Council thought he was dangerous. 

The other Knights they worked with varied greatly in opinion, ranging from ‘it truly is an honor to be able to fight alongside you, Knight Skywalker’ to ‘I would literally rather be paired with anybody else in the Order because I just dislike you that much but I’m going to pretend to tolerate you for the sake of the mission but if you even LOOK at me wrong I will lose my shit’ and Rex didn’t know why. Why was there such an obvious, massive spectrum of opinion?

And of course, he heard the whispers. Outsider. Desert-rat. Slave boy. Qui-Gon’s mistake. Pathetic Lifeform. Outsider. Danger. Monster. Ticking time bomb. Outsider. 3/4ths of a Jedi. Failure. Pretender. What were the Masters thinking? Outsider. Freak. Outcast. Dumbass. Prick. Egotistical bastard. I’d hate to be Kenobi. Brat. Idiot. Never gonna be good enough. Outsider. 

What did it mean? Rex didn’t know. He only had a few pieces of the puzzle, such as that he came to the temple late, that he was from Tatooine, and that he didn’t get along that well with some of the other Jedi. He supposed that the glaringly obvious dislike the Council had for him probably wasn’t helping, either. Actually, that may be influencing other Jedi to act the way they did.

Chapter Text

Anakin struggled to catch his breath, the racing, triumphant feeling of victory swelling in his chest. He held his head up high, proud. He and his men had won an impossible battle yet again.

Sensing Obi-Wan behind him, he turned. They were alone, with no functional droids or clones in sight. He must have gotten farther ahead than he had thought.

Smiling at his friend and mentor, he was about to open his mouth to make a witty comment when he noticed the look on the older Jedi’s face. It was full of sorrow, regret, and remorse. Anakin’s smile faltered, and he gazed at Obi-Wan questioningly.

“Obi-Wan? What’s wrong?” Anakin asked, taking a few steps closer. Obi-Wan looked away, a fresh wave of guilt flooding his eyes. 

“What happened?” He asked again, then paused. “Is it Ahsoka? Rex? Are they injured?” Another pause. “Worse?” He whispered that last part, mind racing with all the worst-case scenarios possible.

“They’re fine, but someone did die,” Obi-Wan stated, facing him again. This time his eyes were filled with determination, though they still held a sort of sorry-in-advance look. 

Before Anakin could ask who or demand answers, Obi-Wan gave a tired sigh.

“I’m so, so sorry about this, Anakin. Please forgive us,” he said, lunging towards Anakin with something in his hands that Anakin hadn’t seen before.

Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s flesh arm and plunged a hypo-needle into it, faster than lightning, leaving the younger Jedi to stagger back, eyes wide with shock, betrayal, and confusion.

“What the hell?!” He hissed. He could feel an icy, burning sensation face through his veins and arteries, to his heart and to his brain.

“Please, understand. It was for the best. There’s a bigger plan at play here,” Obi-Wan explained.

Anakin stumbled, then fell, his legs unable to support his weight anymore. 

Anakin stared up at guilty blue eyes with anger and questioning and hurt.

“W-Why? Why?” He cried, his limbs losing all feeling. Obi-Wan held him as he began to shake, not answering. Was he dying? It felt like he was dying. Did Obi-Wan just kill him? Was he going to die here, in the arms and by the hands of his best friend, his mentor, his brother?

“Obi- Obi-Wan… please… why?” Anakin choked out, vision spinning and rapidly growing darker. He was going to die, he was certain of it. A feeling of doom stronger and more intense than anything Anakin had ever felt in his entire life, coupled with a sort of grim certainty, made him sure of his fate. Obi-Wan didn’t answer him, didn’t even look him in the eyes.

“M-Mas-ter…” he whimpered, before everything went black.

Durian stared with wide, horrified eyes. The scene he had just bore witness to was impossible. He must have been hallucinating, or finally losing his mind, because there was no kriffing way . Scrambling backwards, he sprinted as fast as he could towards where the rest of the 501st had made camp. He needed to warn them, needed to let them know-

General Kenobi leapt in front of him, his ignited lightsaber in his hand. Durian scrambled to a halt, terror spiking in his veins. Kenobi had killed Durian’s General, his jetti , and now, it seemed, Kenobi would kill him too. 

Durian trembled, waiting for the Jedi to strike, just as he had lunged at Skywalker and struck him down, as if part viper.

“Stand down, Trooper,” Kenobi ordered, sternly. Durian hyperventilated, panicked. Oh, Force , he was going to die, and the 501st would never learn the truth. And the truth was that their General was murdered by his closest ally. Oh, osik , he was in deep shit.

“He’s not dead, Trooper,” Kenobi told him, and Durian knew that was a lie. He had seen through the scopes in his helmet the General’s vitals go haywire, then slow, then stop completely. 

“O-Of course not, Sir! And I didn’t see anything! I wasn’t- I wasn’t even here! I was patrolling by the river, and saw or heard nothing, absolutely nothing!” Durian hastily replied, shaking. 

“That’s not what I meant. It was a fast-acting drug that mimics death for a short period of time,” Kenobi said, sounding tired and irritated.

Well, that sounds like what a murderer would say, Durian thought to himself. Outwardly, he nodded eagerly.

“Makes perfect sense, Sir! And like I said, I saw nothing! Kriff, I wasn’t even on this mission! And besides, who would believe me, a simple clone, over a mighty and respected General and Jedi Master like you? Nobody! Not that there’s anything to believe, because I didn’t see anything!” He ranted, nodding frantically while backing away slowly. Kenobi let out a tired sigh.

“Well, it seems you’re not going to believe me,” he stated, taking a few steps towards Durian, who froze in terror.

“N-No! I won’t tell anyone, I swear! Not a single soul!” Durian pleaded, thinking for sure that he was going to die.

“I’m not going to kill you, Trooper. Now, sleep,” Kenobi said, and Durian was unable to resist the Force suggestion. 

Obi-Wan looked down at the now-unconscious clone, huffing. Well, that had been problematic. Searching the area with the Force, he scanned for any other witnesses.

Not finding anything, he shook his head and lifted the clone with the Force. 

He carried the clone, who he realized he didn’t know the name of, back to where Anakin was laying, also unconscious, though he was alive again and starting to stir. Kriff. He would have to administer another dose.

Setting the clone down, he waited for the transport ship (which was actually a smuggling ship) to arrive.

When it did, Obi-Wan dragged Anakin in and apologetically maneuvered him into the most comfortable smuggling compartment he could find. He also administered another dose, and winced as Anakin began to convulse and ‘died’ once more. Then, he moved the clone as well, and gently tied him down. He didn’t want him to wake up and compromise the mission.

When that was all done, Obi-Wan activated the pilot droid and stepped off the ship. He sent a quick message to Master Yoda and Windu, and then roughed himself up a little. Everything needed to be perfect . If it wasn’t, then the plan would fail, and this would have all been for nothing.

He watched as the ship took flight, and didn’t stop watching until it was out of the atmosphere, and then he waited a little longer until he was certain it had jumped to hyperspace. 

Taking a deep breath, he turned and began his trek back to where the 501st was camping. He had some bad news for them.

Rex stared at General Kenobi, disbelieving. Cody stood next to the Jedi, watching Rex with cautious, pitying eyes. Rex didn’t blame him; he had done the same with his General whenever they needed to tell a clone that their General was dead. It was to make sure that the brother didn’t lose themself to their grief or become violent. 

Except, it was never supposed to be Rex on the other side of the arrangement. Skywalker was invincible. He couldn’t die. There must have been some sort of mistake.

Except there wasn’t. There was no mistake, and this wasn’t a nightmare that he could wake from. His General, his jetii , his vod, was dead, and Rex hadn’t been there. He hadn’t been able to see him that one last time, or been able to hold him as he died. Rex had been at camp, drinking and playing games. What kind of Captain, what kind of brother , was he? He had been fooling around and getting wasted while Skywalker - Anakin , was fighting for his life.

His thoughts were too fast, like they were in hyperspace, light years ahead of the rest of him. And yet, at the same time, they were coated in molasses, weighed down with the numbing distance that grief brings.

Had he thought of me when he died? Rex thought, then felt ashamed of himself. What a selfish thought.

Rex was sitting, and he didn’t know when that had happened. He was alone now, too, and he found he was grateful for that. 

Had it been quick and painless? Rex hoped so. Was it drawn out? Had Anakin called out for him, for anyone , to help him, only to find himself alone? What if Rex had been there? Would he have been able to save him, or at least give him one final comfort before he died? 

Would he have been able to change this? If only he hadn’t stayed behind… if only he had just went with him… if only… if only…

If only Rex wasn’t alone. If only they had different lives, where they could both live to see to tomorrow. If only none of this had ever happened, if only everything was as it was yesterday, the war and everything else be damned.

If only Anakin was still alive. He’d put his arm around Rex’s shoulder and allow him to cry into his shirt. Anakin would embrace him and everything would be quiet, all except for the gentle beating of their hearts, the whispering exhales of their breath, and the small hiccuping sobs that would escape every now and again.

But now, one of those hearts would never beat again, and there would be no more whispering exhales. No longer would they hold each other and cry, allowing themselves to be fragile only in the presence of the other. Now, Rex was alone, curled up in a ball on the floor, sobbing loudly to himself because Anakin was dead and gone and Rex would never be able to hold or be held by him again.

Chapter Text

Anakin’s Ordinary Life

Anakin knew he was different from the others in the temple. No, he wasn’t talking about his upbringing or his age or the prophecy, though he was different in those regards, too. He was talking about how he saw things that weren’t there, heard things that nobody else did, felt everything that everyone else felt, and dreamt of things that shouldn’t be possible. 

He saw people who were supposed to be dead, Jedi Masters of times long since passed. He saw Qui-Gon and a thousand others that he knew had died a long, long time ago. 

He heard the thoughts and mental blabber of every sentient of Coruscant, and it was a miracle that he could still function at all. Though, he supposed he had his ghost friends to thank for that, as they often helped him block out some of the noise.

He felt everyone’s pain, too. He knew other Jedi felt that, but it seemed not to the extent he did. Anakin could always tell who was coming back from a mission injured long before they even arrived back at the temple. He knew which of his fellow Padawans had done something stupid to get themselves hurt, what part of them was injured, what type of injury it was, how bad the injury was, and how much pain they were in. He knew that because he felt it like it was his own injury, which had led to some interesting conversations with his Master. Luckily, Qui-Gon and some of the other ghosts were there to help him lie his way out of those situations.

Anakin dreamt of events yet to happen in such detail he could recite them word for word when they happened. One might think that to be an amazing, miraculous gift from the Force itself, but it was always the most mundane things. He would dream of reading a certain book and thinking specific thoughts and then a few days later he would find himself hit with a wave of deja-vu as the dream came rushing back to him at the speed of light. 

Fools In Love

Rex ran into the room, cursing up a storm, breathing heavily and incredibly flushed. He groaned loudly, his hand on his forehead, as he paced around in tight, nervous circles. Ahsoka looked up from where she had been trying to sneak a quick nap, surprised. She watched him for a few moments, trying to figure out what he was doing.

“Rex? What’s wrong?” She asked, concerned. Rex jumped and stared at her with wide eyes, clearly just now noticing her. 

“Oh! Uh, Commander! I, uh, didn’t ummm… I didn’t see you there!” He said, snapping to attention.

“Well, that’s obvious. At ease, Rex. Now, are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Wrong?” He squeaked. “Nothing’s wrong, Commander! Nothing at all!”

“Mhm. Right. And I’m not a Togruta. Seriously, what’s up?” She retorted, crossing her arms.

Rex glanced around nervously, as if expecting someone else to appear. When nobody did, he took a deep breath.

“I like someone. Like, like-like someone. Really badly. But I’m pretty sure they don’t feel the same,” Rex admitted, blushing furiously. Ahsoka smirked knowingly, resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Rex, you could have just told me. Now, who is it? I promise not to judge,” Ahsoka questioned, amused. Rex fumbled a bit, shifting his weight awkwardly.

“Well, uh, I don’t really think that matters, now, does it? I mean, like, it’s not that I don’t want to tell you, it’s just that, uh, well-“ Rex stammered, incredibly flustered.

“Rex, it’s fine. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Just tell me this: is it me?” Ahsoka asked, and Rex blinked at her in confused surprise, before snorting in amusement.

“No, sorry Commander. It’s not you,” Rex said politely, probably trying not to chuckle. Ahsoka nodded and leaned back, considering their options. Finally, after a minute or so in silence, she snapped her fingers and sat up.

“I got it! It seems to me, Rexter, that what you need is a wingman. Or, shall I say, two wingmen and a wingwoman?” Ahsoka offered with a smile, to which Rex glanced at her, confused and mildly disbelieving.

“What?” He questioned.

“Let me call Fives down here and we can help you get with your mystery lover!” Ahsoka exclaimed, excitement bubbling in her chest and gleaming in her eyes.

“Fives? He can’t get a girl to save his life,” Rex stated, though he didn’t refuse. 

“There’s a reason for that, Rex,” Ahsoka snorted as she punched in his com code.

“Fives! Rexter needs some wingman help! Sending our coordinates now. Also, bring your boyfriend,” 

Unnamed

“First day of school, baby!” Ahsoka yelled loudly as they exited the transport shuttle.

“This is never going to work,” Anakin grumbled, rubbing his new, more realistic prosthetic arm self-consciously. Rex shot him a sympathetic glance, trying not to show his discomfort at being out of uniform. 

“Oh, c’mon! It’ll be fun!” Ahsoka said, grinning at them.

“This is going to be nothing like your previous schooling. You know that, right?” Anakin told her, trying to cross his arms, except it obviously wasn’t comfortable and he dropped them a moment later with a frustrated snort.

“I’m sure it can’t be that different! Right, Rex?” Ahsoka declared, turning to the clone in disguise.

“I’m still not even sure why we’re here, Comman- I mean, uh…” Rex trailed off, and Anakin gave them a look.

“I told you to come up with a code name,” Anakin scolded lightly. Ahsoka cringed and shrugged slightly in apology.

“I couldn’t think of anything cool!” Ahsoka defended weakly.

“Fine. Whatever. You can be… Shmi,” Anakin decided. Ahsoka snickered slightly, while Rex raised a questioning eyebrow.

“What? What’s wrong with Shmi?” Anakin questioned, offended.

“Nothing! It’s just…” it was Ahsoka’s turn to trail off and look to Rex for help.

“Well, with all due respect, it’s a bit odd,” Rex told him, shuffling awkwardly. 

“Yeah, no shit, it’s from Tatooine,” Anakin told them.

“Well, I guess I just expected something… cooler?” Ahsoka squeaked, withering slightly under her Master’s glare.

“Watch yourselves,” he growled, “Shmi was my mother’s name. It means ‘truth’.”

“You had a mom?” Ahsoka asked with wide, fascinated eyes.

“Well I didn’t just fucking pop into existence.”

Burn the Stars

Ahsoka was right, of course. The Council needed to pay for what they’d done. They needed to see that their actions had consequences, that what they had done had hurt people. Like Ahsoka. Like him. 

Ahsoka grinned at him, her teeth glinting in the light. 

She never interacted with the other Jedi these days, never even hung around them. Whenever there was someone else, she would hide in her room until they left. 

He couldn’t really blame her. After all, the Jedi had tried to kill her.

And for that, they would pay.

“Kneel,” Anakin snarled, power and command dripping from every letter. The Jedi Master knelt before him with dazed eyes, completely under Anakin’s influence. Ahsoka watched with eager eyes as Anakin shot the Jedi in the head with the blaster taken from their own clone commander. A statement. 

Ahsoka was the one to insist on it. That was how they were going to kill her, so that was how they would die. 

Anakin gazed at her in delight, staring into her green eyes.

Wait, green? Hadn’t they been blue before? Ahsoka blinked, and they were blue again. Anakin rubbed his eyes. He needed sleep.

After disposing of the bodies, Anakin made sure that they were nowhere near the murder when it happened. He covered up their tracks with surprising ease and efficiency.

Padmé was really worried about him and Anakin didn’t know why. There was no way she could know about what he and Ahsoka were doing, and he could tell this was more than just her normal concern. 

Chapter Text

“WHO HAST SUMMONED THE ALMIGHTY ONES?!?” The Force Ghost bellowed as soon as he appeared, startling the two living Force users out of their trances. 

“Really, Anakin?” A second ghost asked, his aura loudly broadcasting that he was done with his partner’s bullshit. 

“I thought it was pretty funny,” The third ghost spoke, her arms crossed and a smile on her face.

“Thank you, Snips. At least someone here appreciates my comedic genius,” The first ghost, Anakin, told the second, a smug grin on his face.

“Don’t encourage him, Ahsoka,” The second ghost said in reply. One of the bystanders cleared her throat, drawing the Force Ghost’s attention.

“Oh, hey, Rey and Ben! My two favorite grandchildren!” Anakin greeted, a smile blooming in his face.

“We’re your only grandchildren,” The other living person pointed out, a small smile appearing on his face that he tried to hide but failed.

“Details, details,” Anakin replied. 

“Ah, Rey. Pleasure to see you again. And you must be Ben. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. Must say, you’re not really what I expected,” The second ghost, Obi-Wan, introduced himself.

“Yeah, I know. I look like my father,” Ben shrugged, looking away.

“No, you don’t. I can see how some might think that, but you look like your great grandmother, Shmi. It’s actually kind of scary,” 

“Our great grandmother? Is she a ghost?” Rey questioned, intrigued. 

“Yes and no. She’s not a Force Ghost, but there is more than one afterlife, you know. I can take you there sometime; I actually have the freedom to cross between afterlives. Perks of being what is essentially a demi-god, yeah?” 

“Right, well, as much as I enjoy a nice familial chat, there was something you summoned us here for, right?” The third Force Ghost pointed out. She flashed a smile to Rey and Ben, tilting her head.

“I’m Ahsoka, by the way. Anakin’s Padawan/sister. I guess that makes you guys my great niece and nephew,” She greeted.

“Yeah, so, uh, we may have accidentally…” Rey began, trailing off, looking to Ben for help.

“Say we theoretically, well, hmmm, how do we put this?” Ben continued, shuffling awkwardly.

“Spit it out, you two. It can’t possibly be worse than anything I’ve done,” Anakin sighed. Obi-Wan was already pinching the bridge of his nose in preparation. 

“We accidentally angered an ancient god of time and space and the only way to stop the curse it afflicted on us is to travel back in time so we need your help,” Rey explained, wincing slightly as she did so.

“I’m… I’m not even going to question how you managed to do that,” Obi-Wan sighed, now rubbing his temples. 

“Easy. They’re SkyGuy’s grandchildren,” Ahsoka answered, to which Anakin protested loudly.

“SkyGuy?” Rey snorted in amusement while Ben smiled mischievously.

“Oh, great. Thank’s a lot, Snips,” Anakin groaned. “Alright, well, let’s get going,”

“Going where?” Obi-Wan asked, tiredly. 

“Going to go create a rip in space-time, baby!” Anakin yelled, throwing his hands in the air. Rey cheered while Ben smiled slightly wider, which Anakin would count as a win. 

“Anakin, you can’t just go creating a rip in space-time,” Obi-Wan reprimanded. 

“Yes I can, I’ll show you. Besides, it will be a parallel universe so we won’t have to worry about anything. Who knows, maybe they’ll fix something!” Anakin reassured.

“They’re related to you, of course they’re not going to fix anything,” Obi-Wan argued. 

“Now that’s just rude,” Anakin bit back.

“Also, I’m technically adopted, sooooo…,” Rey spoke, crossing her arms. Ben just pouted silently. 

“You’re his in spirit. No, Anakin. Not unless you bring someone sensible. Not me or Ahsoka, either, because we have to watch over this universe while you’re gone,” Obi-Wan grumbled.

“Fine! I know just the guy!” Anakin said, grabbing Rey and Ben’s arm and teleporting them away before Obi-Wan could continue to argue.

“Holy sh-” Ben cursed as both he and Rey tumbled to the ground. Anakin winced sympathetically, helping them up.

“Sorry, forgot you guys don’t know how to stick the landing yet,” He apologized, turning and walking through the thick forest they had been sent to. Looking up, Rey caught a glimpse of wispy white clouds and a strikingly blue sky. Golden sunlight filtered through the tree branches and cast dappled patterns on the forest floor. The scent of rich earth and greenery was strong, and the sound of birdsong loud. 

“I hate it when he gets like that,” Anakin grumbled, interrupting her thoughts. “It’s all ‘Anakin this’ and ‘Anakin that’ or ‘Anakin, stop teaching children how to eat bugs; Anakin, stop haunting people, I don’t care that they totally deserve it, Anakin, slaughtering a temple full of children is bad, Anakin, stop leaving your droid parts all over the floor’ and stuff like that. It really gets on my nerves,” He ranted.

“Wait, what was that about the temple full of children?” Rey questioned.

“Uh, nothing! We’re here!” Anakin replied, herding them into a large clearing by a lake. There was a cabin built into a hill, wildflowers, ivy, and moss growing on the walls and roof. It was very scenic, Rey would admit. 

“Oh, Rexy boy! Guess who’s here and full of spite for the universe!” Anakin yelled. A second later, the front door opened and out came a man, a wide smile on his face.

“General! Su cuy'gar!” The man greeted, pulling Anakin into a fierce hug.

“Su’cuy to you too, Rex! These are my grandchildren, Rey and Ben!” Anakin replied, pulling out of the hug and motioning to where Rey and Ben stood. 

Half a beat.

Anakin felt the Force scream at him that something was about to happen. Something dangerous.

A beat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it land next to his feet. It was small, grayish in color, and beeping. 

Two beats.

He acted more out of instinct rather than with any logical thought. Prompted by the Force and by his own frantic mind, he grabbed Rex and Ahsoka with the Force-

Three.

-and shoved them far away from him. They tumbled down a nearby hill and into a lake. He could only hope they would be fine.

Four.

He froze, staring at it, not knowing what to do next.

Five.

Another shove from the Force had him turning on his heel.

Six.

He began to run. He knew before he began that it was a pointless endeavor.

Seven. 

A shrill alarm rang out as the Force screamed at him in warning.

Eight. 

An explosion louder than he thought possible sounded from behind him. He was thrown to the ground, landing face first in the dirt.

Nine.

Heat engulfed his skin, consuming him. 

Ten.

Darkness.

Anakin awoke with a sharp inhale, finding himself face down in the dirt. He pushed himself up, squinting against a harsh, yellow sun. 

That’s odd , he thought. The planet we were on had a red sun…

A road of dusty sanguine soil stretched ahead of him, broken by the occasional thorny shrub or cactus. He appeared to be in a desert of sort, and the blistering dry heat supported his theory. 

In the distance, a small fleet of about half a dozen vehicles were approaching. Black, glinting metal stood out against the strikingly blue sky, and he realized he had no idea what kind of vehicles were approaching. He had assumed them to be speeders, but as they got closer he realized that they were too big and, well, ugly to be any kind of speeder he knew. And they seemed to roll across the ground rather than hover. 

They were loud and, quite frankly, hideous.

“What the kriff are those?” He asked aloud as they skidded to a stop a good distance away from him.

Chapter Text

Anakin blinked at Kix, incredulous. What he said had to be a mistake, or a practical joke of some sort. There was no way.

“No,” he stated, trying to get his brain to reboot.

“I’m afraid so, General. There’s no easy way to say this, but you’re infertile. Luckily, the cause of it is easily fixable. It’s relatively quick, easy, and cheap. We can-“ Kix explained. Anakin cut him off with a choked cry of disbelief, shock, and betrayal.

“General? It’s okay, really. As I said, it’s curable.“

“I’ve always been infertile? As in, there’s no way that I could be the father of a baby?” He tried. There must be some mistake or misunderstanding. 

“Well, no, Sir. There is an infinitesimally low chance of you being the father of anyone’s baby, even if they were super fertile,” Kix confirmed.

Anakin held his head in his hands, feeling as if his entire world was crashing down.

Padmé was pregnant. He was infertile. Padmé had been cheating on him. With who? The world was spinning, crumbling to dust all around him.

Kix pushed a box of tissues towards him, eying him with wary concern. Anakin looked at him with red, bloodshot, tear-stained eyes. 

“My wife’s pregnant,” he croaked. Kix blinked at him, then his eyes widened comically in shock. 

“Your… wife,” Kix reiterated.

“6 months. She told me I was the father… I have some calls to make,” Anakin stated, feeling numb, standing from where he had been sitting. 

Kix stared after him, one word echoing in his mind.

“Yikes,” he said aloud, after Skywalker was out of earshot.

“Padmé, we need to talk,” Anakin said as they ate dinner later that night. She blinked at him in surprise. She noticed he had been distant all night, seemingly distracted by something. That wasn’t anything too unusual, as he normally was for the first few days after he got back from the front lines. So, she hadn’t been any more concerned than she always was for him until he said that.

Putting down her fork, she glanced at him with wary confusion.

“About what?” She asked.

“I talked to Kix today,” he began, looking tired and desperate. Her heart started pounding in her chest as a thousand worse-case scenarios raced through her head. Was he sick? Was Ahsoka sick? Kriff , was Obi-Wan sick? 

“And?” She prompted.

“And I found out I had a non-cancerous tumor. I’m told it’s easy to remove and will be quick. But I also found out that the same tumor has made me infertile for the majority of the last decade,” Anakin explained, desperately scanning her face for any trace of explanation. It took a second for the words to sink in, but when they did, her blood turned to ice. He knew. He knew the baby wasn’t his. He knew she had cheated. He knew he knew he knew -

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her meal forgotten. His face fell, pain and hurt and betrayal flooding his eyes.

“Who’s the father?” He asked, voice strained, as if he were holding back tears. She looked away. If she were to tell him… it would break him. 

“Padmé, please ,” he pleaded. She sighed and shook her head. He stood from his seat suddenly, his eyes wet and full of hurt. 

“Fine,” he spat. “I’m packing my things. Take care of C-3PO; you can keep him, if you want. He’ll help you with the baby. Take care of yourselves. I wish you and the father a happy life.”

With that, he stalked off to their room to pack, while Padmé held her head in her hands and began to sob. Regret, guilt, and hurt filled her. She never meant for this to happen. It had started off as a one-time thing, a stupid mistake that she had no excuse for. Then they met more and more often until it was a full-on fling. Soon, Padmé found herself in love with two people, one of which got her pregnant. It was just her luck that the one that wasn’t her husband was the father. 

Anakin, holding a small bag full of his clothes, his toiletries, and some of his other miscellaneous items, exited the room. R2-D2 trailed behind him, beeping sadly. 

“Artoo?” Padmé asked, surprised. R2 spun on his wheels, whirring in distress, before letting out a long, melancholic boop. Then, he followed Anakin out the door.

Anakin grit his teeth as the group of sword-wielding mercenaries closed in on him. They moved as one, like a pack of wolves circling an elk. They had teeth and claws and numbers, but he had antlers and hooves and a fierce, burning determination. He had faced worse before; he wasn’t about to let them be his end. 

Raising his saber, he blocked and parried with an ease gained only through life-long training and practice. He was alone in this fight; everyone else was busy trying to stop the ship from imploding. 

Quick, easy mission, they said. In and out, fifteen minutes, they said! We should take more men in case something happens, I said! But does anyone ever listen to me? No, what would I know? I’m just the one they always send into life-or-death combat, he thought bitterly.

With a slash of his blade, he pierced through the armor of one of the enemies, only for another to take their place. Snarling with frustration, he cut and stabbed and lunged with ruthless vigor, a frenzied beast backed into a corner. 

It reminded him of his fight with Ventrice, all those years ago. The fight that left him with his signature scar over his eye. 

He dodged an attack just in time to avoid the slash aimed right at his other eye. Seems some things never changed.

Kicking out, he sent the man stumbling away from him.

Chapter Text

The Demons From My Past Are Begging Me For Help (And I Can’t Say No)

Anakin had been having a relatively good day. The war was at a standstill, both sides temporarily retreating and monitoring each other. Passive-aggressively. It was a political nightmare.

But that wasn’t Anakin’s problem. Since both sides were taking a break to recover, that meant Anakin also got a break. Which was why he, Ahsoka, and Rex were sent on a low-stakes mission to meet with a secret informant from the Outer Rim. 

Ahsoka, Rex, Kix, and Jesse were with the informant, now, having already met whoever it was a few hours earlier. Anakin made his way there, preparing himself and trying to appear stoic,

A familiar voice, rough as sand, tinged with a Tatooine accent had him halting in his tracks, his facade crumbling into dust.

No, no, it couldn’t be...

Ahsoka’s youthful voice answered.

Anakin felt the world slip out from underneath him. His breath caught in his throat, his heart stopping. 

He stepped into the room and saw him. 

Watto sat, speaking to Ahsoka and the clones.

And Anakin felt reality slip away. 

Certain parts of his body were too big, some parts too small. He watched himself from afar, his body looking too small, as if he were viewing himself from the other side of a city. No thoughts reached through his daze. 

Watto scrutinized him, recognition dawning on his face.

“Ani? Is that you, Ani?” He asked. Everything was altered, unreal; detached and chaotic. 

Anakin stared at the spot just below Watto’s eyes, old instinct taking over. He nodded, unable to choke out the words that repeated in his head, ringing clearly through his skull.

Yes, Master.

Unnamed Story

Rex didn’t know much about the Force. And he didn’t care much for it, either. Yet even he had his doubts about sending the strongest Force Sensitive in the Jedi Order to an area that was completely cut off from the Force. From what had been explained to him, the planet (which was more like a small moon or large asteroid) “knew nothing of the Force, and the Force knew nothing of it”. What’s more, Rex learned, was that the planet actually fought against the Force, repelling and rejecting it vigorously. 

And so the Council made the brilliant plan to send Rex’s General.

The idea was that Anakin would be so strong in the Force that he’d be able to resist the anti-Force powers of the planet. And while Rex had his doubts, he was powerless to do anything but wait in dreadful trepidation for the ship to land. 

Rex kept a close eye on his Jedi, and he knew Kix was doing the same. 

As soon as they entered the atmosphere, Anakin winced and faltered, stumbling slightly to the right, where he leaned against a wall. Rex started forward, but Anakin waved him off.

“M’ fine,” he slurred, sounding anything but. Rex opened his mouth to protest, as did Kix, but Anakin stood up straight once more and glared at them, though Rex still noticed the way Anakin trembled with the effort of it.

The ship continued to descend, with the bad feeling Rex had in his gut only growing stronger. Anakin’s breathing was coming in short, shallow bursts, his skin pale and clammy, his eyes clouded. Finally, they landed, and Anakin was actively leaning against Kix.

“Medical, Sir. Now,” Kix demanded, and Anakin only nodded. Rex’s concern spiked at that; Anakin always fought when it came to receiving medical attention.

Rex tailed behind them as Anakin struggled through the halls, his staggering strides growing more inconsistent and strained as they went. 

Finally, they arrived, and Kix sat Anakin down on a medical cot, where Anakin gratefully collapsed and struggled to catch his breath.

Rex watched on with worried eyes as Kix took Anakin’s vitals and ran tests. He seemed to be getting worse by the second. His skin was now ashen, only a few shades above pale gray. His eyes were clouded and distant, seeing right through Rex as Anakin stared through half-shut lids. His breathing was more like choking, gasping wheezes; shallow, rapid, and unproductive. Rex could see from the different monitors that Anakin’s pulse was rapid and erratic, his heartbeat resembling steep mountain slopes on the screen. 

Rex approached his General and squeezed his hand, but Anakin didn’t respond. He didn’t squeeze back, didn’t look at Rex, didn’t so much as twitch or grunt.

“General,” Rex whispered. Anakin showed no signs of hearing him.

“General,” Rex repeated, louder this time. Kix looked over at them. Anakin didn’t respond. Rex glanced at Kix, who rushed over with a frown and a furrowed brow.

“General!” Rex exclaimed, desperation seeping into his tone, his fear for his friend broadcasted in the way he spoke. Rex shook Anakin, once, twice. Still no response. 

“General, General, please! Anakin! Anakin, wake up!” Rex begged, terror striking at his heart. He knew his General’s heart still beat, but the pulses were getting weaker, farther apart. 

Anakin twitched, and for a brief moment Rex’s heart soared with hope. Then, Anakin began writhing and convulsing, and Kix quickly pushed Rex aside, paging more Medics and telling the others to get them away from the surface.

Blood began to flow from the General’s ears, nose, and mouth as his eyes rolled back. Rex froze, panic and helpless desperation flooding him as surely as the General’s blood flooded his own lungs.

Was this how it ended? With the blazing fire that was his General submerged underwater, drowning in his own blood and choking on nothing?

Rex was pushed away as new medics arrived. He was almost out of earshot when he heard it.

The sound of a flatline.

Unique Connection

Anakin was aware he had always had a… unique… connection to the Force. It was always draped around him like overly friendly serpents with no sense of personal space. Not that Anakin minded, though. 

It wasn’t uncommon for him to have full on conversations with the Force, either. Whenever he managed to fall into a meditative state, the Force was always there, waiting for him. It always took the form of either a Tatooine Blackbird or a Krayt Dragon, depending on what it wanted to talk about. If it wanted to discuss personal manners, it would be the blackbird. If their conversation would be mostly business, then it would take the form of the dragon.

Today, it was a blackbird.

Anakin greeted it warmly, no words needed. Already, he could see the excitement in its eyes, and he decided to cut right to the chase.

“Parent,” he began, before trailing off, letting the Force fill the silence.

“I want grandbabies!” It stated. Anakin blinked, his jaw falling to the non-existent floor. 

The Force stared at him, expecting an answer.

“Well, uh, I mean- it’s something Padmé and I had discussed, but we’re not sure we’re ready…” Anakin stuttered. The Force snorted.

“Not her. She is a fine mate, but not right for breeding.”

“You want me to cheat on my wife?!” Anakin hissed. The Force shook its head.

“No. You will be the carrier. I have selected potential mates for you to choose from.”

Anakin stared in horror.

“You want me… to get pregnant?” He asked, incredulous.

“I will help,” it offered. “Any mate you choose, I will deliver.”

“Wh- No, you have to ask them first! I don’t want to just make someone knock me up!” Anakin cried. 

“Any of the potential mates I have selected would be honored to offer their DNA.”

“Wait, is that how I was born? Who did Mom choose?” Anakin asked, curious.

“Your mother chose a disgraced Mandalorian bounty Hunter by the name of Jango Fett. They had been bonded before and were quite affectionate towards each other. I disapproved, but it worked out.”

Anakin was going to have a brain aneurysm. His father was Jango Fett?!?!

“You’ll find that the matches I have chosen for you are all males that are strong in the Force. That is the only way for this to work,” the Force explained, a list floating in front of it.

Anakin groaned.

“Master Yoda better not be on that list. Or Dooku. Or Obi-Wan,” he growled. The first would be weird, the second would be creepy, and the third would just be awkward.

The Force quickly scratched a few names off of the list. 

Anakin sighed and rolled his eyes.

“Alright, well… who would be the best match genetics wise? Like, who would produce the strongest children?” 

“That would be Mace Windu.”

Anakin was going to have a heart attack by the end of this, he swore. 

“No!” 

“Wait. Let me show you?” The Force offered. Thinking that it meant the possible offspring, Anakin hesitantly agreed.

[smut]

“WHAT THE FUCK?! I DID NOT WANT TO SEE THAT!” Anakin yelled, snapping out of it.

“Hmph.”

Anakin sighed.

“Can I just see the list so I can make a decision based off of how I feel about them, rather than about how good the sex is?”

The Force made a grumpy noise but obliged, and a list of names appeared in Anakin’s mind. 

Immediately, he dismissed a few of them for one reason or another. Then, he went over each name again, more thoroughly weeding out the options

“I just found out that Rex is technically my father and that the Force wants me to get pregnant, how am I supposed to feel?”

Obi-Wan paused, 

“Well, there’s a lot to unpack there,” he said.

Chapter Text

Walk Away

“Anakin!” Obi-Wan called. Anakin tried to ignore him.

“Anakin! Padawan, listen to me!” Obi-Wan hissed, striding up to Anakin and roughly grabbing his wrist. Anakin flinched, but Obi-Wan’s fingers only tightened their grip until he was sure there would be finger-shaped bruises left behind. 

“For once in your miserable fucking life, can you listen to me?!” Obi-Wan snarled. Anakin knew this song and dance. It happened every time Obi-Wan or the Council didn’t get what they wanted. First, Obi-Wan was angry, his verbal and physical abuse meant to bully Anakin into submission. 

Anakin roughly pulled away, escaping Obi-Wan’s grip. He continued walking away, his heart thundering in his chest. He was aware of how dangerous Obi-Wan and the Council could be, and he no longer knew what limits they may or may not have. 

“You worthless desert slave rat!” Obi-Wan hissed in his ear, angrily keeping stride. He shoved Anakin roughly, causing the younger man to stumble. Purposely, the older Jedi kept shoving Anakin until they were away from all prying eyes. 

“What in the Sith Hells is wrong with you?! After everything we’ve done for you, you pull this shit?! I should have sold you back to the slavers as soon as I got stuck with you! And to think Qui-Gon died because of you!” 

The verbal punch to the gut was accompanied by a physical one as well. Tears stung at Anakin’s eyes as he sank to his knees, pain flooding through him. 

Obi-Wan only used that final line when he was really upset, and it hurt the same each time. He didn’t know if he was actually to blame for Qui-Gon’s death or not, but Obi-Wan blamed him for it, and that was enough for tears to form.

“You’re weak and pathetic and worthless! Crying after one hit? It’s a wonder he saw anything in you at all! It’s a wonder your mother didn’t snap your neck as an infant, you unwanted, burdounous little shit!” Obi-Wan continued his verbal assault, landing more and more blows to the already-downed Anakin. He felt his ribs creak and groan as they were kicked repeatedly. He felt his gut churn as he was punched once more. He felt his head ache and throb as he was slapped, punched, and had his skull slammed into the wall.

Obi-Wan was angrier than Anakin had ever seen. All he had done was imply that he wouldn’t be able to stay by Obi-Wan’s side forever, that soon he’d be out of Obi-Wan’s control. He should have known better. People like Kenobi and the Council never let their targets, their victims out of their control.

Obi-Wan continued his barrage until Anakin lay crumpled in the hallway, blood weeping from his nose and mouth. Bruises littered his body, already beginning to form. He was certain he had at least one broken bone somewhere. 

The Devil Dealt These Cards

Anakin had done it. 

Obi-Wan turned to his once-apprentice in relief. 

The deal The Father had given them was simple: Anakin killed both the Son and the Daughter, and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka would be spared. And now, both the Son and the Daughter lay dead on either side of Anakin. Anakin, who faced the Father with a determined, dare he say rebellious look. 

Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were huddled together a fair distance away, far enough away to be out of the way, but close enough to hear the quiet words spoken by the Father and Anakin. 

“I’ve done what you wanted. Now let them go,” Anakin said, his words, though quiet, echoing like thunder through the still, silent air. 

The Father sighed a heavy, tired sigh and reached out to Anakin. Anakin looked at him in weary confusion, shuffling back a little, but was too slow to avoid the slight touch to his shoulder.

Obi-Wan stood from where he had been huddled protectively around Ahsoka, sensing that something big was about to happen. 

Anakin inhaled sharply, every muscle in his body going stiff as his eyes widened with a mixture of disbelief, betrayal, fury, and something else Obi-Wan couldn’t quite place. Then, like wet cardboard Anakin crumpled to the ground, falling limp and lifeless on the cold hard stone. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out. 

Everything around him felt as if it were flying past, converging on the spot where Anakin lay. The Force withdrew, leaving him feeling empty and alone. Even the air seemed to retreat, being sucked in by the miniature black hole that seemed to be around Anakin. Warmth and light, existence and life, it was all gone, drawn into Anakin’s now-dead body. The very fabric of reality bent, the river of time itself was altered. Everything that ever was and ever will be collapsed in on itself on that very point in space. 

And then everything exploded.

It all rushed past him, everything at once, like the explosion that followed an implosion. He was knocked off his feet and sent flying, as was Ahsoka and everything around them. The temple crumbled to dust, the trees were torn from their roots, the stones in the ground were flung great distances. And just when Obi-Wan was certain he was about to die, too, everything went dark.

The beeping of a ship’s alarms awoke him. Everything hurt. 

He peeled open his too-heavy eyes and was greeted by the flashing of the consoles in front of him. His memories returned to him slowly, like the blood that sluggishly bled from his temple. 

Anakin. 

All at once, the world came into sharp focus. He frantically glanced around, ignoring the protests of his bruised muscles and the throbbing pain in his skull. Finding nothing he stood on shaky, wobbly legs and frantically searched the ship top to bottom, his vision blurring both with exertion and with tears. Finally, as his legs collapsed under his own weight, he was forced to admit defeat.

He let out a choked sob. 

Anakin was gone. 

Chapter Text

“Lord Kenobi, you’re receiving a message,” the droid said in its nasally, tinny voice that made Ahsoka want to tear its head off.

“From where?” Kenobi asked, his cold eyes remaining focused on the hypnotic light of hyperspace. 

“Uhhh… It seems to be coming from inside the ship, sir,” the droid replied. Kenobi peered at the droid in interest, accepting the data pad from it. Ahsoka crept closer, peeking to see what the message said.

Before she could make out the words, Kenobi glanced at… what was his name again? The Maker? It was a pretentious name, if you asked her, but whatever. Kenobi glanced at The Maker, a look of incredulity on his face.

“I am less than ten feet away,” the Sith said, bewildered and slightly annoyed. Maker glanced at Kenobi out of the corner of his eye for a split second, then immediately looked back at the console he had been hunched over the entire time he had been on board. He must have been typing another message, because the data pad dinged again with a new message notification. This time, Ahsoka could make out the words:

>I know.< Was all the message said. Kenobi inhaled sharply, annoyance radiating off of him. 

“Can’t you just talk like a normal person?” He snapped. 

More typing. Another message.

>Is that an order?<

Ahsoka snickered, grinning at the ridiculousness of it all.

“Are you really going to communicate this way the entire time you’re with us?” Kenobi hissed.

>Yes.<

“Why?” 

>Why not?<

“Because it would be easier to just talk to me like a normal person!”

>Not really too keen on that idea, chief.<

“Why not!?”

>I only talk to cool people.<

At that, Ahsoka openly laughed, to which Kenobi shot her a dirty look. 

“We’ll be landing in five hours,” Kenobi grit out, exiting the room with a dramatic swish of his cape. 

Ahsoka, still snickering, looked over to where Maker was interacting with an astromech that was painted blue and gold. 

Maker was muttering incoherently about something or another as she approached, but stopped as soon as he realized she was headed towards him.

“So, Mr. Maker, what’s the deal with you? It takes guts to speak to Kenobi like that, you know?”

Maker sized her up, scrutinizing her. Then, he relaxed slightly, his tensed stance becoming more approachable.

“Are you even old enough to have that?” Rex asked, his face scrunching up as the burning taste of alcohol slid down his throat. 

“Are you?” Skywalker shot back, downing another shot of something that smelled very strongly.

“Touche. Though physiologically, I’m 27, so technically I am. Can’t say the same about you, though.”

Skywalker shrugged, not seeming a little bit tipsy even though Rex was pretty sure he was on his fourth or fifth shot of some pretty serious stuff, judging by the smell.

“I’m a war amputee. I don’t really give a crap if the Republic thinks I’m too young to drink. I lost my arm defending it, it sure as hell isn’t going to dictate my habits.” Skywalker took a long swig of whatever it was he was drinking, barely even grimacing as he downed it like a beast. 

“I’d offer you some of this, but I’m 99% sure it’s lethal to humans.” Skywalker stood as he spoke, offering no further explanation as he walked away.

Sure enough, when Rex inspected the small glass left behind, the smell was enough to have him coughing and hacking, barely able to breathe.

“What is in that thing?” Rex wheezed once he caught his breath.

“Liquid tear gas and ammonia, mostly,” Skywalker replied as he returned with more of the drink, patting Rex on the back sympathetically.

“Why?! Never mind that, how?!”

“I’m just built different,” Skywalker said, taking a massive swig of the cursed fluid. 

Rex could barely tell if the not-quite-a-man was joking or not.

Chapter Text

The Resolute had always been oddly free of pests. Even on the best kept of warships, there were always unwanted insects scuttling around or loth-rats nesting in the vents. 

Not on the ships belonging to General Skywalker. 

At first, Rex hadn’t even noticed it. It wasn’t until he made a comment about the pests on one of the 212th’s ships that Cody informed him of the oddity of it all. 

It was weird, he was told, for there to be no insect invaders or arachnid arrivals or rodent rascals subsiding as stowaways on their ship, but Rex just brushed it off. Maybe Skywalker programmed some of the droids to be extra vigilant about that kind of thing, that seemed like something he would do. Or maybe there was a tooka or some other small carnivore hidden from sight, keeping the numbers in check. Maybe the frequent danger they (and by extension, the ships) were in meant that any pests that did make it onboard either died or left. 

(In his mind, he imagined a Loth-Rat dazedly stumbling away from the ship after almost being blown up, its legs trembling and those little cartoon stars that always floated above a stunned character’s head circling.)

It wasn’t until later that he learned the truth. ‘Later’ being about five minutes after the conversation with Cody when the two of them rounded the corner, only to catch General Skywalker mid-bite… Holding a live, squirming, squealing rat. 

Skywalker stared at them in stunned, awkward silence, slowly closing his jaw (which Rex was pretty sure the Jedi had somehow unhinged???) and licking his lips sheepishly. Rex and Cody gaped at him in shock, not really knowing how to react.

“Oh, uh… Hey, guys!” Skywalker tried, attempting to hide the rat behind his back even as it squeaked in rodent outrage. He gave a nervous smile, taking a few steps back. “Uh, didn’t, uhm, didn’t hear you guys approach.”

“What the fuuuuck,” Rex breathed, quiet and slightly horrified.

“Well, that explains the lack of a rat problem,” Cody said, deadpan, raising an eyebrow as Skywalker winced, the rat dropping to the floor and scuttling away. Skywalker watched it go with a longing, remorseful look on his face, holding his nibbled-on finger gingerly.

“The nibbler has become the nibbled,” Skywalker muttered to himself as he glanced at the small welling of blood. 

“General, what the fuck?!” Rex repeated, louder and more pronounced this time.

Skywalker glanced up at him, his embarrassment returning as he shuffled his feet, bowing his head slightly like a scolded youngling. 

“Medic, now ,” Rex growled upon receiving no answer. 

Skywalker glanced up at him with wide eyes.

“What? Why?!” Skywalker exclaimed, as if he hadn’t just been caught trying to eat a live rat.

“You. Have. Been. Eating. Live. Rats,” Rex spelled it out, but his Jedi had always been a bit clueless when it came to normal human things. Except now, Rex had a reason to believe it was because he was, in fact, not completely human.

“So?” Skywalker asked, scrunching up his face. 

Rex was going to scream.

“Typically, humans don’t go around hunting rats, dislocating their jaws, and swallowing said rats alive, so forgive us for being concerned and a little weirded out. Sir.”

Rex glanced at Cody in gratitude, though he did feel a built guilty at the way Skywalker slumped a little at his words.

“Oh. I didn’t realize-“ Skywalker seemed morose as he spoke. “I always did it in private, you know? I didn’t want to scare anyone, humans being prey species and all that. But I didn’t think that it was weird. I just did it to be polite…” 

A twinge of sympathy sprouted in his chest, though it was quickly washed away by dread once more as the full implications of the Jedi’s words sunk in.

“Wait, what do you mean, ‘humans being prey species’? What…?”

Skywalker blinked at them, looking slightly amused.

“Oh. You didn’t really think humans were apex predators, did you?” Skywalker smiled, exposing rows and rows of serrated teeth in a predatory grin that sent instinctual shivers of terror shooting down his spine. He was staring down a predator, a hunter of the highest order. His hand shot to his blaster, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Cody do the same.

In an instant, the dangerous predator vanished, being replaced by Skywalker. Hurt and confusion shimmered in the Jedi’s eyes as he gingerly raised his hands in surrender

Snapping out of the panic-fueled daze he had entered, Rex quickly holstered his blaster once more, shame and regret replacing fear.

“General! I- I’m sorry, really, really sorry. I don’t know what came over me, Sir,” Rex rambled.

“It’s okay, Rex. I understand,” Skywalker said, though the hurt and sadness didn’t leave the Jedi’s gaze.

“I apologize for my behavior, too, General Skywalker. However, I must suggest that you don’t do that again, whatever that was,” Cody added, to which Rex nodded.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you guys. But that’s what I meant by not wanting to scare people. It hurts to see that your friends and allies are scared of you, you know? Especially when it’s you, Rex,” Skywalker explained. Rex winced, guiltily glancing away. He truly hadn’t meant to react like that, but his instincts had taken over… 

Danger, he was familiar with, but never before had he experienced actual predation. He found the experience quite unenjoyable and definitely would not recommend it.

Speaking of predation…

“Wait, hold on, can we go back to the whole ‘you have been eating rats’ thing? Because I feel like that’s pretty damn important,” Rex said, to which Skywalker’s expression soured.

“What can I do to make sure you don’t mention this to anyone?” Skywalker asked, huffing slightly.

“Well, first of all, we’re not trying to blackmail you. Second of all, if you don’t want us to tell anyone you’re going to have to go to Kix, tell him the truth, and get checked over. Also, please never refer to humans as a ‘prey species’ ever again because that fills me with existential dread,” Rex listed, crossing his arms in a firm (but still open) pose.

Skywalker did not look happy about the terms and conditions he was given, but he still sighed and nodded his head.

“Fine, fine. Let’s go see Kix, then. Primary complaint is that I was eating, I guess,” Skywalker huffed, a sour look on his face as Rex discretely rolled his eyes.

“Primary complaint was that you were eating rats,” Rex corrected. “Live rats, to be exact. And that you were bitten by one.”

“In my defense, I would not have been bitten by my lunch if you hadn’t interrupted me,” Skywalker retorted, no actual heat behind his words. 

“And in our defense, we would not have interrupted you if you had been eating something normal, Sir,” Cody replied.

“Fair enough. Also, you don’t need to call me ‘Sir’, Cody. Not if you don’t want to.”

Cody appeared hesitant, though he still nodded.

“If you’re sure… Sir.”

Rex chortled, amusement bubbling in his chest as Skywalker let out an exaggerated, exasperated sigh.

“You and Obi-Wan, I swear to the Force…” Skywalker mumbled, following the clones as they led the way to the non-emergency MedBay.

“So, General… how long have you been… you know…” Cody implored, interest and morbid curiosity gleaming in his eyes.

“How long have you been eating live rats?” Rex asked, earning a few odd stares from passing clones. Skywalker winced, awkwardly smiling at the confused bypassers.

“Keep it down, would you?” He hissed. “Not everyone needs to know. I have enough trouble getting people to trust me already.”

Rex frowned. If that were true, he hadn’t noticed. He had trusted his Jedi almost instantly, and Skywalker was one of his closest friends. Why wouldn’t anyone trust him? Well, the whole ‘he eats live rats thing’ was pretty weird, but everyone had their flaws. Hardcase snored like a rancor, Fives left his things all over the floor, Jesse was a bit of a prick when he was hungry, and Skywalker ate live rats. Nobody was perfect.

Skywalker stopped at the door, letting out another exaggerated sigh.

“Come on, guys. I’m fine. I’ve been eating them my entire life, and the ones here are actually really clean,” Skywalker tried. 

“Sir, I mean this in the most polite way possible, but what the fuck? ” 

“I’m fine ,” the Jedi whined.

“I’ll be the judge of that, General,” Kix stated, appearing from a small storage closet. 

“Wow, Kix. Congrats on coming out of the closet!” Skywalker joked, ignoring Kix’s huff and rolled eyes.

“Shut up, General. Now, care to tell me why Rex and Cody dragged you here?” The medic said, glancing imploringly at the two clones with a cocked eyebrow.

“Oh, you know them. They’re overprotective,” Skywalker answered.

“Well?” Kix continued, ignoring him. 

“He’s been eating live rats,” Cody told him, sounding remarkably nonchalant making such a ridiculous statement.

“He’s been-“ Kix began to repeat, then cut himself off with a weary sigh. 

“Of course he has. What else has he been eating?” 

“Oh, lots of stuff. These ships are positively teeming with food!” Skywalker purred, grinning at the thought of what he probably thought of as juicy food items and not pests.

“Oh god, what else?” Rex asked, stomach churning at the thought of all the unsavory creatures his General had likely tried to eat.

“Anything and everything, Rex. The rats are very filling, while the bugs are very rich in protein. The spiders have a very nice tang to them, you know?” Skywalker paused. “On second thought, that may actually be the venom…”

Kix groaned, rubbing his hand across his face.

“Really, General? Why? ”

“Uh, because I need to eat?” 

“Okay, but why rats and bugs and spiders? Why not the perfectly fine rations we have onboard?” 

“I know the garrison food is bad, but are rats really the better alternative?” Rex jokingly asked, earning him a glare from Kix. 

“Well, first of all, human food doesn’t do much for me. Everything is either dead or has a really low amount of the living force in it, so it just leaves me hungrier than when I started,” Skywalker explained, not really explaining anything at all.

“First of all, don’t call it human food, that’s weird,” Rex began.

“Well, technically , that’s what it is,” Cody interjected, to which Rex elbowed him.

“Second of all, what’s all this about your food needing to have the ‘living force’ in it?”

Skywalker paused, worrying his lip for a moment as he tilted his head in thought.

“Hmm. Well, it’s kind of hard to explain…” Skywalker began. “So, you know about the unified Force, right? It binds and connects everything and everyone together. But there’s also the Living Force, which resides within every living being in the universe. It’s… it’s the essence of life, I guess you could say.”

“And you need to consume this ‘Living Force’ to survive?” Kix asked, sounding slightly skeptical. Anakin, appearing slightly irate at the medic’s apparent disbelief, nodded.

“Yeah. If I don’t get enough of it for a long enough period of time, it’s very likely that I’ll just fade back into the Force. Which is not ideal.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Cody interjected. “Sir, you’re telling us that if you don’t eat enough living things you’ll just, what, dissipate?”

“Well, kinda, I guess,” Skywalker replied, shrugging as if fading into magical Force dust was normal.

“Fucking hell! Why didn’t I know of this? This seems like a very important thing for me to know!” Kix hissed, seething in protective anger.

“I mean, it’s not like there’s much risk. There’s so much food everywhere. Like rats! And people! And bugs! Oh, and spiders!” Skywalker exclaimed.

“Just because there’s no risk now doesn’t mean there won’t be! What if you’re captured and have no access to living things?” 

“Wait, did he say people?” Rex asked, but was drowned out by Kix’s scolding.

“Or what if you’re stranded on a planet with no life? What if you’re injured and unable to hunt?”

“Guys, hold on, what was that bit about eating people?”

“There’s always things to eat! Besides, it takes quite a while for me to starve, and I trust all of you enough to find me before that even becomes an issue!”

“I feel like we really need to talk about this!” Rex tried to interject.

“As a medic it is my responsibility to know of and think of every hazard to my General’s safety and well-being, including dietary needs! What if you were comatose and I didn’t know about your needs? You could starve to death!”

“Eating people is frowned upon, I’m pretty sure,” Rex kept trying, but kept being ignored.

“I’m fine, Kix! You don’t have to worry about me so much!”

“I feel like I’m taking crazy pills here!”

“It is literally my job to worry about you!”

“Guys!” Rex finally snapped, loud enough to get the other’s attention. All eyes turned to him.

“General, who did you eat?!” 

Skywalker blinked at him, eyes widening.

“What?” Kix asked, glancing between him and the Jedi.

“Who did you eat? You listed people with your other food sources, so who did you eat?”

“Uhh… No comment?” Skywalker tried, shuffling nervously.

“Who did you eat?!” Rex yelled, dread (or maybe it was bile) coiling in his gut.

“A Separatist!”

“You ate a Separatist?” Kix asked, incredulous.

“He was experimenting on and torturing clones! He had it coming!” 

“General! You can’t just go around eating people, regardless of whether or not they deserved it!” Rex snapped.

“Why not?” Skywalker questioned, sounding genuinely confused. “It’s not like anybody’s going to stop me. If they try, I’ll just eat them, too.” 

“No, bad, stop that,” Kix interjected, pulling out a spray bottle full of water and using it on the General. Skywalker hissed, batting at the water vapor as it dampened the Jedi’s clothes. 

“How come all of this feels simultaneously like a bad fever dream and like a totally in-character development for General Skywaller?” Cody asked, looking at Rex for some reason.

Rex shrugged, watching as Kix drew some blood from the General, the medic scowling and muttering about stupid Jetti the entire time. Still, one burning question remained on his mind.

“Sir, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly… are you?” Rex questioned, wincing slightly as he realized how that sounded out loud.

“Hmm? Oh, I’m Ekkretha,” Skywalker answered.

“Ekkretha? I must admit I’ve never heard of them… Er, you? You know what I meant,” Cody remarked, frowning slightly as he tried to remember any information he had on the species.

“Well, yeah, that’s kind of the point. Technically I’m not even supposed to tell you guys about it, but I trust you. Besides, I don’t have much of a choice. It’s not like I can just keep pretending to be human after the whole ‘you almost shot me’ deal.”

Kix paused from where he had been preparing the blood sample for testing. Though Rex couldn’t see the medic’s face from his position, he could almost feel the clone’s eye twitching.

“It’s not what you think!” Rex was quick to say, but he knew he was screwed.

“You what?! ” Kix seethed, all of his irritation now focused on Rex and Cody.

“I’m pretty sure it’s one of his abilities! He can do this thing that really freaks you out!” Rex tried, though he knew he sounded ludicrous. Although, after the day they’ve had so far, his claims didn’t sound too outlandish.

“Oh my fucking…” Kix began, then trailed off, appearing about two seconds away from bashing his skull into the nearest wall.

“In their defense, it’s true. I was distracted by, well, everything and I slipped up. It’s not their fault they got spooked,” Skywalker was quick to defend.

“What is wrong with all of you?!” Kix groaned.

“A lot of things. But what exactly are we talking about?” Kenobi suddenly interjected, walking into the room with an airy smile.

“Ah, General. Perfect timing. Enlighten me on something, would you?” Kix began, turning to the red-haired Jedi.

“Of course,” Kenobi replied, though his eyes widened a little in surprise and, dare he say, apprehension.

“How come I was not informed about General Skywalker’s dietary needs?” Kix asked. Skywalker winced, glancing at Rex for help. 

What the hell does he want me to do? Rex thought to himself.

“Dietary needs? I’m afraid I do not know what you are talking about.” Kenobi blinked at Skywalker, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. 

“It has come to my attention that he requires the live consumption of, err, ‘prey’, for lack of a better term,” Kix said.

Chapter Text

Gambling Problem

“You know, Qui-Gon had a gambling problem,” Anakin retorted, rolling his eyes. Obi-Wan glanced at him incredulously. 

“No, he didn’t,” Obi-Wan replied.

“Yes, he did.”

“And how would you possibly know that? I was his Padawan and you knew him for, like, three days.”

“If he didn’t have a gambling problem, I wouldn’t be here. It’s how he bought me.”

Unnamed

“Obi-Wan!” Ahsoka snapped, charging into the room. Obi-Wan glanced up from the report he had been writing and blinked at her in confusion.

“Ahsoka? What-“

“If I were to tell you that someone I know, at age eleven, was being left for hours on end with a much older man in a position of power with no supervision, given that that eleven-year-old has a history of trauma, low self-esteem, and in their current form they are very easily manipulated, what would you say?” Ahsoka demanded, bristling. Behind her, Rex and Cody had appeared, Cody looking peeved and Rex looking disturbed.

Obi-Wan frowned, processing her words.

“I'd probably say call the police,” he finally admitted. “Get the eleven-year-old away from that man and get that kid some therapy.”

“Great! Glad we’re in agreement there. Now, mind telling me why the hell you didn’t do that?”

Obi-Wan blinked at her. 

“Pardon?”

“Sir, we were looking through some records at the Temple dating back to when General Skywalker was a Padawan, and we saw that the Chancellor was given quite a bit of unrestricted, unsupervised time with him. From what else we gathered from the records, the General was also struggling quite a bit at the time with fitting in and adapting to life at the Temple. So, please enlighten us on the situation, because from where we’re standing it looks like the Jedi allowed a much older man a suspicious amount of access to one of their young. Sir.” Cody’s voice was cold and his tone harsh, barely contained anger brimming within the commander. It took a second for Obi-Wan to process the words, but as it sank in what the clone commander was implying, cold dread settled in his gut. Obi-Wan inwardly groaned, resisting the urge to slam his head against his desk. Instead, he sighed deeply, locking away the fear rising within him.

“Anakin was having behavioral difficulties that the Jedi couldn’t solve. We had tried everything we could think of, but nothing seemed to work-“

“What about therapy?” Rex snapped, then shuffled awkwardly when all eyes turned to him and Cody elbowed him in the side.

“Therapy?” Obi-Wan echoed.

“Yes, therapy. Sir, General Skywalker came from a rough background, yes? One which he most likely suffered from abuse or, at the very least, neglect, correct? And then he was moved from that environment, as abusive and horrible as it might have been, to an entirely new one with little to no warning, his entire lifestyle changing and everything he’d ever known in upheaval, all of which while separated from his family, friends, and everything he’d ever loved. The culture shock alone should have been enough to warrant therapy. The history of abuse and neglect should have been enough on their own to warrant therapy. Even having to adjust to a new lifestyle warranted therapy! And yet, Sir, you’re telling us that therapy wasn’t even considered ?” 

Obi-Wan stared at Rex for a long second, Ahsoka and Cody nodding along with his words. 

“Anakin was found by Master Jinn, right?” Ahsoka asked once it was clear Obi-Wan had no answer. He nodded, a twinge of grief appearing at the name of his dead Master.

“And, following what were, at best, some incredibly shady interactions, Master Jinn took Anakin away from his home and family, to Coruscant, a brand new planet utterly different than anything he’d ever known, where he was then confronted by a room full of strangers all prodding at his mind and deeming him unworthy? And that little nine-year-old was told by those grown-ass adults that he didn’t know AND who bore the same title as the people who abused him, that he was dangerous? That he was dark and impure? And you didn’t think he’d need therapy after that?” Ahsoka’s incredulous, accusing tone had Obi-Wan feeling like a scolded youngling. But, she had a point. There were definitely better ways to handle that…

“We should have handled that better, yes, but we had also never encountered a case such as Anakin’s before. We had no framework for how to do things,” Obi-Wan explained with a wince.

“Sir, common sense, sir,” Cody barked in that militaristic tone he only took when he was pissed beyond words at Obi-Wan. Translated, he was basically calling Obi-Wan and the rest of the Jedi dumbasses, which, to be fair, was an adequate assessment.

Half of Me

Considering how Anakin was half-Force, it really should be no surprise to anyone that his senses all relied heavily on it. Without the Force, he had difficulty filtering the noises that came to his ears, and was unable to process the various scents that reached his (normally inhuman) sense of smell. Without the Force, even the most flavorful of food tasted bland and even the softest or scratchiest of fabrics felt identical to everything else. 

His vision, however, was by far the most heavily affected. Without the Force to guide him, he could not see - at all. Which, considering how he was captured by enemies in a rapidly collapsing base, was not ideal in the slightest.

Self-Worth

How does one measure self worth? It was a simple question, but one which has different answers depending on the people asked. Some answers were based on religion, culture, or political beliefs. Some were based on ideals and philosophy, while others were based on nothing much at all.

For him, his answer was based on his past.

From the moment he could really know anything he knew that for people like him, self worth had to be earned. For him, self worth wasn’t something given to people by a god or deity, and it wasn’t something someone was inherently born with. It was something everyone like him had to work for, had to earn.  

He was born into chains, in a body that wasn’t his. He was born not owning himself, born belonging to someone else. He was born an object, a tool, an animal.

He did not own the clothes on his back, or the bed he slept on, or the house (that could barely be called such) that he lived in. He did not own his body, his mind, his soul. 

And then everything changed, and he was told that he had been freed, but becoming free is not as simple as uttering the words or washing the filth of slavery away with a hot shower, though he had tried. 

Freedom came slowly, as if it were water, freezing or boiling with no care for how fast others thought it should. 

The first freedom was his voice. It took a while, but soon he grew the courage to speak his mind. He learned how to say ‘no’ and that was one of the most important lessons he had ever learned. And one of the most difficult. He learned how to speak up for himself, and when to do so. He learned how to speak up, and then he was taught not to.

The Jedi told him that he wasn’t allowed to critique their way of doing things. He was told not to refuse the commands he was given. They told him to keep quiet and to just do as he was told. 

The second freedom was his body. He had the choice to go where he wanted, as long as the Jedi said it was okay.

Too Deep

From what little Rex understood about the Jedi, he could at least understand that Skywalker’s inability to meditate was a running joke for them. Rex had tried asking his Jedi about it, once, but Skywalker had simply shrugged it off with a scowl, saying that ‘‘they don’t believe me when I say it’s painful” which made absolutely no sense.

“Why don’t they believe you?” Rex had asked, incredulous. 

“Because it’s not like that for anyone else,” was all Skywalker said before changing the subject.

The explanation did nothing but further confuse and irritate Rex. 

Then, of course, he had tried asking Kenobi - who just laughed a little and smiled.

“Anakin’s always being overly dramatic. Meditation can’t hurt. It would be like one of your vod saying it hurts to put on a helmet or sleep or hold a blaster. It’s simple and easy, but for whatever reason Anakin refuses to - or can’t - do it.”

Rex had promptly excused himself, anger simmering within him. If one of his vod had claimed that putting on a helmet or holding a blaster hurt, he’d believe them and try to a) figure out what was wrong / what was happening and b) try to help them. He wouldn’t brush them off and claim that they weren’t trying hard enough - that was just ridiculous!

What would be even more ridiculous, however, was forcing that brother to then wield a blaster or put on their helmet repeatedly. Or, in Skywalker’s case, asking (read: demanding) that he meditate for them to try and do some weird Force-osik. It was also why Rex awoke in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, dread pooling in his gut. Somehow, someway, he knew that something was horribly, terribly wrong. 

He raced to the General’s room, fear clawing at his mind, at his skin. 

He held his breath as he unlocked the door using codes that, should Fives ever find out about, would make him the target of many jokes about his ‘friendship’ with the General.

The doors slid open, and immediately he knew that something had gone terribly wrong. All objects in the room not bolted to the ground hovered ominously mid-air, a strange electric energy in the air perfusing through the space. 

Rex’s eyes fell on his Jedi, stock still in the middle of the room. But it was wrong - it was all wrong . It was wrong in such an instinctual way that Rex could not even hope to put it to words. Rex took a lurching step forwards, reaching out a hand to touch his friend’s shoulder.

He realized what was off.

His General, his Jedi, his friend, his, well, ‘friend’ - he wasn’t breathing. He had no pulse. His body temperature was impossibly high, far higher than what would be able to sustain life. And yet he sat upright, perfectly still, his fingers twitching or his mouth twisting downwards every once in a while.

“General?” He asked. Skywalker didn’t so much as twitch. 

“Anakin?” He tried again, his voice a frightened squeak. Still nothing.

He didn’t know what to do - what could he do? He- He needed to call someone. Who? Kix! Kix would know what to do-

With frantic movements, he fumbled for his comm. 

“Rex?” Kix’s tired voice asked. “It’s the middle of the night-”

“Kix, get to the General’s room. Something’s wrong. Like, really, really wrong.” 

Immediately, the medic switched into the battle-hardened medic feared by shinies and the General alike. 

“On my way. What’s the situation?”

“It’s - it’s hard to explain-“

“Tell me the basics, then.”

“He’s sitting perfectly still, occasionally twitching, not responding to anything. His temperature is stupid high, there’s no pulse, and he’s not - he’s not breathing-“

There was a heavy moment of silence over the comm. Clinically, Anakin Skywalker was dead, and probably had been for quite some time. And yet, he was still sitting up, still twitching and frowning and sometimes even shaking his head.

“I- I’ll be there soon. Try CPR. I’ll see what I can do.”

With that, Kix ended the call, leaving Rex alone with his panic. With a shuddering breath, he turned, and gently maneuvered his General until he was laying on his back, at which point Rex began compressions. 

It was a horrible thing. Probably the most horrible thing he’d ever experienced in the entirety of his short life. Feeling flesh cave and bones break under his hands as he pressed down over and over again in an attempt to draw air back into his best friend’s lungs, desperately thumping the man’s chest to try and kickstart his heart - he hoped he would never have to repeat it. 

Tears pricked at his eyes as he gave mouth to mouth in a desperate attempt to bring back the man who had been so unbelievably kind to all of them, had led them through the harshest of battles and had held them through the deepest of sadnesses. 

Trapped In Kyber

He had memories of the Before, he knew, back when he was Human. It seemed so long ago, now, so foreign and strange - the meat that made up his physical form was weak and probably long gone. Now, he was trapped in an endless voice, a Conduit for the Emperor’s power. 

He had a name Before, a human name, a name he no longer knew. Now he was simply Kyber, a shard of the Force, the centerpiece of the headdress the Emperor wore, the glinting stone that the Sith used to draw power from. 

“So, this is the tiny little thing we risked our lives to get?” There was a note of disdain and disappointment in Sabine’s voice as she scrutinized the little crystal. 

“It’s the crystal he supposedly uses to control everything,” Hera growled back, crossing her arms. 

“It feels… weird. Like, in the Force. Kanan?” Ezra glanced at the older Jedi questioningly. 

“I agree. It’s like… it’s like kyber made sentient. 

The Literal And Metaphorical Mirror

The mirror was trying to win. He was content to let it. He loathed this, this one-sided staring contest that never failed to leave him feeling sick and wrong, as if the proportions of his body were suddenly all off and nobody but him had noticed. 

There was no point in rising to the challenge. The mirror always won. If he could duck his head, avoid its gaze, refuse the standoffish, glinting silver… if he could resist its piercing calls to meet his eyes, then he could leave feeling nothing but the usual disgust he always felt, the disquiet that thrummed in his veins, the silent horror that screamed at him that this body was all wrong in all the ways only he could see and feel. 

And yet, every now and again he’d cave, and he’d glance into it. He’d see himself, and he’d see that the proportions of his body were correct, that his skin fit around his frame, that the parts controlled by him were, in fact, a part of him. And yet, that was worse, because he would see his cursed reflection and feel nothing but 

Of course he was trying to win. Why did his reflection not put up a challenge? 

Chapter Text

“My blood is on your hands, Master .” The words were spat with venomous anger and bitter pain, but Anakin’s eyes were full of nothing but… Obi-Wan couldn’t describe the emotion he saw in Anakin’s eyes. Was it longing in his gaze, or was it grief? Was it betrayal he saw, or was it hurt? Was it anger, lurking there, or was it sadness?

Obi-Wan came to with a gasp, jerking awake from the dream-vision-thing he had seen. 

“Master? Are you alright?” Anakin asked, voice still as emotionless as it had been ever since… ever since the mission. 

“…I’m fine,” Obi-Wan muttered after a pause, sitting up from where he had been laying. The image of those eyes, full of turmoil and something he couldn’t quite place, flickered in his mind.

“Anakin?” He asked after a second’s thought.

“Hmm?” Anakin replied, his Force presence unnervingly and unnaturally static. Unreadable. Unnatural.

“I- I’m sorry. About the mission. For everything that’s happened.”

Anakin blinked at him, and for the briefest of seconds something flickered in his eyes, gone before Obi-Wan could even begin to guess what it was.

“Oh, that? It’s fine, you did what you had to do. I understand,” Anakin said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

For the first time since the Rako Hardeen incident, Obi-Wan really took him in. 

At times Rex couldn’t tell if his Jedi was suicidal, a dumbass, egotistical, or all of the above. All he did know was that his General did not like receiving help, though he wouldn’t hesitate if it helped others. His own personal health, though, did not seem to be included in that, and such Rex and the others would always be on guard to help if needed, not if wanted. 

All that being said, Anakin Skywalker looked like shit. He was ill, a fact obvious to anyone present on the bridge that day to see him.

“Holy fuck, SkyGuy.”

“Let’s begin, shall we?” 

Anakin was laying on something cold and hard, frigid metal digging into his spine. Cuffs around his neck, ankles, wrists, knees, and biceps kept him from squirming. The fluorescent lights hummed and glared, hurting his head. Through his blurred vision he saw someone lift something from a nearby tray.

Cold, scratchy cloth scraped roughly against the skin on his neck, and the distinct scent of rubbing alcohol assaulted him. A needle plunged into one of his veins, injecting a burning liquid. 

Anakin whimpered as the burning turned into an intense wave of agony that coursed through his body. Everything seemed to amplify. The sterile air against his bare skin was painful, the 

Obi-Wan’s face was no longer his own. It had been changed, morphed into the face of Rako Hardeen, for the sake of a mission that only a few knew of. Anakin was not one of the few. 

The young Jedi lunged and fought with grief-struck vigor, only recognizing the man in front of him as the man who murdered his friend.

From the very moment he had taken his first breath, and even long before that, the Force had always been there, choking him. Its miasmic tendrils snaked through his airway, as suffocating as thick, burning smoke. At times, it squeezed his lungs so tightly he thought for sure he would die, but he never did. 

Sometimes it got so bad he could barely walk or even lift his head without collapsing, wheezing and struggling to catch his breath.

Anakin knew from the moment he found out they weren’t going to remove the chip that this would happen. Sooner or later, this exact situation would occur.

That didn’t stop the jolt of panic and dread, nor did it stop the scorching agony that raced down his neck and throughout his body.

He cried out in pain as the chip was reactivated, falling to his knees.

Chapter Text

Unnamed

Rex knew from the moment he saw the Jedi they were meant to work alongside that things were going to be rough. The way Skywalker had tensed ever-so-slightly when he heard their name should have been warning enough, but the cold, detached glare the older Jedi gave the clones made Rex bristle. For a moment, fear had coiled in his gut, memories of Krell resurfacing. But then a sensation of warmth and safety had overtaken him, much like how a bird would protectively wrap its wings around its young, and Rex remembered that this time, Skywalker was there with them. Skywalker would protect them. Skywalker wouldn’t let anybody hurt them like Krell had hurt them, because Skywalker was one of them - he was their Alor, their vode .

“ My flock, ” Skywalker would call them, affection and pride gleaming in his eyes. “ My Clan. ”

The other Jedi, Kah’Aren, refused to call them by their names (like Krell, a voice in his head screamed before being pushed away by a surge of protective fury that Rex was sure wasn’t his) and instead called them by their numerical designations.

“CT-7567-“ Kah’Aren began, but was cut off by Skywalker’s snarl. 

“They have names,” Skywalker spat, bristling with barely-concealed rage.

“So? They’re clones. You only care because it’s personal, because you can relate. What was your number again?” Kah’Aren cruelly taunted, his lips curled into a sneer.

This time, he was sure that the pure, unadulterated anger that curled within him was his own. Nobody spoke to their Jedi that way.

He saw his brothers’ eyes narrow, their shoulders tense, saw the way they radiated fury like how metal radiated heat on hot days. All eyes were on the dead-man-walking that had insulted their brother, their leader, their friend, and the room was alight with palpable tension.

“Ooh, they didn’t like that one, it seems,” the callous creature said with a grin, glancing at the enraged clones with sadistic glee.

“Leave them out of this,” Skywalker hissed.

“Or what? What will you do, Skywalker?” Kah’Aren rumbled, tail flicking back and forth with malicious enjoyment. “You are powerless to do anything. You know why? Because I have this .” The Jedi pulled out a device from one of his pockets - it was small and unassuming, but from the way Skywalker flinched away with wide, terrified eyes, one would have thought it to be a weapon of mass destruction. 

Rex took a protective step forward, sensing the danger that curled around the callous Jedi. He needed to protect his General, his brother.

“Rex, don’t ,” Skywalker ordered-pleaded, his voice quiet and his eyes never leaving the device the other Jedi held.

“You’d better obey your sithspawn of a Jedi, clone . You don’t want to know what will happen if I use this.”

“All of you, stay away. Let me handle this. I’ll get us out of this, just don’t do anything unless I say otherwise,” Skywalker commanded, glancing away from Kah’Aren to look each of them in the eye. The clones glanced at each other anxiously, each feeling the same sense of danger-will protect-danger-stay away-danger in their guts, a sense they knew was coming from Skywalker.

“Your affection for them is laughable. Now, let me make a few things clear. First, I will be the only one making any communications inside or outside of the ship. All messages are monitored, and the punishments for disobedience will be severe. Knowing your tendencies, however, I know that will not discourage you.” Kah’Aren paused to leer at the gathered clones.

“So, know that all disobediences will result in punishment - but not for you.” 

The clones glanced at each other in confusion, muttering to each other. But Skywalker’s eyes widened in horror, understanding flashing in the young Jedi’s gaze, and suddenly Rex felt a sick sense of dread within him.

“All punishments will be inflicted on your precious Jedi while all of you watch. So, unless you want to see your pathetic excuse of a General suffer, I suggest you follow the rules.”

The room fell into stunned, horrified silence, before the room’s atmosphere exploded with rage and fear and hatred. 

“You can’t do this,” one brave soul snarled.

“Oh? Who’s going to stop me? You?”

A few other clones stepped forwards, emboldened by their anger.

“Tsk tsk. Well, I didn’t expect to have to do this so soon, but it seems it is necessary,” Kah’Aren said with a shake of his head. He turned so suddenly that Rex almost missed it, the rogue Jedi grabbing Skywalker before he could flinch away and pulling him towards him. Kah’Aren shoved him to the ground, aiming a sharp kick at the downed Jedi’s ribs. Skywalker yelped, almost instinctively moving to cover his head. Most of the clones surged forwards, but were roughly shoved backwards with a Force push.

“What do you stupid clone bastards not understand about this? The more you fight, the more he suffers,” Kah’Aren spat, aiming another kick at Skywalker’s face. The crunching of bone sounded, but Skywalker didn’t make a sound. Somehow, his silence weighed on them more than anything else.

Danger-stay away-danger-please stay away-danger wailed within their minds, adding to the horror of it all. What was going on? How was this happening? Why wasn’t Skywalker fighting back? 

Breakdown in the Evening

How was one supposed to react when their world came dashing down around them? What was the expected reaction from someone whose world inverted, turned inside-out while they watched, helpless to stop it? 

Who was he, now that he had nothing? Who were his friends, when all those he held near had betrayed him so deeply? Who were his enemies, when those he was meant to destroy were the only ones who seemed to care? Who were his family, now that he felt more alone with them then when he was by himself? Who were his allies, when he had been abandoned and left hurting, alone and in immeasurable pain? Who had he hoped to be, now that every naive, foolish dream and fantasy he had had been crushed and ground into dust? Who had he been, now that he saw that everything he ever believed, everything he ever worked for, everything he ever cared about, everything was a lie? That he was a tool to be used, a means to an end? That nobody cared for him the way he cared for them, that nobody had even spared him a thought other than how he could be useful to them? 

What would happen to him now, now that he had been torn to shreds and forced back together again, completely and utterly destroyed by the actions of those he loved? What was he meant to do, now that he knew he knew nothing?

12 years. For 12 years, he held himself together, held his imperfect, improvised family together through the worst of times, ignoring how it hurt him and focusing only on the happy ending he had blindly believed would be theirs. But it was never meant to be, was it? It was all destined to fail, destined to fall apart despite his desperate, frantic efforts to keep everyone and everything together. Their father was dead, gone before his sister could even meet him. His brother was a backstabbing, distant coward who cared more about the Council and the Order than them. His sister had left, leaving him more alone than he ever had been before. His younger brothers, the clones, were dying in greater and greater numbers and he was powerless to stop it. His grandfather was a [unfinished]

For 12 years, he lived a living nightmare, convincing himself that it was a dream-come-true. He kept going only because of his willful, blissful ignorance. If he hadn’t been blind to the true nature of it all, he would have shattered into pieces a long time ago. And the worst part was that he wanted so desperately to forget it all, to be able to return to that blissful ignorance.

Drunken Violence

“We should celebrate!” Someone suggested; predictable, considering the overwhelming victory they had just achieved.

“As long as there’s no alcohol,” Skywalker agreed, eliciting groans from the keen-on-heavy-partying brothers. 

“Aw, General, come on! You know us well enough to know nothing serious will happen!” Hardcase protested. Skywalker shook his head.

“That’s not why I’m saying no, Hardcase. Of course I trust you completely. It’s just that I don’t want Obi-Wan getting drunk around my Padawan, and if you guys drink, so will he.”

“Why? Are you worried it’ll set a bad example?” Rex questioned, frowning. 

“It’s not that. I just- I don’t want Obi-Wan drinking around Ahsoka,” Skywalker stated, his tone making it clear that his decision was final.

“You can’t just leave us with that, General,” Hardcase tried, ignoring Rex’s warning glance. Skywalker sighed, wincing slightly as he turned to the clone.

“I don’t want what I’m about to say to leave this room, alright? I’m serious,” Skywalker warned, crossing his arms as he glanced at all the gathered brothers. Each enthusiastically nodded their heads, eager to learn about whatever hush-hush secret their General was about to tell them.

“When Obi-Wan gets drunk, he can become rather… violent.”

Self-Discovery 

“We should probably tell someone about this,” Cody mused, watching as some Very Bad Decisions were being made.

“Agreed,” Ponds said, glancing at Wolffe.

“We should tell Rex,” the one-eyed clone suggested, skittering to the side as what looked suspiciously like a grenade flew past him.

“Where is Rex?” Ponds questioned.

Wolffe paused, then amended his statement.

“We should find Rex.”

“Well, where would he be?” All eyes went to Cody.

“Follow me,” he sighed, leading the other two away.

“Like I said, we should find Rex,” Wolffe snapped back, glaring at Cody. Ponds turned the corner, rolling his eyes at the other two’s antics. Suddenly, he found himself watching a… very intense make out session between Rex and Rex’s Jedi. And it seemed Rex was dominating, something Ponds found slightly surprising considering Skywalker’s reputation.

Ponds turned on his heel, scrambling back around the corner and almost slamming into the other two. 

“So let’s find Rex!” Wolffe repeated, irate.

“Uhm, let’s not find Rex, actually,” Ponds said, herding the other two away. 

“What? Why?” Both Wolffe and Cody asked in unison, followed by them both glaring at each other.

“Well, uhh, Rex is finding himself, it seems. We are on our own.”

Random Poetry I Found

You left a broken bird out by the stones

It’s twisted wings and subtleties jut out like shattered bone

You crushed its skull, left it alone, dying out on the shore

A cowbird chick, a coward’s trick, and everyone’s alone

Chapter Text

Three Weeks Later [After the events of Falling So Slow]

Rex could count on one hand how many times he’d been seriously angry in his life. The first was at Krell, the second at whoever had mistreated his Jedi. The third was when he had overheard the verbal bashing Kenobi gave Rex’s Jedi/friend. The fourth was when he saw Anakin, laying in a pool of his own blood, motionless on the stretcher with once-brilliant eyes stained with the ugly hues of death. 

Now, however, he felt a new type of anger, a kind of rage that was different than anything he’d ever felt before. He glowered at the news article in front of him, what could only be described as pure, living hatred flowing through him.

HIGH JEDI GENERAL OBI-WAN KENOBI ‘TEMPORARILY ACQUITTED’ OF MURDER, GOING TO FACE PUNISHMENT AFTER END OF WAR

Anyone with half a brain knew what that meant. It meant Kenobi would do something heroic, be forgiven, and receive no punishment whatsoever. He was, quite literally, going to get away with murder. But not just any murder - the murder of one of the most amazing people in the universe, the murder of the most kind-hearted, sweetest, affectionate person Rex had ever met. The light in Rex’s life that had him waking up with a smile on his face, the warmth that comforted him in his coldest, darkest moments. The person Rex loved but would never be able to tell that to, the person Rex would never be able to hold and spill all the complicated feelings he held for him to. The person Rex wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The person he would never get to see again.

“We need Kenobi to help win this war, now that Skywalker’s gone,” Jedi Master Mace Windu stated at the trial. “We cannot afford to add another thoughtless death to an already horrible tragedy.”

Rex wanted to tear the limbs off of every last Jedi, Kenobi especially. 

“ Now that Skywalker’s gone”! ? He wouldn’t be gone if Kenobi hadn’t murdered him! Rex’s thoughts hissed.

“The sooner we can put all of this behind us, the sooner we can heal,” says Jedi Master Depa Bilaba. “It’s important we move ahead so we can continue to fight for the safety of the Republic.”

It was easy for them to say. They didn’t know Anakin like he did. They would never miss the way he smiled softly at the clones, the way his eyes always widened slightly in wonder whenever he saw rain or lakes or oceans, things that were so natural to Rex he only started to appreciate them because of Anakin’s wonder. They would never miss the calming, comforting, grounding weight of Anakin’s presence, would never yearn for that soft, genuine laugh of his. They would never love him like Rex did, would never appreciate him like the 501st did.

Mysterious Capsule

“It would be easier if you weren’t such a prick all the time!” 

This was getting out of hand. Whatever was in that capsule must be having some sort of adverse effect on them, because [unfinished]

Cuddle Puddle

Anakin was used to waking up alone. He despised it, yes - he would rather wake up to the warmth of others and the reassurance of touch - but he was used to it. But when he awoke, he found himself in a giant nest of bodies, all their presences muted by sleep and warm with contentment. Blinking open his eyes, he saw that the small room he must have fallen asleep in was crammed full of bodies. A few fans were strategically placed around the room to stave off the generated body heat and to circulate fresh air into the center of the pile, lest those in the middle suffocate.

Bad Feeling

He had known something was going to go horribly, horribly wrong. That stubborn, ever-elusive cloud of distant doom had been hovering over him, but as usual, nobody ever listened to him. 

Chapter Text

“What are you doing here, stranger?” His voice was soft, quiet, but it echoed in the cosmic power that was the Desert Sense. The Etherplace was sacred, hidden, the Temple of the Gods and the Final Sanctuary for the Children of the Desert. It’s where spirits like him went when they sank beneath the sands of time.

“Are you Kitster?” The stranger asked, using the Basic pronunciation of his name. Storm felt a flicker of amusement as he tilted his head slightly.

“I am Stormcaller, yes,” he responded. The stranger blinked at him in confusion, before shaking their head softly.

“Yes, of course. May I speak to you, Stormcaller?”

“Are we not doing so already?” Storm asked with a small grin. 

“I suppose we are,” the stranger returned with a grin of his own.

“You may call me Storm. Now, what brings you to the Etherplace, stranger?”

“My name is Qui-Gon Jinn, and I am what the Jedi call a Force ghost.”

Storm perked up, his eyes hardening slightly as his grin fell.

“Qui-Gon Jinn, the Jedi that came and bought my brother all those years ago?” He gave a slight growl.

“I bartered for his freedom,” the Jedi protested. “But, please, I have come to ask for your help.”

“You steal away my little brother, shatter our family, and now you come to our final resting place to beg for help? You have quite the audacity, Jedi ,” Storm hissed.

“Please, I beg of you, we need your help!” The Jedi pleaded.

“You’re a coward and a fool,” Storm snarled.

“The Galaxy needs your help,” the Jedi tried.

“The Galaxy abandoned my family into slavery and left us all to die,” Storm spat back.

“ Anakin needs your help!”

Storm paused. The Jedi sounded desperate, and he could sense the truth in his words.

“You bought him from Watto. You took him away. You never let him return until it was too late. All of this in the name of protecting him. And now, you return, nothing but a stray spirit, and you tell me my brother needs my help? Help that the Jedi or the Republic cannot provide?” Storm’s voice was low, dangerous.

Qui-Gon shook his head despairingly.

“The Jedi are dead. The Republic is gone. Anakin is- Anakin is lost to us, to the Dark. You’re our only hope.”

Storm took a step forward, his eyes narrowing.

“What do you mean, ‘lost’? What happened to Rain? What happened to my brother?! ”

“The Sith Master manipulated him, groomed him from a young age. The Jedi did not realize until it was too late and now- now Anakin, your brother, is nothing more than a weapon for the Emperor.”

Storm felt an icy wave of fear and dread wash over him.

“ Depur, ” he whispered. The Jedi glanced at him in confusion. 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand. But the Emperor is the Sith Master. He rules over the Galaxy with a tyrannical fist and he is using your brother, manipulating him, hurting him. Please , it’s obvious you love your brother, and I would not beg if this were not a dire situation indeed.”

Storm’s mind was reeling. His brother - his sweet, compassionate, shy little brother, who clung to Storm’s side when either of them had nightmares and who Storm always shared his food with - was enslaved by the most powerful Depur in the Galaxy. In the Universe. 

“How could you let this happen?!” He exploded, fury and fear and guilt flooding him. 

“Nobody knew. Will you help us?” The Jedi pleaded.

“I will not help you ,” Storm spat. “But I will help Rain. I will do whatever it takes to save my little brother.”

The Jedi visibly sagged with relief. Storm leveled him with a hard stare.

“No matter the cost.”

Names

Every name had a meaning, he knew. On Tatooine, every slave name translated perfectly, or at least almost perfectly.

This wasn’t true for the clones. In fact, most of their names and no translation in Anakin’s native language, so he had to get creative when referring to them in his head. Calling someone just by their name and not their translation was an insult of the highest order, and he could not let himself disrespect his men like that, even if they had no idea about it.

That was how he found himself giving little names to the brothers whose names did not translate, and even the other people around him.

‘Snips’ became ‘Fangs’, ‘Obi-Wan’ became ‘Seafoam’ (for the way his force present felt - like a gentle froth on the surface of an endless ocean), Jesse became ‘Scorch’ (as his name closest resembled the word for Scorch in his native language), and Kix became ‘Bright’ (for the same reasons as Jesse). However, he found himself referring to Rex with a special name - Storm. 

That had been his brother’s name.

Chapter Text

Eating Me Alive

The Jedi always treated him differently when he needed to be treated the same, and always treated him the same when he needed to be treated differently. They treated him as a Living Prophecy, a disappointing savior that failed time and time again to live up to impossible standards made for a God but set for a small, scared, abused child. 

When he needed comfort on those nights where he woke up screaming, memories of blood and sand and shallow graves and screaming all haunting his every moment, scars of unresolved trauma eating away at him until he found himself hiding under the bed, shaking and trying to stop his crying because only defective slaves cry and he needed to be quiet because if he was quiet and small they wouldn’t notice him and if they didn’t notice him they wouldn’t hurt him - those were the nights he desperately needed to be held and comforted, to be met with a soothing embrace, only to instead be met by exasperated disappointment and upturned noses and a ‘you should be better than this, Anakin’ . 

On good days, when he started to come out of his shell, when he needed praise and encouragement because all his life the only one to speak kindly to him had been his mother, he instead was met with critique and lectures on all the ways he could do better, scoldings about how more was expected of him because he was the Chosen One and-

And it hurt. It hurt and it hurt and it hurt and it hurt and it hurt and it never stops hurting and-

Rat

“You’re such a rat, Padawan,” Obi-Wan had tutted at him after finding out he had hidden away extra food and water.

Obi-Wan thought he had said it as a joke, but Anakin had always been able to see through people. For all that Obi-Wan pretended to joke, deep down his words mirrored his sentiments. 

Anakin knew the truth, and the truth was that Obi-Wan quietly resented him. He knew that some part of Obi-Wan truly did think of him as a rat, a pest that Obi-Wan had been saddled with dealing with.

And so, ashamed, Anakin had avoided Obi-Wan and his simmering, oppressive, silent resentment for the rest of the day. He was a rat, as Obi-Wan said, so why would he dare occupy the same space Obi-Wan had?

Shadows Manifesting

“How did we miss this?” Obi-Wan muttered, gazing at the creature with tightly drawn features.

“You missed it because you weren’t looking,” the Shadow spat. Then, with a tilt of its head, its hackles calmed and it sat back on its haunches.

“At least,” it purred, “you weren’t looking in the right places.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, and so turned away, averting his gaze.

“Mace Windu, the Council,” the creature bared its teeth, its expression darkening as its ears pressed against its skull, “everyone.”

It lunged forwards, and Obi-Wan took an instinctive step back, despite the fact that the thing was restrained and could not get to him. 

“ You ,” it snarled, “said I was dangerous.”

“The boy is dangerous, Master. They all can see it, why can’t you?” A question asked so long ago swam in the recess of his mind.

Obi-Wan mentally shook himself, swallowing down his emotions.

“And we were right,” Obi-Wan murmured, his voice hoarse and choked and he almost wondered if it was the shadow’s doing. It wasn’t; it was those lingering, nagging words that choked him, that fed him guilt and vindication all the same.

“Almost,” the thing taunted. “Almost, almost. You were looking for signs that I was dangerous, that I was the monster you so feared. But I wasn’t - not then.”

“Elaborate,” Obi-Wan demanded, taking a step forward. The creature tilted its head, a sneer overtaking its features.

“Did you really think I simply Fell, just like that? That I was fine one day and a Sith the next?”

Obi-Wan held his quiet, the world beginning to tilt on its axis as a revelation lurked just beyond his field of view.

The creature barked out an angry laugh. 

“You really did, didn’t you?!”

Obi-Wan looked away once more. Truth be told, he hadn’t thought about it other than to wonder how he had missed it.

“All that time, all those wounds- My Fall was two decades in the making, Kenobi , and it wasn’t one night that pushed me over the edge.” The creature took a step forward, a dangerous edge to its movements as it snarled. Its dark eyes were alight with rage and a decades-old, festering hurt.

“My Fall was a birth into slavery, the torment of all that entailed, the sting of the whips on my back and the harsh reality that everyone was out to get me just because they could. My Fall was burying my family, my friends, people I swore to protect but failed to! My Fall was being thrust into a whole new world, being ostracized by those who were supposed to accept me and support me! My Fall was those lonely nights in our apartment, wondering why the others all hated me, wondering why everyone turned away from me with scorn in their eyes, wondering why my Master was passed out drunk on the sofa. My Fall was those meetings with the Chancellor, the way he made the world seem inside-out before he stitched it all back together again but skewed in his direction, how he made me feel that he was the only person who understood me, who accepted me for who I was. My Fall was losing my arm, my mother, my Padawan, everything to an Order who, even after everything, still denied me of their trust. My Fall was those sleepless nights on the battlefield and at home because the war followed me everywhere. It was the nightmares, the visions, the desperation, and before that it was the horrible, aching loneliness that cut through me like blades and feasted on my soul.

“It was wondering why I was never good enough, why I was stupid, why my Master resented me when all the other Padawans had Masters that wanted them, wondering why , why , why !”

Obi-Wan flinched. His secret resentment of his Padawan had been his utmost shame, at the time, but he had thought he had buried it deep enough.

“You never wanted me. You wished you had never met me, you cursed my existence and called me a burden. You tried to bury it, but I saw it. I saw it in your eyes, when you forced a smile whenever you saw me. I saw it in your face as you analyzed whatever action I took to pick it apart, to highlight every flaw and mistake regardless of the results or the perfection. I saw it in the way you interacted with the other Knight’s Padawans, how you would relax and smile at them freely, how you would train with them and secretly wish they were your Padawan instead of me. I heard it in the way you clipped your words, how you were aloof at the best of times, cold and distant at the worst. I felt it in every way, shape, and form, and I felt it for 13 years until you abandoned me when I needed you most, only for you to return and cast me into flames. And you know what’s stuck with me the most out of everything, Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan felt sick. With his eyes, he pleaded for not another word to be spoken, pleaded for the verbal tirade to end.

“At the end, after everything, after over a decade of vying for your affection and failing time and time again, after losing it all, after butchering me and leaving me to burn- only after everything did you claim you loved me.”

The beast shook its head, turning to face the wall opposite of Obi-Wan. It’s ears and tail drooped, all its viciousness sapped away and replaced by an age-old hurt and quiet sorrow that Obi-Wan found so achingly familiar.

“Loved. Past tense.” The creature - Anakin - looked over his shoulder and met Obi-Wan’s gaze. In his eyes, Obi-Wan saw what he had not seen before - he saw all the little hurts and worries, all the little fears and insecurities that piled up, festered and turned rancid, stinging like nettles on an open wound and cutting deeper and deeper until they were one in the same - he saw all the damage he had done.

“How could you call that love?”

Chapter Text

When Anakin was five, he realized his reflection was different from everyone else’s. Where others saw themselves as others perceived them (or at least somewhat similar to what others perceived them as), Anakin’s reflection didn’t seem to fit him… nor did it seem human. 

Where everyone else’s reflections were, for the most part, all gangly, two-legged, two-armed humans, Anakin’s reflection was that of a bird-dragon creature. He tried to ask his mother about it, but she simply told him their reflections were different because they were different people and that was why they didn’t look the same.

When Anakin was six, Watto hit him across the face, hard. He fell to the ground, face stinging and eyes welling with tears. Watto berated him and he wisely stayed down, waiting until Watto left to get up. When he did, he saw a raven-black feather lying where he had fallen. Instinctively, he knew it was his. It must have fallen when Watto hit him, he realized. 

Running his fingers across the edges, he let the familiarity soothe him. Curiously, excitement bubbled in his chest. His first feather! Something, perhaps the same something that told him the feather belonged to him, told him this was something big, an event that marked a milestone in his life. He did wish that it was under better circumstances, but it was what it was. 

Carefully, he hid the feather away.

When Anakin was seven, he went into the desert to gather the bittersweet fruit that only came into season every few years. As he did so, he noticed that all the creatures of the desert ran from him, even the ones that were notorious for never running from a human. Snakes quickly slithered away when they would usually coil up and hiss. Feral masiffs turned tail and fled, tails between their legs. Even the fearless Lesser Krayt dragon had hesitated and shuffled away when he accidentally wandered into its den. 

He caught sight of a sandstorm blowing in and quickly took shelter in the Krayt den. As the storm raged, he couldn’t help but feel trapped and panicked. Desperate and seeking comfort, he curled up next to the Krayt, which stiffened at first, before accepting that he was snuggled against its side. She curled around him, almost protectively, her large eyes slowly closing. Soon, they were both asleep.

When Anakin was eight, his pod racer was knocked off course and went tumbling across the sand, towards the canyon edge. It was a long fall, one he knew he would not survive. With a squeal of terror, the pod fell off the edge, and he plummeted towards the ground. Slamming his eyes shut, he stretched out his limbs… and suddenly he wasn’t falling. He opened his eyes, only to be instantly overwhelmed. He could see… everything. Trying again, he opened only one of his eyes, he saw that he was flying in place, large black wings keeping him from falling. Carefully, he lowered himself to the ground, near where the wreckage of his pod was. Large swirling gusts of air caused sand to become dislodged from the ground and rise slightly, creating small dust clouds as he descended. A few black feathers drifted to the ground, where they rested, like little shadows or pools of night.

Landing, he stretched out his peculiar front limbs, which ended in sharp talons. Black feathers covered his skin, and he was walking on four legs and no arms. He glanced at his wings, which were covered in eyes that glanced back at him. He saw himself looking at himself, looking at himself. Doing so made his head hurt, so he quickly looked away. 

The sound of someone approaching made his fox-like ears prick, and a brief moment of panic ensued as he wondered what people would think when they saw him like this. 

Suddenly, a wave of dizziness hit him and he fell over. When he got back up, he realized he was as he was before. Two legs, two arms, non-feathered skin, two eyes, no wings, and fingers instead of talons. He looked up and saw a small group of people, presumably there to retrieve his body. They blinked down at him and shouted to each other in shock, probably surprised to see him alive. Not just alive, he realized, but unharmed. Anakin realized how large his fall had been, and how he had very narrowly escaped death. The elation of flight wore off and was replaced by panicked shock.

What the kriff had just happened? He repeated over and over in his mind.

He went over the situation again and again in his head but could find no answer other than that he had become his reflection and saved himself. 

When the other people finally made it down to him, they found him shaken and panicked, but otherwise completely unharmed. For weeks after, the incident was regarded as a miracle.

When Anakin was nine and first introduced to the Temple, he quickly realized he had a phobia of mirrors. It wasn’t his reflection he was scared of, and he knew the others apparently didn’t care what he looked like (which was a relief because he had been worried that he would be judged for his odd appearance). But, whenever he got near one, his skin began to crawl and a sense of dread pooled in his gut. So, he avoided them, and never looked into them fully. 

When Anakin was 10, he was bored and decided to draw what he saw in his reflection. Using a shiny piece of scrap metal, he was able to do so without having to be near a dreaded mirror. It was messy, but the detail was clear enough. 

The creature he drew had four limbs, ending in a paw-like foot with three toes pointing forwards and another pointing back. The limbs connected to a black, feathered body with a row of blueish-greenish-black scaly spikes protruding from its back. The spikes continued to the tip of the tail. The tail, which gradually grew more narrow from base to tip where it ended with a tuft of soft, fuzzy, dark grayish feathers, was long and prehensile. Wings sprouted from the creature’s back, folding elegantly into its sides. Raven black feathers stretched on endlessly if he so wished, covered in a near infinite amount of eyes. The head was bird-like, except it had no beak, and instead had a snout that harbored an uncountable amount of teeth. The teeth continued into the creature’s throat and he could see no end to the razor-sharp rows. The eyes on the creature’s head were wide and colored a glowing white with no pupil or iris. Large, scruffy, long ears covered in black fuzz swiveled in the direction of any sound. 

Satisfied, he hung the drawing on his wall, titling it ‘my reflection’. 

Later that day, Obi-Wan found the picture. With a concerned look, he asked Anakin what the drawing was of. Anakin pointed to the top left corner where the title was and read it out. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan began, sounding worried. “Is this how you view yourself?” 

Anakin blinked at him, glanced at the drawing, glanced at the piece of scrap metal where he saw his reflection, and glanced back at Obi-Wan before nodding. 

Obi-Wan, seemingly distressed for a reason Anakin couldn’t figure out, sat him down on his bed.

“Anakin, do you not like yourself?” He asked. Confused, Anakin stared at him. 

“No, I like myself, I guess,” he finally answered. 

“Do you like the way you look?” Obi-Wan questioned, and Anakin glanced at the scrap again. He decided that yes, he did like how he looked. He looked cool, if not a little weird.

“Yeah, I like how I look. I wish I looked like you but I can’t, so…” he answered honestly. Obi-Wan seemed somewhat reassured at his answers, but still looked concerned.

“How about we visit Master Koon? You like him, right?” Obi-Wan said after a moment. Eagerly, Anakin nodded. Plo Koon was nice and always gave him chocolate. 

“Alright, let’s go, then.” 

As they headed out, Anakin noticed that Obi-Wan grabbed the picture off the wall and carefully tucked it into his pocket. 

When they got to Koon’s place, Anakin was greeted with the usual friendly excitement and chocolate Plo usually had for him. Obi-Wan and Plo disappeared to talk about ‘important adult things’. Anakin sat on the couch and happily chewed on his chocolate treat. 

After he finished, he noticed he had an irritating itch on his head. He scratched and felt something large and soft. With a hiss of pain, he plucked it from his head and realized it was another feather. Smiling, he admired it in the light. Like the other one, it was jet black, so dark in color it was like staring into the void. It was the darkest near the tip, getting slowly lighter in color until it reached the quill part of the feather, where Anakin could see hints of dark green, blue, and even a little purple melding into the ivory quill. 

It was bigger than the last one, and Anakin wondered if his feathers would get bigger as he got older. And then he wondered if they were like teeth, and got worried that he had just plucked an adult feather. But, remembering what Obi-Wan had once said about birds and how most molt every year, he relaxed. 

He also remembered Obi-Wan warning him that chocolate was poisonous to birds and he panicked again before realizing that he had eaten chocolate before and had never gotten sick. 

“Anakin? Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked, poking his head around the corner. Anakin smiled awkwardly, and nodded. Inwardly, he winced. He should have known that his rollercoaster of emotions wouldn’t go unnoticed.

Anakin awoke to an unbearable itching feeling under his skin. Groaning, he desperately scratched at his skin, feeling feathers fall away as he did so. Opening his eyes, he saw that his bed was covered in feathers. Panicked, he stopped itching, watching as more fell. The largest was no bigger than his palm, and the smallest the size of his fingertip, but most were about the size of his thumb. They were small and silky, softer than he thought anything had the right to be. He ran his fingers against the edges, trying to figure out why he was shedding so much. Then, he realized they were all baby feathers, and excitement bubbled in his chest as he realized he was having his first molt. He had studied bird molting just for this occasion, and he knew that he would be itchy for the first few days before his adult plumage grew in. 

With a newfound good mood, he got to work sweeping the feathers into an empty pillowcase he kept as a spare. There were enough feathers to fill it about halfway, but he was sure that by the end of the molt he could fill the entire case. 

Tying it closed, he carefully hid it under one of his actual pillows. 

Brushing his hair, he watched as more feathers fell to the ground. With a sigh, he cleaned those up, too. 

He passed by the shiny metal he kept as a substitute mirror, and saw that his reflection looked super scraggly. It was to be expected, he supposed. He just hoped nobody would comment on it. 

He went about his day, noticing that despite his overall good mood, he was easily irritable and unusually stressed. He was careful not to shed too many feathers while out of his room, not keen on being forced to clean it up. Despite this, a few determined stragglers drifted to the floor. Luckily, it seemed nobody really cared. Though, he did feel bad when one of his teachers glared at one of his avian peers. He offered to clean it up, to which both the teacher and his peer were grateful.

Anakin stood as still as he could, the cold metal of the knife against his neck a harsh reminder of the danger he was in. Obi-Wan slowly lowered his lightsaber, switching between glancing at Anakin and glaring at their opponent. Anakin felt Obi-Wan’s terror through their bond, yet on the outside he appeared calm. 

“Let’s just talk about this, like rational-“ Obi-Wan began, but was cut off.

“Surrender, Jedi!” Their opponent snarled. Carefully, Obi-Wan unignited his saber and placed it on the ground, then raised his hands in surrender. He kicked the lightsaber away from him with his foot, keeping eye contact.

“He’s just a child. Let him go,” Obi-Wan said, taking a careful step forward. The man holding Anakin hostage tightened his grip, pressing the blade harder against Anakin’s neck. Anakin hissed in pain as he felt blood trickle from the cut that formed. 

“You’re in no position to make demands, Jedi,” Anakin’s captor snapped. His breath was hot on the side of Anakin’s neck, his calloused hands rough. 

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan with wide, terrified, panicked eyes, begging his mentor to save him. He saw Obi-Wan’s jaw clench, his eyes hardening. 

An explosion rocked the building, making them stumble. Anakin felt his captor flinch, and with one, fluid motion, the man pressed the knife deep into Anakin’s flesh and slashed it across his throat. Blinding pain exploded through him as he thrashed and then fell against his captor, blood spilling from his slit neck like water from a high-pressure faucet. Small black feathers fell unnoticed to the now-bloodstreaked floor.

Obi-Wan screamed and reached out, the Force erupting from his hand - a desperate attempt to stop that which has already happened. 

Another explosion rocked the building, closer this time, sending Anakin, and presumably his captor, flying towards the large window that overlooked the city many stories below. As his back hit the glass, he sensed more than felt the sickening feeling of some part of one’s body dislocating out of place.

The glass shattered into a hundred thousand infinitesimal pieces. Once more, it seemed, he was confronted with a fatal fall. Like before, he found himself looking out at the vast horizon with infinite eyes, his feathers catching the wind. One wing dangled uselessly, while the other fruitlessly tried to slow his descent.

He gave a few weak, desperate flaps, (that were more like twitches or strong flinches) of his one functioning wing, very slightly slowing his descent, but could not find the strength to completely halt his fall. 

He twisted in midair before falling limp, his strength fading as blood continued to spill from the wound on his neck.

It’s almost beautiful, he thought as he fell. The glinting silver metal and the gray concrete reached up to meld with the azure sky, a stone forest of humanity’s making. He was falling headfirst now, facing away from the building. His wingtips pointed upwards but his head downwards, he could see the ground approaching, inexorably yet seemingly hesitant, as if in slow motion. Golden ichor bled from the ugly gash on his neck that split apart his raven feathers. Etiolation caused by the combination of rapid blood loss and shock made him unable to resist gravity’s temptation.

With a choked gasp for air and a horrid gurgle of gushing blood, he let his too-heavy eyes shut and allowed gravity to take control.

He braced himself for the impact, for the rising ground to suddenly break his fall and his bones. Not for the first time, he wondered what death was like and opened the new frontier with open arms. 

It never came.

He heard the crackle of electricity and the near-silent sound of whooshing feathers. Talons gently yet firmly gripped his back, causing his already-damaged wing to become even more so and sending shooting bursts of distant pain through him. Midair, whatever had grabbed him, presumably while upside-down, righted itself. Mid-flight, he was flipped so that he was right-side up. A blinding light flashed behind his eyes as a sense of calm engulfed him. With one last weak gasp for air, he lost consciousness.

Water. Dark and consuming, it embraced him and his weary body. As cold as ice and seemingly as sharp as it too, his jaws opened on instinct, allowing the frigid liquid to pour into his mouth. He choked, breathing it in, and strangely found it to be no different than breathing air. With the same ease he had on dry land, he inhaled and exhaled, the water warming and becoming brighter. He opened his eyes in time to see the final shadows dissipate, replaced with a soft, blue-green ethereal glow. 

Realizing he was upside down again, he righted himself. His talons swiped through the water easily. The water he was in was less dense than the water he was used to, he realized, and yet slightly more dense than air. 

The light water, as he decided to call it, soothed his pain until he barely noticed it.

Below him, soft-looking sand made up the ground. In a striped pattern, as if the ground itself were a tabby cat, black sand lay next to white sand. Each stripe was slightly curved, wide, and seemingly unbroken except for small, shiny pebbles and swaying sea grass. Plants rose up from the bottom to the top, which, when he looked, seemed very far away. The silver surface reminded him of the sky, with clouds made of algae clusters and the sun hidden from sight.

The forest of aquatic plants stretched up to the surface, very nearly breaking the silver mirror which rested atop all he saw. Horses with fins instead of manes and gills on the sides of their necks galloped easily through the water below him, running along the striped sand. 

Clawing his way to the surface, he noticed one of his wings still dangled uselessly at his side, though he no longer felt pain. He gently ran his talons over his neck and found a long, rough scar instead of an open wound. 

Shaking his head, he continued up until he was at the mirror’s surface. He tried to break through, but was stopped by some invisible force. He clawed and scratched at the silver surface, so tantalizingly close to freedom. Frustrated, he broke away, sinking down a few feet.

The sound of something swimming towards him caught his attention. One of the odd water-horses he had seen earlier was approaching, its wide, green eyes friendly. Greenish-gray fins lined its legs and replaced its mane, complimenting its short blackish-gray fur. It glanced at him, blew bubbles out of its nose, and glanced at the surface. With a few more kicks of its powerful legs, it touched its nose to the silver surface. The surface rippled, and with a grateful glance at the horse he swam up and was able to break through. He was greeted to the sight of a large cave lined with softly-glowing crystals which illuminated the area. One massive crystal stood in the center of the cave, glowing brightly. A giant, black, owl-like creature stood in front of it. It’s feathers were as dark as the shadows that clung to the crooks and crannies not illuminated by crystals, it’s face as white as porcelain stone. Large, black eyes seemingly full of stars stared at him curiously, a soft pink beak protruding from its face. It’s gray legs were tucked close to its body, as if it were sitting. An odd sense of safety emanated from it as it rose from the position as Anakin approached. 

It spread its wings slightly as he crawled onto dry land, its head tilted. It glanced at his injured wing, which still trailed on the rocky cave floor uselessly. 

“The healing of your wing has not taken place as expected. I will have to take you to Relaeh and Caravi,” the owl stated. 

Anakin collapsed to the rocky floor. His vision swam. It was as if the ground below him had suddenly become fluid, or as if he were on an elevator or a boat.

“Has sickness struck you, fledgling?” The owl asked him, now standing over him. Anakin groaned as a wave of intense nausea overtook him. He closed his eyes, limbs becoming numb and going limp. 

His ears ringing and his head spinning, he felt as the owl gingerly picked him up in its talons and took flight.

Weren’t we in a cave? He wondered.

What seemed like only seconds passed until they were landing. Soft, spongy, slightly-damp moss and grass cushioned him as the owl gently laid him down. The aroma of forest greenery and flowers reached him, the sun warming his face. 

Anakin groaned, his pain returning ten-fold, the gut-wrenching discomfort remaining.

He didn’t open his eyes even as he felt two new presences loom over him. 

“What happened? Who did this to him?” An unfamiliar voice asked. Anakin felt what he could only assume were talons gently grip his chin and gingerly lift his head. 

With quite a bit of effort, Anakin pried open his too-heavy eyes and saw a purplish-bluish-gray dragon with kind eyes staring down at him in concern. 

She was dead. His mind was reeling, denial creeping through his skull. Dreadful certainty drove it away, and yet he only felt worse. He stepped out of the tent. The Tuskens noticed him and started shouting in their foreign tongue. Anakin took a single step, his talons splayed in the sand. The Tuskens froze, backing away slowly. He could feel their anger melt away into fear. He hadn’t even realized he had changed.

Tail swishing dangerously, he narrowed all of his eyes. He opened his wings fully, and they extended into the night sky where they blotted out the stars. He roared with fury, the wind howling along with him. Sand swirled in the gusts, whipping against him, yet he felt nothing. 

He pinned his ears back against his skull and bared his teeth, showing off his venomous fangs. The land shook beneath his talons as the howling winds became a swirling storm, with him unaffected at the center of it all. The Tuskens screeched and turned to flee. With a snarl of fury he lunged, his jaws snapping shut on one unfortunate raider’s neck. He shook his head violently before dropping the now-dead Tusken, and lunged at another. Unable to escape due to the raging sandstorm surrounding their village, the Tuskens ran in circles, blinded by their panic. He rampaged, snapping at anything that came close to him. He kicked and slashed and bit, his primal instincts taking over. 

Soon, the village was destroyed, and the only movement was caused by the wind. He roared, pacing in a tight circle, the undying storm only growing stronger around him. He was too upset to change back. Anger, guilt, grief, hurt, regret, and so much more flooded him. An unquenchable sorrow engulfed him, and uncontrollable rage soon followed. He screeched his unbearable agony up into the stars that were hidden by the sandstorm. His only answer was the wind.

He collapsed to the ground and hid under his own wings. 

Chapter Text

Put That Thing Back Where It Came From, Or So Help Me-

“Qui-Gon… What is that?” Mace Windu sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“That’s what I’ve been asking,” Obi-Wan grumbled, leering at the canine-esk form in his Master’s arms.

“His name is Anakin, and we rescued him from Tatooine,” Qui-Gon explained. “Also, there is reason to believe he is the Chosen One.” 

A ripple of murmurs echoed throughout the room.

“Of all the batshit things…” Mace began, before glaring down at his friend and the odd creature in his arms. “Qui-Gon. That is a… Well, I don’t know what that thing is, but whatever it is, it isn't the Chosen One. I’m glad you rescued it, but for the love of all things holy, cut the shit.”

“No, wait, hear me out,” Qui-Gon said, placing the creature on the ground and motioning for it to do something. The creature glanced around and shuffled nervously. It’s markings flashed brighter and brighter with a bioluminescent light until it was surrounded by a blinding glow. The glow disappeared, and a small, ragged child stood where the creature had been.

“He’s what’s called a Shifter, and Shifters can mimic any sentient species. What you just saw was his base form. There are a few different kinds, and he’s a hybrid between two of them.”

The creature-turned-child glanced curiously at Yoda, before taking a few nervous steps forward and becoming encased in the glowing light once more. This time, it had become (what they could only assume was) one of whatever Yoda’s species was, but in child form.

Yoda blinked in surprise, then chuckled, and a few of the other Council members did the same.

Return

The hardest part about traveling back in time is that your loved ones don’t love you anymore - they don’t even know you. 

That may sound obvious to most, but what many don’t realize is that it’s easy to slip back into that easy rhythm of knowing. That familiarity doesn’t just vanish with the knowledge that they don’t recognize you - all it does is make it hurt ten times worse every time it hits that they don’t love you anymore - that to them, they never loved you at all.

Of course, Anakin only realized this after his death and subsequent resurrection. He hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t wanted it, but he was there anyway, and he wasn’t about to let everything go to shit… again.

It was just his luck that the past he returned to wasn’t his past. Things had… changed. 

Qui-Gon was alive. Padmé wasn’t. Ahsoka was Obi-Wan’s Padawan, and Anakin… well, he didn’t exist, apparently. Oh, and he had wings now. Twelve dozen pairs, to be exact. Mostly, he kept them hidden, preferring to appear (somewhat) human, though that was a difficult task considering how his eyes would glow in low lights and how his blood sparked fires when spilt. Which, in his eyes, was a very cruel practical joke from the Universe. 

Some things were the same. For example, the Clone Wars were raging, Sidious was the Chancellor, and he was inexplicably missing his right arm. Seriously, what was up with that? How come that arm was still gone but the others were flesh? The only answer he could come up with was that the Force was a bit of an ass.

The metal had been transformed into a beskar-kyber alloy by… magic? At least, that was his best guess, because he certainly didn’t recall having an arm made out of beskar and kyber in his previous life.

Flexing his hand, he admired the way the little shards of kyber sang to him in the Force. All the different colors were there, each with their own ‘personality’, for lack of a better word. The green crystals thrummed with life. The blue crystals echoed with tranquility. The purple crystals hummed with energy, while the yellow ones sang with passion. The red ones rumbled with power and the gray ones purred with a sense of balance. 

His favorite, however, was the crystal contained in his lightsaber. It was a beautiful prismatic, iridescent black, changing hue depending on what angle one looked at it. When ignited, its color mirrored his mood and its power depended on his alignment in the Force. It was weakest when he was submersed completely in either the Light or the Dark side. It was strongest when he was somewhere in between, but not exactly gray. The Force had more than two dimensions, after all. Black and White weren’t the only options for a being such as him.

He was distracted from his musings by an explosion. With a sigh, he leapt from the water tower he had been perched on, spreading his largest pair of wings to slow his fall. It had taken some getting used to, the whole ‘288 wings’ thing, but he had managed it after a few weeks of practice.

As soon as his feet hit the ground, he hid his wings once more and began to sprint towards the scene of the skirmish. 

Despite this past being… different… he still helped where he could. Many, if not most, of the missions were still the same as he remembered. This one, he remembered, was incredibly bloody despite its relatively small size - something he was determined to change. 

Cloaked in the Force, he appeared to be nothing more than a gust of quickly moving leaves as he sprinted towards the line of droids and tanks. He slammed into one of the tanks, not yet pulling out his saber. Instead, he pulled out some of the explosives he had previously stolen from the Separatists. He dodged and weaved through the front lines, placing explosives wherever he could, all while remaining invisible in both the Force and the physical realm. 

He glanced up after placing the final explosive. The two lines were approaching each other - things were about to get messy. With a flick of his wrist and a sideways scamper out of the way, the bombs blew up one-by-one in a seemingly random order. 

In the midst of the chaos, he beelined towards the Droid Commander, using the billowing smoke and clouds of dust to hide himself. His blade ignited as he lunged, casting an eerie, silver glow on the surrounding clouds of soot and dust. It pierced the lead droid’s head with a crackle of energy, then vanished back into the chaos as he leapt away as quickly as he came. The thrill of the fight thrummed through his veins, chasing away all fears and doubts. He was death and he was victory. Out here, he wasn’t Anakin Skywalker or Darth Vader. Out here, he wasn’t the ‘Chosen One’ or the ‘Shadow of Death’. Out here, he simply was.

The droids, suddenly finding themselves leaderless and tankless, began to retreat. The Republic forces surged forwards, sensing their foe’s weakness. 

The Ghost Of My Sins (is driving me insane)

[Anakin, once Vader, wakes up 23 years in the past during the Clone Wars. Left paralyzed and traumatized, he finds things are not as they appear. Some things have changed, and others have disappeared altogether. Tormented by a cryptic, mysterious voice in his head, he must navigate the altered past and attempt to restore balance to the Force the right way - but what even is the ‘right way’?]

There was a mask over his face.

He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked. After all, he had just spent the last 20 odd years with one on constantly. But he had been certain that he had died with his mask off… 

But why, then, was another in its place? Sure, it didn’t encompass his entire face like Vader’s mask did, but the question still stood. Had… Had Luke come back for him? Somehow, someway, despite all conceivable odds had Luke… saved him?

He yearned to open his eyes but found he couldn’t. He tried to move but again, no luck. He couldn’t even move his fingers. A jolt of panic shot through him - had his prosthetics been removed? But if that were the case, why couldn’t he move the little bit of flesh he had left? Had he been paralyzed entirely? If so, was it because of Sidious’ lightning? Was it a result of whatever had happened on the Death Star to result in his rescue? Or was it a purposeful act by the Rebellion in an attempt to make him less dangerous? If it were the latter, then the Rebellion really should have known better.

Reaching out with the Force, he searched for some sort of hint to clue him in on where he was and why he was there. 

“Some pieces are missing this time.”

If it were possible, he would have jolted. That voice had come from inside his head, and it certainly wasn’t his own.

“Others are scattered.”

Tentatively, he thought up a reply. 

“What do you mean?” He asked, mentally. The stranger’s voice was silent for a moment.

“Things have changed. Do you remember?”

“No.”

“You must remember. The Galaxy depends on it.”

“Remember what, exactly?”

“Things are different this time. You must remember what you saw.”

Anakin paused, realizing he wouldn’t get an answer to his question.

“Where am I?”

“You are 23 years in the past, right after you accepted Ahsoka Tano as your Padawan.”

He felt like he was falling. 

Tell Not Thorn Nor Lie

[Rex & Co. go back in time to when Anakin is a Padawan struggling to fit in, featuring Pedotine getting the shit kicked out of him, the Jedi Council getting flipped off, and Anakin being a little eldritch monstrosity]

“Hey, uh, are you… alright?”

Rex’s eyes shot open, war-honed instincts braying in his chest like hounds alerted to an unwelcome presence. 

As he lunged to a sitting position, his hand going to where his blaster should have been, he assessed the stranger who had been kneeling over him, the stranger who flung themselves away from him with a beastly hiss at his hostile movements. 

An Unwitting Family Vacation

“General Veers,” Leia Organa greeted him, her expression neutral. Her voice was firm, but not harsh, her tone clipped but nonetheless cordial.

“General Organa,” Veers returned with an equally guarded tone. 

Next to him, Zevulon shifted, fidgeting in his seat nervously. 

“I see you two are on better terms,” she said, nodding at Zev, who jumped slightly at being addressed. His eyes widened as she did so, before nodding politely as he calmed.

“We are,” the older Veers answered, and Zevulon nodded along to his father’s words. “We’ve had family counseling and have spent time mending our relationship.”

“So, then - what brings you here?” She asked, leaning forwards slightly as she crossed her arms. 

Veers cleared his throat, trying not to let his hesitation show. 

“I was hoping to be allowed to visit Piett,” he answered, swallowing his pride and indignation of having to ask to see his best friend.

Organa tilted her head, seeming to consider it. 

“Well,” she said after a long moment. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

The relief he felt was near palpable, and he opened his mouth to respond.

“Don’t thank me quite yet,” she cut him off, holding up a hand. She looked irritated, though not with him specifically - it seemed whatever situation Piett had landed himself in was one that was causing her some deal of stress.

Veers frowned.

“See, Piett chose to go into voluntary exile,” she explained. 

Veers’ frown deepened. Organa met his eyes, and Veers noted that her jaw was clenched slightly - she was tense and unhappy about it, then.

“He went into exile because his… significant other was essentially banished, though obviously the situation is much more complex than what I’ve just told you.”

Beside him, Zevulon seemed suddenly very interested in the back of his hands, and Veers felt a sinking feeling in his gut. So, Zev knew something, but deemed it important enough to keep it secret. Something about this mysterious significant other (who had been deemed a big enough threat to the New Republic to be banished ), he would guess. 

“They are currently living together on a small, remote moon, the location of which is highly confidential. They are the only occupants,” she continued. 

That sinking feeling in his gut worsened. Piett, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, had willingly gone into exile with someone who had been banished to their own top-secret moon, someone the New Republic feared and as such must be dangerous and powerful in some aspect…

He was going to strangle Piett for stressing him out like this, he decided. 

“You may still go, if you wish,” she said. “But you will have to take some others with you so we can frame it as a welfare-slash-parole check. Oh, and Luke will probably want to go with you.”

Veers frowned. 

“Luke? Luke Skywalker? But why would he-“

Veers suddenly recalled what Zevulon had revealed to him about his best friend (nevermind Veers’ opinion on his son being buddy-buddy with the Empire’s Number One Terrorist), more specifically about his parentage.

Feeling like ice water had been dumped on him, he froze, dread and horror sinking in his gut and rising in his throat respectively.

“No,” he said, hoping he was wrong. 

Organa gave him a look that was almost sympathetic.

“No, tell me he didn’t,” Veers pleaded, only to be met with a grimace and a nod.

“He did,” she confirmed.

Veers let out a low groan.

“Of all the men in the Galaxy, it just had to be Vader, didn’t it?” 

Organa shrugged.

“Luke seems pleased,” she told him. “He’s adjusting well - granted, he hasn’t actually realized that they’re involved - don’t ask me how that’s possible, either. I’m pretty sure he thinks they’re just really, really good friends. We’re waiting for him to figure it out on his own.”

“Kriff.” Was all he could think to say to that. Zevulon seemed equally bemused. 

“Look,” Organa sighed. “Here’s how it’s going to play out - five days from now, a small group composed of you, your son, Piett’s nephew Aaron, Luke, Han, and I will go to visit Piett for one-to-two weeks. I’m going because I approved this mission, and as such am responsible for it. Han will be the one responsible for making sure I don’t strangle somebody. Luke and Aaron obviously want to see their family. You, of course, were the one who requested this, and as such, you and your son will go.”

“Thank you,” the older and younger Veers said in unison, glancing at each other in shared amusement. 

Chapter Text

All around him explosions shook the earth. Mud and rain clung to his bony frame and caused him to shiver. Flames as bright as the sun roared their defiance up at the night sky as torrential downpour beat down. It was hard to tell whether it was day or night. Twisted scraps of metal and the bodies of the fallen littered the battlefield as the distant scent of smoke and burnt flesh engulfed him. 

Anakin fought on, pain spidering through his malnourished body with each movement, though he did not pause, for doing so would be certain death.

Blaster fire endlessly barraged them, flashes of blue and red and green lighting up the inky blackness. 

A bolt of lightning struck one of the many wrecked ships, its blinding light and scorching heat making him flinch.

Thunder followed a moment later, deafening and ear-splitting. Still, he pressed on, exhausted.

He could not afford to stop now. His men were depending on him. 

He was glad Rex wasn’t here. He was off with Ahsoka on the planet’s moon, helping her with a much less dangerous task.

Another strike of lightning scorched the muddy ground right next to him. The ground quaked as he stumbled, slipping in the wet earth. He pushed himself to his knees, ignoring the seeping cold. Droplets of blood mixed with the murky puddle that formed where he fell. 

He stood fully, only for a sudden flurry of an enemy air strike to send him sprinting. He made it surprisingly far before a powerful explosion was set off right next to him, sending him flying a few feet. He slipped and slid down a surprisingly deep trench on his side. For a moment, he didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. Mud and rain coated his face and blinded him. All he could hear was a high-pitched ringing in his ears. 

He stopped moving and got his bearings. He tried to wipe the mud out of his eyes but his hands were coated in it as well. He tried to stand, but it was too slippery and his legs were too weak. He thrashed on the ground desperately like a wounded animal, knowing that he had to get up. If he didn’t, he would die there, or worse, his men would die. 

He was deaf, blind, and unable to stand. He was freezing and half-starved; coated in mud, rain, and blood; injured, and dazed. Things didn’t look good. But he’d get through it. He’d gotten through worse, hadn’t he?

Another explosion hit somewhere to his left. His only clue that it happened was the shock waves it made.

It must have dislodged some of the mud, though, because suddenly the trench he was stuck in was quickly filling with it. It came up to his chin before he was able to push himself up onto his feet. More and more of it came rushing down, burying him alive. He must have been yelling, even though he couldn’t hear it. 

Someone grabbed his shoulders, lifting him up. He jerked back, struggling to escape the stranger’s grasp. He couldn’t see who they were or hear what they were saying, so he could only assume they were an enemy. More hands were on him, and he realized they were digging him out of the trench. He went limp, allowing them to pull him up. He coughed and spluttered, spitting out mud. Blood bubbled out of his lips, it’s metallic tang unpleasant on his tongue.

His body was numb and though he could no longer feel the cold, he knew he must have been shivering.

With the help of his rescuers, he got to his feet. 

More explosions shook the earth, though they managed to stay upright. He was being led somewhere, probably to a medic. He was too tired to resist like he usually would.

Someone shoved him to the ground, but not before they were pelted with a flurry of hard objects, most likely rocks or scraps of metal. One hit him in the head, causing pain to blossom through his skull. He probably let out a yelp of pain. 

The people helping him started to pull him along on his stomach. Getting the hint, he started to blindly crawl after them, keeping low to the ground. Another flurry of rocks or whatever hit them again. This time, a blinding pain shot through his metal arm before going completely numb. He was almost certain he screamed. Trying to move his arm, he realized that it was likely gone. His saviors tugged his clothes and remaining arm, trying to get him to keep moving, but he was in too much pain. Deaf and blind and defenseless, he let himself be dragged through the mud.

He felt something land a few feet in front of them. Something heavy, judging by the shockwaves it sent through the ground. His helpers scrambled back, trying to pull him with them.

Another explosion went off in his face, sending him flying backwards. 

A bomb , his panicked mind supplied.

Even more pain flooded through him. He landed hard on the ground, and this time, nobody helped him up. They were most likely dead. It was a miracle he wasn’t.

Dazed, he lay there, sprawled on the ground, unmoving and in shock. He felt something warm pool around him, and he realized it was probably his blood. He felt himself twitch, before he went limp, unable to move.

Freezing rain buffeted his body and ice-cold mud coated almost every inch of him and yet he felt warm. 

Someone touched his neck, probably checking for a pulse, making him flinch. Then, balled up fists bunched up his torn, soaked, filthy shirt as they pulled him up to his feet, only for him to fall back down again, unable to stand. 

The person tried again, only to have the same results. They resorted to half carrying, half supporting him. Anakin collapsed a few seconds later, unable to support even half his own weight. Then, he was being dragged, and all he could do was go limp.

The mystery person let go of him suddenly. A second later, something heavy hit the ground and didn’t get back up. He was too tired to care. The Force felt distant, and yet he could feel it warning him of something. 

He felt his hair stand on end as the air around him changed. The pressure increased, as did the heat. He tried to roll out of the way, but he couldn’t get his numb limbs to move. Instead, he used the Force to push himself to his feet, but he already knew it was too late.

A bolt of energy struck him, more powerful than anything he’d ever felt. Heat so intense it felt cold blistered his skin, boiling him alive from the inside out. Agony flared up for a single moment before everything faded away.

Coyote and his brothers fought on, blasting countless droids. Like all clones, Coyote was bred to fight. He lived for battle.

That didn’t make it any less terrifying.

Now, Coyote was no shiny; he had fought a good few battles. Still, this was by far the worst one yet.

Somehow, he had been separated from the rest of the battalion. He found himself next to the body of Dreamer, one of his batchmates. A wave of sadness hit him, but something else caught his eye. A dozen or so yards away was another body, this one not a clone.

The General , he realized with a cold rush of terror. He was frozen to the spot. The General couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t be! He was their vod , their leader! He was one of them, as far as the 501st was concerned. 

General Skywalker had always seemed immortal. No matter how many dangerous missions he went in, no matter how bad the odds, he always survived. Even in the worst of situations, he came out on top.

And yet, only a few dozen yards away, he lay there, motionless and bloody.

Then, by some miracle, he moved. He was trying to push himself up.

With a gasp, Coyote’s eyes widened.

He’s alive! 

He took a step forward, intending to sprint forward and help his jetti out. 

A bolt of lightning stopped him. It struck the General just as he managed to stand, it’s blinding light consuming him for a moment before his body crumpled to the ground, motionless. 

Coyote screamed and rushed forward, but two pairs of arms held him back. Struggling, he turned his head to see who would dare keep him away from his fallen jetti .

“Coyote! He’s dead, you can’t help him!” Riptide, one of his close friends, told him.

“No, no! He could still be alive! I need to help him!” Coyote wailed, still thrashing in their arms.

“Nobody could’ve survived that, not even the General,” Tooka, one of Riptide’s batchmates, said sadly.

Coyote sank to his knees, a sob escaping his lips.

He could’ve helped. If only he had just been faster, if only he hadn’t frozen like some shiny , the General would be alive. 

“Let’s get you to medical,” Tooka said, pulling him to his feet. Riptide hesitated, took a deep breath, and activated his commlink.

“General Skywalker is down, repeat, General Skywalker is down. Confirmed dead, unable to retrieve body.” 

Immediately, a chorus of voices replied. Some asked what happened, some expressed their disbelief, some mourned. Riptide turned off his comm and looked away.

“We didn’t confirm it,” Tooka said with a questioning look.

“You said it yourself, nobody could’ve survived that,” 

Tooka nodded, whispered some comforting words to Coyote, and started his trek towards the rest of the 501st.

Anakin felt like he was floating. Everything felt like it was muffled, as if underwater, and far away. Slowly, his senses returned to him. 

Pain was the first thing he felt. Blinding, burning agony coursed through him like lightning.

Suddenly, he remembered what had happened. With a jolt, he tried to push himself to his feet.

The battle, his men, the explosions, the lightning…

He collapsed back to the ground, his injured body screaming at him.

Gritting his teeth, he tried his best to release his pain into the Force. It worked a little bit, as his all-consuming agony faded to small ripples of dull pain. 

Taking a few deep breaths, he examined his surroundings with his eyes still closed.

He was warm. Not like how he was earlier, where he was so cold he could no longer feel anything but warm. Now, he was actually, genuinely warm. 

He was lying on the ground, he realized, but it wasn’t muddy. He was laying on grass, and instead of rain violently lashing down from the sky, the sun gently kissed his skin.

He fluttered open his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again. It was brighter than he expected. He tried again, slower this time, and found success.

Pushing himself onto his elbow, he looked around. He was in a clearing, a massive meadow by the looks of it. A line of trees was just barely visible on the horizon, and an endless sea of grass stretched out to meet it. Wildflowers, like paint, speckled the golden-green canvas that was the grass. The first signs of winter showed on the frost-bitten leaves and browned stems. Bird song sounded nearby.

It was chilly, but not cold. In fact, with the sun and the warm breeze that occasionally embraced him, it was quite comfortable, at least compared to how it was before.

Anakin stood fully, confused. He had just been in an active war zone, in the middle of a violent battle. He was then struck by lightning, and then he woke up in the middle of a field that looked like it was ripped straight out of a children’s holo film.

Not knowing what to do, Anakin sat down again, stupefied. 

Absentmindedly, he plucked at the grass underneath his palm, tearing it up and dropping it down. A thousand questions ricocheted through his skull.

What the kriff happened? Where was he? Was he dead? Where were his men? How long was he out? Where were Ahsoka or Obi-Wan or Rex? What the kriff happened?!

He was snapped out of his stupor by a ship touching down on the other side of the meadow. Friendlies, the Force told him, though he couldn’t get much else out of it.

Relief flooded him. Maybe it was another Jedi coming to rescue him. Maybe it was Ahsoka, or Obi-Wan!

Pushing himself to his feet, he limped as fast as he could without collapsing from the pain. The ship’s doors opened, revealing Master Yoda. Surprised, Anakin slowed slightly, then continued onwards. Maybe he had just been the closest.

Yoda gave him a curious look, as if he was some odd insect he had found. Anakin continued to hobble towards the small green troll, happier than he had ever been to see him.

“Master Yoda! Force, am I glad to see you,” He greeted, only to be greeted with more curiosity and bemusement from the little gremlin. 

Then, someone else exited the ship. A man who Anakin would recognize anywhere, even if he looked a couple decades younger, as he did now.

It was Dooku.

Anakin froze, terror and fury warring in his chest. He wanted so badly to fight the bastard and kill him where he stood, but even Anakin knew when to back down. He was badly injured and could barely stand, he would never be able to win a fight with Dooku in this state.

Dooku gave him a cautious, slightly confused stare. He stepped forward, eliciting a low growl of warning from Anakin.

Anakin stood stock still, barely daring to breathe. Dooku could easily kill him, could easily rid himself of one of his greatest threats. Anakin wouldn’t even be able to fight back in this state. So why the hells was he just standing there?!

Anakin decided to make up his mind before Dooku did. Stumbling backwards, Anakin used the Force to fling some loose stones at Dooku before turning and sprinting away as fast as he could.

“Wait!” Someone shouted from behind him, though Anakin didn’t know who. It sounded like a child. The bastard must have kidnapped them. Dooku was hollering at the child about something, and he sounded furious.

Anakin could sense someone chasing him. He didn’t dare turn around and see who it was, so instead, he used the Force to boost his speed, fueled by terror alone. He ran as fast as he could towards the forest, where he weaved through the trees in a blind panic. His pursuer was hot on his tail, refusing to give up. Anakin brought down a couple of trees behind him, yet that didn’t stop them either.

“Stop! I’m not going to hurt you!” The person yelled, and Anakin realized it was the child. Curious and confused as to why a child would be chasing him, Anakin abruptly spun around on his heel, sending out a Force wave at the unsuspecting child. He then used the Force to pin the child to a tree. Anakin made sure not to hurt them, just ensured that they couldn’t run or attack.

“Who are you?” He demanded, his arm shaking with exhaustion and fear.

“Who are you ?” The child spat back, glaring at him.

“I asked first,” Anakin snapped.

“So? I asked you second!” The child retorted.

“Why are you with Dooku?” Anakin asked.

“Why are you so afraid of him?” The child questioned.

“Okay, first of all, I’m not afraid of him. Second of all, I’m the one asking questions here, not you,” Anakin lied.

“Really? Because we’re both technically asking questions right now,” The child replied.

“Are you his apprentice?” Anakin interrogated.

“Er, yes?” The child answered, caught off guard.

Anakin narrowed his eyes. So the kid was a Sith. Funny, he didn’t look like one…

“You don’t look like it,” Anakin stated, suspiciously.

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?” The kid asked.

“Why were you chasing me?” Anakin changed the subject.

“You were injured! We wanted to help you and you ran! I couldn’t just let you run off and die!” Well, that didn’t make any sense. In all likelihood, they just wanted to kidnap him. What Yoda had to do with this, he had yet to determine.

“Likely story,” He growled, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Dude, your arm is missing !” The kid yelled, exasperated. He kind of sounded like Obi-Wan, but more passionate. Anakin glanced down at his right arm and, sure enough, found only a stub where his arm would’ve been.

“...So? ‘Tis but a scratch,” Anakin said after a moment. His pride refused to lose an argument to a child, no matter how right that child may be.

The child just stared at him, mouth open, disbelieving.

Before either of them could continue, however, Anakin was shoved to the ground using a Force push. He fell with a pained grunt, struggling back to his feet. The child fell to the ground as well, where they too, immediately got to their feet.

“Master! Don’t hurt him!” The child wailed as Anakin was shoved back down. A lightsaber was pointed at his throat, his face pushed down into the earth.

Anakin could sense hesitation from his foe, and he took that opportunity to leap to his feet and release a shockwave of power.

His attacker, Dooku, stumbled back, surprised. Anakin lunged forward, using his left arm to punch him square in the jaw as hard as he could. Dooku dropped his lightsaber in his shock, and Anakin quickly called it to his hand. He activated it and the only thing that saved Dooku from his death was the fact that he ducked and rolled out of the way.

“Master, here!” The child called, throwing something to Dooku. 

Another lightsaber , Anakin realized.

The lightsaber came to life with a hiss, and Anakin noticed that it was green. Looking down, he also noticed that Dooku’s saber was blue.

They must have stolen them.

Anakin surged forward, the thrill of battle thrumming in his veins. He fought with all his remaining strength, driving Dooku backwards. 

Anakin was fighting with only one arm, and it was his non-dominant hand at that, but he was also fighting with all his terror, pain, fury, and pent up rage. He could end this war right here and now. 

Either he had gotten really good, or Dooku had gotten sloppy. Anakin pushed back the other man with surprising ease. Dooku was sweating despite the cool air, and breathing heavily. He was forced on the defensive, blocking blow after blow from Anakin’s endless attacks.

“I yield!” He yelled suddenly as Anakin landed a blow on the man’s leg. It wasn’t enough to sever it, but it still left a nasty gash.

“You yield? ” Anakin asked, incredulous.

“Yes, you fool! I yield! Cease your attacks!” Dooku snapped back. There was no mistaking the terror in his voice.

“It’s too late for that, you son of a bitch! You should have yielded three years ago, shithead!” Anakin howled, rage coursing through him.

Dooku was clearly panicking now. He knew there was no way out of this one.

“After all the pain and suffering you caused, you don’t get to yield! After all those times you tortured me and everyone else, you don’t get to kriffing yield! After you’ve killed thousands of innocents, you don’t get to yield! ” Anakin was screaming now, the events of the last three years echoing in his head.

“You cut off my arm!” Anakin snarled, striking a powerful blow.

“You threatened my friends!” Another blow.

“You killed my men!” Dooku’s borrowed lightsaber went flying out of his hands, landing somewhere out of reach. Dooku himself fell backwards, desperately scrambling away. “What the kriff are you on about?!” Dooku screamed at him, terror shining in his eyes.

“Don’t even try that, you Sith bastard. I have the scars to prove it,” Anakin growled, flailing around the stub that was his right arm to prove a point.

“After fighting the war that you caused for three kriffing years , I will finally end this,” Anakin hissed, preparing to strike a killing blow. Dooku cowered, just as Anakin saw countless innocents do, right before being slaughtered by Dooku.

Another green blade interrupted his, though. Anakin looked down in shock. Yoda was standing between him and Dooku, eyes shining with protective determination.

“What the kriff are you doing?! Let me end this! The war can finally be over!” Anakin howled, stepping back.

“Kill him, you will not,” Yoda told him. Behind him, Dooku scrambled to his feet, still looking fearful.

“I’m not going to fight you,” Anakin told the troll, lowering the blade.

“Hmm? Why not, will you?” Yoda questioned, ready to attack at any moment.

“Because we’re on the same side?” Anakin stated, but it ended up coming out more as a question.

“True, is this?” Yoda asked, tilting his head.

“...Have you gone senile? Of course we are!” Anakin snapped, incredulous.

“Then why attack my Padawan, you did?” Yoda interrogated.

Anakin only blinked at him in shock and confusion.

“Master Yoda, you cannot be serious,”

“Hmm? Be that, why would it?”

Anakin stared at him, gaping.

“He has tried to kill you. Several times!” Anakin said.

“Hmm. Then perhaps, arrest him together, shall we?” Yoda suggested, to which Anakin let out a sigh of relief. He was just glad Yoda hadn’t lost his goddamn mind. Dooku looked incredulous, shooting Yoda a look that clearly said ‘what the kriff’.

“Fine, but I’d really prefer to kill him,” Anakin growled after a moment.

“Alive, useful to us he would be,” Yoda soothed. Anakin could see the logic in that, he supposed.

“Wait, where’s the kid? Is he alright?” Anakin asked, concerned.

“Send him back to the ship, I did. Safe, he is,” Yoda assured him, to which Anakin nodded.

Forcing Dooku to his feet, Anakin and Yoda walked behind him, their unignited sabers in their hands, ready to be used.

Anakin was tense and nervous. It would be just like Dooku to have a patrol of droids come and attack them, distracting them long enough to save their leader.

Dooku limped along, his wounds bleeding slightly. They weren’t lethal, but they sure as kriff were painful.

Anakin was actually in much worse shape, and now that the adrenaline was wearing off, his pain was coming back full force. It took all the strength he had to keep moving.

Finally, they made it to the ship, and hope soared in Anakin’s chest. Maybe, just maybe, they would make it back to Coruscant, where Dooku could be charged for his crimes and the war could end.

“Take him to the holding cells, we must,” Yoda told him. Anakin nodded, his jaw set in determination. They were so close, he wouldn’t let anything go wrong now.

They reached the cells, and Anakin felt more hopeful than he had in years.

“Open the cell, can you?” Yoda asked, motioning towards one of the cells. Anakin stepped forward and unlocked it. He went to turn around, only to be shoved back into the cell. He stumbled and fell to the ground. The shield came to life, locking him inside.

Leaping to his feet, Anakin rushed forward and banged his fists against the ray shield. Dooku let out a sigh of relief while Yoda only looked sad.

“Master! Master, you can’t do this!” Anakin screamed, panic swirling inside him. Dooku and Yoda turned and walked away, leaving him there. Fear bubbled up in his chest as Anakin thought of all Dooku would do to him.

“Master, please!” Anakin wailed. His only hope didn’t even look back, only hobbled away.

Anakin fell to his knees with a sob. He had been so hopeful, so sure that this would be the end. He thought he could finally finish the war, once and for all. He thought he would finally be able to live a happy life with Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and Padmé and Rex. But he was wrong.

Curling up in a ball on the cold metal floor, Anakin cried out in pain. It seemed the events of the last 24 hours had caught up to him at last.

He stayed still, letting his tears run down his face freely as he felt the ship take flight. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed like that, only that it was for a while. The ship was in hyperspace, now, and Anakin was still in unbearable pain.

He heard a door slide open, though he didn’t look up from where he was curled in a ball. He felt someone’s concern bleed through the Force. It was neither Yoda’s or Dooku’s, so unless they had another person onboard the ship, it was the kid.

“Hey, you’re injured,” The person said, and, sure enough, it was the kid. Anakin rolled his eyes, though he didn’t raise his head.

“Wow. Astute observation. Did you have help from Master Yoda to figure that one out?” Anakin growled, not in the mood for conversation.

“Ha, that’s a good one,” The kid said, and this time Anakin did raise his head, just a little. Usually people gave him an unimpressed glare or shook their head when he made a remark like that, but Anakin could only sense genuine amusement from the kid.

“Usually people don’t like my sarcasm,” Anakin stated, repositioning so that he was laying down with his head propped against the wall, turned towards the kid.

“Well, this may be shocking, but Master Dooku isn’t one for friendly banter,” The kid remarked with a small smile.

Anakin snorted in agreement.

“I can imagine,”

“What’s your name?” The kid questioned, and Anakin stared at him curiously. He had assumed the kid had known his name. Maybe this was a test.

“Jedi General Anakin Skywalker of the 501st,” He replied, honestly. The kid stared at him for a few moments in silence.

“I understand all those words but separately,” The kid told him. Anakin scoffed. Was this kid dense or something?

“My name is Anakin Skywalker. I am a Jedi Knight and General of the 501st battalion,” Anakin said again, slower this time.

“I thought Jedi weren’t supposed to be soldiers?” The kid questioned. Anakin gave a bitter snort, closing his eyes.

“We’re not. But we’re at war, kid, and war changes things,” Anakin told him. 

“War? With who?” The kid asked, his eyes wide.

“The Separatists,” Anakin answered.

“Separatists?” 

“The Seppies. Also known as the CIS or the Confederacy of Independent Systems. How do you not know this?” 

“I don’t know,” 

The kid was quiet for a minute.

“Is that how you lost your arm?” The kid blurted out.

“What?” Anakin asked, confused.

“The war. Is that how you lost your arm?” The kid questioned, gesturing to the stump that was Anakin’s right arm.

“I guess you could say that, yes,” Anakin said after a brief pause.

“Oh. Does it hurt?” The kid continued.

“Sometimes,”

“When?”

“You sound like my medic,” 

“What does that mean?”

“It means that you’re asking too many questions and that I’m fine,”

“You don’t look fine,”

“Well, that sounds like a personal problem,”

“What?”

The two bantered easily, the flow of the conversation coming easily enough. The kid was like a mix between Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and Rex.

“What were you doing in the middle of nowhere?” The kid asked him.

“What were you doing there?” Anakin shot back. The kid gave him an annoyed look.

“We were investigating a disturbance in the Force. We found it,” The kid huffed. Anakin tilted his head, then conceded.

“Fine. If you must know, I was in the middle of a battle,” Anakin snapped.

“A battle? With who?” The kid asked, then gasped loudly. “Was it a duel?” He questioned excitedly.

“No, it wasn’t a duel. Me and my men were ordered to lead an attack against the droid army,” Anakin grunted. Little pulses of what he could only guess was leftover electricity were surging through him, causing him to twitch and spasm uncontrollably. He also felt an odd sense of dread, as if something big was about to happen.

“So how did you end up here?” The kid interrogated, luckily not noticing anything.

“I don’t know. I was fighting, and then there was an explosion. The next few moments were chaos, and all I really remember was that I was struck by lightning and then I woke up here,” Anakin explained. He turned his head towards the kid, who was staring at him with wide eyes.

“You were struck by lightning?! ” He yelled, incredulous.

“Uh, yes?” Anakin answered, frowning.

“How are you not dead?!” The kid asked him.

“I don’t know!” Anakin snapped, pulling his knees up to his chest, only for him to gasp, wincing in pain.

“Holy kriff, you never got medical attention, did you?” The kid squealed, horrified.

“When, pray tell me, would I have had time for that?” Anakin responded, dryly.

“I cannot believe you,” The kid hissed.

“Well, I can’t believe you either, uh…” Anakin trailed off. He realized he didn’t know the kid’s name. “What’s your name?”

“Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon Jinn,” The kid told him.

Anakin stared down at him, disbelieving.

“No,” He said.

“Umm, yes?” The kid claiming to be Qui-Gon replied.

“That’s not possible,” Anakin stated, matter-of-factly.

“Why not?” Qui-Gon huffed.

Because Qui-Gon Jinn was an adult. Because Qui-Gon Jinn couldn’t be alive. Because Qui-Gon Jinn died 11 years ago on Naboo.

Anakin didn’t say any of that. Instead, he retreated to the farthest corner possible and curled into a ball.

“Hey! Hey, what’s wrong?” Qui-Gon asked, confused and hurt. Anakin remained silent, his head spinning. His limbs were shaking, panic and confusion storming inside him. What was happening? Was he losing his mind? Was this a hallucination? A vision? Some weird fever dream?

Force, was he dead? It sure would explain a lot.

Anakin realized Qui-Gon was standing next to him, screaming his name. Anakin was crying now, unable to breathe properly. 

Mud, in his eyes, in his mouth, in his nose, in his lungs. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t see, he couldn’t move-

“Anakin!” Qui-Gon shook him. “Breathe!”

Anakin tried his best to obey, and slowly, his thoughts slowed and his breathing calmed.

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” He said between choked sobs.

“What?” Qui-Gon asked. Anakin didn’t hear him.

“I’m dead! That has to be it, because you can’t be here, and this isn’t happening. I’m dead, the lightning or the battle or whatever killed me, and now I’m here, in some sort of after-death hallucination,” Anakin was hysterical now, his laughter mixing with his cries. 

“Okay. I have no idea what’s happening,” Qui-Gon stated, deadpan, as Anakin slowly lost his shit.

Anakin lay on the ground, staring up at the ceiling, incredulous. He fell silent, his thoughts fading. Qui-Gon was talking to him. Why? Anakin didn’t know. He also didn’t care.

Qui-Gon poked him. Anakin barely noticed. Qui-Gon shook him, yet Anakin didn’t have it in him to do anything. 

Anakin’s limbs began to move on their own. Distantly, he realized that they shouldn’t do that. Blinding light flooded his irises, colors he hadn’t known existed flashing before him. There was pain, and pressure, but he felt above it all; it was as if he had been removed from not just his body, but from the universe entirely. For what felt like half an eternity, he was an outsider watching the swirling, flashing lights that seemed so foreign to him, and yet so familiar at the same time. He ceased to exist, and with it, so did his storm-like thoughts and conflicting emotions. 

He was exhausted, but he didn’t know what exhaustion was. He only knew that the kaleidoscope of color that consumed him was all that there was. Just this, and for once, he was content with that answer.

Dooku was rudely pulled out of his healing trance by his Padawan’s yells. Pain and panic soaked the Force. Dooku stood as fast as he could, alarmed. What if the prisoner had escaped and was now attacking Qui-Gon?

Fearing the worst, he drew his lightsaber to him and raced through the ship towards where the frantic yelling was originating.

Dooku burst through the door, saber drawn and battle ready, only to see his Padawan screaming at the prisoner, who was seizing on the floor.

He gaped, not knowing what to do. 

Putting away his saber, he grabbed Qui-Gon and ordered him to activate the medical droid they kept for emergencies. Master Yoda rushed in a few seconds later, battle ready. When he saw what was happening, however, he rushed over and used the Force to begin to heal the prisoner. Dooku hesitated, and then joined his former Master in stabilizing the young man. 

When Anakin came to, he was immediately greeted to the sound of a heart monitor beeping from somewhere close by. He knew where he was instantly. He could never forget the overwhelming scent of antiseptic, or the blinding fluorescent lighting, or the entirely unpleasant feeling of a tube being shoved down your throat. 

The last detail was what caused him to start choking instinctively as he tried to breath on his own. The heart rate monitor increased its beeping as he panicked, trying to breath around the tube. His arms, legs, and torso were tied down to the bed he was on, and something was cutting him off from the Force.

Two unfamiliar Jedi entered the room, healers by their appearances. One was a pale green Twi’lek female, and the other was a human male with brown hair that was starting to gray.

They moved over to him, injected him with something, and then removed the ventilator.

Anakin gasped, catching his breath. Then, he looked over at the two Jedi, who were standing close together, muttering about something, frowns on their faces. Finally, the man turned to him, his face blank.

“Let me guess: ‘You’re going to ask me questions now, is that alright with me?’ The answer is yes, let’s get this over with,” Anakin said, dryly. The healer’s eyebrow raised, giving Anakin a wary look over before approaching.

“Name?”

“Anakin Skywalker,”

“Age?”

“20,”

“Date of birth?” 

“Unknown,”

“Profession?” 

“Jedi Knight,”

“Year?”

Anakin gave the year, only for the healer to frown deeply, jotting something down on his chart.

“What is the last thing you remember?”

“Having a panic attack in a cell. Then I woke up here,”

The healer didn’t say anything, simply fixed him with a long stare.

“You had a seizure. Have you had anything like this happen in the past?”

“A seizure? Well, I have had a history of… smaller seizures. But nothing like that,”

The healer grunted, checked Anakin’s vitals, tightened the binds Anakin hadn’t even noticed were there, and then left to confer with his partner. 

Anakin tested the binds, only to find no leeway. He could feel the Force, he realized, but he couldn’t wield it. Anakin huffed in irritation.

Then, a familiar yet foreign presence caught his attention. It was Dooku, Anakin realized, and he was coming towards him. Dooku’s presence felt altered, somehow, but he couldn’t put a name to it.

“Where’s your cape, stinky?” Anakin snapped as Dooku walked into the room, trying to hide his fear. They were alone, and Anakin was still tied down. He struggled against his binds, fear turning to panic as Dooku approached.

“You… fear me,” Dooku murmured, his brow furrowed. Anakin just struggled harder. Dooku was too close to him, and Anakin was helpless. Anything could happen. The sick bastard could do anything he wanted.

Worst case scenarios raced through his head, each one worse than the last. Dooku could torture him, kill him, abuse him in the worst ways, and Anakin would be powerless. 

The heart monitor was beeping rapidly now, but Anakin barely heard it. All he could see was Dooku, pinning him down, his red saber pointed at Anakin’s throat. Anakin could feel phantom pain surge all throughout his body, the ghost of lightning scorching his skin.

“I am not going to hurt you,” Dooku said, though Anakin barely heard him. Dooku took another step forward.

“N-No! Go away! Leave me alone!” Anakin screeched, and Dooku stopped. The Sith shook his head sadly and left the room, leaving Anakin to work through his panic attack on his own.

He was shaking violently and hyperventilating, unable to calm down or catch his breath. The healers from before entered the room and rushed over, quickly sedating him before he could injure himself by accident. Already, his wrists were red and raw from rubbing against the binds, and pressure was building behind his eyes. Taking one last shuddering breath, he let the darkness take hold in his mind.

Qui-Gon didn’t know how to feel about the mysterious Jedi laying in the hospital bed, unconscious and injured.

All around him explosions shook the earth. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t hear. There was mud in his nose, in his mouth, in his eyes, in his lungs. Blood dribbled down onto the muddy soil where it mixed with puddles of murky rain. Ash and soot leapt up like birds with each explosion. 

Flames burned unbelievably bright; like tiny suns they illuminated the surrounding areas, creating little patches of day. The sky, darkened with smoke and dust, fought back against the penetrating light.

“Well, boys, mission complete!” Fives exclaimed, eliciting grins from the exhausted yet satisfied group. 

“Let’s never do that again,” Rex huffed, a faint smile on his face.

Their cheerful mood was abruptly interrupted. Ahsoka stumbled and collapsed to her knees with a gasp. Immediately, Rex and Kix were at her side.

“Commander? Commander, what’s wrong?” Kix questioned, softly. Worst-case scenarios raced through Rex’s mind. What if she had been injured and none of them had noticed? 

Ahsoka was silent for a moment.

“Anakin!” She cried, frantic and heartbroken.

“What?”

Ahsoka didn’t elaborate. She started sobbing; low, keening wails escaping her.

The comm chimed an emergency broadcast tone.

“General Skywalker is down, repeat, General Skywalker is down. Confirmed dead, unable to retrieve body,” the clone on the other end said. Rex blinked. They all stared at the comm, then at each other. 

Rex shook his head numbly, sinking into the nearest seat. 

Rex stared at Cody, disbelieving. Ahsoka was crying, head buried in Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan was embracing her, his ‘perfect Jedi’ facade discarded. Echo and Fives sat off to the side. Jesse was glaring daggers at his drink. 

The entirety of the 501st was shattered.

There hadn’t been a single survivor. After… After Skywalker’s death, the Seppies had bombed the entire area. There was nothing left of that field other than mud and bodies. 

Chapter Text

Pink Elephants On Parade

(In which Anakin is given a Life Day Gift of a native Tatooine dish. Unfortunately, one of the main ingredients, Nhedda flower, is swapped with a similar looking plant called the Nhekku Flower, which is an incredibly strong, long-lasting psychedelic drug. Anakin eats the dish, proceeds to overdose, and hijinks ensue. Anakin, hallucinating and tripping balls, loses his control of the Force and causes weird shit to happen, such as accidentally pulling their ship out of hyperspace and turning it on its side)

“Happy Life Day, Sir!” Rex exclaimed as he handed Anakin a bowl of what he was told was a native Tatooine dish. Anakin glanced up at him, confused.

“What? It’s not my-“ he began, but cut off when he checked the date and found that it was, in fact, his 20th Life Day. 

“Huh. Well, thank you, Rex,” Anakin said with gratitude, accepting the dish. 

Rex opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by the chiming of his comm. He gave Anakin an apologetic glance, to which Anakin nodded in understanding. Rex rushed off, leaving Anakin to enjoy his dish.

Anakin smiled to himself, honored and feeling warm and fuzzy inside. 

Absent-mindedly, he ate while working, eating slowly and savoring the dish. It was delicious: the perfect mix of spicy and sweet. Yet, there was an odd tang to it, and as he continued to eat the taste only grew stronger. He wasn’t exactly surprised. This was Rex’s (and presumably a few other people’s) first time making the dish, and they were bound to make some mistakes. It was okay. They tried their best and he still loved it. 

Soon, he had finished the dish completely. The paperwork he was doing was almost complete, and then he could go hang out with Ahsoka. 

However, as he read over the last document, he found the words no longer made sense. They looked the same, they were familiar to him, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what they meant. He blinked, wondering if he was a lot more tired than he had previously thought.

He rubbed his eyes, only to find that his arms were sporadically twitching. He was shaking violently, and yet he hadn’t even noticed. He stood from where he had been sitting, his legs feeling detached from his body. His heart thundered in his chest as the room spun. His mouth was numb.

Suddenly, he was on the floor, with only the briefest memory of falling, still twitching and shaking. He could no longer feel his limbs, or his face. His eyesight was blurred but he could still make out the spinning of the room beyond the veil of distortion. He couldn’t move, and his words died in his throat when he tried to yell for help. He was helpless, and a feeling of terror encompassed him. He couldn’t even lift his hand to call his comm to him. 

His limbs cramped and convulsed, nausea rising in his gut. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pair of feet. Opening his jaws, he was unable to do anything but mouth the words to ask the person for help. The person just stood there, looming over him as he writhed on the ground, his body wracked with spasms that only increased in intensity. 

He was freezing, he realized. It was as if someone had encompassed him in icy stone. Terrified and confused, he desperately clawed at the ground and struggled to pull his limbs closer to him, maneuvering himself until he was on his hands and knees, sweat dripping off his face. He crawled forward, slowly and with great effort, as if he were moving through molasses. It was as if gravity had increased tenfold, forcing him down and crushing him. Reaching the door, he clawed at it, yet it did not open. 

The mysterious person approached him. Anakin was able to look up and saw that the shadowy figure had no face, only two, gleaming eyes that held nothing but evil. Terror unlike anything he had ever experienced encompassed him. He tried to scream, but nothing came out. He kept trying, his mouth gaping open and shut like a fish trying to breath on land. He frantically crawled away and attempted to cry out in fear and horror, but still no noise escaped him. The creature stared at him, taking a few steps towards him.

Blind with panic, he reached out with what he had left of the Force and stopped the creature where it stood. The ground beneath him lurched, sending him sprawling back onto his belly, facedown on the floor. 

The lights went out. The electrical humming of the ship went silent, and the thrumming feeling of being in hyperspace ceased. 

The creature was gone, but he was still stuck, unable to move, still petrified of whatever else was with him. He was still shaking, but, he found, he was also sobbing, fear-caused tears rolling down his face and mixing with his sweat. What felt like an eternity passed with Anakin paralyzed on the ground. His lungs burned and a horrible metallic taste lingered in his mouth.

The sound of the door opening came to him through a blanket of pain and terror and confusion. A bobbing beam of light scanned the room before falling on him. They rushed forward, setting aside what he realized was a flashlight attached to a helmet.

Again, someone was standing next to him. Then, they were crouching next to him, their ice-cold hands on his neck, checking his pulse and speaking words that made no sense. Anakin was helpless to do anything but continue to struggle against his own petrified body and mouth words without noise, unable to comprehend what was being spoken to him.

Another beam of bouncing light entered the room. Anakin was hoisted to his feet, but, being unable to move, was helpless to do anything but be dragged out of the room. 

The people dragging him were gentle yet hurried, moving with an urgency Anakin was only just barely lucid enough to understand. Unfortunately, he was too far gone to understand why they were moving so urgently. Perhaps the creature from before was back?

Each moment that passed brought with it less and less lucidity as Anakin’s grip on reality rapidly faded more and more. The walls around them began to melt, dripping down onto the floor or inching upwards to the ceiling. There, they melded into swirling, spinning, infinitely colorful puddles of slime. 

The further they went, the weirder things got. Weird ‘glitches’ appeared and disappeared randomly, always staring at him with silent judgment.

One of the people carrying him stopped to do something. Without the support, Anakin fell to the floor again, despite the other helper’s attempts. He lay there, sprawled on the ground, his surroundings pulsating and throbbing without reason.

Anakin didn’t want to be on the floor. He wanted to stand. And suddenly, with that half-conscious thought, he was standing, leaning against a wall that had moments ago been the floor. Everything around him moved, too, crashing or sliding with resounding bangs and thuds . 

Quickly, the people helping Anakin scrambled to their feet and helped to support him as he slumped forward, still unable to move. 

They continued on to wherever it was they were going, Anakin fading in and out of consciousness. His heart was beating so fast he was certain it would explode, his chest painfully protesting every movement he made. His eyes burned and his limbs felt as if he had dipped them in icy static. It didn’t help that he was still convulsing, his limbs still thrashing and twitching without his control. His head lolled to the side, like that of a dying bird, and his eyes rolled back. 

Soon, everything faded into static, until it was all that there was. Colorful, blinding, all-encompassing static. It numbed and consumed him, taking all that he was and stripping it away until he was simply another flickering shape in its matrix. 

This was all that there was. This is all that had ever been and ever will be. This was everything. He was nothing. He was the static. The static was everything made up of billions of nothings.

He didn’t understand. He didn’t want to understand. So he simply stayed where he was.

But every moment in the static was torture, a blinding agony that tore away his breath and ripped out his mind. His skin was aflame with torturous pain, his entire body screaming out. Was this hell? 

The only answer was his own agonized screams.

Rex had been having a relatively good day. He had pitched in to help prepare a life day gift for the General, using materials he and Fives had bought on a recent trip to Tatooine. It had gone off without a hitch, with Echo and Jesse making four whole servings for the General. The recipe had said that any person not already accustomed to the spicy food of Tatooine and the ingredients used would ‘not have a good day’ (it was a rough translation), so Rex made sure that the General was, in fact, accustomed to the food already, and then Rex ordered the others not to eat any. Just in case.

Rex had then delivered the dish (all of the servings piled onto one plate) to the General, wishing him a happy life day, and then excusing himself as unfortunately, the war didn’t stop for such a special occasion. Also, Fives set fire to the gymnasium. Again.

Of course, around 30 minutes later, the ship suddenly lost power and was yanked out of hyperspace. He stumbled, almost falling flat on his face. As the lights went out and shouts of surprise echoed around him, he rushed to find the General, checking his last known location. He had to use the flashlight on his helmet to navigate the darkened halls. Something had fried the entire system.

The door to the General’s workspace was shut, but Rex knew how to pry them open. With a grunt, the doors opened just enough for him to get through. He glanced around the dark room, calling Skywalker’s name with a strange feeling of wrongness .

An odd, choked-sounding noise answered him. Rex looked down, and saw Skywalker sprawled on the floor, twitching and convulsing. The man looked at him with a primal fear, mouthing words without sound. Rex froze, then rushed to his General’s side. Setting aside the flashlight, he yelled for assistance, panic bubbling in his chest.

He crouched down, felt the General’s pulse, and was concerned to feel it weak, erratic, and scarily fast. 

“It’s okay, General. It’s going to be alright. Can you understand me?” Rex assured, then asked. Skywalker didn’t answer, his entire body wracked with tremors. 

Once more, Rex called for help, and this time, Jesse skidded into the room. He took one look at the General and rushed forward to help. 

“Help me get him to Kix,” Rex said, urgently, trying to keep the fear he so strongly felt out of his voice.

“What happened?” Jesse inquired as they lifted their General to his feet, only for the man to collapse into their arms, unable to move. It seemed they would be carrying him. 

“Don’t know,” Rex grunted. “Found him like this.”

They stumbled down the halls, the only light being their own flashlights and the occasional lights of the others trying to fix the power. The further they went, the worse Skywalker got. He twitched and jerked and spasmed, his eyes darting around rapidly, focusing on things that weren’t there. 

“There! A droid! It can go ahead of us and tell Kix we’re coming,” Jesse suggested upon spotting a droid, and Rex nodded. Carefully, Rex braced himself as Jesse gingerly unhooked himself from the General. But, Rex had underestimated how much weight ‘dead weight’ actually was, and soon both of them had collapsed to the ground in a heap. Rex grunted and moved to push himself up, but before he could, the ship tilted until he was standing upright and Jesse was on the floor. Everything that wasn’t bolted down slid off the now-wall and onto the ground with a deafening crash. Yells and screams of panic and alarm sounded from somewhere distant. 

Rex could only gape. Shock and awe and horror flooded him, conflicting in his chest. The ship was on its side . Because of Skywalker! Rex realized with a sickening feeling that them being pulled out of hyperspace and their power going out were both the fault of Skywalker. It was obvious that in his current state, the man couldn’t control his own power. 

Fear trickled in despite his best efforts to keep calm. If Skywalker could do something like turn the whole kriffing ship sideways, then what else could he do when he had no control? 

Skywalker slumped forward and was about to fall again. Having no desire to experience another ship-flip, Rex quickly rushed forward and used the wall to help support both of them. Jesse pushed himself off the floor and activated the droid, then moved to help Rex. Anakin convulsed and writhed in their grasp as they continued onward, sweat dripping off his brow and his breathing labored and erratic. 

“ Osik , he’s getting worse,” Jesse noted, feeling the General’s pulse and frowning at what he felt. 

“We need to get him to Kix now ,” Rex replied. Skywalker’s head lolled to the side, his eyes rolling back into his skull. 

“He’s completely unresponsive,” Jesse said, and Rex was unsure if that was a good thing or not. Probably not, he decided as Skywalker made an odd gurgle-cough-scream sound. 

Picking up their pace, they moved as quickly as they were able to under the circumstances. Rushing through the halls, they dodged fallen objects strewn all over the ground. Skywalker made another choked-sounding cry, then began screaming. Rex jumped at the noise, as did Jesse, causing them to almost drop him. Skywalker screamed , the sound blood-curdling. It was as if he was being tortured, and Rex wondered if whatever was happening to him was torture. 

With newfound urgency, they began to run as fast as they could, no longer caring if they got a few scraped knees or bruised shins in the process. With the sounds Skywalker was making, there was a real possibility he was dying, or at least in tremendous amounts of pain.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity and a half, they arrived at where Kix was standing, an emergency cot already set up. Without any preamble, Kix helped to place Skywalker onto the cot. Skywalker was still screaming, his voice sounding hoarse. 

“What in the seven hells is happening out there?!” Kix hissed as he assessed the General, running scanners over his body and hooking him up to machines.

“Skywalker. He flipped the ship sideways when we accidentally dropped him. We think he also may have accidentally pulled the ship out of hyperspace,” Jesse responded, to which Kix shook his head and waved them away. A few other medics rushed over to help and Kix began to instruct them on what to do.

“You two! Go figure out what caused this!” Kix snapped at them in between giving orders. Rex and Jesse nodded, racing back to the General’s workspace.

“What are we looking for?” Jesse questioned.

“I suspect poison of some sort,” Rex replied, scanning the room. He shuffled through drawers, just in case there was any clue.

“It’d be easier if we had the lights,” Jesse commented. Just then, as if magic, the lights flickered and then buzzed to life.

“How convenient,” Rex snorted, then continued his search. 

“What’s this dish?” Jesse wondered aloud a few moments later, sounding suspicious. 

Rex glanced at him and saw the General’s life day dish.

“That’s the dish we made for the General’s life day,” Rex told him. 

“It might’ve been poisoned.”

“Unlikely; we made it here and I delivered it myself.”

“Was he allergic to anything in it?” 

Rex cursed himself for not thinking of that.

“I don’t know. We’ll cross-reference the ingredients.”

“One of us needs to contact the rest of the fleet.”

“I can do that.”

“Let’s get to it, then.”

“I’ve got it!” Jesse shouted, startling Rex out of his thoughts. He had updated the rest of the fleet already, and had been told that the 212th would come and assist them. 

“Got what?” Rex questioned.

“I cross-referenced the ingredients needed and the ingredients used and found that one of the main ingredients, Nhedda flower, was swapped with a similar looking plant called the Nhekku Flower, which is an incredibly strong, long-lasting psychedelic drug,” Jesse explained, reading off of the data pad he held in his hand. Rex blinked at him.

“What? I thought- we thought they were the same?” Rex shook his head.

“Oh kriff, we really screwed this up.”

“I’m sure the General will understand,” Jesse comforted. “Let’s go see how he’s doing, anyway.”

No sooner had he suggested it than Kix entered the room, looking haggard and exhausted.

“I’ll be honest with you two. He’s not doing too good,” Kix told them.

“What? Why? What happened?” Rex asked, concerned.

Kix shook his head with a sigh.

“His… his heart stopped twice. The second time I had to do chest compressions for thirty plus minutes. The others couldn’t get a pulse back and told me to give it up after twenty. I kept going. We got him back this time, but I don’t think we’ll be able to do it again if we lose him.”

Rex swallowed, dread pooling in his belly.

Chapter Text

Virus

The world came crashing down around him, him standing at its epicenter. The sound of shattering glass and the feeling of heat on his skin greeted him as the fragments of time and space collapsed. 

He opened his eyes.

He was in a Temple - one of Sith origin. That made sense. What didn’t make sense was the lack of his suit and the fact that his body was unburnt.

Stumbling to his shaky, foreign legs, he glanced around with wide eyes. What kind of Sith Sorcery…?!

His body had been restored. His mask and suit were gone.

Heaving and gasping, he greedily drank in the stale air - and by the Force, he was able to taste it, too. It took him a few seconds to remember how to regulate his breathing - after so much time on the ventilator, he had to consciously remember to inhale and exhale.

A twinge from the Dark alerted him of an approaching threat. He turned, the thundering of echoing footsteps rapidly growing louder. With bared teeth, he prepared himself for a fight, eyes gleaming with anticipation. The Dark danced around him like an eager hound, even more powerful than when he had wielded it last. He supposed his reborn body was better equipped to handle such strong waves of the Force.

The temperature of the room plummeted, yet his blood still boiled in his veins, heating his skin. The way the walls hummed with a power ancient and primordial coincided with the pulsing of his presence, overwhelmingly strong and with a power that put even Sidious to shame. Wherever he was, it served as an echo chamber for his strength, making him more and more formidable with each beat of the heart.

Nothing could stop him.

The presences in the hall hesitated, stumbling to a halt. Two of them shone brighter than the rest - Jedi. They were probably investigating the disturbance he was surely causing. One presence, weaker than the other but still bright and pure, turned and fled back the way the group had come. 

He scowled. Coward.

Vader didn’t give the enemy the chance to attack first. He lunged forward, sending a rippling shockwave of power cascading towards the wall he knew the Jedi to reside behind.

White shapes swarmed into the room, dodging the debris of the falling walls as they set up a perimeter facing him, their presences bristling with trepidation. 

Stormtroopers? He regarded them carefully, nudging one with the Force. Though he thought his inquiry to be relatively gentle, all things considered, the trooper toppled over with a cry of pain, his armor cracked. He supposed he was stronger than even he had thought.

Yet, he realized these weren’t stormtroopers - they were clones. Clones of the 501st, judging by the paint. What were these old bastards doing here?

He contemplated snapping the clone’s neck, partially to end the horrific cries of agony the injured creature made and partially to purge himself of any last traces of Skywalker. 

“Rex!” A clone in yellow painted armor (the 212th?) screamed, surging forwards. Vader simply watched, sensing the clone to be aiming for his injured comrade.

Rex? That had been Skywalker’s clone captain, had it not? The weak fool had held a lot of affection and respect for the clone. 

As Vader, he knew he had to destroy everything that Skywalker once held. Yet, he decided to wait and see what happened next. It wasn’t as if he were concerned about them trying to fight him. 

Rex was gasping and writhing on the ground, eyes bright with pain as the clone glanced at Vader in fear, his eyes wide with confusion, betrayal, and hurt. The yellow clone injected Rex with something before turning on Vader.

“What the hell are you?!” The clone snarled, standing protectively between him and a still-twitching Rex. Vader tilted his head in the mechanical manner he had perfected, his eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“Skywalker would never have attacked one of his own men, especially not Rex! You’re not him!” The clone - Cody, Vader realized - snapped, hand on his blaster. Vader snorted (and Force did that feel good to be able to do again), ripping the blaster out of the clone’s grip and sending it flying as a spherical heap of metal. It hit another clone who had been huddling near the partially collapsed wall he had damaged. With a dull thunk and a thud, the clone crumpled to the ground. 

Whoops.

He shook that Skywalker-esque thought away with vigor, scowling at Cody. He would need to relearn how to control his power, but that was for after he finished this scuffle.

“You are correct, clone. I am not him. I am something better,” Vader replied, his voice echoing and mechanical - monotone, even. He saw the clone shiver, gripping Rex’s unconscious body protectively. 

“Who are you?!” Cody hissed, glaring at him.

Vader lifted his head high, squaring his shoulders and clasping his hands behind his back. 

“I am Darth Vader, and this body belongs to me, now,” he proclaimed, his sulfur-yellow eyes boring into the clone. 

“ No ,” a familiar voice growled, tight with fury and grief. “ Give. Anakin. Back. ”

Vader turned, already knowing who he’d see. 

“ Kenobi ,” Vader snarled, lunging forwards with hatred coursing through his veins.

“This body isn’t yours! Give me my Padawan back!” Kenobi howled, clashing furiously against Vader’s (blue?) blade. 

Right. Borrowed body, borrowed blade. 

And, it would seem he was in the past, inhabiting his past self’s body - like a parasite, or a computer virus. He… he quite liked the sound of that.

Despite Kenobi’s rage, the fool still stubbornly clung to the Light, even as the Dark battered at him like a raging sandstorm. Soon, Kenobi was panting and heaving, his limbs shaking as he attempted to stay upright. The bastard never stood a chance. And yet, determination glinted in his eyes as if made up of blue-green stone.

“You will not get away with this,” the Jedi heaved. Vader tilted his head at that. Was the fool planning to retreat, or was this just the mad ravings of a man about to die?

“Who, pray tell, do you think will stop me?” Vader rumbled, the air around him buzzing dangerously. Frost crept along the walls, ceiling, and floor as the Jedi’s breath puffed out of him like smoke.

“Anakin! I know you’re in there! Fight it! Remember Ahsoka! Remember Rex! Remember Padmé !” 

Vader screeched in rage, lunging forwards. How dare he mention her, when he had been the one to turn her against him! 

“The fool’s dead! I killed him! Skywalker’s gone !” Vader howled, raining blow after blow down on the older man. 

“No!” Kenobi shouted, desperation heavy in his tone.

“Search your feelings, you know it to be true,” Vader rumbled, low and dangerous. 

Kenobi shook his head, eyes gleaming with grief.

“I will not lose him, too, especially not to the likes of you,” Kenobi said, stepping backwards, then bolting away from him. Vader realized that the rest of the clones had evacuated, too, and that Kenobi was, in fact, retreating. 

Living Corpse

This… This was a murder. The patient technically lived, yes, but there was no other way to put it. No other word served this justice. 

The patient had injuries incompatible with life.

The patient was still alive. The patient was conscious.

95% of the patient’s body was covered in third degree burns - how had he not gone into shock, yet? Or died from infection? Or died from dehydration? Or suffered cardiac arrest from the pain? 

The medics who had touched him still had layers of melted skin stuck to their gloves from where it had peeled off like sterile gloves off of hands after a long shift. He had been moved, and in doing so his burnt, peeling skin had been partially degloved from his body. That alone should have killed him, but the patient was still alive, and the patient was conscious.

65% of the patient's body was gone. Three out of the four limbs were gone, the fourth was a metal arm that had actually fused with the partially-melted bone, and a good portion of the man’s organs had been removed. The intestines, for one, had been cut open by whatever force had severed the lower half of the patient’s body from the top half, then melded shut in all the wrong places by the heat of the flames. There was no saving that. There was no saving him . And yet, the patient was alive, and the patient was conscious.

Dr. Kiyamundi squeezed his eyes shut, an uneasy nausea in his gut that was quite unlike him - he was known for his professionalism and iron-strong resolve throughout his field, after all, but even he had his limits, and this…

The patient let out a guttural, animalistic moan from a throat that had been burned from the inside out. Eyes, partially melted from inside their sockets, stared sightlessly up at him, piercing him. 

The doctor swallowed, struggling to maintain composure. 

“Pass the tweezers,” he breathed, the stench of charred human flesh filling his senses despite the triple masking he had done, each laced with the strongest mint extract they had.

Carefully, he tried to pull out the scorched scraps of cloth practically fused to the patient’s body, but he struggled to determine what was organic and what wasn’t.

The patient let out an inhuman cry of pain as he removed a burnt and blackened scrap of cloth. Doctor Kiyamundi swallowed, fighting against the nausea that churned in his belly like ocean waves. 

“How is he awake? We’ve given him a Krayt dragon’s worth of pain meds,” one of his assistants hissed.

“Should we try putting him under again?” Another asked.

“The patient likely wouldn’t survive,” a third replied.

Was that really such a bad thing?

He had sworn an oath to do no harm, and keeping this man alive would be unbearably cruel. The Emperor had ordered him to keep the patient alive, but this… this went against everything Doctor Kiyamundi ever strived for, every moral he swore to uphold and every principle he swore to protect. But he also swore loyalty to the Empire, to the Emperor. Now, the oaths he made were in contradiction, and he couldn’t fulfill one without breaking the other. 

So, he had to wonder: when did he draw the line? Had it already been drawn?

The patient let out another scream, if one could even call it that. 

Was this the line? 

He had to choose. He had a moral and professional obligation to help his patient, to ease their suffering - and there was no way to do that for this patient: he would be in excruciating pain for the rest of his life. 

But, at the same time, he had a legal and loyal obligation to serve the Empire, to serve the Emperor, and his orders had been clear. 

Philosophical quandaries he hadn’t pondered since he was young flashed through his head. Was breaking the law alright if it was for a good cause? If the greater good outweighed the means to get there, then could those means be excused? And what was the greater good, who decided that? Was it the people in the crowd or the people in charge? Who passed the judgement, the blame? Who pardoned and who forgave? 

If he were to let this patient live, would he be able to live with himself? Could he handle the guilt and shame of it all, knowing that he had done nothing but stand by and watch it all play out? That he had been a bystander, that his crime had been that of purposely and willfully remaining idle, despite the consequences he knew it would bring? 

Was the man who watched, who could do something and yet did nothing, was that man just as guilty as the one who committed the crime? 

Would he be able to look anyone in the eyes if he did nothing? Would he spend the rest of his life dodging mirrors, never daring to make eye contact as if his reflection were a temperamental apex predator? Would he lay awake at night, wishing he had made a different decision? 

Would he be able to live with himself?

Predecessor to Tragedy Rainbow

He didn’t have a name, not like the Others did - he simply Was. The Others call him Five, but that wasn’t his name.

Little Ani was the smallest, dipped in Yellow, and he ranged from the age of an infant to that of a nine-year-old. Ani had the fortune of a relatively easy and non-harmful transfer, wherein he simply faded out of the Mainlight and Anakin, who had been stained green, took control. Ani re-entered the Mainlight every now and again, yet there were no problems between the two - until the death of their mother shattered Anakin, and in the following days he would relinquish control to General Skywalker. 

General Skywalker radiated a grayish shade of blue. He was more distant, more hardened and cold. He only ever let Ani or Anakin take control once or twice each, and even then it wasn’t for long. 

Of course, General Skywalker didn’t last long - only a few years. 

His Passing had been the most violent. All of them had felt it, and for the longest time General Skywalker had simply… vanished. Gone. Erased. Every now and again, He would catch a glimpse of General Skywalker, but it was always faint and brief, like the curling of candle smoke.

Vader was… different. Bathed in red. He didn't want to say that Vader was worse than the Others, because, well, who was he to judge? The Others feared and despised him, but none hated him as much as Vader hated himself.

Vader had the longest run, spending nearly 25 years in the Mainlight, whereas Anakin, the second-longest lasting, had spent only a decade in the Mainlight. 

At the end, General Skywalker had reappeared and had reclaimed the Mainlight.

After that, everything went… dark. Silent. The others were… asleep? No, unconscious, but still capable of feeling. Like they were hypnotized or drugged.

Except him. 

The Mainlight had moved. Where He had once been invisible, now he was clear and colorless but still visible. Silvery, rippling, like hot air shimmering next to heated metal or sun-baked asphalt.

Chapter Text

Iron Oxide & Hemoglobin

In the end, he was made for this.

Trials and tribulations, struggles and celebrations - all of it meant nothing in the end. It was all just a placeholder for this, his one true purpose: to seek and destroy.

Vader was a weapon, through and through. His thoughts, feelings, and opinions meant nothing unless they served as strategy or fuel for his power. His physical injuries could be mended with scrap metal and droid parts if needed, and his mental condition was supplemented and stitched together with what he stole from the minds of newly-dead corpses. 

He was a weapon, made to hunt, made to annihilate whatever it was his Master pointed him towards, as well as anything that stood in his way. Boiled down, he was essentially nothing more than a smarter, organic (though the amount of him that was actual flesh was dwindling every month) tactical droid, with all the cunning and determination of a sentient, plus Force sensitivity to match.

You Know, We Need Oxygen to Breathe, Oxygen To Breathe

There is no death, there is only the Force.

If that’s true, Anakin thought, then the Force felt a lot like the rocky parts of Tatooine.

He inhaled, weak and gasping, his abused lungs screaming at him. Shakily, he exhaled, then inhaled again. Short, gasping breaths turned into struggling wheezes until finally he took a steady, strong, deep breath. 

It was at that moment he knew he would live.

He didn’t know how long he spent on the pebble-strewn ground trying to relearn how to breathe, but eventually he pushed himself up. 

His eyes fluttered open… except, they must not have, because he still couldn’t see anything. He tried again and again, hoping that it would be like the breathing situation, that he just needed to practice, but nothing worked. Frantically, he moved his hands to his face and forced his eyelids open, but it was no use. 

He couldn’t see.

Anakin carefully sank to the ground, trying to ease his racing heart. Judging by the coolness of the air, he would guess that it was night.

He used the Force to search for nearby life forms, but could only find a lone lizard. 

Jack Stauber’s Able

Ahsoka was awoken by a great turmoil that was not her own. It originated from the near-broken bond she had with Anakin; its threads were weak and its fibers torn but it was still there. And it was wailing.

He was begging to know where she was, but it wasn’t the same “where are you please tell me you’re safe I miss you let me know where you are so I can protect you if you need it” that he so frequently sent, but a “I need you now please tell me where you are I need help you’re the only one I can turn to please I am begging you to save me”. 

Anakin’s feelings of betrayal, desperation, hurt, anger, sadness, despair, and fear assaulted her senses. 

Force, he was terrified. More than that, he was petrified, in fear for his life. The only thing close to it that she could remember him feeling was when she was trapped and assumed dead. But, that had been a fear for her, and a fear of losing someone he loved. This was a fear of an entirely different kind. She opened herself up to the Force, and like a beacon, allowed him to locate her. It was more out of instinct than out of actual thought, as her brain was still trying to catch up.

As soon as she was able to process what was going on and able to move her frozen-in-fear limbs, she leapt out of bed. She hurried around the room in a frenzy, collecting the things she thought she might need. Then, she rushed out of the apartment she was staying in and raced to where she could feel Anakin’s presence growing ever closer. It seemed he had been on his way to meet her.

At least he’s not sick or mortally injured, she thought. And, if he was being threatened by someone, he wouldn’t have risked meeting me in such an obvious fashion. 

Of course, that left the question of what exactly was wrong.

Ahsoka caught sight of him first. He was stumbling blindly through the street, dazed and visibly trembling. Immediately, she moved to intercept him, first getting his attention and then pulling him away. Wordlessly, she led him to where she had been staying, him staring off with a shell-shocked expression the entire time. 

“Anakin, please, tell me what happened.” Ahsoka sat him down, watching as he sank into the chair with choppy, hesitant movements, as if he were unsure how to operate his own body. 

“I- They- The Council-“ he began. Ahsoka watched with worried eyes, wondering if she should call Obi-Wan or Rex or Padmé.

“What did they do this time?” She hissed, bitterness overtaking her words. He flinched at the accidental harshness of her tone, and guilt flooded her. She sat next to him and curled up against his side to show she didn’t mean it. Thankfully, he relaxed at her touch, allowing her to send waves of comfort through their weakened bond. 

“They have the detonator,” he whispered. Ahsoka glanced up at him, confused.

“The... detonator?” She asked. 

Anakin was silent for a long while. Hesitantly, she moved away, fetching a glass of water. When she returned, Anakin was in the same position he had been when she had uncurled herself from his side. He stared straight ahead with unseeing eyes, a cloudy, thousand-yard-stare on his pale face. Except, now, tears pricked at the corners of his foggy eyes, threatening to spill like a swollen river against a cracked dam. 

She offered him the glass, and he took it with shaky, unsteady hands.

“I was born a slave,” he began, his voice tense and barely above a whisper. 

“Every slave has a chip implanted in them. Usually two or more; one in a limb and one between vital organs. The chip serves as a tracker and as an ID, but it also has an explosive inside it. Each explosive has its own detonator. When a slave is bought or sold, the new Master is given the detonator and a receipt.” Anakin paused his breathless rant, with Ahsoka paying rapt attention, horror creeping through her.

“You… you have one of these chips?” She questioned, horrified. Anakin jerked his head in a tense nod.

“Whoever has the detonator has the slave. Chips can be deactivated, but they can also be reactivated at any time without anyone knowing.”

“And someone reactivated your chip and is threatening you?” Ahsoka cried.

“No. No, the Council… They kept the detonator. They told me they removed the chip but they lied. Everyone. Even Obi-Wan…”

Ahsoka swallowed, nausea rising in her gut. 

“What… what does this mean?” 

Anakin looked her dead in the eyes, expression grave.

“Ahsoka. I’ve done things that the Council would absolutely not approve of, things that they’re going to find out about eventually. I was planning on leaving the Order once the war was over, but if…” he trailed off, then swallowed.

“The only reason they took me in, the only reason they’ve kept me in the Order for so long is that I’m useful to them. They need me to fulfill their prophecy and fight for them. But once I do that, once the war is over and I’m no longer useful…” 

“No…” Ahsoka whispered, sitting next to him. 

He looked away, a deep sadness emanating from him.

“No, no! No, they wouldn’t do that. They can’t do that!” Ahsoka cried, snuggling into his side. Despite her words, she had her doubts. They were willing to kill her, after all. After Anakin fulfills the prophecy and wins the war, won’t they do the same to him? 

He was her brother, she wouldn’t let them kill him! 

“They’ll probably make it look like an accident. Maybe they’ll make it out to be like I deserted or was a traitor. Maybe they’ll villainize me, or make me a martyr. Maybe they’ll just cover it up and not make any comments.” Anakin was speaking, but it sounded as if he were talking to himself more than he was to her.

The mere thought that the Jedi would kill the one she thought of as an older brother was horrible enough, but to think that they might twist him into a bad guy was unbearable.

She inhaled his scent, memorizing what he smelled like, just in case everything went wrong. 

Mr. Darkside

“Alright, we’ll start this off easy, Mr…?” The interrogator began, casting out an imploring gaze towards where the ex-Sith sat, his son by his side. 

It was Leia’s idea, really - everyone (barring Luke) hated the idea of Darth Vader going free, but it was very obvious that the man needed some serious medical and mental help rather than prison, so an agreement was made: The Dark Lord would be put under constant guard/supervision either by Luke or by two trained personnel, he would be given heavy Force suppressors (Luke had protested that part hotly, but Leia had pointed out that without it, none of the other security measures mattered), he would be wheelchair-bound (Vader had griped about that one the most, complaining to everyone he came across that the New Republic took his legs), and he would live at a maximum security medical facility specializing in patients with extreme cases, which Vader very much qualified as.

The facility required an entry interview, however, to gauge the patient’s mental stability, state of mind, health, and behavior, which was how they found themselves where they were.

In regards to the question, he remained quiet, though he gave a slight tilt of his head towards Luke.

“What’s your name, Father?” Luke asked, his voice soft and his eyes gentle.

“It is whatever you will it to be,” he answered, to which Luke gave a concerned frown, pursing his lips.

“Father, no, that’s- that’s not-“ Luke cut himself off with a sigh. “I’m asking what you want to be called, Father.” 

“I have many names. None of them feel… correct.” 

The interrogator nodded at that, jotting down something discreetly. 

“Well, my name is Minti Ce’Cream. You can call me Minty, if you want,” Minti said with a smile. “I’ll call you ‘Vader’ for now, is that alright?” 

Vader dipped his head slightly, aqueising. 

“Alright. Now, Vader, I have some very simple questions here that I’m going to ask, alright? This first set of questions is for us to be able to provide you all you require during your stay at the Leafgate facility. This includes very basic inquiries as to your medical history, your preferences, and other day-to-day accommodations we can provide.”

Vader remained silent, and Luke gave Minti a small nod. He liked her - she showed no fear regarding his father, which was both impressive and surprising. 

“Now, what pronouns do you use?”

“He/him pronouns,” Vader replied, the sunglasses Luke had given him to wear over his damaged eyes falling down slightly. He moved to push them back up, but his wrists had been bound to the chair with Force-suppressing cuffs.

Vader scowled sightlessly down at them, prickling with irritation.

“Alright. Now, would you consider yourself nocturnal, diurnal, or crepuscular?”

“I have been unable to sleep properly for decades due to my condition. Before that, I was crepuscular.” 

Luke frowned, slightly, though Minti only gave a soft smile.

“Ah, yes - we received your medical file. The doctors have prepared all accommodations necessary regarding all health concerns, though I do wish to ask about any non-medication related allergies you may have and any accommodations you require.”

“It pains me to speak, so I prefer to do so as little as possible,” Vader rasped. “So to keep it short, I require a sterile environment. I am unable to see and, as you can tell, the New Republic took my legs.” 

“Father,” Luke gently scolded. “It was part of the deal.”

He turned to Minti. 

“If I may, ma’am, I’d like to say that he is also unable to eat, so food allergies are not a concern. His only allergy seems to be other people,” Luke said pointedly, but the words had little heat behind them. Vader snorted in Luke’s general direction playfully, huffing something about ‘insolent youths’. 

Minti took a few more notes. 

De-Aged 1

Rex stared down at the three kids standing where the three Jedi were just moments before. He gaped, before his instincts kicked in. There were three kids in the middle of an active war zone, and he needed to get them out. 

Rushing forwards, he scooped up the small Togruta youngling in his arms.

“Hey! It’s okay! Ahsoka, right? I’m a friend, and you’re in danger. I’m going to take you someplace safe,” he said to the squirming, angry youngling in his grasp. She glared at him, then nodded sulkily.

“Great. Climb on my back,” he said. Turning to the other two, he grabbed the one who he assumed was Kenobi by the hand and picked up his General. Luckily, the other two were well behaved, though Kenobi was bombarding Rex with questions as they ran, Kenobi deflecting blaster bolts on the way. Anakin was trembling violently in Rex’s arms, his eyes wide and terrified.

Feet pounding against rough, uneven, muddy terrain, he tried to shelter the two children on his back and front as best as he could. Still, it was a relief beyond imagination when they finally stumbled back into the makeshift camp they had set up. Upon their arrival, Kix rushed out to greet them. He took one look at the tiny togruta on his back and sighed, shooting Rex an irritated glare, as if it were somehow his fault. 

“De-aged?” Kix assumed, scooping Ahsoka off his back. 

“That’s my guess. What do you three last remember?” Rex asked them.

“I was training with Master Jinn. I fell and hit my head,” Kenobi stated, looking around the camp with a mixture of caution, unease, and curiosity.

“I was exploring the temple! I found a nice place in the sun and took a nap,” Ahsoka declared, proudly. Skywalker just stared at them with wide, frightened eyes.

“Hey, Anakin. It’s okay, you can tell us,” Rex soothed, kneeling down so he was closer to the kid’s height. Rex asked the question again, and this time, Skywalker answered. Except, the only problem was that he answered in Huttese. 

Rex was left staring dumbly at the kid, trying to figure out what in the Galaxy he had just said. He looked to Kix for help, who only shrugged helplessly.

“Sorry, I don’t speak Huttese,” Kix said, apologetically. 

“Okay, well, uh, I want to help you,” Rex said, pointing to himself when he said “I” and pointing to Anakin when he said “you”. He must not have gotten the message across, however, as Skywalker’s eyes widened and filled with unshed tears. He cowered, trembling slightly. 

De-Aged 2

There was water falling from the sky. Water! From the sky! And everything was stained gray and even the air (the air!) was wet and the ground felt like cold soup underneath him - and sweet suns and scorching sands, was it cold. It felt like it was sapping away his life force, leeching his energy and warmth right from underneath his skin. 

There were so many colors! The ground was brown for some reason, and there were what he could only assume were plants in almost abhorrently vibrant shades all around him. He had to take a second glance at one of them, as it was a striking reddish-orange. For a second, he feared someone or something had set it on fire. Flowers of every color he had ever known (and in some new shades he had never seen, too) dotted the landscape, bowing down under the weight of their now-wet florric manes. 

It took him a moment to realize that, despite the surprising brightness of the surrounding area, the suns were missing. He glanced everywhere, and yet could not find any sign of any star. Strange, tall structures with sprawling tops blocked his view of the sky in some places. 

Inching towards one, he eyed it warily. He had never seen anything like it before. It had the sturdy thickness of stone, and its outer layer was rough and hard like stone, too. And yet, it was the awning of green that arched overhead that he didn’t trust. Green scale-like structures made up a covering that blocked his view of the sky and made him feel oddly trapped. Whatever the thing was, he didn’t trust it. 

He took a hesitant, weary step back, keeping his eyes on the thing. Then, he stumbled and fell as a flash of agony unlike anything he had ever felt slashed through his mind, blinding him with its sheer strength. He collapsed, clutching his skull with a pained screech. Everything hurt. Water streaked down his face and he couldn’t tell if it was from the tears he felt forming or from the miracle water falling from the skies. He felt colder than he ever thought possible, so cold he thought he might die any second from it - was it from the liquid earth sapping his warmth and energy or was it from the gaping wound that surely must be present to cause such pain? Was the crawling, slimy itch he felt oozing through his mind the result of some sort of parasite or disease, or was it something more sinister?

He didn’t know. He could barely think through the pounding agony in his skull.

Chapter Text

Coming Out Of My Cage

Anakin spent the first nine years of his life stuck in a cage, his mother just barely out of reach. The only times he was let out was to work in the shops, for twice-weekly routine exercises, or to podrace. The Cage itself was cramped, a tiny five by five by five foot pen with a thin, ragged blanket and two pet bowls- one for water and one for food, though they were often empty. There were no lights other than the briefest glimpse of the sun for about twenty minutes a day. It was stiflingly hot during the day and freezing cold at night. There would be week-long intervals where nobody would come to feed him, to give him water, to clean him up or let him out. More than once, he had laid there, half-conscious, convinced that he would die there.

Sometimes, he wished he had. Sometimes, what was outside the cage was far worse than what was inside the cage.

Because of all of this, it was understandable that he had a love-hate relationship with tight, enclosed spaces. Being in one induced panic attacks, but often he found himself unable to sleep outside of one. Being in one triggered feelings of panic and helplessness and fear, but being outside of one triggered feelings of vulnerability and anxiety. Nobody else understood. Nobody knew what it was like to never be able to run around and stretch your legs. Nobody understood why he always flipped out when his fellow Padawan’s locked him in supply closets as ‘jokes’. Nobody thought anything about his strange behavior, or the way he always folded himself up when he sat or laid down.

One time, he had been locked inside a particularly small storage closet by his peers. He had cried and yelled and begged to be let out but they just stood there and laughed. They laughed and laughed and laughed and laughed, finding amusement in his suffering. It was as if his torment was a joke, like they found comedic value in his pain. 

And then they left him there.

Hours had passed with him yelling until his voice went hoarse, sobbing violently until he could barely breathe. His fingers were raw and bleeding from when he had tried to scratch at the walls. He was halfway trapped between the nightmarish cage he had been trapped in and the hellish torment he was experiencing now.

Finally, after 8 hours, Obi-Wan had returned from the mission he had been on. Anakin latched onto his Force presence, desperately clutching at his only hope. He broadcasted his fear and terror and the feeling of trapped-help-please-stuck-afraid through their bond, and could feel the waves of alarm and protectiveness that Obi-Wan emitted. The man’s presence raced towards him, warmth and light and safety pulsing in time with Anakin’s racing heart.

Obi-Wan unlocked the closet, freeing Anakin. Anakin clung to Kenobi’s robes, ugly sobbing and shaking violently. Obi-Wan had embraced him, comforted him, told him that everything would be okay. He asked who had locked him in there, but Anakin couldn’t speak; he was crying too hard.

“How long were you in there?” Obi-Wan had asked. Shakily, Anakin held up eight fingers. 

“Eight? Eight minutes?” Obi-Wan had questioned with a frown. Anakin shook his head.

“Hours,” he managed to gasp out. Obi-Wan’s face went cold, his emotions hidden behind a blank mask. Obi-Wan picked him up, holding him close to his chest.

Anakin had grasped onto the man with an iron grip, broadcasting the hunger-thirst-loneliness-hot-dark-dry-alone-scared-hurt he felt across the bond, sending a mental image of the small cage he had spent most of his life in. 

Obi-Wan had paused, sending feelings of horror-empathy-anger-shock back to him. 

The next thing Anakin knew, they were in the Council chambers, and Obi-Wan was shouting. But he wasn’t shouting at Anakin, he was shouting at the Masters. Anakin flinched. Shouting, especially at the Masters, would get you punished. It would get you beaten and hurt and thrown back into the cage. The image of the horrid cage entered his mind once more, and the movement in the room seemed to still. Anakin realized he had accidentally broadcast the image, along with all the feelings associated with it.

“My Padawan has spent the last nine years of his life in a fucking cage, so excuse me for being cross,” Obi-Wan had hissed, still holding Anakin with the same tender love and gentle care as before, even as he seethed at the others. Then, he stormed out of the room, wrapping Anakin in a blanket of soothing feelings and warmth.

Bonus: A Bunch Of Kids Commit A Felony Offense

“What’s wrong, little doggy?” One of the older Padawans taunted. How they had found out about the cage was beyond him. 

“Careful, he might bite,” another Padawan jeered.

“Maybe we should muzzle him!” Someone suggested. 

Anakin tried to ignore them, hoping they’d get bored and leave him alone. No such luck. One of them grabbed him by the shoulders, roughly shoving him into someone else.

“Where do you think you’re going, mutt?”

“Leave me alone!” Anakin snapped, even as shivers of fear ran down his spine. 

“We don’t take orders from animals,” one of them spat.

Someone grabbed his hair and yanked, sending Anakin to the ground with a pained screech. 

“We have a little surprise for you, little doggy!” The first Padawan said, watching as one of them grabbed Anakin’s hair and forced his head up so that another Padawan could secure a collar around Anakin’s neck.

Anakin froze, his blood turning to carbonite.

Only bad slaves were collared. Only defective, unwanted slaves were collared. 

Only slaves doomed to die were collared.

One of the Padawans grabbed him by his new collar and began dragging him, with another lifting up Anakin’s kicking feet and carrying him. The collar cut into his skin along the edges and rubbed it raw everywhere else. 

He gasped for air as the cursed object cut off his airway for a second, before he was thrown to the ground. The sound of metal against metal sounded as what Anakin realized was a small door slammed behind him and-

And-

And he was back in the cage. It was dark and cramped and he wanted out-

Burning pain shot through his body the moment he lunged forward. He collapsed, screaming out in agony, writhing and clawing at his throat. Finally, it stopped, but the searing pain remained. Tears freely fell from Anakin’s face as he gasped and sobbed.

“Aw, look at the wittle baby! Cute little puppy dog is cwying wike the wittle baby he is!” The ringleader taunted in an obnoxious false-babyspeak way.

“Let me out- let me out, please-“ Anakin cried. Another wave of electricity flooded him, and he realized the collar around his neck was a shock collar. The Force felt cold and distant, and it fell through his fingers like fine sand.

The Padawans were laughing about something, and one of them sneered down at him with contempt. 

“Goodbye, little doggy,” he said, his lip curling with both disgust and satisfaction. 

Anakin’s world went dark.

He awoke in short, delirious episodes, each of which only left him more confused and afraid than before. He was somewhere cold and cramped and dark, trapped in his cage. Pain thrummed through him like the distant lull of hyperspace - wait, why was he in hyperspace?

He attempted to lift his head, to find answers to his mounting, frantic questions, but agony blossomed all throughout his body. 

The Jedi Meet Anakin Skywalker’s Children

Mace Windu took a deep breath, steeling himself for the migraine Skywalker would surely give him. Of course, he expected the ex-Jedi to jump at the opportunity to work on a project such as this, but Mace knew Skywalker would find some way to annoy him on a personal level.

He knocked on the door to the large, comfy home. Senator Amidala had gifted him this house so he could live on Naboo, he recalled. 

Mace expected an assistant or droid of some sort to answer.

He surely didn’t expect the door to swing open, revealing a glaring child who couldn’t be older than six.

“Go away! We’re not supposed to talk to strangers!” She yelled, then slammed the door as hard as she could. He stared, blinking in shock, jaws agape. From inside the house, he heard her yell to someone. 

“Hey! There’s a weird bald man at the door!”

Mace quickly glanced at his map, wondering if he was at the wrong place. He wasn’t. Maybe there were guests over, or maybe the house was being rented or loaned.

“Is he ugly?” Another voice yelled from somewhere farther into the house, sounding as young as the first.

The door swung open once more, and the little girl stared up at him with a scrutinizing expression. Then, she slammed the door again, even harder than before.

“A little!” He heard her shout. “And he’s dressed like a homeless wizard!”

Mace scowled, then pinched the bridge of his nose. 

“What’s he doing?” He heard one of them whisper from the other side of the door. 

“I think he’s trying to grow his hair back,” the first replied.

“Ohhh,” the second said, as if she had just told him the meaning of life. 

“Do you think he lost it because of the war?”

“Maybe. Why is it shaped that way?”

“I dunno. It’s shiny, though,”

“Does he use shampoo or soap on it?” 

“Let’s ask him!”

The door opened a third time, revealing two young children.

“E-Excuse me, Mister, we were wondering if- if-“ the male child stuttered shyly.

“Do you use shampoo or soap on your head?” The girl demanded to know, loud and bold. 

“Where are your parents?” Mace huffed.

“Why? Did they take your hair?” The boy asked, his eyes wide.

“Yes. I want it back. Where are they?” Mace lied, because it was funny and he wanted to see their reaction and he wasn’t a bad person for lying to children, okay?

The two children’s eyes went impossibly wide, before they bolted through the house, leaving the door wide open.

“DAD! THERE’S A MAN SAYING YOU STOLE HIS HAIR AND HE WANTS IT BACK!” The girl hollered. Mace sighed.

“HE’S AT THE DOOR AND HIS HEAD IS SHINY!” The boy ‘helpfully’ added.

Mace resisted the urge to rub his temples.

A fat tooka trotted up to the door, glancing at him appraisingly. 

“Mrrrow!” It yelled at him, rubbing against his legs.

“Mrrawow!” It demanded again, stretching up on its hind legs. Mace sighed, then picked the tooka up, where it settled into his arms with a happy purr.

“What are you two doing? Where’s Rex?” Windu heard Skywalker ask.

“He thinks we’re in the treehouse!” The girl exclaimed, proudly.

“Was that why he was yelling at a tree?” Skywalker asked. “And what’s all this about a man saying I stole his hair?” 

Mace paused, his brain short circuiting.

“There’s a guy at the door! And he’s ugly!” The girl said.

Then it clicked. There were children yelling ‘dad’ and Skywalker responded. Therefore, he could only conclude that these children were Skywalker’s spawn. 

Just. Great. It wasn’t like one was hard enough to handle already.

“But only a little!” The boy added.

Mace rolled his eyes, setting the cat down. Crossing his arms, he scowled. 

“Skywalker!” He yelled, and heard Skywalker curse slightly.

“What’s that word mean?” One of the children asked.

“Ask Rex,” Skywalker replied, hurrying to the door.

Mace raised an eyebrow as Skywalker appeared at the door. He looked disheveled and exhausted, as if he hadn’t slept for days.

“Master Windu. A pleasure seeing you here. What brings you to my door?” Skywalker inquired, leaning against the doorframe. Two pairs of curious eyes appeared just behind him.

“The Jedi request your help on a mechanical project of ours,” Windu said simply.

“And this couldn’t be done over a call?” 

“They were very insistent on meeting in person,” Mace explained.

“Well, sorry, I’d love to but I am very busy at the moment,” Skywalker huffed.

“Mommy just had babies!” The boy explained.

“Lots of them! Like, three!” The girl exclaimed.

“The wife just had triplets,” Skywalker said dryly. Mace whistled, long and low.

“What’s that, five kids?” Mace asked. No wonder Skywalker looked exhausted.

“Six. We have a three-year-old as well.”

“That’s our little sister!” The boy sniffed.

“I assume you’ve met Luke and Leia?” Skywalker asked, motioning to the twins.

“They take after you.”

Skywalker snorted. 

“You can say that again.”

“I’ll tell the others you’re busy,” Mace said, giving a respectful dip of his head. Just as he turned, he heard the shrill cry of an infant, which was soon joined by two others. He heard Skywalker groan, and couldn’t resist the small smile that graced his lips.

Seemed Skywalker had his hands full.

“There's a guy at the door and he’s ugly!” Koon heard the little girl, Leia, shout from the recording.

“But only a little!” The boy, Luke, yelled.

Windu groaned, placing his head in his hands while the rest of the Council cackled at his expense.

“But only a little!” Fisto wheezed.

“Dressed like a homeless wizard!” Tii exclaimed.

“I cannot believe Skywalker had the audacity to steal Windu’s hair!” Koon added. 

Yoda tapped his stick on the floor, and the laughter quickly died down.

“Hmm. An important question, there is,” he said, his expression and tone serious. Everyone leaned in, the mood shifting from curious to nervous. Yoda turned to Windu and gave him a grave look.

“Use shampoo or soap, do you?” 

The room erupted into laughter once more, this time louder than before.

Mace scowled, though a small smile flickered across his face.

“Sounds like Skywalker’s the one who needs some help,” Koon commented, and Fisto nodded in agreement. 

“Who do you think the wife is?”

“C’mon, that’s obvious.”

“Ahsoka, Skywalker has kids!” Koon exclaimed, Force presence bright with wonder and amazement. Ahsoka paused, glancing at him semi-guiltily. 

“Oh… what a shocker!” She tried, making a half-hearted surprise to sound surprised.

“But of course, you already knew that,” Koon rumbled playfully, and Ahsoka’s nervous, guilty face shifted to a genuine, goofy smile.

“Yeah,” she said softly. “I’m their Aunt ‘Soka.”

Not Lost, Just Misplaced

Carnage. There was carnage everywhere. And so he lay there, uncertain of anything other than the fact that he was in pain. A lot of it. 

Were those bones supposed to be jutting out of his skin like that? He didn’t think so, but everything seemed… fuzzy.

Acrid, burning smoke stung his eyes and choked him, muffling his labored gasps and desperate heaves. With each passing second it became harder and harder to breathe, and he had to force himself to fight through the pain and inhale. It was as if glass was scraping his throat with each struggling breath. 

Why was he so cold? The smoldering fires around him burned his skin and yet he felt like he was freezing. And why was the ground around him so damp if everywhere else was on fire? He scooped some into his palm just to look at it and saw that it was oozing a dark crimson. Blood. Was the ground bleeding?

He glanced at his torso, finding twisted, jagged metal jutting through him. 

No, he decided. The ground wasn’t bleeding. It was him that was bleeding, and he was bleeding a lot. It was to the point the bloodied earth was saturated with it and little embers struggled to ignite the dry, withered grass to no avail. 

He coughed, his body spasming against the invading metal, pain shooting through him as little red flecks burst from his mouth. Sanguine saliva dripped from bloodied lips as his eyes drooped half-way closed. 

The sound of distant shouting growing louder had him weakly lifting his head. Men dressed in white and blue were rushing towards him, yelling words that made no sense. 

“Contact General Kenobi, tell him we found General Skywalker’s downed fighter,” one of them chittered. The words took a moment for him to understand, like how someone would have to take a second to translate a language they were only somewhat fluent at.

“General, keep still,” the one who seemed to be in charge told him, removing their helmet. He nodded, weakly, as the other glanced at him in a scrutinizing, concerned fashion.

“Jesse, contact Kix. I think something’s wrong,” the white-and-blue leader told another. 

His eyes were drifting shut again when the leader approached. He realized the leader couldn’t see the metal from where he was.

“Careful, you’ll… stab yourself… friend…” he slurred, pathetically attempting to wave away the stranger.

The stranger didn’t listen, getting closer with what he could only guess was a panicked expression. Finally, the stranger half clambered into the little area created by the wreckage. He watched as the stranger’s eyes darted to the fires, the jutting bones, the blood and, finally, the metal. When the stranger spotted it, they went pale. They reached forward, then jolted back and hurriedly turned to their comrades. 

“Get Kix here, now! Call Kenobi and get a med-evac out here ASAP!” The stranger yelled, then turned back to him.

“Shit. Uh, right, uhm, General - Stay awake for me, alright? Whatever you do, do not close your eyes, got it?”

“Mmmm,” Anakin hummed, immediately doing just that. 

“General, no, stay awake!”

Anakin blinked his eyes back open, pouting at the stranger.

“Don’t give me that look, General! You are actively bleeding out!” The stranger scolded, his voice near-hysterical.

“Wha?” 

“You’re suffering from blood loss, General, so for the love of all things holy try to stay awake.”

“Blood loss?” Anakin parroted, glancing down at his impaled torso. It was soaked in blood, as was the ground, so it wasn’t like it was lost, it was just… misplaced. Yes.

“Yes, General, blood loss.”

“No, I know exactly where it is,” Anakin slurred, his vision going black as he lost consciousness.

Chapter Text

If one’s mind was a room, as it so often manifested itself in the Force, then one’s eyes were the door. A Jedi’s mind-room was tidy with early-August afternoon lighting, no matter the season or the placement. Everywhere one looked, there were neutral tones of beige and tan, of brown and white, of vanilla and toffee. 

Everywhere, except the window.

The window was always in the same place in every mind, no matter the shape or style of it. Off and to the left of the door, tucked away in the uttermost corner. Jedi texts tell of countless debates over its significance, of its purpose. Nobody could see through - they simply saw a basal hue. That’s why the eyes of a Jedi were clear, unstained, the natural color showing beneath yet with an unnatural sheen to them that almost seemed to glow. 

It was the same concept for every species - the rooms were always different, and the most powerful Force users had multiple, and no room was ever the same. The window was the one constant. 

But Anakin was born broken in a way he couldn’t quite comprehend, and the door to his room was always locked. No matter what he did, he could never open it.

He would wait outside of it for hours and hours, would plead to be let in only for silence to meet him. He would pound and scream and rage against it, desperate to understand why he was so different, why he was the only one to have this defect.

Most of the time, he would simply sit with his back to the door, sobbing softly to himself because whatever had broken his connection to his room had broken a lot more than that, too. That’s why they didn’t love him, why they didn’t want him. That’s why nobody ever wanted to talk to him, why he remained ignored wherever he went. He was locked out of the room and locked out of their lives, and something in him just wasn’t quite right and everyone could see it except him. 

Obi-Wan didn’t want him, and neither did the Jedi. Why would they? He could do everything right, could be everything they wanted, but as long as he was locked out of the room he was locked out of their good graces, locked out of the one thing they valued most of all - meditation.

Meditation was simply the act of opening the door and walking into the room, after all, and no matter what he tried he was always stuck, always locked outside.

It took two years of Obi-Wan trying and failing to get Anakin to open the door before he gave up. Sure, Obi-Wan was still technically Anakin’s Master, but Anakin was no fool. Obi-Wan had locked Anakin out of his life, and in Anakin’s place he welcomed Padawan Olin. 

Ferus Olin was Siri Tachi’s Padawan, but the three of them might as well have been family - a family Anakin wasn’t welcome in. 

Siri was nice enough to him, interacting with him with a polite pleasantness that was betrayed only by the pity in her eyes. 

The three of them went on missions together. They ate together, laughed together, trained together, and it just wasn’t fair.  

Anakin knew that despite all his skill, despite all his power, despite every point he had going for him, he would never even hold a candle to Ferus in Obi-Wan’s mind. To Obi-Wan, Anakin was simply another failure - he was broken and unworthy of attention, just another thing to sweep under the rug. 

So Anakin stayed away. He taught himself to the best of his abilities, and every day when he trained he would see Obi-Wan training Ferus while Siri watched with a smile, and he would wonder why?  

Why wouldn’t that damn door open? If it opened, would Obi-Wan want him? Would he be able to laugh and live and eat and train with him the way Ferus did? Would he finally be more than just another broken thing, swept under the rug and left to decay? 

It all grew to hurt too much. The inadequacy, the longing, the wondering - it all was too much, and all he could do was try to drive it away with the sharp sting of glass against his flesh. If he couldn’t unlock his door, then nobody could unlock his heart.

He was numb, and his heart was locked, and nobody cared enough to try and unlock it. He stayed in the shadows, never speaking, never wanting, never reacting. He was hurting and he was silent, and soon he was forgotten. 

He found a room accessible only through the vents, and for once he had a room he could call his own. There already was a small refresher, which thankfully worked, as well as an old, though still comfortable, bed. And so, he moved in. 

The vents were those used by maintenance droids, so it wasn’t hard to fit through - though he had to take care not to get lost in them. He brought whatever he could fit and soon the room was his, and his alone. Nobody could step foot in there without him knowing, and he wondered if this was the closest thing he’d get to unlocking the door in his mind. 

The vent served as his door. He painted the room a pale golden-tan and in the warm light of the floor lamp placed in the corner, the room almost held that same early-August evening glow he saw in the minds of other Jedi. Across the room from the vent was an old wooden desk, which quickly became cluttered with droid parts and data pads. To the right of the vent, against the wall, was his bed, covered in blankets and pillows and laundry. To the left of his bed was a dresser, and to the right of his bed was a small nightstand. 

Most importantly, though, was the mirror tucked into the upper corner of the wall to the left of the vent. It reflected the light when it was on, and the darkness when it was off, and he wondered if that was the purpose of the windows in the mental rooms of other Jedi.

As the years passed, he found himself leaving less and less. Close to his room, he found another sealed-off area accessible only through the vents, and he quickly turned it into a makeshift garden. Soon, the room was overflowing with plants, and it was producing enough food that he didn’t have to leave his hidden kingdom if he so wished. 

He continued to explore the vents, and found a room with a domed ceiling. He painted star maps on the ceiling with glow-in-the-dark paint and placed mats he scavenged from the dojo on the floor. Some days, he’d practice various katas and moves until his legs gave out on him. Other days, he’d lay on his back, staring up at the artificial sky. It wasn’t happiness, and it wasn’t fulfillment - but it was the closest thing he had.

For ten years, he remained hidden, desperately hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone would care enough to notice he was missing, would care enough to come looking.

But before he knew it, he had faded into obscurity, remembered only as ‘that Padawan’ Obi-Wan had raised for two years, the Padawan that couldn’t open his door, who disappeared mysteriously one day.  And yet, they could never remember which day he disappeared. Nobody had cared enough to take note, nor had they cared enough to search.

He had only ever been defined by a locked door, after all. Why would anyone take note of someone like that?

If one’s mind was a room, as if so often manifested itself in the Force, then one’s eyes were the door. A Sith’s mind-room was dark with late-January morning lighting, no matter the season or the placement. Everywhere one looked, there were dark tones of black and red, of gray and silver, of crimson and steel. 

Everywhere, except the window.

The window was always in the same place in every mind, no matter the shape or style of it. Off and to the left of the door, tucked away in the uttermost corner. Sith texts tell of countless debates over its significance, of its purpose. Nobody could see through - they simply saw a blinding glow. That’s why the eyes of a Sith were yellow, stained by the power it emitted, the sulfuric coloration rimmed with the crimson of the room.

It was the same for every species - the rooms were always different, and the most powerful Force users had multiple, and no room was ever the same. The window was the one constant. 

But Vader was born broken in a way he couldn’t quite comprehend, and the door to the outside of his room was always locked. No matter what he did, he could never open it.

He would wait inside of his room for hours and hours, would plead to be let out only for silence to meet him. He would pound and scream and rage against it, desperate to understand why he was so different, why he was the only one to have this defect.

Most of the time, he would simply sit with his back to the door, sobbing softly to himself because whatever had broken his connection to the outside had broken a lot more than that, too. That’s why they didn’t love him, why they didn’t want him. That’s why everybody mocked him relentlessly, why he was ostracized wherever he went. He was locked inside the room and locked inside of this living hell, and something in him just wasn’t quite right and everyone could see it except him. 

Obi-Wan hadn’t wanted him, and neither did the Jedi - so he didn’t want them either. Why would he? They abandoned him, made him feel small and scared and worthless.

He could do everything right, could be everything they wanted, but as long as he was locked inside of the room he was locked inside a never-ending cycle, locked inside of the one thing they seemed to despise most of all - himself. 

They gave up on him. Obi-Wan gave up on him. They never wanted him, least of all his supposed Master. 

Back then, he was small and he was hurting. Now, he was bitter and burning with his resentment.

He had heard them talking, the last time he went out. He had heard Obi-Wan talking to Ferus and Siri, had heard them laughing together and joking around with each other. It had been years at that point, so it shouldn’t have hurt to witness their comradery, shouldn’t have twisted his heart to see them together like that. 

What did Ferus have that he didn’t? Vader was stronger, smarter, faster, better than him in every way, shape, and form, 

Of course, back then, he wasn’t Vader. He was Anakin Skywalker, small and weak and hurting, worthless in everyone’s eyes. So, back then, when he saw Kenobi rest his hand on Ferus’ shoulder, he had simply shed a silent tear. When he saw them share a grin, he simply bit his lip. 

“I’m so, so proud of you, Ferus,” Kenobi had said, and he had flinched so hard he nearly fell over.

“I love you,” Kenobi had told Ferus, and Anakin had realized that the pain of failure, of inadequacy wasn’t the worst - this was. The pain of hearing those words, the words he had dreamed of hearing spoken by the man he adored and looked up to, only to realize that they weren’t spoken for him - that was the worst. 

He had hidden away for days. It had hurt so bad he could hardly breathe and nothing could ever ease it. He had hidden until he couldn’t hide from his pain any longer.

Nobody had wanted Anakin Skywalker, and nobody ever would. He was too different, too forgettable, too broken . And so, Vader destroyed him. He smashed the mirror to pieces, picked up the shard, and slashed at his wrists until the screaming in his mind quieted to a whisper. And in that whisper, he was born - he, nameless and burning, who bled as if his wounds were eyes and the crimson droplets were tears. He, who had fled the Temple, only to be claimed by the greedy jaws of the Sith, who waited for him with gleaming eyes and bared teeth. He, who underwent days, then weeks, then months of unending torture at the hands of the Dark Lord, desperately praying for rescue that never came. He, who had called out endlessly for Obi-Wan in the Force and in between screams, only to be met with silence. He, who broke down and was built back up with molten steel and lightning only to be broken down again. He, who finally lost hope after sixteen months of torture, the final sparks of light left within him finally snuffed out by blood and suffering. He, who came face to face with Sidious, who stared into the eyes of evil and had grasped its hand to make a deal - he, Darth Vader, Sith Apprentice, who would make Kenobi feel the pain Vader had felt. 

He, who still remains trapped in an endless room, who is forever trapped behind a locked door.

It was funny, how the years passed. Seasons changed, people remained the same - and he was still split in two. One part of him, small and weak and hurting, sat outside a room with his back against a locked door. The other part of him, angry and bitter and vengeful, sat inside that same room with his back against that same locked door. 

He was 21 years old, still defined by that damned door and his inability to open it. 

Sidious was his Master now, and Vader was under no delusions this time. He knew what Sidious wanted, he knew what was expected of him. 

Dooku ran one side of the war, completely oblivious to Vader’s presence outside of brief mentions of Sidious’ assassin. Sidious, of course, ran the other side of the war.

Vader didn’t much care about anything, anymore. He just wanted Kenobi to hurt. He wanted them all to hurt. He wanted them to feel the agony of what he went through - the rejection, the neglect, the crippling loneliness, all of it. He wanted them to feel what it was like to be inadequate, to never be enough for the ones you love, to be tossed aside and replaced. He wanted them to feel what it was like to be alone and desperate and hurting. He wanted them to suffer the same fate of Anakin Skywalker.

He wanted them to feel the agony of lightning ripping through their veins, of metal tearing apart one’s flesh, of molten steel being poured over fragile skin and bone. He wanted them to feel what it was like to be trapped in a lightless room so small there was no way to even move, to be trapped and afraid and devoid of anything other than fear and boredom. He wanted them to be ripped apart and put back together again and again just like he was. He wanted them to lose hope just like he had. He wanted them to suffer the same fate he suffered because it was the only thing he knew how to do.

Obi-Wan Kenobi, the Negotiator. 

Ferus Olin, the Hero With No Fear.

Siri Tachi, the Shadow of Justice. 

The three of them, The Team. A family. Heroes. 

Tachi and Kenobi, the famed Duo of Victory, and the Padawan they shared, Ferus Olin, who could never do anything wrong.

They were perfection incarnate.

They were monsters.

Kenobi, who told him he was broken, who told him he was dangerous, who told him he would never be a Jedi. Tachi, who told him she pitied him, who told him he should leave them be, who told him he wasn’t wanted. Olin, who told him he’d never amount to anything, who told him he was worthless, who told him he was beneath them.

He’d show them. 

Ferus was a knight, now, and a General of his own battalion. He saw the pride in Kenobi’s eyes as Olin stood by his side.

That should have been me! A venomous part of his mind hissed.

Why wasn’t it me? A long-dead part of his mind whispered.

He followed them across the Galaxy, watching as they destroyed everything in their path, watching as they turned a blind eye to those who actually needed help. He watched as they were praised for actions done not by them but by the clones who died in the hundreds, their lives needlessly wasted. He uncovered secrets and crimes and horrible truths about The Team, and yet his leaks were ignored - they were golden and could do no wrong.

Their crimes numbered in the hundreds, and yet they faced no retribution. They were worshiped as heroes because they were born right .

Why was he the villain just because he was born wrong?

It was cramped and cold and dark. Where was Obi-Wan? Everything hurt and he was so scared and hungry all the time and he needed his Master. He knew he was broken, he knew he was worthless, but he needed help. Wouldn’t anyone help? He would do better, he would swear it. He’d be absolutely perfect so long as someone came and saved him from this hell.

Vader awoke with a snarl. Phantom pain coursed through his limbs as his gaze snapped up to scan his surroundings.

He was in a cell, but not the one from his nightmares. That didn’t stop the instinctual terror or the flood of memories, however, but at least it made it easier to shove it all aside.

Just like everyone always shoved him aside. 

The fear and pain was replaced with a familiar, burning anger.

“So, you’re awake!” 

Vader locked eyes with a familiar face. 

“Ferus Olin,” Vader spat the name venomously. The knight in question smirked, leaning cockily against the wall. By his side, his clone captain and his Jedi Padawan were tense. The Padawan, a togruta he usually felt sympathetic for, was glaring at him with fierce blue eyes. The captain, his chest plate painted with the eyes of what Vader guessed was some sort of animal, kept his weapon trained on Vader.

“Ah, so you know me. Mind returning the favor, assassin?”

Vader hissed in outrage, though he really wasn’t shocked Olin didn’t recognize him. After what Sidious did, not even Vader recognized himself sometimes.

“Well, I’m not sure how to pronounce that, so let me ask you this - why are you working for Sidious?”

Vader glared at him defiantly.

“I didn’t have a choice, Jedi,” he snapped, his eyes burning with rage. The Padawan’s eyes widened. 

“Are you a slave?” The Padawan gasped, horrified. Vader felt a brief flicker of surprise and what almost felt like begrudging affection. 

“In a way,” he answered, and it was the truth. Sidious owned him. The Sith had broken him, had claimed him, had dictated who he was. Vader was his property, his slave in all but name.

“Ahsoka!” Ferus snapped, causing the Padawan - Ahsoka - to flinch. Vader growled at the sight.

“I know that’s not how your beloved Masters taught you, Olin,” Vader taunted, drawing the Jedi’s ire from his poor Padawan. “Are you that much of a bully that you’d pick on your own apprentice?”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Sith.”

“I know more than you could ever understand.”

“I very much doubt that.”

“I know that you’re a monster. I know that you let people die because of your pride and arrogance. I know that you’ve broken every promise, every vow you’ve ever made. I know you’re nothing more than a bully who was handed everything and who kept it all to himself.

Chapter Text

For all of Luke’s Father’s sins - and believe him, he was well aware of those sins - he had never once lied to Luke. Not willingly or knowingly, at least. In that regard, Luke had always trusted his Father, trusted him not to lie to him.

Except he did, now, for the first time.

“How does it look?” Luke asked, beaming up at his father as he showed him the oil panting he had been working on. Typically, he busied himself with metalworking and machinery, but Leia said that painting would ‘help him recover mentally and emotionally from the scars of the war’ or something, and honestly, he found it quite soothing. This particular painting had taken him over a week to finish, and it featured a great dragon curled protectively around its young. 

Luke expected Vader to react in the way he usually did: a curt nod and a well done, while inside Luke could feel the man’s pride and love for Luke and his creations.

A confusing, muddled mess of emotions came instead. There was hurt, there, the kind of hurt that felt like the petals of a flower curling inwards, sheltering the center - like someone had pressed painfully on your heart and you were now trying to protect it. It was the kind of hurt that was limited to the self, that spoke of insecurity and isolation; it was the kind of hurt that was tinged with the grief for something once treasured but now gone, the longing for something one had taken for granted but would never return. There was a great amount of insecurity, too, those dark flames of self-hatred that seemed to so often embody his Father rising up in loathing, loathing towards himself for… something.

“It looks… beautiful, my son,” he lied.

Luke frowned, hurt.

“Do you not like it?” He asked, wounded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he deflated.

“No, no - it is wonderful, my Son-“ Father was still lying, but why? 

There was a sort of pride in Father’s voice, pride in Luke’s creation, but it only felt half-sincere, like it was muddled or overshadowed by whatever complicated feelings his father was struggling with. Mostly, Luke’s Father felt like an old, hollow space in a canyon wall lined with ancient fossils of things that no longer existed, things Luke would never get to experience. The entire cave was echoing with something Luke couldn’t quite understand, a sort of rueful wishing for times that once passed easily but now never would again.

It all tasted so bittersweet, like opportunity lost, wasted or squandered and foolishly let go.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Luke muttered, feeling dejected. “If you don’t like it, just tell me - I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m 25, I can handle it.”

“Luke, my Son - everything you create is perfect. It… It is I who is imperfect.” Luke’s Father said the last part quietly (well, as quietly as was possible for him, anyway) and the Force echoed with that same self-consciousness. 

Luke frowned at that, shooting a puzzled look at his father.

“What is that supposed to mean?” He inquired, his brow furrowing slightly.

Luke’s Father froze, his dynamic Force presence stilling with horror and shame and immediate regret. Luke frowned harder, setting down his painting and reaching towards him. Something was wrong, and now his Father was Reacting.

To Luke’s horror, his Father flinched, minutely jerking away from Luke as those impenetrable mental shields locked into place - the shields that had once been used to keep the Emperor out. 

Eyes widening with confusion and hurt, Luke retracted his hand and watched as Vader slowly backed away from Luke, his posture rigid and defensive, like an animal facing a predator.

In the reflection of Vader’s red lenses, Luke didn’t see himself - he saw Sidious, hands raised to inflict pain for no reason other than to show he could. In his father’s eyes, Luke had temporarily been cast over by Sidious’ vengeful ghost. 

“Father,” Luke breathed, horrified. Guilt lashed at him, though he had no clue as to what he had done to trigger this… episode.

“Father,” he tried again, gesturing in a way he hoped was pacifying as he took a small, tentative step forwards. “Dad.”

Vader’s head snapped up ever-so-slightly. A garbled mess of static escaped from him, and small cracks began to appear on Vader’s mental shields.

“Hey, dad - it’s me, Luke.”

There was a surge of recognition.

“Luke,” his Father said after a second. “My son.”

“Yeah,” Luke gave a soft, sad-yet-sincere smile. “It’s me.”

Shame radiated through the now half-open shields, burning in its intensity.

“I- I apologize, I-“ Vader began to apologize, but Luke shook his head slightly.

“Father, we’ve talked about this. It happens; it’s alright. A decade of grooming followed by two-and-a-half decades of abuse don’t disappear in just a year. Give yourself time - forgive yourself. I understand.”

Luke’s Father did an odd sort of full-body twitch-shudder, and with a feeling of immense sorrow Luke realized his Father was fighting the instinct to kneel. 

Tucking away the sadness he felt for his father and the resentment he felt towards the Emperor, Luke brushed against his Father’s presence, projecting calm and acceptance .

Tentatively, Luke’s Father reached back.

Fear. Fear was what immediately bombarded him, washing over him like icy waves, stealing the breath from his lungs. Fear of rejection, of failing to meet expectations, of being tossed away for being defective, fear of being killed for his weakness - fear of him.

Luke felt sick to his stomach. His father feared him - his own father feared him.

Tears burned at the edges of Luke’s eyes as he struggled to hold himself together. 

Looking deeper, beyond the fear, there was a deep-seated self-resentment that felt like candle smoke slipping from his grasp. But, much more tangible was the acceptance Luke’s Father felt. 

He thought Luke would kill him, and some part of him had already accepted that fact. 

Luke bit out a whimper of distress, trembling slightly. 

They’re instinctual fears, Luke reminded himself, repeating what the therapist had told him. They’re irrational to you, but to him, they’re at least partially founded in truth, inspired by past experiences with others.

It still hurt, no matter what the therapist said.

“Father- I’m not him. You’re safe. I won’t hurt you.”

There was a slight twitch of unease, of uncertainty, of hope flaring up only to be held back by foul, cruel memories. 

“Do you trust me?”

A flash of pain from his father. Luke could feel his turmoil, how he wanted so badly to trust Luke, to reach out to him, but that he was too afraid to do so, too scarred and scared to take that step. His father wanted more than anything to trust, but after a lifetime of cruelty and betrayal and abuse, he just didn’t know how.

Luke’s eyes softened as he took a careful step forwards, offering his hand. 

“You want to trust me, don’t you?” He murmured, his voice quiet and gentle.

“More than anything,” Luke’s father choked out, sincerity radiating off of him. Luke gave him a small, sad smile.

“Small steps, Father. Small steps, and we’ll get there - together.” Luke took another step forwards, and his Father tensed again. Luke paused, searching his Father’s now-mostly-unshielded presence to gauge his reaction. But this time, Luke’s Father wasn’t afraid - not really, anyway. Some fear and uncertainty still lingered, but most of it was gone - rather, he was hopeful, but in that way that only someone who fears themselves to be irrational was. 

Luke smiled again, taking a few short steps and closing the distance, embracing his Father in a hug. 

“You deserve this, you know - the hug, I mean. And you deserve to be loved, too.”

Luke’s Father didn’t respond, and instead hesitantly embraced Luke back. Luke could tell he didn’t quite believe what Luke said, but, well, small steps, and all that.

The hug lasted another thirty seconds or so before Luke let go, stepping back to look his Father in the lenses.

“Now,” he began gently. “What was that all about? Truthfully? You know I won’t judge you, or do any of the things you fear I will. Whatever it is, you’re safe - I promise.”

Luke’s Father was silent for a long moment, and Luke feared that he wouldn’t answer.

“You asked me how… how it looked,” Luke’s Father said, his voice as soft as it could be. He felt vulnerable, in the Force, and Luke sent out a wave of reassurance and pride in response.

“And?” Luke very gently encouraged, making sure to keep his posture open and relaxed.

“...I… I cannot see…”

Luke frowned, his brow furrowing. Of all the things, he hadn’t expected that.

“Like, you can’t see the painting, because of your mask, or something?” Luke inquired, but that deep shame and self-resentment was still heating his Father’s blood, and-

Oh.

Oh.

“...Or you can’t see, at all?” His father flinched, turning ever-so-slightly away from Luke.

“Hey,” Luke said, gently. He could feel his Father’s rising panic and shame and fear, could feel how he was starting to spiral again. “Hey.”

Luke placed a reassuring hand on his Father’s shoulder, pointedly ignoring how he had to stretch slightly to do so.

“Father. It’s alright. Everything’s fine - nothing’s changed, okay?” He began, then gave a sheepish smile.

“Of course, I would… really prefer if you’d let one of our healers check it out. You know, just to see if there’s anything we could do, or if it’s caused by something threatening, or, er, you know… I dunno… It would just really reassure me, you know?” Luke shifted on his feet, coughing awkwardly. “I don’t think less of you or anything, I just want to make sure you’re happy, and as healthy as you can be - safe. I want you to be safe.”

Luke’s Father was silent for a moment longer.

“For you, my son, I would gladly do anything.”

Luke let out a frustrated puff of air.

“I know that, Father. But that’s sorta the problem. I want you to do the things you do because you want to do them, not because you think I want you to do them. You’re your own person - you can say ‘no’ for no other reason than that you don’t want to, and you can do that and not be punished for it.”

Luke’s Father regarded him, that same, damned silent confusion hovering about him that always lingered whenever Luke tried to explain the concepts of free will and the ability to choose for oneself and being able to say no to things without being afraid of getting hurt. 

“...I will go to the healers, if it pleases you,” he eventually said.

Luke closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Alright. That’s- Alright. Okay, we’ll, uh, we’ll work on that. Come on.”

It was only when Luke was halfway out the door that he realized something.

“Oh- uh, Father?”

“Yes, my son?”

“How have you been, er, navigating?”

Luke’s Father glowed in amusement, in the Force. 

“The same way I have been,” he answered, then clarified. “The Force. I use it to navigate my surroundings.”

“Oh,” Luke said, embarrassment warming his cheeks. “Yeah, that makes sense. I, uh, probably should have thought of that.” After all, Luke’s Father had been getting by without help for who-knows-how-long now.

Luke turned, continuing onwards, though he would be lying if he said he didn’t keep a close eye on his Father as he moved about.

Chapter Text

Schol Astic had thought he had seen it all - he’d fought in the Rebellion for twenty years, after all. He’d seen enough guts and gore to convert him to vegetarianism, had heard so much blaster fire it still echoed in his ears when his surroundings were too quiet. He’d lost comrades, gained enemies and allies alike, had loved and lived and lost and learned. From the desert wastes of Tatooine to the jungles of Ryloth; from the frigid hell of Hoth to the stormy seas of Kamino; he’d seen it all - except this. 

Still, he kept his gaze guarded, impassive, as he sat down. The man in front of him barely resembled a man - everything about him seemed damaged in some way, beaten and broken down. If Schol had no idea as to who it was sitting in front of him, mechanical wrists bound to the armrest of their wheelchair with Force-restricting cuffs, he would have pitied them.

A small part of him still did.

“What’s your name?” Schol began immediately, staring into the sunken, cloudy, sightless eyes of the Galaxy’s God of Fear.

“My Master gave me the name of Vader,” the man replied, his reedy voice hoarse and barely more than a whisper. It sounded shockingly fragile in comparison to the booming baritone it had been before.

Schol’s eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. The answer had given away a lot, yet nothing at all. 

“Your Master?” It seemed the best route - he was after information, after all, not Vader’s life story…

…Though he was curious…

“The Emperor,” Vader answered, his voice rich with emotion that Schol couldn’t decipher. Even more curious.

“And how did you first meet the Emperor?” He questioned. In his mind, the image of a post-battle warzone or a grand political ball emerged. 

Vader flinched slightly, his face flickering underneath his oxygen mask. Odd.

“He was my only friend - he was the only one who cared about me, for me.” Vader’s voice was somehow hollow, like he was reciting a mantra or repeating something he’d been told over and over again, while also sounding earnest, like some part of him truly believed it.

“You were friends, then,” Schol reaffirmed, choosing to note down the odd behavior but otherwise ignored it. “When?”

Another brief moment of silence.

“I was a child,” Vader whispered.

“And the Emperor?” Schol asked, a hint of annoyance seeping into his tone, masking his burning curiosity. Had Vader and the Emperor been childhood friends? Schoolmates, maybe? Hell, maybe they were even related in some way.

“The Chancellor,” Vader told him. Schol frowned. 

“I’m sorry?”

“He was the Chancellor.” There was a brief pause. “He told me I was special. He told me I was different, he made me feel wanted, useful.”

Schol raised an eyebrow, alarm bells ringing in his mind.

“The Chancellor-turned-Emperor was friends with a child?”

“I was a lonely child. I didn’t belong. I misbehaved often, so the Jedi sent me to him. They said he requested it, that he said he wanted to help.”

“And they believed that?” Schol inquired, a hint of incredulity in his voice. He knew he should get back on track, but this was far too interesting to pass up. And besides, it might even be useful, somehow.

“It doesn’t matter if they believed him or not - they never wanted me in the first place. The only reason they kept me around as long as they did was because of the prophecy-“

“Prophecy?” Schol interrupted, blinking in surprise. 

Vader leveled him with a fierce yet halfhearted glare, his lips curling into a slight frown that cracked the irritated skin and appeared painful, though Vader showed no sign of feeling it.

“Yes,” he said, slowly, as if he were talking to a child. “The Jedi thought I was their Chosen One. As such, they bought me - won me in a bet, actually - and took me to the Temple.”

Feeling as if he were rapidly losing control, Schol nodded with a surety he did not feel.

“You were a slave.”

Vader flinched, but did not deny it.

“Born into it, as was my mother before me, and her father before her, and so on for millennia. The Jedi left her behind to rot.”

Chapter Text

(Anakin is sent back in time to when he was a child. However, he is mute due to the trauma of all he’s been through. Both he and his Mother are freed, Qui-Gon lives, and Anakin becomes an initiate. The story begins when he meets Dooku)

Dooku was being stared at. It wasn’t exactly something unfamiliar, as many others had done so in the past. Being the Padawan of the Order’s Grandmaster and a respected Jedi Master would do that.  

But it was the type of staring that was different. More accurately, he was being glared at with such burning contempt that it was as if they were trying to incinerate him with their eyes. 

The source of such glaring was the small, skinny, mute boy Qui-Gon had picked up on his most recent mission. Where they had met the Sith. 

Dooku was relieved beyond words that somehow both Qui-Gon and his Padawan were unharmed, though he would never let anybody know that. 

Qui-Gon turned to the boy, and suddenly the anger in his eyes was replaced by calm indifference so quickly that Dooku almost thought he had been imagining the glaring. But, then, Qui-Gon turned away and the child was back to glowering at him. 

It was more than just the raw anger in the child’s eyes, however. It was the piercing stare, the eyes that seemed to look right through him and were disappointed with what they found. It was the sharp, cold edge that spoke of both intelligence and spite. It was the intense, burning heat behind them, as if Dooku was the cause of all evil. Despite only having just met the child, the initiate acted as if Dooku had cut off one of his limbs, killed his friends, and started a war. 

Most unsettling was the fact that the child seemed to tear right through his defenses and pick him apart piece by piece. This child knew him, most likely better than he knew himself. And Dooku didn’t know how. That’s what got him. The fact that this mute little nine-year-old was able to scare him was bad enough, but the fact that he knew this child was aware of all his darkest secrets, his deepest regrets, everything , was terrifying . 

His instincts screamed at him that this was an incredibly dangerous enemy. He tried to ignore it. 

(And yet, it seemed, that fate was not going to let him ignore it.)

It didn’t take long for Dooku to notice that the child, Initiate Skywalker, was following him. Like, full on stalking him. Everywhere Dooku went, Skywalker was there, watching him. Always watching, and always silent. The only place he was safe was his private quarters, and even then he found himself double-checking dark corners and sketchy closets.

After a week or two, he found himself having nightmares of waking up and finding the Initiate glaring at him from the foot of Dooku’s bed.

He’d wake up, go for breakfast, only to find him sitting there at Dooku’s usual spot. He’d eat, all the while he would glare in complete silence. 

Do you know what it’s like to die?” Anakin asked, a far-off look on his young face. Normally, Jedi Master Mace Windu would say something about how there was no death, only the Force, and that dying was more of a rebirth than anything, but there was something in the initiate’s eyes that told Mace he already knew the answer.

(OR; some snippets of Anakin’s return to the past, and all the severe emotional and mental trauma that comes with it)

“Have you ever seen someone be burned alive?” Anakin questioned. Obi-Wan paused mid-bite, food still half lifted to his mouth, wondering why they could never have a normal conversation for once. With an inward sigh, he carefully set down the fork, the metal clanking slightly against the plate.

“I… can’t say that I have,” he carefully responded, immediately filing away a reminder to request mind healing for this youngling. Ever since Qui-Gon had brought Anakin to the Temple, Obi-Wan had been keeping a close eye on the little initiate. He seemed… off. He never smiled, never looked anyone in the eyes, never spoke unless first prompted, and even then it was only to a select few people… 

Obi-Wan remembered how Anakin had saved Naboo, but not before fearlessly (and recklessly, Obi-Wan would always say) killing the horned Sith. With his hands!!!

The ferocity in the child’s eyes had been troubling, and yet the light inside him had blazed and burned with such intensity that it almost hurt to be around him.

None of that fire was around him the rest of the time, though. He was known as the weird new kid who never spoke and watched everyone as if he could see right through their shields and into their very souls. 

Maybe he could, Obi-Wan mused. It would surely explain a lot of Anakin’s weird behavior.

Right on cue, Anakin glanced at him sharply with a slight scowl.

“I’m not weird,” he huffed. Obi-Wan shuddered, reinforcing his mental shields even more despite suspecting that it didn’t do anything to help.

“Not my fault your shields are made of transparisteel,” he muttered. Obi-Wan attempted to think really hard about staining his shielding to a different, non-transparent color. By the sudden amusement on Anakin’s face, however, he guessed he had only made himself look ridiculous in whatever mindscape Anakin saw him in. 

The initiate shrugged, his eyes darkening once more. 

“When someone’s burned alive, it actually takes a while for them to pass out, let alone die,” he continued, and Obi-Wan wished he could pass out or die to escape this conversation.

“All the while, that person may feel everything. Do you know what it’s like to be burned from the inside out? To have your eyes melt inside your skull? To scream and scream until you physically can’t scream anymore because there’s fire in your lungs and fire in your throat? To lay there, burning, wishing only that your foe had killed you, rather than leave you to burn?”

At that last line, Anakin’s voice broke slightly, and he glanced away, a pained, haunted look in his eyes. 

“Anyway, I can’t stand the smell, sight, taste, or texture of cooked meat. The rice is good, though.”

Maul: hey, how y’all-

Anakin: ARGGAGAGGGRGGAGGRRRRR

Maul: *panicked screeching* 

Maul: GET YO FUCKIN’ DOG, BITCH!

Qui-Gon: it don’t bite

Maul: YES IT DO, BITCH

These days, his thoughts were tinged neon-iridescent, a static cluttering his mind that tasted and smelled like freshly poured steel, an indecipherable madness that clung to the edges of his vision and coiled, pooling, preparing for the perfect moment to swell, to crescendo into a manic flurry, either unstoppable aggression or untamable inspiration taking over him like a specter of his own mind, simply waiting for the right time, eating away at him. 

Parasitic, one thought of him hissed. 

Perfection, another purred.

He was kept in blinders while Outside, the mask serving both as a helmet and a hood. A seemingly endless supply of a concoction of drugs he couldn’t name was constantly pumped into his veins, their white-hot energy pulling him in all directions at once, leaving him completely hollow and spent save for the rage. It was all consuming - the rage, the anger, the pain - it tore all thought from his mind, all facts from his brain, leaving only the desire to hurt and maim behind. He knew nothing, not even his name, and especially not the nature of his existence. 

After he’d been sicced on whatever base needed storming or population culling or what have you, he’d be tracked down through the chip he could feel as surely and as steadily as a second pulse, constantly thrumming just below the skin between his collarbone. They’d activate some sort of remote shutdown - sometimes it was a toxin injected into him, sometimes it was an electric shock from the control collar that had been affixed to his neck for as long as he could remember. Admittedly, there was little he could remember with any form of clarity, but the collar always felt familiar, so he thought it had been there for a while, at least.

Chapter Text

Some days were better than others. Some days, he could go about his life and forget that something was horribly wrong with him. He could be a relatively normal Padawan, with classes and chores. He could pretend that he was fine.

Other days were worse. Those were the days he lay awake at night, unable to sleep because everyone else was just so loud! He could hear their thoughts, he could hear them moving throughout the temple and around the planet, he could hear them as they talked and laughed and he couldn’t sleep because he heard everything.

His grades fell, because in class, he was bombarded with his classmate’s mental chatter. Even when nobody was actually talking, he couldn’t focus. That, combined with the sleep deprivation, made him fall behind on work, which in turn resulted in the teachers giving him even more work to catch up on.

Eating was difficult, too. He couldn’t really explain it, other than that all the noises made him nauseous. It was overwhelming; the deafening, ceaseless sound somehow suppressed his appetite. How could he eat when the world was screaming?

He was always being chastised (both verbally and mentally) for not paying attention or not listening to what they were saying. As if it were his fault that he was born with something he couldn’t control.

Eating, sleeping, listening, learning, and merely existing was a constant struggle, one that seemingly got worse as time went on. Back on Tatooine, he’d only have one or two bad days per year, it seemed, but now, he had one almost every other day.

Sometimes the bad days turned into bad weeks. And, it seemed, that Anakin’s bad week was turning into a bad month. He hadn’t slept in almost two days. He hadn’t eaten for even longer. He didn’t even bother going to class anymore. He felt like he was dying.

He knew something was wrong with him. He wasn’t supposed to be able to hear these things. Nobody else seemed to be able to hear them, what made him so special? The prophecy?

Surely, this was a curse of some kind, because some days (like yesterday, where Obi-Wan had to go looking for him because Anakin couldn’t find his way back to the dorms on his own) it got to the point where he was unable to hear even his own thoughts, and his mind would temporarily be consumed by the thoughts and feelings of others. When that happened, he wandered around in a confused daze, being torn between a thousand different thoughts, each belonging to someone else. 

He’d tried everything. Headphones, music, meditation, but the sounds never stopped or ceased, they just kept assaulting him, and he was powerless to stop it. 

Something was wrong with him, and that was why he hid it. If the Jedi saw he was defective, they would surely sell him back to Watto, or- or-

He couldn’t finish that thought, partially because he really didn’t want to, and partially because, at that moment, he was bombarded by the thoughts of one of the Jedi Masters in charge of the class who was approaching him. Anakin glowered at the Togruta as even more noise filled his skull. The Master faltered for a second, then turned and tried to make it seem as if they weren’t heading towards him. Anakin knew, though. He heard the Master’s scorn as if it were his own.

I see why everyone says he’s a weird one. Always angry at everyone, someone’s mind whispered, Anakin spun around and saw a group of Padawans staring at him and snickering.

What a freak. It’s a wonder he got selected at all. But, then again, I heard that Kenobi hadn’t even wanted him, someone else thought.

Anakin bared his teeth. The Padawans noticed that he noticed, and their scrutinous stares turned awkward. 

Never talks, either, and always gets all offended when someone approaches him. Does he even have any friends? I almost feel bad for him… 

It wasn’t Anakin’s fault that everyone was so loud! Being able to hear deep into another’s subconscious all the time really hindered any attempts at socialization. There was a reason he liked to hang out with droids, after all. Droids didn’t lie straight to his face, not realizing that he knew what they really thought of him. Droids didn’t have presences that constantly screamed or minds that were always running, always thinking, and never shutting up.

I feel so bad for Knight Kenobi. Surely he couldn’t have just given up by now and chosen an easier Padawan? I mean, if it wasn’t for that promise or whatever, the poor guy wouldn’t even be in this situation! Surely he’ll soon enough see that the child won’t ever be a Jedi, and he’ll give up and raise someone… normal.

This time, Anakin flinched as the words entered his skull. They were coming from a Jedi Master this time, not a Padawan. He looked over and saw an unfamiliar Zabrak who was talking in hushed tones with the Togruta from before. The two Masters, sensing that he was looking at them, glanced up.

Wait, did he hear us somehow? No, he couldn’t have. He’s just doing that weird staring thing he does. Force, why does Kenobi even bother? Really, he needs to stop wasting his time and start over with a kid who actually has a chance, the Zabrak thought. Anakin turned away, desperately trying to hide the tears that threatened to spill from his eyes. He locked his hurt behind his best shields, because really, they were right. Obi-Wan was wasting his time on him, wasn’t he? As the tears began to spill from his eyes, he left, unable to take any more mental bombardment.

Anakin burst through the door, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. Obi-Wan looked up at his young Padawan in surprise.

Before he could open his mouth to ask what was wrong, Anakin hissed in pain and annoyance, glaring at him,

“Anakin? What’s wrong?” Obi-Wan questioned, concerned. Did his Padawan hurt himself again? Was he angry at him for some reason?

Anakin didn’t answer, and instead fled to his room, slamming the door behind him. Following, Obi-Wan hesitantly knocked on the door. Anakin didn’t answer. Normally, Obi-Wan would try and respect his Padawan’s wishes if he wanted to be left alone, but if Anakin was hurt...

Opening the door, he stepped inside. Anakin was curled up on the floor next to his bed, fists pressed against his ears so forcefully that Obi-Wan was worried he would injure himself. Tears streamed down his Padawan’s face as he growled in pain and frustration.

“Anakin? What’s happening? Are you hurt?”

“Go. Away.”

Obi-Wan blinked at his Padawan in shock. Anakin never took that tone of voice with him. Ever. Even when he was really mad. Something must be wrong with him, Obi-Wan reasoned. For whatever reason, Anakin flinched violently, turning away from Obi-Wan even more.

“Anakin, please. I just want to help,” Obi-Wan pleaded, sitting next to the 13-year-old. He reached out to rest a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, only for him to flinch away. Obi-Wan sighed.

“I- I just want to be left alone right now. Please,” Anakin whispered, his voice soft, yet hoarse. Obi-Wan blinked sadly down at his Padawan and left.

Anakin laid in his bed, staring at the ceiling listlessly. His alarm had been beeping for a while now, but he barely heard it over the constant whirlwind of noise that was the temple. 

He hadn’t slept at all last night. That was three days of no sleep, now, and he knew he was at his wits end. He was so tired, but he just! couldn’t! sleep! He was incredibly tempted to steal some sedatives or to simply just ram his head into a wall until he passed out. At least then he wouldn’t be awake.

He was starving, too, but he knew that if he tried to eat or drink anything, even water, he would just end up throwing it back up again. Not that there was anything to throw up. He hadn’t eaten in… well, it had been at least a week. Which, really, was pretty ridiculous.

With a low moan of pain, he rolled over and tried to bury his head in the pillows. Of course, it did nothing to help with the noise, but it did feel somewhat comforting. 

At least, it did, until Obi-Wan entered the apartment and filled Anakin’s mind with his Master’s mental babble. The storm of different thoughts swarmed Anakin’s brain with ideas of Council meetings and reports and a bunch of other boring stuff. Force, why couldn’t his Master at least think of interesting things? It was the least he could do, after all, for constantly invading Anakin’s thought process.

Where’s Anakin? I swear, if he’s still moping… Obi-Wan’s thought slammed into his skull. Anakin grunted in response and burrowed deeper into the nest of pillows and blankets he had built himself.

Obi-Wan entered the room, and Anakin was unable to hide his wince as even more sound encased him. Anakin felt his Master’s concern, and a whole new flurry of noises thundered along with it. Obi-Wan asked him a question, but Anakin barely heard it.

Covering his ears, Anakin let out an agonized groan, trying to shield himself from the constant onslaught. 

“Anakin, if you don’t tell me what’s going on, I’m getting the healers,” Obi-Wan threatened, trying to sound stern. Anakin knew that he was panicking on the inside, though. Normally, he would be touched, but now his Master’s panic was just amplifying his pain. 

Anakin didn’t (couldn’t, to be honest) answer him. Obi-Wan left for a few moments, but he was still too close for Anakin to regain his own thoughts. He returned a few moments later, and said something that Anakin couldn’t quite catch.

Curling up into a tight ball, a few tears slid down his face. The healers were coming, and they would find out that he was defective, and then they would get rid of him-

Anakin cried out as the constant clamor amplified. Obi-Wan was by his side in an instant, shaking him and asking what was wrong.

“It’s too loud! Master, please, it’s too loud in here,” Anakin whimpered, feeling something trickle out of his nose. 

“What? There’s no noise, Anakin, it’s just us, talking,” Obi-Wan tried to reason.

“No, no, there’s too much noise…” Anakin whined, weaker this time. He was starting to lose his grasp on where he was. For a second, he was a Jedi Master headed towards a Council meeting. In the next, he was a senator filing paperwork. Then, he was a child, playing video games with his best friend. 

He was a healer, preparing herself for the worst as she entered the apartment where Knight Kenobi called to say that something was wrong with his Padawan. He was the healer’s partner, watching in horror and confusion as their patient writhed in pain uncontrollably, eyes wild and unseeing. He was Obi-Wan, frantically begging the healers to do something because something was obviously wrong with his Padawan.

He was all of Coruscant, all of the Galaxy, all of the Universe. He was everything and everyone at once, and he was nothing.

Then, he was in a swamp. He was himself, and finally, finally the nosies ceased. He lay there, for a moment, just calming his racing heart and trying to take deep breaths. The sheer relief of not hearing anything was enough to almost make him cry all over again.

Getting to his feet, he looked around.

Large trees with creeping vines and thick foliage cast a shadow on the darkened forest floor. Murky water sat still and stagnant, plants of all kinds growing in and out of it. A dense fog seemed to settle silently just above the muddy earth. The scent of sulfur and rotting things was strong, the air more humid than he had ever felt, and the temperature nearly as hot as Tatooine. Despite the heat, Anakin felt a deep, icy chill inside him, and he couldn’t seem to get warm.

He took a few trembling breaths. Why was it so hard to breathe all of a sudden? 

The whisper of someone’s mind was enough to make him jump. Spinning around, he saw Qui-Gon sitting on a rock, solemnly staring into the murky water. He looked up at Anakin, his gaze full of sorrow and regret. 

“Master Jinn?” Anakin questioned, unnerved. He was, after all, standing in a silent swamp, staring at a dead man. 

“Anakin. I’m so, so sorry,” Qui-Gon said, voice heavy with grief.

“Why? What’s happening?” Anakin interrogated, his heart thundering in his chest. Qui-Gon didn’t respond, just sadly shook his head and stood. He beckoned Anakin to follow him with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Anakin hesitated, then raced to catch up with the man. 

“Where are we going?” Anakin asked as they trekked through the looming trees. Qui-Gon chuckled, though a heavy sadness still permeated from him.

“Home,” he replied.

“Home? To the temple?” Anakin questioned, hopeful. Obi-Wan must be worried sick.

“Not quite, young one,” Qui-Gon said, and Anakin frowned.

“To Tatooine?” He asked, concerned.

“No, not Tatooine,” Qui-Gon assured him.

“Oh. Where, then?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,”

“Will Obi-Wan be there? I think he’s worried about me,” At that, Qui-Gon glanced away, grief in his eyes.

“He’ll be there, eventually,” Qui-Gon said after a brief pause. Anakin frowned, but stayed silent.

A sudden bolt of electricity shot through him, making him collapse to the muddy ground, screaming in pain. A bright, fluorescent light flooded his eyes, and the deafening noise from before rushed to meet him. He screamed again.

He heard people talking in rushed, serious voices, but they sounded muffled, as if they were underwater.

Qui-Gon was cradling him in his arms, he realized. Anakin peered up at the man with tears in his eyes. Qui-Gon looked torn between relief and sadness. 

“W-What’s happ-happening?” Anakin stuttered, his breath coming in short, rasping gasps. He trembled violently in the older man’s arms, clinging to him for dear life.

“They’re trying to bring you back, Anakin. There’s hope for you yet, it seems,” Qui-Gon said, trying to look happy for Anakin’s sake, but Anakin could see the doubt behind his eyes.

“B-Bring me b-back?” Anakin echoed, tears streaming down his face. He screamed and writhed as another bolt of electricity tore through him, and clung to Qui-Gon harder.

“You must let go if they are to succeed, Anakin. You’ll see me again, don’t worry. Go, now, before it’s too late,” Qui-Gon instructed, smiling down at Anakin, who tried to protest but was interrupted by his own scream of pain. Another jolt of lightning coursed through his veins. He could feel someone performing chest compressions, but it felt distant and far away.

He must have lost his grip on Qui-Gon, because he was lying on the ground, alone. He curled up into a ball, lightning searing his skin and thunder echoing in his skull. 

“Qui-Gon! Master Qui-Gon! Don't leave me, please!” Anakin called with all his remaining strength. His vision was going dark, and he couldn’t feel the ground beneath him anymore. 

Nobody answered him. He slipped away into darkness, alone.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan sat next to his comatose Padawan, reading aloud to him a holo-book Qui-Gon used to read whenever Obi-Wan was sick. Pausing, he took a moment to close his eyes and release some of his emotions into the Force.

Heart failure. It was caused by a mixture of starvation, dehydration, and sleep deprivation. That’s what very nearly claimed his Padawan’s life. 

Putting the book down, Obi-Wan put his head in his hands.

How had he not noticed? How neglectful must he have been for him not to realize that his Padawan hadn’t eaten in over a week? How bad of a Master was he that he failed to see that his Padawan hadn’t slept for days? How had he not seen the signs that were so obvious to him now?

Silent tears fell from his eyes as he gazed upon the small, skeletal figure that was the child he so cared for. Even now, after four days of unconsciousness and medical care, dark bags outlined his sunken eyes, and Obi-Wan could count every bone in his body. Wires and tubes stuck out of his skin, making him appear impossibly small and fragile. The rhythmic hissing of the ventilator was perfectly in sync with the rise and fall of Anakin’s chest. The too-loud heart-rate monitor pierced the tense silence, but at least now it was strong and steady.

He was racing along besides the healers as they rushed Anakin out on an emergency stretcher. He took a shuddering breath and then was still, too still, and Obi-Wan was struck with the horrid realization that he was about to lose someone else he cared about.

“Hmm. Not your fault, was it.” 

Obi-Wan looked up to see Grandmaster Yoda at the door, ears drooping, sadness in his eyes.

“Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan greeted, numbly.

“Intruding, am I?” The small green Jedi asked. Obi-Wan shook his head. The ancient Master hobbled in and sat in the chair next to Obi-Wan’s. 

“They’ll be removing the ventilator soon. He’s expected to wake up any day now,” Obi-Wan stated, softly, his voice catching in his throat. Master Yoda didn’t respond, and instead gazed upon Anakin’s seemingly lifeless body with great melancholy. 

“How could I let this happen?” Obi-Wan asked his great-Grandmaster. 

“Suffering, Skywalker was. Suffering, Skywalker is. Know, none of us did. Known, you could not have. Need to understand this, you do,” Yoda told him, stern yet gentle. He paused, then shook his head, his big ears drooping.

“Pushed him too far, we did. Send you away, the Council did. Mistakes, we have made. Apologize, I shall,” Yoda said with a bow. Obi-Wan stared down at him in numb shock. Yoda stared back, then made one of his noises, and hobbled off, leaving Obi-Wan confused, yet slightly more at ease.

Anakin stared at the floor, trying and failing to contain his tears. Obi-Wan didn’t want him anymore. That’s why he had been left here, right? Anakin was worthless and useless. He was a pathetic excuse for a sentient, he knew, and so did Obi-Wan. Anakin had failed, and that’s why Obi-Wan left. 

He let them down, and that’s why he was here, alone. Unable to keep the tears at bay any longer, he cried himself to sleep.

Anakin was in a cave, this time, or somewhere similar. The scent of rotting meat and wet stone was choking, as was the oppressive darkness. Distantly, he could hear the pitter-patter of tiny creatures and the dripping of water.

He heard shuffling coming from behind him, and turned around. He saw a massif, standing on its hind legs, with too big, too humanoid eyes. The massif smiled at him with human teeth.

“You’ve been here a while now,” it gurgled, sounding as if a thousand bones were breaking at once to make the sounds it did. “You’d better wake up, before you forget how.”

Anakin came to with a gasp, drenched in a cold sweat, his heart racing and his breathing rapid. Except, he wasn’t awake, not yet. He was in a cabin of sorts. It was dark, and he was alone. The creaking of ancient wood above his head had him looking up, only to see nothing. There was nothing there.

With a sigh of relief, he lowered his gaze back to the floor, and saw the joined-together corpses of a bunch of different animals. It’s most freakish feature was the face made out of human skin. It stared at him with glossy, lifeless eyes, unmoving. Anakin screamed, trying to get farther away from the horrid monstrosity in front of him, but he couldn’t move. He was frozen to the spot, unable to flee.

The thing staggered towards him, and the scent of rotting flesh assaulted him. Anakin screamed again, but the creature never reached him. The flash of a green lightsaber cut it down, and Anakin looked up to see Qui-Gon.

“Master Jinn! You’re back!” Anakin called, relieved. The vision of the swamp seemed like so long ago now. He’d been trapped in a seemingly endless cycle of nightmares since.

“Anakin! You must wake up! Hurry!” Qui-Gon hissed, and Anakin could hear the desperation in his voice. 

“I can’t! I don’t know how!” Anakin wailed back as Qui-Gon began to fade, and with it, the dream.

Anakin awoke more slowly this time, his thoughts heavy and weighed down by exhaustion. The sound of a heart rate monitor was loud and constant, as was the ever present noise of the Temple. Though, it sounded muffled and, dare he say it, more bearable. Opening his eyes, he saw that he was in a hospital bed, with wires and tubes of all sorts hooked up to him. An oxygen mask rested on his face.

Anakin closed his eyes again, tears threatening to spill from them.

This was his least favorite nightmare. It was the one where he ‘woke up’ in the Temple, finally believing that he was free from the nightmares. And then Obi-Wan would come in, he would see Anakin, and he would snarl in disgust. He would say that he didn’t want Anakin anymore, that Anakin ruined his life, that he was defective and worthless, nothing more than a stupid slave. Sometimes it was Obi-Wan who said those things, sometimes it was the Council after he’d been ‘awake’ for a while, giving him false hope of finally being free.  

Qui-Gon was in the corner, sitting in a chair, watching him. The older Jedi smiled warmly at him, a hint of pride in his eyes.

“Anakin! You woke up! I knew you could do it,” Qui-Gon praised, sounding relieved. Anakin blinked at him, uncomprehending. Was this another nightmare?

“No, Anakin. You’re awake now. You’re in the healer’s ward, but you’re safe. Obi-Wan’s been worried about you,” Qui-Gon soothed. Anakin shook his head slightly, disbelieving.

“If I’m awake, how come I can see you?” Anakin challenged, his voice quiet. Qui-Gon’s gaze darkened, and he let out a weary sigh.

“It seems your little ‘adventures’ in between the land of living and dead have made it so that you can see us,” the Jedi answered.

“Us?” Anakin questioned, trying not to show his alarm at the prospect. He hadn’t known he had almost died…

“Yes, Anakin. The Jedi are taught that we join the unified Force when we die. And, for the most part, almost all do. But some of us stay behind to watch over the living. I am only one of the ones who chose to stay,” Qui-Gon explained. Anakin bit back a groan. So it seemed he was able to see ghosts now. Fantastic. As if he didn’t have enough problems already. 

“You should have more faith in us, though I understand why you don’t,” Qui-Gon murmured softly. Anakin cast his gaze down to the scratchy blankets on the bed, averting his eyes.

“We can help you, Anakin. Already, I am partially shielding your mind,” he said, and Anakin blinked up at him in surprise. It was true; it was as if someone had placed a soft, warm blanket over his head, protecting him from the overwhelming noise. 

“Obi-Wan’s coming. I’m going to disappear briefly so you’re not distracted, but I’ll still be here,” Qui-Gon said, and moments later Obi-Wan walked in. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw that Anakin was awake, and they stared at each other awkwardly for a few moments.

Then, Obi-Wan walked towards him and carefully wrapped Anakin in a hug. Anakin’s eyes widened in shock, and he swore he could hear Qui-Gon snickering from somewhere in his brain. Could feel the man’s smile, even.

“Oh, dear one! Don’t you ever do anything like that ever again!” Obi-Wan scolded, and if Anakin focused, he could hear the man’s frantic, worried thoughts. He didn’t want to, though, and instead returned the hug. Screwing his eyes shut, he focused instead on the here and now. He didn’t want to admit that he had been terrified, too. He also wondered if Obi-Wan knew how close Anakin came to death. If he had taken just a few more steps, he was sure he wouldn’t have been able to return. 

“You scared me, Padawan,” Obi-Wan whispered. And if Anakin noticed the redness of his Master’s eyes when he pulled away, well, who was he to judge?

Life went back to somewhat normal after Anakin was released. Sure, he had been scolded a dozen different times by a dozen different people, and sure, he was watched at every meal to make sure he was eating. And, yeah, maybe his Master stood just outside his door sometimes to make sure he was sleeping, and perhaps he saw the spirits of people long dead, but he could almost pretend things were normal.

Almost.

“Dude, I am trying to study,” Anakin hissed under his breath at the grinning ghost of a teenage Padawan who was sitting across from him. One thing he had noticed was that ghosts were kriffing annoying. At least Jewter, with his shit-eating grin and mischievous personality, was one of the tolerable ones, unlike Fana and Taru, who he had walked in on them having sex 12 times. 

Tirips, Umbra, Sydney, and Jewter had become his little gaggle of ghost friends. At present, Sydney was studying what they called an “incredibly interesting spider”, Umbra was napping in the sunlight that shone through the windows, and Tirips was eavesdropping on some Padawans. 

“What are you studying?” Sydney asked, abandoning the spider to do whatever a spider does. Probably spider-y things.

“It’s my plants and animals practice quiz. I’m stuck on this one question,” Anakin sighed, quietly. 

“Dude, why didn’t you tell me earlier? You know I’m an expert!” Sydney scolded, indignant. Anakin blinked at them. 

“Oh. I forgot about that,” he muttered. Sydney snorted and rolled their eyes, before pushing Jewter aside to look at Anakin’s test.

“Which one are you stuck on?” They asked.

“Oh, uh, it’s ‘What kind of nest does a Zuckabou make?’. And also ‘When does the Thorny Brambleberry bloom?” 

Sydney snickered, and Anakin shot them an offended look.

“These are classic trick questions, Anakin. The Zuckabou doesn’t make a nest. It’s a brood parasite. It lays its eggs in other bird’s nests. And the Thorny Brambleberry doesn’t bloom, it spreads via spore like a mushroom,” Sydney told him, elbowing Jewter when he got too close. 

Anakin bit back a groan, resisting the urge to bang his head against the table.

“Of course! I’m so stupid, how could I forget that?” Anakin bemoaned, pushing the test towards Sydney so they could look it over.

“Hmm. Well, first of all, instead of saying ‘I’m so stupid’ you should say ‘You all wish you were me’. It’s a real confidence booster, ya know? Also, the Ferruginous Heron is venomous, not poisonous. It has venomous spurs on its legs, which is pretty badass if you ask me. And the Sanguine Beskarback is poisonous. I know, weird for a snake to be poisonous instead of venomous, and yes, there’s a difference. So, remember, the heron is safe to eat, just don’t get into a fight with it, and the snake is safe to fight, but don’t eat it. Other than that, it looks good!” Sydney said, watching as Anakin made the corrections as they spoke.

“Man, I should just have you do this from now on. Is there anything you can’t do?” Anakin asked.

“Live,” Sydney replied, to which Anakin had to concede was a fair point.

“I think I’m ready. Quiz me,” Anakin said after a few more minutes of studying.

“You sure?” Sydney questioned. By this point, Umbra was sitting on the table, Tirips was leaning against a nearby wall, and Jewter was just watching them. Anakin nodded, and Sydney grinned. Already, Anakin regretted his decision.

“What type of diet does a tooka require? Anyone can answer,” Sydney started. Anakin was about to answer when Umbra shot up.

“Obligate carnivore!” He yelped, hand in the air. Sydney nodded at him approvingly. Anakin jotted down in his notes what Umbra had said.

“What kind of animal is a Krayt?” 

“Reptile,” Anakin answered. He knew that one, at least. Sydney grinned, before continuing.

“Good. Now, what about-“

“What are you five doing?” Qui-Gon asked, appearing next to Sydney, who made an odd, unflattering, bird-like noise. Anakin jumped, nearly falling out of his chair. He still wasn’t used to ghosts just appearing out of nowhere.

“Studying,” Tirips answered, calmly. 

“Well, Anakin, I hear Obi-Wan’s looking for you,” Qui-Gon said. Anakin sighed, standing from his seat.

“What does he want?” Anakin said, packing up his stuff. Umbra and Tirips waved, before disappearing. Jewter yawned, nodding to him, before also vanishing. Only Sydney stayed, probably so that they could ask Qui-Gon about birds. 

“I think he wants to train with you,” Qui-Gon answered, following as Anakin left the library.

“Alright. Where is he?” 

“Right around the corner, I believe,” Qui-Gon said, and, sure enough, Obi-Wan was right there when Anakin turned the corner.

“Hey, Master. I heard you were looking for me?” Anakin greeted. Obi-Wan blinked at him.

“Who told you that?” He asked after a moment.

“A little birdie,” Anakin replied.

“Tweet tweet, motherfucker,” Sydney deadpanned from behind him, and Anakin had to stop himself from snorting.

“Right. Well, did you want to train? We haven’t done that in a while,” Obi-Wan asked. It was true; they hadn’t been able to train together because Anakin was still technically recovering. 

Eagerly, he nodded, a smile blooming on his face. They walked together to the training stalls, chatting on the way there. Sydney had disappeared, probably to take a nap (who knew ghosts would enjoy napping so much?), and Qui-Gon was just watching Anakin and Obi-Wan interact with a smile.

A wave of deja vu hit him. He faltered, blinking. Glancing around, he noticed that everything felt… altered, as if he were in a dream. Was this a vision?

“Anakin? Are you alright?” Obi-Wan asked from somewhere far away. Anakin turned and saw that Obi-Wan was right next to him, staring worriedly. Qui-Gon was staring, too. 

“What… What are we doing again?” Anakin asked. What were they doing… wherever they were? Why was Qui-Gon there? Where was he? 

He moved to take a step but stumbled, a wave of dizziness overtaking him. His limbs felt fuzzy and foreign, his body feeling as if it was not his own. It was an odd feeling he could not describe, as if he were an invader in his own skin. It had such a strong feeling of wrongness that he wanted out of his body. He didn’t belong there. 

“Anakin, what’s wrong?” Obi-Wan questioned as Anakin leaned against the wall, nausea churning his gut. He slid to the floor, attempting to rub away the colored splotch that had appeared in his vision. 

He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, and when he opened them, there were other people there. He fought against another wave of wrongness and deja vu as the new people shone a bright light in his eyes. He whined in protest as they injected him with something, noting that Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan were watching from farther away.

“What’s your name?” One of them asked. Anakin blinked at them for a second.

“Anakin,” he answered. 

He faded in and out of lucidity as the people moved him and took him somewhere where the air was sterile and the lights were so bright they stung.

PLUS TWO RANDOM DISJOINTED SCENES!!! YIPPEE!!!

“Anakin, get down from there,” Obi-Wan sighed, sounding mildly exasperated but also amused. Inwardly, though, he was overjoyed. Anakin was playing. He was laughing and smiling and climbing things he wasn’t supposed to. He was getting into trouble, and Obi-Wan had never thought he would be so happy to see him do so. It meant Anakin had his energy and strength back to a somewhat normal amount, and that he was in a good enough mood to express it by having fun. 

“Anakin,” he playfully scolded. Anakin grinned down at him, blue eyes bright with happiness. He stepped forwards, closer to the edge of the platform he wasn’t supposed to be on but was on anyway. He halted suddenly, blinking, swaying in his feet slightly.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked, worried. Anakin stared ahead blankly for a few seconds, before shaking his head.

“Yeah, sorry… I’m coming down now,” Anakin told him, though he sounded… off. Obi-Wan was about to tell him to stay where he was and that he would help him down when Anakin leapt off the platform by himself-

And landed on the ground in a crumpled heap. 

Obi-Wan was by his side in a second, already fishing out his comm to call the medics. Anakin twitched a few times, staring blankly ahead. Nothing Obi-Wan did garnered a response. 

“Jedi Temple emergency line, what’s your emergency?” The voice on the other end of the line asked. Obi-Wan gave her his location and name, watching as Anakin’s twitches became convulsions. Then, Anakin stopped, and was still. He was breathing and his heart still beat, but he was like a statue. 

- - - - - - -

For once, the ghosts seemed to be leaving him alone. It wasn’t that he didn’t want them around, in fact he had grown to quite like their company. It was just that he needed some alone time, without anyone nearby. 

He stretched out on the sofa, the quiet background noise of the video he was watching comforting to him. He was grateful beyond words for the ghosts who helped block all the noise out, but he still found it hard to adjust at times. He had gone from constantly being overwhelmed by it at every hour of every day to not having it at all. Usually, the combined chatter of the living and dead in crowded areas was enough. But, when he was almost or completely alone, he preferred to have some white noise. Music, he found, worked best, and between Sydney, Umbra, and Tirips, (the former loving to listen to music, the middle playing it, and the latter producing it) he had a wide selection of songs to pick from.

With a yawn, he stood, intending to grab a snack and his favorite blanket from his room.

Something bright flashed behind his eyes. He paused and blinked, shaking his head. With a frown, he took another step forward and-

And he shifted in the bed, scratchy sheets rubbing against his skin. It was bright, he knew, from the red tint the backs of his eyes had. The steady beeping of a nearby heart monitor sounded from nearby, and the strong scent of disinfectant came to him slowly. His mind felt foggy and weird, but calm. 

“Padawan Skywalker?” Someone asked, and though he heard it loud and clear it took a few moments for him to interpret what the voice said and to realize they had been talking to him. He hummed lightly, trying to pry his too-heavy eyelids open.

“Patient is drifting into consciousness and is becoming semi-responsive,” someone reported. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan asked. Anakin hummed again in acknowledgment. 

“Anakin? Dear one, can you hear me?” 

Anakin tried to pry his too-heavy eyes open, only to be met with a blinding light. He slammed them shut again and whimpered.

Chapter Text

(Anakin needs a service droid to warn him of upcoming seizures. He chooses R2 as his droid.)

“Of course, there’s always the question of if he’s able to become a Jedi in the first place,” Windu pointed out. Obi-Wan bristled at that.

“What do you mean, ‘if he’s able to become a Jedi’? He’s capable of everything a Jedi needs to be capable of doing,” he argued. Some of the others glanced at each other, uncertain.

“If he’s on a mission and something goes wrong, he won’t be able to fend for himself,” Fisto gently pointed out. 

“What if his medication runs out or is taken? And what if he suffers a seizure during a delicate moment?” Tii added, not unkindly.

Obi-Wan had to admit those were good points. And yet, he loathed to admit that Anakin may be lesser than any other Jedi. 

“He has R2 with him! And we can make sure he always has back-up medication,” Obi-Wan countered.

“We all know that sooner or later, something will go wrong. He simply will not be as good as the other Jedi,” one Master said rather harshly. Obi-Wan flinched. He especially despised the fact that they were right. Anakin would never be the Jedi Obi-Wan saw in him, and that hurt. 

(Anakin is taken in by the Bad Batch and is later put in partial control of the 501st)

Rex had expected many things when he had heard that his legion would be led by a 19-year-old Padawan. He also expected many other things when he heard through his brothers in other units that his new General was also disabled. So, Rex hoped for the best, but prepared himself for the worst. Granted, this was a partial leader, and their leader in combat would be General Kenobi. It was still a big deal.

Of course, he greeted the 501st’s new leader with respect, and the man, who was more like a kid, greeted him with the same, if not greater respect.

“Anakin Skywalker,” he greeted, offering his left hand. Rex tried not to stare at the golden metal of the right arm, because kriff that would be so awkward. 

“CT-“ Rex began, but was cut off by Skywalker shaking his head.

“Please, tell me your name, not your number,” Skywalker requested. Rex blinked, then complied, deciding he liked the man already.

“Captain Rex, Sir.”

“Nice to meet you, Rex. I’m afraid I don’t know much about any military stuff, so you’ll have to help me with that. But first, why don’t you introduce me to some of the men?” Skywalker suggested, to which Rex nodded. Before they could walk more than a few steps, however, a blue and white astromech with a bright, reflective cloth tied around it came rolling towards them, chittering angrily. It barreled into Skywalker, making him grunt as he stumbled back. The droid let out a series of pissed off sounding beeps and whistles, and Rex got the distinct impression that Skywalker was being scolded. He wondered if he was supposed to step in or just let things take their course.

“I know, I know, R2-“ Skywalker replied to the droid as it continued to ram into him. “Look, I’m fine, see? I’m with Rex, I’m good.” 

R2, the droid, stopped its attack and turned to Rex. It waved one of its arms at him and made some chirping noises. He stood there, feeling like he was being scolded for something, except he didn’t know what the droid was saying.

“Hey, now, I’m sure Rex is plenty qualified,” Skywalker protested. Rex glanced at him in confusion. R2 rolled forward and poked Rex, making a questioning beep-boop that somehow sounded mildly aggressive, like he was being interrogated by a feisty astromech. 

“He’s asking you if you’re qualified in case of a medical emergency,” Skywalker explained, looking at him expectantly.

“Well, uh, yeah. I mean, I know basic first aid, and I know the emergency and non-emergency lines for the medics,” Rex answered. 

R2 beeped, sounding annoyed, but turned and left him alone, instead focusing once more on Skywalker. 

“See, R2? I told you that Rex was qualified!”

This, of course, sparked an argument between Skywalker and the droid. An argument where Rex had no idea what one of them was even saying, let alone what they were arguing about.

“Hey there, reg.” A voice behind him made him jump. He turned and saw an odd looking clone in red and gray armor. A member of the Bad Batch, then.

“Name’s Tech. Skywalker arguing with R2 again?” The clone, Tech, asked. Rex hesitated, then nodded.

“Yeah, they do that a lot. I just came by to make sure this meeting went smoothly. He’s a great strategist, you know. And an even greater fighter. It’s a shame the Jedi won’t let him enter the battlefield. They’re missing out,” Tech said with a shake of his head.

“Why not?” Rex questioned, curious.

Tech shrugged.

“That’s not really my business to say. All you need to know is that he’s a little different but other than that he’s a great Jedi. The 501st is lucky.”

Rex pondered Tech’s words as he watched Skywalker and the droid argue. Then, Skywalker looked up and saw Tech.

“See!” He cried triumphantly. “Tech is right there! Even if, by some chance, something did happen, I’d be fine!” The droid whirred angrily, then beeped at Tech.

“Now, now, don’t drag me into this,” Tech replied. “I just came by to make sure that the 501st remembered that Skywalker is of the 99th through and through.”

Skywalker beamed at Tech affectionately.

Anakin glowered at the map, as if he could find a solution to his problems just by glaring hard enough. 

“We could try going over the ridges,” one unhelpful ghost commented. 

Anakin’s room was full of ghosts, as they all decided to come and ‘help’. Some of them were actually quite helpful, but that was a small percentage, and the rest were just there. 

“That won’t work,” Anakin grumbled under his breath.

“We could go… under?” The same ghost jokingly offered. It was clear that they were barely paying attention.

Anakin glanced up and glared at the ghost, who was off to Anakin’s left. All the other ghosts around that area scooted off to the side, not wanting to be caught in Anakin’s withering gaze,

“I suggest you take this seriously. I know it’s not your life on the line, but please, at least try,” Anakin snapped. The ghost scowled at him, and stood up abruptly, knocking their chair (yes, Anakin gave them chairs, he wasn’t a monster) over in the process. 

The already-palpable tension in the air crackled and fizzed like electricity, and then broiled over in a crescendo of anger and immaturity.

“I don’t have to take this!” The ghost shouted, throwing its arms up and turning to walk away,

“Really!? And I’m the immature one? Pick that up!” Anakin shouted back. The other ghosts were glaring at the disrupter, backing away from the situation, or glancing around awkwardly. A few even disappeared.

Tirips came up as the disruptive ghost picked up the chair and threw it against the wall. Anakin ignored his friend for the moment and snarled.

“Dude! Stop being a dick!” Anakin yelled. The ghost flipped him the bird, grabbed the chair, and once again threw it. This time, however, the chair was thrown at Anakin’s chest. Anakin barely had enough time to block it when the ghost shoved another ghost out of their chair and grabbed the second chair. 

Anakin charged at the disruptive, violent ghost. The ghost disappeared right before Anakin made contact, causing him to charge right into the wall. Anakin yelped, falling flat on his back, his nose throbbing with pain. He groaned, pushing himself up on his hands and knees. 

The other ghosts cried out in horror, and Anakin heard a scuffle behind him. He turned to look-

And was cracked violently over the head with a chair. His vision swam, blurring and spinning. Anakin saw the other ghosts subdue the first ghost, making a mess with the chairs as they did so. A few almost fell on him. One of them did, pinning his leg, it’s weight causing him to cry out in pain. 

Everything stilled. Anakin groaned, trying to move his trapped leg.

“General?” Someone asked. Anakin looked up and through his swimming double vision, he saw Rex standing near him, concerned and confused. 

“Oh, uh…. Hey, Rex!” Anakin greeted. “How much of that did you see?”

Rex’s conflicted, worried eyes answered his question.

“Okay, well, you’re probably going to think I’m crazy, but I’m not, okay? I’m perfectly sane. And, well, the truth is, Rex, is that I can see ghosts,” Anakin confessed. Tirips appeared next to Rex and glanced between the two, hesitant.

“...Right.” Was all Rex said. Anakin sighed, glancing at Tirips for help.

Tirips just shrugged, helplessly.

“I’m not crazy, Rex. They’re all around us, all the time. Some watch over us, some try to sabotage us. I can see them, I can hear them, I can speak to them. They help me block out some of the noise, Rex, because I can also hear everyone else all the time, and it gets overwhelming. But I swear to the Force, Rex, I’m not crazy,” Anakin rambled, his words slurring due to the head wound. He probably wasn’t helping his case.

“I believe you,” Rex said after a moment. Anakin didn’t have to use the Force to know Rex was lying. Anakin sighed sadly, gazing up at Rex with pleading eyes.

“C’mon, General, let’s get you stitched up,” Rex said, moving to unpin Anakin’s leg. 

“Don’t bother,” Anakin rasped as Tirips lifted the chair. “Tirips’ got it.”

“Is ‘Tirips’ a ghost?” Rex asked, skeptically. Anakin nodded, then grunted as Rex helped him to his feet. He swayed where he stood, and Rex darted in to support him. 

“Who are the others? I mean, I assume there’s others?” Rex questioned, more gently than before.

“Oh, yeah. There’s a bunch. There’s Sydney, Umbra, Jewter, Taru…” Anakin paused, then added, “Eris is the name of the ghost you saw me fighting, I think. Or it might be Rees? Something like that. Anyway, he’s an asshole. Most of them are great, but that guy… that guy has issues.” 

“Well, uh, did you win, at least?” Rex inquired, though he seemed distressed. They began to walk to the medical ward, Anakin limping and leaning on Rex for support. 

“Depends on your definition. I got him to leave, and I doubt he’ll be coming back anytime soon, so in that regard, yes. But, as you saw, he hit me over the head with a chair, so…” Anakin replied as he hobbled, blood dripping down from his scalp and into his eyes. He wiped it away with an annoyed grunt, but more trickled down. 

“He did a number on you, too,” Rex commented as they ducked into where Kix was already waiting for them.

“Rex called me,” he said in lue of greeting. “That’s a nasty head wound, General. And your leg!” 

Anakin huffed as he was forced to sit by Kix, who fussed over him pedantically. 

Kix did his tests, checking Anakin’s pupils and flexing his leg. Once Anakin’s wounds were cleaned and bandaged, Kix still insisted on doing a thousand other minor checkups. Rex ducked out of the room to ‘do paperwork’. In all likelihood, he was probably taking a nap. 

“You’re stalling,” Anakin noted after an extra half-hour of unnecessary treatment. Kix glared at him, but did nothing to deny it. 

The time ticked on, with Anakin only growing more restless and impatient. Unease churned his gut with each extra second, and Kix seemed to be running out of tests to perform. 

After what felt like an eternity, Rex stepped into the room and signaled something to Kix. Anakin didn’t know what it meant, but Kix nodded and moved away from him, so Anakin assumed he was good to go.

“Finally! C’mon, Rex. Let’s go,” Anakin huffed, moving to stand. He glanced at Rex and paused.

Rex was looking at him with a grim, remorseful, pleading stare. Then, without warning, Kix approached and injected something into Anakin’s arm, causing him to yelp in surprise.

“What was that for?” Anakin squawked. 

“Sorry, General. It’s for your own good,” Kix said as Anakin’s vision began to blur once more. His limbs weighted down by some invisible force, Anakin slumped back down in the cot he had been sitting on. He groaned, the edges of his vision going dark. 

He tried to fight it, tried to pry open his heavy eyes, but was helpless in his fight against whatever drug Kix had given him.

He slipped away into unconsciousness, betrayal and confusion and helplessness pricking at his heart.

Anakin awoke with a gasp, feeling hollow and numb. He was in a padded cell, dressed in a hospital gown and with thick cloth wrapped tightly around his wrists. A metallic taste, different from the taste of blood but similar nonetheless, lingered in his mouth.

The only noise was his breathing, and the sound of him pushing himself up off the padded floor. There were no ghosts, and he was truly alone for the first time in a long time. 

Great. So, Rex had him institutionalized, it seemed. 

Could Rex even do that? He wondered, and then realized that it was likely the Council that ordered it. 

Wonderful.

He glanced around, but saw only white. Had gravity been absent, he likely wouldn’t even be able to tell what was the ground and what was the ceiling.

A familiar yet dreaded whisper sounded in his mind. It was someone else’s thoughts, a stranger’s feelings. It was faint, yet growing closer. And, without the ghosts to help him, it seemed he would be on his own for the noise.

He wondered briefly why the ghosts disappeared but the noise stayed, but then realized that, though his connection to the Force was currently weak, he still had a sliver of his power. It was likely that, as long as he was connected to the Force in some aspect, he would be able to hear other’s noise. But, at the same time, his connection was too weak for the ghosts to appear. 

Fantastic. So, he was imprisoned in a mental ward, believed to be crazy, and lacking the help of the ghosts. Joy. 

The person came closer and closer until he could make out what the noise was. 

Patient number 70259, Anakin Skywalker. General of the G.A.R, Jedi Knight, Savior of Naboo, War Hero, renowned mechanic and engineer, one of the G.A.R’s best pilots… Impressive. 

Anakin allowed himself to feel a little bit of pride as the person listed his achievements in their mind. It sounded as if they were reading from a chart, so he wondered if this person would be the one ‘treating’ him. He continued to listen.

Was involuntarily committed because of reports of hallucinations both auditory and visual, erratic and violent behavior, believed to be a danger to himself and others, suspected schizophrenia… 

Anakin blinked. They thought he was schizophrenic? And a danger to himself and others? 

He realized that Rex, who couldn’t see what he saw, had only seen Anakin arguing with thin air, running into a wall, and then being hit in the head with a floating chair. Being able to use the Force, he supposed it would be the most plausible explanation to Rex that Anakin had used the Force to harm himself. If only he had been with the Bad Batch when that incident had occurred. They’d understand.

The Bad Batch! A jolt ran through him. They had been sent out on a mission while he had stayed behind. What would they think when they returned to find him gone? Would anyone tell them the truth? Would they try to save him? Would they accept whatever the others said?

Hmm. Nothing too unusual, other than being a high-profile patient with a top-secret case that only I and two other professionals know about. Easy peasy. If it’s schizophrenia, we find the correct medication and administer it. If not, we find out what it is and treat it as such. Shouldn’t take too long, the person thought. 

Anakin let out a sigh of relief. He hoped that what the person said was true and that he would be out soon. 

A door that had previously been hidden opened, and a Togruta doctor entered the room, followed by two armed clones. The clones stood by the open door, watching him closely through their visors. Anakin glared at them sulkily. He despised being treated like a prisoner, though he was thankful that these clones weren’t part of the 501st. That would be awkward.

Alas, three separate people in an enclosed space with him, with him unable to use the Force to shield himself or have the ghosts help, made for a very loud room. And they were in close proximity to him, so they were broadcasting really loudly.

Anakin grimaced in pain as the Togruta approached. 

“I’m not crazy, I swear. And I know you don’t believe me, but it’s true,” Anakin said before she could say anything. She blinked at him, then plastered on a smile Anakin could tell was fake. 

That’s what they all say, she thought, and Anakin sighed.

“Nobody said you were. My name is Dr. Y’Dobon. What would you like me to call you?” She asked.

“Just Anakin is fine,” he replied, then paused. “The Council put me in here, didn’t they?” 

“Why would they do that?” Dr. Y’Dobon questioned, motioning to where a clone brought in two soft-edged chairs. Anakin sat across from her, eyeing her warily.

“Why wouldn’t they? They think I’m a threat to them, and they never liked me anyway. Might as well use any excuse to get rid of me,” Anakin retorted. Dr. Y’Dobon hummed, then jotted something down on her clipboard.

There’s the paranoia. He’s the right age range, and from his medical history he has all the signs and symptoms. He’s got delusions, hallucinations, everything; positive* and negative. Textbook case.

“I’m not paranoid,” Anakin snapped, standing abruptly from the chair. The clones stepped forward, tense, ready to intervene. Anakin glared at them, glared at the doctor, then took a deep breath and sat back down. 

Oh, please don’t make us hurt you, Skywalker. Gruff won’t hesitate if you try something… All the clones love you and it would break the 501st’s heart if something happened… Not to mention the Bad Batch would kill us… One of the clones thought. Anakin glanced over to him, his face melting to something more gentle and understanding, something more compassionate and affectionate. Though Anakin couldn’t see the clone’s eyes, he knew they would be kind. 

Kindle better not be a softling on Skywalker just because he’s a Jedi. I would hate it if something happened, but I’ll still do my duty, the other guard thought. So, the kind guard was named Kindle. Anakin brushed off the gruffness of the other guard’s mind and instead focused on the stare Dr. Y’Dobon was giving him.

“Is something bothering you?” She asked, gently.

Anakin hesitated, then shook his head. 

“Just the thoughts,” he muttered. 

“The thoughts?”

“Your thoughts. Kindle’s thoughts. Gruff’s thoughts. The thoughts of the other doctor who just walked by, thinking about how he wanted to ask someone called ‘Robyn’ out. Robyn’s thoughts as she walked side by side with the other doctor and obsessed over how cute his new haircut was and how adorable he seemed with his glasses on. Everyone’s thoughts. Everyone who passes by, at least,” he said, going into more detail than was necessary in an attempt to convince her he wasn’t lying. Her face paled more and more as he listed the names and thoughts of people who she must know and who she knows he doesn’t know. 

She was shaken, he knew, by her bewildered, frantic thoughts. They raced around her head like flies swarming a corpse. Yet, she did an infuriatingly impressive job of locking her emotions behind her stoic, professional presence. 

“And how does hearing and knowing all of this make you feel?” She asked. He blinked at her in surprise, frustration rising as she quickly rationalized his knowledge of things he shouldn’t be knowledgeable about. But the question itself was surprising, too. How did he feel about being able to hear and see things others don’t?

“Well, I’ve mostly grown used to it, I guess. Sometimes it’s frustrating being the only one who is able to see, hear, and know the things I do. Sometimes it comes in handy, like when trying to root out a traitor or when pursuing someone in a crowded area. Sometimes it’s hilarious because, well, let’s just say some people have some very interesting and amusing thoughts. Most of the time, though, it’s just… awkward. I have to go around, pretending I don’t see or hear or know or feel the things I do. I have to keep what I feel secret and it’s a very large portion of my life. It’s like I’m living two lives: one that’s ‘normal’ and one that’s… not. And I wish I didn’t have to, but if I let them merge then this happens,” Anakin said, motioning to the room they were in.

He paused. He hadn’t meant to say all of that. He supposed he just needed to get it off his chest, but still. Dr. Y’Dobon, to her credit, took it all in stride, jotting down notes as he spoke.

“Interesting. You say that you see things as well. What kind of things do you see?”

Anakin winced, partially because he really hadn’t meant for that part to slip and was regretting it, but also because the humming lull of people’s thoughts turned into a buzzing drone as suddenly there were a lot more minds and mind-voices.

“What’s happening out there?” He grit out, grabbing his head with his hands. 

“What do you mean, Anakin?” 

“There’s so many people. Why are they here? They’re so loud!” He hissed, standing and backing as far away from the noise as he could, his hands pressed tightly against his ears. It was no use. There was nowhere he could go and nothing he could do to quiet the ruckus. 

The noise increased tenfold. He cried out in pain, collapsing against the wall.

The all-too familiar, sickly feeling of blood dripping from his ears and nose returned.

The screaming mass of internal voices reached its peak just as someone walked in, oozing a cold, sinister, scarily detached feeling as he entered. Anakin glanced up and snarled lowly.

What a beautiful specimen, the newcomer thought. A tad aggressive, but that’s something the behavioral chip can fix.

Anakin felt his blood run cold. He was going to be chipped? Was this some sort of slaver parading around as a Republic doctor?

Anakin tried to stand, every instinct in his body screaming for him to flee. But the noise invaded his mind and made it impossible for him to do anything but slump down and sit there, dazed. There was no room for fear or anger or worry. The sound took everything over, and he felt himself slip into that semi-conscious state he was unfortunately familiar with.

“We’re going to be moving you somewhere more secluded so that you don’t have to worry about the noise,” Dr. Y’Dobon told him soothingly. “Unfortunately, protocol for such a transfer requires us to sedate you. You won’t feel anything. It’s more of a… medically induced nap.”

Anakin sulked, snorting unhappily, but he didn’t protest.

(After being sedated, the evil guy ‘reroutes’ Anakin’s transfer to Kamino, where Anakin is chipped)

Chapter Text

Veers knew as soon as he woke up that he would wish he hadn’t. Alarms were blaring, chaos could be heard all around despite the relative quiet his private quarters usually maintained… and there was a chinchilla in his room. 

Tiny, beady, black eyes stared up at him as the (rodent? What the fuck even is a chinchilla, Veers wondered) small animal sat back on its haunches. Its little nose and whiskers were twitching and it held its front paws together in a way that was… almost cute. 

He blamed Zevulon for this, somehow. And Piett. Scratch that, he blamed Piett wholeheartedly - it was Piett’s ship, after all, and now Veers had a chinchilla in his room on board that ship, so the chinchilla was Piett’s chinchilla and therefore Piett’s problem. 

The chinchilla wiped its face with its little paw-hands and dammit if that wasn’t kind of adorable.

“Go bother Firmus,” Veers told the thing, promptly turning his back to it, pulling his blanket back over his head, and deciding to go back to bed. Hopefully the thing would be gone when he awoke. 

“Max, I will bite you,” the chinchilla squeaked.

Veers let out a very manly and very dignified screech, leaping to his feet as he stumbled out of bed. Grabbing the closest object (which happened to be one of his favorite gunmetal gray fluffy mouse-droid slippers - a gift from Piett for his birthday), he pointed it threateningly at the talking chinchilla that had scampered closer. 

“Quite impressive, General Veers. I’m rather intimidated by the way you wield that… slipper.”

In Max’s opinion, a chinchilla had no right to be so sarcastic while also being so cute, no matter how much of a menace it was.

Glaring, Veers ignored the fluffy gray terror and continued to pretend that his favorite slipper was, in fact, a heavy-duty blaster.

The chinchilla sighed in a very human way.

“Why,” Veers snapped as the silence stretched on, “are you a chinchilla?” 

Another human sigh.

“Long story.”

“Well, Firmus, I’d damn say we have time. It’s not like you’re gonna go on shift like this,” Veers huffed, then paused. 

“On second thought, that’s exactly what you’d do. Which, as your friend and brother-in-arms, I strictly prohibit.”

Chinchilla-Piett squeaked in rodent outrage.

“As of this morning, I am admiral of this ship!” Piett protested. “I have to man the bridge!”

“Okay, first of all, you are a chinchilla. You will get stepped on, and then the Lady will have to find another admiral in the span of less than 24 hours. Nobody wants that - it’s a lot of paperwork and, quite frankly, you’re the favorite choice for anyone but Ozzel’s cronies, which leads me to my second point.”

Veers chucked the slipper at chinchilla-Piett, who dodged to the side with another outraged squeak. Veers crossed his arms and gave the tiny terror his best ‘General of the Army’ glare, the kind that made cadets quiver in their boots.

“Second, congratulations on the promotion. May I ask what happened to the late Admiral Ozzel? Was he also chinchillafied and subsequently stepped on?”

“Well, Max, while you were getting your beauty sleep, the bridge was hit by what Lord Vader has dubbed a ‘localized Force anomaly’ and all personnel present were magicked into various animals,” Piett huffed out an explanation. Eyebrows shooting through the ceiling, Veers quickly scooped up chinchilla-Piett and, ignoring the admiral-turned-rodent that was squirming in his arms, quickly swept out of the room. 

“ This I got to see,” Veers muttered under his breath, ignoring the unhappy squeaks and angry chittering of his best friend. 

“No promises about what’s left!” Piett grunted, apparently giving up on trying to escape Veer’s grasp.

“Oh? Why would that be, Admiral Piett?” 

He probably looked crazy to anyone unaware of the situation, he mused, then paused.

“Wait, why were you on the bridge off-duty?” 

“We have bigger issues, Max!” The chinchilla snapped, to which Veers conceded the point.

“Alright, alright. So - the entire crew of the bridge gets magicked. What happened next?”

“Armageddon, if you can imagine,” Piett retorted dryly.

“I can, in fact, imagine.”

“Lord Vader said that the weak-willed immediately lost their humanity and became full-out animals. As far as I know, Lord Vader, Ozzel, and I were the only ones who maintained our humanity after the first ten minutes. Unfortunately, Ozzel then stepped on Lord Vader’s tail, and subsequently met the same fate as the full-on animals.”

“Do I even want to know what that fate was?” Veers questioned, trying to kick the image of Lord Vader with a tail out of his head. 

“Remember that episode of Nature of the Galaxy where the Bapycara herd accidentally wandered into a pond infested with Fleshfish?” Piett asked, to which Veers shuddered. He did, in fact, remember.

“A bloodbath, then,” he said grimly. 

“An understatement.”

“Oh, joy.”

Chapter Text

1.

The mission had been going smoothly. Which was weird. Or, it had been going smoothly until they had found a weird weapon. Then it was less weird. What made it weird again was the fact that their General had gotten uncharacteristically spooked and had forbidden them from using it at all, despite all tests showing that it and the glowing orbs it fired were 100% completely harmless to droids, humans, and humanoid species. The non-linear weirdness fluctuated further when Rex found Fives, Hardcase, Wrecker, and Jesse playing dodgeball with the damn thing. 

“What the hell are you doing?” He asked, crossing his arms. He honestly couldn’t decide if this made the situation more weird or less weird.

“Uh… glowball?” Wrecker offered.

“Glowball seems to be a game resembling that of dodgeball, in which the main objective is not to get hit by the ball. However, since there is only one weapon, glowball more resembles a situation in which a nerdy kid is on the receiving end of a barrage of dodgeballs during a gym class bullying incident,” Tech began to explain. Rex blinked at him. That was oddly specific, and had it not been for the fact that Tech was a clone and not a natborn, he would have suspected that the nerd in that analogy was him. 

“In essence, the game is played by firing the weapon in a reflective room, in which the launched energy orb would bounce around at a set speed. The goal is to not be hit by an energy orb, which grows increasingly more difficult as the game progresses with the addition of more and more orbs of different speeds and sizes. All in all, this is most likely the least dangerous game we clones have invented using an omnitron class weapon,” Tech explained, then muttered “although it shouldn’t even be considered a weapon, but that’s what General Skywalker insisted it be classified as…”

Rex shot him a sharp glance, before turning back to the others. 

“Um, what he said,” Fives added, shuffling nervously.

“I really expected better of you three! General Skywalker expressly forbade even handling this weapon without proper clearance, and here you are using it as a toy!” Rex hissed, ignoring Wrecker. The larger clone was slowly edging away towards where Hunter was fixated on a map of some sort.

“You heard what the nerd said! It’s not even a weapon! It’s completely harmless!” Hardcase protested. Rex glared at him, as did Tech.

“Even if it is harmless, he still forbade using it,” Rex grit out. “Besides, the Jedi may know something we don’t. Maybe it messes with their Force presence or something.”

“If that was the case, wouldn’t he have told us?” Fives countered.

“Yeah! And all the orbs do is make ya tingly, Tech tested it on everything!”

Rex looked to the clone in question.

“It’s true. I tested it on every sample available, including Force sensitive samples. It simply excited some electrons, producing small amounts of energy in the form of light. However, the light is such a wavelength that we humans cannot see, as it is beyond the range of visible light-“

Rex cut him off before he could ramble on.

“Look, the General doesn’t want us playing with or touching this thing, whatever it is. So don’t . Okay?”

“But why? He’s never forbidden us from touching anything before, other than special weapons and his droid,” Jesse interjected.

“That’s exactly why you shouldn’t touch it. He’s never not had a good reason to bar us from touching something, so if he’s forbidding us from touching this, then it’s probably a good idea not to touch it.”

“There were a lot of double negatives in there,” Hardcase stated, leaning against the machine. “Something something it’s probably a good idea something to touch it? I agree! Thank you for being so open minded, Captain!”

Five glowing spheres were launched into the room. One crashed into Rex, causing an odd jittery sensation but nothing else. He glared daggers at the four clones expertly dodging and evading the ricocheting orbs.

Then, the doors opened, revealing a tired-looking General Skywalker. The Jedi glanced up from his data pad, saw the orbs, and froze. A look of pure, primal terror came over the General’s face, a powerful fear that Rex had never seen before on his jetti , not even in the most harrowing situations.

Before General Skywalker had the chance to move, to scream, to pass out or run or whatever his base instincts told him to do, one of the orbs struck the General square in the chest. The man stumbled backwards slightly, his jaws agape. His eyes widened with shock, then horror, then went dull and distant in a terrifying, empty way. Another orb grazed the General’s left shoulder, neck, and face. A third hit his right leg. The fourth dissipated harmlessly into the air. 

The General collapsed, his knees buckling like wet cardboard. He crumpled to the ground, a sharp, eerie, inhuman keening noise escaping the Jedi before he fell silent, his head lolling to the side like that of a dead bird.

For the briefest of moments, Rex wondered if the Jedi was playing some sick joke to punish them for disobeying his orders. But that sound - that horrid, soul crushing sound, like somebody had ripped the still-beating heart out of a baby bird’s chest - nobody could fake that. 

Rex raced to his General’s - to his friend’s side, gloved fingers already shakily reaching to check for a pulse. There was one, though it was weak and faint and trembling, like a baby mouse succumbing to the cold without its mother to warm it up. 

“Medic!” He breathlessly screamed, panic surging in his chest until it blinded him. He clutched his friend’s skull in his arms, staring into foggy blue eyes missing their usual spark, that dancing glow of life that every living thing had. 

“Medic!” He screamed again, ripping his eyes away from his dying Jedi for just a moment to glance helplessly around, desperately searching for something that could save his friend and brother.

Wrecker was staring, slack-jawed and obviously in shock. Hardcase looked like he was about to melt down at any second. Fives looked equally hysterical, trembling wildly like a leaf in a windstorm. Jesse had a far-off look in his eyes, like he had ceased to be a physical being and had simply left his old form behind. Hunter was partially standing, frozen in place, jerking forwards and then back and then forwards again, unsure whether to lunge forward and help or back off and let the professionals help. 

Tech seemed to be the only one not frozen in place. He reached the General’s side and began scanning the seemingly fine body. 

2.

It was a well known fact that Anakin, and more specifically, his lineage, despised medical attention of any kind. Obi-Wan loathed the healers because he was not-so-secretly insecure. Ahsoka disliked the healers because it usually meant that she would be cooped up for a while. 

But for Anakin, that deep-seated hatred was something else. 

It was the knowledge that anybody who saw his test results would realize what he already knew and despised: that Anakin was not human. His DNA was human-like, he was told, but different in ways Anakin was too dumb to understand. For another, it was the constant wailing of the Force. The echoes of pain and suffering and angerhurtfear never seemed to fade, lingering in his head even hours after leaving. It was the way the lights buzzed as if they were competing with jet engines or explosions of epic proportions to be the loudest noise possible, or the way the numerous machines screamed constantly, with nobody else seeming to care about how loud it was. It was the way the fluorescent lights were blinding and inexplicably left him with burned skin wherever it was exposed. It was the way the sheets and clothing caught on his skin and barbs that weren’t there, that scratched and strangled him, leaving him exposed and uncomfortable. But mostly, it was the wretched, permeating stink of death, disease, antiseptic, medicine, and blood.

It was that final thing that was the true reason Anakin avoided medical treatment. The scent of blood drove him crazy . 

And the worst part was that he didn’t find the scent repulsive or horrendous as he likely should. It was that he found it irresistible . It opened a primal, ancient hunger from deep within him that he knows isn’t human in nature, making him want to bare his fangs ( humans shouldn’t have fangs they should have, at most, 32 teeth. Maybe a few more or less but they shouldn’t have the amount Anakin has. And humans have a few sharp teeth for meat and many flat teeth for grinding, not rows upon rows of razor sharp, curved teeth, some saw-blade serrated and others barbed and angled backwards ) and flash his eyes ( human eyes shouldn’t glow in low light like candles, they shouldn’t reflect light like a cat, they shouldn’t be able to see colors humans can’t see, shouldn’t be able to see in light levels so low even most nocturnal species would have issues with it. The pupils shouldn’t be able to narrow into slits or encompass the entire eye to help see more when it’s dark. The iris shouldn't change color depending on his mood or move in unnaturally fluid motions and they especially shouldn’t be able to mesmerize anything that looked into them) . It made him want to growl ( no human could growl like he could; a guttural noise that could make an entire room freeze in terror ) or splay his claws ( that he definitely should not have ). 

The scent of blood was… all encompassing. It consumed him in a way no human could understand. Humans were a predator species, yes, but they had long ago lost their primal drive to chase and hunt and kill with their teeth, to track their prey by the sound of its beating heart and the smell of its blood. (A middle-form, his mother told him. Humans and togrutas and every other humanoid species were middle-form, while he and his mother were top-form predators.)

And Anakin hated it. He hated the way his heart would race. He hated the way his jaws would hang open, scenting the air. He hated how he would begin to salivate, how he would glance around the room eagerly, searching. He hated how he would growl and flex his claws, even if he somehow managed to keep them hidden from everyone else. He hated how his stomach snarled and thrashed inside his gut, demanding something more than dead meat. He hated how his eyes would widen, his pupils dilating before focusing on someone, at which point they would narrow to slits. It would take everything in his power, every ounce of control he had not to pounce on the poor soul unlucky enough to have been singled out. It would take all he had not to tear out their throat and rip them open with his hands, devouring them at an inhuman speed with ruthless efficiency. He hated how he would always be hungry, no matter how much he ate. And, most of all, he hated how sometimes, his best wasn’t enough, and how, sometimes, his control slipped.

A scream abruptly cut off by an inhuman snarl; the clattering of a blaster as it was dropped to the ground. An alley now empty except for two bodies and a hunter; silent except for the crunching of bone.

His breath hitched and he shuddered as he remembered some of the few times it had happened.

A shuttle torn apart, its walls stained red, its inhabitants torn to shreds. All that was left was bone that had been gnawed on by some unknown, savage creature.

He tried to push the memories away-

A forest meadow absent of any bird or insect song, pieces of white-and-blue armor scattered around the clearing, blood staining the earth as nearby shards of bone glared at him in silent yet deafening judgement.

And finally succeeded, though it took great effort.

Something was huddling in the corner of his vision, something that smelled of live meat. Before he could stop himself, he turned and lunged, landing squarely on the creature’s back, his claws scraping and then tearing apart his prey’s hard, white shell. His prey crumpled to the ground with a scream of pain and terror - a human scream. 

Anakin froze, assessing the creature unfortunate enough to be caught up in his hunger-fueled craze. His breath caught in his throat as his mind registered that this was a friend, not food. One of his own. His pack. 

He leapt away, snarling in frustrated rage, his hunger still clawing out his insides. He swiped at a nearby wall, leaving behind large, deep scores. His belly wailed at him in agony as he shoved his instinct to huntkillfindeatsurvive to the back of his mind. He turned to see Fives curled up on the ground in a ball in a desperate, instinctual attempt to protect his face, throat, and belly. Blood wept from the places where Anakin had torn off or shattered the armor he wore. The air was soaked in the scent of fear and blood and the sight of an obviously wounded animal made his control begin to slip -

Anakin bit down in his own flesh arm, the pain of his own venomous fangs sinking into his flesh grounding him. He let the metallic taste flood his mouth, holding it there for a few moments before unclamping his jaw and wiping his mouth clean of blood. 

Anakin assessed Fives through the Force. The clone was petrified, instinctual terror flooding him, though it was starting to fade. With relief, Anakin found that he wasn’t injured too badly, the now-fractured armor having protected him from the worst of the assault. At worst, he was badly bruised, his wounds painful but shallow. Fives was lucky Anakin had been weakened by his half-starved state. Anakin dreaded to think what might have happened if he had been at full strength…

Knowing that Fives would be alright, Anakin retreated into the shadows, crushing guilt and despair warring with his hunger. 

Anakin tried to remember the last time he had a proper meal, a meal with live meat. He growled when he couldn’t remember eating anything proper in three months. His last meal had been a scrawny tooka, hardly enough to even dull his hunger. Before that, there was another two month period of nothing, broken only by small, discarded scraps of decimated critters he found along the battlefield. Being stuck on the front lines, in hyperspace, or on Coruscant had limited his options greatly. He could feel himself weakening, could feel how his bones jutted out of his skin more prominently than they had before. He was grumpy, irritable, and on edge, and he was sure the others noticed. He was more prone to hunger crazes, tiptoeing closer and closer to a feeding frenzy as the days passed. It was for that reason he never allowed himself to be alone with anyone anymore, not even Obi-Wan or Ahsoka or Rex. He couldn’t trust himself when he was in the state he was in. 

What’s more, he knew the others were worried about him. He didn’t miss the way Kix would watch him as he ate, or how Rex would always push more food towards him. He knew what Obi-Wan was doing when he suggested going out to eat whenever they got the chance to, and he knew what Ahsoka was trying to do when she ‘practiced her cooking skills’ by making them dinner. It warmed his heart, really. But dead food did nothing for him, only made his hunger grow and his stomach sick. 

He was desperate, backed into a corner, his hand forced. His options were limited yet clear as day: he could continue on as he was, risking the lives and safety of everyone else trapped with him on the ship, or he could do what he swore he would never do and raid the morgue. 

With a shuddering breath and a sick feeling in his gut, he changed direction and crept towards the morgue. It was better than feeding on the still-living, he figured, yet it still made his mind churn with guilt and grief and self-loathing.

Walking on two legs felt too abnormal when he was on the prowl as he was. Checking that nobody else was around, he sank into the Force and became one with the shadows that pooled on the ground when he called for them. 

Traveling by shadow was like swimming downstream in a quickly moving river. All he had to do was think about where he wanted to go and it carried him there without much effort. His exhausted, hunger-stricken body thanked him for the short break from gravity. 

He emerged from his river of darkness in the morgue, the scent of sterile substances desperately trying to mask the stench of death. 

Immediately he found his way to the freshest body, only a few hours old. Anakin refused to look at any features that might identify the body as a person who Anakin had likely been friends with.

He took that first bite-

And his world imploded.

It was like witnessing the entire life of a blazing star in just an instant. His fangs sank into the flesh and the next thing he knew he was tearing apart sinew and ravenously shoving meat into his gaping maw. His vision tunneled, then faded, leaving only the colorful, chaotic swirling of a feeding frenzy. 

A small part of him panicked, trying to fight against it, but it was no use. He was hunger-crazed, no longer in control of his own body. The scent of blood (and the taste of it too) filtered through the colors, fueling him.

He could only hope the living weren’t caught up in this, too.

It’s the dead or the living. If I don’t do this, I’ll be putting everyone in danger. For their safety, I must do this, Anakin thought to himself. He let his fangs take form as that all too familiar predatory instinct kicked in.

The body was nothing but a pile of gnawed, broken bones in less than five minutes, everything including the marrow consumed. 

He was still hungry and, as he feared, the one meal had triggered a feeding frenzy. Everything blurred and became distant as he focused only on his meals. Blood washed over the floor, painting it a dark red. As it congealed, it became like jello, clumping on the tile. The sound of crunching and squelching filled the room yet he was deaf to it all. 

Finally feeling satisfied, the frenzy faded, leaving behind a storm of heavy guilt and shame as well as a mess. Anakin cleaned everything up the best he could before creeping back to his room, his stomach satisfied while his mind was anything but.

Anakin came out of the frenzy slowly, first regaining his sight, then the control of his limbs. Finally, the craze faded entirely, leaving him with total control of his body and actions. 

He looked around the room. The storage units the bodies were held in were torn apart, the corpses inside ravaged. Broken bones drained of their marrow and stained with blood were all that remained. Small scraps of flesh clung to some of them, but most were stripped bare. 

Feeling sick, Anakin gathered all the bones and carefully packed them into a bag. He cleaned the blood-stained floors to the best of his ability, leaving only the metallic scent and an empty morgue behind. 

Bag of bones in hand, he clambered into the ship’s vents, dragging it behind him. He moved quickly and silently, unnoticed by the unknowing living roaming the halls. 

Finally, in the deepest, darkest corner of the ship he could find, he emptied the bag of its contents and kept it for later use. 

Once more, his stomach felt sick. But this time, it was for a different reason. 

Hunching over, he gagged, bile rising. Then, like a tidal wave, he regurgitated the inedible parts of the bodies. Clumps of hair, teeth, and other unsavory body parts fell out of his too-large mouth, until finally, he felt his stomach calm. 

Tears were running down his cheeks. He hated himself for doing this, but he knew it had to be done. It was the dead or the living, and he knew it was the right choice.

I still don’t like it , he thought as he clambered away, guilt and self-loathing weighing him down.

The next day, Anakin was looking a bit healthier. He was less pale than before, and his bones didn’t jut out nearly as much. He was calmer and less irritable, too, though he was quiet with the silent weight of his guilt. The others seemed relieved, though they still watched him like a hawk.

3. 

Archangel had always been the odd-one-out of her family. She’d been the only female born to her mother, and she was the only cub of her litter to survive. Her older brothers, by then just about old enough to leave their mother and find a place of their own, had always gently teased her about her odd appearance. She had asked her mother what they had meant, but her mother, Daylily, had only shook her head and glared at the males. 

Doridian and Moxxie weren’t all bad, though, and despite being different she never felt ostracized or isolated. At the end of each day, she’d fall asleep with a full belly, tucked warm and safe under her mother’s wings. 

She had it good, she knew, and it truly broke her soul to see someone not as lucky. 

It had been a couple dozen centuries since she had left her mother, leaving to find her own territory just as her brothers had. In that time she had raised four litters, and she still held that same burning love she felt for each and every cub that she held the day they were born. She had a territory of her own, where rolling snowfields met with crystalline skies and the herds of Yungoks numbered in the millions, ensuring she never went hungry. Her odd, yet striking white pelt helped her blend into the snow and ice, while her massive wings kept her cubs (though she currently had none) safe and warm on her back, where they belonged. 

And yet, something was wrong that day. The Yungoks were agitated, and her wings twitched with restless energy foreign to her. She found herself scenting the air with her wolf-like snout over and over, finding nothing but the frigid scent of cold air and snow. 

Her long, tapering tail swished side to side, bumping softly into the walls of the cavern she had made into her home.

Then, the tell-tale sounds of human conflict reached her. Yelling, shouting, chittering in that odd language of theirs, followed by the echoing thunder of explosions. She scowled, fluffing her feathers in annoyance as she heard the Yungoks stampede away. Despite her annoyance, she shifted in her burrow, ready to doze back into a peaceful sleep.

That’s when she heard it.

The telltale, haunting deathcry of a cub. 

Immediately, she was on her paws, racing out of the den faster than she thought possible. She was cantering across the ice ridges, her thundering steps beating down on the ground in time with her racing heart. She was being driven by instinct, and instinct alone.

A cub was in danger. A cub was dying. Was it one of her own? No, it sounded far too young to be one of hers. It didn’t matter. A cub was in danger, and every fiber of her being was screaming at her to help. 

One final ridge stood in her way, and she quickly leapt it, beating her massive wings to hover ominously in the air. Her hind paws barely touched the frozen ground as she scanned the battlefield, an ominous shadow silhouetted against the sky and eclipsing the sun. Her shadow bathed the battling humans in darkness as they froze in place, staring at her with shock and terror. 

Finally, she found what she had been searching for: what seemed at first glance to be a human, laying near motionless in the icy snow. She screeched, crashing down to the ground and sending dislodged shards of ice flying. Her impact packed the snow where she stood, her teeth bared and her bioluminescent patterns flashing in warning. All at once, the warring humans scattered, each side disengaging in their combat and fleeing to their respective areas. A few stopped to try and drag their wounded away, but she paid no mind to them. Instead, she raced past, looming over the disguised cub and the human trying to drag him away. 

She hissed, her spines clacking together and her feathers rippling in agitation. Still, the human, protected by white and blue armor, stood his ground, chittering in their language. Soon, another white-and-blue human appeared at his side, wielding small weapons that did nothing when fired upon her. With a snarl of rage, she spun and slammed her long tail into them, the momentum and strength sending them sprawling to the ground with groans of pain. 

Something slammed into her from behind, searing agony stabbing into her flesh. She howled, rearing up and throwing her attacker off of her.

She was a Scav, a true apex predator, a top-form of the highest degree. She could easily tear these middle-form humans to shreds if she so wished, but the growing-fainter fear-scent emanating from the cub in front of her reminded her that now was not the time for such petty squabbling. 

She bucked, kicking out with her hind legs, connecting hard with the small human she had dislodged. Quickly, she scooped up the still-disguised cub in her talons, holding him close to her chest. With one last, ear-splitting screech of fury, she fled into the snowy plains.

After a while, once she was sure the notoriously foolish humans couldn’t follow her back to her den, she returned, the too-still cub silent in her clutch. 

She gingerly laid him down, inhaling his faint scent. He was no longer disguised, and now lay prone as an infant cub no bigger than her snout. He was odd looking, like her: where most Scavs were entirely black with purple bioluminescent patterns, his undermarkings were white, as were his patterns. White paws, white belly, white muzzle, white tail… she had never seen anything like this before. His wings were a soft, pale gray color, like the gently smudged clouds that blended with the sky during a rainstorm. 

She nudged him gently, praying for a reaction. He lay still.

Archangel had never seen a cub so thin. His feathers were matted and torn, messily clumped together in some areas and missing in other areas entirely, leaving patches of bare, raw skin exposed. His chest appeared concave, and she could see the faint, jolted movement of his barely-beating heart through his skin. His wings were splayed at an awkward angle, and one of them was twisted in on itself. Small kinks ran all along his fledgling feathers, and she knew then that this cub would never fly. Between the twisted wing and the malformed feathers, this cub would forever be bound to the ground.

She let out a low whine of distress, folding one of her own wings over him. 

What had those humans done to him? Where was his mother? A cub this young should still be on his mother’s back, tucked beneath her wings, not broken and starved and dying on a battlefield. 

She hooked a nearby piece of meat with her talons, pulling it closer. Pushing it under the cub’s snout, she prayed he wasn’t too weak to eat. His snout twitched, and he let out a small whine, but otherwise didn’t move. He didn’t even open his eyes.

She didn’t know what to do. She had no milk as she had no current litter. 

She inhaled. This cub was orphaned. Even if he did have a mother, she obviously was not fit to be called so if she allowed her cub to get to this point - if she was still alive, that was. So, she did the only thing she could think of and formed a bond, feeding energy through it. 

She pushed the meat towards him again, and this time his eyes blearily blinked open and he took some into his mouth. She breathed a sigh of relief.

But she knew he was not out of the woods, yet. She could only keep feeding energy through their bond and pray that he would survive. 

Hunger. It was all he could think about.

Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he had something to eat, something other than the stomach-churning dead-food Obi-Wan and the others made him eat.

He couldn’t remember when the last time someone had wrapped their wings around him, either, yet the warmth of feathers on fur was what he was sure he felt. Dark, bleary eyes opened to the dim light of a cave. 

Wait.

He was out of form, he realized, panic bubbling in his chest as he struggled to his paws. What if someone had seen? What if everyone knew? What if they killed him, or worse, abandoned him? 

“You’re awake,” the stranger puffed, looking relieved. 

“Where am I? Who are you?” He growled, baring his teeth. She was massive , he realized - he was only about as big as her snout. 

“My name is Archangel, daughter of Daylily. You’re unwell, so I’m taking care of you for a while,” she told him. Anakin scrutinized her, fluffing his feathers. She was all white, unlike his mother, who he hazily remembered being all black. Archangel had red-pink eyes and pale, soft wings with hints of light pink. Her shoulders were broad and her chest was rounded, and he glanced at her plump sides in envy. It was the middle of winter, yet she still seemed well-fed. 

“Anakin, son of Shmi. I need to get back to my friends,” he huffed, stumbling slightly as he took a step towards the exit. Archangel blocked his way with one of her massive wings.

“Your… friends?”

“The humans. I need to get back to them. They need me,” he said, his voice a near whine.

“Your friends are humans?”

He pawed at the icy rock beneath him, frustrated.

“Yes.”