I wonder if he can taste the sadness (Ahsoka Tano & Anakin Skywalker & Rex)
Summary: Ahsoka motions for the younglings to stay behind what little cover she was able to provide as the door wheezes open. She pokes her head out just enough to see and— “Master!” she cries, leaping up. Anakin is at the door, his lightsaber in his hand but unlit. He looks mildly surprised to see her, but takes her hug without hesitation. “Thank the Force,” she breathes out. “We heard blasters and then Master Nu told us to hide. What’s happening?” In her embrace, Anakin is unmoved. She frowns, looking up at him. “Master?”
Warnings: major character death, lightsaber wounds, lots of children die but only one is shown, canon genocide, canon divergence but only to make it sadder Word Count: 1,826
Prompt:Angstpril Day 4 - Betrayal
Author’s Note: WOWWW why do I do this to myself lmfao. I was like ‘oh hey what if Ahsoka was in the Temple during Order 66 would that suck or what’ and then I. Wrote it. For some reason. I’m sick and twisted. Also, not to make you sadder or anything, but can you imagine Obi-Wan finding her body? Shit dude. Anyway, you might think Anakin wouldn’t go to the dark side if the whole Ahsoka thing hadn’t happened, but, like…he already murdered a village of Tuskens before the Clone Wars. I do not doubt that it would’ve happened somehow. I know this is super late but I wanna get all my Angstpril stuff written down no matter how late it is or else I’m gonna feel terrible about it. Title is from My Mother, My Mother by Luther Hughes. (Also, Jinnel, the Kiffar, and her future Master are my ocs. Zett is a canon character but he has barely any appearances so, uh, dibs.)
“Master Nu! I was just looking for you in the archives.”
Ahsoka bears a wide smile as the old Master of the archives turns to her. The young Padawan, though not so young now she thinks, bears a couple of datapads, old ones she’d borrowed before her last assignment.
“Ah, Padawan Tano. Apologies, but I’m a bit occupied at the moment.”
She gestures behind her, where a youngling Clan chatters excitedly. At the sight of Ahsoka, one Nautolan girl lights up and turns to her friend, whispering furiously.
Ahsoka smiles and waves a little, getting a few waves back. “Sorry, Master, I didn’t realise. I can come back later,” she offers.
“That’s quite alright.” Master Nu waves her off. “Just leave it on my desk, and I—”
She stops. Her gaze drifts to the far end of the hallway, but when Ahsoka follows it, she finds nothing there. She’s about to ask what’s wrong, but then she feels it, too: a roil of darkness and fear.
“What is that?” she whispers, unmoving.
The younglings finally notice, a long moment after their seniors, and begin speaking frantically.
“Is the Temple under attack?”
“What do we do, Master Nu?”
“What’s happening?”
“I have to go find my Master!”
With a raised hand, Master Nu silences them all. “Quiet.” Quickly glancing around, she spots a meditation room with an open door. “Quickly, into the meditation room. Padawan Tano, watch our backs.”
“Yes, Master.”
The younglings file into the room obediently, still whispering to one another. One girl, a young Kiffar, bursts into tears, so Ahsoka pulls her aside immediately.
“My Master left to go to the Senate Building,” the Initiate blubbers. “She doesn’t know we’re in danger! I have to find her!”
(She’s too young to have a Master, Ahsoka realises, and doesn’t have a Padawan braid. The Master must’ve found her on a Search and bonded with her.)
“See if you can contact her on your comm, but you need to stay here until we know what’s going on, okay?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t leave her!”
“I understand. My Master is out there somewhere, too,” Ahsoka tries to reassure. “But I can’t let you leave alone, either. As soon as it’s safe, we’ll go find her together.”
The Initiate wipes at her eyes and nods, following the rest of her clan into the meditation room. Ahsoka looks back to Master Nu, who is glancing down the hall with wide, horrified eyes. Something has pulled in the Force.
Someone skids to a stop around the corner.
It’s a young human boy, a Padawan that Ahsoka has seen trailing behind Master Drallig for the last few weeks. On his sleeve, a scorch mark has burned through the fabric to his skin: a blaster wound.
At the sight of Master Nu and Ahsoka, his face twists in relief and he runs toward them.
“Zett,” Master Nu breathes out, taking his arm as soon as he’s close. “What’s going on?”
Through panting breaths, he speaks the impossible. “The clones—the clones are killing us!” he cries. “They got Master Drallig and I can’t find the Council—”
“What?” Ahsoka questions fiercely. “What are you talking about?”
“I know you won’t believe me, but I really saw it! It’s the 501st, they have their armour and everything and they’re killing everybody—!”
Master Nu squeezes his uninjured shoulder. “Breathe, Padawan. I believe you.”
“What!?” Ahsoka turns on her. “They would never—!”
“It may be someone else in that armour, but you know he’s telling the truth, Ahsoka. You can feel it,” she says warningly. “Don’t let emotion cloud your instincts.”
She backs down, but her chest tightens. “Yes, Master,” she says quickly.
“How many of them are there?”
“All of them. Master Drallig—” Zett chokes on his name. “—he told me to go to the landing pad, to get out and find help.”
“I’ll go with you!”
Ahsoka jumps when the young Kiffar reappears, running up to Zett.
“I’m a good tracker,” she says quickly, “and I know where my Master’s going! We can find her!”
Zett looks to Master Nu at the same time she does, uncertainty in his bright eyes. The old archivist casts her gaze to the end of the hall, where the chaos is starting to get louder. With a deep breath, she kneels before the younglings, a hand on each of their shoulders.
“Do not stop, especially for anyone in clone armour. Don’t trust anyone you don’t recognise and whatever you do, do not return to the Temple until you are given the all-clear, do you understand?” When they both nod, she reaches for their hands and presses them together, letting Zett take the girl’s. Master Nu gives him a firm look. “Hold onto each other. Do not let go. This is not a game.”
“Yes, Master,” they say at the same time, equally shaky.
She stands. “Go.”
The pair run off, Zett tugging the Kiffar girl closer to him as they dash down the hall. Ahsoka watches them go, waiting until they’re around the corner to turn her attention back to Master Nu, who has apparently done the same. Before she can speak, the archivist puts a hand on her shoulder as well.
“Stay with the younglings. Lock the door behind you and defend them with your life,” she instructs.
The girl’s eyes widen. “What? You’re leaving?”
“If the Temple is being attacked, there are things I have to do,” is her grim reply. “No one can get their hands on the archives, Padawan, no one. I’ll come find you when I get the chance.”
If I get the chance. The thought is there, though unspoken.
Steeling herself, Ahsoka swallows roughly but nods. “Yes, Master.”
With a glance over the Padawan’s shoulder, Master Nu lowers her voice. “Above all, make sure they make it out.”
“May the Force be with you,” she says quietly, a hope more than a comfort.
Master Nu smiles, a little sad, a little proud. “It is always with us, Ahsoka. It is always with you. Be brave.”
Her words echo in the young Togruta’s mind even as she departs. When she finally pulls herself together, she rushes into the meditation room, counting heads and closing the door behind her. She enters a code to lock it down completely before turning back to her charges.
“I need you all to listen carefully and do exactly as I say, okay?”
There are scattered nods and ‘yes, Padawan Tano’s, so she gives out instructions.
They build barricades throughout the room, providing cover for themselves. Initiates with lightsabers pair up with those without and the latter group gets a few weapons from Ahsoka. Her clone troopers—the ones killing Jedi—gave her quite a few vibroblades and pocket blasters over the years and she’s kept them all. It’s more than a little useful right now, she thinks as she hands them to the younglings.
“Keep your heads down and trust in the Force,” Ahsoka orders, ducking behind a gathering of meditation chairs and tables with three Initiates. She places a hand on the shoulder of the youngest, a small Mirialan with teary eyes. “It’s going to be okay.”
Footsteps thunder from the hallway outside. The younglings fall silent in an instant, poised for battle.
Something catches in Ahsoka’s chest. They’re ready for this. They’re children and terrified but they’re ready for a fight. Is this what her Master used to feel when he looked at her, 14 standard and standing on the front lines? Like something was desperately wrong with this picture?
“The scanners indicate life forms in this room, sir.”
Ahsoka freezes.
Itsounds like a clone, though she can’t place who. Could Zett have been right? Are the clones—the 501st, of all battalions—turning against them? What in the Force would make them do that? Something here is horribly, horribly wrong.
There’s some beeping on the other side of the wall and someone out there must have the codes, because the door starts to slide open.
Ahsoka motions for the younglings to stay behind what little cover she was able to provide as the door wheezes open. She pokes her head out just enough to see and—
“Master!” she cries, leaping up.
Anakin is at the door, his lightsaber in his hand but unlit. He looks mildly surprised to see her, but takes her hug without hesitation.
“Thank the Force,” she breathes out. “We heard blasters and then Master Nu told us to hide. What’s happening?”
In her embrace, Anakin is unmoved.
She frowns, looking up at him. “Master?”
Light washes over her, the stark blue of his lightsaber being lit. She glances down to get a look at where he’s pointing it, what he could possibly be defending her from in a room of younglings. But then pain strikes her abdomen, squeezing her lungs. A choked gasp drags itself from her lips and she finally sees it.
The saber in her chest. Anakin’s saber in her chest.
A youngling screams and blaster fire echoes throughout the room, but Ahsoka can’t see what happens. She can’t even cry out for the Initiates she was meant to protect. All she can do is look back up at him.
His expression is blank, untouched by her apparent agony. He stares down at her with those yellow eyes—
Yellow eyes?
Her mouth falls open a little, her legs wobbling. She loses her balance, falling into him. And he catches her. There isn’t any sort of purpose to the movement, but he catches her.
He has yellow eyes.
Ahsoka thinks of Dooku, of his last moments spent glaring at her and her Master, those burning yellow eyes. She thinks of his red lightsaber fitting perfectly into Anakin’s hand and how nauseous she’d become at the sight.
“Anakin?”
It’s weak, hardly there. She doesn’t even know if he hears it.
And then she’s falling, falling to the floor. He drops her, lets her crumble underneath him, unable to hold herself up.
He walks away.
Breathing raggedly, Ahsoka wants to reach out, wants to grab the bottom of his robe before he can leave her. But her hands won’t cooperate, her entire body screaming at the scorched wound she bears.
The meditation room has fallen silent, leaving the troopers to follow after Anakin. They start to leave, but one notices she’s still breathing, still trying to move.
He lifts his blaster and she finally sees him.
“Rex,” she breathes out.
The jaig eyes on his helmet, carefully painted, give him away instantly. He lifts his pistols and she wants to cry. She doesn’t have the strength for even that. But she doesn’t need any strength to see that his hands are shaking. Ahsoka will never know what’s going on in his head, what’s driving him to lift his blasters in her direction. All she knows is that his hands are shaking.
“It’s okay, Rex,” she says, sounding far from it. “It’s okay.”
And they’ve already began forgetting, whether they know it or not (Cal Kestis/Hera Syndulla/Kanan Jarrus)
Summary: With Vader on their tails, Cal tells Hera a hard truth. She doesn’t want to hear it, but she needs to. The only question is, will Kanan ever forgive them for this?
Warnings: Angst, Fake Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Burns, Serious Injuries, Self-Sacrifice, Goodbyes, Nightmares, Scars
Word Count:2,343
Prompt: Angstpril Day 1 - “You have to let me go.”
Author’s Note: you know the Inquisitor!Cal concept I was ranting about? Yeah, this is the start of it lol. I saw that the first Angstpril prompt matched one of my lines of dialogue perfectly and lost my shit, so it’s basically destiny. I hope to continue this in the future as a series, but for now enjoy this terrible, depressing one-shot. :) Title is from Obituary Generator by Mariah Bosch.
She won’t stop running. Her body burns with the effort and Cal tugs her hand, trying to stop her, but she keeps going. She may not be able to feel the poison of Vader’s presence quite so literally as he and Kanan can, but she knows he’s not far away.
“They’re in the tunnel, it’s not much farther—” she manages breathlessly.
“Hera, stop!”
He stops cold, forcing her to turn and face him.
The lights flicker in the lifeless hallway, the pair the only people in sight. The floor is cold and the walls dark, the choking colour scheme of an Imperial fortress. Cal feels it more than she does; the Force here is entirely dark and threatens to drown him each passing moment. Maybe that’s why he’s more winded than his Twi’lek companion, or maybe it’s the lightsaber wound across his chest.
Hera had managed to save him from dying at Vader’s blade, but that scar will always remain. It burns into his skin like shame.
“If Vader catches up,” Cal gasps out, breath heaving, “he’ll kill all of us.”
“He won’t if we keep going,” she says sharply, ever sure of herself. “C’mon—”
He pulls her back before she can keep walking. “Hera.” It’s firm and fearful enough to keep her still. “I can distract him.”
BD-1, on the floor next to his feet, wails in distress.
Her eyes widen. “No. No! No, absolutely not—”
“I’m a liability,” he argues, unable to even gesture to his injury without wincing at the pull. “He can’t get his hands on the holocron. If you run ahead, you can get it to Kanan and Cere and the three of you can get the hell out of here.”
“He will kill you!” She grabs his poncho and holds him close. “Or worse, turn you into an Inquisitor!”
Cal cradles her face, his eyes shining with desperation. “My life for thousands,” he whispers. “Like my Masters before me.”
“I can’t let you do this, Cal.”
Already, she’s crying. He’s a stubborn son of a bitch and they both know it. The decision might have already been made, considering the ache she already feels in her chest. It’s not her choice and yet she feels guilt rise like nausea.
He reveals the Holocron, pressing it into her shaking hands. “Bring it to Cere. Protect it with your lives or destroy it,” he orders. “Give those kids the chance me and Kanan never got.”
The chance tolive. He thinks of Master Jaro, of Master Depa, Grey, and Styles. He thinks of his fellow Padawans, all cut down in the name of power. But most of all he thinks of the children listed in that Holocron, who have committed a crime all their lives without ever knowing it.
BD whirrs and it pulls in Cal’s chest. He gives a sad smile, crouching to the little droid’s height.
“Go with Hera, buddy, okay? She’ll take care of you.” He pets BD’s head, trying to ignore the whines he makes. After a moment, he looks back up at Hera. “I’ll hold him back as long as I can.”
A sob lodges itself in Hera’s throat. “Kanan will never forgive you.”
It’s supposed to be a joke, but Cal shuts his eyes tight, pained by the thought as he stands again.
“And you will?” he asks with a rueful huff of laughter.
She puts a gentle hand on his cheek, caressing a scar that rests there. “I already have,” she murmurs.
He shuts his eyes again, that same grimace on his face as he rests his forehead against hers. Then, he kisses her. It’s gentle and drawn out, a lingering sensation against her salty lips. She takes it with an aching sort of grief, the pit of a forbidden knowledge heavy in her stomach. No one should know when their last interaction with someone is, but she does.
“That was for you,” Cal says when he pulls back.
He kisses her again, fiercely this time. It has a message, one she doesn’t understand.
“That was for Kanan.”
He’ll understand it, even if she never will.
Hera hugs him, burying her face in his shoulder as his hand rests on her back. One of her lekku twists around his wrist, as if reminding her of his steadily beating pulse.
Alarms begin to roar around them, a warning.
“Hera.” It’s gentle at first, but he must sense something because desperation catches in his voice. “You have to let me go. Let go. Hera, let go.”
He pries her off, taking her hands in his gloved ones. Though it’s ridiculous, he wishes that an Echo of hers would spark to life and give him one last memory to think of. Instead, he’s left wiping away the remnant of a tear from her cheek. He steps back after, pulling his lightsaber off his belt.
Hera swallows. “Cal, I—”
I love you.
She can’t say it. And she curses herself for it.
They’ve never needed words, but it would mean everything to hear it out loud, just once. Just once, she begs her own unmoving lips.
He smiles, knowing and sad and all the more infuriating. “Me, too,” he whispers.
Not too far away now, another lightsaber buzzes to life.
“Go,” he says finally, his face sharpening into something like determination. “Get out of here!”
She nods and tucks the holocron away into her jacket, allowing BD to hop onto her shoulder. Her first steps are in lead boots, but finally, she manages to shake herself out of her stupor and turn away, running toward the exit. It takes everything in her not to look back, not to seek out one last glimpse of that fiery red hair and the twin pair of yellow blades that snap and hiss as they activate. BD watches, though, a little light blinking on the side of his head. He chirps, almost like a goodbye, but Cal never hears it.
Opposite Cal, the shadow of the galaxy’s golden age looms. He brandishes his blood-red blade, bathed in red and yellow light. His rasping breaths haunt the air.
Though it burns more than anything Cal has ever felt before, he twirls his double-bladed lightsaber, letting its golden light wash over him, secure in the knowledge that his fate is his own.
Finally, the ghost speaks.
“Your attempts are admirable, but useless. You and your friends will fall at my hand. There is no escape.”
“Does it look like I’m running?” Cal asks, settling into a fighting stance. “Musty bitch.”
*
Hera flies up from bed, her throat burning like she’s been screaming.
A jerk away from the cold metal wall of her bunk sends her over the edge of it, right toward the floor. She has half a second to close her eyes and brace herself for the impact, but—
It never comes.
She opens her eyes, only to find the floor a few inches away. A green mist encompasses her body, holding her up and keeping her safe. Glancing at the door of her room, she sees Merrin in the doorway, her fingers smoking with that same green mist.
“You should think about installing railings,” the Nightsister says dryly.
Hera only huffs and tenses when she starts to move. With a wave of Merrin’s pale hand, she’s standing upright and is let down carefully. She steadies herself with a deep breath, unaware of the little droid at her friend’s heels.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, dusting herself off. Then, she glances up. “How did you know I was—?”
“I didn’t. Cere asked me to check on you. Lucky for your face.”
If Hera didn’t know her any better, it would be sharp, but unfortunately, she does. So, she snorts. “Lucky for the floor.”
She goes to stretch, her muscles sore with sleep. Instead, she stops abruptly, wincing when her lekku tingles. Lifting a hand to its end, she doesn’t notice the flash of concern on Merrin’s face until she speaks again.
“Alright?”
“Fine, just slept on it funny. It’s numb,” she admits with a rueful laugh.
Raising an eyebrow, Merrin wiggles her fingers, miming magick. “I can help,” she suggests.
Hera visibly hesitates. “…you can?”
Nightsister magicks tend to be dark, according to Kanan and, once upon a time, Cal, but that doesn’t mean they always are. They have the capacity to heal and, though aware of that, Hera didn’t realise they could help with numbness of all things.
“A touch of healing magick and a massage,” Merrin explains shortly. “It’s not rocket science.”
Hera laughs. “If it were, I’d understand it.” Then, she nods. “I’d appreciate it.”
They settle on the bottom bunk, which usually belongs to Sabine. However, the teen has been trying to barter for the top bunk and, with this latest fall, Hera is tempted to give in. The young Mandalorian is sturdier than she is and far less prone to night terrors.
Merrin has a surprisingly gentle touch, carefully interwoven with wisps of glowing mist. Despite her initial reluctance, Hera lets out a grateful sigh when the feeling starts to return to her lekku. It’s like walking around swinging a numb arm; intensely uncomfortable. While Merrin works, BD-1 approaches, beeping concernedly and nudging the Twi’lek’s leg with his head.
“I’m okay, BD,” she reassures gently.
After a moment, Merrin speaks in a whisper. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hera has to look away from BD-1, something in her chest wrenching. She shuts her eyes. “No,” she says finally. “Not really.”
Merrin must notice her reaction to their droid friend because after a long enough moment to be somewhat normal, she speaks to him. “BD, could you go find her head wrap? She might have left it on the Mantis.”
He leaps up, chirping determinedly. When he rushes out of the room, intent on helping, Hera can’t help but let out a breath of relief.
Still working away, Merrin sighs. “You should hang back when we get to Lothal. We could use a pilot in case things go wrong.”
“Greez already offered,” she reminds her, frowning.
“The Mantis isn’t exactly ideal for the type of cargo we’re…borrowing.” She pauses. “Besides, you need a break.”
“I’mfine.”
She scoffs. “Yes, falling from your bed in a fit of terror is the behaviour of a fine person.” At Hera’s silence, she sighs again. “Look, I’m not the only one who’s noticed. Things have been difficult lately and whatever you see in your sleep isn’t helping. Just…let yourself rest, Hera. The galaxy won’t implode if you take a nap.”
Tell that to the Empire. Maybe they’d hold off on pulling the trigger, she thinks ruefully.
Eventually, she relaxes, and when Merrin finishes, BD reappears. This time, however, he’s not alone. Kanan stands a step behind him, eyes tight with worry. The weight on his shoulders lessens minutely at the sight of Hera.
BD ignores him, running up to the Twi’lek with her leather headwrap held tight in one metal foot. He beeps excitedly as he hands it to her.
She gives him as much of a smile as she can currently manage. “Thank you, BD. You’re my hero.”
He nudges her fondly before scampering over to Merrin, who huffs amusedly.
“C’mon,” she says, leaning down as she stands from the bunk so he can leap onto her shoulder. “Let’s see if we can’t coax Rabid out, hm?”
On their way out of the room, she sends a knowing glance at both Hera and Kanan before the door shuts behind her. Her voice, directed toward the devil droid on her shoulder, starts to fade after a few moments, growing more distant.
“I…” Kanan has to clear his throat, which is drier than Tatooine. “I felt your distress in the Force. Came back as soon as I could. You okay?”
Hera takes a moment to slip on her headwrap, grateful at the fact that her lekku are no longer tingling. “Better now, I think,” she admits.
He takes a step forward, asking. At her nod, he moves to sit beside her on the lower bunk and pulls her to his side. She rests her head on his shoulder. Shutting her eyes, she finally lets herself relax, knowing that she must be safe here, of all places. She takes comfort in Kanan’s touch and the way he runs his thumb across her shoulder, too. His breath of relief against her forehead makes her smile, just a little.
(And it certainly helps to clutch the stupid poncho he’s wearing in her hand. It’s an ugly near-white with black patterning that forms an arrow near the bottom. Outlander was what Cal called it. He loved giving them dramatic names like he’d made his own clothing line or something. Hera hates the Outlander one.)
“Nightmares?” he murmurs.
She nods slightly.
He hesitates, but finally asks what she’s anticipating. “The same one again?”
“Isn’t it always?” she retorts, more sad than sharp. There’s a long moment of silence before she speaks again and when she does, her voice wavers. “I can’t remember what he looked like.”
“Hera—”
“I know he had a scar on his cheek and across the bridge of his nose, that he had red hair and green eyes and the cutest karking smile in the galaxy, but I can’trememberit,” Hera says shakily. “I know what heshouldlook like, but I can’t…pictureit. And it drives me insane.”
Kanan squeezes her shoulder. “It’s been ten years. I forget, too.”
“I hate it,” she whispers.
The kiss to her temple is sweet and soft and it should bring her some sort of relief, but it doesn’t. It’s not nearly enough and Kanan knows that. There’s nothing he can do to soothe the ache in her chest where Cal used to live, because he can’t even soothe his own gaping wound.
All he can do is hold her close and say: “I know. I know.”
But, thinking of tear-stained, freckled cheeks and a bitter kiss goodbye, she can’t help but wonder if he really does.
I’m going to be attempting this! I have Day 1 finished and ideas for a lot of other days, but I don’t know if I’ll do them all lmao. They will be SW-centric for sure and Day 1 may or may not be a prequel to the Inquisitor!Cal fic I’ve been working on ;)
