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.”
Allowing the thought to stay the trigger, the heart to register its trembling (Grey/Depa Billaba ft. Caleb Dume)
Summary:“I’m not worth it,” Grey hisses through their teeth. “Please. Depa, please—” Their general, their Jedi, only shakes her head, her grip on their shoulders a death sentence. “I will not leave you,” she says. “Fight the voice, Grey. Fight it.” They sob and some part of their brain burns with the knowledge that little brown eyes are watching from the corner of the room. They scream, pulling against their bonds and the twisting darkness in their head. “I can’t. I can’t—” Something that isn’t Grey crawls under their skin and it speaks, twisted, Dark. “Traitors.”
Warnings:Mind Control, Violent Thoughts, Serious Injuries, Blood and Violence, Eye Trauma (not graphic but described briefly), Vomiting (in like one sentence, emetophobia gang rise up), Angst Word Count: 2,275
Prompt:Angstpril Day 3 - “I can’t.”
Author’s Note: more suffering! Yay! I like to think this ended happily but this is Angstpril so I’m not writing it lol. Also, I discovered that Kanan’s eyes aren’t actually brown, at least according to Wookieepedia but frankly that’s stupid as fuck so. Brown-eyed Kanan. And nonbinary Grey because I am apparently not the only one who loves that concept! (Also, sorry for late posting! I was unable to finish this last night :/ hopefully I can finish day 4 today as well and catch up)
It’s an endless loop in the back of their mind, an itch they can’t quite scratch. At the Order, it breaks free and turns to a screech, a ringing thought that echoes in their head so loudly it hurts. They don’t even feel themselves pulling the trigger, shouting for their squad to follow.
But when they finally come to, underneath the monster that’s stolen their face, it’s because they’re standing over him.
Caleb.
Commander Caleb Dume. Jedi Padawan. Traitor.
Ad'ika, their heart cries as they lift their blaster. Their shaking hands have it levelled at the boy’s face, right between his big brown, tear-filled eyes.
“Grey—Grey, what are you doing? What—?” His pleading words are nearly unintelligible between his panting breaths. When the cold metal touches his face, he sobs. “Don’t! Buir, don’t—don’t—please—”
Their cheeks are wet. Caleb sees it and only sobs harder, afraid to move for fear that they’ll pull the trigger. With their trembling hands, the likelihood of a misfire is high.
Inside their mind, Grey screams. They claw at the walls of their mental prison, leaving their fingertips bloodied and their throat hoarse from their agonizing howls. The cell won’t budge. The chip won’t give. They can’t get out. They can’t save their son.
But someone else can.
A robed figure flies out of nowhere, tackling Grey to the ground and sending their blasters into the air with a flick of their hand.
“Caleb, the blasters!”
Depa.
General Depa Billaba. Jedi High General. Traitor.
Depa. She hates it when I call her General.
She pins them to the ground and presses the calloused pads of her fingers against their temple. Something like grief crosses her face. “Sleep, Grey. Sleep.”
The chip fights, but they don’t. They like to think it helps bring the darkness faster.
*
“Master?”
Caleb’s voice trembles when he asks, taking a hesitant step forward. Depa is still on top of Grey, catching her breath and making sure they’re passed out. She shuts her eyes tightly, centering her conflicted presence. Her Padawan needs her and so does Grey. This is no time to grieve for the rest of their battalion.
(She tried to incapacitate rather than kill, but they’re still gone. The light that she used to associate with them has been snuffed out by a strangling darkness that burns.)
“It’s alright, Caleb, they’re unconscious,” she says, mustering what little strength she has left.
At her word, he rushes over, clinging to the sleeve of her robe.
Any other day, he’d be indignantly distant, trying to prove himself on the battlefield and make Depa proud. But right now he reeks of terror and uncertainty. And she feels the same.
Execute Order 66, the Chancellor had said.
And then everything had gone to hell. The clones had disappeared, replaced by darkness, and the Master-Padawan pair had barely made it out with their lives. Depa hasn’t even been able to process the wave of lights being snuffed out in the Force and she knows her Padawan hasn’t either; his connection with the Force feels brittle and broken. The Jedi are dying at the hands of their closest companions, at the order of the Chancellor of the Republic, and the two of them stand in the center of it all.
“What’s happening?”
“I don’t know,” she admits quietly. She climbs off Grey and binds them with their own set of binders, something tight in her chest as she does. Then, she turns back to Caleb. “Are you alright? No injuries?”
He shakes his head and wipes at his eyes with the edge of his sleeve. “Just scrapes.” He glances at Grey. “That—That wasn’t Buir, was it? It felt…wrong.”
“Very wrong,” she agrees. “I don’t know what it was, but the Chancellor triggered it. We need to get off the planet.”
“Are we…going back to the Temple?”
Depa visibly hesitates. His face falls and he knows in his heart that they aren’t. Even if they did, there would probably be nothing and no one left.
“It isn’t safe. We need to lay low for a while and figure out how to save Grey,” she tells him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Caleb, look at me.”
He does and she smiles a little.
Even now, in what must be the worst moment of his short life, he’s ready to listen. He’s ready to do what he needs to.
She kneels down to meet his height, holding his head in her capable hands. “You will survive this,” she says like it’s a promise. She can’t say the same of her or Grey or anyone else they know, but she can promise that Caleb will live. Because she will die to see it through. “You will. Do you understand?”
Despite the fear in his eyes, he nods.
“Good.”
Depa allows herself a moment to breathe, but no longer.
“Now, we need a way out of here.”
*
Grey wakes to the buzzing of a ship and panics. The last they remember, they were on the surface of the planet, with Depa and Caleb and- oh, Force. Oh, fuck.
Did they attack them? Did they hold a gun to Caleb’s head?
Their own is throbbing, something clearly wrong. Chills go down their spine as they sit up, finding their wrists held together by their own binders. They’re on the floor of a cargo bay, in an unfamiliar ship, but familiar voices echo from down the hall.
“Master, they’re awake!” calls Caleb after poking his head in.
He may not be showing it, or trying not to, but Grey can see the fear in his furrowed eyebrows.
He’s afraid of them.
They feel nauseous at the realisation.
“Caleb—” they try to say. Their voice is hoarse.
Depa appears from the hall, a glass of water in her hand. She crosses to Grey, motioning for her Padawan to stay by the door, which he does without question. Kneeling before her commander, her lover, she examines their face. They can feel her prodding at them gently in the Force. She’s trying to decide whether they’re friend or foe right now.
“Are you with us, Grey?”
They hesitate, but eventually nod. “I think so.”
With a small smile, Depa helps them drink the water, but pulls it away quickly when it’s finished. She’s cautious and rightfully so, Grey thinks when they feel something in their head tug.
They must visibly flinch, because so does Caleb.
“Tell me what’s happening,” their general murmurs, putting a hand on their knee.
Shutting their eyes fiercely, they take a long moment to answer. “It’s—It’s hard to fight. It wants me to…to kill the trai-traitors,” they gasp out, finding the unknown force stronger when they speak that word. They open their eyes, horrified. “Shit.”
“You’re alright.” She takes their hand and starts tracing patterns. “Can you tell where it’s coming from?”
“No, but…kark, my head hurts. My head. I think.”
“Stay still,” she warns.
She runs a hand up their temple, her eyes shut in concentration. The Force prods gently at their mind and, when it finds the offending area, something burns. Grey cries out and Depa stops in an instant, pulling back with a fearful look.
“There’s—” Glancing back at her Padawan, she takes a steadying breath. “I believe there’s something in your head that doesn’t belong, Grey. Something physical, but it’s very dark in the Force.”
“Can we get it out?” Caleb asks, his voice smaller than he is, which is saying something.
She stands, frowning. “I don’t know. I’ll set a course for—”
Grey’s face twists as the thing inside their head roars to life. “Don’t—” they manage to growl out.
There’s a lot they can’t explain to Depa in that moment. For one thing, they’d like to tell her that if the Chancellor activated the thing in their brain, he might very well be able to track them or hear their conversations through it. For another, it’s quite possible that if Dark Grey—yes, they’re calling the evil thing in their head by that now—overtakes Light Grey—Cody would be rolling on the floor now. Is Cody alive? Is his general alive?—they might just straight up contact the enemy.
Even though they can’t explain all that, their beloved Depa Billaba stops instantly, her eyes shining with understanding.
“—somewhere we can lay low and find a doctor,” she finishes instead.
Dark Grey shoves, pushes for more information. It stabs at Grey, a physical pain that makes them hiss. Out of their control, they speak.
“Good soldiers follow orders.”
It makes Depa frown. She examines their face, watching as it shifts into something so unlike them it’s sickening.
“Good soldiers follow orders,” they snap again, like a mantra.
Dark Grey does not appreciate their plan.
Grey finally gets a hold of themself, dragging themself into consciousness with a heavy breath. When they look up at Depa, their gaze is determined.
“You need to leave me.”
“No!” cries Caleb fiercely.
Depa holds up a hand. “Caleb,” she warns, a reminder to mind his emotions.
He falls silent, watching his Master and his buir with something akin to horrified bafflement. Force, Grey has never seen him so openly terrified. Ever since he joined their little family, he’s been nothing but brave.
“I’m a liability and a threat,” they say, turning their attention back to Depa. “It’ll be easier to go without me.”
“We won’t leave you behind.”
They frown at her, lowering their voice. “He can’t die because of me.”
She doesn’t dare glance at Caleb, doesn’t dare give their worries away to the boy, who already has the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders. “It won’t come down to that.”
“And neither can you,” they add firmly.
Depa’s expression tells them all they need to know. That’s one thing she can’t promise.
“Heneeds you.”
She huffs a rueful laugh. “So do you.”
If they could, they’d reach out to hold the back of her neck and keep her close.
Hold her neck and break it.
Grey flinches back. “No—”
“Tell me what it’s saying,” she encourages, reaching for them.
An agonizing pain rips through their skull, eliciting a scream. Despite the binders on their wrists, they claw at their scalp. The thought crosses Depa’s mind that she should stop them, but she doesn’t get the chance.
They drop their hands and gaze up at her with tearful eyes.
“I’m not worth it,” Grey hisses through their teeth. “Please. Depa, please—”
Their general, their Jedi, only shakes her head, her grip on their shoulders a death sentence. “I will not leave you,” she says. “Fight the voice, Grey. Fight it.”
They sob and some part of their brain burns with the knowledge that little brown eyes are watching from the corner of the room. They scream, pulling against their bonds and the twisting darkness in their head. “I can’t. I can’t—”
Something that isn’t Grey crawls under their skin and it speaks, twisted, Dark.
“Traitors.”
They lurch forward. Depa thinks they’re collapsing, but Dark Grey has other plans. They involve the vibroblade tucked into her boot, which is now in reach.
She never liked weapons that weren’t kyber-powered, lightsabers and lightsaber rifles in particular, but after a Separatist assassin nearly suffocated Grey right next to her, she became paranoid. Working through her fear was difficult, so her partner thought having a weapon under her pillow might put her at ease. For the most part, it worked. No one knew of its existence except Grey and she preferred it that way.
And now, CC-10/994 turns that trust against her.
With a fierce yell, he barrels into the Jedi traitor, ripping the vibroblade from its hiding place as she goes flying.
“Master!”
Before the other traitor can react, CC-10/994 flips the first over his shoulder, slamming her into the wall. Then, he flies at the smaller target, vibroblade tightly grasped.
The Jedi yelps and ducks his flurry of blows.
“Grey, snap out of it!” he says desperately.
CC-10/994 doesn’t flinch and leaps forward again.
“Buir! Buir, it’s me, Caleb!”
A single slash of the vibroblade has the traitor shrieking, falling back with an arm over his face. Before CC-10/994 can attack again, the Jedi Padawan throws out a hand, sending him soaring across the room. He slams into the wall with a vicious crack, all the air pushed from his lungs in an instant. For a split second, Grey rises again, ready to fight themself off, but it’s unnecessary.
Depa is there, shoving them into the cargo bay’s cell, ripping the vibroblade away, and locking the door behind them.
Grey collapses inside, gasping for breath and trembling as they stare at their own hands in horror. Blood stains their gloves. The sight makes them nauseous, so they tug the gloves off and throw them to the other side of the cell, desperate to get away.
It’s Caleb’s howl that makes them look up.
Depa is at his side in an instant but not fast enough. He pulls his sleeve away from his face and—
Grey throws up that time, into the corner of the cell.
Their blow struck true, slashing Caleb’s face from his right temple to the bridge of his nose. It’s a deep cut, one that goes into his right eye and bleeds profusely. The other eye, untouched, is blinded by tears.
“I can’t see,” he sobs, reaching for his Master, who reaches back. “I can’t—Master, I can’t—”
CC-10/994 lifts his head and smiles.
“Death to the traitors,” he spits. “Glory to the Empire.”
*
(Dark Grey uses he/him because Dark Grey follows orders, including gender assignments.)
One life, I thought—a thousand deaths (Jon Antilles & Fay)
Summary:On Queyta, Obi-Wan Kenobi is not the only one to escape Durge and Ventress. One of the four legendary Masters, Jon Antilles, emerges from a lava stream despite knowing he’s going to die. He’s so sure of it that he crawls his way to Fay’s side, wanting to spend his last moments with the woman who he considers his Master. But she has other plans. Plans to make certain that Jon Antilles lives past today.
Warnings:Angst, Character Death, On-Screen Character Death, Implied/Referenced Character Death, there’s both sorry, Self-Sacrifice, The Curse of Immortality, holy shit i made myself sad dude Word Count: 2,191
Prompt: Angstpril Day 2 - Sole Survivor
Author’s Note: listen I know nobody knows about these characters that are in literally one comic but I have FEELINGS about them okay?? Jon is meant to be a badass mysterious enigma but he screams sad boi and Fay is like…the greatest cryptid Jedi ever, I love her. So, of course, I decided to make them and Knol and Nico suffer. (Also I know Obi-Wan survived the mission but the Sole Survivor still applies because Jon is the sole survivor of the four legendary Masters, just in case that wasn’t clear.) I just finished this today, so the editing is minimal.
Using the Force as a shield is, in theory, one of the easier skills a Jedi utilizes. That is assuming, of course, that the Jedi in question is in good health, a decent mental state, and isn’t under a severe amount of stress. If said Jedi is, say, three feet into a pool of lava, already bearing grievous injuries and the weight of the deaths of two close companions, andfeeling the fading life of another, the simple task, understandably, becomes something of a problem.
Jon has finally managed to pull the Force around him like a blanket. It protects him from the bubbling lake around himnow, but the first few seconds he couldn’t pull it off were torture.
As it turns out, lavaburns. It burns like shame, likefailure, like the nightmares Jon used to have about his Master abandoning him on a planet in Hutt space for getting just a little too mouthy. And it hurts nearly as much.
“Fuck,” he hisses. He makes a rule of not cursing, but right now feels like an appropriate time to break it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
He claws at the charred remains of his robes. Contrary to popular belief, lava doesn’t melt initially, as Jon now knows. Instead of melting, he burst into flames for the few seconds it took to pull himself together, though they felt like an eternity. Red, throbbing burns litter his entire body, his hair singed but miraculously intact thanks to his hood, which is entirely ashes now. The pain consumes his thoughts, making his shielding start to flicker in and out.
And then, through the debilitating agony, a touch of something familiar.
Jon’s eyes fly open. “Fay,” he whispers.
Her light is dimmer than it should be, not flickering in and out mischievously like it usually does. But still, she makes an effort to reach out, to check on him. It sends a sob up his throat.
“Hold on, Fay, hold on.”
Clenching his fists, he opens himself up to the Force. His actions are ones of faith, not of desperation, and he lets it flow through him as he takes a deep breath. The idea of using one of his Master’s abilities would normally make him nauseous, but the disgust doesn’t even cross his mind this time as he prepares to teleport. He thinks of that open, flat space of rock that Obi-Wan and Fay ran to, their enemies close behind. Focusing fiercely on that distant image, he pulls on the Force andfoldsthe two points—
Jon collapses on solid ground with a heaving gasp.
Every inch of his body protests the change, especially his knees, which burn when they make contact with the ground, but somehow he manages to ignore his own complaints.
Fay isn’t far, or she shouldn’t be, at least. The distance between them seems gaping when he tries to move.
Still, her light is fading fast. And he wants to be by her side.
So, Jon Antilles crawls on hands and knees, dragging his body across sharp stones and past bubbling streams of lava. He aches with each movement and cries out when it becomes too much, but he persists regardless. Something in him knows it may be the last thing he ever does.
Finally, he sees her.
She’s sprawled out, her chest hardly moving as her breathing becomes shallow. Her near-golden hair is filthy with ash and her eyes are dim. She’s hardly herself, Jon thinks, and feels his stomach sink.
Hundreds of years the great Master Fay has lived and breathed. Hundreds of years and he’s going to watch her die today.
“Jon,” she calls out weakly.
He pulls himself to her side, grabbing her hand with his own shaky ones. “I’m here, Master.”
They only met when he was a teenager, but he feels as if he’s known her all his life. They’ve travelled the Outer Rim together, following the Force, for decades now and he’s never regretted a second of it. In all but title, Fay is his Master. She was always better than Dark Woman, even when the bar was six feet under. The only record with both their names will be at the Temple, where the dead are listed, a handful of mission reports with other Jedi, and the stories the younglings share of the 4 legendary, nomadic Masters.
“Knol and Nico,” Fay breathes out, “they’re one with the Force.”
Jon grimaces. “Yes. And the Force is with us.”
She laughs, breathy and half-choked. It’s an old lesson, familiar and grounding. “And so too are they,” she adds.
“Where’s Obi-Wan?”
“Gone, with the cure.” She smiles just a little. “The Republic fights another day.”
Suddenly grim, he squeezes her hand. “But not us.”
A pause.
“But not us.”
The silence overwhelms them. The wind whistles in the distance, carrying with it nothing but smoke and ashes. Queyta isn’t the best place to die, Jon thinks absently. He would rather it have been someplace with flowers.
“I wish it could’ve been Jedha.”
He almost jumps at her voice, but her words jarr a surprised laugh from his sore lungs. “Jedha? I thought you hated cold planets.”
“Oh, yes, but not that one. Force, I should have taken you. The Force there is so…so strong, sopure, you can feel the kyber from the surface,” she explains, staring straight up at him. If anyone else were to gaze so intensely at his scars, he’d be uncomfortable, but she’s safe. She’s family. “And the Guardians of the Whills are so kind. I met a young one of theirs some decades ago. You two would’ve gotten along.”
Jon laughs a little. “You’re always looking to find me friends, Fay.”
Her smile turns sad and she lifts a hand to his face, letting it rest on his cheek. “You’re so young,” she whispers. “Too young to be so lonely, Jon.”
He shuts his eyes, lets himself be comforted by her touch. When he opens them again, she still has that gut-wrenching look on her face. He places his hand on top of hers, unsurprised at how cold they are despite the blistering heat.
“I’m not lonely,” he promises.
Jon doesn’t say that it’s because of her, Knol, and Nico, but Fay picks up the thought anyway. Her eyes fill with tears.
“I have watched so many I love die.” Fay’s voice wavers as she says it. He realises that it’s the first time he’s ever heard it do that. To be honest, he’d thought it was impossible. “Taken by age, by Darkness, by foolishness. Never have I met a soul as good as yours, Jon. And never a Jedi so worthy of love.”
“Fay…”
She shakes her head. “Your Master did not deserve you. The galaxy did not deserve you.”
Pulling her hand away from him, Jon squeezes it. “You did,” he says firmly, though his voice cracks.
“I hope so,” she admits with a rueful laugh. “I hopeso.”
He smiles weakly. “I wish you’d found me first. But I thin-I think the Force knew when I needed you to save me. Because youdidsave me, Master. I could never thank you enough.”
She takes his word silently, holding his hand even tighter. “You never needed to.”
“Thank you,” he says now, even though it’s useless.
Fay’s grey eyes meet his pale ones and suddenly, she’s distressed. “You’re so young,” she repeats.
But Jon can see that she means something else this time.
“Not too young to do my duty.”
“Too young to die doing it.”
Jon thinks of Tan Yuster, one of four Padawans to die on Geonosis. The Jedi have experienced great loss these past months since the beginning of the war and so many so much younger than Jon have died in battle, the clones included. Of course, to Fay, they all may as well be children.
“I will go proudly into the Force,” he promises her. At your side.
Fay’s expression twists. “No.”
He scoffs. “I don’t think we have a say in it.”
“The Force let me live this long,” she says suddenly, as if it’s a realisation, “longer than I should have. Obi-Wan is gone, I’ve done what good I can, except…you’re here. Why are we here?”
“To say goodbye,” Jon offers.
She shakes her head, then tries to sit up, struggling until her would-be Padawan helps pull her up. “I’m done with goodbyes.”
“What are you—?”
He doesn’t get the chance to finish his question. Fay presses their foreheads together and grabs his hands with a newfound energy that terrifies him. Chills go up his spine when her presence in the Force covers him like a blanket. Warmth climbs up his hands, then his arms, and with a glance down he finds that his skin ishealing.
“Fay, no!” he cries, trying to shove her away.
She only tightens her grip. “Stay still, Jon.”
She sounds more like herself, certain and unwavering. Jon would be happy-crying if he weren’thorrified. He tries to drag himself out of her grip, but she’s impossibly strong. Her healing creeps up his entire body, soothing his burns, though scars remain behind.
“No, no, no—FAY! Fay, stop it!” His screams turn to sobs. “You’ll die, stop—!”
“I already am,” she says, just as certain in her abilities as her fate. “But you don’t have to.”
Trembling, his attempts are weaker now but still there. “Please, please,” he begs. “Not without you!”
Tears stream down her cheeks. She allows herself a moment of weakness; she opens her eyes and meets his tearful gaze, remembering the teenager she first met. He was so scared and so brave. And for a moment, she’d thought he must be a ghost. But no, he was just a boy. For the first time in a long time, she had let herself build a bridge between them, like Knol and Nico before him, even knowing she would have to watch him die one day.
Now, she thinks with fierce stubbornness, she won’t have to.
It feels like her life is leaving her for him, though she knows it’s just fading into the Force. It’s to it that she speaks, the cosmic energy she’s dedicated her long, long life to.
“If anyone is deserving of the time you’ve given me,” she gasps out, “it is Jon Antilles.”
She doesn’t see the horror in Jon’s face, but she can feel it in his quiet Force-presence, so subdued. He hides himself on purpose and it truly breaks her heart. His light is so strong. The galaxy is all the better for his existence.
“I don’t want this! Fay, I don’t—let me die, please—”
Fay only lifts her head and kisses his forehead, the sort of gentle gesture a mother might give her son. “One day,” she promises. It rings with truth, with the strength of the Force behind it. “But not today.”
Jon cries out and tries to rip himself away, but freezes when pure light washes over him. The warmth he’s always associated with Fay soaks into him, healing all his wounds in an instant and rejuvenating his fading energy. Stars burst before his eyes, like he’s seeing into the very universe beyond Queyta, beyond what he’s meant to see with his petty Human eyes. In another instant, it’s gone and Fay is slumping over.
She falls to the ground with a thump, a noise that jolts Jon back into focus.
“Master!” he sobs.
He pulls her up from the ground with the sickening realisation that she’s a complete deadweight. She’s limp in his arms, already paling. Desperate, Jon pushes her hair out of her face and finds…nothing. Her eyes are dull. With his fingers on her wrist, he can’t feel a pulse.
“Fay?”
The steady beat of her Force-presence is gone, a gaping hole in his universe. Their bond, one strong enough to resemble a training bond, is shattered, a physical pain that throbs in his skull.
Jon begins to hyperventilate, his sudden gasps for breath burning his now-perfect lungs.
“Come back,” he begs Fay’s corpse. “Fuck, please. Please, come back.”
He pulls her into his lap, clutching her robes like a child being left behind for the first time. It doesn’t hurt to move anymore and, thank the Force for it because his entire body shakes with the force of his cries.
Overwhelmed with grief he’s never experienced, Jon wails into Fay’s shoulder, rocking back and forth. The agonizing sound rings across the valley, a noise like torture.
It’s only now that he feels the frayed edges of his bonds with Knol and Nico.
He screams again, his vocal cords protesting it sharply.
The last time Jon was this alone, he was a child. And now, he’s right back where he was before he met his three closest companions. Except now, now, he knows what it means to love and to lose. Itaches. It aches like nothing he’s ever felt.
“Please,” he whispers hoarsely. “I can’t—I need you. What do I do? What am I supposed to do?”
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 ;)
Welcome to Chaos Company’s first prompt month! This time of year is all about angst! The prompts for this Angstpril are listed below the cut. Prompts can be used, skipped, and combined as you’d like. Feel free to utilize the alternate prompts! From gifs, to writing, to art, to edits, any kind of original content will be accepted under the tag #angstpril2021. We’re excited to see what you come up with!
Creators that post content for all thirty days will also be added to our shoutout post at the end of the month!
Find the prompts, as well as more about the rules and FAQs, under the cut:
