Chapter Text
Anakin can't feel his body. It feels like he's been shoved into a puppet with its strings cut loose. Everything feels numb, faded, distant. His brain is a foreign object he doesn't know how to handle, like a dangerous explosive. He misses his mom.
This is not the first time Anakin has felt like this. When things got to be too much back when he was little, during a lashing or…. when he was visited, it was like he was watching himself from above. Mom got worried when he told her about it, but he liked being gone. It made everything hurt less, in the long run.
He wishes he could see her one last time. Shmi Skywalker was many things, but above everything else she was kind. Anakin wants to feel her hands cupping his face, hear her calling his name, Ahn-ha-keen, in their native tongue. He wants to feel that kindness, that sun that didn't burn but comforted.
He can't. Some days he wonders if he should join her, just to feel the sun again,
Anakin is just so kriffing tired.
From his disconnected brain, Anakin can hear someone calling for him. Ahsoka. He knows that he’s being taken care of by them, his Master and padawan. The part of him that snarls at the thought of weakness hates this, but the rest of him is too busy drowning in beige feelings to care.
“.... Skyguy? Obi-Wan’s back from the council meeting.”
Oh. Obi-Wan is back, that’s good. Anakin feels more grounded with him here, knowing that Obi-Wan won’t let anything happen to him. He knows it with Ahsoka, too, but Ahsoka wasn’t there in the early years, shielding him from malicious senators and disapproving Jedi.
“Obi?”
“Yes, Ani, I’m here. I’m sorry you had to wait, but there were…. some things that needed handling.”
That’s okay. He’s here now, so Anakin snuggles up to Obi-Wan and distantly listens to his family's conversation.
“I’ve secured at least a month off for all of us,” Obi-Wan tells Ahsoka, “I think we could all use it.”
Ahsoka’s eyes widen. “A whole month!”, she exclaims, excited at the prospect of sleeping in, “How in the hell did you pull that off?”
“I may have yelled at them. A lot.”
“Good.”
“How’s he been while I was gone?”
“I don’t think he’s completely with us, but it’s better than before. The flashbacks have slowed, at least.”
“That’s… an improvement.” Obi-Wan sounds happy, or at least happier than he was before. Anakin snuggles more into his side, and falls into a doze.
He wakes up whimpering. He’s back with that senator, Anakin doesn’t remember his name but he remembers his hands, how they seem to simultaneously burn and freeze his skin. Someone’s talking to him, but he can’t hear over the rushing in his eardrums.
“.... come back dearest, that’s it, just breathe, you’re safe here.” Obi-Wan’s voice pierces through his daze. Anakin comes down, following the exaggerated breaths of his former Master to guide him.
“I’m back.”
“That’s good. I’m going to get you some water, okay? Ahsoka’s here if you need something.” Obi-Wan shuffles to the kitchen, grunting as he steps on a small circuit board.
It’s raining out. Anakin feels more in control, less like everything is shrouded in mist. Ahsoka can tell, he’s sure, if her sigh of relief is anything to go by.
A question comes to mind.
“How long have I been… out of commission?”
“About a week since the treaty. I’m really glad you’re back.”
“Me too, Snips, me too.”
“Anakin...” she begins hesitantly, “ I think we need to talk about what happened.”
“Why?”
“So I and 501st will know which exact bodies to bury.” Obi-Wan is back. Oh, and he’s pissed too, by the looks of it.
“You can’t be serious.”
“On this topic? I’m completely serious.”
“It’s against the code, Obi-Wan, why would you break your vows for this?”
“Because you’re in pain, dear one. You have been for a long time. And that pain is festering in you. I have stood by for far too long leaving you to deal with it alone. So who do I need to kill?”
“But the code…” Anakin protests weakly.
“Fuck the code, Anakin. That council, those people, they sent you to that place of your worst nightmares and lectured me on attachment when I cleared the air about it. You need me more. Now, names.”
Okay. They’re doing this. Anakin draws in a deep breath.
“Um, it’s a lot of people. I can’t remember all of them, just… how they felt. I know about Gardulla and Watto. Pretty much the entire Hutt syndicate. There’s that senator who’s name I can’t remember, that one man at the fuel station who was always handsy, Maro, I think his name was. And then there was that time when I was three and the lady with the pearls demanded a night with me, but I was still a little too young…”
He continues on, and on, and on. As Anakin keeps listing the people who have hurt him, owned him, Obi-Wan and Ahsoka slowly get paler and paler. It’s not a scared pale though, he can tell by the clenching of their fists.
It feels good to have someone angry on his behalf instead of at him.
“Anakin.”
“Yes?”
“I have failed you.”
“Oh no, you didn’t, Obi-Wan please don’t blame this on yourself. It’s not your fault my childhood was shit.” Anakin attempts a smile. It falls flat.
“How many years when I was raising you, did I lecture you on letting go of your past? And to know that all this time, you were still hurting so much? I’m so, so sorry padawan.”
“Anakin”, Ahsoka interrupts “Have you ever felt safe here?”
Anakin hesitates. His padawan breathes out a wounded sound, the answer clear in his silence.
“Why?” She asks, tentatively.
“Because…” he takes a deep breath. “People always wanted something from me, I guess. That didn’t exactly change once I stopped living as a slave. I’m supposed to be the Chosen One, and everyone always wants to talk to me, ask for my help, and I don’t don’t know what to do. People want my point of view but only when it aligns with theirs. Even the Chancellor…” he cuts off that thought before it can fall from his lips.
Palpatine would never do that to him.
“Even the Chancellor what, Anakin?” Obi-Wan asks, worry emanating from his side of their bond.
“It’s just…. when I first met him, he always wanted to talk to me about how the council was treating me, but whenever I saw him I got this slimy feeling in the back of my throat. That’s not fair to him, he’s my friend, he’s always so kind to me, but I…”
He whispers the last part.
“I feel wrong around him, and I hate it.”
“Anakin, dearest, listen to me. Does the Chancellor set off your Force senses?”
“Yes.”
“Does he… ask you to do things for him? Constantly remind you of your failures and your anger?”
“I guess, but he’s just trying to-”
“Anakin. Do you think he could be a Sith?”
What.
Oh, kriffing hell.
“.... it’s possible.” Anakin says, voice small, hunched in on himself. Obi-Wan swears, starts pacing the room. Ahsoka looks like she’s about to vomit.
Distantly, Anakin registers tears on his face, and when he searches his feelings, he knows. Palpatine is Darth Sidious.
“We will be taking care of this, Ani.” Obi-Wan growls, pulling Anakin to him protectively. “Palpatine will not destroy you. That Senator will not touch you. Gardulla will not lash you. We. Will. Take. Care. Of. It.”
In the Force, something shifts.
The plan is this: the 501st and 212th battalions will be on leave for the foreseeable future, as will their Generals. They will use this to their advantage.
Ahsoka informs Rex, who informs Commander Cody and his men. By the end of the month, all who have hurt Anakin Skywalker will be chopped to fine bits and scattered into the wind.
Gardulla and the Hutts are their first priority. The problem is thus: destroying the tree will not upheave its filthy roots. They must make sure to free the slaves, remove their detonators, send help and aid to Tatooine, incite revolution. Somewhere in the Senate, a bill is drafted making slavery illegal in the Outer Rim. It is single handedly written by Padme Amidala.
For this bill to be passed, they must clean out the Senate at the same time. Palpatine is many things, but a fool isn’t one of them. And if Anakin is right, and Palpatine is Sidious, they won’t want to face him in combat either. So they will poison him under the blanket of darkness, his evening wine laced with odorless toxins.
It turns out that there are many, many senators in the pocket of slavers, crime lords and separatists. Ahsoka gathers information from black market vendors, spies on suspect delegates, whispers to the aides easily persuaded by money. Seventeen arrests are made within a week. Twenty-three within two.
Palpatine invites Anakin to his office. Anakin politely refuses. Later that evening, he dreams of blood on his hands and chips in the brains of his men.
Rex is the first to get his removed, tears streaming down his eyes as he thinks of what might have happened, how he could have hurt so many. The clones are included in Amidala’s bill. The chips are removed.
Palpatine is furious.
(The Force whispers to its children.
It is time, it is time, it is time.
They will strike at dawn.)
Before Obi-Wan sets off with his men, he gives Anakin the tightest hug imaginable and tells him that he’s proud. That Shmi Skywalker is looking down from the force, and is proud too.
Anakin starts sobbing on the spot.
Obi-Wan leads them to Tatooine, murder in his eyes. The Hutts won’t know what hit them. It is the day of a pod race, the syndicate members gathered in a booth. Rex perches on the rooftop and fires, one, two, three, four, five shots. He’s an excellent marksman. They are dead before they hit the ground.
It is then that Obi-Wan appears, dust kicking up from his boots like a halo. The younger slaves whisper in their tongue, eyes afraid but so, so hopeful. They remind him of Ani.
“I have been sent by a man named Skywalker.” he tells them, watching their mouths form around the word, “I can help you, take out your chips. I can bring you to him. You can be free.”
Kix’s hands tremble as he uses his General's chip reader, finds the bombs inside these people, human beings, and removes them. Repeats this process more times than he can count. He frees them, frees Skywalker’s people.
The 501st stays on Tatooine to prevent any insurgencies, to protect their General’s people. The 212th moves on to phase 2 of the plan.
Ahsoka, Obi-Wan and Anakin arrive at the Chancellor’s for dinner. It is late, and there are storm clouds gathering in the distance. Nobody sees Obi-Wan’s hand slip to his sleeve, nor do they see the stony look on his face as he pours Palpatine’s drink.
“Have you heard of the assassinations on Tatooine? Horrible, just horrible.” Palpatine sniffs.
“Oh, yes. But at least the slaves are free.” Ahsoka points out, canines showing when she smiles.
“I know, but I do believe that the bloodshed of it all could have been avoided. The Republic cannot intervene at this stage in the war, but there could have been negotiations. If I remember correctly, Generals, you were sent to negotiate with Gardulla recently.”
“Yes, we were.” Anakin chokes out.
“Ah yes, I read the report there. Beautiful work on your behalf, my highest compliments.”
“Gardulla was a slaver, Chancellor, and to condone our dealings with her in any way may be seen as slightly distasteful.” Obi-Wan retorts.
Not yet, not yet. But soon.
“It’s simply a marking of gratitude, Master Kenobi, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
Almost there. Just one more sip of wine.
“I just hope Senator Amidala’s bill is passed.” Anakin remarks, “ I believe that it would certainly help the conditions of Tatooine.”
“Now now, Anakin, don’t be hasty. Illegality will do nothing to stop that practice. The Jedi certainly won’t enforce it,” Palpatine chides.
“Then I have faith in the Senate.”
“Very well. Padawan Tano, Master Kenobi, would you mind leaving the room for a moment. I want to discuss-”
Palpatine starts coughing.
He doubles over into his chair.
Writhes like an animal.
Shoots lightning from his fingertips, against an invisible assailant.
The thing in Obi-Wan’s chest purrs.
“You will pay for this!” Palpatine gasps, “I am the Chancellor of the Republic-“
“But that’s not all you are, hm Sidious?” Obi-Wan croons.
“How did you know?” Palpatine stutters.
“I had suspicions, but your reaction just confirmed it.”
“I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you, I’ll kill you, I will have Anakin, I’ll fucking kill you!” Palpatine screeches,
“No. You won’t. Now, we must take our leave.”
He steers Anakin out of the room, Ahsoka trailing not far behind, truimphant smile on her face.
Palpatine is discovered dead the next day. They find Holcrons revealing him to be a Sith Lord. The Seperatists surrender, their leader dead.
Obi-Wan smiles through it all. This is what happens when you harm what is his.
In the end, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex and Obi-Wan sit on a rooftop of the Jedi Temple. The battle is far from over, Chancellor Organa having to clean up the cesspit that is the Senate, the Jedi’s ranks scrambling towards every relief effort frontier.
Anakin and Obi-Wan have left the Order, Anakin organizing democracy on Tatooine and Obi-Wan working with humanitarian causes. The clones are slowly gaining support to be recognized as more than soldiers. But for now things are calm.
Rex remembers that day on Tatooine after the assassinations, when Anakin had touched down on the ground. The 501st had set up relief camps near the cities, thousands of slaves coming in every day to hear the stories of Rain Bringer and have their chips removed.
Anakin (they’re on a first name basis now) had set one foot in the camp and was swarmed. Hands of different sizes and shapes surrounded him, desperate to touch one of their own. He spoke softly, in the language of his people, touching them back, comforting. He listened to them, their stories, with an understanding that only comes from experience.
He was especially fond of the little ones, Rex mused. Anakin had cradled them on his arms, subtly checking for bruises, delighted by their rambling.
Again, experience.
Anyways, they sit on the rooftop, soaking in the quiet, when Anakin speaks.
“Did I ever tell you about tzai?” He murmurs.
“No” Ahsoka responds lazily, laying back to look at the stars. “What is it?”
“It’s our drink. I think… I think I wanna teach you guys how to make it.”
“Who’s drink, Ani?” Obi-Wan asks.
“It’s a drink for slave families. We only share it with those closest to us. We pass it, generation to generation, each recipe unique. They take our bodies and our spirits, but not our tongue or our tzai. I want you to have tzai too, for the lonely days.”
“Us?” Rex whispers, honored at the thought.
“You.” Anakin confirms.
In the end, they sit on a rooftop of the Jedi Temple, and they talk about tzai, and Amatakka, and Ekkreth, Lukka, Leia, all of the things Gardulla and Watto and Palpatine couldn’t take. They sit on the rooftop, and they talk of Mandalore, Kamino, of tiny chips in the brain.
They talk about padawans and art and they share their traditions, their pains, their everything. They sit on that rooftop, and become family, they are family, and the Force hums it’s pleasure into a muggy night. More will come, but it can wait.
Rex has a good feeling about this.