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Chapter Text

Padmé was dead.

Padmé was dead, and he was alive.

Alone.

Vader wondered if this was how vines felt, when you removed them from their tree. When they lost everything. He wasn’t really sure how he felt, truthfully.

He just felt numb.

His suit hurt.

His everything hurt.

Burning alive tended to do that to organic beings, he knew. Even monsters.

But his suit also hurt in ways it wasn’t supposed to. He would know. He had tinkered with droids and mechanics for longer than he could remember. The simple fact that his rebuilt right arm was the least painful part of him was proof enough.

The armor was heavy and awkward. The whole system to support his failing lungs was torture. The drugs supposed to reduce his pain didn’t seem to help at all. The control panel displayed on his chest’s whole existence was absurd. At least the metal was black, and the cape acceptable. The whole contraption looked like something to hinder rather than help him, and Vader hated it.

Plus, there was no place in the armor for his recovering wings. They were uncomfortably pressed between two metal plates, whose harsh edges sunk into the fragile skin. Every movement irritated the burned roots. Every movement singed his nerves anew. Every movement was agony.

It empowered the Dark. It made it swirl hungrily around him, eager to eat the next flash of pain. Nowaday the Force felt more like a beast waiting to devour him than a friend and ally.

Vader didn’t care.

All of his friends betrayed him anyway.

Palpatine sent him on missions.

He gave him orders, and Vader was all too happy to follow. Anything to distract his mind from thinking. From remembering.

He barely remembered the orders themselves. Killing, mostly. Torturing, sometimes. Chase all Jedi and make them disappear.

‘As you wish, Master’, Vader never failed to answer.

Familiar faces blurred into strangers. Accusations were thrown at him, and he let them. They could hate. It only made him stronger.

It only buried Anakin Skywalker further.

Vader got his first injury one week after Mustafar.

It had been a stupid mistake. One easily dodged. Palpatine would be disappointed.

A fallen Padawan had attacked him by surprise. Not yet used to the suit, Vader had tried to dodge by flying away.

Except his burned wings were trapped within the metallic folds of the suit. Not that the weight of the armor would have allowed him to fly.

The blow had connected. The green plasma blade had cut through durasteel like butter, and sent his left arm flying. The electric sensors complained loudly about the sudden heat. His connecting ports were fried.

A well placed stroke ended the miserable fool’s life, but the deed was done.

Vader was injured.

The Dark whispered to his ear that it had been too fast. He should have made the Jedi suffer. Vader agreed. Not for the pain, though. For the humiliation. For the reminder.

The red sky mocked him for his incompetency. His wings twitched in longing.

He wished he could still fly.

Palpatine was, predictably, disappointed.

Something he made Vader painfully aware of when he came back.

The anger and scorn had been expected. The Force attack directed towards him less so. Vader adapted fast however. As his world burst into thousands of sparks, he called upon the Dark, retreating deep inside it. It didn’t lessen the pain but transformed it into a sword, one he used not to scream.

When the agony stopped he fell, dizzy. His mechanical lungs worked overtime to help his broken body breathe.

“Lord Vader. Rise.”

He couldn’t. It hurt.

The caress of the Dark against his neck taught him better.

“I will not repeat myself.”

Vader was tired of the pain. He still remembered a world without it, and he longed. The Dark could only sustain him for so long before his body crashed. Sidious asked however. And waiting meant more pain. So, ignoring the multiple warnings piercing his nerves, he rose.

“This was only a warning. A lesson, if you will. The weak do not survive in the world of the Sith. Do you understand?”

He nodded.

“Good.”

Failure equals punishment. Displeasure was failure. Pain was punishment.

It was simple enough math.

It was a system he knew well enough from the nine years he had spent in it. The speed into which he adapted back into it was almost scary. But it was a structure, albeit a strict one, and Vader desperately needed to be commanded.

“It was too early,” Palpatine amended. “We should have waited more. You need more training.”

Training Palpatine provided in the form of a room full of enhanced Magna guards.

Vader had not been allowed out until he could destroy all the droids without a scratch after that.

There were times, in the rare occurrences where Vader slept, where he would suddenly wake up disoriented. His brain took him back to the fire of the Clone Wars, and for a few seconds, he couldn’t make sense of where he was.

The unfamiliar surroundings of his pod and the Dark whispers would send him in a panic. He would jump to his feet in alarm, or try to, only to notice the limbs were missing. His wings would flap in vain, sending ebony feathers flying. Adrenaline would rush through his system. His heart rate would try to raise, then. His breathing to accelerate.

That was when the panic attack usually ended.

His mechanical lungs kicked in. The suit drugs adjusted. His body relaxed. A well oiled tool ready to be used.

Inside, Vader was screaming. Anakin was. But no matter how much he tried, the cry never made it out.

It couldn’t.

Vader’s throat was broken. His tear ducts were gone. All of his bonds had disappeared, but one. Palpatine and the Dark were the lone witness to his silent calls. They could as well have drunk his tears from how much they enjoyed them.

His body rose, ready to serve another day.

He missed breathing.

Palpatine was in a bad mood today.

Vader could feel the Force circle around his Master like a hungry scavenger. He didn’t even give Vader time to kneel before attacking him. Lightning collided with his chest, frying the fragile machinery holding his life support together.

“Weak,” he snarled as Vader fell, powerless.

He grit his teeth. This was nothing. This was just another lesson. Giving a reaction would just prove Palpatine right. That he was weak. That he was unfit to be a Sith.

He should have stayed on his guard. He should have been faster. He should have protected his known weakness from the lightning before it reached him.

“I hope, for your sake, that your prey is weaker.”

That was right. Vader had come to Coruscant to update Palpatine on the Jedi he was currently chasing. He had gotten a location, but was lacking an army.

He awkwardly rose back on his feet. His limbs were sporadically twitching. His wings had folded incorrectly inside their confines under the assault, and they ached. His injuries from Mustafar had been reopened raw. He would need another round of maintenance before departure.

“Bring me back that Jedi, Darth Vader. Or do not come back at all.”

He guessed that meant he wouldn’t get that army.

Vader looked at the disfigured face that had curved into a smile as he twitched on the ground, overwhelmed by agony. Had this really been his father figure, once?

Whatever the thing wearing the ex-Chancellor’s figure was, it was beginning to not look like Palpatine at all.

Chapter Text

To Vader's surprise, a small squadron waited for him at the hangar. He recognised the clones’ Force signature. They were part of the 501’st remnants. They were his.

It wasn’t an army, but it should be sufficient for this particular chase.

They were going after Kirak Infil'a. A Jedi Master, trained only for combat. The man separated himself entirely from the Order life, so Anakin Skywalker had never met him in person. From the rumors, he was strong. A suitable opponent to prove himself to the Emperor.

The men shuffled as he approached. There was an undercurrent of uneasiness, anger, and pity in the Force. They knew who he had been, and this was an issue. A weakness. He needed their fear. Their respect.

No matter. They would forget Anakin Skywalker soon enough.

They would see how much stronger Vader was, and understand why he had fallen. He would show them. He would protect them.

He entered the ship, cape flaring behind him.

He was Darth Vader.

The clones hated him.

The first thing he had done, once they were out of Coruscant, was to order the squadron’s medic to remove those disgusting chips out of their brain. He even made a point to remember each of their names, like Anakin Skywalker used to. And yet, the clones hated him.

He tried not to let it hurt him.

Anakin had been the one to care about the friendships he maintained with his troops. There was no reason for Vader to miss it.

As long as they obeyed orders, their feelings didn’t matter. They just served to feed the Dark further.

If he repeated it enough, it would become true.

Right?

Vader was tired.

The galaxy showed no sign of changing. Sidious taught him, but there was none of the gentle companionship Palpatine once showed him.

Piloting wasn’t enough. His wings burned at the simple thought of flying.

Sith meditation was much easier than Jedi meditation.

It felt much better, too. The pain and agony spun together until Vader felt so numb, he didn’t care anymore. The Dark gorged his veins with glorious power. He sensed that he could erase the life of a clone on the other side of the ship by a single touch. It was exhilarating. It was freeing.

He had to admit, however, that there was one downside.

The Dark couldn’t heal.

It couldn’t bring Padmé back to life, either. Sidious had lied, and Vader hated him for it. But lies and hate were in the nature of the Sith, and that was what he was, now. One day, he would kill his Master, and he would— he would—

The Dark Side showed no path.

Were he to kill Sidious… What would he do? Take pride in finally being a Master? Take the reins of the Sith Empire?

But Vader didn’t want an Empire.

There was no point in ruling if he was alone.

He just wanted Padmé.

(He just wanted to feel loved again.)

Vader caught a dark feather in between his fingers. It was slightly deformed on the edges, where it had burned little more than a month ago. Without the Light Side to heal, nor any miracle kyber pomade at hand… there was nothing to help his wings regrow. They stayed twisted and small, the primaries long since burned into ashes. They stayed useless.

He turned the feather, observing it.

Padmé had always complimented his large golden appendages. What would she think of them, he thought, now that they were ugly and darker than night? Would she reassure him that they were just as beautiful, like when he had lost his arm? Or would she hate him for harbouring the color of the Fallen?

(Would she forgive him?)

He closed his fists. The fragile feather crumbled to dust in his hand, irreparably broken. This musing was pointless. Padmé was not coming back.

Vader would never know.

They landed on the river moon of Al'doleem.

Cliff and mountains spread as far as the eye could see. Vader expertly landed the LAAT/i holding his troops. The uneven landscape offered a worthy challenge to his pilot’s skill, and he found some satisfaction in landing the vessel intact.

Another happy landing! Anakin’s voice echoed in his head.

The memory quelled his good mood. Vader focused on his objective. Somewhere on this moon, a Jedi named Infil'a was hiding. He needed to kill him.

The Dark chuckled expectantly at the idea of fresh Light blood. Kill kill kill, it sang. Take their power, steal it for yourself!

Sometimes Vader wondered if the Force had no side before, when no sentient could reach it. It seemed to him that the ‘Dark’ and ‘Light’ had evolved more from the feeling poured into them, than from their nature itself. It was telling then, that the Dark was more powerful. It had always been placed to win.

Opening himself to the Force, he chased the Light scent the way a hound chased blood. The Light was strong on this planet, and it made his senses duller. But Vader had more than enough pain to make up for a whole planet worth of Light. He let the permanent agony of his joints reach the surface, just for an instant. With care and skill, he redirected it to the Dark, like Sidious had taught him. ‘The Dark is an unruly beast, my Apprentice. But if tamed well, it will be the most loyal of your companions.’

The shadow of his power spread throughout the surface. Soon enough, the Dark was everywhere, but in one place. Some parts had actively resisted, leaving a hole in the web. Vader investigated them.

There.

There was a Light Nexus not that far from where they had landed. And it held all the traces of a Jedi in it.

Infil'a had been waiting for them.

Vader and the remnants of the 501st had traveled through the mountain, until they reached some kind of monastery. It had been empty.

Then an abrupt call had echoed from the mountain side. A challenge to fight. Vader had been unable to resist.

He ordered his troops to remain at the monastery, thinking it would be safer. He should have known better. No place remotely near him was safe.

The Jedi had appeared in his crimson-tinted vision. Vader had smirked. For once, the Jedi arrogance was useful. His prey would soon be dead at his feet.

That’s when half of the mountain collapsed on his head.

From the coffin of the small cave he had managed to build before getting crushed, Vader cursed. He had been more foolish than a Youngling. ‘Divide and Conquer.’ One of the first lessons in strategic combat in the Temple.

In the Force, the clones began to scream.

Vader should have felt nothing, but— They were the 501st. They were his. No matter Sidious' wishes, he couldn’t let them go. A sense of anguish clenched his heart as another cry echoed. The Dark swirled around him in answer. His breathing remained even.

He began the arduous task of extracting himself from the rubble.

He left the cave half an hour later.

In the Force, the clones’ cries had died down into nothing. Their silence was screaming at Vader something he didn’t want to acknowledge.

They were all dead.

His fault, his fault, his fault—

No. Vader was strong, that was the difference between him and Anakin Skywalker. Why was Darth Vader stronger?

‘Attachment will make you weak’, Palpatine had snarled when Vader’s grief had filled their bond. ‘You have potential, my Apprentice. Do not waste it on ghosts of the past.’

It reminded him of the Jedi. Except Vader now knew this to be true. Attachment made him weak.

Except— what was the point of living if you didn’t care?

Vader didn’t know. He guessed it didn’t truly matter. Palpatine needed him, and that was enough.

He was useful.

He had a mission.

He lived for the mission.

Finding Infil'a again was far too easy. It was as if the Jedi Master wanted to be found. Fine. It fit Vader just as well.

Everything he touched turned into ashes.

The Jedi would pay for what he did.

They fought.

The old man was strong. But Vader was angry. His rage reverberated in his bones. It mixed in with his pain in a dissonant cacophony and made him stronger.

Be cautious of your pride, Anakin. Do not let it blind you.

Vader truly hated Kenobi sometimes. That scum had no right to be correct.

But the fact was Vader focused so much on the Jedi that he lost his strategic position. Before he knew it, they were fighting near a cliff. He was on the wrong side.

Vader glared at the Jedi above him. The man’s figure superimposed with that of his old Master. Invisible ashes began to fall from the sky, and Vader twitched uncomfortably. Was it him, or the temperature was suddenly much higher? It was odd. His suit was supposed to regulate these things.

Alarms blared in his mind. He should have stayed above. Why could he never remember the easiest lessons?

No.

Not this time.

Vader was much more powerful than the scum facing him. He wouldn’t be tricked by a mere Jedi.

He focused his power on the structure beneath the Jedi feets, intent on bringing him to his level, no matter the price. The rocks cracked and bent. The mountain rumbled. The rocks gave in.

He watched Infil’a lose his balance and fall, proud of himself. That would teach the Jedi scum to think himself above him. He raised his hand, preparing to snap the fool’s neck and be done with it, when a second rumble stopped him. The Dark shrieked in alarm.

Eyes wide, Vader noticed the whole mountain structure had been weakened by his attack. He had set a chain reaction.

The ground gave under Vader’s feet.

Everything hurt.

Everything hurt more than usual, to be precise.

This fall was worse than the previous one. The back plate of his armor, already weakened by the previous collapse, had injured the fragile organs it was supposed to protect. The metallic shard had pierced through one of his wings before sinking deep into the flesh of his back. Furthermore, the impact had created a hole in his suit, leading to its depressurisation. His respirator wouldn’t last long.

Vader would have checked the severity of the wound, or at least removed his weight from it, but his head wouldn’t rise. Some of the circuits commanding his refenforced vertebra must have broken. Not that it would have changed much. One of his prostheses was trapped under a huge rock, effectively pinning him to the ground.

For Vader to have been this injured, surely Infil’a was dead?

Vader scanned the planet. The Jedi’s light still shone bright in the Force. One of the rocks pinning him down crumbled to dust under the sudden Dark assault emanating from Vader. He gritted his teeth.

Infil'a had escaped.

Vader had failed.

He layed, wheezing, amidst the rubbles. Had the shard reached one of his artificial lungs as well? He couldn’t tell.

What would Sidious say now?

The sun was slowly moving its course through the horizon. Vader could feel his blood slowly slither out from where the armor had pierced him. The flow was slow enough that it wouldn’t immediately kill him, but it was only a matter of time. That is, if the lack of oxygen didn’t kill him first.

The weather was nice, though. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the soft warmth of the sun on his face. The numbness taking over his body offered a nice respite from the pain. His respirator painfully pushed his lungs to take another breath.

Vader had tried so, so hard. He had tried so many times…

And every single time, it had only gotten those he loved killed. He understood the truth now.

Everything he loved, everyone he touched, he destroyed.

Everyone… but Palpatine.

Surely the galaxy would be better without him.

It wasn’t as if anyone would notice. Vader could just lay here, under the nice sun of Al'doleem. He could wait until oxygen came short. Until his damaged body finally gave up.

There would be no pain, just peace. Maybe even sweet memories of Padmé…

And then maybe… maybe death could take him.

Chapter Text

There was something calling him back to Coruscant.

Anakin mumbled. Who was disturbing him? The ground felt soft and warm under him. He wanted to stay here a bit longer… just a bit longer…

The voice came back, incessant.

Lord Vader…

It came from a presence within his mind. The presence was slippery and oily, leaving traces everywhere it passed. Anaki– no, the voice hadn’t called him that. Vader wondered how it had crossed past his shields. Didn't it know coming in without knocking was rude?

I am saving your life, you worthless Apprentice!

Saving his life? Vader felt confused. A small nap had never hurt anyone, right?

Wake up.

Why? Vader felt nice here. There was no pain. No sins. He could just float without worries.

By the moon goddess. So much work and all I get is this.

The person in his head was very rude, Vader decided.

This is an order, Lord Vader. Wake. Up.

The voice was so annoying. Maybe listening to it would shut it up? He experimentally tried to move a leg. His world exploded in pain. Vader didn’t hesitate before retreating, and unconsciousness welcomed him back with open arms.

Except the voice was pulling him towards the pain.

My Apprentice shall not die in such a cowardly way!

Agony set his nerves alight again. Except this time, Vader found it slightly more tolerating. It was as if the Dark shielded him from the worst of it, allowing him to keep a cool mind. Awareness slowly poured back. Vader had control again.

In his mind, the presence spoke.

Good. I expect you back immediately.

Then Vader was alone again.

He checked his body. It was dying.

Vader was not surprised. He had lost a lot of blood since his last moment of awareness, and the lack of oxygen made him dizzy. Pushing forward would be no easy feat. Sidious had shown him a few Sith crafts however, among them was one which he could use now.

Vader considered laying back on the comfortable earth.

Dying had felt nice… he thought he even sensed Padmé.

He doubted Sidious would let him, however. Not after all the effort the Emperor had made to patch him up after Mustafar. Vader had a duty. A debt to repay.

Plus, if he died here, he wouldn’t get the pleasure of watching Kenobi burn. Nor torture Infil’a to death. The Dark purred at the thought, urging him forward. The sooner he was on his feet, the sooner he could make more Jedi pay.

He called on the Force, remembering what Sidious had said. “Our flesh is only a vessel. Our true power comes from our will, our passion. Command, and the Force must obey.”

So Vader commanded. He lifted the rock immobilising him, crushed it to dust. He ordered the Force to push his body upright, ignoring the natural urges that demanded it rest. He stemmed the blood flow from the wound. He manually replaced his respirator. He forced his mind to stay awake. And then, like some monstrous puppet, he directed each of his limbs to move.

After a few tries he was standing upright. A few more and he was walking.

A few more, and he was piloting the ship.

Vader had wondered before, if Sidious’ disappointment in him could go lower. He should have known the answer was ‘yes’.

“I did not take you for a coward, Lord Vader,” Sidious snarled. “A Sith Lord is supposed to be powerful. To be majestic.” He looked down on Vader’s kneeling figure. He hadn’t been allowed to go to maintenance yet, and there was only so much Vader could do to stop his injured body from shivering. Sidious scoffed. "You, my friend, are just pathetic.”

Vader gritted his teeth, waiting silently for his Master to continue. He wondered if the punishment it would entail was worth immediately passing out. Obi-Wan’s lectures had been one thing. Sidious’ were worse.

“You are trapped in the past,” his Master continued. “You mellow and fester in your pain, instead of using it for power. You let it control you.”

Vader wanted to scoff. He had only ever followed his Master’s teachings. And yet the Dark had never brought forth the power he had sold his soul for.

“You promised to save Padmé’s life.”

“I promised to give you power. You have only yourself to blame for how you used it.” Vader flinched.

Padmé…

“Your loss against that Jedi was your fault, and your fault only.”

Which one? Vader felt like he had lost against far too many Jedi lately. Needles prickled his damaged nerves. He felt like he was burning all over again, but he couldn’t tell if it was the fever or the memories.

“Heed my advice, Lord Vader. Let go of the past.” Sidious glared at his wings, and Vader felt a flash of hate and envy coming from his Master. “Beginning with these things. They are an eyesore, and a weakness.”

At least Vader knew why the suit back was so uncomfortable now.

Vader didn’t free the other clones.

It wouldn’t have served any purpose. They already were good soldiers.

They would have just hated him.

Like he hated himself.

Infil’a died.

Vader sniffed his smell almost by accident. From then on, it was only a matter of time. He chased the Jedi half a galaxy away, intent on revenge. The Dak sang of bloodthirst at his side.

The Jedi Master’s death was almost disappointing. Put the lives of a few innocents in the game, and suddenly he was as weak as a newborn Etobi. Vader snapped his neck. No clone would die again by that traitor’s hand.

“Did you consider my offer?”

Trapped within the uncomfortable confines of the suit, Vader’s wings twitched.

He knew keeping them was a weakness. A useless reminder of Skywalker’s time. He also knew Sidious hated the darkened appendages.

He just— He couldn’t. They were his.

(They were his only chance to truly fly again.)

Vader found a trail leading to Skywalker’s Apprentice. He followed it, conflicted. What would he say when he saw her? What would she say?

She had abandoned him, once. Would she leave him again?

A blue lightsaber teased him in the snow.

.
.
.

Ahsoka was dead.

Sidious was forming something called 'Inquisitorus' to chase Jedi. Vader was supposed to train them.

…

He didn't want to.

On one of the many times Vader came back too injured to stand, Sidious met him during his maintenance. He glared at his Apprentice, silently judging his disheveled state, before telling him these words:

"Your hate is valuable, Lord Vader. But remember it is a tool. A weapon. Do not let yourself drown in it."

Vader couldn’t remember a time he hadn’t drowned.

It happened almost by coincidence.

Sidious had sent him on the trail of a hidden Jedi Temple, to destroy it.

Vader had gone alone.

He did most of the time, now. The soldiers’ mind disturbed his focus. They brought forth unnecessary conflict, and so Vader left them on the ship.

He had lost too many of the clones in battle.

At first, the Temple rejected him. It sensed his link with the Dark and did everything it could to repulse his presence. Vader broke any such attempt. He was in command. Not some stupid weak Jedi Temple.

Then he had entered one of the rooms, and the Force had changed. It suddenly went from repulsion to attraction. The sudden shift left him somewhat unbalanced. The door slammed shut. Vader glared at the glyphs embedded on every surface of the room. They shone with a hypnotic light Vader couldn’t quite grasp the color off through his crimson lenses.

A clear song rose in the Force. Pushed by some instinct, his trapped wings slowly vibrated in phase with the song. It felt soothing, cleansing. The sound came from the carved symbols themselves. Natural kyber powder, Vader noticed. The crystals sunk into every pore of Vader’s body, and erased any will to suppress them. Vader approached, fascinated.

The moment he touched the glyphs, the room disappeared.

Padmé laughed at him. They danced in the main room of the Palace, happy. Their children were playing in the garden, near the lakes. Twins. Their wings would grow soon. They would be strong in the Force, he knew.

Padmé led him outside, still laughing. His mom was there. She was tinkering with some piece of machinery — likely a future toy for the twins. His boy would be delighted to break it apart to study the insides. A natural-born mechanic, just like him and his mother before him. Not that his daughter would stay very far behind– between her strong character and her mother’s interest for politics, she would make an amazing Empress.

“Ani. Are you happy?”

“I am,” he answered honestly.

A huge shadow suddenly eclipsed the sun. The dark cloud whispered to him. It called him, bringing forth memories of pain and lava. It created a cold wind that brushed his darker feathers. Its cacophony brought a dissonance within the gentle song being hummed in the air.

He looked at Padmé. She was pale. The black cloud made everything seem a bit less tangible, a bit more invisible. Behind it, he could see the soft light of Aurebesh runes.

Vader remembered. It felt more akin to waking up from a dream, though. Acknowledging the real and the surreal. The Dark welcomed him back by spinning over him, weakening Padmé’s shadow further. The palace next to her had almost completely disappeared, and his children's playful cries were further and further away.

This place was a trap. A spell to entrap those with too much yearning, too much passion. Shmi was dead. Padmé was dead. His children… were dead.

His happiness had only been an illusion.

He chose to stay.

It was a simple matter, really. All Vader had to do was reject the Dark. Without the huge shadow looming over it, the illusory world rapidly regained stability.

The Dark side of the Force was not all that happy about his rejection. It whined and begged and tempted, but Vader stood strong. There was nothing waiting for him out of this Temple. Everyone Anakin loved betrayed him, or died by his hand. Vader couldn’t love anyone. Had it not been for Sidious’ order and will… Vader would have not even existed.

The Emperor had brought him back last time. Vader didn’t know how deep his Sith Master had sunk his hooks into his psyche. He hadn't cared, before. Only now that he acted against him, against his own life, did he wonder.

Vader blocked the Master-Apprentice bond he shared with Sidious, hoping that, with the Light Temple’s protection, it would be enough. Without a connection through the Force, it was unlikely anyone would ever find him. Vader had forgone the protocol asking to report his destination, and the planet the Temple was located on was remote.

The suit could maintain him for days, which would probably mean years within the illusion. Years of everything he had ever dreamed for.

This was a nice place for monsters to die.

Chapter Text

He was playing with his girl when whispers came from the sky again. His feathers puffed up as a reaction. He frowned, confused for a moment. He had been here for so long, he had almost forgotten there was another world, somewhere outside. Regularly some kind of dark shadow tried to break into this world, but he always managed to fight it back.

The whispers this time seemed different, though. Less powerful and more tangible at the same time. Could another sentient have entered the Temple? He shrugged it off. This room was well hidden. The Temple could take care of the intruders.

His girl was so big, now. He was so proud. Leia, the wind had whispered, when she had reached a year old. Luke, he had whispered in exchange, as his bubbly boy played with the wind. Now they were both twelve, almost teens. Their wings showed signs of growing soon. Before he knew it, they’d be adults. Amazing ones, he was sure. It had been hard sometimes, but he regretted none of the time spent raising them.

The next day, the intruder's voice was back. It was stronger now, carried by the black cloud shadowing the sky. His world shook, disturbed. He clenched his fists, wings raising defensively. No. This world had to remain. His children were only twelve. He would protect them.

He listened.

“… dynamite.”

The voice irritated him. This was a man he hated, although he couldn’t tell why. His other memories seemed futile, compared to the years spent with his family.

"Are you sure, sir?"

Another voice. Was there more than one intruder? He couldn’t tell without fully connecting back to the Force and his physical body. Something which he refused to do, as such an act would destroy his world.

"Yes. He’s survived worse before."

The Force sent a wave of alarm that pierced his carefully crafted shields. His world shook again, stronger this time. Cracks spiderwebbed the sky. Behind it, shattered glyphs could be seen. He panicked. What were the intruders doing?

Leia called to him in fear. He rushed towards her, grasping her hand right as the ground opened beneath her feet. He brushed a golden feather reassuringly against her face. ”Everything is gonna be alright.” Then the world shook again, and his hand was gone. The abyss swallowed her all. It closed right back up, forbidding him to follow. The lingering warmth of her fingers in his mocked his failure.

No. That wasn’t right. He could protect them!

He turned to fly towards Padmé, but she was already fading.

“I love you, Ani. Never forget that.” A cracked-filled smile lit her face one last time before she disappeared into the light.

By the time he reached Luke, the boy was crumbling into sand. He held the small grains in his hand, stunnely watching as they slipped from his fingers. A cold breeze took what remained away.

“Again.”

The soft kyber lullaby morphed into agonized cries. Explosions rocked his world. Shrapnel pierced his feathers.

The illusion shattered like a broken mirror.

He was burning.

Vader opened his eyes to a scarlet sky and Tarkin's smirking face.

"Welcome back, Lord Vader. Or should I say… Anakin."

That man had— he had dared— he had killed them—

Forgetting for a moment he was trapped in the suit, Vader charged. His limbs refused to answer. He looked down in confusion. He was half-encased in the Temple’s ruins. There were holes in the suit covering, and several pieces were bent out of place. Everything was smoking. His armor looked like it had taken the full brunt of several explosions. Pain racked his body. His nerves felt aflame.

But he was not this crude matter.

The Dark came back to him with all the eagerness of a dog who hasn’t seen their master in eons. Vader welcomed it back with open arms. The world it would have endangered was gone.

He pressed the Force against the Admiral’s neck.

Vader might die here, but he would have the satisfaction of watching Tarkin’s agonizing face first.

A hundred stun blasts hit him.

Everything hurt.

Vader couldn’t move.

He had… he had betrayed Palpatine. Turned his back on his Master’s teachings, and left.

…

Was it the end?

Vader required immediate maintenance.

It was provided to him.

He had been maintained under heavy sedation in order to avoid ‘compromising behavior’, he was told. Translation: they had incapacited him so he could neither escape nor kill everyone on the ship.

Now he was back in his ‘special’ room on Coruscant. They had only woken him up for maintenance, since it was protocol for him to be awake during any of them. A favor he was both grateful and resentful for: for all the pain suffering through the surgery awake brought, it gave him some sense of control. Vader had never really managed to swallow his transition between Mustafar and the suit.

One of the faceless droids began to cut away his damaged armor, and Vader screamed.

Sidious arrived mid-maintenance.

Even through the dizzying pain, Vader could guess why he was here. The Emperor’s presence spread through the room like an angry snake. It fixated on him like a blaster bolt to its target. Half open on the operation table, Vader didn’t have the strength to push Sidious away from the Master-Apprentice bond.

It was forced open and then Sidious was there. Happily settled in his mind, morphing, changing. Linking them with an unshakable chain. Vader knew he wouldn’t leave anytime soon. Not after his last failure.

Once Vader’s mind was nicely arranged as he wished, with all the traps and programmed mindset he pleased (ones that would take Vader hours of meditation to find and control), Sidious deigned looking at his physical self. He scowled.

“I see you have ignored my lessons.”

Vader could almost taste the man’s displeasure of having such a failure of an apprentice in his mouth. Trapped within a Jedi’s pretty lie, he could almost hear him sneer. With a false idea of happiness that could only be an illusion. Vader had been distracted, as always, aiming to resurrect the past instead of focusing his sights on true power.

“I shall not have an enraptured moth for an apprentice,” Sidious snarled. He turned towards the droids. “Remove his wings.” He looked back towards Vader. “Surely this will make whatever pathetic remnant of Skywalker weakening you disappear.”

No, no, no—

Vader struggled on the table. He couldn’t— They were his!

The straps held him down.

The faceless droids came closer, a few pinning him on his belly while the others prepared the bonesaw. Vader tried to eject them with the Force, but Sidious was everywhere. His efforts went to waste. He couldn’t break past the old man’s oily presence.

“Ready.”

The droid’s mechanical voice rang in his ears. This couldn’t be happening. He knew Sidious hated his wings, but removing them made no sense— for all their sensitivities and weaknesses, they were an asset when it came to controlling the Force. They were part of him.

(Vader had never seen Sidious’s wings. He doubted the man had any.)

Then the bonesaw connected with his skin, and Vader howled in agony. Soon even thinking became impossible. The relief of unconsciousness was refused to him however. Everytime he began to black out, Sidious used their bond to drag him back screaming. He ensured Vader was here for every excruciating second.

The noise stopped.

Vader laid on the table, panting. His throat felt raw. His back felt— he didn’t want to think about his back.

They were gone, gone, gone.

Just like Padmé.

A flash of fresh pain pierced through the numbness. Vader whimpered. The droids were applying some kind of cream on his back. Whatever it was, it burned. Only his grit teeth and Sidious’s judging presence stopped him from crying out again.

It was destroying and rebuilding the Force flow on his back. It replaced the raw opened veins with closed midichlorian channels, ensuring they would keep the same density but never grow in that direction again. The reverse of a regenerative kyber-based pomade, Vader realised. A twisted Sith tool to make sure wings could never regrow.

“Do not mourn their loss, my Apprentice,” Sidious said. Vader stayed confused about the Emperor’s words for a moment before he remembered. Right. The man currently had total access to Vader’s thoughts. “Without them, the Light can’t touch you,” he continued. “This change only makes you stronger.”

Vader wished he could have Sidious’s determination at this moment. But he truly just wanted to become so numb he’d disappear. Being lowered in a bacta tank gave him a similar sensation, at least.

Their task finished, the droids left. The Emperor followed suit.

Free from the oily presence, Vader floated. Everything felt so far away. Unreal. Awareness came and left in waves. Even when awake, Vader wasn’t sure all of this had really happened to him. Maybe he had just accidentally intruded on someone else's memories. But everytime he doubted, the two spears of fire eating his back reminded him.

They were gone.

When he felt like moving was possible again, he turned his head. A pair of blackened wings met his sight. The feathers were unkempt, and traces of burns littered their surface. More noticeably, blood tainted most of the base, where the appendages should have been connected to living skin. They were dead, pitiful things.

He banned the sense of loss that threatened to overwhelm him. There was no use crying for what could never come back.

Don’t look back, Ani. Never look back.

Sidious had been right. They were an eyesore anyway.

Vader stood in front of Padmé’s tomb. He formed a sharp contrast with Naboo’s beautiful architecture, his dark armour clashing against the multicolored garden. She would have loved this place, he thought. It was very much like her. Beautiful, headstrong… and hypnotising. Vader was sure that without the suit, the cool, fresh air would have caressed his skin, welcoming him home.

But Naboo had never been his home. Anakin Skywalker had dreamed of it. But Anakin Skywalker would have never waited so long before paying his respects to his wife. He would have never felt like an intruder on these sacred grounds.

Vader held the bag that contained the ashes of his wings. He had been too out of it to follow what happened to them after the operation, but he doubted the Emperor would bother to lie about the object of his scorn for the last year. It was light. It didn’t feel like the appendages that had faithfully bore his and his Flock’s weight throughout the Clone Wars.

He released them, letting the wind bring them high into the Naboo sky. It had been a beautiful blue, once. Now it was as all things were for him, tainted in a scarlet red.

Padmé was dead.

Anakin Skywalker was dead.

Darth Vader was all that remained.