Chapter Text
The last thing he remembers is heat. Red hot and pulsing as blaster fire penetrates his heart and lungs. A few more beats thunder in his ears, and then the world goes quiet and dark.
A different heat replaces everything.
Not heat. Warmth. All-engulfing but soothing warmth. The sound of a heartbeat all around him. Muffled voices in the distance that cannot quite reach him.
He’s been here before, he’s pretty sure. But it’s been a lifetime.
A familiar voice rises, like the warmth and the surrounding heartbeat. It engulfs him, wraps him in a blanket, and soothes his worries and fears. He knows it from somewhere but hasn’t heard it since his days in the crèche back on Coruscant.
“Master, I know my decision to have a child is… unorthodox. But I chose this path, and I wish to keep him.”
Mom?
“So you have, and what does it mean for your training?” Another voice speaks up. He recognizes it, too, but he can’t remember his name. Why can’t he remember?
“I don’t know. I—I don’t think I can give him to the temple, but I can’t leave either. This—the order, it’s all I know. "Mom’s heartbeat spikes. Ah, so it’s Master Qui-Gon. He’s talking, too.
A wave of sadness and sorrow washes through him as air flows through Mom’s body in elevated breaths. Mom’s crying.
A soothing presence reaches him, warm energy flowing through him like a calm river, the Force settling the unrest in Mom’s body, in his, too.
“Then do both. Keep the child as close as you can, finish your training. And when the time comes, train him yourself.”
"Master, that is impossible. It would break every rule we—” Mom says, sorrow lacing his words. The emotion is so strong that it is hard to make out Master Qui-Gon’s response to him.
Mom can’t be sad. He shouldn’t be. He reaches out or tries to. He tries to command the surrounding Force. But his body doesn’t cooperate, and neither does the Force. Not yet. He’s not born yet.
He is eventually. He’s not sure how long it’s been. But one day, he’s in the safety and warmth of mom’s body, and the next, he’s cold and screaming, his body tight and aching. But at least he’s alive and safe. The Force curls around him protectively as Mom holds him. It’s been so long since he felt this too. After Tanalorr, the hidden path, Bracca, all he ever truly wanted was peace. Merrin by his side, Greez in flying distance, and Mom back to take all the pain and suffering he endured. At least, for now, he has one of these things. But there he will come a day when everything will be taken from him once again. It’s inevitable.
It’s the will of the Force and not something he can stop. So why did it bring him around for another chance? Why put him through more torture just to have him fail all over again? Is it too late to wish for death now? Now that he’s taken his first breath all over, maybe he can soon breathe his last once more.
Mom leaves with Master Qui-Gon a few weeks after his birth. And although his conscious self knows that this would always happen. It’s quite a blow for the tiny body with strong emotions that he now inhabits. He keeps crying for a week despite the crèche workers’ best efforts to soothe him.
Days pass to nights and back to days until the sun rises once more on a particularly chilly morning.
“I’m here to see Cal. Cal Keno- Kestis. Cal Kestis.” Mom’s voice cuts through the usual crèche sounds of screeching children and high-pitched laughter.
“Of course, Master Kenobi. He’s right this way.”
It’s been—actually, he’s not sure how long it’s been. But Master Qui-Gon is no longer with him; instead, a small boy follows his mom around. The boy has a padawan braid in his blond hair and blue, vibrant eyes. His stomach drops, and a whimper escapes him. He recognizes those eyes from the day Master Tapal brought him to a knighting ceremony where many Jedi, including the boy next to Mom, were knighted into knighthood—Anakin Skywalker, Darth Vader himself.
Anger boils in him. Or perhaps it’s bowel movements. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell, especially in this weak and flailing tiny body. It’s the reason he currently can’t do anything to stop that monster from approaching. He’s just gained control of his arm and leg movements a short while ago. But sitting up or standing up? That is so far out of the question it’s not even funny. He grumbles instinctively.
“Master, why are we in the crèche?” Vader. No. Not Vader. Not yet. Skywalker asks.
“There’s someone I’d like you to meet. Be nice.”
He flails his arms about in frustration, his fingers instinctively curling around the little Runyip rattle that’s in the crib with him. There’s nothing he can do at this point in time. He’s the only one who knows who this little monster will grow up to become. He’s the only one in the temple who knows what will happen in ten years. And there’s nothing he can do about any of it….
The rattle rattles next to his ear. And it hits him. There is something he can do.
“Aww, is that a baby? He’s cute. What’s his name?” Skywalker smiles as he walks up to the crib and leans over him, one hand reaching for his own tiny counterpart.
“His name is Cal. He’s my so—“ Mom starts, but he won’t let him finish that sentence.
The rattle, which is firmly grasped in his little hand, flies up with a remarkably smooth and powerful movement, smacking against Skywalker’s forehead with a thunderous slap.
“OWWW. He hit me!”
“Anakin! Are you alright?”
Even mom’s fussing over the little future devil can’t break his spirit. A big red splot is on Skywalker’s face. A sight that makes him giggle. And well, it’s not like he can control that. He is but a baby right now, after all.
Skywalker looks at him through his tears and with slight disdain. For some reason, it fills him with glee and leaves a pang of regret in his stomach. As much as he’d like to take out his anger on him a little more, it is also very clear by the way the kid is crying that he is that. A child of nine or ten years old.
Still, Skywalker will grow up to be the one to betray the order. He’ll betray Mom, Master Tapal, and the council. Everyone that he’s ever known or cared about. Hurting him a little as…. Accidents is kind of the only thing he can do right now.
But is it the right thing to do?
Mom’s arms envelop him and pick him up before he can contemplate it further. He kicks his legs in frustration and makes his displeasure known.
“I see someone’s gotten out of bed on the wrong foot…” Mom sits down on one of the nearby futons and gestures to Skywalker to join him.
“Is he gonna hit me again?” Skywalker sits down opposite him, eyeing him with caution.
Well, good. At least the message sunk in. In his little satisfied glee, he blows a raspberry, earning him a chuckle from Mom.
“No. I de-weaponized him. He won’t be able to hurl things at you for the time being. I’m sure it was an accident. Why don’t you try again?”
Skywalker hesitates but reaches for him again. And this time, there is nothing he can do but scowl.
“Hey, Cal, I’m Anakin. I’m your- dads?” Skywalker looks up at Mom, who nods in return. "Padawan.”
What he wants to do is smack him again. He also knows better than letting his anger or suffering lead his decisions. Even if his body is technically a few months old, his mind isn’t. Not this time around. And thus, he knows better. He grumbles in response.
“Hmmm, you are rather grumpy today, aren’t you, little one?” Mom presses a soft kiss on his forehead. "I’m sure you two will become great friends in time.”
Skywalker rubs his forehead but smiles. "We sure will be, Master.”
He doesn’t see Mom or Skywalker for the entire year after that day. He knows why. Jedi are forbidden to form attachments, including to their Jedi parents or children, but it stings fiercely anyway.
The instructors and caretakers do their best to care for him and the other younglings, but it isn’t quite the same. In his—well, before, he never considered how any of this would affect young temple initiates. But having the consciousness to live through it and judge it now brings a new perspective upon things.
In a way, it is quite cruel to rip children from their parents and force them to grow up without them. Even if the parents give their full consent for it to be so.
He takes his first steps without mom there. He takes the first of many things: sit-ups, smiles, and touching his toes, with only the instructors and other younglings present. The two most important he’s saving for the day Mom comes back to him.
It takes another six months, and people are worried. The Force around them is buzzing and vibrating with their wavering emotions. He’s almost two years old and hasn’t spoken a single word or shown any sign of force sensitivity, not on the outward, anyway.
He should speak up about the things that will happen in the future. He technically can now. How much anyone will understand him is a different matter. And that’s why he won’t say anything until Mom comes back. What’s the use of babbling if nobody can understand your words? And if they do, will they believe him? He’s just a toddler at this point. His words mean nothing yet.
There’s a lot to think about, something that he will definitely do after a nice long nap. He may have the consciousness of his adult self, but his body is by no means ready for the long, arduous process of deep thought.
So a nap definitely-
“Master, I found him!”
A yawn escapes him as he rubs his eyes and looks up to find Skywalker standing over his crib again.
“Thank you, Anakin.” Mom smiles down at Skywalker and then at him, and before long, he’s held in Mom’s warm arms and surrounded by his familiar scent.
“Hello there, my little one.” Mom’s voice cracks slightly as if he hasn’t slept in several days. The dark rings under his eyes confirm it. He whimpers in response and nuzzles his face against Mom’s chest. Another yawn escapes him.
“Looks like Cal might be as tired as we are, Anakin.”
"Looks like it. Maybe we can take a nap?” Skywalker yawns.
“Oh, I don’t think the instruc-”
"Nabnab, mama.”
It wasn’t his first choice of words; honestly, he wanted it to be Mom. But there’s something infinitely funnier about it being ‘nap nap,’ of all things.
You’re definitely the worst chaos gremlin I’ve ever met, Cal. Greez’s words go through his mind, and he can’t help but cuddle a little closer to Mom as he lets out a tired, melancholic sigh. Greez is somewhere out there, still alive and well. And although it stings, for now, he’ll meet him again. He’s sure of it.
There’s a sadness that washes over Mom, strong enough that he projects it out, and Skywalker picks up on it, too.
“Master?”
"I missed your first words, didn’t I, little one? I suppose I missed a lot of firsts.”
He didn’t. He just said his first words. But mom doesn’t know that. There’s so much that he wants to say, so much that he wants him to know. But for now, all he can do is touch Mom’s cheek and cuddle close. "Nabnab.” He repeats firmly.
There’s no use dwelling on things that cannot be changed.
“Guess we could sneak away for a little while.” Mom sighs. As far as he can tell, he’s still sad, though the sadness is no longer overwhelming.
Skywalker smirks. "Do you want me to distract the instructors?”
"What? No. No, there are some couches in the adjacent room. We’ll lay down there.”
"Yes, Master.”
They usually reserve the couches for when masters come to teach or meet a new potential padawan. Occasionally, one of the crèche instructors will take a nap there. But for now, it’s a good spot for Mom to lie down.
A quick wave of Mom’s hand closes the blinds in the room and dims the lights.
He’s safely curled in his mom’s arms, tucked against his chest, breathing in his scent. Skywalker is curled up below him. The bottoms of his feet can kick the top of his head if he wants. He doesn’t. Sleep seems more important for the moment.
They wake about an hour later when an instructor finally comes looking for them. The blinds fly open, and in a reflex, he closes them again with a wave of his hand.
Time freezes. Everyone in the room stares at him.
“He used the force.” Instructor Sira gasps. She’s one of his favorites at the crèche. A patient instructor with a bit of a pendant for mischief and games.
Mom sits up, taking extra care not to drop him or to accidentally shove Skywalker off the couch.
“He hasn’t yet?” Mom asks.
“No! I- we thought…” Sira stammers.
“Did he talk to you yet?” Skywalker says.
Sira stares at them for a moment. "He spoke?”
Mom looks down at him and smiles, lifting him above his head. "So I didn’t miss some of your firsts at all. Well done, little one.”
He giggles and reaches out to the stubble on Mom’s face, and Mom’s eyes light up brighter and warmer than ever before.
Moments like that become more rare the older he gets. By age six, he’s seen mom only two more times. Mom and Skywalker are almost constantly away on missions. And although Sira and the other instructors try their best to keep him occupied in his studies, his mind wanders. Where is Mom now? What’s he doing? Is Skywalker with him, and is he a lost cause already? Or is there still enough time to turn all tides and prevent galactic war?
So many questions and not enough answers.
“I see you are deep in thought, youngling Kestis.” Master Sinube sits down beside him. "Is the book giving you that much trouble?”
He shifts in his seat, sheepishly looking down at the holobook on the archive table. Learning about the ways of the Force had been incredibly boring the first time around. It was even duller the second time.
“No, Master. I just—“He sighs, “I keep thinking about my mo—dad. Where he is, if he’s safe. I haven’t seen him in a long time. I’m worried.”
"Ah, I see. And if your father was here, what do you think he would say?” There’s no judgment in Master Sinube’s voice. Only genuine interest and kindness. It’s one thing he likes about the old Jedi Master.
“He’d say, Don’t worry about me, little one. I will be alright. The only thing you need to focus on is your studies.”
The thing is, there’s so much else he should focus on. On the upcoming war, the Sith lord in the senate. It’s so much, too much for him alone in a body that is still too small and weak to do anything about it.
“Hmmm, some wise words from a wise Jedi Knight.” Master Sinube says. "But I think not the words that will help you the most right now.”
He looks up at Master Sinube, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. Those are not the words he’s expecting to hear. But the Master merely smiles at him.
“Master?”
"You have a beautiful, kind heart, Young Kestis. And with the talents of your father, a knack for justice and chaos. But what you lack, young one, is patience.”
"Just patience?” He can’t help but cheekily ask. It works. Master Sinube lets out a hearty laugh. Much to the amusement and slight chagrin of Master Nu.
“Well, perhaps a bit more than just patience. But that is a good place to start. Focus on your emotion, allow yourself to feel and process it. Then let go. And your path will become clear as long as you take the time to listen.”
He closes the holobook with a sigh and nods. "I’ll give it a try, Master.”
"Splendid! Let me know how that goes.” Master Sinube takes his leave then.
It’s not that strange that his words leave him wondering what the Force will reveal if he takes a moment. What is strange is that after he returns the book to Master Nu, he finds himself in a meditation room. Quiet, empty, and soundproof rooms built for Jedi, younglings, and padawan alike.
Meditation is not something he’s good at, not now or in the past, but it’s worth a try at the very least.
He lets his worries, his anxiety, and his feelings flow. Picturing great pillars of stone in rows and rows as far as his mind can see. In its vastness, small light lines run through the stone slabs in intricate webs of thoughts and feelings. He pictures one of the stones and his light-filled emotions as they connect dots of memories and feelings. They ebb and flow, threatening to overtake him with every strong beat. Another deep breath, and they weaken just enough for his mind to quiet down.
A slight breeze hits his cheek, and he shivers. Eyes opening to look upon the vent on his left. Where does that lead?
He unfurls his legs from his sitting position and scoots over. Reaching out with the Force just enough to gently pull the screws out of the wall, so he can take down the grate that blocks the vent. He hesitates, then. Should he do this?
Another breeze ruffles his hair. The Force calls out to him. He nods solemnly. This is his path. Whatever the Force wants of him, right now, he’s meant to figure out where this leads. He’s meant to follow the Force. He carefully climbs into the vent. He’s still small enough to comfortably fit and takes care to place the grate back as best as he can.
It’s a long trek through the vents, following the breeze and the sound of the Force. Eventually, it leads him outside, out onto the streets of Coruscant.
It’s loud, noisy, and smells as industrial as he remembers. He trusts in the Force to lead him on. He runs through the streets. Earning curious looks and confused shouts as he stumbles his way past vendors, highway lanes, and foot traffic. Leaving a trail of wreckage and accidents in his wake. If the police catch him, they’ll have a field day processing a Jedi youngling.
Yet the Force calls him, and he follows.
He listens. As Master Sinube said.
When it leads him to a bar he cannot enter, he curses under his breath and looks for an alternative way.
The bouncer spots him and gestures for him. "Hey, kid!”
There has to be something he can do… another way he can go.
“Kid! What are you doin’ here? You lost?”
The bouncer is almost upon him…
Wind rallies around him and flows through his fingers, the Force beckoning him to follow.
Follow it where? It’s a dead end. A massive hand falls upon his tiny shoulder.
“Are you deaf? This ain’t no place for a kid.”
His gaze flies up. He doesn’t know mind tricks yet. He barely has a grasp on his pull and push powers. There’s gotta be something he can do…
“I- I…”
Think, Cal, think.
“Come on, I’m sure the police know where you belong.”
"I lost my dad!” It flies out in a reflex, and although technically not untrue, the odds of the bouncer believing him…
But he’s gotta see this through. He needs to know where the Force is leading him.
“You… lost… your dad?”
Come on, Cal, work those waterworks.
Tears well in his eyes and fall down his cheeks. "Yes sir, he’s inside somewhere, and, and,” He sobs.
“Oh, come now, kid, don’t be crying… we’ll find your dad.”
The hand on his shoulder loosens. The door to the bar slides open, and a patron looks out.
The wind beckons him on. This is it. He takes the moment. Sprinting forward, he slides through the legs of the patron into the bar beyond.
The music is almost deafening, and there are drunk adults all over the place. But the Force guides him on. He stumbles through the drunken crowd. The shouts of the bouncer and others behind him until he reaches a loose vent. It’s easy enough to kick aside, even for his weak legs. He slides in and through the vent. His momentum forces him down, deeper into the building. The call of the Force is overwhelming. Whatever this is, he’s meant to find it. A piece of the puzzle revealed. It has to be.
He falls down and hits the sandy ground with a thud. Wait… sand?
There’s a deathly silence around him. There’s blood-stained sand on the ground, along with circular concrete walls that are splattered with blood. One quick look around reveals he’s in an arena. A fighting pit.
Bloodied combatants stand on either side of him, both frozen in time and place as they stare at the six-year-old child who fell through the ceiling vents.
Yet the pull of the Force is stronger than ever. It’s screaming at him. Something is here. Something he needs to see. Or someone .
The room around him erupts into angry shouting. The two combatants, a rather angry-looking Trandoshian and a way too enthusiastic Devaronian are closing in on him. His heart thunders in his chest, beating in time with the rhythmic pounding of feet and shouts all around him. He needs to get out of here. That much is very clear. But the concrete walls are a good fifteen feet high, and he hasn’t quite mastered his high jumps yet.
The Trandoshian lunges for him, hissing and snarling as it charges. He tries to move out of the way, but the sand trips him up, and he falls face down, getting a mouthful of bloodied sand. A clawed hand digs into the back of his neck before he can move. He cries out as hot pain surges through him, and his body lifts off the ground. He can’t move; he doesn’t dare to struggle either.
The sound of blaster fire pierces the air. The creature behind him cries out in pain, and the claws digging into the back of his neck go slack. He drops to the ground once again with a groan.
“Get up, kid.” The voice talking to him is deep and strangely familiar, overriding all pain. He stands as the hairs on the back of his neck rise. His chest constricts as if his lungs are held in a vice that knocks his breath away. He knows that voice, has heard it a thousand times during the Clone Wars. But it cannot be a clone. It can’t be. The Clone army has not been deployed yet…
And it won’t be for another four years. So that means…
He looks up slowly.
Before him stands a bounty hunter in silver Mandalorian armor. On his helmet, deep blue marks stand out.
Jango Fett. The man all the clones are based on and created from. And who is supposed to be on Kamino during this time?
Which begs the question. Why is Fett here?
“Come,” Fett says, reaching out a hand. He’s rooted in place, breathless, and with a chest that might implode on him if his heart beats any faster. He really doesn’t want to know where Fett will take him. He doesn’t have much of a choice either. It’s not like he can stay in this fighting ring with people who have no qualms about hurting a kid like him.
He runs over and holds onto the bounty hunter. Who lifts them both out of the fighting ring with a single blast of his jetpack. Fett leads them through the crowd and down the hall, holding him tight by the shoulder.
“Where are you-”
"-Not a word, kid. Just walk.” Fett shuts him down. "Unless you’d like to go back?”
“I’d rather meditate.” He deadpans in return.
It earns him a small chuckle. A sound that twists his stomach and almost makes him lose his dinner. It sounds so much like the clones he knew. The ones that-
No. He cannot go down this path again. He has to keep his focus.
The Force around them hums and vibrates on. And it’s still not clear to him why. He’s got no ties to anyone he’s seen tonight. Not like that, anyway.
After a minute, they reach a small open kitchen underneath the now quiet bar upstairs.
Fett knocks on the counter. "Dritus, get your ass over here.”
Dritus? As in— could it be? He almost smiles at the familiar-sounding voice that rises.
“Look, Fett, I know I owe you big time, but I got bigger problems than you right now. There’s a KID running loose through the vents. The police will have a fucking fiel— “A familiar, grey Latero with bushy hair comes up to the counter, his head peaking over. His eyes widen as he sees him. "What the hell, Fett.”
He has to keep himself from running up to Greez. From embracing the Latero right then and there. Greez doesn’t know him yet. He’s six years old. He repeats the mantra in his head a few times. But this has to be why the Force was leading him here. It was leading him back to Greez. There’s no other way about it.
“I caught the kid. He’s hurt. Get some bacta for his wounds, then take him home.”
"Home? Have you seen his robes? This kid’s a youngling!”
"Exactly. They’ll come looking for him soon. Just get it done, Dritus. I’ll knock a thousand credits off your debt.”
Greez looks at him for a second or two, grimaces, and sighs. "Alright, fine. For a thousand credits, I’ll take the kid home.”
"Deal. Now get him out. I don’t need the authorities snooping around.” Fett takes another look at him, his hand lingering on his shoulder for a second too long. "I don’t want to see you here again, kid. Got that?”
"Yes, sir.” He doesn’t really mean it. If Greez is here, he sure as hell will find a way to see him again. He just has to be more sneaky about it next time.
Greez takes him to the back of the kitchen, where he takes care of the wounds in his neck. The bacta stings for a hot minute, but before long, he feels the wounds fading into small red scars. Greez talks to him all the way through. About his kitchen and his patrons. Has him taste some of his cooking. And for several moments, he’s back in his own time on the mantis, and things are like he never left. It doesn’t last very long, of course. His body and mind tire out quickly, and a yawn kicks Greez into gear to usher him back home.
Before long, he’s walking back up the steps to the temple, where Master Sinube and Sira are already waiting for them.
“I see you’ve had a bit of an adventure, youngling Kestis.” Master Sinube chuckles.
“I followed the sound of the force, Master.”
“Ah. And where did it lead you?”
He turns to Greez and smiles. "I think it led me to a friend.”
"Oh. Uh. I’m just— the kid just needed some help, you know.” Greez stammers.
“Indeed. And you were at the right place, at the right time. Thank you kindly for being there.”
"Come along, Cal, it’s been way past your bedtime.” Sira comes up to him and takes his hand. He doesn’t want to leave Greez behind again. But he’s in no position to argue after everything he pulled tonight.
“Ah, well. Just… doing my civic duty, as I should.”
“You did. And should you ever need help, mister Dritus. You’ll know where to find me.” Master Sinube’s chuckle is the last thing he hears as Sira takes him inside.
It’s a great surprise when Greez shows up again several weeks later. Following Master Sinube and Master Cordova around as they lead him around the temple.
“Oh, Mister Dritus is gonna work in the cafeteria. They hired him as a cook.” Sira says when he asks her about it during training.
“Now, class, lift your sabers and match my movements.”
It’s not as easy as he expects it to be. His body has to relearn how to wield the training saber and the different stances. As far as he can tell, though, he picks up on things a hell of a lot quicker this time around.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Master. But I’ve come to collect Cal.” Skywalker says as he appears in the doorway near the end of the training session.
“Hello, Padawan Skywalker.” The class, minus himself, recites in greeting.
It’s weird how they drill this into them. To always address someone coming into the room like this. But he knows better than to say anything to anyone about his feelings on it.
Skywalker gives them that weird tight smile and slight nod of his head. "With your permission, Master? Cal?”
"Of course, we were just finishing up. You’re excused, Cal.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but one look from Sira tells him it would be futile to try. He’s got little to no choice but to go with Skywalker.
Skywalker leads him out into the hallway, past the archives where Master Cordova is putting away holobooks into their cases. He gives a slight wave as they walk by, one that he returns.
“Where are we going?” He eventually asks when Skywalker leads him up a flight of stairs to the Jedi’s quarters. He has to jog a little to keep up with the fifteen-year-olds long strides. His own six-year-old legs are barely keeping up.
“To Master Kenobi’s quarters. Obi-Wan thinks it’s a good idea for us to spend some time together.”
A part of him wants to doubt that. But seeing how Mom has continuously brought Skywalker along and made them meet and get along, it’s not hard to believe this is the next futile attempt. "Right….”
"Look, I know you don’t want me around. You see me as someone who’s gonna take your dad away. But I don’t have to be that, Cal.” Skywalker says as they walk into Mom’s quarters.
There’s a sudden overwhelming flash of memories; Master Tapal clutching his lightsaber. Cere groaning as Vader impales her. Thousands of stormtroopers marching through the plains of Koboh. Blasters firing at everything in sight whilst he desperately tries to keep his people alive with his fighting skills. Only to feel the red-hot fire go through him after people start dying around him. Merrin’s empty eyes stare at him as he drops to the ground, and the last breath leaves his lungs.
Silent tears roll down his cheeks. Those memories feel like a lifetime ago now. He cannot remember most of them clearly anymore. And that stings and burns so much that tears now fall freely.
“Cal? Are you alright?.” Skywalker’s hands cup his face. He jolts and slaps them away in a reflex. He doesn’t want his touch. He’s not alright; he won’t ever be okay again. After everything he did-
He pauses. Everything he’s going to do. He can’t trust this boy.
“Cal.” Skywalker purses his lips, takes a deep breath, then gives him that tight-lipped smile again. "I am not your enemy. I’m not going to take Obi-Wan away from you. We- “He sighs, “- We can be brothers.”
Brothers… the very thought of it has bile rising in his throat. Why was he brought back to this? How in hell was he supposed to put a stop to all this? He sniffs quietly and wipes away his tears. "You’re not my brother. You’re just Dad’s padawan.”
"Well, I could be more. If you’d let me.” Skywalker’s shoulders sag, and he points to something on the nearby coffee table. "I made you something.”
He slowly makes his way over. Stopping right in his tracks once he’s able to make out what exactly it is that Skywalker is pointing to. There, on the coffee table, is a tiny little droid that he knows all too well.
“His name’s BD-1. Thought you might like a friend around here.”
He sits down and, with trembling fingers, reaches out to activate the little droid. It beeps to life with little chirps and whistles. It sounds so familiar and comforting that it warms his heart and soothes some of his anguish. This is right. This isn’t supposed to be BD’s origin. This isn’t how things were supposed to be, no. But a lot of things are different now than they were before.
He smiles as BD-1 chirps up at him and nods. "Sure, buddy.”
The tiny droid happily bleeps and takes a perch on his still too-small shoulder. He’s a little heavy now, but he’ll grow into him. That, he knows for sure. He looks back at Skywalker and gives him a tiny nod. "Thank you.”
It, unfortunately, earns him a genuine smile. "You’re welcome, Cal.”
He ignores Skywalker’s blabbering for a while. Taking his time to look around the barren quarters of his parent. He’s never been here before. And he hasn’t missed much by the looks of it. Mom has very few personal items.
There are a few holographs of mom, Anakin, and himself as a baby, and one of them with him as a toddler. A holograph of Master Qui-Gon holding a newborn, smiling at the camera. And there’s a holograph of himself at training with his clan-mates in the crèche. He has a feeling one of the masters might have taken that one for Mom. Other than that, there’s not much that really stands out. It’s a clinical and sterile environment that’s entirely too white and empty for his tastes. But there is an actual ceramic tea set in the kitchen with several cups. Some comfy-looking robes are in Mom’s closet, and a strange box is sitting on the top shelf, far out of reach. So there’s that.
“You haven’t been listening to a word I’ve been saying, have you?”
He turns to Skywalker and shrugs. "I don’t have to listen to you.”
"Could you at least try?”
"No.” He deadpans.
“Alright, fine, be like that. It’s not like I care, anyway.” Anakin says in a whiny tone, showing that he cares immensely.
For some reason, that bothers him so much more than he wants it to. He’s not unreasonable. It’s all Skywalker’s fault, anyway. He’s the one who will betray everyone in the end, so it’s entirely reasonable for him to keep him at a distance.
But you know Mom will be upset with you if you don’t at least try. The little voice in his head bites at him. He scrunches his nose up in anger. He’s not supposed to let it lead him, but he is six in a way, and he is upset at the way things are and are going to be.
“Just go away!”
"I can’t, I promised Obi-Wan I’d watch you until he gets here.”
"I don’t care! I’ll go to the crèche then. Anything better than here!” He stomps his feet as his anger boils and starts stomping his way to the door.
Skywalker grabs him by his wrist before he can open the door and pulls him back towards the seats. In the spur of the moment, he uses his free hand to grab his training sabe. It turns on with an electric woosh, and he wacks Skywalker with it in his side as hard as he can.
An electric shock hits the teenager, causing him to release his wrist and drop to his knees. He should be grateful that all he has is a training saber.
“Did you just fucking whack me with that thing?!”
There’s a dark look in Skywalker’s eyes that makes him step back a few steps and shake his head. "No…”
"You are so dead, Cal.” Skywalker growls.
Panic rises in him, and he races to the door as fast as his legs can carry him. BD jumps from his shoulder to slice the lock on the door. Skywalker runs after him, through the door, the hallway, and towards the stairs. His feet pound on the smooth metal, echoing through the empty halls. He’s almost at the stairs, he’s almost there…
A strong force knocks him forward, and he stumbles over his feet. He lets out a scream as he sees the wide-open emptiness of the stairway rush towards him.
“NO!” Skywalker screams.
He falls, but before he can smack into the stairs below, his body lurches and stops midair.
Skywalker snatches him from the air and pulls him back up in the hallway.
“You’re okay, you’re okay.” The teen mutters as he pats down his body and face to check for injuries.
As the reality of what happened sinks in, he looks up at Skywalker. His head spins, and his heart thunders in his chest. "You pushed me…”
"I- I didn’t mean to. I just wanted you to fall in the hall!” Skywalker brushes a hand through this hair and pulls him into a hug. He doesn’t protest.
“I’m so sorry, Cal. You’re okay. We don’t have to tell Obi-Wan.”
“Don’t have to tell me what?”
They both freeze at the sound of Mom’s voice right next to them.
Unfortunately for him, BD-1 and the cameras in Mom’s quarters and the hallway recorded their entire exchange. Mom grounds them both for a month.