Chapter Text
Sand contemplated the blaster in his hands.
One twitch of the finger, and he can be free.
Of course, for him to have the best chance of a clean shot, he turned the power up to its maximum, and rested the barrel of the gun on the inside of his mouth.
He could never be too careful.
After all, this was a highly personal moment for Sand, as all ponderings of suicide should be. He had made sure to find a nice, empty nook in the ship he was in, where no-one else would check.
The vague memories of finding Ahsoka in various crannies indirectly helped him in this endeavor.
Luckily, with him being nothing more than a regular - expendable - trooper, none aboard really cared where he went… maybe except for Sage.
But that was fine; he was only one clone – no-one of importance . If Sand decided to go through with pulling back his finger, he rather doubted that the other trooper would miss him for long.
It was better that way.
Besides, Sand was still of the mind that he didn’t really deserve a second chance at life, not after what he did with his first. He honestly thought it was kind of stupid of the Force to grant it to him; what did it expect him to do now except to make everything worse?
He could always try killing Sidious.
It’s still a form of suicide, yes, but it would be something…
Sand had tried asking the Force what he should do - which may have been his first time honestly doing so - but all he could sense in response was the mental sensation of a shrug.
Very helpful.
The second best idea he had was to kill Skywalker, but he also shot that down. While such an act would be very cathartic, Skywalker was, unfortunately , a necessary sperm donor for Luke’s existence.
Not to mention the fact that, in the case of Skywalker’s demise, Sidious would probably just find some other idiot Jedi to take on as an apprentice. Hells, he likely didn’t even need an apprentice to wipe out the Jedi Order. He just needed to stretch them thin enough to be caught unawares by Order 66.
Speaking of, Sand thought himself very calm and very patient with that knowledge in his mind, given the fact that it was a literal slave chip.
He was half-tempted to break into medical and cut out the blasted thing himself, damned be the consequences. He stopped himself, though - he hardly needed such commotion to reach Sidious - and instead scheduled that at the next available opportunity, probably somewhere in the Coruscant underworld.
Assuming he didn’t decide to pull the trigger.
Honestly, Sand didn’t know why he was still debating over it. There was no tangible reason for him to keep on living.
Yet, for some reason, anytime Sand began to pull the trigger, Luke’s horrified visage would appear in his mind, and he’d find himself back in square one of contemplating the blaster.
Sand stared a few more moments at the blaster before sensing a presence nearing his location. Casting one last glance at the blaster, Sand decided to stand, holstering the weapon for another day.
There was always time to do the deed on another date.
Sand pressed against the edge of the closet he was in, feeling the muted presence pause outside.
Sand closed his eyes in exhaustion. He really didn’t want to speak with anyone right now. It was a small mercy that it wasn’t a Jedi - their Force presence was too faint - but still, Sand wasn’t quite in the mood for dealing with people .
The presence lingered for a few moments before fading away. Sand frowned to himself as he was left alone in the Force - it was awfully muted.
Turning to some of the contents within the closet, Sand extended a hand, reaching out with the Force to life them into the air.
A menial task, really.
Yet… Sand furrowed his eyebrows, pushing harder with the Force - which felt as thick as molasses - gritting his teeth as, finally, the various appliances began to quiver and shake as they raised into the air.
Sand felt a trickle of sweat run down his brow, and his eyes began to widen in panic, in desperation, in rage.
His fist clenched, and the appliances were crushed into rubble, clattering loudly onto the ground.
Sand stumbled back, holding a hand to his head in pain - something was roaring behind his eyes - yet it did not stop his horrified stare.
The Force had rejected him.
Or had his body rejected the Force? Sand grit his teeth, leaning against the wall in heavy breaths.
He understood now why the Force felt so muted.
And, really, was this any less than he deserved? Reincarnated in a body shared among millions of clones, practically guaranteeing that anyone of importance to Anakin wouldn’t ever recognise him as anything beyond a mindless soldier.
Not to mention his pending servitute to the Jedi.
…And Sidious.
Death was, in almost every conceivable way, preferable .
Yet…
Sand shook his head, forcing away such thoughts as he placed his helmet back on, and left for the clones’ quarters.
It would hardly do for some Jedi to stumble upon a clone in a trashed up closet.
…
Despite his sense of the Force being muted, Sand was glad to say that he could still sense everyone on the ship, which he used to great effect to avoid them.
From what Sand could gather, the clones were supposed to be resting after the battle, which would make the sight of a random clone wandering the hallways seem suspicious . And a suspicious clone - as Vader had learned upon reading old war reports - was often a dead clone.
For all that Sand had been contemplating suicide minutes before, he’d rather not die for something as stupid as getting lost . He’d much prefer to take his own life, on his own terms.
Of course, once Sand reached the door to the quarters, he was back to contemplating the blaster because everyone was awake in there. He couldn’t simply waltz in there, drawing the attention of the entire room. He had no idea where he was even supposed to sleep , not to mention he had little recollection of how to sleep!
Sand leaned against the wall, cursing his shaking legs. His body was still adjusting to the novel concept of having organic limbs.
Somehow, in his miniaturised breakdown, a clone managed to sneak up on him and ask, “You doing alright, Sand?”
Sand did not startle, and calmly responded, “ Yes. ” It was only after he said this that he realised that the clone knew his name - he’d only shared it with the one - “...Sage?”
Sage nodded, and Sand could vaguely sense a pleased smile on the man’s mouth, “You remembered.” He tilted his helmet, tapping it against the wall, “...Your voice sounds a little less raspy.”
Sand wrinkled his brow - it did? - and hid his unease with a shrug, “...So it seems. ”
He scowled as his words trailed off in a hiss - he could hardly say more than a few words without losing his voice - though Sage made no indication as to whether he noticed it, “C’mon.” He nodded towards the door, “We’ll head in together.”
Sand narrowed his eyes, though he took a step towards the door, “ Why? ”
“You seemed uncomfortable going in by yourself,” Sage answered bluntly, with an airy quality to his voice, “So I thought we could go in as a pair.”
Sand glowered at Sage’s reasoning - largely because he was correct is assessing Sand’s weakness - but allowed himself to grumble, “ That is acceptable. ”
Sage nodded, and opened the door, leading Sand inside. The sight within lined up with Anakin’s memories – a cramped space lined with hundreds of cots, bunked together where someone could only barely fit between them. Yet, despite the lack of space, clones found ways around it, forming small packs to play card games or tell stories, fitting their armour in nooks and crannies as they enjoyed the downtime after a massive battle.
A few clones waved and nodded as they passed, even though the two of them wore armour indistinguishable to their own. There was no conceivable way that they could recognise each other as unique by simply looking at them, but they still regarded him with a simple gladness.
Yet he could sense that their joy was honest.
It was a foreign feeling, to have anyone glad to see him. Even in his time as Anakin, there were precious few who were simply glad for him , and not some sort of the benefit he offered.
Whether militarily, or socially.
He was more than familiar with empty smiles and fake cheer – he’d been subject to it anytime he was forced into the public as the Hero With No Fear. Only Padme gave him a smile without hidden expectations or hidden desires.
He no longer knew if Kenobi did as well.
The only other person who smiled at him for being Anakin was Ahsoka… and Luke.
Though his smile was much more sad, distressed at the death of a monster.
Sand shook himself of his musing, following Sage as he joined a group of clones playing cards.
Sage took a seat among the three already in play, and motioned for Sand to do the same. He did so, though his movements were slow, careful to bend the joints properly so that he didn’t fall.
He’d been standing for over 24 hours.
It was only once he’d taken a seat that he recognised the throbbing ache in his legs.
One of the clones drew from the pile, eyeing the newcomers with a raised eyebrow before letting loose a smirk, “Another stray, vod?”
Sage huffed, and reached up to remove his helmet, “So it seems.” He placed the helmet on his lap, watching the game with glassy eyes, “ The Senate ?”
Two of the clones snickered in unison, and the third - still with his helmet on - hunched in on himself, “They chose it, not me.”
“Doesn’t matter to me ,” Sage shrugged with an airy tone, and reached out to draw cards for him and Sand, “But I imagine it won’t appeal to certain audiences. ”
A clone snorted, rolling his eyes, “C’mon, Sage. The natborns would have to have a pretty big stick up their arse if they get on us over a card game .”
“Not to say it’s impossible,” The clone to his side grinned, elbowing his brother in the ribs, “But it’d have to be a huge stick.”
“The largest, ” The first clone agreed with a solemn nod, before flashing a smirk at the silent newcomer, “So what’s your story?”
Sand regarded the clone, somewhat annoyed at having his silence interrupted, “ That is not for you to know. ”
The tone of his voice alone would have made the majority of Imperial officers wet themselves, yet this clone took it with a shrug, “Fair enough.” He leaned back, punching away the clone who was attempting to look at his cards, “M’name’s Duck, CT-8723.”
The clone next to him grumbled at his inability to cheat on a card game, “I’m Cover, CT-8724.” Despite his inability to see Duck’s cards, he managed to beat him on the next round, prompting him to smirk, “I’m this idiot’s batchmate.”
Duck brought a hand to his heart, “He called me an idiot !” He brought a hand to his forehead, pretending to swoon, “It’s the nicest thing he’s ever said about me.”
Sage nodded seriously, apparently agreeing with the statement, and the as-of-yet unnamed clone won the next round, shocking Duck and Cover. He didn’t say or do anything that indicated that he was smug, yet Sand could sense the self-satisfied smile on his face as he gathered the cards won in the round.
That smugness vanished as quickly as it came once everyone’s attention turned to him, and his helmet turned side to side before dipping down, “Oh, right.” He tilted it to regard Sand, “My designation’s CT-9145. It’s good to meet you, vod.”
Duck and Cover both stuck their tongue out, blowing them in a rather childish display, “C’mon, man, give him your name! ”
CT-9145 glowered at them through his helmet, “Nothing in regulation states that I am allowed a name.”
“Nothing in regulation states that were are not allowed a name, either,” Sage murmured brusquely, playing a smuggler’s hand, “That makes it a choice, does it not?”
Duck leaned over to Sand, whispering loudly enough that any secretive effect was ruined, “ We call him Helmet, because he never removes the damned thing .” He smiled as CT-9145 - or Helmet, rather - swore underneath his breath, “Speaking of, should we start calling you Helmetwo ?”
Cover snorted at his brother’s (unfunny) joke, prompting Sand to glare at them both. The effect was - admittedly - ruined somewhat by his helmet, which they used to further their point, “What, are you horrifically scarred under there?”
Vader gripped his knee as Duck and Cover laughed to themselves, a part of him begging to reach out to their necks and-
Calm down, Skywalker.
Vader closed his eyes, and willed the sudden rush of hatred away. They couldn’t know how close to home their jokes hit. Anakin loosened his hand, slowing his breath back to a steady rhythm. They wouldn’t know that he’d lived over half his life with burning scars.
Sand opened his eyes to see that the two clones had gone silent, looking repentant as Sage stood behind them, arms crossed over his chest.
His stature wasn’t threatening, by any means.
But it didn’t need to be.
Apparently, the man had deemed the two clones to had gone too far, as he apparently censured them while Sand restrained the lingering urge of murder. Cover gave a weak smile, though it drooped as he murmured, “Er, sorry about the joke. It was…”
“ Tasteless, ” Duck’s voice sounded somewhat uncertain - and given how his eyes flickered to Sage as he said it, Sand inferred it was because it was repeated from Sage - “You… You don’t have to remove your helmet, if you don’t want to.”
Sand frowned at the men, watching as they began to squirm in his silent gaze.
They were… apologising…
To him?
The thought was so absurd that it almost made Sand laugh . Oh, he was definitely used to apologies in his time as Vader – snivelling little rats trembling before him to report their own failures, knowing that their continued existence depended on how bad of a day he was having.
Because every day was a bad day, then.
Some took it with pride, though the vast majority hid their failures under flowery words or misleading reports. He made sure to kill the ones who tried to get one over him, as an example to the rest. Yet, he was aware that even the most noble of officers never truly cared about his opinions.
They cared about their livelihoods, which he held in the palm of his hand.
Perhaps that was why the two clones’ apology was so surprising to him. Despite their clumsy words, he sensed a genuine remorse from them.
It was… disconcerting.
In the silence of his thoughts, CT-9145 placed down his cards, apparently unaware of the lingering tension, “I win.”
That jolted them out of their trance, as Duck whirled around to shout, “Let’s see about that! ”
“My guy, don’t tell me you cheated, ” Cover breathed, sounding close to tears, “I’m so proud! ”
“It is the only way to win this game,” Sage nodded… sagely , and retook his seat, “Otherwise, it goes on forever.”
Sand decided, in that moment, that he didn’t want to see these people as he had with his Imperial pawns, and took off his helmet, “ In that way, it is accurate. ” He settled the helmet on his lap, and breathed without need of a filter, “ The Senate is only won through subterfuge. ”
Duck whistled appreciatively, “ Cold , man. That’s real cold.” He raised an eyebrow once he noticed that Sand removed his helmet, “And, you know what? You don’t look half bad.”
“I dunno,” Cover grinned, motioning at his face - which they all shared - “We might be a biased party.”
Duck laughed, “You’re probably right, vod. Still,” He tilted his head as he peered at Sand’s face, and into his eyes, “The eyes are unique. Some chicks might dig it, Yellow.”
Sand curled his lip - partly at the comment, but mainly at the name - and growled, “ Don’t call me ‘Yellow’. ”
“Yeah, Duck,” Cover shoved his brother as he shuffled the cards for another round, “His eyes aren’t yellow, they’re clearly gold .”
“ Sand, ” His voice still came in a rasp, though it was getting stronger by the minute, “My name is Sand.”
Duck paused, and tilted his head, “ Sand , huh.” He smiled, an expression mirrored by his brother, “Welcome to the squad.”
Sand blinked in momentary confusion. They just… accepted him? Just like that? No asking for skills, or designation, or training, just… acceptance?
It baffled him.
Sage seemed to glean his thoughts on the matter, even as the others got back into their game, and reached out to pat his shoulder, “You’re one of us, vod .” His vacant eyes seemed to pierce into Sand’s tarred soul, “Brothers stick together.”
…
Sand stood beside Sage, remaining in formation as a Republic officer concluded a holo-meeting with several other officers.
It had been nearly two weeks since Geonosis, and in that time, groups of clones were shuffled around in a manic rush for structure. Battalions formed as Jedi were enlisted as Generals, with individual squads of clones being chosen at random to fill the ranks of various ships.
The process itself was surprisingly sloppy , at least compared to what Anakin remembered. The Grand Army of the Republic had little structure for how clone squadrons would be assigned, and their resource-usage was wildly inconsistent between different Battalions.
None of this was to say the clones were at fault, as they were actually the main reason the whole thing didn’t implode within the first week of the war. Clone Commanders - even common Troopers - took it upon themselves to oversee the operations, smoothing over complications in a way that spoke to the brutal efficiency that they were raised with.
Despite the system assigning them to Battalions being practically broken, clone squadrons took it upon themselves to manage the spread of resources, both in manpower and weaponry. Some even formed specialised groups that managed preparations for non-conventional units, despite never being asked to do so.
Even Sand found himself caught up in it, taking it upon himself to fix the system that assigned rations based on manpower.
Before, it had a bug that consistently assigned roughly 70% of what it was supposed to.
Frankly, he was appalled at the glaring incompetence at display in the Republic. He’d long accepted that the political half of it was practically defunct, but he at least thought that its military had been capable.
He couldn’t help but wonder why he never saw this as Anakin.
It didn’t take much thought to come to a likely conclusion.
For all that Sidious was skilled in political theatre, he had a pitiful understanding of a functioning military.
It had been Vader that held the Imperial Military together, despite the various Moffs and Admirals that seemed to desire it’s fall with all the political games they played.
Games that Sidious encouraged.
Truly, there were times when Vader was certain that he was the sole reason the Empire didn’t implode within a year of its existence.
And just like the clones with him, Vader never got the credit he deserved.
Oh yes , because having clones overtake your operations isn’t a very good look, is it?
By order of the Supreme Chancellor, the clones were forced away from operational management, putting it back in the hands of the naturally born. It didn’t matter if only half of the problems were fixed by then, because they weren’t problems if they only affected clones.
They were hardly people, as it is.
For all the progress they made in two - sleepless - weeks, nearly half of the Republic’s Battalions were understaffed, or overstaffed . A fair bit more also didn’t have enough weapons , and some had double the amount needed.
But that didn’t matter. It only affected the foot soldiers , not anyone of importance.
Sand clenched his fist, reigning in the desire to choke someone out.
Though Vader had been limited in many ways - such as the limitations of Stormtroopers’ armour - he always made sure they were as prepared as possible.
He needed them to be so, as he walked in battle beside them.
But… he was no longer the Supreme Commander of the Imperial Forces. He no longer had the influence wielded by Vader or Skywalker.
He was another faceless clone … he had to accept that.
It wasn’t very easy, especially with how their acting commander seemed to view them as lesser than the crud on his boot.
Said commander closed the holocall, and turned to the assembled clones, “Chin up, soldiers! We’re enroute to link up with a Jedi General.”
Sand clenched his fist, more on reflex than anything else.
He was pretty certain it wasn’t Skywalker or - Force forbid - Kenobi.
He would have recognised some of the clones, had that been the case.
His thoughts were confirmed when the commander continued, “You have been assigned to the 289th Battalion, and will fight for the glory of our great Republic!”
Duck and Cover elbowed each other in front of Sand, and were stobbed with a light kick, courtesy of Sage.
Sand narrowed his eyes as he heard their new Battalion. It wasn’t any of those he was intimately familiar with, but he could still vaguely recall reading about it, in a darkened room upon the Resolute.
There were others on that file he read – a list, of Battalions lost.
The 176th.
The 311th.
The 478th.
And the 501st, though that Battalion had survived.
But their acting General had been killed.
And as Sand connected the dots - and a blazing fury smothered his eyes - the commander’s holo connected to a new frequency, and a sibilant hiss echoed across the bridge.
“Greetingsss, all,” Pong Krell growled, causing a number of clones to shiver in instinctual fear, “I will be your General over the course of this war.” The besalisk smiled , teeth shimmering in phantom blood, “Your service will be of great importance to our… inevitable victory.”