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Chapter Text

Brother, I Let You Down

          Anakin led his younger self by the hand down the path that, to his relief, had become somewhat clearer now.

            “Who are you?” the little boy – Ani – asked him as they walked. “What’s your name?”

            Anakin swallowed hard, not wanting to answer that, not wanting to give his younger self any hints as to who he might be. I’m you, but after you’ve grown up, become a monster, and destroyed nearly everything you once loved, emotionally if not physically. I’m you, after you’ve finally been freed and responded by abandoning your mother, then built a new family only to turn your back on everything your mother and your father-figure and your other father-figure/brother/best friend taught you to try and save your wife in a way you knew full well she would never want, which destroyed her so much that it killed her, left your son to be raised on the planet you spent the first years of your life hoping and praying to get away from, while the man who raised you watched from a distance to protect him, alone, and barely even got to know him, despite giving up what was left of his life to keep him safe, only to ultimately be killed by you to keep him and your daughter alive, and left that same daughter to be raised on a planet you would ultimately play a part in destroying. After you told your student, who became your sister, who loved you, that you were going to kill her, after she swore not to abandon you even after realizing you’d threatened and even killed people she loved. After you destroyed the Jedi, who you once worshipped, who your new family loved.

            “I’m just someone who wants to help,” he said, carefully.

            “My mom doesn’t like me going places with strangers,” the little boy said.

            “I—” Anakin didn’t have an answer for that. Luckily for him – no, Obi-Wan’s voice in his head told him, there’s no such thing as luck – in that moment, the boy called out, “Mom!” And then he was letting go of Anakin’s hand, running forward, and Anakin found himself looking in the same direction at a very familiar woman, and the boy was running into her arms, and they were hugging. Anakin’s mother looked up at him then. “Hello, Ani,” she whispered, and even though she was looking at him and not the child in her arms, it took him a long, long moment to realize she was speaking to both of them.

            It took him longer still to work around the lump in his throat and muster the ability to speak. “Mom,” was all he managed, then. There were so many emotions on her face – sorrow, joy, disappointment, pride, grief, love. Somehow, those first five emotions managed to exist largely, but not entirely separately from one another, yet not conflict with each other. Shmi Skywalker’s love for her son, however, suffused them all.

            “Hello, Ani,” she repeated softly, the same emotions flooding her voice. He swallowed once again, then approached her, slowly. She held out her arms, and walked toward him as well. Anakin couldn’t see the small child he once had been, couldn’t be sure if the little boy was still there physically, but he could feel his presence between them, always hovering nearby. “My boy,” Shmi whispered as they embraced, and Anakin felt tears pressing against his eyes but none fell, not yet. He closed his eyes, anyway. “You came home. I knew you would.”

            He sobbed a few times, soundlessly, then. “Mom,” he repeated, unable to say anything else for the moment. She held him away from her carefully then, and reached up her hands, brushing away the tears from his cheeks. “Anakin,” she whispered. She brushed one hand across his face, from his forehead to the end of his cheek. She pulled him down to the ground then, into a kneeling position, but remained standing herself, pressing his head against her chest. He cried silently. He could feel the flames on Mustafar again, searing away at his flesh, feel the pain where his three then-just-removed limbs had been cut off. “My poor boy,” she whispered. “What has life done to you?”

            “I did it,” he whispered back. “I’ve done this to myself.” He turned his face away from her, just slightly, then, but she only pulled his head back against herself again, gently, and pressed her lips into his hair. “My poor boy,” she repeated, quietly. “I know, I know.” She stroked his head and half-hummed a lullaby he remembered from his childhood. They didn’t say anything for a long time. Disappointment would come later, Anakin realized slowly, and hurt. But for now, for the moment, there was only comfort, the two of them comforting each other, her silently telling him It’s all right now, my precious boy, I’m here, I’m here, you’re home now, you’re safe, I’m here now, I’ll make it better, I’m here, I’ll hold you until the pain goes away, I love you, Ani, him telling her, It’s all right, I’m okay now, it’s getting better, it doesn’t hurt so much, anymore, I’ll be alright, I’m home now, I love you, Mom.

            He lifted his head to look at her, finally. They were both sitting down now, her still holding his head so that it was buried in her chest. “Mom,” he repeated, in a whisper. She smiled at him, sadly but warmly, and ran her fingers through his hair gently. “My boy,” she answered. “My wonderful boy.” She pulled him to his feet then. “Look at you, all grown up.” She brushed a hand over his scarred cheek. “Come on, Ani. Let’s go for a walk. We have a lot to talk about.”

            They walked through the woods, silently, Shmi holding one of her son’s arms in both her hands, a hold offering comfort at least as much as it sought it, promising protection rather than seeking it. “Isn’t this beautiful?” she whispered. Anakin nodded silently. It was still raining, not lightly, but not dangerously hard. The drops were still warm, and burned and stung when they hit his skin, but it still felt good when they rolled off, and somehow, he knew they didn’t cause his mother any pain at all – though he also knew she knew, somehow, they were hurting him, and that hurt her. “It’s fine, Mom,” he said out loud. “I’ve—” I’ve felt worse, he almost said, but he didn’t want to remind her of that. “It’s not so bad,” he said instead.

            She squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Remember when you were seven,”’ she whispered, “and you sprained your ankle, and had to go to Bega to get it set?” Anakin nodded. He had climbed on the roof of their dwelling, and slipped and fell before he could manage to catch himself. “It hurt, didn’t it?” she asked. “Getting that splint put on, I mean.” He nodded again. Bega, a doctor among Mos Espa’s slaves, had been purchased by Goron, a local businessman precisely so he didn’t have to pay for a doctor whenever a slave fell ill or were injured, but had been the go-to doctor for all of the town’s slaves, and had nonetheless been good at her job – but like most slave doctors, her access to anesthesia was limited, and she saved what little she could get for injuries far more serious than a sprained muscle or broken bone. “But it had to be done,” his mother reminded him now, “in order for the sprain to heal.” She once again brushed her hand across his face, and Anakin nodded a third time. “In order to fully heal from what you’ve done now, from what you’ve become, and in order for those you’ve hurt to heal,” his mother went on now, “you have to see, and feel, what you’ve done to them – especially those you loved, and who loved you. That will hurt, too.” She gently turned his face toward her. “Remember how I stayed with you, when Bega set your ankle?” He nodded yet again. “Of course.”

            “I’ll stay with you for this, too,” she whispered, gently.
    

. . .

          Anakin watched and listened as Obi-Wan told him how proud of him he was, that he was strong and wise and a better Jedi than he could ever be. Watched as, not long after, his mentor barely escaped being killed by his own mind-controlled soldiers, men he’d considered friends, not knowing they were acting against their will. Watched as his brother watched the footage of Anakin stopping Mace Windu by cutting off part of his hand, then Palpatine killing Windu. Watched his best friend see Anakin kneel down to Palpatine. Watched as the man who’d raised him watched him kill people they’d both fought alongside, in some cases had both considered friends, watched him slaughter children. Heard him beg for the holovid to be turned off, saying he couldn’t watch anymore.

            Anakin didn’t think he could watch any more, either.

            But Obi-Wan had had no choice but to live it then, so Anakin would watch it all now. He would know what he had done to the man who had been his father and his brother and his best friend, all in one.

            So, he watched and listened as Obi-Wan called Anakin his brother, said he wouldn’t kill him. (How could he still feel that way, knowing all that he had done? Anakin wondered.) Was there as he told Padme, and she didn’t believe him, didn’t want to. Watched Obi-Wan see him Force-choke her into unconsciousness. Watched the battle that followed, watched Obi-Wan cut off his legs and remaining arm.

            Somehow, he had never thought that this would have destroyed Obi-Wan as much as it did him.

            He heard himself scream at Obi-Wan that he hated him. Watching now, unseen, he *felt* what the other man was going through. And it made hating him impossible.

            He watched Obi-Wan tearfully tell him that he had been his brother, that he had loved him. Watched him take his lightsaber and leave.

            He watched as Obi-Wan helped a dying Padme give birth. Those are *your* children, a voice in his head reminded him. *You* should have been the one to do that. Watched as Padme named them Luke and Leia, while touching their cheeks lovingly, smiling brightly at each, too weak to even hold them. Seeing that made him feel like someone had thrust a cold, hard knife in his chest.

            And yet, knowing that Obi-Wan had been the first person to actually hold them sent a warm rush through him. Whatever else had happened, the first time they had been held, it had been with love, with someone who loved them instantly, he realized. He could feel that emotion coming off of his mentor, too, and wondered how he hadn’t seen it, that however he might have felt about Anakin and Padme’s relationship, he would have loved their children immediately.

            A new wave of grief overcame him. Obi-Wan should have, *would* have, helped them to raise their children, been another source of guidance and protection and love in their lives, and so would Ahsoka, he realized now. Instead, they had all been forced apart, because of him.

            He watched as Padme died, telling Obi-Wan that she still believed, no, still *knew* there was good in him.

            Then there was the meeting, with Yoda and Obi-Wan and Bail Organa, discussing what to do with his children. The senator said he and his wife would take the girl, and even though he had known she had been raised as their child, Anakin felt a surge of relief. Padme and the Organas had considered each other family, he knew. They would see her daughter the same way. It was Yoda who suggested the boy should be sent to his family on Tatooine. It took him a moment to realize they meant his stepbrother and his wife. He felt a little uneasy about this. He barely knew them, and didn’t feel right about his son being raised on the same planet where he had had such a miserable childhood. “I will take the child and watch over him,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin felt another rush of relief. Whatever else happened to him, his boy would at least have someone nearby who loved him.          

* * *

            Obi-Wan made his home, if it could be called that, in a cave.

            Anakin was startled to see a familiar pair of hand-carved stone kybucks tucked carefully in a niche on the wall. He found himself unable to stop staring at them.

            “He kept them,” he whispered, mostly to himself. His mother turned to look at him, anyway. Anakin swallowed hard. “I made those,” he explained. “Our first year as master and apprentice. I gave them to him.” He could never forget how moved Obi-Wan had looked when he’d presented them to him. And yet, he had forgotten – for twenty-three years.

            “Why kybucks?” she asked, curiously. Anakin smiled faintly at that. “He told me he belonged to the Kybuck Clan,” he explained. She looked puzzled. “When Jedi are kids, they’re assigned to different clans, to be looked after,” he explained. “They stay with them until they’re assigned to a Jedi Master, as an apprentice.”

            “Oh,” she replied, turning her eyes back toward the carved creatures on the wall. “Which clan did you belong to?”

            His smile faded. “I didn’t get assigned to one,” he said. “That was only because I got assigned to Obi-Wan as his apprentice so quickly, though,” he added quickly. “Obi-Wan was Qui-Gon’s apprentice, so when he died – he died not long after we went to Coruscant—”

            “We had heard about it,” she cut in, softly. “Watto did, I mean. The battle on Naboo. I was so worried--”

            Anakin shook his head quickly. “I was alright,” he said. “I hid in a shuttle cockpit while it was going on.” He wasn’t going to tell her what he had been doing in that cockpit, not if she didn’t ask – he never lied to his mother, but as long as she didn’t ask questions – he turned his attention back to Obi-Wan, and the carved kybucks. “Still can’t believe he kept those,” he muttered. His mother put a hand on his shoulder. He was sure she could tell he was hiding something, that he wasn’t telling her everything, but she wouldn’t pry, for the moment. Anakin watched, silently, as Obi-Wan struggled through night after night of nightmares, so much so that he expected them, saw them as part of his routine. Watched him work various jobs, unable to hold one down due to having far too many days when he was so depressed he couldn’t even get out of bed, not to mention frequent illness due to exposure to a climate he wasn’t used to and to bacteria and viruses his immune system was unaccustomed to.

            Anakin remembered going through something similar his first two or three years on Coruscant. He also remembered who had been there to help him through it, always staying close by and assuring him that he was going to be fine, he just had to fight it, and that he wasn’t doing that alone. Now he watched that same man struggle through it alone, and it was made many times worse by an immune system already greatly weakened from unfathomable trauma and sorrow.

            He watched numerous nights and mornings where Obi-Wan woke up from dreams, almost always nightmares, involving Anakin, and, after varying lengths of time, stumbled toward the niche where he kept those carved kybucks, and clung to them like a lifeline, holding them close as if they were all that was left of the young boy he’d trained and raised. “I’m so sorry, Anakin,” he’d whisper to them, or to the air, some days. He’d cling to them even harder then. “I’m so sorry,” he’d repeat, now and again. Sometimes, he’d put them back afterwards. Other times, he’d stand there clutching them for a long time. Others still, he’d go back and sink into the side of his bed, still clutching them. He’d sometimes apologize yet again, in a whisper, sometimes once, at other times, over and over and over. Others, he would just be silent. But always, Anakin could feel the grief coming off of his mentor, so much a part of him that he could no longer define himself without it. Not that there was ever anyone around to ask.

. . .

            Anakin couldn’t help the surge of dislike that washed over him every time Owen Lars refused to let Obi-Wan see Luke, talk to him, meet him, even give a small gift, anonymously no less. Obi-Wan’s life was lonely enough as it was, and whatever Owen thought he had done, he was more than paying for it now.

            Who are you to judge? A voice in his head kept demanding of him. You’re the reason he’s living like this in the first place.

            Still, Anakin felt a rush of anger every time Obi-Wan was refused any contact, however indirect, with Luke.

. . .

            Obi-Wan’s eopie, Rooh, gives birth to twins several months after Obi-Wan bought her, which was just after he arrived on the planet. The effort kills her.

Anakin found himself wondering why the universe seemed to have it in for his mentor.

The universe didn’t make you do any of the things you did, Anakin, the same inner voice reminds him.

Both twins are girls this time. Obi-Wan trades the younger one to some Tuskens, and keeps the other. He names her Akkani. Anakin was uncertain if Obi-Wan realized the similarity to his own name, but he found it hard to believe it was a coincidence. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

            Still, he was relieved to see that Obi-Wan did, in fact, have at least one friend. Eopies were stubborn creatures, true, but they were also faithful and affectionate if well-cared for. She would nuzzle against Obi-Wan some nights when he sat outside with her to watch the sunset, and would wander in and lay her head on his chest on days when he was too sick or depressed to get up and go to work. He would sometimes manage a faint smile then, and would reach up to stroke her head. 

            Anakin approached her once while Obi-Wan was gone. He was surprised but relieved to find out that he could touch her, and that she seemed to notice him, sense him. “You take care of him,” he half-whispered, laying a hand on her snout.

            For Obi-Wan, he found that there was little he could do, apart from occasionally pull the covers over him a little higher when he was asleep. He was afraid to say anything, anyway, afraid that if Obi-Wan woke up later and concluded that it hadn’t really been Anakin – well. It just felt cruel, and he couldn’t put his friend more through any more than he already had, already was.

. . .

            Anakin witnessed everything Obi-Wan went through leading up to his search for Leia, including the death of the Jedi Nari. Saw him finally go.

            He watched as Obi-Wan learned that he was alive. Watched Obi-Wan fight him, be burned by him. Watched him refuse to get all of his burns healed. Watched him learn who Third Sister – no, Reva Sevander – really was. Watched, and felt, all the guilt Obi-Wan experienced for all both Reva, and Anakin himself, had suffered. Watched all Leia went through because of him, and Bail and Breha Organa, and Beru and Owen Lars, and, very nearly, Luke. Watched people killed trying to help Obi-Wan and Leia. Experienced all the grief and pain and fear as Obi-Wan, and Leia, and everyone else involved, as though they were his own emotions.

            Watched as Obi-Wan fought him yet again, and ultimately concluded that his friend truly had died.

            Watched as Reva ultimately chose not to be him, in spite of all she had been through. You had that choice, too.

            Watched as Obi-Wan and Leia said their final goodbyes. Heard Obi-Wan tell Leia all the wonderful ways she was like her parents. He felt a rush of joy as the child, his child, made Obi-Wan laugh for the first time in a decade. he felt, somehow, that he loved the little girl even more, just for that.   

            Watched as Obi-Wan finally got to meet Luke, and give him a gift.

            Watched as Obi-Wan finally got to see, and speak with Qui-Gon again.

            His life got somewhat better after that. Even so, it was still a lonely one. And Obi-Wan had to find yet another new job, having been gone from the meat-processing plant for too long for his boss’s liking. And his contact with Luke was still limited.

            He did get to reunite with Akkani, though. Later, however, when she gave birth to a son, he would give them both away, feeling they shouldn’t be separated. He would buy a dewback, then, only to give him away, too, when he left with Luke.

            Then, the first time he saw Leia again, the first time he saw them both together since they were born, he gave his life to save them, and died at the hands of his former apprentice, his one-time best friend, his own brother.

Chapter Text

You Trusted Me, Believed in Me (And I Let You Down)

          Seeing and experiencing what Ahsoka had gone through was, if possible, worse than seeing and experiencing what Obi-Wan had gone through.

            Anakin saw her first on Mortis, refusing to believe a vision of her future self, telling her what he would become. Then, he saw her refusing to believe the same thing when Darth Maul told her. He felt her conviction, too, her total faith in him.

            She continued playing the recordings he’d left for her. Continued to believe in him, see him as a hero, for around ten years. He watched and listened as she told Ezra Bridger how kind he was, how much he cared about his friends.

            Later that very same day, she made mental contact with him for the first time since the fall of the Jedi and the Republic, and realized the truth.

            He’d seen her fight on while half-delirious from an infected wound, dehydrated and having survived two days on two meals of ration-packs. When she realized what her master, her older brother, one of her heroes, had become, she fainted in shock.

            And still, she kept on hoping that somehow, it wasn’t true. That she’d made some kind of mistake.

            She blamed herself, too. She had visions of him blaming her for leaving him, asking if she knew what he’d become.

            When they finally met in person, she said that he couldn’t be who she had thought. That her master could never be so cruel.  

            Later, she trapped herself in the Sith Temple with him, saving her friends, but telling him she wouldn’t leave him again.

            “Then – you – will – die.”

            And with those words, a part of her did did. Even though Ezra saved her via the World Between Worlds, the last trace of his bright, cheerful, happy apprentice was gone.

. . .

            Anakin saw all that Ahsoka went through to try to save him, but in the end, she was unable.

Ahsoka visited Obi-Wan, then Yoda. Sought answers from them, sought help from them dealing with her shock and grief and horror.

            In the end, though, despite their best efforts, there was little they could do for her.

            She finally reunited with Rex. She told him everything, in a few short words.

            “Rex,” she whispered, after they had embraced. “I-I need to tell you—” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Rex, Darth Vader is – he’s – Anakin.”  

            Rex stared at her, in stunned disbelief. Half-laughed, mirthlessly. “What, Ahsoka, no, that—that’s – impossible.”

            “That’s what I thought at first, too,” she whispered. “Why I didn’t tell you, right away.”

            Then she told him the full story, from how she first found out, to meeting him face-to-face, and fighting him, to Ezra rescuing her, to her visits with Obi-Wan and Yoda, and every terrible thing she had learned from them.

            Rex hugged her then, silently, and she hugged him back. Rex looked far away, over Ahsoka, as they embraced. And Anakin understood something: If any of his brothers had told him what Ahsoka had just told him, he’d have thought it had something to do with their inhibitor chips, or that they had been lied to, or both. If Obi-Wan had told him, he would have thought the Jedi had lost his mind. If almost anyone else had told him, he’d have been sure they were straight-up lying.

            But it was Ahsoka, and so, he believed her.

. . .

            Rex and Ahsoka clung to each other and at the same time grew distant from one another.

            They didn’t really trust each other, not anymore. Oh, they trusted each other more than they did anyone else. But there was always that question in each one’s mind, rather the other would betray them as so many others had, even if not all of them had done so willingly. And, though they tried to hide it from each other, each knew the other was aware they felt that way.

            What may have been worse, they no longer trusted themselves. Each kept wondering if they would one day betray the other, if something would somehow induce them to betray everything they and those closest to them had once stood for.

            They didn’t stay together all the time. Ahsoka must have visited every location in the known galaxy with history tied to the Jedi or even just the Light side of the Force. And Rex was more determined than ever to fight the Empire. He grew more brutal in that fight, too, more ruthless.

            Ahsoka sought answers, sought a way to ease her pain. Rex threw himself into fighting, because it was all he knew.

            In the end, Ahsoka concluded that the only thing she could count on was the Force. And Rex chose to devote himself only to fighting the evil that had taken everything from him.

            The two of them kept in touch. In the end, though, each had cut themselves off from just about everything.

Chapter Text

Of All the Things I Hid From You, I Cannot Hide the Shame

          Anakin felt himself sink down to the ground.

            The rain beat down much heavier now. There was no sign of light anywhere. The path was narrow, and the trees around him were completely overgrown.

            He felt cold. He felt alone. He felt… lost. And he felt, at that moment, that there was no way to atone for all the terrible things he had done, all the hurt he had caused.

Chapter Text

And I Pray Someone, Something Will Come, To Take Away the Pain

          Anakin felt the presence of someone else right before he heard the footsteps. He knew they were behind him, standing over him, but he didn’t even think to wonder who it was for some time, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.

            Finally, he looked up. Stared with blank eyes. Then he turned and looked away again, staring off into the distance, staring at nothing.

            “Anakin.”

            The voice, while firm, was also gentle and kind. After a moment, Anakin looked back up at his mentor. He still didn’t say anything.

            “Come with me,” Obi-Wan said, still kindly. He took Anakin by the arm, gently. And, without entirely knowing why, Anakin stood and followed.

            They walked in silence for some time. To Anakin’s surprise, the forest seemed a bit clearer now, a bit brighter, the path a bit wider. At least, it was possible to walk without too much discomfort. The rain also seemed to have eased up a little. Oddly enough, though, it felt cold hitting his skin, not hot like it had before, and hurt in a way it hadn’t before, feeling almost but not quite like sleet. “How are you doing?” Obi-Wan asked, after a few moments.

            “’M okay,” Anakin managed, almost hoarsely. He did feel a little better with Obi-Wan there, somehow, but still, he didn’t feel much like talking. Fortunately, Obi-Wan seemed to pick up on this, because he didn’t speak again for some time. They simply walked in silence. Finally, they came to a partial clearing, and Obi-Wan gestured for Anakin to sit, which he did, with Obi-Wan sitting down beside him. After that, they sat quietly for some time. The bat returned, and landed on Anakin’s shoulder, but Anakin only sighed, and ignored the creature. After a moment, Obi-Wan reached over and stroked the creature’s head. Then, he put a hand on Anakin’s shoulder, next to where the bat sat.

            It was Anakin who finally broke the silence this time. “Master,” he said, very quietly, without turning his head. Obi-Wan nevertheless turned to look at him. “You don’t have to stay.”

            Obi-Wan nodded, slowly. “I know I don’t have to stay, Anakin. I’m choosing to.”

            Anakin did turn his head to look at him, then. “I wasn’t there for you. Before. And I was the reason you were alone.”

            Obi-Wan sighed gently. “I know, Anakin. But I haven’t always been there for you, either. Not in the way you needed.” He turned his protégé further toward him and gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You’re not the only thing who has things to atone for, Anakin.”

            Anakin gave his mentor an uncomprehending stare. “You just – didn’t always know how. To be there, I mean.” He understood that now. “I – left you. Hurt you, on purpose.”

            “But you’ve come back, now,” Obi-Wan said, more gently than ever. He met Anakin’s eyes. “And so have I.”

            Anakin continued to stare at Obi-Wan. It still didn’t feel like their crimes were equal, to Anakin – his own, done with intent, seemed to him far, far worse – but he couldn’t think of a counterargument, not one he could really put into words, anyway. Finally, he looked away. Obi-Wan turned him back to face him again, however. “We all have things we wish we could change, could go back and do differently, Anakin,” he said. “But we can’t. All we can do, is try to make the right choices going forward.” He met his Padawan’s gaze steadily. “So, what are you going to do now?”

            Anakin didn’t answer for several moments. “I don’t know,” he said, at last. “But I–I have to see that-that the people I hurt – well. I can’t fix it. But I have to—to try to make things better, somehow.” He gazed down at his hands, at his knees, at the ground. “But I can’t do that, can I?”

            Obi-Wan gave him a soft smile. “You may have already, more than you think,” he said, every bit as softly. “It may not seem that way to you, but you’re helping me already, just by being here.”

            Anakin felt the truth in his friend’s words. He also felt that that couldn’t begin to make up for all the terrible, no, despicable, things he’d done. Nothing ever could, not really. No, not even remotely. He looked away from Obi-Wan again.

            “Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeated, just as firmly yet kindly as before. “Anakin, look at me.” Anakin complied, reluctantly. “It’s true, you can’t fix anything you’ve done. But you can do good, going forward. You can help some of the people you hurt. You may not take away their pain, but you can make it better. You’ve done plenty of good in your life, as well as plenty of evil, and you can still do more. You just have to think of how. And I know you can, I know you have it in you. Just try to think of ways you can do good for some of those you’ve hurt.”

            Anakin thought. After a moment, he said, hesitantly, “Do you know anything about a girl named Kata Akuna?”

            Obi-Wan tilted his head. “The name Akuna sounds familiar, but I don’t remember ever hearing of anyone named Kata Akuna,” he replied. “Why?”

            Anakin told him about his conversation with Bode Akuna. “I don’t know for sure that her last name is Akuna,” he admitted. How surnames were passed down was not uniform throughout the galaxy. Most children used mainly the last name of their same-sex parent, he remembered now – on Tatooine, a slave child would just have the name of whichever parent, or even parent-figure, was most prominent in their life – but this wasn’t unusual elsewhere in the galaxy either. Official names were generally long in former Republic and Imperial worlds, but most people mainly used only a first and last name in their everyday lives. “He didn’t even tell me what his wife’s name was.”

            Obi-Wan looked thoughtful. “I remember Bode Akuna, vaguely,” he said. “I didn’t even know he was still alive. Well, his daughter may have used an assumed name, especially if she was Force-sensitive herself. Quinlan might know,” he mused. “I know he was involved in smuggling younglings. He died a few years ago, he should be around here somewhere.”

            Anakin looked down at the ground. “What happened to Ahsoka?” he whispered.

            Obi-Wan smiled sadly at him. “I know she’s still alive,” he said gently. “She visited me once, on Tatooine, and stayed for a while. I even gave her some more training. What she did after she left, I don’t know, entirely.”

            Anakin was silent at that. Obi-Wan let out a gentle sigh. “There’s others you can help now, you know.” He stood. “Come with me.”

            Anakin followed his master obediently and, to his surprise, they found Yuthura Ban and a human woman waiting at another clearing. “Anakin,” she greeted. “And you must be Master Obi-Wan,” she greeted the older man with a polite bow. “Anakin speaks well of you. I am Yuthura Ban, Anakin’s guide through the Cleansing.”

            “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he returned both her introduction and bow.

            “I’m Quatra,” the other woman told Anakin. “I’ve been Obi-Wan’s guide. I believe you met my former Padawan, Juhani?”

            “Yes,” Anakin replied, with a polite bow. He wanted to ask why Obi-Wan needed to be here, but Yuthura spoke before he could. “You’ll be joining us on the next branch of our journey, then?” she asked Obi-Wan. Anakin looked at him in surprise at this.

            “I’d be honored,” Obi-Wan replied earnestly, further baffling Anakin. “Come, then,” she said, and the two men followed her. Yuthura told Obi-Wan her story as they went. Obi-Wan nodded when she finished. “You’re a very good guide for Anakin,” he observed sincerely. “You and he have quite a lot in common.”

            Yuthura smiled faintly, and a bit sadly, at that. “I believe you know Ajunta Pall,” she said, as the man emerged from the trees.

            “Yes, we have met,” Master Pall himself replied, bowing to all three of the others. “Master Kenobi.”

            “Master Pall.” Obi-Wan again bowed in turn, and Anakin did the same. So did Yuthura and Quatra. “Come, Skywalker, Kenobi,” Pall said. “There are others for both of you to meet.”

            All four followed him to another clearing, where once again many people were gathered. They made their way through a crowd, to where various people familiar to Anakin were congregated. Many of them had been known to him during his days as a Jedi, and some had later become Inquisitors under the Empire. Anakin again felt unease stirring within him. Why were they all here? He didn’t have long to think about that question, though, because he spotted someone else.

            Qui-Gon Jinn turned and faced his two protégés with a warm smile. “Master,” Obi-Wan said, before anyone else could say anything. Various emotions filled his voice. “You were right. He did come back.”

            “I said he could, Padawan, not that he would,” the older Jedi responded kindly. “But he did.” He turned to Anakin then. “Hello, Ani. Welcome home.”

            Anakin swallowed hard, and nodded, not knowing what else to say. “I’m sorry,” he managed, then. Obi-Wan laid a hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I owe both of you an apology,” Obi-Wan addressed both his master and apprentice now. “Qui-Gon never gave up on you, Anakin, but I did. I’m so sorry, Padawan. I’m so sorry, Master. I failed you both—”

            “No,” Qui-Gon cut in, conviction in his voice. “I failed both of you. Obi-Wan, you weren’t ready for teaching, not yet. And Anakin – you were far from home, with no one you knew, and Obi-Wan – he did his best, he tried so hard. But he had no way of knowing what he was doing. That was my fault, not his.” He laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’m so sorry. Can either of you ever forgive me?”

            They both met his eyes, and nodded, after a long moment, Obi-Wan first, then Anakin. “Obi-Wan really was a good teacher,” Anakin said, finally. “I mean, he wasn’t perfect – but,” Anakin met Obi-Wan’s gaze, rather than Qui-Gon’s. “He really did try. And there – there were at least as many good moments as bad, probably more.” He hoped he was doing this right, reassuring his master. He remembered times where Obi-Wan chastised, lectured, and judged, yes, but also times when he would get up and make them both tea and sit with him, no matter how late it was, anytime Anakin had a nightmare, would situate him carefully on the couch and stay nearby, ready with cool clothes and glasses of cool water and stories anytime he was sick, would gently clean and bandage up any injury, would always be there as fast as he could if Anakin was ever in danger. He remembered slowly realizing that what he had at first taken as cold distance was really self-doubt and anxious, uncertain hovering, that what thought was frustration and resentment was really Obi-Wan’s frustration with himself for not doing a better job, that if he needed something, all he had to do was ask for it. They were learning together, they had both realized in time. He tried now to communicate this, to Qui-Gon but even more to Obi-Wan, through the silent sharing of these memories through the Force. He felt Obi-Wan receive them, and saw his mentor’s warm smile, felt his hand come to rest on his shoulder. Felt the warmth radiating off of his friend at the memories, and knew that he cherished them, too. “You were a wonderful apprentice, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, sincerely. “I’m sorry I didn’t make you feel that way. I’m sorry I didn’t communicate that to you better.” Anakin didn’t answer, not in words, he merely embraced Obi-Wan, who returned the gesture. Qui-Gon smiled proudly at the both of them. Then he once again laid a hand on each of their shoulders. “I’m so proud of you. Both of you,” he said earnestly. “And you can both complete your journeys through the Cleansing. I have no doubt of that. My boys can do anything.” He embraced both of them, then. “Continue on your way, now.”

            “Master?” Obi-Wan pleaded. “Aren’t you coming?”

            Qui-Gon shook his head sadly. “Not yet, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan looked at him in confusion. Qui-Gon sighed. “You know you and Anakin aren’t the only ones who need my guidance to find your way out of the Cleansing, Obi-Wan. There is another who needs it far more.”

            “Xanatos,” Obi-Wan whispered. Qui-Gon nodded, and Obi-Wan looked at him sadly. “Master, you’ve done all you can for him,” he whispered. Qui-Gon shook his head. “One doesn’t give up on the people one loves, Obi-Wan,” he whispered. “I never gave up on you, and I never gave up on Anakin – and neither did you, not really,” he whispered, before Obi-Wan could argue. “And I will never give up on Xanatos, either.”

            “You’ll never be able to leave this place,” Obi-Wan whispered. Qui-Gon smiled sadly. “I will, Obi-Wan. I will always come back to you, and Feemor, and Anakin, and Tahl, and all those I love. But I will always come back for Xanatos, too. He has no one else, but you both have each other.” He embraced both younger men, again. “Go on, now. You both have a journey to complete. May the Force be with you. Always.”

            “And you, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, sadly.

            “You, too, Qui-Gon,” Anakin said sorrowfully, at almost the same moment as Obi-Wan.

            They exchanged bows, and Obi-Wan and Anakin departed.

            Obi-Wan put an arm around Anakin’s shoulders as they walked. “Anakin,” he said, softly. “I-I really am incredibly proud of you.” Anakin turned away at that, he didn’t feel he deserved any pride. Obi-Wan continued, however. “And I-I’m sorry I gave up on you. I-I have failed you, Anakin, in so many ways.” He met his Padawan’s eyes. “I won’t give up on you again. I-I hope you can forgive me.”

            Anakin looked at him in shock. “There’s nothing to forgive,” he insisted. “I would have given up,” he whispered, “far sooner than you did.” Then, impulsively, he embraced his mentor. After a moment of surprise, Obi-Wan returned the gesture. Then they sensed a presence nearby, and broke apart, then turned to find Ajunta Pall waiting. “Come,” the man said, simply. “There are others for the both of you to meet.”

            Master Pall led them forward. “I believe you both know Supisy Dura,” Master Pall said. “Master Kenobi,” Supisy said, uneasily. “Padawan Dura,” Obi-Wan said with some surprise. “I wondered what had happened to you. You survived--?”

            “I survived, yes,” she said, with some bitterness. “After the war ended, I was offered a chance to join the Emperor’s Inquisitors, and promised I could raise my child, as long as I agreed to let her be trained as an Inquisitor if she proved to be Force-sensitive. The Jedi Order hadn’t given me many options, so when someone else did, I took it.”

            “That wasn’t Obi-Wan’s fault.” Anakin found it strange to be defending his master, after so many years of hate. Supisy turned her gaze to Anakin. “Skywalker,” she said. Her tone was free of all emotion now. “Did you join the Inquisitors, too, then?”

            Anakin shook his head. She gave him a puzzled look. “You can’t be here because of you had a romantic relationship. I heard rumors about you, but I was told that I was here because of what I did as an Inquisitor, not having a romance.”

            Anakin took a deep breath. Then he told her everything. “So, it was you,” she said, when he had finished. “I thought he – you might be a Jedi, but I didn’t know who…” her voice trailed off. She took a deep breath. “Well, I suppose I should tell you my story, then.”

            “You don’t have to.” Anakin didn’t feel like she should be made to tell him anything she didn’t want to. But she shook her head. “No. I – the Grand Inquisitor told me you were the one who suggested recruiting me. He said the Emperor would have just killed me, but you suggested I might be willing to work for the Inquisitors, after what the Jedi had done to me.” Obi-Wan looked at Anakin with some surprise, and the younger man shifted uncomfortably. It was true, he had felt some empathy for Supisy, and had convinced Palpatine to offer her a chance. That didn’t erase all the evil acts he had committed as Vader, he knew, didn’t even begin to erase them. “I can go—” Obi-Wan offered, but Supisy shook her head again. “I’ve wanted a chance to explain myself to the Jedi, for a long time. I-I think I’m finally ready now.” She sighed and gazed steadily at both Obi-Wan and Anakin. “You know my Master, Master Anoon, and I spent some time on Tugan fighting a Separatist enclave. While I was there I-I got to know Gadden Tug, one of the king’s nephews. It was a stressful time, with the war and everything, and – well. We got a little too close, I guess. I found out from a doctor on Tugan that I was pregnant. I told Gadden, but he wouldn’t have anything to do with it – he couldn’t bring the shame on his family, he said, they’d disown him. I told him I’d keep quiet as long as he’d help me financially. But he wouldn’t, and he told me his family wouldn’t help me either, and I knew enough about them to know he was right. I wanted the baby. I’d never really thought about being a mother, and I didn’t love Gadden, but I loved the baby, already. I couldn’t help it. I knew if I admitted the truth, I’d probably be kicked out of the Order, but I didn’t know what else to do. So, I told my master everything. He-he was sympathetic, but he told me I couldn’t hide it forever, and thought I should just tell them the truth. I did, and Master Anoon asked them to let me stay and raise my baby. I’d made a mistake, he said, but that didn’t mean my family should turn their back on me. They kicked me out of the Order anyway. Master Anoon promised he’d try to help us, but then he was killed in battle just two weeks later. The Republic fell just six months later, and I didn’t know what I was going to do, but then I was offered a place to go, so I took it. I didn’t want to be an Inquisitor, or to hunt Jedi, but they had abandoned me, and while I was an Inquisitor, I was able to raise my daughter in a loving home, and take care of her, and keep her safe. And that was all I had really wanted, and no one else would give it to me. I thought about running away, later, when I got older – I knew how bad it would be for her, training to be an Inquisitor. But this – this was the only life she knew, and she told me she didn’t want to leave. And I-I decided I wouldn’t force her to leave her life, the way I’d had to.”

            Anakin looked at his hands. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I trapped you and Sinya in the same life I was trapped in, when I was a boy.”

            She shook her head. “I’m not one to judge you, Skywalker. I would likely have done the same thing, to save Sinya. Especially after I was kicked out of the Order – after that, I felt she was all the family I had. I joined the Inquisitors to keep her safe, and as an Inquisitor, I did plenty of terrible things myself.”

            “I’ve seen her, you know,” Anakin said hesitantly. “She—”

            “She is on her own journey through the Cleansing, I know,” Supisy cut him off. “I have spoken with her twice, already.” She inclined her head at Anakin. “Thank you for helping her.” She bowed to him. “May the Force be with you, Skywalker.”

            He bowed back to her. “And with you, Dura,” he returned. Then he hesitated. “Do you know anything about a girl named Kata Akuna?” She looked at him curiously. “No, why do you ask?”

            Anakin again told her about his interaction with Bode Akuna, making sure to include every detail he knew, and didn’t know. She shook her head when he finished. “I’m sorry, I don’t know anything about anyone with that name. But I’ll ask around, if I get the chance.”

            Anakin thanked her and bowed again. Then, he, Obi-Wan, and their guides continued on their way, and next found themselves facing Luminara Unduli.  “Master Kenobi. Skywalker,” she greeted them, formal as ever. They returned the greeting. “I am glad to see you have returned to the Light, Skywalker,” she said. He bowed his head but said nothing in response. “Like your Master, I am here in no small part because I failed my Padawan,” she said. It didn’t seem right to Anakin that Obi-Wan should have to pay for the terrible things he had done, especially after all he had been through, but Luminara went on. “I have realized that Barriss became what she did in no small part because of me. She did not feel that I cared for her as deeply as she did for me, as deeply as many other Masters did for their Padawans. This hurt her greatly.” She met Anakin’s eyes. “Do you know what happened to her?”

            Anakin told her about how Barriss had been offered a chance to become an Inquisitor just after Order 66, her fight with Dante, and how she had eventually grown disillusioned with the Inquisitors and left. “I don’t know what happened to her after that,” he finally concluded. “I can try to find out—”

            She shook her head. “She was my student, Skywalker. Learning her fate is my responsibility.” She bowed to her visitors. “May the Force be with all of you.”

            Anakin vowed internally to do his best to learn what had happened to Barriss, anyway.

            The next person they met caught him by surprise. It took him a second, but only a second, to figure out who he was – he knew many people with that face, after all – but the man’s Force signature was easily recognizable. “Slick?” he said.

            The Clone Trooper turned to face him. “General Skywalker,” he said, his voice emotionless. “General Kenobi.”

            They all stood in silence for a moment. “Well,” Slick said, finally. “You both know why I’m here. Suppose you tell me your story?”

            Obi-Wan and Anakin exchanged looks. Anakin took a deep breath. He supposed it was only fair that he should go first – it was really his fault that Obi-Wan was here, after all. When he had finished, Slick was giving him a pointed, yet pleading look. “So, you must understand now,” he said, his tone also pleading.

            Anakin blinked. “Understand what?”

            “Why I did what I did,” Slick said. Anakin blinked, and Slick’s face grew desperate. “Please, General. It was to help my brothers – we were being forced to fight for a Republic we had no say in, and that remained true, even after the war. I never wanted to hurt my brothers, I wanted to help them. So many fought and died – you’ve been a slave yourself, General, your mother was enslaved, and so many of your friends growing up – surely you can understand?”

            Anakin was silent for several long moments. “Yes, I understand,” he finally whispered, his voice hoarse.

            “And yet, you never did anything to help us,” Slick whispered. “You, of all people, should have understood – yet, you just let it happen.”

            Anakin couldn’t meet his eyes now. “I’m sorry,” he finally managed, in a whisper.

            “And you,” Slick addressed Kenobi, now. “You were so devoted to the Jedi way, but the Jedi way was supposed to be based on compassion, and yet, you continued letting us be used.”

            Obi-Wan seemingly didn’t have anything to say in his defense, and this time, Anakin didn’t, either. He couldn’t hate Obi-Wan, or even blame him for anything, not after all he’d put him through, and certainly not for something he himself had also taken part in, especially when he had far more experience being on the other end of it than Obi-Wan did. “I know words are cheap, Slick,” Obi-Wan said at last. “But I am truly sorry. We – at the time, we felt we had no choice. I know that was wrong, now. And I—I am sorry. That is all I can say.”

            Slick just gazed at them both bleakly. “I am sorry I hurt my brothers,” he said. “And I believe you both were good men. What I did may have been wrong. But that doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

            The next person they met was also familiar to both of them. “Chairman Cho,” Obi-Wan said, levelly, and as always Anakin was struck with a mixture of awe and exasperation a how his master could always manage to be polite to anybody.

            He was also struck by how different the Pantoran Chairman looked. His face was far more wrinkled than Ankin recalled, and his eyes held an exhausted quality. “General Kenobi,” he said, voice equally tired. “General Skywalker. What are you doing here?”

            Anakin again told his story. When he had finished, the chairman blinked in comprehension. “The things we will do for those we love,” he said. “For me it was Pantora. For you it was your wife and unborn child – or children, as it turned out. Both of us failed to consider what those loves would want, didn’t we?” he asked heavily. He didn’t wait for Anakin to reply. “I suppose I was fortunate. I could very well have destroyed the very thing I hoped to save, just as you did.” He met Anakin’s eyes, then. “Well, I am sorry for you, Skywalker. But I get the impression you do not believe you can truly be redeemed. I put my planet at risk, when I was sworn to protect it. And yet, I am told I am not beyond hope. I see no reason why you should be, then.”

            Anakin looked away. “How many innocent people have you tortured and murdered?”

            “Perhaps not as many as you,” Cho admitted. “But my hands are not clean, Skywalker. By the time you met me, I had been quite ruthless in my defense of my planet for some time. And it took me far longer than you, even after my arrival here, to accept that I had been wrong.” He bowed to both men respectfully. “I wish you both all the best, Generals.”

            “Come now, both of you,” Ajunta Pall said. “We move on now to a difficult stage of your journey.” Stepping forward, they found themselves suddenly surrounded by near-complete darkness. “What is this place?” Anakin asked.

“This,” Ajunta Pall replied, “is the dwelling-place of those who refuse to believe they can be redeemed, or worse still, deny that they have anything to atone for.”