All According to - Who are you?

by Tracesoka

Summary:

Captain Rex awakes on the Resolute, having traveled back in time with a plan. Having seen the destruction wrought by the Empire and Palpatine, he and Ahsoka Tano struggle to put an end to the darkness to come before it begins without the notice of the Sith, while also fighting in the Clone War surrounded by the living ghosts of the brothers that died for them.

Time-Travel star wars the clone wars fix-it.
(work in progress, but I swear I have a plan!)
THIS WORK IS ALSO ON WATTPAD but I know I prefer to read on Ao3 so here you go
While the first few chapters might not seem it, the warnings will apply in time. I'm creative...

Chapter 1: Waking in a Dream

Notes:

Waking in a Dream
Is like Living Nightmares
Reality Hurts

Captain (Commander, Agent, General, Ori’vod) Rex woke in a panic. The room shifted, along with his thoughts and memories, blurring the cold grey walls of a ship. Resolute or Tribunal? Vode transport or Rebel base? Where's Ahsoka? Where are ner vod’ike? He bolted upright and ripped his sweat-soaked blankets from his heaving chest. Eyes darting across the room, his vision blurred with tears and fear. They stung as much as his snotty nose and clenched jaw.

He pushed his bitten lips apart. Deep breath in. Out again. In, hold, out. Keno'bika. In, hold, out.

The tears in his eyes cleared, and the pain of his terror dissolved. His eyelids stuck together every time he blinked. Little Gods! This hadn’t been the plan. Then again, planning hadn’t been the priority at the time. He and Ahsoka had been more focused on survival. They’d promised each other to comm as soon as it was safe—if they survived.

Rex ignored the warping walls of his room and the echoes of marching outside his door. Slipping his feet to the cold metal floor brought darkness to his eyes. The ship rumbled distinctly under his feet, a familiar vibration that momentarily warred with the memory of the Executor's deep, oppressive thrum. No, this was a Venator, the Resolute. Even so the buzzing of a Star Destroyer should have terrified him. Home, once. Every captain in the GAR had a room for themselves on their primary ship. Like all officer’s quarters, it had a desk and a bed slate, but nat-borns got a nice chair for guests and a table for private meals. When Rex became the commander for Tano company, he found their rooms had baths to themselves. They have a bath to themselves. The Jedi, their Padawans, and the vod'e are alive. Rex hissed a relieved breath between his teeth. He reached for his comm from the table by the door. The room is so tiny he hadn’t even left his seat on the bed slate, but that’s fine. He hadn’t even been paid until the New Republic formed, so it wasn’t like the lack of space was unusual to him.

Late Republic-era comms were simple circular things. The communicator could twist and had buttons to program the frequency and encryption. The GAR had similar military ones that clicked onto a vambrace or into a helmet to be used in battle, but they were only programmed with military frequencies and made to be slice-proof. Nobody could or would use them outside of battle. Rex hadn’t always thought it was lucky that Anakin took a shine to him as quickly or suddenly as he did. It was less than a year into the war, after all. Why would someone choose a defective trooper out of hundreds to be his second in command? After so long serving with his Jedi, Rex figured it was instinct or haj padai. Either way, the young general gave Rex his first non-military comm, and it’s proving to be a boon now. A few twists of his wrist and the comm's set to send a message out to Ahsoka.

A sudden thought struck Rex like a punch to the face. What if she doesn’t pick up? It could mean nothing beyond her not being in a position to without being caught. It could mean they failed, that she’s dead, and he’s alone in a time not his own with the weight of the galaxy on his shoulders.

There's no chattering old codes echoing distorted messages when he opens the Fulcrum frequency. It isn't unsurprising; this would technically be the first time the frequency had been used. “Jaig to Fulcrum. Frequency clear. Out of danger. Mission success. I—” His voice cut out. Terror is not a new emotion; Rex has always known danger, but that doesn't make the thought of fighting three wars over again alone any easier. To make matters worse, someone calls his name from beyond the door. A deep breath doesn’t help much, but he manages to choke out the rest of his message. “I can’t do this without you this time. Message soon, gedet’ye.”

Breathe in and out. Sha dushne anades oya’la. He calmed and wiped a hand down his face.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!" “Vod’ika! You in there?” Kote’s voice came. Rex couldn’t help but startle. Rex had been the last clone to die in the first… attempt. It’s already been years since he’s heard a brother’s voice, but his ori’vod had been one of the first to be decommissioned after the Empire began. He struggled with his loss, and yet the man who might become the Cody he lost is just beyond that door like nothing happened.

“Come in,” Rex shouted through the door. He was proud that his voice didn’t break under the strain. He was pleasantly surprised he could even still recognize Cody’s voice. While Rex slipped to his feet and fought with the boots hidden under his desk, the door hissed open. The sound jarred him. A door’s hissing slide had usually accompanied extraction missions they won by the skin of their teeth. Rebel doors had clanged, and his and his vod'e's stolen freighter always sounded wet for some reason.

Cody snatched the hastily closed comm, tossing it aside with a casualness that made Rex's gut clench. He had to suppress the urge to snatch it back, a silent, internal curse forming on his lips. Careful with that! he wanted to shout. Instead, he just sat rigid as Cody settled beside him against the wall. What if he’d damaged it? I might never know if she’s okay. He still has his chip in him. Stun him. He didn’t let the fears that guided him through the Empire past the privacy of his own head. This isn't the Empire or the Purge. He isn't the General killer or purge trooper. If all goes right, he never will be.

Kote lifted Rex’s kama up for him to loop around his waist. He asked, “Have a rough night?” Rex stalled with his knee guard unclipped. Relax. Just Kote. He nodded. His lost and found again brother huffed and knocked shoulders with him. While Rex reached for his chestplate, Kote rolled his eyes. “Forgetting something, di’kut?” Turns out thirty years with aging mismatched armor will mess with your rhythm. Rex winced. No one, not even his ori’vod, can know about he and Ahsoka time-traveling, lest they slip and tell an Imp without knowing. Cody just moved the gutwrap under his arms and clipped it together with a smirk. “You’ll be fine. General Skywalker might be position-shiney and reckless, but he’s not incompetent. He was Kenobi’s commander for nearly the last year, and he’s completed his Padawan training at Anothrah. It could be worse.”

"At least he won’t be getting a cadet commander," Rex jokes. Kote won’t get it for another month, if ever, but so long as he is when he figures he is Rex can laugh in his own head. Maybe he’ll tell Ahsoka later.

"Don’t even joke," Kote bemoans while Rex opens the drawers under the bed and pulls out his pauldrons. His eyes catch a scar or two on his armor as Rex moves. “Need some help, little older brother?” Kote teases. Rex just glares and fits the rest of his armor on. Inwardly he smiles. It’s been too long. “What sort of tossing and turning could have our short king tripping over his armor?”

"Bad dream," Rex growled. "I'll be fine." Kote hummed noncommittally but accepted the explanation. It didn't technically disprove whatever assumption he’d made. Skywalker was a traitor in the first attempt. Now he’s a kid general that’ll lead Rex into battle tomorrow. He’s a nat-born, in at least the loosest sense of the term, and any nat-born could just as easily save their shebs as have them decommissioned. It could have even been The Nightmare. Rex very deliberately focuses on not smudging the wet paint on his vambraces.

They stand together. Brothers again in a little room on a Star Destroyer while Rex looks into the Jaig eyes on his helmet. The weight in his hands is at least familiar. He’d held it just before being sent through time.

“You’ll do fine,” Kote interrupted his thoughts. “It’s just Anakin.”

Rex took a deep breath. Skywalker, not Vader. The Resolute, not the Executor. Cristophsis, not Moraband or Malachor. They did it. "Let's go meet the General." Rex breathed relieved. He finally met Kote's dark brown eyes, regulation and alive. "Kote. Thank you."

He laughed, and they left together.

Notes:

Jaig - a Symbol derived from Mandalorian Shriek-Hawks, representing acute bravery and honor

Ori'Vod be Ahsoka Tano - Older Brother of Ahsoka Tano

Vod'e - siblings, referred to as the clones as a whole, Brothers, the 'e suffix pluralizes the word

Jeti'ad - Jedi child, to the clones- a cadet aged jedi who acts as commander usually from 6 (12) to 11(22) -Jedi Commanders

(My version) The Communication Device, or Com', is a small circular or cylindrical device with five buttons, four around the edge and one in the center of the circle. The Kourt and Prix buttons are on the outside, along with Doh and Mio, and programs com codes into the com' like old flip phone texting did.

Kote - Glory, Name of Commander Cody

Vod'ika - Little brother-affectionate

Position Shiny - New to one's rank

Jeti'yaim - The Couracanti Jedi Temple, Jedi Home

Kamino - Water world where Kaminoan Cloners created the clone army

Nat-Born - Naturally Born people, not Clones/aurettii (outsiders)

If it doesn’t make sense, I use 6(12) and 11(22) as the age difference in development for the clones to Nat-Born average (usually Human/Humanoid) because after about 3 years they age faster than normal (to the point where 6 is an age/maturity equivalent to 12 or 11 to 22.

I UPDATED IT! Dai Bendu is almost my new favorite thing so I included it here. A bit more fleshing out of the characters.
Daieno Bika: Be In The Now, I figure Obi-wan must have taught it as a calming tool given the Jedi values and such. I adjusted this in the clone creole to be Keno'bika to incorporate such a significant leader to the clone base language. I think I'm gonna do something similar with Windu (duty?) Yoda (protection of innocence?) and Plo koon (caretaker)
Haj Padai: Guiding Will of the Force, it may or may not be correct but I'm using it because it seems right and there's not a direct translation
Sha dushne anades oya’la: At least we're all alive, but more directly By our duty we the siblings live
gedet'ye: a plead, please, in mando'a

Kama: the armored pleated half skirt that ARC troopers and Captains wear.

Annohrah: Spelling may be wrong, Jedi Temple, All home in dai bendu, sort of

Rex is called the Little Older brother. That may be confusing but it's not like with Boba. Rex is technically older than most CC's in either cannon or EU, I can't remember wich, however Rex is and continues to be somewhat shorter than other clones, so; little (due to his defects) Older brother. Plus, Cody is somewhat of a more responsible person. He has the peacemaker instinct and he's not so chaotic as any of the others we see in the shows. He reminds me of my little sister, being more in charge and more responsible (as well as she's taller than me)

Chapter 2: A Shift

Summary:

Ahsoka wakes up, for the first time she can remember, happy. Surrounded by Life and the Light side of the Force.

Notes:

CT-7567, Defective, Survivor.

Captain Rex, Soldier, Survivor.

Commander Rex, Protector, Survivor.

Agent Jaig, Savior, Survivor.

General Rex, Rebel, Survivor.

Rex, Brother, Survivor.

Ahsoka woke slowly, and that itself was unusual. To her memory, the last time she rested well was ten years ago, alongside the Mandalorians. The Force swirled around her like a cool breeze. Laughter echoed in her montrals, and sunlight warmed her back. There was no smoke in her lungs or soldiers calling for Fulcrum’s help. No armor pushed her cheek in or rubbed her wrists.

Despite her caution, she couldn’t fight the groggy reluctance to move. She blinked away the crust from her eyelashes and fought the comfort of the blankets. It all felt so wrong to her. She’d slept in better and worse, but with the death of Alderaan, even the memory of a soft bed had been tainted by their screams.

Children raced past her, giggling. They jumped from empty bunks, and the Force trailed behind them with their joy. Ahsoka never remembered playing a game like that. She didn’t remember waking with their energy. She sensed only Light in the Force, and it made her breath catch and tears well in her eyes. They’re alive. Here. There’s no taint of genocide and no mourning fog. Not even an echo of nightmares lingered in the air.

Ahsoka slid from the bed and padded barefoot towards the window. She had to see. It all had to be true. Their plan had to have worked. The Jedi Temple’s golden courtyard practically glowed. Jedi and their commanders dotted the stones, training and talking.

They’re alive. Breathing and here. Glowing. A ridiculous, almost childish bubble of pure joy rose in her chest, so foreign it felt like a tickle. Tears pricked her eyes, and the last Republic Jedi General dropped her head back, smiling at the sky, a genuine, untempered smile for the first time in... decades? Then, the smile tightened. Too bad they won't stay that way if I don't complete the mission. The joy receded, replaced by the familiar prickle of urgency.

A door hissed open behind her, and she dropped behind the bed. Her instincts as the rebel spymaster pulled her away from the unexpected intruder. It seemed that even in the Light of the crèche, her hard-won stealth held true. The other children—and that’s what she was now, again, a child—rushed towards the ja’eyi stepping into the room. Ahsoka saw Totholian smile out of the corner of her eye and fixed the Padawans’ robes. How could she contact Rex if she’s always watched? How could she go unnoticed if she’d already passed classes and trials for Jedi far beyond her age?

“Little ‘Soka, if you’re so insistent on playing ochi’o, we can do it in the courtyard later. For now, come out so that we can learn of our paths,” the Master called to her. Child, child, child. What do kids do? She considered for a moment, Cry and throw tantrums, usually. Then, a more pragmatic thought: Or giggle. Ahsoka chose the latter, slipping out from behind the bed with a practiced, wide-eyed apology. Rex is definitely going to get a kick out of this, she thought, a spark of genuine amusement cutting through the haze of her fear. Assuming he's not currently locked in a closet trying to 'giggle' his way out of an awkward conversation.

It seemed to work because the older Jedi led them out to the hall and towards what she told the crèche clan was the communications room for the Temple. On top of preventing a Dark Lord of the Sith from terrorizing the galaxy for the next fifty years and keeping her status as a time-traveling ex-Jedi Jaieh a secret, it seemed she’d have to go to lessons.

The Master herded Ahsoka and the younglings through the halls, careful not to lose a child, preventing her from pulling off down another hall to steal a communicator. Of course, I'm too young to have a comm, she lamented in her head.

Despite her joy to have the Jedi back alive, they would prove another challenge to her mission. They were too blind to see the truth about corruption in the Senate. They were too set in their ways to believe a child would know more about the Force. The Council would never act against someone as powerful as Palpatine.

They hadn't even tried.

Ahsoka thought it lucky that she came back to the day her clan explored the communications and administration Padawan tracks. Even if the last time she’d been in the Temple had been over forty years ago, she remembered the room had extra comms for Knights and Commanders leaving for individual missions. They’d done the same in the Rebellion, and Kanan and her often joked about it.

"Now, Initiates, remember to be respectful of Master Karn and listen well. There may be a student that wishes to be assigned here." The crèche master reminded, pulling Ahsoka out of her rapidly darkening thoughts.

They collectively entered the dark room and gathered to the right of the door. To the opposite side were old controls, and the center of the room held a generator table for projections and briefings. Beyond those was another gate to more secure briefing rooms, bathrooms, and quarters for the clones and knights assigned to communications and intelligence. Individual comm stalls, like those the Rebellion used for secure transmissions, sat to the right of their group, and across the room, next to the door, was a table with extra communicators. Ahsoka had spent a good part of her Padawanship in briefings here.

Leaning towards the communicators or the controls were a few red-and-black-painted clones or injured Jedi. A near-human stood near the center of the room with dark, leathery robes. Ahsoka assumed he was the instructor and was proven correct not seconds later when he introduced himself as Communications Knight Mraht Karn. He began explaining the Communications Knight positions and duties, why they were critical to running the Temple, and how the technology worked, calling volunteers and pointing to specific equipment when necessary. The future Agent Fulcrum never let her thoughts drift from the comms sat by the door.

When she'd judged enough time had passed to be inconspicuous, Ahsoka pulled on her crèche master's sleeve. "Yes, Initiate Tano?" They asked, and though it had been long since anyone except Rex called her by her name and longer since she had been an Initiate, she responded quickly.

"I need to use the bathroom. Did the Knight say there was one down that hall?" She asked with as much innocence as she could muster.

"Oh, yes. Run along. Don't interrupt the others." Ahsoka took the confirmation and slipped behind the class. When she reached the hallway, her movements became a blur of practiced stealth. Her hand swept along the table surface, and with a series of near-silent shoves, she slipped as many communicators as she could against her wrist and into her belt pouches. Always good to have backups, she thought, a grim satisfaction settling in her gut. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Once Ahsoka was out of earshot, she slipped into a briefing room and pulled out a comm. Kourt four. Prix Two. Kourt. It seemed it was easier for Rex to get a message out. She pressed the center button to let it play.

Rex showed on the hologram, young again and without his beard. His sleeplessness still shone in the shadows of his eyes, and his head drooped as if too heavy. He looked like a cadet trying to stay awake during a particularly boring briefing. "Jaig to Fulcrum. Frequency clear. Out of danger. Mission success. I—" His voice was so quiet the comm almost hadn't picked it up. The Force shook with his fear for Ahsoka, and hers for him. Rex heard something down the hall, someone calling for him, and looked up sharply, his posture instantly shifting to that of a soldier scanning for threats, the underlying care in them for her pushing behind solid copper. Still the same old Rex, always getting caught,' she almost chuckled, despite the knot of fear in her stomach. "I can’t do this without you this time. Message soon, gedet’ye.”

Ahsoka let loose a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Relief flooded her and the Force around her. She isn’t alone. Her ori’vod is alright. She hadn’t realized how much she feared losing him too until they’d risked everything they had to try to turn back time. She set the comm to record audio and programmed her sigil. “This is Fulcrum Prime. Out of danger. Mostly. Mission success. Call for Triple Zero nighttime. We can save them. See you soon.”

Fulcrum shut down the comm and slipped down the hall, unnoticed by those who would stop her from saving the galaxy.

Notes:

Jetii-multiple Jedi

Totholian-a humanoid species

Crows Clan-Jedi younglings and initiates grow up communally as a small clan (up to about ten members)

-* In the end I wrote a codded transmission. Beacon: Overwatch is her location/danger level, being Corrisant supervised and under Palpatine. Spectators Doorway refers to the world between worlds, which was discovered by the crew of the Ghost—having Memories to watch she uses to tell him that she's young. By telling him Chrono: 15--, Corrie, she says call again at 1500 hours (3:00) Coruscant time zone.* She also worries about his safety because he didn't use the codes (which he did because he was alone and unsettled by the force stuff)
-Ahsoka used Mando'a first for "Jedi" because she spent her childhood between Jedi and Mandalorian clones, then about a year with Mandalorians, then many years with Rex under the Empire. She HAS to have picked up a few things

Updated this one too. Ja'eni is chreche master. Padib means initiate. Adi Galia is a Totholian. I changed the coded language but this way does make you readers have an easier time distinguishing what's going on. Ochi'o is a hide-and-seek game that initiates play in the temple. Jaieh is the word for Jedi master.

Chapter 3: I missed this

Summary:

Rex traverses his old life and fights several panic attacks and his own trauma.
Yay, Emotions.

Notes:

I wander these hallways alone
even if I'm surrounded by shadows
of the people I've lost,
or pushed away,
or learned to fear.

Rex had no idea what he was doing.

No, he had an idea, it's just it was fuzzy and blurred by the twenty-five years since he had to think about it.

On an average day, back with the Ghost crew, with Phoenix squadron, he would wake up, dress in his armor, and wander the base for people to help. If there was a mission that he thought he could help with he could do that, but otherwise, the Rebellion and Resistance were unstructured and thought him too old for anything strenuous. (Which he was, but Rex would never admit it.)

On an average day under the Empire’s rule, he would either wake up to danger and imminent death of himself or his vod'e, or he’d be alone, in an empty room, and wallow in his own filth and depression.

Rex hardly remembered what an average day in the war that made up his kind-of childhood needed. Cody got him up, and out of his room, and a dropped a datapad in Rex's hand before he left, thankfully oblivious to the way Rex’s face drifted, lost, along the walls and the vod'e's faces.

Someone must have noticed and taken pity on him because a blank armored sergeant materialized by his side. “Looking lost there, Captain. Lose your way to the mess?”

“No,” Rex grumbled, “Hasn’t been an easy morning.” He started towards the mess, or where he thought it was, to ditch the conversation.

“Ah, the transfers. A whole new battalion, this early in the war. I don’t know what they were thinking,” the sergeant said. The mess has to be this way.

It wasn’t. The sergeant gently pulled him back the other way. Rex decided to roll with it.

“Speaking of transfers, what’s your name, Sergeant? You’re new enough, and I would never forgive myself if I mixed any vod up with another,” Rex asked. The only way to reorient yourself is to have information on the situation. Stealth training with 'Soka seemed to have paid off enough that the careful query didn’t phase his new guide. Either that or Rex seems like the type of clone to be blunt as harran.

“I’m Sergeant Maxy. CT-4412. The other transferred sergeants for Torrent Company are Guest, Chase, and Remy,” Maxy explained. “I heard Cinarin and Nuxt are Commanders. Nuxt is fresh off Kamino, and so are Captain Loony and Lieutenant Jig. Yularen's got some military experience, though, so we aren’t all shiny and new.”

The doors to the mess opened too slowly. Rex had to slow down and Maxy stepped up next to him. “I don’t think I’ve heard of any of them,” he said honestly. Every name he listed had probably died on Christophsis or Teth.

“Yeah, I bet you didn’t meet many batches on Kamino.” Oh, wow, he has no tact. Rex managed to keep his face blank, but inside, a wry, almost bitter chuckle escaped him. Straight to the 'Blond bit,' eh? He studied Maxy's eager, unlined face. Please don't be one of the suck-up types, he thought, a familiar Imperial chill tracing his spine. The kind that tells on brothers and gets people decommissioned. He didn't think it had been all that common during the Clone Wars, but he figured it was better to be cautious with how prominent it had been in the ranks on the Executor.

“Trained with a CC batch,” Rex dared the younger clone to think less of him for his defect. Maxy's assumption wouldn't help, and he needed to learn it, soon. They joined the line together, reluctantly, to gather their food and walked to a table with other higher-ranking officers. Right, Rex remembered, Wake up, get dressed, sit-rep. “Sergeant Remy, Sergeant Guest. How’re the rookies settling in? Are we prepped for landing?” he asked the vod'e around the table.

“Yes sir, clean armor, clean blasters, clean fights,” Remy said. “Some of the rookies got jitters, but we’re fine for now.”

“I’ll set up training. Make your squads pick a day. A bit of exercise should knock that out,” Rex said before he bit the blue ration gelly. Today's breakfast is okay. Not the spicy kind he liked, but not the crumbling texture of the old rebellion types.

“Training?” Guest asked. “Why?”

“Oh! I heard CCs did that. It’s to familiarize himself with the troops,” The clone at the end said. He didn’t introduce himself, and he hadn’t been one of the sergeants Maxy listed. He was way too energetic for this confusing of a day, so Rex just hummed.

“Yeah, more like to follow orders properly. Did you hear about Commander Ahlt? Under General Mootis? I hope I never get transferred there. Ping said he was crazy!” Chase says.

Rex might have heard it, but he didn't process it, as lost in his thoughts as he was. Sit-rep, then what? I need to call Ahsoka. I need to train. “General Skywalker is crazier than any other general, and yet he still manages miracles,” he said absentmindedly. Miracles like Malachor or miracles like Naboo? His frown returned. After breakfast, I'll train and call Ahsoka. I need to meet Cody for the meeting with the Navy and then train the vod’ik’e.

“I get that. We can deal. After all, Good Soldiers Follow Orders.”

Rex’s heart stopped.

It’s been a long time. Clones are designed to be resistant to mental disorders. He hadn’t been under long, and he paid his penance in freeing as many brothers and Jedi as he could. This does not change the fact that as soon as those words are said aloud, Rex flinches and tenses. His breathing stutters. He realizes everyone in the room is a chipped clone and could and would kill him in an instant.

He forced a growl from his throat, low and warning, even as his lungs screamed for air. Every instinct urged him to lash out, to silence the words, to run. He didn't even know who said it. I have to go. Get out. He clenched his fists under the table, desperate for control. “Only,” he managed, his voice almost too quiet to hear over the rumble of the room, “if an order is a good one.”

Rex left.

He didn’t know what happened after he just stalked off. Thank the Force his younger body still had its muscle memory because he didn’t know where he intended to go, only that he ended up in his usual training room. Probably the usual training room.

The door hissed shut behind him. His breath echoed it.

His head hurt.

Good soldiers followed orders. It echoed in Rex's head. The chip's still in there. Special orders to kill the traitor Ahsoka Tano. She had said over a billion times that it wasn't any of their faults. The Jedi are traitors to the republic. CT-7567. They've come for revenge! No one could have gotten out of that without scars.

Breathe. Rex felt like he was drowning. In and out. Kriffing breathe.

Ahsoka's okay. Rex knows because she can't have died too. Not again. Sit-rep, check for a message, train.

The comm slipped from his trembling fingers several times before he managed to turn on the device. There's a message waiting for him. “This is Fulcrum Prime. Out of danger. Mostly. Mission success. Call for Triple Zero nighttime. We can save them. See you soon.” A good chunk of tension and pain, more than he'd thought he had, dripped out of his shoulders. She sounded calmer than he had. O'sik. I'm more freaked out than I thought. Rex couldn't help but to struggle to hear and understand the words. Rex remembers her laugh. It was one of the brightest things in the galaxy.

He whispered it to himself. "We can save them."

Rex could breathe again, so he forced out a chuckle as loud as he could. He cleared his throat and loosed the grip on his heart. She's okay. I can make it through the day. He certainly felt better than before, having heard from his Vod-solus.

He knew, under the Empire or Republic, they couldn't afford to relax. With his sister alive and safe, he started to train.

He had been old for a very long time. When they'd decided to try again he had known he would die soon. Sixty was a good age, though being almost 100 physically was not fun, and stopped him from helping on any off-world missions. Time travel had fixed him. He's young again. That, apparently, applied to his injuries. He hadn't noticed, but he'd been dragging his feet for years, decades, now. He'd been over-bracing for simple blasts and hits in his old age. Rex had even been stumbling through his safety rolls, much less the swinging turns that once took down inquisitors. Training with his blasters felt odd too. The scopes were clean and the chip from the Citadel hadn't been carved out yet. His hands didn't burn from an overused blast-back protector, and his packs both had a stable charge. Rex's endurance was better than it'd ever been; a combination of old ache pain tolerance and a healthy body without blast wounds or dust-lung.

Kote finds him after four successful simulations and 25 minutes in the range, to meet the naval officers. "You gonna keep staring at your hands or pack up? We can't be late."

"Like you've ever been late to something in your life." Rex knew this statement was wrong. Young Rex would have known this too. That does not deny that it's funny how alike Kote was to General Kenobi in their anxiety-induced punctuality. "You couldn't live with yourself if you didn't work yourself to the bone."

Kote smiled and knocked his shoulder to Rex's on the way out. He'd only painted it with the white Fulcrum marks after Kote died. He'd infiltrated the base the day after the order for his death went through. The Empire had always been efficient. Just one day late. "What's got you pouting?" shakes him out of his darkening thoughts. Rex was usually good about not spiraling, but coming back to the beginning of it all must have thrown him off. Kote reassures him saying; "It's just meeting with some nat-born officers. It's important to figure out which Admirals are good and develop-"

"-good relationships to ensure we work well together and they can help us protect the rookie privates. I know. You've said it all through the last ten-day." Rex interrupted. "I hear it's Yularen. He any good?" Rex asks, though he remembers a good man; loyal to the General, and experienced enough to understand war.

Kote chuckled, and didn't Rex miss that too? "Long military history and a happy family; wife, and daughter. Sounds like a good man at least."

"Better than what I hear of Tarkin." Rex half-joked. Tarkin was a shabuir the first time around. Probably still is. "Move your shebs, di'kut." They crossed the ship like that. Brothers again, joking and roughhousing. The shiny white armor of the new 501st battalion and the 212th Legion gold glints under the fluorescent lights and clicks with their quick salutes. Unsettling, but reminiscent. Brothers. echoed in Rex's head. Not stormtroopers.

There are two bridges on any Venator-class Star Destroyer; that way, if one goes down, the other can guide the ship out of the conflict. A ship's captain usually chooses one, with the maintenance crew and intelligence officers, and the general uses the other, with the communications crew, or the admiral, and their commanders.

They met the Admiral on the starboard bridge, with the maintenance commander and quartermaster arguing in the comm room, and the intelligence lieutenants and communications technicians milling about in the tech stations below the main room. Their armor and greys glow blue in the hyperspace light. Skywalker was always weird like that, mixing and matching personalities, ranks, and departments. Even as Vader.

"Welcome, Marshal Commander Kote, Captain Rex." Yularen rumbled. His voice was uncomfortably familiar. Imperial admiralty used the same core-world sophisticated accent. "I'm glad we've all arrived. I am Admiral Yularen, and this is Ship Captain Bayfungg. We look forward to working with you both. How are your troops settling in?"

"Just fine, thank you for asking, sir," Kote responded.

"Admiral Yularen, where's the General? I'd hoped to discuss possible blockade formations with him," Bayfungg asked, ignoring their introduction.

“The General is unfortunately otherwise occupied confirming potential strategies with General Kenobi. I’m sure he will finish soon,” Yularen said.

Until she'd huffed and grumbled, Rex had almost forgotten how clones were treated by the Republic. He'd grown and fought and made a better world where he was a general and tactician in the Resistance, but Bayfungg gods-damned harumphs, ignores the people around her as brainless, and turns to sit in one of the comm booths. “I suppose it’ll just have to wait then.”

Yularen took notice of her di'kut'la opinions—extra brownie points in Young Rex's eyes. Even now, with hindsight and knowing Yularen's loyalty to Palpatine, Rex can't deny that Yularen was one of the good ones. Kenobi had picked him, and he'd died before Order 66, so he could have been one of the few truly good nat-borns in the Open Circle Fleet. “Perhaps not," the Admiral subtly smirked at the young woman. "Commander Cody, Captain Rex, perhaps you may have a new perspective as ground troops. Would you mind?”

“Of course not, sir,” Kote said, and they took a step closer to the holo table. Bayfungg pursed her lips and lifted her brow when he manipulated the map with ease.

“I’ll give you each ten credits if they see something we missed,” she told the bridge. Rex hoped she included him in that bet; he and Ahsoka could use the money. Now the question is, can we change her mind about us?

"Then pay up,” Rex said quickly. Under his helmet, Rex just knows Kote's smirking. “Organa’s civilians.”

The nat-borns stepped between Kote and him to take a closer look. “What about them?” The Admiral asked.

“You left them out of almost everything,” Rex said. Not even the Imperials were this ignorant.

Bayfungg huffed. "Civilians are a liability on a battlefield. You'd know that, Captain, having served on Kamino." Her tone wasn't openly hostile, but it carried a dismissive edge, as if the very idea of battlefield civilians was beneath consideration, and by extension, so was Rex's point.

“Of course we did,” Kote said, voice clipped. “What are you thinking, Vod'ika?”

It’s been half a century since Kote even could ask for Rex’s opinion, but he still feels proud that his vod trusts him. Smiling, Rex continued explaining; “Even if none of the civilians have any weapons or medical training, beyond the evac-ships you ignored their presence. They will be leaving behind a base of operations, relief supplies, comms, and cover. All of these we could use in or as a staging point in the battle.” While a Rebellion tactic which admittedly most trained captains wouldn't think of, the corie-admiral hummed and added the suggestions to the projected map. Seemingly subconsciously, Rex pulled a few glowing images into the places he remembered them being the first time around. “Before we get passed the blockade, the civilians will still be a target, too. We cannot let them die.”

Bayfungg pursed her lips, her gaze sweeping over Rex's armor, as if trying to reconcile the impressive tactical insight with the clone standing before her. “That's... unconventional. We train for direct engagements, Captain, not civilian logistics in a combat zone. The issue here is that if we hold their attention for too long, we will lose too many ships. If we focus our attention on saving Organa first, we will lose the system.”

Rex matched her narrowed eyes, a simmering rage he hadn't known he still possessed, a fury born of sixty years of sacrifice, bubbling to the surface. He growled, the words tearing from him before he could think, “Isn’t that what we were made for, Captain? Dying for them? Dying for the Republic?” Kote startled beside him, a sharp intake of breath. It had always been an unspoken rule among the clones not to mention it, a truth too bitter to speak aloud. Rex felt a jolt of panic. Too much. I said too much. But the words were out, hanging heavy in the air.

Even so a general of the Rebel Alliance does not fear death, and a clone who lived for over sixty years has nothing to fear from anybody. Of course, Kote didn’t know that, so Rex felt a bit guilty for worrying him.

The captain stared Rex down. Heavy words weighing in her head. Bayfungg flicked her eyes to Rex’s helmet, his Jaig eyes. The pause lasts. “Your lives are worth more than that,” she finally concludes.

Turns out she’s not that much of a di'kut'la shabuir.

Kote was the one to break the soft tension in the room, “Thank you for your time, sirs,” He says curtly and drags Rex away from the table. As soon as the door closed behind them, he turned on Rex, “What were you thinking?”

“I’m thinking, I just earned the Captain’s respect,” Rex smirked.

“You dinih’lah shabuir,” Kote sighed and gave up. “Let’s go. The new vod'e are going to be waiting.”

Notes:

Vod'e - Siblings in Mando'a (and most/all of the clone dialects)
Blond - Rex being blond in this fic is natural. It is a result of a mutation that also makes him "smarter", shorter, see and hear better, and react faster. 'Mutie' clones were looked down on by Kaminoans and Trainers and the clones grew up in that environment so they do too.
Shinies - referring to the shiny look of new armor, rookies or younger troopers who haven't seen battle
Ration gelly - a jello-like food that provides nutrition. Other ration types include bars, powder, gel, and tubers (like potatoes but they look like green onions). Ration Gel is most likely to be spicy-flavored because they're an old stewjon recipe, or fruity, because it's mostly easy on the stomache.
Harran - *Curse word* essentially, hell.
shabuir - *Curse word* bastard
shebs - *Curse word* Ass
di'kut - Idiot, one who forgot their underwear
The 212th and 501st have different Mando'a dialects. I demonstrated this with italics and h's to signify the sound changes the 212th use. It also shows in the 501st grammar ''missteps''.
also, YAY up to 100 pages on google docs!
Added Vod-solus, a concept meaning last survivor. (I got distracted down a rabbit hole making a clone creole...)

Chapter 4: The Darkness

Summary:

Rex trains the mini-brothers, Rex, understandably, has a panic attack, Anakin notices and Oh does that not go over well, they talk

Notes:

There is nothing.
There is all.
There are brothers.
And they fall.
What can we show,
to heads held high
that there is a difference between
wanting to live and wanting not to die

In the first attempt, Rex had trained or helped to train nearly every fighter for the Rebellion in some capacity. In the war, he’d trained with every shiny that stepped foot on his ship. Vod’e and Rebels alike were chaotic dinnii who used their training to bring about maximum destruction, for better or for worse.

Rex bemoaned his fate once again when, not halfway in the door, he saw three vod’e planning something in the corner. He could preemptively act by making them run laps until they puked. He didn't. He started the group warming up and looked over the program he'd prepared.

“Come on, Mutt, get your shebs in gear! You want to survive Christophsis? You want to kick those clankers to the curb? Move it!"

The heavy, wet breath of tired soldiers warmed the room, and his orders echoed in the simulated terrain above them. Nearly half of the troopers down there died on Christophsis. Another quarter fell off the cliffs of Teth. Rex saw who they could have been, saw his new chance to save them, and pushed them harder. "If you're not running, you're dying! Keep Moving!"

Behind him, the door opened. This time he didn’t cringe, but it was a near thing. "Kote, my dear, don't you think you're pushing them a bit too hard?" General Kenobi's Coruscanti drawl asked.

"Not my troopers, not my problem. This is all Rex," Kote snarked back at the again-General. "I thought you were strategizing with General Skywalker?"
General Kenobi hummed. "Oh, we did that, we meditated some," he trailed off.

"Any saber burns for Coric to take a look at, sir?" Kote asked.

"Not this time, Commander."

"AND HALT!" Rex shouted. "General on deck!"

"There's no need to salute me, I'm not your general." Kenobi protested softly. "As you were. Captain, you wouldn't mind if I took the Commander here on a walk, would you?" he turned towards Rex.

"Of course not, sir."

"Thank you," the General said as they left. The shinies of Torrent Company shifted behind him, likely one of the last batches to come off Kamino before General Ti started treating the vod'e like people, and unsettled by the General's automatic decency, respect, and kindness in asking. Rex was the first time around. He knows better now.

"Round up!" He shouted, and the troopers relaxed when he turned. One flopped to the ground like his strings had been cut. "A bit overdramatic there, Arrow. Now that warm-up's out of the way, we can begin."

"That was warm-up?" someone from the crowd groaned. They haven't seen anything yet.

"My name is Captain Rex. If you don't have a name yet, that's alright," he drawled. "Over the next few weeks I am going to make sure you live long enough to earn your name, earn your paint, and get as far through this war as you possibly can. I'm not lying when I say that the worlds we land on, the droids we fight, are going to kill many of you, are going to do anything in their power to drag you into the depths of harran, as far away from your Vod’e, as they can,"
Rex paused for dramatic effect. Ahsoka's not the only dramatic one. The troopers shifted.

"But you do not have to die tomorrow. If we do our jobs, if we hold up here, train, we'll be ready. We'll live another second, another battle, another day, and we'll win them too," Rex used to help 'Soka with her diplomacy homework, he remembered. It helped him keep his troopers steady and inspire rebels in the before. It's instinct now to project and weave his words. "You can take them down with you, you can turn the tides. Every one of you can make or break a battle. They made you to die, so prove them wrong."

They all stood there in silence for a minute. To be faced with the truth of death and war and be told "You don't have to die here," is world-shattering for a clone who's been told for years that they were meant to die.

"Should we clap?" someone asked, Split, and the moment was broken with cautious laughter.

Rex sighed for a moment and closed his eyes. Split dies with spider debris through his chest. Those boys—and no matter what the senators say, the clones are all just boys; the padawans should never have been on the front lines; none of those children had to die—were going to live or die tomorrow.

If Rex could change anything, he'd make sure they live. "Form up! We're trying spider walkers. Keep your heads high and blasters up. Go!"

By the time training was over, it was obvious to Rex that these were not the brothers he remembered. These brothers would die against anything worse than a tank. We have a lot to work on. Despite the obvious difference from the elite force that took Mandalore and pushed back Grievous, Rex was confident the shinies would live through their first warzone. Most of them.

The worst part of training his Vod’e wasn't the knowledge of who would die, wasn't the sight of his own face echoed over and over again, wasn't seeing the people he mourned, wasn't realizing the people he fought beside were children! The worst part was being who he was. The worst part was being Captain Rex, the man who let his brothers die, who's responsible for these people.

Walking to his quarters, he watched the walls. No signs of the Empire there. No white armor. No cogs. No dead. Unfortunately, a little dissociation is not conducive to paying attention to your surroundings.

Rex walked right into Darth Vader himself.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked, though Rex couldn't hear it. No, no, no. "Hey, what's wrong, uh, Captain? You're the captain, right?" He knows who I am, he's going to kill me. Vader grabbed Rex's shoulder. "Master Obi-Wan always got me food when I was upset. Let's do that. No more panic attacks."

Vader rambled over nothing, a buzzing in the back of Rex's head, and they walked together, going somewhere. Rex's head spun with the memories of the Empire. They tortured the Jedi, and he killed Ahsoka—no, she's not dead, we're here, she's fine, we're here, the cadets are gone, I have to protect the cadets, they're gone, we're gone, I have to protect the Vod’e.

Kark.

The maybe-Sith Lord sat Rex down on something soft and pushed something into his hands. What the Kriff. "I know it's not the best, but it's what I have. It'll work well enough to calm you, at least." He said, prompting Rex to look down. Are those rations?

"Did you drug it?" Rex asked. He hadn't meant to, but in his light-headed fear, his brain-to-mouth filter was not what it should be. It didn't seem to bother Darth Karking Vader because he laughed, and it was with that human moment that Rex realized that he was back in time, Darth Vader hadn't been born yet. This was General Skywalker. Shavit.

"It's not drugged, I promise," General Skywalker assured. "I'm glad you're doing better; panic attacks are total pudoo. I'm not sure you heard it earlier, you're the captain, right?"

Kark, kark, kark, kark, kriffing, Shavit, shab, kark. Decommissioning was always uncommon in the 501st (Vader's fist) but Rex is blond, Rex just freaked in front of the shiny general! He's dead. "Yes, sir!" he said instead of just screaming. He tried to pull his shields up.

It probably didn't work. Vader, Anakin, didn't seem half as reassured as before. "That's good," he said, pulling the words cautiously. "It's okay if you're not alright. I'm not going to judge you, and neither are your brothers. We've all had off days—"

"Off days get you killed," Rex interrupted, the words escaping him. That was such a mistake! He's going to kill me.

Anakin frowned at that, a slight crease between his brows. "In the field, sure, but we're on the Resolute. You can relax."

He's not killing me. "What?"

"Well, we're safe, on the ship, in hyperspace. No surprise attacks. It's okay to freak."

Does he—he can't not— "You're not going to—to send me to Kamino? You—General?"

Rex was obviously confused.

So was Anakin, and it showed in every feature. Not a black mask made to cause fear. He scrunched his brows the way he used to and crossed his legs like General Kenobi did when he couldn't follow a discussion. Rex noticed they were in his quarters. A General's bed is comfortable, his room has a few chairs, a desk, and color. Three possible exits. The doorway's closest.

Rex remembered how the Generals were at the beginning of the war. I'm going to have to explain it to him. Explain to Darth Vader why he should kill me! "Sir," Rex started, "I'm blond. I just compromised to the point of disassociation. I'm defective," he spat. The word still hurts, decades after leaving Kamino. It could have gotten him killed then, now. It was once said, in the Rebellion, that Darth Vader would kill his own soldiers for the most minor infraction or the smallest of failures, and here he was, Darth Vader, not killing Rex for falling apart. "We're supposed to be decommissioned."

It took a moment for Anakin to see it. The boy he used to be never understood the insinuations and complexities of words. Senator Organa said he, Vader, still didn't.

"You're afraid of me," he said at last, with widening eyes and glinting teeth. "You think I'd hurt you," Vader growled.

Something in Rex hardened. The hope he'd had slipped, and his eyes pulled from Vader's to his clenching hands and the too-close, way too-close, lightsaber. "You're getting angry, sir," Rex growled back. If he attacks, I can run. The scraps on the table are sharp enough. I still have my blasters. This is Skywalker, Vader, friend, and foe.

"How are you not angry!" Anakin's voice rises, edged with a raw frustration that echoes the growl from moments before.

Rex flinched. His hand went to his blaster. His legs lifted him from the chair, and he shifted low towards Vader's right, ready to run.

Anakin's snarl released his face. He whispered, low enough that Rex only just heard it, "You're afraid of me."

They stood and breathed together for a minute. Let the words settle in the room.

"I'm not—I can't be—" Anakin started. His voice cracked with emotion. Rex followed his thoughts. Ahsoka said, after Zygeria, after Tatooine, after Nal Hutta, that Anakin was a slave once.

"You're not a—" Rex tried. Anakin twitched. "Not yet," he decided to say.

"I'm sorry." Tears glinted just below Anakin's eyes, and Rex, someone the Inquisitors hunted for years, had to remind himself this was Darth Vader. This is the Empire's fist. This is the enemy. "I can't save you. I—I'm depur." Right?

"No, General," Rex lied. It hasn't happened yet. The Jedi, maybe Anakin, can be saved. "You're just like us."

They locked eyes then. An important moment. Anakin’s weren't gold, Rex's weren't dull. For a second, it was the way it used to be, in a battle when they just knew, and when they could trust each other. Child soldiers and still hopeful.

Then it was gone, and the silence filled their breaths. The lies stood between them, though unseen, and the truths they still hadn't said painted the walls. The Republic, the Jedi, and the future, all sat on their shoulders again. Anakin didn't realize what they did. Who they were. Rex's fear never left him. This was and will be Vader. This is a beginning and an end. This is the man who betrayed them, who killed them, who enslaved his Vod’e.

Anakin started to twitch. The silence still stretched.

Anakin shifts, rubbing the back of his neck. "Look, Rex... I'm not... I'm not great at this, but you're safe here. And if you ever need... anything. My door's always open." He gestures vaguely to the quarters. "Even if it's just to complain about Cody, or... get some food. Master Obi-Wan always said food helps."

Rex burst into hysterical giggles. The silence no longer screamed. "I know," he choked out. "I'm alright. Just check my scores."

Anakin broke a smile. "Can I show you my droid?"

Notes:

Not many translations here
Yes, the rations are jelly rations, no, it's not a good flavor like cherry or something.
the Ravager is what I've named 501st-random-fleet-ship-1
Vod/Vod'e still mean brother/brothers
Dinnii'la - stupid (usually in reference to suicidal behavior)
Di'kut'e - idiots (it deserved to be said twice)
Shebs - butt/ass
clankers - slang for battle droid
Kote - glory, Cody's name
Shiney - slang for noob
Harran - essentially hell
Shavit - shit, kind of
Kriff - also shit or fuck
Kark - fuck
pudoo - Hutteese shit
depur - fierellie(i think)'s ammitakka (slave language) word for Master (owner specific)

Chapter 5: dumpster fires

Summary:

Ahsoka has a panic attack, runs from the temple, and makes friends with the coruscant guard. Then she hires a bounty hunter.
Of course she's a little insane.

Notes:

Disclaimer; references very bad stuff, panic attack, pts, trauma, references to dead and decomposing corpses. She sleeps in a dumpster. Read at your own risk.
Also, time skip. It's been over a week since they arrived in the past.

Ahsoka almost ran into the courtyard for free period. Mechanics class was so hard, not because of the material, Ahsoka could build a fighter from scrap, but the people. The Force. It was too much, too nice. She needed to do something. She wanted Rex.

Rex had been calling every night, during a short overlap between their free times, before their late meals. If he hadn't been they'd have both shattered ten times over. They'd say what bothered them each night and then plan what they'll need to do to save the galaxy. Rex told her about the cadets, and Ahsoka told him about her classmates. They spoke about Anakin and Vader, the pressure of their mission, and what they have to do overwhelming them. She knows they'd talk for hours tonight if Rex weren't about to land on Chriphstophsis.

But, oh how she needed Rex right now. Ahsoka knew that if she were under the Empire any inquisitor in the sector would sense her, with her shields as loose as they are to blend in with the other younglings. She'd known each of the faces around her, she'd felt them die, be betrayed, and she had to pretend that she hadn't. She had to pass Plo (not buir anymore, not buir yet) in the halls and pretend to be the same child he brought home. She had to see the clones who she loved (never met) and pretend they were free and safe. And none of that was the worst part. None of that made her fear and rage. She had to live on the same planet as Sheev Palpatine and not do anything about it. The demagolka hut'tuun gets to live and breathe, and gets peace, while her brothers die. The sha'buir gets to plot while her brothers are slaves. He gets to pull at Anakin's strings and push him into darkness, and Rex is right there and in danger and she can't do anything about it.

When Rex had first called, she nearly cried. My ori'vod is safe. He's okay. We can do this. They spoke until the sun rose again. About what happened, about the plan, about their bothers, about Vader and Anakin. About everything. It helped to separate Anakin from Vader, but Rex, the stubborn ori'vod she remembers, wouldn't risk it. In the end, they'd agreed to go slow. They couldn't risk tipping their hand by acting suspiciously.

So she gets to stumble into a Jedi temple courtyard like a child - like she belongs - and, despite the memory of it burning, she karking enjoys it.

The entire temple felt like a river in the force, clear and light, but the courtyards were where the non-force-sensitives could best see it. Plants grew up and up along the walls and grass beside the paths. Younglings and Kights and Vod'e played between classes and missions. There were walls that were tall enough to block the sun, but they glowed too so it was warm and bright. In this particular garden a stream trickles and branches under the bushes.

If only we had no need for guards. Not only did they block the warm sun and show that this joy is a facade, that there's a war going on, but they made it very hard to slip away.

Rex and Ahsoka had agreed that since she couldn't just up and come to Chriphstophsis she could focus on Coruscant. She'd have to get in with the guards somehow and find a bounty hunter or mercenary who didn't mind working with clones. She'd have to do the guards first, they are the most vulnerable to Palpatine's machinations, but she can't seem to slip her 'protectors'.

While running her hands along the wall she watched the guards. Temple sentinels and Corrie Vods. There wasn't a single slip in their walls or their oversight. If she weren't trying to escape, she'd be proud. "If they weren't trying to kill us, I'd be proud" echoed in her head. Not the time for that.

Her distraction let one of the playing boys approach unannounced. He was dark-skinned, seeming human or human-adjacent, though that's never a guarantee. And he was familiar, as though she'd seen him in classes before, but having moved back time that could mean anything. She'd assumed he'd ask her to come to play with him and the other younglings and one of Plo's Wolf pack until he opened his big mouth.

"You wanna play with the wolves, Wild-one? Or are you too busy chewing on the furniture in Shii-Cho lessons?" He grinned, a wide, slightly oblivious smirk, and Ahsoka remembered who he was. When she was a youngling, she'd not made any friends in her chreche, in part because of her bully, Rhys Bocci. Her silence gave him an opening for another round of jabs. For Ahsoka, it only seemed to remind her more of the xenophobic admirals who'd hunted her and nat-borns who'd given her men reason to fear decommission. "Heard you Togruta are all teeth and claws anyway. Gotta watch out for those younglings."

During her time with the Rebellion and the GAR, Ahsoka'd like to think she'd mellowed. Determined the difference between a threat and a bully. She'd certainly learned how to deal with them. Ahsoka being a child again complicated it; she couldn't just deck him. "Maybe I'll show you how sharp these teeth are," she threatened, trying to keep her voice light, playful. Was that right? Snippy but not too far?

He snickered, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Is that lekku-flick for flirting, Wild-one, or are you just too slow to argue?" What? No. Oh my FORCE, no! KARKING SHA'BUIR. He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Careful, or I'll tell Master Thoth. Maybe he'll finally clip those claws."

This is a child, she reminded herself, gritting her teeth. He doesn't know what he's doing, but the words, "clip those claws," echoed, twisting into something far darker, colder. She could feel her control fraying. "Can you back off?" She asked, her voice tight, a thin wire. Instead of killing him. He's not Tarkin or anything else, he's a child. She backed up. "I—"

"Why," He interrupted, his grin widening, "It's just a joke."

It's certainly not a joke. He'd meant to be cruel. A familiar chill started to spread from her stomach, not the chill of Coruscant's lower levels, but the icy grip of memory. "I can do anything I want to you." The voice wasn't Rhys's anymore. It was deeper, sibilant, cutting through the bright garden sounds. Ahsoka's back hit the wall. She'd been backing up? The permacrete felt cold, rough, not the cool metal of an interrogation chamber. He's not Tarkin. But Rhys's smile was Tarkin's, wide and cruel, superimposed on a child's face. No, the clones, the Republic. What a joke. The voice laughed, and she was no longer in the garden. They were escaping. Haunches, Kickback, March, and Jr. scrambling, their frantic breaths tearing at her ears. I'm not there. A clone, scarred and desperate, approached from the left. No scar. We're out. No chips. The walls of the temple courtyard warped into the grimy, blast-pitted interior of a Rebel bunker. Ahsoka could jump to the top of the wall. She's sure of it. "You're worse than a Jedi traitor. You're a savage beast to be hunted down." March made it to the bunker. They're safe. You're safe. The words, hissed inches from her ear, were unmistakable now. Tarkin. His face, distorted by memory and terror, loomed over her.

"Look at me." A hand grabbed her, not Rhys’ small fingers, but a large, rough grip. She shoved him against the wall behind her with a surge of raw, untamed Force. It broke the permacrete with a sickening crunch. Her vision snapped back. It was a kid. It was the kid. It was Rhys.

Osik.

Ahsoka ran.

Ahsoka ran until the sun was nearly gone behind the mid-sized Level 80 towers. Then she stopped, took a breather, and decided that was one way to get out of the temple before she turned around and promptly tripped into a trash comp-transport. There was a corpse in it.

Ahsoka's spent nights in the trash. It's safer than the street and warmer than a roof. She's also spent nights surrounded by corpses. Not great. No, thank you. Never again. It's certainly messed with her psyche somewhat because she sees the corpse, thinks The Guard will be looking for whoever this is, and decides to wait for them to pick her up. She passes out, exhausted and lost. Time feels as quick as a blink to her, before she wakes to a dawning sun and a Coruscant Guard standing over her.

"Hey'lo," she mumbled. Duh.

"No," he said to her. Rude.

Ahsoka then realized she'd fought a kid, ran for three hours, passed out next to a corpse in a trashcan, and might be a bit not okay. "Can I have a medic?" she asked, before passing out again.

Notes:

buir: parental figure
Vod: sibling
Demagolka: child torturing evil person
Hut'tunn: insult
Sha'buir: Bastard-insult
ori: prefix meaning big/older/great
Kark: along the same lines as Fuck, though for some I will use it differently (Kriff-shit)
Vod'e: when capitalized, it specifically refers to the clones. I imagine Vod'e and vod'e are pronounced differently, one a soft oh sound, the other sounding like odd
Corrie Vods: the coruscant guard, vods is how their dialect says brothers because of the restrictions and senatorial influence
Shii-Cho: the first form of Jedi lightsaber combat, basis of other forms and based on the sarlac
osik: mando'a for shit, Ahsoka uses 212 dialect for this one

Chapter 6: Dumpster fires: part 2

Summary:

We meet the guard. The guard has a bad day. The Gaurd has a bad life.

The sound of an alarm woke her up. Beep, it went, beep, it went, over and over again. Ahsoka supposed she was safe. If she were in danger, the Force would tell her. She’d certainly be cold or uncomfortable if she were hiding from law enforcement. If she were still searching, Sabine would have already shut it off. The noise didn’t stop.

If it was an emergency alarm, she’d have been dragged out of bed by soldiers by now. Nothing changed.

She felt the light next, the way you always do when the sun rises or the lights flick on. It was bright under her eyelids, and when she blinked them open, it stung. Her head pounded and throbbed in rhythm with the alarm, a dull ache reverberating through her temples. Whatever it was.

Voices murmured. They came from her right. One was distorted, mechanical, and probably through a holo. Ahsoka decided to wake up. Whoever they were, they’d need her for something.

A white-tiled ceiling hung above her, time-stained to a yellow-grey. It was obviously a medical facility, though not a nice one. She tried to sit and see more of the room, but a red-painted trooper rushed to her side before she got higher than her elbows. Despite her best efforts, Ahsoka flinched. This is fine. We went back in time. I’m fine, she told herself. Kriff.

“Easy there, kid,” he said before he reached her. “I’m a medic, you’re at the Coruscant Guard emergency medical office, and you’re safe.” What he said was true; the red-painted post on his pauldron proved it, intricate like the Corries’ paint always was. But it still wasn't enough to stop Ahsoka from shifting back into her pillows and readying to run. Distantly, she scanned the room. From the corner of her mind, she noticed that the ‘alarm’ was her heartbeat on a monitor. Her montrals picked up echoes in the hallways outside and upstairs. Four people in the hall, thirteen in the room at the end, and eight stomping around upstairs. The medic slowed his movements, describing the check-up he was going to do, the equipment he was going to use, and then that he was leaving to find the one who brought her in, whoever that was.

It was almost enough that she could ignore the alarms blaring in her head. Unknown doctor. What did he do to me? Chipped Clone, have to run. Coruscant isn’t safe. The Empire isn’t safe. Red, White, Authority, Promises. Not safe, not safe, not safe. Ahsoka tried to drown out the noise with logic—We went back in time. No one knows I’m here. Not a threat yet. My brothers.—she tried to focus on the shrill ba-beep of her heart monitor, to remind herself, Keno'bika, I’m in the here and now. She couldn’t, though.

"I suppose this would have happened at some point." She giggled, the sound thin and reedy. Her head stayed fuzzy, breath light. An odd, almost manic calm settled over her. After the hell I lived, of course I broke. It wasn't a pleasant realization, but the sheer absurdity of it pushed her into a strange, detached relaxation.

She decided to stand. Or maybe not a decision, but an instinct. Her eyes caught her orange skin in her periphery. It was bright against the pale non-colors of everything else, and she pressed her hands against the bed to stand. Black spots danced at the edges of Ahsoka's vision for fleeting seconds. Must not have eaten in a while, she thought with a distant amusement. Never have I ever starved to death. Her feet, when they finally brushed the cool floor, felt heavy, not as cold as they should have been after a night in a dumpster. Taking in the room, she brushed her fingertips against the empty hypos set beside her bed.

Ahsoka probably wouldn't call the room cramped or cluttered; everything around her had a purpose, and there was certainly room for the medics to do their job, but there wasn't room for much else. The gray beds and white medical equipment were lined up against each wall, with some sort of bar for more supplies in the center. From the door down to where she was, Ahsoka counted screens, then beds, then tables, then screens, then beds, then more tables. There was enough room for maybe thirteen patients. Opposite the exit and bar were other doors, with windows and tables. Offices where the doctors or CMOs could write reports while watching their charges. The windows had curtains, smart.

The medic returned with a partially armored trooper in tow. It didn’t surprise her exactly, nothing much did nowadays, but she didn’t expect Hound to be the one to have brought her in. Hound had joined the Wolf Pack after the Malevolence. He was one of her closest Vod’e. Thank the Force.

"You get back in that bed, young lady! You are not done healing yet!" It was obvious to her, having been under Kix and Coric's tender care, that he was trying very hard not to scare her and order her about, so she indulged him and sat back down with a smile. Kix had just been found Before.

“Hello, Hound,” she blurted out. The man in question startled. Shavit. I’m not supposed to know that yet. “I think there’s something wrong with my head still,” she said to the medic.

“That’s an understatement,” the medic growled back. He didn’t seem to think that her knowing Hound’s name was too odd, but stiffened anyway. The Corries had always been the most vulnerable to noisy nat-borns during the war. “You’ve got a concussion, dehydration, and exhaustion; it seems you hadn’t noticed that Togruta need meat on a regular, and several of what should have been simple scrapes are infected with who knows what.” Ahsoka winced. That’s not great.

Hound interjected then, still from the door. An unknown who knows your name is dangerous, the more cautious part of Ahsoka's mind sympathised. “That brings us to why you’re here.”

“I didn’t kill that person.”

That seemed to not be the answer they were looking for, because their brows lifted and took her in again. All five met, nine tips of her in all her skinny little preteen glory. The medic said, incredulously; “We didn’t think you did.”

“I was out there looking for the body of a man killed by Traf Tahiff. We found it in a dumpster, along with you. We need to know who you are, who’s taking care of you, what you were doing in the dumpster, and how you got there,” Hound explained. His demeanor was calmer than it was in the Pack. Will be. His eyes were still a severe brown, like rusted metal, and he still seemed awkward with anyone but his mastiffs. They were killed on Felucia.

Feeling more somber by Hound's death and the gangster’s mention, Ahsoka shifted in her bed. What can I tell them? she thought to herself and the Force. We were sent back for a reason. You can save them. Stick to the plan. Something in her whispered that the Guard has to trust her, that she needs a cover story, and that Rex said they can save them all. Someone has to believe her someday.

“I’m Jedi Initiate Ahsoka Tano, and I didn’t tell my creche master I was leaving. I—” She cut off then. A youngling wouldn’t want to admit they were scared. Fulcrum needed to come up with something believable. She summoned her ‘civvie eyes’ and spoke. “I had mir’kashapur yesterday, so I ran away from the temple.”

The medic didn’t believe her, not fully, but Hound did. Something clicked and he relaxed some. Not all, but enough. “We’ll need to call your masters then, cadet.” Ahsoka let a smile slip on her face.

The medic asked next. “What caused you to panic? Cadets aren’t supposed to have been on the front lines yet; they don’t usually have panic attacks. They don’t usually know Mando’a.” This was, of course, true, but even before seeing the galaxy end twice, Ahsoka wasn’t a normal youngling.

“My finder was Jedi Master Plo Koon,” she started, like it was hard for her to admit. Breathe deep. Let it hurt. Use memories to make pain, Fulcrum had once whispered those words to Sabine, teaching her. “He went to Shili to get me, but I was already gone. A slaver took me first, and the other boy just—well, he didn’t know what the slaver said to me. He didn’t know what I’d been through.”

It worked. The medic got close, sat on her bed, and pulled her into his armor. Ahsoka sniffed. The last time she was held like this was with Rex before Malachor. “I’m sorry that happened to you.”

"Sorry," Ahsoka choked out, genuinely awkward and trying to hold herself together without letting go of her childlike innocence. “I wouldn’t normally have even remembered it. The Temple has mind healers. I should be fine.”

“Stop that,” Hound ordered, his voice gruff but kind. “You do not need to be okay. Slavery is not right; those things should never have to happen to a kid. Don’t let any nat-born talk to you that way. Force, you’re like six! How did you end up in a dumpster? How did the Jetiise mess up so bad a little kid freaked out?” At some point, he became the one freaking out. At some point, Hound had decided I was his Vod’ika. At some point, Ahsoka started feeling like she had come home, and all her brothers were waiting for her.

Tears were slipping out when the medic caught their attention again. “You both need to breathe.” She realized then that he was right. She had stopped breathing, she had let herself get overwhelmed, so she took a deep breath and let everything wash away.

“I felt safe enough to let go,” she realized aloud. “I felt safe enough to shatter, then I did.” Ahsoka believed it should have happened decades ago. She’d been safe before, right? The War messed her up for sure, but she was fine outside of that, right? Ahsoka ignored the shards of memory cutting at her heart—They’re dead, all dead. Torture’s a powerful tool. Then you will die! Ma’am, I don’t want to fight.—and tried to focus on the boys. “Plo was there. The Vod’e were there. He said I was nothing, that I would enjoy the blood of war, and I had help, so I let them see.”

That thought hung in the air. It was a truth, the type Ahsoka never got to say, and the type that needed to be understood. It’s been decades since she got to be herself. It’s been decades since she had help, had family, decades since she’d been safe. Now she is again, and she can let go.

The tears had dried on her eyes when they spoke again. “They say those things about us too,” Hound said softly. “In the Senate, we’re just weapons. To the nat-borns, we’re droids. To the civilians, we’re bloody, even if we’ve never even used our blasters. We can’t say anything back, we’re not safe until we come back here, and then we hate it all. We understand. It might be different, but we understand.”

“You’ll be okay, vod’ika,” the medic said. Ahsoka finally felt it might be true. “You should take her out of here. I’ll call the Temple. Get your report filed.”

She rolled her shoulders and followed Hound down the hall. He’d probably need to do paperwork over this. The entire building was overly crowded, too busy, and dull grey. It felt hot in the main rooms from how many people were bustling about. There were two clones at a desk in the room they ended up in. Hound called it the Beast room. It was an office of sorts but had a small temporary jail along the walls. Hound’s desk was both by the door and a cell with some Gotal drunkard. He gave her his seat and stole his desk mate’s. “Don’t tell Trip.” Ahsoka laughed and promised not to, with nerves still dripping off her. Hound asked her questions about the report. It wasn’t too invasive, and anything important Ahsoka couldn’t really help with. “How’d you even end up in a dumpster anyway? Most people just lay on the street. It’s gross.”

“I guess it’s just the will of the Force,” Ahsoka joked, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Us Jedi are lucky like that.”

“You sure you’re not just weird?” Hound asked.

A challenge! ‘Soka gasped dramatically. “Me! Weird? I’ll have you know, little brother, that I am a very popular person!” They giggled together for a moment, and people took notice of the only two happy people in the room. “In fact, just before the incident, the 104th had invited me to play with the Pack and the other younglings.”

“Who are you calling little brother?” Hound snorted.

“I think it’s cute,” the Gotal beside them slurred. “Little Jedi and the Big Bad Clone bonding. Not like you’re both just slaves of the Senate. Like puppies gonna’ grow up into big ol’ attack dogs.”

Hound got up suddenly. He’d have looked angry even if his helmet was on, with the way his shoulders pulled and hands clenched. His partner, who Ahsoka was secretly hoping would tease Hound before the drunkard spoke up, stormed over and growled through the bars at the listing man. “Just ‘cause the Jedi have to get their funding from the Senate doesn’t make them slaves. If you don’t know your kriff, don’t say anything ‘bout it.” He didn’t say a thing about the clones, Ahsoka noticed. How their brothers really were no more than slaves to the Senate, droids to the Republic, and property, without rights, to anyone who could help. He didn’t say anything about how even the Jedi could be charged with treason for leaving the order, and executed for choosing not to fight.

This is why the mission is so important, Ahsoka mused to herself. We have to change this. We have to save them.

The argument brewing between the prisoner and the brothers halted with the sound of struggling down the hall. The door hissed open, and a wave of white and red fought their way into the room. Shouting twisted whatever words might have been said into just chaotic noise. The troopers pulled the mob apart and shoved the still-violent protestors into the cages around the room. Their signs got trampled under the mass, but Ahsoka could still see what had happened. These were anti-war protestors. Violent against both clones and Jedi alike, they’d eventually devolved into rioters in the last few years of the war.

She recognized Fox carrying a bloody shiny to a desk. Moving to help, she stumbled, caught by the shoulder by Hound. “I think it’s time we get you home. Where it’s safer.” She couldn’t argue before he pulled her out of the building and let her loose on the streets.

Safer.

Notes:

civviie eyes are essentially puppy dog eyes. Adorable, innocent. civilian
mir'haar'shupur is the mando'a word for panic attack or mind injury. Mir'kashapur is explained in the text as a panic attack also but its more specifically the clone creole word, combining an amatakka word for broken.
Hound says she's six because as a 12/13/14-year-old she's more or less the equivalent of six for a clone cadet.
Did you like my OC? Trip's CT # is yet to be decided. I love him though.

Chapter 8: A/N

OK guys. Y'all, I'm so sorry I haven't posted an actual update in like a year. I've finally got my shit together I swear. I updated a few of the older chapters, and while my current hyper-focus is transformers, my Dad actually wants to read my writing so we're gonna do some of this first. It's so hard to follow the parts of the chapters that are supposed to be accurate to the source material. I think its the worst. I wanna write Ahsoka and Rex freaking everybody out with their bamf-ness. But we're gonna get there. Gonna actually do a podfic or something of this, when I finally figure that out (advice?). Thank you for your patience and support.