Work Text:
The explosion wasn’t supposed to do that. The mission had been routine — track down remnants of a Separatist lab on the outer rim and secure anything dangerous. But the energy pulse that swept the room when Ahsoka stepped too close to the containment sphere lit up the Force like a shockwave.
And she was gone.
Well not gone but she was… different.
When the light dimmed, a small, confused bundle of orange and blue stood in the place where a warrior had once been. A toddler. Maybe three years old. Big blue eyes, lekku still short and soft, trembling lips, and arms outstretched toward Anakin with an instinctual cry
“Dada?”
The battle was forgotten. The war, the artifact, the cult—none of it mattered.
Anakin dropped his saber and fell to his knees, scooping her up. Her tiny arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
"Shhh… I've got you, little one," he whispered, more shaken than he’d ever been in battle. Her tiny body trembled in his arms.
~~~~
Padmé was in the middle of a Senate briefing when she received the call.
“You’re what now?” she blinked, staring blankly into the holo of her husband holding a very small, sniffling toddler Ahsoka.
“I need help,” Anakin said, frazzled, with a stuffed tooka dangling from one of his shoulders. “She only wants me. She won’t eat unless I feed her. She calls me Dada—which is adorable but also terrifying, and I don’t know how to—she just peed on my boot—Force, please, Padmé.”
Within the hour, Padmé had cleared her schedule and prepared the apartment to welcome their unexpected houseguest.
~~~~
The first few days were a learning curve.
Padmé surprised herself with how naturally she slipped into a maternal role. She dressed Ahsoka, helped braid her short little head-tails with soft bands, and made warm meals—grilled cheese toasties were a favorite. She quickly became "Mama"
Anakin was protective to a fault. He slept with her cradled to his chest, tucked under a blanket on the couch. She had night terrors. When she screamed, he was there in seconds. He never let her out of his sight.
“She’s not just de-aged, Padmé,” he murmured one night. “She trusts us like we’ve always been her parents. Like we’re her whole world.”
Padmé placed a soft kiss on Ahsoka’s sleeping forehead. “Then that’s exactly who we’ll be.”
~~~~
As happy as they were, they worried for her. She slept nestled between them at night. She panicked when left alone. She cried easily, flinched at sudden noises, sometimes called out for help in Togruti when she had nightmares. It was strange—she was young physically, but emotionally…there were cracks.
She was too quiet sometimes. There were signs something deeper still festered beneath her de-aged innocence.
Anakin caught her once, dragging her tiny fingers across the edge of a lightsaber crystal until she bled. She didn’t cry. She just stared at the blood like it was familiar.
That was when the fear started crawling into his gut.
But the real signs started to show when Anakin decided to bring her to her Temple quarters, just to gather a few of her belongings to make her more comfortable in their apartment.
What he found nearly destroyed him.
~~~~
He’d gone to Ahsoka’s dorm to grab some of her belongings—a favorite cloak, her saber hilts, a stuffed tooka doll she'd always denied still having.
The moment he stepped into her quarters, the feeling hit him. Something dark. Like the residue of pain that hadn’t quite dissipated.
He opened the wardrobe first. Folded tunics. Boots. A cracked datapad tucked behind some boots.
When he turned to her desk, he found the first drawer locked with a privacy seal. One flick of the Force, and it was open.
He stared in horror.
Inside were blood-stained rags and carefully wrapped pieces of broken glass. Razor-edged. Cleaned but used. A few pieces still had flakes of darkened blood on them.
There was a bottle of sedatives, hidden beneath a pile of old lesson chips.
Then... the diary.
~~~~
He flipped through randomly.
The entries were broken. Shaky handwriting. Long periods of silence followed by deeply disturbing confessions.
“I can’t sleep. When I do, I see his face again. I think he’s still out there. I think if I get too happy, he’ll come back.”
“I let myself bleed tonight. Just a little. Just to breathe. Anakin can’t know. He wouldn’t love me if he knew what I really am.”
"I smiled at Master Plo today. He said I looked better. I lied. I didn’t eat again.”
“My arm won’t stop bleeding this time. I think I hit something deeper. Kix can’t know.”
“I called Anakin Daddy once when I was half-asleep. He didn’t notice. Thank the stars. I miss having a Daddy. I miss having a Mom. I wish Padmé knew I think she would’ve been perfect. I wonder if they’d keep me if I told them.”
“I keep thinking of jumping off the Temple balcony. I won’t do it... Probably. But it’s nice to imagine the silence anyway.”
~~~~
And then he found one long entry.
"I don't know why I do it. I think maybe I hate myself.
When I was 11, I used to sneak onto the roof of the Temple and stand on the edge. Sometimes I thought… maybe if I fall, it’ll just look like an accident.
But Master would be so mad at me.
He doesn’t realize how often I mess up. How much of a disappointment I am. He keeps saving me and I keep making it worse."
Anakin’s heart twisted.
"Sometimes I imagine Master Anakin is my dad. He’d be a good dad, I think. He’s already everything else. He doesn’t know I leave my room at night to cry in the meditation garden. He doesn’t know how much I want someone to just hold me and say they’re proud of me.
I think Senator Amidala would be a good mom. She always smells nice and talks to me like I’m not just a soldier. Like I’m a girl. Like I’m worth loving.
Is that selfish?
Maybe it’s stupid."
Anakin’s hand was trembling.
"The pain helps sometimes. Not Jedi pain—real pain. Cuts. Burns. Nothing major. Just enough to feel something other than failure.
Don’t tell anyone. Don’t ever tell him. I couldn’t stand the look on his face."
The breath left Anakin’s lungs.
He dropped the diary.
He vomited in her fresher, and then screamed his lungs out. For his heart was breaking into a million different pieces for the little girl he thought of as his baby.
Then he sank to the floor and sobbed into his hands.
~~~~
He didn’t tell Padmé at first.
He couldn’t. Not until he processed it. He couldn’t stop looking at her differently after that.
Every time she reached for him—giggling, calling him "Dada," snuggling into his chest—he couldn’t stop hearing her written screams. He’d hold her closer than ever before, trying not to fall apart.
She didn’t remember any of it.
And that terrified him.
~
He became even more protective. He rocked her longer when she was upset. He whispered "I’m proud of you" into her little montrals as she fell asleep.
He kissed her forehead. He made sure she knew every second that she was safe.
And then one night, she called out from her sleep, whimpering in distress.
He came to her immediately, only to find her hiding under the bed, curled up, tiny body shaking violently.
“No! Don’t send me back! I’ll be better, I promise! Please!”
Anakin dropped to his knees, crawling under to reach her.
“You’re safe,” he whispered, pulling her out and into his arms. “Little one, you’re safe. You’ll never have to prove anything to me again. I’m proud of you. I love you.”
She broke into sobs against his chest.
That night, he told Padmé everything.
Together, they made a vow: when Ahsoka returned to her proper age, they would never pretend again. She would not just be a soldier. She would be theirs—a daughter in everything but blood.
~~~~
The artifact’s effect wore off nearly a month later.
Ahsoka woke up in the same bed she’d been sleeping in for weeks—only now, her body was back to its regular teenage self. Her mind was sharp, memories of her toddler weeks fragmented but lingering, like dreams.
It was days before he said anything. He couldn’t find the words. She smiled too softly. She was too tired. Too thin. He noticed her pulling her sleeves down too far. Jumping when he came into the room too suddenly.
One night, when Padmé was away at a Senate meeting, he sat her down.
“Ahsoka,” he said, voice shaking.
She froze.
“I need to talk to you about something I found. In your Temple quarters.”
She stiffened instantly. Her eyes wide. Her hand instinctively pulled at her sleeve.
“I didn’t mean to look. But I found it. All of it.”
“You wanted to die, Ahsoka.”
Her breath hitched violently. She turned away, shoulders curling inward.
“You were cutting yourself. You were starving. You were isolating yourself.” His voice was ragged now. “And you never told me.”
Silence.
And then she bolted.
She tried to run to her room, but he was faster. He grabbed her wrist—gently—but when she turned around, her sleeve rode up.
That’s when he saw it.
Fresh, angry red cuts up her forearm. New. Old. Criss-crossing her flesh in lines and scars.
His breath left his body.
“Ahsoka…” he whispered.
Her eyes filled with tears. “Don’t! Don’t look at me!”
He stepped back, hands raised. “I’m not mad.”
“You’re disgusted.”
“No baby girl,” he said firmly, voice cracking. “I’m heartbroken.”
She fell to the floor, sobbing. “I didn’t want to die, I just didn’t know how else to stop it. It never stops, Master. I try. I fight. But it just keeps coming back.”
He knelt in front of her, gently gathering her into his arms. She tried to pull away at first, but he held her tighter.
“You called me ‘Daddy’ in your journal,” he said quietly.
She gasped, mortified.
He just pressed his forehead to hers. “You don’t have to hide anymore. Not from me. Not from Padmé. We love you. No matter what.”
“I thought you hated me,” she whispered. “I thought I was a failure. I thought if I told you... you’d send me away.”
Anakin sat beside her slowly, resting a trembling hand over hers.
“You’re my daughter. You always were. You didn’t have to earn it.”
She sobbed.
And he finally broke.
Her hands shook as she clung to him. “You’ll help me?”
“Always.”
~~~~
The Temple was stunned when Anakin officially requested psychological healing sessions for Ahsoka. Not just once—but recurring. Padmé took leave from the Senate to help. The three of them became a family in truth, not just in title.
There were relapses. Panic attacks. Nights when Ahsoka locked herself in the refresher and refused to come out. But Anakin stayed outside the door the whole time. Padmé cooked her food and sang to her.
The Council allowed Ahsoka to take a leave of absence. Anakin refused to put her back on the front lines.
She stayed in Padmé’s apartment. Her old room at the Temple was left locked—sealed with the scars it held.
She started seeing Healer Bant once a week. She began to write new journal entries. Positive ones.
Rex came by often. He saw the scars, too. He never judged.
Anakin bought her a soft tooka plush. Padmé taught her how to care for her skin again.
At night, they said affirmations. Anakin always went first.
“I love you.”
“I’m proud of you.”
“You are not broken.”
“You are my daughter.”
“You are worth every second of this fight.”
And Ahsoka would whisper back—
“I believe you.”
And eventually, she did.