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darlingdekarios · 1 year

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the power of the dark side.

rating: explicit. 18+ only. length: 5,178 content: Anakin Skywalker / Darth Vader x f!Jedi!reader, ORDER 66, dead dove do not eat, canon-accurate violence, dark themes, child death, corruption, inappropriate use of the Force, smut [f receiving oral, v fingering, rough, unprotected p in v], kink(s) [choking]

Anakin promised that he would always find you, but you would never run from the dark.

“Stay here. Be silent. May the Force be with you.”

The last words you had spoken to the younglings as you tucked them away behind a locked door repeated in your ears as you silently made your way through the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. You were certain time had simply ceased to exist, unsure exactly how long you’d been waiting for the catalyst for what you knew was to come. Recently knighted after 8 years of serving as Padawan to Master Mace Windu, you were still familiarizing yourself with the force in some ways, but today it was crucial that you could trust your instincts. Today, you had to listen to the force.

Finding a corner to tuck yourself behind you closed your eyes, recentering yourself and waiting for something to feel right. The time passed even slower in what was, in reality, mere moments. When your eyes opened you found yourself standing before the Jedi High Council Chambers, your feet and the force working together to carry you to where you needed to be – to where you were destined to be. Clutching your lightsaber beneath your robes you took a deep breath, stepping into the chambers.

It was him – of course it was him – behind the doors, a newly awoken darkness shrouding his eyes as he fixated on your every movement into the room. Standing where Master Yoda would have sat he looked ready to pounce at any moment, so you kept your distance in the center of the room. Tonight, Anakin Skywalker was pure darkness, fire, and something primal brimming through as his lips curved into the signature smirk – the one he always seemed to wear just for you.

“I knew you would come to me if I willed it,” his words were dripping with confidence and desperation, and the smallest whisper of fear threatening to present itself despite his best efforts to keep it down. He knew – of course he knew – that you could feel him, that you knew the hidden emotions others could never hope to discover in him. The two of you, not far apart in age, had found yourselves in the force together in many ways, and it had resulted in a connection that the Jedi Council noted their weariness of many times. “Mace Windu is dead. He attempted to assassinate the Chancellor.”

“I felt his death,” was your simple affirmation, a curt nod accompanying your words. “And I felt your part in it.”

“He was a traitor, angel,” his words were chased by his signature laugh, taunting you behind the new look in his eyes. The nickname he’d called you so many times sounded so wrong from him now, and a chill ran down your back. Your stomach tight, you swallowed hard as you began to listen to the voice in your mind telling you that nothing would be the same after tonight. Just how much it was supposed to change, the events that were to follow – no instinct could prepare you for it.

“Anakin…what have you done?”

“I am bringing peace to the galaxy,” was the statement that left his mouth, but you both knew what it really meant – he was fulfilling his destiny. He was becoming more. He was becoming stronger, more powerful – everything he had always wanted. He was free. This new tone was him – completely him – free of his lifelong feeling of obligation to others for the first time in his life. Today was a day for what he desired, for what only he could do. “Join me.”

The two words were simple but oh-so complex, and you found yourself unable to respond to his request – to his demand – as you fought to find an adequate breath. He took advantage of your stunned mind to assert his plan further.

“The Jedi are going to be gone soon. Most have been killed by now – and I will not leave this temple full of the threat to the galaxy that is the Jedi,” his words were venom as he spoke of the organization that raised him, no affection left within his heart for the group.

“Then you’ll have to kill me, Anakin,” your eyes finally focused on his and you fought back the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes, unwilling to display weakness for him. If you were to die today, you would die with dignity. There would be no begging from your mouth as the man who you had once trusted, the man who had saved your life numerous times throughout your years as a Padawan. “For I am a Jedi Knight.”

His laughter filled the air once more, though this round was far more sinister than the last as his eyes burned into yours. His smirk found its home on his features again as he stepped closer to you, reveling in the way your heart rate increased for him. “You are no Jedi.”

“Then what am I?”

“So much more,” he finished closing the gap between the two of you to his liking, content with you being a mere two arm’s lengths away for now, though tonight he was intent on making you drop the last of the pointless Jedi barriers you held around you. “We are stronger together – I make you stronger. You belong at my side, building something better…together. Come with me to finish eradicating the Jedi, to eliminate the Separatists and to bring peace to the galaxy. You can be so much more than what the Jedi allow you to be.”

Your tear ducts betrayed you and the salty liquid forming in your eyes spilled over, rolling down your cheeks as your lightsaber was withdrawn from your robes. He raised an eyebrow as you took a step back from him, igniting your blade which threatened to fall to the floor from your shaking hand. He was asking you to do the impossible – to leave the only stability you had known since being removed from your family at such a young age, to murder those you’d sworn to protect and teach, to sink into the dark side. The boy you had known for over a decade, who had been the only real security you’d ever felt, was asking you to betray everything you’d ever learned for him. The conflicting emotions boiled inside of you and the hot tears spilled down your cheeks larger and faster, building as more emotions poured into them, particularly a new one for a young Jedi – anger.

As you entered a stance he’d seen so many times before – one he always said reminded him of a Loth cat – that same smirk played on his lips again. “Go on then, angel. Give into your anger. You will find strength in it as I have.”

A broken sound, not quite a yell, not quite a whine – one Anakin had never heard from you before – erupted from your throat and you raised the blade above your head you found nothing need intervene – you could never bring yourself to lower the blade to him. Looking into his eyes you saw the man who had saved your life not even a year ago on Nal Hutta, the one who had wrapped you in his robe to cover the indecent outfit the Hutts had dressed you in. The one who had threatened to strike down anyone who even looked at you. The one who had held you in the ship as you, for once, let so many emotions spill from you. It was the second time he’d seen you cry, the third being now.

Despite his primary driving force being the rage he felt at the Jedi’s betrayal, seeing you cry did make his stomach turn deep within, and somewhere a quiet voice in his mind hoped that he’d never have to see you cry again. If you would just listen to him, he would ensure that you never felt like this for the rest of your life. Your movements had frozen and you simply stood there, lightsaber raised, tears pouring from your eyes as you contemplated what to do – what could anyone do in a situation like this? Impatient and running out of time, Anakin used the force to pull your saber to his hand, tossing it to the side with a growl. His attention focused elsewhere, even if just for a moment, you made a desperate dash toward the door only to be stopped in your place – just as the doors had begun to open.

He used the force to turn you to him, his brows furrowed together as he shook his head. “You would rather die with the people who took you from your family? You would rather bleed with them than take your place at my side? The Council would have cast you out within the year – Jedi can’t have attachments and you’ve never been able to follow that one rule. Have you?”

His taunting words stabbed into your chest like no weapon ever could and you fought to allow your eyes to fall on him again, the tears frozen on your cheeks. This anger that had consumed him had made him stronger, and despite the fact you were certainly not weak, it did take a great deal of your strength to be able to fight through his manipulation of the force.

“I…have…no…attachments,” you fought to state through clenched teeth, his eyes narrowing at your complete disrespect toward him but inwardly commending you for being strong enough to fight him – not that you could do it forever.

“Where would you run, angel? I will always find you,” his words quickened as he closed the distance between the two of you, his steps long and heavy as he sought to be closer to you. Despite his movement his invisible grasp on you did not falter, and even in your conflicted mind you had to commend Anakin for this newfound strength – it was what he had always wanted. You swallowed hard at his choice of words, his intention to mimic the words he’d uttered Nal Hutta clear. The conversation between the two of you in the ship that night had replayed in your mind nearly every day since then. In all honesty, there was a lot about that near two week stretch of time that you didn’t – couldn’t – think about…but often, your rescue replayed in your mind.

Cold, wet, hard, and slimy were the only four words adequate enough to describe how the eleven days spent on Nal Hutta had been. Everyone – seriously, everyone – in the galaxy knew exactly how the Hutts liked to dress their playthings. When that current plaything happened to be a Jedi who had found herself bested by a bounty hunter, it only made the satisfaction to see her in the outfit that much more.

Anakin had fought his way through the filth and grime to find you, slicing the chains that held you and forcing you against his side under his arm, his robe shielding you from prying eyes for the first time in days. Having recalled so much of that day you were certain you’d clung to Anakin’s side, releasing a sigh of relief at how warm he was.

But it wasn’t just the warmth his closeness provided, it was how everything felt around him. This close to him, you were safer than you could ever be and deep within you wished everyday could be spent this close to him – to feel this secure. Anakin’s lightsaber had stayed ignited and his eyes had revealed so much of the darkness within him that day – if anyone had pushed a singular button over taking you with him, he would have killed for you that day.

You still hadn’t come to terms with Anakin’s role in your rescue entirely. It was controversial with the High Council, who had lectured Anakin for hours on end. Your summons to the High Council was much shorter, a firm warning from the Masters – that Anakin would be your downfall. You were certain by the reaction from the council and the way Anakin had behaved that day he had taken at least one life that day on his quest to save you – and he held no regret for the action. But with you, that night, he was the softest he had ever been.

Back in the ship – outfitted with several troopers who hadn’t even needed to join Anakin – he had pulled you aside for a semblance of privacy. His eyes contained storms of emotion as he kept a grip on your shoulders, hands trembling with the emotions he wanted to express but couldn’t remember how. Struggling to find the words his mind sought he unwrapped his robe from himself, draping it around your shoulders and pulling you flush against him.

Words weren’t needed as he held you…as a balance was formed at this hint of a union and a gentle, soothing hum surrounded you and allowed the world to fade. In his arms, returning to the stars, you let yourself free of your normal restraints, allowing Anakin to hold all of the strength in this bubble together. You wept, clinging to him, trembling in his arms, nails digging at his skin at the slightest movement from him, controlled by the fear that he may withdraw from you. He had held you the entire duration to Coruscant, his fingers digging into you the best they could through the oversized robe encompassing you in his scent. He had rested his chin on your head, eyes closed, content at the melancholy meditation this situation presented to you both.

“I owe you one, Ani,” you’d spoken so quietly to him he wasn’t entirely sure it was allowed, to this day questioning if the two of you for a moment had joined in your own mental world to have true privacy. “I was…afraid.”

“I felt it,” he’d replied, wrapping his arms tighter in an attempt to coax you back into relaxation, his only true desire soaking in this moment with you. The part of him that cared for you wanted to provide you with the comfort you needed, but the selfishness that always lurked beneath hoped the conversation could be had while he held you, not willing to let you go just yet – unsure when this opportunity would present itself next.

“That place…it was horrible, Anakin. I could barely feel anything, I felt so lost.”

“You could never be lost with me around. I will always find you. ”

When his words had first been spoken so many days ago they were comforting, assuring that there was someone in the galaxy who cared about you beyond your status as a Jedi. Now, his tone flirted with playfulness as he taunted you with them, coaxing you to follow him down his new path. Years of Jedi indoctrination screamed at you that these words in this context were so wrong, but your thoughts and feelings had to disagree. Tonight your heart knew this was his form of the promise that you’d longed to hear – but your training simply could not allow you to give into this path.

“Things have changed…Anakin. You’ve…changed. Attachments change,” you could barely manage to choke out, your windpipe still restrained by his use of the force. Anakin’s control faltered, certain he had won you over by now, and he lessened his invisible grasp on you, choosing to change his approach. This, with you, didn’t need to be about the Jedi or Sith – it only needed to be about the two of you.

He had not freed you of his control fully and he began moving you toward the wall nearest to you, his tall frame leaning over yours to aid in keeping you in your place. You couldn’t help but notice how handsome he looked this way, his eyes dark, his brows pulled together and the lightest smirk playing on his lips, his pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. His hair, the longest it had ever been, was falling in dampened curls around his face. It was ironic, truly, that he called you ‘angel’, as in your mind that was the only way to describe him.

“I will never forget how I felt when I learned you had been taken to Nal Hutta,” he attempted to state with an aura of confidence but instead revealed his true emotions, the emotions he had felt that night – fear, worry, pain. His gloved, robotic hand found its way to your hip and his senses sought out every reaction this new touch had on you. His voice dropped as he continued, hovering his mouth close enough to your ear for his warm breath to stun you. “I was so afraid. Everything changed for me that day…those eleven days. I would do anything to make sure you’re by my side – forever, once I’m strong enough, once I’ve learned to defy death.”

This was never the exact way you had dreamt of this scenario playing out, but there were certainly elements that made this scene ignite conflict within you – the light and dark finding another platform to battle within your heart, mind, and very spirit. You had been raised to find faith and goodness in the light, in the Jedi Order, and there were so many things about what Anakin was suggesting that went against everything you, hypothetically, believed in. But there was still somewhere within the little girl who’d met Anakin first on Coruscant, who’d longed to hear him say the feelings his stoic mask usually hid.

Hearing him begin his confession in this way, his voice lower and dripping with emotions you’d never heard from him before inspiring your own mind to explore feelings you never had before. The cocktail of emotions was overwhelming – anger, fear, sadness, confusion…desire, desperation, arousal…freedom. None of these things were the Jedi way – none of these feelings were acceptable, particularly not for him. And yet with his lips so dangerously close to your ear, there was no genuine attempt at suppressing them that could be made as his lips barely ghosted against the sensitive skin behind your jaw.

All too fast the feeling of all air being knocked out of you returned, your throat constricting as he returned to his interrogation of you. His tone was somehow a gentle contrast to the pressure he was applying to your throat, his lips still brushing ever-so-slightly across your neck. “I want the truth – I want to hear it from you. Stop lying to me – to yourself – to everyone. You are no Jedi – you are irreversibly attached to someone.”

His lips fully connected over your pulse at that point and the sound that burst from your throat at the feeling betrayed any chance you may have had left in saying you had no attachments. You could feel the curve of his lips as his smirk returned, his grasp on your waist tightening under the grasp of gloved metal, his free hand coming up to cup your cheek softly. Anakin’s eyes were always expressive, particularly compared to the more traditional Jedi, and yet even now after all of the years beside Anakin you were seeing something new in them – pleading…desperation…terror. It was impossible to place which one had started him down this path.

Anakin needed you to say yes. He needed you to agree to go forward with him, to forsake the treasonous Jedi and their beliefs and to become so much more at his side. His ideal future was only possible if your piece to the puzzle was added – without you, it would never be complete. But the first step down this path for you was to face the truth and accept the feelings you harbored from him – this was the only way forward. His voice was softer, his grasp lightening ever so slightly as he released his force grasp to allow you some freedom, still holding your body against the wall with his sheer strength as he tried once more.

“I already know the truth, angel…your attachment mirrors my own…there is no hiding this from me,” his eyes never left yours as his thumb familiarized itself with your cheekbone, his words dripping with sincerity.

The tears flowed down your cheeks again now that control had been returned to you and you couldn’t bring yourself to hide from him anymore – not from the one person who truly saw you. Your voice was hardly above a whisper as you finally gave into him, finally confirming the last piece to his galactic puzzle.

“I can never lose you, Anakin,” your voice broke, your hands sliding to rest on his shoulders. Despite everything, once again there was nothing but the pair of you together navigating this moment together. “I couldn’t…I can’t…lose you. In the whole galaxy, you’re all I ha-.”

Your final word was swallowed by him as his lips crashed into yours, his grasp on your hip once again tightening as he finally discovered the answer to how soft your lips were. His hand cupping your cheek slid back into your hair, grasping the strands there loosely to pull you closer to him, to hold your lips against his. You couldn’t have pulled away if you wanted to, but to his surprise you made no attempt, instead melting into him and returning the kiss.

Everything hummed around the pair once again as they made their way back into the chambers fully, a gasp falling from your lips as your legs hit the backs of one of the seats. Forced to sit you looked up at him, hands clutching at his sides now as both of his hands found place on your cheeks, eyes taking on a newfound adoration as he gazed upon you. This newfound freedom and closeness with Anakin had you feeling entirely new – empowered, uninhibited, greedy…selfish. He was the only thing that could hold your focus, particularly with his lips curved upward once again.

“Look at you…so pretty in your old Master’s seat,” his words caused the realization to finally strike you and he waited for you to fight the placement, only to pleasantly find you seemed to hang on his every word. Sinking to his knees in front of you he leaned forward again to connect his lips to yours, releasing his hold on your face to remove the glove from the cold, metal hand. Pushing your robe free from your form he marveled in the rarely seen sight of you without those bulky robes, his hands both finding place at your waist. “He always acted like he was better than us, and look now…he lies dead in the streets and you sit mewling for me.”

A whimper fell through your lips again as they sought to reconnect with his and his chuckle sounded again, his hands making quick work of removing your tunic, your belt, your pants…anything that was separating you from him. You’d wasted so much precious time resisting him tonight and there was no more time that could be wasted – but he simply couldn’t move forward without proving his devotion to you. Satisfied with the removed layers from you when you were bare to him he removed his lips from yours, wetting them with his pink tongue.

It was hardly fathomable as he dipped his tousled-curl covered head between your legs, reaching to lift your legs over his shoulders to angle you upward to him. His lips trailed a path he’d mapped in his mind thousands of times along the inside of your thighs, a content sigh releasing from his chest at the feeling of finally being able to confirm every suspicion he’d ever held about how your body would respond to him. Your fingers reached to find stability within his curls, fingers weaving into his locks as his face surged forward, his tongue licking a flat stripe against your already dripping cunt.

Anakin had never been quiet, certainly – he always had an opinion, always a sarcastic chuckle waiting to grace the room…but the moan that came from him as he finally tasted you would be the noise you heard in dreams for a lifetime. You rewarded his action with a pleasured moan of your own, your head falling back against the seat as his tongue began to work at you. His flesh hand dragged up your thigh before settling near your core, his index finger immediately slipping into you as he sucked firmly on your clit.

He began pumping the lone finger into you, emboldened by the first lovely sounds he had ever heard fill the walls of this room. Turning his head to lay claim across your thigh with his teeth he applied the force to your clit, sending vibrations through the little nub as he added his middle finger to your soaked sex. As his fingers scissored within you, preparing your tight walls for his soon-coming conquering of you. The combination of his fingers, the invisible vibrations on your clit and the feeling of his warm mouth sucking purple marks into your thighs inviting you to orgasm.

He felt the ways your legs begin to tremble and the tightening of your walls around his fingers. Placing a smirk on his lips as he looked up at your heavy lidded eyes as you watched him lean his lips back in to suck your clit, allowing the force to continue the vibrations. With a scream of his name your orgasm rushed through you, your walls frantically grasping at his fingers. When he was certain your climax had faltered he rose to his feet once again, pushing his pants to his ankles with fumbling hands, the anticipation of what was to come causing adrenaline to flood throughout him.

His metal hand reached to grasp you, to pull you to your feet so he could replace you in the seat, leaning back with his legs slightly spread, enticing you to him. Extending the hand not holding your waist he offered you to join him in your rightful place, and so you did, sliding your hand into his and dropping to straddle his waist. He fisted himself as he used his metal hand to guide your hips down, groaning as the wet heat of your cunt engulfed his cock.

“Oh, angel,” he moaned as you embraced every inch of him, hips bucking upward into you as the head of his cock found your cervix. Gripping his shoulders for stability and seeing stars at the feeling of him filling you, confirming that your imagination could never have adequately created this scenario – this was better than anything the mind was capable of creating. “I should have never waited this long to have you.”

His words caused the heat within you to boil over as you began to grind your hips down into his, desperate to feel him move within you. Grasping your hips and beginning to thrust up into you his head fell back, eyes closing at the feeling and taking a moment to savor how deep he reached, knowing time was short. Fortunately, he had you in his grasp now and he would never have to be without you again – he would never deny himself when it came to you.

You reached down to press a soft kiss to his neck, breaking him from his thoughts of the future as he began to pump up into you again, setting a steady pace up into you as he held you in place, your teeth dragging across the skin of his shoulder. Your voice was still roughened by his use of the force against your windpipe but it was the sweetest you’d sounded as you whined praises to him – how good he felt, how strong he was, how good he made you feel – giving him all of the validation he’d ever wanted from you.

Suddenly raising a hand and grabbing your hair at the back of your head he tilted your face up to him, lowering his face to burn his eyes into yours as he began a rougher pace. His voice was stern and serious, but dripping with satisfaction and adoration as he purred against your lips, “Please tell me you’re mine, angel. I have…to hear it.”

“I am, Anakin,” his frustrated huff that chased you using his name made your stomach twist, his pace coming relentless as he began to pinpoint that spongy spot deep inside you, using the force to send soft vibrations on your clit. His brows pulled together and he shook his head, fighting to find the words he needed. Fortunately, you didn’t often need to be told by him – you frequently just knew, whether it be by some connection in the force or just knowing him. “I am yours…Lord Skywalker.”

His features softened immediately, his bliss affirming itself in the sweetest, most appreciative moan as his lips found yours again. His hands grasped your hips as he rocked up into you, his thrusts becoming sloppy as sweat dripped from his brown onto yours. No words had to be spoken as you both reached your climax, your nails digging into his shoulders as your clenching walls coaxed him to paint them with his cum. His forehead leaned against yours, eyes closed as he breathed in the feeling of coming down from what he was sure was what he’d heard some species call “heaven” with you in his arms.

It didn’t matter what path he chose to lead you down – from here, whatever path he chose was perfect as long as it was the path taken together. For so long he had been all you had, and nothing seemed too dark or impossible with him by your side – he was your strength. Placing a soft kiss to his lips once more you rose, fixating your clothing back onto yourself and covering your frame with your robe. The moment you finished he stood before you, using his thumb and index finger to grasp your chin and tilt your face to his.

“You know what you must do.”

And so you did, securing the hood to cover more of your face than you’d done before and leaving, intent on proving you weren’t afraid of the dark. Returning to the locked room you’d left the future of the Jedi Order, instructing those hiding inside to go to the High Council Chambers – you’d remember the faces that looked up at you until your final breath, but at the time, darkness clouded your vision as all your mind found clarity in was Anakin’s destiny – your destiny. As you watched those you’d sworn to protect disappear into the chamber, hearing the familiar hum of two lightsabers illuminating from within as the doors locked.

As Darth Vader emerged and continued his pursuit of peace, his robes billowed behind him as he made his way down the hall, his re-gloved hand motioning for you to follow. Unable to refuse him ever again, you continued to follow him on the path to the dark side.

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#dead dove do not eat #anakin skywalker #darth vader #anakin skywalker x reader #darth vader x reader #anakin skywalker smut #darth vader smut #star wars smut

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vizslasaber · 2 days

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FRIENDLY FIRE ──── i.

summary: after landing on the umbaran surface, you butt heads with your fellow general—but get along swimmingly with your temporary clone captain.

pairing: captain rex x female jedi!reader

word count: 3.9k

warnings: combat/action, mentions of injury + death, krell being a bitch, reader with a name instead of y/n because i hate it

a/n: it’s back!!! previously i posted this series on my main, @brrmian, but i changed that blog’s username and have mostly shifted over to fanart and general SW content. i’ve decided to dedicate this new side blog’s content entirely to fic writing under my old username, posting reader insert on here and everything else on ao3! this fic will be updated sparsely but definitely more often than it was on my main. i’ve changed a few things regarding the plot of this series specifically, and i like it a lot more now!!

series masterlist | click here to add or remove yourself from the taglist!

You hadn’t wanted to leave the Temple behind—you still don’t, even lightyears away from the Core.

When the Jedi Council had first made you aware of the plan to have you and a Master you’d never met capture an Umbaran airbase with troops that were not your own, you had put up something of a fight. What right, you demanded, did the Chancellor have the right to simply pull a Jedi from their sacred duty for a trivial air-to-ground assault?

The Council had either not wanted to answer this question or had not known how to, so now you stand on a transport gunship with two clone troopers and an intimidatingly tall Besalisk Jedi Master by the name of Pong Krell. Both of you are holding onto the grab handles hanging from the ceiling; you’re gripping the handle so tightly your knuckles are slightly pale, but Krell looks perfectly steady.

Of course he is, you think bitterly. He has four arms.

The atmosphere of Umbara is breathable but strangely thick—fog seeps through the blast door openings, and the lights inside the gunship’s passenger bay seem to have dimmed. Your lightsabers bump against your hips and you wince slightly as sounds of frantic gunfire reach your ears.

This will be your first campaign.

You have seen death before, on missions as a Padawan before the war—but never on this scale, if the reports of your already-knighted friends from the Temple are anything to go by. You only hope that you will be assigned your own battalion soon, so you don’t have to go running around replacing wayward Generals.

It’s hard, standing at the side of an imposing Master, not to feel like a Padawan. The skin behind your right ear burns with the memory of the braid that had been there just last week, waiting to be sheared off as you prepared for your ascension to Knighthood.

While your battalion assignment is pending, Master Windu told you as you stood in the center of the Council Chamber, the Senate has requested that we send two Jedi Knights to replace Skywalker on Umbara.

Master Krell is already on-world, assisting Master Kenobi, but he will need another Jedi’s help if he and the 501st are to take the capital in Skywalker’s stead, Master Plo explained, his hologram flickering as he called in from some faraway world.

All due respect, Masters, you remember asking as you willed yourself not to tremble, but why me? I’ve never been anywhere near the front. I wouldn’t be much help.

Believe in your potential, we do, Master Yoda said. An opportunity for you to do good, the Force has given you.

And that, it was decided, was that.

Even now, after meditating on your anxiety for practically the entire journey through hyperspace, your nerves feel impossibly frayed. The transport jostles, but you only sway slightly, arm already holding onto an overhead handle for balance. There’s a shiny new military-issue commlink attached to your right vambrace. A morbid thought, of calling in a medevac for injured soldiers with this very communicator, crosses your mind—but you let it dissipate.

The gunship suddenly makes a sharp dive, and your stomach swoops—you must be about to land. You spare a glance at General Krell, who has now let go of the grab handles and has crossed all four of his arms over his chest. For a moment, you’re almost tempted to ask how he manages to stay so balanced while the ship is moving, but then the blast doors slide open and the gunship lands in shadowy darkness.

The first person you see is Anakin Skywalker. He’s around your age, maybe a bit younger—despite having been knighted several years earlier, as one of the first Padawan victims of the Jedi Military Integration Act. Your Master, ever traditional even when the Order began to stray from its centuries-old teachings, did her best to keep you apprenticed for as long as possible, but even that eventually proved futile.

In the end, you and Anakin are practically of the same age, and yet he has infinite more experience than you. Uncertainty wheedles its way into your chest and slips a pin into your lungs; you’re holding your breath as you follow Krell off the gunship.

Being far shorter than the Besalisk, you have to jump down. When you hit the ground, you shiver at the misty atmosphere, watching as bioluminescent specks of dust fly up underneath your boots.

As the two of you approach, you hear the troopers of the 501st legion mutter amongst themselves, but you push it aside and focus on the pleasantries.

“General Krell. General Neridian,” Anakin says, smiling graciously. “My thanks for the air support.”

“Indeed, General Skywalker,” Krell replies, bowing politely. “The locals have proven to be more resourceful than we anticipated.”

“We managed to get here in one piece, though,” you add jokingly, and Anakin smirks, his eyes twinkling. You gesture to the troopers unloading the gunship behind you. “And we brought ration resupplies.”

Anakin nods appreciatively, then raises one eyebrow after a moment, looking slightly confused. “But—that’s not the reason for your visit.”

“No,” Krell admits. “The Council has ordered you back to Coruscant, effective immediately.”

“What?” Skywalker demands. “Wh-why?”

“The Chancellor...” you pause, searching for a word, before you settle on, “insisted that you return. The Council had no say on the matter.”

“That is all they would tell us,” Krell adds, though he doesn’t sound displeased.

“Well, I—I can’t just leave my men!” Anakin protests, and for the first time you notice the trooper standing at attention beside him.

He’s identical to all the clones you’ve met, of course, except for one detail—his hair is blond. You wonder vaguely if it would be polite to ask him whether or not it’s natural as you survey his armor. The pauldron on his left shoulder indicates a position of command, but he carries a sense of individuality in the Force that, despite your inexperience with working with them, you’ve come to realize every clone has. His helmet is painted with a distinctly Mandalorian sigil, but it’s not one you recognize.

His gaze is pointed directly ahead; he makes no eye contact with you. Probably just as annoyed at the change of plans as Anakin is, you realize.

Krell moves to speak, jolting you from your thoughts. You recognize Anakin’s agitation, however, so you calmly move to intercept.

“The Council would not just leave your troopers to fend for themselves—not that they aren’t perfectly capable of doing so, of course,” you add, which merits the barest hint of a smile from the trooper standing beside Anakin. “It’s just… well, the Senate needs a Jedi to be at the head of every campaign, and I guess they figured subtracting one of you would mean—”

“—adding two other Jedi,” Anakin says with a snort of derision. “Yeah… sounds like the Senate. But you guys’ll probably get it done faster anyway.”

“Don’t worry about a thing, sir,” interjects the trooper, and Anakin looks to him. “We’ll have this city under control by the time you’re back.”

“Generals, this is Captain Rex, my first in command,” Anakin says fondly, and you see something like pride show itself in Rex’s eyes. “You won’t find a finer or more loyal trooper anywhere.”

“I don’t doubt it,” you affirm earnestly.

“Yes, that is good to hear,” Krell agrees, then places a large hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “I wish you well, Skywalker.”

Anakin simply nods at him, then stops beside you and says, “I hear you passed the Trials.”

You gesture to your hair, now void of a Padawan braid. “Apparently so,” you reply. “Funny, I didn’t think you were one to get swept into the rumour mill.”

A grin, boyish and bright, springs to Anakin’s face. “Nah, I’m always one for good gossip.” His expression turns softer, then, and he puts a hand on your shoulder. “Seriously, though… congratulations.”

“Thank you,” you say, but he’s already approaching the gunship and taking hold of one of the grab handles. The ship is off within seconds, and you can’t help but feel apprehensive as it flies away, up into the fog.

Taking a moment to gather yourself, you turn to Rex and offer a polite nod. He returns it, then says, “It is an honour to be serving with you, Generals.”

“The honour is all mine,” you return graciously, and Rex looks like he’s about to say something else, but stops when Krell begins to speak.

“I find it very interesting, Captain, that you are able to recognize the value of honour,” he begins, then—almost as an afterthought—adds, “for a clone.”

Silence.

Your eyebrows shoot up, and as Rex stares at Krell in shock, you feel your armored chest tighten—with frustration or shock, you don’t yet know.

“Stand at attention when I address you,” Krell snaps, turning to face the other troopers, and as Rex obliges, you narrow your eyes and step forward.

“Master Krell,” you start, your jaw tightening, “I do believe it would be far more... prudent to show respect to the soldiers who have so graciously agreed to undertake this mission with us.” You tilt your head questioningly, sending your ponytail swaying. “After all—we are the ones who just arrived.”

A ripple of white-hot anger moves through the Force with lightning speed, but it’s gone before you can take time to process it. Now, all you can feel is something akin to gratitude, trickling like a cool waterfall from where Rex stands, back straight and eyes ahead.

“They agreed to nothing,” Krell counters, and you blink as his wide upper lip curls back to reveal a row of dangerously sharp teeth. “Do not forget, young one, that we are the Generals they serve under at present.”

“I...” you pause, momentarily at a loss for words, then clasp your hands behind your back and force your jaw to unclench. “I haven’t forgotten that. But I also haven’t forgotten that the only way to succeed in this endeavour is to work together.”

“And with what experience do you so kindly bestow this advice upon us, Knight Neridian?” Krell asks, and the question is like a bucket of ice water down the back of your robes.

You swallow, and search for the words to say, but none come. Cheeks burning with shame, you stare determinedly at the ground.

The tension in Krell’s Force signature disappears, as sudden as the crack of a whip, and he draws in a deep breath. You look up as the pouch-like piece of flesh under Krell’s chin grows in size and he begins to pace.

“Nevertheless,” Krell brushes off, acting as though none of your words register with him, “there’s a reason my command is so effective, and it’s because I do things by the book.” He walks past a soldier in an ARC Trooper uniform who has the number five tattooed on his right temple. The trooper doesn’t move as Krell passes him, but you can see a vein on his forehead bulge.

“And that includes protocol,” Krell puts in. He turns to you. “Have all platoons ready to move out immediately.”

You bristle. “I—I thought we were to make decisions together,” you protest, raising your chin defiantly.

Technically, there’s nothing to defy, seeing as you hold equal rank with Krell—but the Council specified in their briefing that this was supposed to be a learning experience, an introduction to combat before receiving your own battalion. And something about Master Krell demands respect, or at the very least obedience, despite the fact that you’re starting to want to do everything you can not to give it to him.

Krell simply huffs and turns around, his yellow eyes flashing, and walks away, leaving you surrounded by a platoon troopers.

You frown after him. “Well, now I know why Master Venn wished me good luck,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. Some of the troopers snicker, but you hardly notice.

Your former master, Esya Venn, had pulled you aside just before leaving. The look on her face had been nothing short of concerned, but you’d shrugged it off in the moment, even when she’d told you to be careful, Padawan. She never told anyone to be careful—it was simply a reflex to think twice about your actions around Esya.

But now you understand.

Scrubbing a hand over your tired face, you take a deep breath and turn to Captain Rex. “Shall we set off?” you ask, and he nods, promptly putting on his helmet.

“Move out, soldiers!” he shouts, starting down the path after Krell. “Come on, let’s go!”

You give Rex a grateful smile, and though you can’t see his face, you know he’s returning it. With one last glance at the battalion, you hurry to the front and fall into step next to General Krell.

It’s silent for some time. Krell doesn’t deter, no matter how dark it gets, and after a while you begin to grow uncomfortable next to him. The anger you’d felt in the Force earlier is dormant, but certainly there, and it makes chills erupt down your spine.

"I’m going to check on the Captain,” you say, and Krell only nods when you turn around and quickly find Rex, who’s walking about two meters behind where you previously were.

The Captain salutes briefly. “General.”

“Captain,” you reply politely, before glancing back at Krell. “I can’t help but notice that there’s—” you pause for a moment. Do these troopers know enough about the Force to have conversations with you about it?

Knowing Anakin, you realize, they probably do, so you clear your throat and continue. “I get a strange feeling from Master Krell,” you say quietly.

Rex’s shoulders relax just slightly. “How so, sir?”

You bite your lip and shake your head. “I don’t know, exactly,” you reply, then gesture vaguely in front of you, where Krell is half-visible in the murky fog. “The Force around him is unclear. It’s... hard to explain.”

“Hard to explain, as in it’s a Jedi thing?” Rex guesses, and you grin widely.

“Yes,” you say. “It’s a Jedi thing.” Reaching up, you curl a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I may not be a Jedi, sir,” Rex says after a moment, “but I think I know what you mean by strange feeling.”

“Quicken that pace, battalion!” Krell suddenly shouts over his shoulder, and you jump. “This isn’t some training course on Kamino.”

You sigh and raise your voice, turning to the troopers. “What General Krell means,” you call, pointedly shooting a glare at the Besalik’s back, “is that we must continue to make good time. Keep up the good work.”

Krell gives no answer, but you feel a ripple of frustration coming from his direction. There’s another thread in the Force, one of gratitude, but you can’t tell where exactly it’s coming from. You latch onto it nonetheless and file the feeling away for later, letting yourself make an easy pace just ahead of Rex.

“He certainly has a way with words,” you hear one of the clones say, and when you glance behind you out of the corner of your eye, you can see that the source is someone with similar armor to Rex’s. Another ARC, or someone of similar rank.

There’s a sigh. You think it’s from Rex. The troopers obviously don’t know you’re listening, so you direct your gaze ahead, keeping your pace steady.

“He’s just trying to keep us on schedule,” Rex explains, voice hushed and sounding a bit sheepish.

"By raising everyone’s ire?” the other trooper grumbles.

“Either way, he’s in charge,” Rex protests. “And we’ve got a job to do.”

“She’s in charge, too,” hisses the trooper, and you purse your lips, knowing he’s pointing to you.

Another sigh, again from Rex. “Just—treat them both with respect, and we’ll all get along fine.”

You’re about to turn around when your neck stiffens. It’s an instinctual reaction, like the Force tapping you on the shoulder—one that you’ve learned to interpret as a warning. Less than a second later, a loud screech echoes above your head.

“Ready your weapons!” Rex shouts, at the same moment you draw one lightsaber.

Faster than your eyes can process, a winged creature swoops down and grabs a trooper—but you don’t need your eyes. The cyan beam of your lightsaber casts a glow on the shadowy ground, and you jump upwards, landing on a large plant that allows you to swing from a vine and graze the blade across the wing of one of the creatures. It falls to the ground with another screech before flying away, relatively unharmed.

One to go.

You’re about to grab hold of a second vine and swing towards the other creature, but a flash of blurred blue and green makes you pull back—Krell beats you to it, landing on top of the creature and wrestling it to the ground.

“Wait—stop!” you shout as he draws his lightsabers, but it’s too late. He’s already skewered the creature mercilessly, and it lies dead on the ground, life blinking out of the Force in an instant.

You jump off of the large plant, landing on both feet, and hook your now deactivated lightsaber onto your belt. “Why did you kill it?” you demand, pushing past several onlooking clones.

“It is nothing more than a violent inhabitant of this area,” Krell dismisses, and you feel your jaw drop.

“But…” you start, at a loss for words. “The Code decrees—”

“The Code,” Krell says coldly as he turns to stare at you, “allows for self defense.”

You draw yourself up to your full height, switching off your lightsaber with a snap-hiss before hooking it back onto your belt. “That’s not what—”

Krell’s lightsabers deactivate loudly, cutting you off, and he returns them to either side of his belt before turning away and continuing on the path. “Anyone else want to stop and play with the animals?”

No one answers, but you feel your fists clench as if of their own accord.

This is going to be a long night.

Umbara’s plant life is fascinating. Observing the bioluminescent life forms is the only thing that serves a proper distraction from both the grumbling clone troopers and the pit of apprehension in your stomach. You’d been walking for twelve hours, give or take, and every time you’d tried to suggest a break to Krell, he’d snapped at you.

This can’t be allowed, you think bitterly, skipping over a glowing pink tree root, boots skidding on the dark purple ground.

You chew on your bottom lip and glance at the clones behind you. They are understandably worn out, and even with the extensive survival training Master Esya drilled into you as a Padawan, you were starting to get tired, too.

“Sir,” says a voice from behind you, and you jump, expecting in your exhaustion to see Krell—but it’s just Rex.

“We’ve been keeping this pace for almost half a rotation,” Rex points out, sounding vaguely nervous. “The men are... starting to tire. General Krell is...” he tilts his head, expressionless visor unreadable. “You know.”

You muster a smile, hoping you look at least a little like Master Enya, and nod.

“I know, Captain,” you say, and he shifts slightly, as though his blue-painted pauldron is uncomfortable. You can’t blame him. Running a hand over your ponytail, you blow out a breath and frown at the puff of air that appears in front of you. “Let me talk to him. Tell the men to start searching for a good spot to camp for a few hours.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Rex giving an affirmative thumbs up to the troopers behind him, but by then you’re already approaching Krell, clasping your hands tightly behind your back.

“Master Krell,” you start, and Krell turns his head just a bit. “I’ve told the men to scout for a place to rest. I reviewed the mission plan on the way here, and we can spare three hours without being delayed, possibly more—”

“The men don’t need rest,” Krell interrupts, and you feel your cheeks flush with anger. “They need resolve to complete the task at hand.”

“Apologies, Master,” you say, squaring your shoulders as frustration heats your neck and face. You breathe deeply. There is no emotion, only peace. “But I don’t think the men will be on their best game when we reach the capital if they don’t take some time to gather themselves.”

“That they need to ‘gather themselves’ is a sign of weakness,” Krell cuts in, stopping and turning to face you with a sneer. “That is not what these clones were bred for.”

Not far away, many of the soldiers bristle at Krell’s choice of words, but you keep your focus on the yellow eyes staring you down for the second time that night.

“They weren’t bred to be mindless droids, either,” you argue, crossing your arms over your chest and making sure to keep your voice even. “And in case you’ve forgotten, even battle droids need to recharge. If we march on the Capital without any sort of break first, I promise you, this mission will not go as planned. Exhausted and underfed soldiers are a guaranteed disadvantage.”

Krell studies you, a sneer forming on his lips. “I see you take after your Master’s incessant need to get the last word on anyone she disagrees with.”

You scowl. “I beg your pardon, but Master Venn is—”

He ignores you, cutting past where you stand and walking away. “Do what you wish, Neridian,” he dismisses, then walks away to stand by a glowing tree.

A sigh escapes your lips, and you close your eyes. It’s becoming harder and harder not to snap at him—but you know what the Order’s teachings require of you. Emotion, yet peace.

You grimace as Krell retreats to the back of the line, then turn back to the troopers nearby and give Rex a nod. The captain returns it in what you hope is a grateful manner, then calls for the men to make camp at the top of the ridge your group has been climbing.

By the time you gather all the troopers together, the battalion has put together a hasty campsite, with half the troopers having fallen into a fitful sleep and the other half keeping watch while eating as many rations as the limit allows. You frown and approach the trooper you heard Rex talking to earlier, his Force signature familiar from when you were eavesdropping. His helmet is now sitting in his lap, being meticulously cleaned with what little supplies the battalion has on hand.

You study the soldier. He has a tattoo on his right temple, and upon studying it, you realize it’s the same ARC trooper who’d been glaring at Krell when you stepped off the gunship. You wonder what significance the number five has to him.

Taking another step forward, you clear your throat. “Trooper,” you begin, and the soldier looks up curiously before abruptly shooting to his feet and snapping off a salute. You wave a nonchalant hand. “No need for that. I only wanted to ask a favor—can you gather troopers to stand watch? Six at a time, tops, and make sure they take turns so everyone can rest. That includes you.”

“You got it, sir,” says the trooper, and you smile.

“Sorry, I don’t believe I caught your name...” you say, then, and the trooper blinks.

“Oh, uh—it’s Fives, sir.”

“I see,” you reply, gaze flickering to his tattoo and back again. “Thank you, Fives.”

You retreat to your own tent soon after, shrugging off your vambraces and arranging them neatly next to your bedroll. This wouldn’t be the shortest sleep cycle you’d had, what with the nature of your apprenticeship at the temple—but not the longest, either.

From what you can hear inside your tent, the camp is silent. Slowly, you poke your head through the canvas flaps to find exactly six men—as you’d requested—sitting in the center of camp. Farther away, at the outskirts of the circle of tents, sits Master Krell’s hulking form. In spite of yourself, you frown.

“General?” asks a sudden voice above you; letting out an involuntary yelp, you scramble backwards before stopping at the sight of Rex standing near the entrance to your tent.

Embarrassed, you stand up, brushing off your cream-coloured robes. “Sorry,” you say sheepishly. “I could swear I’m not usually so jumpy, I don’t know what—” you look up and stop short.

Rex has removed his helmet.

His blond hair isn’t a surprise this time around, but close up, you’re struck by how tired he looks. There are smile lines at the corners of his eyes, but his face is cast in exhausted shadows.

You wonder if a full night’s sleep is something he’s ever had, or if the training regiments on Kamino prepared him and his brothers for this kind of halfhearted sleep cycle. Curiously, you study him.

Rex’s eyes are golden-brown in the dying light of this shadowy planet. They’re the same shade as all the troopers in the immediate vicinity. And yet, as you stare into them, something in you stirs as your Force signature brushes against his—something you know you’re not supposed to feel.

“Er, General,” Rex repeats, jolting you from your faraway thoughts. “I just wanted to let you know—the scouts are detecting a clear journey from here on out. We have approximately four hours to kick back, as predicted.”

Hurriedly, you turn away and clear your throat awkwardly. “Very good, Captain,” you mumble. “Thank you. You’re—erm, free to go and rest.”

For a moment, Rex looks surprised, but he composes himself seconds later. “Thank you, General,” he says. “But I—”

“Not up for debate,” you interrupt, holding your hand up. Bemused, Rex blinks, so you shoot him a reassuring smile. “You said it yourself: the soldiers need rest. You’re a soldier, yes?”

Rex opens his mouth, probably to say something about him being a Captain, but you lower your hand to rest it on his shoulder. The kind gesture seems to quell him, so you continue. “Don’t exclude yourself in that. Rest well, Captain.”

When you turn and reenter your tent, you don’t catch the way Rex’s eyes linger on the closed flap for far longer than they should, heat prickling up his neck as the remnant of your touch burns itself through his pauldron.

“You too… General.”

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weirdly-specific-but-ok · 3 months

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star wars but I've never watched it

I'm flirting with death (the star wars fandom) and it's about to succumb. I mean, be seduced. I promise when I flirt the intended result is not succumbing (usually). Here, have this, I know you maggots have missed my summaries they're so comprehensive and well-researched. Two cups of black coffee down. LET'S GO, MAGGOTS.

It is not Star Trek, and if I mix them up, both fandoms will tear me limb from limb, but mainly Star Trek because they're less popular?

No, that was not intended to be inflammatory, it's just what I was warned when I first got kidnapped. Don't blame the student, blame the system.

LUKE, I AM YOUR FATHER.

Except that's actually a misquote, it's No, I am your father. Mad trivia game. Huge star wars fan, me (why do I sound like Crowley).

It's set in outer space.

Are daleks stormtroopers?

Yoda pulls sentences in half like Crowley pulls Aziraphale's legs apart while they're not talking, and then tries interesting positions.

Leia has space-buns and makes out with Luke.

Luke is Leia's brother.

Anakin, whom I thought was some sexy babygirl side character, is apparently Darth Vader.

I am certain some people still find him a sexy babygirl. I just hope if he has a sister, she doesn't.

Is incest hereditary? Besides the obvious, I mean.

Small and green, Yoda is.

Daleks or not, there are storm-troopers, and they wear white plastic but not in a kinky way. Mostly. I remember one video a maggot showed me of a dustbin and--anyway.

They have bad aim.

There is a Death Star, and there is also a Death Star in Star Trek, but this is the more obvious one.

It has machinery specially engineered so if you shoot at that one place, the entire spaceship explodes or shuts down, which is a convenient feature.

A baby Yoda, they made. To make merchandise in time, Disney failed. Money, they lost.

There's something called the Force which everyone irl uses to try and get their remote to fly to them while sitting on the couch watching TV. They squint and reach out their hand while doing this. It rarely works.

There are a lot of unnecessary sequels and prequels. People are not happy.

A lot of Star Wars has inspiration drawn from ancient Indian philosophy and Hindu mythology. Just fun trivia, since I'm such a huge Star Wars fan.

Chewbacca?

R2D2? Robot go beep beep.

Han Solo and Leia get together.

Who is Han Solo? The guy who witnessed Leia making out with her brother. Whatever gets you off, king.

Dead, Yoda might be. Not sure, I am.

Rogue 1?

Return of the... Empire? No, wait, Jedi.

Empire Strikes Back!

Jedi exist. Because uh, it was in the title. They'd better exist.

Luke's daddy cuts off his hand. Not in a sexual way. But you never know with this family.

End (Not. Disney is going to milk this cash cow till they run out of ideas because of underpaid writers, and then they'll do a remake, probably).

Welcome, you are. Comprehensive, all-inclusive, this summary is.

#good omens mascot #asmi #star wars #good omens #<- got to love the brainrot #it even sneaks into my other fandom posts #maggots #empire strikes back #han solo #luke skywalker #yoda #weirdly specific but ok #rogue one #star wars summary #return of the jedi #sw fandom #star wars fandom

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anakinskywalkerog · 8 months

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My Very Soul (Chapter 33)

Anakin Skywalker x Jedi!Reader

Link to Chapter 32

Warnings: grief!! depression!!! tread lightly!! things will get better, our girl will heal, but please engage with this only if you feel good/healthy yourself! also, drama/angst, but that's what you get from me

Summary: Anakin comforts you after the death of your Master; you wrestle with some difficult truths, and agree to train with someone new

Word Count: 2.7k

It was heavy. There was no other way to explain it. Your grief was a heavy pillow, suffocating you as you lay in your bed. You felt like the sheets might swallow whole you under the weight. The feel of Anakin's arms around you faded in the face of the soft, quiet, heavy feeling pressing on you. It was like being underwater. It was like trying to fight wind stronger than a hurricane. It pushed you down, and you felt like you had no strength to fight against it.

You'd awoken after Felucia in the Temple's medical chamber, Anakin at your side. You had no memory of anything that had happened after Yuma had been killed, and you didn't understand why Anakin looked so full of relief, why he had tears in his eyes at the sight of you. Obi-Wan had simply explained that you had lost consciousness, similar to the way you had when encountering Dooku's presence. Something in Anakin's face told you that it wasn't quite that simple.

Still, you couldn't find it in yourself to care, much, about what had happened after your Master had been taken from you. You couldn't find it in yourself to care about anything at all, other than the arms that remained around you, other than having Anakin by your side. You found that there were times when even that desire started to fade; when you felt the heaviness pressing in and lost any feeling at all.

"Y/N," Anakin whispered, shaking your arm a little, reaching over to run his fingers gently through your thick hair, pushing it away from your face. Every so often he would say something like this, something soft and gentle, like he were trying to make sure you could still hear him.

"I'm here," you replied, not looking at him, but reaching out and gripping his sleeve. Anakin brushed away the tears that fell softly and steadily out of your eyes and onto the sheets of the big bed in your Jedi apartment, situated in the Knight's Billet in the Temple. This is where you had remained for days, barely moving, barely sleeping or eating, struggling to fight the weight in order to keep breathing.

After you had left the medical chambers, you had recounted to the Council how Vyra had lured you into that cave, how she had manipulated the severity of the battle on Felucia and used the Sith dwelling to call to you in order to trap you and 'torture' you. You had told them what she had said of her reason for doing so, her grudge that she had held since you had been assigned your mission on Serenno. You had explained what she had recounted about Dooku and his mysterious "Master"; you'd noticed that Yoda and Windu had shared a look at that information. You couldn't bring yourself to care, at the moment, what that meant. You had struggled for breath, standing in the center of that circle of Jedi atop the tall tower, as you had recounted the last moments of Yuma's life: how she had been in the throes of a horrible vision, caused by the poison that made her live through her worst fears. You could barely get the words out when you described Vyra killing your Master, and taking her lightsaber. Obi-Wan had stood up to walk you out, his hand on your back the whole way back to your apartment, his face grim. You hadn't emerged since.

"Y/N," Anakin said again, stroking your face, your arm. "You need to eat something." You shook your head. The thought of moving at all, let alone eating, drinking, sounded too hard. You felt the heaviness pressing in on you.

"I love you," Anakin said again, and the agony in his presence was like a spark, a stabbing pain that brought you out of the heavy feeling, if only for a moment. Your eyes filled, again, with tears.

"I know," you whispered, looking into his eyes.

"I'll be here with you," Anakin said, reaching forward to kiss your eyelids, brushing the tears away with the gentle press of his lips. "I won't let them make me leave."

"You can't stay forever, Ani," you sighed, curling into him, wishing your words weren't true.

"I won't—"

Anakin cut off his words, feeling the same disturbance in the Force that made your senses heighten. Someone was coming.

A soft knock sounded on the door of the apartment. You and Anakin both looked at each other, sensing the presence that stood outside.

"Maybe he'll leave," you breathed into Anakin's ear, not moving. Anakin remained still, listening. You waited, holding your breath.

"Y/N," you heard, Obi-Wan's soft voice calling through the door as he knocked again. If he came into the apartment, it would only take a few steps past the kitchen for him to see through the open bedroom door, where he would find you and Anakin in bed together—

"What do we do?" you whispered, panicked, your eyes widening. Numb with grief you may be; but if you and Anakin were caught, it could risk your position in the Order. Anakin's eyes darted around, and landed on the tiny wardrobe built into the wall. Jedi Knights were granted little storage space, as they were not to keep possessions of their own.

"Anakin, he'll sense you!" you whispered frantically, but Anakin was already up and running in his boxers to the wardrobe. He sucked in his gut and used the force to close the wardrobe's doors as you heard Obi-Wan's voice sound again from outside the door.

"Y/N, I'm coming in," Obi-Wan said, his voice gentle and suppliant. You pulled yourself up in your bed, fighting against the heaviness in your limbs as you used the Force to summon your robe, hastily throwing it on over your nightgown as the door to your apartment opened and Obi-Wan stepped inside.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," Obi-Wan said as he walked forward to stand in the open door of your bedroom. You knew you probably looked like Moraband; you hadn't visited the refresher in days, and your hair was a tangled mess on your head. You felt Obi-Wan's thoughts linger on the dark circles under your eyes.

"That's all right, Master," you replied, your voice hoarse. Obi-Wan walked forward and pulled the chair near the window around so that it was facing you. You gulped as he turned, looking back to you as if to ask, may I ? You nodded, gesturing that he should sit. Obi-Wan had never been inside your apartment before—his presence startled you enough that you felt the heavy numbness backing away from you.

"I came to bring you this," Obi-Wan said, leaning forward in the chair and pulling something from the pocket of his robes. As he reached out to hand it to you, you sighed in amazement.

"How...?" you asked, leaning forward to take your lightsaber from him and gripping it. You felt each familiar divot of the hilt like you had found an old friend lost to time; you felt the ghosts of tears prickle behind your eyes, and you willed them away.

"I recovered it for you, on Felucia," Obi-Wan responded quietly. "When you were found, in that cave." His tone was careful, quiet, and solemn. "I wanted to return it to you before, but...it seemed a difficult enough moment." You thought back to facing the Council, to the whirlwind of emotions you'd faced upon waking up here, in the Temple, without your Master, for the first time in your life.

"Thank you," you managed to get out, looking back up at him and keeping your tears at bay. He simply nodded. You looked around, feeling awkward, working to keep your gaze anywhere but on the wardrobe behind Obi-Wan's back.

"I also..." Obi-Wan started, and you met his gaze, his face lit by the rays of sun streaming in through the partially closed blinds. "I am also here because I wanted to make a proposition to you."

You squinted, gripping your robe around yourself, inclining your head to indicate that he should continue.

"You are, of course, under no obligation to do so..." Obi-Wan started, rubbing his hands over his mustache and through his beard. "But...I know how important it was to Yuma that you work on your ability, to block out the presences of the Sith." At these words, your heart dropped. The weight came back in full force, pushing you down. It was an effort to keep yourself seated, to not lay back into the sheets and give in to the heaviness that pressed into you. You swallowed, nodding. "I would like to continue your training, in that regard," Obi-Wan said, watching you intently, his voice soft. "Not to pick up where Yuma left off, necessarily. But to work to make sure you are fully in control of your abilities...so that, when the time comes that you must protect yourself, you are as prepared as you can be. I would like to do everything in my power to help you."

You struggled to breathe evenly, working the air in and out of your lungs. You knew that Obi-Wan meant well—that he was trying to show care for you, and for Yuma, by offering to help. And you knew you needed the help, knew now that your susceptibility to the dark side of the Force was a liability. So you couldn't help but hear the unspoken truth behind Obi-Wan's words—that it was your fault, what had happened on Felucia. That if you had made more progress in your lessons with Yuma, she would still...

Be here, you finished in your head, your eyes welling up against your will. You didn't need Obi-Wan to tell you. You knew the truth. You knew who was responsible for Yuma's death.

"Y/N," Obi-Wan started, leaning forward like he wanted to do something to comfort you, but you shook your head, letting the tears fall.

"I'll do it," you said, pushing against the heaviness. "I'll train with you." It was all you could manage. Obi-Wan paused, as if debating, then leaned back in his chair, putting his hand down.

"Good," Obi-Wan replied, his voice contemplative. "I'd like to start right away, given that the war has made it so my time at the Temple is limited. Tomorrow?" You nodded, looking away from him, your face flushed at your embarrassment. You'd never cried in front of Obi-Wan, and you didn't like it—you didn't want to feel weak around him, the Jedi who was always so very much in control. Until recently, you'd thought of yourself and Obi-Wan as similar souls, similar warriors who kept their emotions in check. You now realized that you were useless in more ways than one, that people like Obi-Wan would always surpass you. You wanted to go back to sleep.

"The last thing..." Obi-Wan continued, his voice unnervingly gentle. "I wanted to tell you," he said, leaning forward in his chair, waiting until you looked up to meet his gaze, "that you aren't alone. Though I know that no one and nothing could ever replace what Yuma was to you—to all of us—I want you to know that you still have family, here. That you still have a mentor that cares for you deeply." You blinked, the brazen affection in this statement disarming you.

"And that if you ever need to discuss anything," Obi-Wan continued, "anything, even things that you wouldn't bring to others in the Order, you can come to me. Whenever you need." You could have sworn Obi-Wan glanced infinitesimally toward the wardrobe, but it was so fast, you must have been imagining it.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan," you said, your voice small, your gratitude sincere. You felt so much affection and adoration for the Jedi Master sitting in front of you. You wished only that his faith in you wasn't so displaced. You felt your body shaking, the effort of pushing off the weight beginning to wear on you.

"That's all," Obi-Wan said, smiling at you as he stood, walking toward the door. "I'll expect you in the meditation chambers tomorrow." You nodded, feeling drained. "Don't—don't be unkind to yourself," Obi-Wan added, pausing in the bedroom doorway to turn back to you. "All of this is hard enough as it is." You nodded again, wondering how he could sense what you were thinking so accurately. Obi-Wan turned away, striding for the door to the apartment.

You listened as the front door slid shut, waiting, your heart beating. He didn't return. You sank back into your pillows, pulling the robe around you in a cocoon as you heard the wardrobe door slide open.

Anakin didn't say anything as he lay down next to you, pulling your whole body and cradling it in his arms, burying his face in your hair.

"Training might be a good thing," Anakin whispered, in a tone like he was trying to sound optimistic. You pulled yourself closer to him, your body quivering as if you were cold. You felt the tears at the edge of your eyes again, felt the quivers turn into quiet sobs.

"I'm here," Anakin said, kissing your head and stroking your back. "I'm here." What else could he say? Everything certainly wasn't okay. You tried in vain to calm the sobs, but they continued. Whenever you fought the numbness enough to stave it off, this was what happened. It was, in some ways, worse to feel.

"I should have been there," Anakin said vengefully, his voice shaky, "I shouldn't have left you." You inhaled, quickly, another sob breaking out of you.

"Are you saying—are you saying that you could have prevented it?" You pulled back in Anakin's arms, looking him in the face, your eyes wide. "That it's my fault, that she's...that she's...?" you felt your body continue to shake. Unfamiliar anger pulsed through you, the bitter anger that was only self-directed. You needed somewhere to put it. Nothing made sense, anymore. Your brain turned to fire.

"No, of course—no, Y/N, of course that's not—" Anakin started, alarmed, gripping your arms as you pulled farther away from him.

"You don’t have to say that, because I already know!" you replied, shouting now, as you pulled yourself out of the bed, standing before him. Anakin was on his feet immediately, his arms outstretched for you, but you backed away. "I know what happened is my fault entirely!! If I hadn’t—choked—if I had just listened—"

"Y/N, no, no, that's not it, no, listen to me, that's not..."

"You heard Obi-Wan," you continued, sobbing again. "And you said it yourself. Yuma was right. I was a liability, and because of me, my Master is dead."

"Y/N!" Anakin was shouting now, reaching out for you again, but you pushed him away, backing into the corner of your bedroom and sinking to the floor.

"Just leave," you choked, closing your eyes, feeling the world around you start to sway. "Just go." The world was starting to fade.

"Y/N," Anakin said gently, moving toward you slowly, his arms outstretched like he was approaching a loose rancor. "Y/N, it isn't your fault. None of it was your fault. I didn't think that for one second, and neither does Obi-Wan."

"Just leave," you repeated, softly, your sobs coming freely now. You didn't deserve to be comforted. You wanted to descend into oblivion. You were starting to lose the feeling in your legs, in your arms. You looked around, but saw that your vision was blurring over.

"I can't do that," Anakin murmured softly, and you felt his hands prying at your arms. You hadn't realized you'd been gripping your knees so tightly. You started to breathe quickly. "Look at me, Y/N," Anakin whispered, and you looked around, frantic now, your eyes clouded, unable to see. "Come back to me," Anakin breathed into your ear, and you blinked, his face swimming into view.

"I can't ever leave you," Anakin said, pulling you into his arms right there on the floor. You wanted to reply. You wanted to tell him that you couldn't ever leave him, either. You wanted to promise that the two of you would be together forever. But the world had changed, when Yuma had been taken from you. Or, you had changed. You now knew that everyone, no matter how much you loved them, would someday vanish. You didn't understand it—how one day, someone could be so very real, and the next, they could be gone. And Anakin would vanish, someday, too. You leaned into him, feeling how very real and alive he felt, with his arms around you. You felt the heaviness descend as you wept.

************************************************************************

NEW CHAPTER UP NOW!!!!!

just imagine this Obi-Wan comforting you after reading this angst 😂🤓

divider credit to @racingairplanes

taglist pt 1: @iyoogi @cluelessgurl @layazul @annadastra @graciexmarvel @galaxiasy @organasith @indigoblues1207 @outoftheregular @katsukiswrld @prettyboyrryy @jellydodger @wildflower57 @padmeamidalaslover @em-asian @heavenseraph @iloveinej @leapofblank @sahverah @elsyyie @usuallyunlikelyfox @jadeonce @papadragun @dopejellyfishfury @stxrrielle @lilianashomaresparza @prettylittlecarstairs @deadunicorn159 @atoelicker @arelisskywalker @maythefloorbewithyouanakin @your-local-crzy-lady @dontmindme262 @xenochuguardian @cassiopeiashift @allihavenegativethoughts @hamiltonwc @1-800-nostalgiaaa @heyitsaloy @haydenchristensenluvbot @sunflwrsunnieshine @muthafuckingstargirl @window-to-nothing @shadowhuntyi @jedi-archives @inmourningforanakin @vivsmcdo @betrund @ahqkas @aquaamethyst96 @escapepoet @randomstuff2040 @kenjikishimotosupremecy @nycweb-slinger @anxlaufeyson @magic-magnoliaa @theezlife @unipugrose22-blog @anhsoka @lucyysthings @hopefulpursepeanutdeputy @captainson-of-coul @zelzablues @chrisevansslutttt2

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adragonsfriend · 1 day

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Padme was not a Witness

I will never join the “Padmé was stupid to go to Mustafar” parade—she had valid reason to believe in the possibility of Anakin’s redemption—but there’s something awful in the fact that she didn’t have to witness either of his massacres.

Obi-Wan and Yoda walk past the bodies of their people—of their people’s children. Bail Organa goes to the temple and sees a kid get shot down trying to escape (more clones than Anakin, but still).

Padme hears about the second massacre after sitting in her apartment while the Temple was on fire. She’s told about them in vague terms. “I killed them like animals,” “he killed younglings,” She has a touch of denial when she goes to Mustafar partly because of her belief in Anakin, but partly because—I think—the Tuskan Massacre was never fully real to her. She understands it intellectually of course, but violence on that scale is difficult to conceptualise without seeing it, especially if it’s easier to just let it go. If she’d seen the bodies? Or seen Anakin kill them? She watched that one refugee kid die slowly, not at all violently, when she was working with the refugee organisation, and it affected her for the rest of her life. It is not a lack of caring on Padmé’s part that’s the problem.

Imagine being Obi-Wan listening to Padme saying “there’s still good in him,” after walking through the Temple, seeing the lightsaber marks on knights and children alike—not even to mention seeing her get strangled. It sounds not only wild, but honestly deeply offensive on more levels than one (besides the obvious issues it’s another, “train the boy,” prioritise Anakin over everything moment, except this time Obi-wan’s entire world has been torn apart, rather than just losing his Master)

If Padmé had actually been a witness to Anakin’s violence? If it was made present and visceral to her?

I think her opinions and her actions would’ve been different.

Thematically, it is crucial that when Luke goes to the second Death Star, he is under no illusions about who Anakin is or what he’s done, and in his most desperate moment he chooses to ask Anakin for help anyway. Padmé goes to him still a bit in denial, still a bit convinced things can return to how they once were. When she starts to push at the illusion, Anakin accuses her of betraying him and strangles her to shut her up, attempting to preserve the illusion (the difference between Anakin’s state at the time of his confrontations with Padmé and Luke is a whole other, very important topic). In part, her illusion allows Anakin to believe he can preserve the past (to be clear—he is the only one responsible for the choice to strangle her; Padme being imperfect is not an excuse for domestic abuse).

Side note, but if anyone is not sufficiently freaked out by Anakin strangling Padmé, it's important to know that strangulation is one of the flashing red warnings that physical abuse is doing to turn deadly, very, very quickly.

Luke’s complete and honest knowledge of Anakin’s worst self means there is nothing for Anakin to lose except his son, exactly as he is. No illusions, no wonderful past, not even any good memories together. Just his son.

To me, that’s one of several reasons (both thematic and logistical) why Padmé’s plea fails where Luke’s succeeds. None of those reasons has anything to do with her being stupid to go in the first place.

(There are some wonderful fanfics out there that show Padmé actually making her disapproval about the Tuskan massacre—both despite and because of her love—actively known during their marriage, and I think that interpretation of her is a stronger character than ROTS gives us, and more in line with what we’re shown in the first movie)

#star wars #padme amidala #obi wan kenobi #yoda #anakin skywalker #bail organa #luke skywalker #tw child death #tw violence #tw abuse #tw abuse mention #tw physical abuse

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ahsoka-in-a-hood · 9 months

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If we are willing to take the parts of previous movies in the trilogy that remain unsaid in following ones into our interpretation of the one we are watching, then the tusken massacre is relevant in RotS. Shmi is not mentioned by name, Anakin's actions are not spoken, but his dreams of Padme's death form a perfect echo of his dreams of Shmi. We can come up with sensible in-universe reasons for the callback, like how maybe Palpatine knew and induced the dreams to trigger Anakin, or perhaps the Force at work, but maybe it's just a fairytale, a parable, a rhyme.

Maybe it's a fun echo because it induces a sense of dread in both the audience and in Anakin. We've seen this before, we know where it leads. But while he's thinking about Padme, we're thinking about what he will do. Well, I am.

Anakin begins RotS as a liar. First, we watch him lie to Obi Wan about why he killed Dooku. The lie comes easily enough, Obi Wan believes it even more easily. Anakin Skywalker, exemplary jedi knight, hero of the hour, follower of the code. He feels uneasy about it though, he says so to Padme. When Obi Wan give his farewell and tells him how proud he is, and how Anakin has grown to be a greater jedi than he, Anakin cannot look him in the eye. It works on it's own, just about, but back to back with AotC it works better.

Of course, a lot of his lies are about Padme. (A lot more sympathetic, but also a far more absurd reason to clam up in a way; we know that the people who love him will still love him if chooses marriage over the Order.) But as he goes to Yoda and begins to tell him about his dreams, he stops himself. He does not tell the whole story. He cannot. We know why, we just watched aotc. Those dreams led to that death which led to that fall. We've seen it all before. He is so afraid.

I don't think it's controversial to say that Anakin's isolation and unwillingness to go to anyone except Palpatine for counsel contributed to his crisis in RotS. Palpatine definitely took advantage of that, and Anakin eschewed several onscreen attempts to get him to just. open up.

His actions in aotc were a foreshadowing of what was to come, but they also began a pattern of behavior of repression and denial and deceit. If he had come forward- if he had faced his actions which genuinely did cause him some horror at the time- he would have faced more immediate consequences. He would have disappointed and horrified Obi Wan (and the other jedi), he would not have been knighted, and he would not have been given positions of authority, at the least. But considering how much damage he did and how much he lost when he committed to the dark side, I would say the consequences of his deceit were far greater in the end.

Something that comes to mind is both the ending of the OT- with the darkside being something he could choose to just… stop doing, and also Yoda saying 'forever will it dominate your destiny'. I can see how they might sound contradictory, but to me they are in harmony- it is a choice, you can walk away, but there are always consequences. If Anakin had been held to account, there would have been immediate consequences, consequences he desperately wanted to avoid, but that wouldn't have been the end of the world for him either, not really. They wouldn't have actually stopped him from ever being okay again. (let's be real, even if Obi Wan were disappointed, he'd still have loved him, and Padme certainly did. ) Anakin didn't commit to the darkside when first he fell, he wanted to go on as he was- he wanted to keep the things he had- and so he could continue to act as a jedi for several years because he chose to act like one for the most part, but he did not fully commit to being a jedi either, and his dishonesty, and his lack of remorse, eventually had consequences for him. And for everyone else.

#tonight is an intoxicated night but i think i said what i mean to say #anakin skywalker

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calltomuster · 2 years

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Disabilities exist in Star Wars. Period.

This post is dedicated to certain specific people who say they are not be able to reconcile service animals in Star Wars, especially Jedi, since the Force and technology exist. These people seemingly have never seen Star Wars, where disabilities not only exist but feature prominently in many cases — yes, even in Jedi. So let us prove them definitively wrong here.

From the very beginning, disabilities have existed in Star Wars. In fact, one could argue a feature of a disability is one of the most iconic things about Star Wars. Even people who aren't Star Wars fans, or who haven't seen the movies at all, know the sound of Darth Vader's breathing. Darth Vader -- Anakin Skywalker -- is unable to breathe on his own and needs to be constantly hooked up to a life-support system simply to stay alive. This in itself is an answer to the argument that the Force compensates for everything. Perhaps you might want to say it is the Force that lets him stay alive beyond what would kill someone else, but still it cannot take the place of functional lungs, or grow back missing limbs, etc. Anakin Skywalker is one of the most powerful Force-sensitives to have ever lived, and yet he can still be disabled and need assistance. (Also, because sometimes I see people making the argument that because of all the pain that Anakin is in, he should be forgiven for his actions, let me say this: Anakin Skywalker can be disabled and still be villainous and make choices that hurt untold billions of people. Being disabled does not absolve you of your bad decisions. Disabled people are people too, and all people make choices and that is what determines the kind of person they are. But that's another post.)

Another example of the Force not compensating for everything is Yoda. We see Yoda using mobility aids multiple times throughout the OT and the PT, from a cane to a hoverchair. He is known as one of the wisest and most powerful Jedi ever, and yet he still uses mobility aids. "Yeah, well," you say, "he still fights with his lightsaber and does all those flips, so that doesn't count." This is the same stupid argument that people make against ambulatory wheelchair users. Needing to use a mobility aid does not mean you need to use it all the time. Total paralysis is not the only thing that makes people need to use wheelchairs or similar mobility aids. Often, people are technically capable of walking or moving around or even fighting and doing backflips in Yoda’s case, but the amount of pain and decreased function that such actions would cause are not worth it except for short amounts of time or in dire circumstances. This does not make them less disabled, or mean that they are faking it.

“Must be a Jedi thing,” you say. What about Chirrut Îmwe or Kanan Jarrus, who are both blind (or become so). The Force does not give them their sight back (aside from a certain final scene in Rebels). “It’s only for Force-sensitives, then,” you try next. Try looking at Saw Gerrera, who needs oxygen assistance and wears a pressurized suit over his body. Or how about 99, a disabled clone who helps in brothers and is commended as “a true soldier” upon his death? The clones are excellent examples, for that matter. Wolffe is missing an eye, Gregor has a traumatic brain injury, Echo uses extensive cybernetics to function, among many others.

Maybe still you want to argue that sure, someone might have a limb chopped off or whatever, but technology has come so far in Star Wars that they're not really disabled. Hear me now when I say: having accommodations that help you function in everyday life does not erase a disability. Go back and read that a few times if you need to, because it’s important.

Now, to be clear, I’m not at all saying Star Wars always has amazing disability representation. I know that’s not the case in many, many regards, and I will link below references that discuss it in more detail. But to say that something like a service animal does not belong in Star Wars is, frankly, extremely idiotic and ableist and ignores the long history of disability in the GFFA. Disabled people have always existed in Star Wars and other sci-fi/fantasy media and they always will.

Further reading and other perspectives:

Disability in Star Wars

Blind Warriors, Supercrips, and Techno-Marvels: Challenging Depictions of Disability in Star Wars

How Star Wars: The Bad Batch delivers the disability representation the franchise needed

Twisted and Evil: Ableism in Star Wars

This post was written largely in response to a comment left on a fic in the Service Animal Boga AU, so if you would like to read fics about disabled Obi-Wan with a service animal, please consider supporting us there. :)

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konoa-t · 7 months

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Hey so whats with this “Dead Dove” stuff I keep hearing about? I looked it up and all it said is that its dark fiction, but when i ask people about it they say its problematic content?

#[yoda death sound]#I am confusion :(#Cuz idk if I should be using it for my fics that have gore or major character death?#need help ough

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david-talks-sw · 1 year

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George Lucas & Karen Traviss' visions of Star Wars are NOT the same...

So whenever I come across this image:

I keep in mind that it's from a book written by Karen Traviss, who is a brilliant author (I adored Legacy of the Force: Bloodlines and Sacrifice) but whose stance on Anakin, Yoda & the Jedi and Star Wars morality is this:

As opposed to George Lucas' stance on Anakin, Yoda & the Jedi and Star Wars' morality, which is this:

In a children's story about Light and Dark, good and evil, selflessness vs selfishness, George Lucas marks the Empire as absolutely evil and the Rebels as absolutely good, in the Original Trilogy.

In the Prequels, the situation is more complex (the Jedi are drafted into a war and forced to do things they know they shouldn't be doing, but have to for the greater good; the Sith bring about order to a corrupt government) but the morality stays the same... the selfish, greedy Sith are absolutely evil and the selfless, compassionate Jedi are absolutely good.

That's George's thesis.

And, as a character, Yoda's function is to deliver that thesis. It's no wonder why Lucas treats Yoda's words as absolutely correct:

Yoda is Lucas' mouthpiece in the Prequels, his self-insert.

George Lucas' narrative frames Yoda as objectively right.

So when Karen Traviss questions the Jedi, particularly Yoda's character and wisdom, she's disagreeing with George Lucas' thesis.

Which is fair. Traviss, is a different person than Lucas, she's an ex-journalist with a more "grey" view of the world and a different philosophy re: fiction aimed at children. "Death of the author" and all that. Again, fair enough.

And if you like Travis' interpretation and philosophy more than George's, if her read resonates with you more... also fair enough.

But the EU is not a reliable source on Lucas' vision.

I've talked about this in MUCH more detail here, but if you do care about George Lucas' vision, then maybe don't draw from the Expanded Universe, which includes content written by authors who expressly disagree with him, like Traviss.

Sounds logical, but for some reason people will read the above-posted Dooku quote and treat it as reflective of Lucas' vision, when it's not the case.

George Lucas' Dooku doesn't have an issue with Yoda or the Jedi (at least not openly, as Darth Tyranus, the Sith Lord he wants them all dead). Dooku's issue is with the Senate and the Republic.

George Lucas specifically added that most Jedi share Dooku's concerns. Before he's revealed to be a mass-murdering, Sith who enslaves neutral systems, the Jedi think he makes a good point and are even reluctant to consider him a murder suspect.

But let's not start saying that Lucas' Prequels are meant to be about "the Jedi's failure" and "Dooku being right that the Jedi are corrupt.

Because that's not the case.

If that's how you see them, great. It's certainly how Traviss saw them. To each their own, authorial intent be damned.

But it's not what they were about, to Lucas. Stating the contrary is... I dunno, lying? Rewriting history?

It's as if I got hired to write a Lord of the Rings prequel seen from Gandalf's POV. And y'know what, maybe I don't like Gandalf. So I write him as a scheming asshole going “myahahahah, fuck hobbits! I’m gonna let them keep the One Ring so a bunch Nazgûl will swoop through the Shire and murder them!” and suddenly, everyone starts writing posts about the notion that “Growing up is realizing that Tolkien always intended for Gandalf to be the secret villain of LOTR!” as if that had always been the case and I didn't just reframe him that way retroactively.

Finally, I'd also encourage you to read @rendar-writes' well-made point here about the fact that, while claiming she "doesn't give the answers", Traviss nonetheless shows a clear anti-Jedi bias.

#There’s a difference between interpreting the story the way you want to #and saying that your interpretation’s is what the author originally intended to convey #star wars #george lucas #karen traviss #anakin skywalker #jedi order #dooku #meta #collection of quotes #lucas quotes #expanded universe

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underground-secret · 3 months

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The Hunter and The Witch~ Dean Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam, Dean, and Y/N investigate a haunting in an abandoned asylum rescuing two teenagers who ventured in, they become trapped with the spirits of those who had died in a riot decades ago, one of which was a doctor who causes extreme rage in his victims.

Warnings: Cannon violence, murder and mentions of suicide, arguing, banter, usage and mention of guns, ghosts, panicking/ anxiety, a little bit of angst

A/N: There will be a confusing part where your like who is she talking about and to that I say all in due time. Also i’m sorry it seems like i’m giving up on this (I didn’t realize I posted the last part a month ago) IM NOT i’m just super busy with school, if you’ve taken APUSH you get it—i’m fighting for my life.

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld , @okayiamkassandra , @fablesrose , @ada--44, @bonkydarnes, @star-yawnznn

Word Count: 11,033

Asylum

(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch)

I let out a big sigh, slumping in my chair as I do so, my head falling onto my laptop's keyboard, “How is your dad moving from place to place so fast”, I grumble into the keys. “Literally how!” My head shoots up as I complain, looking at Dean who sat across from me with his head propped up on one hand as he stared down at his fathers journal.

His eyes meet mine even as his head faces the book, his stare tells me everything I need to know. He’s also very frustrated, certainly more than me and he too has no answers.

I contemplate slamming my head against my keyboard when Sam walks back into their hotel room. His phone clasped tightly in his hand after he just went outside to call several people. “Caleb hasn't heard from him?” Dean asks his approaching brother even though the answer is written on his disappointed face.

“Nope. And neither has Jefferson or Paster Jim. What about the journal? Any leads in there?” Sam shoots back, referencing people the Winchesters knew. I had heard of them too, most of them really good friends of the boys but I never actually met them.

Now it’s Dean's turn to answer and complain, “No, same as last time I looked. Nothing I can make out.... I love the guy, but I swear, he writes like frickin’ Yoda.”

“You know, maybe we should call the Feds. File a missing person’s.” Sam sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“But isn’t he like, you know…wanted?” I ask, considering being a Hunter comes with breaking a lot of laws, like a lot. “That and Dad'd be pissed if we put the Feds on his tail” Dean adds.

Sam’s face contorts into anger, “I don't care anymore.” Suddenly a cell phone rings from across the room, Dean's phone to be exact who immediately goes over to his bag. Sam huffs something between a sigh and a frustrated grunt, “After all that happened back in Kansas, I mean...he should've been there, Dean. You said so yourself. You tried to call him and...nothing.”

“I know!” Dean yells loudly, snapping, the sound echoing off the ill painted walls. He rummages through his duffel rougher, “Where the hell is my cellphone?”

“You know, he could be dead for all we know.”

“Don't say that!” He snaps again, “He's not dead! He's – he's…”

“He’s not dead, your father is good at what he does. I'm sure he’s just caught up in something.” I tried to reason, turning in my chair so I could face both boys.

“Like that’s a good excuse” Sam spits back.

“Hey, I never said it was! But it certainly is a better and more optimistic view than death!” I lecture, my face scrunching up in offense.

“Huh.” Dean mumbles quietly getting our attention, “I don't believe it.” His words stopped Sam from saying anything further to me. His focus turned back on his brother, “What?” He asks.

“It's, uh....It's a text message. It's coordinates.” Dean answers and it’s clear who the message is from. I want to turn to Sam and say ‘Ha! told you so!’ but I hold back on the childish, but totally correct, notion. Before Sam can say anything snarky about the message Dean cuts him off, “Can I steal that?” He asks me to point to my open laptop. I nod my head quickly, “Go ahead.”

He walks back over to the table turning my laptop until it’s facing him and where he sat. “You think Dad was texting us?” Sam asks as his brother types away.

“He's given us coordinates before.” Dean answers.

“The man can barely work a toaster, Dean.”

“To be fair, a toaster and coordinates are pretty different. All you need is a paper map” I cut in, earning a hard glance from Sam. I could not explain why he suddenly had a problem with me other than the fact I disagreed with him, which in that case makes him just as childish as I wanted to be.

“Sam, it's good news! It means he's okay, or alive at least.” Dean adds, arguing.

“Well, was there a number on the caller ID?” Sam pushes, still somehow convinced it isn’t his Dad which when I think about it is pretty harsh. Would he rather his dad was dead? Probably not.

Dean answers, “Nah, it said 'unknown'.”

“Well, where do the coordinates point?” Sam follows up.

“That's the interesting part. Rockford, Illinois.”

“Ok, a little random, but what’s specifically so interesting about Illinois?” I ask this time.

“I checked the local Rockford paper. Take a look at this.” He turns my laptop around with a news article zoomed in on a black and white photo of a cop, “This cop, Walter Kelly, comes home from his shift, shoots his wife, then puts the gun in his mouth, blows his brains out. And earlier that night, Kelly and his partner responded to a call at the Roosevelt Asylum.”

“Okay, I'm not following. What has this have to do with us?” Sam asks, again I want to say something about him asking a dumb question but I hold back not wanting any more sass from him or anyone.

“Dad earmarked the same asylum in the journal. Let’s see…” He scoots my laptop back, pulling open his Dads stuffed journal that sat on the table. “Here. Seven unconfirmed sightings, two deaths – till last week at least. I think this is where he wants us to go.”

Sam snorts, “This is a job... Dad wants us to work a job.”

Dean shrugs, “Well, maybe we'll meet up with him? Maybe he's there?”

“Maybe he's not? I mean, he could be sending us there, by ourselves, to hunt this thing.” Sam snaps back.

“Does it matter? I mean we know it’s a hunt and we get to help people. I don’t see a loss in going.” I say, half shrugging.

“This doesn't strike either of you as weird? The texting? The coordinates?” Sam argues, his head snapping from his brother to me. It’s a good point to be honest but what else is there to do? Though I do not make that question vocal.

“Sam! Dad's tellin' us to go somewhere, we're goin'.” Dean yells, final word. Sam makes a nasty bitchface and sighs, saying nothing more.

I lean against the cold exterior of the Impala, my arms crossed against my chest to fend off any bit of the cold night even with my layers on. I could go inside the car but standing outside, right at the front of the car, felt more productive while waiting for the boys to finish their whole “skit” for information.

Dean would go in and antagonize the partner of the cop from the article which would inevitably fail. So Sam would be waiting there telling Dean, who he pretends to not know, to (in a lack of a better word) f- off so that Sam could weasel his way into questioning.

A very complicated plan for a bunch of dummies. I sigh again, my eyes closing in the progress, I try to force the tension out of my body, all the arguing infecting my usual good mood.

I open my eyes back up only to round the car and find it locked. My head falls forward, my chin touching my chest, of course Dean would lock his precious car. I glanced around me, barely anyone lingering outside except some people up against the bar smoking or leaving to go elsewhere, no one was looking so I gingerly tapped the handle, a swirl of purple mist leaving my fingertip until it slithered its way into the car and its mechanics. With a satisfying click the little lock pokes up, I grin as I pull open the door leaning in only to rustle through my bag and pull out my book.

Dean would have to forgive me, though my little trick did nothing to harm the car to begin with. I push down the lock, jabbing into my palm as I do so, closing the door behind me I make my way to the front of the car once more leaning against it as I open up my worn book of Little Women for the hundredth time. The pages had long begun to yellow though it only went as far as a light yellow, still the crisp smell of an old book wafted into my nose, serenity finding me.

Suddenly the bar door slams open, startling me for a moment after getting lost in the prospect of an escape. Dean quickly walks over to where I was waiting looking extra grumpy, his eyebrows scrunched together with his arms thrown out, “He pushed me so hard!” He nearly yells, his choice of words were childish at worst and yet it was very amusing. “Why are you reading that again?” He asks, suddenly pointing at my book.

“‘Cause I love it” I smile simply.

“Haven’t you read that a hundred times?” he asks, moving next to me, leaning against the car too.

“Give or take” I laugh lightly, “It’s one of my many comfort books.” I mark my spot before shutting the book. “I’m guessing your silly plan worked?” I ask him as he leans closer to me. He gives me that devilish smirk, “Not silly if it worked, sweetheart.”

Some time later Sam exits the bar, “Shoved me kinda hard in there, buddy boy” Dean spits.

“I had to sell it, didn't I? It's method acting.” Sam bites back, just tension building on more tension. But there’s only so much the atmosphere or people can take before it blows up.

“Huh?”

“It’s like immersing yourself emotionally and psychologically with your character” I whisper before closing my book shut. But instead of clarity crossing over Dean's face he looks just as confused if not a little more. Sam sighs, “Never mind.”

“Okay so what’d he tell you?” I ask.

“So, Walter Kelly was a good cop. Head of his class, even-keeled, he had a bright future ahead of him.” Sam explains. Basically nothing to suggest him suddenly committing a murder suicide.

“What about at home?” Dean shoots back.

“He and his wife had a few fights, like everybody, but he was mostly smooth sailing. They were even talking about having kids.” Sam answers, I frown at the last part there was a whole life they could have lived.

“Alright, so either Kelly had some deep-seated crazy waiting to bust out, or something else did it to him.” Dean acknowledges.

“Well did anything happen as of supper recently that would even hint to a psychotic break?” I ask even though based on what we have it didn’t seem likely.

“No” Sam shakes his head, “Not that he mentioned at least.” I nod my head making a small mental note of that possibility, although unlikely, just in case.

“What'd Gunderson tell you about the asylum?” Dean questions.

“A lot.”

A loud horn blares from a nearby truck as Sam makes his way over the tall fence. With Dean slightly ahead of me I begin to climb the chain linked fence, I get a small jumping start clutching on to the cold fence. I shove my shoes into the little groves as I make my way up swiftly, being able to lift my legs high enough that I could make it to the top in about four moves. I balance myself on top of it before swinging my leg over it, I reposition myself to dangle slightly as my feet find purchase in the fence when about half way down I just decide to jump the rest of the way, landing on my feet in an almost crouched position.

The asylum itself didn’t look like it was falling apart but the overgrown bushes on the plot, the moss covering the building and the boarded up windows were a tell-tale tell sign enough that it was abandoned. The only thing keeping it from being entirely creepy was the early morning sun.

The door had no lock on it most likely from all the trespassing. But just as the door fell open an immediate musty smell hit my nose from all the trash covering the floor from beer bottles and cans to random bits of paper. Every surface of the walls was covered by either graffiti or mold, only small hints of the old green wallpaper left behind. “So apparently the cops chased the kids here....into the south wing.” Sam points to the sign hung over the door. The letters were mostly peeling, just another sign of the aging building.

“South wing, huh?” Dean breathes out, “Wait a second.” He pulls out his Dada journal from the inside pocket of his coat, flipping the pages until he found whatever he was looking for, “1972. Three kids broke into the south wing, only one survived. Way he tells it, one of his friends went nuts and started lighting up the place.”

“So the South Wing seems to be the route of this all” I remark.

“But if the kids are spelunking the asylum, why aren't there a ton more deaths?” Dean points out, looking up from the journal. Sam notes the rusted, broken chains hanging from the handle of the door, “Looks like the doors are usually chained. Could've been chained up for years.”

“Yeah, to keep people out. Or to keep something in.” Dean comments.

I cringe, “Is it really necessary to say such ominous things?”

“What? It’s the truth” Dean shrugs and I roll my eyes.

“Are you guys done?” Sam asks looking at us impatiently

“Yeah yeah open the door” I say before quickly adding a mumble of, “I hope a rat jumps out at you”

Sam looks at me with a mix of being offended and being annoyed, “Why would you say that?”

“Sorry!” I say half meaning it, “It’s an abandoned building and all so you know…rats”

“Just” Dean starts, him being the annoyed one now, “Open the door.” Sam nods, carefully opening the rusted door with a creek revealing a long creepy hallway, but at last no rats scurry out. The long hall was somehow only slightly better than the entrance with the walls peeling of its paint, most of it replaced by mold which only increases as the hallway extends, if we get sick we’ll know why that’s for sure.

“Let me know if you see any dead people, Haley Joel.” Dean jokes, lighting the mood as he pulls out his EMF reader, referencing the movie Six Sense. “Dude, enough.” Sam groans.

“I'm serious. You gotta be careful, all right? Ghosts are attracted to that whole ESP thing you got going on.” Dean says. Without missing a beat, Sam bites back, “I told you, it's not ESP! I just have strange vibes sometimes. Weird dreams.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don't ask, don't tell.”

“Anything going on with your EMF?” I ask, hoping to change the subject. “Nope. Of course, it doesn't mean no one's home.” Dean answers.

“Well, spirits can't appear during certain hours of the day.” Sam adds.

“Yeah, the freaks come out at night.” Dean comments.

The room falls quiet for a moment before Dean speaks up again, “Hey Sam, who do you think is the hotter psychic: Patricia Arquette, Jennifer Love Hewitt, or you?” Sam pushes his brother in response. “Oh definitely Jennifer Love Hewitt, I mean did you see her in Shortcut to Happiness ‘cause…wow” I answer before quickly adding, “No offense Sammy.” But Sam pushes me lightly too, a laugh bubbling up from my chest as I nearly knock into the moldy wall.

We enter a room that smells worse than the main entrance area, the culprit of the rotting flesh smell most likely being whatever pink goop is spilling out of a glass jar with liquid on a table in the far corner. This asylum was truly amazing at one-upping itself in terms of being horrible. The entire room is bad itself, all sorts of equipment they used on patients long ago when they had no clue what a mental illness really was or how to help people who struggled with it.

“God, they did such horrible things to these poor people” I remarked, stepping deeper into the room. The sight of a clearly used surgery table sending a shiver down my spine. Dean lets out a low whistle, “Electro-shock. Lobotomies…”

“Did you know JFK’s sister got a lobotomy done because she suffered from seizures and mood swings. But it only wound up leaving her permanently incapacitated and unable to properly speak, only goes to show how little they knew about all that stuff” I say, recalling a fact I remember reading about somewhere in an article.

“‘That one of your fun facts?” Dean inquires, clearly humoring me. I hum a “mhm” as I bend down slightly to look at a glass container filled with some sort of yellow liquid. I almost expect something equally as gross to be inside but there isn’t.

“So. Whaddaya think? Ghosts possessing people?” Dean asks out loud to no one in particular.

“Maybe. Or maybe it's more like Amityville, or the Smurl hunting.” Sam answers, listing out examples of cases in which people claimed the devil had told them to do something bad and or possessed them. “Or Son of Sam, though that guy was just a basket case who admitted to lying about that demon bit” I add.

“Spirits driving them insane. Kinda like my man Jack in The Shining.” Dean quips in, always with his references. I look up from the vials of I don’t know what to see him grinning, a smile forming on my own face at his charming expression.

“Dean.” Sam calls out, gaining his brother's attention, “When are we going to talk about it?” Uneasiness slips its way into the cracks of the building, finding us. “Talk about what?” Dean asks back, but I have a feeling he knows what he’s talking about, it was clear as day. “About the fact Dad's not here.” Sam answers, already clearly annoyed. I straightened up, moving an inch closer to where they stood in the middle of the room in case I had to break up another fight. It hadn’t been anywhere close to a week from the last time I had to do so back in Kansas. “Oh. I see.” Dean replies, “How ’bout...never.”

Sam rolls his eyes, “I'm being serious, man. He sent us here…” Dean cuts in immediately, “So am I, Sam. Look, he sent us here, he obviously wants us here. We'll pick up the search later.” They moved closer to each other with each word they spat, up until they got close enough that they would be able to throw a punch if they decided to. “It doesn't matter what he wants.” Sam argues.

“See. That attitude? Right there?” Dean points at him, “That is why I always get the extra cookie.”

“Guys come on, you can argue this later let’s just finish this hunt” I sigh, crossing my arms across my chest. Sam glares at me as if to say “stay out of this”, I get why they’re upset but all this arguing gets us nowhere and it’s beginning to get annoying. Sam turns back to his brother, “Dad could be in trouble, we should be looking for him. We deserve some answers, Dean. I mean, this is our family we're talking about.”

“I understand that, Sam, but he's given us an order.” Dean replies rather calmly. I don’t necessarily like John, knowing everything he put my boys through made it hard to. But he was their Dad and Dean wanted my help and so I will help find their Dad, even if I mostly agree with Sam. “So what, we gotta always follow Dad's orders?” Sam spits, and I almost hate the fact that I do agree with him.

I try to ignore their arguing, knowing they wouldn’t let up, it wasn’t the sort of argument where someone won. I open a drawer near me, cobwebs and multiple clippings from old patient files filling it. “Of course we do.” I hear Dean answer.

I carefully take the clippings out, trying to avoid the cobwebs. I look through the handful quickly everything either ripped off or eradicated except bits of the Doctor's name. “If you're done over there it seems the main evil doctor was ‘Sanford Ellicott’. We should probably research him and the south wing, see what we can find” I say plainly, hoping this could all be over with soon so at least they would stop fighting.

I keep my legs up on the soft chair, my knees to my chest as I read my book. Dean is sitting next to me, his arm resting on the back of my chair, his legs spread widely. From my peripheral vision I see him stare up at the ceiling clearly bored as we wait for his brother to be done in therapy, or really done questioning the apparent son of Dr.Ellicott.

He groans, the noise coming from deep in his chest. I put my bookmark back in my book, shutting it and putting it next to me. I put my arms on my propped up knees lying the side of my face down on them, my cheek squishing against my arm as I peer at Dean. The immediate thought of how good he looks with his head thrown back, a very light stubble gracing his face, his eyes looking greener with the light shining from behind us and—

I shove the thought far into the back of my mind, it wasn’t the time for this not at all. Not even a little. “‘You okay?” I ask softly.

He rolls his head to the side, eyeing me “Sammy’s taking too damn long. He’s already pissed me off.”

“He wouldn’t be taking long unless it was necessary” I answer, smiling at his demeanor. He groans again, “Do you wanna go get coffee? I saw a place a block away, Sam can text when he’s done.” I offer, hoping it would distract him from being so pissed off. He leans his head up, squinting at me, “Is this your attempt at curing my boredom?”

“That depends, is it working?” I squint back at him as I lift my head from my arms, laughter threatening to bubble from my lips.

“Yes” He nods, throwing his hand on my knee, “Let’s go” but he keeps his hand there, a giddy nervousness settling itself in my stomach.

“See I told you couples therapy works!” a hushed voice says catching our attention. I look up to see a red headed girl and her tan boyfriend walking past us without trying to hide their stares, “Wer— we aren’t—“ I try to say loud enough for them to hear but my voice doesn't reach them, “Actually” I sigh, my face feeling warm, “it’s probably best if they just go to therapy.”

I turn my head back towards Dean, finding him already looking at me with scrunched eyebrows, studying me as if he was contemplating something. I place my hand over his, only realizing then my hands were cold when compared to his warm ones, “Ready?” I ask softly. He clears his throat abruptly, nodding his head as he removes his hand from my knee and gets up. I make sure to grab my book as I follow suit, but we only reach the door when a familiar tall figure walks right past us.

Dean's body language changes, he turns back to me confused and annoyed before pushing through the door. Tension clearly already has made its home in his back and shoulders. “Dude! You were in there forever, we were about to leave you. What the hell were you talking about?” He calls out towards his brother, easily matching his pace.

“Just the hospital, you know.” Sam answers plainly. I jog to catch up to them and their stupid long legs, “What’d you find?” I ask.

“The south wing? It's where they housed the really hard cases. The psychotics, the criminally insane.” “Sounds cozy.” Dean remarks.

“Yeah. And one night in '64, they rioted. Attacked staff. Attacked each other.” Sam elaborates.

“Any deaths? Dean follows up.

“Some patients, some staff. I guess it was pretty gory. Some of the bodies were never even recovered, including our chief of staff, Ellicott.”

“Did they…stuff him somewhere. I mean I feel like the place is only so big, right?” I hesitantly say.

Sam shrugs, “Cops scoured every inch of the place.”

“That's grim.” Dean murmurs just as we reach the Impala. “Yeah. So, they transferred all the remaining patients and closed the hospital down” Sam says as he rounds the car.

“So, to sum it up, we've got a bunch of violent deaths and a bunch of unrecovered bodies.” Dean lists out.

“And a bunch of angry spirits.” Sam adds

“Cute.” I remark, sarcastically.

“Let's check out the hospital tonight.” Dean finishes, opening the car door.

I shine my flashlight over the asylum, naturally in the darkness of the night it was far creepier than it was only hours before. I follow behind the boys as they enter the dingy entrance, making sure I don’t hit into the duffle bag hanging from Dean's shoulder. “‘You guys getting anything?” I ask since they hold the equipment. Dean holds his EMF reader out in front of him, “Yeah, big time.”

“This place is orbing like crazy.” Sam adds, looking at the screen of the camera he holds. “Eww, why would you say it like that?” I cringe before mimicking the way he said “orbing.” Sam turns around slowly, glaring at me “How mature of you, Y/n” he deadpans. “Hey i’m just calling it as it is” I respond in defense. He glares at me one last time, turning back around and I hear him mimic what I said. I’m about to hit him on the arm when Dean starts speaking, he looks between us, ultimately choosing to ignore our childish behavior, “There’s probably multiple spirits out and about.”

Sam added “And if these uncovered bodies are causing the haunting…”

“We gotta find ’em and burn ’em.” Dean finishes, “Just be careful though. The only thing that makes me more nervous than a pissed off spirit... is the pissed off spirit of a psycho killer.” With that we keep walking until we hit the same room we were in the last time we were here, not having gone any further than that the first time around.

We walk a few feet further separating into three different rooms. I scanned my flashlight over the dark room, it had no windows though even if it did it would have been boarded up meaning no natural light to begin with had it been daytime. It was a relatively small room with more graffiti lining the originally white walls. I take a single step into the room, glass crunching underneath my shoe, I lift my foot immediately, kicking the broken glass bottle to the side.

I move further into the room, an overturned desk and a long gone broken lamp on the floor. Must have been a little office, I think to myself as I walk over to the desk finding a small knocked over filing cabinet. I nudged the metal cabinet with my foot, testing to see if anything wanted to make an appearance…like a rat.

When nothing comes from it I twirl my finger, an invisible force turning the cabinet right side up making it accessible. I pull each draw open, still cautious of any critters crawling out, hoping that there would be some hint as to where to look for the unfound bodies. “Y/n” I hear my name called out from behind me.

“Yeah?” I say turning around but there’s no one there. I shine my flashlight first on the doorway, only shadows dancing on the outskirts of my light. I purse my lips, a small pinch of fear forming itself in my heart. I move my flashlight slowly to shine in the corner, every hair on my body standing up. An old man with deep sunken eyes stands in the corner, his body permanently hunched over with his head tilted to the side. Countless needles stick out from his ghostly body, piercing through his hospital gown.

My mouth goes slack with an almost scream in warning to the boys. Still the man doesn't move, he just stares at me which is arguably worse than if he lunged at me, his mouth moves as if in an attempt to say something but his jaw is broken and the words come out in an extended noise. “b….b…b—“ The loud sound of a shotgun goes off just across from the man, my head snaps in the direction of the doorway, a breathless Dean standing there his gun still pointed at the man. “We thought something happened!” Sam half yells, standing right behind his brother.

“I literally haven’t moved from here” I respond, looking back at the corner where he stood. “You okay sweetheart?” Dean asks. I nod, “Yeah, I mean he didn’t do anything he was just—“

“Standing there” Sam finishes my sentence, “See I told you!”—he nudges his brother—“There’s something weird with the spirits here, they aren’t being aggressive-“ I cut him off this time, concern and confusion making my eyebrows scrunch together, “Wait you encountered a spirit?”

“You didn’t hear Sammy scream for us? Or the gun?” Dean asks. I look between them only being more confused, “No, what are you talking about?!” Except they don’t answer, only looking at each other and then back at me, eyes wide, “Alright something really is going on” Dean admits.

They begin to shuffle out of the room, and I follow, we walk aimlessly down the hall in thought when suddenly a noise like metal scraping against the floor comes from a room just steps away. Dean immediately raises his shotgun, carefully entering the room with Sam and I acting as the lightning. The room had a singular upturned bed facing the only window in the small room, a ragged sheet covering the bed barely concealing the top of a blonde head. We all share a look, bracing ourselves, Sam reaches out tipping over the bed causing it to come down with a loud crash. A young girl sits crouched on the floor, panting and grasping her chest.

“It's alright, we're not going to hurt you. It's okay. What's your name?” Dean asks the poor girl, moving his gun down and away from the girl. “Katherine. Kat.” She answers, peering up at us with her big brown eyes.

“What are you doing here!?” Sam half yells at her. I hit his arm, “You suck at comforting people” I mumbled loud enough for him to hear, nearly missing the glare I received in return. I move past Dean leaning down towards the girl, offering my hand to help her up. You can comfort someone without making them seem incapable. She eyes me carefully for a beat before shakily reaching up and taking my hand, “Um. My boyfriend, Gavin” she answers as I lift her up. “Is he here?” Dean asks.

She lets go of my hand reaching up to tuck her hair behind her ears, “Somewhere. He thought it would be fun, try and see some ghosts” she explains, "I thought it was all just...you know. Pretend. I've seen things. I heard Gavin scream and... “

“Alright.” Dean responds, pausing for a beat as if to go over the plan he most definitely already made, “Kat? Come on. Sam's gonna get you out of here and then we're gonna find your boyfriend.”

“No! No. I'm not going to leave without Gavin. I'm coming with you.” Kat declares, looking frantically between us all.

“It's no joke around here, okay. It's dangerous.” Dean lectures, his voice getting increasingly louder. “That's why I gotta find him” she answers, her voice stern and straight regardless of being clearly shaken up. Dean meets Sam and then my eyes, “Alright, I guess we gunna split up then. Y/N with Sam, Kat with me. Let’s go.”

I lead the way out this time, Sam right next to me as we go down hallway after hallway. Each one seemingly more intricate than the last, if that was even possible. I hope Sam is keeping track of where we are because I’m already lost.

“Gavin?” I call out, peeking around each hallway corner. Is it possible he left? No he wouldn’t leave his girlfriend, right? Though the asylum is huge and he could be anywhere—“Y/N! Over here!” Sam calls out from down the hallway to my left. I swirl around heading towards him, crouched down near a rouge hospital bed, I hear him speak as I approach “Hey, Gavin. It's okay, I’m here to help.”

“Who are you?” He responds, fixing his brown hair as he pushes himself away from Sam knocking into the wall behind him in the process. “My name is Sam, that’s Y/N” he gestures towards me, “Uh, we found your girlfriend.”

“Kat?” He asks his brown eyes widening, he gets up revealing his height. He isn't as tall as Sam, probably closer to Dean's height then anything but he was certainly taller then me and his girlfriend. “Is she alright?”

“Yeah. She's worried about you. Are you okay?” Sam responds.

“I was running. I think I fell.” He lifts his hand to the side of his head, his corduroy jacket moving with him. “What were you running from?” I ask.

“There was...there was this girl. Her face. It was all messed up.”

“Okay listen, did this girl... did she try and hurt you?” Sam follows up, asking carefully. “What? No, she...uh…”

“She what?” Sam asks, impatience on the tip of his tongue.

“She...kissed me.”

…The hall falls silent, neither of us expecting that to be his answer. I’ve never heard of a case in which someone was kissed by a ghost. I mean that’s just disgusting and horrifying, no amount of mouthwash can fix that…or therapy. “Uh...um...but...but she didn't hurt you, physically?” Sam finally says.

“Dude! She kissed me. I'm scarred for life!” Gavin yells, his eyes widening again. “Well, trust me, it could have been worse.” Sam replies, again not much on the comforting side. Plus I feel like I’d rather be thrown ten feet then kissed by a ghost. “I’m sorry we have to pressure you like this now after you just experienced that but is there anything else you remember?” I ask softly.

“She uh...actually, she tried to whisper something in my ear.” He answers shyly, almost embarrassed by all this. “What?” Sam shoots back.

“I don't know. I ran like hell.” He answers truthfully.

“That’s the third encounter without an attack” Sam thinks out loud. Gavin glares at him sharply, “Oh…Um…besides the…Uh…kissing” Sam adds.

“Can we really trust that the South Wing really did have violent patients? I mean the workers here aren’t exactly the most reliable considering everything they’ve done to these poor people” I mention.

“She’s got a point” Gavin intervenes. We both look at him, “Um yeah. But what if they were trying to tell us something?” Sam says.

“You mean like some hint as to where uh…” I look over at Gavin knowing I can’t exactly say a rotting body somewhere, “you know is” I mumble looking back at Sam. “Yeah” he answers just as a loud scream rings out from afar. We all share a look of confusion and worry, “That sounds like Kat!” Gavin says. Not waiting a second later we go off running in the direction of the screaming, just about everything you're not supposed to do.

Just down the hall Dean is banging on a huge metal door with a pipe. “What’s going on?” Sam asks just as we approach.

“She's inside with one of them.” He answers his breath a little labored. Kay screams again, “Help me!!”

“Kat!” Gavin yells back banging on the door.

“Get me outta here!” She shouts.

I hide my hand behind my hip making sure to look down, to avoid having to explain anything to Gavin later. With my concealed hand I reached it over to the metal door, my fingertips barely brushing the cold exterior before a hand wrapped around my wrist pulling it forth. “Wait” Sam said sternly, dropping my wrist. I turn my head to look at Dean with questioning eyes as if he would have a reason why his brother stopped me. But when I look at him he’s looking between my wrist and his brother, his eyes scrunched in offense and what may look like anger, upset he stopped me, because doing so might be risking an innocent girl's life.

“Kat, it's not going to hurt you. Listen to me. You've got to face it. You've got to calm down.” Sam commands, talking to Kat through the door. He must be thinking back to what we said before. “She's gotta what?!” Dean yells, astonished.

“I have to what?!” Kat shouts back.

“These spirits, they're not trying to hurt us, they're trying to communicate.” Sam explains, indeed referencing what we were discussing before I just hope he’s right, “You gotta face it. You gotta listen to it.”

“You face it!” Kat snaps back. A smile threatening to show on my lips. “No! It's the only way to get out of there” Sam insists.

“No!” Kat screams.

“Sam, come on let me get her out” I say quietly hoping only those who know about my abilities can hear me. “No” He says towards me before directing his voice towards the door, “Look at it, come on. You can do it.”

She seems to listen to him, no more screams against his plan. We all wait impatiently, the air thick with anxiety, if this doesn’t work then we caused a very avoidable death. “Kat?” Gavin calls out.

“Man, I hope you're right about this.” Dean grumbles.

“Yeah, me too” Sam nods.

“No offense Sammy, but you should have voiced your concern before” I bite, crossing my arms across my chest.

Suddenly the door creaks open slowly, Kat peeking out. Her eyes are wide and blank, clearly startled and traumatized. “Oh, Kat” Gavin murmurs, wrapping his arms around his girlfriend.

Sam maneuvers himself around them, opening the large door further to get past them into the room. He comes back out not even a minute later shaking his head, whatever spirit was in there isn’t anymore.

“One thirty-seven.” Kay says suddenly, wiping away her teary eyes.

“Sorry?” Dean looks at her, puzzled.

“It whispered in my ear. 137.” She clarified.

“Room number.” The boys and I said in sync, our eyes wide in clarity.

“Jinx” I say quickly pointing towards the boys. Dean groans, “You always win.”

I beam, looking up at him, “You just always forget.”

“Yeah cause he’s actually focused on the hunt” Sam quipped, annoyed. “Hey I am foc-“ I try to defend only getting cut off by Sam nudging Dean and I down the hall out of hearing reach throwing a “Excuse us” to the two teens.

“Alright. So if these spirits aren't trying to hurt anyone…” Sam starts getting his sentence finished by his brother, “Then what are they trying to do?”

“Maybe they're helping us out” I shrug, “Giving us hints?”

“I guess we'll find out.” Dean huffs.

“Alright.” Sam confirms, nothing more to be said.

Dean separates from our little huddle calling out to the kids waiting on us, “So, now, are you guys ready to leave this place?”

“That's an understatement.” Kat remarks.

“Okay.” He turns back to us, “Sam you get them outta here. Y/N were going to go find room 137.”

“Isn’t it best that I go with Sam?, make sure they can get out” I ask, not to say that I don’t want to go with Dean but still trying to be reasonable.

“If the spirits suddenly decide to get rowdy and gang up on me like they did Doc, I’d want you on my side” Dean answers, making a motion with his hands weirdly that I suppose is meant to represent my abilities. “Ok fair enough” I shrug, not needing any more convincing. Sam moves away towards Kat and Gavin. Dean and I waited until they were out of sight, getting led by Sam, before moving to find room 137.

We only move a few feet when I notice the lack of something in Dean's hand, “What happened to your flashlight?” I ask. He pulls back the side of his grayish-blue button down jacket exposing the thick flashlight tucked into his jeans, “Died jus’ before Kat got dragged into that room” he explains. I reluctantly drag my eyes back up to his face, a flashlight held in his jeans shouldn't have been hot, I give him a single awkward nod before forcing my eyes back in front of me.

“I think it’s down this way” He nudges my arm just as we get to the end of the long hallway, pointing left. I point my flashlight in that direction, the light illuminating the continuous mess of the asylum, “How do you know?” I ask. He shrugs, “Intuition.” I followed him down the hall even under the weak assumption, there were hardly any sign indicators and if there were they were unreadable due to destruction or graffiti.

I give him a look as we walk the hall, not finding the room. “I meant the next one over” he says with a stupid smile on his face. “Oh yeah of course” I nod, playing into whatever you want to call this.

He mumbles the room number underneath his breath, an excited-nervous energy surrounding him as we approach the supposed right hallway. It was adorable.

“Look who was right.” He says, his voice coming from behind me. I turn towards him an even bigger smile on his face, I lift my flashlight to shine where the number would be. “Let’s just hope the ghost wasn’t tricking us” I huff.

He goes to push the door open only to find it stuck on something, he grunts putting more of his body weight on the door until it’s open enough to let us through. The room is a mess (but what else is new for this place), filing cabinets pushed over, papers everywhere, the walls stained with something that I think I’d rather not know. I shine the flashlight around going over to one of the filing cabinets opening it to find manila folders, I flick through them. More patient files but nothing of use as of now.

I whirl around to find Dean crouched down in the back of the room, prying off a wooden panel. He finally gets it off with a loud cracking noise, “This is why I get paid the big bucks.” he murmurs, the only indication that he found something. “You don’t get paid any bucks” I responded.

He turns his head slowly to me in offense holding up a deteriorating satchel in one hand and a mess of papers in the other. He gets up handing me the stack of papers and with his foot drags up a nearby chair scooting it close for me before dragging up one for himself. I go through my stack, a bunch of drawn images of medical instruments like lobotomy pick, straight jackets and cuffs, and other drawings with no labels but incredibly detailed writing and drawings that were nothing more than torture. “This feels like a messed up book club” I comment.

“Yeah check this out. Dr. here believed that provoking extreme anger would be therapeutic.” He explains, “Seems like all he ever did was work on this theory.”

“I think I read a research paper from 2002 on a similar idea called catharsis” I explain, “It basically means venting out negative emotions, especially anger. However researchers found it did the opposite and more likely increased aggression. But I guess in this case he was forcing it rather than the patients venting out anger they had from past traumas or anything of the sort.”

I know he is listening to my rant, his eyes moving up from the book to look at me before going back to the journal, his eyes scrunched in concern at what he read, “All work and no play makes Dr. Ellicott a very dull boy.”

I nearly laugh when a sudden creak comes from the hall, I look to Dean to find him with just as a confused face as mine. He had heard it too. He makes a “give me” motion so I hand over the papers, he puts them and the journal he read from back in the satchel. Without saying anything I knew he was moving us to check up on Sammy.

We manage our way back to the room Kat got locked into, but from there it winds up being a maze as to where Sammy could be. Lefts and rights and accidentally going in large circles. “Alright one more hallway and then we’re calling him” I plead, getting frustrated at this stupid musty asylum. “Deal” Dean nods.

The floor was particularly bad in this hall, each step followed by a creak each one louder then the next. Just as we reach the end of the hallway and turn right, for a split second, Kat stands there shotgun raised at us, her finger on the trigger. She shoots. Dean throws himself backwards, his arm going out right in front of me pushing me back against the corner wall out of the way from danger. Both of us were up against the wall next to each other, his arm just beneath my breasts holding me in place. A large puff of white smoke looking substance flies out from the wall, bits of the wall crumbling to the floor just by Dean's shoulder opposite to the one near me. Acting as the only signs of where the bullet had gone.

Our labored breaths nearly matched each other's, chests heaving. His arm remains where it is even when no more shots ring out, he yells, “Damn it, damn it, don’t shoot! It's us!!”

“Sorry! Sorry.” Kat meekly cries out.

“Jesus Chri-“ I peered around Dean's body at the shot, she would have killed us. Impressive. I bring a shaky hand up to the arm that still held me, he drops his arm allowing me to move past him and round the corner to the people who nearly ended us.

“What are you still doing here?! You're supposed to be gone! Also, why are you good with a gun?!” I exclaim. Dean immediately adding, “Where’s Sam?” Our rushed voices combining for a melody of pressured questions.

“He went to the basement. You called him.” Gavin answers, pointing to Dean. “I didn't call anybody.” Dean replies, looking at me confused I shrug not having any idea myself.

“His cell phone rang. He said it was you.” Kat elaborates.

“Basement, huh?” Dean hums before turning to me, “I’m gonna go to Sam, get them out of here.”

“Wait no I should come with you” I say.

“I’ll be fine, sweetheart, just get them out of here” He orders, but his voice is soft where it should be commanding. He takes the gun from Kat and before I can say anything more he’s running off.

I turn towards the door, trying to think of the least suspicious way possible to open the door. A chain with a lock lies on the floor just in front of my feet. It must not just be a locked door, perhaps it is the spirits here keeping it closed. I pull on the door handle letting my powers seep into the large door willing it open. It opens with another pull, having to use a lot of strength to open the old door. “Alright let’s go” I say, turning to the two behind me. They look at me with a mix of shock and confusion, “How di-“ Gavin asks before I cut him off, “It was just jammed” I lie.

I follow them down the steps and watch them climb over the fence. I wait until I see them physically get into the car, both kids looking back almost hesitant to leave us behind. But I have no time to help with their guilty conscience, I turn back toward the building immediately running up the steps and back into the asylum. I curse not knowing which way Dean exactly went or where the hell the basement was let alone where a staircase was.

In the dim, haunting corridors of the abandoned asylum, panic pulses through me like a heartbeat. The suffocating air clings to my skin as I navigate the labyrinth that is this building. Every step feels like a hesitant dance with the unknown. I try to suppress the fear clawing at my throat, envisioning worst-case scenarios involving Sam and Dean. Could they be hurt, trapped, dead? My thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind, one that feels too overwhelming to control as pathetic as it sounds and feels.

Desperation fuels my movements as I sprint down seemingly endless hallways, each one a haunting replica of the last. It's a macabre maze, and my heart races with the urgency of finding the elusive staircase leading to the basement.

As I turn another corner, the harsh silence amplifies the echoes of my footsteps. "Sam! Dean!" I call out, my voice swallowed by the oppressive stillness. The only response is the distant moan of the decaying building. With determination fueling my every step, I press forward, driven by the desperate need to uncover the secrets hidden below. The dim light casts distorted shadows on peeling wallpaper, playing tricks on my eyes. Yet, I press on, the image of the elusive staircase driving me forward, my breath a rhythm of fear and determination.

As if the old building heard my pleas I spot a door just at the end of the hall, a medal bar for the handle and if it isn’t my eyes playing tricks on me then a small sign signifying a person walking up stairs lies on the small window on the door. I all but ran over, the thing I needed most lying right there. As I push open the door, anticipation and anxiety rests behind my rib cage, a reminder that finding the door wasn’t enough. I still needed to find them.

However, as the door creaks open, my heart sinks. Before me lies a staircase, but it ascends rather than descending. Everything that I do not need. I was being mocked. The staircase leading upward into the unknown when my every instinct demands a descent into the depths below.

I stand at the threshold, contemplating my next move. Panic threatens to resurface, but I force a deep breath, I know what I must do even when it is foreign to me. I had not trained in it, hadn’t studied it enough, so much of me was like that. So many abilities I could have and use but always dared to leave untouched, this being one of them. I knew only how to use it in such short distances, and only in spaces that I could see. Not like this.

But I’m afraid and desperate enough. I know the boys are very capable of taking care of themselves, yet an unmistakable fear lives behind my rib cage for those I love, a fear of losing them. I close my eyes. This staircase had to be close enough. My fear had to be enough. I force another deep breath, bracing my feet beneath me. I could picture the room around me even with my eyes sealed, focusing on how the walls stretched above me in my mind's eye.

I had not seen the basement, hadn’t a single idea what it even began to look like. Yet still I force my perception down, below the concrete laying underneath my shoes. But more than that I needed to find them, I try my best to picture them specifically even in an unknown location. The air seems to ripple around me, reality folding over itself.

I open my eyes, no longer in the stairwell but presumably in the basement. The only indication I’ve gone to the right place is the boy's only feet in front of me. What should be a triumphant moment is crushed under the scene in front of me.

Dean is on his back splayed across the floor, broken wall beneath him the concrete powder sticking to his clothes. Sam is standing over him, shotgun pointed down at his brother, I can not see his full face from here but I can see it is etched in anger. “Sam!” I yell, catching his attention. He turns to me, his face scrunched in disgust, he does not lower the gun.

“What the hell is hap-“ I try to ask but the gun goes off with a loud bang. Suddenly I’m in front of him, the bullets hitting the hall that laid behind me when I stood in the doorway. I teleported out of danger without a second's thought, I make a mental note for later as I punch Sammy square in the face, my knuckles hitting against his sharp jaw.

He stumbles back a few feet, my knuckles burn, he will have to forgive me later. I do not want to hurt him but I do need to stop him. I mumble a sorry, hooking my leg behind his, hitting into the back of his knee with my foot forcing his legs to collapse beneath him knocking him to his knees. I use his shock as leverage, easily pulling the gun from his hands, I point the gun at him even though I do not want to.

Dean groans still on the ground, only having leaned up from his position. Sam holds his hands up, “Shoot me” he spits. He was taunting me, testing me. “I have no need to” I answer calmly. He was possessed or influenced by the doctor here, this wasn’t really him, I knew that.

I hear Dean get up, panting and making small noises of pain. I look over at him from the corner of my eye, watching him hold just below his chest in pain, “You okay there?” I ask, earning a grumbled “yeah”. Dean drags himself to the front of the room where he must have dropped the duffle bag he was carrying.

In the corner of my eye I see Sam try to lunge towards me, I snap my attention back to him “Hey”,I warn, “Stop.” He looked even more pissed, his mouth twitching with words he wanted to say, “You think protecting him is gonna make him fall in love with you?” He says quietly. I check behind me but Dean makes no indication that he heard, I know it’s not really him speaking but the words still sting. “I’m not that diluted” I answered, turning back to him.

“You follow him around like a lost puppy, it’s pathetic” He laughs, “Really, you follow us around. But we don’t need you, we’d be better off without you. All you do is take up space.” The words bite into my skin, my heart suddenly feeling heavy. Losing my firm stance he grasps onto my ankle pulling it towards him sharply, knocking me on my ass hard. He punches me, his fist connecting with my nose, my eyes tearing up on its own accord with a harsh throbbing. He snatches the gun back when I hear movement towards us, without looking I shout back “I can take him, just find the body!”

Sam straddles my lap, his knees pinning my hands to the floor with an incredible amount of pain, and I can not pull my hands free. He grabs my chin roughly forcing my gaze on him, my neck leaning up at a weird angle, “You feel the need to be with us, it’s the only thing that fills the gap of being left behind your whole life.”

Hurt and anger burn my eyes. I move my face out of his hold and he lets me, I lean my head back before slamming it into his. The resounding clash of our heads echoed through the air, an abrupt collision that sent shockwaves of discomfort rippling through my skull. He loses slight balance, his knees leave my hands the feeling rushing back into them but I do not leave time for feelings of victory. I shove him back, using more force than I probably should have.

I stand up swiftly, stumbling over myself slightly, my head throbbing severely. “You” I point, breathing heavily, “Have a hard head.” He tries to reach for the gun but I kick it out of reach before he’s able to.

I knew Dean was close by even with the room being so large and divided, but I didn’t know how close he was to finishing up. There was a strong sense of dread in my stomach, I don’t want to fight anymore, maybe curl up into a ball and contemplate life but not fight. “Please, stay down” I beg, my eyes still teary from a mix of a reaction to the pain and just being upset.

He leans up, that horrible anger still etched on his face. I hold my hand up at him, extending my force outwards pinning him down with an invisible force. He struggles against it, his arms shaking. I grit my teeth, disgust tangling itself in my gut. Yes this was out of self defense and necessity but this wasn’t me. He was my friend, to restrain him in such a way…with my abilities…when I’m meant to help people.

I force my face away, a lump tight in my throat when I catch my reflection on a piece of broken glass in the far edge of the room. It was if I was being teased by the devil himself, staring at a reflection I wasn’t sure I even recognized. My eyes were fierce yet brimmed with tears, my pupils glowing purple. Where did this lie in morality? It felt wrong. So disgustingly wrong even if it was meant to be helpful.

Only a little longer, only until the remains were burnt and Sam was fine. “Y/N”

“Y/N!” He begs.

I turned my head back to him, the anger previously on his face melted away. I immediately release my hold on him, dropping my hand down swiftly. For a moment there it seemed fear had crossed his eyes, I took a step back lifting my hand to my forehead, a thin line of sweat wetting my face. My chest heaves, complete overwhelm filling my senses. I feel it in my bones this need to move, to get out. It had not taken anything out of me to hold him down, and that is what scared me the most.

Dean shuffles back into view, coming over and helping this brother up. When had he walked over here? I take another step back, their voices meshing together in a blob of incoherent sounds. A strong familiar hand grasps my upper arm, I look up at Dean, his eyes scrunched together in concern. “You okay, sweetheart?” He asks, but his voice seems so far away. I look over at Sam, a bruise already forming on his jaw a reminder of what I had done. I find no fear in his eyes any longer, not even as he rubs at the forming mark. I nod absent-mindedly at Dean's question, though it wasn’t true and he had known that too.

He gives my arm a firm squeeze before sliding it down slowly to my hand, intertwining our fingers together. I look up at him again, but his face is turned away already walking towards the duffel bag bringing me along with him. He doesn't say anything about holding my hand, not even as he leans down to the bag swinging it over the shoulder that is opposite to where I stand.

He leads the way out of the basement, Sam following behind us silently. I let him lead me, just staring down at our intertwined hands. His sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, ‘must have done that when he left us before. Holding hands wasn’t totally uncommon for us and we both happened to be touchy people, even so butterflies danced in my stomach.

When we finally reached the exit, the early morning sun had begun to shine through the clouds. Every one of our movements was done in silence, he let go of my hand only until we climbed back over the fence. The second both our feet had hit the ground he claimed it once more.

Just a short distance away Kat and Gavin lean against their car, my eyes scrunch in confusion. I thought they left. “What are you guys still doing here?” I call out from a few feet away. They analyze us, probably noticing the clear sign of a fight and who I’m holding hands with but I do not let go of his hand, and he makes no move to do so either. “We wanted to make sure you got out” Kat answers, crossing her arms across her chest, “And to say thank you.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Gavin adds in.

“No more haunted asylums, okay?” Dean replies. They nod and get in the car, this time starting it up.

“Hey, guys?” Sam says quietly as we begin to walk towards the Impala. He gets in front of us, walking backwards so we couldn’t ignore him, “I'm sorry. I said some awful things back there.”

I frown, not wanting to be reminded of something that happened only minutes ago. “You remember all that?” Dean scuffs.

“Yeah. It's like I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it, any of it.” He says making sure he directs it at both of us.

“You must believe it on some subconscious level…right?” I say. I do not mean to come off harsh or make him feel worse about himself, but he had to feel that way on some level. He doesn't say anything for a minute, and I suddenly feel bad for what I said, “No, of course not! Do we need to talk about this?” He insists.

Reaching the Impala Dean unlocks the car, opening my door with his free hand but I make no moves of getting in just yet. He lets go of my hand, moving to the back of the car to throw in the duffel before rounding the rest of the car to the driver seat. Just before he gets in he answers his brother, venom clear on his tongue, “No. I'm not really in the sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.” He slams the car door behind him.

I look over at Sam, total defeat written all over his face. I move past the car door moving right in front of Sam, he looked down at me expectantly. I wrap my arms around his middle and hug him. We will go to a motel and sleep the night off, and I don’t want to go to bed upset. His initial surprise wears off and he hugs me back, I pull away slightly. “You said mean things and I know you're sorry, but they still hurt… I’m not mad at you for thinking like that, I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt us.” I say softly, I don’t like being angry at someone or holding grudges.

His eyes are filled with desperate sorrow as he says, “I’m sorry.” He hugs me tightly adding a quiet, “thank you.” And I knew he had meant for just talking to him about it even if it was only a little and for not hating him. We pull away from each other, and he ruffles my hair like an annoying brother before getting in the Impala. I move past the open door again, this time getting in.

Even after a nice hot shower and being all cozied up in the motel bed, sleep still could not find me. I groan frustrated, switching positions for the upteenth time, glad that I had my own room so as to not wake anyone.

I shift again, moving onto my back, the memories of what happened earlier playing through my head on repeat. Whether Sam meant it or not he was right. They didn’t need me, they were more than capable by themselves. Maybe I should go back home.

I could call Adeline, ask her if she could pick me up from the airport and take me home. The plane ride wouldn’t be so bad, I just have to figure out how to get to the airport with no car of my own. But that thought upset me more. I’d go home and worry over the boys excessively, where they were, how they were doing, if they were safe or even alive, if they found their dad. Maybe I was a burden to them.

God. And what I did to Sam? To use my powers like that?! Though I guess before the whole fight the teleporting was quite impressive especially because I am not skilled in that.

I want to be the best, but I'm afraid of what that would mean. What I would become.

I shift again, my feet tangling under the heavy covers. I sit up letting the blankets fall to my waist, and without thinking I pick up my phone dialing in her number. I had no idea what time it was in New York City but I knew she didn’t care about that sort of thing, she would pick up regardless of time or what she was doing. The phone barely gets to ring for a third time when she answers, “Hey Addie…”

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