#i have a whole concept planned out for a whole multi chapter post o66 au for them that i'll probably never finish but

[leofrith]

Press On, Move Along

Inspired by this art by @krownest that I’ve been losing my mind over for three weeks straight. I hope you like it! ☺❤

AO3

Dawn breaks over the sprawling forests and towering mountains of Garos. Ahsoka watches the early morning light cut through the trees, through a train car window smudged with fingerprints. In Ahsoka’s arms, Rex sleeps.

Rex doesn’t sleep anymore.

Not since before the war ended, and that's just a colossal cosmic joke, isn't it? Because the end of the war should have meant rest, finally, finally rest. Instead, it means running, and hiding, and constantly looking over their shoulders, and burying family.

Or, and perhaps this is worse, it means not knowing what happened to them at all. Like Anakin, who's always been so blinding and bright, even at a distance. Anakin, whose presence in the Force has vanished, her connection to him severed like he never even existed.

In Ahsoka's arms, Rex sleeps, and she couldn't move if she tried, even if she wanted to. He's been holding her together practically since the day they met, back when she was a spirited 14-year-old girl being dropped into a warzone like that was something normal. It's her turn now.

Garos is beautiful and temperate and, most importantly, it’s far enough from the Core for the two of them to feel almost safe, if only for a moment. Ahsoka is almost glad for the months she spent out of the shelter of the Order; it makes her feel a little less out of place now, on a half-empty commuter train from Garos’ capital city of Ariana to the resort town of Zila. They’ll stay by the oceanside for a few days at least while they think about their next move, about where they’ll go next.

Because that’s life now for a traitor and a deserter, both presumed dead. Keep your head down. Keep moving. Hope the Empire doesn’t catch wise.

In a way, Ahsoka’s time away from the Jedi and the army makes the unrelenting loneliness feel like less of a shock, even if only marginally. But for Rex, the loneliness is brand new; he is one of millions of brothers, identical in appearance but individual in every way that matters. He was never meant to be alone.

The Rex she knows, the Rex of before, would feel so out of place here. But he’ll pass for a civilian just fine, Ahsoka thinks, as long as nobody recognizes his face. Fast asleep with his mouth slack and frown lines smoothed, for once he actually looks his age. He’s traded his armour, which is neatly stacked in a bag at his feet, for a dark pair of trousers and a plain black sweater. His under armour is folded at the top of the bag, covering the distinctive white plastoid underneath. Ahsoka stretches as far as she can without jostling the slumbering man on her shoulder and flicks her foot at the lip of the bag to conceal the Republic Cog emblazoned on the top.

Under Ahsoka’s cheek, Rex’s blond curls are growing out longer than she’s ever seen them, and the roots are black. He’s always been meticulous about his hair, always finding the time and supplies to keep it maintained. Now the overgrowth—on his face, too, where she can see the beginnings of a beard—is just another sign that Rex is not okay.

Not that she needs any more proof, what with his gaze being as vacant as it always is now. The closest she's ever seen him to the haunted look he now wears constantly was right after the campaign on Umbara. But Umbara was nothing, incomparable to what happened to their family, to Rex’s family, aboard the Tribunal. It's like he drags along the weight of every man unearthed and then reburied on that moon, every body they couldn’t retrieve that remains entombed in the venator’s wreckage, and every clone that still lives under the Emperor's thumb. Ahsoka knows he does because she does too.

He’s spent his life worrying; for his brothers, for his general, for her. Always the soldier. It’s unfair. It has always all been so unfair. He deserves not to worry, at least for a little while. So Ahsoka does what she can to give him one less thing, one less person to worry about. She holds in the tears even while the Force surrounding her, once so lively and bright with the presence of so many other souls, aches like a phantom limb.

She’s tried not to cry, has fought the urge whenever Rex can see—especially when she knows Rex can see. So far, she’s cracked only once: after two straight days of digging when they’d finally dragged Jesse’s mangled body from the wreckage of their doomed Jedi cruiser. Rex had always made a point of knowing every single brother he served with, but Jesse had been at his side near since the beginning. He'd made it through battles on Mimban and Anaxes and exposed that traitorous General Krell, had helped keep Rex alive on Saleucami, had become an ARC trooper, had survived an encounter with Maul, of all people. Jesse was one of the first and last, one of the few who had managed to stay alive to the end, only to die senselessly and no longer himself.

So finding Jesse had hurt the most, worse than the troopers whose helmets still bore Ahsoka’s likeness or the shinies who hadn't even seen battle long enough to earn their paint. As they dug, Rex said nothing of the severed limbs, the traumatic injuries and wounds that were too precise to have been caused by the crash, so neither did she. But the guilt of knowing what or who had caused them threatened to swallow her all the same.

Jesse’s left side was crushed; it was nothing Ahsoka hadn’t already seen while unearthing clone after clone from the debris. There was a large dent in his helmet from a blow that she hopes killed him instantly, but she knows now that the galaxy is rarely ever so merciful. Rex was at her side immediately, grasping each side of Jesse’s helmet and lifting it off like all the others because he insisted on looking upon every single face, even as Ahsoka watched him shrink inward with each new set of his own dead eyes staring back at him.

The first gasping cry was torn from his chest without his permission, followed by another, and another. Again and again, until he finally crumpled to the dusty ground with his forehead resting against Jesse’s, saltwater washing away dirt and blood from their faces, and just like when the order was declared Ahsoka knew he had no choice but to fall apart.

As she watched him finally break, her own tears spilled over. They cried together, Ahsoka holding Rex and Rex holding Jesse, until they could no longer spare any more time. They had work to do, and surely someone would come searching for their missing cruiser soon.

They stayed on the moon for three more days, but Rex stopped looking at their bare faces after Jesse.

Day breaks over the mountains, and Ahsoka lifts her free hand to block the harsh light from reaching his flickering eyelids. Because Rex doesn't sleep anymore and Ahsoka will be damned if she allows anything to disturb his rest.

The night eventually catches up with her and Ahsoka snaps awake when she feels herself nodding off, her hand automatically drifting to one of Rex’s blasters that now rests in a holster at her hip, hidden under her cloak. Nobody new has entered or exited their train car in some time, and there are no more stops between here and Zila, but Ahsoka refuses to risk falling asleep and leaving them both vulnerable.

Rex's breath hitches, but his eyes remain closed. He grasps her wrist and gently squeezes.

“Go to sleep, kid.”

She hums a negative and shifts to sit up straighter, but when she looks at Rex his eyes are now open and his gaze is on her, still achingly sad but looking more rested than he has in weeks.

“Thank you,” he says softly. “It’s okay. I’ve got this.”

I’ll be okay. I’ve got you.  

Like he always has.

She holds him closer, turns her face to his shoulder where the light won’t reach her, and drifts.

The sun keeps rising.