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jetii · 3 months ago

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Event Horizon

Chapter Four: Point of No Return

Chapter WC: 5,641

Chapter Warnings: Blood/wounds, death, canon-typical violence

A/N: This is where I give the disclaimer that this fic is an amalgamation of canon, my favorite parts of legends, and my own headcanon with little regard for continuity. There will be lines directly taken from source material, and there will be things that are wildly different bc I truly cannot be bothered to watch the same scenes ten times.

With that being said, here's my favorite chapter yet. 💙

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Geonosis, 22 BBY

You never told anyone what happened that night.

Not the Council, not the Temple healers, and certainly not Obi-Wan.

No one knows about the burns, or the box, or the Sith. No one knows how close you came to death.

All they know is that you were missing, and that, for two days, you were nowhere to be found. They'd searched the entire Temple and scoured the streets, but there was no sign of you. When you'd finally returned, exhausted and shaken, no one had asked questions.

They'd chalked it up to stress, and grief, and trauma, and decided to leave you be. After all, it wasn't the first time someone had gone off on their own. It wasn't even the first time you had disappeared.

It had become a habit of yours, to run away when things got hard. When the Council's demands became too much, or your duties seemed pointless, or when you just needed to get away from the constant pressure and scrutiny.

You were a rebel, a free spirit, a troublemaker, and everyone knew it. So when you'd gone missing, and the search parties had turned up empty, no one had been surprised. They'd all assumed that you'd run off again, and that you'd eventually come back when you were ready.

No one had bothered to ask where you'd gone or why. No one had asked if you were alright. No one had tried to comfort you or offer you support. No one had even noticed how quiet you'd become, how distant.

They hadn't even noticed the necklace you were wearing, the one you'd taken from the box. You'd kept it hidden, tucked under your clothes, and no one had known it was there. It was the only tangible proof you had, the only evidence, and you were determined to keep it close.

You'd been tempted, so tempted, to tell the Council about what had happened, about what you'd seen. But you knew they'd never believe you, and you knew they'd never accept your story, not without more evidence. And your fear that they would lock you away on the Citadel once they found out what had happened, and the power you had, was too great.

You had a mission now, a purpose, and the only way you'd achieve it was by remaining free. You had to keep training, had to get stronger, had to learn everything you could. You had to keep Obi-Wan from getting involved, and you had to figure out a way to track down the Sith who'd killed Yaddle.

But mostly, you had to make sure the Council didn't find out.

So you'd kept it all to yourself and tried to pretend like nothing had changed. For the most part, you were successful. Obi-Wan had sensed the shift, and had known something was wrong, but you'd been able to brush off his concerns and his curiosity. He'd been busy too, with Anakin, and he had little time to spare for your problems, as he had made abundantly clear. The Council was preoccupied with the civil unrest throughout the galaxy and then the looming Separatist threat. For the most part, you were free to throw yourself into your studies, spending hours in the Archives, researching everything you could about the Sith.

You'd spent weeks searching, but you'd never found anything useful, and you'd always ended up frustrated and disappointed, and with no leads. Vayel didn't exist, and there was no record of his friend, or of the apartment, or of the attack. It was as if the whole thing had been erased, and no one remembered.

No one except for you.

In the years that followed, the Council sent you on several missions, and you'd managed to keep your feelings in check. You followed orders, and you did what was expected of you. You were polite, and professional, and you did everything by the book. But the memories haunted you, and the nightmares plagued you, and the anger lingered, simmering beneath the surface.

No matter how hard you tried, no matter how far you went, the memories of that night, and the anger, and the hatred, were always with you. They were a part of you, and you knew deep down that nothing would ever change that.

And, no matter how much time passed, and how many missions you completed, you never stopped looking. You never gave up hope. You'd made a promise, and you intended to keep it. It didn't matter that you were no closer to the truth now than you were when it had happened. It didn't matter that the trail was cold, and the evidence was gone, and the answers were elusive.

You were going to find the Sith, and you were going to make him pay. No matter what it took.

But for now, there are more pressing matters to attend to.

You hold fast to the handle of the shuttle as it jolts to the side, trying to keep your balance. You nearly fall into Master Windu standing beside you, his expression one of grim determination. He doesn’t look at you, his hard eyes staring out into the sand-streaked surface of Geonosis, fixed on the arena that drew closer with each passing second.

The arena is a vast, open-air structure, rising up from the sands of the planet's desert. The walls, arches pillars could easily be mistaken for natural formations if not for the rows of seats carved into the sides. The sun shone down, bathing the arena in a harsh glow and casting long shadows across the ground.

Master Windu glances over at you, his gaze assessing. You stand beside him, your hand gripping the handle of one of your lightsabers, the cool metal a reassuring weight in your palm. The other Jedi are spread out around you, each of them tense and ready, their eyes fixed on the arena ahead.

You feel the tension in the air, and the apprehension, but you keep your expression calm and impassive. Obi-Wan is down there, along with Anakin and the Senator, and while your relationship is still strained, the idea of losing him is too painful to even consider.

Obi-Wan is down there, and the last words you spoke were in anger. You haven't seen him in months, and your conversations have been brief and terse, but now, he's here, in danger, and you have a chance to fix things, to make amends. You're going to get him out of there, and then you're going to tell him everything.

No more secrets, no more hiding.

If you get out of this alive, that is.

You take a deep breath and try to clear your mind. You can't afford to let your emotions get the better of you. Not now, not when the fate of the Republic hangs in the balance. Not when Master — no, Count Dooku is down there.

Count Dooku.

You still can't believe it.

How could the former Jedi Master, a respected member of the Council, the man who trained Qui-Gon, have betrayed the Republic? How could he have turned his back on the Order, on his friends and colleagues? It doesn't make any sense.

You'd had your suspicions, but you'd never imagined he was capable of such treachery. You'd always admired him, and he'd always been kind to you in the few interactions you’d had, if distant. But now, you are faced with the reality of the situation, and you have no choice but to accept the truth.

Dooku has fallen, and you can’t help but think it must be the work of the Sith, the one who killed Yaddle. If only the Council had listened, if only they had believed you, maybe all this could have been avoided.

"Ready?" Master Windu asks, drawing you from your thoughts.

The strange calm you'd felt that day outside the Temple falls over you again, and you nod.

"As ready as I'll ever be, Master," you reply, and he smiles. It's barely a twitch of his lips, but it's there, and it's reassuring.

Mace turns back to the window, his gaze hardening. The arena is approaching rapidly, and as you draw closer, the sounds of the crowd reach you, a thunderous roar that reverberates through the shuttle's hull. The cheering and screaming are almost deafening, and you have to resist the urge to cover your ears.

Your jaw clenches, and the muscles in your neck tighten. You can't help but be a little intimidated by the size of the crowd, and the violence of their reaction. You've never seen brutality like this, not even during your time in the Outer Rim.

Master Windu, for his part, seems unfazed. His eyes scan the arena, and his expression is unreadable. The shuttle lurches to the side again, but he doesn't flinch. He's steady, and composed, and you're envious of his ability to remain calm.

You grip the handle of your lightsaber tighter and try to ignore the churning in your stomach. Steadying yourself, you take a breath, your gaze moving to the arena below. There's no turning back now. There was no room for error, not here.

The infiltration team has already cleared a path through the underground tunnels, and the entrance has been blasted open, allowing your squad easy entry into the arena. The shuttle drops down, the landing gear extending and the engines slowing to a dull hum. You step out, and the wind whips your hair around your face, stinging your eyes and making them water.

Master Windu gives the orders to wait for his signal, and then he split off, heading upward while the rest of you move deeper into the arena. The sounds of the crowd fade away, and the shadows envelope you as you made your way through the maze of corridors. Your footsteps are soft and careful, and the only sound is the whisper of the wind and the occasional chitter of something in the darkness.

There's a stillness to the air, and a tension, and you can't shake the feeling that you're being watched. At your back, Master Luminara and her new Padawan, Barriss, move in silence, their robes billowing around them. Master Shaak Ti leads the way, her steps confident and sure, and you follow, keeping your focus on the path ahead.

The corridor curves and then splits, and you take the left-hand tunnel while another group diverges to the right. You have no idea what to expect when you finally emerge from the depths, but when you do, the sight before you is like something out of a nightmare.

The arena is huge and filled with thousands of Geonosian spectators. The stands are packed, and the crowd is roaring, their bloodlust evident. The air is thick with the smell of sweat and death, and the heat from the sun is stifling. From your vantage point, you can see directly into the middle of the arena, and the sight is both horrifying and awe-inspiring.

Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Senator Amidala are in the middle of the sand pit, fighting for their lives against a three massive creatures. They’ve at least managed to break free from the chains that had undoubtedly tied them to the posts, but they are still vastly overpowered.

You nearly charge forward, but you’re held back by a hand on your shoulder.

"Patience," Master Shaak-Ti says, her voice low.

"I have to help them," you whisper back urgently.

"Not yet," she replies. “We must wait for the signal."

You want to protest, but you know she's right. The others are counting on you to be patient, and to follow the plan. If you don't, you could endanger the entire mission. After all, the Council is still holding onto hope that Dooku would surrender himself, and there is a chance that this could end peacefully. You are not so optimistic.

That would be the ideal outcome. It would mean less lives lost, and it would put a stop to the war that's been brewing over these last ten years. But the chances are slim, and the reality was that, more likely than not, this will end in bloodshed.

"Be prepared," Master Shaak-Ti whispers, and you nod.

The fight in the middle of the arena is reaching a fever pitch, and the crowd is screaming in approval. You're not used to this kind of violence, and you're not sure if you'll ever be. It's a brutal, savage battle, the three beasts fighting with a ferocity that takes your breath away. You can't imagine how the Jedi, or the Senator, are still standing.

Anakin has managed to charm one of the creatures, a hulking reek, and he and Padme have mounted it, using its strength and size to their advantage. Obi-Wan is forced to join them after a hasty retreat from an acklay, who had shaken off the static pike in its neck as if it were nothing.

They're doing their best, but the odds are stacked against them, and every second that ticks by is another chance for things to go wrong.

You watch with bated breath as a number of droids roll out from the tunnel, the likes of which you’ve never seen before. You cast a glance to your right and left to see your fellow Jedi are equally as shocked, their expressions a mixture of fear and surprise.

You know what they're thinking, and you can't blame them. The droids are unlike anything you've ever seen, their movements smooth and efficient, their weapons deadly. They surround the trio in the center of the arena, and your hands inch toward your waist.

"Not yet," Master Shaak-Ti cautions, her eyes narrowing.

You hold back a growl of frustration, and your hands curl into fists. You want to act, to do something, anything, but you have to wait. It's infuriating, but you have no choice.

It's a tense few moments, the Jedi surrounding you frozen in place. You watch as Obi-Wan, Padme, and Anakin exchange a few words, their expressions grim. Up on a balcony in the distance, you see a flash of Master Windu's purple saber, and the dark figure of Dooku.

You stare up at the man that was once a friend to your Master, a cold fury welling up within you. The Force surges around him, his power and corruption palpable even from this distance. You clench your jaw and take a deep breath, willing yourself to remain calm.

You cannot know for sure that he had a hand in Yaddle's death, cannot know if he was the one responsible for the box, or the holoprojector, or the attack on you. But the mere thought of him, of the darkness that surrounds him, is enough to make your blood boil. If this all goes to plan, and you capture him alive, there will be answers, and the justice the Council so vehemently denied you.

Dooku looks over, his gaze sweeping the arena before stopping abruptly in your direction. From this distance, there’s no way he could see you, but his eyes seem to lock onto yours, and you can almost feel the weight of his stare.

And then he turns away, and he raises a hand.

A horn sounds, and the droids move, advancing toward the Jedi in the center of the arena.

It's time.

You ignite your lightsabers, the gold blades humming to life, and the others follow suit. The sound is a welcome one, the familiar thrum of energy a comfort in the chaos.

You charge forward, the other Jedi at your heels, and the droids turn and fire on you. You slice your way through the ones closest to you, their bodies falling to the ground, sparking and smoking. The noise, the smell, the heat, and the dust, are all-consuming as you carve a path towards the center. Around you, the other Jedi are engaged in their own battles, their lightsabers a blur of motion as they cut down the droids. They're outnumbered, but they're fierce and determined, and the droids are no match for their skill.

You focus on the fight, pushing all thoughts of revenge and the past aside. The anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface, but you channel it, using it to fuel your actions. Your blades sing as they cleave through metal and wiring, the droids falling one by one.

“Obi-Wan!” you shout, leaping over a pile of fallen droids and rushing toward the center of the arena.

He turns, his face covered in sweat and dirt, and his eyes widen as he sees you. You deactivate your shoto and throw it to him, and he catches it deftly, slicing through his bindings and Anakin’s. The two of you rush into the fray, cutting down droids as you go.

"Are you okay?" you ask, deflecting a blast and decapitating a battle droid.

"I'm fine," he replies, a note of irritation in his voice.

"Are you sure?" you press. You dodge a shot aimed at your head and kick a droid into the path of another, knocking them both over.

"Yes,” Obi-Wan snaps. He slices through another droid and looks over at you, his expression grim. "Now stop worrying about me and focus."

As much as you want to argue, you know he's right. There will be time for talking later, once the mission is complete and the battle is won.

But it isn’t so simple. For every droid you cut down, ten more take its place. It's a seemingly endless barrage of metal and blasterfire, and the smell of melted plastoid and charred circuits is overwhelming. All around you, your fellow Jedi are falling, their bodies lying crumpled on the ground, their robes torn and charred.

You fight harder, your movements fluid and precise, and your blades singing as they cut through the air. Obi-Wan remains at your side, and the two of you work in tandem, covering each other's backs and working to keep the droids at bay. But even your skills combined can't hold off the relentless tide of droids, and you feel a wave of despair wash over you.

You're going to lose this fight.

You're going to fail.

You're going to die.

A shot hits you in the shoulder, and you stumble, your arm going numb. You grit your teeth, shaking out your hand, and you keep fighting, but the wound is starting to slow you down.

You're bleeding, the pain searing and sharp, and your movements are becoming sluggish. You back up, trying to keep the droids at bay, but there are too many, and before you can react, you're both surrounded.

Obi-Wan stands back-to-back with you, and you can feel the tension in his shoulders, the exhaustion and the pain, as the droids press you further back toward the center of the arena.

It's hopeless, and you know it, but you don't give up. You won't, not until your last breath.

"Get back," Obi-Wan orders, his voice tight.

"No," you reply, stubbornly.

"I won't lose you too.”

"We're in this together," you insist, deflecting a blast and severing a droid's arm.

Obi-Wan turns to face you, his eyes wide. “For once in your life, listen to me!"

There's a desperation in his voice that makes you stop. You can see the panic in his eyes, and the concern, and something inside you breaks. He's afraid. Not for himself, but for you. And the realization sends a wave of shame through you.

You hesitate, and the droids take advantage, closing in around you. You look up at the sky, the sun beating down on you, and the sound of blasterfire and the screams of the crowd ringing in your ears. You're not going to die like this, not here, not today. Not before you've had a chance to make things right.

"No," you shout back. "We're not going to give up."

But the other Jedi have stopped fighting. Their weapons lowered, and their heads bowed. You watch in horror as you’re completely surrounded, the circle of droids growing tighter.

Obi-Wan grabs your arm, his grip tight, and he pulls you close, his body shielding yours. He holds your shoto, his fingers white with the effort, and you can see the resignation in his eyes.

He's giving up.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice trembling.

"Don't," you plead. "Don't apologize. We can't give up, not now."

Your pleas fall on deaf ears, and as the droids raise their blasters, you can only watch and wait. You're tired, and the wound in your shoulder is starting to make it difficult to move, the pain getting worse by the second.

You look down and see the body of a Padawan lying beside you, their lifeless eyes staring up into the sky. You can't help but think of all the others, and the friends you've lost, and the lives that have been taken.

You think of Qui-Gon, and Yaddle, and all the Jedi who have fallen in pursuit of something better. You think of the Senate, and the politicians, and the bureaucrats, and their indifference, their arrogance. You think of the Council, and their coldness, their unwillingness to help until it came to this.

You're surrounded by death, and destruction, and there's nothing you can do to stop it.

The hundreds of droids have surrounded what few remain. What was once a group of two hundred strong is now little more than few handfuls of survivors, your blades wavering as you wait for the order to come down from the stands to fire. For now, you remain still, the anger and despair swirling in your gut, the frustration at the futility of it all threatening to overwhelm you.

You look down at your left hand, tracing the lines of the burns that have never faded with your eyes, a reminder of how close you came. Of your failure. Of the power you failed to grasp.

You've had enough.

You look around at the remaining Jedi, your gaze taking in their wounded, bloodied forms. Your eyes meet Obi-Wan's, and you see the same weariness, the same anger, the same pain that you're feeling.

“It’s over,” he says, his voice heavy with sorrow.

"No," you snap, the word coming out louder than you intended. "It's not.”

Just as you begin to raise your hand, several shadows loom overhead.

"Look!" you can hear the Senator shout behind you. You shield your eyes against the sun, but it does little to lessen the intensity.

A fleet of gunships have appeared, their engines roaring as they race toward the arena. The droids are thrown into confusion, their ranks breaking as they scatter, trying to avoid the incoming barrage of laser fire. You catch sight of Master Yoda among a group of soldiers hanging from the sides of the ships, their guns firing furiously at the droids, white armor glinting in the sunlight.

There's a flicker of hope in your chest, and you tighten your grip on your lightsaber, determination flooding your veins. You can still win this. You have to.

The gunships land, their engines whirring as the soldiers disembark, their blasters firing as they charge toward the droids. The battle is renewed, the noise and the chaos almost deafening. You ignore Obi-Wan's attempts to herd you to the ship, just as you ignore the searing pain in your shoulder.

This isn't over.

You charge forward, cutting a path through the droids, the Force singing in your veins. You move with a ferocity and speed that you didn't know you were capable of, the lightsaber in your hand an extension of yourself, a weapon that feels as natural and familiar as breathing.

Around you, the soldiers are pushing the droids back, their sheer numbers and training proving an advantage in the enclosed space of the arena. The other Jedi are helping, their lightsabers flashing in the sun as they slice through the droids, the sounds of the battle echoing across the stands.

You carve through the metal and wires and circuits, and the smell of scorched plastoid and hot metal is thick in the air. You're covered in sweat and blood, your clothes are torn, and your body is bruised and battered, but you're not going to give up. You push yourself harder, your lightsaber flashing as you cut down the droids that try to block your path. Your feet barely touch the ground, your movements fluid and graceful, and your blade leaves trails of glowing red and blue in its wake.

You are a whirlwind of destruction, a maelstrom of anger and power, and the droids have no chance.

A droid manages to get a shot past your defenses and clips your injured shoulder, and the pain is blinding. You falter, falling to your knees, and the lightsaber slips from your grasp, landing on the sand beside you. You barely avoid another bolt and roll, landing flat on your back.

You look up at the droids, your eyes filled with hatred, and a low growl escapes your lips. Your hands are clenched into fists, and your chest is heaving, and you can feel the Force gathering around you, the power singing in your veins.

A shot sings through the head of the droid aiming at you, and when it falls, you see a trooper standing over you, his helmet obscuring his face.

Mace had informed you on the way to Geonosis of Master Yoda's mission. That he’d left to herald the army of clones that awaited on Kamino, only just discovered by Obi-Wan himself, and brought forth to defend the Republic. But seeing one up close, his pristine armor a stark contrast to the battered, dirty state you were in, was something else entirely.

There are a few moments of hesitation as you stare up at the blank face of your savior, your chest heaving. His helmet tilts, the visor glinting in the sunlight, and you can see yourself reflected in its surface. The sight of you, bloody and surrounded by carnage, is jarring, and you quickly avert your eyes.

"Sir," the clone says, his voice modulated and rough. He holsters one of his blaster pistols to hold a gloved hand out to you. "Need a hand?"

"No," you hiss, pushing yourself up.

"Yes, I can see that," he replies, a hint of amusement in his voice. He turns and shoots a droid in the chest, the metal melting as the bolt hits its mark.

You ignore him and force yourself to your feet, your fists flying. You hit the nearest droid with enough force to send it careening into the one next to it, and then kick a third in the chest, sending it staggering back. The clone fires his blaster at the two fallen droids and then turns back to you as you call your lightsaber back into your hand.

"I had it under control," you say, spinning around to face him.

He shakes his head, and the movement is so familiar, so human, you can't help but stop and stare.

"No, sir, you didn't," he replies, his tone exasperated.

"I'm perfectly capable of handling myself, thank you," you retort.

"Yes, sir," he says. It's impossible to read his expression, but you can tell he's not convinced.

Another shot comes flying towards you, and he pushes you out of the way, his hand firm on your back. He steps in front of you and raises his blaster, and the shot glances off his shoulder plate. He dodges to the side easily as your lightsaber hums past his head, taking out another droid.

"Who are you, anyway?" you ask, turning to look at him with scowl.

The clone seems unconcerned by your aggression, his calm demeanor a contradiction to the chaos around you. It's almost infuriating, and you grit your teeth.

"CT-7567," he replies, not looking at you as he fires a few shots, taking down a line of droids.

"Your name is... Seven-Five-Six-Seven?"

"My brothers call me Rex, sir."

"Rex, then," you mutter, deflecting another barrage of blasterfire.

The clone nods, and then turns and fires his blaster at a droid that has been creeping up behind you. You duck out of the way, and the droid falls, its head blown apart.

"Thanks," you say, your voice begrudging.

"Any time, sir," he replies, and you get the feeling that he's smiling under that helmet.

You shake your head and charge forward back into the fray. You move with a speed and agility that is almost superhuman, your body a blur of movement. Your lightsaber hums through the air, and the droids fall like dominoes, their bodies crumpling to the ground.

Rex follows close behind, and you’re amazed at the precision and efficiency with which he wields his blasters. He takes out droid after droid, his aim flawless and his timing impeccable. It's as if he can anticipate your movements, and he moves with an ease and fluidity that belies his armor. You move together, your bodies in sync, and the droids fall before you.

The tide has turned, and the battle is almost over. You can see the surviving Jedi regrouping, and the droids are in full retreat. But as your eyes turn to the stands and see no sign of Dooku, the victory feels hollow.

He's gone, along with your answers.

Your fists clench, and you can feel the anger bubbling up inside you. You want to scream, and tear the arena down, and burn it to the ground. You want to find Dooku and make him talk, to make him confess, to make him pay. You want justice, and vengeance, and a reckoning for all the wrongs that have been committed against you.

You whirl on Rex as the last of the droids falls to your blade.

“I need your help,” you tell him. His helmet tilts as he looks up at the stands, and he turns back to you, shaking his head.

"My orders are to bring you to the gunships, sir," Rex replies, his voice firm. “Not to assist you in your personal vendettas."

"What I'm asking could save countless lives," you retort, glaring at him.

"Or it could get us both killed," he counters. "You need a medic, and so do the others. My brothers can handle this. Trust me."

"Trust a soldier who follows orders without question?" you scoff.

"Trust someone who knows what they're doing," he replies.

For a moment, you think about protesting, but something about his demeanor makes you pause. There's a certainty to his voice, a confidence that you can't help but respect. As much as you don’t want to admit it, he’s right. You're injured, and exhausted, and you're not thinking clearly.

You take a deep breath, and the anger recedes slightly, the tension in your body easing. You look around, and the battle is winding down. The droids are being rounded up, and the casualties are being tended to. With any luck, some of the others are already in pursuit of Dooku and the rest of the Separatist Council, and the last thing they needed was you slowing them down.

"Fine," you concede, reluctantly.

He gives you a short nod and leads you toward the nearest gunship. You both break out into a run, sand flying around you, and Rex covers you as you move.

When you reach the ship, he ushers you inside, and you sit down heavily, the adrenaline leaving your body as quickly as it had come. You slump against the wall, the wound in your shoulder screaming. Rex gives you a once over before moving up to the cockpit.

"Let's go," Rex orders the pilot with two taps of his fist on the door. "We've got injured Jedi."

"Yes, sir," the pilot responds, and the gunship lifts off, the engines roaring.

The movement makes you dizzy, and you lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees. The clones are a whirlwind of activity around you, their movements efficient and controlled. You look through them and out the open doors to the battlefield below, your eyes widening.

The entire surface of the planet is covered in droids and clone soldiers. They're swarming across the sand, pockets of large machines and infantry fighting in the distance, and the sky is filled with gunships. You've never seen anything like it, and the scale is staggering and terrifying.

The doors close, casting the cabin in near darkness, and you let yourself fall back against the wall. Your head lolls, resting against the cool metal, your breath coming in short gasps. The wound in your shoulder is deep, and painful, and you can feel the blood soaking through your tunic.

You're lightheaded and nauseous, and the pain is making it hard to focus. You take a few deep breaths, trying to slow your heart rate, and the clones seem to have noticed. One drops to his knees beside you, the sound of the armor against the metal floor startling.

"Stay with me, sir," a trooper says, his hands pressed to your wound. You can't focus on his helmet, but his voice is gentle and concerned.

"She's lost a lot of blood," Rex says. A moment later, you feel him drop to his knees beside you, a hand on your good shoulder. You’re not sure how you know that it’s him, but you do.

"She'll make it," the first clone says, confidently. "Get the bacta ready."

"Right," Rex replies, and then he’s gone.

The pain is getting worse, and the edges of your vision are starting to go black. You can't fight it anymore, and as the darkness swallows you, the only thing you can feel is dread.

You’ve failed. And this is only just the beginning.

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#the clone wars #captain rex x reader #captain rex #clone captain rex #rex x reader #obi wan x reader #roy writes #oh ariana we're really in it now #posting this early bc I might not be active this weekend

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