Author's Notes:

Just like Regret is Cheaper Dead than Alive, this work can stand alone from the rest of the series it is part of.

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Part 2 of the Series 'Folded Between Disbelief and Damnation is Your Disused Hope'

In Which The Series is Written Since I Wish to Throw the Two Dark Lords Into Introspection and Passable Post-mortem Therapy via Deus Ex Machina Because I was Getting Antsy About Their Issues. If This Does Not Warn You That It's Definitely AU, Then Nothing Will.

The stage is set for dead dark lords dreaming of distant pasts.

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= Unknown Space Station =

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Anakin

In Which Anakin Angsts a Lot (and Does Not Even Pretend Otherwise)

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Anakin Skywalker was sitting on an unused bench at a spaceport, waiting for a transport ship that will never arrive.

He did wonder for about two seconds how he knew his ship would never arrive, and muse why that knowledge did not concern him more—shouldn't he book another one, then? Somehow, it didn't feel important, not more so than his lethargy, as the masses of people around him hurried to their destination and paying him no mind. In a way, their ignorance and his apparent anonimity right now was strangely comforting. It wasn't often that he had time to himself. It had felt as if everyone was always dragging the Hero with No Fear in five directions at once, all the time. He had the suspicion that running himself ragged was a factor in how he finally cracked. For now, it didn't seem like such a bad idea to… sit here for a while. Yes, that's it. Once he'd regained enough energy, he'd get up and go back to Coruscant.

The planes of transparisteel in front of him showcased all the crafts docking below—and what a selection it was! From the dinkiest outer-rim shuttle to the streamlined Coruscanti pleasure yachts and the better-armoured and well-escorted diplomatic transports seem to be represented here. Considering the classiness of this port, he was definitely on some important world. For some reason, its precise name continues to elude him right now. He shrugged. Well, it wasn't as if it was particularly important to know, was it? He wasn't in any danger, and considering how relaxed he felt, he was definitely not on any deadline to go anywhere just yet. He was certainly never in a hurry to report to the Jedi Council.

This was when he noticed the holocron in front of him.

He had half expected to see some sort of inner-rim gossip channel to be playing. If he was lucky it would be showing sport, and maybe even podracing. Of course, his luck rarely held all that far, but that didn't mean he couldn't wish it. Of course, maybe he should've learned his lesson better this time about how his luck had never gone the way he wanted it to as much as run straight in the other direction.

The holocron was playing scenes from his life.

How did he know that? Of course he knew that! He was there when it all happened! Right now it was on the Boonta Eve race, and had he really been that insane while driving? He cleared his throat, trying to lose the tightness in it. Adrenaline spiked in his body as he remembered it like yesterday—he could even recall the sensations now and for some reasons they felt hyper-real. He noticed the really-worrying vibrations from the chassis when he was pulling certain moves that he knew now to be early signs of the metal's strain and he had the scariest vision of the starboard side splitting in half if just a fraction of a G more force was exerted on it. And why was there that particular edge to the engine's whine? What was that boy thinking? It was not that amusing to realise that he had been that boy, just maddening, though he thought that Obi-Wan would definitely enjoy a good laugh at his expense if he knew. Obi-Wan's complete insistence on never allowing Anakin to drive him on anything if he could help it suddenly acquired new meaning. He probably owed the man a well-earned, belated apology.

Well, not as much an apology you owed for killing him, a thought popped up in his head.

That killed his mood instantly. He did, didn't he? He had killed his mentor and best friend, the closest thing he had to a father figure in his life… and for what reason? A pack of lies. One that he swallowed without any doubts, no questions asked. Well, he thought, that's the Dark Side for you. If one wasn't careful enough to defend against its intrusion, it can easily corrupt a person's thoughts and reasoning well to the point where the person wouldn't have recognised it anymore if they were sane. He snorted. He couldn't believe he could actually remember one of Obi-Wan's lectures right now, out of all times.

But then again, what better time than now? What better time than when he had firsthand experience about just how insidious the Dark Side's corruption was and how far one could fall?

He sighed and pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes, rubbing the heaviness there away before he stopped.

He… killed Obi-Wan, didn't he? Yes, yes he did. The same way he had cut off his son's right arm and tortured his daughter for information (what sort of father did that make him? But no, he wasn't going to go down that line of thought before he meditated. Not yet). He had to come to terms with that sometime soon, anyway, especially if he was ever going to see Padmé again. He owed her some sort of explanation, at least if she asked him for it. He owed her a lot more than that, but that would be a good place to start.

He blinked, his soul crying with sheer joy and relief at one thought. Padmé!

She would be here, wouldn't she? He stared down on both natural arms and hands he seemed to have in complete possession right now and remembered the constricting existence of being Darth Vader. He was quite certain Darth Vader was permanently dead. The way the holocron in front of him was now playing back his dying death throes made him cringe, the phantom pain throbbing with mutual sympathy in his chest made him more certain of it. He really didn't want to remember that. Even if his son's continued trust and unconditional love certainly warmed him from the inside, the dying part wasn't great at all.

Yes, apparently he's pretty dead. Finding his also-dead wife shouldn't be a problem in that case, right?

He stood up and walked away, definitely not watching the mistakes of his life player in a loop. It was worse than having to see all those gossip channels. Definitely worse than intergalactic soap opera.

He walked several terminals away, gone up and down some levels in his random wanderings and even accidentally walked out into the grand stables filled with several kinds of beasts of burden (and why does a space port need a stable? Wait, no, he's not even going to try to answer that). He had walked past an inner-city subway commuter hub, filled with various species he was familiar with, and even more that he didn't that he almost couldn't believe it. He was pretty certain he knew by sight all the major species of the galaxy. He failed to understand the logic in the place's construction after coming out into carriage central, with people coming and going on vehicles pulled by beasts. After that, he stumbled a bit more (though for some reason he never crashed into anyone. Ever. It was weird), before giving up on his efforts and finally admitted to himself that he was completely lost.

Some hero of the galaxy you are, another voice in his head snarked. It was annoying because it sounded exactly like a teenage him.

It's not my fault that this place had no sign on it anywhere! He thought.

Why should this place have signs placed on it anywhere? Everyone already knew where they were going. You don't think this is actually a physical place, do you?

There was a challenge to that tone, and Anakin gritted his teeth. Stars above, did he sound that bratty when he was a teenager? For a moment he felt like strangling a younger version of him, paradoxes be damned, before he closed his eyes and collected all his frustrations with the ease of long practice. Release it to the Force, he murmurred to himself. Yeah, that was what he needed to do. After some careful breathing and channeling of excess emotions, he did feel calmer.

It didn't stop him from wondering why his alter-ego, internal guide, instinct or subconscious or whatever just had to sound like his teenage self. Even the company ofa younger and uptight Obi-Wan had to be better than this.

Or maybe this was Obi-Wan's payback for making him suffer through your teenage years, a thought surfaced.

He sighed. Well, he did owe old master a lot. Maybe the voice was one of those things he just had to get used to in this strange not-place. He gave up wandering and sat down on a bench.

He was back on his first bench, in front of the view to the parked spaceships, along with the holocron that was showing him the scene where he was killing an incompetent Imperial officer or another. He was here, supposedly waiting for the ship that he knew well wasn't coming.

"Oh for krethin's sakes, come on!" He cursed a bit more in Huttese. "Why am I stuck here? What am I supposed to do, here?"

The scene in front of him changed into his duel with Obi-Wan in Mustafar, and Anakin didn't even bother to stop himself from wincing as he saw how he had attacked Padmé. His thoughts were running wild now, swinging back and forth between frustration and despair. How much of an idiot was he, then? How could he even think that she'd betray him? What would've happened if Obi-Wan hadn't gone along with her just then? And of course his personal questions reverted several times to the age-old classic he'd heard himself say several times already, both in his life and this not-exactly-afterlife.

What in the Force was I thinking?

The scene in front of him paused, oddly on the expression that Obi-Wan had between denial and despair, as if he couldn't quite believe that the knight he had raised from padawan was the monster in front of him. Anakin felt his chest tighten at that. If he could spare Obi-Wan and Padmé from the pain of that particular encounter, he would. His friend and his love deserved better than that.

A stray thought blossomed into an idea. Maybe it could be a step to understanding what had happened, if he tried to find out about how he fell? Was there actually a way that it could have been avoided? What was he thinking, right then, anyway? How did he begin to feel that he was facing everything alone and that everyone was against him instead of being concerned for him? How did he end up thinking that only Palpatine was on his side?

He took a deep breath and watch as the scene in front of him changed into Tattooine again, to his encounter with Qui-Gon for the first time. He saw the wide-eyed wonder that his child-self had for these interesting visitors. He saw the blossoming beginnings of his love for Padmé. He had been so pure, then, so… naïve, he thought. Yet it was wistfulness that he felt now seeing his childish enthusiasm, not annoyance.

To be that young again…

To be that young and untouched by the Dark Side. To be young and without a trail of bodies behind him, many of them not even deserving of their deaths. There's not a lot that he wouldn't give for that. He took another deep, steadying breath as he collected his thoughts together. If he was still here instead of being with Padmé, or being able to see Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon again, perhaps it was because there was still something he needed to do. There are no coincidences; there is only the Force.

Fine, he thought with a resigned acceptance. It wasn't as annoying as he half thought it would be. Meditation it is, then.

Maybe then he could begin sorting out what was going on and decide on what he needed to do after that. He tried to relax himself and find his center, to be aware of his own presence within his body and ignore the distracting sights and sounds around him. They were not what he needed to be concerned about now. What he wanted to feel was the Force. It would take him a while to get there because he couldn't help but fidget occasionally and impatience usually got the better of him several times. Yet Anakin was nothing if not stubborn. He was also certain that he had all the time in the world to attempt this, and the ease he felt at that realisation actually helped him manage it faster.

The moment he found his centre and internal peace, the whole place exploded in an array of light in his inner sight and he gaped. It was unlike any other place he had been in; even the Jedi temple itself was never this bright. The Masters had always glowed with a stellar brilliance fitting to their carefully honed years, and the other Jedi shone with their respective inner light. Between each soul were many connections, a web forged over a lifetime of relationships. Anakin couldn't help his chuckle the first time he saw that. Apparently, it was impossible for any person to not have any relationship, regardless of whatever the Jedi Order thought about it being the precursor to attachment—the realisation had made him bolder in his decision to marry Padmé back then.

What he was seeing now wasn't like that. He was awash with light. Even what seemed like physical objects here glowed, thrummed with the Force. Something as mundane as the bench he was sitting on was a swirl of gentle blue light bracing his own radiance. The floor was an intricate weave of similar light-strands while the transparisteel in front of him was made of thinner and more delicate ones. Instead of seeing himself as one star in space among many, he felt more like one in the warm embrace of a nebula, ensconced in such close proximity to thousands and more of others—he found that the people hurrying all around him in such varied shapes, species and forms are people, with their own light, as their own stars. Everyone was brighter than he had ever seen anyone alive, though perhaps existing as pure beings of energy tend to do that—he had guessed, even if not quite believed until now, that they were souls like him.

Now he felt less than a star within a galactic sector and more of a young one gently held in the stellar cradle, the birthplace of stars.

His throat was dry and his eyes were blurry and he couldn't care less. It was beautiful, and he felt more than lucky to be here and be able to see it.

Welcome, Anakin Skywalker. You have been thinking, haven't you?

He turned around to try to find the new voice. He was sure he had never heard of it before—he would've remembered a woman so calm and wise. Yet at the same time, there was something strangely familiar about her, even right now when he was meditating so deeply that he could only see her as pure blinding light, immense in size. The shifting in the Force that he could feel to have radiated from her belied her age and power.

That was when he realised that she was the center of the nebula. He saw that her gentle touch reached far and wide, to all the stars and lights around him, including himself.

It was when he realised that she was not embedded within the Force like everyone else.

She is the Force.

Uh, yeah?

He groaned internally. Right. Greatest introduction ever, to one of the Powers of the world, Skywalker.

He thought he caught a general feeling of amusement from her and good will, so he figured out that he couldn't have nerfed everything up completely yet. She was still listening, he could feel that. She was also still oddly pleased by his presence, and he really didn't know what to make of it. It wasn't as if he achieved anything of note in his life, did he? If anything, he was responsible for turning it into a steaming pile of bantha poodoo and—he cut himself off at that point, just in case she could read his thoughts easily. There was no way he would be caught cursing at the Force if he could help it.

If I may ask… why am I here, Mast—err, Mistress?

Have you figured it out, yet?

Damn, a question for a question. It made him feel as if he was still Obi-Wan's padawan again—that man certainly seems to quietly enjoy confusing him. On the other hand, he couldn't argue that he was one of the few people that ever got Anakin to actually think over things, even if he rarely sat down to do so, so maybe his methods had some merit. Anakin decided to do just that and focus on his issue.

Why did he sit down to meditate before this? He was wondering why he was back to that infernal bench and watching the holocron of his life, whose scenes kept changing to follow every action recollection of his memories. What did he get from it? He got more questions than answers, like the classic 'What in the world was I thinking?' as he watched and examined scenes and parts. He felt like he was back at the Temple again, forced to read or observe, to learn…

His eyes widened. That was it, wasn't it?

To learn. I'm here to learn, aren't I?

A hum of approval sung softly through the fabric of the Force. It was so soothing that he couldn't help but smile at it.

Good. Continue on this path you have set yourself on, Anakin Skywalker, and perhaps you will be ready when the opportunity comes.

He could feel the nebula, the field of stars receding from him and felt the loss sink its cold teeth into him, but he let it go. He had an answer, didn't he? Now he knew what to do too—a plan was forming now. It wasn't bad as things go. He'd been on missions worse than this. Palpatine had definitely sent him on missions worse than this, in which the only way he could finish it was by cutting a bloody swath across a planet or two, or maybe a whole system, or…

He closed his eyes and willed the memories away. One day, he might drown in his regrets once he ran out of things to do, but today was not going to be that day.

When he opened his eyes, he could see the spaceport beyond the transparisteel and their assortment of spacecrafts parked there, but his attention wasn't on it anymore. His eyes were back to the holocron of his life. It was playing the scene in Mustafar again and he steeled himself. He sighed. He couldn't avoid it forever.

Surprisingly, the scenes rolled back and started back from his childhood, and Anakin let out the breath he didn't realise he had been holding.

Alright, from the beginning it is, then, he thought, as his resolve strengthened. He could do this.

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