A/N: so Anakin gets used to being dead and then Kylo Ren happens. that's basically the story.
since I can't put tags here like I can on AO3, Anakin Skywalker Has BPD. gotta mention that.
Death is supposed to be peaceful. To an extent, it is.
Really, the separated plane of existence reserved specifically for the Force-sensitive dead is far more soothing a fate than Anakin deserves, and he's not sure what possible higher power may have blessed him in such a way. Soul resting alongside his loved ones, watching his son have pupils and his daughter have a son had been some of the best moments of his (after)life.
To reconcile with Obi-Wan was just as painful and irritating as it had been relieving and satisfying.
"I forgive you," his old friend had first said.
"Why?" was Anakin's response.
Though he was rather glad that he didn't need to apologize first. What could he even apologize for? He could say sorry a million times over and it would not erase what he'd done, to the point where the idea of even asking for forgiveness had somehow felt rude. He hadn't needed to ask, though. Obi-Wan offered his friendship once more to him, offered his guidance, even after it had seemed too late.
Evidently, being dead is just as complicated as being alive.
It hadn't been easy to adjust himself to relaxing, to observing, to being content. At first, it was as if he'd been going out of his mind, able to witness unfavorable events and unable to stop them. The world could end, he realizes eventually in despair, and he would be powerless to even make an effort to prevent it.
"Your time to act is over," Obi-Wan attempted to comfort him one day, he remembers. "Leave the universe in their hands. Surely they are far more capable than us old men, yes?"
The words helped, if only a bit, though he doesn't think he'd responded. He doesn't feel like an old man, though, and he's sure that neither does Obi-Wan or Yoda. They all are spirits of pure energy, of the Force. Their souls, their beings, their emotions all resonate through the air, aiding in the strength of Light. It is the greatest he's felt in years, decades, yet it is also the strangest.
He, the man who slaughtered countless, the monster who enslaved tens of thousands, the front-and-center picture of the Dark Side, is a creature of Light. A fitting end to a horrible villain, he believes, though it does not feel like the fate he deserves.
It is not.
As years have passed, he has accepted that it is not. Something somewhere has rewarded him for his late turn to the Light beyond what he'd even remotely earned. He has conditioned himself not to question it, as doing so would be fruitless. However, there is a consistent guilt that sleeps deep within his soul, obvious enough that the two he spends the most time with can feel it.
As in, they can literally feel it.
He had eventually been told that a being made of pure energy is able to project their emotions into their surroundings. He'd unfortunately become aware of this a bit too late. It makes conversations quite awkward and tense, though they've all come to work around it, and Anakin has started to understand how to better control it. Almost like learning how to properly use the Force all over again.
In a way, it is also reassuring to them, showing genuine regret over his actions. Beneath the vaguely uncomfortable demeanor anytime Obi-Wan or Yoda are able to sense his apprehension or self-hatred is a hint of relief. He can deal with that.
Anakin has, for the most part, been able to convince himself that death was the greatest thing to happen to him. He's reunited with his best friend, and their souls persist, as does their friendship. There is nothing left to worry about because his time has passed, his mind finally at ease and his soul at peace.
A certain contentedness in his heart gradually sinks in, allowing him to be more open with his emotions, allowing him to let the others in. He becomes happy with them, lets himself think of them as family. Because they're all dead, so, how can he lose them? It is easy to grow attached to those he is sure will always be there, those he is sure will always be there for him.
Yet, as he watches his grandson repeat his same mistakes all while preaching to his deceased skull about something regarding vicariously continuing Darth Vader's reign, he's not entirely sure he wants to be dead any longer.
It is more like he suddenly wishes to disappear from existence and from memory.
The birth of Ben Solo and his slow but sure descent into darkness is painful to watch from the side of someone completely unable to affect it. He could have appeared to Luke or to Leia, maybe, and that might have helped change things, maybe, but once the realization hit him that the child had not only fallen, but from the memory of him, it caused him to shut down completely.
He couldn't speak to his grandson, or anyone, not ever. Because he's sure that he would be the one blamed, and rightfully so. He, of course, feels responsible, because he is responsible. That's what he's sure of. He's sure this is his fault.
This is absolutely his fault, and he should never speak to anyone about it. There is no doubt that they will hate him.
It lets him figure out how to completely block off his emotions from Obi-Wan and Yoda. The two become immediately concerned.
He spends his time away from them, observing his grandson from a distance as much as possible. The two clearly know where he goes off to every time he disappears, as Force spirits are quite simple to detect for other Force spirits, but they thankfully give him his space. They likely know that he needs time to think about this all on his own. The niceness of his friends causes the pit in his stomach to grow even larger.
The way Ben tries to abandon his old identity for a new one, the way he struggles with the Light inside of him and seeks extreme action to purge himself of such feelings, the way he is so destructive both inwardly and outwardly are all much too familiar.
Ben lets out his rage in physical means, deep down believing it possible to somehow obliterate his own confused self-hatred in the process. From an unseen plane, Anakin stares inquisitively and compassionately.
He understands. That is the worst part, understanding.
Watching his grandson is much like having Anakin's own mistakes, his own past views, and his own terrible deeds shoved right down his throat. He sees himself so much in Ben, so much that it hurts, and he can't do anything about it.
He wonders just how this could have all been avoided, how it could have been prevented.
History has always been written to glorify those who'd won and shun those who'd lost. Word of mouth passes on the story of how Luke Skywalker and several others had destroyed the villainous Darth Vader, who'd been working on the Dark Side to his dying breath. Of course, nearly everyone important to him knows the truth, and he doubts that they are even aware of how the events had been so widely altered.
It normally would not matter. He deserves to be seen as an unchanged monster, in a way.
Though the small alteration in history evidently made a devastating impact, Anakin laments as he solemnly gazes over Ben picking at his stitched up wound, side still red from the blaster shot tearing through the skin.
For a moment, he hates his son, he hates his daughter, he hates Han Solo, because how dare they not tell this child the truth? This could have been avoided if they'd just explained it to him like proper guardians. Yet, he then suffers a colossal wave of guilt and regret. It isn't their fault. They must not have known. Even if they had, they are not the ones Ben Solo has modeled himself after, not the ones his views and actions are dedicated to.
A raspy voice calls out to him, "Anakin," Yoda says, "Watch him often, you do."
He's long past being surprised at hearing that voice, but he still jumps, instinctively cutting off the extreme release of emotion he'd just let slip. Normally, the other two leave him alone, knowing how much this eats at him, knowing just how unbelievably unstable he is because of this. Hah, he thinks hysterically, attempting to keep a normal, focused expression while feeling as if his head is splitting in two, does this sort of punishment not feel just?
That self-loathing is nothing new to him, and he takes a few breaths to calm himself. Sometimes, he can feel his form deteriorating, even if he is but a spirit made of the Force now. All of it is mental, nothing real, though he at least has friends now to help in telling him so. It seems that his brain may not have healed the same way his other wounds had.
"I have been a slave twice in my life," he replies steadily. "Once as a young boy and once as the man known as Darth Vader. It saddens me to see a member of my family become a slave, as well."
The smaller man appears at his side, aged eyes softening. "The Force is strong within him. A powerful Jedi, he could be."
"Could have been," Anakin replies bitterly.
In his periphery vision, he sees Yoda shake his head and look up. "Could be."
Ah, yes. There is, of course, still time. Ben Solo is not completely lost to the Dark Side, not wholly Kylo Ren. There is still time. There always will be time. The light in a soul is never truly replaced by darkness, only stifled and suppressed by it. As Darth Vader, he had accepted that, though he believed the shroud covering his heart could never be lifted. Even that proved to be untrue.
He can still understand how Ben feels, the concept ingrained into his mind that there is no turning back now, that he has no choice. It is an obligation, not a decision. The Dark Side never feels like a decision by the end, not like you've climbed higher and higher with purpose, but like you've jumped straight down a bottomless pit and there's no choice but to go down, down, down, until you reach your untimely end, never once noticing in the darkness every ledge you could possibly grab onto.
Anakin of all people understands that better than anyone else. If only he could speak to Ben, tell him what he's doing, how he's destroying himself. Though even if he could, he knows deep down that he would not.
Everyone must learn the truth on their own about the Dark Side. There is still time. Han Solo had not been the last hope, he's sure of it.
Another presence materializes on his other side. Obi-Wan folds his arms behind his back, eyeing the form of the young follower of the Dark Side. "He is still but a boy. It shall never be too late for anyone's heart to betray the darkness lurking within."
The boy, Ben, raises a hand, dismissing a strange-acting Stormtrooper. Ah, that sends a thought shooting through him, what of that defective one he'd seen before? The one who'd been given a name after leaving? How strange, Anakin thinks, that he'd experience something like that. Not once had he ever dealt with such treachery from the robot-like Stormtroopers.
Yet it seemed rather frequent for Ben. He'd even put in place a cruel rehabilitation program for them.
Though, that too, is an odd concept from his perspective. As Darth Vader, Anakin never remembers having anything akin to a rehabilitation program. Anyone who dared to lay a wrong finger on the wrong switch or who refused to fire when told would be killed on sight, often times by his own hand. Stormtroopers were but stolen children, all given numbers and a blaster.
Easily replaceable, in his eyes.
Anakin takes a breath in, then lets it out, releasing the hold on his emotions. "Still a boy," he says finally, closing his eyes. "Yes, he is still but a boy."