Chapter 9 – Admissions

Author's Note: In which everyone tries talking to let go of whatever is holding them back.

~ Amina Gila

Kanan can't deny the almost nervousness swirling through him, because he knows what his own problem is. It's not about himself. While there are some pluses to being a child again, there's mostly negatives, including how badly he wants a relationship with Hera and to officially marry and start a family, though he already has a full family here.

It's about Ezra, really. He wants a chance to raise the boy he's come to see as like a son, though he knows it's impossible. He just hasn't had time to process, and his childish brain wants both at once, and can't accept that he can only choose one.

He and Ezra have never spoken of this, even if everyone knows that they consider one another family. He's not sure how the boy will react to it. Plus, unlike Sabine, Ezra's parents are dead, and he doesn't know if his padawan would want something like a... replacement. Except they're not really replacements.

"So..." Ezra says, whispers, more accurately, where they are in the far corner of the room.

"I have a reason for not wanting to let go," Kanan admits finally. Half the reason it feels so stupid is because he's young as well. It'd defeat the purpose. "I don't want you to get older." He doesn't watch Ezra because he can sense his reaction well enough, and he's drowning in nervousness.

"Me too," he confesses, "I don't want to stay like this, but I..." He looks away, and Kanan lays a hand on his shoulder. With a start, he remembers when Ezra's parents died. It wasn't long ago. He wonders if Ezra is thinking about the same thing.

"I've thought about having... children sometimes," Kanan confesses, trying to ignore how maddening it is that he sounds like a five-year-old. "I didn't expect to end up with you and Sabine. I know you already have parents, but I..."

"Is it weird that I see you and Hera the same way?" Ezra asks suddenly. "I feel like a child again when I'm like this, and I never got... I haven't had anyone take care of me since I was seven. It feels like this can make up for what I missed."

"It wouldn't be real," Kanan points out, ignoring how part of his mind is screaming at him not to. It would be easier to stay like this. Then he wouldn't have as much to worry about, but no. He can help people, and he would never forgive himself if he didn't. "And we'd be the same age."

"I know. I just don't know how to let it go."

"I don't, either." It's difficult. Kanan is not very skilled with family. It's not something he learned until he met Hera, and it's always been slow. He never thought about it as a Jedi, obviously. "We need to accept it."

"I know you're not going to leave me. I know you're always going to take care of me, so why is it so hard?"

Kanan has absolutely no idea. He doesn't know why he himself is clinging to it. It's easier now that they're talking about it, but maybe it's something they need to work through together.

"Our age will never change our relationship," he asserts, hoping Ezra believes it as much as he's trying to himself. "Whether you're five of fifteen or twenty. We are a family, Ezra."

His padawan leans forwards, flinging his arms around his neck, and Kanan holds him close. The part of his mind that grumpily supplies how he wishes they were normal sized makes him smile. "I think I've made choices for myself long enough," he says at last. "I can help people, and I can't do that like this."

Kanan had once had a similar struggle himself – after the Empire formed, all he knew how to do was hide. It only lasted so long when surrounded by the chaos of the Empire and the damage they were doing. He did the only thing he could: kept fighting. He stood up for everything his master once did. For everything his master died for.

How these things pass on, from one generation to another. Except his padawan is so much more than his own mistakes and failures. Ezra has grown from something of his own, and someday he will make a great Jedi. His naivety often blinds him, but his compassion is his strength.

They are a family. They are, and nothing will ever change that. Not death or darkness or anything at all.

Kanan feels the slight shift the moment he accepts it and lets go, feels how the Dark Side surrounding him shudders and fades. Now, it's only a question of what the others will do.

**w**

Ahsoka can't help watching the two of them with a deep, aching longing. She wants to be like that with Anakin again. She doesn't care what he is or what he's done. If she were an adult, she probably would, but not now. She just wants her master back and being... old again will make them lose the closeness they now share. She lost Anakin already, and no matter if she can again.

She doesn't want to have to. She's tired of losing.

Anakin himself is watching them, a pained look in his eyes, but he says nothing. It's as though all the fight has gone out of him. He looks lost and lonely, and Ahsoka can sense how he's still afraid. She doesn't know why, and she doesn't know how to ask. It's not as though he'd even tell her. There's no one here he would talk to, if not Obi-Wan, which leaves them out of options.

"Skyguy," she says finally, only to distract them both. Nothing will be enough to give back years lost, not even this... de-aging chaos. It'll give them more time, but it doesn't help if Anakin doesn't want that, or if Sidious comes and they can't stop him.

"What?" Anakin asks, faintly.

"What's holding you back?"

She senses his flare of anger. "Do you want me to admit how selfish I am?" he snaps back.

"We're all having the same problem!" she retorts, annoyance spiking. Why is he not listening? She didn't mean to hurt him by bringing him here, and she doesn't mean to do it now, but he's simply so frustrating sometimes. "We're all being held back by selfishness!"

"What is yours?"

Ahsoka glares at him. "You're changing the topic!" Really, she doesn't want to admit it. He is the center of it, and... She doesn't know. This is so confusing. She loves him, but he's a Sith and he can be dangerous, but she can't let him go. She doesn't want to leave him ever again, and if this changes, she'll have to. Unless he changes or she abandons the Rebellion, and Anakin somehow matters more to her than all of those. Anakin was the only person in her life who made her feel loved.

Anakin glares right back, and they sit there, arms crossed, glaring at each other for at least a full minute. "It doesn't matter," he says finally.

"Yes, it does! How are we supposed to fix this if we can't help each other?!"

"'Help'?" Anakin repeats. For the first time, she consciously notices his eyes have burned golden. "There is no 'helping' here, Ahsoka! We have long since crossed that line. You left me –"

"I said I was sorry," she replies, sullenly, because what else is she supposed to say? It was the hardest decision of her entire life, and it's haunted her every day since, especially after knowing what happened when she was gone.

"And I offered you the galaxy, but you tried to kill me instead."

"All I wanted was you, you – you –" Ahsoka scrambles to think of some world insulting enough, but her child mind can't think of anything remotely sensible. "Idiot," is all she manages to come up with. "Not everyone cares about ruling the galaxy! And all you offered was not killing me, which should be a given seeing as you were my master!"

"Why don't you tell mine that?" Anakin shouts back. "Death would have been a mercy, but he still refused to grant it to me! And if I go back, they'll do it again and I can't – I can't live through that again!"

Ahsoka bites her lip, scrambling to think of a comeback. She can't. She has no idea what happened to Anakin. She doesn't know what he's talking about, and frankly, doesn't want to. "What happened?" she asks finally. It's all her childish brain can think of saying.

"Why don't you ask him?" Anakin replies bitterly, inclining his head towards Obi-Wan. "I'm sure he'd be happy to give you all the details."

"That would be a little too far," Obi-Wan objects. "I did not enjoy it."

"You might as well have," Anakin snaps back. He stands, stalking a few feet towards the door, and for a moment, Ahsoka thinks he's going to leave. Instead, he pauses in front of it. "You don't know what you're asking me to do."

"What are you afraid of?" Ahsoka asks. She doesn't understand, but she wants to. She wants to know what it could be that has her master so scared. "What will happen to you if we break the... spell?"

Anakin shifts, crossing his arms, glaring at the floor. "Well, either I'll suffocate," he says finally, much too bluntly, "Or I will be... rebuilt again. I'm not particularly keen on either option."

She blinks. "How is there a connection?" This makes no sense, and she's starting to feel half-hysterical herself. Most of all, she's trying to ignore the way he so bluntly says 'rebuilt'. He's not a droid.

"It was meant to happen," he answers. "That – all of that."

Ahsoka doesn't know what 'that' is, but she has some idea what he's referring to.

"Maybe you're meant to be healed now," Ezra offers, moving towards them. He and Kanan have since broken apart from each other, but they're still standing side-by-side. Ahsoka wonders what exactly they discussed, but it's not really her business.

"There was no way for it to be reversed," he retorts, "It's not – it's impossible."

"What is possible with you?" Ahsoka asks. "Your birth certainly wasn't." Anakin is shaking slightly, and Ahsoka can feel a slight tremble in her own hands. The sheer emotions in this are too much. She doesn't have the presence of mind to not cry in front of everyone, either. She's not embarrassed by it and doesn't bother trying to stop herself when the tears come. "Anakin, I don't know what happened to you, but I saw your mask. No one could be destined to something that awful."

"Yes, it was," Anakin snaps back. "It had to have been. Obi-Wan isn't cruel. He would never have done that to me otherwise."

She wishes she wasn't always right. So badly. She feared Obi-Wan had done this to Anakin, but she never really... thought so. Except now it's perfectly obvious he did. "Anakin," she breathes. There are no words to describe her horror. She never would have expected Obi-Wan to hurt his own former padawan. Not that seriously. She breathes in deeply, shakily, more tears spilling down her cheeks. "How could you?" she asks, turning an accusing gaze to the Jedi Master, voice breaking. "How could you hurt him like that?"

"He's a Sith," Obi-Wan replies, "I would have, only I... couldn't."

Ahsoka had thought the same on Malachor, but they were interrupted when the de-aging chaos happened, but she can't imagine hurting him. Not that she would have been able to, anyway. Vader was simply too skilled.

"If it is truly meant to happen," Kanan points out, "Hiding at this age will do no good."

Whatever fight left in Anakin drains away entirely. He sinks back onto the floor, his back facing them, but Ahsoka can tell from how he's shaking slightly that he's crying. Ahsoka's heart clenches painfully and she gets up, moving to his side. It won't help, but it's all she can do, and she must try to make him feel better, at least. Anakin leans towards her when she settles down next to him, and Ahsoka pulls him into a crushing hug. He leans closer, quite nearly borrowing himself against her as if it would protect him from the world. Ahsoka would like to say it would, but even at five she knows better. There's not much she can do right now, except try to look scary, which wouldn't work against anyone.

What's most disturbing is how obviously terrified he is. She finds herself wondering if that has some connection to the nightmares he keeps having.

"I told you I wouldn't hurt you," Obi-Wan says, and Anakin flinches in her arms.

"I don't think he believes you," she supplies.

"I can see that."

"I didn't mean it to go this far," Anakin says finally. "I didn't."

Ahsoka just clings to him and cries. She doesn't know what else to do. She hates how it feels like everything they once had was completely lost. It must mean something still, right? But Anakin now isn't who he used to be. She's not, either, but she wants to be, and mostly she wants to get to know him again. She doesn't want to be away from him anymore.

"Alright," Anakin says at last. "I'll do it. I just – if this doesn't go as planned and you have to stop me..."

"I'll do it," Kanan replies quietly. "If it comes down to it. I don't want to, but if you asked me to..."

"And if you can't?"

"I find it unlikely we couldn't defeat you if we had to," Obi-Wan interjects. Ahsoka glares at him. Kanan, she can understand. He didn't know Anakin, but Obi-Wan did, and hearing him speak of Anakin like this makes her want nothing more than to punch him.

"Others have said the same."

"You're all idiots," she snaps finally, shoving Anakin off her. "All of you! No one is killing anyone, so stop acting like you will! You're my brother, you absolute moron, and if anyone wants to hurt you, they'll go through me first."

"What if I do first?"

"You didn't want to fight me before. You said it yourself." She wants to scream and slam her head on something repeatedly. It feels like she's the only one in the room not lacking all her brain cells.

"Uh," Ezra interjects finally, awkwardly, "Maybe we should try again and figure out what else we need to do?" Maybe she's not the only one with common sense after all.

"I agree," Obi-Wan declares, "Let go of whatever fears you hold, and we will break it together."

"When has there ever been a 'we' in anything you and I have done?" Anakin asks bitterly. Ahsoka tries to ignore the stab of pain that shoots through her. Once, she thought they were close enough that nothing would or could take them apart, and instead she watched everything they built together fall down, down, down as if it were something breakable. It wasn't supposed to be.

"Once," Obi-Wan replies, "A long time ago. We did everything together, before you joined the Sith." There's a hidden accusation there, one no one misses.

"I did what I thought I had to," he responds sullenly. "I didn't realize what I was trying to stop was... myself until it was too late."

"What were you trying to do?" Ezra queries.

Anakin shifts uncomfortably. He crosses his arms again, still staring down at his lap. He's doing a very good job at looking small. It makes Ahsoka sick to see. She's seen slaves do that many times. She didn't realize how many parallels there were until now. "I... knew my wife was going to die. I wanted to save her. Sidious... promised to teach me a Dark Side power that would, but it..." He trails off, shaking his head. "In the end, I killed her myself."

"Wife?" Ahsoka squeaks. Anakin had said he had feelings for someone, but she didn't actually... it's... mind-blowing. He was always such a good Jedi.

"Padme and I married," he answers. There's a strange dullness in his voice now, and she can feel how the Dark Side twists around him, fueled by a deep self-loathing. "We were going to have a child but..."

"And what do you mean, you killed her? That's impossible. You would never do that. You didn't even want to fight me." That's what really doesn't make sense, and she doesn't want to think about the possibility of Anakin having done something like that. He and Padme were... close. Ahsoka was close with Padme. It hurt so much knowing she died, though she's long accepted it.

"It was an accident."

Ahsoka notices then how Obi-Wan shifts slightly, like something is... he's hiding something. She can sense it. "What?" she demands, eyes narrowing.

"What?" Obi-Wan replies. He's trying to pretend he doesn't know, but she knows better.

"What are you hiding?" Ahsoka repeats suspiciously. She's not falling for this. She's well-accustomed to the Jedi's lies – she doesn't want to be affiliated with the Order anymore, even if she still respects them and wishes they were here. They were flawed, as everyone is; perhaps a little too much to do what they needed to. "You know something that you're not saying."

"I don't know what killed her," he confesses with a reluctant sigh, "But she survived for a brief time even after Mustafar."

Anakin looks up finally, eyes narrowed. "What do you mean?" The heat is back in his voice again. It's only Obi-Wan who can bring it out, she realizes.

"I was... present when she died."

"Just like in my vision," Anakin replies, bitterly. He shakes his head, turning away. "No. Sidious told me I killed her. He wouldn't have lied to me. Not about that."

"But it would have kept you in the Dark Side," Ahsoka argues, "Are you certain he wouldn't have lied to you? Even if it served his purposes?"

"I... don't know." He sounds miserable. Lost. Ahsoka reaches out, laying her hand lightly on his arm, hoping it'll help.

"She said there was still good in you," Obi-Wan adds after a brief pause. "I can see traces of who you once were now, but not in your actions. Not when you're older."

"I see it all," Ahsoka argues, "He could have killed me. He didn't. He pushed me off a ledge outside the closing doors of the Temple. It would have exploded eventually. We hardly got out before it blew up as it was. I only got back inside through sheer chance. And he would have been trapped in there with it, and –" She doesn't want to think about it. He was, actively, trying to take himself out there, and he's still doing that now. She doesn't understand.

"Anakin would never have done what he did."

"Yeah, and Obi-Wan would never try to kill him!" she snaps back, "We've all made mistakes here. I don't know how you can ignore what you see right in front of you!"

Obi-Wan looks decidedly irked, but she doesn't care. He's being an idiot, too – probably the greatest of them. Typical. "You don't know what he did, Ahsoka."

"Did he try to kill you after you tried to kill him?"

"Yes," he snaps, "And that is –"

"Exactly my point! You don't deal with five-year-old's by being petty!"

"I am well aware that he's not what I thought he was," Obi-Wan says finally, "But he is also not Anakin. My padawan is gone."

"No, he's not," Ahsoka argues, "And I'm going to stay with him, even if it means I have to drag him back to the Light kicking and screaming."

"You can't turn a Sith back to the Light, Ahsoka," he replies, as if he's speaking to a child, which he is. Adult her would find such a notion stupid, too.

"Fine! Maybe I just want Anakin back. Is that a bad thing?"

"It is, if it destroys you."

"I want to be," Anakin blurts out suddenly, "I want to be who I used to be, but I can't." He wipes his face off on his sleeve, and something like shame curls around him in the Force.

"I want what we used to have," Ahsoka confesses before she can double-think it.

"Me too."

There's a pained moment of silence before he reaches over, taking her hand. Her hand tightens over his, and she pulls him closer, touching their foreheads together. From years and years ago, she remembers this. It's something she thinks they picked up from the clones. It doesn't really matter.

She remembers a time when his eyes weren't a dull, lifeless gold. Remembers a time when they were a deep sky-blue, when they burned with life. How years and years later she can still see them – see him – with such clarity and how everything leads her back to him.

Back to home.

"Tell me," she asks, "What in this galaxy could Anakin Skywalker hate enough to fuel him for so long?"

His face in her vision blurs – she can't see him clearly through her own tears. "Myself."

Somehow, it seems Jedi or Sith – no sides of the Force will take them apart. At least, she won't let them. They've gone through too much and she's tried too hard to keep Anakin with her only to lose him again. "Then let it go," she begs. "Just come back."

"It's too late for me."

"But if you want to, shouldn't that be enough?" Ezra inquires quietly.

"No. I can't. You don't know what I've done. I can't undo it."

"You can try to make it better," Kanan interjects, "You were once a Jedi. You know how this is."

"Jedi are traitors," Anakin replies bitterly. "I don't want that. They can't help anyone. They abandoned Ahsoka. They betrayed the Republic. They betrayed me. They only care about power."

"You are a Sith," Obi-Wan objects, "Sith seek power."

"The Dark gives strength. Light is a lie. There is no peace."

"You taught me better than that," Ahsoka accuses. "It was you who taught me to find peace. Find it in yourself. I know you can. You're just too stubborn not to."

Anakin sighs softly and pulls back. "I don't know how. Everything I once had that grounded me is gone."

"That was true for all of us," Obi-Wan objects. Ahsoka nearly snaps at him to stop talking, because every time she feels the fear curling around Anakin tighten farther. It makes her sick. "Yet we made it through."

"I know you both want... Anakin back, but whether we break this or not, it won't change how I can't give him to you. It's not like you'd miss him anyway, Obi-Wan."

Ahsoka feels his anger flare, mingled with a strange amount of hurt. "The one part of my old life I still mourn is Anakin."

"Why? Because you don't have someone around to try being your perfect pet anymore? Sorry. You gave that role to Sidious. He was far more appreciative of it."

He looks stung. "Your attempts to prove yourself were of your choice."

"Actually," Kanan cuts in. "I know all about raising children from... darker backgrounds, and that is not true. Ezra did that when he was younger. It requires constant reassurance."

"You never did give that to him, that I saw," Ahsoka can't help pointing out. "Seeing as he's still convinced he's incapable of being what we want him to be, I think that's still true." She can't imagine what that must have been like. Anakin was so – so good. He always reassured her. It hurts to know he must have struggled with that so much himself; no wonder he always knew how to reassure her.

"If you ever cared for Anakin, you would have either killed me or stayed with me."

"I saw your face," Obi-Wan says, and for the first time, Ahsoka finds herself wondering what exactly Anakin looked like beneath that mask. She'll never know. "I couldn't kill you when all I saw was him."

He scoffs bitterly. "You did seem to have an enjoyment in hearing me scream."

Ahsoka winces. What in the galaxy happened? On second thought, she probably doesn't want to know.

"I can say the same to you," he shoots back.

Anakin flinches again. She can't count the number of times he has since this conversation started, and it infuriates her to see. "For years, all I could think of was what you did to me. You don't know what it's like to spend every moment in constant agony, knowing it was someone you were once foolish enough to love who did this to you."

Ahsoka tightens her grip over his hand, as if it would do something to help. It won't, and she knows that, but it's all she can do. He didn't deserve to go through any of that. It's unfair he did.

"Can we try again?" Ezra interjects. She's grateful for the change in topic. "It's just – if we're afraid of Sidious finding us somehow, we might want this fixed before it happens."

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