Chapter One: Rebirth
The mission. The one in our dreams.
I'm free.
Tup wakes up slowly.
Sluggishly coming back to alertness. Limbs heavy with the exhaustion that had followed him for the last couple months of the war. He cracks open an eyelid and immediately closes it. A low groan escaping his lips.
So it was that nightmare. Great. Any second now, he would feel the walls of his old bunk on Kamino start to close in. Suffocating him while he futilely tries to escape its claustrophobic grasp.
He clenches his fists and waits. Eyes sealed shut so he won't see his approaching doom. He waits with bated breath for the feel of the smooth cylinder to encroach upon his skin. To hear the sickening grinding crunch as it squeezes him too tightly for his bones to withstand.
He waits for-
Tup takes a peek, eyes flickering around the motionless tube. The walls hadn't changed. They stood still in the same place as before.
He lets out a breath - almost instantly chastising himself for letting his guard down - and closes his eyes once again. Trying to ignore the way his heart thumps harshly in his chest.
Good soldiers follow orders.
He gasps and tries to sit up only to smack his head against the top of his bunk, causing him to flop backwards onto his bunk.
Groaning, he holds his head in his hands. Rubbing at the throbbing mark he can feel start to bruise. He glances about, taking in everything around him. He's still in his bunk. And it's his bunk, the one from before he left Kamino. The little scratches in the corner are all too familiar. Next to him is an old cadet training helmet. Its visor-less gaze glaring through him.
His throat feels suddenly dry. The dark red lines on his left training vambrace stick out in stark contrast to the drab gray of his surroundings. He knows, knows that the letter five sits proudly upon his left shoulder.
What happened to him? Why was he here?
"...fives." he calls out, or tries to, all that comes out is a wispy croak that barely gets past his lips. There's a buzzing in his ears that he doesn't know the origin of.
He closes his eyes and tries to wake up. For this must be a dream. There is no other explanation as to why he would be here, in a bunk he hadn't laid in for months.
Good soldiersss follow ordersss.
"..no," he groans at the slithering hiss that echoes in his mind. Gloved hands come to his ears, his head shakes in denial.
The face of Pong Krell smirks cruelly at him behind his closed eyes.
Good sold-
"No!" he snarls. I'm free!
The pressure he hadn't realized was building in the back of his skull disappears. The buzzing goes quiet. Leaving him with only the sound of his staggered breathing.
I'm free.
Dazedly, he opens his eyes to stare blankly at the wall. He is free.
He steadies his breathing, using the trick his brother had taught him. Something Fives had picked up in ARC training and taught Tup after Umbara. Taught him when the nightmares had overtaken his waking moments and he started to freeze.
Inhale for five seconds. Hold for five. Exhale for five, and hold for five more. Repeat until he is calm.
The technique had helped him more often than not, and Tup was indebted to Fives for it.
It didn't work on Ringo Vinda
His eyes squeeze shut. Only pain and torment lay in that thought line. What was wrong with him? The General didn't deserve to be shot in the-
Wait.
He feels himself grow tense. A sudden doom looms over him. Like a predator waiting to strike him down.
Why was he in his bunk? And why was he in cadet training gear?
Last thing he remembers is-
Forget the mission.
I'm free.
He sucks in a harsh breath. And for the first time since he was just a small cadet, he starts to shake. The fog of his mind dissipates into a sudden, jarring clarity.
He…died.
Last thing he remembers is dying on that table. Fives holding him in his last moments.
Oh, he thinks. That sucks.
Kamino was the last place he'd thought he would die. Especially after he was assigned to the 501st after graduation. He'd thought Umbara would be his graveyard. And when he survived that, he'd thought himself lucky. And he rode that luck all the way to Ringo Vinda when it finally abandoned him.
How pathetic that his own body was what killed him. A tumor, or at least that's what he thinks it was. His memories of those moments where too scattered to piece together.
What he does remember though, vividly, is his last moments. When he died!
And if he's dead, why is he awake? Awake and wearing armor that he's forgotten the weight of?
Opening his eyes, his gaze is drawn to the scratches that lined the wall of his bunk.
He counts the scratches. Marks he had made when the war started, everyday since day one. As a way to keep track of the war and how long it was until he could fight. Until he would finally be able to become useful to the Republic after years of training and conditioning.
Reading the marks now, his brain short circuits.
That can't be right.
According to the marks, the war is only a few months old.
What kind of Jedi bantha-shit have I fallen into now?
"..wha-?" he barely croaks out. The word fading off into silence half-way through.
He takes a deep breath to calm his heart. Eyes re-counting the tallies he always meticulously kept. Knowing, somehow, that the scratches spoke true. And that he was very suddenly displaced.
A panic overcomes him, his hands reaching down to slap at the control panel of his bunk, Blindly searching for the release button to open his tube.
His fingers bounce off a button and then he's moving. The bunk sliding out into the open air, dull ambient lights momentarily blinding him.
He sits up quickly, eyes frantic as they sweep the room. With no one in sight, he swings his legs over the edge. Grabbing onto the ladder and scaling down it. Only barely pausing at the bunk of a batchmate he barely remembers. Debating whether he wants to ruin the other troopers' sleep.
Deciding not to force himself on a stranger, he makes his way down to the floor. Stumbling when his feet hit gray duracrete. Any grace he learned during the war seemingly lost within the blink of an eye. His legs feel too short for his gait. His arms too long for his torso.
Taking shaky steps, he stumbles over to his old locker. The code is absent from his mind, but his fingers type the numbers in any way. He sheds the training armor, cursing softly at forgetting the helmet in his bunk, and grabs out his old blue and red cadet uniform.
Tup cringes in dismay.
The color variation marked him as an immature clone. The thought causes him to slump down onto the bench in his underclothes. He brings up his hands to look at them. Cringing again when he realizes his were the unblemished hands of a teenager.
Holy Kriff, he hides his face in his hands. I'm only seven.
Seven years old in clone years made him around fifteen in natborn years. Due to their engineering, he was only a bit shorter than a mature brother. Only a bit more slender than one too. But it was enough of a difference that it was starting to throw him off.
His shoulders began to shake again. This was all too much for him. He just died for star's sake, what the kark going on with him?
Good soldiers follow ord-
I'm free!
He needs to clear his head.
Forcing himself up, he quickly puts on the uniform and closes the locker. Unsteady feet taking him out of the barracks. He doesn't know where he is going, only that it's away from there.
He could stop at a terminal somewhere. Learn about what's going on. Or try to anyway. He doubts the holonet will have anything to tell him about dying and being shoved into his younger body without a single shred of explanation.
That or he could try to find someone he knows. If he can get his brain to work right and remember who is still on Kamino right now. But that brings up a problem. One that would crush him if he searched them out.
Nobody would know him. Unless they too, died and came back to this random moment of the war. He doubts it though. A certainty in the back of his head telling him that he's all alone again.
He could seek out Fiv- no. No, maybe that's not the best idea.
He's my best friend.
Shaking away the ghost of the past, Tup dropped the idea of seeking the man out. If Fives was still on Kamino, he was with his batchmates. The squad of brothers that Fives so rarely talked about. Out of guilt or pain, he didn't know.
But it wouldn't be the Fives he knew. Tup would just be a stranger that shared the same face.
And he can already feel the devastation such a thing will strike him with. Like a part of him has been ripped away and only the jagged edges of the bond remains.
He didn't think he coul-
Oomph.
While stuck in his head, he hadn't been looking at where he was going. Taking a quick step back, his shoulders raised to his ears at who stood before him. His eyes darted to the floor.
"One would think," the long-neck's tone was biting. "That you were engineered to be more aware of your surroundings. What say you in your defense?"
Tup opened his mouth to apologize, but nothing came out. A strain of something closing his throat shut. He couldn't get out a single sound. His ears grew hot. Stomach twisted into knots.
"Well Clone?"
He flinched at the impatient bite. Trying to produce some words in his defense, any sound at all. Nothing. He shot a glance up, before quickly looking away. His shoulders grow tense at the angry scowl adorning their face.
A large hand gripped him by the chin, forcing him to look the Kaminoan in the eye. Craning his neck up at an awkward angle.
"Oh?" another hand raised to his face. Long spindly fingers probing at his face around his right eye. "A defect?"
Tup grew confused. And a bit angry. He wasn't defective.
And yet, no words came out of his mouth.
"Give me your wrist." the Kaminoan demanded, taking their hands off him to grab a datapad from their waist.
When he offered his right arm, all he got was a scowl. Cringing at his stupidity, he offered his left. Long fingers pulled him forward in a bruising grip. Forcing his left wrist under the datapad to be scanned. The code embedded in every clone's wrist was a direct link to their personnel file. Detailing their entire lives for anyone to see.
Once the pad beeped, the long-neck shoved his arm away. As if he was trash they couldn't stand to touch.
"CT-5385, how interesting," they ponder, beady eyes piercing his soul, "according to this, you're not supposed to have any defects."
"..I don't." he mutters, but the words barely come out. As if he's shouting from under water and every time he opens his mouth, water fills his lungs.
It's a weak denial. Because maybe he is defective. He betrayed everything he stood for and murdered an ally, and then somehow forgot he even did it.
"Hmm," they fiddled with the pad for a few moments, then reached behind their back.
He'd blame it on his renewed youth and lack of instincts in this young body, but when the long arm of the Kaminoan struck out and he felt something pierce his neck, he only blamed his own stupidity.
He stumbles back, hand grabbing at his neck. A metallic cylinder comes free of the skin and suddenly he starts to feel tired. His vision starts to spin and blur.
"Sleep," the long-neck croons.
Upon waking from his forced slumber, he found himself in the dubious care of a Kaminoan Doctor whose name he never learned, Due mostly in part by the fact that he never once heard their name spoken.
He didn't know how long he was held by the scientist. Having spent much of the time under anesthesia. All he had were flashes, brief memories of waking up on a table. And the voice of a young girl humming in his ear, something he believed to be a hallucination.
His time spent asleep was filled with nightmares of the war. Umbara, Ringo Vinda. Watching his brothers die over and over again and being helpless to stop it.
Then his Jedi started to fall.
Sometimes it was the droids, overwhelming as they surround and destroy everything in their path. And he's forced to watch once again as everyone around him dies. Then, in the worse ones, it's him. Him with the blaster to their heads. Feeling the trigger depress and the blaster jolt in his hands.
He watches General Skywalker fall a dozen times. Commander Tano a dozen more. The ones with the commander are the hardest to wake up from. Especially when he's the cause of the lifeless eyes that stare through him.
When not under the influence of the sleep drugs, he would lie awake on a small bunk, stuck somewhere in a small room. It was in this room that he realized what the Kaminoan was talking about.
In the only reflection in the room, some sort of plastoid mirror, his once dark eyes blazed a brilliant blue. Staring back at him from the face of a stranger.
The only explanation he can think of for them, is the whole dying and time travel thing. Somehow it changed his DNA at a level that offended the Kaminoans. Because the scientist spent an inordinate amount of time putting him to sleep trying to figure it out.
Now though, it was one of the few down times he's gotten.
He lays heavily on the bunk. Body aching in a way that reminded him of his time at the end of his first life.
He'd come to terms with the fact that he was suddenly in the past. Even with so little evidence that suggested such a thing, he just knew it was the truth. He couldn't explain it. Didn't have the words that would do it justice. But he knew he was in the past, instead of some convoluted afterlife.
Tup refused to believe that any Kaminoan would share an afterlife with a clone. Even a deficient one like him.
Now, he didn't know exactly when in the past he was. All he knew was that it was sometime around the start of the war. Part of him wanted to change everything he could. Tell all he knew of the war and save some lives. But then reality set in and sent him into a depressive spiral.
He was just a clone. A single, defective clone that hasn't lost his baby fat yet, let alone been to war. In this timeline anyway. Who would believe him? He sure wouldn't.
Any thoughts of changing the future were pointless anyway. It was starting to look like he would be decommissioned. Something he knew they did to defects like him. Clones like him were a blight upon the Kaminoans pride. And everyday further he spent dirtying the air was an insult to their delicacies.
Add on the fact that he's lost his karking voice, and it all seems hopeless. His problems from the first day stretched well into his stay in Hotel Banthashit. He can't talk. Nothing comes out. Everytime he tries, the most he can get out is some monosyllabic words, one at a time. His words whisked away, stolen by the shadow people that haunt his dreams.
Needless to say, he didn't have much hope of making a difference.
Which is why, when the door to his cell whished open, he figured his time was up. The scientist stalked into the room. Eyes narrowed in disgust.
"Get up." they sniped.
Tup rises to his feet. Clenching his fists to hide the shakes.
The Kaminoan steps aside after a moment's pause. Nose curled in the air. When they do, a small hovercart floats into the room. Upon it sits a cargo crate and atop that, sat a phase one helmet. Next to the crate, an old DC-15A blaster rifle leans against it.
"Put this on." they ordered. "Make it quick."
He stumbles over to the crate. Picking up the helmet and staring into the visor. Taking it in. The phase one helmet is a lot different than the phase two. And seeing as he's only ever really worn phase two, he's not sure how to feel.
Setting the helmet aside, he opens the crate and reaches inside. Pulling out the black body glove that goes underneath it all. He goes about putting it on. Stripping out of his old uniform and sliding on the body glove. His ears unexplainably red when the scientist doesn't turn away to give him privacy.
Once the body glove is on, he starts putting the armor on piece by piece. Starting with the boots and working his way up until a few minutes have passed and all the remains is the bucket.
All the while, he can feel the beady eyes of the long-neck watching his every move.
The armor is a lot heavier than he's used to. It weighs him down, making his movements slower and more methodical. And it sits awkwardly on him. Too loose in too many places. Makes him feel like a cadet playing in a Commandos uniform.
"Luck seems to favor you CT-5385," the scientist remarks. "Any other time and a decommission would be your fate."
Tup felt his heart thump in his chest. What did that mean?
They must have picked up on his curiosity, because they scoffed at him. Waving a hand as if to swat him away. "No matter, you are being deployed. Follow."
He picks up the DC-15A blaster rifle from the cart after shoving on his helmet and rests it against his shoulder, uncomfortable with its heavier weight in his arms. He was used to the carbine version, which the troops had switched over to during the war as the standard rifle.
He was numb as he skittered out of the room to follow them. Walking the sterile hallways that always dampened his joy. Stuck in his head wondering what he was supposed to do now.
It felt like even before he'd died, he had been just coasting through life. Letting the world decide what he did next and not even questioning it. Since returning to his seven year old self, he'd just kinda been numb to it. Accepting the unacceptable with remarkable ease.
But maybe it was something else. Something inside him so broken, that it forced him constantly forwards. Even when he should be digging in his heels and saying no.
Why else would he be completely fine with dying, ending up in the past with no acknowledgement of such, being experimented on and then, for some inexplicable reason, being deployed. All without being told why.
Why was he here in the past? Surely no one would rely on him to fix things, right…right?
He still wasn't sure if this was some elaborate life flashing before your eyes at death moment or not.
What he does know, is that him being deployed is just a flimsy excuse to get rid of him. Make him disappear without them appearing to be the bad guys for it. Which means he's probably about to end up in a hell pit somewhere that he's expected to die in.
Good Soldiers Follow Ord-
I'm free!
He's led down to one of the hangars by the docks. There, a company's worth of clone troopers stood in formation. Waiting for the star ship docked there to lower it's ramp. The doctor pushed him into the formation and left without another word.
Tup could feel eyes on him from all angles. His shoulders hunching in response.
Just great, he sighed. Target on my face already.
A few minutes later they were marching up the ramp. Headed off to war. It all seemed too fast and he was left reeling. Like he missed something along the way and agreed to something he shouldn't have and now he was being tossed off the deep end of the simpool.
It didn't take long to reach the top of the ramp and enter the massive hangar of the ship. Once they stopped marching, he looked up and felt his breath catch.
For the trooper standing before them, despite the helmet being a phase one, was very recognizable to him, And all who fought for the 501st did.
"I am Commander Cody," Cody's voice echoed throughout the hangar despite the cacophony of sound the heightened traffic in the room provided. "I welcome you aboard the Negotiator and look forward to working with you. Now, if your lieutenants would step forward, we can see about getting you boys some bunks."
Four troopers stepped from the formation. Each making their way up to the commander. While they did, he started to panic. Closing his eyes when orange painted bodies flashed across his vision. He could smell the stench from Umbara. The smoke in the air while he shot down several of his brothers believing them to be imposters.
He couldn't bunk with these troopers. If they were to be 212th, he couldn't be anywhere near them right now.
Did he kill any of the troopers in this hangar?
The chances were low, but when he opened his eyes and saw the burnt orange of more 212th showing up to lead them away, he couldn't stop his flinch.
He needed to sneak away. Find a nook out of the way somewhere and hunker down, get his head on straight. Then, maybe he could disappear within the ranks.
What's one more unpainted trooper in a sea of white?
Good Soldiers Follow Orders.
I..i'm free…
Clone Commander CC- , aka Cody was busy doing the work of the sith, when his door slid open.
"Got a moment commander?"
Cody looked up at the trooper standing in his doorway, and waves him in. All too happy to toss aside the paperwork tainting his soul.
"What do you need Threepwood?"
Threepwood rubs at the back of his neck, "This is going to sound weird, promise not to laugh at me?"
Cody's eyebrows raise, "Oh?"
Threepwood sighs, looking away, "I think… I think we have a stowaway."
"A stowaway?" Cody felt himself grow curious when the other trooper nodded back to him. "What makes you think that?"
"Well, maybe stowaway is not the right term, but some boys from that batch of shinies we picked up said they had an extra trooper put with them right before intake and they haven't seen him since."
"That's odd." Cody searched his desk, pushing datapads aside looking for the one he needed.
Threepwood nodded, "I thought so too, sir. They said a long-neck forced him into their formation and then left him there. And before a CO could question it, they were being loaded into the ship and the matter was set aside."
Cody made a sound at the back of his throat when he found the pad he was looking for. Scrolling through the data, he came across a last second entry. "Says here that a CT-5385 was assigned to the 212th Infantry Division an hour before pick up. Strange, no one informed me of any additional troops being sent to us."
"That doesn't explain why he's missing, sir." Cody nodded in agreement as he pulled up the troopers file. "Do you want me to get a search party going?"
"Hmm, no." A flagged entry in the file caught his attention. "No, he'll come to us. Just keep an eye out for anything odd."
Threepwood snapped out a salute, "Yes, sir!"
"Dismissed," Cody waved him off. "Find Sergeant Slick and help him gather the NCO's for a mission brief in two hours."
"Sir!" Threepwood didn't waste time and was gone before the door swished closed.
Cody looked back down at the file on his screen. Staring at the blazing blue eyes that seemed almost haunted.
"Why are you hiding, Adika?"
I'm back I guess.
First chapter of a new story. Hopefully I'll be able to keep writing content for you guys.
Feedback is appreciated if you feel like it.
Sorry for disappearing on you, life got in the way and things spiraled downhill from there.
This is cross-posted on AO3 under the same name.
-PanzyBears