#alt1

Whumpee doesn't remember much of the battle.

It went by in a haze. They remember red, people falling, screams, unsure which side they were on. They remember the glee, the euphoria, of using their magic. The high of it all.

Now they're starting to come down from that high, and they can see the fear in people's eyes. The injuries, the casualties. Vaguely, they wonder who caused them. Was it them again?

Hands cup their face, gentle, calloused. The only ones that will ever touch them anymore.

Caretaker's.

"Hey. Look at me, now. Not the camp. Me." Whumpee looks up hesitantly, into their loving, warm eyes. One day they'll change. One day... one day they'll harden. Fear, hatred. From all the people they've hurt, on all sides. One day it'll be too much. They're afraid of the day they'll see that, of what will happen then.

But it hasn't happened yet.

Caretaker wipes their cheek softly. "It's okay. Come on, rest. Lay your head down. You're done for today. Close your eyes and rest."

Whumpee crawls into Caretaker's lap. They vaguely register being carried, head being lifted until it meets Caretaker's neck. Whumpee nuzzles into it.

"Shh. You did so well. You're doing so well, Whumpee. I'm proud of you."

Whumpee doesn't want to be. They want to grow flowers. But this is what their magic likes, this is what their king likes, this is what makes Caretaker say those words of praise in just that voice, so they can't stop.

(They ignore the small voice in their head that says that they have no idea what Caretaker's reaction to flowers would be. This is exhilarating, even if they feel an ever-growing bubble of shame at the endless, ruthless violence.)

Caretaker runs a hand through their hair, combing out the knots from the day's work, using a little water to clean the worst of the blood. Whumpee has been through this so many times that they know what to expect without even a glance. He won't hurt them with those eyes. They know his expression, his feelings, and they curl their arms and legs closer around him.

He's so warm.

"S'okay buddy. I'm here."

"Hmm."

Whumpee closes their eyes. It's so... so... they don't think they can sleep yet but they find themself drifting on the exhaustion the magical high always brings.

_

The next morning is... the next morning. As it always is with a new squad, it is very different to the first one.

And as it always is, Whumpee feels a sharp stab of hurt.

The soldiers know who they are, what they are. Have done since the very beginning .They've worked with Whumpee on the preparations, the journey here, for weeks. They know them. Sat around the campfire, shared meals, joked and talked and laughed. They'd been wished good luck yesterday morning, hair ruffled, smiles and reassurances in abundance. Soldier had even fixed their horse's saddle after the straps started to break. Now...

Now, they won't come within arms length of them. Soldier ladles out breakfast to the rest, leaving an empty bowl several feet from Whumpee, not looking them in the eye as he leaves them to fetch their own. He flinches along with several others as they approach the campfire, more whose hands jerk towards their swords. As if they're going to attack. As if they're so out of control that they'd attack their own side on purpose.

They reluctantly let go of Caretaker's hand so he can fetch their breakfast and the healing potion alone. At least he looks them in the eye. At least he sits with them, and talks, and touches them. Helps convince them to take the potion, even though it's bitter and rancid and no-one will improve it for the likes of them, and they won't need it once the adrenaline and euphoria of tomorrow's battle kicks in.

The kindness is only for now. It will change, sooner or later.

Nobody helps the pair of them take down their tent, or pack their saddlebags, and the Sergeant looks about to stop Whumpee from replacing the emergency set of daggers they carry in their boots at all times. A gift from Caretaker.

It's like they have the plague. Or the Devil's Touch, as their old villagers used to say.

They're pretty much alone in the clearing now, the rest of the squad staying as far away as they can without letting Whumpee out of their sight. Just in case they explode or something.

Without a word, Whumpee settles down on the ground beside the smoldering fire, Caretaker sitting on the log behind them. It's a sharply cold morning, dew dampening their breeches, but their leather armour keeps them surprisingly warm.

Caretaker braids their hair quickly and simply, just enough to keep it out of their face. Battlefields aren't the place for complicated hairstyles. Which is a shame, because Caretaker takes pride in that skill, and Whumpee delights in being allowed to display the results.

Whumpee dries their face with the cloth Caretaker hands them wordlessly. They need to get it together. It's not like it's the end of the world or anything. They try to summon the ease by which they sometimes prepare, the eagerness instead of dread that comes with a lot of battles.

It doesn't come. Today is a day for dread, then, and there's nothing they can do about it but pray for a miracle. And a break in the hatred and fear, the violence with which everyone rejects them.

They can't help thinking, though, that the amount of damage they've done, it's no wonder people want them locked away. They are a weapon, after all.

Yes. Definitely one of the bad days.

Caretaker's their handler. They try not to think about it but it's true. He's the only one who might see it, might offer them a brief reprieve. So they summon up all their courage.

"Please..."

Caretaker finishes the braid and kisses their temple. "I'm so sorry, Whumpee. I really am. But you need to do this. We need to do this. The kingdom needs you."

Whumpee nods. They don't blame Caretaker, not really. They need to win this war. And Whumpee needs to use their magic.

"Really?" He asked, one eyebrow raised. "Your bloody nose says otherwise."

She rolled her eyes and wiped her nose only smearing blood on her cheek and hand. "What bloody nose?"

"Okay, well now your face is bloody," he replied as he walked over to her.

"I don't need you to clean my face," she told him, waving him away. "Now let's go, the men are having all of our fun." She tried to play it off as a joke, but he knew better than that.

His brows furrowed. "You're avoiding things again," he said. He placed a hand on her shoulder. "We need to talk about it. We can't keep putting this off."

She huffed. "No, Master. We should return to the battle."

"Don't do this, right now, Grim. You're afraid, I can feel it. You've been afraid, and I've never seen you as scared as you are now." He sighed. "You told the Council that you've been trying to prevent the Jedi and Republic from falling. You told me this happens today. We can't brush this off anymore. We can't keep pretending nothing is wrong."

"Then men need us, we have a battle to win," she replied, stubbornly. She began to walk off.

Obi-Wan moved in front of her and crossed his arms. "They can go without us a little longer. Talk to me, please, Padawan. We can't do this anymore."

"Fine? You want to know what's going on? I told you already; I've failed. There's nothing I can do. Okay? There. Now let's back to the battle."

"Grim…"

"Let's go."

He knew when these arguments were lost. He sighed heavily. "Okay, but this conversation isn't over."

"Alright," she agreed. "We can discuss this later."

But there would be no later, and she knew it. She would die soon. Obi-Wan had promised her that he wouldn't let her die, but they had both known it wasn't one he could keep.

She just couldn't bring herself to say goodbye. She never could, she wasn't any good at them.

The two Jedi met back up with Boga and climbed onto her saddle, with Grim sitting behind her Master. Together they made their way back to the battle. As they did there was a sudden gap in the Force, an emptiness unlike anything she had felt before. She leaned forward suddenly and grabbed hold of Obi-Wan.

"Grim?" He asked with a gentle concern.

"It's begun," she whispered. He wouldn't have ever heard it had she not been so close to him.

He didn't know what to say. He just looked over his shoulder and at his Padawan. The fear in her eyes said it all. What had she felt? There was more to this fear than just what she knew. She had sensed something.

She was surprised he didn't feel it. She had to wonder how he couldn't sense what she had. Anakin was his Padawan too. Surely he would've felt his fall. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that it was really over.

They reached the battle and rode all the way up to Cody. When she saw him Grim felt a lump form in her throat. She knew what was about to happen. She couldn't change it.

"Commander, contact your troops," Obi-Wan told him as they arrived. "Tell them to move to the higher levels."

"Very good, sir," He replied. Cody then handed him his lightsaber back. "Oh, by the way sir, I think you'll be needing this."

"Thank you, Cody," he replied, taking the lightsaber and clipping it to his belt. He turned to look at Grim. "Padawan, I want you to stay with him."

She nearly fell off of Boga at those words. "What?" She gawked. "Master wait— we should stick together. Please." She was practically begging him. If she was about to die, she didn't want to be alone.

"Very well, little one. We'll stick together."

She hugged him.

As the two Jedi rode Boga up the cliffside Grim tightened her grip on Obi-Wan. She was afraid to let go. She didn't want to die. She shut her eyes and tears rolled down her face. She braced herself for the impact of the upcoming betrayal.

Even though she had, she was still shaken as her and Obi-Wan were flown off of the varactyl and began to freefall into the sinkhole beneath them. As they fell Obi-Wan hurriedly turned them around, shielding Grim with his body. Some of the cliff was blasted off with the explosion and had fallen with them, the debris hitting the Jedi Master when it could have hit Grim instead. She refused to let go of him, squeezing tighter afraid of what would happen if they were separated.

He had to fight against her grip to fish his rebreather from his belt. They were quickly approaching water and he had to act fast. He gave the device to Grim and let go. She was taken aback by the action and in her surprise she let go of him too. Both Jedi crashed into the water.

Due to Obi-Wan's quick thinking she was able breathe just fine, and began to swim upwards. Only to realize he wasn't with her. She looked down and saw him sinking deeper and deeper into the water. With his sacrifice that would kill him, and she refused to leave him behind. She was the one meant to die not him. She wouldn't allow it.

Grim dived back down and quickly began to swim towards her Master. It was the fastest she had ever swam in her life. She had to reach him and bring him to the surface before it was too late. She used the Force to help pull him up to her while still rushing to him. She grabbed onto his arm and wrapped it around her shoulder making a quick ascent.

The two of them broke through the water reaching air. She pocketed the rebreather as she searched for land. She found some not too far away and took them in that direction. She threw Obi-Wan onto the surface before following after him. He was unconscious and near motionless. She felt the panic rise in her. Was she too late to save him? No — she couldn't let fear overtake her.

Grim crawled over to him and put her head against his chest. She tried to hear his heartbeat but couldn't. She checked his pulse and his breathing. Fear began to swell up inside her again. "No. You can't die on me, dad. You promised me we would both make it."

She took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down. There weren't any clones nearby so she didn't have to hurry. Doing her best to remember her training she began to preform CPR hoping against all her hope that it wasn't too late.

Obi-Wan suddenly sat up coughing and sputtering. He spat out some of the water he had swallowed. Grim nearly cried in relief and wrapped him in a hug. "You're alive!"

He winced slightly at the contact. She cringed a bit when she noticed and pulled back, only for her eyes to grow wide and notice the blood soaking through his drenched robes. "You're bleeding!"

He gave her a strained smile. "I'll be fine for now, Padawan. Once we're out of here I can get some medical attention."

She nodded, but the concern didn't waver from her eyes. "Maybe I can bandage you up. There's got to be some supplies—"

"We don't have time, Grim. You know this more than I do. This is what you've been trying to stop, isn't it?"

She hesitated. "Yes, it is. I'm sorry, Master. I should have told you."

"It's too late for that now. You've seen these events before, we need to get out of here. We can discuss this later when we're safe."

"We'll never be safe," she muttered.

He put a hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met and suddenly there was no more need for words. It was one of those times where there was an unspoken understanding between them.

"Okay," she sighed. "We'll talk more when we get out of here."

"You're the one who's seen this before. Do you know how we can escape?"

"I think I do, but I'm not sure if both of us can get there. In the film you were alone."

"Ah, that does complicate things."

"Especially with your injuries."

"Do we have any other options?"

"Not that I know of. The most obvious ways are going to be heavily guarded. We're wanted dead now."

"Then we're going to have to hope for the best."

Obi-Wan began to stand up but then stumbled, Grim quickly rushed to catch him. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders as she adjusted herself to support him. Carefully they stood up together, with him doing his best not to put too much weight on his Padawan. Once they were situated and stable, they began to make their escape. Grim used her free arm to hold her lightsaber, even though it was deactivated. It was her best bet to defend them if they came across any of the 212th. She didn't want to fight them, she knew it was against their will, she knew about the chips. But if it came down to it, it was her and Obi-Wan vs them. She had to defend herself and her Master, and she would. Even if she had to lay down her life.

Obi-Wan didn't know how important he was to the future of the galaxy. Grim had already failed in her goals. If only one of them could make it off this planet, she would ensure that it was Obi-Wan. She had to keep him safe. She knew he thought the same about her, but her story didn't matter. Her story was over, his wasn't. He still needed to face Anakin, to watch over Luke, to mentor him.

She was the only story she didn't know. But she knew that much. She knew when her story ended. She could've just as easily ended her life the night before and nothing would have changed. Well — Obi-Wan wouldn't have gotten hurt trying to save her. But he was never supposed to have anyway. She wasn't supposed to have been here in the first place.

Something happened. Somebody stumbled, either her or Obi-Wan. But they were spotted. Blasterfire was suddenly ringing out. The shots aimed at the two Jedi. Grim activated her lightsaber, letting the purple glow illuminate her and her Master. Careful to still support him she began to deflect the blaster bolts back at the clones who fired them. But she couldn't run, fight back, and support Obi-Wan all at once. And she would tire eventually. Sooner rather than later as she had not slept in the past three days.

Obi-Wan knew this too. He grabbed his own lightsaber and ignited it. He turned to his Padawan, his face serious and stern. Hurt yet gentle. "Grim, you need to run."

"What? No, not without you!"

"We don't have time to argue. I'll hold them off and buy you enough time to escape. You said it yourself, you weren't sure we could both get out of here."

"We'll find a way. I won't leave you Master."

"I promised you I wouldn't let you die. If you stay here trying to defend me, you will. We both know this. You need to run, you need to get out of here."

"If I do you'll die. You said we'd both survive. You promised, dad!" She began to cry, tears filling her eyes.

"We both knew it wasn't one I could make, little one."

She hesitated, she didn't want to leave him behind. She couldn't.

Their eyes met again. He saw her stubbornness, always so stubborn. There was that fiery determination that told him everything. "The Force will be with you, always," He promised her.

Grim's eyes widened. She knew what that meant. "No!" She cried.

He had already used the Force to shove her away. She began to run back towards him, but before she could he collapsed the rocks nearby separating the two of them. She could hear the sound of his lightsaber deflecting blaster bolts. She wanted to rush back to help him. She wanted to fall to her knees and break down in tears. She wanted to do something. She had to.

But she couldn't. Obi-Wan had given his life to save her. She had to honor his sacrifice. She was near Grievous's starfighter — her key to escape. With no other options, she turned away from the rubble and her Master. Grim rushed off to the ship, and hopped inside. She wasn't sure how she was meant to fly it, but after a few minutes of messing with the controls she got it into the air and out of Utapau's atmosphere. Once she was safely in space she broke down in tears.

She felt a pang in her chest. A broken gasp escaped her lips. She knew what it meant even without knowing anything at all. Obi-Wan was gone. He died. He died long before he was supposed to. She had hoped against everything he would find a way to escape and they would meet up again. But that hope was gone now. Her father had died saving her.

Despite this she had no time to grieve. This fight wasn't over yet. She still had to reunite with Master Yoda and get to the Jedi Temple. If Obi-Wan wasn't around to record that message to the survivors, she would have to do. Although she might not make as big as an impact as her father she still had to warn them of the dangers. She knew his message by heart after years of watching it in fiction.

Not only did she have to return to the Jedi Temple, she would have to be the one to face Anakin on Mustafar. She would have to do the job that her Master never could. But could she do it either? She hadn't been able to bring herself to end Anakin's life the night before. Would now be any different?

She shook her head. Grim couldn't let these things get to her. She would figure it out when the time came. She took a shaky breath and turned on the ship's comm system. "Emergency code nine-thirteen. I have no contact on any frequency." Although she hadn't bothered to try. She just needed to get ahold of one person.

"Padawan Kennet," came Bail Organa's reply, although it was slightly distorted.

She let out a sigh of relief upon seeing his holographic figure. "Senator Organa. I need help. Master Kenobi's gone."

Through the hologram she could see the senator bow his head mournfully. "I'm sorry for your lost, Padawan. He was a good man."

"He was. He gave his life to save me."

"That sounds like Master Kenobi. I'll send over my coordinates now."

"Thank you, Senator."

It took some time to reach the rendezvous coordinates. Once she did she stumbled out of the stolen ship falling to her knees and finally breaking down. Bail and Yoda were waiting on her and watched the young girl fall apart in front of them. The Jedi Master walked over to her and placed a three-clawed hand on her knee. He said nothing — as there was nothing that could be said. She had just lost everything and knew even more about what was to come. He was aware that this was everything she had tried to prevent.

After a long time Grim regained her strength and made herself stand again. "I know about the message," she told them, her voice still shaking. "I know about the message from the Temple, I know it's asking survivors to return." This time she managed to steady herself. "I also know it's a trap. There will still be clones waiting to ambush anyone."

Yoda nodded. "A suggestion you have?"

"We need to dismantle the signal. Record our own message. Too many Jedi have died already."

"Agree I do."

"There's one more thing, Master. May I speak with you in private?"

"Of course."

"I'll leave the two of you be, then," Bail told the Jedi.

"Appreciate that, we do, Senator," Yoda told him.

Once Bail left, the two Jedi found a place to sit. Yoda hopped up beside Grim and sat next to her. She let out a heavy sigh and looked at him with broken eyes. "Obi-Wan wasn't supposed to die."

He bowed his head. "Know I do."

"How?"

"When lost, attempt to copy Master Kenobi you do," he replied. He looked up at her and placed a hand on her knee. "Blame yourself for his death, do not. A sacrifice he made."

"I don't know what I'm going to do now. He still had an important role to play in the future of this universe. Now he's gone, and I'm the one who lived. It was supposed to be me who died, I was certain it would be me."

"Yet die you did not. In mysterious ways the Force works, and a great sacrifice Master Kenobi made. Honor that sacrifice we should."

"I know, and I already know what I have to do. I'm going to fill his role. I'm going to do everything he can't do now."

"His role it may have been, but your role it is not. In motion the future is, forget this do not, young one."

"I won't. But his role is too important. The future of the galaxy depended on him. If I have to give up everything to secure that future I will."

"Perhaps different things can be. Obi-Wan you are not."

"I know that, of course I know that. But I don't know what else to do. I have always been the only story I didn't know. I know Master Kenobi's story, but it's incomplete now. If I follow his story—"

He shook his head. "His story it would not be. A new story for the galaxy there is, hm? Perhaps accept this change you should."

"This isn't the change I wanted."

"No, but made the change has been. Undo the past we can not."

She let out a frustrated sigh. "I just wanted to save the Jedi, instead I killed Obi-Wan and failed the galaxy."

"Kill Master Kenobi you did not. His choice it was."

"Because of me!" She snapped. "I was never supposed to be part of this universe."

"But a part of it you are. A Jedi you are. Miss Master Kenobi, we will. But dwelling on this no good will it do us."

She bowed her head. "Do you think I can still fix this galaxy?"

"Believe that an important role you have, I do."

"That's not what I asked."

"No, but know the future I do not. Know the future, now you do not. However, keep going we must."

"You're right, Master Yoda. Thank you."

How long could you stay alive buried like this? One of the others might know...Laudna with her fascination with death, or Imogen with her thirst for knowledge.

But he wasn't supposed to think about them any more.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

He had to pinch himself on the arms to stay awake. Bruises were blossoming under his touch, bringing tears to his eyes when he brushed over them. But it wasn't enough. He'd moved on to his stomach, the tops of his thighs...anything he could reach. If he fell asleep his body could start breathing on his own, and he would suffocate.

It could have been days. It could have been hours.

Had to have been days. His arms and stomach were covered with bruises from where he'd been pinching. His stomach had stopped gurgling some time ago, and his throat was parched and dry.

How long could you live without food? Without water?

Air would be the least of his worries before too long.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

They'd thrown him in here with barely a word. Nailed the crate shut and buried it. He didn't know why, didn't know if it was something he did, or one of his friends, or just a mistake. But it didn't matter.

Nothing mattered. Nothing but staying awake...staying alive.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

He pinched his leg so hard he thought he drew blood. Tears would have filled his eyes, if he'd had anything left to cry.

He longed to breathe. Even just the stale air of the crate he'd been buried in. Just one breath, in and out, just something other than this endless dark nightmare.

But he didn't. He couldn't...if he fell asleep he'd need the air anyway.

But it probably wouldn't matter.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

There was a strange sound above him. Something moving through the dirt. He thought about subterranean creatures—snakes and moles and rats. Tunneling. Burrowing.

Could they find the crate? Would a rat's tunnel be enough for him to escape?

If only he could shrink to rat size, he could clamber out of the tunnel with the rest of the vermin. Feel the sun again. Breathe.

Best not to think about it. Close eyes, keep arms close to body, ignore the closeness of the crate around him.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

It was a coffin.

He was tired of trying to delude himself. It might have started as a crate, but it was becoming his coffin. He was sealed down here, and even if he managed to stay alive he would never be found.

The burrowing animal had become a nearly constant companion. He could hear it moving through the earth, never quite close enough to reach him. Always shuffling, always digging. Couldn't quite tell how big it was, with the way it scraped through the dirt.

Must be making a warren. A place for a family.

Family.

Don't panic. Don't panic. Don't panic.

The closer the animal burrowed, the stranger it sounded. Big paws shuffling through the dirt, but not digging through it. The sounds seemed to move around him, but never stayed in the same place.

That was odd. Was it trying to find the best spot to dig deeper? It always seemed to start above him, then stop when it sounded like it was level with his crate. He wasn't buried that far down, was he? It had taken them less than an hour to fill the grave in.

Now it was digging right above him. Big claws heaving dirt out of the way. It sounded gigantic. Bigger than any rat he'd ever seen. Bears didn't tunnel like this, did they?

Something struck the lid of his crate. Scraped across it. Dirt was flung away.

He heard a gasp of breath, then a voice.

“I found him!”

Dorian panicked.

He banged on the lid of the crate, scraping on the wood with fingers already bruised and raw. Sucked in a greedy breath of stale air. “Help me!”

Something slammed into the crate. He flinched back as the wood splintered, but even that small hole was enough for a trickle of deliciously fresh air. The wood splintered again, the blade of a hatchet wedging into the crack to break away a piece.

It was enough for him to shove his hand through, wood tearing at the skin of his fingers and wrist. Someone grabbed his hand, squeezed it.

“Dariax, help me!”

More blows to the wood. The hand never released his as more pieces were pried away. He finally caught a glimpse of starlight, the dark silhouette of his brother, as Dariax began tearing the crate apart with his bare hands.

Cyrus leaned into the crate to grab Dorian under the shoulders and haul him out. The hole was barely big enough for him to fit through, and it tore at his clothes and skin on the way, but he just clung to his brother and breathed and sobbed into Cyrus's shoulder.

“We gotcha, Dorian,” Dariax rested a hand on his shoulder, the warmth of healing magic flowing through his body to close up the worst of his wounds.

Opal was there to wrap a blanket around him, offering a flask of water. “Guess we don't have to go back and murder that witch now.”

“We could still kill her,” Dariax suggested cheerfully. “She never told us where the bad guys are.”

“Yeah, well...some things are more important.” Opal was running a hand through his hair, loosening bits of wood and dirt. “We'd rather have a living Dorian than a dead witch anyway.”

“Definitely,” Cyrus agreed. He was sitting cross-legged now, cradling Dorian against him like they were children again and he'd had a nightmare. Holding him close, Dorian's head on his shoulder, face all but buried in his neck, rubbing soothing circles across his back. “Think you can walk?”

Dorian shook his head. He was shaking in earnest now, like all the fear he'd been holding back while he was in the box was making itself known. Cyrus just let out a soft laugh and hugged him a little tighter.