The biting wind whipped across the plains of Hoth, a chilling reminder of the icy grip Sidious had once held on his mind. Anakin pulled his scavenged rebel parka tighter, the cheap fabric offering little comfort against the planet's relentless assault. He preferred the cold. It kept him sharp, a constant vigilance against the darkness that still lurked within.
He wasn't Darth Vader anymore. Not outwardly. The suit, the mask, the suffocating weight of the dark side – they were gone. He was just Anakin, a name that tasted like ash in his mouth, a ghost haunting the rebellion. He didn't wear the armor, though he sometimes wished he could. It would be a visible reminder of his sins, a scarlet letter emblazoned across his chest.
His hands, once instruments of terrible power, were now calloused and scarred, performing the mundane tasks of a rebel mechanic. He preferred the greasy grit of engine repairs to wielding a lightsaber. Better to fix a broken speeder than break another life.
The other rebels kept their distance. He couldn't blame them. He saw the fear in their eyes, the barely concealed suspicion. They knew what he'd done. The massacres, the betrayals, the countless lives extinguished under his crimson blade. He was a living, breathing nightmare they couldn't wake up from, a reminder that evil could wear a human face.
Ahsoka and Rex were the exceptions. They clung to a belief in him that he couldn't fathom. Ahsoka, his former padawan, her face still a testament to their last, horrific encounter. He remembered the burning hate in his own eyes, the metallic clang of his lightsaber against hers, the sickening crunch of bone. He couldn't even look at her sometimes, the guilt a suffocating blanket. Each time she smiled at him, forgiveness blazing in her bright blue eyes, he felt another shard of his soul crack. He didn't deserve her kindness.
And Rex. A loyal soldier, a brother. The betrayal he had dealt the clones gnawed at him constantly. Order 66. The slaughter of his own men. The obedience choked into their throats, the light extinguished in their eyes. He had been a weapon in Sidious's hands, and he had butchered his own legion. He couldn't meet Rex's gaze without the overwhelming urge to fall to his knees and beg for forgiveness, a forgiveness he knew he didn't deserve.
"Still staring at the glaciers, General?" Rex's voice broke through his melancholic stupor. He hadn't heard him approach.
Anakin flinched, the old title a painful reminder of a life he could never reclaim. "Just...thinking," he mumbled, turning back to the engine he was working on.
Rex leaned against a nearby crate, his weathered face etched with concern. "Thinking about what?"
Anakin tightened a bolt a little too forcefully. "Does it matter?"
Rex sighed, a sound that echoed in the vast, empty hangar. "It matters to me, Anakin. You can't keep carrying all this weight. It'll crush you."
"It should crush me," Anakin snapped, his voice tight. "I deserve to be crushed."
Rex stepped forward, his hand hovering hesitantly on Anakin's shoulder. He retracted it quickly, knowing Anakin's volatile state. "You were under his control. You weren't yourself."
Anakin slammed his wrench down on the engine casing. "That's what you and Ahsoka keep saying, isn't it? 'Not yourself.' Like that absolves me of everything. I pulled the trigger, Rex. I swung the lightsaber. It was me."
He hated the tremor in his voice, the vulnerability that threatened to surface. He hated that even now, years later, Sidious's influence still clung to him, twisting his thoughts, amplifying his self-loathing.
Rex shook his head. "It was Sidious controlling you. Corrupting you. You have to let go of the guilt, Anakin. Use your skills for good now. Help us win this war."
Anakin scoffed. "My skills? You want me to use the same skills I used to slaughter countless innocents? You want me to trust my instincts, after everything that happened?"
He didn't trust himself. He knew, deep down, that the darkness was still there, a dormant beast waiting to be unleashed. He could feel it, a subtle hum beneath his skin, a whisper in the back of his mind. He never knew if a thought belonged to him or if it was some lingering echo of Sidious's influence.
He forced himself to take a deep breath, struggling to regain control. “I’m a liability, Rex. You know that. I’m waiting for the day I snap again.”
Rex stared at him, his eyes unwavering. "Then we'll be there for you. We'll keep you grounded. We won't let you fall back into the darkness."
Anakin averted his gaze, unable to meet the unwavering faith in Rex's eyes. He didn't deserve it. He would never deserve it.
He picked up his wrench again, the cold steel a small comfort in his trembling hand. He had a speeder to fix. He had a war to fight. And every day, he would fight against the darkness within, praying that Rex and Ahsoka's faith wouldn't be misplaced. He was a broken weapon, a shattered mirror reflecting a monster. But maybe, just maybe, he could still be used for something good. Even if he didn't believe it himself.
