Work Text:
"Rats, come up on my right, Seventy on my left. Let's hit them where it hurts, boys." I accelerate, urging my starfighter towards the Separatist ship we're about to attack.
"Alright, General. Let's do this boys!" Rats yells
I'm used to his shouts in my ear, he's been loud since he started in my legion. I can't help but feel a fond warmth now to accompany my wince. I can't believe there was ever a time I couldn't stand him. "Let's kill some Seppies!" Rats and Seventy come up on either side of me as I hear my boys whoop and rally each other. I chuckle and nod to Seventy. He's a good commander. I'm proud of all my boys but these two are something special.
"Alright, let's bring it in. Commander Seventy, on your count."
"Alright boys, get ready."
The comm goes silent. I wait for Seventy's count, but it... never comes? A separatist vulture droid sees us and turns towards us. We scatter, I pull up, we need to move together or this assault won't work. Someone shoots the droid and it explodes, prompting more separatists to catch on to our approach. Something's wrong. I fall back into position, "Boys, we still got this. Seventy, please." No one comes up next to me. "Boys?"
Silence.
A private channel beeps in my ear. Rats is quiet. "Sorry, Commander."
My heart drops into my stomach at the same moment I feel the Force scream.
I can't even think before a deafening whoosh is all I know, then nothing.
*
I blink, there's no sound but my ears are ringing, something's in my right eye and I can't see. Liquid? I'm bleeding. It must be a head wound, dripping down. I gasp as my senses return. I'm falling? I've been shot down? Every alarm is beeping and wailing. My boys--
As my ship spins and plummets I see them, leaving? Seventy's ship, it has the blue nose, he's coming, he always has my back.
He shoots me.
He shot my ship.
He's trying to kill me.
Seventy is going to kill me!
My ship splinters as I enter the atmosphere. My seat, I'm stuck in my seat, I'm going to die--
My ship splits into pieces and I can feel my body burn as it explodes, propelling me in the remains as I continue to fall. I need to get free. I can't see, fuck. Fuck!
I can't even think, I'm panicking, I grab my lightsaber where it's strapped to my waist and ignite it, cutting the straps holding me in and burning my hip. I grit my teeth. Pain is only in the mind. But fuck everything hurts. I drag myself out of my seat as much as I can. Everything's on fire. My hair is singed. I'm going to die.
I jump.
**
Water washes up along my body, soothing and cool. The sound of small waves is comforting. Something's beeping... an alarm? I'm so tired. I must have slept like shit.
I reach over to shut off the alarm. I don't want to get up yet. A garbled voice speaks. Obi-Wan?
"This is M--ster Obi Wan K--enobi." I look up, shock awakening my body. It's my communicator, on the ground a few feet from me. The recording I'm hearing sounds staticky. "I regret to report -- both our Jedi Order and the Republic, have f--" It sparks and the sound cuts out. "No, no!" I crawl forward and grab it, my hands are filthy and bloody. My communicator beeps again, a high priority transmission from the Jedi temple. I smack it, yelling in anger, and the sound comes back.
"This is Master Obi Wan Kenobi. I regret to report that both our Jedi Order and the Republic, have fallen with a dark shadow of the Empire rising to take their place. This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi. Trust in The Force. Do not return to the Temple...."
I roll over and lay back on the sand, the voice of Master Kenobi, Obi-Wan, a man I called my friend, tell me a horror I could hardly believe.
"And in time, a new hope will emerge. May the Force be with you, always."
Tears drip down my face, dripping past my ears and into my hair. Jedi are not supposed to form attachments, but I ache. I grieve. I tentatively reach out into the Force, and it feels dark and empty. I am alone. I should be dead.
But I'm not.
After enough time that the suns of this world have shifted in the sky, I make myself get up. I take off my clothes and bathe myself in the water. Then I rub dirt on my face and hands and get to ripping up my robes. I can't wear these anymore. With some creative rips and cuts from my saber that is blessedly still on my waist, I think I manage to look like just another refugee on any other planet. I pick a direction, begin walking, and hope.
Hope is all we have left.