Chapter Text
The first thing I noticed was the smell—hot metal, sand, and something faintly sweet. It wasn’t the sterile tang of a Star Destroyer or the damp, lifeless air of the Emperor’s throne room. No. This was home. Home from so long ago, it almost didn’t feel real.
I cracked my eyes open, expecting the hazy reds of Mustafar or the cold greys of some Imperial corridor. Instead, sunlight streamed through a small, dust-covered window, casting stripes across a rough, uneven ceiling. The sound of a market chattering beyond the walls pulled me fully awake.
My heart hammered in my chest, too fast, too young. My body felt different—lighter, smaller. Too small. I sat up so quickly I almost fell out of the cot. My feet barely touched the ground. I looked down at my hands—too soft, too smooth. No scars, no burns. No black gloves hiding mechanical fingers.
"Banthas take it," I muttered, my voice catching me off guard. It was high and thin. A kid’s voice. My voice. From before.
I stumbled to my feet, the cot creaking under the shift. The room wasn’t much—bare walls, a rickety workbench shoved against the far side, covered in half-built droid parts. My old workspace. I recognized every chipped edge and rusted tool. My head spun. The weight of two lifetimes slammed into me like a runaway podracer.
Memories flashed—of fixing a broken protocol droid, of welding scrap together to build a pod, of... choking a man with the Force. My stomach twisted. I pressed a hand against the bench to steady myself. This wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be possible.
"Okay," I said aloud, trying to make sense of the madness in my head. My voice trembled, though I tried to make it sound steady. "You’re... you’re eight. Again. Great."
I pushed off the workbench and took a step, legs wobbling like I hadn’t walked in years. The floor was gritty under my bare feet. I made it to the small mirror hanging crooked on the wall. My reflection stared back—bright blue eyes too wide, sandy blonde hair sticking up in all directions, a face that hadn’t seen war or felt the heat of a lightsaber blade. A face full of innocence.
Except I wasn’t innocent anymore.
My chest felt tight. I balled my fists, trying to focus, to ground myself. The Force buzzed around me, sharp and clear, free of the suffocating darkness I’d grown so used to. But there was something else—like a crack running through me, where the light and dark couldn’t quite settle. Guilt and hope fought for space in my head.
I heard the door creak open behind me and spun around so fast I nearly tripped over my too-small feet. A familiar voice broke the silence.
“Anakin? You awake? We’ve got to—whoa.” My mother stopped in the doorway, one hand holding a small basket of fruit, the other raised mid-gesture. Her eyes scanned me, head to toe, and I realized how ridiculous I must’ve looked—standing in the middle of the room, barefoot, staring at her like she was a ghost.
“Uh, yeah,” I managed, scratching the back of my neck. My hand froze mid-scratch. It hit me—she’s alive. Shmi Skywalker. My mother. The one person I’d failed above all others. I swallowed hard, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. “I’m awake.”
She tilted her head, a small smile playing on her lips, but her brow creased with worry. “You okay, Ani? You look like you’ve seen a womp rat with two heads.”
“Just—uh—dreams,” I said quickly, waving a hand like it didn’t matter. My voice cracked. I cleared my throat, trying again. “Weird dreams. That’s all.”
“Hmm,” she said, stepping fully into the room. The basket hit the table with a soft thud. “You’ve always had a wild imagination. Maybe too wild.”
I forced a laugh. It sounded hollow to my own ears. My mother’s hands busied themselves sorting the fruit, but her eyes kept darting to me, sharp and knowing. She always saw more than I wanted her to.
I grabbed a small hydrospanner from the workbench, just to give my hands something to do. I spun it between my fingers, letting the motion ground me. “So, uh, what’s the plan today? Need me to fix something? Or are we working on the pod?”
She narrowed her eyes, leaning on the table. “You sure you’re okay? You’re acting... strange.”
I froze. For a split second, I considered telling her everything. About Vader. About Luke. About how I’d ruined everything and everyone I’d ever cared about. But what was the point? What could she even do?
I forced a grin instead, hoping it looked natural. “You know me, umi. My dreams keep me up at night sometimes. They can be scary.”
“That they can be,” she frowned, before smiling softly. “But since when has anything scared you, Ani?”
The words hit me harder than they should’ve. My grin faltered, and I ducked my head, pretending to examine the hydrospanner. “Since now, I guess.”
Shmi sighed, brushing her hands on her skirt before crossing the room. She crouched in front of me, her hands gentle but firm as they rested on my shoulders. “Listen to me. Whatever’s bothering you, you don’t have to carry it alone, all right?”
I nodded, biting back the lump rising in my throat. She pulled me into a hug, and I froze for a moment before melting into it. Her warmth, her steady heartbeat—it was too much. Too good. Too real.
When she pulled back, she ruffled my hair. “Now, go wash up. The galaxy won’t wait for you, and neither will Watto.”
As she left the room, I sank back against the workbench, the hydrospanner slipping from my hand. My fingers pressed against my temples as I tried to process the impossible. The galaxy might not wait for me, but it would have to. I had no idea what I was supposed to do—fix my mistakes, change the future, or just survive another day as a kid who already knew too much.
I sat there for a while, gripping the edge of the workbench like it might keep me from falling into the mess of emotions swirling inside me. My mother was alive. Alive. Every memory of her—the soft way she said my name, the quiet strength she carried even in the face of slavery—was vivid, sharp as a lightsaber. But so were the memories of her dying in my arms, her voice breaking as she tried to say my name one last time. The thought sent a shiver crawling up my spine.
I clenched my fists, breathing hard through my nose. I couldn’t let that happen again. Not this time. This was a second chance. Somehow, some way, the galaxy had given me one impossible chance to make things right. And I wasn’t going to waste it.
The door banged open, snapping me out of my spiral. I flinched so hard I nearly knocked a box of bolts off the workbench.
“Oi, Ani! What’re you doing, staring at the wall?” Kitster’s voice was loud enough to wake the dead, and just as annoying as I remembered. He strolled in, grinning like he owned the place, and slapped a grimy hand onto my shoulder. “We’ve got a pod to fix, or did you forget?”
“Good to see you too, Kitster,” I said, rolling my eyes and brushing his hand off. The familiar sass bubbled up without thinking, a relief compared to the crushing guilt from a moment ago.
“Don’t start with that tone,” Kitster shot back, crossing his arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Watto’s already grumpy, and I don’t feel like dealing with him because you decided to play hooky.”
I turned back to the workbench, snatching a wrench and pretending to examine it. “Relax, I’m not playing hooky. I just got... distracted.”
Kitster snorted. “Distracted by what? This junk pile? I know you love your scrap, but even you need to get out once in a while.”
I smirked, spinning the wrench in my hand before setting it down with a sharp clink. “Funny. I was distracted by thinking. You should try it sometime.”
“Oh, thinking. Big word for you,” he quipped, but there was no bite to it. Just Kitster being Kitster, all snark and sunshine. His grin softened, though, as he studied me more closely. “Seriously, you okay? You look... I dunno. Different.”
I froze for half a second, then forced a shrug. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just had a weird morning.”
Kitster didn’t look convinced, but before he could press me, my mom’s voice called from the other room. “Ani! Are you going to help Kitster or make him wait all day?”
“I’m coming!” I shouted back, grabbing a rag to wipe the grease off my hands. Not that it needed doing, but it gave me something to focus on. I avoided Kitster’s gaze as I moved to the doorway, tossing the rag onto the workbench. “Come on, we’ve got a pod to fix.”
He followed, though not before muttering, “Weird morning, huh? Try weird Anakin.”
The suns outside hit me like a slap. Bright, hot, and blinding. I blinked rapidly, adjusting to the light, while the chaotic hum of Mos Espa buzzed in the background. Shouts from merchants haggling, the screech of some kind of beast of burden—I could even smell roasted meat from one of the food stalls nearby. For a split second, I just stood there, taking it all in. It was noisy, messy, and everything I remembered from growing up here. I hated it. I loved it. My head was a mess.
Kitster nudged me in the ribs. “You’re spacing out again.”
“Maybe you’re just too impatient,” I shot back, striding forward before he could get another jab in. My feet kicked up little clouds of sand with every step, and I could feel the grit between my toes. Familiar, annoying. Somehow comforting.
We wound our way through the cluttered yard toward the pod. My pod. It sat under a makeshift tarp that barely kept the sand off, gleaming faintly despite the grime. Seeing it again sent a rush of nostalgia straight through me. I reached out and ran my hand along the engine casing, fingers brushing over the dents and scratches like they were old friends.
“Still think it’s gonna hold together?” Kitster asked, crouching beside one of the engines and poking at a loose wire. He didn’t even wait for my answer before muttering, “This thing’s a death trap. Will we even make it in time for this year’s Boonta’s Eve?”
“It’s not a death trap. It’s precision-engineered chaos. There’s a difference.” I said automatically, crouching beside him and batting his hand away. “And we will make it in time to compete!”
I thought about the original timeline, in which I was less knowledgeable and had less experience in mechanics. In that timeline, we did not manage to finish the pod until the following year. However, this time, I had decades of technological revolutionary breakthroughs. I knew how to make the most of the few scraps we could get our hands on.
“Sure, Ani,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Tell that to the guy who ends up as a smear on the canyon walls.”
I grinned, grabbing the wire and twisting it into place. “That guy won’t be me.”
“Big words for a little kid,” he muttered, but there was no real heat to it. We fell into a familiar rhythm, bickering and working, our hands moving over the pod like it was second nature. But even as we worked, the weight of everything pressed at the edges of my mind. My mother. The future. The fact that, for all my memories and regrets, I was still just a kid in a galaxy that had chewed me up and spat me out once already.
But not this time. This time, I’d do better. For her. For me. For all the things I’d broken the first time around.
“Hey,” Kitster said suddenly, breaking me out of my thoughts. He was holding up a burnt-out power converter, his brow furrowed. “This thing’s fried. You got a spare?”
I snatched it from him and studied it, frowning. “No, but Watto might. Or we can cobble something together.”
Kitster groaned. “Great. More scavenging. My favorite.”
I smirked, tossing the converter back to him. “Come on, Kitster. Where’s your sense of adventure?”
He grumbled something under his breath but followed as I headed toward Watto’s shop. The suns beat down overhead, the sand crunched underfoot, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I let myself smile. It was small, fleeting, but it was there.
Because no matter how heavy the past felt, I had a second chance. And I wasn’t going to waste it.
By the time Kitster and I got back to the yard, the suns were higher in the sky, baking the sand and making the air shimmer like a mirage. It was the kind of heat that clung to your skin, the kind I hadn’t felt in years. I squinted against the glare and wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Kitster, as usual, was full of complaints.
“This place is a furnace,” he grumbled, kicking at a rock. “We should be swimming at the oasis, not roasting out here like meat on a spit.”
“Then go swimming,” I said without looking at him. I leaned against the pod’s engine, inspecting the converter we’d stolen from Watto. It wasn’t the best—we could only take those things he would not notice or care missing—but it’d do for now. “I’m not stopping you.”
“Yeah, right.” He flopped onto the ground with all the grace of a bantha, crossing his arms and glaring up at me. “You’d just mess something up without me.”
I smirked, glancing down at him. “You keep telling yourself that, Kitster.”
He was about to fire back, but we both turned at the sound of a familiar voice. “Hey! Ani! Kitster! What are you doing?”
I looked up to see Amee bounding toward us, her loose tunic flapping in the wind. Behind her trailed Wald, his tiny Rodian legs struggling to keep up, and Seek, who was tossing a ball up and down with an air of disinterest. Amee had a way of pulling everyone along with her, whether they wanted to follow or not.
“Working,” I called back, holding up the converter like it was a trophy. “What does it look like?”
“It looks boring,” Amee shot back as she skidded to a stop in front of me, hands on her hips. “You’re always working. Don’t you ever take a break?”
“Not when I’ve got a race to win,” I said, setting the converter down carefully.
Wald huffed, flopping down next to Kitster. “You mean a race to crash.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said dryly, wiping my hands on my already-dirty tunic.
Seek finally wandered over, still tossing the ball. “Why don’t you play with us for once? You’re no fun when you’re always stuck under that hunk of junk.”
I hesitated, glancing between the pod and my friends. The logical part of me—the part shaped by years as Vader—wanted to stay focused, to keep working, to prove that this time I could do everything right. But then Amee grabbed my hand, tugging hard enough to make me stumble.
“Come on, Ani,” she whined. “It’ll only be a little while.”
Her grip was warm and insistent, and before I could stop myself, I was grinning. “Fine,” I said, throwing my hands up in mock defeat. “But if I win, you all owe me credits. Or sweets. Your pick.”
“That’s a big if,” Seek said with a smirk, chucking the ball straight at me. I caught it on reflex, the Force guiding my hand before I could even think about it. The weight of the ball was oddly grounding, pulling me out of my own head.
“All right,” I said, tossing it back to him with a little extra spin. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”
The game started off like it always did—chaos. Amee and Kitster were yelling at each other over who was cheating (spoiler: it was both of them), Wald kept tripping over his own feet and Seek was way too smug about being faster than everyone else. I found myself falling into the rhythm of it easily, my body moving without hesitation, my laughter mixing with theirs like it had never been gone.
But then there were moments—brief, sharp moments—where the duality hit me. Like when I caught the ball mid-air and tossed it to Amee, only to hear her laugh and feel a pang of sadness so deep it stole my breath. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d heard laughter like that—pure, carefree. It wasn’t something the Empire left room for.
“Earth to Ani!” Kitster yelled, waving his arms in front of my face. “What’re you doing, daydreaming? We’re losing, thanks to you.”
I blinked, shaking my head like I could physically clear the memories away. “I’m not daydreaming,” I shot back, snatching the ball from his hands. “You’re just slow.”
“Oh, you’re asking for it now,” Kitster said, lunging for me, but I dodged easily, taking off at a sprint.
The heat was unbearable, the sand got everywhere, and my tunic stuck to my back like a second skin. But for the first time in a long time, I felt like a kid again. Like maybe I wasn’t carrying the weight of two lifetimes.
Still, it didn’t last. As the game wound down, the laughter faded, replaced by the buzz of the market and the distant roar of a podracer engine being tested. I found myself sitting on a crate near the pod, watching the others argue over who had really won. (Spoiler: it was me, but good luck convincing them of that.)
I took a moment to myself. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. My fingers traced patterns in the sand, the lines crisscrossing like hyperspace lanes. The Force was everywhere, and for the first time in what felt like forever, it wasn’t suffocating me. It wasn’t cold and sharp, twisting like a knife in my gut. It wasn’t screaming for control or clawing at my thoughts. It was... light. Warm. Gentle, even. It hummed around me like the desert wind, brushing against my senses instead of trying to crush them.
I didn’t realize I’d stopped moving until Kitster’s voice broke through the haze.
“Uh, Ani? You’re just gonna stand there, or are you planning on helping?”
I blinked, turning to find him halfway under the pod, grumbling while he wrestled with a stubborn panel. His legs stuck out awkwardly, kicking every few seconds as he fought with something I couldn’t see. Nearby, Wald was sitting cross-legged in the sand, fiddling with a tool he probably didn’t know how to use, while Amee and Seek were locked in yet another argument over something dumb.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” I said, shaking my head to clear it. My voice sounded distant to my own ears, like I was talking through water. I crouched next to the pod, grabbing a hydrospanner out of the toolbox, but my hands weren’t steady. The warmth of the Force still wrapped around me, buzzing just under my skin like it was alive.
Kitster’s muffled voice floated out from under the pod. “Took you long enough. What, you forget how to hold a wrench?”
“No,” I said, a little sharper than I meant to. I tightened my grip on the hydrospanner, the metal cool against my palm, and shoved the tool toward him. “Here. Try not to break anything.”
He slid out from under the pod just enough to grab it, shooting me a look. “Someone’s touchy today.”
I didn’t respond. Instead, I leaned back against the pod’s engine, staring up at the sky. The Force was still there, still pulsing gently, but it wasn’t just around me—it was in me, too. Like a light I hadn’t realized had been snuffed out until now. I could feel the way it connected to everything: the heat radiating off the sand, the sharp, metallic tang of the pod, even the faint emotions flickering from my friends. Kitster’s mild frustration. Wald’s boredom. Amee’s excitement.
It was overwhelming, but not in a bad way. Just... a lot.
I closed my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me. It was so different from what I’d gotten used to as Vader. Back then, the Force had been a weapon, an endless pool of raw power that I’d used to bend the galaxy to my will. It had been suffocating, consuming, and yet... addictive. It whispered to me, promising strength, control, the ability to fix everything I thought was broken. But it had lied.
This—this was nothing like that. It wasn’t about control or strength. It just... was. A quiet, steady presence that didn’t demand anything from me.
“Anakin!” Amee’s shout jolted me out of my thoughts, and my eyes snapped open. She was standing a few feet away, hands on her hips, glaring at me like I’d just insulted her entire family. “Are you gonna help, or are you just gonna sit there staring at the sky?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Wald beat me to it. “Leave him alone, Amee. He’s probably thinking about how bad you are at games.”
“Hey!” Amee stomped her foot, spinning to face him. “I’m not bad! I almost beat him!”
“‘Almost’ doesn’t count,” Seek chimed in, tossing the ball from hand to hand with a smug grin.
I couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bubbling out before I could stop it. “You’re all terrible,” I said, pushing myself to my feet. “Except me, obviously.”
“Obviously,” Kitster muttered from under the pod.
I ignored him, brushing sand off my tunic. The warm hum of the Force was still there, a quiet reminder of everything I’d lost—and somehow, everything I still had. It was strange, feeling so connected to it again. It reminded me of when I was little, before everything went sideways. Back when I didn’t overthink every action, when the Force was just part of me, as natural as breathing.
For a moment, I let myself lean into it, let myself remember what it felt like to be that kid who believed he could fix anything, build anything, save anyone.
But then the weight of my memories crept back in. Palpatine’s voice, smooth and poisonous, echoing in my mind. The choices I’d made. The people I’d hurt. My hands clenched at my sides, and I took a deep breath, trying to shake it off.
Not this time. This time, I wasn’t going to let the darkness creep back in.
Amee was still glaring at Wald, who had decided to start poking her with a stick for no reason other than boredom. I stepped between them, grabbing the stick out of Wald’s hand and snapping it in half. “Okay, enough,” I said, tossing the pieces into the sand. “Go bother someone else.”
Wald pouted but didn’t argue, scurrying off to join Seek. Amee shot me a grateful look, though she didn’t say anything.
Kitster finally crawled out from under the pod, wiping grease off his hands with a rag. “All right, genius,” he said, nodding toward the engine. “Your turn.”
“Great,” I said, kneeling beside the pod and grabbing the hydrospanner again. As I worked, the Force flowed around me, steady and constant, like it was trying to remind me of something I hadn’t figured out yet.
I didn’t have all the answers. Not yet. But for now, the light was enough.
As I tightened the last bolt on the pod’s engine, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The work always helped—something about the rhythm of it, the way the pieces fit together when you just kept at it long enough. It was simple, mechanical. Nothing like the chaos in my head.
I sat back on my heels, wiping grease off my hands onto the already-filthy rag draped over my knee. The others had wandered off for the moment—Kitster was hunting for something in the scrap pile, probably muttering about how he did all the hard work while I got to “look important.” Amee had dragged Wald and Seek off to do who-knows-what, probably another game I’d get roped into later. It gave me a rare moment of quiet.
Quiet, of course, meant thinking. And thinking... well, that was complicated.
I tilted my head back, staring up at the twin suns burning high overhead. The light was blinding, the kind of brightness that made it impossible to hide. No shadows, no cover. Everything out in the open.
Luke and Leia. Just thinking of their names sent a pang through my chest. My kids. My kids. I still wasn’t used to it, even with everything I remembered. For years, I hadn’t even known they existed. And then, when I did—when I’d stood across from Luke, lightsabers clashing, knowing he was my son—I’d been so wrapped up in my own pain and anger that I hadn’t really seen him. Not until the end.
And Leia... stars. She’d been right there, in front of me so many times, and I hadn’t even known. Not until it was too late.
I squeezed my eyes shut, feeling the grease-sticky rag twist under my grip. That wasn’t going to happen again. It couldn’t. Whatever this second chance was—this insane, impossible chance to do things over—I wasn’t going to waste it. I wasn’t going to fail them. Not this time.
But how? How was I supposed to protect them when they weren’t even born yet? When I was just a kid on a backwater planet, trying to scrape by like everyone else? The Force hummed around me, warm and steady, but it didn’t offer any answers. It never did.
I let my hands drop into my lap, the rag slipping to the ground. The memories of Vader were a constant weight, a shadow that clung to me no matter how bright the suns shone. Every decision I’d made, every person I’d hurt—it was all there, clear as if it had happened yesterday. But so was Luke’s face, lit with that stubborn hope he’d carried even when I’d been at my worst. So was Leia’s fire, her unshakable will to fight for what was right, even in the face of impossible odds.
They were stronger than I’d ever been. Stronger than I deserved. But that didn’t mean I couldn’t try to live up to them now.
“Thinking again?” Kitster’s voice broke the silence, and I nearly jumped out of my skin.
I turned to see him standing a few feet away, holding up a tangled mess of wires like it was some kind of prize. His eyebrows were raised, and his smirk was firmly in place. “You’re gonna hurt yourself if you keep doing that, you know.”
“Doing what?” I asked, forcing my voice to sound normal as I leaned back against the pod’s engine.
“Thinking so hard,” he said, flopping down onto the sand beside me. The wires landed in a messy heap between us. “It’s not your strong suit.”
I snorted, grabbing the nearest piece of wire and examining it. “Says the guy who thought duct tape was a permanent fix.”
“Hey, it worked for a while,” he shot back, grinning. “Besides, if you’re so smart, why’d you let me, do it?”
“Because I like watching you fail,” I said, tossing the wire aside and crossing my arms.
“Sure, you do.” He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the sky. After a moment, he said, “You’ve been weird lately, you know that?”
I tensed, my fingers curling against my arms. “I’m not weird.”
“You are. You’re all... quiet. Like you’re thinking about stuff that doesn’t even matter. What’s up with that?”
I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. How could I explain it to him? That I wasn’t just Anakin Skywalker, eight-year-old slave kid from Tatooine? That I’d been a Jedi, a Sith, and somehow found myself back here, trying to fix everything I’d broken? That I was trying to figure out how to keep my kids—my future kids—safe in a galaxy that seemed to chew people up and spit them out?
Instead, I shrugged, letting the tension roll off me as best I could. “Maybe I just grew up.”
Kitster gave me a long, skeptical look. “Grew up? You? Nah. You’re still the same annoying little brat you’ve always been.”
“Thanks, Kitster,” I said dryly, kicking a bit of sand in his direction. “Always good to know you’ve got my back.”
“Anytime, Ani.” He grinned, brushing the sand off his pants.
I turned my attention back to the pod, running my hand over the engine casing. The metal was warm from the sun, solid under my fingers. It was a good distraction, grounding me in the moment. I couldn’t fix the future—not yet—but I could start here. I could work, learn, and grow. And maybe, just maybe, that would be enough to make a difference when the time came.
Because the time would come. It always did.
And when it did, I was going to be ready. For Luke. For Leia. For the future we all deserved.