Chapter Text
In which childhood is not a merry romp with the adult knowledge of the monsters prowling at the edges.
Skywalkers
Awakening
People think that just because you retained some of your previous memories from your previous life, you would be self-aware once you were born.
That is painfully not true.
The average infant’s main concern wavers between getting food, getting sleep, getting their diapers changed and most importantly, getting more sleep. The earliest days pass in a blur, and whatever awareness you have drifts in and out like a jumpy unfocused dream. Things that you actually do are usually more of the automatic, unthinking variety, since anything more complicated usually gets lost on the wayside when stronger needs take over. They also get tossed out when something more shiny catches the eye.
Priorities… who needs them? Look, a rolling, glittering fruit!
This is why one of Tom’s earliest memories was of carrying a bowl of exotic space fruit with all the wobbly gait of a three year old who should’ve known better not to run with it. He took hold of himself just in time before he began to tip over, and would’ve been more annoyed had he been more aware. As his thoughts drifted away, all he could think about was ‘why fruit?’ and, ‘why turquoise?’
Anakin remembered dipping his hand to his breakfast and smearing them on his brother’s face with glee, laughing at the surly expression it earned him. He still remembered his mother’s voice though the words escaped him. Shmi Skywalker’s tone was a fond one, even as she reprimanded him not to do that again. Of course, there is no way he was going to breathe a word of this even when threatened to death.
There had also been several disjointed dreams in which both remembered they were moving fruits this way and that. And grains. And rations. Anakin had the context for them, so he could safely ignore them as reflections of everyday activity. Tom, however, was as baffled as he was annoyed. When his self-awareness was present again for a longer time period, Tom was nowhere near amused and the first thing he noticed was that he was sitting on a dusty, sandy floor staring at a crate of fruit.
What. The. Hell?!
Not so loud!
Tom blinked. He was quite sure he didn’t say that. It only left the person sitting next to him, a chubby, vexed… Anakin? Yes, it was a four year old Anakin; apparently he was blond when he was younger, as opposed to the brunet that Tom encountered at the Terminal. Tom stared at him for some more, as he was sure he didn’t really hear the words.
What?
Your thoughts, the foreign thought surfaced in Tom’s mind, and he realised that they do sound more like Anakin’s voice than his. A grouchy Anakin, to be precise. Stop yelling them. If not, put up some krethin’ shields.
Tom frowned. What shields?
Your mind shields! What else?
That one was a familiar idea to him. Oh, something like occlumency, then?
What?
What what?
This went on for a while, to the bewilderment and consternation of both of them. In the end, it was easily established that they were telepathic with each other. It was probably a convenient side-effect of being fraternal twins strongly bound in blood and magic, or the Force, as Anakin would put it. Of course once that was done, the blond got down to business and told Tom how to sort the fruit, and other food stuffs placed in front of him. Tom stared at him as if he was nuts.
Anakin rolled his eyes. Don’t underestimate it. It’s also good coordination practice for this young body.
Why are we sorting food?
Kitchen duty’s one of the earliest tasks they try to teach us even while they lump us in the holding pen for younglings. The ones better at it get a chance to get out of the place sooner. Looks like we’re one of them this time. The good ones are for the dinner table, the bad ones goes to the slaves. Not sure if there are any employees around here. Anakin’s last words were tinged with bitterness.
Tom stared at him again, even as he mindlessly decided which fruit goes to the left and which goes to the right. Good; good enough; damaged… is that a bug biting its way out? Damaged it is, then. A little dent; slightly dryer than average…
But why do we need to do this? Tom asked.
Anakin stared at him as if it was stupid. It was doubly more annoying when the one staring at you had all the features of a kid. Wasn’t it obvious already? We’re slaves. I suppose at this point we’re still owned by Gardulla the Hutt instead of—
What?? Tom stiffened.
The blond winced at the sudden assault of annoyance, not a small amount of anger and general wish to torture something until it doesn’t get up through their link. Anakin understood, because he was feeling more or less the same thing. It didn’t help much that they were helpless at this stage. Yet as he clearly told his twin, he didn’t yell that out, even if it was only mentally. Anakin glared back at his twin and threw the emotions back.
Stop projecting so loud! You really need to learn to put a lid on it. He sighed. Never mind, I’ll teach you how to form mental shields once we’re out of the kitchen.
I can occlude my mind just fine, thank you.
If you can, then how about doing something about the link, then? Anakin grouched back.
It just had to be Tom’s luck that an occlumency shield does not take into account the presence of a telepathic twin, much less someone whose soul resonates so easily with yours. Anakin’s unimpressed look was one for the ages.
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