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Anakin's in the temple healers wing the next time he comes to.
Which is confusing.
Last he was here, Palpatine was having the interior ripped out and converting the wing into his own personal prison ward, with red forcefields and plasma droids to match. The result had been gaudy, tasteless and very in theme with everything else Palpatine had done over his reign.
He takes a glance down at his hands. He'd hoped to be able to check for any fuzziness around the edges of the metal, maybe even discern what kind of hallucigen it was he'd clearly been dosed with, only to be given the shock of his life when flesh greeted him.
Splaying five fingers above his head, in the light, Anakin could even see the scar he got in Watto's workshop when he was seven. He could feel the skin pull around it, could see the red glow of light through flesh.
His hands are back. Two hands, ten fingers, no metal. No pain. He peered down the bed — the rather short, now he was looking, bed. Wriggled ligaments he hadn't had in years, and, sure enough, ten toes moved beneath the light linen sheets.
This was... confusing.
The last thing he remembered before this was.. Luke. His son, looking down at him. Pain had been pulsing through his body so hard it made his eye sight spin, but he hadn't blinked, hadn't been able to look away. Luke had been his salvation, his push back to the light after twenty two years.
Even just existing without pain was overwhelming. Being able to breathe without his lungs constricting and burning made his eyes sting. Trembling hands tried to wipe the wet from his cheeks but they were unsuccessful. Largely due to how small they were.
Anakin held them to the light again, squinting. They were suspiciously small, in fact. Anakin had hit six feet before he even turned eighteen, much to Obi-Wan's pain. Being small was a feeling he was not familiar with. It was hard to believe he ever had been, even.
Footsteps came down the hall.
Anakin opened his palm, calling his lightsabre and preparing to push up and defend himself off instinct more then anything else, and — nothing came. He opened his palm again, concentrating. Lights flickered but no sabre. Panic started to prickle up his spine, the realisation that something was truly wrong starting to hit him.
Master Vokara Che stopped before him, left lekku curled around her throat and tan robes neatly tied around her waist. The sight was so familiar and so nostalgic it ached.
The look she gave him didn't say the same. She looked as though she didn't recognise him at all, actually. "Mr Skywalker? Are we feeling better?"
Anakin swallowed, still flexing his fingers. "What happend?" He asked, voice hoarse.
Master Che moved around the bed, data pad holding her gaze, "You passed out, I'm afraid. Our best guess is a reaction to being on land again after your little stint in the fighter when defending Naboo. You gave pada- knight Kenobi quite the scare when the Nubian healers couldn't wake you," She looked over him again, a small frown playing on her lips. "Your body placed itself into a force induced coma. An extremely powerful over reaction, even for one such as yourself."
Anakin didn't know where to look, what to say. He hadn't done this, hadn't thought it was possible. Was this what happend when one joined the force? Anakin had never paid attention, had never cared what happend after one died. Had always been more concerned with what he did while he was living.
Was this what it was? A second chance?
Even after all he had done?
Luke had managed to bring him back towards the light, in the end, but was that really enough? Twenty two years in the light, yes, but twenty two years was spent in the dark. A sick sort of balance, not at all the kind he was meant to bring.
Why would the force let him try again?
"Anakin?" Master Che prompted.
He cleared his throat, "Yeah?"
"How are you feeling?"
He shrugged, feeling every bit the now nine year old he now was. He wasn't sure he could do this again, wasn't sure he could be the change the force wanted, the change the force must want. Why else bring him back? As a punishment to see all he had destroyed?
The jedi had never been malicious, no matter what he had thought when he was young. Their preaching of detachment had never been cruel, had always been a warning. A warning Anakin had never headed, had waved goodbye as he smashed it to pieces. The jedi taught connection to the force, a partnership, a service to life. The sith taught to use the force, abuse it, force it to serve you. There was a very clear malicious side here, and it was not the jedi.
Not that Anakin had ever realised that. When he was younger, at least.
"My head- I- I think I'm a bit... confused? Dizzy, maybe?"
Master Che tapped her data pad with her stylus, a crease between her eyes, and opened her mouth to speak when the door down the hall opened again.
Anakins fingers twitched, desperately wishing he'd been able to bring his sabre back with him. People moving around had meant threat for so long, he wasn't sure how to exist with it meaning something else. It was like learning a new language all over again. Basic had been bad enough.
The sight of Mace Windu after so long did not soften his unease.
The master of the order looked the same as he had before he died, with the addition of both his hands. Still tall, solem faced, a strong, confined air about him. His lightsabre was on his hip, on his deep brown robes. He nodded to Master Che as he entered before switching his focus to Anakin, expression sliding into something indecipherable.
Anakin could feel himself shrinking, like it was only now his forty four year old self was being put into his nine year old body. It really was no wonder he was the one left standing out of everyone who faced Palpatine, really was no wonder he was the one to kill the jedi killer, no wonder that even after death, Palpatine had searched for his body obsessively. The way he carried himself had always been self assure, overly aware. Never in any time they had fought together throughout the Clone wars had Anakin seen the man so much as reach, flail, even trip, no matter who he fought.
Perhaps it was because the fighting form he used was one he had made for himself, or perhaps it was simply because Master Windu had always been better then him, even when Anakin was an adult. Not particularly surprising, when one considered how arrogant and over-compensating his younger self had been.
"Hello, master," His voice sounded so small. He pushed himself up on his pillows, jutting his chin out. Master Windu was the last person he wanted to see him weak.
Master Windu considered him as Master Che filled him in on what she had told Anakin, adding that she saw no reason to keep him in the halls any longer, though she felt that he an eye should be kept on him. When she walked away to check on her other patients, Master Windu stepped up to the now unoccupied space beside his bed.
"You're feeling better, Skywalker?"
"Yes, sir."
Windu exhaled through his nose, briefly closing his eyes. "I'm pleased to hear that. Though, I'm afraid I have some unfortunate news to give you,"
Anakins stomach dropped. This was why, then. This was why the force had sent him back. To show him ungrateful he had been the first time, to show just how much worse life could've been if the jedi hadn't accepted him. Would they send him back to Tattooine? Back to Watto and all the other slavers? As much as Anakin would love to see his mother again, to save her from her fate, he wouldn't be able to do so as he was.
He jumped as Master Windu's hand dropped on his shoulder, though he didn't move it. "Skywalker?"
Anakin blinked in confusion, only to feel water drip down his cheek. Decades since he left Tattooine and he still felt a curl of dread at the waste of water. He croaked an apology, hastily wiping his cheeks.
The tears must've been blurring his vision, for Anakin could've swore he saw Master Windu's face soften.
"You felt his passing, then." He said, "I understand this must be difficult, Master Jinn was your finder, even grown jedi find it hard to accept their finders passing."
Master Jinn? Qui-Gon Jinn? Anakin had lived so much of his life without the man, it took him a moment to remember. When he was younger, and still a jedi, he had coveted his memories of him. His saviour from slavery, the man who fought for his place amongst the jedi, the man who proclaimed him the chosen one. Everytime he felt that Obi-Wan had made a mistake during his training, a dark, traitorous part of him would wonder how much different his life might've been if Qui-Gon had lived and Obi-Wan had died, imagining a prouder master, a stronger self.
A lie.
This excuse, though, was one Anakin accepted gladly, nodding more to himself then the master beside him. Not rejected from the order, then. At least, not yet.
"Would you like a moment to yourself?" Windu asked.
Anakin shook his head. Even after all this time, Windu held true to his memories of the man. He wouldn't still be here unless there was more to be said, something important, most likely.
Windu frowned, a pinch appearing between his brows, "There is the matter of your training,"
Ah. So now was when Anakin got kicked out.
"I'm afraid you're unable to join the other initiates your age. Their coursework and yours would be far too different, and may breed ill feelings. Given your... lateness to the temple, a master would have to step in and bring you up to speed personally, to give you a fair advantage."
Obi-Wan wasn't training him, then? Anakin tried to think through the differences of then and now. After Qui-Gon had died, before, Obi-Wan had come to get him immediately, declared before all that Anakin would become his padawan in honour of late masters wishes, regardless of what the council said.
Now, though...
Had Obi-Wan not felt the pressure that he had before? Now that he hadn't had a hopeful nine year old staring into his eyes, and instead an unconscious child. Had he felt just how immense the task his master had left for him was? How unfair it was to ask that of the child he'd raised for twelve years, to give up his life to raise someone else's.
Greif welled up in Anakins chest, a mourning for the life he had lived that he wouldn't get to again. For the better, perhaps.
Still. It was Obi-wan.
He tried to release the feeling, an attempt out of nostalgia, if nothing else. Something he had attempted as Vader that had always failed laughably, another nail in an already buried coffin. And yet, now, the feelings went easily, floating away as if a balloon who's string had been let go.
Anakin blinked, surprise overtaking the greif, and glanced at Windu as he felt a flicker of the same emotion from the man. He wasn't looking at Anakin, though. At least, not directly. His gaze sat a little to Anakin's left, a focus that meant he wasn't staring aimlessly at the blank wall behind him.
"Master?"
"...Forgive me," He said, sliding his gaze back to Anakin, considering, "Something changed."
It hits him like a cold bucket of ice, the memory of what it was, exactly, that made Master Windu so dangerous. The ability to see shatterpoints were rare, and immensely difficult to learn. Difficult to use, too, if Obi-Wan's attempts to explain it had held any truth.
Anakin wasn't sure what to say, what he could say, so he just nodded, and tried to hold back the urge to fidget.
Having flesh hands again was still such a wonder.
"...There is a master, however, that is willing to take you on. This is no pressure on you, Anakin. I understand that the life of a jedi may seem exciting, but it is incredibly difficult, and requires sacrifice. The temple is able to train you in many corps, while teaching you to control your abilities, if not use them. I understand you enjoy piloting,"
It was entirely possible that Anakins initial thought of hallucigens was more viable then he thought. There was no way he had said what Anakin thought he just said. "A master wants me?"
Windu grimaces, "With the understanding that a master here merely means a master of the craft and not a person who owns you, yes."
Anakin blinks, "Me?"
The master reached for him again, and this time Anakin didn't flinch. Couldn't, really, he was all out of reacting to shocks today. "Indeed. I understand that the earlier council meeting may have given you the wrong idea, Anakin, but now that you are accepted, you will remain that way, entirely. As best as we are capable."
Anakin may cry again. Because of Windu of all people.
"Who- who wants to train me?"
He hesitates, which does not fill Anakin with confidence. "I do."
What the kriffing kark?
Anakin had absolutely been dosed with hallucigens, and he had been a fool to think otherwise. No way, in any universe, would Mace Windu take him on as a padawan. No way. Absolutely no way.
"You?" He asks, maybe a little bewildered but entirely unable to hide it, "But you- I thought- you were the one who-" Too many reasons to count swirled in Anakins mind, each fighting to come out. Very valid reasons. Many very valid reasons as to why either he or the master before him were clearly on something. Possibly death sticks.
Blessedly, Master Windu held up a hand to stop him, "I understand that this may come as a surprise, and it is an offer you do not have to accept. I understand your experience with the council so far has been so far negative, and I will take no offence if you decline my offer,"
"But- why? I thought you didn't want me to join?"
Master Windu frowned, leaning backwards where he was sitting, his gaze unfocusing once more. "The future is... hard to see at times. When I met you last, the force was... stagnant, unmoving and imparting no will of its own, leaving us to weigh nothing but odds on your chances. Since we last met, however, you've... changed. Not greatly, but enough to be notable. Understandable for someone who's experienced so much in such little time. There is, however, still a thread of darkness in you. I... believe, that, given my own history, I may be the best to help you understand that darkness, and control it before it does you," With a grimace, he continued, "There are some other masters on the council who believe the best way to help you would be to place you with a master more firmly aligned in the light,"
Anakin knew that grimace, had caused that grimace, that grimace only appeared around one other person who spouted bullshit as much as he had, and it really doesn't surprise him that Master Yoda would think so black and white.
He thought about it, turning over the masters words in his head. All throughout his past life he had constantly compared himself to Obi-Wan, the beacon of pure light who could do no wrong in his eyes, the man who never wavered to the darkness, no matter what Anakin put him through. Even before his death, Obi-Wan's faith had been blinding, unwavering in a way Anakin's never was.
Master Windu, though. Purple lightsabre and vaapad aside, Anakin had witnessed some of his anger, had witnessed his attempts at peace come across as more perfunctory then genuine, like he had the same itch for violence that Anakin did.
He wasn't sure it it'd help, wasn't sure if he would just end up dragging Windu down with him instead of keeping them both afloat. Even in his last moments, with all his righteous suspicion towards Anakin, Windu had offered him a way back to the light. Even when he hesitated, even when he disobeyed orders. Anakins repayment had been cruel, worse then what he'd done to Dooku, almost.
Anakin wasn't sure he could keep looking at him without being consumed with guilt, for that.
"Anakin," The master spoke, "There are others. This is your choice. More routes to take then just the jedi. If being a jedi is your path, then there are masters that would be willing to speak with you,"
But Anakin didn't want someone willing to speak to him. He wanted to be chosen. Completely. Just this once. That thread of darkness was still so needy, even now.
And, for some reason, Master Windu was choosing him.
Anakin looked up from his hands, "You- you won't regret it?" He forced out, "Even if I fail?"
Windu's eyebrows pinched again, "There is no failure. Not here. Just mistakes to learn from, many of which can be corrected, if you're willing to learn how."
Obi-Wan had been so young when he took Anakin on. Knighted and given a padawan within the same hour. Not given a chance to greive, no chance to learn how to exist on his own, no chance to learn who he was without being a matching set to somebody else. It was a fate he had passed to Anakin. There were so many lessons he hadn't learnt when he took him, meaning there were many he couldn't teach.
Perhaps, Master Windu could.
If Anakins memory served him, the Master had only ever taken one padawan, and Master Billaba sat the council by the time he'd been knighted. Since taking up the title as head of the council, Master Windu had taken no other.
Plenty of time to grow in all the ways Obi-Wan hadn't, through no fault of his own.
Anakin cleared his throat, tried to ignore the way his heart was thundering, the way the force seemed to inflate as he prepared to speak, and hoped, desperately, that he wasn't making the same mistake he had before, in placing his trust in the wrong man.
"I would be honored, master."
And Master Windu — smiled.
Anakin was certain it was the first time he'd ever seen it.
***
The chancellors office was the same. Anakin didn't know why he expected it to be different. Palpatine had been elected barely a tenday ago and already everything was red, contrasted with black, and left a sour taste on Anakins tongue.
He could feel a poke of concern from Master Windu through the fledgling bond they had, which Anakin quickly soothed, albeit clumsily. It was... odd, to have a bond that felt more like an anchor then a ball and chain after so long bound to Palpatine.
He had asked to come, when faced with Palpatines request. Bile had risen in the back of his throat, anxiety had tore its way through his brain whispering what-if but he'd asked to come. He had to see, had to know if it was the same as he remembered, if he was stronger then he was before.
He hoped. He so desperately hoped.
Palpatines smile was grandfatherly, so much younger then Anakin remembered, as he gestured for him to sit. There was still brown in grey streaked hair, a deliberate soft edge around crow feet eyes. It was all deliberate. All fake, Anakin knew. Even if nobody else did.
He leaned forward, reaching for Anakins hands to clasp across the desk, and Anakin gave them on instinct, like a beaten dog reacting to an old trick. Palpatines smile grew and his words soft, charming as he thanked and congratulated him on defending Naboo, on becoming a jedi.
Anakin wanted to reach up, hide his little padawan braid from Palpatines gaze. Master Windu hadn't made him cut his hair, he'd tried that with his first padawan, and lost that particular battle spectacularly, the way Depa told it.
It was a difference from his first life, a physical one Anakin coveted. He felt that if Palpatine acknowledged it, it would dirty in a way that could never be cleaned.
Thankfully, he didn't. Changed the topic instead. Anakin watched with an almost detached kind of curiosity as the outer corner of Palpatines eyes dipped in the perfect image of sorrow, speaking about Qui-Gon's death like that was the cause of Anakin's upset, thumb running comfortingly across the back of Anakins hand.
It burned.
If Anakin really had been nine, if Anakin had experienced those two days with Qui-Gon again, maybe it would have garnerd a reaction. As it was, he barely remembered him. He couldn't remember if this was how the conversation had gone last time, couldn't remember if Obi-Wan had been present for the first meeting or not. It didn't matter.
This was a different life. Anakin would not make those mistakes again. Would not fail his people, his family, Obi-Wan, Shmi, Padme, Luke, the daughter he'd never met, the jedi who'd helped raise him, again.
He couldn't.
When Palpatine let go of his hand, turning briefly to grab something by his feet, a gift, if Anakin remembered right, his first since being away from his mother (or, it would have been, but Depa had always wanted a padawan sibling, had heard about his upbringing, and gifted him a terrarium. A sand planet one, in particular. A piece of home that he didn't have to worry about. A kindess) Anakin brought his hands to his chest like they'd been injured, and cast his senses out.
Twenty years hunting down hidden jedi meant that Palpatines cloaking was no match for a chosen one not yet caged by rules. He found was he was looking for, hidden behind a portrait most likely meant for a blaster or emergency documents with any other chancellor but this one.
Considered for a moment his chances. Considered the element of surprise he'd use so well during the war. Considered the skills he had that no one knew of. Considered the power it took for Palpatine to conceal himself from the jedi, considered the power he did not yet have without all the deaths the war had brought. Considered what would happend if he failed. Considered what would happend if he never tried at all.
This time, when Anakin opened his hand for a lightsabre, it came to call.
This time, Anakin got to relish the look of surprise on Palpatines face without being in pain, without worrying for his sons life, without the guilt of knowing it was too little, too late.
This time, when Palpatine dropped and emitted a shock wave from his corpse, Anakin was able to get up after with nothing more then shaky knees and a bruised forehead.
Palpatines corpse was nothing satisfying. His sith face just as ugly as he remembered, his eyes a putrid yellow, his hands stuck up as if to defend himself. The figurine star fighter he'd been about to gift Anakin lay in pieces beside him. That, Anakin remembered. It had held a place of honour in his bedroom for years. No more.
It would not be, he thought with a sigh, hearing alarms blare in the hall, feet rush and his masters confusion through their bond, an easy thing to explain.
There was no denying what he was, though. Not with his face frozen like this.
Forty four years, two betrayals, one death and one reincarnation later, the prophecy was finally complete.
Now, Anakins quest to remain in the light should be infinitely easier. Hopefully.