When You Come Home

-26-

"No, Anakiinnn!!!"

The cry pierced through the wind that filled his ears, following him all the way to the ground. In a blur of pain, dread, and confusion, Anakin found himself lying on red sand, paralysed by agony. His arm hurt. His arm really hurt. It was broken; he was sure that sickening sound had been the young bone breaking.

He blinked at the blurry shapes and bright colours, overwhelmed by the shouting and blaring sounds. He wanted to sleep. Everything hurt — not just his arm. Maybe he would close his eyes and —

"Anakin! Anakin, wake up!" a panicked voice pleaded, and trembling hands touched his shoulders and face.

Anakin groaned as the touching jostled his arm. "Go 'way."

"Anakin, it's me," the voice insisted, and the trembling hands gently cradled Anakin in the person's lap. "It's your brother."

Brother. This was Anakin's brother. Why, of course it was. They had been biking through the forest, and exploring Geonosis, and climbing rocks together. This was not just his friend; this was his brother. The one who would always protect him, and look after him, and who would never leave him alone. Of course it was his brother.

"Don't worry, Grandad Dooku is gone,"  his brother explained, lifting Anakin in his arms. Anakin didn't know how: he wasn't that much older than himself. "I'm going to take you home. Mum and Dad will look after you."

"No," Anakin protested weakly, "can't tell Mom ... she can't know."

"Anakin," his brother was exasperated, "we have to! You're hurt."

"Please ...." he murmured desperately, even as pain and shock finally overthrew his system. "Please, she can't know ...."

He never did learn his brother's answer.

Anakin groaned, sitting up slowly, gingerly, trying to move as little as possible. Everything hurt. His intuition for danger wasn't blaring, so he seized a few moments to check himself for obvious injuries. A littering of scratches, some nasty bruising, and a suspected mild concussion seemed the extent of his physical ailments. Other than the crippling disorientation, he decided he had come off lightly from ... whatever trouble he had fallen into this time.

As Anakin sat up properly, sweeping his gaze around the dark cavern, he realized how accurate his precis was. The weightless feeling of falling and sheer panic in the face of imminent death drifted back into his memory, informing him that the event wasn't only in the past: the last thing he remembered was falling to his potential death. Down a sinkhole, in the battlefield where they had been fighting clankers. In Mandalore. That was right. He remembered now.

"Ahsoka!" the name tumbled from his lips as he scrambled to his feet, frantically searching the dust and rubble.

"She's over there," a calm, tired voice provided, and Anakin looked up to confirm that, indeed, they were not alone. Ah, yes, how could he forget? Rako was with them. And, incidentally, probably bleeding to death. He would get to that.

Rako sat half in darkness, perched on the border of the white sunlight and black shadow. His injured leg, stretched out in front of him, was still tied securely, the wound bound hastily but firmly. He would live long enough for Anakin to make sure Ahsoka was alright.

Stepping over crumbled pieces of dirt and old buildings, Anakin found the girl partly buried under the debris and ... books? He carefully extracted the girl, ignoring her weak swatting, intrigued by this new discovery. Laying her on a pile of soft-cover books, he checked her for injuries. Satisfied that she was no worse than him, he straightened up to take stock of their predicament.