we're all just stars (that have people names)
@morganas-pendragons @thegoodbatch I have nothing to say for myself.
I highly recommend listening to brother by ‘falling in reverse’ while reading this. It allows for maximum clone feels.
TW for suicidal ideation. This is really, really bittersweet with a healthy dose of very, very sad
“We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins, carbon in our souls, and nitrogen in our brains. 93 percent stardust, with souls made of flames, we are all just stars that have people names.” - Nikita Gill
Jesse closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and rubs the heel of his hand hard over the left side of his chest. He ships out for his ARC Trooper training tomorrow, and he’s excited, he is, but something feels wrong about it.
And he knows exactly what’s wrong, as he looks up for answers in the cold, cold stars.
“There’s an old legend I’m going to tell you. But first I want you to know, it’s not a legend: it’s a truth.”
For a long time, Jesse had hated Shaak Ti for telling them that stupid, stupid legend.
“The legend goes like this. Every little piece of you was born from the stars. Every little piece of you came from the dust, and stars, and comets that live in the space between planets. And when you die, you return as a star.”
Jesse opens his eyes, and tries to pretend that there aren’t tears in his eyes. When the whole shit show went down on Umbara, when Hardcase had died, Jesse had sworn the Shaak Ti was lying and that he hated her. Of course, when he thinks about it, it isn’t her fault. She was, and is, doing the best she could in a system designed to work against her. Giving them that, giving his brothers peace, was the only thing she could give them.
Jesse tilts his head back, looks at the sprawl of stars above him. He thinks of Fives and Echo, his ARC Trooper ori’vods, and wonders if they’d be proud of him.
For a long time after Umbara, Jesse wouldn’t even think of the legend, wouldn’t think of what happened, how his brothers had been ready to shoot him and Fives, what Krell did, what Dogma did. Every time he tried to think about it, to process it, his mind stonewalled him. He’d end up panicking, and clones don’t panic. They’re soldiers, good soldiers, and good soldiers don’t panic.
Jesse had been with the 501st on some random planet that he hadn’t bothered to remember the name of, and the end of his DC-15 had started looking just a little too friendly. He was standing watch, and Tup would be up to relieve him in two hours. He had tilted his head back, just as he’s doing now, and asked Hardcase for some reason to not put his rifle to his head and pull the trigger.
A shooting star, a thing which he was pretty sure the planet didn’t get, had streaked across the sky. All fire and fight and speed and in that moment Jesse knew that even if Shaak Ti had thought she was telling them a legend, she was right. His brothers live on in the stars, where they can be free of this war, of the pain and terror, of all of it. They can dance between planets, race starships, go wherever they want, free from loyalty and the pain and heartbreak that comes with it.
And that night, Hardcase had told him to stay, to watch out for their brothers in ways that he couldn’t anymore. And so Jesse had. And when he had crawled under the tiny blanket that Tup had vacated when he relieved him from watch, Jesse had cried.
Clones aren’t supposed to believe in fairy tales, in old legends that most Jedi would scoff at, but Jesse clings to it anyway. It’s why he has a comet tattooed over his heart: a reminder that, even if he loses everything else, he just has to look to his brothers in the stars to guide his way. They’ll always be there, steady enough and sure enough to set a compass, a course, by.
“Hey ori’vods,” Jesse whispers, gearing up for a conversation between him and the stars. “I made it. I ship out for ARC training tomorrow and I just…” He trails off, closes his eyes and pretends that Fives and Echo are standing in front of him, pretends that there aren’t hot tears on his face. “I just want to know if you’re proud of me.”
Jesse doesn’t flinch when he hears someone walking up behind him, recognizes his captain’s arm as Rex throws his arm around Jesse’s shoulders, presses his forehead against Jesse’s temple.
“What’s in your head, vod’ika?” Rex whispers. Jesse opens his eyes.
“Stars,” he says. He feels Rex pull back enough to look at the stars with him.
“They’d be proud of you,” Rex whispers. “I’m proud of you.” Jesse closes his eyes, face scrunching up as he rubs his hand over the left side of his chest where all that hurt resides.
“I know,” Jesse chokes out. “I know.” When he looks at Rex, there’s tears in Rex’s eyes. Jesse leans his forehead against Rex’s, and the two clone troopers pretend that they’re not crying, that they don’t have matching wounds in the left side of their chests.
“They’re proud,” Rex repeats. Jesse nods his head.
When Anakin finds them hours later, he doesn’t say anything. He just hands them each a cup of caff, and watches the sunrise with them.
