Nightmare: A de-aged clone fic

fuck-off-braindead:

(A/N: sorry if it’s horrible whoops, I’m nervous)

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The fires of the battlefield licked the sky, the ash from the bombs burning the throats of a thousand soldiers. It did not affect the droids.

The soldiers who once were men now bore the faces of children. Their plump cheeks were splashed with their own blood and the eyes that should’ve been bright were more aged than the guns they held in their hands.

This put a new definition to nightmare.

Their cries, with voices that had not deepened yet, echoed through the explosions, screaming orders that would not save their lives. Though they were filled with fear, still they marched on, their arms weighed down with the weapons made for grown men.

The mindless machines of the enemies did not falter in their attack despite now facing crumpled bodies of ten year olds. Their world of blood and pain does not change with their age. Courageous children. Such bravery, but for naught.

This put a new definition to nightmare.

No one knew why. Or even how. It was a mystery, that had not been solved by science. The Jedi decided it was the will of the Force, but even they hesitated to send the small, trembling forms into battle. The clones never faltered, young or old- they knew their duty. They pulled up their sleeves, abandoned their dragging armor and set out, barefoot, off to take down the clankers.

General Anakin Skywalker watched as a 10 year old boy was shot through the skull. A spray of red and gray, now smeared on his face and ingrained in his nightmares. It was an ominous sign of his future that he did not know was coming.

This put a new definition to nightmare.

The Jedi was afraid that there might be rioting on the streets. They were only children. But they found they feared for nothing. They were children, yes, but children built for war. People all over the galaxy turned a blind eye; they always could if it didn’t affect them. The Jedi did not argue. Not Skywalker, not Kenobi, not even Koon. “It is the Force’s will,” They tell themselves.

Ahsoka sobbed. She held the body of a boy. He was younger than her. Only by a couple years but he was oh-so-young. He once held the name of Rex. Now the name Sorrow came to mind when she felt the bleeding hole in his chest. As a man, a warrior and as a child, a death.

This put a new definition to nightmare.

They were always this way. No one would know looking at them. But now they were faced with it. They were faced with the guilt of sending 7 and 8 year olds into war.

The clean up was the worst. The Jedi don’t do that. It’s the clones. It’s always the clones. A keening rose on the wind, as if ghosts had released their fury on the world. Maybe that was what it was. Maybe it was the sound of Sorrow. They say men don’t cry. But little boys do.

Children, roaming the burning and pocked field picking up their twisted and broken brothers, just children.

Just children.

This put a new definition to nightmare.

They were just children.

Oh, to be young and never numb.