Chapter Text
Jessie claws his way to the surface. Or what he hopes is the surface. There’s loose dirt under his hands. “Lunar Regolith,” part of his brain that sounds like one of his instructors corrects. It’s itchy and scratchy. He can’t breathe. The ground is tearing up his arms and fingers. But he has to get out. He needs to breathe. He hasn’t taken a full breath yet…
He is not going to think about that…
The first breath of air is like water in the desert. He gasps, trying to fill his lungs. He gasps again. And again. He can’t stop. He’s breathing too fast. Kix would tell him he’s hyperventilating and needs to breathe slowly.
Because he hadn’t been. Breathing that was. For who knows how long.
The air is frigid. It burns his lungs like plasma even as he tries to get more oxygen. The galactic disc stretches overhead across the blackness of the sky, looking close enough to touch. So bright. So many stars, worlds, and people. There’s snow under his boots. What happened to his helmet? His armor and face are scratched, the 501rst blue on his scraped vambraces barely visible. He’d meant to repaint that. His right glove has a large hole in it, and there’s a bloody scrape across his hand. He’s lost one of his arc shoulder pauldrons and a kneepad, climbing out of that hole. He only has one of his pistols; the other one must be back in the hole, he just crawled his way out of. Where is the rest of his gear? Who knows...
Jesse tries to put the thought that he hadn’t breathing aside for later, by examining the landscape around him. In front of him there are planes of ice and snow mixed with regolith, white against the dark, star filled sky. There’s no sun or large planets in the night sky, but there’s more than enough starlight to see by. The only thing Jesse knows for sure about this place is it isn’t in the core, because he can see it in the sky from here. He has no idea where they are. The last thing he remembers... he’d meant to ask Kix… he remembers…
There’s something in front of him, sticking up out of the snow.
***
His helmet is on a blaster sticking out of the ground like a fence post. It's definitely his. Republic cog in the middle and all. He’s not sure it's his DC-15 blaster rifle though. Why does it look like a memorial… is he dead and this is the last pulse of his dying neurons… No he hurts too much for that. The scrapes and bruises feel real, and his hand is bleeding. He really ought to bandage that.
Well he can do that once he’s better armed. He stands up and clips his helmet to his belt. And pulls at the DC-15. It’s stuck deep into the frozen ground but comes loose with a crack. It seems intact and he checks the remaining power. It’s awfully low. How long was he…
Well he’ll at least have a few shots if something tries to eat him. He pulls out the bandages and antiseptic out of his utility belt. That’s a nasty cut. Well, he had been digging his way out of…
What was he digging his way out of? This place is deserted. There’s nothing alive in front of him.
Jesse slowly turns around. There, illuminated by the moonless light of stars is a ship, reflecting dimly in the light of the galaxy. It’s a venator. A crashed venator.
Oh no…
He sits down on something he hopes is a rock. Awww shit... His memories were right. It did happen.
***
Jesse doesn’t know how long he sits there transfixed. The wreckage of the venator, the Tribunal, home of the 322nd, which housed 9000+ clones, is scattered across this unknown planetoid covered in snow. He just sits and looks at the remains of his home.
Everyone’s dead. Although maybe Rex, Ahsoka or some of the troopers nearby got away. They were all clustered in the hangar when the ship went down. Someone had to find the bodies, bury them, set up the helmets in a memorial, and Jesse sure as hell doesn’t think it was Maul.
He blinks and looks up when a snowflake touches his face. The planetoids star, planet, or moon must have risen over the horizon while he sat and stared. Clouds thick with snow have rolled in, but it's one of those bright overcast nights backlit by a moon or planet.
There are fat lazy flakes of snow falling from the sky. He is in fact sitting on a rock, thankfully, not a body. Force, he’s not even feeling his hands anymore. Shit...
Then he hears something. It sounds like dry gravel moving before a rock slide. Jesse jumps to his feet, and is running before he can even think. As he gets closer it now sounds like scraping gloves on loose regolith. He scrambles past parts of space ship scattered across the landscape like boulders, sprinting as fast as he can. He’s run slower from live fire. Maybe he’s not the only one alive (or mostly alive) on this rock in space.