(ROGUE ONE SPOILERS)

***MASSIVE ROGUE ONE SPOILERS AHEAD***

***DO NOT READ IF YOU WANT TO STAY SPOILER-FREE***

***IMAGINE THOSE SIRENS FROM THE TRAILER PLAYING***

***GO NOW***

(also, title from Virgil's Aeneid)

a thousand shapes of death

When Cassian, reaching for a handgrip in a breathless pause in the rush of war, asks if they are afraid to die, he is the only one who can truthfully say "no."

-

K-2SO cannot die, not exactly. Nor can he be afraid. But there is a possibility, on this journey into the jaws of death, that something will happen to him, something from which he cannot return. That he will become--a mangled hunk of metal, a few garbled lines of code. Or a nonentity, as he was in the Empire. K-2SO is not sure if any part of him, the strange creature Cassian Andor and his Rebellion made him, will endure.

And if every cog and gear and piece of circuitry in him strains against the undefinable thing that blackens the horizon, perhaps it is easier to simply say he is afraid to die. 

-

There was a time, long ago in forgotten memory, when Bodhi was foolish and brave enough to laugh in death's face. 

Flying is just that, isn't it? Cheating death with every turn, a kind of controlled freefall, coming down swiftly onto ground that will not hold your bones, at least not this day.

And in the Empire, pilots aren't supposed to fear, not even cargo pilots. Save the ship, of course, if you can--but if not, don't even try to save yourself. Go out all guns blazing, with the Empire's name on your lips, and never let the Rebellion catch even a drop of your blood. 

Ever since the first time he flew for the Empire, Bodhi has been unable to fly without fear. He doesn't want to die in the clutches of some cold, alien thing, to asphyxiate in perfect stillness once the first breath of space hits his lungs. He doesn't want his family to find out in a stock message from a man in a black suit, or a white one, who answers to another man in a suit that is either black or white or grey, up and up and up, and every man in that vast pyramid with the blood of children slipping over his gloves.

Even now Bodhi is shaking and terrified, but the ship sings softly under his hands, and he thinks about what Cassian told him about death in the stolen quiet as they loaded crates into the hold.

He is not dying in the service of the Empire. In some sense, then, he is getting what he wants.

-

Chirrut is not afraid--no, not of death itself. But he is afraid of what Baze will do, should the Force take him first. 

"So you are his eyes," people have said countless times, looking at Baze, not Chirrut, with well-intentioned condescension, and Baze has always snorted and answered, "What does he need me for? He's got his own." And neither has ever acknowledged the silent understanding that Chirrut is Baze's eyes too, in a deeper and more dangerous world than this one.

Chirrut believes Baze has always stayed true, hiding it behind grime and realism, but there is no way of knowing past all doubt, and so he cannot go in absolute peace. Without him, will Baze wander, like a ship in a great ocean that has lost its guiding star? How can he die, without the certainty that Baze will meet him somewhere in the beyond? 

No attachment, Chirrut knows too well, is the Jedi way. But he is no Jedi. And losing Baze at the point of no return is the thing he fears most of all, in both this world and the other. 

He can feel Baze's presence next to him, warm and rock-solid and so temporal. Chirrut's knuckles whiten around the hilt of his staff.

-

Baze wants to die first.

Take me first, take me first, take me first--as the ship moves, the thought is rattling around in the back of his mind, and he cannot make it go away.

Chirrut is not afraid to die, Baze knows, but that is silly, that is imbecilic, Chirrut should live, live past the war, live until the Empire is felled and the Jedi rise again, live long enough to roll a kyber crystal again in the palm of his hand, and Baze is ready to die first if it means he will not have to live one minute that Chirrut does not. Perhaps it is selfish. Perhaps it is selfless. Whatever it is, Baze only knows that he does not want to be there to see the Force-blue fade from Chirrut's eyes.

Take me first take me first take me first--

Baze is not afraid, no, not of death itself. He is afraid to die last. There is a difference. 

-

Cassian's question seems almost rhetorical, and no one in the hold answers; the silence is answer enough. 

If Jyn had answered, she would have said no, but she realises now, in a realisation that is somehow both sudden and slow, that that is untrue.

She has met death many times before. Her mother died, young and bloodless, on a blinding day as impassive cliffs looked on. Her father died an old man, swallowed by the night and the wailing rain. And in between, Jyn has seen death in its myriad shapes and forms, felling friends and teachers and comrades, all without mercy.

Somehow, she has evaded it at every turn. She realises now that she is not ready to let it beat her, not yet. And so she realises that she is afraid.

-

Cassian wears death under his eyes and etched into his hands. He has been ready to die since he was six years old. He only asks to be spared the pain.

---

K-2SO has the casing of an Imperial droid, but that alone will not save him.

Like him, the stormtroopers that pour into the room bear the mark of the Empire. Like him, they can be reprogrammed. But that is a hypothetical against a certainty, and K-2SO has made all these calculations before, so he shoots, both to save the galaxy and to save Cassian, for whom he has the closest thing a droid can have to love.

Every gunshot is a declaration: I exist I exist I exist; I am not an Imperial droid and not a human but I am something; and I am making a choice; and there are things greater than death.

He exists, and every shot he fires is proof of that, and every shot fired back is a voice saying otherwise, and somewhere amidst that huge and terrifying debate about his existence, K-2SO is lost.

Bodhi dies on the wrong side of the sky and the right side of the war.

As he lies there shaking, cheek bloodying the ground, he strains to look up and remembers what Cassian told him about death: 

at least in the Rebellion, someone might remember your name.

The Force lets Chirrut live as long as he is needed, long enough to flip the switch, and then it takes him, swift and sharp as an arrow. He slips soundlessly into the deep, deep blue. The minutes between one death and another are the longest Baze has ever known.

The wave comes for Jyn, and she tells her old enemy no, not yet, until she realises it is giving her the dignity of a painless death.

The golden light reaches to swallow them whole. Cassian closes his eyes.

Author's Notes (ramble warning)

1. This fic actually gave me a fair bit of trouble as it talks so much about death, and death in the Star Wars universe is different from death in our universe, because the spiritual world of Star Wars is fundamentally different from our spiritual world. So remember that, folks, and keep your heads on straight.

2. Rogue One also made it rather difficult to write fic for it that happens after the movie, and I'm a bit hazy on the details of the film's timeline, so if I just keep writing the death scenes over and over again...don't blame me.

3. Peace out.