After everything he'd done, all the people he'd hurt, Anakin knew he deserved to spend his afterlife in in the deepest depths of hell. The Jedi may have preached that everyone who died rejoined the Force, but, in his opinion, the Force would be better off if he wasn't a part of it.

However, what he woke to after his respirator failed was not a pit of suffering and despair but Padmé peering down at him.

Anakin blinked, then rubbed at his eyes.

"He's awake!" Padmé yelled.

He winced, anticipating pain in his ruined eardrums, but it never came.

"What's going on?" he asked, sitting up and looking around.

Obi-Wan was standing just behind Padmé and smiling, something he thought he'd never witness again. Qui-Gon and Yoda were sitting next to one of the mini Wookiees that lived on this moon and passing around a basket of mushrooms, nevermind that the mini Wookiee was the only one of them actually alive. Further off, Anakin could see Leia, his amazing, strong, wonderful daughter who rightfully hated him, celebrating with Calrissian and his smuggler friend, and, separate from them, Luke was burning what little there was left of his body.

"Welcome to the afterlife," Obi-Wan said, pulling him to his feet and wrapping an arm around his shoulders. "And good job killing the Emperor. We thought for sure Luke or Leia were going to have to do it."

Anakin blinked. He was very confused. Had killing the Emperor really been enough to redeem him in their eyes?

"I don't understand. Why aren't you mad at me?" he asked.

Padmé lifted up a wine bottle. "We're dead now, which means no one ever gets liver failure."

"I think Qui-Gon is eating hallucinogenic mushrooms and drinking whiskey at the same time," Obi-Wan added.

Anakin winced. He had seen what happened to people who combined drugs and alcohol on Tatooine, and it was never pretty. "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine," Padmé said. "Now, Obi-Wan, go get Yoda so that you three can say goodbye to Luke.

Despite the explanation, Anakin was still very confused, but if the afterlife was a party then he wasn't going to complain.

A/N: Folks, do not emulate Qui-Gon. He's already dead, so mixing drugs and alcohol won't kill him.

Thanks to everyone who read this, and I hope you all had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. On the off chance anyone was wondering what I planned on writing next, you can look for the epilogue of First Steps, the second part in the fic Thunder of the Ancients, sometime in September.