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You are four when Dad fries the chip on your shoulder and whisper reassurances that nothing will happen to you (or mom) if Watto activates them. You’re four when you smile, with too many teeth and too many eyes, and make the one who dares to call himself your owner freeze in horror.
“Don’t be mean to my mom,” You tell him, bright and strong, like the dual suns that rise over Tattoine. Leaving the or else unsaid, but not unheard.
Watto is smart; he never threatens your mom after that. He even turns nicer towards you, calling you ‘Little Ani’, tremulous and soft, like he’s traying to soothe a Krayt dragon, and he lets you play with the parts he doesn’t use.
.
.
You are six when mom gets hurt and you cry, the crystals of the shop shatter and Watto’s there, promising that he will take care of Shmi and that everything is going to be fine. You sniffle and nod, trusting him when Dad echoes the truth in his words.
Watto doesn’t try to make mom pay for what you broke, he only ask of you to not do it again. You promise. He pats your head and gives you a candy.
“Little Ani is such a good boy.” He tells mom, voice small and fearful.
“The best boy,” Mom agrees, her smile is sharp.
Yet, never as sharp as your own. She lacks the necessary teeth and her lips are too small, her face too fragile to expand in the lengths required. Still, is a good attempt. You’re sure Dad would be proud of her, you sure are.
You beam at her, allowing her to run her finger trough your blond looks, while you eat your candy in her lap.
.
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You’re eighth when you wander into the desert for a month, following the steps of someone who haven’t walked them yet. Feeling the echoes of what could be and what is mean to be in the form of a old men called Ben.
Ben sees you from time to time, looking at you with sorrow and pain written all over his face before offering a kind smile and a warm hand. He makes the goodests of teas and he always lets you eat first.
You sing for him once or twice, and he always cries. Is as if he doesn’t know that tears are too important to allow them fall. You pet his knee and sing a little more, sending waves of love-and-care towards him.
Sometimes he talks about his family, the one that someday will be yours as well: The Jedi. He talks about gardens and pools of water, of little trolls with sticks and more younglings than you can count. He speaks of happiness and laugher, of calm and peace.
He never talks about his pain or the deep sadness neither of you can seem to scare away, not even when your curled around each other and basking in the center of Dad’s protective arms.
It hurt and you didn’t like it; you were heartbroken when Dad took you back to mom’s awaiting arms and you understood that you would never see Ben again. You cried and cried for two full weeks, uncaring of the water you were wasting, until Dad whispered a name in your ears: “ Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
“Obi-Wan.” You repeated, a sharp smile taking place. There was an absence of innocence as you spoke this one word: “Mine?”
“Yours.”
Dad agreed with the same level of possessiveness and cruelty wrapped in the most pure of sentiments, love. Powerful and bright like a dying star, it was both a promise and a warning to everyone who was cursed into hearing it.
.
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You are nine when you fell in love with a man tall as a tree and bright as a galaxy, his name is Qui-Gon. He’s a Jedi, like Ben.
You guide him back to the house and promise to help him to gain the parts he needs; he promises to take you home.
Mom knows the moment to let you go has come, she knows your paths will not cross again but that’s fine with her. Because she knows you will be happy and good taken cared of with the other children of her lover.
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Watto lets you compete in the race, acting as if he hadn’t helped you to make the pod-racer. He’s funny like that; always acting meaner than he actually is. As if being fond of you and your mom is something to be ashamed.
That’s something you never understood, but that’s just how he is. And it’s been long since you accepted how silly Watto can be.
.
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You win the race.
.
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Qui-Gon tells you to run; you do. Afraid for the first time in your life, noticing the wrongness coming from the being battling against him. Dad is angry; angrier than you have ever seen him before.
He whispers a word, a warning. Sith.
You immediately translate that to enemy.
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Meeting Obi-Wan was like colliding with the most beautiful of stars, it takes you breathe away and you struggle to share Master Qui-Gon’s message. He ignores you but you don’t blame him, he’s concerned for the man who has raise him.
You are as well; the fear doesn’t disappear until Qui-Gon is inside the ship, safe and sound, being cuddled between the two of you. Surrounded by love and harmony, bonds creating in less than a blink.
“Anakin, meet my padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
“Hello, Master.” You say, showing him you toothless smile and offering your hand.
He blinks, confused, before laugher and fondness explode all around you. You know he sometimes receives some dreams from your Dad, so he will assume you have as well. Is not exactly a lie but is not the truth either, and you’re fine with that.
Obi-Wan is yours, you belong at his side.
(And that’s all that really matters in your eyes.)
“Hello, young one.” He answers, shaking your hand. While allowing to bask in the rightfulness of your comment. He knows is the truth, he can feel the happy purr of the Force all around him and catches a glimpse of what the future awaits the two of you, partnership and more. Much more. “Is a pleasure to meet you.”
Qui-Gon laughs, delighted. “Oh, I see how it is. Well, that explains some things.”
“What things, Master?” Obi-Wan asks curiously, well aware that his master does not like the Undying Force that much and comprehensible suspicious of his easy acceptance.
“Well, Ani feels like home.” Qui-Gon explains a little embarrassed, “Just like you do, my dear padawan. It makes sense he will be a part of our linage, although this is not how I wanted to tell you that I think you’re ready for your trials.”
Obi-Wan is blushing as his Master tugs his padawan-braid, you giggle and tackle him in a hug. Your happiness echoing his own, joy bubbling under your skin like sunflames. The sentiment flooding the bonds and creating a perfect moment inside the sphere all of you had created around yourselves.
“Wait for me?” You asks, peering at him under your long lashes. “Pretty please?”
“Of course, Anakin.”
And that, that was a promise.
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You meet an angel, you learn her name is Padme.
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“My name is Anakin Skywalker, Masters.” You bow, exactly as Ben taught you. “I’m grateful to finally be home.”
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“We welcome you, young Skywalker.” Master Windu says, a warm smile adorning his handsome features as the shatterpoitns that marked a clouded futured cleared the moment the boy entered the room.
The Force’s joy could not be ignored, nor could it be disregarded the existent bonds between you and Obi-Wan. Bonds that were a little more profound and permanent than a Master-Apprentice one.
Their answering smiles are so blinding that neither councilman could regret the lack of protocol. After all, you may be a little old for their standards but there was no doubt that you belonged with them.
.
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The zebrak never made it to Naboo, having an ‘accident’ in hyperspace. Devoured by an Eldritch entity that behaves with an unnerving parallel to the toy a little boy had in his hands while playing with his new siblings.
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Dad favors Qui-Gon, he favors Obi-Wan.
Just a little bit more; a little more possessive, a little more crueler. Uncaring of how much it would have to push fate to keep them safe and happy. Echoing you and your wishes as if were it’s own, because in one way, in the only way that mattered, they were. You were his chosen, his little supernova. And they were yours.
So anyone and anything that threatened to take them from you was going to get crushed, because it wouldn’t do if your heart broke. No, that wouldn’t do at all. Things were better if you were happy and loved, that was for sure.