Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The future has many paths — choose wisely. 

“Initiate Kenobi,” said Vokara Che, checking his medical datapad for the fifth time in as many minutes. “Your vitals seem to be fine— well, your heart rate was a little fast for a while there— and we can’t find anything physically wrong with you.”

“That’s good news,” Obi-Wan said, holding a cloth to his nose as it continued to bleed, the corpses of other used towels scattered around him. “I’d hate to think this wasn’t normal.” 

Vokara gave him a beleaguered look. “However, you do seem to have experienced some psychic trauma.” 

The look Obi-Wan shot her over the cloth covering his nose was so dry that a lesser woman would have gone immediately for a glass of water. 

“It’s unusual for Jedi to develop such a jump in their prescient abilities so late in life,” Vokara said. “Are you certain that what you experienced was a vision of the future?” 

“Yes,” said Obi-Wan, who was more or less lying through his teeth. “I’m pretty damned sure.” 

Here’s what had happened. 

Obi-Wan had been on Endor, watching the Rebels celebrate the defeat of the Death Star, the restoration of democracy, etc., etc. He had been avoiding awkward eye contact with Force-ghost Anakin and amusedly watching pairs of people go off into the underbrush to celebrate. 

But then he’d felt a tug, and a pull, and he’d woken up in the Initiate dorms at the Temple, almost fifty years in the past. He’d screamed so hard he’d blown out all the lights on that floor, cracked the ‘fresher mirror in half, and then his nose had started to bleed. 

He’d been a little feverish for a while— adult memories being shoved into a little body, Obi-Wan suspected— and had somehow ended up in the Halls of Healing. Then he’d been poked and prodded to within an inch of his life, and, among all the chaos, had managed to give off the impression that he could see the future. 

Which, well, he could— just in the sense that it was limited to the Future of Obi-Wan Kenobi, plus a lot of galactic political kriffery and several long sad years on Tatooine. 

His nose had finally stopped bleeding, which was a definite plus. Master Che stuck a tool up his nose that looked suspiciously like a torture instrument and burned shut the capillaries or something like that. He liked to think that was protocol, and she wasn’t just getting payback for him snarking at her earlier. 

Yoda sat on a table in front of him, peering closely. “Feel better now, Initiate Kenobi, you do?”

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Hm, hmm,” Yoda said. 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

Yoda’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “Many things you said, Obi-Wan, senseless things.” 

“Well, I was delirious at the time, Master.” 

“Hmm, perhaps,” Yoda said. “Other things you predicted as well, Obi-Wan. Asked for your Master, you did. Unaware, I was, that Master Jinn had taken on a padawan.” 

Obi-Wan grinned back, a reflex at the mirth in Yoda’s eyes. “I don’t think he has, Master Yoda.”

“Aware, you were, that I had long thought Qui-Gon needed a new padawan?” Yoda said. “Aware, you were, that I suggested you?” 

“Not before, Master, no,” Obi-Wan said. “But I’m sure the Force will do as the Force wills.” 

Yoda laughed creakily. “And the Force wills for Obi-Wan Kenobi and Qui-Gon Jinn to be bonded?” 

“Perhaps,” Obi-Wan said. “I only know what I saw.”

That, too, was also kind of a lie. Certainly, he didn’t know the whole future— even observation of an event changed it. But while Obi-Wan didn’t control the will of the Force, he did control his own will. 

Will— more like would. He would be Qui-Gon Jinn’s padawan. 

He expected some resistance to this. 

Obi-Wan was pleased when Qui-Gon himself came to see him in the Med Wing the day he was being discharged, even though he knew what he was there for. 

“Ah…” Qui-Gon said, hovering awkwardly in the doorway while Master Che finished with his exit tests. “Initiate Kenobi. I can… come back later.” 

“That’s all right,” Obi-Wan said. “I need witnesses here to make sure Master Che doesn’t stab me with any more needles for no reason.” 

“I was checking your blood tests,” Vokara said. 

Obi-Wan shot her a sunny smile. They had developed quite the friendly rivalry since Obi-Wan had returned from the future, whereupon Obi-Wan was as annoying as possible and Vokara had to pretend not to laugh about it. She wrinkled her nose back at him. 

“All done,” she said. “Ungrateful brat. I’ll be out of your way now, Master Jinn. You’re the one who’s going to be Obi-Wan’s master?” 

Qui-Gon looked supremely awkward. 

Vokara patted Obi-Wan on the head and exited through the door, forcing Qui-Gon to come closer, which seemed like the last thing he wanted to do. 

“Hello, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said. He was still in the white clothes standard to the Hall of Healing, hooked up to a monitor while the last of the forms were checked off to release him. He looked, even to himself, ridiculously small and young. 

Qui-Gon seemed to realize this as well and cleared his throat. “Are you feeling well? Has everything, er, checked out?” 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “They put it all down to psychic shock.” He was trying his best not to find this hopelessly endearing. Qui-Gon so desperately did not want to be there— Tahl or one of his other friends had almost definitely made him come. 

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said. “Good.” He cleared his throat again. “Master Yoda has told me that you had a vision— a vision of me taking you as my padawan. I understand that you’re going to age out soon.” 

Obi-Wan blinked up at him from the bed, as deliberately cute and innocent as he could muster. 

“And, that is to say…” Qui-Gon said. “Well, I’m very sorry, Obi-Wan, but I’m not looking for a padawan at the moment. I mean ever. I will be taking no more padawans.” 

“All right, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said. “Thank you for telling me.”  

Qui-Gon paused, trying to find a trap. “It’s not that I have anything against you,” he said. “I don’t know you.” 

“Yes, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m sure if you did know me, you would have a lot more specific examples of why this would be a bad idea.” 

Qui-Gon blinked. “So, you’re not upset?”

“I can’t expect you to take me on on the word of a vision alone,” Obi-Wan said. “I do appreciate your candor.” 

Qui-Gon was clearly suspicious of the ease with which he was pulling this off. Possibly he had been expecting tears, or yelling. “Well, good,” he said. He started inching towards the door. “I hope you feel better, Initiate Kenobi. I’m glad this misunderstanding could be cleared up. So long as you understand that you won’t be my padawan…” 

“Oh, I didn’t say that,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon froze. 

“Sorry?” he said. 

“I only said that I understood why you didn’t want to take me as your padawan learner at the moment. I never said that I wouldn’t be your padawan in the future.”

Qui-Gon worked this out in his head. “It’s the same thing,” he said. 

“It is not,” Obi-Wan said. “The will of the Force is very mysterious, Master Jinn.” 

Qui-Gon squinted at him. “Did Tholme put you up to this?” 

Obi-Wan hid a smile behind a hand. “No. I’m only telling you that the Force wants us to be partners, Master Jinn— and it might happen sooner than you think.”

“I don’t think so,” Qui-Gon said. He started to back away. “I don’t believe in Force visions. The future is always in motion.” 

“Maybe so,” Obi-Wan said. “But when destiny calls, the chosen have no choice.” That was a Yoda maxim, and, ironically, one of those that Obi-Wan didn’t believe in, not entirely. Well, he couldn’t, if this whole being in the past thing was going to work out. 

Qui-Gon made a sour face and, wisely, fled. 

Obi-Wan sat back in his bed and grinned. Another Yoda saying: A plan is only as good as those who see it through.

“What are you smiling about, Kenobi?” Vokara asked suspiciously when she reentered. “What have you done now?” 

“Would I do anything, Vokara?” he asked. 

“I suspect you know the answer to that,” she said. 

Obi-Wan’s friends were waiting for him in the Initiate dorms when he got back, which shouldn’t have been a surprise but was. 

“Obi-Wan!” Bant said, throwing herself into his arms. “You’re back! You should have told us and we’d have come with you down from the Halls!” 

What Obi-Wan thought, but did not say, was that he had forgotten this was an option. “I didn’t want to put anyone out.” Apparently this was in-character enough that Bant squeezed him a little harder in her hug, in retaliation. Obi-Wan took a moment, just the briefest of seconds, to close his eyes and feel her presence. 

Bant Eerin had been his best friend for his entire childhood, all the way until she died in the early years of the Clone Wars. She’d never taken on troops, and had died in a Separatist attack while providing medical aid to civilians. 

Then he stepped back. “Hi, guys.” Garen Muln and Reeft were there too, of course. Other children were poking their heads out from doorframes and around the hallway, patently curious. 

Bant, Reeft, and Garen were done with restraint, and they piled on top of Obi-Wan, a tackle-hug more like an akk-dog pile than anything else. Obi-Wan laughed, suddenly feeling lighter in the Force than he had for years. 

They then traveled to the refectory, because Obi-Wan had forgotten how children were always hungry. His friends seemed adamant that a good meal would cure all that ailed him. 

“Is it true you can see the future now?” Reeft asked, mouth full. 

Obi-Wan was staring off into the distance— at the life in the Temple, untouched by the war or the Purge. So many Jedi… 

“Obi-Wan!” Garen said, and elbowed him. 

Obi-Wan jumped. “What?” 

“Can you really see the future?” Garen repeated. “Do you know what’s going to happen next?” 

That one didn’t take a genius to figure out. “Well, for starters, Reeft’s going to steal the bread roll of my plate.” 

Reeft paused mid-motion, hand already halfway to Obi-Wan’s tray. “Showwy,” he said, still in the middle of eating something else. 

“Take it,” Obi-Wan said, pushing it towards him. “I’m not hungry.”

Reeft reached for it, but then there was a loud stomp underneath the table— a small Calamaran foot, perhaps— and he winced. Bant was giving him a death glare. “Ah,” he said. “Never mind. I’m… not hungry either.”

Garen, who had clearly missed Bant’s early offense in a campaign to Take Care of Obi-Wan, gaped at Reeft. “Are you— “ he said, and then winced as he too got kicked. 

Obi-Wan laughed. “I’m not starving to death,” he said. “It was just a little Force trauma.” And practically every other type of trauma in the galaxy, but they were twelve. They didn’t need to know that. 

“Yeah, right, Oafy-Wan,” a voice said behind him. Obi-Wan felt his eyebrows crinkle as he struggled to place the voice— he was sure it was familiar. “You probably faked the whole thing so they would feel sorry for you and wouldn’t fail you out of the Temple.” 

The voice came around the table, and Obi-Wan reconciled the bad nickname with the cruel words, just as Bruck Chun came into view. 

“Go away, Bruck,” Bant said. “He was sick.” 

Obi-Wan stared. 

“Sure,” Bruck said. “ Sick. We all heard about his pathetic made up vision…” He made a weird face. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

Bruck Chun. Arguably the first of many Jedi lost to the Dark— dead before he got a chance to do anything else. Obi-Wan’s first real loss. 

Had he ever thought this childish taunting was so bad? It was almost nostalgic. 

Obi-Wan realized everyone was staring at him. “Oh,” he said. “Sorry, Bruck.” Then he turned back to his meal. 

Poor Bruck didn’t know how to react to this. He had been getting ready for a fight— he and Obi-Wan always were— and didn’t know what to do with deescalation. Obi-Wan was good at this, subverting people’s expectations and turning them to his advantage. He continued eating. 

“Yeah, well…” Bruck muttered. “Freak.” He had a squad of other bullies at his back; he turned and left, and they followed. 

Slowly, Obi-Wan’s friends turned to him. 

He shrugged. “Tired of fighting,” he said, and smiled, his own private amusement at the situation. Another for the very long list of things to do in the new timeline; Bruck Chun would probably take to it as enthusiastically as Qui-Gon had. 

He ripped the bread roll in half; ate one half and gave the other to Reeft. Reeft took it, a little hesitantly, and shoved the whole thing into his mouth at once. 

Then he choked on it, of course, which set off all the children to laughing. Obi-Wan clapped him on the back. 

It was worryingly easy to convince the Temple that Obi-Wan had advanced future-seeing powers. He knew almost everyone in the Temple, for starters— masters, padawans who would grow up to be masters, and some crechelings who would get embroiled in the war like the rest of them. 

Then there was what, in the days of the Clone Wars, some misinformed Healers had called hypervigilance, and what Obi-Wan called being sensible. It meant that he was very hard to sneak up on, adding to the rumors that he always knew who was coming. Compounded with a slightly advanced knowledge of gossip and the increased perception of an adult with many years of life experience, and, well. He was convincing. 

“I don’t know the test answers,” Obi-Wan said, lips twitching. “And if I did I wouldn’t tell you.” 

“Oh, come on, Obi!” Garen said. “I didn’t have time to study for Galactic Politics; you know Master Sey’s exams are difficult!” 

“I only see possible futures,” Obi-Wan said. “Not ways to misuse the Force.” 

“You’re no fun,” Garen said, but he put his arms around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and walked him all the way to class anyway. 

Obi-Wan, in consideration of his friend’s feelings, and also because knowing too much of the future could be dangerous, missed a few questions on the exam.

There was a noise, mostly a grunt but half a yelp. Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see Qui-Gon Jinn staring resignedly at him. “Did you do this on purpose?” he asked, suspiciously. 

“I got here first, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said. Here was meditating at the top of a little hill in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, secluded by a drooping tree and made hard to access by the way the rich grass hid the steps up. 

“Oh,” Qui-Gon said. “Right.” 

Obi-Wan grinned. “You’re welcome to join me, Master.” 

Qui-Gon wavered, but this was his favorite spot to meditate. Obi-Wan had forgotten that. It had become his favorite spot to meditate, mostly because Anakin had never found it. 

“Fine,” he said, and settled down cross-legged, pointedly as far away from Obi-Wan as he could get. He closed his eyes. Obi-Wan followed suit and smiled. 

“And don’t do that,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Don’t do what, Master?” 

“That. Call me Master.” 

Obi-Wan kept his legs folded and his palms facing the air serenely. “I wasn’t aware you had been demoted to a Jedi Knight.” 

“You know what I mean. Like Master.” 

“Master,” Obi-Wan parroted back. 

“ Master.” 

“Mahh-steeer,” Obi-Wan said. 

Qui-Gon snorted, containing a laugh. “It’s not funny,” he said. 

“It is a little bit,” Obi-Wan said. 

Qui-Gon huffed. “Just meditate.” 

“Yes, Master.” 

“Master Windu is staring at us,” Bant said, swimming up to the edge of the pool to whisper in Obi-Wan’s ear. They were swimming in the Gardens, all four of them, enjoying a hot day after classes. 

Obi-Wan was sitting under one of the rock outfalls that was streaming water, softly letting it mist up around him with the Force, and on occasion letting some of the cold water through to soak his shoulders and hair.

Garen paddled over, and Reeft close behind. 

They all looked over, then pretended not to. Windu was indeed staring— in theory he was having a conversation with Plo Koon, but in reality it looked like he was just letting Plo talk himself out, while glaring in the direction of the younglings. 

“Huh,” Obi-Wan said. “So he is.” 

He reached up a hand to wave, but Garen caught the movement. “Oh, no you don’t,” he said, and pulled Obi-Wan into the water with a splash. Obi-Wan came up sputtering, and obviously had to pull Garen back in fully in retaliation. 

Bant splashed the two of them when they came up for air and Reeft used the Force to make the water rise in a wave from behind, soaking all of them at once. They hit water back and forth at each other for a while. 

Then Obi-Wan came up for air at the water’s edge and came face-to-face with Mace Windu. “Banthakarking—” Obi-Wan said, startled, before Bant shot out of the water and slapped a hand over his mouth. 

“Hello, Master Windu,” Bant said uncertainly, moving her hand away from Obi-Wan once she was sure he was done swearing. “Do you need something?” 

Plo was still standing behind Windu, a little ways away and watching with banked amusement. Garen and Reeft finally realized what was going on and stopped goofing off by the waterside. 

“You’re giving me a headache,” Mace told Obi-Wan. 

“I’ve been known to have that effect,” Obi-Wan said. 

Mace gave him an exasperated look. “What is wrong with your shatterpoints, young man?” 

Obi-Wan felt his mouth twitch with amusement. Soaking wet, his hair plastered to his face, hanging half off the edge of a pool— he was sure he looked very unimpressive at the moment. Mace didn’t seem to care, or possibly he just didn’t notice. “I suppose you’ve heard that I can see the future.” 

“See, yes,” Mace said. “But unless you’re involved in practically every major galactic event for the next twenty or so years, I can’t see why a little Initiate should have so many shatterpoints around him— so many strange shatterpoints.” 

That was Mace’s ability; to see the pressure points in the Force, where a moment may crack the major events of history one way or the other. Obi-Wan had a lot of cracks. 

“My deepest apologies, Master Windu,” Obi-Wan said, blinking innocently at him. “I never meant to cause you trouble.” 

“Somehow, I doubt that,” Mace said, looking at him and then looking away with a wince. “I’m going to find something for this headache,” he muttered, and stalked away. 

“May the Force be with you!” Obi-Wan called out at his back. Mace harrumphed audibly, and Obi-Wan smiled.  

Plo lingered behind a moment, with a face that might have been intimidating if you didn’t know the impassiveness of his rebreather mask. “Initiate Kenobi,” he said. “Initiate Eerin.”

“Hello, Master Plo,” they chorused. 

“You are causing quite the uproar, Obi-Wan,” Plo said. “Just the other day I saw Master Jinn actively running away from you.” 

“He thought I hadn’t caught sight of him yet,” Obi-Wan said, with satisfaction. “He went really fast, didn’t he?” 

Bant looked like she might have caught Master Windu’s headache. 

“Indeed,” Plo said, eyeing Obi-Wan with an unusual look. “Dead-set on Qui-Gon, are you?” 

Obi-Wan blinked, genuinely surprised for the first time since he’d returned to the Temple. Initiate Obi-Wan was a scrawny little misfit with anger problems, fit only for someone who took on pathetic life-forms as a matter of course. “Oh,” he said. “ Oh. I’m sorry, Master Koon, but the Force really is very insistent.” 

There was a rumbled laugh from behind the mask. “I suspected so. May the Force be with you, Initiates.” 

They echoed the sentiment back at the Master. He turned to leave, then cocked his head. Then, without looking back, he used the Force to push a giant wave over their heads, drenching the four Initiates with what Obi-Wan considered to be excessive glee for a Jedi Master. 

They shrieked as the water hit them, and went back to their play. 

Bant caught Obi-Wan while Garen and Reeft were simultaneously trying to climb atop each other’s shoulders. 

“Why didn’t ask Master Plo if he would take you as his padawan?” she asked. “Obi, you’re about to age out.” 

Oh. She was worried about him. He slung an arm around her waist and pulled her in. “It’s going to be fine,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about me. Master Jinn takes me, or he doesn’t.”

To be honest, in some ways, it would be easier if Qui-Gon didn’t take him. It would be exceedingly easy to run from the Agri-Corps; and from there he could blend in pretty much anywhere. It would be less problematic to get the access he needed in the Senate without a Master watching over his shoulder, better to only have to worry about himself, easier to dip in and out of the galaxy to make the major changes that would be necessary. 

But, well… he didn’t want to. 

Bant huffed. “I don’t know how you’re so calm about this all of a sudden,” she said. “And I don’t know how you talk to those masters without dying of fright.” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “I guess eventually you learn that they’re not the most frightening things in the galaxy— not by a long shot.” 

Ironically, more than anything it was the “Ha, did you see this coming?” that warned Obi-Wan to step out of the way. 

He was walking through the refectory with his tray of food, alone, for once. His friends had been persuaded to stop fussing mostly because they had gotten busy. They were still keeping an eye out on him, as if his psychic episode could repeat at any time. 

He stepped just in time to avoid an outstretched foot, attached to Bruck Chun. Bruck, it seemed, hadn’t expected Obi-Wan to actually dodge, and he scowled as Obi-Wan tried to go around him. 

One of Bruck’s friends blocked him from going further, and the rest formed up in a semi-circle so he had nowhere to go. Obi-Wan resisted rolling his eyes too obviously. 

“Hello,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Oafy-Wan,” Bruck said. “I can’t believe you’re still here. No one’s sent you away yet? Everybody already knows you’d be the worst Jedi ever.”

“That’s quite something to live up to,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Don’t try to be all wise now that you know you’re getting thrown out,” Bruck said. Obi-Wan almost felt bad for him— he was looking forward to a fight, and Obi-Wan wasn’t giving it to him. He remembered, vaguely, what it was like to be that age, with no better way to get your fears and insecurities out. Eventually they just exploded. “It’s not going to work. Master Jinn will never take you. You’re destined to be alone, Obi-Wan.” 

“Let me through, Bruck,” Obi-Wan said, a little stung despite himself. He tried to step forward, only to get rebounded back by one of Bruck’s gang of bullies. He sighed. “Listen, I would simply love to stand here and commence a battle of the wits with you, but I don’t enjoy fighting unarmed opponents. Why don’t you just go get some lunch, hmm?” 

Bruck pushed him. Obi-Wan hadn’t truly been expecting it— he fell. His tray scattered everywhere. 

The refectory was empty-ish at this time of day, but even the Knights and other initiates who saw the scene didn’t seem to think anything was truly out of the ordinary. He would have to make up some truly gruesome futures to scare them later. 

Well. That wasn’t so much fun when you knew the actual gruesome futures they were destined for. 

“Really?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Bruck wound back to kick him, and Obi-Wan held up a hand, ready to push back with the Force. 

But then Bruck was yanked back by his collar. “That’s hardly sporting, is it, Initiate?” a familiar voice asked, and despite himself Obi-Wan smiled. “A Jedi does not kick a man while he’s down.”

Qui-Gon was already taller than most people, but to a pack of twelve year old bullies, he loomed like a Wookie. Some of them audibly squeaked. 

Bruck’s eyes got impossibly wide. “Uh!” he said. “He just tripped.” 

“He did not,” Qui-Gon said. “You may run along to your Clan Master, and tell them that you need two demerits; one for pushing Obi-Wan down, and one for lying about it.”

Bruck deflated, still held by the scruff of his neck like an unruly Loth-kitten. Most of his friends had already fled. “Yes, Master,” he said. Qui-Gon put him down. Bruck shot Obi-Wan a venomous glare and darted off. 

Obi-Wan dusted himself off. 

“You should have stopped him,” Qui-Gon said. “You should have seen that coming.” 

“And what was I supposed to do?” Obi-Wan said, amused, gathering up the now trashed food into a pile. “Take him out at the knees with my training saber? He’s twelve years old, Master.” 

A cleaning droid beeped at Obi-Wan in annoyance, bumping him aside to reach the tray. 

“Sorry,” he told it, and accepted Qui-Gon’s hand to his feet. 

“It’s not acceptable behavior,” Qui-Gon insisted. He started walking, and, automatically, Obi-Wan fell into step beside him, a pace behind. “He should know better.” 

“Bruck’s just scared,” Obi-Wan said. “And lashing out. He wants to be a Jedi so badly.”

Qui-Gon made an uncomfortable noise. “You realize I didn’t help you because—?” 

“What?” Obi-Wan said. “Oh, yes, I know. You still won’t take me.” Qui-Gon was taking him back to the mess line, he realized. Ensuring that he ate. Cute. “Will you eat lunch with me, Master Jinn?” 

Qui-Gon gave him a suspicious look. 

“To protect me from bullies, of course,” Obi-Wan said with a straight face. “No one would mess with someone so venerable as you.” 

Qui-Gon got a look like I know you’re just flattering me so that you can try to convince me to take you on as my padawan, but I do like being flattered, but don’t try anything. Obi-Wan gave him an angelic who-me look back. 

“Fine,” Qui-Gon said. “But no talking about apprenticeship.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Obi-Wan said. 

Galactic Politics was a boring class if you were an Initiate— if you were Obi-Wan Kenobi, you were practically comatose by the end of it. 

He moved from his usual seat in the front, to the apparent worry of the Master teaching the class, and instead sat in the back with his datapads most days. The intrigue of the Senate was a little easier to parse when you already knew how things were going to turn out, though admittedly not as much as you might think. 

Senator Palpatine of Naboo was slowly starting his rise to power. Obi-Wan was trying to figure out who his master was, if he had even started training as a Sith yet. 

If Obi-Wan knew Sith— which, unfortunately, he did— Sidious would probably have killed his Master before taking on Maul as an apprentice. The smart thing to do would be to wait until Palpatine found Maul, and be sure that the master was dead, and then to kill Palpatine, and possibly Maul as well. But Obi-Wan didn’t know when that had happened, and, to be quite honest, the plan didn’t sit well with him.

Maul was a victim too, as much as Savage and Ventress and Anakin and even Dooku in a way. Besides, who knew what horrors the Sith were wreaking on the galaxy even now? 

At the moment, it seemed, passing bills to limit the exportation of flowers from Naboo. 

Obi-Wan sighed and shut off his datapad for a moment. He squinted at the front of the room. Master Kadrian Sey had gotten stuck with the class this semester, a female Zabrak who looked less than pleased with the honor. The holoprojector was on— yes, they were reviewing basic protocol on worlds that were not Jedi-friendly. Seeing as how most worlds in the Republic during the war, then shortly all of them under the Empire, were not Jedi-friendly, Obi-Wan felt he could safely skip this class. 

There was a sharp tug on Obi-Wan’s shirt with the Force, then shortly after, a message from Bant on his datapad— Obi-Wan, pay attention! She’s going to notice! 

So Obi-Wan tried his best to focus. Considering he could— and had— taught this class himself, it was easier said than done. 

Obi-Wan was a little nervous. 

He’d been practicing in the lightsaber salle, mostly alone, for a few days, but he still wasn’t sure. Today was the tournament in which the Initiates were supposed to show their skills to prospective masters. Obi-Wan was supposed to do this by fighting Bruck. 

Why anyone thought this would be a good idea was beyond him. Putting two boys together already known for starting violent fights with each other didn’t seem like it would make for a good showcasing of skills; just of grudges. Maybe whoever put together the Initiate matches wanted some entertainment. 

Obi-Wan would be sticking to Ataru, since it was what he’d basically focused on as a child, all the way up through his apprenticeship. He was a little rusty— twenty years in the desert and four or so more as an incorporeal being did that to you. 

But still, he was nervous. 

He was afraid he’d beat Bruck Chun too soundly. No matter how you looked at it, it was a decidedly unfair fight— the Negotiator, a fully-grown man who’d fought in a war, the Sith-killer, Jed Master, against a twelve year old boy who was expecting to fight another twelve year old boy. 

Winning a fight was one thing. So was losing. But making sure you won, while pretending to be worse at saber fighting than you were, and also making sure you didn’t hurt anyone, and also giving the impression that you were trying as hard as you could, was another. 

Well, there was nothing for it. Obi-Wan stretched quietly. His friends had all given him sympathetic looks that morning— Quinlan had even stopped by before heading off-planet again—, worried that he would be disappointed when Qui-Gon didn’t pick him. They were all watching now, from the observation window above the salle. There were a lot of masters there too, more than Obi-Wan remembered. 

Finally, Bruck emerged from the locker room, looking ready for a real fight. 

There was a Master there to referee; she made them stand at the proper distance, explained the rules, and had them bow to each other. Bruck’s bow was, Obi-Wan noted, a little shallow. 

Obi-Wan waited for Bruck to strike first, and then the duel was on for real. 

Ataru was an acrobatic form, fine for dueling but not so great when you were talking Sith or battle droids. Bruck was still on Shii Cho, and Obi-Wan found himself accidentally cataloguing how he might teach the other boy. 

Bruck was good with the strong, unpredictable attacks of the form, but it wasn’t as good against a single opponent, and it was particularly tough to use against someone doing a whole lot of fancy flips and jumps, like Ataru. Bruck would do well with Makashi. 

Uh-oh. Obi-Wan was getting bored. Analyzing your opponent’s fighting style was only fun when you could taunt them about it, as he had often done to Ventress. 

Obi-Wan kicked Bruck in the chest, knocking him back a few feet, and twirled his lightsaber in one hand, recentering himself. 

Bruck darted forward and sliced downward, clearly expecting Obi-Wan to fall for the trick and lower his saber. Instead he kept it where it was and caught Bruck’s lightsaber in a lock as Bruck suddenly reversed direction and aimed higher up. 

A good way to break a saber lock was to throw your opponent backwards with the Force, or to catch the hilt of your lightsaber on theirs and twist down— if you were very lucky, you could end up with both sabers. But neither of those were Initiate moves, so Obi-Wan just ducked and somersaulted back, narrowly avoiding Bruck’s blade. 

Their blades crossed again, and again. They certainly had the attention of the audience; every time there was a near miss, he could hear most of the younger ones drawing in quick breaths. With that same part of his brain that liked to flirt with people, usually Siths, who were trying to kill him, Obi-Wan let a few of Bruck’s attempts get a little closer past his guard than they should have, and was rewarded with the onlookers getting even more rowdy. 

Bruck was getting frustrated. His attacks were getting more reckless, going for speed and strength over style. He twisted his lightsaber under Obi-Wan’s and tried to stab him in the shoulder. 

Obi-Wan got an uncomfortable double-vision, the training salle versus the Room of a Thousand Fountains; a brawl with no real stakes versus Bruck with a red lightsaber at the top of a waterfall. That wasn’t the first death Obi-Wan had seen, but it had been one of the most traumatic, watching a boy who would rather die than subject himself to the judgement of the Temple afterwards. 

Their sabers clashed. 

Obi-Wan struck his lightsaber at Bruck’s saber arm, and Bruck caught it with his own blade, then used the hand not occupied to try to punch Obi-Wan. This was technically an illegal move; or it would have been if it landed. Obi-Wan caught it easily, and their forearms caught each others’, locked just like their lightsabers were in the other hand. 

Obi-Wan spun fluidly backwards, and brought his lightsaber up to cut at Bruck’s neck, knowing the other boy would easily hit it aside. 

But he didn’t. 

A lightsaber at sparring strength wouldn’t take off anyone’s head, but it would hurt an awful lot at the speed Obi-Wan was swinging it at, and burn too. Hurriedly, Obi-Wan halted himself mid-strike, which was arguably a more difficult move than he’d intended to show off. 

Bruck was still standing there, frozen and staring at him. 

Obi-Wan looked at the assembled Jedi, who looked just as puzzled. “Bruck?” Obi-Wan said. 

“What was that?” Bruck said. 

Another glance at the gallery. Master Yoda, and Qui-Gon next to him, were leaning forward in concern. “What was what?” 

“That,” Bruck said. “There was… a waterfall?” 

Obi-Wan could feel himself pale. His fingers were suddenly nerveless, and he deactivated his lightsaber. 

“Oh,” he said. “I withdraw from the tournament,” He bowed jerkily, once at Bruck and once at the masters in the audience. “Solah.” Then he fled. 

He was not sulking. He was… regrouping. 

With his head on his knees like a youngling, admittedly, hiding in the Room of a Thousand Fountains where no one would look for him. But he missed the scratch of his beard on his face, missed the weight of his padawan braid against his back, missed his armor, missed being incorporeal. 

He’d had a more traumatic life than most. He could sulk. Not that he was. 

Footsteps, climbing up the hill. Obi-Wan was only a little surprised to feel his Master’s Force-presence after them. 

“Why did you stop the duel?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“It wasn’t a fair fight,” Obi-Wan said, muffled by his knees. 

“I didn’t see him cheat,” Qui-Gon said. 

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes and finally lifted his head. “He didn’t,” he said. “I accidentally gave him a flash of the future.” 

Qui-Gon was standing above him— with Obi-Wan looking at him, he seemed to realize just how greatly he was looming and sat down in front of Obi-Wan. “You see those every day,” Qui-Gon said. “If that was an excuse for losing a fight, you’d never have to spar again."

Obi-Wan smiled, just a little, and shook his head. “It was his future,” he said. “And Bruck’s only twelve years old. He shouldn’t have to live with that.” 

“You’re the same age,” Qui-Gon said. 

“It’s not a good future,” Obi-Wan said.

“For him or you?” 

Obi-Wan shot him a flat look. “Don’t you have some Initiates to watch?” 

“Yours was the last fight of the day,” Qui-Gon said serenely. “You would have won, you know.” 

“No Master would have taken me either way,” Obi-Wan said. He uncurled and stretched his legs out in front of him, starting to get a little embarrassed. He was still in training tunics, and a little sweaty. 

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said guiltily. “I still am not ready for another padawan—” 

“I know,” Obi-Wan interrupted him. “Just… not now.” He didn’t really need to be rejected, again, not when he was already feeling like osik , and also had traveled back in time. He was pretty sure that gave him an excuse to wallow, just a little, and if not, just being twelve years old should really be reason enough. 

“All right,” Qui-Gon said, then stood up. He lingered awkwardly for a moment. “It was a good performance,” he said, and made his escape. 

Obi-Wan felt a little better. 

Today’s topic in Galactic Politics was Jedi relationships with political figures, or at least it was for the rest of the class. Obi-Wan figured he had way too much experience in that field anyway. At least not as much as Anakin. 

Today Obi-Wan was researching important people in Sheev Palpatine’s life. Any one of them could be a Sith; the only thing that Obi-Wan could narrow it down by was that they were probably older than Palpatine, and had probably known him from a young-ish age. 

But a lot of people fit that description, including Palpatine’s grandmother. He was pretty sure it wasn’t her.

Fairly sure. 

He was keeping up on recent news as well, and he flipped absently through a newsfeed. Bail Organa had just been inducted into the Junior Senators program for Alderaan. Obi-Wan smiled at the page, hiding it behind a hand. 

The Force tugged at him— Bant again— and Obi-Wan looked up just in time for Master Sey to look at him. She was obviously disappointed not to have directly caught him slacking off, but still she raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Initiate Kenobi,” she said. “Glad to see you’re paying attention. Perhaps you could tell me how a Jedi diplomat might go about beginning negotiations on Apon 7?” 

Obi-Wan blinked. “I would begin, Master, by choosing a neutral meeting ground so as not to offend any planetary factions; then I would ask each side to appoint the same number of representatives.” 

Master Sey’s brow wrinkled. “Initiate Kenobi, there are no planetary factions that I am aware of on Apon 7.” 

Blast. Obi-Wan had been sure he was close in period— the Apon Civil War had lasted right up until the Clone Wars, when everyone got rather busy.

This would be the point where Bruck— also in this class— would laugh, or scoff in a plausibly low enough way that Master Sey couldn’t get mad at him about it. But things from the bully quarter had been suspiciously quiet of late. If Obi-Wan didn’t have bigger things to worry about, he might worry about that 

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said. “I suppose I’ve gotten my planets mixed up.” 

“I suppose you have,” Master Sey said, unsympathetically. “See me after class.” 

All of Obi-Wan’s friends winced in reflexive sympathy. 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said, and Master Sey returned to the lecture, occasionally glancing over to make sure Obi-Wan was paying attention. 

He wasn’t, but he’d sat through enough Council meetings to make it look like he was. 

At the end of class, Obi-Wan waited for his peers to file out— shooting him commiserating and gloating looks in turn— and then went up to Master Sey’s desk. She was an Iridonian Zabrak, tan-skinned with a few of her people’s traditional tattoos. She did not look very happy. 

“Obi-Wan,” she said. “I hope you can see why I’ve been concerned about you lately.” 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said. “Um… no?” 

Her forehead drew together. “You don’t,” she said. “Obi-Wan. You have always been one of my best students, but of late you have been distracted, unfocused, undisciplined.” 

“I’ve been getting satisfactory marks,” Obi-Wan said, a little stiffly. 

“Yes,” Master Sey said. “But, Obi-Wan, while before I could expect you at the front of the classroom, taking notes like a madman, now I can expect you to be sitting in the back, daydreaming. You have always loved learning— what changed?” 

“I like to learn,” Obi-Wan said. There was nothing she could do— he was doing better in all his classes than ever before, and just because she didn’t like how Obi-Wan comported himself while doing that didn’t mean she could punish him for it. 

Master Sey must have read some of this in his eyes, because she sighed. “I know you’re very close to aging out,” she said. “I can understand if your priorities may be changing a little.” She eyed him with a little pity. “And they tell me you’re claiming to have developed some prescient abilities— that you want Qui-Gon Jinn to become your Master.” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t help a knee-jerk spike of hurt. No Masters had yet implied that Obi-Wan was making up his vision, a last-ditch bid to try to become a Jedi. But that was obviously what Sey was thinking, and it did sting a little. 

“I claim nothing, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “May I go?” 

Sey sighed. “All right,” she said. “Go ahead.” She reached out to give him a commiserating pat on the shoulder. 

But Obi-Wan remembered too late— Master Sey had mild psychometric abilities. 

“No!” he yelped, leaning backwards. But she had already made contact with his bare skin. She wasn’t any great psychometric prodigy, probably not even as skilled as Quinlan, child though he might be. But even a little bit was enough— Obi-Wan had a lot of history for her to pick up on. 

Grief. Fear. Burning, on Point Rain, surrounded by his troops, mostly dead. 

This is Master Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Screaming. 

This message is a warning and a reminder for any surviving Jedi… Do not return to the Temple. That time has passed. Be secret— May the Force… 

Qui-Gon’s deep voice. My only conclusion can be that it was a Sith Lord— 

Obi-Wan slammed his shields down. They were already made of steel, but he tightened them even further, until not even Yoda could have prised up even a crack, and kicked her out of his head. 

She was frozen, hand out. 

Obi-Wan backed away. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “My visions… I’m sorry. They’re only possibilities of a future.” He was flustered, more than he liked to think it was still possible for him to be. 

A tear fell from Master Sey’s face. “Impossible,” she whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said. He backed through the door, and away into the Temple. 

Chapter Text

Never give up hope, no matter how dark things seem.

The Temple library was not a place where most Initiates spent their time voluntarily, and certainly not this deep into the archives, where the dust was thick and even Masters feared to tread. 

So of course Obi-Wan showed up, bright-eyed, with ration bars in his pockets and a datapad ready in his hand. 

All Masters were subjected every so often to the indignity that was Archive duty— a day where a group of unfortunate Masters were roped into helping out with the inventory of the books, flimsis, and datachips left to molder in the ancient depths of the Archive. There was too much work for even the small corps of Jedi who worked solely in the Archive, headed by Jocasta Nu. Thus, a rite of passage for all Jedi. At least all those who weren’t smart enough to be off-planet or deadly injured when their turn on the inventory roster came up. 

The luckier Masters with padawans at least had someone else to torture with them. 

Qui-Gon made a very interesting face when he saw Obi-Wan, ranging from surprise to annoyance to finally a kind of resigned acceptance. He was standing with Master Tholme, so, of course, Quinlan, his padawan, was there too. There were other Masters and bored apprentices as well, scattered around and talking among themselves. 

Quinlan brightened when he saw Obi-Wan. He had clearly been sulking about library duties. “Obi-Wan!” he said, and bounded forward, even under the disapproving glance of his Master. “What are you doing here? You should run while you still can, and I mean that.” 

Obi-Wan grinned. “I’m here to help Master Jinn with his archive work.”

“That’s only for padawans,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Actually, any willing student may help any master,” Obi-Wan said. He’d checked. Of course, that rule was mostly for different circumstances, such as an elderly Master with no padawan who may need a little help getting around, or friends substituting for injured or sick apprentices. But he thought that his noble goal of annoying Qui-Gon into taking him on was a good enough excuse, and it wasn’t forbidden.  

“I don’t need help,” Qui-Gon said, and Tholme and Quinlan gave him disbelieving looks. No one turned down the option to do less work on these things. 

“I could leave,” Obi-Wan said. “If you’re sure. You only have, what, a hundred shelves to clear today?”

Qui-Gon scowled, but there was more than a hint of resignation to it. 

Tholme laughed. “You just have to be Kenobi,” he said. 

“You’ve heard of me,” Obi-Wan said, with a pleased grin. Quinlan slung an arm around his shoulder and Obi-Wan, ensuring that his shields were rock-solid, elbowed him back. “I’m flattered, Master Tholme.” 

Tholme was one of Qui-Gon’s oldest friends, so Obi-Wan had spent a fair amount of time with him as a padawan. He and Quinlan had spent more than a couple missions crowded into one tent while their masters shared the other, or running away from mercenaries in some forest or other while the other two got into trouble elsewhere. 

“Possibly not in the ways you’re thinking of,” Master Tholme said, amused. 

“Oh, I can imagine what you’ve heard,” Obi-Wan said. “Master Jinn? Do you want my help today or not?” 

Qui-Gon grumbled something. 

“What was that, Qui?” Tholme said. 

Qui-Gon glowered down at Obi-Wan. “What kind of Initiate wants to help with archiving, anyway?” he asked. 

“I hunger to learn, Master,” Obi-Wan said, with such a straight face that Qui-Gon clearly didn’t know how to take it until Quinlan laughed. 

The assembled Masters amounted to about a dozen; all there, Obi-Wan was pretty sure. True enough, Master Nu emerged from the main library door and eyed them all critically. “I’m sure you all want to be here,” she said. There was an assembled series of grumbles. “Good. Today each master or each master/padawan pair is being assigned a section. You will, in its entirety, cross-reference the list of books that are supposed to be in that section, as well as make a list of the books that are.” 

She was having too much fun with this. To tell the truth, Obi-Wan was too. This duty had obviously been one of the first to be phased out when the war started, with all able bodies urgently needed elsewhere. A day spent among dusty tomes and no life-or-death situations sounded nice. 

“Now, these sections haven’t been properly catalogued in over a hundred years,” Master Nu said. “So don’t—” she glared at a pair of the younger masters— “Mess—” she looked directly at Qui-Gon— “Anything—” a padawan who was chewing gum— “Up.” 

With that ominous warning, she went around the room with a datapad for each Master, handing them out one by one. 

“She was looking at you,” Qui-Gon muttered to Tholme, who snorted. 

“So?” Obi-Wan said. 

“You can stay, I suppose,” Qui-Gon said. “But it doesn’t mean anything.” 

Obi-Wan lifted a book— a real, paper book, shoved in next to a pile of flimsis— and sneezed. “Found it,” he told Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon, lifting him up to the top of the shelf with the Force, checked off an item on the list. 

“Best bring it down here,” he said. “It should have been on the other shelf.” 

Obi-Wan let Qui-Gon gently float him back to the ground. He presented the book proudly. 

“You have dust on your nose,” Qui-Gon said, but he smiled, then tried to hide it. “Just put it on the table for now.” The table was taken up with other misshelved things, books and holocrons and papers. 

Obi-Wan did, stacking it neatly among the others. He took a look at Qui-Gon’s new list of the unexpected items they’d found so far. “I think this one was supposed to go in Quinlan’s section,” he said, and sneezed again. 

“You can read Qui-Gon’s writing?” Tholme asked, emerging around a shelf with Quinlan in tow. “This is a rare gift indeed.” 

“It’s not that bad,” Obi-Wan said, loyally. 

“It is,” Tholme said. 

It really was.

Obi-Wan had learned how to read it as a self-defense mechanism only about halfway through his apprenticeship. It had been about as difficult as learning another language. He felt he had an unfair advantage in this, but then again anyone who put up with Qui-Gon Jinn for that long deserved a reward. 

“I am right here,” Qui-Gon said. “Why are you?” 

“We’re taking a break,” Quinlan said, hopping up onto a thin strip of the table that wasn’t taken up by books. “This is the worst.” 

“Being a Jedi isn’t all flashing laser swords and saving the damsels, Quinlan,” Obi-Wan said, but when Quinlan cleared off a space for him to sit too he did, and grinned at him. 

Tholme and Qui-Gon took the more sensible option of a chair each. Qui-Gon’s hair was tied up into a bun, dark-turning-grey hair escaping here and there. He looked tired, but he had relaxed a little, had even made a few jokes while he and Obi-Wan were working. 

“What’s the strangest thing you two have found so far?” Obi-Wan asked, swinging his legs. 

Quinlan made a face. 

“An old ration kit,” Tholme said. “It did not hold up well over a hundred years.” 

“What did you find?” Quinlan asked. 

Obi-Wan grinned and reached behind him— he passed over a holonovel written in Ryl.  

“What does it say?” Quinlan asked, already smirking in anticipation of the joke. 

“It’s a dirty novel,” Obi-Wan said, and leaned over to whisper the title in Quinlan’s ear. Quinlan barked out an ugly, startled laugh, and clapped a hand over his mouth. 

“That is not in the Jedi archives!” he said. 

“It is,” Obi-Wan said. “I suppose it’s educational.” 

“I don’t think either of you are old enough to be learning that lesson,” Tholme said. He used the Force and tugged the book out of Quinlan’s hand, landing securely in his. He flipped through it. “Stars,” he said. “That is educational.” 

“Tholme!” Qui-Gon said, and managed to take it out of his hand and toss the holobook across the room just in time for Master Nu to come in and catch it with a very unimpressed expression. 

“I’m glad to know you’re all working hard,” she sniffed. 

“Merely taking a break, Master Nu,” Tholme said, cowed. 

“Hmm,” Master Nu said. 

Obi-Wan leaned around Quinlan and waved cheerily at her. “Hello, Master Nu!” 

“Obi-Wan,” Nu said, suddenly smiling. 

“You look lovely as ever,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Old flatterer,” Nu said. “How are you? Did you finish your astronavigation essay?”

“Yes, thank you,” Obi-Wan said. “Those resources you gave me on the Arkanis Sector were very helpful.” 

“Good,” Nu said, and gave an appraising look to Qui-Gon. She seemed to find him lacking in some way. She looked back at Obi-Wan. “I didn’t know you would be here today— have you been taken as an apprentice?” 

“Not yet, Master Nu,” Obi-Wan said. He was treasuring the look on Qui-Gon’s face. 

“Hmm,” said Nu, disapprovingly. 

“You two… know each other?” Qui-Gon said, which was a dumb enough question that everyone gave him the same unimpressed look at the same time. 

“Obi-Wan has been a regular lately,” Master Nu said. “At this rate I think he’ll audit the whole Senate someday.” 

“If I have to,” Obi-Wan said, in a far sunnier voice than he felt.

Master Nu tucked the holobook under her arm. “I was going to see if anyone could pick up another section, but I see you boys are all busy in here. I’d better be going— sometimes I think the masters get more incompetent every year.” 

Self-preservation, probably, to avoid being asked back, which Obi-Wan did not say aloud. 

She gave them all a bow, and swept off to find someone else to terrorize. 

“You saved us!” Quinlan said, shaking his shoulder. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, hero of the galaxy.” He was teasing, of course, but it gave Obi-Wan an unexpected pang of sadness. “Now if only you could find us something to eat— I’m starving.” 

Obi-Wan grinned. “Quinlan Vos,” he said. “Do you have a friend who can see the future for nothing?” And he pulled the ration bars out of his pocket. 

Even Qui-Gon looked impressed. Master Tholme clapped. 

“Obi,” Bant said, trotting to keep up with Obi-Wan, who was returning from the salles. “You missed Galactic Poli today!” 

“I was helping out down in the Archives,” Obi-Wan said, slightly guiltily. “Did I miss anything?” 

“Peace Treaty 101,” she said, and Obi-Wan almost laughed. 

“I think I can catch up,” he said. “What’s up, Bant?”

“Um,” Bant said. 

“Oh, dear,” Obi-Wan said. “This can’t be good.” 

“I know that you think,” Bant said, and flushed coral. “I mean, I know that you saw that Master Jinn is going to take you as a padawan, and you’re not going to have to leave the Temple. But, um, we want to have a birthday party for you. We were gonna keep it a secret, but, well, it’s really hard to keep those from you these days.” 

A birthday party, but really a goodbye party, just in case. Obi-Wan couldn’t begrudge his friends their lack of faith. He hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to so many people. A proper farewell could mean a lot.

“All right,” he said. “Sure. But you’d better set it for the day before my birthday.” 

Bant rolled her eyes. “Obi-Wan, it’s not like just because you’re aged out they’re going to send you away as soon as you turn thirteen—” she paled. “Oh, no, did you get your reassignment orders, already?” 

“What?” Obi-Wan said. “No. Not yet. Don’t worry, Bant. It’ll be fine— if you want to have a party, go ahead. I know Reeft loves excuses to eat desserts anyway.” 

“Okay,” Bant said, and reached over to hug him. “You won’t regret it. It’ll be a lot of fun.” 

Obi-Wan smiled back, and squeezed an arm around her. All of these children were so scared of not being chosen— for their friends, and for themselves most of all. They wondered if they would be cast out too. It made his heart hurt. 

“Obi-Wan?” Bant asked. 

“Yeah?” 

“Are you okay? You’ve seemed different lately.” 

“Maybe I’m growing up,” Obi-Wan said. She gave him an unimpressed look. “I’m fine, Bantling. Like I said, we’re all gonna be fine.” 

“Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me,” Bant said. 

She knew him very well, after all. They continued down the hallway, arm in arm. 

Obi-Wan returned to Galactic Politics the next day with only slight trepidation. It would be inaccurate to say he was avoiding Master Sey, just that he was kind of… making sure he didn’t run into her. He was already doing the same with Bruck, and a handful of other painful memories. What was one more?

Of course Obi-Wan ran into Bruck in the doorway of the classroom, because if the Force didn’t hate him it at least had a sense of humor. 

“Oh, sorry,” Obi-Wan said. 

“My bad,” Bruck muttered, scooting all the way around him in the doorway. Making sure their skin didn’t touch, Obi-Wan realized. Bruck’s face was always unusually pale, but it was even more so now, which meant that the dark circles under his eyes now were more prominent. 

“Are you okay?” Obi-Wan blurted. 

Bruck startled. “I’m fine, leave me alone,” he said brusquely. Then he paused. Hesitated a moment, as if unsure if he was going to open his mouth or not. “Um, do your visions always come true?” 

Obi-Wan flinched. “No,” he said. “Not always, Bruck.” 

Someone cleared their throat behind them. “Ex- cuse me,” an Initiate complained, and Obi-Wan and Bruck scattered to their opposite ends of the classroom, like they had been caught doing something wrong. 

Obi-Wan tried to go for his now customary seat in the back, but Reeft caught him by the elbow and hauled him up. “Come sit with me today,” he said. “I need some help with my notes.” 

Obi-Wan let himself be dragged to the front of the classroom, more because he was touched at the sentiment than anything else. Bant and Garen boxed him in by sitting on both sides, so he couldn’t flee— overall, a good tactical operation. Obi-Wan looked down. He could still cut through the floor, he reassured himself. 

Master Sey was slightly late, and when she walked in she looked a little frazzled. Obi-Wan forced himself not to wince— she looked a lot like Bruck. 

“Good morning, Initiates,” she said, and turned on the holoprojector while they chorused a greeting back at her. 

Every day they started their lecture with a perusal of the latest news from the wider Republic, a way to get the younglings engaged with current events but also to familiarize them with how to get important news quickly.  

Today they were greeted with a litany of different senatorial affairs, various alliances and a few interesting new scientific surveys going on. And then there was the news— Apon 7 Devolves Into Civil War. 

Sey and Bruck were both staring at him. If he was right about this, what else could he be right about? The thought flashed visibly over their faces.

“Hey!” Garen, ever-loyal, said. “Obi-Wan predicted that already! Good job, Obi-Wan!” 

Obi-Wan put his face on the desk. “Thanks, Garen.” 

“My Master’s friends with him,” Quinlan said. “I’m sure I could get access to his quarters somehow.” 

“Do not,” Obi-Wan said. 

“What would we even do once we were in there?” Bant asked thoughtfully. “I mean, we could try clear-wrap over the bedroom door, but I feel like a Jedi Master would be able to sense it before he ran into it.”

It was Obi-Wan’s birthday party, in the corner of the refectory after regular eating times, so that they could take up a full table and a half and not get yelled at. It was also, Obi-Wan was discovering, quickly turning into an I Hate Qui-Gon Jinn Club. 

“Regular Initiate pranks wouldn’t work anyway,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Too well-trained?” Luminara guessed. Like Quinlan, she was a little older and already a padawan, but it seemed she still hadn’t sloughed off the shine of a new apprenticeship. 

“Nope,” Obi-Wan said, and managed to keep his straight face for about a minute before he cracked with a smile. “The Masters were Initiates once too— who do you think passed the pranking traditions down to us?” 

Apparently none of them had ever contemplated the reality of the venerable Jedi Masters once being children. Horrified silence reigned for a moment. 

“We could just put dye in the shower head,” Obi-Wan said, going back to his cake. “He has long hair— I bet it takes a while to wash. Long enough for color to get in there.” Or at least Anakin’s had. The dye had stayed for a week and even through a fight with Ventress, who had been so perplexed she’d more or less ceded the fight. 

Obi-Wan’s friends erupted with laughter. 

They had put a lot of heart into this little party; punch and cake and slightly sad hugs from everyone. They all thought he was going off into the Corps. Bant was stuck to his side like a burr, Reeft on the other and Garen reaching over him to pat Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan had never realized it before, but they had to have planned this party in the original timeline too. He’d just gotten shipped out before they could. 

“I can’t believe he still hasn’t taken you,” Bant said. “He’d be lucky to have you.” 

“Hear hear!” Quinlan said, and rammed his cup of punch against Obi-Wan’s. “You’re not worried at all?” 

“No,” Obi-Wan said. “All is as the Force wills.” 

“Boo!” Luminara said, and threw a napkin at him. 

Obi-Wan was fending off more napkin attacks when Quinlan and Luminara suddenly glared at something that they could see from their side of the table. Curious, Obi-Wan stretched his senses out— and grinned. 

“Master Jinn!” he said. “Why don’t you join us? At least take a slice of cake.” 

He turned around and saw Qui-Gon trying to retreat out the door he’d only just come through. Qui-Gon stopped and tried to pretend like he hadn’t just been trying to flee from a group of younglings. 

“That’s all right,” he said. “I just remembered something I had to do.” 

The glares from all sides of the table intensified; even though the others didn’t want him there, his refusing the invitation was unconscionably worse in their mind. Obi-Wan pretended not to notice. 

“There’s plenty,” Obi-Wan said, and Qui-Gon, unable to think of a way out, and pinned under their ire, slunk over. 

“We’re celebrating Obi-Wan’s birthday,” Bant said, pointedly, as Obi-Wan cut him a piece of cake. “He ages out tomorrow.” 

Qui-Gon paused, hands outstretched to take the plate that Obi-Wan was handing him. “Oh,” he said. “So soon?” 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Well,” Qui-Gon said, and cringed under Quinlan’s intensifying glare. Obi-Wan shoved the plate of cake into his hands. “That is a shame. Ah… really no one has taken you yet?” 

“No, Master,” Obi-Wan said. He was enjoying this too much. The combined angry stares of five younglings seemed to make Qui-Gon Jinn more afraid than any number of lightsaber duels, wars, and angry rampaging beasts. 

“Oh,” Qui-Gon said again, and something like regret passed through his eyes. “Well, I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. I really am. I wish you good luck— May the Force be with you.” 

With that, he turned and walked away. It was really more like an escape. 

Obi-Wan found himself both disappointed and pretty pleased. He hadn’t really thought that Qui-Gon would choose him this time, for a myriad of reasons. But it would have been a little nice. 

On the other hand, the fact that he’d made such an impression this time around was flattering— Qui-Gon was half-tempted to take another padawan. Obi-Wan hadn’t thought he’d ever be able to do that, not without seeing Xanatos first and coming to terms with all that had happened there. 

“Kriff him,” Quinlan said. “Tonight, I buy hair dye. It can’t be that hard to find.”

“When do you ship out, anyway?” Luminara asked. 

“Tomorrow morning,” Obi-Wan said, and he was already ready for the chorus of groans and protests that followed. 

“That’s it,” Garen said, standing up and starting to roll up his sleeves. “I’m going to go fight Master Jinn—” Reeft and Obi-Wan yanked him back down, laughing. Garen was just trying to cheer him up, as he always did. 

“Stop it,” Obi-Wan said, playfully wrestling Garen back into his seat. “You are all too kind to me.” 

“No we’re not,” Bant said fiercely. “We’re only giving you what you deserve, unlike that…” 

Quinlan suggested a variety of words, most of which weren’t polite in mixed company. 

“… I was gonna say laserbrain,” Bant said.  

“Oh, well, that works too,” Quinlan said. 

Idly, Obi-Wan wondered if he would actually have to stop five teenagers from trying their level best to beat up a Jedi Master. Things were leaning that way. 

Obi-Wan shouldn’t find that idea nearly so funny as he did. 

Obi-Wan had endured a pile-on of slightly teary hugs, goodbyes, and one marriage proposal— Quinlan, who dramatically claimed that they couldn’t possibly kick Obi-Wan out if he was married to a Jedi— and the party had disbanded. 

As if on a prespoken agreement, the others had let Bant have Obi-Wan all to herself as she walked him back to his room. Bant was Obi-Wan’s best friend, the first one who always believed him and who always stuck up for him. He missed her. 

“You should keep an eye on Bruck while I’m gone,” Obi-Wan said, as they traveled companionably down the hall together.

She gave him a look through her left eye, which in Mon Cala meant she was wondering when exactly his brain had started to overheat. “Keep an eye on him?” she asked. “For what?”  

“Hasn’t he seemed different lately?” Obi-Wan said. “Just make sure he’s all right until I get back.” 

She eyed him again. “All right.” 

“I’ll miss you,” Obi-Wan said, to soften the blow. 

Bant turned and threw her arms around him. “I’ll miss you too, Obi-Wan,” she said. Her skin was smooth and a little damp, childhood softness that would dry a little as she aged and she got used to being off-planet, without her temperature controls, for long periods of time. 

There was a chirp. Bant released him and Obi-Wan dug in the pockets of his Initiate’s whites, and emerged with his datapad. 

“What is it?” Bant said. 

“My assignment,” Obi-Wan said, trying to fight off a completely inappropriate smile. “Agri-Corps. I leave tomorrow morning.” 

“Hmm,” Bant said, looking over his shoulder at the alert. “You knew this a long time ago.” Obi-Wan shrugged. “Only until you get back, you say?”

“Until I get back,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Okay,” Bant said. “Then I won’t say goodbye.” They were in front of his door— she turned and hugged him once more. “May the Force be with you, Obi.” 

“May the Force be with you, Bantling.”

Chapter Text

Evil is not born, it is taught.

Obi-Wan was leaning on the wall, idly running a list of past-tense verbs in Bocce through his head in an attempt to keep himself from being completely bored. The ship rocked gently beneath his feet, the feeling of hyperspace as familiar to Obi-Wan as the Temple. 

He heard footsteps, coming around the corner. 

They were light— the soft leather of standard Jedi boots. Obi-Wan tried not to look too pleased with himself and folded his arms, leaning one casual foot on the wall. 

“Hello there,” Obi-Wan said. 

Qui-Gon, who had just rounded into sight, jumped and startled, like a frightened tooka. ” Aighh!” he said. “Wha— Obi-Wan?” 

“Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Are you following me?” Qui-Gon asked suspiciously, narrowing his eyes. 

“I am not,” Obi-Wan said, trying not to laugh. “I’m on my way to my reassignment.” 

“Oh,” Qui-Gon said, clearly a little embarrassed, either at his yelp or meeting Obi-Wan again. “Well, this ought to be a great adventure for you then, yes?” he said, in a buck up, kiddo kind of voice. “I’m sure you got an interesting assignment, smart boy like you. Edu-Corps? Exploration?” 

“Agri-Corps,” Obi-Wan said.

“What!” Qui-Gon said, flatteringly. “A farmer? That’s a waste of your skills—” he cut himself off with an awkward cough. “I mean, um, congratulations, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan was not surprised to have met Qui-Gon here on the Monument . For one, that was how it had gone the first time. But Obi-Wan had already changed so much— he wasn’t leaving anything to chance. He’d hacked into Qui-Gon’s accounts almost immediately after returning to the past, though it wasn’t really hacking if you knew all the passwords. 

Some might have said he was paranoid for obsessively keeping an eye on those he loved; Obi-Wan would say, if anyone knew about it of course, that it’s not paranoia if they’re really out to get you. 

Qui-Gon had been making increasingly desperate requests for a field mission since the day Yoda had decided to try to set him up with a padawan. Almost every time he’d talked to Obi-Wan he’d submitted about five more. It was cute. 

So Obi-Wan knew full well that Qui-Gon had gotten his assignment to Bandomeer at the same time as Obi-Wan had. It was destiny, or, more likely, the little green hand of Master Yoda. 

“Thank you, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said, dryly enough he knew Qui-Gon wouldn’t know how to take it. “I appreciate that.” 

“Wait,” Qui-Gon said, drawing his eyebrows in. “If you’re not following me around, why are you hiding here?” 

“Because,” Obi-Wan said, “There’s a Hutt heading this way. I don’t know about you, but I have soft little child bones that may be squeezed into jelly if a Hutt gets angry at me.” 

“That’s not funny,” Qui-Gon said, obviously lying. He paused. “A Hutt, you say?”

“Jemba,” Obi-Wan said. “He’s mean.” 

“You’ve met?” 

“No.” 

“Ah,” Qui-Gon said. “Room for me?” 

“Always,” Obi-Wan said, and moved aside to let him hide beside him. 

Things… went. There were, somehow, both more and less explosions than the last time. 

The ship didn’t crash. Some people got arrested. A lot of people got shot at, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon being some of them. Obi-Wan played wide-eyed and dumb to Xanatos just long enough to get close enough to kick him in the— er— lightsaber. 

At the end of it all, with Obi-Wan’s nose smeared with soot and his boots with mud, Qui-Gon’s hair a mess, and a contingent of freed slaves celebrating behind them, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon stood together. 

Xanatos, bound some ways away and still whimpering slightly, didn’t seem to have any objections. 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

“I’m going to ask you something, and I need you not to be too smug about it.” 

“Of course.” 

“Do you want to be my padawan?” 

Obi-Wan smiled like the sun coming out. “I would be very honored, Master Jinn,” he said, and bowed deeply. 

“There’s no need to be sarcastic at me,” Qui-Gon said, but he grinned and bowed back. 

Secretly, Obi-Wan was smug, though. Just a little. 

Obi-Wan returned to the Temple with a black eye, a prisoner, and a Master. 

The moment he stepped off the transport he was bombarded on all sides by excited young Jedi, his friends driving him to the ground with the force of their enthusiastic squeezes. 

“Guys!” Obi-Wan said, laughing and trying to kick his way out. “Let me go!”

“You’re back!” Quinlan said. 

“Good observation skills,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s almost as if you’re a Jedi or something.” 

“You said you’d come back and you did!” Bant said. “I’m so happy to see you!” 

There was the sound of a throat clearing, with a kind of practiced authoritative feeling behind it. The younglings scrambled to their feet sheepishly, pulling Obi-Wan up with them. 

Qui-Gon was still standing on the ship’s ramp, looking amused. 

“Master Jinn!” Reeft said. “So does that mean—?”

Obi-Wan turned to show them the burgeoning strands of a braid behind his right ear, and they cheered. 

“That reminds me,” Quinlan said. “Um, you might want to check the showerheads in your quarters. Like, hypothetically.” 

A team of Temple guards passed Qui-Gon on the ramp and went inside the ship. Some of them shot him teasing, knowing looks. There had been a pool on whether Obi-Wan would be accepted as Qui-Gon’s padawan. Obi-Wan knew this because he’d just won them all. 

“We should go see the Council,” Qui-Gon said. “Are you done here, padawan?” 

“Certainly, Master.” 

The guards came out of the ship with Xanatos in between them, handcuffed with Force suppressors and glaring. 

“Who’s that?” Garen asked. 

“And why is he so pale?” Bant added. 

“He’s still recovering,” Qui-Gon said. “He got kicked in the… lightsaber.” 

Quinlan sucked in a breath through his teeth, then laughed. Qui-Gon, still awkward and uncertain, drew Obi-Wan into his side, dwarfing him in his huge cloaks. He tried for a friendly pat on the shoulder. It was clumsy, but Obi-Wan appreciated the thought. “Council,” he said. “They’re going to have… things to say.” 

They certainly would. 

Some of them had just lost a lot of money betting on Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan was accepted, formally, as a padawan. Yoda laughed in the middle of Council, which Qui-Gon didn’t seem to appreciate. 

They moved together from the knight’s quarters into the two-bedroomed Master’s ones— the same ones Obi-Wan had lived in as a padawan and the same ones Anakin had lived in as a padawan. Anakin had never even gotten around to getting his own quarters. He and Ahsoka had always stayed at Obi-Wan’s. 

He spent a little while every day practicing his saber forms in a private salle, so he didn’t lose his old skills. In public, he kept to Ataru, and hopefully any improvement in that area could be attributed to the extra practice. 

Obi-Wan transferred out of most of his Initiate classes and tested into some high-level padawan’s ones. That meant he was at least no longer in Master Sey’s class, or having to look at Bruck Chun every day. 

Ironically, he started to do worse in some of his classes— the electives. 

“Do you… like the Healer’s classes?” Qui-Gon asked, puzzled, looking over Obi-Wan’s latest grades. 

“Not really,” Obi-Wan said morosely. “Did you know how many bones there are in a human’s hand? A lot. And I don’t even want to get started on the species with more than five fingers.” 

“That explains your grades,” Qui-Gon said. “You know I don’t require you to take classes on Healing?” 

Obi-Wan was well aware of this, which was why he was doing it. Why take the same classes and learn the same skills when he could be learning new abilities that would help in the years to come? He’d never had a knack for healing, but he’d seen enough wounds in his life that it would come in handy. 

“You could take Field Medic classes instead,” Qui-Gon said. “It might align better with the missions we’ll be taking.” 

Obi-Wan already knew how to be a field medic, almost solely through trial and error. Kix and the other clones had taught him too, also because of desperation. He didn’t need any help on that front. 

“Healing is an interesting challenge,” Obi-Wan said. “I’d rather keep trying, Master.” 

Qui-Gon shook his head. He had given up trying to understand Obi-Wan a long time ago. “All right,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

Teenagers were always hungry. This was, Obi-Wan considered, kind of annoying when you were a teenager yourself. 

He bounced into his and Qui-Gon’s quarters, already thinking about the sandwich he was going to make with the rest of last night’s dinner. It wasn’t like he hadn’t had lunch a few hours ago. Sometimes being a kid again was really unfair. 

“Good afternoon, Master, good afternoon, Master Tahl,” Obi-Wan said, dropping his schoolwork and beelining for the kitchen. “Do we still have those leftovers?” 

There was an amused sound from behind him, the familiar sound of Tahl trying not to laugh at something or other. Tahl had been a fixture in much of the early part of Obi-Wan’s apprenticeship, always a soft and caring shoulder to lean on. Obi-Wan missed her. 

“I’m sorry,” Tahl said, still amused. “Have we met?” 

Obi-Wan stopped mid-stride, trying to remember. He winced, and turned around. Qui-Gon and Tahl were sitting across from each other at the table, mugs of tea in front of them with the look of two friends catching up. 

“Ah,” he said. “No. My apologies. I got a little… ahead of myself.” His mouth twitched at his own wry joke. He bowed. “I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi. Master Qui-Gon’s new padawan.” 

“Oh, I know who you are,” Tahl said. “I’ve been off-planet for a few months. But lately I’ve been getting a lot of holo-messages about you.” 

“Good ones?” Obi-Wan asked, with his most charming smile. 

“Amusing, at least,” Tahl said. “Though I suppose some aspects of Qui-Gon’s whining are true. You do seem to have a gift for seeing the future.” 

Qui-Gon scoffed. “I do not whine.” Obi-Wan and Tahl exchanged commiserating and knowing looks. “Hey, don’t do that!” Qui-Gon said. “I don’t need to be outnumbered here.” 

Tahl laughed. “Oh, this,” she said, “Is going to be very interesting.” 

Despite his very best efforts, Xanatos du Crion was just not scary. 

The Council had put him in the prison in the bottom levels of the Temple, with an orangish forcefield exposing his entire cell to the hallway. 

Obi-Wan showed up with a datapad and a little meditation cushion to sit on. 

Xantatos snarled when he saw him. “It’s you,” he said. His dark hair had grown out, slightly lanky but really edging into mullet territory. His clothes were drab Temple garb. “Love the new hairstyle, padawan. I will take great pleasure in ripping that braid from your head and feeding it to you once I get out of here. Then I will rip out your heart and feed it to my dogs.”

“Okay,” Obi-Wan said cheerfully. “Hello, Xanatos.” 

Xanatos scowled. “Why are you here?” 

“I needed some help on my homework,” Obi-Wan said. 

“I—” Xanatos said. “What?” 

“I’m taking a Rights of Sentients course,” Obi-Wan said. “I have to write an essay on transitioning societies from slavery-based economies to free labor.” 

“Slaves are just beings not smart enough to stay out of bondage in the first place,” Xanatos said stuffily. 

Obi-Wan looked at the jail cell. “… I’m not going to say anything to that, only because I feel it’s cruel to kick a man while he’s down.” 

Xanatos huffed. “And you, somehow, think that because I owned slaves, I’m the right person to help you write a paper on their liberation?” 

“It’s certainly an interesting point of view,” Obi-Wan said brightly, and settled down on his cushion. 

“I’m not going to help you with your homework,” Xanatos said. “I hate you.” 

A dark Jedi he might have been, but he was no Sith. No yellow eyes, no Force-lightning, no evil cackling at inopportune times. He was practically a loth-kitten. 

“All right,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m having some trouble with these population reports— I figured that you would probably know how to read them since you grew up among this sort of thing.”

“You know, none of this will make your Master proud of you,” Xanatos said. “Qui-Gon Jinn is incapable of feeling emotion, as are the rest of the Jedi. They want to keep the power of the Dark away from you, so that you won’t surpass them in strength. Let me out of this cell and we will escape together, away from the oppression of this Order."

“You’re going to have to try harder than that,” Obi-Wan said. “Do you know how to read a population report or don’t you?”

Xanatos folded his arms. “… I do,” he admitted. “But first, you make them give me a kriffing softer blanket.”

“Deal,” Obi-Wan said.  

Obi-Wan ended up doing very well on his report. He came and told Xanatos his score when he brought him his blanket. Xanatos pretended not to be flattered, but he definitely was. 

All the padawans in the Healer’s classes had to take a few rotations in the Halls, even if they weren’t planning on taking Healing as their main concentration. Obi-Wan knew that they wouldn’t let him out of it, because he had asked, a lot. 

So now he was in the Halls of Healing with his sleeves pushed up at his elbows, taking care of minor scrapes and everyday wounds. 

It wasn’t that Obi-Wan hated the Halls themselves. It was more that he had spent much too much time staring up at the ceiling or the inside of a bacta tank, and that the Healers never seemed sympathetic to his bargaining, bribery, or the simple fact that Obi-Wan had much better things to do with his time than convalesce.

“They told me you were bad at this,” Master Che said, to the general alarm of Obi-Wan’s most recent patient. 

“I am,” Obi-Wan said. He patted the Jedi who’d come in for a lightsaber burn on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’ll live. The padawan at the front desk will give you some bacta cream. In the meantime, turn your training saber down.” 

The Jedi gave him a sheepish smile and shuffled off to the front desk. 

Master Che was giving him a very judgemental look. “You’re a good Healer, Obi-Wan,” she said. 

“Not really, Vokara,” Obi-Wan said. So far he had been doing very minor things— checking IVs, taking down stats, bandaging up wounds until one of the real Healers could see to them. “This is all just… first aid. Not real Healing.” 

“You expect to see worse wounds than training accidents and kitchen burns?” Vokara asked. 

Obi-Wan looked away. “We need to get back to work.” 

She studied him for a moment longer, then nodded. “If you ever have an interest in a particular field of study," she said, "You come talk to me. I’ll brush up if I have to.” Then she dusted her hands off on her robe. “Next patient!” 

Duty in the Halls was light, especially for trainees, and Obi-Wan was sent off just before lunchtime. He was on his way out when he felt a shy presence poking around the entrance of the Halls. 

Expecting a youngling, or someone injured doing something egregiously embarrassing, Obi-Wan swung around to check it out on his way out. 

He was taken aback when he saw Bruck Chun there, but he didn’t show it. Obi-Wan had made a point of never seeming surprised since he came back in time. It added to the mystique. 

“Bruck,” he said. “Are you all right?” 

Bruck turned to look at him and grimaced. He was holding his shoulder awkwardly, cradling it with his other hand. 

“Did you get in a fight?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“No,” Bruck said, slightly sulkily but a little abashed. “I was trying a new lightsaber move. It… didn’t go well.” 

“I can see that,” Obi-Wan said. “What were you trying to do?” 

Bruck scowled. “I was trying a Juyo move I saw Master Drallig practicing in the salle the other day.” 

“And Juyo is forbidden to Initiates,” Obi-Wan concluded. Thus the hesitance. Well, there was nothing for it. “Come on. There’s an examination room that’ll be empty.” 

“Really?” Bruck asked, scrambling to follow him anyway. “You’re not going to tell on me?” 

“Not this time,” Obi-Wan said, letting them into the room. “But if you come in like this again, I will. Sit up here.” 

Bruck did. He looked awkward, which Obi-Wan supposed made sense. Only a few weeks ago, they’d been at each other’s throats almost constantly. “I didn’t know you were gonna be a Healer.” 

“Oh, I’m not,” Obi-Wan said absently, prodding at Bruck’s shoulder. “I’m just doing some basic training.” 

“Oh,” Bruck said, then winced as Obi-Wan had him roll his shoulder. “Is it broken?” 

Obi-Wan sent probing tendrils of the Force towards Bruck’s arm, but besides sensing pain, he couldn’t feel anything specific. “I don’t know,” he said, poking it again. “Let me go get a scanner.”

“Master Che can usually tell with the Force,” Bruck said pointedly. 

“I’m not an expert, Bruck,” Obi-Wan said. He found the scanner and powered it on. “I told you I’m just starting out.” 

“That’s not reassuring,” Bruck said. 

Obi-Wan grinned at him. “Was it supposed to be?” 

Bruck grinned back, but it didn’t look like he had meant to. 

The med-scanner didn’t reveal anything concerning. “Looks like a very mild sprain.” Obi-Wan found a hyposyringe in a locked cabinet, which was easily unlocked with a nudge of the Force. “You shouldn’t be practicing Juyo on your own.” 

“I know,” Bruck said. “I just wanted to learn something that could counter some of the moves you were doing at the tournament.” 

“The reason you’re not supposed to do Juyo until you’re older is because you need a basis in the other Forms first,” Obi-Wan said, and injected the hypo gently into Bruck’s arm. “So you don’t end up landing on your shoulder instead of your feet.” 

“And if I had years to learn, I might do that, Obi-Wan, ” Bruck said. “But I age out in a few months.” 

Obi-Wan had to stand on his tip-toes to reach the cabinet with the cold packs. That was embarrassing. He didn’t stoop so low as to use the Force to get it, but it was a close thing. “You need to learn to be patient, Anakin,” he said. “Knowledge of the saber forms cannot be downloaded into your head. It requires hard work and a good teacher.” His fingers finally caught the cold pack and he cracked it in half, activating the cooling inside. 

He handed it to Bruck and positioned it on his shoulder. “Here. Does that feel better?” 

“Yeah,” Bruck said, eyeing him oddly. 

“You should start smaller. I think Makashi would be a good fit for you. Djem So, maybe. Then you could build up to Juyo, if you still want to.” Obi-Wan missed teaching saber classes. There were few things in life that could cheer a person up like watching a class full of very small younglings fumbling around with their first sabers. 

“Makashi?” Bruck asked, making a considering face. “That’s a fancy form.” 

Obi-Wan laughed, thinking of Ventess using Makashi mostly to throw her skirt at his head or them doing fancy flips around each other to show off when they were supposed to be fighting. “I guess so,” he said. “I think you’d be good at it, though, Bruck.” 

“Maybe,” Bruck said, holding the cold pack to his own shoulder. “If I ever get the chance.”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Well, you’ll live to fight with the floor another day,” he said. “Just be careful with your arm for a day or so.” 

“Okay,” Bruck said, then looked like he was trying to grind something out between his teeth. Obi-Wan watched with a mixture of concern and amusement. “…thanks.” 

“You’re very welcome,” Obi-Wan said. “Just be more careful.” 

Obi-Wan went to put the med-scanner back. 

“Who’s Anakin?” Bruck asked, and Obi-Wan dropped the scanner. 

Bruck caught it at the last moment with the Force, hovering a mere inch above the floor, but Obi-Wan didn’t bother to pick it up. “What?” he said. “Where did you hear that?” 

“Um,” Bruck said. “You. Just a few minutes ago— you called me Anakin.” 

“Ah,” Obi-Wan said, trying to calm his racing heart. He was sure he was white as a sheet. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“That seems clear,” Bruck said dryly. “Who is he?” 

Obi-Wan picked the med-scanner up. “No one.” Bruck gave him a very unconvinced look. “Um, yet,” Obi-Wan said, feeling more than a little rattled. 

“Oh,” Bruck said. He stood up and made to leave. But he paused in the doorway. “Do you wanna spar?” 

“What?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Not now,” Bruck said. “Sometime. After my shoulder’s better. You can show me how you got your Master, and I can show you how not to be so clumsy all the time.” 

“All right,” Obi-Wan said, taken-aback for the second time in as many minutes. “I would like that.” 

“Don’t get too excited,” Bruck said, and slipped out the door. 

Obi-Wan grinned at no one. Time travel was weird. 

Soon, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were going on missions. Because it was them, the missions usually started to go awry sooner than later, but at least it was usually fun— and if not, interesting. 

Qui-Gon was still incredibly awkward, which Obi-Wan had chalked up to mysterious Jedi stoicism last time. Somehow it was reassuring to find out Qui-Gon had absolutely no idea what he was doing. 

Things were going well, if anything in life could ever truly go well for Obi-Wan Kenobi. Including his little side-projects. 

He was in his bunk on the latest transport, in hyperspace back to Coruscant. The crew had given Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan separate bunkrooms, because they all seemed to be completely charmed by Obi-Wan. 

Possibly this was because he had just helped to liberate their planet. Unfortunately, he thought it was more likely it was because he had dimples. He’d gotten a lot of pats on the head today. 

He opened up his comm— one he’d bought in CoCo town on Coruscant, not a Temple one— and dialed in a familiar frequency. 

It only rang for a minute. Jango Fett was a professional, after all. He wouldn’t keep a client waiting.  

They only ever spoke over voice, no picture, but still, Obi-Wan had no idea if Jango knew if he was a child or not. If he did, he probably didn’t care. The Mandalorians had strange ideas about what constituted appropriate activities for children, most of them involving weaponry. 

Then again, so did the Jedi, come to think of it. 

“Any luck?” Obi-Wan asked in Mando’a. 

“No,” Jango said in the same language. “Not on Tatooine or Zygerria. There’s a couple more slave markets I can check, but then I might have to move on to Nal Hutta. I hope I don’t have to tell you how dangerous that would be.”

“A big strong Mandalorian like yourself can’t handle it?” Obi-Wan asked, teasing. 

Jango grunted. “I can do it,” he said. “It’ll just cost you.”

“I’ll pay,” Obi-Wan said. 

Padawans received a discretionary allowance, usually for buying small trinkets on missions, or outings with friends on Coruscant. Obi-Wan had supplemented his budget during a lull on their last mission. He was, after all, very good at sabacc. Qui-Gon didn’t know about this particular adventure but Obi-Wan thought he would have no room to throw stones if he did. 

“Who is this woman, anyway?” Jango asked. 

“You have the dossier,” Obi-Wan said, amused. 

“Shmi Skywalker,” Jango said. “28, 29 years old. Possibly not named Skywalker, possibly older or younger. Possibility of someday being sold to Gardulla the Hutt, home planet unknown, parents unknown. Almost definitely a slave, but not certainly.” 

“That’s the size of it,” Obi-Wan said. 

“That’s not a dossier,” Jango said, “That’s a shot in the dark. I suppose I was just wondering who she is to you.” 

“I do believe that’s my business,” Obi-Wan said. “Or am I getting the concept of bounty hunting wrong again?” 

“All right, all right,” Jango said, with an amused huff. “You can’t blame a man for being curious.” 

“How soon do you think you might find her?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Impossible to tell,” Jango said. “Slavers keep their cargo moving around for this reason. I don’t mind messing up their supply lines a bit while I’m on your little mission. Demagolka, all of them.” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t disagree with that. “Comm me if anything comes up,” he said. “I’ll send your next payment along presently.” 

“ Ret'urcye mhi. ” 

“ Oya,” Obi-Wan said, and Jango laughed and hung up.

Chapter Text

Fear not for the future, weep not for the past.

Obi-Wan knelt on the floor. It smelled like burning flesh, and blaster-fire, and smoke. 

“Not even the younglings,” he murmured. He was leaning over a padawan, her braid limp against the tile. 

Obi-Wan felt too heavy for his body, or maybe too light— his hand suddenly looked too large, too adult, where it was closing the eyes of the padawan. 

Lying some ways away was a crechemaster who had clearly tried to get her charges to safety while the padawan distracted the clones. It hadn’t worked. 

Grief swelled in Obi-Wan, fear and revulsion and sudden, certain dread. 

“Not killed by clones, were they all,” Yoda said, next to him.

Obi-Wan was kneeling on the ground; he looked over at Yoda and instead saw someone else, standing behind Yoda. Obi-Wan startled, thinking for a wild moment that it was Anakin, or Sidious. 

But it wasn’t— it was Qui-Gon, looking at Obi-Wan with a look of such surprise and horror that Obi-Wan flinched. 

“Padawan—” he said, and Obi-Wan recoiled, falling backwards from his crouch, onto his elbows. 

Then he was on Utapau, going backwards into the water so hard it hurt, a sensation of bewildered drowning, blaster bolts following him down. He broke the surface and he was in the rain on Kamino. He spun and Satine was screaming— Obi-Wan ran into a red energy field— he held in the guts of a child on Melida/Daan— I HATE YOU— 

Obi-Wan gasped awake.

Qui-Gon was crouched by the side of his bed, hand still outstretched. He had obviously reached out to wake Obi-Wan up and come into contact with his bare shoulder. Obi-Wan’s shields had been down in sleep, and, well— 

Obi-Wan flinched back and hit the wall. A tear was tracking its way down Qui-Gon’s face, and Obi-Wan lifted a hand to his own face. Wet.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “ Force—” 

“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, voice rough. “I didn’t mean to— was that the future? Are you all right?” 

Obi-Wan wiped his face. “Sorry,” he said, again. “My shields are usually stronger than that.” 

“I only came in when I heard you scream,” Qui-Gon said apologetically. 

It was dark outside. Light from passing hovercars slanted in through the blinds in the window; Obi-Wan liked to keep it open so he could wake up to sunlight in the morning. It meant they could see each other, more or less, which really just made things more awkward. 

Obi-Wan shuffled and found a blanket he could wrap around himself like a cloak. Then he and Qui-Gon stared at each other in the dark. 

“Kriff it,” Qui-Gon said, and opened his arms. “Come here.”

It wasn’t even a choice, more like an instinct— Obi-Wan launched himself into his master’s arms. Qui-Gon enveloped him immediately, blanket and all. Maybe there was a point to being as needlessly huge as he was after all. It made for a nice hug. 

Obi-Wan sniffled, embarrassed but not actually willing to leave yet. His shields were back up and tighter than ever— they wouldn’t fall in his sleep, nor even probably if he was unconscious. They’d been like that on some days of the Clone Wars and most of the time on Tatooine, but he supposed he’d relaxed a little throughout his time back in the past. 

The smell of burning flesh still lingered in his nose, but it was slowly being drowned out by Qui-Gon’s calm presence in the Living Force and the scent of fresh plants, the ones Qui-Gon kept scattered around the apartment. 

“I think I see the future,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Oh?” Qui-Gon said. 

“I do believe I see… ice cream tomorrow.” 

“That’s a very specific vision,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Yes, I see it now. Two scoops.”

“Two?” 

“Maybe three.” 

“Well, if that is as the Force wills,” Qui-Gon said. “Three scoops it is, I suppose.” 

Obi-Wan came out of his room the next morning to find Qui-Gon at the table, swiping through a datapad. 

“Good morning,” he said, looking up absently and then back down. Then he did a double-take. “What did you do to your Force signature?” 

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Just shored up some cracks. Last night was a little… embarrassing.” 

“That’s not the word I’d use,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan could feel his Force presence poking gently and curiously at his shields. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were barely Force-sensitive at all. How are you doing that?” 

Obi-Wan wandered to the kitchen for breakfast. “You can’t do this?” he asked innocently. 

“A Council member could maybe do that,” Qui-Gon said. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you don’t relax your Force presence just a little, naturally talented with shielding or not.” 

Obi-Wan was not going to hurt himself, because it wasn’t natural talent— it was long practice. “All right,” he said, a little sulkily, and released some of the tight grip on his shield. You still couldn’t get into his head if you took a sledgehammer to it, but his Force presence was visible to the outside observer, if a little buried. “You know, most Masters won’t let their padawans walk outside if they come out wearing a risque outfit, not a shield.” 

Qui-Gon laughed. “You are not leaving this house dressed in shields like that, young man,” he said. “There’s pancakes in the kitchen.” 

Obi-Wan had already found them— he wandered out with a plate for himself and Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon seemed as excited to bring up last night as Obi-Wan was, which was a relief. They settled down for a companionable breakfast. 

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon asked, as Obi-Wan was halfway out the door for his first class of the day. 

When Obi-Wan paused questioningly, Qui-Gon shook his head. 

“Never mind,” he said. “May the Force be with you, Padawan.” 

“Force be with you,” Obi-Wan said. 

The Healing discipline of a Jedi was a lot more complicated than just bandaging wounds or setting broken bones. A skilled Healer could actually knit wounds together in the Force, or stabilize someone bleeding out. But to do that, you had to know what it was you were repairing. A bone, Force-healed but out of place, would have to be rebroken again. You couldn’t heal a gash with shrapnel in it, or reset all the delicate bones in a hand if you didn’t know where they were supposed to go in the first place. 

That meant a lot of studying. Obi-Wan was good at studying. He was not, however, good at any of the rest of it. 

“Please, Bant,” he said, walking backwards to talk to her. It was a frivolous use of the Force to make sure he didn’t crash into anything, but Obi-Wan thought it was worth it because everyone thought he was just using his future powers to see what was going on behind him. “If you help me study for this test, I can help you on your astronavigation project.” 

“How do you know I have a—? Oh, right,” Bant said. She grinned as he expertly dodged a passing Jedi Master without looking. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.” 

“Healing comes so naturally to you,” Obi-Wan wheedled. “I just need someone to help me study who actually can understand eight levels of Healer nonsense.” 

“What are you talking about, I’ve never done any kind of Healing in my life,” Bant said, laughing. They reached the Kenobi/Jinn quarters and Obi-Wan palmed open the door. “How do you know I’d be good at—”

They stepped inside, and Bant let out a little squeak as she realized the quarters weren’t empty. Qui-Gon and Tahl were both there, sitting on the couch, Tahl’s legs under her and Qui-Gon leaning against the armrest. 

“Sorry, Masters,” Bant said, shyly. “We didn’t know there would be anyone here.” 

Qui-Gon arched an eyebrow at Obi-Wan, who grinned at him. Qui-Gon nodded at Bant. “You’re Obi-Wan’s friend, right? Bant?” 

“Yes, Master,” Bant said.

“This is Master Tahl,” Obi-Wan said. “I think you two will get along well.” 

“Will we?” Tahl asked, but stood to meet Bant anyway. “It’s nice to meet you, Initiate.” 

“Well met, Master,” Bant said, blushing. “I’m sorry to intrude. We were just going to go study in Obi’s room.” 

“Stay out here if you like,” Qui-Gon said. “You’re not interrupting.” 

So Obi-Wan chivvied Bant towards the couch, and eventually succeeded in sweet-talking an embarrassing story of Tahl and Qui-Gon’s childhood out of Tahl. Bant eventually relaxed around the masters, as Obi-Wan hoped she would. 

Unfortunately, that meant that Bant was persuaded to tell an embarrassing story about Obi-Wan as a younger child, which was less appreciated by him than it was by everybody else. 

Eventually they really did have to study, and they retreated to his room. Obi-Wan laid on his stomach on the floor, a holopad in front of him, while Bant hung upside-down from Obi-Wan’s bed. She was quizzing him on his latest Healing homework when there was a short knock on the door and it slid open. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Tahl said. “I was just saying goodbye— I’m heading home for the night.” 

“Good night, Master Tahl,” Obi-Wan said. 

Bant straightened up and cleared her throat, trying to look respectable. “Goodbye, Master Tahl,” she said. 

Tahl shot them both a grin, and slipped back out the door. 

Obi-Wan eyed the space where she had been a moment longer. He really did miss her. Qui-Gon was happier when she was around, and she had always filled their quarters with Light. 

“What are you planning, Obi-Wan?” Bant asked, poking him. 

“Me?” Obi-Wan asked, affronted. “What makes you think I’m planning anything?” 

“You’re always planning something,” Bant said. 

“Hey,” Obi-Wan said, but he was smiling. 

“Just kill me now,” Bruck said, laying on the floor. 

“ K’atini,” Obi-Wan said, laughing, spinning his lightsaber in one hand. “You’re all right.” 

“What does that mean?” Bruck asked, still completely flat and very sweaty.  

“It means, get up, Bruck Chun, or I’ll run you through with my lightsaber.” 

“It does not,” Bruck said, but he got to his feet anyway. “You’re a hard sparring partner,” he said. “How did you knock me down that time?” 

Obi-Wan pointed at his feet. “You stepped wrong when you went forward to attack me,” he said. “It left you unbalanced, when it should have solidified your stance. If done right, it would make it very hard to push you backwards, even in a lightsaber lock.” 

“Huh,” Bruck said, and practiced the move on his own. “You’re right.” He saw Obi-Wan grin and scowled. “I guess. For once.” 

“You flatter me,” Obi-Wan said. “Again?” 

“One more,” Bruck said. “I’ll get you this time, Oafy-Wan.” 

And he probably would. It was only fair that a student actually felt like they were learning something at the end of a lesson. It was a trick all Masters learned eventually, challenging their padawans without discouraging them completely. 

Not that this was supposed to be a lesson— it was a spar. Maybe a peace offering. 

The training salle, while big enough for most lightsaber fights, was still a confined space, and not as big as the ones used for exhibitions. It meant that Obi-Wan’s current favored style, Ataru, was at a disadvantage— it always was in a space where a lot of movement was impossible. 

Obi-Wan had learned that the hard way. But now he was teaching Bruck how to take advantage of it. 

Bruck tried to strike out when Obi-Wan wasn’t ready, but of course he was, and he caught the strike easily. They sparred. Bruck lashed out at his stomach, and Obi-Wan ducked under his saber. 

Lightsaber against lightsaber, lightsaber against lightsaber. Obi-Wan leapt over Bruck but Bruck managed to unbalance him as he landed, making him stumble back. After that, though Obi-Wan put up a good fight, Bruck had him more or less beat already. 

Bruck feinted low, like he’d done during their Initiate Trials fight. But this time when Obi-Wan went high, Bruck continued low and took him out at the knees. 

Obi-Wan yelped and fell backwards, his head hitting the padded floor with a thump. His lightsaber skittered out of his hand. “Solah,” he grumbled. 

“Hah!” Bruck said. “Suck a saber.” 

“At least you’re a gracious winner,” Obi-Wan said. 

Bruck, exhausted himself now, sat down cross-legged on the mat next to Obi-Wan. He was breathing hard, but looked pleased with himself and calm. 

Obi-Wan turned, expecting Cody’s hand passing over his fallen lightsaber, but was met with the sight of it laying on the ground exactly where he’d dropped it. Right. 

He sat up and called the saber to his hand, then clipped it onto his belt. 

“You do that a lot,” Bruck observed. 

“Lose my saber? I do not,” Obi-Wan said. 

“What? No,” Bruck said. “That thing. Where you look up to find someone and they’re not there. You see the future all the time, don’t you?” 

“I try not to,” Obi-Wan said. 

“I dream about the vision you showed me,” Bruck said, steadfastly looking at the other wall. “A lot.” 

There wasn’t a lot to say to that. “I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan said. “I didn’t mean to. Since then I’ve shored up my shields quite a bit.” 

“My lightsaber… it was red.” He was still looking away. “I keep seeing it. Red, swinging towards you.”

“The future changes with each passing minute,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m sorry you had to see it, but it’s not going to happen.”

“But it could,” Bruck said. “In the vision, you were so scared. Of me, but also for me.” 

Obi-Wan could remember it. Xanatos had gotten to Bruck, who was even closer to aging out then, and convinced him that the galaxy would be better off without the Jedi Order telling them who could and couldn’t be Knights. Things had gone badly. Bruck died. 

Bruck must have only gotten flashes, the saber and the waterfall and them two, facing each other.

“All right,” Obi-Wan said slowly.”And…?” 

“And I’m not going to Fall,” Bruck said. “I can’t. I’ve seen what that does to me. I thought maybe you could show me how to be—” he grimaced, and finally looked at Obi-Wan. “Good.” 

Obi-Wan blinked. 

“Maybe I’m not a good Jedi,” Bruck said. “That’s why no one has chosen me. But I still… I don’t want to fall.” 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, but Bruck was still looking at him. “Then don’t,” he said. He leaned forward. “Listen to me, Bruck, don’t. The dark is not an inevitability, or an accident. It is a choice.” 

Bruck blew out a breath and nodded. “I might never be a Jedi. But I promise, I’ll never be the creature from the top of that waterfall.” 

“He was never a monster either,” Obi-Wan said. “Just scared.” 

He sensed the arriving younglings a moment before their excited chattering and noisy footsteps reached his ears. He stood and offered Bruck a hand up too. Bruck took it and stood. 

“Good spar, Initiate Chun,” Obi-Wan said, bowing. 

“Good spar, Padawan Kenobi,” Bruck said, and bowed back. The doors opened and a classful of younglings burst through in a whirl of enthusiasm and noise. They were all clutching soft staffs— a precursor to being allowed to work with the actual training lightsabers. 

They were bright in the Force, untroubled. 

Obi-Wan bowed to them, and winked when they giggled, and left. 

“—and then I will take what remains of your blood, and I paint on the walls until the very foundations of the Temple bleed red.” 

“You done?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Xanatos considered this. “Yeah,” he said. 

“Great,” Obi-Wan said. “Where were we last time?” 

“I think it was the importance of protecting the weaker members of a society.” 

“Right,” Obi-Wan said. “The lower classes are only beings not smart enough to seize their rightful power, and thus deserve to be disenfranchised, etc, etc.” He had brought his cushion again, and he sat down on it now. 

“It’s true,” Xanatos said. “You’ll see it when you’re older.”

“I’m sure,” Obi-Wan said.  

“The only purpose of the weak is to be ruled,” Xanatos said. “And people like me rule them, because we’re powerful enough to do that.”

“Certainly, power is all that landed you in charge of Telos. Not generational autocracy, or your family’s immense wealth,” Obi-Wan said. “Nothing like that.”

“Powerful enough to keep it,” Xanatos said. 

Obi-Wan shrugged. “For now.” Xanatos gave him a narrow look. “You’re in prison now. Regimes are meant to be overthrown. A rebellion will always rise up.” 

Xanatos was an interesting conversationalist, because he was smart enough to keep up with Obi-Wan and stubborn enough never to admit he was wrong. Their little debates gave them both something to do, and provided them each with opportunities to try to get the other one on their side— Light or Dark. At this point Xanatos’ attempts to get Obi-Wan to Fall had become mostly token; for argument’s sake more than anything else. 

“And then another regime of more powerful people will rise up after that, and it’ll start over again,” Xanatos said. “What’s the point?” 

“You protect the ones you can, for as long as you can,” Obi-Wan said. “That’s what the Jedi do.” 

Xanatos eyed him consideringly. “You’re wasted on the Jedi,” he said. 

“Yes, yes, and I should join you and let you out of this cell, I know,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes. “We’ve moved past that at this point.” 

“No, I’m being serious, kid,” Xanatos said. “They almost kicked you out? You’re a better Jedi than most of them.”

“I’m not as talented as you think.” What little skill Obi-Wan had, he had earned through hard, toiling work, not natural skill.  

“You’re smart,” Xanatos said. “You’d have made a good politician.”

“There’s no need to be insulting,” Obi-Wan said, but found himself a little off-balance for the rest of the day anyway.

Obi-Wan moved his head just in time to catch a handprint of paint on his cheek instead of directly in his mouth. 

“While I appreciate the refusal to adhere to traditional art styles, I would prefer if you would put the paint on the canvas, youngling,” he said. 

The youngling, some two or three years old, considered this gravely. Then she nodded, and slapped her other hand on his other cheek, leaving a perfect child-sized handprint behind. 

“Very well,” Obi-Wan said, and pulled her onto his lap so she could paint from between his crossed legs, onto the big sheet of paper spread out over the floor. 

There were younglings everywhere, gleefully fingerpainting on the paper, each other, and the crechemaster. There was something very nice about visiting the creche. The children reminded him of Luke, or of Anakin, or of Ahsoka, or sometimes on the best days of nothing at all but light. 

Also, it meant he got to skip out on his responsibilities. 

“Obi-Wan! Obi-Wan!” a young Twi’lek said, toddling over to him. Her lekku were starting to develop, which meant that at this point in her life her head was about two times too big for her body. It was very cute. 

“Yes, Pana?” Obi-Wan said. 

“There’s a big man here to see you,” she ‘whispered’ conspiratorially. Because she was a youngling, the rest of the children heard this immediately and perked up. 

“A big man?” Obi-Wan asked, “Or a big man?” 

“ Big,” Pana said. 

“Uh-oh,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s my Master. Hide me.” 

Too late, Obi-Wan realized his mistake. The paint-smeared younglings developed a collective gleam in their eye. Before he could flee, he found himself trapped by a swarm of children, determined to hide him with their body mass alone. 

A little Miralan kneed him in the face, and he laughed. “I was kidding!” he said. “Get off!” 

“Too late!” another youngling said, clambering up and over him with determination, laying his body crosswise to cover as much of Obi-Wan as possible. The other children did the same, taking care not to squish the smaller in their ranks, instead lining them up in front of the pile of Obi-Wan-and-children, like little guards. 

Obi-Wan laughed, trying to squirm out of the blanketing layer of younglings without dislodging anyone too seriously. 

He heard footsteps. Then slightly confused footsteps. Then footsteps, approaching again. 

“Has anyone seen a wayward padawan?” asked Qui-Gon’s voice. 

There was a chorus of giggles. 

“No,” Pana said. “Maybe go check in the…” she consulted with a human boy next to her, who whispered into her ear. “Other place.”

“Right,” Qui-Gon said. “Obi-Wan?” 

“Not here,” Obi-Wan said, muffled. He was quickly shushed by several crechelings, among another wave of giggling. 

“Oh, all right,” Qui-Gon said. 

“No!” Pana said, and then Obi-Wan felt a big hand on his collar, and he was lifted up into the air. Qui-Gon unearthed him like an archeologist digging for treasure, sending younglings tumbling this way and that. 

Obi-Wan was being held up in the air by the scruff. He grinned sheepishly at his Master. 

Qui-Gon let him go, and he dropped deftly to his feet. 

“Why is my hand covered in paint now?” Qui-Gon asked, betrayed. 

“It’s finger-painting day,” Obi-Wan said innocently, as if this explained everything. 

“Oh, it’s finger-painting day,” Qui-Gon said. “You’re supposed to be at the Healers, getting your post-mission checkup.” 

“Oh, no, was that today?” Obi-Wan asked. “Well, as you can see, I’m kind of busy…” 

“Don’t take Obi-Wan away!” a youngling, a little Rodian, said. “He’s the most fun out of anyone to play with!” 

“You’d be depriving the children,” Obi-Wan said, as disapprovingly as he could while still covered in child-sized handprints. 

“You are a child,” Qui-Gon said. 

There was another conference between the younglings, and then Pana stepped forward. She tugged at the bottom of Qui-Gon’s cloak, and when he looked down at her, she gave him the biggest, most shining eyes the galaxy had ever seen before. 

“Will you come play with us too, Master Jinn?” she asked. “Please?” 

“Dear Force, you’ve weaponized them,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Puh- lease?” Obi-Wan asked, and the kids all immediately pouted up at Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan stuck out his bottom lip. 

Qui-Gon was visibly losing all resolve. “Fine,” he said. “ Fine. These are dirty tactics.” He sat down on the floor and was immediately flocked by children, one of them even climbing up his back. 

“Aggressive negotiations,” Obi-Wan said. 

Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon were returning from a mission, getting lost in the comforting bustle of the Jedi ship bay as they trekked back to their quarters. They both desperately needed a shower before they talked to the Council. There was mud involved. 

“You couldn’t have seen this coming?” Qui-Gon grumbled, squishing slightly. 

Obi-Wan tried not to smile. “I shouted ‘watch out’.” He had, admittedly, not seen this through the Force but because he had remembered far too late them falling into the selfsame hole in his previous life. 

Qui-Gon said something else, but an odd Force presence was prickling at the edge of Obi-Wan’s senses. He frowned, trying to feel it out. It was almost familiar, but not quite— like an echo of something he knew. 

He looked around. There he was— Count Dooku, getting off a ship of his own. 

That was what was wrong with his presence. It was Light. 

“Obi-Wan?” Qui-Gon said. 

“What’s Count Dooku doing here?” Obi-Wan blurted. The Count was younger than Obi-Wan had ever known him, with his hair still slightly black. As far as he knew, Dooku had never visited the Temple while Obi-Wan was a padawan. At least they’d never met. 

“Coming back from a mission as well, I suppose,” Qui-Gon said, slightly taken-aback. “I don’t know. We don’t keep in contact any more.” 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said. “I guess that makes sense.” He shook his head and continued walking. Dooku could have been in the Temple a million times, but if Qui-Gon was avoiding him— and, probably, making sure Obi-Wan never met him as well— their paths wouldn’t have crossed. 

“How do you know him?” Qui-Gon asked, suspiciously. “And— wait. Did you call him Count?” 

Obi-Wan blinked innocently at him. “No. I called him Master. We’ve never met.” 

“You did not,” Qui-Gon said. “Is Dooku going to leave the Order?” 

“How should I know?” Obi-Wan asked. His ever-lengthening padawan braid was caked in mud— he busied himself with wringing it out. He’d definitely have to rebraid it. 

“Right,” Qui-Gon said, “Because you’ve never seen anything else before it happened.” 

Obi-Wan shrugged. He hadn’t meant to be so obvious, and usually he wasn’t. But Dooku had been activating a fight-or-flight instinct in Obi-Wan for years, and seeing a Sith in the Temple— well, a future one— had thrown him off. “I can see that that Council is going to be very cross with us,” he said. 

“That’s no prediction,” Qui-Gon said, herding him towards the elevators anyway. “That’s just every day.” 

He glanced again over his shoulder, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but follow his gaze. Dooku was watching as a few flight members unloaded crates off his ship, occasionally calling out an order or saying something quietly to the captain at his shoulder. He looked stately and commanding, and, Obi-Wan realized, every inch the Jedi.

They went on to the Council. 

Master Tahl had just returned from a mission, which meant that she was coming to Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s quarters for tea. 

Obi-Wan still had access to all the mission schedules, with his misused Council codes, so he knew when she was coming back and had roped Bant into baking cookies with him that day. 

At the end of it they were both covered in flour but had a batch of very nice cookies, and were sitting on the floor on the other side of the caf table while the adults took up the couch. 

“My favorite,” Tahl said, “And still warm too. Thank you Obi-Wan, Bant.” 

They beamed up at her. 

When she went to the ‘fresher, Qui-Gon glared at Obi-Wan. 

“You already have a master,” he said. “Ease up, you little brat.”

Obi-Wan made an exaggerated who me? face and ducked out of the way of the throw pillow Qui-Gon tossed at him. 

Bant looked horrified; Obi-Wan nudged her. “It’s how he shows affection,” he told her. “Don’t worry— your Master will be nicer than mine.” 

“Is Qui being cruel to you, poor Obi-Wan?” Tahl asked, returning to the couch, ruffling Obi-Wan’s hair and running a hand gently over Bant’s head in turn. “Poor dear. Someday I will have to steal you away— I find I miss having my own little one to boss around.” 

“I can only wish I could boss Obi-Wan around,” Qui-Gon said. “Sometimes I think he only follows my orders because it amuses him.” 

“This is slander,” Obi-Wan said. 

Bant laughed. 

Obi-Wan ate another cookie. 

“Boys,” Tahl said. “Not sensible like you and me, right, Initiate Eerin?” 

“Right,” Bant agreed. 

“Now hold on,” Qui-Gon said. “I seem to remember a certain mission, Tahl, in which you decided—”

“Get him, younglings!” Tahl said, and Obi-Wan and Bant hardly exchanged a glance before tackling Qui-Gon. 

“Oh, now you follow orders?” Qui-Gon said. “Oh, come on, it’s not fair—” 

They were in the Senate. 

That was, Obi-Wan could admit, a little unnerving. 

Qui-Gon had been summoned for some handshaking of some politicians, from some world that wanted to thank the Jedi for some good deed or another. Obi-Wan was shaky on the details, because Qui-Gon wanted to be there almost as little as Obi-Wan did. 

Qui-Gon had also decided to drag Obi-Wan along. He claimed this was for the learning experience but they both knew it was because misery loves company. 

They were done with their meeting. Obi-Wan had been twitchy the whole time, itchy under his skin. He’d never returned to the Senate after the Purge, for obvious reasons, but he’d been able to feel the darkness of it all the way across the galaxy, and he’d been able to catch sporadic news reports as it was converted into the Imperial Center and then dissolved entirely. 

And, of course, it was where Palpatine was. 

But they were almost out now, without incident. He’d considered faking illness— making Qui-Gon go alone— but the idea of his master encountering a Sith without him was much worse. 

Obi-Wan had his senses cast out around the Senate, gently, sensing for danger. So when he actually encountered it, he slammed his awareness back into himself with such force it actually almost hurt. He caught a glimpse of Palpatine only after he’d already sensed him, walking, untroubled, to some meeting or another. 

Qui-Gon was walking, as ever, a few steps ahead of him. He turned around, absently making sure Obi-Wan was following him, and frowned.

“Padawan, lower your shields,” he said. “I can barely see you, and that’s when I know you’re there.” 

But Obi-Wan was busy, drawing in his Force presence to almost nonexistence, trying to avoid attention. He did not want Palpatine taking special notice of him— he’d seen how that went with Anakin. 

“Can we go home?” Obi-Wan said, faintly. “I don’t feel very well.” 

“Kark,” Qui-Gon said, “Obi-Wan—” and he was over just in time to catch Obi-Wan as he started sinking towards the floor. “Your nose is bleeding,” he said, alarmed. 

Obi-Wan had watched the Emperor’s speech on Empire Day once and only once, and then he’d gone out into the desert and gotten so drunk he’d somehow awoken on Beru’s couch, with her glaring down at him and spoon-feeding him water tablets. 

Palpatine had looked different then, of course, after whatever the hell it was that happened in the Chancellor’s office that day, but at the same time he had looked the same as he did now. 

Christophsis. Geonosis. Ryloth. Mortis. Planets were flashing behind his eyes, planets ravaged by war and seeped in pain because of something that man had engineered to wipe out the Jedi and gain control of the government at the same time. 

People should have been staring by now, but they weren’t. Almost everyone’s eyes just glazed right over them as Obi-Wan’s shielding grew, and grew to encompass his master as well. Someone actually stepped over them on the floor, not appearing to notice anything different. The smarter ones glanced over for a moment or two, blinking, or sometimes even starting over before being distracted by the busy life of the Senate. 

Someone dropped to their knees in front of Obi-Wan. 

“Are you all right?” asked a familiar voice. But not the one Obi-Wan had feared. 

“He’s fine,” Qui-Gon snapped. He slapped the side of Obi-Wan’s face, gently. “Where are you right now, padawan?” 

Here. That was the problem. 

Did you know my father? I knew him— promise me you will train the boy—  remember, my dear Obi-Wan, I love— YOU WERE MY BROTHER I LOVED YOU I HATE YOU— 

“Haar’chak,” Obi-Wan muttered. He moved up a hand to try to stem the flow of blood from his nose with a sleeve. Two sets of hands steadied him; Qui-Gon’s familiar long fingers and a set of darker and smaller hands.

“Oh, dear,” said a new voice. “Is the boy all right?”

Obi-Wan looked up. It was exactly who he’d thought it would be— Senator Palpatine, of Naboo, hair a little darker and with only soft wrinkles around his eyes. He reached for Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan, who wasn’t exactly thinking clearly, tried to kick him. “Get the kriff away from me!” he said. 

Palpatine rocked back. “Goodness,” he said. 

Qui-Gon hauled Obi-Wan back bodily. “He’s fine,” he said. “It’s a… Jedi thing. Please go about your business.” 

“All right,” Palpatine said, backing away slowly. “I was only concerned for the youngling.”

“Let’s go,” Qui-Gon said, “Back to the speeder.” Obi-Wan eyed Palpatine as he backed into the crowd and disappeared. 

“You can use my Senate codes,” said their second companion, a young Senator with black hair and soft hands. “It will let you take off faster.” 

“Thanks,” Qui-Gon said, only a little warily. “Come on, Obi-Wan, up you go.” Together the two of them heaved Obi-Wan to his feet. 

“ Pfff,” Obi-Wan said, and drooled blood into his sleeve, which seemed to inspire alarm for some reason. 

“By the goddess,” murmured the senator. “Are you sure you shouldn’t go to a medcenter?”

“The Temple can handle it,” Qui-Gon grunted. “This has happened to him before.” 

Obi-Wan still had his shields up as high as they would go, and possibly higher, but he could still feel that little stain of Dark, somewhere across the Senate. 

Seeing Palpatine had brought all kinds of things rushing back, Cody and Rex and Waxer and Boil and Trapper and Wolffe and so many others— 

“All right. It’s just over here.” 

Then they were outside, with the smell of the Coruscant polluted air, no sand in sight and no battlefield. Obi-Wan’s head cleared a little. 

“I’m fine,” he muttered. 

Qui-Gon laughed. “Okay, Obi-Wan,” he said. He lowered Obi-Wan gently to sit on the ground. “Stay here— I’m going to pull the speeder around.” He looked at the Senator. “Watch over him.” 

“I will.” 

Then Obi-Wan was sitting on the landing platform, holding his sleeve to his nose. 

“Are you all right?” the Senator asked once Qui-Gon was gone. Obi-Wan glanced at him questioningly. “Your teacher— he’s telling the truth? You’re all right? You can tell me if you’re not. I’ll help.” 

“It’s very kind, Senator,” Obi-Wan said. “But Qui-Gon is not the trouble. He’s the best Master I could ask for, even if my abilities can be a little… alarming.”

He passed over a handkerchief, and Obi-Wan pressed it to the bridge of his nose gratefully. The sound of a speeder, going definitely over the speed limit, rocketing up to the platform reached them and Qui-Gon poked his head out. 

“You’re a good man, Bail Organa,” Obi-Wan said, to the surprised Senator. “May the Force be with you.” 

“Um—” Bail said, and Obi-Wan grinned at him, and tipped himself sideways into the speeder. 

“By kriff, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, hauling Obi-Wan into place and activating the restraint system. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I hope not,” Obi-Wan said. 

They sped off.

Chapter Text

If you ignore the past, you jeopardize the future.

“Must you shine that infernal light in my eyes, Vokara?” Obi-Wan asked. She glared at him and, he was pretty sure, shined the light harder into his eyes. 

“Temperature is up again,” she said mercilessly. “Heart rate, little fast, going down.” 

“Will he be all right?” Qui-Gon asked. He had been hovering anxiously since Obi-Wan had been brought to the med-bay. 

“Looks about the same as last time, maybe a little more mild,” Master Che said. “Should wear off, but I’m going to keep you for observation again.” Obi-Wan made a face. “Don’t make that face at me, young man. Keep that cloth on your nose.” 

Sulkily, Obi-Wan complied. “Mabster,” he said, muffled. “Free be from this blace.” 

“As if,” Qui-Gon said. “You’re possibly never leaving the Halls again in your life. You almost gave me a heart attack.” 

Vokara returned with the evil nosebleed-stopping tool. Obi-Wan glared at it suspiciously. She moved his hand off his nose and shoved it up anyway. 

“Ow,” Obi-Wan said, but the bleeding had stopped and he sneezed out the last of it. 

“How do you feel?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“Do you remember that time I fell into the firebeetle pit?” Obi-Wan asked sulkily. 

“Um,” Qui-Gon said, slightly alarmed, “No?” 

“Oh, right,” Obi-Wan said. “Never mind.”

“What did you see, Obi-Wan?” Vokara asked. 

The door slid open. They all looked over to see Master Sey poking her head in apologetically. She was holding a cooling pack to her thigh, where the fabric was singed on the edges. 

“Hello, I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “I was just in here getting a training accident burn treated, and I heard Obi-Wan had been brought in. I just wanted to make sure you were all right.” 

“I’m fine, thank you Master Sey,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Let me take a look at that while you’re here,” Vokara said, moving Sey’s hand off her leg. “Oh, good, it looks like just a flesh wound. You Masters need to learn that training power on your sabers is not just for students.” 

“I know,” Sey said sheepishly. 

“Let me get a bacta patch, and you should be fine,” Vokara said. 

“What happened?” Sey asked, giving Obi-Wan a concerned look. “You’re covered in blood.”

“Just a little incident,” Obi-Wan said, frowning. “Nothing to worry about.” 

“It’s too bad Obi-Wan’s a patient at the same time as you are,” Vokara said, unwrapping a bacta bandage. “He probably could have healed this without bacta. He’s become quite the expert with lightsaber wounds.” 

Yes, he had. And he’d seen a lot of saber burns. But he’d never seen anyone be burned by an opponent in the way Master Sey had. There was something subtly off about it. He tilted his head at her. 

Master Sey presented her leg to Vokara, steadying herself on Qui-Gon’s shoulder. “How embarrassing,” she said, and Obi-Wan shook his head. Encountering Palpatine had made him too suspicious— he’d start seeing enemies everywhere if he kept on like this. “I hope you feel better,” she said. 

“You too, Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

He narrowed his eyes at the door as she left. 

“Something wrong?” Qui-Gon asked. 

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I guess not,” he said. 

“Good,” Vokara said. “So now I don’t have to feel bad about threatening you with what I will do if you leave here one second before I release you—” 

Obi-Wan’s friends had been in and out of his sick room all week, obviously on some kind of planned schedule between them and all very well-meaning. They’d been bringing him homework and gossip from around the Temple. Bruck had even visited once or twice, though never for very long and mostly to tell Obi-Wan that he looked terrible. 

But now they were all in class or off-planet, which meant that Obi-Wan had some time to himself. He’d already mapped about fifteen ways of escape— the Healers would learn to be more watchful in time— and was considering enacting one of them when Qui-Gon came in. 

Qui-Gon opened his mouth to say something, then left again. He circled back while Obi-Wan watched, amused and curious. 

“Why,” Qui-Gon said, looking more exasperated than anything, “Did Xanatos just ask if you were all right?”

“Aww,” said Obi-Wan. “He was worried.” 

“He asked his guard if you’d been killed on a mission or something,” Qui-Gon said, raising a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “He said he didn’t care, it was just that he wanted to kill you himself.” 

“That’s so sweet,” Obi-Wan said. “I think I owe him a holonovel too.” 

“Why are you talking to Xanatos?” Qui-Gon asked. 

Obi-Wan scrunched his nose at him, mock-confused. “I told you I was going to go to him for help on my homework. You said sure.” 

“I said, hah-hah, sure,” Qui-Gon said. “I thought you were kidding.” 

“I wasn’t,” Obi-Wan said. 

Qui-Gon walked out again, then came back in. “Why?” he asked. 

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said. “It was the will of the Force.” 

“I’m going to believe you,” Qui-Gon said, “But only because I don’t want to think about how it could actually be worse.” 

Obi-Wan came home a few days after he was released from the Halls to find Count Dooku in his home. He paused in the entryway, feeling out the currents of the apartment. Light, still, in the Living Force as everywhere Qui-Gon inhabited for a long period of time was. And Qui-Gon was just around the corner, unhurt. 

Obi-Wan stepped fully inside. “Master,” he said. 

Dooku gave him a once-over. “You must be the padawan.” 

“I suppose I must,” Obi-Wan said. 

Qui-Gon stepped out of the kitchen. He had pasta in his hair. “Oh, Obi-Wan,” he said. “Good, you’re home.” 

“You’re not trying to make dinner, are you?” Obi-Wan asked, horrified, and dropped his Healer’s kit and boots by the door. He bolted for the kitchen. He used the Force to turn off the burner on the stove, where a pot of Andoorian spaghetti was boiling over, hissing. 

“I can cook,” Qui-Gon protested. 

“Uh-huh,” Obi-Wan said, poking the oven until it turned off, and whatever was in there stopped smoking. He looked over his shoulder and glared at Dooku, who was watching from the doorway. “You didn’t stop this monstrosity, Master Dooku?” 

“I had assumed my padawan would have learned how to survive after all these years,” Dooku said. “Clearly I was wrong.” 

“Oh, hah-hah,” Qui-Gon said. “It’s not that bad.” He peered into the oven. “The garlic bread is barely burned.”

“I didn’t know we were having guests,” Obi-Wan said, accusatorially, opening the drawer with the oven mitts and tossing them to Qui-Gon when it became clear he didn’t know where they kept them. Then he spilled out the pasta into a strainer. 

“Didn’t I mention it?” Qui-Gon asked innocently. Together they managed to wrangle Andoorian spaghetti, barely burned garlic bread, and some sauce into a palatable meal. 

“I’ll set the table,” Obi-Wan said, before Qui-Gon could. 

Qui-Gon gave him a faintly baffled look, but let him do as he pleased. 

Dooku had watched these proceedings with a critical eye, quietly fathoming out Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan. To Obi-Wan it was clear he was looking for some kind of weakness, a loss of Jedi propriety, or maybe just trying to figure out their dynamic. 

Obi-Wan set the table like he was preparing for a Senatorial gala, perfectly placed and with the perfection of a diplomat, while Qui-Gon and Dooku made stilted small talk. 

When Dooku saw the table, his mouth twitched— a little impressed, but mostly amused. 

“Let’s eat,” Qui-Gon said, then, when they sat down, “Why did you put out so many utensils? I didn’t even know we had some of these.” 

“You should learn your table manners, Qui-Gon,” Dooku said. “It appears your padawan has been paying more attention to his etiquette classes than you ever did.”

“Thank you ever so much, Master,” Qui-Gon said. He looked at Obi-Wan, posture perfectly straight, and Dooku, so perfectly following dining etiquette he may as well have been eating with the Chancellor. “Are you two having a pissing match over me?” 

“Master!” Obi-Wan said. 

“Qui-Gon, really,” Dooku said at the same time. “Mind your manners at the table.” 

“Oh, Force,” Qui-Gon said. “I should never have let you two meet. I knew you’d be an unstoppable force of chaos.” 

That made them pause their ultra-polite staring contest and exchange a confused look instead. Team up? The two of them? They decided in a glance. Impossible. 

“Are you going to introduce us properly, Qui-Gon Jinn?” Dooku asked. He twirled Andoorian spaghetti around his fork and somehow still managed to make it look elegant. “I had to learn that you’d taken a padawan from someone else. I suppose I might as well learn about who he is from Temple gossip as well.” 

Qui-Gon sighed. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master Yan Dooku. I took Obi-Wan as my padawan. Yes, I know I said I’d never take a padawan again. No need to gloat.”

“I would never,” Dooku said, looking intently at Obi-Wan. “How are you enjoying being an apprentice?” 

“Very much, thank you,” Obi-Wan said. He was endeavoring to make his fork do the same neat twirl thing that Dooku was pulling off. “And do you enjoy being a Master?” 

“I can’t complain,” Dooku said. 

“Can’t is not the same as not desiring to, Master,” Obi-Wan said crisply. 

“ Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said.

“Precision of words is important,” Dooku agreed. “I had a look at your transcripts, Padawan Kenobi.” 

Qui-Gon seemed to have accepted his fate and was now eating with a resigned air. “Why can’t you two act normal for five minutes?” he said. 

Obi-Wan wasn’t surprised that Dooku had checked up on him— he would have been disappointed if he didn’t. 

“What did you think?” Obi-Wan said, letting show on his face how unintimidated he was. 

“Disappointing,” Dooku said. “Middling.” 

Qui-Gon bristled. “Obi-Wan is an excellent student, Master,” he said. 

“ Obi-Wan has chosen a courseload of classes which he is not particularly suited to, and which seem to be decided according to his own esoteric whims,” Dooku said. “The only classes in which he is doing very well— almost perfect marks, in fact— are the core classes which all padawans must take. Perhaps Obi-Wan should take more of those.” 

“I don’t strive to learn what I’m already good at, Master Dooku,” Obi-Wan said. He served himself more pasta. 

“And dangerously arrogant as well,” Dooku said. 

“Arrogance, or, perhaps, awareness of my own abilities,” Obi-Wan said. “A Jedi must know the enemy, but must also know themself. I know exactly what I’m capable of.” 

“Very philosophical,” Dooku said. 

“Thank you,” Obi-Wan said. 

“By the goddess,” Qui-Gon said. “If it’s going to continue like this, I’m breaking out the alcohol.” He stood and retreated to the kitchen. 

“They tell me you have a strong presciencient ability,” Dooku told Obi-Wan, once they were alone. 

“I wouldn’t presume to know what others say of me,” Obi-Wan said. “Is that why you’ve decided to come test me out, Master Dooku?”

“I am very curious to know,” Dooku said, “How you coerced my old padawan into taking you on.”

“I think you should know more than anyone that Qui-Gon Jinn never does anything he doesn’t want to do,” Obi-Wan said stiffly. 

“Exactly,” Dooku said. “Which is why I am also wondering what you have done to convince him that talking to his old Master again, after so many years of no contact, is a good idea.” 

“Nothing on purpose,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t know his mind.” 

“Only the future.” 

“Only possible futures,” Obi-Wan corrected. 

“There’s a difference?” 

“There is,” and Obi-Wan flashed his most mischievous grin. “After all, you’re here, aren’t you?” 

Qui-Gon emerged from the kitchen with a very nice bottle of Correllian brandy. “Are you two finished?” 

“Yep,” Obi-Wan said. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dooku said, sitting back. “Are you going to pour that, or will we be here all day?” 

“Can I have some?” Obi-Wan asked hopefully. 

“Not until you’re older and wiser,” Qui-Gon said, with a laugh.

“One out of the two in your case?” Obi-Wan said sweetly, and already knew to duck the flying piece of bread that came from Qui-Gon’s direction. 

“Obi!” Obi-Wan heard as he was coming out of his Slicing class, and then he was almost bowled over by an armful of very excited Mon Calamaran. 

“Whoa!” Obi-Wan said, steadying them both, amused. “Where’s the fire?”

“You knew this was going to happen!” Bant said. 

“Knew what?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Master Tahl! She asked me to be her padawan!” Bant squeezed him into a hug. 

Obi-Wan grinned. It was early— earlier than she’d taken Bant the last time around. Obi-Wan, possibly, had been pushing them together for that purpose. “Congratulations, Bantling,” he said. “You deserve it.” 

“Thanks, Obi-Wan,” Bant said, nearly beaming. Her neck gills were flapping excitedly. “I can’t wait to be a padawan. Master Tahl says that I can take some Healing classes if I want— they all look so interesting!” 

“We’ll celebrate tonight, with Garen and Reeft,” Obi-Wan said. He was sure he could rustle up a cake on short notice— he had recently made the acquaintance of a certain diner owner, a Besalisk who was always willing to do Obi-Wan a favor.

“Think of it,” Bant said, bumping against his side as they walked down the hallway. “Both of us, Jedi Knights. Can you picture it?” 

Obi-Wan smiled. 

“Of course,” Bant said. “Who am I asking?” 

Obi-Wan was down in the Archives again. While Obi-Wan’s friendship with Vokara Che was mostly bonding over being equally sarcastic and sniping at each other, Master Nu had taken Obi-Wan under her wing and believed he could do no wrong. 

“Obi-Wan, dear, can you please shelve these for me?” Nu asked, handing him a pile of holobooks. “I had meant to get to it today, but you know how these young Knights are always asking for help.”

“Of course, Master Jocasta.” Obi-Wan would be glad for the break. When he stood up, his back cracked, which meant he’d been down here longer than he thought. Master Nu hadn’t needed help; she’d tricked him into taking care of himself, the old sneak. 

Still, Obi-Wan set off down into the Archives, more than familiar enough with them by now to navigate without difficulty. The busts of the Lost Twenty had not yet been commissioned— actually, they were still the Lost Nineteen. Dooku would someday soon round out the number of Jedi who’d left the Order. 

Obi-Wan was almost finished with his task when he sensed someone unfamiliar at the end of the aisle— this was the Temple, so Obi-Wan didn’t immediately go on the defensive, but he did look over. It was a Jedi after all. Master Sifo-Dyas. 

Obi-Wan’s mouth quirked. He’d never known Sifo-Dyas well. He had died only a little while before Qui-Gon, which meant that Obi-Wan, just a lowly padawan, never had much reason to interact with him unless he was in front of the Council and probably already in trouble. No one had ever been able to come up with a satisfactory reason why he’d commissioned the clone army. He had visions, though— general consensus had been that he’d seen the war coming. 

“Master,” Obi-Wan said. “Do you need assistance finding something?” 

“No,” he said. He was a human, taller than Obi-Wan and dressed in typical brown robes. “Actually, I’ve been wanting to meet you properly.” 

Obi-Wan tried not to tense up. Whether the clone army had made the war better or worse was up for debate. Obi-Wan didn’t trust him completely— Obi-Wan knew about the secret little time bomb that had been hidden in Dyas’ army’s head. He couldn’t know how involved Dyas had been. “Yes? What about?” 

“I see the future, you know,” Dyas said. “My gift is not so strong as yours, of course, but I have been known to see the shape of the future.”

Obi-Wan watched him quietly. 

“For years now, the visions of the future I’ve seen have been consistent. Death. Hundreds of the same face, a droid army bigger than the galaxy has ever seen before,” Dyas said. “Until the day you collapsed, Obi-Wan Kenobi.” 

“What do you see now?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Sometimes it’s better,” he said. “Sometimes it’s much worse. You have changed things.” 

“I had to,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Maybe,” Sifo-Dyas said. “Maybe not. You’re still young, inexperienced.” Obi-Wan had to hold in a hysterical laugh at that one. “The ripples you are causing in the Force are too much for either of us to understand. You need to be careful.”

“I know what I’m doing,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Knowledge of the future can be both a blessing and a curse,” Sifo-Dyas said. 

“Thank you for your concern,” Obi-Wan said. 

Sifo-Dyas inclined his head, a slight but respectful bow. “Bear it well, Obi-Wan. May the Force be with you.” 

He turned and retreated down the aisle of books before Obi-Wan could return the blessing. A shiver ran up Obi-Wan’s spine. 

Qui-Gon had been spending time with Dooku. This was a development that puzzled Obi-Wan, but not necessarily one he was going to try to stop. If Qui-Gon wanted to change the future, to keep his Master in the Order, well, Obi-Wan was hardly one to judge. But the thing was that the relationship between Dooku and Qui-Gon was still incredibly tense and awkward. 

That meant that Obi-Wan was pretty much dragged along while they argued back and forth at each other. Obi-Wan never knew Dooku outside of a combat context, but he was starting to get the uncomfortable feeling this was how he showed affection. 

They were sparring now, physically but also verbally. 

Qui-Gon had made Obi-Wan come along so now he was leaning against the wall of the salle, bored and trying not to flinch every time Dooku’s— blue— lightsaber got too close to his Master. 

“I have no intention of leaving the Order,” Dooku said, parrying a strike. “All I am saying is I can understand why one might.” 

“The Jedi Order is a source of protection for the galaxy, and a refuge of the Force,” Qui-Gon said. “To leave the Order would be to leave the Force.” 

Dooku snorted. He stepped around Qui-Gon’s blade with no apparent difficulty. “The Force the Jedi teach in the Temple is not the only interpretation of it— the philosophies of the Fallen Jedi, for example, or even the Whills, or the Nightsisters.” 

This was going to take a while. Obi-Wan slid down to sit on the ground. “That’s one point for heresies,” Obi-Wan called out. “Can I go, Master? I have homework to do.” 

“No,” Dooku and Qui-Gon said at the same time, and Obi-Wan sighed. 

“You would compare the perversion of the Dark to the Jedi?” Qui-Gon asked. “You’re crazier than I thought, my old Master.” 

“I didn’t say the Dark is a good avenue,” Dooku said. “But you must admit that it brings about different abilities. There are other interpretations of the Force— ways that do not stifle our natural power in it.” 

“The Jedi do not stifle power,” Qui-Gon said, as he tucked and rolled under Dooku’s blade. “They maintain the balance of it.” 

“Were I not in the Jedi Order,” Dooku countered, “I could be the leader of Serenno. I could have more power and influence than most Senators of the Republic.”

“Your Counthood,” Qui-Gon confirmed, sounding a little discomfited. “Yes. I remember.” 

Obi-Wan was saved from further discomfort when the door slid open. Bruck Chun walked through it, swinging his unlit lightsaber in one hand. He stopped short when he saw them and blushed. 

“Run now,” Obi-Wan advised. “Save yourself.”

“Master Drallig told me you were in here,” Bruck said, staying well back from the two duelling Masters. He glanced over at them, downright shy for Bruck. “I thought we could spar— wow. They’re good.” 

Obi-Wan looked back at his Master and Grandmaster. To him, it really just looked like bickering, occasionally with a lightsaber involved. “I suppose,” he said. 

Qui-Gon had finally noticed the new arrival. “Obi-Wan,” he said. “Isn’t this the boy who was bothering you when we first met?” He gave Bruck an unfriendly stare. He was being protective, Obi-Wan realized, only after a moment. It made him want to smile. 

“It’s all right, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “We’re friends now.”

“He really means he bothered me until I agreed to do whatever he wants,” Bruck said. 

“Now that I completely believe,” Qui-Gon said, and Obi-Wan made a face at him. 

“Very funny,” he said. “Go back to your little fight. Bruck and I are going to train somewhere else.” 

“No, wait,” Dooku said. “I want to see how you work.”

“No offense, Master Dooku, but I don’t have to prove my skills to anyone but my own Master,” Obi-Wan said. “I’m not really interested.” 

Bruck squeaked, but Dooku just looked amused. “Indulge an old man.” 

Obi-Wan looked at Qui-Gon. Qui-Gon shrugged. 

“All right,” Obi-Wan said. “Fine. Bruck, do you want to?” 

“Do I want to fight in front of one of the most skilled Masters in the Order?” Bruck asked. Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at him. “The answer is yes, obviously.” 

They stretched, then stood across from each other. 

“Don’t worry, Oafy-Wan,” Bruck said. “I’ll go easy on you.” 

“I was about to say the same thing,” Obi-Wan said, and they struck at the same time. 

Bruck was good, and getting better. Obi-Wan had found their sparring a good way to hone his own skills— that is, his skills of playing a padawan who was still learning. Well-practiced at it now, it was much easier to fool the Masters as well as the Initiates. 

It was still good exercise, and Obi-Wan enjoyed himself, more or less playing while Bruck showed off for the masters. 

But the fight had to end eventually, and Obi-Wan made his move. He jumped suddenly instead of moving in to catch Bruck’s attack, and surprised him. He landed on Bruck’s other side and tapped him gently on the back with his lightsaber before Bruck could so much as register that he was there. 

“Solah,” Bruck acquiesced.  

“Good work, padawans,” Qui-Gon said. Bruck puffed up with pride. 

“You’re holding back,” Dooku declared. 

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?” 

“You hold back, padawan,” Dooku said. “You fear hurting your opponent. You don’t use your knowledge of the future to its full extent.” 

“I’m not trying to cut off anyone’s limbs,” Obi-Wan said dryly. “This is a friendly sparring session, if you hadn’t noticed.” 

“If you were my padawan, I’d make you run blindfolded paces much more often,” Dooku sniffed. “Encourage you to rely on foresight.” 

“Thankfully, he’s not your charge,” Qui-Gon said. “And is in fact mine. So I get to train him how I like.” Qui-Gon, in this time too, liked to remind Obi-Wan to stay rooted in the present— to listen to the Force now, not as it could be. It was good for Obi-Wan to remember.  

Dooku rolled his eyes but didn’t complain about Obi-Wan’s teaching further. Another thing for Qui-Gon and Dooku to argue about during the next sparring session of their own, probably. “You, youngling.” 

“Bruck Chun,” Bruck said, straightening his back almost painfully. 

“Initiate Chun,” Dooku said. “You ought to focus more on that back foot.” 

Obi-Wan expected Bruck to bristle at the criticism, but instead he lit up. “Yes, Master Dooku!” he said. 

“Might I remind you that Chun is not your responsibility either?” Qui-Gon said. “Get a new padawan, if you want to criticize so much. I don’t get paid enough to listen to you myself these days.” 

“You never listened to me even when you were a youngling,” Dooku complained. Obi-Wan made eye contact with Bruck and jerked his head toward the door. Bruck nodded. “Or have you forgotten that time on Mexlar, with that horrendous creature— what did you name it again?” 

Bruck and Obi-Wan snuck out, though it wasn’t exactly a difficulty as the two masters started arguing once more. They made it outside and Obi-Wan grinned, running a hand through his hair. “Freedom at last,” he said. 

“I like Master Dooku,” Bruck said. “He’s nice.” 

Obi-Wan looked at him blankly for a moment, then couldn’t contain his laugh. 

“Shut up,” Bruck said. 

Count Dooku. Nice. Obi-Wan laughed again.

Chapter Text

For everything you gain, you lose something else.

Bant’s new padawan braid, beads attached to a headdress that wrapped around her skull, swung cheerfully as she and Obi-Wan took the turbolift up to the refectory. She was very pleased with it, her one eye independently looking over at it every so often. 

Obi-Wan’s comm beeped. He pulled it out and felt his eyebrows rise. “It’s Bruck,” he said. 

“What does he want?” Bant asked. 

“Bant,” Obi-Wan chided, opening the message. Bant still didn’t like Bruck, even though he’d stopped bothering Obi-Wan and the younger Initiates. She didn’t forgive him for the torments he’d put Obi-Wan through throughout their childhood.

“Just because you’ve made him your project doesn’t mean I have to trust him,” Bant said. “What does he want?” 

“To meet me in one of the lower level classrooms,” Obi-Wan said with a frown. “He says it’s an emergency.” 

“You’re not going?” Bant asked. 

“Of course I am,” Obi-Wan said, pressing the button that would take them to the correct floor. “I can meet up with you for lunch later.” 

“Oh, I’m coming with you,” Bant said. “What does he want, anyway?” 

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said. “The message is vague.” Very vague, and very brusque, even for Bruck, Obi-Wan mused. 

The turbolift doors slid open— an automatic stop off on the floor above the one they’d meant to go to, probably someone pushing the button but having to turn around at the last moment. Obi-Wan caught a flash of white hair down the hallway. 

He slammed a hand into the open doorway, and the automatic sensors bounced the door completely open again with a complaining beep. 

“Bruck?” Obi-Wan called, leaning his head out the door. 

Bruck was almost around the corner— he had to skid a little and back up to be in view of the elevator again. “Oafy-Wan,” he said. “Holding up the turbolift so the other Jedi can’t use it? More dastardly than I thought you were.”

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan said, almost to himself. “Bruck, did you just comm me?” 

Bruck blinked, and finally gave up and walked towards them. “No. Why?” 

“Liar,” Bant accused. 

Bruck bristled. “I’m not lying!” he said. “I didn’t call you.” 

“I believe you,” Obi-Wan said. “But the fact remains that I did just get a message from you. So the question is now, who sent it, and why?” 

The turbolift dinged again. 

“Get in,” Obi-Wan said. Bruck did. 

The turbolift went down. “Look,” Bruck protested, showing his commlink to Bant. “Nothing sent.” 

Bant looked at it and folded her arms, acquiescing. “Well then, who’s trying to bring you down there, Obi?” 

The door opened. “Let’s go find out.” 

The three younglings went down the hallway. All the classrooms were abandoned at this time of day; most of the students off at different practices or eating lunch.

“This is the classroom the message said to meet you in,” Obi-Wan said. He knew the door; a lecture theater he’d had several of his classes in. It would have been strange to meet Bruck there, but not unthinkable, especially if Bruck needed help on an assignment or something. He might have gone in without thinking anything of it. 

Bant moved to open it. Obi-Wan stopped her with an arm across her chest. 

“Wait,” he murmured. 

“You see something?” Bruck asked. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. Bruck had meant to ask if Obi-Wan had any kind of vision about what was going to happen next— but Obi-Wan was seeing something else entirely. Something he hadn’t seen since the Clone Wars. An explosive wire, tracked across the door. “Who—” Obi-Wan said. 

There was an explosion. 

It wasn’t from the trip wire. 

It was somewhere below them, big enough that the whole Temple shook beneath their feet. Big enough that Obi-Wan, Bant, and Bruck tripped over each other— right into the door. 

“Not good,” Obi-Wan said. 

He heard the metallic noise of the tripwire snapping, and reacted on instinct, pushing with the Force and rocketing all three of them fully through the door and into the classroom just as the wire finished tripping. 

The bomb exploded with a distinctly detonite smell, splintering the doorframe and much of the floor around it. Obi-Wan curled his body around Bant and Bruck as they flew across the room, pushed by the shockwave, sheltering them the best he could with the Force. A wave of heat flashed up and over them as Obi-Wan pushed it away, and they hit the wall. 

It hurt. 

For several moments there was nothing but ringing, the taste of blood and plaster dust in his mouth, and distant aches. It was the aftermath of an explosion— Obi-Wan knew it well— but there was no further fire; no clones shooting back at enemies, no stormtroopers pressing an attack, no sounds of lightsabers or fistfighting. Obi-Wan decided he could lay there quietly for a moment longer and remember how to breathe. 

That ear-piercing shrill tone was still bouncing around his eardrums, reminding him that he really ought to stop getting so close to explosions. Other sounds returned slowly, muffled. 

Two people were arguing, a boy and a girl. Another operation gone wrong, then, Obi-Wan noted wryly. As usual when you got their lineage together. 

Someone was shaking him. 

“Wake up! If he’s dead and this is your fault, I’m going to kill you!”

“I didn’t do anything and you know it! Obi-Wan, wake up!”

Obi-Wan opened his eyes blearily. There was an orange hand, resting on his arm, another gently patting his face. “‘m all right, Ahsoka,” he said. “Just a little knock…” 

The Force pulsed with alarm. 

“You’re not… whenever,” said the boy, voice forcibly steady. “Whatever you’re seeing. You’re here. In the Temple with us.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes focused. Right. Not Anakin and Ahsoka. Bruck and Bant. 

“Oh,” he said. “ Ow.” He lifted a hand to his head, and was unsurprised to feel blood trickling down his hairline. “Are you two all right?” 

“You shielded us, mostly,” Bant said anxiously. She was fumbling in her pockets. “We hit the wall too. I think that explosion was just designed to take out one person who opened the door— so it didn’t spread that far.” Eventually she found what she was looking for and pulled out a little penlight. She shone it directly in Obi-Wan’s eyes. 

“Ow! Karabast, Bant, stop,” Obi-Wan said, batting it away. 

“I think you could have a concussion,” Bant said. “I think I have some bacta spray, here…” 

“Designed to kill me,” Obi-Wan thought aloud, catching up. “Who in the hells wants to kill me already ?” 

“I didn’t do it, Obi-Wan, I promise,” Bruck said urgently. He was filthy from head to toe, covered in dust and ash from the detonite explosive. There was a little cut along his cheekbone, and by the way he moved his ribs were sore, but he looked fine. Bant was much the same, her tunic torn along the sleeve and a couple small scratches oozing greenish blood. “I know that maybe it seems like I… but I didn’t.” 

“You didn’t Fall,” Obi-Wan agreed gently. “I know that, Bruck. I trust you.” 

Bruck looked very young, and very relieved. 

Bant sprayed bacta spray at Obi-Wan’s face with aggressive eagerness. 

“Bant!” he sputtered. But it was an improvement— it had just been a first aid spray, which meant it had clotted the blood and started stitching up the deepest of the wound, but they’d have to wait for a real medbay for anything more. His head was clearer, though, and his ears finally stopped ringing completely. 

“Better?” Bant asked. 

“Better,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Thanks.” 

“What happened?” Bruck asked. 

“That,” Obi-Wan said, “Is a very good question.” 

“This is serious,” Bant said. “We should go tell somebody.” 

Obi-Wan frowned. He stood up— they protested but he waved them away. “Why isn’t anyone here to check out the explosion already?” he asked, perturbed. “Wait— the other explosion. The one that knocked us into the door. What was it?” 

“I don’t know,” Bruck said. “But it didn’t sound good. I think it was bigger.” 

“Let’s go,” Obi-Wan said. “We need to find someone who knows what’s going on.” Failing that, they could always find Qui-Gon Jinn. 

The Temple was in lockdown by the time they made it up to the residential level. Everyone was rushing around in a controlled state of chaos, and hardly gave the three dishevelled teenagers a glance. Something big had happened. 

Obi-Wan could sense his Master, unharmed, behind the door to their quarters before he even opened it, which went quite a ways to calming his growing panic. 

Of course, he’d forgotten what he himself looked like, which meant that when they entered the quarters they inspired quite a bit of alarm. It looked like Qui-Gon had been pacing, a habit of his when he was frustrated, and Tahl was sitting on the couch with her feet under her. 

“By the Force,” Tahl breathed when she saw them. “What happened to you?” 

“We’re all right, Master Tahl,” Obi-Wan said. 

At the same time, Bant said, “We got blown up!” 

Tahl sprang to her feet and checked her apprentice over, as Qui-Gon strode to Obi-Wan in two long steps and started fussing with the cut on his head. 

“You all right, Chun?” Qui-Gon asked, checking Obi-Wan’s pupils and sparing a glance over at Bruck. 

“Fine, sir.” 

“You were in the detention levels?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“No,” Obi-Wan said slowly. “What happened in the detention levels?” 

“The explosion,” Qui-Gon said. “How in the galaxy did you manage to get blown up by a separate explosion at the same time as another one?” 

“That’s just my luck,” Obi-Wan said mournfully. “What blew up in the holding cells?” 

“I don’t know. The Council is sequestered away with some of the more senior Masters, panicking. No one will tell us what’s going on,” Qui-Gon said. 

That bad feeling was really starting to rise, in the back of Obi-Wan’s throat, like bile. This shouldn’t have happened. The Temple was supposed to be safe, for another few years yet. What did Obi-Wan do?

“It’s got to be connected to whoever just tried to assassinate me,” Obi-Wan said. “I need a datapad.” 

“ Assassinate?” Qui-Gon asked with alarm. 

There was a datapad across the room— Obi-Wan summoned it to his hand and clicked it on. 

“First aid kit?” Tahl asked, and Obi-Wan pointed it out without looking up. 

“Hey!” Qui-Gon said, looking over Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Those are Council codes!”

“Whoops,” Obi-Wan said, dispassionately. “Here it is— surveillance from the detention levels.” 

Bant and Bruck crowded over so they could see the screen too. The footage loaded. There was only one prisoner in the cells, as Obi-Wan had feared. Xanatos du Crion. 

Obi-Wan guessed at the time, just a little after he’d gotten Bruck’s message, and found the surveillance video from what would be just before the explosion. 

From the looks of things Xanatos was laying upside-down in his bed, reading one of the holonovels Obi-Wan had lent him. Xanatos looked up, seeing something out of frame, a second before the cameras shook. 

The explosion. An exterior wall, not connected to any of the holding cells, of course, blew inwards, and someone stepped off an airspeeder hovering just outside the new hole. Whoever it was stepped towards the cell. 

Then she took off her hood. 

It was Master Sey— the teacher. The one Obi-Wan had accidentally cursed with knowledge of the future, the one who had seen the fall of the Order. Obi-Wan felt himself pale visibly. 

When she turned, her eyes were yellow. 

There was no sound on the feed. Sey said something to Xanatos, her lips moving. Xanatos tilted his head. Then he smiled, said something, and nodded. 

She let him out. 

When the forcefield on the door shut off, Xanatos stepped out and followed Master Sey— ex Master Sey— through the hole in the wall and out onto the speeder. 

Obi-Wan stopped the feed with a shaking hand. 

“That’s not good,” Bruck said mildly. 

“Dank farrik,” Obi-Wan said, and tossed the datapad onto the couch so hard it bounced. He ran a hand through his hair, tugged at his braid. “This is my fault. Master Sifo-Dyas was right.” 

“Obi-Wan, calm down,” Qui-Gon said. 

“This shouldn’t happen,” Obi-Wan said, almost close to tears. “It’s what I get for changing things so much. I brought Xanatos in instead of letting him die, and I made Master Sey Fall years before that should have even been an option, and who knows what they’re going to do—”

Qui-Gon looked alarmed. “Xanatos was supposed to die?”

“Obi-Wan,” Tahl said, so sternly that Obi-Wan snapped to attention despite himself. “Breathe. You did not make these people’s decisions. As much as you might want to be, you are not all-knowing. You didn’t know this was going to happen. You’re all right, Obi-Wan.” 

Obi-Wan breathed. In, out. He hoisted his shields up again, and smoothed them out. “Okay, I’m fine,” he said, after a moment. He gave Tahl a grateful, embarrassed smile. “Any chance you’re willing to trade padawans?” 

“Bant would be a lot less trouble than you,” Qui-Gon said, but the very next moment he crushed Obi-Wan into a vigorous sideways hug, gentle and smelling of soft earth. “But I’d never trade. Tahl would have to fight me for you.” 

“I’d win,” Tahl said. 

Qui-Gon’s comm beeped. He answered it with a sigh. 

“Master Jinn.” It was Mace. “There’s a Senator here to see you.” 

Obi-Wan stiffened— Qui-Gon, at such close proximity, felt it. “We’re a little bit busy,” he said. 

“You think the Council’s not?” Mace said. “He asked specifically for Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon— in that order. His name’s Bail Organa.” 

Bail was waiting with his arms behind his back in one of the visitor’s halls, very obviously trying not to gawk at the various Jedi arts and mosaics. 

Tahl had been able to clean and bandage Obi-Wan’s head wound properly, which at least meant he wouldn’t be scaring the poor man. He’d also quickly changed into less blown-up clothes while Bail was being escorted into the Temple. 

He turned when he heard Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon entering. “Master Jedi,” he said, with a friendly smile. “I’m sorry to intrude without prior warning.” 

Qui-Gon had finally recognized him. “You’re the young man who helped us at the Senate,” he said. “I don’t think I properly thanked you.” 

Bail waved it away. “Of course I tried to assist you— it was only what anyone would do.” It was not, which was why Bail was one of the very few politicians who Obi-Wan actually respected. He looked at Obi-Wan. “I hope your recovery was smooth?”

“I’m fine, thank you, Senator,” Obi-Wan said. “If you don’t mind me asking—?” 

“Why am I here? I can understand your confusion,” Bail said. He suddenly looked a little shy— one of the only hints that Obi-Wan’s old friend was still young yet. “I knew the two of you were Jedi. If the clothes didn’t give it away, the way that it was actually physically hard to focus on you hinted at the ‘magic powers’ thing.” 

Qui-Gon gave Obi-Wan an exasperated look. 

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan said. 

Bail smiled. “Well, it got me thinking. The way you reacted to Senator Sheev Palpatine, in the Senate…” Obi-Wan, carefully, did not blink. “I know that Jedi have abilities that normal people don’t understand. And, well, you knew my name without me having told you.” 

“He does that,” Qui-Gon said, raising a hand to the spot between his eyebrows but still more fond than annoyed. 

“I wondered, what else does he know? So I checked up on Palpatine.” 

“Oh, Force,” Obi-Wan said. 

“It turns out he’s been involved in a lot of very shady business doings,” Bail said, pulling out a datapad to show them a full scroll of reports and statistics. “Back-door alliances with businesses, bribes passed around, political and personal rivals suddenly disappearing or being framed for some crime or another… As it turns out, the man is not a friend of the Senate at all.” 

Obi-Wan couldn’t hold it back. He laughed. “You caught Palpatine for political maneuvering?” 

“Well, yes,” Bail said. “Did he do something else?”  

Obi-Wan snickered, kind of hysterically. 

“Well, the Queen of Naboo was not pleased to find this out, as you might expect. She’s revoked his Senatorial powers and agreed to his arrest in the Republic courts,” Bail said. “There’s only one problem, which is, to be honest, why I came to you. Somehow, Palpatine escaped.” 

Obi-Wan put a hand over his eyes. 

“We believe he’s taking refuge on Cato Neimoidia, under the protection of the Trade Federation,” Bail said. “But the Federation is refusing to cooperate. We can’t send anyone to get him— why are you laughing?” 

“He got hit on the head really hard today,” Qui-Gon said tiredly. “Obi-Wan?”

“Palpatine is a dark lord of the Sith,” Obi-Wan said, still giggling a little. “And he got caught because a Senator was kind.” He took his hand off his face and looked at Qui-Gon and Bail. “Would it help, perhaps, if I had been compiling a list for almost a year of all the various crimes and misdeeds of the Banking Clan and the Trade Federation?” 

“Huh,” Bail said. “Yes. That would help.” 

“I thought so,” Obi-Wan said. 

This was where things were going to get interesting. Obi-Wan didn’t need to see the future to know that. 

But it certainly helped. 

Tahl had managed to get Bant and Bruck in to see the Council, by means of, Obi-Wan guessed, yelling at them a lot. 

That’s where they were when Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon returned from their meeting with Bail. Bail had taken the datadrive of evidence Obi-Wan had given him, looking slightly overwhelmed at the volume of it. 

“I’ll have to get some people to analyze this,” he’d said. “I’ll… call you back.” 

Obi-Wan had given him his most serene, innocent look back. Bail had only met him the twice now, but already he looked unconvinced by the act. Smart man. 

“You’re sure we can trust that Senator?” Qui-Gon asked, as they approached the Council chamber. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. “One hundred percent.” 

“That’s a ringing endorsement, coming from you,” Qui-Gon said. 

“If the queen of Alderaan trusts him enough to make him her husband, I think we can trust him too,” Obi-Wan said. 

“I don’t think the queen of Alderaan is married,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, with a smile. “Right.” 

The padawan guarding the Council doors let them in immediately, which meant that Tahl probably really had been yelling at them, enough that they needed a reprieve.  

“—tried to kill children,” Tahl said, as the door opened. “ Our children. If you don’t think Kadrian Sey is a Sith, you’re wildly delusional. You heard the younglings’ report. It is a miracle of the Force that they were not killed.” 

Qui-Gon stepped forward to join her in the circle made by the Council chairs, while Obi-Wan slipped into the shadows by Bant and Bruck, who both looked awed and slightly frightened.

“What did I miss?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“Turns out there’s footage of Master Sey planting the bomb in the classroom before she went to break out her friend,” Bant said. “So now Master Tahl is trying to convince the Council to let her go after her.” 

The Council was full today, all twelve chairs and a few more senior Jedi Masters lining the walls, listening gravely. Dooku was there too. He looked increasingly thoughtful. 

“We’ve been brought new news by a senator contact of ours,” Qui-Gon said, interrupting the bickering. “Obi-Wan?” 

Obi-Wan stepped forward. “I have reason to believe that the Sith have indeed returned; and that Master Sey is only the apprentice of the pair.” 

Murmurs and stirrings of louder conversation broke out all over the room. 

“Come to this conclusion, how have you?” Yoda asked. 

“My visions, Master,” Obi-Wan said. He could be the picture of the perfect padawan in front of the Council, standing ramrod-straight with his hands behind his back. “I have seen it.” 

“Senator Palpatine, of Naboo, according to our contact,” Qui-Gon said. “He’s a criminal, at the very least. If he is indeed a Sith, and Master Sey as well, we must act now.” 

More outbursts. 

Sifo-Dyas held up a hand, staring at Obi-Wan. The room quieted. “I have foreseen a great darkness, spreading over the galaxy,” he said. “More so in recent years. That this Darkness belongs to the Sith… yes. It makes sense.”

The other Council members stirred, rattled, at the confirmation. 

“This Senator… it rings of truth,” Sifo-Dyas said. 

“Why do you bring this to us now?” Mace asked, not exactly unfriendly but holding that tension in his shoulders that wartime had brought. Obi-Wan was sorry to see it. 

“Because,” Obi-Wan said. “We think we know where he is. And where he is, his apprentice can’t be far behind.” 

The Council called on Qui-Gon to explain what it was that Bail had told them, as well as Obi-Wan’s “suspicions” about Palpatine. Tahl chimed in— she believed Obi-Wan, if the yellow hue of Sey’s eyes alone weren’t enough to convince them. 

There was deliberating, among the Councillors. Obi-Wan and his friends watched from the shadows. Tahl and Qui-Gon joined them after a while of fruitless arguing. 

Obi-Wan could feel the currents of the room; simple shifts of the Force, as well as his long and personal experience with the Council. “They’re not going to send us after them,” he said quietly. 

They had refused to believe last time too, until it was too late. 

Obi-Wan glanced back at the doors, considering. He could make it; no one would expect little thirteen-year-old Obi-Wan to steal a starship, much less know how to pilot one, and getting to Cato Neimodia would be little problem, not in this world before the war. But he wasn’t Anakin— he preferred not to run off half-cocked. 

There was a difference between a creative plan and one that would just get you killed. And Obi-Wan didn’t think he could fight off two Sith, a dark Jedi, and whatever else the Trade Federation decided to throw at him at the same time. 

Yoda looked troubled, his ears drooping. Finally they called to order. 

“This news is very troubling,” Mace said, steepling his hands. “We will have to meditate on these new developments— as well as receive formal leave to pursue from the Senate. In the meantime, we will send a scout to assess the situation.” 

“We are not bound to the Senate,” Obi-Wan said. “We are bound to the galaxy.” 

“That may be so, youngling,” said Plo Koon. “But the fact remains that this is a very complicated situation.” 

“One scout against a Master of the Sith will die, and that is a guarantee,” Obi-Wan said, which garnered him a few more perturbed whispers. Some people believed him, this he could see. But not everyone. There was a reason Obi-Wan hadn’t told anyone about Palpatine before this.

“You should have more patience,” said Sasee Tiin. “The scout will not engage with the adversaries— and once we know what is happening, we can act safely.”

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to protest— and caught Dooku’s eye. It was almost a look he recognized; just before Dooku pulled something fiendishly clever on the battlefield. Dooku looked steadily back at him. 

So Obi-Wan just bowed. “Of course, Masters,” he said. “I’m sorry for doubting your judgement.” 

That earned him a couple suspicious looks, mostly from his friends and the cannier members of the Council. But no one could ever take issue with any part of Obi-Wan’s ability to perfectly follow the rules of custom. When it so suited him. 

They were ushered out quickly after that, to the further sounds of arguments rising up behind them, muffled when the door shut. 

“Short-sighted fools,” Tahl muttered, then looked at Obi-Wan, Bant, and Bruck. “Don’t repeat that,” she said. “I didn’t say that.” 

Bruck looked at Obi-Wan sidelong. “How come you’re not throwing a fit?” he asked. 

“I go where the Force leads me,” Obi-Wan said serenely. Right now the Force was leading him to a small alcove off the Council chambers, where he could sense Dooku’s presence, though hidden to most eyes. 

He went near the alcove and stopped. The younglings jumped when Dooku melted out of the shadows there, but Tahl and Qui-Gon were too well-trained for such a tell. Dooku did look disappointed at being discovered so quickly though— no doubt he had been hoping for a suitably dramatic entrance at a pivotal point in their conversation. 

“Master,” Qui-Gon said, warily. 

“Padawan,” Dooku said. “That was quite the show, all of you.”

“We aim to please,” Obi-Wan said dryly. 

“There are Sith out there, right at the heart of the Senate,” Qui-Gon said. “We can’t stand by and do nothing.” 

“And I, at least, am not,” Dooku said. “I don’t know what you’re doing.” 

“What?” Tahl asked. 

“You’re the scout,” Obi-Wan said, to Dooku. “The one the Council decided to send.” 

“Indeed,” Dooku said. “And if we want to leave before they realize I’ve taken you with me, we’re going to have to leave quickly.”

Chapter Text

If there is no path before you, create your own.

Bruck had refused to be left behind. 

“If Oafy-Wan and Eerin get to go, so do I,” he’d said. Then he’d folded his arms. “If you leave me back here I’m telling the Council.” 

Qui-Gon had glared, but Dooku had looked approving. “A little initiative does a Jedi good,” he’d said. “There’s room.” 

The Council had provided Dooku with a starship for his mission— slightly cramped, but they’d fit. It wouldn’t take that long to get to Cato Neimodia. The Trade Federation made sure the hyperspace routes around their planet were safe. They wouldn’t want to be robbed by their own pirates, after all. 

“This might get a little sticky,” Qui-Gon said, once they were in hyperspace. They were all gathered around a table in the galley, the only place where they could all fit without the risk of bumping into something important, like in the cockpit. “Three Jedi Masters and three younglings still in training— versus three darksiders.” He ignored the glares he got on all sides by said younglings. “Not favorable odds.” 

“It’s worse than that,” Obi-Wan said. “The Trade Federation will have protection— droids, probably, secreted away from their factories. If Palpatine tells them to, I think they will deploy them all to protect him.” 

Tahl sighed, leaning her head on her propped-up hand. “Not to mention that Cato Neimodia is a big planet. We still have to find them.” 

“I’m sure we can sense them,” Bant said. “Can’t we?” 

“Can’t you,” Bruck said, waggling his hand vaguely around his head. “See it? Look at what we’re doing in the future and then we just follow that?” 

“The darkness clouds the senses, including the Force,” Obi-Wan said. “It’s how they’ve gone undetected for so long.” 

“Young Xanatos will not be much of a threat,” Dooku said derisively. “Untrained. Captured once already.” 

“I don’t think he’s going to fall for the same trick twice,” Obi-Wan said, trying not to snicker. He would forever treasure the look on Xanatos’ face when he registered where exactly Obi-Wan had kicked him. 

Qui-Gon’s mouth twitched, clearly thinking along the same lines. 

Somehow it was funnier now that he knew Xanatos better— kind of like having something to tease your annoying older brother about. If your older brother was slightly evil and locked in a jail cell, that was. 

“Master Sey is a renowned Knight of the Order,” Tahl said. “She won’t be easy. And we already know she is willing to be ruthless. She went after Obi-Wan once already. Add that to droids, which can be tricky to fight at the best of times… we’d better have a plan.” 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said, with a thoughtful smile. “I know who we can call for backup. Worth six Jedi, all on his own. Let me make a call.” He paused. “Do you think the Council will pay for a bounty hunter?” 

The call to Jango Fett connected quickly, as it usually did. Obi-Wan squashed himself into one of the very small bunkrooms to make the call. 

When he answered, Jango sounded faintly surprised. “I was just about to contact you,” he said. 

“Yes, well, updates will have to wait,” Obi-Wan said. “I have another job for you, if you’re willing to take it.” 

“Willing?” Jango asked, apparently intrigued. “Not able?” 

“I’d understand it if you didn’t want to take the job,” Obi-Wan said. “Tell me— how much do you think it would cost for you to be willing to work with the Jedi?” 

There was a brief pause. “I kriffing knew there was something wrong with you,” he said. “Polite kid, speaks Mando'a, pays promptly…” 

Obi-Wan smiled. “So are you in?” 

The Battle of Galidraan hadn’t happened yet. That meant that while the True Mandalorians had an instinctive, almost genetic dislike of the Jedi, they didn’t have any newer or more visceral reasons to hate them. 

“Maybe,” Jango said. “Give me the details.” 

It was not too difficult to land on an unoccupied portion of Cato Neimoidia. It was mainly misty grassland outside of the cities, easy enough to slip into undetected, especially in a ship full of Jedi. 

They disembarked, Obi-Wan at least enjoying the fresh air after a time in hyperspace. He still didn’t like to fly. 

Cato Neimodia was a wretched hive of scum and villainy, if it hid it better than Tatooine. It was where all the affluent Neimodians lived, the ones working for the Trade Federation and the Banking Clan. The Neimodians were not a bad species, but it was difficult to see— almost all of their members that were allowed out into the galaxy were the greediest, most profit-seeking among them. 

Most of the world was built on top of wide stretches of natural stone platforms above the sea, sometimes so wide you couldn’t see the other end. This one was small enough that it hadn’t been colonized but more than big enough for Dooku’s ship, the Lustre, and Slave I, which was already there and cooling. 

“How do you know of this bounty hunter?” Dooku asked. 

“He could be very important to the galaxy,” Obi-Wan said, deflecting of course. “We can trust him— he won’t break a contract.” Especially not at three times his usual rate, which was what he had agreed to in the end. But Obi-Wan would probably be leaving that one out. 

“I’ve never been to this planet,” Qui-Gon said, “But I’m given to understand that they won’t exactly welcome us with open arms. It may take us a while to find Master Sey, Xanatos, and Senator Palpatine.” 

That didn’t sit very well with Obi-Wan. The longer the Sith had to themselves, the more chance to prepare that they would have— and the Sith always seemed to be just a little more prepared than the Jedi, a little bit faster and a little bit smarter. 

He frowned. He didn’t think they would be able to sense out the darksiders’ location, not with how skilled Palpatine was at hiding his aura. Maybe if they all linked up to meditate, but even that… 

As they approached Jango’s ship, the hatch opened and the man himself came out. He was wearing full armor and jetpack and cape, of course, all polished to a shine. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. 

“Stay back, younglings,” Qui-Gon said, and ignored Obi-Wan’s offended look. The three adults walled the younglings behind them regardless, not hostile but at attention. 

“Jettise,” Jango greeted. 

“Greetings, Master Fett,” Dooku said. 

Jango was wearing his helmet, but Obi-Wan could sense the face he was making under it. “Just Fett,” he said. 

“We appreciate your aid in this mission,” Qui-Gon said. 

“So long as I’m getting paid,” Jango said, and tilted his head. “None of you are the one who hired me, though. Where’s the verd’ika ?” 

Obi-Wan poked his head out. “Su’cuy, ” he said cheerfully. 

“By stars, kid,” Jango said. “You are little.” 

Bruck snickered. 

Reluctantly, the Masters moved aside a little. Qui-Gon introduced them all one by one. When Jango saw the three children, he visibly softened. “I’m here,” he said. “Ready for a fight.” 

“That’s only the second step,” Tahl said. “First we need to search out our quarry. I was hoping you might be of some help, actually— they say these bounty hunting ships have very modified scanners?” 

“Still a big planet,” Jango said thoughtfully, putting a hand to the bottom of his helmet, where his chin would have been. “Could take a while. But—” 

Obi-Wan’s comm went off. 

“Sorry,” he said, but he answered it. You never knew who was calling or what kind of trouble they’d inevitably gotten themselves in— or maybe that was just a bad habit from spending years fielding calls from Anakin in the strangest situations. It was a pending request for a hologram call, so Obi-Wan opened it and held his hand away from his body. 

Somehow, he both was and wasn’t surprised at the face smirking at him through the projection. 

“Xanatos,” he said. 

“Kid,” Xanatos said. “Are you looking for me?” 

“What do you think?” Obi-Wan asked dryly. 

“Oh, good,” Xanatos said. That was not the answer Obi-Wan had expected. He raised an eyebrow. “This lady is crazy.” 

Qui-Gon elbowed his way into the field of the hologram and gave Xanatos a very exasperated look. “Xanatos du Crion,” he said. “Explain.” 

“Excuse me, we’re having a private conversation,” Xanatos said, and turned to Obi-Wan. “I’m trapped in jail, a lady breaks through the wall and offers to spring me. Obviously I’m not going to say no to that. She says she hates the Jedi too. I can get with that cause. I go with her.” 

“Naturally,” Obi-Wan said. 

“We get here, and she’s suddenly kneeling in front of some old guy. And they’re talking crazy stuff.” Xanatos raised an eyebrow. “Crazy. Like, not only are we going to destroy the Jedi, but also the Republic, and all the cute little kids, and raze the fields and boil the oceans and chizzik like that. I didn’t exactly sign up for a new system of governance— I just wanted to eat grapes in a big chair while my subjects showered me with riches.” 

Obi-Wan laughed, helplessly, into his hand. Nearby, Jango Fett was watching with the air of a man on the outskirts of some kind of very interesting speeder crash. 

“So…” Obi-Wan said. “Are you coming back to the Jedi?” 

Xanatos scoffed. “No way. I’m never going back to those fuddy-duddies. But I’ll send you the coordinates of this super-secret castle thing we’re in. The Jedi can storm this place— yes, that means you too, Jinn— and I can get out of here without having to deal with all the red lightsabers.” 

The comm chirped with his incoming message. It was, indeed, on this planet. Just a little ways away, in fact. 

“You can’t take care of them on your own?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“I could,” Xanatos said. “If I wanted to.” 

“No, you couldn’t,” Obi-Wan said. “Don’t try.” 

“Well, anyway, it’s like this has been planned for a long time— maybe a backup plan or something,” Xanatos said. “The old guy, Palpatine, seems really, really pissed. He has the Neimodians on his side. They’re scared of him.” 

“He’s expecting us?” Qui-Gon asked. 

“He’s expecting resistance. I don’t know how much,” Xanatos said. “They’re leaving me out of some of their meetings. I think it’s kind of a Sith-only club.” 

Now they were really on the right track. Obi-Wan was surprised that Xanatos had decided to help them in the end. But at the same time he wasn’t, really. You could come back from the Dark. Anakin had shown that, at the end. 

Obi-Wan smiled. “I’m proud of you, Xanatos,” he said. 

“Ugh!” Xanatos said. “Force, there’s no need to be cruel about it.” 

They sent Dooku, Tahl, and, once he complained enough, Bruck to scout out the palace that Xanatos directed them to. Obi-Wan had been to Cato Neimodia, so he knew the standard layout of their fortifications, and he had fought almost as many damned Trade Federation-enabled battles as Seperatist ones. He wasn’t too worried about their forces. 

Obi-Wan meditated quietly next to Qui-Gon, his legs folded under him as he hovered slightly. He was also keeping half an eye on Jango and Bant, which is how he knew that he was completely freaking Jango out. 

Bant was looking at Jango’s beskar'gam with open curiosity. “I’ve never met a Mandalorian before,” she said. “Are Mandalorians allowed to take off their helmets?” 

“Not all of us,” Jango said. “It depends on the sect.” But still he reached up and broke the seal on his helmet, looking down at Bant and clearly trying to stay gruff. She beamed at him and he smiled back before he caught himself. 

“So if it’s religious sometimes, is your helmet sacred to you?” Bant asked. 

“So much as the rest of my armor is,” Jango said. “It protects me. We thank the beskar’gam for that, but we don’t worship it if that’s what you mean.”

“That’s interesting!” Bant said. 

“I guess,” Jango said, clearly flattered. “Here.” He handed her his helmet. Pleased, she put it on immediately, the instinct of any child presented with a helmet. It wouldn’t have fit if she had been an adult Mon Cala, but as it was it went over her head, a little too big. 

“Wow!” Bant said, modulated. 

Obi-Wan, content that at least for now things were clear from that corner, let himself sink a little deeper into meditation. He felt out for the shapes of the Force. Qui-Gon, safe. Bant, safe. Tahl, Bruck, Dooku, safe. There was no widespread terror or pain, not like there would have been on a planet already war-torn. 

But there was a great deal of nervousness, from the direction Palpatine was purported to be in. Cato Neimodians, unnerved by their own guests. Palpatine was still very good at shielding, but Obi-Wan could catch a faint whiff of the Dark on the wind. 

They were in the right place. The Force ruffled gently through Obi-Wan’s hair. 

Another presence. Bright. Hot. Warm. 

Obi-Wan opened his eyes and dropped deftly back down to the ground.   

“Who do you have onboard Slave I ?” he asked. 

“What?” Jango asked. “How did you know—? And how did you know the name of my ship?” 

“He does that,” Qui-Gon said, without opening his eyes. 

“He does,” Bant agreed. 

“Right,” Jango said. “I actually wanted to talk to you anyway, kid. Come here.” 

That one actually got Qui-Gon to open his eyes and glare at him suspiciously. 

“I’ll be fine, Master,” Obi-Wan said. “Don’t worry about me.” 

“I always worry about you,” Qui-Gon said, in the same kind of voice Obi-Wan used to use on Anakin, meaning, I worry what you’re going to do next. 

Obi-Wan grinned at him sideways and followed Jango up the ramp into the ship. 

“Well, I can’t say you don’t make it interesting,” Jango said once they were inside, tossing his helmet onto a table. “You can see the future, can’t you? That’s why you didn’t know much about the woman— your vision or whatever wasn’t clear.” 

“You catch on quickly,” Obi-Wan said. “Wait a moment. The woman—?” 

“I told you I was about to call you,” Jango said, then called out, “Miss Skywalker?” 

There was a pause, then a woman emerged from the depths of the ship, wiping off her hands. She had been working on something mechanical, clearly, an echo of her son. Obi-Wan had only seen one picture of her, the only one Anakin had, the two of them standing together outside their home. She looked different now but recognizably the same woman, just softer. 

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Jango said. “Know him?”

Shmi’s dark eyes searched him. “No, Mas— Mister Fett.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Lady Skywalker,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Found her just before you called me— I mean just,” Jango said. “She was on a spice freighter, bound for Nal Hutta. We managed to get out. I didn’t have time to take her anywhere else before we met up here.” 

“You’re the one who hired the bounty hunter to find me,” Shmi said thoughtfully.

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan said. “I trust he’s treated you well?” 

“He took out my slave chip,” Shmi said. That had been in Obi-Wan’s original instructions, if Jango were to find her. After that he was supposed to take her wherever she wanted to go, all expenses paid. “Who are you?” 

“A sorcerer,” Jango snorted. “I’ll leave you two to talk— if that’s all right with you, Miss Skywalker.”  

Shmi eyed Obi-Wan again. Jango had found her clothes by the looks of things, vaguely Mandalorian and functional. There was a knife strapped to her thigh, and a holdout blaster somewhere if Obi-Wan knew the Mandalorian way of doing things. She looked healthy. Almost happy. 

“Sure,” she said. “Thank you.” 

Jango saluted, and ducked further into the depths of his ship, out of sight. 

“You’re a Jedi,” Shmi said, taking in his robes and the lightsaber on his belt. “You’re a child.” 

“That’s me,” Obi-Wan said, slightly sheepishly. 

“I don’t know you,” Shmi said. “But yet something in my heart tells me I can trust you.” Obi-Wan didn’t say anything.“Why did you do it?” she asked. She didn’t look upset, just searching. 

Obi-Wan considered this. “You have a destiny,” he said. 

Shmi folded her arms. She was good at hiding her emotions, even in the Force, in the instinctual way that slaves hid their presences. But Obi-Wan was pretty sure she was irritated. “You wanted me in place for whatever this destiny of yours is,” she said. “That’s why you made sure I was freed.” 

“Oh,” Obi-Wan said. “No. I think your future will find you wherever you go, Shmi.” He looked away. “It just seemed cruel to leave you to suffer while you waited for it.” 

Shmi looked a little taken-aback. “Kindness,” she said, like tasting the word on her lips. “You went through all this effort to free me because… you’re kind?”

“Not always,” Obi-Wan said. “But I try to be.” 

Jango announced his presence with footsteps before he actually came in. “The other Jetii are back,” he said. 

Obi-Wan bowed to Shmi. “My lady. May the Force be with you.” 

“May the Force be with you,” she echoed. 

Obi-Wan went back outside. 

The others had returned from scouting without incident. Dooku had made a scan of the building at Xanatos’ coordinates. It was a typical Neimodian building, more of a palace than anything— big, sprawling, and well-defended. 

It was protected by legions of droids. 

The Jedi and Jango gathered around the holoprojection, strategizing. It would have been easier to infiltrate with more troops, but it was certainly less than impossible. The fortress was built into one of the stone arches so that it was protected on most sides. 

“Well, kark, that’s a lot of droids,” Qui-Gon said. 

Obi-Wan put a hand on his chin. “They’ll put sniper droids here and here,” he said, pointing out the two ridges flanking the castle. “Droidekas on the bottom, with some battle droids. No human opponents— Neimodians are not the type to keep troops.”  

It was easy enough to guess tactics, especially in a galaxy not at war— it had been a long time since anyone had done warfare at the same scale as Obi-Wan Kenobi. 

Jango was clearly impressed. “A commando who can see battles before they happen…” he said. “Hey, kid, how committed to the Jedi are you?” 

Obi-Wan grinned. “I’m not looking for a job. And my foresight is not infallible.” 

“There’s a smaller entrance here,” Dooku said, zooming in on the map. If Obi-Wan was good at tactical planning, Dooku was a genius. It was a lot easier to appreciate that when they were on the same side. “So we could avoid the main one.” 

“They’ll still see us coming,” Tahl pointed out. “And it won’t take long for their troops to reconfigure towards that location.” 

“We could distract ‘em,” Bruck said. “Right?” 

“A good series of explosions could do that,” Obi-Wan said. “But we’d probably have to split up.” 

“I don’t know about you, but I don’t carry around any number of explosive devices on a regular day, much less enough to hold back an army of droids,” Qui-Gon said. 

“Excuse me, Master, but you are travelling around with a Mandalorian,” Bant said. 

Jango smirked.

Chapter Text

A single chance is a galaxy of hope.

Without darkness there cannot be light. 

Things moved quickly after that. 

Jango asked Shmi to move to the grounded Lustre while he took Slave I up into the atmosphere. The other Jedi didn’t seem too confused by her— figuring her for a passenger or shiphand. 

They didn’t need to take the fortress, not like they would have had to do on a force occupying a planet. They only needed to find Palpatine and Sey and, hopefully, arrest them. Obi-Wan was less than optimistic that the Sith would let themselves be taken alive. 

After that, they could just leave, and let the Republic deal with the illegal droid army gathering here. This one force was, Obi-Wan realized with no small amount of pleasure, the majority of the Trade Federation’s private army. They hadn’t had time to stock up for anything bigger. Maybe they never would. 

“May the Force be with you,” Bant said, as Jango departed into Slave I, the engines primed. 

“Oya, vod’ikase, ” Jango said, waving to the children. 

“Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur,” Obi-Wan said, and Jango’s answering laugh followed him away. 

It wasn’t a long hike to the fortress. Bant and Bruck were both bleeding contained nervousness through the Force, but they were staying calm enough. 

Ironically, it might have been Obi-Wan who was the most frightened. The one most well-prepared to fight the Lord of the Sith was, well, him. And he was currently thirteen years old. But even Yoda had never been able to kill Palpatine— Mace, Kit, Agen, Sassee; none of them had ever won either. 

But none of that would come through his shields, tightened even more so than usual. 

“Xanatos isn’t answering,” Obi-Wan said, as they crouched behind a grass-covered hillock, observing the castle. “I hope he’s all right.” 

“I hope it’s not a trap,” Dooku said wryly. 

The entrance they planned to make their way in through was little more than a service tunnel for various servants and working droids, but it would fit them all and it would lead into the heart of the fortress. 

“We’ll find out soon enough,” Tahl said. “Fett is coming around.” 

Indeed, they could see his distinctive ship in the distance now, swooping in for a strafing run at the droids on the ground below. 

At the same time, the explosives they’d planted took out one of the overlooking hills, instantly crushing a good portion of the droids lying in wait there. Debris and metal clattered to the ground. 

Obi-Wan grinned. 

“Run!” Dooku ordered, and they did, with Force-assisted speed towards their chosen door. The wind rushed past Obi-Wan’s ears. He could hear the droids start to shoot back at Jango, but it was near to useless— the bombing had taken out all the air cannons at once. 

It wasn’t a long stretch between the doorway and the nearest cover, but it was enough for a droid to spot them. “Hey!” it said. “Stop!” 

Obi-Wan reached out a hand— the droid’s head popped off, then crumpled inwards on itself. Without its processors supporting it, the body collapsed onto the ground. “We’ve been spotted,” Obi-Wan said calmly. 

More droids, alerted by the first, turned towards them.  

Six lightsabers snapped on at the same time, moving to deflect the onslaught of blaster bolts. 

Jango circled around again and shot some of the droids out of the way, giving them enough time to reach the doorway and pile inside. Tahl stayed near the entrance, deflecting blaster bolts back at the droids. 

She looked back over her shoulder, dark hair flying. “I’ll stay,” she said. “Make sure they don’t follow you in.” 

“I’ll stay with you, Master,” Bant said, moving to stand at her side. 

“Bant—” Tahl said. 

“I’m staying, Master,” Bant said. 

“All right,” Tahl said, with a fond shake of her head. She looked back at the others. “Burning daylight,” she said. “Get going.” 

“Yes, Master Tahl,” Qui-Gon said, and sketched her a sarcastic bow. They ran deeper into the castle. 

Obi-Wan could hear the sounds of fighting echoing back up to them in the passageway, but it sounded more or less in hand. The small entrance would make it difficult for the droidekas to maneuver, and even someone who was unarmed could take on a flimsy B1 battle droid. 

“Do you think the Sith is really here?” Bruck asked as they jogged down the hall. 

“These droids are protecting something ,” Obi-Wan said. 

The Force wrapped itself around Obi-Wan. It would be with him for this fight, as it had for all the other fights in his long life.  

As they got further in, the air got less close and the sound of fighting much more distant. The ground shook every so often— Jango, making more bombing runs, not enough to threaten the structural integrity of the castle but enough to make dust fall from the ceiling here and there. 

The place wasn’t entirely unsecure; eventually, they reached a blast door blocking off the rest of the hallway from the castle itself. There was a security keypad and a droid socket that would open it up. 

But it didn’t have much resistance against lightsabers, and soon there was a new circular entrance right through the door. 

The passage branched off. They poked their heads out the first one and saw into the front hall, where visitors were supposed to enter, and found a line of droidekas, pointing at the door in anticipation. 

“I vote we go around,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Good idea,” Qui-Gon said. 

The next best entrance was through some kind of planning room, with a hologram table in the middle obviously meant for planning or surveying of blueprints. It was empty, but it didn’t look abandoned. 

The Neimodians had a taste for opulence. They crept further through the palace, observing the gilded accents scattered throughout the walls, the thick carpeting on the stairs that must have taken a team of droids and a lot of money to upkeep. 

Obi-Wan sensed lifeforms, off in one of the meeting rooms. “There are people in there,” he said, pointing. “Not the Sith, though.” 

“You two stay back,” Qui-Gon said, and again pushed Obi-Wan and Bruck to the back of the group. They exchanged aggrieved looks. 

Qui-Gon and Dooku stood side-by-side. They fit well together— it could be easy to forget that they too had been Master and padawan, once upon a time. Qui-Gon palmed the door open. 

Inside was a group of Cato Neimodians, gathered around a meeting table. A few of them shrieked when they saw the Jedi. 

“I told you!” one said. “We never should have agreed to this! Jedi! On our planet!”

“At your service,” Obi-Wan said, poking his head in. 

One of the Neimodians stood up. “Oh!” she said. “Rescue us!”

There was a general confused murmuring among the crowd. 

“ Rescue us,” she repeated, more pointedly. “This evil Sith tricked us.” This seemed to be catching on. “We’ve been partnering with Lord Sidious for years— we never had any idea of his evil, anti-Jedi sympathies.” 

Another Neimodian— Force, it was Nute Gunray — stood up. “It’s true!” he said. “We agreed to host him, for, ah, trade dealings. But we didn’t know he would bring such destruction to our door.” 

There was a translation to this, not in Basic but in politician-ese. A.K.A, the Cato Neimoidians had been secretly partnered with Palpatine, and had been using him to gain political favors, lucrative contracts, whatever. Then when he needed someplace to hide he’d gone to them. 

They had, knowing the Neimodians, tried to refuse. Probably that had resulted in a Force-choke or two, after which they would have been much more cooperative. They’d loaned out the droids they’d been stockpiling and holed up to hope for the best. 

But now that it seemed the Jedi were on to them, they were willing to turn to the other side. Maybe they’d make some profit along the way. 

Dooku did not take his saber out, but he did move his cloak just so, exposing the gleaming metal to the roomful of already quavering Neimodians. “Where,” he said, “Are the Sith?” 

Every Trade Federation and Banking Clan member in the room suddenly decided that the best idea right now was to do exactly as the Jedi asked. They pointed, in a sea of hands, towards the opposite door. 

“Thank you,” Dooku said politely, and stalked away. 

“Wow,” Bruck said under his breath, clearly impressed. 

“Unnecessarily dramatic,” Qui-Gon said. 

The Neimodians had pointed them in a direction that proved to be a huge foyer, some kind of secondary receiving room for guests. There was an enormous staircase that split into two halfway up, long landings that then led into hallways that must have held guest quarters. 

All was empty. 

“I have a bad feeling about this,” Obi-Wan said.

“Spread out,” Qui-Gon said. “Eyes open.” 

They did, in a very cautious line, lightsabers at the ready. 

This meant only that they weren’t all bunched up into one convenient firing line when the droids emerged from all corners, clanking and whirring. They stayed alert but unfiring, waiting for further orders.

“My Master was right,” a voice echoed throughout the room. 

Obi-Wan looked up, figuring the most dramatic place for an entrance would be where he would find his opponent. 

Indeed, not a moment later, Master Sey appeared at the top of the staircase, leaning her arms on the banister. She was dressed in black, with a dark hood halfway over her head. Much of her face was banked in shadow, but Obi-Wan could see the glimmer of yellow eyes. 

“He said you’d come to be slaughtered,” she said. “And here you are.” 

“Kadrian,” Dooku said. “Your Master, if I recall, has been dead some five years now.” 

Sey hissed. “He fell because he was weak. He believed in the Jedi ideals, and he let himself be destroyed saving people he had never even met and who did not care about him.” She flicked her hood back. “Now I have a true Master, who will teach me the real power of the Dark Side.” 

“Master Sey,” Qui-Gon said. “Stop this. You know this is madness. Come back to the Temple.” 

“My name,” Sey growled, “Is Darth Inimic.” 

“Then you are truly lost,” Dooku said. 

“It’s the Order that has lost its way,” said Sey— Darth Inimic. “Join us. The Jedi Order is doomed to failure, and I am not going down with the ship.” She smiled. “You could ask your little apprentice, but well…” 

Obi-Wan stepped out of the shadow of his master. “Sorry to disappoint, my dear,” he said. 

Her eyes narrowed. “I should have known you’d survive. Like a little annoying cockroach.” 

“Resorting to flattery already?”

Inimic scowled. “No matter. You’ll be dead soon enough anyway.” 

“What do you mean?” Dooku asked. “About the Jedi.” 

“My Master promises that I will no longer be so weak as the Jedi, clinging to the Light. Instead the Darkness will feed me and I will rise above my enemies,” Darth Inimic said. She started to pace. Like all other Sith Obi-Wan had encountered, she was starting to seem a little mad, a little frazzled around the edges. Like Falling had taken something fundamental out of them. She looked Dooku in the eyes. “The Jedi will fall. It is written.” 

Slowly, everyone turned to look at Obi-Wan. 

“Not even the younglings,” Qui-Gon breathed, quietly enough that Obi-Wan was unsure if anyone else heard. 

“That is only one possible future!” Obi-Wan shouted up at her. “The future changes when we change it!” 

“I decided I would not be dragged down with the dusty old prophets,” Inimic said. “I didn’t know how. But I knew I would get out. Then they told me little Obi-Wan was back in the Halls of Healing. Now what, I wondered, could scare him so badly? So I went to check it out.” 

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed. “You injured yourself to get inside.” 

She kept pacing. “Oh yes. I couldn’t touch you, but your Master was almost as good. Psychometry, you know.” She stared contemplatively at her hand. “I touched his shoulder. I saw the Sith. He frightened you. Anyone could see that. I wanted to know why. So I sought out Senator Palpatine.” 

“Let me guess,” Obi-Wan said. “He promised to train you, if only you removed the one person who could possibly know his identity.” 

“A youngling,” Qui-Gon said. “You tried to kill a child, in our very Temple.” 

“Your Master is not going to be very happy to learn you’ve failed, Darth,” Obi-Wan said. “Tell me, do you think the Sith are forgiving?” 

Inimic hissed again. “It looks like I’ll have a chance to make it up to him.” 

Behind them, there was a loud hiss and then a clatter. 

Everyone turned to the opposite end of the room to find Xanatos spinning his lightsaber in one hand before deactivating it. A commando droid, sliced neatly in half and still glowing slightly along the cut, lay on the floor. He leaned against the wall. “Sorry to interrupt the moment,” he said. “Just kind of thought you’d appreciate not being sniped.” 

“We do,” Obi-Wan said. “Hello, Xanatos. You are not looking well.”

And he wasn’t particularly. His normally coiffed hair, even when he was in prison, was in disarray, and his face was pale and shocky. 

“Yes,” Xanatos said. “As it turns out, when you disagree with a Sith, they electrocute you. A lot.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Obi-Wan said politely. 

“Well, life happens,” he said. “They told me you were dead.” 

“Greatly exaggerated,” Obi-Wan said.

“Holy Sith,” Bruck said. “Your manners are excruciating. Can you please have this conversation some other time?” 

“I agree,” Inimic said darkly. The droids scattered around the room readied their weapons all at once. 

“As you wish,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Xanatos,” Qui-Gon said quietly. “Have you come back to the Light?” 

“Nope,” Xanatos said. “But I’m mad as hell, and I’m ready to kriffing destroy some droids.”

The droids attacked. They burst into action, whirls of blue and green and red. Obi-Wan leaped and flipped over the back of a droideka, slowing himself that crucial amount to slide in behind its ray shield. Then he sliced the droideka in half. 

Qui-Gon jumped and kicked out, sending a droid flying into a line of its fellows, their limbs demagnetizing and flying everywhere as they fell. Xanatos seemed to be working out some aggression on a circle of battle droids. 

The Force chimed in warning, and Obi-Wan ducked just in time to avoid Darth Inimic, who leapt down from her post at the top of the stairs, lightsaber hissing as it passed close to Obi-Wan’s body. She landed in the center of the fighting, the eye of a hurricane. 

She had already switched over to a red saber, slightly different in design than her old. Possibly an old Sith artifact. She swung it, showy more than functional, surveying the room coolly. 

The floor rocked. Another laser cannon blast from Jango outside. 

Obi-Wan fought. He was used to killing droids, used to battle. For a moment he was back in the Clone Wars— the Sith, always around the corner. Droids, good only for death. Blaster fire and explosions all around

Obi-Wan turned and sliced the head off a droid. 

He could only hope that, despite all his efforts, he hadn’t just ensured history repeated itself.

Xanatos was still fighting, almost lazily. Obi-Wan backed up to him and deflected a blaster bolt away from Xanatos, right into a battle droid. 

“Where is Palpatine?” he asked. 

Xanatos shrugged. “Left him in the throne room. Probably still there.” 

“Thanks,” Obi-Wan said. A droid was trying to sneak up on them— Obi-Wan Force-pushed it away and directly into the path of one of the other droids’ blaster bolts. 

“Not too bad,” Xanatos said. “You sure I can’t convince you to join the Dark Side?” 

“You sure I can’t convince you to join the Light?” Obi-Wan asked, and Xanatos grinned and saluted. He used some droids as footholds to make it midway up the staircase, where more droids were descending, and started to cut them down. 

Obi-Wan went back to fighting, scanning the room. Throne room— would be downstairs, with a high ceiling, fairly defensible… Obi-Wan spotted a door likely to lead him there. Everyone else was engaged with droids. 

Qui-Gon was fighting Darth Inimic. 

Obi-Wan revised his plans. He sprinted that direction instead. 

Qui-Gon was holding his own pretty well. Both he and Inimic favored Ataru, so it was almost dizzying to watch them fight, flipping and spinning and whirling. Red against green. It was not bringing up great memories in Obi-Wan. 

Inimic was not as good as Maul was, but she was a Sith and she had spent an unknown amount of time training under Darth Sidious. That was enough to make anyone dangerous. 

Qui-Gon spun, hit, and caught Inimic right on the shoulder. The flesh sizzled and she screamed. She brought her lightsaber down, knocked his out of his hand—  

And cut a hole into his stomach. 

“Master!” Obi-Wan said, and arrived just in time to catch Qui-Gon as he fell. Qui-Gon was much bigger than him, and they both stumbled to the ground, Obi-Wan slowing Qui-Gon’s descent— Qui-Gon sprawled out, Obi-Wan with his master’s head and torso on his upright lap. “N—no,” he said. “It’s too early.”

Above them, there was a laugh. 

Obi-Wan looked up, eyes shining, at Darth Inimic. She twirled her red lightsaber. Obi-Wan didn’t look away. She brought it down. 

Bruck caught it on his blade. 

He pushed up, throwing her backwards, away from the injured Jedi. She slashed at him, but he moved quickly out of the way. Bruck caught her blade on his again— and again. She tried to jump through the air, to get around to his other side and flank him. But he caught her mid-flight, a line of his lightsaber across her side. 

He was using perfect Makashi form— against Ataru. Just like he and Obi-Wan had practiced in the Temple, over and over. 

He was doing well. But he was smaller and less experienced, and running on adrenaline and fear. 

Inimic feinted, caught his blade, and punched Bruck in the face while his attention was on the lightsabers. Bruck stumbled back. 

But she couldn’t move to press the advantage, because, suddenly, Dooku was there. He flicked his wrist, and, just as neatly as she had disarmed Qui-Gon, her lightsaber went flying out into the chaos of the fight. 

He turned, and raised an eyebrow at Obi-Wan. “What are you waiting for?” he asked. “ Go.” 

Obi-Wan did. He hooked Qui-Gon’s lightsaber back on his belt, and pulled him, with Force-assisted strength, towards an empty doorway. Behind, Inimic, radiating rage, pulled out another lightsaber— her old one, light yellow.

Qui-Gon was still conscious— he winced and laughed. “Don’t look so worried, Obi-Wan,” he said. 

“I’m not, Master,” Obi-Wan said, panting, as he dragged Qui-Gon. “I’m only worried about your weight. Surely you are too heavy, even for a man so unnecessarily huge as you.” 

“Don’t worry,” Qui-Gon wheezed, “You’ll grow.” 

“Unfortunately, not so,” Obi-Wan said. He had to stop, to take out his lightsaber and shield them from more of the droids. He stumbled mid-step and looked down. Darth Inimic’s lightsaber was under his foot. Mindlessly, Obi-Wan tucked it into his own belt. Better that she not recover it. Then he hauled Qui-Gon back up, and finally made it out of the battle zone. 

Xanatos, Bruck, and Dooku were still fighting inside. Tahl and Bant were still holding the line. Jango was providing cover above. But Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon had a moment of quiet. 

Obi-Wan propped Qui-Gon against the wall and examined his charred tunics. 

“What do you think?” Qui-Gon asked, watching Obi-Wan’s hands shake. “Will I make it, Healer Kenobi?” 

It was a shallow wound— it would be very painful, but not at all life threatening. Not near anything vital, no front to back stabbing. No funerals today. Obi-Wan fisted his hands in Qui-Gon’s robes and laughed. “You’ll be all right,” he said. “I’ve seen worse.” 

“Have you?” 

“I really, really have,” Obi-Wan said. He put a hand over the lightsaber burn and wove the Force around the injury. The skin closed up a little, and the nasty weep of the burn eased. It was no expert Healer’s work, but it was better work than he could have done even during the war. Qui-Gon slumped, half in a healing trance, half worn out from his own body repairing itself. His eyes shut gently. 

Obi-Wan sat back on his heels and breathed. 

Someone stepped behind him. 

Obi-Wan whirled and stood at the same time, his lightsaber held to someone’s throat. He saw who it was and frowned. “Shmi?” 

Shmi Skywalker, in the flesh, tucking a blaster into her waistband. There was something subtly off about her. 

Then she grinned— a crooked, naughty grin promising the wielder of that smile was ready for trouble and had already caused some. 

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan said. 

“Hi, old man,” Anakin said, through Shmi’s mouth. Obi-Wan deactivated the lightsaber. 

“What in blazes?” Obi-Wan said. 

“You thought you were the only one the Force loved enough to send you back?” Anakin asked. “Only the thing is I’m not exactly born yet. But I couldn’t leave you in the lurch, Master.” 

“So you possessed your mother?” 

“When I explained who I was she was pretty happy to do it,” Anakin said. His smile turned a little shy. He reached out a hand and Obi-Wan automatically clasped at his forearm. “It’s good to see you. Even if you’re kind of a pipsqueak.” 

“You’re one to talk,” Obi-Wan said, slightly more emotionally than he’d meant to. “I’m taller than you right now.” 

“Enjoy it,” Anakin said. “Once I reach twelve you’re never going to be taller than anyone ever again.” 

“It’s good to see you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and pulled him in for a hug. Shmi didn’t feel like Anakin, two flesh arms where there should be metal, none of the muscled Jedi physique, soft where Anakin was sharp. But the grip around Obi-Wan was unmistakably that of Anakin Skywalker. 

“You know, this is the second time I’ve had to save you on this planet,” Anakin said, pressing their foreheads together. 

“Oh, please,” Obi-Wan said. “That first time doesn’t—” 

“Doesn’t count, I know,” Anakin echoed, with a slightly wet laugh. “Master—” 

“Don’t,” Obi-Wan said. “Are you ready to end this?” 

“I am,” Anakin said, drawing back. “Awkward question— don’t suppose I can borrow Qui-Gon’s lightsaber? I’ve got the blaster but, well…” he shaped a Coruscanti accent, even worse in Shmi’s voice than in Anakin’s. “ Uncivilized.” 

“That’s not funny,” Obi-Wan said. He put a hand on his chin. “Actually, I’ve got a lightsaber you can use. But…” 

“But?” 

Obi-Wan offered him Darth Inimic’s lightsaber. “It’s red,” he said. 

Anakin laughed. “Kind of poetic,” he said. He took the lightsaber and turned to the side, igniting the blade to test it. “Balance and stuff. Light and Dark. I like it.” 

“You would,” Obi-Wan said. 

Anakin deactivated the blade and put it on his belt, with ease as if Shmi’s body had done it a hundred times. “You know…” he said. “This is the end for me. Balance to the Force. My purpose fulfilled. After this—” 

“You’ll leave again.”

“The other me has to have a chance,” Anakin said. “In a better galaxy. And… I’m tired, Obi-Wan. I want to rest.”

Obi-Wan put a hand to his cheek. “I understand. I’ll miss you until we meet again.” 

“Master,” Anakin said, and put his hand on Obi-Wan’s face as well. “That’s so sappy I think I might throw up.” 

“Are you ready?” Obi-Wan asked. 

“I’m ready,” Anakin said. 

Obi-Wan shifted his shoulders, sloughing off Padawan Kenobi, shedding Obi-Wan and Ben and the crazy old wizard. He was just the Negotiator, standing side by side with the Hero With No Fear. The Team. Unstoppable— more like one entity than two. He grinned at Anakin. Anakin grinned back. 

They started off down the hall, towards the throne room, walking in perfect step. 

Back where Obi-Wan had left Qui-Gon, there was a small stirring as Qui-Gon half awoke. “What—?” he said blearily. He looked at Obi-Wan. “Padawan?” 

“Be right back,” Obi-Wan said cheerfully. 

“Don’t—” Qui-Gon said, still in the twilight of almost sleep. “The Sith—” 

“Don’t worry, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Sith Lords,” Anakin said, “are our specialty.”

Chapter Text

The winding path to peace is always a worthy one, regardless of how many turns it takes.

The future, by its nature, can be changed. 

- The Son, Ghosts of Mortis

It was not hard to find the throne room where Palpatine was holed up. The doors leading into it were the most lavish in the whole building— a feat, considering how gaudy the rest of the place was— and the air around it was oppressively still. 

Obi-Wan couldn’t feel the Sith’s presence completely, but Anakin cocked his head. “He’s in there,” he said. “I can sense the sleemo.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” Obi-Wan said. 

“After you,” Anakin said. 

Together, they pushed the doors open and walked inside. 

It was a huge throne room, probably built for whatever Neimodian had paid for this place; Neimodians didn’t have kings, but they did love the illusion of power. Sprawling pillars, ornately decorated in gold and silver, wound throughout the room. There was a long red walkway leading up to a set of stairs. At the top of the stairs there was a throne— huge and towering. 

Palpatine was sitting in it. 

His face was smooth and oddly youthful, with a spark of intelligence in his eyes. A likeable young politician. But his eyes were already yellow. 

There were magna-guards flanking him on two sides, but only the two. He didn’t expect any kind of real threat. 

When he saw them, he laughed wheezily. “Is this it?” he asked. “A fortune-telling child and some mutt of a woman? That’s who they send to defeat the first real Sith in a thousand years?” 

Obi-Wan looked at Anakin. “Which of us do you think should be more offended?” he asked. 

“Me,” Anakin said. “Definitely me. Or, well, my mom, I guess.” 

“Insipid Jedi fools,” Palpatine said. “You natter on to hide your fear. Join me or be destroyed.” 

“I think I’d like a third option,” Anakin said, then, almost offhandedly, “Oh, by the way. I’m not a Jedi.” 

Palpatine paused. “What—?” 

“I’m the Chosen One,” Anakin said. “And I’m here to kick your ass.” 

Simultaneously, Obi-Wan and Anakin lit their lightsabers. Blue and red. Side by side. Balance in the Force. 

“We’ll take him together,” Obi-Wan said. 

Anakin grinned— wild and mischievous and conspiratorial. “Together,” he said, and Obi-Wan’s smile automatically answered him. 

They leapt forward as one. The droid guards were not difficult to get through, not with the Team focusing on getting through to the Sith, and nothing else. Together, like this, having been through the worst and come out the other side— well, Obi-Wan and Anakin were almost unstoppable. 

They fought Palpatine. 

Their lightsabers crashed against each other. He was strong, of course, and he played dirty. He shot lightning out of his hands, and seemed almost surprised when Obi-Wan caught it on his blade. He hissed, and brought down chunks of the ceiling with a pull of the Force, aiming to crush Obi-Wan and Anakin. 

The floor splintered as duracrete slammed into it. The throne broke. Palpatine slashed his lightsaber out at Obi-Wan, who moved away so quickly that Palpatine instead scored the wall. Palpatine turned to try to attack again, but Anakin was there, forcing him back. 

No matter where Palpatine tried to go, Obi-Wan and Anakin halted his movement, always stepping in where the other stepped away. It was harder than Obi-Wan had ever fought in his life— in any life. Sweat rolled down his face, his back. The air was getting thick with plaster dust and debris, as the room progressively took more and more of the brunt of the fight. Palpatine made a wild swing, and gouged another line in the wall. The Dark crackled unpleasantly about him. 

“The two of you are not normal,” Palpatine said, and began to circle. “Who are you?” 

“That entirely depends on your point of view,” Obi-Wan said, lazily swinging his lightsaber in one hand, twirling it, bringing it up. “In this case, if we’re being dramatic, I suppose I could say— your doom.” 

If Palpatine had known anything at all about Obi-Wan and Anakin, he would have known something was up, because Anakin didn’t chime in at all. He was still silent and out of view. As it was, Obi-Wan and Palpatine continued to circle each other. 

“Your power…” Palpatine said, a greedy look on his face. “My new apprentice told me of your ability to see the future. Unparalleled. A power like that, and you needn’t be anyone’s underling. Tell me, do the Jedi appreciate you? Do they listen to you? You knew who I was for a long time, and you never told anyone.” 

“Sure they do,” Obi-Wan said. “But I like to keep my secrets. It helps keep up the element of surprise.”

It was at that instant that Anakin came up behind Palpatine and ignited his lightsaber, aiming straight for Palpatine’s back. Palpatine sensed it coming at the last moment and turned to hit it away— but he took his attention off Obi-Wan in the process. 

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber stabbed through Palpatine at the same moment as Anakin’s did. Front to back. A double killing blow. 

They deactivated their sabers, and Palpatine crumpled to the floor.

“It’s not…” Palpatine wheezed. “Supposed to happen like this.” 

Then, he died. 

There was only a moment of warning in the Force, before Palpatine’s body erupted into searing blue electricity, a wave of Force lightning like the explosion of a bomb. Lightning passed over them, around them, a final discharge of all the Dark and evil energy Palpatine had stored inside his heart. 

Obi-Wan braced himself down on one knee, his head bowed against the pressure, Force wrapped around himself in defense. He looked over and saw Anakin in a similar position. 

The throne room, already on its last legs, started to collapse in on itself. The ceiling fell in, the walls not far to follow. Obi-Wan raised his hands and lifted up with the Force, holding off the onslaught of duracrete and stone. 

The world settled. 

Obi-Wan lifted his head. The throne room had collapsed almost totally, leaving the pillars standing, half-crumbled, against open sky. When he looked up, the sky was blue, with the sun starting to poke through the fog and illuminate the hills around them. 

The rest of the castle didn’t seem to be suffering the same problems with structural integrity, standing, if a little wobbly, against the rockface. 

In the air, there were ships— Republic ships. Bail had come through. The droids around the front of the Temple had ceased firing, no more tinny sounds of blaster shots. 

And Obi-Wan could sense Jedi, in the air, on the ground, far back at the Temple on Coruscant. 

Obi-Wan laughed. 

He looked over. Anakin was all right too, dusty and exhausted-looking, but smiling. He saluted at Obi-Wan. Then his nose started to trickle, just a drip of blood. 

“Wha—?” Shmi asked, reaching a gentle hand up to her face to wipe it away. She blinked at Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan smiled tiredly back at her. 

“I think,” said Shmi, faintly, “That I am going to take a nap.” 

“That sounds like a good idea,” Obi-Wan said. He lay back for a moment and watched the blue of the sky. The Sith was dead. Count Dooku had helped them do it. So had Bruck Chun. And Xanatos. And the Trade Federation would very soon be trying to make their deals from prison. 

Obi-Wan chuckled again, this time only to himself, and fell asleep. 

The Council was giving him Looks. Mace looked like he had a headache, but to be honest that was his default expression when he was around Obi-Wan. 

Obi-Wan stood with his hands neatly behind his back, with a completely guileless expression. 

“To recap your report, Padawan Kenobi,” Ki-Adi-Mundi said, “You can’t tell us what happened after you left your master in the palace, because you were possessed… by a Force ghost.” 

“A concise recounting, Master,” Obi-Wan said. Qui-Gon kicked him on the ankle, but either the Council didn’t notice Obi-Wan’s sass or decided to ignore it. 

“The Council has never seen a Force ghost in person, much less two of them,” Mace said. “Speaking of which, we cannot contact the woman— Shmi Freetaa.” That was the name Shmi had given the first responders, and Obi-Wan saw no reason to say otherwise. 

Shmi had gone with Jango once more, when all was said and done. Obi-Wan had information for her— places she could relocate, Naboo or Alderaan or Chandrilla— but she had already chosen. She went to Mandalore. 

“Not everyone on Mandalore is a commando,” Jango had told Obi-Wan, with a laugh, when Obi-Wan had given them a dubious look. “We need farmers and weavers and electricians too.”  

Obi-Wan had given them his comm number, as well as the private stash of money he’d been building for Shmi’s relocation. That, of course, was separate from the bill the Council had been given for Jango’s services— the bill that was, possibly, why they were so irritated at the moment. 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Obi-Wan told the Council. “But I don’t think I can help you sort this out any more than what I’ve already told you.” 

“I examined the woman myself,” Qui-Gon said. “She does not have nearly enough Force ability to pull off what we saw from the footage of the throne room. Not to mention that my padawan, though talented, is no Jedi Master. No one but the very best could have done this feat— we all saw it.” 

The footage had, more or less, survived, which was kind of unfortunate. But at least there was no sound, and it worked in Obi-Wan’s favor in the end. He was using a completely different lightsaber form, and fighting like a fully-grown adult, not a padawan. Not to mention fighting side-by-side with Anakin with more years of experience in partnership than Obi-Wan’s current body had been alive.

“Very powerful, these ghosts must have been,” Yoda said. “Yes. Tell me, what did you feel from the ghost possessing you, Obi-Wan Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan paused. He hadn’t been expecting the question. “Sadness,” he decided on. “And— loneliness. But mostly, determination. To end the line of the Sith. To bring balance to the galaxy.” 

“And you let this ghost in?” Plo Koon asked. 

“Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan said. 

“Shmi said much the same thing,” Qui-Gon said. “That she felt a presence, that only after it asked permission did it go after Palpatine.” He met eyes with the Council. “I have always suspected that Force ghosts are real. This is only confirmation. But to know that they emerged for this event— well, it is a little disturbing. It means that killing the Sith lord was a matter of great importance, not only to the galaxy, but to the Force.” 

“Feel, you do, that the battle would have been lost without their interference?” Yoda asked. 

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said. 

“This is intuition?” Mace asked. 

“No, Masters,” Obi-Wan said. “Certainty.” 

That earned him some unease. The Council all knew about Obi-Wan’s prescient abilities by now, and they knew that he was rarely if ever wrong. No one wanted to think about what could have happened if Palpatine had succeeded in his deception. A Sith at the heart of the Senate. Obi-Wan sometimes could think of little else. 

Yoda nodded and tapped his gimer stick. “Done well, you have, Obi-Wan. Done well, Qui-Gon. Free, the galaxy is.” 

Obi-Wan smiled before he could remind himself to be stern in front of the Council. Yoda’s eyes twinkled. 

“We’ll forget about what you pulled with the scouting mission,” Mace said, looking at Qui-Gon. “And some of the more dubiously legal parts of your mission. And yes, we will even pay the bounty hunter. Just— make sure the two of you don’t cause any more trouble for a little while.” 

“Mace,” Qui-Gon said reprovingly. “You shouldn’t ask for miracles.” 

Qui-Gon still walked a little tenderly. The wound to his side almost completely on the mend, but Obi-Wan could see it still twinged every now and then. Obi-Wan had been studying pain relief lately in his Healer’s classes. 

Tahl had a bit of a limp too; she’d taken a blaster bolt to the leg outside the facility. But Bant had patched her up— quite deftly, if Tahl’s bragging was anything to go by. 

“Perfect range of motion,” Tahl said, stretching her leg out from the couch, back in, then out again. “Beautiful. No Healer could have done better.” 

“Master,” Bant said, embarrassed but pleased. The Kenobi/Jinn quarters were more than a little full today— a good feeling.

“I only have to tell the truth,” Tahl said. “My padawan, a prodigy.” 

“Sto oop,” Bant complained, giggling. 

“ Your padawan?” Qui-Gon said. “Mine’s a genius, a Sith-killer—” 

“Oh, it doesn’t count if he’s got outside help,” Dooku said. “ My padawan, on the other hand, gets by on raw talent alone.” 

Dooku had taken Bruck as a padawan, very shortly after they’d fought together on Cato Neimoidia. They made for a slightly alarming but very effective team. 

Apparently— Obi-Wan found out secondhand due to being unconscious in some rubble— they had done pretty well holding out against both the droid army and Darth Inimic until backup arrived. Inimic had been captured, but only after Dooku cut off her sword-bearing arm. She was being kept, under very high guard, in the cells. 

Xanatos had somehow escaped in the confusion. Obi-Wan couldn’t say he was too sorry about that. 

The various padawans left their masters to bicker good-naturedly, retreating to the balcony just outside the living room. Various plants were scattered around the railings, pathetic life-forms of Qui-Gon’s. Coruscant sprawled in the distance, hover traffic and smoggy air and various holo-advertisements playing on billboards far away. 

“Did you really get possessed by a Force ghost?” Bruck asked. 

“Yep,” Obi-Wan said. Everything he had told the Council was true— from a certain point of view.

“Cool,” Bant said. 

Obi-Wan grinned. 

Bruck’s hair, very recently cut, shone in the light, his braid shorter than Obi-Wan’s for now. Bant’s own beads were polished to a shine. They would both be good padawans. They were set to meet some of the others for dinner that night; Quinlan and Luminara and Garen and Reeft. Obi-Wan was looking forward to it. 

“I can’t believe that was my first mission,” Bant said. “Sith, sneaking away from the Council, a droid army …”

“You did well,” Obi-Wan said.  

“Because of you,” Bruck said. 

“What?” 

“The mission only went so well because of the things you’ve done,” Bruck said. “You taught me the moves I used to be able to survive Master Sey for as long as I did. You’re the one who encouraged Bant to go into Healing so she could help her Master, it turns out the exact Healer specialization you’ve been going for is what could save your Master’s life—”

“Not to mention you made friends with Xanatos and Master Dooku, two people who ended up helping us even though they totally shouldn’t,” Bant said. “We could go on.” 

“Please don’t,” Obi-Wan said good-naturedly, leaning his arms onto the ledge overlooking the cityscape. 

“Not even the Masters know how much you really did, do they?” Bant asked. “No one ever really will.” 

“I didn’t do so much as you think,” Obi-Wan said. “Really, it was the Force. I just moved pieces around.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Always in motion, the future is. Even for me.” 

And, truly, much of it had been an accident. He’d done these things because they felt like the right thing to do, or because he wanted to prevent just a little of the future suffering he’d lived through. 

He didn’t know why the Force had brought him back here. But it was still working, in him, through him, throughout the galaxy. The Force had hurt during the Clone Wars, hurt during the Purge. It was happy now. 

Eventually Bant and Bruck went back inside. Obi-Wan lingered a moment longer. 

Laughter and talking floated in from the apartment. The plants smelled fresh and green. 

Anakin had said he was ready to rest. Obi-Wan didn’t think he was there yet. But maybe he could take a little break. 

Obi-Wan went back inside, at peace.