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Chapter Text

A pulsing headache, right behind his eyes, was the first thing he registered. It was strange; he didn’t remember falling asleep with a headache, or a head wound, or anything else that might explain the pounding in his head.

Who let a raging rancor loose in my head? he grumbled to himself, before expertly pushing the thought away and peeling his eyes open to look around. He was expecting his bunk on the Negotiator. Over the last year or so, he had grown quite fond of the small little cabin, so different to his rooms in the Temple but no less welcoming.

He wasn’t expecting to find himself surrounded by dripping stone walls, dirty water sloshing around his boots when he finally pulled himself to his feet. Glancing around warily, he noticed pockets of small children huddled together for warmth and comfort, emergency lighting the only way to see anything past the hand in front of his face.

Dread spiked through his veins. He knew this place. He knew these faces, and these sewers, and recognized the cold hum of the Force surrounding them.

Melida-Daan, his own childish voice whimpered in the back of his mind. It was a breathy sound, familiar from whispers in hushed tones in the dead of night, when he had been returned to the Temple but had to continually remind himself that he wasn’t there anymore; he had had to remind himself that he was safe, that he wasn’t going to fail, or die, or lose himself in the darkness and death around him.

Melida-Daan.

Running a bracing hand down his face, Obi-Wan expected to feel the harsh brush of a beard against his fingers as he so often did, a grounding movement he had fallen into as of late. Instead, his hands hit smooth skin and he froze in confusion, hands on his cheeks, stuck mid-motion before he slowly started moving again, fingers prodding and poking at his own face.

Oh, no, he groaned to himself. He pulled his hands away and stared at them in the glare of the emergency lights overhead. They were small, bird-thin, and nicked and bruised from labor, weapons misfire, and fighting for his life on a daily basis.

If this was a dream, it was quite vivid.

Someone was crying nearby. Obi-Wan dragged himself from his silent panic attack to discern the source. Whether this was a dream, a vision, or a flashback: it honestly didn’t matter. Someone was in pain, leaking their distress and fear into the Force, saturating the area. He couldn’t just leave them. His mission, in this life and every life, was to help others. Even if it was just a dream (maybe especially if it was a dream).

Stumbling forward on legs too short and arms too thin and too weak, Obi-Wan tentatively nudged at the Force. Was this real? Was it his overactive mind? What was going on? The Force, as usual, was not forthcoming with any useful information. Instead, it swirled around him in anticipation, floating above the ever-present feardreadpain that surrounded the Young.

This place (the sewers and the blood and the screaming pain and the notgoodenoughnevergoodenoughwhyme?) was a thing that still curled through his dreams, insidious and painful even more than twenty years later. This place was nothing more than a reminder of his failures. His first true taste of warfare. The first time he had held a child in his arms, watched the spark of their life slowly bleed from their eyes, feeling them join the Force fearful and in pain.

It was torture.

A nightmare.

The children. He had to remind himself to keep going. The children needed him. He moved towards the cries that had jolted him from his panic earlier, each step forward bringing him past faces that still haunted his dreams. Their little faces, gaunt and dirty and tear streaked.

The Babies. The Littles. The Young.

They pressed together, watching him move through their masses with smiles and waves, as if they were used to these conditions (they were and it was horrible and he hated it, he hated it so much).

Sympathetic tears started prickling at his eyes. He attempted to blink them away once he found the sniffling youngling. It was a little Togruta, which was strange to find in a system full of near-humans. There were few outsiders on this planet, he knew, and the few that weren’t forced to remain did.

After all, no one in their right mind would choose to stay on this planet.

(Right? Right.)

The little Togruta sat huddled against a wall, alone and shivering in a too-large shirt. She couldn’t be more than two or three years old, small and trembling and leaking fear and uncertainty into the Force. Tears streaked down her tiny orange cheeks, making her frightened, wet eyes seem even larger.

She felt familiar, though his brain was struggling to put the pieces together. The Force prodded him gently, and he took a closer look. It couldn’t be, though. Could it?

He fell to his knees in a daze, watching the girl closely as she turned to meet his gaze, sniffling pitifully. Slowly, recognition sparked behind the dull haze in her eyes, and she lunged forward, throwing herself into Obi-Wan’s waiting arms.

“Masta’ Kenobi!” she cried, burying her face in his neck, clinging to his threadbare tunic with a predator’s grip. Obi-Wan, still slightly shocked, held her close and cradled her like the precious thing she was. His bright little star. Whatever was she doing in a wasteland like this?

“Oh, what are you doing here, little one?” he asked, breathless all of a sudden. Scenarios rolled through his mind, mostly against his will. Was he dreaming? Had he unconsciously brought her with him through their training bond? No, that didn’t make much sense. None of this made sense. “You shouldn’t be here.”

He stroked a hand across Ahsoka’s stubby montrails and marveled once more at how tiny she was. He had never seen her so small. “Oh, little one. What is going on?”

“I don’t know!” she wailed, sniffling wetly into his tunic. “Went ta s’eep on the Res-a-lute, an’ I woke up here!” Obi-Wan frowned. Was this a dream? It all seemed far too real, for that to be true. The smell of blood and vomit in the air, the cold stone against his back, the biting headache of Force exhaustion.

He didn’t want to admit that this might be real, but things were starting to lean that way. It might be real. He might truly be back on Melida-Daan. In the middle of a war, on a backwater planet, with no help in sight.

And he was here, in the past, in a war, with his very young, very vulnerable grand-padawan.

Oh, this was very not good.

“Get off-a me!” someone shrieked from across the room. Obi-Wan’s head whipped towards the sound, even as the motion made his world tip sideways. That chirpy, angry voice was something he had heard for years in the Temple, guiding and training his very own little padawan. The supernova that was Anakin Skywalker beckoned to him from the other side of the camp, and he couldn’t stop himself from moving forward.

Oh, this was not good, not good at all.

With Ahsoka braced against his chest, Obi-Wan stood and followed the shouting on auto-pilot, silently tugged forward towards his little sun. There was already a group surrounding his boy, who was valiantly attempting to scramble away from two older children. They wore the disapproving, unimpressed faces of medics, each holding a handful of bandages and rags, attempting to grab Anakin and staunch the blood flowing from a cut above his eye. “I said, off!” he growled, struggling against them.

Obi-Wan took one step away from the group, closer to Anakin, and watched with a far-away gaze as the boy broke free from the medics with a snarled war-cry, only to land unceremoniously on his bottom at Obi-Wan’s feet. He threw an instinctive glare up at the child looming over him, a mouthy gripe already on the tip of his tongue, until his eyes widened and he seemed to realize who was standing behind him.

The hope growing in his eyes was nearly painful to witness. “Obi-Wan?” he whispered, shaky and longing. “Ahsoka?”

Reaching out through the Force, Obi-Wan brushed against his little sunburst. Anakin unfurled his own light and crashed against him, merging their signatures together like he had so often as a small child, uncertain and unrefined and untrained as he had been.

Leaning down and wrapping Anakin up in his arms, Obi-Wan squished him together with Ahsoka. It was one of the easiest things he had ever done in his life. No matter what, no matter where, he would know these children. They were his, and he was theirs.

This Anakin was younger than Obi-Wan had ever seen him. He still had the same sandy blonde hair, the same bright eyes, the same supernova of a Force presence.

Their bond was still strong. Something achingly familiar in a painful, frightening place.

Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate to wrap both his arms and Force presence around them like a protective blanket, shielding them from the world and the war and the fear surrounding them. He was more than shocked and fearful to find them here in one of his worst memories. They were so young, so vulnerable, so fragile. He had no way to get them home. Not yet, at least. Not here.

Someone stepped up behind them and Obi-Wan reluctantly pulled away from his padawans. He glanced over his shoulder, bracing himself, and found himself face-to-face with one of his biggest regrets.

Cerasi, in all her beauty and kindness and ferocity, stood a few feet behind him. Obi-Wan nearly cried out at the sight of her, alive and breathing and looking down at him with such worry and care. After all these years, he had forgotten just how young she had been before she had been killed.

“Are you alright, Obi-Wan? Are the Littles okay?”

Swallowing hard, Obi-Wan took in a shuddering breath. It took him a moment to release his emotions to the Force, and another to get his breathing under control so that he might not start sobbing as soon as he opened his mouth. He had wanted to say so many things to her over the years. His regrets, his fears, his sorrows. None of that would help her now, though.

“We’re fine, Cerasi,” he told her slowly, reaching up to wipe the fresh tears from his cheeks. “Just a few bad dreams, I think.” She didn’t look very convinced, though when he flashed her a dry grin, she simply rolled her eyes and reached down to ruffle his hair. When she noticed Ahsoka staring at her with wide eyes, she smiled and gave her a little wave over Obi-Wan’s shoulder.

Standing, Obi-Wan hoped to stave off any further questions. He lifted Anakin and Ahsoka with him, keeping them close. Distantly, he marveled at how light they were, even as his wasting muscles still protested him bearing their combined weight. He followed Cerasi deeper into the sewers as an old-remembered pain clawed through his stomach; with it, he knew he probably hadn’t eaten in days, surviving off the Force alone. He had been told, more than once, that he had been quite the headstrong child. Self-sacrificing to a fault, some might say.

Cerasi’s gentle smile urged him on, and he followed her as he cradled his padawans close, almost afraid to let them go, as if they might disappear if they fell out of sight. His co-General fell into step beside him and they moved towards the planning tables, which were simply three empty crates upended and jammed together, maps and tape and markers strewn about in the semblance of a war table. It had all seemed so grand and put-together as a child, covered in dirt and blood and the cloak of rightness, that he was meant to be here and helping in this war. Even after all these years, he didn’t regret staying, but he did regret that he had had to do it all himself.

Nield stood by the impromptu table, scowl in place as he stared at their plans, tapping his fingers against the crates in agitation. Obi-Wan stepped up beside him, Cerasi across from them as he gently lowered Anakin and Ahsoka to the ground, asking them silently through their bonds to sit still and quiet while he worked. He cupped his young, torn-up hands around their soft, sweet faces for a moment before moving on.

Nield raised a brow at him but didn’t comment, which was honestly better than Obi-Wan had been expecting from the explosive boy. Cerasi, ignoring both of them, turned towards the map instead, biting her lip in thought.

“Do you really think your message to Master Jinn will get through?” Do you think he’ll come back to help?” The raw hope in her words sent a dagger through Obi-Wan’s heart. He hated to be the bearer of bad news.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan sighed, willing the sudden ice filling his veins to thaw. Oh, but he had forgotten about the hastily-sent message he had prayed would reach the Jedi in time. He remembered, in the distant haze of childhood memories, pleading through a holovid, tears in his eyes and tracing tracks down the dirt on his cheeks as he had begged and pleaded for his Master to return, to help, to save them.

In reality, they had saved themselves. The Young had taken the Halls of Remembrance, sent out missives for a negotiation of peace to end the war, and drafted a successful treaty without any outside help, weeks before Obi-Wan’s master had deigned to return to Melida-Daan. He had stepped off his ship, looking clean and regal and disappointed (always disappointed) in comparison to the children around him, wearing rags and covered in dirt and blood and watching him warily, distrustfully.

Obi-Wan had left with him like a massif with its tail between its legs, worried and frightened and thinking the Order would never take him back, but still pitifully grateful that he had a way off the planet and away from the memories and pain there. He had told himself at the time, that even if they had sent him back to the AgriCorps, he wouldn’t complain. Anything to get off this death-hole of a planet.

Taking a sharp breath in through his nose, Obi-Wan tried to rein in his racing thoughts. If his thirteen-year-old self had just sent that message, that gave him a decent idea of where exactly they were in the war effort. They were close to the end of the conflict. Invitations for negotiations had already been sent out. All they had left to do was take the Halls and make sure no one brought any weapons to the talks.

He would protect Cerasi this time. He would make sure she got to see the peace she had fought so hard for.

Returning his attention to the conversation at hand, Obi-Wan sadly shook his head, a mirthless smile stretched across his gaunt face. “We shouldn’t assume Master Jinn will arrive in time, if he does at all. We should continue as we have been, and be pleasantly surprised if he does come to help. In the meantime, we need to secure the Halls of Remembrance in preparations for the treaty talks.” Obi-Wan fell into planning mode, the mindset he had cultivated through the year and a half of galactic war he had just come from taking over. He had been a High General. One little planetary skirmish was but child’s play, now.

Anakin and Ahsoka pressed up against his legs, a fortifying weight that kept him tethered to the here and now. He couldn’t worry about the time travel, being in the past, or being stuck in one of his worst memories. He had to push through, just like he always did. The foreknowledge he had would help, at least, and that made him feel the tiniest-bit lighter.

They had a chance.

They had a chance.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan was a chronic overthinker.

After every mission, he took the time to go over every decision, every success, every failure. What could he have done differently? What could he have done better? Would those changes have affected the end result in a positive or negative way?

His time on Melida-Daan was no different. Over the years, he had picked apart every moment, every word, every interaction, every fight until he was running himself in circles. But all that overthinking was coming in handy now.

He had a plan.

Scrapping the tactics that had betrayed them in the past, removing variables that were detrimental, working things to their advantage was as easy as breathing. He hardly had to think through his orders before he gave them, the mindset of High General Obi-Wan Kenobi taking over more often than not. Little Padawan Obi-Wan wouldn’t be useful in this situation.

Nield and Cerasi watched him work in silence, staring at him with wide eyes as if he were a totally different person. Which, in actuality, he was. From a certain point of view. The way Nield glared at him, suspicion and a hint of fear in his eyes, was painful. The boy watched Obi-Wan like he had been holding back on them this whole time, but didn’t know how to call him out on the thought.

Obi-Wan could understand their confusion, their suspicion, their fear. That didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt.

Before they could start asking questions he would rather avoid, Obi-Wan moved on to explaining the general plan, outlining their best plan of attack. It was like child’s play, compared to the sieges and campaigns he had planned during the Clone Wars.

(He missed Cody like a missing limb, but he would never wish to drag the man, so bright and loyal, into this mess of a civil war.)

He must have trailed off, eyes glazed over and distant. Cerasi was suddenly in front of him, smiling in that small, timid way of hers when she was doing something painful. She looked like that, sometimes, when she held the hand of a slowly-dying Little, when she had to hold down one of their fighters as the medics tried to cauterize a wound, when she held a crying child in the night who woke shaking and sobbing from nightmares of their very-real Hell.

“Obi?” she called, waiting until his eyes focused on her before continuing. “Why don’t you go get some rest? I think your little shadows could use a nap.” She reached out slowly, telegraphing her movements as she carefully pried his fingers from their places around the war table. He hadn’t even realized how tightly he was holding on.

“Obi-Wan?” Anakin asked hesitantly, wide eyes peering up at him from beneath his fringe of blond hair. Obi-Wan blinked hard, coming back to the present, and let his body sag for a moment. “Are you okay?”

Reaching out to cup Anakin’s face, he let the side of his mouth tick up, the barest hint of a smile. “I’m fine, my dear. I think Cerasi is right, though. Are you two ready for a rest?”

Anakin bit his lip, glancing at Cerasi and Nield cautiously for a moment before slowly nodding, reaching up to take Obi-Wan’s empty hand. Giving him a tight squeeze, Anakin stepped forward, tugging Obi-Wan towards the entrance to the main sewer. Ahsoka, clutching the back of Anakin’s shirt, followed.

Obi-Wan moved them through the throng of children until he found a secluded area, not too far away from the safety of the group, but far enough away to be private. He sat down with his back to the wall, letting Anakin and Ahsoka curl against his sides. Cradling them close, holding them tight like this was the first time he felt right in his skin since waking up in this nightmare.

Now that they had a moment to themselves, Obi-Wan noticed the minute trembling of their bodies, as if they were trying to hold themselves together. Force, but they were just so little. Both children were struggling to hold back their emotions; Ahsoka, in particular, was on the verge of tears, he realized with a prick of anger at himself, that he hadn’t realized sooner.

Through the Force and their bonds to each other, Obi-Wan felt both Anakin and Ahsoka reach out to him with clumsy, tentative tendrils of themselves, clutching at the first hint of his presence that they found amid the mess of the Force they were surrounded by. In the real world they seemed fine, curled close to Obi-Wan, but in the Force, there was nowhere to hide. Their very presences were crying out in fear and uncertainty. Obi-Wan knew it was an unintentional projection, like a baby crying out for help. It was still painful to bear witness to.

Sighing past the second-hand pain and fear, Obi-Wan reached out with his own presence, wrapping himself around them, throwing up haphazard shields to protect them from their surroundings. He would need to teach them the basics of shielding once more, as it seemed they were unable to create their own at the moment. A planet full of pain and fear and death was not kind to defenseless Force sensitive children. Even his own shields were suffering here, though he was holding them together through sheer force of will. He wasn’t just protecting himself, after all. He had the children to think of.

“Hush now, little ones,” Obi-Wan whispered, returning their embraces in the Force. He projected peace and calm and love towards them, the same as any crechemaster worth their salt would do. It was more than a little difficult, surrounded as they were by every negative emotion known to man, but Obi-Wan was nothing if not persistent.

After a few minutes of gentle calm, the children sighed, bodies drooping against his own with exhaustion. “I’m not sure what’s going on here,” Obi-Wan told them, running a hand through Anakin’s hair, another over Ahsoka’s montrails. “But I will keep you both safe. I promise you this.”

“Is Master Jinn really coming?” Anakin asked, voice tinged with the hint of hero-worship that Obi-Wan had never been strong enough or confident enough to dissuade in his student. Even Ahsoka turned hopeful eyes his way. She had never met her great-grandmaster personally, but she had no doubt heard a story or two from other Masters in the Temple.

Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back his sigh: it seemed like the only thing he was capable of today. “I’m afraid not. At least, not before this conflict is fully resolved. He never assisted us in ending this war.” Throat tight at the remembered terror from his childhood, Obi-Wan recalled slowly losing hope each day that it would ever end. “He showed up two months after the final treaty was signed, looking aggravated that he had to come pick me up. From a warzone,” Obi-Wan said, breathing hard through his nose, trying to gather up his anger and release it to the Force, but finding it impossible to do so. Anakin tilted his head at his Master, brow furrowed in confusion. Obi-Wan couldn’t meet his questioning gaze, instead looking away. “A warzone that he left me in, in the first place.”

The silence stretched between them, deafening. Obi-Wan wished, just for a moment, that he had kept his mouth shut. He didn’t need to dash their hopes so thoroughly.

Ahsoka, tears in her eyes once more, cuddled close to Obi-Wan and clutched his arm like a stuffed animal, reaching out clumsily through the Force to soothe his sad soul. Anakin sniffled, rubbing his red eyes, face pulled tight in distress. “I’m sorry, Obi,” he whispered, burrowing closer and clinging to his ratty tunic. Mood slightly lifted at the combined display of care, Obi-Wan shook his head fondly at his little ones; Ahsoka had the empathy of any Force sensitive child, but Anakin… oh, Anakin was on another level. He had always been such an emotional, kindhearted child, always feeling everyone’s hurts as his own, reaching out to try and make it all better. Such a sweet, thoughtful child.

Obi-Wan had missed this.

Missed him.

As Anakin had grown older, as he had grown closer to knighthood, as he had yearned for freedom and independence, the boy had started putting distance between himself and his Master. He held back his thoughts, his interests, himself. And then the war had started, and they had rarely had more than two minutes together to speak of anything other than troop movements or supply chains.

Pressing a kiss to the top of Anakin’s head, allowing himself to indulge in his attachment just this once, Obi-Wan shook his head, leaning down to rest fully against the ground and tugging his padawans down with him. It was hard, but not the worst place he had ever slept. Inhabiting a young, fairly healthy body also seemed to help. At the moment, he didn’t have any chronic aches or pains, though he knew they were swiftly on their way.

“It’s alright, dear one.” Falling back on his teacher mindset, Obi-Wan smiled encouragingly and nudged them through the Force. “Now, let’s clear our minds. Meditation is still something that can assist us in these dark times. Relax, and we shall find our centers, and our rest. Follow me, younglings.”

He led them into the Force, guiding them along at their own pace until they were all three ensconced in the warmth and security of the living Force around them. And then, one by one, as younglings so often did, they fell asleep.

The weeks following were full of skirmishes. Obi-Wan knew they needed to keep the Elders guessing. They hit the weapons depot, then snuck into the medical cache. They blew up the communications tower, then they ambushed a supply train heading into the city. The Elders were constantly on their toes, unsure of when the next attack might occur.

Currently, they were in-between attacks, and every day was a day closer to taking the Halls. Anakin and Ahsoka had joined the war effort seamlessly, without complaint. Ahsoka couldn’t do much, as tiny as she was, but she tried. Anakin, meanwhile, helped with the weapons and the electronics and mechanics, putting things together for the Young that would protect them, or give them an edge in this fight.

Obi-Wan stood by the war table, one hand on his chin as he wandered in thought. Anakin was close by, tinkering with a droid they had found in the garbage heap, when Obi-Wan overheard a conversation.

“Ani?” little Mari asked, voice tentative. She was one of the older children, around Anakin’s age, proficient with a blaster and well on her way to becoming a wonderful medic. If she didn’t die first. Obi-Wan didn’t react to her presence, keeping his eyes low so as not to distract her. “Can I ask you something?”

Anakin set his tools to the side, glancing up at her warily. “Of course. What’s wrong?”

“Oh!” the girl said quickly, rushing, her hands up in surprise. “No, no. Nothing’s wrong. I was just wondering,” she started, biting her lip for a moment before she asked, “well, I was just wondering where you and Ahsoka came from? We know Obi-Wan came with the Master Jedi. But where did you come from?”

Anakin paused for a moment longer, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them, and Mari shifted. Honestly, Obi-Wan was surprised no one had asked before. She opened her mouth as if to take back the words, wincing already, when Obi-Wan glanced up, smiling reassuringly towards her, as if he had just realized she was there.

“My little shadows were sadly stranded here after a mishap with their family’s starship,” he started, spinning the tale they had cobbled together. The others knew Anakin and Ahsoka considered each other siblings. It was easy enough to work off that assumption. “Their parents were killed during one of the Elders’ fights. This war, as you know, has orphaned many of us.” He bowed his head, and Mari did the same, eyes sad and watering. “But I found them in the wreckage and brought them back with me. It must have been the will of the Force, for me to find them, as I came to realize they were both Force sensitive, just like me.”

“What good luck!” little Mari said happily, showing off her missing front tooth. “Though it’s a sad story,” she told Anakin seriously, “I’m glad it brought you all together.”

“Me too, love,” Obi-Wan told her, smiling gently at his padawan. Anakin beamed at him, a pleased blush lighting up his cheeks like the little boy he was. “Me, too.”

A bomb went off on his right and Obi-Wan hurled himself in the opposite direction. He was so close. He wouldn’t be taken out by a bomb, of all things. Not now, not yet.

Breathe in, Obi-Wan told himself.

Hold. Aim. Breathe out. Don’t hesitate. Squeeze the trigger.

Obi-Wan’s breath hitched as he saw the Daan Elder fall, shot through the heart by his blaster. Distantly, Obi-Wan registered his light in the Force splutter out into nothing, but he was already moving on. There was a steady stream of Elders between him and the Halls, and there was no time to falter, or to mourn.

Anakin and Ahsoka had put up quite the fuss when Obi-Wan had told them they were going to stay behind with the other Babies and Littles, but Obi-Wan had stood firm. He couldn’t fight if he was worried about them getting hurt. Instead, he put them in charge of cleaning backup weapons, helping to treat the wounded dragged back to their camp, and hiding rations throughout the sewers in case their base needed to move.

Three more shots taken in quick succession, Obi-Wan moved forward, waving Nield and Cerasi with him with quick, jerky military sign. When they didn’t move, he turned a glare their way, only to be met with twin looks of confusion. Only then did he realize his mistake; these were untrained children. Of course they wouldn’t know sign! He knew he would have to be careful with how he led them in the future, though hopefully it wouldn’t be necessary for much longer.

His co-Generals moved with him through the square after that, dogging his steps as they steadily crawled closer and closer to the Halls of Remembrance. He knew this was going to be the bloodiest fight so far, but it was already pulling well in their favor. This time, he had placed snipers on the rooftops to cover them. That alone seemed to be helping exponentially.

The Young stormed the doors and steadily streamed into the Halls, Obi-Wan and the snipers covering them until they were all inside. With one giant shove of the Force, Obi-Wan stepped inside and slammed the doors shut behind himself. With grim determination, he turned and marched to the meeting rooms, face set in a facsimile of his negotiator’s mask.

The leaders of the Melida and the leaders of the Daan sat at the table, across from each other and already spitting curses and insults. Obi-Wan didn’t waste any time; he raised his twin blasters, one for each leader, and let the doors slam behind him with a foreboding bang.

This was it. It would either go well, or horribly, horribly wrong.

Swiping a hand across his face and leveling his worst glare at the adults looming over him, Obi-Wan let the slow glow of triumph warm his chest. They had finally come to a compromise, the bare bones of a treaty and constitution written up. Cerasi was beaming with pride and excitement next to him, so happy and relieved to have finally won.

She thought it was over. Obi-Wan knew better. He was waiting, ready.

Distantly, with the fogginess that came from youthful memories and traumatic events, Obi-Wan recalled this moment from his first childhood. Cerasi had turned toward him, so excited for her future and the future of her planet. Her father had reached into his jacket, producing a blaster.

(In their haste, they hadn’t thought to search the leaders for weapons. They had been so naïve, so stupid.)

He had taken aim, opened fire, and in the chaos that followed, Cerasi was the one that ended up on the floor, choking on her own blood. Nothing they could do. Nothing but watch the light fade from her eyes, the blood well up beneath her, the sigh of a last breath leaving her lips.

Obi-Wan refused to watch it happen again. His blaster was primed and ready, trained on the man before he could even fully tug the weapon from his coat. He was down on the ground, clutching his useless arm with his opposite hand as the blaster clattered to the floor with him.

“Gah!” he shrieked, clutching his steadily bleeding arm, convulsing on the floor like a wild animal in a trap. Obi-Wan ignored him, stepping forward and kicking the blaster to the side. Once the weapon was well out of reach, Obi-Wan turned his gaze on the Cerasi’s father, blaster aimed threateningly at his gut. “Welp! Get away from me!” It would take just one shot, he knew, one moment…

“You were going to shoot your own daughter,” he said dully, feeling as if he were speaking through a haze, from rooms away. He wasn’t tethered to his body, to this moment any longer. (Where was he, again?) “After she facilitated peace, a peace you agreed to. And for what? To continue this war for another generation?”

Cerasi tugged at Obi-Wan’s arm until he let it fall to his side, useless. “Obi,” she said gently, reaching out to squeeze his wrist. “It’s alright. We’re all okay. He can’t hurt anyone anymore. Let’s just go.”

And so, they went. Nield remained behind, assuring Cerasi’s father was cuffed and taken away, while Cerasi focused on making sure Obi-Wan returned to them

“C’mon,” she told him brightly, opening the doors to the Halls of Remembrance. “We should celebrate!” She led him through the hoards of children surrounding the area, Ahsoka and Anakin already trying to sneak their way closer to the front.

“Obi!” Ahsoka cheered once they had gotten close enough, arms raised expectantly. Some of the ice surrounding his heart cracked and melted at the sight of her, awareness slowly trickling back. He smiled, his tether to the here and now slowly returning with her solid weight in his arms.

“Were you good and helpful while I was gone, little one?” Ahsoka babbled quickly, nodding her head with an enthusiastic smile as she patted his cheeks lovingly. She cooed sadly at the drying blood at his brow. “Owie?” she asked, tapping his temple carefully.

Obi-Wan’s smile was sad and wan. “Little bit of an owie, my dear, but I’ll be okay. Now, ‘Soka, wherever is your brother, hmm?”

“Ani!” Ahsoka called, leaning backwards in Obi-Wan’s arms to search for Anakin, who immediately popped up next to them, a worried furrow between his brows.

“Are you okay, Master?” Anakin asked him, trying and failing to whisper as he tugged insistently on Obi-Wan’s tunic, the motion such a childish thing that it both warmed and broke Obi-Wan’s heart. He had noticed them both acting more their age as time passed. Silently, he prayed the same would not be true for him. He had already gone through his angry, fearful padawan days. He had no desire to go through them once more.

“I’m alright, dear one,” he told Anakin, wrapping the child up in his Force presence, smiling as both children leaned into him like flowers turning towards the sun. “Let’s get everyone cleaned up, and then we have the end of a war to celebrate!”

“Yay!” Ahsoka cheered, throwing her arms up above her head. Anakin couldn’t hide his smile, though it was a tad shakier than Obi-Wan would have liked. He held them close, breathing them in, and felt his heart beat easily once more.

As long as he had his padawans with him, he knew all would be fine.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan flexed his hand, trying and failing to keep it from shaking, before he gave up and focused on the task at hand instead. He raised his arm, eyed the pile of rubble surrounding him, and pushed with the Force. The scraped out of the way inch by inch and once they were out of the way, he sagged in relief, something heavy and painful settling in his chest.

The last few days had been exhausting, trying to clean up the city and make things more inhabitable for the survivors. Sitting with the sick and wounded, trying to ease their pain as they were either treated or shuffled off to another ward.

He was leaning more on the Force than this thirteen-year-old boy was used to. He used it to sustain himself, to bolster his strength, to move things many times his size. He also used it to keep his padawans happy, healthy, and sane.

He wiped sweat from his brow, taking a moment to just stand there and breathe. There hadn’t been one moment of rest since they had won. There was always something to do, someone to talk to, something to coordinate. Obi-Wan, being one of the Generals of the Young, was in charge more often than not.

Just as he was eyeing the next pile of rubble, he paused, tilting his head to the side, straining as he heard something shift in the atmosphere. Without even turning to look, Obi-Wan knew what it was. Who it was; their weak bond thrummed in anticipation and Obi-Wan instantly slammed his shields down, bracing himself. He was not looking forward to this reunion, no matter how much he knew it was necessary.

Swallowing hard, Obi-Wan dropped his hands, turning to move towards the landing strip. He nearly bowled Anakin over as he did so, the boy having popped up out of nowhere without his Master realizing. “I’m sorry, dear one,” he said in a daze, looking down to find Anakin staring up at him with eyes far too wide and worried for his young age. His face was streaked with dirt and grime; no doubt he had been helping with some heavy lifting, as well. The thought warmed Obi-Wan’s chest: his selfless boy, his supernova.

“Are you ready for this, Master?” Anakin asked, peering up at Obi-Wan. He reached out to take his hand when Obi-Wan remained silent, squeezing the hand in his grip and giving his Master a reassuring smile. “We’ll be right there with you,” Anakin promised. “It’ll be okay.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but answer his smile with one of his own. “Of course it will, dearest,” Obi-Wan told him calmly, far more calmly than he felt. He ruffled Anakin’s hair and swiped a spit-slick thumb against his cheek, trying to wipe away some of the dust. His boy took the babying in petulant silence, the only sign of his distaste his scrunched-up little face. Anakin was a saint, honestly; Obi-Wan knew the only reason he wasn’t pitching a fit right now was because he knew Obi-Wan was nervous. “Come along, then,” Obi-Wan mumbled, tugging Anakin along behind him as he moved to meet the landing ship. Once they arrived, Cerasi stepped up beside them, Ahsoka wrapped in her protective hold.

The silence surrounding them was nearly painful, dripping with anticipation and dread. The other children working around them seemed to realize something was going on, pausing in their never-ending work to watch their interactions.

Obi-Wan’s heart raced painfully against his bird-thin chest, waiting for the ramp to lower. He remembered this, from the first time around. He remembered the disdain on Master Jinn’s face as he stared down at Obi-Wan, who had been cowering and pitiful beneath the judgement of his Master’s cold gaze. Obi-Wan thought he might be sick if he had to see his dear departed Master look at him like that one more time. It was a look, a feeling that one never truly got used to. One you never forgot, either.

Eventually, the ramp lowered, and Obi-Wan watched his Master step out of the ship through a haze of memory, seeing the scene unfold in double vision, what was happening now overlaying what had happened in the past.

Master Jinn’s steps echoed loudly on the metal ramp. He stood tall and regal, seeming strange and out of place in his clean robes next to the devastation around him. The starving, rail-thin children surrounding him stared up at his from dirty, gaunt faces. They threw wary, distrustful glares his way, never showing their backs.

He didn’t seem to notice, at first. Or care.

Master Jinn paused a few feet in front of Obi-Wan, no doubt taking in his dirty, ripped clothing, the twin blasters strapped to his waist, the children gathered around him like a shield, and the suspicious looks thrown his way from the others.

Jinn’s eyes moved from Obi-Wan, to the children around him, to their surroundings, before once more settling on his padawan. He stood, waiting expectantly. Obi-Wan stood silent and unyielding, shoulders back and head held high, meeting his Master’s gaze head-on as an equal. A sharp spike of disbelief and anger filtered through the Force for a moment before it was quickly squashed by the Jedi Master. His brow slowly raised higher and higher in silent admonishment as Obi-Wan’s defiance continued.

Eventually, realizing they weren’t going to be getting anywhere fast with this battle of wills, Obi-Wan sighed and dropped Anakin’s hand, falling into a curt bow, something just barely low enough to be respectful. Anakin had, more than once, fondly called it his ‘kriff you bow’, reserved most often for politicians Obi-Wan did not like. As he straightened, Obi-Wan stood tall and stoic. He refused to cower. He was a Master in his own right; he would not be admonished so easily.

He nearly shattered at the first sound of his Master’s voice. He forced himself to keep his posture straight, his face tight and blank, betraying nothing. He was no child, to tremble in fear of judgement of disappointment.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Jinn intoned briskly, voice weighed down with displeasure and exasperation. Obi-Wan didn’t respond. This Master Jinn, the younger version of the man he had admired and grown to love over their many years together, was not his dear Master. He was not the same man that had died in his arms. This man was but a means to an end. Nothing more.

“You are mistaken,” Obi-Wan corrected him calmly, meeting Master Jinn’s gaze unflinchingly. “As you said, I am no longer a padawan. And even if I were, I would certainly not be your padawan,” he told his Master, just slightly more bitingly than he had planned. The years of anger and pain from this situation were rearing their ugly heads, though. This man wasn’t the man he had grown to know over the course of his padawanship. This man was still young and hurting from Xanatos’ betrayal. They had no camaraderie between them, borne from years of a semi-successful partnership. They didn’t know each other, their bond as thin and taut as a thread at this point.

Obi-Wan took a deep, calming breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. Once he deemed himself calm enough to continue, Anakin snuck his hand back into Obi-Wan’s, the gentle pressure helping him ground himself to the moment. “If you recall, you were there for my ‘resignation’ from the Order. Or, did you perhaps mislead me about the validity of that? Did you even have the jurisdiction, the right to accept a resignation like that? Without bringing it to the Council, without making sure I was somewhere safe?” The silence that followed was heavy with insinuation as Master Jinn’s face went through an interesting array of emotions. Eventually, he settled on a scowl, shoulders squared as if he were preparing to dig his heels in. Obi-Wan ignored him, turning to look past him towards his ship. “Hmm, I thought not.”

In fact, Obi-Wan knew without a doubt that Master Jinn had broken a lot of rules leaving him on Melida-Daan. How the man hadn’t faced some sort of consequence for his neglect was shocking. Honestly, though, Obi-Wan hadn’t thought too hard about it as a child, more concerned with worries about truly being kicked out of the Order. Once he had ascended to the Council, though, he had let his curiosity get the better of him and had looked into the rules surrounding Initiates and Padawans leaving the Order.

He had been more than a little shocked at how horribly the whole situation had been handled. He had feared Master Yoda’s little fingerprints were all over the mess. Truly, Obi-Wan should have never been allowed back into Jinn’s care, and there should have been a thorough investigation. Instead, he had spent a year under intense scrutiny, a scared teenager moving through the Temple like a ghost as everyone looked down on him as something dirty, something broken.

Before Obi-Wan was even finished saying his piece, Jinn was already butting in; Obi-Wan had not missed this version of his Master. Brash, arrogant, and always believing he was in the right. Age had tempered him somewhat, and by the time Obi-Wan had been in his early twenties, Jinn had started treating him more like a partner and less like a burden.

This man was not the Master he had missed for years, aching like a blown-off limb. He had to keep reminding himself of that. “For someone who was so recently begging me to come and help, it seems you have not learned a hint of humility from this trial, my young padawan.” He said it like a joke, like it was funny that Obi-Wan, when he truly had been thirteen and frightened and unsure of what to do, had called for help that Qui-Gon hadn’t even bothered to give in a timely manner.

Hilarious.

“The fact that you can joke about something so serious,” Obi-Wan growled, before quickly catching himself, letting out a long breath between clenched teeth before moving on, “is worrying for your state of mind, as well as your right to call yourself a Jedi.” Obi-Wan avoided his gaze, sadly shaking his head. Seeing his Master again, so alive and vibrant in the Force, was both freeing and infuriating. He had missed this man, but he had also done so many horrible things.

“You can’t talk to Obi like that!” Anakin hissed in indignation, leaning against Obi-Wan while simultaneously baring his teeth like a feral child. Ahsoka, still perched in Cerasi’s arms, mirrored him with her own vicious snarl, much sharper teeth on display. Jinn raised an amused brow towards their anger, an amusement that was not befitting the tense situation.

Obi-Wan, frustrated and tired and more than ready to get off this Hell-planet, reined in the conversation. “You have come to collect me, and I will take you up on that generous offer,” he told the Master, his ‘Negotiator’ tone hiding the bitterness he felt inside, as he sketched another brief bow. “But I will never be your responsibility again. I do need to speak with the Council, however. And to do that, I need to get back to Coruscant.” His gaze hardened, ice cold. “With Ahsoka and Anakin. Where I go, they will go.”

Then, without waiting for a response, Obi-Wan turned to Cerasi and gently took Ahsoka from her, leaning forward to give his friend a fond hug goodbye. She had lived this time, and he would forever be grateful for that. “I’ll make sure they send someone from the Corps to help you rebuild. We are not abandoning you. We put far too much work into peace for it to fall apart so quickly.” Cerasi smiled gratefully, nodding along as tears slowly filled her eyes.

“Be safe, Obi-Wan. You have the thanks of all of us, you know you do. Thank you, so much.” She pressed a hand to her heart and bowed her head, overcome with gratitude. It suffused the Force around them and Obi-Wan smiled at her sincerity, at the truth behind her words.

“May the Force be with you, Cerasi. Good luck,” he told her gently, leaning towards her and sharing space for the last time. She closed her eyes against the uncertainty and fear they all were feeling. Obi-Wan would miss her, something horribly.

He took a step back, tugging Anakin with him towards the ship, and refused to look back. He also, very obviously, did not meet the searching gaze of his Master as he passed him by.

Master Jinn hesitated at the base of the ramp, eyes moving from the retreating back of his padawan towards the sea of angry children glaring daggers at him. The young girl, Cerasi, was the only one willing to speak to him. “You treat him right,” she told him passionately, glaring at him with a fire he wasn’t quite expecting. “He helped us, more than you or the other Jedi Master ever did. We have peace now, because of him.” She took a fortifying breath before meeting his curious stare head-on. She would make a good leader one day, once she got her emotions under control. “Take care of him.”

And then she turned on her heel and stalked off, angrily swiping away at her face, no doubt to wipe away the tears.

Qui-Gon watcher her go in silence. He didn’t shake his head, but he desperately wished to. What foolish children. Young love really did addle brain, didn’t it?

He turned and stepped back onto the ship, just in time to have the ramp nearly slam into his legs as it immediately folded up behind him. The little boy Obi-Wan had found was sitting by the controls, eyes narrowed in judgement as if daring him to reprimand him.

Before he could gather his wits, the ship lurched into motion and Qui-Gon nearly lost his footing a second time. The ship jetted into the atmosphere and then into hyperspace in far less time than Qui-Gon would have assumed it would take a young, inexperienced padawan to do the proper calculations. In a distant part of his mind, Qui-Gon prayed to the Force that they wouldn’t end up taking a trip through a planet just because Obi-Wan was impatient.

Speaking of his wayward padawan, Obi-Wan stepped down from the cockpit, nose in a datapad as he clicked his way through a multitude of screens, glaring down at it in thought. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan called, not even glancing up, though he did run his hand through the boy’s wild hair as he passed, “go clean up, please. Give Ahsoka a hand, as well, if you would.” The boy pouted, turning a distrustful glare towards Qui-Gon, before he sighed and jumped down from his perch by the control panels, taking the little Togruta girl by the hand and leading her away.

Which left Obi-Wan alone with Qui-Gon. Not that Obi-Wan seemed to notice, or care. The boy still hadn’t looked up from his ‘pad, a determined furrow between his brows. He stepped past Qui-Gon as if he weren’t even there and settled at the table, laying the ‘pad down before his fingers began flying across the screen, typing something out with an urgency Qui-Gon was unused to seeing.

Curious despite himself, Qui-Gon moved forward and hovered near his padawan. He had expected the boy to be overjoyed at being rescued, embarrassed or repentant at the least. Begging for forgiveness. Something. Anything.

Instead, he had found an aloof, angry, distempered boy who refused to be called ‘padawan’. For something he had fought so long and hard for, Obi-Wan certainly seemed willing to take any and every opportunity to throw it all away.

Did he even want to become a Jedi Knight?

And these other children he had found. Where had they come from? They were obviously Force sensitive, especially the little boy, who shone in the Force like an exploding star. He had never seen a Force signature so bright and all-consuming. He was more than a little curious to see what the boy’s M-count was, with a presence like that.

But where had Obi-Wan found them? Especially a Togruta child on a mostly-humanoid planet?

“Don’t strain yourself, Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan told him dully, flicking through his messages before opening another one, still not looking up at Qui-Gon. “Might want to meditate on your actions and their repercussions, don’t you think?” Then the padawan stood and made his way further into the ship, closing off the door to the crew cabins, effectively locking Qui-Gon out. He didn’t look back, and he didn’t acknowledge his Master again.

Qui-Gon had a horrible feeling about this, the Force vibrating around him in warning.

Chapter Text

Qui-Gon had never found solace staring into the deep voice of space, as other Jedi sometimes did. As a young padawan under Master Dooku’s watchful eye, they had traveled far and wide across the galaxy, constantly taking missions. He had found that he always felt more at peace with his hands in the dirt of whatever planet they had found themselves on. Surrounding himself with plants and wildlife often seemed to anchor him more fully in the Living Force, settling him and calming his mind more easily.

Here in space, he had no dirt, no plants, no animals to help center himself.

Space was just so cold and devoid of life! How could anyone reach out into that vast nothingness and find calm? He knew of some Jedi that favored space travel over missions on the ground and had always thought, mostly to himself and never out loud, that they must be slightly mad. Space, over earth? How?

Tonight, though, as they made their way through hyperspace, Qui-Gon found himself staring out of one of the many viewports on the ship. The bright blue of hyperspace flashed across his face as he lost himself in thought.

He had double checked Obi-Wan’s calculations as soon as the boy had disappeared from the cabin, half-expecting to find they were on a crash course with the nearest moon but pleasantly surprised to find no fault with the math. Their course had been expertly charted, coordinates set to bring them right to Coruscant’s door.

Worry still plagued him, though. He worried for his padawan, for the children he had demanded to bring along. For the way Obi-Wan had reacted to him. For the repercussions, as Obi-Wan had called them, of all his actions. He was not looking forward to the Council meeting that would follow their return.

In his own mind, he could admit that he had not handled the situation at all well. He had left behind a child, a boy of thirteen standard years, weaponless and distraught and his responsibility, on a war-torn planet that had already permanently disabled one Jedi Master. The fact that the boy was in more-or-less one piece was nothing short of a miracle.

But he had taken one look at Tahl, unresponsive and dying in his arms, and condemned that same boy to his Calling. If the Force wanted him on that planet, who was Qui-Gon to refuse?

He had to admit, though, that the boy he had picked up just a few hours ago was not the same boy he had left behind. The Obi-Wan of just one year ago would have flinched away from his Master’s disappointment. He would have begged for forgiveness. He might have shouted in anger.

This boy was different, though, and Qui-Gon wasn’t entirely sure the change was for the better.

From one moment to the next, Qui-Gon suddenly realized he wasn’t alone, and hadn’t been for some time. The little boy Obi-Wan had brought with him had appeared next to the Jedi Master, silent and stealthy, poised next to him and staring out the same viewport as if he had always been there. The Master refused to flinch at the boy’s sudden appearance, but it was only due to years and years of projecting serene calm and disinterest in the face of utter disaster that helped him save face in that moment.

“Hello,” Qui-Gon rumbled, peeking down curiously at the little sandy-haired boy, already so strong in the Force. He had a too-serious face and held himself stiff and still, like a little soldier. That made more than a little sense, he mused, as they had just left a literal warzone. It was still a jarring thing to find on such a young child. He had noticed the little Togruta girl moved similarly, though with much more clumsy movements due to her smaller body.

The boy turned away from the viewport to glare up at Qui-Gon, gaze a little too critical to be leveled at a stranger, in the Master’s opinion. What exactly had Obi-Wan told them of him, to cause such a hostile reaction?

“Obi-Wan never talked about you much,” the boy revealed, as if he were reading Qui-Gon’s mind. That admission hurt just a bit. Obi-Wan hadn’t talked about him? But he was his Master!

A traitorous little voice whispered in the back of his mind: Do you deserve to call yourself that anymore? He certainly doesn’t think so.

Qui-Gon ignored the voice of doubt, shaking himself from his dark thoughts. The boy was still staring at him, gaze too-sharp and all-seeing, though he knew that was just him projecting his own insecurities. There was no way this boy was truly that intuitive.

“How could you?” the boy asked, his voice cracking just a bit on the last word. Qui-Gon, exuding calm, hummed in confusion. The child’s face crumpled in distress for a moment before it twisted with a scowl. “You know, I once thought you were a great Jedi,” he told him seriously, hands fisted up in his own tunic. “I looked up to you! And then I come to find out you just left him behind? How could you? How could you do that?” The boy let out a frustrated breath through his nose, eyes dangerously moist, close to tears. “He never said a word against you, but the way you talk to him. The way you look at him. I can’t believe it.”

The boy’s voice was soft yet strong. He projected a shock of emotion that hit Qui-Gon through the Force like a punch to the face. Love, protection, desperation, anger. Such strong emotions from such a little youngling. And this level of devotion, of emotion from a child that had only known Obi-Wan for less than a year?

“It was not a decision I made lightly, and I can admit I didn’t fully think it through,” Qui-Gon began, still trying to muddle through the onslaught of the boy’s words and feelings. The child had looked up to him? Why? How? Anger and the swift judgement of youth were quickly darkening the boy’s Force signature. Qui-Gon rushed to calm him. “I regret it greatly, I do. My padawan is young, and still has much to learn. I was neither patient nor kind leaving him behind as I did.” Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing his hand over his chin before he turned and looked away. The child’s hard gaze was too difficult to meet head-on. “I valued the life of my friend over the well-being of my padawan.”

Anakin! That was the boy’s name. He glared at Qui-Gon, shaking his head in something akin to disgust, before looking away once more. “Obi-Wan is the best Jedi I’ve ever met. I can’t believe what a low opinion you have of him.”

This child, with his wild emotions and shockingly strong power in the Force, spoke like someone with far more years than he had. This wasn’t a conversation to be having with a six-year-old, yet here they were. He doubted the boy would let him go so easily.

Trying to lighten the mood, Qui-Gon sent the boy a quick grin, staring down at him indulgently. “Met many Jedi, have you?” He laughed, expecting the boy to join in, but he surprised him once more. Instead of laughing, his gaze shuttered and his shoulders went stiff. He turned a heavy glare on the Jedi Master. Qui-Gon’s grin slowly faded, the boy’s ire causing more than a little concern.

“You’d be surprised,” he muttered, before turning away once more. He had made his point, and left Qui-Gon with some things to think over. Remaining silent, unsure how to respond to that, Qui-Gon swallowed hard, eyes flickering back to the viewport. How had this all gone so wrong?

The tension between them snapped as the door to the sleeping quarters opened and Obi-Wan entered the room, eyes flickering between the two with a raised brow, specifically aimed towards the boy.

Qui-Gon followed his gaze. Interesting.

“Ani,” Obi-Wan called, the name laced with both affection and admonishment in equal measure. Anakin’s head whipped around, presence blossoming as he reached for Obi-Wan through the Force. Obi-Wan smiled indulgently, gladly wrapping Anakin up in his own presence like an experienced Master. Qui-Gon marveled; they had such a strong bond already! “Come take a nap with Ahsoka. She won’t sleep unless we’re all there.”

Anakin stepped away from Qui-Gon in order to lean up against Obi-Wan’s side, childish and clinging like he hadn’t been just moments before. What a quick transition! It was more than a little baffling. The shift from soldier to youngling in the blink of an eye.

The child grumbled something into the fabric at Obi-Wan’s hip. His padawan (former padawan?) ran a hand through the child’s hair before gently tugging him back, staring down into his tiny little face. “I’m sorry, I can’t understand ‘mumble’. I thought you had grown out of that. Again, please?”

Anakin growled and glared up at Obi-Wan, though there was no heat in the exchange besides the blush growing on the child’s cheeks. “You think you can call me that just ‘cuz I’m little? Padme’s the only one that still calls me that!” The boy’s eyes went wide at the admission, and he slammed his mouth shut, hands flying up to cover his face. Qui-Gon had no clue who Padme was. Maybe someone they had left behind on Melida-Daan?

Obi-Wan seemed to know exactly who that was, though. His eyes sparkled with mischief and glee. “Oh, Ani,” he said mockingly, though it wasn’t said with malice. More the tone of an older brother teasing their younger sibling. Kindness overlaid the barb, cushioning it. Anakin punched Obi-Wan in the side and then hid his burning face in the same spot. Obi-Wan just rolled his eyes, rubbing Anakin’s back soothingly.

“Come along, my dear,” he told the boy gently, guiding him back towards the bunkroom. One hand resting on the boy’s shoulder, he told him, “I know you need to sleep, as well. You get so very cranky when you don’t rest.”

“I don’t get cranky!” the boy shouted defensively, and Obi-Wan chuckled as he guided him further away. Qui-Gon was left slightly baffled and semi-offended that, beside the initial eye-contact, Obi-Wan had mostly ignored him. Hadn’t spoken to him once during that exchange. His entire focus had been on the boy, and the boy alone. Did his Master really mean so little to him?

Once the children were locked behind the bunkroom door once more, Qui-Gon turned back towards the viewport. He had much to meditate on, much to think over. He didn’t have dirt, or plants, or animals to help him along, so he would have to make do. He settled on the floor of the common room, letting himself fall into a meditative trance. He didn’t think he would be welcome in the bunkroom, so he stayed where he was. He could while away the hours until they reached Coruscant with thought. He knew he needed it.

The Force hummed in agreement.

There was a presence nearby. Open hostility was aimed his way, and whoever was watching him was planning something violent. There were no hostiles on the ship, he knew. So, by process of elimination, he came to the realization it must be one of the children. It wasn’t the supernova of power that Anakin exuded, so it must be the little ball of sunshine that was the littlest one, Ahsoka.

The Jedi Master peeled open one eye, noticing for the first time how stiff and sore his muscles were. He had maybe gone a bit too long in his meditation, he admitted if only to himself, subtly moving and shaking out his long limbs.

The girl surely was glaring at him, montrails twitching uncontrollably in agitation. She was adorably tiny, even more so than any youngling he had ever had to interact with before. Even on missions, civilians usually kept their little ones close and far, far away from him. Mostly because of all the fighting, but sometimes just because he was not that great with children, as his padawans would all readily agree.

He was better with plants.

Plants couldn’t yell at him or disappoint him or tell him he was a bad Master.

He opened his other eye and met her gaze head-on. It seemed he had just entered a staring contest he was woefully unprepared for. The girl inched closer, predator instincts rearing their ugly heads as her lip pulled back to show off an impressive array of sharp little teeth. He did not like where this was going.

“You’re mean,” she told him plainly. Qui-Gon sighed; plants would never do this to him. She stomped her foot on the metal plating that made up the floor of the ship and narrowed her gaze, growing more critical by the second. “You made Obi cry.” Oh no, Qui-Gon moaned to himself. I didn’t need to know that.

“Apologies, youngling,” he said slowly, unsure how else to respond.

The girl just scoffed, flashing her teeth at him once more. “’m not the one you should be ‘pologizing to,” she told him, tone indicating she thought he may be slightly slow on the uptake.

“’Soka, quit picking,” Anakin scolded her from the next room over, before quickly popping his head through the doorway. “Come on, we’re almost there. Obi-Wan said we had to strap in for landing.” He rolled his eyes, as if he found it trivial, and held a hand out towards Ahsoka. The little girl sighed with her whole body but didn’t argue further, stepping forward and letting Anakin guide her to a seat. He expertly fitted the harness around her and strapped her in, before settling in his own seat.

“All clear?” Obi-Wan called from the cockpit.

Qui-Gon stepped into the room, quickly moving to strap himself into a seat as well. Obi-Wan was going to land them? The boy had never piloted a ship before! At least, not to his knowledge.

“Clear!” Anakin called as soon as Qui-Gon finished snapping his harness into place. “Let’s try for a happy landing, yeah?” he shouted, smiling towards the ladder. Obi-Wan let out a disgruntled groan and jerked the ship purposefully. Anakin’s body strained against the straps and the boy had the gall to simply roll his eyes, trading a fond look with Ahsoka. “He’s so dramatic,” Anakin grumbled under his breath. He was still grinning wide, and Ahsoka hid her giggles behind her hand.

Qui-Gon gripped his straps a little tighter. From context clues, he wasn’t so sure a ‘happy landing’ was really so happy. However, it seemed he had naught to worry about, as Obi-Wan seemed to set them down expertly just outside the Temple, utilizing the landing pad for recently returned Knights and Masters. How he even knew where it was was beyond Qui-Gon. How he had gotten through air control without access to Temple passcodes also confused him. This whole situation was just growing more and more strange.

Once Obi-Wan informed them it was safe, Anakin unstrapped himself, took a moment to help Ahsoka down, and then moved to meet Obi-Wan at the ramp. “Ready?” the boy asked quietly, all youthful joy and laughter gone in the face of Obi-Wan’s obvious anxiety and fear. The Force was vibrating with his emotions.

Taking a deep breath, Obi-Wan smiled and gave him companions a gentle smile. He nodded in response, held his hands out for his little shadows, and tugged them along beside him down the ramp.

Qui-Gon followed a step behind, staring after them with a palpable confusion and worry.

The children walked with purpose towards the Council chambers. Obi-Wan paused next to the padawan on duty, little Depa, Mace’s senior padawan. She stared at the group with wide eyes, trying to hide her obvious amusement beneath a layer of calm, polite disinterest.

“Hello, Padawan Billaba. We have a scheduled meeting with the Council.” The padawan, obviously humoring him, made a show of checking the schedule before her face shifted and she frowned down at her ‘pad in outright confusion.

“You’re Obi-Wan Kenobi, then?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said, without hesitation. His tone was all business. He flashed her a quick grin before gently brushing past her and into the waiting Council chambers. Qui-Gon followed, at a loss but more than a little curious to see just what his padawan had planned here.

The Masters surrounding them seemed just as confused as Qui-Gon, and that didn’t bode well for how this meeting would go. Obi-Wan looked prepared though, squaring his shoulders and standing before the Council, head held high and hands behind his back. Whatever he had planned, Qui-Gon was a little fearful of what would be revealed.

Chapter Text

To most in the Jedi Order, standing before the High Council was seen as something to dread and avoid at all costs. It was common knowledge that if you filled out your mission reports, conducted yourself in a proper manner, and had no complaints or concerns to bring before the ruling body of the Order then it was rare to have to stand beneath the piercing gazes of the twelve masters on the Council.

Few willfully subjected themselves to that specific type of torture. Qui-Gon Jinn had more practice than most, seeing as he despised filling out paperwork and would much rather discuss his missions face to face. Even he felt the occasional need to avert his eyes, or balk beneath the disinterested glares of the masters around him.

Obi-Wan seemed to have no fear in him as he paused at the door, eyes sweeping over the chamber critically before stepping to the side, ushering his companions with him towards the waiting area. Pillows and cushions covered the floor, left there for witnesses or visitors waiting their turn to be heard by the Council. Obi-Wan helped them settle in comfortably.

“Wait here for me, please. I’ll call you forward when you’re needed.” He ran one hand through Anakin’s dusty hair, patted Ahsoka’s little red cheek with the other, and then straightened up, brushing down his clothes of non-existent dirt. When he moved to stand in the center of the room, Qui-Gon took a spot behind him. The boy looked so small there, before the judgmental stares of the masters surrounding him. Was he prepared?

“Masters,” Obi-Wan greeted them blandly, voice strong. He bowed low in a perfect example of a Jedi Padawan. Once upright, he tucked his hands together before him, as if he were tucking his hands into invisible sleeves, and waited to be acknowledged. Many of the masters tittered at each other, while a few more grumbled in distaste. A few, more, openly scowled down at him.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Master Yoda responded from his spot directly in front of Obi-Wan. The child turned his gaze towards the Grandmaster of the Order and waited for him to continue. “Called for a meeting, you did. Much information for us, you have?”

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan said, subtly squaring his shoulders. He feet parted until they were shoulder-width apart, hands clasped at the small of his back. It was a small shift of posture, but it was alien enough that it jarred the masters. Jedi weren’t meant to be soldiers, after all.

“Firstly, I would like to discuss my recent mission to Melida-Daan. It seems we may not all have the same information from which to draw.” When none of the masters protested, Obi-Wan delved further into the story. He told them about arriving on the planet, running into the Young, and having them explain the situation more fully. The two warring factions of adults were killing each other. The children of both sides had joined together to oppose the senseless killing, only to be slaughtered for their troubles.

He explained how the Young had helped them rescue Master Tahl, who had already been gravely injured. He then told them, in vivid detail, how the Force had called Obi-Wan to stay and help the Young as they had helped the Jedi. How Master Jinn had given him an impossible ultimatum: leave and remain with the Order, or stay and be cast out forever. Obi-Wan had made his choice and Qui-Gon had cut his braid, taken his lightsaber, and boarded his ship without a backwards glance.

At this revelation, the room fell silent, even the chittering old masters quieting themselves to fully digest that statement. A Master, leaving their Padawan behind? Willingly? That was unheard of!

Obi-Wan didn’t give them much time to react, moving on to explain the Young’s tactics. He also told them how he had found Anakin and Ahsoka, two Force sensitive younglings, in the wreckage of a crashed starship. He explained how they finally got the upper hand on the Elders and forced peace for the first time in generations. Then he turned to the Council, eyes wide and beseeching: they needed to send aid to the Young, preferably the AgriCorps, to help them rebuild. It was the least they owed them for abandoning them as they had.

“In conclusion,” Obi-Wan said sternly, eyeing each master critically.

“Oh,” Anakin whispered loudly from behind Obi-Wan, right into Ahsoka’s ear, though everyone in the room heard him clearly, “they’re gonna get it!” Ahsoka tried to muffle her giggles behind her hand, which was more than Anakin did.

Obi-Wan sighed, sending Anakin a disapproving side-eye. “In conclusion,” he tried again, “I would petition this Council that I be removed from Master Jinn’s care immediately. If I must be stripped of my title of Padawan, then so be it, but I refuse to ever be under Master Jinn’s guardianship again, whether you agree or not.” He swallowed hard around an obvious lump in his throat, his face ripe with emotion for a moment before he quickly hid it all away. “The way this Council, and this Order has responded to this nightmare of a mission, and missions prior, is more than concerning. Did no one question why Master Jinn left a minor behind on a planet that had already severely injured a fully trained Master Jedi? That was still in the midst of a planet-wide conflict?”

Most of the masters surrounding him were staring at him with mounting horror, though a few still watched him with stubborn indifference. Master Windu was one of the first to recover. “Conflict?” he asked lowly, the hint of anger tinting his words as he glanced between Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon. “We were told you decided to stay behind with a local girl you had grown attached to. That you remained with her and her family, and refused to return to Coruscant.”

“Well,” Obi-Wan drawled, unimpressed, “I did decide to remain behind, though it wasn’t for anything so juvenile as a crush on a girl. I stayed to assist the Young with winning the war against their Elders. Did Master Tahl not tell you any of this?”

Master Windu glared, turning his ire towards Master Jinn instead. “Master Tahl is still in a bacta tank. She has not yet woken to tell us her story. From Master Jinn’s retelling, however, the war was a lost cause and you were left nowhere near it. It seems,” he nearly growled, hands clenched tight around the arms of his chair, “much was left out of your report, as per usual, Master Jinn.”

“Yet no one thought to check the validity of any of Master Jinn’s claims? So much protocol was ignored in this situation. I struggle to understand how things could have been shoved to the side and one man’s word taken as truth without a thorough investigation. Especially when a minor, a ward of the Order, was involved.” Obi-Wan’s eyes flashed dangerously when Yoda made to speak, yet the Grandmaster continued.

“Many trials, you have endured,” he started, and Obi-Wan’s face paled even as his hands balled into fists behind his back. “Strong in spirit, strong in the Force you have been. True, it is, that an investigation, there should be. The way forward, to separate Master and Padawan, however, is not.”

“Pardon me, Master Yoda,” Master Koon butted in, before Obi-Wan could open his mouth and protest, “but Padawan Kenobi has brought forth a valid concern for both his safety and health. Pending a full investigation, protocol should be followed, and Kenobi and Jinn be separated until such a time that things may be seen more clearly. I agree with Padawan Kenobi. He should not be allowed back into Master Jinn’s care at this time. We must protect our young. It is our duty.”

Obi-Wan inclined his head gratefully towards the master, a small smile on his face. The other masters murmured at each other in low tones for a long moment before Master Windu, once more, spoke up.

“Padawan Kenobi will be given a room in the creche for the time being, until a full investigation can be conducted. Jinn and Kenobi will be separated to avoid conflict and for Kenobi’s safety and wellbeing.” Obi-Wan nodded in agreement.

As the masters moved as if to stand and leave, Obi-Wan raised his hand, stalling them. “I’m afraid I’m not finished, Masters. Though, what I have to say next, I would rather not have Master Jinn present to hear.” Master Windu glanced to the masters on either side of him before he sighed, rubbing at his eyes, and waved a hand at Jinn.

“Fine. You are dismissed, Master Jinn. You will be contacted about the investigation. Do not seek Padawan Kenobi out. Keep to yourself, keep out of trouble. We will be discussing this further at a later date.” Master’s Jinn’s lips were an angry, thin line, his shoulders stiff, but he bowed to the Council and left through the door without a backwards glance.

Sighing in relief, Obi-Wan took a moment to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. He waved Anakin and Ahsoka forward, one on either side of him, before he broke the news to the Council.

“Did anyone happen to notice the massive ripple in the Force about, oh, four or so months ago?” He posed it like a question, yet no master moved to answer him. He raised a judgmental brow at them. “Come now, I’m surrounded by the greatest masters of the Order. Did no one feel the Force expand and contract, perhaps spitting out a few people that shouldn’t be here yet?” He turned on Master Windu, waving a hand in his direction. “Master Windu, how many shatterpoints have you noticed growing in the last few months?”

“Padawan Kenobi, what are you talking about?” one of the older masters asked, voice haughty and angry. “What ‘ripple’?” It seemed no one had noticed Master Windu subtly rubbing the bridge of his nose, eyes closed against the onslaught of noise in the room. Obi-Wan had, though, and gentled his voice.

Leaning towards Master Windu’s seat, Obi-Wan reached out to him through the Force and gently nudged him, like a youngling with their crechemaster. “Master Windu,” he called quietly, and the room fell silent. Waiting. “Mace. Tell us what you see.”

Master Windu sighed heavily, giving his eyes one last rub before prying them open to reveal bloodshot whites. He had a light sheen of sweat at his temples. He did not look well. Glancing between Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and Anakin only made his frown grow deeper.

“Nothing good,” he eventually said, shaking his head. Obi-Wan’s smile was gentle and encouraging as he nudged him once more. The master scowled at the prodding, taking a deep breath before answering. “I felt this ‘ripple’, as you called it. Ever since, I’ve been seeing more and more shatterpoints around the Temple, and the Senate. Around you three, now.” He rubbed at his forehead, shaking with exasperation. “And what, exactly, did you mean by ‘spitting people out’? The Force doesn’t work like that, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan’s knowing grin made more than one master wince. “Well,” he drawled casually, leaning back on his heels. “It may surprise you to know, then, that I am not Padawan Kenobi.”

At this admission, he finally had the full attention of the whole Council. Each member turned their icy gaze his way, some hands even inching towards their sabers.

Obi-Wan just shook his head, hands spread out in placation. “Peace, my friends. I said I wasn’t Padawan Kenobi, not that I wasn’t Obi-Wan Kenobi at all.” This seemed to both relax and confuse the masters in equal measure.

“Just what are you trying to say, Kenobi?” Master Koon asked quietly, claws clicking together in agitation. It seemed he was skipping right to the heart of the matter, ignoring titles altogether.

“Hmm,” the boy said, rocking back on his heels for a moment before waving almost eagerly towards the children next to him, and then back to himself. “I am Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, age 36 standard years.” He let the Force ring true around him for a moment before moving on. “This,” he told them, hand hovering proudly over Anakin’s head, “is my padawan, Anakin Skywalker, who was recently knighted at 20 standard years. He also, I might add, shouldn’t be born for another two or three years.” He smiled fondly down at Ahsoka next, who grinned up at him in response. “And this is Ahsoka Tano, Anakin’s padawan. She was fifteen. She also shouldn’t be born for another eight years.”

He turned back to the baffled masters and smiled serenely. “As I said, a ‘ripple’. We aren’t sure what happened, but we all woke up on Melida-Daan. Seeing as I knew what had occurred the first time around and had much more experience with warfare and brokering peace, I was able to end the conflict much quicker and with far fewer casualties this time around.”

The room was silent as the masters digested this information. Obi-Wan could hear his own heart thudding hard in his chest as he waited for their reactions.

Youth however, seemed to have shortened his ability to sit around and wait for things to happen. “As it is, Masters,” Obi-Wan began, patience running thin, “we have been through much in the last few months since we arrived here, and even more before that. If it would be alright, we would like to shower, put on clean clothes, have a true meal, and possibly sleep for the next few days.” He said all this with a lopsided grin which slowly melted the Councilors’ confusion into compassion and understanding.

The Force had vouched for them, after all. Everything else could wait.

“Of course, Kenobi. We will reconvene at a later date to further discuss this. In the meantime, you can head to the room set aside for you in the creche. Due to these strange, unforeseen circumstances, you will all be allowed to stay together, while still under some form of adult supervision by a crechemaster.” Obi-Wan’s face scrunched up in distaste for a moment before quickly smoothing over into bland disinterest.

“Of course, Master. We will retire to our room immediately, if there is nothing else?” The masters grumbled amongst themselves once more, but Master Windu just waved them off, rubbing at his eyes once more.

“Go on. And take your shatterpoints with you,” he mumbled good-naturedly, rolling his eyes as the children all bowed and practically sprinted from the room. He rubbed his eyes one last time before trading looks with the remaining masters.

What. A. Mess.

Chapter Text

The food Ahsoka had eaten on the ship was currently doing backflips in her stomach, and she really didn’t like it.

Trying to stay close, she kept one hand clasped in the warm safety of Obi-Wan’s larger grasp. The other, she shoved in her mouth, gnawing on her fingers distractedly as she stared wide-eyed around the Temple. It had been a long time since she had seen the Temple so full of life. In the last few years of the war, there were rarely more than a handful of Jedi walking the halls at once; the Temple mostly housed younglings, initiates, injured or recovering masters and knights, or the elderly that could not personally lead a battalion.

She had been trying really hard not to get emotional about being home again, at feeling the other Jedi surrounding her, at all of them shining with light and love and steadiness. She had missed them.

Ahsoka chewed just a little harder on her fingers, a bit of drool slipping down her chin though she paid it no mind. The pain and pressure were slightly soothing, just like her hand in Obi-Wan’s, or Anakin’s presence shining bright from his other side.

She was glad Obi-Wan seemed to know where they were going. Ahsoka had only vaguely been paying attention during their discussion with the Council, more focused on trying to catch Master Koon’s attention. She had missed her Finder immensely.

Sniffling, she tried to muffle to sound behind her fingers but a few tears still slipped down her cheeks against her will. She ducked her head, trying to wipe her eyes on her shoulder, but Obi-Wan was more observant that she had hoped. He paused, turning to her with a sad, sympathetic smile.

“I’m sorry, my dear. Are you alright?” He dropped her hand only to use his to gently wipe at her cheeks. She sniffled again, peeking up at her grandmaster hesitantly. He gave her another gentle smile, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead, before he tugged her along again.

“It’ll be okay, Snips,” Anakin told her seriously, leaning around Obi-Wan to meet her eyes. “We’ll get this all figured out, you’ll see.”

Ahsoka nodded enthusiastically, trying to be brave. If nothing else, she knew she had Obi-Wan and Anakin with her. They would keep her safe, just like she would keep them safe. They were a team. The best team! Everybody in the GAR said so!

Just as she was starting to feel a little more settled, she glanced to the side just in time to watch Anakin walk right into someone, the collision throwing his balance off and toppling him to the floor with a loud crash. He tugged Obi-Wan with him on the way, which in turn brough Ahsoka down, too. She sat there in stunned silence for a moment, trying to determine up from down.

“Oh, dear,” she heard a man say from somewhere far above them. She turned her head, trying to place the somewhat-familiar voice. He sounded flustered and uncomfortable, even as he reached down to assist Anakin back to his feet. Obi-Wan was already scrambling upright, using his body to shield Ahsoka behind himself.

He gave the master a hesitant, jerky bow. “Apologies, Grandmaster,” he said stiffly, painfully polite. To anyone that knew him, it was a terribly fake tone and a warning sign that something was right.

Ahsoka moved to peek around Obi-Wam’s arm, rubbing at her eyes and peering up curiously at the master that had nearly bowled them over. Her heart stuttered in her chest and she clutched at Obi-Wan’s sleeve a little tighter once she realized that the master was Count Dooku, younger than she had ever seen him and dressed in simple dark Jedi robes.

Without thinking, she bared her teeth and made to lunge at him, a snarl ripping from her chest. She was unceremoniously yanked back a moment later, arms latched around her middle as she was held firmly against Obi-Wan’s chest.

She didn’t appreciate being held back and thrashed against his hold. Her terror and anger must have leaked past Obi-Wan’s shields, the feelings seemingly hitting him straight in the gut going by the way the master’s face fell for a moment into shock and hurt. He was quick to hide his true emotions behind a mask of cool, polite disinterest that was more familiar to them all.

Ahsoka arched her back, trying and failing to break Obi-Wan’s hold. He struggled to keep her close, excuses already spilling from his lips. “Apologies, Master Dooku,” he said breathlessly, expertly dodging an elbow aimed for his cheek. “Ahsoka does not do well around… adult humans.”

The master’s gaze roved over their group with curiosity and confusion. He blinked slowly as he seemed to notice their dirty, ragged clothing for the first time. After a long moment where he did nothing but openly stare, he straightened and gave them all a regal nod. “I apologize, Padawan. Initiate. Youngling.” He nodded to each of them in turn, tone gentler than any of them had ever heard come from his mouth. “I wasn’t watching where I was going, was I?”

Ahsoka went limp in Obi-Wan’s grip, her energy zapped even as she continued to eye Dooku with suspicion. Obi-Wan sighed in obvious relief, hesitantly letting her stand on her own feet, though he kept his hands on her shoulders in warning.

“Where is your master, young one? I understand you have been off-world on your own for quite some time. Should he not be here with you?” Dooku asked. It was a valid question, though Ahsoka didn’t like that Dooku was the one asking it.

Peering up at Obi-Wan, Ahsoka saw him try to hide the flinch that statement elicited. She purred deep in her throat in sympathy, trying to calm him down in a way she knew how. He rubbed a thumb across her bony shoulder and frowned, his expression shuttering until he was presenting his polite talking-to-politicians-I-hate face. “Master Jinn has been… detained for a while longer, with the Council. I doubt we will see him for quite a while. If you’ll excuse us, Master?” Obi-Wan bowed once more and made to skirt past him, but Dooku was quicker. He reached out a hand to place on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, to simply halt his retreat she was sure, and reeled back in hurt confusion when Obi-Wan winced away, as if expecting a blow. Ahsoka bared her teeth once more, a tiny growl tearing the attention away from Obi-Wan as he caught his bearings.

She would protect him. Even if it was just from his own mind.

Trying to curb his initial reaction to Dooku touching him was a lesson in futility. The man had captured him more than once and Obi-Wan had assumed he had more than enough experience pretending to be fine in this man’s presence, but it seemed the trauma from Melida-Daan, paired with the fact that he was in a much younger, much weaker body wasn’t helping matters.

He flinched away hard enough to jar Dooku’s hand from his shoulder as he skittered away, eyes wide and panicked as he stared at the ground, refusing to meet the master’s searching gaze. Obi-Wan was going to blame this lapse in decorum on his exhaustion, though he knew that was no true excuse. He was an adult! He should be able to handle this.

An awkward silence stretched between them before Obi-Wan finally dragged himself together and chanced a wary glance up at his grandmaster.

(Really, he had never even met Dooku during his apprenticeship the first time around, and now they’re in the Temple for less than a day and already they run into him? What rotten luck!)

“Well,” Dooku said diplomatically, stepping back to give Obi-Wan some much-needed space, “as your grandmaster, I shall take my padawan’s place until he can fulfil his duties. You all look exhausted. Are you heading to Qui-Gon’s apartment?”

“No, Master,” Obi-Wan rasped truthfully, swallowing past the stubborn lump in his throat. Where had this care been the first time around? He could have desperately used some care and compassion from his lineage after Bandomeer, or Melida-Daan, or Mandalore, and especially after Qui-Gon’s death. Where had Dooku been then? “We have been given a room in the creche, until things can be further discussed with the Council.”

“Hmm.” Dooku didn’t sound like he liked that answer at all but was willing to accept it for the moment. Thank the Force. “Alright. Lead the way, Grandpadawan. I shall assist you as much as I am able.”

Obi-Wan threw a wary look his way, glancing up at him from the corner of his eye as he passed. “Of course, Master Dooku. Come along, Anakin. Ahsoka.” He tugged them gently and they renewed their trek towards the creche. The silence from before was no longer companionable, but full of palpable fear and wariness they were all sure Dooku had picked up on.

Anakin was the first to spot their designated room, the crechemaster on duty standing just outside of it, flipping through a datapad with an increasingly worried look on her face.

“Hello, Master Tempa!” Anakin called, bowing to the blue Twi’lek. Obi-Wan brought a hand to the bridge of his nose, pinching there for a moment as if to stave off a headache. The crechemaster immediately set her ‘pad to the side and gave them all a welcoming smile, though there was a lingering worry and confusion in her eyes as she glanced from one child to the next.

“Hello, young ones. Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka, I take it?” she asked, pointing to each in turn. Obi-Wan smiled, a little strained, bowing low to her in response. “I’ve been told you’ll be staying with us for a while. I freshened up a room for you, though there is only one bed. I can have a couple cots brought up, if you would prefer to stay together?”

Obi-Wan gave her his best smile, though it stretched and pulled in odd ways due to his exhaustion. He was just too tired to put much effort into it. “Yes, please, Master.” The woman’s face softened at his obvious fatigue. She glanced over them once more before waving towards the door.

“Well, alright then. Go on in and get freshened up, little ones,” she told them warmly, pushing the door open for them. “I’ll drop off some food after a bit. I’ve been told you’ve been through quite the ordeal.”

“Yes,” Obi-Was said, dry as the Tatooine desert, “quite.” He winced at his own tone, slightly more sarcastic than he had been aiming for. Again, he was tired. “Thank you again, Master Tempa.” And then they were in the room, Master Dooku hovering in the doorway to speak quietly with the crechemaster. Obi-Wan tried very hard to look busy as he listened in. They didn’t exchange much information, just that Dooku planned to stay with them. The Twi’lek master seemed much more at ease after that reassurance.

Dooku stepped into the room and quietly shut the door behind himself, idly watching as Obi-Wan fussed over the younger children. “Ahsoka, do you need help getting cleaned up? We’ll let you go first.” Ahsoka sniffled, burrowing herself into Anakin’s side and holding on tight as she gave Dooku a wide, wary-eyed look.

Obi-Wan sighed, suddenly feeling the stress from the past few months, years, decades crushing down on him. He allowed himself just a moment of weakness, his shoulders dipping as he let out a long, slow breath, before he was once more up and moving. “Alright then. Come along, dear.”

The oldest and youngest disappeared into the ‘fresher, leaving the door open just a crack. The other boy (Anakin, if he had heard correctly) was left alone with Yan and looked blatantly uncomfortable about it. They stood in stilted silence for a moment, each sizing the other up, before the child looked away dismissively. Instead of continuing the staring contest, he moved towards the bed to start sorting through the clothing that had been left there for them.

“It seems you have all been through much, these last few months,” Yan began as gently as he could. He was channeling every paternal, calming bone in his body. He had no clue how to approach this wary, reserved boy. Moving forward himself, Yan telegraphed his every move, knowing now that he would need to be careful with these children, if Padawan Kenobi’s reaction earlier was any indication of their general mental well-being. He didn’t miss the way Anakin tracked his every move, or the way he subtly stepped to the side until he had placed himself between the master and the ‘fresher door. It saddened him, but he could understand. If half of what Master Tempa had insinuated to him in her hurried, hushed report was true, he didn’t blame the children for being as wary as they were.

“My name is Master Yan Dooku. I am young Obi-Wan’s grandmaster.” Anakin was nothing but a stone wall. He gave no reaction, no acknowledgement. Yan continued as if he had. “I am his master’s Master. You’ve met Qui-Gon?” That elicited a wince from the boy that was hastily hidden beneath a scowl and a quick turn-about towards the wall, though he was still peeking at Yan from the corner of his eye. The master couldn’t even begin to understand what that reaction was about. Another mystery to meditate on later. Better to comfort the child before him, now, and ease his worries. “Obi-Wan is of my lineage. As such, it is my duty to look out for him. By extension, it is also my duty to look out for you, and that girl in there, to the best of my ability. I don’t know what trouble my padawan has gotten into this time, to shirk his duties in such a way, but I will be here until he comes to his senses.”

Anakin chanced a look at Yan over his shoulder, eyes darkening as he assessed the master with a gaze far too experienced for that of a child his age. The master had never felt so exposed before. “It’s strange,” the boy said eventually, staring at him with open, blatant distrust. “You’re a lot different than I expected.”

Brows furrowed, Yan was just about to question the strange wording of those statements when they both heard a loud hiss from the ‘fresher, multiple objects falling to the ground, and Obi-Wan grumbling loudly in the way only a teenager could.

“Ahsoka Tano!” the padawan scolded, sounding stern and more than a little exhausted. “We do not bite!” That declaration was answered with a string of babbling audible to them in the next room, and then a loud shriek as water sloshed over the edge of the tub. Obi-Wan’s put-upon sigh could easily be heard through the cracked door. Yan felt sympathy for the poor boy, knowing firsthand how difficult it was to herd younglings.

Once the room fell silent once more, Yan turned back towards his current conversation partner. “Your name is Anakin, correct?”

The child bristled like a spooked tooka, shoulders raised and teeth bared as he hunched in on himself. His eyes looked half-wild as he visibly weighed the options of answering. He was saved, once more, by Obi-Wan calling for him from the next room.

“Anakin!” he said, peeking his head through the doorway. He was decidedly more wet than he had been going into the room. “Bring us each a change of clothes and get in here yourself. We’ll be quick about it.” Beneath the harsh lighting, the dark circles framing the boy’s eyes were more obvious, and more worrying. The poor child looked like he hadn’t slept properly in weeks. The padawan’s gaze reluctantly flickered towards his grandmaster after a moment, giving him a hesitant grin. “Apologies, Master. We’ll be done shortly.”

“Nonsense, child. Take all the time you need. I’m sure you haven’t seen a proper shower in quite some time.” When Obi-Wan opened his mouth to argue, Yan raised a brow in challenge. Their battle of wills was cut short when Anakin stomped past Obi-Wan, slamming the door shut between them and effectively cutting off the conversation. He could still hear them bickering in hushed tones behind the door but decided to leave well enough alone, and moved on to other worries.

Leaning back in his chair and making himself as comfortable as he could, Yan ruminated over the strange predicament he had found himself in. The only reason he had (quite literally) run into the children was because he was distracted by the constantly chirping comm in his pocket, messages from Sifo-Dyas rambling on about something huge happening. Distantly, Yan wondered if perhaps these children had something to do with this ‘big news’. They were certainly strange enough to fit the bill.

Oh, Sifo was never going to let him live this down, once he heard that Yan had practically spirited the children away as soon as he had stumbled across them, fearful and alone, wandering the halls.

Something more was going on here, though what, Dooku couldn’t unravel without further investigation and meditation.

A gentle knock at the door broke him from his thoughts and he rose to answer it on auto pilot. The crechemaster he had spoken to earlier, Master Tempa, met him with three cots hovering behind her, along with a tray of various foods and drinks for the younglings. He relieved her of the tray and moved out of the way for her to set up the cots, raising a brow at her for bringing three, not two. She smiled, shrugged, and silently slipped him a med-scanner, throwing him a significant look as she did so. He nodded, accepting the responsibility. She had told him earlier they had refused the healers for now, citing their need for rest. It wouldn’t hurt to make sure there were no immediate concerns, though.

“Thank you, Master Dooku, for watching over them. I’ll check in again in the morning.” And with that, she was gone, leaving him alone with three strange younglings and the mystery they presented.

After about twenty minutes in the relative safety of the ‘fresher, Obi-Wan decided they couldn’t hide in there any longer. Steaming food sat on a large tray on the bed and Obi-Wan’s stomach wasn’t the only one that made some interesting noises at the smell. Dooku was still lurking in their room, the room that was now much more cramped due to the cots set up in the center. He counted them with a perturbed face, turning a confused gaze towards his grandmaster.

“I will be staying with you tonight,” he told them bluntly, hands already raised in placation. “I don’t wish to intrude, but I truly think none of you should be alone right now. You’ve been through things that even experienced knights and masters would struggle with. You need support.” He also lifted a med-scanner up, wiggling it as he raised a brow their way. “I’ve also been told to scan you all to make sure there is nothing serious that should be addressed before Healer Che can take a full look at you.”

Anakin, half-hidden behind Obi-Wan, sighed with his whole body. Obi-Wan glanced his way, finding him grudgingly nodding along as he stepped forward, right arm thrust forward. “Can you scan my arm right here? I want to make sure my slave chip isn’t still in there.”

It was a little funny to see Dooku’s eyes grow wide with shock, mouth falling open just a bit in surprise before he fumbled with the med-scanner, cranking it up to level 5. He waved the scanner over Anakin’s arm in slow, wide sweeps, holding his breath as they waited on the results. “There doesn’t seem to be anything there,” Dooku said eventually, glancing up at Anakin. “Did you have it removed?”

“Yeah,” Anakin said easily, shrugging the question off. “I just wanted to make sure.” He hopped up onto the desk next to Dooku and held his arms out like he was waiting for a hug. “You can scan the rest of me now if you want. Snips is scared of those things, so if I go first, she won’t be so scared.”

Dooku glanced towards Ahsoka, who was attempting to hide herself in Obi-Wan’s tunics, curled up against his side as she was. “Splendid idea, Initiate.” Anakin blinked at him blankly for a moment before trading a significant look with Obi-Wan, who just shook his head. Dooku was obviously pretending not to notice their back-and-forth, instead moving the med-scanner over the rest of the boy’s body, going slow so as not to spook any of the children.

In the end, it seemed the boy had a mild case of dehydration and nutrient deficiency, which wasn’t shocking considering where he had come from.

“Next?” Dooku asked easily, turning towards Obi-Wan and Ahsoka. Obi-Wan moved forward next, holding his arms out to the side expectantly. Dooku waved the scanner and found more of the same, though Obi-Wan also saw it light up with broken bones and torn ligaments and Force exhaustion.

“You, I believe, will need more assistance from Master Che, though it can wait until the morning. Now you, little one.” Dooku turned toward Ahsoka, obviously trying to give her his kindest smile. It was painfully obvious the master was not accustomed to being near small children. “It doesn’t hurt. I promise.”

Ahsoka frowned, but she was as brave as ever. Obi-Wan watched her proudly as she stepped forward and held her arms out like she had seen her master and grandmaster do before her. Her face scrunched up as she closed her eyes tight, as if bracing for a blow. Dooku was obviously rushing, moving over her small limbs and body with wide, deft movements until the scan was complete. He showed the scanner to them; similar results to Anakin, dehydration and nutrient deficiency.

“It seems you shielded them from the worst of it, didn’t you, Padawan?” Dooku said fondly, meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes. It was a little jarring, hearing the man praise him, but something unfurled in his chest at the acknowledgement that he had done all he could.

“There. All done,” Dooku told Ahsoka. She immediately took a big step away from him, instantly colliding with Obi-Wan’s waiting arms. “There is food here. Try to eat slowly, as I don’t think anyone wants to deal with an upset stomach.”

Obi-Wan moved, assisting his padawan and grandpadawan up onto the cots before distributing food and drinks. Only once they had started in on their meals did he crawl up next to them. They hovered on either side of him, burrowing close even as they all focused in on their food.

Dooku was obviously studying them, his gaze prickling on their skin. Obi-Wan knew they looked better than they had before the quick bath and change of clothes. They were still far too thin, though, with dark circles around their eyes, pink scars and cuts on their hands and faces. They were all practically vibrating in place, tense and ready to bolt at a moment’s notice. The instinct had saved them more than once on Melida-Daan, and would take a while to regulate once more.

Eventually, their plates were empty, their cups dry, and Obi-Wan had to admit it was time to rest. Dooku moved forward, grabbing their empty plates and cups and setting them to the side to clear in the morning. “Why don’t you lay down, young ones? It’s time to rest.” Calm and peace came to them through the Force, pushed their way from the master on the other side of the room. It fell over them like a blanket, weighing them down and lulling them into unconsciousness.

Obi-Wan sent him an unimpressed look before ushering Anakin and Ahsoka into supine positions, burying them all beneath a thick layer of blankets, all three of them curled up together on one cot.

“Would you not rather sleep on the bed?” Dooku called, sounding confused.

Obi-Wan cracked one eye open, tucking the last blanket up and over them, hiding them from view. “You can take the bed, Master. We’re fine here.”

Dooku hesitated for a moment before nodding, moving around the room to lower the light, leaving just the barest hint for them to see in the night. He removed his outer robes, slid off his boots, and slipped beneath the covers.

“Goodnight, Master Dooku,” Obi-Wan whispered quietly, Anakin pressed up against his back and Ahsoka bundled close against his chest. He blinked at the master slowly, their eyes meeting across the dimly lit room.

“Goodnight, young ones,” he returned just as quietly, then rolled to his side.

Sleep eluded Yan for hours as his mind raced and he watched the children slowly lose their fight with consciousness, though they fought valiantly. They dropped off one by one until Yan was the last man standing, or awake, at least.

They didn’t relax in sleep, tiny faces drawn in frowns, tight with tension. They all looked ready to wake and run at a moment’s notice. Carefully, he reached out through the Force and pressed calmcarepeacesafety their way, hoping to ease their stress.

His labors were rewarded as, slowly, the children relaxed, falling heavily into the blankets and against each other, faces smoothed out and bodies limp with exhaustion. Yan let himself watch them for another long moment, shaking his head silently. He recognized the way they stood, the way they held themselves from recently returned knights and masters from long-term missions. Missions that went bad. Missions that blew up in their faces. What had his padawan done to these children? Why were they so distrusting? Why had they been left to fend for themselves in a warzone?

These questions weighed heavily on his mind, but eventually he had to shelve those thoughts for later reflection in order to get some rest himself. He would do them no good if he couldn’t function in the morning.

With that in mind, he calmed himself, let the Force wrap around him gently, and succumbed to sleep himself.

Chapter Text

The sound of loud shuffling and the whines of a frightened child jerked Yan back into consciousness, body moving without thought as his training took over. He rolled out of bed in a semi-fluid movement and reached for his lightsaber, that wasn’t where he expected it to be. Only when his hand groped at nothing did his brain catch up with his body. (He had taken the saber off before bed. He wasn’t on a mission. He was in the Temple, guarding his grandpadawan and his self-appointed charges, because his padawan was not here to do so himself.)

It was the children that had woken him.

As Yan took in the scene, his heart slowly returned to a more normal rate. Obi-Wan was obviously trying to calm the sobbing little Togruta. She was whimpering pitifully with her face buried in Obi-Wan’s tunic. Anakin was pressed up against Obi-Wan’s back, reaching around his shoulder to brush the tears from her cheeks.

“Hush, Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan whispered urgently, eyes a little wild. “It’s alright, little one. It’s alright, we’re safe.” He rocked her side to side, careful not to dislodge the boy draped over his back, and tucked her ever-closer. As if he thought if he could keep her close she would remain safe from any and all dangers.

Yan, now fully awake and aware, moved slightly closer, all the while pushing feelings of calm and safety towards their little huddle on the cot. Ahsoka sniffled, turning a wary eye his way even as she melted beneath the overwhelming atmosphere. The padawan’s shoulders sagged once Yan’s projected feelings hit him. Yan felt slightly guilty manipulating them so, but if it helped them calm down? He would do it.

“It’s alright, young ones,” Yan told them confidently, moving forward until he found himself hovering right over them, unsure what exactly to do to assist them. Would touch help, or only hinder at this point? (If one more child flinched away from him, he thought his heart might crack beneath the pain.)

Anakin seemed to notice his hesitation, turning a calculating eye on him. After a long moment, Yan felt Anakin’s Force presence reach out towards him from behind Obi-Wan’s shields, something fierce and overpowering and frightening in its enormity, and yank him down without a hitch. Yan jerked forward beneath the onslaught of unexpected power until he found himself kneeling beside their cot, down to eye level with them.

Blinking past the shock, Yan swallowed hard before turning back to the sniffling little girl. “What can I do to help?” he asked with a thick tongue, a tight throat. His heart was still pounding at the realization that Anakin was a lot more powerful than Yan had even contemplated, his animal-brain trying to tell him there was something dangerous about this boy.

But he was just a boy, and Yan was the adult here. It was his job to protect.

“I don’t know,” Obi-Wan said in response, eyes flickering away, even as he continued bouncing Ahsoka in his arms, trying to soothe her to no avail.

“General Buir always said that she liked the spinning tops when she was little,” Anakin revealed in a sleepy voice, hiding his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he mumbled. Yan was (guiltily) relieved to find that the boy couldn’t wield such power without consequences.

Obi-Wan let out an exhausted snort of amusement, turning to glance over his shoulder at his (brother? friend? charge?) companion. “You’re calling him that too?”

Anakin pouted, poking Obi-Wan in the side. “It wasn’t my idea. Everyone calls him that. Wolffe thinks it’s hilarious. And, y’know.” He flapped a hand in front of himself, as if to encompass the entire Temple, and Obi-Wan grunted in acknowledgement. Yan didn’t know, but apparently Obi-Wan understood Anakin’s nonsensical explanation.

Latching on to the most important detail in that little rant, Yan eyed their cups from the night before speculatively. “Spinning tops, eh?” He tugged them closer with the Force before setting them spinning gently in the air before the little girl, swinging them near and far, around and around. The pretty colors and unexpected movement caught the Togruta’s attention, leaving her gaping up at the scene with wide eyes.

Slowly, Ahsoka relaxed and let Obi-Wan gently extricate himself from her. Almost reluctantly, Obi-Wan glanced up and met Yan’s gaze, looking tired and uncertain.

“Thank you,” the boy said softly, rubbing Ahsoka’s back gently. She relaxed without a thought, smiling faintly now as she continued to watch Yan’s glasses dance.

“You are most welcome,” Yan said truthfully, letting his amusement and relief permeate the air between them. Slowly, telegraphing his movements, Yan reached out and ran a hand through the boy’s disheveled hair, noticing for the first time that he had no padawan braid. (What had happened to it?) Obi-Wan’s eyes fluttered closed and he instinctively leaned against his hand, looking for a moment as if he might cry at the contact. Yan’s heart broke; oh, what had Qui-Gon done to this poor boy?

“Do you think you could sleep again?” he asked after a moment, drawing his hand back from the boy, who looked slightly embarrassed at his reaction, cheeks pink. He decided he would shelve that discussion for later, when they weren’t all exhausted and emotional. “It is still quite early.”

He could tell from the looks on their faces that none of them thought they would be able to find sleep again that night. Instead of forcing the issue, Yan accepted that and instead settled more comfortably on the floor beside their cot. He would regret it in the morning when his back locked up and his neck had a painful crick, but it was worth the funny looks on the boys’ faces.

“Well. Why don’t I tell you a few stories about Qui-Gon’s padawanship? We had quite a few adventures, the two of us.” Obi-Wan sniffled, rubbing at his eyes for a moment, before he nodded reluctantly.

“Yes, please, Grandmaster. I’d like that.” So Yan nodded, starting in on a story about one of the (many) times Qui-Gon had gotten them into trouble during a mission, citing he was ‘following the will of the Force’. Which usually just meant that he was getting into some form of mischief. By the second story, the children were all starting to nod off against each other, and by the third, they were fast asleep.

Yan grinned triumphantly, reaching out to wrap the blankets more firmly around them. Only once he was certain the children were comfortable and warm did he return to his own bed. He watched them critically for a long moment, waiting for movement or distress to leak into the Force, before he finally allowed himself to close his own eyes.

As he settled, he let his anxieties and worries free into the Force, his body relaxing into the mattress. He needed to keep a clear head for the morning. Something (maybe his intuition, maybe the Force) was telling him that the morning would be eventful.

“I’m not doing it,” Anakin’s chirpy little voice hissed, trying to be quiet but missing by about a mile. Apparently, he was still in the stage of development where one didn’t realize just how loud one truly was. No volume control, whatsoever. He did not miss those days of child rearing. Thank the Force his current padawan Komari was a fairly quiet child, when she wasn’t fighting or arguing. “You do it!” The sound of flesh hitting flesh, along with what was obviously a tussle on the other side of the room, followed.

“He’s dealt with us enough,” Obi-Wan whispered, voice a little better regulated. “Let the man sleep.”

There was a long silence that followed, wherein Yan wondered if he should get himself up, but something was telling him to wait. Eventually, Anakin spoke up once more. “He’s weird,” the boy grumbled quietly, sounding almost put-out about the admission. “Not like the one we know. Y’know?”

One they know? What could that possibly mean? He kept his eyes closed and breathing slow and even, hoping for more information. It seemed it wasn’t meant to be, though, as Ahsoka let out a long, loud yawn and started grumbling like the small child she was.

“Hun-gry, Mast’a,” she whined, still sounding half-asleep. That was strange; who was she speaking to? Had she known a master before her time on Melida-Daan? Or did she not understand the title? Did she think everyone older than her was a master?

Distantly, Yan wondered what time it was. He prayed to the Force that they had gotten enough rest for the trials of today. Playing up his exhaustion, he rolled over onto his side and let his eyes drift open, as if he had just woken up. Obi-Wan was watching him with intense eyes, one brow raised judgmentally. He had obviously realized the master was awake, but was keeping his peace on the matter, for whatever reason. The younger children didn’t seem to have noticed, or cared.

Yan took a moment to run a hand through his hair before greeting them. “Good morning, young ones. I see we’re ready to brace the day.”

Anakin’s little face scrunched up in distaste. Ahsoka, after a moment of fierce deliberation, her eyes far-away as the cogs in her mind churned, eventually smiled and held her arms out-, asking Yan to pick her up.

Yan froze.

There was a very good reason he waited until the very last possible moment before choosing a padawan. Every time, he had waited until they were nearly thirteen, when they were mostly able to care for themselves. Yan Dooku and small children did not mix well, on most occasions. He knew they found him frightening, and cold, and intimidating. As such, he had very little experience with small children such as Ahsoka Tano.

“Uhm,” he breathed, blinking down at her in confusion. She continued to stare him down, arms held up in demand. Slowly, cautiously, he reached out and plucked the girl from the cot, holding her awkwardly in the air as he deliberated how best to hold her, until he decided on bracing her against his hip. He had seen more than one crechemaster hold a child this way. It must be comfortable for them, right?

She stared him down for a moment longer, all wide eyes and curiosity, before her face slowly relaxed. She smiled, showing off her fangs, and patted him firmly on the chest.

“T’ank you,” she said, toddler accent mutilating her words in the most adorable way. “Mast’a Dooku!” She enunciated the title ‘Master’, though Yan wasn’t entirely sure why. She glanced over his shoulder, glaring down at Anakin, who deflated beneath her judging gaze.

“Thank you,” the boy grumbled a moment later, avoiding eye contact. “We appreciate the help. Master.”

Obi-Wan smiled proudly down at the boy next to him, patting his shoulder in a very paternal way. It was slightly jarring to watch.

“We really do appreciate your care and attention, Master,” Obi-Wan said diplomatically. He raised his head as if bracing for a blow. “I’m sure you have more important things to do, though. We’ll be more than capable of taking care of ourselves today, if you would rather attend to them.”

Yan could not believe this boy. He honestly thought his grandmaster would leave him, a child from his own lineage, alone and hurting at a time like this? What nonsense had Qui-Gon been filling his head with?

“I can assure you, Grandpadawan mine, that there is nothing more important to me than taking care of you three today. I promise you that.” Obi-Wan’s eyes grew suspiciously wet for a moment before he blinked hard, and then it was gone.

“Well,” he said, voice tight. “Thank you, Master Dooku.” Yan nodded, inclining his head, and then ushered the children into the bathroom with him.

“Morning ablutions, please,” he told them, recalling the horror days of raising teenage boys. At least Ahsoka was pleasant enough, splashing in the water but otherwise doing as he asked.

Soon enough, they were put together and presentable enough to leave the room and brace the rest of the Temple. As they walked, Yan noticed a few confused, indulgent looks from passing masters and knights. After the third time he saw another Jedi do a double-take as they passed, he turned to look over his shoulder. He saw the children trailing behind him in a uniform line like a group of ducklings, faces serious and stoic, and Yan had to turn around quickly to hide his amused grin from them.

Yan led them to the refectory meant for masters and their padawans. It was fairly empty at this time of day, already mid-morning. He ushered them through the line, ignoring the curious gazes on them, and then helped them settle at a table. He made sure Ahsoka was able to eat her little finger foods, that Obi-Wan and Anakin had everything they needed, and then started in on his own meal. Yan kept a close eye on the other masters, silently daring any of them to approach.

Obi-Wan swallowed a few bites before setting his fork to the side, meal only half-finished. He folded his hands on the table before him and raised his eyes to meet Yan’s curious gaze with a serious look of his own.

“I think we should discuss some things, before we are summoned before the Council.” Oh, what an ominous start. Yan was intrigued already. “How much do you know about Master Jinn’s mission to Melida-Daan?”

“Honestly,” Yan said, wondering where this was going, “not much. I heard Master Tahl had been injured, but I’ve been away with my padawan on our own mission. We only just got back a few days before you did.”

Obi-Wan seemed to be mulling that information over, one hand on his chin as he stroked a non-existent beard. Distantly, Yan watched him with poorly hidden affection and amusement; had the boy picked up the habit from Qui-Gon? It had been too long since he had last interacted with his old padawan.

“The planet has been divided in war for generations. The Melida elders against the Daan elders. Master Tahl was sent to broker peace between them, but talks fell through, and she was captured by one of the groups. When we arrived to retrieve her, we found a third faction of the war, the Young. They were the children from both factions, brought together to try and end the war themselves. They helped us rescue Master Tahl.”

Obi-Wan took a shaky breath, eyes squeezed shut tight in distress. Yan frowned; already this story wasn’t sounding very promising. He had heard of the planet, of course, and the war there. It was why most padawans weren’t allowed anywhere near the system. Why the Council thought it was a good idea to send a master with a padawan as young as Obi-Wan there was beyond him.

“She was badly injured,” Obi-Wan continued, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. His eyes were distant and hazy. Yan reached across the table, wrapping his long fingers around the boy’s thin wrist, giving him something tangible and solid to keep him tethered in the present. “Master Jinn wanted to leave immediately to get her the help she needed. I wanted to stay and help the Young.” He turned wild eyes towards Yan, as if begging him to understand. “It was painful on that planet. The Force was practically screaming. I couldn’t just leave them. So,” he frowned, glancing down towards the table, shame and fear leeching into the Force between them. Yan reached out with his own essence, brushing against the boy to try and calm him. “I drew my saber on Master Jinn. I begged him to stay and help. He refused. He took my saber, and my braid, and he left.”

Yan blinked slowly, confused. He just left him there? Padawans were occasionally separated from their masters by fighting or danger, but it was always the master’s job to reunite them as soon as possible. Padawans were learners, students, children under the care and direction of their masters, their teachers, their guardians. To blatantly and intentionally leave your padawan behind on a mission was grounds for a full-blown investigation. What had happened?

“I stayed with the Young for a year and became a general. I was one of the oldest soldiers there and one of the only ones with any sort of tactical or weapons training. I helped them plan, and fight. I tried to ease their pain, their fear. So many of them still died.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Anakin said in a tiny voice, pressed up against Obi-Wan’s side, eyes wide and wet. “You were just a kid yourself. Master Jinn should have never put you in that situation.”

Obi-Wan frowned, turning to blink down at the boy, mouth already opening no-doubt to argue. Yan intercepted, burying his fury beneath a cool exterior. “He’s correct. Master Jinn knows better. He is the adult. He is responsible for your care and wellbeing. Leaving you on a war-torn planet with no promise to return is not the Jedi way.”

Blinking owlishly, Obi-Wan sat in silence for a moment before he visibly shook himself, giving a wan smile in return. “Well. We won the war, in the end, with far fewer casualties than I had expected. Master Jinn did return eventually, after I sent him a message asking for help. And now we’re here, though for how long, I’m not sure.”

That, too, confused Yan. Why would they worry about their place here? The boy was a padawan, far enough along that even if Qui-Gon couldn’t continue his apprenticeship another master could be assigned to see him to knighthood. Anakin was on the cusp of being too old to be accepted into the creche, though he was sure the Council would make an exception once they realized how powerful he truly was behind all those shields. And Ahsoka was young enough to easily be accepted by the creche.

Did they worry about their obvious attachments to each other? Or was it something else? Had someone threatened their standing in the Order? Had the Council?

Master Windu’s calm, tightly controlled presence was rapidly approaching them and no amount of Yan’s liberal use of his most frightening ‘go away Now’ face seemed like it would deter him. Yan looked away in defeat just in time to notice Obi-Wan giving the Korun master a serious, significant look. The boy looked away after a moment, poking at his now cold dish of food rather halfheartedly instead.

“Padawan Kenobi,” Master Windu acknowledged him, placing emphasis on the boy’s title. Yan watched him suspiciously; was it in question? Or did Obi-Wan simply think it was in question, and this was Master Windu’s way of assuring him of his place here? “You and your… friends, have been summoned to the Council room.” He glanced towards Yan, a thin-lipped smile on his face. It did not look sincere. “You may bring Master Dooku, if you wish.” His words held a bigger meaning that Yan obviously wasn’t privy to, but the children were. They traded assessing, questioning looks between themselves before Obi-Wan sighed, nodding.

He turned towards his grandmaster, eyes wary and speculative. “Can you keep a secret, Master Dooku? An important one?”

Instead of giving a knee-jerk answer, Yan took the time to actually think the question through. In his long tenure as a Jedi, a Consular, and a Watchman he had had to keep many secrets. It was part of his job, after all. And this was his grandpadawan. Of course he would keep a secret for him, especially if it seemed the Council was already aware. It couldn’t be too bad then. Right? Right.

“I will keep your secrets, young one. This I swear.”

Master Windu didn’t hold back his amusement in the Force, though his face remained as impassive as ever. Yan raised a judgmental brow towards the younger master, but the man simply stared right back, eyes crinkling around the edges in the smallest tell of a smile.

Suspicious now, Yan glanced between the master and the children. “They haven’t been to the healers yet,” he said, vying to buy them just a little more time to relax before they were thrown before the Council. It could be intimidating, even to the most experienced of masters. He leveled a severe, unyielding look towards the Council member. “We will stop there first, before joining you in the chambers.”

Master Windu’s mask was slowly cracking, amusement filling the air. “Of course, Master Dooku. We will eagerly await your arrival.” With that, he gave them a short bow before moving on.

Yan sighed, subtly rubbing a hand over his face. The children were more or less finished with their meals so he waved for them to stand, guiding them through the line to drop off their dirty plates before bustling them out of the room and closer to the Healers’ wing.

On the way, Obi-Wan walked two steps behind him, to the left. The boy fell into the posture of a padawan without a second thought. He was well-spoken and well-behaved, held to his ideals and his morals. He was smart, and kind, and well-intentioned. Why did Qui-Gon seem to treat him as such an afterthought?

The children were all such enigmas. As he pushed the doors to the Healers’ wing open, he braced himself for what was to come. Master Che, in particular, was going to have his head.

Wonderful.

Chapter Text

The children were literally dragging their feet. Obi-Wan was walking as slowly as possible for being in polite company while Anakin was almost the opposite, thrumming from foot to foot with nervous energy. Little Ahsoka appeared about two seconds from plopping herself onto the floor in a crying fit.

He had so much sympathy for the crechemasters that handled twenty younglings at once, day in and day out. They were stronger souls than he.

Trying to head off a tantrum, he reached down and picked the little girl up, bracing her against his shoulder. She immediately latched on to him, burying her face in his neck, wet tears soaking into the fabric there. He patted her back in silent support.

By the time they made it to the desk at the front of the Healers’ wing, Yan had one squirming youngling slung over his shoulder, another struggling against the steadying hand he had placed on the boy’s shoulder to keep him close, and a young padawan trailing behind him like he was heading to the gallows.

Ah, the dramatics of youth.

The healer on duty at the front desk was very obviously attempting to keep a stoic look on her face, but her lips were twitching in a way that he knew meant she was valiantly struggling to hold back laughter.

“How may I help you today, Master Dooku?” she asked, leaning forward to wave gently at the girl draped over his shoulder. Momentarily distracted from her distress, Ahsoka giggled and waved back, sharp little teeth on full display.

“I’m afraid these three need a full medical evaluation. The younger two are new additions to the Temple, and Obi-Wan, here, has been off-world for nearly a year.” The healer’s amusement immediately dissipated, eyes wide and worried as she turned a more clinical gaze towards the children. It was obvious the moment she took in their sunken eyes and unnaturally pale complexions. She typed an urgent message into her ‘pad before turning her full attention on her charges.

“Of course! Here, let’s get you all set up.” She handed Yan a datapad with a slew of medical forms already brought up and then ushered them towards an empty exam room. “Before we continue, is everyone okay with being treated in the same room?”

“Yes, please,” Obi-Wan said at once, looking up to meet the healer’s gaze with a timid smile.

She returned it easily, exuding calm competence into the air around them. “And is everyone okay with Master Dooku staying, or would you rather him wait outside?”

Obi-Wan sighed and looked away, but Anakin was the one that answered for them with a scoff and a dramatic roll of the eyes. “He already knows what’s wrong with us,” he grumbled, arms crossed over his chest protectively. “He used a med-scanner on us last night. This is just to make it all official and stuff.”

The healer smiled indulgently down at the boy, trading an amused look with Yan before she moved on. “Can you all help Master Dooku fill out your intake forms? Any information you can think of will help us better treat you, okay?”

She disappeared through the door then, leaving them alone with Yan and the dreaded forms. He flipped through them quickly, finding about three pages for each of them, and sighed. This was, by far, his least favorite part of missions: the paperwork.

“Well,” he said, moving forward to settle in one of the fairly uncomfortable chairs every medcenter and healer’s ward seemed to order en masse. “Who wishes to go first?” He looked up, finding the children trading looks between themselves, as if daring each other to step forward. Eventually, Anakin huffed and dropped his arms to his sides, striding forward with the confidence of a man far older than he was.

He stepped close enough to Yan to read the forms over his shoulder but kept enough distance between them that Yan wouldn’t easily be able to reach him. That alone told Yan more about the boy’s experiences than anything he could say out loud.

In the most monotone voice, Anakin rattled off his life history as if it were a boring backstory. Born on Tatooine to a slave mother, making him a child born to slavery, knowing nothing else. He and his mother were traded a few times to different masters. He bought his own freedom by winning some sort of very important pod race, his voice ringing with pride as he announced this. He skirted around how he had ended up on Melida-Daan, saying a ship he had been on had crashed there, though he refused to make eye contact as he said this, rubbing the back of his neck in a horrible tell. The boy was lying, though why was beyond Yan. He noted it down, anyhow, marking it in his memory to pry more later. Anakin finished his story, saying he didn’t have many wounds, just general deficiencies from not enough food and not enough water, and some old injuries that were typical from a childhood of slavery.

Yan paused after he saved the file, looking up to meet Anakin’s determined little face. His shoulders were set, his jaw clenched, his eyes on fire. Yan felt for the boy: it wasn’t easy growing up a slave, being told you were property and not a real person. He set his ‘pad aside, ducking down to meet the boy’s gaze, and very seriously told him, “You have been through a harrowing trial, young one, though you have not let it drag you down. You have a strong will, a fierce determination, and a caring soul. Don’t lose them.” He set a hand on the boy’s shoulder, something he figured he could get away with without frightening the boy, and was slightly surprised when the child swallowed past the lump in his throat, blinked hard, and then threw himself into the master’s arms.

He remained still for a moment, allowing the boy the option to back away, but he remained squeezed up against Yan’s breastbone and clutching him like a limpet. Yan wrapped his arms around the child, resting his chin on the crown of his head, and covered him with his Force presence. The boy melted beneath his touch, shoulders shaking slightly, before eventually he pulled away and rubbed at his eyes.

“Thank you, Master,” he said with a nasally voice, the hint of a smile gracing his lips.

Yan frowned, searching the boy’s face. “You don’t need to call me that, if it bothers you. I was unaware of your upbringing. I know that word has a different meaning for others in the universe.”

Anakin smiled brightly, his whole face lighting up. “It’s okay,” he said, leaning forward to shyly take one of Yan’s hands. “I know it’s not the same thing. ‘Master’ means ‘teacher’ here, right? ‘Guardian’?”

“Yes,” Yan agreed, happy that the boy understood. “You’re a very bright boy, aren’t you?”

Anakin blushed, ducking his head, and dropped Yan’s hand to hover behind Obi-Wan, who had watched the entire interaction like a hawk, fierce protectiveness radiating off of him. He gave Yan an approving nod, even as he wrapped an arm around Anakin’s thin shoulders, squeezing him close.

“C’n I go now?” Ahsoka asked, peering up at Yan with wide, hopeful eyes. Yan chuckled, grabbing his ‘pad once more to open her file.

“Of course, little one. What can you tell me about yourself?”

Not much, it seemed, which was understandable for a child so young. She wasn’t sure where she had been born, but she knew she had been well taken care of, and well loved. She remembered being on a ship, just like Anakin, and it crashing on Melida-Daan. The only injuries she had to show for her adventurous time on that planet were a few cuts and scrapes, a constantly rumbling stomach, and a headache behind her right eye that wouldn’t go away. Yan noted down each complaint and highlighted the most worrying.

“Thank you, Ahsoka. Do you want a hug?” Before he was even done speaking, the little girl was launching herself at him, burying her face in his chest.

“You’re a lot nicer now,” she said happily. There that was again, that cryptic turn of phrase, as if she knew him from somewhere else. He was sure he had never met any of these children before, though. He was sure he would have remembered them.

(Was it a vision, he wondered to himself. Something they had seen of his future? Is that how they knew him, but didn’t?)

She pulled away then, scampering into Obi-Wan’s open arms. Yan leaned back, studying the children critically, but his examination was cut short when the door swung open, admitting Master Healer Che. She gave their group a stern once-over before holding her hand out expectantly. Yan passed her the ‘pad without a word, watching her face closely for her reaction to the children’s reports.

With his hands suddenly free, Ahsoka ducked forward, pressing herself against Yan’s side and tugging his arm around until she was practically hidden from view. Obi-Wan had a strained smile on his face as he clutched Anakin’s hand in one of his own. They all seemed to be thrumming with anxious anticipation.

The healer was shaking her head as she read, already scowling at the information before her. “Well,” she said crossly, turning an intense gaze on the padawan, who tried valiantly to hold back an obvious flinch, “you don’t do anything by halves, do you, Padawan Kenobi?” Obi-Wan blinked slowly at her, bland smile stretched across his face, looking about two seconds from snapping in half. “You’re going first, since I don’t need to start a whole new file for you. The little ones will take longer, I’m afraid.”

Obi-Wan, with a heavy sigh and a stiff set to his shoulders, moved forward and succumbed to the healer’s pokes and prods. Eventually her curious noises turned into disgruntled noises turned into distressed noises as she seemed to find more and more injuries.

After a few minutes of this Healer Che dropped her med scanner and scowled at Yan, a thunderous expression on her face. “Why was he not brought straight to the Healer’s Wing upon his return? We have only just begun, but already I have found multiple broken bones, strained muscles and ligaments, severe dehydration and starvation, signs of prolonged head trauma, the beginnings of organ failure, and one of the worst cases of Force exhaustion I have ever seen!”

Obi-Wan, the poor boy, winced back from the ire in her voice and stared up at her with wide, frightened eyes. He glanced warily between the healer and Yan before he slowly shrunk back towards Anakin, who stood before him protectively, a fierce scowl on his face. Yan noticed the padawan retreating as well, obviously feeling unsafe. Ignoring the healer for a moment, he reached out and placed a grounding hand on the boy’s shoulder, squeezing just enough to let him know he was here, and he was safe.

“None of those things are immediately life threatening, are they?” Yan asked sharply, turning a fierce look the healer’s way, silently chiding her. He was slightly mollified to notice the guilt staining her Force presence, her face pulled in a worried frown as she observed Obi-Wan’s frightened reaction. “These children have just returned from a warzone. They needed food and rest. As Anakin said earlier, we checked last night to make sure there were no immediate issues. One more night was not going to kill them.”

Healer Che seemed far from happy, but she looked like she was willing to go easy on them, in the face of the children’s obvious discomfort. She waved Obi-Wan forward once more, tone weary as she apologized. “I’m sorry, young one,” she told him truthfully. “I’m not used to finding such serious injuries on one so young. I let my emotions get the better of me.” She sighed, shaking her head, before continuing. “I don’t know what your master was thinking,” she grumbled lowly to herself.

“He wasn’t,” Anakin growled darkly, sending Obi-Wan a heavy look when the older boy turned a glare his way. “Master Jinn wasn’t even there.” His anger and disgust echoed heavily through the Force and the others all politely pretended to ignore it. Yan wasn’t feeling very forgiving of his former padawan, himself. He didn’t blame the children for being angry.

The Twi’lek healer stared Obi-Wan down for a long moment, face inscrutable, before moving on. “You’ll need to be submerged in bacta for at least a day,” she told him matter-of-factly, “and on bedrest for at least another week after that.” Obi-Wan immediately shook his head.

“I can’t do that,” he told her, voice steady and resolute. “There’s too much to do. I can’t waste time floating in a tank or resting in a bed.” Healer Che scowled, a stern look on her face, and waved a finger in his face.

“There is nothing so important that you cannot take care of your health first,” she told him, shaking her head at him. She turned away, already typing away on her ‘pad, but Obi-Wan cut her off.

“It is my health,” the boy argued hotly, shoulders squared, ready for battle. “I refuse. I will heal just as well with a cast and a sling.”

“Respectfully,” Healer Che practically growled back, “you are a minor under the care of your master, and under the care of the Order. Your medical well-being is in my hands. You will do as recommended, Padawan Kenobi. There is nothing that you need to discuss that cannot wait another few days.”

The two of them glared at each other for an increasingly frightening amount of time before Obi-Wan eventually let his shoulders relax all at once, falling into a serene non-presence in the Force as he folded his hands across his stomach, as if he were tucking his hands in his sleeves. It was slightly unnerving to witness, this sudden shift to blankness.

“As you say, Master,” he said dully, eyes empty.

Rearing back, Master Che traded a worried look with Yan, who was getting quite tired of receiving such searching looks from the masters and knights around him, like he knew what was going through these children’s minds.

“We will discuss it further, once the other children have been looked over,” Yan suggested, reaching out to tug a mostly-unresponsive Obi-Wan closer to himself, wrapping his free hand around the boy’s shoulders and holding him close.

“Alright,” Healer Che said stiffly. She turned towards Anakin, who was now hovering between Obi-Wan and the healer. She waved him forward, gentling her face and her tone. She read through his history quickly, taking note of the things she might need to check. He asked her to check the site of his slave chip once more, just to be safe, and she again assured him it was truly gone. Drawing up a meal plan and a schedule for rest and meditation, she let him go.

Then it was Ahsoka’s turn. She huddled closer to Yan’s side, tugging his arm down even further until she was buried beneath the weight of his limb and the sleeve of his robes. It didn’t deter Healer Che, though.

“Hello, little one,” she said on a sigh. “Could I have a quick peek at how you are doing?”

Ahsoka squirmed beneath the healer’s gaze, a distressed little whine escaping her. She glanced towards Anakin, who was pushing calming, encouraging energy her way, and sighed, moving until she was able to slide to the floor and present herself to the master healer.

The healer was careful with her, dabbing at her wounds and brushing her Force presence against the girl’s to keep her calm. She had fewer injuries than the boys and had obviously been shielded from the worst of the conditions. Healer Che made plans for her diet as well, making notes to keep to a carnivorous base. Once she was released, the girl huddled up next to Yan again, purring distractedly.

With a heavy sigh, Healer Che placed her hands on her hips and looked their group over critically. Obi-Wan was still staring off into nothing, Anakin pressed up against one side and Yan holding him close on his other. She shook her head before turning towards the wall of cabinets, riffling through them until she produced a sling and a slew of wrappings.

“Come here, Padawan Kenobi,” she said with a sigh. He moved forward mechanically, face distantly confused, but stood to attention when asked. She wrapped his ribs, splinted his broken arm before guiding it into a sling, and wrapped a portion of his head in a protective layer of bandages.  Once she was finished, she took a step back and looked over her work with a critical eye. The boy was a truly pitiful sight. “You wore me down, child. Come see me if you have any increase in pain, alright? You need to take care of yourself as well as others, young one.”

Obi-Wan blinked up at her slowly, as if he weren’t truly present, before giving her a short bow, careful of his ribs and arm. Slowly, life began to filter back into the child’s eyes as he realized he had won. “Thank you, Master Che.” Then he turned toward Yan. “I believe we have a meeting with the Council now.”

“Yes,” Yan said, gathering the children close, “I believe we do.” He shifted Ahsoka until she was cradled in his arms. Anakin stuck close to his side, one hand hooked into Yan’s belt. Obi-Wan stood beside him, staring up at him with slightly desperate eyes. He obviously did not want to be here any longer. “Yes, well. Thank you, Master Che, for your time and expertise.” She waved Yan off, giving him an imperceptible look as they passed each other.

All four of them released a sigh of relief as soon as they were out of Master Che’s domain.

“Well,” Yan said on a breath, “that was quite the ordeal, was it not?” He wasn’t expecting an answer and wasn’t surprised when the children remained silent. Figuring they could make the Council stew for a few more minutes, he diverted them towards the Room of a Thousand Fountains, settling them in a meadow off to the side that was rarely travelled. They watched him curiously as he settled on the ground, Ahsoka in his lap as he motioned for them to join him.

“We need to clear our minds after such a harrowing discussion,” he told them seriously. Anakin’s nose scrunched up in distaste but Obi-Wan did as instructed, falling to the ground in a kneel and immediately closing his eyes. Yan watched him in surprise; most knights and masters learned how to meditate with one knee up, one knee on the ground, ready to spring back into action at a moment’s notice. It was not something that was taught to younglings or junior padawans. Where had little Obi-Wan learned it?

And Anakin! He was settling onto the ground reluctantly, but easily fell into a lotus position and closed his eyes as if this were second nature. The boy, according to his own story, had never been a Jedi initiate. How had he learned to meditate already?

Even little Ahsoka was humming lowly to herself, eyes closed as she swayed gently on the waves of the Force, as most crechelings did. Yan pushed his confusion and shock out of his mind to study later and reached out to the Force, guiding the little ones in a group meditation that went far better than he had been expecting.

The way Obi-Wan had reacted in the healer’s room was troubling. He was obviously going to have some form of stress reaction due to his time at war, but such a severe demonstration of dissociation was worrying. They would need to get him in to see a mind healer at their earliest convenience.

After about twenty minutes of gently floating in the Force, detangling heavy emotions, and soothing away their fears, Yan nudged the children back to the real world. They opened their eyes slowly, blinking in the bright artificial sunlight of the gardens.

“Is everyone feeling better?” he asked gently, ducking down to meet their gazes one at a time. Ahsoka was humming happily to herself, gnawing on her fingers distractedly. Anakin seemed calmer, his nervous energy released to the Force. Obi-Wan appeared more present, watching Yan with weary, ancient eyes. “Does anyone need a hug?” he asked, thinking perhaps some physical touch might be helpful.

Obi-Wan’s gaze broke away from his own, his lip wobbling dangerously for a moment. “It’s okay, Obi,” Ahsoka said quietly, leaning out of Yan’s grip and closer to the older boy. “He’s nice and comfy. He gives good safe hugs. Promise!”

“Come on, Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispered, nudging the boy closer to Yan. He threw Yan a dark look, as if daring him to try and hurt Obi-Wan when he was so vulnerable. Why they all thought he was going to hurt them was beyond him.

“Come here, grandpadawan,” Yan told the boy gently, opening his arms. Obi-Wan hesitated, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard, and then took a hesitant step forward. Yan was gentle and careful, leading the boy forward until he was able to wrap him up in his arms, giving him a firm, tight squeeze. Obi-Wan buried his face in Yan’s neck, sniffling wetly. Oh, he was never going to be able to clean this cloak correctly. It was worth one measly cloak, though, to comfort these children appropriately.

“Sorry,” Obi-Wan mumbled against his shoulder, rubbing his nose against the fabric there. Yan winced at the feeling of snot being left behind on his robes but pushed the thought aside almost as soon as it made itself known.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, little one. We are all here to support you. You are not alone.” Obi-Wan nodded, giving Yan one last squeeze, before pulling away to wipe his face down.

“Are we ready to face the Council?” Yan asked after a long moment, brushing a stray hair out of Anakin’s face. The boy scowled, pushing Yan’s hand away gently, more out of show than in any real anger. “Let’s head out then. Force forbid we keep them waiting.” His little joke did the trick, Obi-Wan and Anakin snorting in amusement, trading smirks as they all stood and left the comfort of the gardens. He hoped they could hold on to that feeling, even beneath the gazes of the esteemed masters on the Council.

Chapter Text

The sun was already nearing its peak; Yan couldn’t believe they had had such a full morning already, and it wasn’t even midmeal yet. Breakfast, medical, a little mental breakdown… yes, a full morning, indeed.

As they walked together, Yan took a moment to look over the children. The little girl was hiding in his collar once more, cold nose pressed against his neck and hands clenched tightly in his cloak. The girl had more than a little clingy since she had decided he was safe, constantly asking to be held or carried. He had to admit, he didn’t have much experience with small children. He would need to ask someone more knowledgeable if this was a normal reaction or something to keep a stricter eye on.

Anakin, on the other hand, seemed to skitter away whenever he reached out to him, but he supposed a life as a slave, no matter how far in the past it was, left lasting marks. He scowled around at his surroundings more often than not, though the dark expression was more adorable than intimidating on a face so young. He held himself with the confidence and sternness of a man three times his age yet still vibrated with the constant energy of youth.

And Obi-Wan. He followed them at a serene pace, face smooth and calm, void of emotion. It was a slightly disturbing thing to witness on a child so young. Hopefully, with a little time and effort, the boy would realize he didn’t need to hold himself so stiffly and distantly all the time. That he was safe here. The fact that the boy could hide his emotions behind such duracrete-strong shields was worrying, but also an issue to be addressed at a later time.

“Perhaps we should find ourselves some food after we-,” Yan began, hoping to divert their attention towards more pleasant things, when his words were loudly and suddenly cut off.

A severe glare on his face and sharp words on the tip of his tongue, Yan was already turning before he realized he recognized that voice. His glare hardened, more intentional now as he let his dissatisfaction with his former padawan be known.

Qui-Gon Jinn rushed forward, wide-eyed and disheveled in a way Yan hadn’t seen from him often. His wild eyes moved from Ahsoka, to Anakin, and then settled on Obi-Wan, who was avoiding eye-contact in an entirely age-appropriate way, gaze skittering away towards any kind of exit. Qui-Gon’s brows furrowed in confusion the longer the silence stretched, until a sting of wariness settled over him instead.

“Obi-Wan,” he called, strained and hesitant. The silence immediately shifted from a slight wariness to boulder-heaviness. It was nearly oppressive and Yan didn’t like this turn of events. He shifted Ahsoka in his arms until she was propped on his hip, freeing one hand up so he could place it comfortingly on the boy’s shoulder. At least, he hoped it was comforting.

“Master Jinn,” Obi-Wan returned stiffly, shoulder back and posture straight, still avoiding his master’s searching gaze. “We were just on our way to speak with the Council. If you’ll excuse us,” he said all in one rush, throwing a quick bow towards Jinn before turning and practically running away, feet slamming loudly on the stones in the quiet surrounding them. Anakin whirled around to follow him, throwing a glare over his shoulder towards Jinn for good measure. Yan watched them leave, waiting for them to be far enough down the hall so they wouldn’t hear, before turning on his old padawan.

Before he could speak, Ahsoka beat him to it. “You’re not supposed to talk to us,” she growled, curling closer to Yan’s neck even as she bared her teeth at the other master.

Qui-Gon looked slightly devastated at that rebuke. Yan couldn’t quite bring himself to feel much sympathy for the man, though this new information that Qui-Gon wasn’t supposed to speak with the children was interesting. Bringing the attention back to himself, Yan straightened, glaring down at his former padawan in a way that the man would know he was in severe trouble. “I don’t know what you did, or what you think your justifications are, but we will be having words, padawan-mine,” he told him sternly in his best disappointed-Master voice. With one last glare he turned and followed the children down the way they had fled. Qui-Gon, thankfully, did not attempt to follow them.

“Young ones,” he called sternly once he had caught sight of them once more. He was glad to find they listened, slowing their steps and waiting for him to catch up with them. Obi-Wan was holding himself stiffly again, all the calm and relaxation from their earlier mediation suddenly gone.

Anakin was hovering over the older boy, a worried pinch between his brows. Yan reached out to them both, rubbing a soothing hand over Obi-Wan’s shoulder, gratified when the boy didn’t flinch but instead relaxed beneath the attention. Once he was sure the boy was a little more settled, he moved on to Anakin, ruffling his hair for good measure, if only to hear the boy crow in protest. “It will be alright,” he promised. “We’ll discuss what is to be done with Qui-Gon with the council at some point. Until then, you will remain under my care. This, I promise.”

Obi-Wan paused before the doors to the council chambers, peering up at Yan with wide, hopeful eyes before he subtly leaned up against the master’s side like a shy Loth cat. He pulled away almost immediately, tugging his robes around himself with a slight blush before pulling himself to his full height. He nodded to himself, face set in determination, and stepped through the threshold.

Yan watched from behind the group of children as Obi-Wan made a strangely aborted movement towards one of the occupied chairs, as if moving without thought, and stepped towards the center of the room instead. His cheeks burned with embarrassment but the master in the seat he had made for only gave him an indulgent, knowing look, eyes smiling even as his face remained impassive. Obi-Wan traded an amused look with the master, shaking his head at himself with a little smile.

Yan stood beside the boy, gently setting Ahsoka on the floor before him and placing one hand on Anakin’s shoulder, the other on Obi-Wan’s. Ahsoka leaned back against his legs, one hand fisted in the fabric of his leggings.

“Hello again,” Master Windu said, looking them all over with a critical eye. His gaze lingered on Yan for far longer, as if staring him down, before he continued. “Before we start, would you like to read Master Dooku into the situation, Kenobi?”

Obi-Wan hesitated for far longer than Yan thought comforting. He took a deep breath before turning towards Yan, peeking up at him through his lashes before he let out a bone-weary sigh, his whole body practically crumbling beneath the movement. It reminded him, suddenly, of Qui-Gon as a boy, when he had landed himself into some sort of trouble and had come to his master for help.

“Firstly, I would like to apologize for deception, Master Dooku,” he started quietly, shoulders slowly creeping up until he was practically hunched in on himself, hiding himself away as if preparing for retribution. He looked so very small like that and it pained Yan’s heart to see any child, but especially one from his own line, so frightened of any reaction he may have. “You see, I am not exactly Padawan Kenobi.” He glanced up quickly, bright eyes searching his face for any sign of reaction, as if expecting him to explode in anger or shock.

Yan simply raised a brow at him, urging him on. He wished to hear the whole story before reacting. The universe, he understood, as obviously more complex than even he and all his years could comprehend. He pressed feelings of understanding and comfort towards the boy, hoping to quell his anxiety and encourage him to continue.

It seemed to work. The boy swallowed hard, trading a wary glance with the other children, before pressing on. “I am actually Master Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he admitted a little sheepishly, shoulders falling back with military precision, hands once more wrapped around each other in front of himself. The sudden change, the sudden shift from frightened to competent, was difficult to follow. Yan’s head was still spinning from the revelation. “We aren’t quite sure what happened, but myself and my companions here have been seemingly thrown back in time, into younger bodies, for some reason only the Force knows.”

Yan let the information sink in for a long, silent movement before he threw his gaze towards the surrounding councilors. They all nodded in agreement, though some seemed more reluctant to agree than others. The Force, though, thrummed with truth at the boy’s statement. There was no denying it, then. It seemed even the Force, if no all the councilors, believed his words.

Hmm, boy?

Or, as he said, an adult stuck in a child’s body?

Either way, he was still his grandpadawan.

This was all very confusing and strange but, honestly? He had heard stranger. “Hmm,” was all he said, tilting his head to the side in thought as he continued to study them, with his eyes and the Force. That would explain the strange way the Force danced around them, the anomaly threaded through their Force presences that shimmered and flowed like an elusive bird, there one moment and then gone the next.

The children, on the outside, didn’t look any different from any other youngling. Ahsoka had moved on to gnawing on her fingers again while he thought, absently chewing on them as she met his gaze, her eyes bright and knowledgeable beyond her years. How was he just noticing that? He thought back to how Anakin spoke so easily and plainly of his traumatizing past, as if it had all happened years ago for him. And Kenobi. Oh, the poor boy. He seemed to carry his pain and grief like a cloak about him. If he spoke the truth, what else had he been through in all his years, to make him so worn and sorrowful?

“Alright,” he told them eventually, before turning back towards the council. “I hope you’re all taking this seriously and not brushing their warnings to the side, as you would if they had only suffered from visions?” It was the only reason he could think of for the Force to send them back as it had. He purposefully did not turn his gaze towards his master, who he knew often counseled those afflicted with visions to ignore them, or towards his friend Sifo-Dyas, who would know better than most how the council viewed warnings from visions.

The other masters shifted warily, glancing between each other in a very telling way. “They haven’t actually told us much,” Master Windu admitted, turning towards the children with an expectant look. “Though, of course, we are open to hearing what they have to say.”

“Before we do,” Anakin piped up, staring the council down with a scowl and arms crossed over his chest, “are we just assuming we’re supposed to change things? Or that we can’t be sent back to our own time?” His face screwed up in a way that seemed a precursor to tears, though the look was there and gone as quickly as it came. “We’ve already changed things, just by being here. Do we even have a future to return to?”

As everyone in the room murmured between themselves, debating the boy’s questions, Yoda knocked his gimmer stick against the ground to draw their undivided attention to himself. “Before, this has happened,” he admitted into the following silence. Shock filled the Force around them, and more than a few hushed words were whispered. “Multiple time travelers, there have been, in our Order’s long history. No way home, there was, for them.” His face softened, pity filling his eyes as he inclined his head towards them. “Sorry, I am, for this. Friends, and family, you have left behind, no doubt.”

The children stood in silence, faces slowly falling into sorrow and acceptance. Ahsoka’s wet sniffle broke the calm. She huddled closer to Anakin’s side, hiding her wet face in his tunic. Anakin, meanwhile, stared off at the wall, face scrunched up in pain. Obi-Wan, most worryingly, was left distressingly blank, an emptiness in the Force as he stared down at the floor beneath his feet.

“We understand, Master,” Obi-Wan eventually said, throat bobbing as he squeezed the words out through his tight throat, full of obvious pain. A burst of anger, fear, and resignation was released into the Force, and then Obi-Wan raised his head to give them all a rueful grin, as if nothing had happened.

He stood a little straighter and held his wrists in a white-knuckled grip, even as he stepped forward. “Well,” he began, sounding chipper and candy-sweet, “it’s not anything good, I’m afraid. Our future.” He shifted on his feet, glancing surprisingly towards Yan himself, before continuing. “Where we came from, we were in the midst of a galactic civil war.” One of the masters, Sifo-Dyas if Yan had to guess, visibly perked up and let out a sound of surprise. Yan lifted his gaze from the children and met his friend’s gaze from across the chamber. He looked equal parts excited and dreadful, as if he was glad to know his visions weren’t him going mad, but also sad that they had come true. They were truly terrible visions, after all.

“The Jedi,” Obi-Wan continued, droning on in a voice that was eerily reminiscent of an instructor teaching a class full of bored padawans, “had been conscripted as generals, per the Senate’s orders. We were sent into battle against the Seperatists, a group of planets that had seceded from the Republic, and had also sided with the Sith.” Obi-Wan left no time for them to react to that bombshell, moving on quickly. “We know who the acolytes and apprentices were, but we never did find out who their Master was.”

“I mean,” Anakin butted in, one hand scratching distractedly at his head, “we could probably find Maul somewhere, right? He’d be in training probably. Sidious nabbed him young, from what Ventress said.” Anakin glanced towards Obi-Wan, speaking more to him than anyone else. “And Ventress. She’s gotta be around here somewhere, too.”

Obi-Wan nodded serenely, one hand rubbing his chin in thought. “We do know Maul was taken as a very young child from Dathomir, and trained in the Dark Side, but we don’t know where Ventress originally came from. She could be Light right now, Anakin. Don’t rush to make judgements,” he chided gently, sounding so much like a little master in that moment. Anakin nodded seriously, taking the words to heart, before turning towards the council.

“So, what are we going to do to avoid the war, then?” He turned towards Obi-Wan once more, as if the input from the gathered masters paled in comparison to Obi-Wan’s opinion. “Fett wouldn’t have been contacted yet about the cloning, would he?” Yan blinked at them in blatant confusion; every word out of their mouths was more and more insane, making less and less sense, yet he understood the urgency they spoke with. It must be daunting, trying to fit the pieces together to prevent a war. He didn’t blame them for feeling urgent.

“Hmm,” Obi-Wan said, rubbing a hand at his chin once more, seeming a bit taken aback for a moment before he resumed the motion. “I don’t believe Galidraan has happened yet. If we can avoid that whole mess, he won’t have a reason to want the Jedi dead.” Then he turned his gaze towards Yan, eyes assessing. “You don’t recognize Galidraan, do you? You were the lead investigator for that mission.”

Yan cast his memory back, but he had no recollection of ever leading a mission to Galidraan He recognized the name vaguely, but he had never been personally.

Yoda shifted in his seat and every eye in the chamber turned his way. “Recently received, we have, a request from the Senate. For aid on Galidraan. Mandalorians, there are. Killing civilians, they claim.”

“It’s a trap!” Obi-Wan told them immediately, eyes wide and pleading. “The governor is working with the Sith in the Senate and the Mandalorian terrorist group, Death Watch. They sent us faked images because they want you to kill the True Mandalorians. Jango Fett is their leader, the Mand’alor. In our time, the Jedi were sent there to investigate and ran into the True Mandalorians. Words and threats were exchanged and there was a massacre. Most of the Jedi were kill and all but one Mandalorian.” Obi-Wan’s gaze went distant, as if he were picturing the scene. “He was handed over to the governor, who sold him into slavery on a spice ship. He got away eventually, but he lost everything. And he hated the Jedi. So much so that he agreed to work with the Sith.”

“I miss Rex,” Ahsoka whimpered, though her voice carried in the near-silent room. Yan glanced down towards the girl, who was very obviously trying to hold back tears. Anakin covered her, one hand rubbing big, soothing circles on her back.

“I miss him too, Snips. If we can fix this, though, he won’t ever exist.” He swallowed hard, then glanced up towards Obi-Wan, looking lost himself.

“I miss Cody, and Ghost Company, and the 212^th as well,” he admitted, a soul-deep sorrow covering his presence before the emotion was reluctantly released to the Force. “But they were slaves, Anakin. They had no choice. They would want us to fix this, before anyone has to suffer, or die.” His eyes fluttered closed as he swallowed hard. “And you know how they suffered.”

Ahsoka let out a loud hiccupping wail at that, trying to stifle the sound in her hands.

“Perhaps,” Master Koon said, leaning forward as if he wanted to reach out and reassure the child himself, but was holding himself back, “we should adjourn for midmeal. Give everyone some time to think these revelations through.”

“I agree,” Yan said, kneeling down on one knee before the children. He held his arms out as he had earlier in the morning, and Ahsoka immediately threw herself at him. He scooped her up easily and rubbed her back as gently as he could. “Let’s go get something to eat, and perhaps rest for a bit.” He herded the other children (children?) with him out the door, refusing to look back at the amused looks he was no doubt receiving.

Instead of heading toward the refectory, or their room in the creche, Yan directed them towards the masters’ quarters. Obi-Wan gave him a knowing side-eyed glance but didn’t argue as they were led closer to Yan’s apartment. He put the code in to open the door and Yan didn’t give himself enough time to think it through before he was ushering them inside.

A hushed silence fell over them as the children looked around the living room, trying and failing to hide the fact that they were openly gawking. Why, Yan wasn’t sure, but perhaps they had known him in their future? Or, at least known of him?

The way they had reacted to him initially was still gnawing at him with a renewed interest. The distrust and fear they had exhibited was troubling but he put it away to dissect later. There were more important things to take care of now.

He set Ahsoka down on the floor to join her companions and moved further into the room, leaving them to their own devices. Once he was out of sight, he heard Anakin let out a slightly hysterical giggle, trying to muffle it from behind his hand, though it was a lost cause.

Yan glanced over his shoulder simply to check on them, but Obi-Wan beat him to the obvious question. “Just what is so funny, Anakin?” he hissed, turning a slightly scandalized look towards Yan’s retreating back, who was now pretending to ignore them.

It took a moment for Anakin to pull himself together, but then he said through hiccups, “We’re in Count Dooku’s apartment.” He let out a loud snort, hysterical giggles spilling out of him uncontrollably. Yan was starting to fear for the boy’s sanity when Ahsoka cracked, her tiny laughter followed. A moment later, Obi-Wan let out a disbelieving snort as well. And then they were all laughing.

Well. Yan would rather have them laughing than crying.

As he moved around the kitchen, he made a little more noise than necessary as he set water to boil and found a few nerf patties in the freezer and pasta in the pantry that they could all share. As he waited for things to heat up, he sent a message to Komari, warning her of the guests in their apartment. He gave her maybe twenty minutes before she would be joining them, curiosity no doubt piqued.

He focused on cooking as the children ventured further into the living room, settling on his sofa awkwardly now that their nervous laughter was through.

The food didn’t take long, and soon enough he was bringing plates to the table that hadn’t seen so many people at one time in more than a decade. “Come, children. Let’s eat.” He waved them forward and helped them settle before sitting himself.

“Thank you, Master Dooku,” Obi-Wan told him politely, glancing up to gauge his reaction before quickly looking away, cheeks still slightly rosy from their earlier laughing fit. He fiddled with his fork for a moment before he swallowed hard, saying in quite the rush, “We appreciate your assistance. We would understand, however, if you didn’t wish to continue dealing with us. You thought you were helping children, at least one from your lineage. Now that you understand the situation better, we would understand if you wished to… step back.”

Yan stared Obi-Wan down for a long moment before pointedly turning his gaze towards Ahsoka, who was quickly making a mess of her tunic as she tried and failed to eat her food without making a mess of herself, though she didn’t seem to notice his gaze. Obi-Wan winced, squaring his shoulders as if preparing for an argument.

“I’ve been taking care of Anakin and Ahsoka on my own since we arrived here about four months ago. I took care of them in our own time, as well. Anakin was my padawan, recently knighted. Ahsoka was his padawan. We worked together often enough that I think it would be more accurate to say that we were both her masters,” he said, trading a humorous look with Anakin, before sobering once more. “So, if you find yourself uncomfortable with us, or the situation; this is us, giving you an out. No questions asked. We understand that this is a lot. I would just ask that you not speak about this to anyone else not already in the know.”

Yan took his napkin and slowly dabbed at his mouth before he set it aside, making direct eye contact with his grandpadawan. “I see that this is a strange situation for us all,” he started, moving his gaze from Obi-Wan, to Anakin, to Ahsoka. “However, you are still children. It seems you have retained some of your adult minds and thoughts, but that you require assistance, and a guardian that will make sure you are taking care of yourselves and each other. Yes, you took care of them yourself,” he said, when it seemed as if Obi-Wan would argue, “but I am here, saying that it need not be that way any longer. I am offering my help, because you are my grandpadawan. And, as you have just told me, you have brought me even more members of my lineage. It seems to be growing by leaps and bounds,” he said with a sardonic little grin.

Obi-Wan stared him down, scrutinizing him, before he sighed and nodded. The conversation was abruptly left there when the front door opened with a bang and Komari called out excitedly.

“I heard you picked up some crechelings!” she shrieked excitedly, rounding the corner. Her hands flew to her face as she grinned down at the scene before her. “Oh, I thought they were exaggerating, but they really are tiny!”

“Komari,” Yan warned, sighing into his hands. He could admit, he was a little more tired than he would like to admit, the emotional roller coaster the children had pulled him through in such a short amount of time wearing on him. He was not, he had to admit, as young as he used to be.

Komari would not be swayed, however. “Sorry, Master,” she said, not sounding sorry at all. She pulled up a seat at the table and propped her chin on her fists, staring at them openly. “So, who are you?”

Obi-Wan primly dabbed at his mouth with a napkin before holding out a hand across the table. “Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn’s former apprentice. He’s in review, now, for his treatment of me. Master Dooku was kind enough to offer his guidance and assistance during this time.”

Komari shook his hand enthusiastically before her face scrunched up in confusion. “Oh. I had heard you were on a mission and that you had left the Order. Why did you come back?” She winced at her own words, trying frantically to back pedal. “Not that we aren’t glad to have you back, of course! I just-I assumed once you left, you couldn’t really come back? Right?” She looked towards Yan, who was giving her his own confused look. Why in the world would she think that?

“I thought the same as well,” Obi-Wan told her, soothing over her misstep, “though I have been told I am more than welcome back.” He gave her a gentle look, pitying and somber, something that was there and gone as quickly as it came. “It seems many younglings aren’t as knowledgeable about their options, or the proper process of things, as most masters would assume.”

This was news to Yan. Did the children of the Order really not understand their options outside of knighthood? Perhaps this was something to bring up to Sy at their weekly tea.

Komari was nodding along, though, which was worrying. Had she really not understood these things either?

She turned her attention towards the other children next. “And who are you, little ones?”

Anakin scowled but stuck his hand out at Obi-Wan’s prodding. “Anakin Skywalker,” he grumbled. She shook his hand and he let go of her as soon as he politely could. Hmm, interesting.

Ahsoka’s grin was stretched across her face. “Hi! I’m Ahsoka!” Komari laughed, shaking the girl’s little sticky hand with grace.

“Oh, you’re all too cute,” she said quietly, cheeks squeezed between her hands as she grinned down at them. Anakin squirmed in his seat, obviously uncomfortable, but Ahsoka was preening beneath the attention and Obi-Wan simply looked fondly exasperated.

“Komari,” Yan said, drawing her attention back towards him. “Please be gentle with the younglings. They aren’t used to your… energy,” he said delicately. The girl was a conundrum on a good day, blowing hot and cold from one moment to the next. Sometimes she clung to him as if afraid he would leave her behind, and then she would distance herself as much as possible, disappearing for days at a time when they were Temple-bound.

It seemed today was going to be a good day for her.

The girl grinned before turning back towards the children. Anakin chose that moment to let out a jaw-cracking yawn, one hand over his mouth, trying to cover it up.

Yan immediately perked up, checking the time. It was already early afternoon. It had been a trying morning, he was sure, and he wasn’t surprised the little ones were tired already.

“Why don’t you all lay down for a bit? You don’t need to sleep,” he said quickly, holding a hand up when Anakin turned a glare his way, “but it will help you all recover more quickly if you are well rested.”

Obi-Wan stood serenely, tugging Anakin by the arm, Ahsoka skipping along ahead of them towards the sofa in the living room. Komari watched them go with sparkling eyes before turning her inquisitive gaze on Yan.

He heard the children settle together on the sofa. He threw Komari a warning glance, trying to convey to her to keep her voice down with them right there.

“Master!” she hissed, shocked.

Yan would have liked dearly to roll his eyes, if that weren’t below him. Instead, he clapped a hand on her shoulder and sent a roll of amusementadmonishmentfondness her way through the Force. She grumbled good-naturedly but left it alone, moving past the children towards her own room, the door sliding shut quietly.

Finally mostly-alone, Yan allowed himself to sit in the kitchen, hands cupped around his steaming mug of tea, thoughts swirling. He had much to think about and he would need to find time to meditate later, though he was sure they weren’t quite done with the council yet. Surely they would want to know everything, if what the children said was true. A galactic war? A slave army? Jedi as generals, not peacekeepers? It all seemed so far-fetched, and yet…

He could see it happening. If the Senate demanded it of them, the Jedi would have to act, or face the repercussions. And with a temple full of vulnerable younglings only a few districts away from the Senate, there was no way they could say no.

Sy always had said war was on the horizon, though he had been fairly vague about his visions the last few years, withdrawing more and more from the other Jedi. The way he had looked in the council chambers, though. The way he had looked almost vindicated, as if he were mentally crowing ‘I told you so’.

Shelving those thoughts for later, Yan took a sip of his tea. The children, despite their protests, had fallen dead asleep moments after Komari had retreated, worn out and exhausted. He didn’t blame them; he was quite worn out himself.

Taking a bit of his own advice, he retreated to his room, where he closed the door and settled on the bed, stretching out and taking a moment to rest his eyes. He let the Force flutter around him, brushing through him, calming his nerves and soothing him as it always had, even as a youngling.

One deep breath, in and out, and Yan let himself drift. His problems would still be there later in the day, when he was more clear-headed and rested. They had time.

At least, he hoped they did.

Chapter Text

Mace Windu was no stranger to migraines.

He even had a tried-and-true method to dealing with them: find a dark room, a nice cup of tea, and shut himself away from the rest of the world until the throbbing in his head decided he had suffered enough. If it was a really bad one, he had medication that the Halls of Healing had prescribed him years ago. He avoided using it as much as he could, though, as he despised the way it made him feel. That was always left as a last resort.

Now, that was how he usually responded to his migraines. Over the years, he had dealt with more than his fair share. Being able to see shatterpoints had its definite downsides.

Today, though, it seemed the Force was dead-set against him. He had no way to get to his dark, comfortable room, or anywhere near a good cup of tea, or even to make a quick run to his room for his meds.

With the way his blood was pulsing at his temples, he thought he might need those pills today.

But instead, he had to sit through one of the worst council meetings of his life. As well as the worst post-meeting meeting as the masters around him argued back and forth about what to do next. And oh, the things those children had revealed…

No. He didn’t even want to think about it.

As he was lost in thought, marching down the hall towards his next destination, he winced away from the bright lights he passed and the excited chatter from the younglings waiting in the hall. For one moment, he debated just turning around and retreating to his room anyway, damn the consequences. But he knew better. When he had taken over as the Head of the Order, he knew days like this would come up, where he would have to push past his limits to get things done.

He reminded himself that Yoda and Sifo-Dyas were waiting for him. He couldn’t keep them waiting, or worry them by disappearing. Just as he turned the corner towards the masters’ apartments, his other headache made an abrupt appearance.

Qui-Gon Jinn, looking a little harried and a lot worried, made eye contact with Mace from halfway down the hall before rushing forward, one hand held out to Mace to slow his progress.

And Qui-Gon, for all his faults, was Mace’s friend. So instead of turning and running away like he dreamed of (for just one moment), he paused, and waited for Jinn to catch up with him. The relieved look on Jinn’s face made the distraction somewhat worthwhile.

“Mace,” Jinn said, breathless and a little strained. “Has there been any discussion about Obi-Wan? He said he had a meeting with the Council and I know he’s staying with Master Yan. How is he?”

Mace rubbed his forehead, though the minimal pressure did little to relieve the pain. The Force swirled around them both in agitation, like a teenager in over their head flapping their hands uselessly at a crying child, unsure how to help. “Master Jinn,” he said coolly, falling back on bland politeness when he couldn’t scrape together the strength for anything more sympathetic. “You were told to stay away from the children.”

“I ran into them in the hallway!” Jinn defended himself, taking a half-step back as his face scrunched up in distress. “I merely stopped to speak with them for a moment. Obi-Wan bolted after he said he had a meeting to get to. I didn’t even say anything to him.”

Mace rolled his shoulders, sighing. “Still. If you see them again, please give them their space. They are going through quite the ordeal right now. They don’t need you hovering, as well.” He peeked over Jinn’s shoulder, subtly shifting around him, before he took pity on the man. “We haven’t discussed anything yet, but Master Dooku said they were more than welcome to stay with him for the time being.” A wave of exhaustion washed over him, and he slumped beneath Jinn’s gaze. “They’ll be okay, Qui-Gon. Just give them some time.”

Jinn sighed, shoulders drooping. He seemed to age years in just that moment, body curled into himself. Again, Mace felt something (maybe the Force, maybe just intuition) urging him forward. “Have you thought about seeing a mind healer?” Mace asked gently, lips pressed together the moment the words left his lips. Oh, sure, all his friends had been trying to talk Jinn into therapy for years, to no avail. Mace wasn’t sure why it would be any different this time. It was something the master would need to do, though, if he ever wanted Obi-Wan back.

Contrary to the explosion Mace was expecting, Jinn simply sighed, crumbling around the edges just a little more. “That would be a good plan, wouldn’t it?” he mumbled to no one in particular, before dragging a hand through his long hair, attempting to pull himself back together. He gave Mace a deep bow, eyes lowered in thought. “I will see you later, Mace. Thank you.” And then he was gone.

Mace rubbed his forehead once more, taking a long, steadying breath, and turned back towards Yoda’s rooms.

The little green master was waiting for him, opening the door just as Mace raised a hand to rap on the wood. With a Look and a hum, Yoda ushered him inside without a word. Sifo-Dyas had beaten him there, already folded up by the little table on the floor, hands wrapped around a cup of hot tea while he stared off into the middle distance.

“Come,” Yoda called, breaking the silence. “Much to discuss, there is.”

The sound of Yoda’s voice seemed to wake Sifo-Dyas. He came back to himself, sending Mace a warm smile, though the look was slightly haunted. Mace took the empty spot between the two masters and warily accepted a mug of Yoda’s swamp tea, letting it warm his hands but leaving it firmly on the table. He knew better than to actually attempt to drink it.

“Your visions,” Mace started, jumping right to the root of the issue. Hopefully, if they finished quickly, he would still have quite a bit of time to rest before the next inevitable crisis. “They sounded quite similar to what the children described.”

Sifo-Dyas hummed, setting his mug aside to fold his hands beneath his chin, staring down at the tabletop as he thought. “For many years,” he said eventually, one finger tap-tap-tapping against his hands as he refrained from eye contact, “the Force has been darkening. Shadows, at first. But over the last few years, it’s been growing steadily worse. My visions, as well, have become darker. Soldiers, all with the same face,” he ticked one off on his fingers, “droids shooting blasters, marching through cities,” he ticked off another, “a dark presence, a Sith master, pulling all the strings,” once more,” and Jedi fighting alongside soldiers, leading the way, falling to the darkness in the end.”

Mace felt sick to his stomach. It was common knowledge that the Force didn’t show Sifo-Dyas anything good in his visions, but the man had kept mostly to his own council over the years, as he was rebuffed again and again by those strong in the Living Force that sat on the Council. Most masters saw visions as nothing more than pretty distractions, after all. Few saw them as a guiding light.

Master Sifo-Dyas wrote his visions down, of course, and submitted them to the Archives, as per protocol, though they were heavily redacted and under a high security clearance.

The man’s visions were often written off by the other masters as just one possible version of a possible future. Things were always in motion, after all. You couldn’t focus on the foreboding feeling of the Force or its warnings if it also caused you to neglect the present.

But this? This was too obvious, too spot on, too in-your-face to ignore.

“Lines up, it all does, with their words,” Yoda said sadly, ears drooping as he stared down at his tea.

“How do we prevent this, then? They said the Jedi were drafted into the war. That a group of planets separated from the Republic. Do we go after those planets, see if we can help ease their concerns with the Senate?”

“We would need the Senate’s approval for that,” Sifo-Dyas pointed out, a bitter little grin on his face. “And I doubt they would care about a few planets’ concerns, until it became a far larger problem. Such as secession.”

“We could send the Shadows?” Mace offered, trying to puzzle through this problem through the aching in his head. If they couldn’t openly move, then what good were they? Perhaps they should begin separating themselves from the Senate, after all. “We should start looking for other Temples. Make them livable and begin moving the children there, to keep them safe. We may have to abandon this Temple, or at least leave it with fewer Jedi present, while we expand somewhere more removed.”

Mace and Sifo-Dyas traded a heavy look before glancing towards the Grand Master, who still hadn’t said a word. He looked every one of his 800 years, body drooped and face pulled in sorrow.

“Come to this, it has, I cannot believe,” he said sadly. Mace had to agree. To even think of abandoning the temple on Coruscant? If they had asked him that three days ago, he would have said it was ridiculous. Now? It was a valid concern. And a pressing one, if they only had but twenty or so years before the war was set to begin.

“We have a lot of work to do,” Mace said into the following silence. The Force chimed between them, as if agreeing with him. It also sent a wave of calm and assurance towards them, as if bolstering them towards their goal, giving them hope for the future.

Keep going, it seemed to whisper. Just a little further. Keep going.

“Let us begin, then,” Yoda agreed, and the masters traded one last heavy look before leaning forward, setting to work.

Obi-Wan cracked open his eyes and stared up at the familiar stone ceiling above him. For just a moment, he let himself imagine that he was waking up in his old room in the Temple, no war on. Just him, and his padawan, and endless days.

Someone shifted next to him and the spell was abruptly broken, reality crashing down on him. His broken arm was aching but he refused to grab the sling from the side table. Hopefully he could slip the head bandages off soon and hide them in the compacter before Dooku remembered he had them.

Glancing towards the window, Obi-Wan found that it was already dark outside. The lights scattered around the living room were still half-lit, bathing the room in a familiarly soft yellow haze. It was homey, reminding him of their own apartment, though it wasn’t something he ever would have equated with Count Dooku.

But, he had to remind himself sternly, this was Master Dooku. The man had been raised a Jedi, just as Obi-Wan had been. It would stand to reason, then, that he would live as a Jedi lived, too.

And Force, how different the man was now, compared to his Sith counterpart. Obi-Wan hoped to push that conversation off for as long as possible, though he was sure the intelligent man had already started putting the pieces together. He had to know something unsavory had happened to him in their future, just from the little throwaway comments that kept slipping from Anakin’s mouth, and the distrustful way they had reacted to him initially.

Shifting once more on the sofa, Obi-Wan caught Anakin and Ahsoka curled up next to him, wrapped up in each other’s arms. He watched them fondly for one long moment before sliding out from beneath them, easing them back down onto the sofa as gently as he could. Once he was certain they would wake, he ghosted his way towards the kitchen, setting the kettle to boil as he raided the cabinets. After a few minutes of searching, he returned victorious with a bad of black Alderaanian tea and a chipped old mug that was vaguely familiar.

As he waited for his tea to steep, he steepled his fingers on the tabletop and settled back to think over their options. There was just so much to do! The Force swirled around him, encouraging him with its light and peace, but didn’t seem keen on pointing him one way or the other. It did feel so much different here, though, now that he had the time to sit and just bask in it. Had the Force truly darkened so much, without any of them noticing?

War, he supposed, did have the tendency of bringing out the worst, and the darkest, of people. The Force on Melida-Daan, for example, had practically been a black hole, screaming and thrashing with pain and death and despair. There was a reason his shields were so weak and fragile right now.

So. They needed to stop the Trade Federation. And Kamino. And the Sith. And the war. No small feat, all that. He knew the Sith’s plans were already in motion, and most like had been for years, but he wasn’t sure what he could change without a domino effect happening. If he changed something now, what would that change down the line? And he was sure the Sith had backup plans upon backup plans. It all seemed so impossible. Too much. It made his head hurt something fierce.

The Force brushed against him, sweeping him up like a leap in a river current. He let it pull him away, guiding him as it tugged him through the temple, pausing beside each Jedi they passed, as if to reiterate to him the fact that you are not alone. It calmed something tense and heavy in him, to realize that yes, there was much to do, but he need not do it all himself.

Just as Master Dooku had told him earlier, he could take care of Anakin and Ahsoka himself, but it would be easier with assistance. Just like this. Saving the galaxy, saving the Jedi, saving everyone would be much easier if he only accepted help.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Anakin accused from the sofa, his voice a harsh whisper as he tried not to wake Ahsoka. Obi-Wan glanced up, meeting his padawan’s gaze over the top of the sofa, and marveled once more at how young he was. Younger even than he had ever seen him, in their original lives. Anakin blinked at him with wide, worried eyes.

After a long pause, Obi-Wan gave Anakin a shaky grin. “I’m alright, young one,” he said softly, running his fingers over the chipped mug, distracted. “There’s just a lot to think about right now.” Anakin huffed but he didn’t try to push, which Obi-Wan appreciated. Impulse control had never been his padawan’s strong suit. Instead, Anakin pushed himself up from the sofa and moved to Obi-Wan’s side, pressing himself against him and just soaking up the warmth. Obi-Wan didn’t hesitate, already sure what Anakin was seeking, and wrapped his good arm around the boy’s waist, tugging him closer.

He wasn’t alone, after all. He had to remember that.

“Y’know,” Anakin drawled after a heavenly moment of silence, his cheeky little grin not going unnoticed, “you can’t really use the ‘young one’ thing anymore.” He reached out and swiped Obi-Wan’s mug, taking a hearty sip before he realized what was in it and promptly made a face. “Yuck,” he grumbled, shoving it back into Obi-Wan’s hands. Obi-Wan grinned down at him fondly, rolling his eyes at all the dramatics. Anakin continued as if nothing had happened, though he did throw a vicious side-eye at the mug. “We’re closer in age now than we were before. You’re a young one, too,” he said pointedly, jabbing a finger into Obi-Wan’s chest.

“I suppose I am,” Obi-Wan admitted with a sigh, staring down at his mug once more, feeling older than he should.

“You’re all young ones,” Dooku said with a haughty tone, stepping into the room without a sound, which sent Anakin into an obvious moment of fright.

Before he could think, Anakin sneered and sniped right back. “Isn’t everyone, compared to you?” he said with a nasty glare. A beat passed and Anakin’s eyes went wide, one hand flying to cover his mouth, but the words were already out. Obi-Wan sighed hard, tugging Anakin closer as he shook beneath his hands, eyes searching out Dooku’s.

The man still had his back to them as he moved around the kitchen, preparing his own cup of tea. The silence grew, practically suffocating to the boys, until Dooku seemed to realize something wasn’t right and promptly turned around. There was no anger on his face; in fact, he looked almost pleasantly confused as he glanced from Obi-Wan to Anakin, brow furrowed in concern when he noticed how frightened they were.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, sounding truly puzzled. Anakin swallowed hard and pressed himself even closer to Obi-Wan, who in turn tightened his grip, and Dooku seemed to realize what the issue was. His face softened and he even cracked a little smile, lines around his eyes crinkling with his mirth. “What, do you think you’re the first one to call me old?” he asked with a chuckle. “You aren’t even the first one this week, young Skywalker. Ask Komari. I think she makes a game out of it, if I’m honest.”

Hesitantly, Anakin pried himself out of Obi-Wan’s arms, hovering uncertainly between his master and great-grandmaster. He remained there, wanting to reach out but still fearful, until Dooku took the initiative.

The master reached out slowly and calmly, giving Anakin plenty of time to turn and run away, and scooped him up, easily settling Anakin against his hip as he turned back towards the cupboards. Obi-Wan watched the interaction like a shriek-hawk. Eventually, the boy tentatively melted against Dooku, wrapping one arm around his neck and cradling the other against his own chest, blinking up at Dooku with calm eyes as he finished making his tea.

“You cut my arm off, you know?” Anakin said into the silence, effectively breaking the calm that settled around them. Obi-Wan’s head snapped up as he threw a glare at his padawan. Well, so much for easing him into this.

Dooku, for his part, only hesitated for a moment before resuming his tea-making, throwing a cautious glance between Anakin’s avoidant gaze and his mug. Eventually, Dooku, sounding hesitant and wary, asked, “Would you like me to put you down?”

Anakin hummed, shaking his head almost immediately. “It’s okay. Like I told you earlier, you’re really different. That’s why I was afraid of what you would do, though, when I made that joke. If I had said that to future-you? I would have gotten a condescending lecture and probably lost another body part. You’re nicer here. Calmer. I like it.”

With just a hint of uncertainty, Dooku looked up to meet Obi-Wan’s heavy gaze. He paused, taking a hearty sip of his tea, before he gave Dooku a nod. It was true, this Dooku was far calmer and saner that the one that had injured Anakin so grievously. Dooku’s Force presence soured for a split second before he quickly released the feeling, until his face and presence both evened out.

“You are different,” Obi-Wan reiterated. “You don’t have to follow the same path you did before. With us here, I doubt you’ll end up there anyway. We’ve already changed things. Why not that?”

Dooku took one final steadying breath and nodded, more to himself than Obi-Wan, and sat at the table. Anakin slid from his grip to sit on the floor beneath the table and Obi-Wan watched Dooku with shrewd eyes, waiting for his reaction.

Eventually, he glanced towards Obi-Wan, studying him closely. “Yes,” he said, sounding far-away but certain, “why not?” His eyes turned toward the wall as he took a sip of his tea, eyes darting as he obviously thought through the last few minutes. Obi-Wan worried at his lip, anxious that perhaps they had put too much on him too quickly. He was, without a doubt, rethinking each interaction with them, searching for hints and clues to his possible-future.

“Do we need to return to the council chambers?” Obi-Wan asked, just to break the silence, and hopefully break Dooku from his downward spiral of thoughts. “Will we continue today?” Obi-Wan was already thinking ahead, wondering what they should tell the masters, and how.

Before he could get too far ahead of himself, though, Dooku reached out and placed a heavy hand over his own, giving him a gentle squeeze. “There is nothing else to do today. Calm yourself, young one. We have time.” Obi-Wan scowled for a second before quickly schooling his features, blinking placidly up at the master instead. Dooku, for his part, simply sighed. “I can see you inherited Qui-Gon’s stubbornness.” It was said fondly, not like his Sith counterpart would have bitten the words out like a pointed barb. For a moment, Obi-Wan fell victim to a sort of strange double vision, seeing Dooku as he was now overlapped with Dooku as a Sith Lord.

The vision passed quickly when Dooku reclaimed his hand, leaning against the back of his chair with a content sigh, letting the steam from his tea waft up towards him. Obi-Wan stared him down for another long moment, breathing as carefully as he could, before he glanced under the table towards Anakin. Old habits died hard, and when Anakin was quiet, he was usually up to mischief. The boy had shifted, hiding himself more fully beneath the table, already distracted by something. Worried now, Obi-Wan ducked his head beneath the table, more than ready to scold his wayward padawan.

“And just what do you think you are doing, Padawan?” Anakin glanced up, sticking his tongue out at Obi-Wan before returning to his task. There was a little mouse droid in Anakin’s hands. He was fiddling with something in its insides as it squeaked indignantly at him. Obi-Wan sighed, rolling his eyes even as he sat fully upright, feeling older than he should for having such a young body.

He found Dooku watching him, eyes glittering with mirth. Obi-Wan huffed good-naturedly. “Padawans never do listen to their masters, do they? They never prepare you for that.”

“Hey! I listen, Master!” Anakin whined, smacking the bottom of the table. Obi-Wan just sighed, trading a commiserating look with Dooku. It was then that they heard unhappy whining coming from the couch. Dooku’s eyes darted that was immediately, a hint of worry on his face as the little Tog whined, a hint of fear tinging the Force around them. Obi-Wan’s head snapped around until he could see Ahsoka himself and he made to stand and comfort her, but Dooku was already moving.

The master reached out with his own presence, blanketing the room with and overwhelming sense of calm and peace, easing her back from her nightmare. Obi-Wan, against his will, felt himself relaxing as well, watching in a sort of daze as Dooku leaned down and scooped Ahsoka up, cradling her close against his chest and bouncing her gently until she cracked her wet eyes open, rubbing at them to clear her vision.

“Hi, Master,” she said softly, her voice tiny and exhausted. Dooku shushed her, continuing to pace around the room and bouncing her until, eventually, Ahsoka leaned bonelessly against Dooku’s shoulder. Anakin stepped up next to Obi-Wan, burrowing close once more. Obi-Wan, himself, felt as if he were watching everything through a grainy filter.

Blinking wanly up at Dooku, he felt slow and dazed, as if drugged. Dooku’s eyes went wide after a moment of close scrutiny and then the overwhelming sense of calm and peace was abruptly yanked away. Blinking hard, Obi-Wan finally found himself able to think again, though he did send Dooku a confused look.

“Apologies,” the master said, sounding embarrassed and flustered, which was something Obi-Wan never thought he would live to see. “I was a little… overzealous.”

Anakin let out a slightly hysterical giggle at that, burying his face in the front of Obi-Wan’s shirt. “It felt like I was thinking through syrup,” he said, his shoulders shaking with his breathless laughter.

Dooku frowned, turning away no doubt to hide his burning face, as he set Ahsoka down on the sofa. He ran a gentle hand over her montrails before stepping back, looking between them all with a calm, bland look, as if waiting for something more.

After a long beat of silence, Obi-Wan sighed and turned away, back towards his steadily-cooling tea. Anakin remained behind, darting forward to grab Dooku’s hand and drag him back towards the kitchen. Ahsoka let out a jaw-cracking yawn before toddling after them at a much slower pace.

Only once they were all four surrounding the table did Obi-Wan speak. “Master Dooku said we won’t be returning to the Council today, though I’m sure with what we’ve told them so far, more meetings will be in our immediate future.” Both Ahsoka and Anakin winced at that, faces screwed up in tiny little frowns.

“As I said before, we have plenty of time to plan and change things,” Dooku told them gently. “You have time to rest, and recover.”

Obi-Wan sent him a grateful look before setting his cup aside, folding his hands on the tabletop. Only then did Dooku notice something, eyes narrowing in disapproval.

“And just where is your sling, Padawan?” he asked sharply, tone dangerous. He raised a judgmental brow once the boy froze and blanched. He was quick, though, attempting to cover up his misstep with a crooked grin and innocent eyes.

“I must have misplaced it, Master,” he said, sweet as pie, blinking innocently up at him.

Dooku stared him down for a few more moments before reaching a hand out and using the Force to bring him the sling from the opposite side of the room. He wordlessly manhandled Obi-Wan back into the sling, guiding his arm as gently as he could. Obi-Wan could help the sigh and the roll of his eyes, feeling just like any other padawan. Dooku fussed a little more, checking the bandages on his head and around his ribs, until Obi-Wan grumbled and pulled away, grumpy now. Anakin and Ahsoka just giggled at his misfortune.

“Yes, I’m healing wonderfully. Let’s move on, shall we?” Obi-Wan whined, running one hand over his face before settling more comfortably against the table.

“Hmm. Let’s,” Dooku agreed. He waved a hand at his rooms, urging them to follow his gaze. “My rooms, sadly, were not made to house multiple younglings at once. However,” he said, before Obi-Wan could just in with a solution, “there is an empty padawan room next door. We could bring two extra beds in until we know what to do long-term.” They mulled that over, nodding in agreement.

“That would be amenable,” Obi-Wan said. “We wouldn’t want to encroach on your home. But you’ll be close enough if we need anything.”

“Hmm,” Dooku agreed, nodding along. “I would also like to establish training bonds with each of you. Just to be able to keep an eye on you, when you are not within direct line of sight.”

The children traded a long look between each other before Ahsoka smiled, leaning forward to pat Dooku’s hand. He had obviously been worrying they would reject this as something too far, too familiar. Obi-Wan knew it would no doubt ease the man’s mind, though.

“We can do that,” Ahsoka told him with a toothy grin. “Just little bonds though, right?”

“Yes,” Dooku said. “It would only be to monitor you and your emotional status, so I can assist you as needed. It won’t be anything near as strong as a master-padawan bond, though.”

“Okay,” Anakin said, sliding away from the table. “Can we get it done now?”

Dooku stood without a word, settling on a cushion on the floor, watching as the children all followed suit. They sat in a circle with Dooku, Anakin and Obi-Wan reaching for his hands, linking them all together as Dooku guided them into a joint meditation. He obviously took his time settling bonds in each of their minds, the connections snapping into place as easily as breathing. Once he was finished with each, he sent a pulse of affectioncareprotection their way as he left their minds.

They were guided gently back to the real world once he was finished. They each smiled up at him with dopey, exhausted faces. “Thank you,” Yan said genuinely. He would feel much better letting them stay in the next room alone now that he had a way to keep a metaphorical eye on them through the Force.

The children grinned up at him and something warm and relaxed settled over him, something that he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Even though they came to him with warnings of the future, he had hope that things would turn out differently this time.

No way was he going to be chopping Anakin’s arm off, that was for sure. He shuddered at the mere thought. No, he was going to remain firmly in the Light. He had people that needed him here, needed him to be strong and stalwart and a guiding light. He knew what he needed to do, who he needed be, and he would not stray.

He couldn’t let these younglings, or his lineage, or his Order down.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan had always been good at looking like he belonged.

More than one mission-gone-sideways with Qui-Gon had hinged on his ability to blend in, act like he knew what he was doing, or was definitely in a place he was supposed to be. He had also found, after much trial and error, that if you looked busy or in a big enough rush, most people wouldn’t stop you or bother you to tell you you were somewhere you shouldn’t be.

Obi-Wan employed all of his hard-won skills by keeping his head high, shoulders back, and feet moving quickly as he strolled through the Temple. Jedi didn’t hurry, as they trusted in the will of the Force and allowed it to guide them, so moving any faster than a slight power-walk would garner Looks he wasn’t ready to receive.

He didn’t have a destination in mind, wandering the halls by himself, just happy to be out of his rooms and away from the younglings for long enough to survey his own thoughts and feelings on the current situation. Ever since they had found themselves transported back in time to one of his greatest nightmares, he had been working on Survival Mode. He hadn’t taken a moment to really stop and breathe and evaluate what he was doing or what to do next.

He supposed it was the will of the Force, then, when he found himself stepping through the archway that led to the Room of a Thousand Fountains. He paused, taking in the smell of fresh grass, wet earth, and misting water from the river and waterfalls.

He was so lost in thought, eyes half-closed in relief, when he felt someone unexpectedly collide with his shoulder. Immediately, he reeled back, Force presence pulled in tight against his core, heart hammering in his thin chest as he threw his hands up, ready to fight if need be. Adrenaline flooded his bloodstream as months of battle-induced stress responses took over.

A shocked master stood across from Obi-Wan, hands raised and eyes wide and confused as he slowly backed away. Obi-Wan’s mind instantly ran through threat assessments, noticing the weak right knee, the lack of armor, the shorter stature. He balled his hands into fists, face screwed up in a fierce scowl as he nearly growled in intimidation, before a cool Force presence washed over him, lapping at him gently like waves on a shore, slowly leeching his fear and anger away.

As Obi-Wan calmed, sick dread filling him up until he was close to bursting with it, he instantly dropped his hands, face blanching as he realized what he had done. Even now, the sight of so many adults (Elders, his mind immediately supplied, derision and disgust coating the word like a curse) around him, surrounding him, in charge of him, had his mind tumbling into fight-or-flight. It hadn’t been like that before, when he was an adult that had had years to come to terms with his time as a child-soldier, with time and distance as his greatest allies. Now that he was back here, a child, fresh from the battlefield and still feeling the effects of no sleep, no food, no medical care? It all culminated in a reawakening of all his old fears and habits, things he had thought he had gotten over long ago.

The wide-eyed master, hands still raised and Force-presence still wrapped around him like a river current, waited patiently for Obi-Wan to relax, though he was obviously having a hard time of it.

“Are you… alright, young padawan?” the master asked, slowly lowering his hands and taking a short step forward so he wasn’t blocking the archway. Obi-Wan bristled at the man closing the distance between them but had to admit they were causing a bit of a scene, blocking the entrance as they were.

“I’m fine, Master,” Obi-Wan snapped, wincing almost immediately at his own tone. He had to remember he wasn’t a Master here, and even if he were, he shouldn’t be taking his frustrations or fears out on others. He swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and gave the mystery master a weak smile. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to snap at you, Master.”

The man relaxed a little more, moving to lean back against the walls. He was tall, with long hair fading from black to silver and tied back in a top knot. Obi-Wan didn’t think he recognized him, though obviously he didn’t know every single knight and master in the Temple.

Obi-Wan leaned away, his back pressed against the cool bricks behind him, taking a moment to catch his breath from the sudden shock. He frowned down at his feet, arms crossed over his chest, willing his heart to slow to something a little more reasonable. The master was patient, watching and waiting with a knowing look on his face.

“You’re Padawan Kenobi, aren’t you?” he asked, as if he already knew the answer. Obi-Wan sighed, though he shouldn’t have been surprised. Gossip in the Temple was a hot commodity. You couldn’t sneeze in the Archives without at least ten people knowing about it by the time you left.

“Yes, Master,” he admitted with a groan, rubbing one hand over his face. He didn’t know what, exactly, the rumor mill was saying about him right now, but he could guess, and he doubted any of it was good. It hadn’t been, the first time around.

The master stood, straightening to his full height, eying Obi-Wan up and down critically. And then, to Obi-Wan’s shock, the master smiled and gave him a deep bow.

“Well, then, on behalf of the Order, I thank you for your tireless and dedicated work on Melida-Daan. Though, I suppose it is called Melidaan, now, is it not?”

Obi-Wan stared blankly at the master for a moment before jolting back to himself, sketching a hasty bow in return when the master raised an amused brow his way. “Uh. Thank you, Master. I was simply following the will of the Force.”

“As we all should strive to do,” the master agreed. And then he tipped his head in a more shallow bow. “I am Master Sifo-Dyas. If you find yourself in need of someone to talk to, or to simply share a cup of tea with, my door is always open.” Then he straightened, giving Obi-Wan a cheeky wink. “And do tell Yan to answer his comm every now and then. I’ve been trying to get ahold of him for days.” He rolled his eyes, giving Obi-Wan a mischievous grin. “Good day, Padawan.” And then the master disappeared around the corner, leaving Obi-Wan gaping after him, blinking in confusion and shock.

That was Master Sifo-Dyas, the Jedi seer that grew so paranoid of the future and the darkness in his never-ending visions that he commissioned an entire clone army? And he was friends with Master Dooku?

Shoving that revelation to the back of his mind to think about later, Obi-Wan walked further into the Room of a Thousand Fountains to his brain going nope, nope, don’t think about it, ugh, why?

As he wandered, he avoided others as much as possible. He let his feet carry him without any conscious thought towards the thrumming life held all around him. He drifted for a while, following the sound of the Force, until he heard the crunch of scrub grass and dry earth beneath his feet and looked down to find he had wandered into the section of Garden set aside for those from desert planets. Flashes of visions from his youth, of being alone, of wasting away in the desert, of twin suns beating down on him relentlessly flashed through his mind and he viciously pushed the reminders of his nightmarish visions away. He would not dwell on things that may or may not happen.

Instead, he wandered further into the scrub, hearing the burbling of a small stream nearby. He found a secluded little area, somewhere he wouldn’t be seen immediately from the path, and kneeled in the dust and dirt as he had so many times before, readying for battle, clearing his head before a fight, releasing his emotions into the Force.

Crickets chirped and beetles scuttled in the dirt around him, birdsong lightening the melancholy he knew would settle in his bones if he dwelled too long. Something heavy and beaten in his chest seized and he sighed, closing his eyes and giving himself over to the Force.

As he drifted in meditation, his mind wandered once more. The interaction with Master Sifo-Dyas was at the forefront of his mind but it also had brought up thoughts of the other masters in his life, one especially.

Master Jinn. He was alive and well here, which Obi-Wan was more than grateful for. The universe was a better place, with his master in it. And he had missed his master terribly over the years, been filled with guilt at his passing for most of his young knighthood. (If he was being honest with himself, he might admit he still felt guilty for it; for not being fast enough, good enough, for not being there to stop Maul from delivering that fatal blow.) More than once over the years, Obi-Wan had caught himself looking over his shoulder, hoping to get his master’s opinion on something, or just to share a joke, only to pause mid-movement and recall that he wasn’t there, and never would be again.

But now he was, alive and in the flesh and so very young, in retrospect.

And Obi-Wan was doing everything in his power to avoid him.

Just looking at his master reopened all those old wounds in his soul he thought had scabbed over after all these years. Speaking to him left him feeling both empty and wrong-footed. A joke he could have told his master would be met with surprise and rebuke by this master. He knew so much about Master Jinn, after practically living in each other’s pockets for the better part of a decade. This Master Jinn, however, hardly knew his padawan. They were still in the rockiest part of their relationship, still testing boundaries and feeling each other out. The Padawan Kenobi of this time still broke out in a cold sweat, convinced that any toe out of line would result in Qui-Gon repudiating him. Padawan Kenobi was still afraid of the disappointment of the Council, afraid of being sent to the Corps, afraid of screwing up at all.

Obi-Wan, with his adult mind and adult perspective, knew better. Having sat on that Council, he knew that the fate of one padawan was barely on their radar, and more than one late night conversation with some of the council members, where they got wasted and bitched about their youth, revealed to Obi-Wan that none of them had even been aware of how dire his  situation had been at times as an initiate, a padawan, or even as a young knight. It wasn’t their job to know, though. His issues, realistically, would have been handled by the Council of Reassignment, or the mind healers, if he had ever actually come forward with any complaints or difficulties instead of biting his tongue and shoving the thoughts away like he always did.

Obi-Wan took a deep, calm breath and let it out in a slow gust.

Distantly, he realized he was no longer alone. Stretching out his senses, he picked up on others surrounding him, rudimentary shields barely containing their combined worry and anxiety and excitement. He waited, wondering if they were going to stay or leave, and after a while he realized they were waiting him out.

Cracking one eye open to acknowledge his companions, Obi-Wan found that the artificial sun had dimmed into early afternoon. Beside him, his old crechemates were gathered around him: Quinlan, Bant, Reeft, and Garen. They surrounded him, two on either side, and watched him with wide, eager eyes, though they were patiently waiting for him to return from his meditation.

He opened both eyes and gave them a true smile, feeling it stretch across his face. He hadn’t seen some of them in a very long time, either because of the war, distance, or death. His friends didn’t wait any longer, pouncing on him, tackling him to the ground in the way of all exuberant younglings. Quinlan was the first to speak, grinning wide as he wrapped an arm around Obi-Wan’s neck, tugging him closer to ruffle his hair.

“Obes!” he shouted, squeezing his friend close with all that he had. Obi-Wan wheezed beneath the onslaught, patting Quinlan on the arm before pinching him in a very sensitive place, extracting himself as Quinlan screeched in outrage.

Bant moved in next, slower and more wary than Quinlan, but latching on to Obi-Wan just as tightly. “Hi, Obi. Are you okay?” She pulled away after a moment of silence, moving gently to prop her hands on his shoulders as her wide eyes looked him over critically, ever the healer-in-training.

Obi-Wan waved her concern away with his good arm. “Of course, I’m alright, Bantling,” he assured her, blatantly ignoring the sling on his arm and the bandages on his head, or the fact that his body was dully throbbing with discomfort, as he had forgotten to bring his pain medication with him when he had made his daring escape from his room earlier that morning.

Bant looked on the verge of dragging him to the Halls herself, but Garen and Reeft, obviously annoyed at being ignored, muscled their way forward together and each took one side of Obi-Wan, hugging him tight, before pulling away.

“We were really worried about you, Obi-Wan,” Garen told him seriously, his padawan braid thumping against his shoulder as he pulled away. Obi-Wan tried not to let his eyes follow the movement.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Reeft asked, leaning forward and right into Obi-Wan’s face.

And Obi-Wan didn’t want to lie to his friends. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and gave them the best approximation of his lopsided grin. With as much honesty as he could muster, he told them, “Well. Not really. But I’m getting there, I suppose.” All four of them stared back at him, eyes wide with disbelief and shock, stress and fear and confusion coming off them in waves. “What?” Obi-Wan asked, wondering what he could have possibly said to garner that reaction. “What did I say?”

Quinlan poked him skeptically in the shoulder, eyes narrowed in thought. “You admitted you weren’t okay,” he said, voice tight with suspicion. “If you’re being honest, someone should mark that down on the calendar. ‘Today is the day Obi-Wan Kenobi broke away from his denial and admitted he’s not okay.’ It’ll be a galaxy-wide holiday, or something. They’ll close the banks and everything.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, ticking events off on his fingers as he explained. “I just got out of a warzone,” he said, putting one finger up. “I’m estranged from my master,” he said, another finger coming up to join the first, and he saw them all wince as one. “I have two younglings to take care of,” a third finger. “I’m living with Master Dooku,” he told them incredulously. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen to me now,” he finished dramatically, throwing a disgruntled look towards his friends. “Of course, I’m not okay after all that.”

Silence stretched between the five friends for a long moment, long enough for Obi-Wan to start to regret being so very honest. Should he have played dumb, acting like he had the first time around? Should he have channeled his inner fourteen-year-old padawan-self? But then Bant keened a pained noise and launched herself forward, wrapping Obi-Wan up in a tight hug.

“I’m so sorry, Obi. You know we’re here for you, whatever you need.”

“Wait!” Garen said, throwing up a hand, smacking Obi-Wan in the shoulder in the process. “Did you say Master Dooku?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan said slowly, gently patting Bant on the back as she got her fill of physical affection from him. “He has taken over my guardianship during the investigation into Master Jinn’s decisions. It’s all been very… complicated.”

“And younglings?” Reeft asked, excited. “Where did you get two younglings?”

Obi-Wan shrugged. “Picked them up on Melida-Daan, where else? Anakin and Ahsoka.” He knew his face must have shifted into something embarrassingly sappy, and he leaned against the top of Bant’s head in order to hide as much of himself as he could. His feelings couldn’t be as easily shrouded though, filling the air with love and duty and hope. “They’re my little brother and sister. I treasure them dearly.”

“Oh, Obi!” Bant squealed. “You’ve got to introduce us, then. If they’re so important to you, they’ll be important to us, too!” Bant told him sincerely. So sincerely, in fact, that he was transported to a time both ten years in the future and twelve years in the past, when he had first taken Anakin as his padawan and Bant had told him something similar. She had helped him a lot, through the first few years, providing Anakin with another adult he could go to with questions and concerns he was too worried or awkward to come to his master with.

“Yeah. They’re hiding in the apartment still. Napping, I think, going by how calm our bonds are.” His grin widened, turning sharp and mischievous. “Want to go wake them up?”

His friends lit up with excitement and didn’t waste any time following him through the maze of halls until they ended up in front of the correct apartment. He palmed the door open and peeked inside, finding it stiflingly silent and empty, before ushering his friends in.

“Let me see where they wandered off to,” Obi-Wan told them, and then turned and headed toward the bedrooms. His friends remained behind, gawking over the apartment and peeking warily at the door leading to Master Dooku’s quarters.

“Anakin?” Obi-Wan called through the bedroom door, feeling his little sun pulsing pleasantly on the other side of the wooden door. He stepped into the room and found a mound of blankets on the bed, moving just a bit as someone groaned from within. “Anakin. Ahsoka. It’s time to get up, now. We have visitors.”

That caught their attention. Anakin shoved the blanket away from his face and dragged himself upright, hair sticking up in every direction as he rubbed at his eyes. Ahsoka followed him, blinking slowly at Obi-Wan, looking slightly disgruntled at being woken up.

“Who’s here?” she grumped, hopping down from the bed to grab a smaller blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape.

“Quinlan, Bant, Reeft, and Garen found me in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. They wanted to meet you both,” he told them fondly, before reaching out to tug them both out of the room.

The younger children hesitated at the door, tugging Obi-Wan to a stop. Anakin knew them, of course; he had grown up learning from Obi-Wan’s friends almost as much as he learned from Obi-Wan himself, getting in and out of trouble with his no-good, poor-excuses-for-role-models friends. Ahsoka, on the other hand, had probably never met any of them face to face, though she had heard stories.

“Everyone,” Obi-Wan called, sparking excitement and curiosity in his friends, and wariness and interest from his padawans. “This is Anakin, and Ahsoka. Be nice,” he warned, giving Quinlan a warning look.

Bant was the first to move forward, because of course she was. She couldn’t seem to keep her hands away from her face, palms flat on her cheeks as she obviously tried to hold herself back. “Hello, younglings!” she greeted eagerly, hands jerking through the air as she made to reach out, only to realize what she was doing and snatch them right back. They had just come from a war zone, after all. “I’m Bant Eerin!”

Garen, Reeft, and Quinlan pushed their way forward, too, crowding the little ones. Obi-Wan watched the interactions closely, knowing it would only take one thing to set them off. Anakin had been handling things fairly well, but Ahsoka wasn’t so used to change, and was taking longer to acclimatize. When Ahsoka took a hasty step away from the boys and he felt a flare of panic zing down their bond, Obi-Wan knew she had reached her breaking point.

“We have just returned from an active war zone, boys. Back off, please.” Obi-Wan kept his voice firm, sounding more like an irate master than a displeased padawan, and the boys instantly reacted, stepping away and shuffling as if their own masters had scolded them. Ahsoka, now free from the strangers looming over her, turned away and buried her face in Obi-Wan’s tunic, shoulders hunched beneath the other children’s scrutiny. He wrapped a steady arm around her and held her close.

“Sorry,” Quinlan, Garen, and Reeft chorused morosely, taking big steps backwards, practically tripping over each other to get away.

“I’m Quinlan,” the boy said quietly, leaning back until he could plop down on the floor, keeping his body language as open and welcoming as possible.

“Garen,” Obi-Wan’s other friend said softly, propping himself against the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around himself.

“Reeft!” the last of them said cheerfully, eyes bright and excited even as he followed Quinlan’s lead and plopped down on the floor right next to him.

In the silence that followed, Anakin sighed and waved, looking awkward. “Sorry,” he said, glancing between Ahsoka and the others warily. “Tall people crowding around still gets to her, sometimes. And we really haven’t left the room much.”

“And that’s perfectly understandable,” Bant told him with a warm, accepting tone. She had always been one of the more compassionate of Obi-Wan’s friends, and he was so grateful to have her, and the others, in that moment.

And then, breaking the awkward silence that followed, there came a harried knock at the door that connected their apartment to Master Dooku’s. Obi-Wan couldn’t hold back his sigh, knowing the man was probably going to overreact. He never would have thought Dooku to be overprotective. Without a word, he sent a ping of welcome-it’sokay-calm back to the master through their blossoming bond. The door opened without hesitation and Master Dooku stepped through, eyes roving across the room, looking equal parts menacing and worried. He finally settled on Ahsoka’s teary face, where it was pressed miserably against Obi-Wan’s tunic.

“Is everything alright here?” he asked, with an underlying threat of who do I need to kick out? striking at each of them as he stared each child down separately. He only relented when Ahsoka peeked out at him. His face relaxed minutely as he gave her a tiny reassuring smile. “Are you alright, little one?”

Ahsoka detangled herself from Obi-Wan just to throw herself at Master Dooku, who bent forward to scoop her up without complaint. Obi-Wan watched her go, thinking he might never get used to the sight of intimidating Master Dooku with a toddler perched on his hip. She burrowed into his neck and clung.

“She just got a little spooked,” Obi-Wan explained, when it seemed no one else would say anything. He waved towards his friends as if it were explanation enough. When Dooku just raised a concerned brow his way, Obi-Wan sighed. “They are all much taller than her. They didn’t mean to loom, I’m sure.” His friends all winced and huddled together, regret filling the air as they all threw wary looks toward Master Dooku. Obviously expecting to be reprimanded, Dooku shocked them by instead simply sighing, rubbing at the bridge of his nose while he bounced Ahsoka, looking the picture of a beleaguered crechemaster.

“I’m certain no one meant any harm,” he admitted, turning his eyes on the younglings, watching them relax in increments. “Here, why don’t we all sit down.” He guided them toward the sofa, though Quin remained sitting on the floor. Obi-Wan threw himself down beside his friend and Quinlan beamed, throwing an arm over his shoulders to tug him close. Garen and Bant took one end of the sofa, next to Dooku, who set Ahsoka on his knee. Reeft kept his spot leaning against the sofa, and Anakin crawled up onto the single armchair, the whole thing dwarfing him, making him look much smaller.

“It has been quite a while since you’ve all seen each other, hasn’t it?” Dooku asked slowly, turning towards Obi-Wan as if to urge him on to continue the conversation. He grinned at his grandmaster’s discomfort for a moment before taking pity on the man.

“I haven’t been back to Temple since right after Bandomeer,” Obi-Wan admitted. “It’s been, what, a year or so, now?” Honestly, this part of Obi-Wan’s life was all a bit of a blur, one mission after another. He couldn’t rightly recall when he had last been in Temple before the mess that was Melida-Daan, and he had been gone even longer last time around. He turned toward Bant, who he was sure would know better how long he had been gone.

“It’s been fifteen months, three weeks, and six days since you’ve been back,” Bant told him, sounding just this side of teary. “We all got worried when none of us could get in touch with you after you were sent to Melida-Daan, and when Master Jinn returned without you…,” she trailed off, wiping tears from her face now and looking away.

“No one believed you left the Order for a girl,” Quinlan declared hotly, knocking his shoulder with Obi-Wan’s. “But no one would listen to us.”

“Yeah. If Jinn was going to lie about it, he could have come up with something more believable. It definitely makes more sense that you stayed behind to help end a war. Much more on-brand for you,” Garen joked. Bant smacked him on the arm, gasping in shock, before turning to stare warily at Master Dooku, waiting for his reaction. Master Dooku, for his part, was acting as if he hadn’t heard a thing, letting Ahsoka play with one of his hands as he looked around the room disinterestedly.

“I have missed you all,” Obi-Wan told his friends fondly, looking around the room, meeting each of his friends’ eyes. His sudden shift to nostalgia and longing caught their attention and they turned as one. Quin squished him a little closer, knocking their foreheads together.

“We missed you, too, Obi,” Bant said, voice wobbling even as she smiled.

“We’re glad you’re home,” Garen said for them all.

Anakin kept quiet, watching Obi-Wan and his friends reconnecting. For the first time, maybe ever, Anakin had the sudden realization that Obi-Wan had been an actual kid at one point in his life. Even now, with them shrunk down to children, it hadn’t truly hit him. After all, Obi-Wan still moved and spoke and thought like the adult he was in his mind.

Even when Anakin had been a padawan, Obi-Wan had always seemed larger than life to him. He had always had an answer for every question Anakin could come up with, and if he was unsure about something he hid it well, telling Anakin perhaps he shoulder meditate on it, or look the answer up in the Archives, or ask another master. But now? Seeing him lean up against Quinlan Vos, tearing up at Bant Eerin’s incessant worry, laughing at Garen Muln’s stupid jokes? Obi-Wan seemed more human than he ever had before.

It was so strange, too, to see the younger versions of masters and knights he had grown up learning from. Garen had taken him under his wing when Obi-Wan had mentioned his love of flying and mechanics. Bant had been his designated healer since a year or two after he came to the Order, once she had reached knighthood, herself. Quinlan Vos had been his best bet at getting into trouble without Obi-Wan finding out, the man helping him to play pranks and sneak out on occasion.

It was weird, seeing them all as young teenagers. Quinlan was the oldest of them at fifteen, then Garen and Obi at fourteen, leaving Reeft and Bant as the youngest at thirteen. Anakin felt so little, next to them, just like he had the first time around.

He let their conversations wash over him, watching it from the outside, smiling to himself as they all slowly relaxed. Ahsoka eventually turned away from tucking herself against Dooku, joining in when Bant asked her for some silly stories from Melida-Daan. He didn’t think she noticed the way the others watched her with growing horror, turning towards Obi-Wan with wide eyes as if to check the validity of her words, and wincing when he nodded.

“What about you, Anakin?” Garen asked kindly, giving him an easy smile that was so damn familiar it almost made Anakin want to cry. Garen had died early on in the Clone Wars, and there had been little to no time to mourn him. “What do you like to do? Ahsoka’s already regaled us with stories of her hunting skills.”

Anakin swallowed hard, glancing from Dooku to Obi-Wan, before turning back to one of his biggest role models, growing up. “I like ships, and droids. I’m pretty handy in a shop.” He grinned a little as Garen visibly perked up, immediately promising to show him the hangar and the garage where he spent most of his time working on his own pet projects. They fell into an easy conversation after that, Anakin nearly forgetting why he had been so anxious before.

He knew these people, even if they didn’t know him. And they cared about Obi-Wan, so they would care about him, because that’s just the kind of friends they were.

Chapter Text

Yan decided to wait until the children were nearly finished eating their first meal before he carefully set his silverware to the side, steepling his hands beneath his chin as he attempted to find the correct words to start this conversation. In the end, he decided bluntness had gotten him this far with them, and just said, “I’ve been called to a council meeting this morning.”

He watched, slightly concerned, as the three children froze, silverware clattering against their plates as their eyes all snapped up to study his face with varying degrees of intensity. Yan didn’t let the silence stretch long, though it was long enough for him to grow just the slightest bit uneasy. “What?” he asked.

It seemed Obi-Wan, as the eldest, asserted his seniority by speaking first. “And what does this meeting pertain to?” he asked slowly, carefully picking his fork back up, though it was held in a white-knuckled grip and he didn’t even bother pretending to take another bite.

Yan glanced between Anakin and Ahsoka, searching for any hint as to what they were expecting him to say. He wasn’t sure where this paranoia was coming from. They gave nothing away, though, just their unease towards the topic at large. “As was mentioned before,” Yan started slowly, turning back to fact Obi-Wan. “A call was sent from Galidraan to the Senate for aid from the Jedi, specifically. I’ve looked over their plea. It paints an… alarming picture.”

“I already told you it’s a trap!” Obi-Wan snapped right away, a rare show of anger flashing through his eyes and twisting his face. His eyes grew haunted, the hints of betrayal already setting in.

Yan cut him off before the feeling could fester into something worse. “I know. Obi-Wan, I know. Contrary to what you all seem to believe, I do listen to you.” Obi-Wan deflated like the scolded youngling he was, biting his lip as he curled in on himself, unsure in a way that left a bad taste in Yan’s mouth. He softened at that, gentling his tone. He didn’t want his grandpadawan scared of him, or even wary. But he needed him to understand. “However, this is why we still need to send a team to Galidraan. We need to make sure the Mandalorians are not wiped out, and that the governor does not get away with misleading both the Senate and the Jedi without repercussions.”

Obi-Wan frowned down at the table, deep in thought, obviously warring with himself as Anakin and Ahsoka traded worried looks between themselves. Seemingly coming to a decision, Obi-Wan nodded to himself and looked back up, steely determination in his gaze.

“Well, then I’m coming with you. Obviously,” Obi-Wan declared, his voice defiant, almost daring Yan to tell him no.

Yan hated to burst his bubble. He wasn’t able to hold back his sigh as he reached up to rub his tired eyes. “I was afraid you would say that,” he admitted, before leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table, propping his face up with his hand, suddenly more exhausted than he had been in months. Children were draining. “Obi-Wan,” he began, attempting to sound as convincing as possible. “You must realize I cannot bring you with.”

“And why not?” the boy snapped, before immediately sucking in a sharp, deep breath, slowly letting it out in a hiss to calm his sudden spike of anger. “And why not?” he asked again, much more calmly this time.

“You are still healing from your time on Melida-Daan, young one. You also have Anakin and Ahsoka to settling into the Temple-proper. And you have classes to catch up on.” Obi-Wan’s cheeks were burning red as his gaze turned flinty, aggressive. The boy honestly looked seconds away from blowing.

“I’m healed enough,” he argued, waving his bandaged arm around as proof. “And hopefully we can keep things peaceful and there will be no fighting to be had at all.” Then he pointed a finger at Anakin and Ahsoka, who were still and silent bystanders in this argument. “Secondly, they have both lived in this temple before. They need to be placed in classes, yes, but that does not require my specific presence.” He took a deep breath, and then bullied his way on. “And thirdly,” he hissed, suddenly livid once more. “I am a Master. I do not need to resume classes that I passed years ago. I’ve taught some of those classes.”

Yan leaned back in his chair, unsure where to steer the conversation next without hitting a metaphorical landmine. He would quite possibly give his left hand, at the moment, for a suitable distraction, but alas, none came. He had to simply suck it up, as Komari would say, and push forward.

“My dear grandpadawan,” he began, already regretting the next words from his mouth, though they needed to be said. “At the moment, you are a padawan with no master.” Yan saw the words crack against Obi-Wan’s defenses and didn’t enjoy the way the boy flinched back as if he had been struck. He rushed to continue, to smooth over the sting. “You have been accepted back into the fold of the Order, however you are currently on medical leave, per the healers, which means no active missions. Especially if combat might be a possibility. I cannot go against the healers without incurring their wrath, nor would I want to, in this situation. I’m sorry, little one, but you cannot come with us on this mission.”

Obi-Wan’s calm exterior was a thin and flimsy thing. Yan imagined the raging storm of emotion it was hiding was truly devastating. He hated to be the one to cause the boy such distress, but he honestly had no other choice. He was unwell, and Yan couldn’t live with himself if something happened to him under his care.

“I understand, Grandmaster,” Obi-Wan told him stiffly, gaze empty and cold. He turned glassy eyes towards Anakin and Ahsoka before gingerly pushing away from the table, moving as if every shift of muscle cost him greatly. He didn’t say another word, just disappeared down the hall. Yan watched him leave, a pit growing in his stomach, as he turned to gauge the others’ reactions.

Ahsoka didn’t waste any time shoving her half-finished plate away in order to scurry under the table, plopping herself right on Yan’s lap as she burrowed beneath his robes and gave him a sloppy, uncoordinated hug. He wrapped an arm around her back and leaned down, pressing his cheek against the crown of her montrails. Anakin joined them at a slower pace, stepping up to hover at Yan’s side, reaching out a tentative hand to clasp Yan’s in his own.

“I’m sorry,” Anakin said softly, eyes on his feet as he shuffled just a little closer, leaning his head against Yan’s bicep. “He always thinks the world will fall apart without him, but I get where you’re coming from. He needs to recover,” Anakin admitted, sending a worried glance toward the hall. “He’s been thinking about our future, constantly. Trying to figure out what to change, what to fix. I’m afraid he’s going to run himself into the ground at this rate.”

Yan took his hand and wrapped it around Anakin’s shoulders, squeezing him gently. “Thank you for telling me,” he said sincerely. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Obi-Wan was already planning ahead. “When I return, I will sit him down and try to speak with him about slowing down. The galaxy will not collapse if he rests for a few hours.”

“He’s sad,” Ahsoka said shortly, frowning up at Yan as she puffed herself up protectively. “And he’s scared. Obi shouldn’t be scared.” She drooped down at that, eyes starting to glisten with unshed tears.

“I know, my dear. I’ll help him, I swear.” That seemed to assuage some of the fear and guilt the children were harboring, and after a few more moments of basking in the blanket of peace and calm he had been placing over the little ones, they gathered themselves up and followed their wayward master from the room.

His comm beeped a few minutes later, causing him to let loose an exasperated sigh. He made himself stand, stopping by the door to straighten his robes and fix his hair, before pausing by the door. He only had fifteen minutes to get to the council chambers. Not nearly enough time to have another discussion with his stubborn grandpadawan. He threw one last look towards the children’s door before turning away, striding out of the apartment, praying to the Force that he had made the right choice.

“What a mess,” Yan complained to no one in particular as he left the council chambers. They wanted him to leave as soon as possible with his team of two fresh-faced knights and one other seasoned master. The mission had already been pushed back once due to the children’s claims, but the council had revealed that they couldn’t continue holding off queries from the Senate for much longer without raising more questions about the delay. Eventually, some senator or aide would point out the fact that the Jedi had been ‘ignoring’ a supposedly urgent plea for assistance.

Yan had talked the council down from sending an entire strike force to a small investigative team, instead. He refused to bring more Jedi, even when Master Yoda had nearly insisted, but he didn’t want to appear as if they were descending on the Mandalorians in force. No, he was determined to conduct this mission as peacefully as he could manage; he didn’t wish to antagonize the True Mandalorians, when they had both been set up to annihilate the other.

He was in the middle of sending a summons to his other mission partners, idly wondering if he would have time to say goodbye to the children in person before he left. He was more than positive they wouldn’t be overly happy with him or the alternative guardian he had arranged for them, but needs must, he supposed.

Speaking of, Sifo-Dyas chose that moment to exit the council chambers behind him. They didn’t speak, simply fell into step with each other the same way they had since they were younglings together in the creche. Sifo-Dyas sighed quietly into the easy quiet between them, gently brushing his shoulder against Yan’s before taking the lead back to the man’s apartment.

Yan was still focused on his comm so Sifo-Dyas let himself in. Yan glanced up long enough to wave his friend off towards the sofa before moving towards the children’s rooms, knocking gently on their door. When there wasn’t an immediate response, he tried once more, a little louder, only to be met with more silence. Confused and slightly alarmed, he tentatively reached out through their bonds, only to be met with flashes of a datapad full of class schedules, dim light coming in through the skylights of the archives, all tinged with exasperation and a growing frustration.

Yan sighed. Well, he had hoped to say goodbye in person, but the children appeared to be more than busy with the very things he had pointed out this morning. He would leave a note, he decided, and Sy could fill them in more fully once they had returned to the apartment for the day.

“It seems the children took at least one thing I said this morning to heart. They have found themselves sequestered in the archives, setting up their new class schedules.” He dithered, suddenly unsure of how this next request might play out. “If you could? Obi-Wan has been quite set against the idea of taking classes once more. If you might perhaps speak with him, see what the issue truly is…-?” Yan trailed off, already reaching out for a ‘pad to leave a quick goodbye, and a plea to be well-behaved for his dear, old friend.

“Of course, Doo,” Sy told him, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath and leaned his head back against the sofa. “Don’t fret, my dear. I’m sure they’ll be just fine.” He cracked one eye open, raising a brow at the obvious nervous energy radiating off his friend. “I will keep them safe. You just need to focus on keeping yourself safe.” He frowned, sitting up more fully, looking slightly disturbed for the first time. “I’m afraid I have a bad feeling about this mission.”

“Oh, you and your bad feelings,” Yan grumbled, before setting his note aside to rub at his eyes. “I admit, I do, as well.” No matter the fact that he was going into this situation knowing at the onset that they were being duped, any number of things could still go horribly wrong.

“You best be going,” Sy told him regretfully, standing just to clasp a steady hand to his friend’s shoulder. “I’ll watch over the younglings, don’t worry. Be careful, my friend,” he pleaded. Yan let his hand rest over Sy’s, giving him as genuine a smile as he could muster.

“All will be well,” he promised, trying to sell it to himself, as well. “But you’re right. I should go.” He tossed a few things into his go-bad and shouldered it, pausing at the doorway once more. The feeling that he was forgetting something vital niggled at the back of his mind. He glanced around, hoping something would strike his memory, but when the Force remained silent he shrugged off the strange feeling and left, the door sliding gently closed behind him.

Yan had never been one predisposed to outward shows of nerves, but right now, he couldn’t stop himself from pacing the length of the hold of their ship. Knight Kit Fisto had claimed a seat in the cockpit upon their arrival, so Yan was left in the company of Master Artos and Knight Depa Billaba. They had both taken one long look at his anxious energy and nervous pacing and decided to retire for the night shift, outwardly in order to be well rested for the upcoming investigation but Yan knew it was just to get away from him and his jumpy demeanor.

Yan had watched them go in silence before resuming his quest to walk a rut into the metal flooring. There was just so much that could go wrong with this mission.

As he paced, the Force swirled restlessly around him, tugging as if attempting to lead him towards something. What he could possibly need to be made aware of on an empty ship, he wasn’t sure, but he dutifully followed the tugging until he ended up in the cargo hold, staring down at a panel that had been left slightly askew.

A pit grew in his gut as he carefully tugged the panel back as quietly as he could. He didn’t see anything immediately out of place, but when he sighed and got down on his hands and knees to peek his head in the hole, he realized why the Force had been so insistent.

There, as far from the disturbed panel as he could get and curled up as small as he could make himself with his gangly limbs, sat his wayward grandpadawan. Yan let out an exasperated sigh through his nose and already resigned himself to the frantic calls he would no doubt be receiving upon their drop out of hyperspace.

“Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he said sharply, and watched as the boy immediately jerked awake, wide eyes turned toward the opening he had initially crawled through. Yan was not impressed, though he saw the boy hadn’t come totally unprepared. His saber was hooked to his belt, and he was curled around a thick winter parka.

They sat there in silence for a long moment before Obi-Wan slowly stretched out his limbs and dragged himself from the crevice he had hidden himself inside. Once out in the open, Yan’s hand snapped out and he grabbed Obi-Wan’s ear, to the boy’s shocked surprise. He yelped at the sharp pain as he was dragged back to the main cargo hold, where Yan released him only to point at one of the jump seats with an imperious finger, expecting compliance.

Obi-Wan sat, rubbing his ear with a disgruntled look to his face, though he seemed unrepentant. Yan rubbed his temples, shaking his head with silent anger. This impossible, ridiculous boy!

“Just what were you thinking?” he finally asked, voice harsh. He was supremely unimpressed with this turn of events, though he couldn’t exactly say he was surprised. “I explicitly told you to stay in the Temple, young one.”

Obi-Wan blinked his too-old eyes up at Yan, leaned back against the metal of the ship, and obviously thought through his response. Eventually, he simply shrugged, looking away.

“This is too important to mess up,” he admitted slowly, voice distant, inflectionless. “I studied this mission, before I left for Mandalore to protect the Duke’s children. I know what happens, and I know how to keep it from happening.” He paused, finally looking up to meet Yan’s eyes. “I trust you,” he said, the first hint of regret entering his tone. “Honestly, I do. But I can’t leave this to chance. Besides,” and here the beginnings of a cheeky grin became apparent, “Mandalorians go crazy for kids. They’ll be tripping over themselves trying to keep me safe, and if they’re more focused on me, then they’ll be less focused on firing on us on sight.”

Yan seethed within the confines of his own mind and hated that he had to agree with the boy’s reasoning. That didn’t mean he had to like it.

“I am supremely disappointed in you and your actions, grandpadawan,” he told him shortly, hands on his hips as he stared the boy down. Obi-Wan had the grace to look down at his dangling feet in a facsimile of shame. “Come here,” he demanded. Obi-Wan looked unhappy about acquiescing, but did as he was bid, standing up and coming to rest in front of Yan, where he had to crane his neck up to meet the older man’s gaze.

Yan cupped his cheek with one hand, face pulled into a tight grimace, before he wrapped a hand around Obi-Wan’s nape and pulled him close, wrapping him up in a tight hug. Obi-Wan let out a surprised little squeak before subtly digging his chin into Yan’s chest, burrowing close.

“You are going to drive me to an early grave, little one,” he said softly, before pushing the boy away once more. Obi-Wan finally looked a little honestly chagrined, peeking up at Yan through his lashes.

“Sorry, Master. This is important. We were brought here for a reason. This has to be a part of it.” And he seemed so earnest that Yan felt himself calming, just a bit, the Force singing with the truth of it.

“Trust in the Force,” Yan breathed out. Obi-Wan grinned in response.

“Trust in the Force.”

A few hours passed before Yan eventually gave in and brought Obi-Wan back to the main cabin, where he could feel the others had gathered without him there exuding his nerves all over the place. He attempted to keep an impassive air to himself as he led Obi-Wan further into the ship, though he hadn’t taken into account the other Jedi’s possible reactions to their stowaway.

“Uh, Master Dooku?” Knight Billaba started hesitantly, glancing between Yan and his silent shadow. Obi-Wan grinned like the little devil he was, still hiding behind the billow of Yan’s cloak, and sent her a cheery wave.

“Yes, Knight Billaba?” he asked with a sigh, vowing to play dumb for as long as he could. As he continued forward, Obi-Wan remained hidden in his shadow, matching him step for step.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to bring our padawans?” Master Artos asked sweetly, a grin on his face and a teasing glint to his eye.

Yan couldn’t hold back the frustrated noise that came from him, turning his gaze on the boy in question. “Well, it would seem some children do not listen to their elders as well as they should,” he stated shortly. Obi-Wan’s grin didn’t dim, but he did have the grace to at least pretend to be sorry in front of the others.

“Apologies, Master Dooku.” He gave his grandmaster a low bow before taking another step forward, practically disappearing beneath Yan’s cloak as he huddled against his leg, happily pressing his head against Yan’s ribs and looping one arm behind his back, hidden by the cloak.

Yan couldn’t stay mad at the boy (man? No, boy) for long, and let his fingers play idly with his hair instead. He heard Knight Fisto choke on air behind him but ignored his antics in favor of re-reading the information packet the Senate had sent them for this mission. Obi-Wan leaned forward on his tip-toes to read it as well, and Yan silently tipped it a bit so he could see better.

After only a few lines, Obi-Wan let out a scoff of disgust. “That’s not even remotely true,” he growled, snapping a finger at the line he took such offense to. “True Mandalorians aren’t savages, and they would never go against their tenants to do something this horrendous. Death Watch, on the other hand, would not hesitate. Does no one in the Senate actually fact-check their information before demanding action?”

Yan tugged on a lock of his hair as a reminder to calm himself, before humming noncommittedly. “Yes, I realize you have put much research into the factions on Mandalore, yourself. However, I believe much of the information about Mandalorians and their tribes and tenants is not as easily accessible to the masses.”

“What got you interested in Mandalorians, of all things?” Knight Billaba asked, confused and slightly horrified at the possible answer, though when he glanced up to gauge the others’ reactions, he found Master Artos radiating bemused interest and Knight Fisto enthralled by the conversation as a whole.

“If you look at it from an outside perspective,” Obi-Wan began, already sounding as if he were gearing up for an educational seminar,” Mandalorians and Jedi share a great many similarities.” And then he withdrew from the safety of Yan’s cloak to begin his lecture on the many similarities he had noted over the years, hands waving as he grew more energized by what was obviously one of his favorite topics.

Yan saw what he was attempting to do, and it seemed to be working, too. He was trying to humanize the Mandos they were about to meet, and let the Jedi realize they were about to encounter real people, not just the boogeymen from creche-tales.

Going by the thoughtful looks on their faces, the boy was actually getting through to them. Yan settled himself into one of the jump seats and set his ‘pad on his lap, leaning back to open himself up to the Force, hoping for some guidance. He was worried that, no matter how cautiously they proceeded, the whole thing might still blow up in their faces.

The Force felt light, though, and almost anticipatory. Like a child waiting with glee for a gift.

Eventually, he detangled himself from the Force and returned to the here-and-now. He opened his eyes only to find Obi-Wan drooping, just a bit, on his feet, still debating the merits of the Mandalorian culture and creed with Artos, though now that Yan was aware, the other master was sending him a blatant ‘come get your padawan and get him to bed right now’ look.

Without fanfare, Yan stood and set his ‘pad to the side, before placing a gentle hand on Obi-Wan’s slight shoulder. The boy jerked in surprise, eyes flying up to meet Yan’s gaze. Yan just squeezed his shoulder, turning and tugging on him until the boy followed him back to the bunk room.

“Have you been lecturing them this whole time?” he asked, checking the time to realize it had been several hours since he had initially settled down to meditate. Obi-Wan grumbled, arms crossed over his chest even as he allowed Yan to manhandle him down onto a bunk.

“I’m fine, I don’t need a nap!” Obi-Wan growled, face set in a defiant scowl. Yan didn’t say a word, simply raised a disapproving brow at him, remaining silent long enough for Obi-Wan’s face to fall in a semblance of shame. “Sorry, Grandmaster,” he mumbled, ducking his head as his cheeks flamed. “I’m not tired, though. I promise.”

“Hmm,” Yan said, settling down on the bunk across from him to unlace his boots. “Well, that is beside the point, Padawan. We need to be well-rested for our coming trials. Come,” he commanded, leaning back until he was flat on his back. He held an arm out to the boy, who was obviously fighting with what to do with himself, before he sighed and hopped up next to Yan in order to burrow in against his side. Yan wasted no time rolling them both until Obi-Wan was bracketed between the wall and Yan’s chest, and watched as the boy relaxed, protected from all sides.

“How’d you get so good with kids?” Obi-Wan grumbled, half buried beneath Yan’s cloak and face smooshed against his chest.

Yan just chuckled. “I did raise two padawans, and am in the middle of raising another,” he pointed out. “Rael and Qui-Gon and Komari. You, my dear grandpadawan, have nothing on the fits those three have thrown in my presence.”

Obi-Wan giggled and it sounded just this side of punch-drunk. “Anakin was the same way,” he admitted. “He went through a patch of time where he thought I was the worst person in the world because I told him to clean his room, or to finish his homework, or because I was inconveniently around when he was trying to sneak out to those illegal pod races he thought I didn’t know about.” The boy rolled his eyes, then sighed against Yan’s collarbone, his breath hot against him.

Yan brushed a hand against his shoulder in commiseration; he understood the thin line a master had to walk with their padawans, especially in the painfull teenage years. You went from being a fount of knowledge, the coolest person they knew, to being an old, fun-hating codger that just didn’t understand. Getting through puberty without killing your padawan was a feat of great strength.

“Rest now, little one. We will fix this, and hopefully break the line of events that led to your future.” He rested his forehead against the crown of Obi-Wan’s, pressing a gentle pressure against his head. Obi-Wan eventually fell limp against him, his breathing slowing down into even little puffs. Yan let his own eyes slip shut, breathing in the peace and calm of the moment, and followed the boy into sleep.

Chapter Text

The first thing that broke through his haze of consciousness was the biting, aching cold surrounding him. On instinct, he flinched away from the sensation, drawing his limbs closer in a futile bid to conserve body heat. He desperately didn’t want to open his eyes, wishing someone else would show up to deal with whatever clusterkark situation he had found himself in, but the nagging little voice in the back of his head berated him, telling him to suck it up and do his damn duty.

What about his men? Or the general? Were they stuck in this harrowing cold, as well? He couldn’t just sit back on his shebs and do nothing.

It was that thought and his overwhelming sense of duty to his brothers, who might be suffering even worse than him, that eventually convinced him to pry his ice-encrusted lashes apart, blinking warily up at the glare coming off the snow that surrounded him.

He stared at the forest around him blankly. Last he knew, he was in his bunk on the Negotiator.

Cody shoved those thoughts to the side and dragged himself to his feet, glancing around warily as he took in his current position. Fresh packed snow crunched beneath his boots and large brown trees stretched up into the sky. There wasn’t a hint of civilization in any direction.

Cody took a moment to look over his kit. His blaster was on his hip, his armor was all in one piece, his pack was somehow on his back. He sighed in relief, even though it made no sense, but at least he would have rations and emergency supplies, if worst came to worst.

Glancing warily up at the trees that extended further into the sky than he had ever seen naturally, Cody wondered if perhaps he had been transported to Kashyyk. Did it even snow on Kashyyk? Or had he found himself on some other planet that also boasted such monstrously large flora?

His thoughts were cut off as he heard a sharp growl to his left. Cody dropped to the ground, crouching down and holding his breath until whatever had made the noise seemed to have passed him by. In the silence that followed, a loud cracking sound came next, something that sounded suspiciously like plastoid being cracked in half. Cody tried to swallow past the knot in his throat, mind instantly jumping to the worst-case scenario.

If he peeked over the fallen tree he was huddled behind, would he find some creature tearing one of his brothers apart? He almost couldn’t bear to move, but as the animal’s noises grew more and more aggressive, Cody sucked in a sharp breath and moved, jumping over the tree with his blaster raised, already shooting at the gigantic wolf-thing that had been riffling through a fallen trooper’s pack.

In a distant part of his mind, Cody released a silent sigh of relief at the fact it was just a discarded pack and not a little brother. Still, that was definitely a brother’s pack, which meant there were other clones around here somewhere. He shot a few more bolts at the animal, shooing it away, and eventually it ran off with its teeth bared in warning even as it disappeared into the brush.

He waited a full minute before he decided to move forward and investigate. He holstered his blaster and stepped fully into the clearing, glancing around for signs of the brother this pack belonged to. Looking it over with a critical eye, he noted the 501^st blue, but found no other distinguishing marks.

Deciding to take anything useful for himself, Cody rifled through the pack and squirreled away a few more rations and medical supplies before setting back off into the forest. He needed to find a settlement or a shelter, somewhere he could rest safely before nightfall.

He fell into a sort of haze as his boots ate up the miles, head on a swivel as he kept a lookout for smoke, sounds, anything that could point him in the direction of people. Eventually he stumbled across a flowing river and felt a spark of hope sputter to life in his chest, eagerly picking a direction to follow it. Where there was water, there was bound to be people eventually.

After around twenty minutes of following the river, Cody slowed as he heard voices and the unmistakable sound of a military camp. It was hard to hide the sounds of boots marching on the packed ground, orders being shouted, or weapons being serviced and cleaned.

Cody had a bad feeling about this settlement, even as he lowered himself into a squat at the top of a small hill, peeking his head up and over some brush as he took his binocs out to get a closer look.

Mandalorians in blue and black and grey paint wandered around the camp, dozens milling around. He watched them with growing suspicion. His general had been to Mandalore, in his youth, and had told Cody more than a few stories about the Death Watch agents he and the Duchess had run from for nearly a year. These Mandalorians sparked that memory, and Cody recalled they were terrorists of the worst sort. He couldn’t remember all the details, and Cody had to admit Kenobi had probably left some things out, but if he had somehow been transported to Mandalore, and right onto a terrorist group’s front doorstep?

Well, he would make the best of it, he supposed.

Now. Cody would say he was a patient man. He took his time, waiting and watching as he planned his next steps down to the smallest detail. There was a reason he had been brought up to the Command track on Kamino, after all.

After an hour or two of thorough recon, Cody noticed movement off to the side and zeroed in on the new group of Mandos. Something small thrashed and writhed between them, and once the group stopped moving, the thing was dumped into the center of their ring.

Raising his binocs to get a better look, Cody felt his blood boil as he caught sight of a small cadet in white and blue plastoid, curled on the ground with his arms wrapped around his head. The Mandos didn’t waste any time, swinging their legs and kicking him hard with their reinforced boots. The vod’ika curled up tighter, trying to protect his head and his stomach and his weakest parts. He watched with growing horror and anger as the Mandos cracked through his brother’s plastoid, the loud crunch echoing across the camp and right to Cody’s ears.

And Cody? He saw red.

His brain fell into a cold, sharp analysis of the situation, weighing his options even as his heart thudded loudly in his ears. He noted the 501^st blue on the vod’ika’s armor that matched nicely with the pack he had scavenged from earlier. And then he caught sight of the blue jaig eyes on the cadet’s helmet and he had to lower the binocs and breathe harshly through his nose, disgust and anger and righteous fury making him almost nauseous. Swallowing hard, taking some deep breaths, Cody tried to think rationally. But then he heard a cut-off shriek of pain from his vod’ika, and Cody’s calm shattered.

He threw his binocs back into his pack with force, movements slow and methodical, brain running on overdrive as a plan quickly fell into place. Grabbing a lighter from his pack he prayed to the little gods that Rex could hold on just a few more minutes. He just needed a good distraction, something to get those demagolka away from his brother.

And, well, Rex’s bunch of idiots had had to learn their pyromania from someone.

Grinning a little maniacally, Cody worked on gathering the things he would need. He found some dried leaves and set about starting a fire at the base of the driest tree he could find, and then watched with satisfaction as it quickly burst into flames. He hid himself a little further from the fire, waiting for the Mandos to take notice of the threat to their camp.

It didn’t take long for the first call of alarm to sound and then the Mandos began streaming towards the fire, which had now started to spread to the trees surrounding them. As the fire grew bigger and bigger and more and more Mandos moved to help put it out, Cody took advantage of the chaos and moved closer to where he had last seen Rex.

A lone Mando stood with him, one hand around Rex’s thin little bicep as he glared around suspiciously. Rex’s head was tipped down and it looked like he was having trouble breathing, but he was in one piece. Cody didn’t waste any time, sneaking up behind the Mando and grabbing his knife, slicing it across the exposed area behind his knees. When the Mando collapsed to the ground, Cody plunged it into his neck for good measure.

Rex’s little helmeted face turned toward him sluggishly, his shoulders drooped. Cody ignored the Mando’s final moments, instead turning to gather Rex up in his arms, rushing them both in the opposite direction of the fire, pushing them both through the snow and the brush until he deemed them far enough away to stop and safely look his brother over.

And then he had to marvel at the sight of him. He was just so little! Too little to be Rex, but the markings on his helmet were unmistakable. It didn’t help that with the realization that Rex was cadet-sized came the realization that he was cadet-sized, as well. It seemed the forest wasn’t overly-large, he was just small.

But he didn’t have the time to panic about that now. They had bigger issues to deal with.

“Rex? Rex’ika, are you okay?” Rex groaned beneath his helmet, gripping Cody’s hand like he was afraid to let go. “Okay, okay.” Cody carefully removed his brother’s chest plate and helmet with one hand, checking Rex’s ribs for cracks and his skin for bruises. He seemed alright to Cody’s non-medic eye, just a few deep bruises that Rex would definitely be feeling in the morning, but nothing life-threatening. He sighed in relief, shoulders drooping. “They’re lucky they didn’t hurt you more than they did.”

“Cody?” Rex finally mumbled, blindly reaching out to his brother as his voice finally registered in his muddled brain. “Wha’s goin’ on?”

“Well,” Cody started, gently running a gloved hand over Rex’s fragile skull, marveling at how tiny they both were. (What the kark? What the kark!) “Looks like some jetti osik to me,” he told his brother as blandly as he could, just to hear Rex’s breathless little giggle in response. “Can you move?” he asked gently, a moment later.

Rex groaned but he was able to drag himself back up to his feet, leaning heavily against Cody’s side and letting him guide him toward the river once more.

“Are we the only ones here?” Cody asked. “I haven’t run into anyone else since I woke up.” Rex slowly turned his little helmeted head up towards Cody, shrugging a little listlessly.

“I don’ know. I haven’t seen anybody. Do ya know ‘ow we got here?”

Cody just shrugged helplessly. “Kark if I know. C’mon, let’s keep following the river and get as far away from those Mandos as we can.” Rex wouldn’t argue with that, so they fell into step with each other and continued on.

They walked for a while, the sun slowly starting to set, until they stumbled upon another group of Mandos. Cody swore, dragging Rex to the side so they could hide.

“More?” Cody grumbled, disgusted. “What are the odds?” Though, if they were on Mandalore, he supposed it made sense. Hopefully these weren’t more of the ad-torturing kind, though going by the varying colors on their armor, he didn’t think so.

Just as Cody shifted to get a better view, a twig snapped behind them and Cody whirled, blaster already in hand as he shifted his body to cover Rex. He glared up (and up) until he came visor to visor with the largest Mando he had ever seen.

“Whoa, whoa!” the being said, hands raised by their head. “Easy there, ad’ika. I’m not going to hurt you.” Cody’s glare didn’t lessen, blaster rock-steady even as he took another step back, crowding closer to Rex even as his vod’ika tried to peek out from behind him, curious.

“Are you two alright? Where did you even come from?” The Mando made to take a step forward, voice obviously worried even through the vocoder, but Cody wasn’t falling for it. He jabbed his blaster at them again, finger on the trigger as he released a growl even Wolffe would be proud of.

The Mando couldn’t hold back their sigh, even as they took a big step back until they were a few more feet away from the boys. Slowly, they lowered themself to their knees, hands still in the air, and carefully removed their helmet to reveal a young male Pantoran face.

“Alright, ad’ika. There’s no need for that.” For such a large man, his voice was deceptively soft and soothing, and he had a way of making himself small, less threatening, that would probably sway a real child. Cody refused to be swayed. “What happened? You look pretty banged up, and I want to help you, but I can’t do anything if you don’t talk to me.”

Cody just huffed suspiciously. Rex took that as his cue to take over. “Well, the last group ‘a Mandos we ran into weren’t very welcomin’. They’re the ones th’ did this,” he said, showing off the cracks in his helmet and chest plate. The Pantoran winced in sympathy.

“Oh, verd’ika. That looks like it hurts.” Then their brain seemed to kick into gear as realization hit him. “Wait, another group of Mandos? Here?”

“Yes,” Cody snapped, slowly lowering his weapon. “A whole camp of them, just back that way. Just follow the river, or the smoke, and you’ll find them.” When the Pantoran just blinked wide orange eyes at him in disbelief, Cody rolled his eyes and spoke a little slower. “They were wearing blue and black armor. They caught my vod’ika and they were kicking him, and laughing about it.” Cody’s whole body tensed with unreleased anger as his temper boiled over once more. “So, what are you going to do about it, verd?” he sneered.

“Oh, kark,” the Pantoran groaned, running a hand up and down his face, before throwing his helmet back on. “Okay, listen. I know you don’t have any reason to trust me, but we aren’t like those Mandos. That was Death Watch you ran into. We’re members of the True Mandalorians. We would never harm an ad, I promise. It’s a part of our creed, our tenets.”

Cody couldn’t help the confusion that twisted his face at that, grateful he had kept his helmet on for this conversation. He turned towards Rex, as if to verify he was just as confused. “But, aren’t all the True Mandalorians dead? Wasn’t that Prime’s whole… issue?”

The Pantoran reared back as if slapped but he didn’t have time to question them further as there was a commotion from the camp. “Myles!” someone shouted from down below, and Cody whipped around, blaster raised once more as he crowded Rex against the treeline, just in case they needed to make a quick escape.

The sound of a jetpack roared through the forest before another Mando touched down beside them, this one wearing red and grey, a red cape bunched up around their shoulders. They seemed totally oblivious to the children hiding in the shadows, though Myles was obviously still facing them.

“You’re never going to believe what that shabuir of a governor said! He wants us to put down some kind of protest, yet he won’t give us any solid information or details. Just a location. I swear, if he really wanted Galidraan safe, I don’t see how this is the way. I don’t know-,” they trailed off suddenly, as if just realizing that Myles wasn’t fully paying attention, and then took in the fact that he was kneeling in the snow. They slowly followed his gaze. “Oh,” they said softly, backing up to stand beside Myles.

“Ad’ike,” Myles said slowly, carefully. “This is my alor, Jango Fett, Mand’alor of the True Mandalorians.”

Cody stood frozen in place for a moment, mind racing, before he holstered his blaster, grabbed Rex’s arm, and bolted off into the forest.

“Wait!” the Mandos shouted from behind them, but Cody refused to stop. This couldn’t be happening! This was insane!

If that was Jango Fett, Prime himself, and this was Galidraan, then they weren’t just cadet-sized in their own time on a different planet, they were cadet-sized on a different planet in the past.

“Cody! Cody, slow down, please!” Rex panted, dragging behind as he clutched his side. Cody frowned, unsure of what to do, but knowing they needed to get far, far away from here. He couldn’t mess up the events that were to come. Hell, he didn’t even exactly know what had happened in their own timeline, only that this was the start of Prime’s obsessive hatred of the Jedi.

The whine of a jetpack heralded Fett’s approach and Cody swung his head up just in time to see Fett land in front of him once more, hands raised as he approached them like they were wild animals.

“Ad’ike, you obviously recognize my name, and that armor you’re wearing? Seems pretty similar to Mandalorian training armor. What’s going on? Can you tell me? We can help you, I swear.”

Cody frowned, backing away, shoving Rex behind him once more as he weighed his options.

Slowly, Fett reached up to remove his helmet, eyes warm and determined, just like a million other brothers’ Cody had seen over his lifetime. They weren’t hard or crazed like he had half been expecting. It hurt something in Cody’s chest, to see Prime looking at him like he mattered.

The scar on his face burned.

“Haat, ijaa, haa’it,” Fett said solemnly, and Cody’s heart froze in his chest. He didn’t know a lot about their Mandalorian roots, but he knew that was a way, a binding way, to promise something.

Swallowing hard, Cody searched Fett’s face for any hint of a lie. “You swear, no harm will come to us? Even after you see who we are?”

Confusion flashed across Fett’s face, there and gone in an instant, and then he was turning those earnest eyes back on Cody. “Yeah, ad’ika. I promise. We don’t hurt children here, no matter what clan they come from.”

Realizing Fett probably thought they were Visla’s or something, Cody nodded, slowly reaching up to remove his bucket. Rex carefully slid his own helmet off. Fett was left blinking in surprise, eyes scanning them for a long, silent moment, before something in his expression seemed to crack, and part of his composure with it.

“Arla?” he asked, sounding broken and confused and more like the 22-year-old he really was. “Is your-? I mean, who, uh. Who’s your buir?”

Cody didn’t recognize the name, but vowed to be as truthful as he could be, given the circumstances. From a certain point of view, as his general would say. Cody shook his head slowly. “We don’t have parents. And we aren’t children. We’re soldiers.”

Fett made a strangled noise deep in his chest as if he had been gutted. Cody ignored him, throwing a blatantly distrustful glare his way before turning back towards Rex, worried now that they had a moment to breathe. “Are you sure your side is alright? You’ve been holding it this whole time, Rex’ika.”

“Oh, little gods,” Rex whined, shoving Cody’s probing fingers away. “Cody, ’m fine. I’ve had worse. Go away and stop pesterin’ me. I’m not your general.”

The tips of Cody’s ears went red but he simply turned away, head held high as he huffed indignantly. “Shut up,” he grumbled, to which Rex simply let out a tiny huff of a laugh.

“Cody,” Fett said softly, as if testing the name, feeling the weight of it on his tongue. (“Kote,” his memory supplied, in a much harsher tone. He shoved it all away.) “Rex?” They turned toward him, apprehensive once more. “Ka’ra, I have nephews,” he breathed to himself in shock.

Just as Cody was about to snap something mildly offensive at him, Rex doubled over, clutching his head and his stomach. “Cooo-dy,” he whined, voice high and strained and 100% baby brother. Cody’s senses went into overdrive; he had only ever heard his brother sound that small on two occasions, and both had been near-fatal. “I don’t, hmm, feel so good.”

Rex then whirled around, emptying the contents of his stomach all over the snow-covered ground, heaving and groaning in pain afterwards. Fett reached out on instinct, scooping Rex up into his arms while simultaneously ignoring the blaster Cody had shoved against his exposed ribs. Fett just rearranged Rex in his arms until his sweaty forehead was pressed against his throat, then turned his attention toward Cody, brow raised in challenge.

“Ad’ika, we need to get your brother to the medics. That can’t be good.” Cody hesitated, but one last look at how pathetic Rex appeared had him sighing and holstering his blaster, trotting along behind Fett as Rex lolled listlessly in his arms.

“Alpha, don’t wanna go to the medics,” Rex grumbled, whining as he pressed his head harder into Fett’s shoulder. “Nooooo.”

Cody’s gut clenched. “That’s not Alpha, Rex. Quiet, now.” He threw a wary glance towards Fett, but he seemed to be more occupied with cutting his way through the gathered Mandos, heading straight for the medics’ tent.

“Want Alpha, though,” Rex whined, turning to throw an accusatory glare at Cody, as if he were withholding their older brother on purpose. It was a little worrying, though, that Rex’s eyes weren’t focusing properly, and his pupils were two different sizes. It was that, more than anything, that allowed Cody to follow their group into the medics’ domain without further upset.

“Rohma!” Fett barked, and a tall, lithe Mando poked their head into the main room, rushing over once they saw who Fett was cradling in his arms.

“Status?” they asked, voice high and strong and faintly female through their vocoder.

“I’m not sure what happened, but the kids were found on the outskirts of camp. Running away from Death Watch, if I understand correctly.”

Fett threw a questioning gaze towards Cody, as if urging him for more information, but Cody ignored him, having eyes only for his brother as he was settled on a medcot. “When I found him, they had him on the ground and they were taking turns kicking him. I don’t know what happened to him before I got there, though.”

The medic crowded closer to Rex, checking him over with their scanner. As they waited, Cody heard a loud ruckus outside and peeked through the open tent flap, finding a group of Mandos quickly frog-marching another towards the tent. Cody couldn’t see what was going on beyond that.

One of the Mandos broke apart from the group, peeking in at Fett. “Mand’alor, we need you out here.”

Fett sighed with his whole body, glanced between Cody and Rex, and then gave Cody a stern look. “Stay with your brother, ad’ika. I’ll be back.”

Cody didn’t give him an answer one way or the other, and Fett sighed once more, but did eventually leave. Cody gave him a minute head start before turning and sneaking along the way Fett had gone, keeping to the shadows.

“And who are you again?” Fett asked, sounding like he had already tried this avenue of questioning and had gotten nowhere.

“Kriff off, Prime,” someone who sounded suspiciously like a brother snapped.

“Alright,” Fett grumbled, sounding as exhausted as Cody felt. “Remove his helmet, let’s see if anyone recognizes him.” Cody stepped out from the cover of the tent and found a tall trooper, burly and wide-chested, though shorter than he should be for an Alpha-class, even if that was unmistakably what he was. It made sense, though, if Cody and Rex had woken up small, for this Alpha to wake up younger, too. But as Cody watched the Mandos moving in on him, he took a quick look at the paint on the vod’s armor and knew immediately who it was.

Cody couldn’t hold back his shout of joy and relief. “Alpha! Seventeen, you’re here!” Cody barreled forward, ducking around and through the crowd, until he collided with Alpha’s tree-trunk of a leg, hiding his face in Alpha’s chest plate.

Alpha groaned dramatically behind his helmet, ducking his head down to look Cody over as critically as he could. His arms were still bound behind his back and two Mandos held onto his elbows in a restraining hold, but the tension of the group seemed to ease a bit at Cody’s positive reaction.

Fett just sighed again. “I take it this is the ‘Alpha’ Rex was asking for? Just how many of you are there?”

“Rex is here?” Alpha asked sharply, head lifting to scan their surroundings, ignoring Fett for the moment. Cody just huddled closer. “Where is he, Cody?”

Fett answered before Cody could even open his mouth. “In the medics’ tent. He was attacked by Death Watch before Cody was able to get him away. He’ll be alright, he’s just a bit banged up,” Fett reassured, then waved to his men to release Alpha.

Alpha jerked his arms away from his bindings as soon as he was able and took a hefty step away from the gathered Mandos, shuffling Cody along with him with a hand to his back.

“Are we expecting anyone else?” Alpha asked Cody as quietly as he could. Cody just shrugged. How the Hell was he supposed to know?

“I don’t even know how we got here,” Cody grumbled.

“Fair enough,” Alpha chuckled, before turning back towards Fett, who was cautiously stepping toward them.

“Alpha? You wanna tell us how you and your brothers got out here?” Alpha studied him for a long moment before taking his spare hand to pull his helmet from his head, clipping it to his belt. Cody glanced up, seeing Alpha as a 14-year-old cadet; he was still three heads taller than Cody. Fett winced once he saw Alpha’s face and Cody frowned, glaring darkly at Prime, taking offense on his brother’s part.

“We don’t know. I definitely wasn’t on this Force-forsaken rock a few hours ago. Nor was I anywhere near Cody, or Rex. Figure that however you will,” Alpha said with a shrug, rolling his shoulders as well as his eyes. “C’mon, cadet. Let’s go check on Rex.”

“Not a cadet,” Cody grumbled, even as he let Alpha drag him along as he bullied his way past Fett and the other Mandos to the medtent, pausing just a moment at the flap as he took in the sight of their tiny little brother huddled miserably on the oversized cot.

Rex’s eyes flew to them as soon as he noticed movement and then he was beaming, chubby cheeks squished up as his grin stretched wide. He threw his arms up, making grabby hands towards Alpha. “Alpha! Alpha!” Big fat tears started gathering in his eyes and Alpha rushed forward, taking three big steps in order to scoop Rex up as quickly as possible, cradling him close. Cody was latched on to his side, one hand fisted in Alpha’s belt as he glared around disapprovingly at the obviously-snooping Mandos hovering in the doorway.

“Sit-rep, cadet?” Alpha snapped quietly, though the order was softened by the way Alpha brushed his large hand as carefully as possible against Rex’s tiny head. Cody grinned, hiding it in Alpha’s side; everyone was always so scared of Alpha, but his cadets all knew he was really just a big ol’ softy inside.

“Bruised ribs, concussion, and persistent nausea. Medic Rohma said I should be okay in a few days, as long as I take it easy.” He nuzzled closer and buried his face in Alpha’s neck, clinging like a tubie. Alpha didn’t call him on it, just ran a hand up and down his back, breathing out a subtle sigh of relief before turning on Fett once more. The man was hovering on the outskirts of their conversation, not even trying to appear like he wasn’t studying them.

“Welcome to the Haat Mando’ade camp, boys,” Fett said a little ruefully, his grin crooked and a little sad as he looked them over. “Now, want to tell me what’s going on? Who are you? Because you all look an awful lot like me.”

Alpha glanced toward Cody, who just shrugged one shoulder at him. “We’re on Galidraan, if that helps?” he told Alpha quietly. Alpha scowled, turning a calculating glare towards Fett. Cody piped up again. “I think he thinks we’re his nephews. That was what he said earlier, anyway. Something about ‘Arla’ being alive?”

Fett watched their conversation with growing confusion, amber eyes studying them closely even as he shifted uncomfortably. Understanding and even a little pity filled Alpha as he turned his own gaze back to Fett.

“We aren’t Arla Fett’s brats. As far as I know, she died in the attack on your homestead, along with your parents.” Confusion and hurt flashed across Fett’s face for a second before he was able to hide it, and Cody almost felt bad about dashing his hopes. “No,” Alpha continued. “We’re cl-,” he started, but a loud racket from outside cut him off. Fett whipped around at all the noise, hand on his blaster as he bullied his way to the open flap of the tent.

“Is this another one of your brothers?” Fett grumbled, before shoving his helmet back onto his head to investigate. Alpha followed him, gaze turning to follow, seeing the gathered Mandos all pointing up towards the sky.

Overhead, a ship with the Jedi Order symbol plastered on the side flew by. Alpha watched it disappear into the forest and made a note of where it seemed to be landing. Plan in place, Alpha gently set Rex on his feet next to Cody, giving them both a stern look.

“Jetii’se!” the Mandos all muttered to each other darkly, glaring towards the landing site.

“Stay here,” Alpha ordered Cody and Rex, only to find both cadets pouting up at him. “I mean it. I’ll figure out who’s here. There will be no bloodbath here today.” That seemed to ease some of their worry, and Alpha felt just a little better leaving them behind. He pressed his large hands to the tops of their heads, pressing down on them until they let out aggravated giggles, and then turned to start making his way towards the ship.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” Fett shouted, jogging to keep up with Alpha’s long strides. Alpha just grunted and kept moving, picking his way through the brush and the snow. When he took the time to glance back, he found a squad of armed Mandos at his back.

“Put that shit away, unless you want to get massacred today,” Alpha ordered. He turned away again, ignoring them, but he didn’t miss the sound of weapons being holstered, even as they grumbled about his orders.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” Fett growled under his breath, right at Alpha’s shoulder.

Alpha didn’t answer, simply pressing on. After a few minutes, they eventually stumbled across the correct clearing. Alpha paused, observing the ship as people started milling around it. It seemed there were only three or four Jedi. With a steadying breath, Alpha shored up his mental shields and stepped forward into the light of the clearing, exposing himself.

He couldn’t get a good look at any of the Jedi from his current position. Just as one of them noticed him and he started to raise his hands in greeting, Alpha stumbled back a step, huffing in surprise as a tiny body collided with him, their thin arms wrapped around his waist. A burst of pure joy barreled against his mind and Alpha wrapped his own arms around the kid on pure instinct. Alpha glanced down and it took less than a moment to realize just who was clinging to him, that red-ginger hair unmistakable.

“General Kenobi?”