Chapter Text
Obi-Wan Kenobi did not know the hows or whys for him suddenly standing in a crowd street of lower level Coruscant. (and why should he, when this was only a dream)
Nor did he care to. Not at this moment (because it was just a dream).
How could he, when the melody of hundreds of living, breathing Jedi wrapped it symphony around him, embracing him, crying with him, welcoming him home. (such a lovely dream)
(A dream, a dream, such a lovely dream.)
The worst kind of dream, one of hope, and of peace, and he waits with bated breath for the other shoe to drop, for the everything good and light to be snatched and torn bloody away from him.
The pain of waking will be excoriating.
But for just for a moment, he lets himself be swept up in the music of the Jedi, alive and well, safe in their Temple – not destroyed, not ruined, alive and breathing – far above his head.
(an odd dream, to find himself so deep in the bowels of the lower levels of Coruscant, surrounded by gambling dens and brothels, instead outside of the Temple itself. But maybe his inner mind is being kind to him for once.)
Truly the worst kind of dream are the ones that feel so real.
It would only be made worse if…
Don’t care, don’t care… hope and peace are disrupted by chaotic thoughts, desperate, frantic… familiar… don’t care if you’re mad at me, make me mediator every hour of everday til I’m old an’ grey. Don’t care, don’t care, don’t care.
A small sun is hurtling towards him, a small sun that is barely contained within its flesh and bones cage, desperate for safety, for home, for him.
(ah, there is the cruelty of his inner mind… bringing him into his dream and making him want and need Obi-Wan)
Obi-Wan is lost in such thoughts, in his longing for a man long gone and lost, that he does not have time to react as the small sun collides with him, small arms looping around his waist in a bone crushing hug, a face buried deep into his sternum.
(this is not real. Just a dream, only a dream, nothing more. Not real. He is not real)
Except… the little sun feels real.
Warmth, relief, affection wash threw Obi-Wan, almost making him choke upon it, grief and loss threatening to crush him, not caring to wait until he wakes to do so.
“Master?” the question is tentative and that small voice makes Obi-Wan’s eyes sting. “Why you look so old and beat up?”
…
…
…?!
A raw noise escapes him, some ugly hybrid of a laugh and sob. This dream-this dream was truly cruel. (like father, like daughter).
“Master?”
Obi-Wan forces himself to look down at the small sun still wrapped around his waist, staring up at him with wide eyes, a storm that was just barely in its calm. The little sun could barely be twelve, still so small, so thin, despite years of a steady and consistent diet, regular exercise and stable living. It wouldn’t be still his fifteenth year that Anakin would finally hit his growth spurt (and grow to be taller than his master, a proud boast for him and an unending source of torment to Obi-Wan) and filled out.
“Anakin?”
As one, they jump, hearts racing in time though Obi-Wan suspected it’s for very different reasons.
“Anakin?!”
“I-I…” Anakin head snapped back and forth between Obi-Wan to the hooded man who had just exited out of a nearby gambling den, “I… I’m not hiding from the Chancellor Master, I-I swear… I… needed fresh air and…”
Obi-Wan could only stare down at his… at Anakin, twelve and not quite frighten but certainly anxious, knowing he was in the wrong, but clearly torn between who he felt he was more in the wrong with.
This is a dream….
“Master?” Anakin sounded confused, hurt even as Obi-Wan disentangled the boy’s arms from around his waist, but only for a moment, because Obi-Wan, dream this may be, was not leaving his boy anywhere near the hooded Chancellor, and catches a hold of Anakin’s hand in his, holding it firm, trying not to let his legs buckle at the feel of Anakin’s small, callous hand pressed against his own. Just a dream.
“We’re leaving.” His voice sounded rough, raw and Anakin looks surprised but doesn’t fight him, though he does drag his feet as they start pushing their way through the crowd.
“Shouldn’t we tell…”
“No.” Dream or not, Obi-Wan doesn’t know what he might do if he was forced to come face to face with the Emperor who took everything from him, who took Anakin from him.
He expects more of a fight – Anakin even at a young age had been fiercely protective of Palpatine (Obi-Wan’s stomach tightened. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to stab something) – but Anakin comes along surprisingly quietly, even as Palpatine’s calls become more and more like an order and Anakin starts to pant, clutching at his head as if it pained him.
It did hurt him, Obi-Wan realised as pain trickled threw their bond – not burnt and twisted, their bond is warm and bright and Obi-Wan is again almost overwhelmed by the affection and relief he feels flowing down it from Anakin, directed towards him. – and he suddenly feels as if he in the middle of a tug-a-war, with Anakin as the rope.
It is not, he realised belatedly as he continued to pull Anakin along, sending his own waves of affection, relief, warmth, love (which was met with delight, Anakin Force Signature practically glowed when Obi-Wan sent the first reassuring wave that he was here, here, Anakin was safe, with him), the first time he had felt such a feeling.
For thirteen years, all through Anakin’s apprenticeship and then beyond, right until-until the end, Obi-Wan had felt Anakin being tugged away from him and he, in turn, had done his best to pull him back. But he had always thought it was Anakin rebelling against him – (it was, it is, this is a dream, nothing more) – but now…
“He’s upset.” Anakin mumbled from beside him, keeping step despite the roaring they can both hear from within the boy’s head.
“And upset he shall remain.” Obi-Wan muttered grimly, not stopping. If they stopped, Obi-Wan would want to fight the Sith, and the Sith will win. Not just the fight, but Anakin and Obi-Wan does not have the strength to watch the child beside him grow into the monster that is Darth.
Not this dream, not this one.
Force, just let him have this dream. This one dream. Let them escape and be together and Obi-Wan can know, in this dream at least, Anakin might, just might be saved.
“Master? Where are we going?”
Not the Temple. Obi-Wan decided that the moment they started moving, because if they go to the dream Temple, it might trigger some of Obi-Wan’s worse memories of the place and again cause the boy to change into Darth.
“Master.” The boy’s hand yanks itself away from Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan can’t stop his heart from freezing in terror, breath caught in his throat as he waits for the frowning boy to grow into a hate filled young man with bright yellow eyes.
Blue eyes burn into him and his hand quickly returns to hold Obi-Wan as his other hands reaches out to lightly touch the old Jedi’s face.
“Who hurt you?” Anakin whispers, eyes roving over Obi-Wan’s face while Obi-Wan fights back another ugly sob laugh.
You did, dear one. You did.
“You not my Obi-Wan… are you?” Obi-Wan blinked before frowning. What an odd thing for Anakin to say in Obi-Wan’s dream.
But answer him honestly, Obi-Wan does all the same.
“Indeed, I am not.”
“Okay.” Anakin nods. “But you are Obi-Wan.” He says this more to himself than to Obi-Wan. “And you don’t want to go back to the Temple?”
“No.”
Anakin nods again and now he is pulling Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan follows his little sun as he would have done without question, always. He follows him through the lower levels, catches him when the boy staggers under a particularly vicious tug at in the Force, and doesn’t even question him when Anakin talks him into pulling enough credits from their account (Obi-Wan is grateful he remembers he passcode, but why would he not? This was just a dream, nothing more.) to pay for their passage upon a ship heading out into the Mid-Rim.
It’s only when they are on board the ship, Anakin sitting by the window and watching their ascent in Coruscant orbit, does the boy turn to look at Obi-Wan – who is feeling… better, much better and thinks waking from this dream, while painful, might not be pure agony – his small face determined despite the worry burning bright in his blue sun eyes.
“Master… you know this isn’t a dream… right?”