Chapter Text
Sifo-Dyas stumbled.
He was drowning, gasping for breath as he struggled under the pressure of the Force pressing down on all his senses, the images flashing through his mind making him nauseous from vertigo, the scenes so disjointed and chaotic that he could feel himself getting lost-
Then suddenly- peace.
A warm body against his side grounding him, thin shoulders under his arm taking some of his weight, a Master’s mental touch carefully mending the tears in his own shields with the ease of long practice, protecting Sifo-Dyas from the ceaseless currents of the Cosmic Force.
And others from him.
“-Halls of Healing?”
“No.” Sifo-Dyas gasped, back in the here-and-now enough to manage words, eyes shut like a youngling playing hide-and-seek, convinced that not being able to see others meant that others couldn’t see him.
“...I will not argue,” his saviour murmured, sounding very much like they wanted to argue, “but I will tell Master Yan.”
“Small mercies.” Sifo-Dyas huffed, feeling a spark of amusement from Obi-Wan through their bond, though outwardly, the padawan merely hummed and, after checking that his hold on Sifo-Dyas was sufficiently secure, carefully began walking.
With Obi-Wan’s durasteel shielding around his mind, Sifo-Dyas was hidden from the pity and judgement in the Force he usually felt from his fellow Jedi whenever he happened to have an episode out in the open, and with his eyes closed, he could almost pretend that he was only imagining the weight of their gazes on him. Almost.
‘Nearly there’, Obi-Wan whispered through their bond, as if sensing the turn Sifo-Dyas’ thoughts had taken, and, despite himself, Sifo-Dyas felt a small smile pull at his lips, sending a curl of gratitude back at the boy.
Some time later, he was gently lowered onto a bench, the scent of greenery in the air, and he knew Obi-Wan had taken them to the Room of a Thousand Fountains even before he opened his eyes.
Even the dappled light of the shaded alcove Obi-Wan had found managed to make Sifo-Dyas flinch with oversensitivity, but Obi-Wan let him get his bearings in silence, projecting peace-calm-comfort that had Sifo-Dyas’ muscles relaxing unconsciously, prompting a quiet groan to fall from his lips at the dull ache that followed the sudden relief.
Once Sifo-Dyas managed to center himself enough to actually parse through all the stimulus he was receiving, he found that Obi-Wan had settled himself on the ground in front of him, his legs crossed, a small frown pulling at his brows. Their eyes met, but Obi-Wan still didn’t speak, simply watching as Sifo-Dyas pulled himself together, patient and steady in a way a padawan had no right to be, the shields around their minds never once faltering.
“Thank you, Obi-Wan.” Sifo-Dyas finally managed, shooting the boy a tired smile. “I...appreciate the assistance.”
“It was no bother.” Obi-Wan replied, opening his side of their bond slightly wider than usual to show Sifo-Dyas his sincerity.
No questions about what Sifo-Dyas had Seen. No pity, or judgement, or apprehension, just kindness and patience and impenetrable shields around his mind like an embrace.
Yan had truly done Sifo-Dyas the favour of a lifetime when he’d taken the boy on, even if his friend had not intended it as such.
Shaking himself out of his musings, Sifo-Dyas leaned forward and gently pressed the pad of his thumb against the crease between Obi-Wan’s brows, chasing the frown away.
“Padawan?” he murmured, not wanting to press in case Obi-Wan wasn’t up to sharing, but offering that same easy grace the boy had shown him, an opening for Obi-Wan to voice whatever was on his mind should he wish to.
Obi-Wan sighed, then released whatever was weighing on him into the Force between them in a tangled jumble that Sifo-Dyas had no chance of parsing through in his state.
“I didn’t like the looks.” Obi-Wan admitted quietly, his eyes stormy as his gaze met Sifo-Dyas’, his expression a mix of displeasure and indignation. “You should not be judged for something you cannot control.”
“It is because I cannot control it that I am judged.” Sifo-Dyas corrected with a wan smile, but he wasn’t expecting the dismissive snort Obi-Wan reacted with.
“Do they not realise the heresy inherent in even trying to control the Cosmic Force?” He asked rhetorically, then shook his head, shunting his frustration with a sigh. “But I was more referring to being judged for something that you didn’t choose, Master Sy.”
Sifo-Dyas considered the boy for a few seconds, helplessly endeared as he moved the hand that had been smoothing away the frown between Obi-Wan’s brows to lightly cradle his cheek. “If every being was born with your compassion, the galaxy would be a beautiful place, padawan.”
He felt the skin beneath his palm grow warm, Obi-Wan’s gaze dropping from his as he frowned at the floor, pressing regret-sympathy-shame down their bond. “I apologise for getting emotional.”
Sifo-Dyas tapped his cheek lightly, not enough to cause pain, but enough to draw the padawan’s eyes back to him.
“That was hardly a rebuke, Obi-Wan.” He replied, smoothing a thumb under the boy’s eye before removing his hand altogether, sitting back against the bench as he took a deep breath. “Thank you for advocating for me, but please don’t let what you saw taint your view of your fellow Jedi.”
Obi-Wan stared up at him for a few seconds, his gaze searching, though for what, Sifo-Dyas wasn’t sure. Still, he weathered the scrutiny with grace, leaving himself open both in body and in their bond, but right as Obi-Wan opened his mouth to reply, the sound of a throat clearing somewhere to their left prompted them both to jump, heads snapping towards the source of the noise.
Sifo-Dyas’ heart twinged at the sight of Qui-Gon, but his pain and regret was nothing compared to the panic that gripped Obi-Wan, heartbreak-regret-grief reaching Sifo-Dyas through the bond and across their shared shields.
‘Padawan?’ he inquired, concern spiking when Obi-Wan twitched and slammed his side of the bond shut, smoothing his expression into that same practised blankness Yan favoured when dealing with politicians or butting heads with his fellow Council members.
Luckily, Obi-Wan was too kind to withdraw his shields from around Sifo-Dyas’ mind so he wasn’t completely iced out, but the suddenness of the boy’s reaction was jarring nonetheless.
“Master Sifo-Dyas, padawan Kenobi.” Qui-Gon greeted evenly, clearly taking their silence as confusion. “Good afternoon.”
“Good afternoon, Qui-Gon.” Sifo-Dyas responded, not missing how Obi-Wan, despite his distance in the bond, shifted closer to him under the guise of moving to better face his old Master. “How can we help you?”
“I was wondering if I could speak to padawan Kenobi.” Qui-Gon revealed, and Sifo-Dyas felt Obi-Wan’s mental flinch even as the boy's expression remained carefully schooled.
At the clear distress radiating from the usually indomitable padawan, Sifo-Dyas found himself reaching out to rest a hand on the nape of Obi-Wan’s neck, concern skyrocketing at the tense muscles he found there.
“You can.” Obi-Wan replied after a beat, and Sifo-Dyas realised he had forgotten that Qui-Gon had asked a question. “If you wish for a more private setting, you can also come to Master Yan’s quarters after evening meal.”
Qui-Gon frowned, though whether at the implication that Obi-Wan wasn’t planning on leaving Sifo-Dyas’ side, or at the excessively formal phrasing, Sifo-Dyas couldn’t be sure.
“And will Yan be there?” Qui-Gon asked instead, his gaze intent on Obi-Wan, and Sifo-Dyas felt Qui-Gon’s feather-light brush against their shields, clearly discomfited by whatever he found on Obi-Wan’s face.
“Of course.” Obi-Wan answered, once again keeping track of the conversation better than Sifo-Dyas was managing, “They are his quarters, after all.”
Obi-Wan’s tone was conversational, his words factual, but the boundary they drew was clear, and Sifo-Dyas found himself smiling slightly at the flash of the same proclivity for politics that had first attracted Yan.
Qui-Gon, it seemed, wasn’t quite as pleased. “I was hoping to speak to you privately.”
“I’m afraid I would not be comfortable with that,” Obi-Wan answered simply, carefully opening his side of his bond with Sifo-Dyas to let him feel the teen’s genuine apprehension at the prospect, even as he added a demurring, “and I would not want to give Master Yan the wrong impression.”
“’The wrong impression’?” Qui-Gon echoed, eyebrows rising as he glanced between Obi-Wan and Sifo-Dyas incredulously. “Obi-Wan, I am not trying to steal you away from Yan.”
Obi-Wan flinched again, visibly this time, and something in Qui-Gon’s eyes seemed to shatter even as his voice softened when he added a stilted but no less honest: “I regret the way I handled your padawanship. You deserve an explanation.”
Sifo-Dyas felt Obi-Wan’s shock, felt the surprise-disbelief-suspicion that pulsed between them before Obi-Wan released the latter two to the Force and blinked rapidly.
“And I would be grateful to receive one, Master Jinn.” He replied, not quite managing a smile, but not as detached as before. Then, he frowned and leant into the hand Sifo-Dyas still had on the back of his neck, making a show of craning his head to glance up at him before he focused back on Qui-Gon. “But I would still like Master Yan or Master Sifo-Dyas to be present when it happens.”
It seemed that whatever fount of patience Qui-Gon had been sampling had finally ran dry, for his next words were sharper, his exasperation clear when he snapped; “Obi-Wan, for Force’s sake-”
“The padawan has drawn a boundary, Qui-Gon.” Sifo-Dyas spoke up, cutting Qui-Gon off, having felt the way Obi-Wan had shrunk back when Qui-Gon’s tone had changed. “Please cease trampling over it.”
Qui-Gon’s gaze cut to him, betrayal writ clear in his eyes, and his next brush against Sifo-Dyas’ shields was less a feather and more a battering ram.
“I will see you after evening meal.” He announced at last, eyes flickering briefly to Obi-Wan before he turned away and headed out of the Room.
For a moment, Sifo-Dyas just breathed, feeling Obi-Wan do the same, before the padawan slumped forward, dislodging Sifo-Dyas’ hand from his neck in favour of resting his forehead against his knee.
“That was- disrespectful.” Obi-Wan murmured tiredly, and though he didn’t elaborate beyond that single observation, Sifo-Dyas had a suspicion as to what the teen was referring to.
“I was not as adept at managing my visions when Qui-Gon was a padawan.” He revealed wryly, regret weighing his words as he absently petted Obi-Wan’s hair. “I’m afraid I took up a lot of Yan’s time and attention.”
“I wouldn’t have imagined he’d still hold that against you.” Obi-Wan replied after a few seconds, straightening up slowly and glancing at Sifo-Dyas consideringly.
“Qui-Gon’s propensity for the Living Force also didn’t help my case.” Sifo-Dyas pointed out shrewdly, knowing that the padawan understood that better than most.
“I’m sorry, Master Sy.” Obi-Wan sighed, sending a warm pulse of calm-comfort-reassurance down their bond.
“Appreciated but unnecessary.” Sifo-Dyas returned, smiling crookedly before he sobered. “You do not have to tell me, but I find myself curious as to the ultimatum you posed him. His handling of your padawanship aside, Qui-Gon cannot, would not, harm you, Obi-Wan."
“I know.” Obi-Wan breathed, something complicated flashing through his eyes. “I didn’t insist on your or Master Yan’s presence because I needed a guard.”
Sifo-Dyas tilted his head but remained silent, determined to wait the boy out, no matter how long it took: it felt like they were on the precipice of something important, and Sifo-Dyas would rather not waste the moment by rushing through it.
Finally, Obi-Wan sighed, his eyes fluttering shut as he opened his mouth to whisper: “In my dreams, Master Qui-Gon dies in my arms.”
He swallowed, and when he opened his eyes once more, they glistened wetly even in the low light of the Room. “And his death is my fault.”
Sifo-Dyas’ heart sank as he realised what Obi-Wan had left unsaid: that he hadn't asked for him or Yan because he needed a guard, but because he needed an anchor.
“No version of the future is kind to Qui-Gon Jinn.” He revealed instead of spouting Force truisms or empty comforts, his voice just as quiet as the padawan’s, his words just as heavy with grief and regret. “But in none of them is it your fault.”
“...Perhaps.” Obi-Wan allowed, though Sifo-Dyas did not need their bond to know the boy didn’t believe him. “But I choose to believe in the version of the future in which he dies of old age and joins the Force at peace.”
It was Sifo-Dyas’ turn to flinch, the parallels between him and the padawan at his feet briefly overwhelming.
“That way lies madness, Obi-Wan.” He cautioned, opening his side of the bond wider to give Obi-Wan a glimpse at his reasoning. “Trust me.”
“I do.” Obi-Wan replied, the words no less honest for how quickly they were uttered, even as the resigned quirk to his lips threatened to break Sifo-Dyas’ heart. “And yet.”