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For all the solo missions the Jedi ran on occasionally, it had been a truly long while since Anakin had last not been on the Resolute during a flight. While Ahsoka’s worry for her Master never quite left the back of her mind, she couldn’t say she wasn’t busy as it was – while she did technically hold the rank of Commander, she understood – even if with a roll of her eyes – why Anakin would be hesitant to leave a Padawan completely in control of a Star Destroyer. Even so, she was certain, really, that she and Rex and the rest of the COs aboard had it handled better than was necessary – the ship didn’t run on just Anakin after all.
Still, he had to have told Obi-Wan something before he left for his mission, because she had never had less to do on a battlefield – or warship, for that matter – in her life. So forgive her if she had glared at her Grandmaster a little bit during the campaign. Half-jokingly, and never enough to lose track of the people they were trying to wrench back from Separatist subjugation. Never enough to make Ahsoka lose focus – she may not have been fighting this war for long, just like the rest of them, but she had already learned a great many things, and not letting thoughts wander when there were important things on the horizon had been the very first lesson in her rapidly-expanding arsenal.
But now it was over, the planet liberated, and Obi-Wan had apparently found her exasperation a little amusing as he smiled at her afterwards and told her she’d done well, just after he’d gone aboard the Resolute with her – he’d be returning to Coruscant for a meeting with a Council and then catch up with the Negotiator in due time, he’d told her, looking very certain his own Commander could easily wrangle the entirety of the 212 th . A little dryly, she'd thought that perhaps Anakin could still learn some lessons from his Master.
I barely even did anything! she'd complained, grinning as she dove under Obi-Wan’s arm.
On the contrary, dear one , Obi-Wan had argued, brushing the tips of his fingers carefully down her montral before she could drop the arms she’d locked tightly around his waist. You only spent a bit more time in war rooms than you usually do – and you offered valuable pieces of information to the discussion about our charge. Now, when you look at it this way, it’s clear to see that you’ve done quite a lot, haven’t you? No matter what Anakin wants you to think, flimsi and planning are also very important parts of war.
Though her first instinct had been to object and claim that obviously Anakin didn’t think those things weren’t important, Obi-Wan’s tone had been fond, so she’d figured he already considered it a somewhat incorrigible quirk of his own former Padawan. Instead, she’d taken his explanation to heart, and, after running the campaign through her head a couple more times, she felt a little more satisfied with herself and her role in it.
Action was but one part of the equation, that much she knew as well. Though war often seemed so violent in its nature she could’ve forgotten it with ease – and that’s where it was easy to lose oneself, it occurred to her, in the constant turning of the wheels and the chaotic storms of blaster bolts, which, if observed closely, could be considered a matter of patterns. It was obvious, then, why it was dangerous to Jedi who, before the war, only pulled their lightsabers out once in a blue moon – now, Ahsoka knew some who slept with them under their pillows. Their world had been flipped upside down, and if they dove too completely into this new challenge, they may have ended up twisting themselves into a place out of bounds of the Order and all of its teachings.
She understood now: this was why fighting was only half as important as planning; with good planning, they might not have had to fight at all.
Once she shared her thoughts with Rex, catching up to him in the corridors of the Resolute , he was nodding his agreement before she’d even finished speaking.
“That’s it,” he said, nodding as he slowed his pace a little. “As soldiers, we don’t avoid combat, naturally, but if there’s a possibility to prevent it – well.” He shrugged. “The fewer of my men suffer, the better we all fare.”
“Yeah.” She pressed her lips together, heaving a small sigh. “It’s upsetting that the droid army doesn’t – you know, it doesn’t care how many droids are destroyed. They have the credits, they can build as many as they like. And we sit and we plan and we think and think and think and they – they don’t. They just charge. Like a wave.”
“That’s also true,” Rex murmured, glancing down to the ground and back up again, gaze absent. “It’s a little frustrating to have only our side doing the work and trying to minimize damage. I’m sure we’d be a lot further along in the war if the Seppies had to do the same instead of just throwing droid battalions at us in waves, as you said. But that’s why we do the heavy lifting.” He smiled at her thinly, a sly, almost mischievous thing. “That’s why it’s important for us to know the enemy. When you know what they think, you know what they do, and when you know what they do, you know what you should do. Then the path is clear.”
“And you find that out by spying on them,” Ahsoka thought out loud, folding her arms tightly over her chest, scowling. “But – isn’t it obvious? You know, it’s sort of the only thing we can do. If I tried to scout around, wouldn’t it be obvious?”
“Wouldn’t what be obvious?”
“What if – you know, they think I’m going to go and see what they’re doing – what if they know I’m gonna do that? What if they think I’m going to scout out first and then they set up, uh, a whole bunch of security and catch me?”
“Always assume they have that bunch of security measures in place! Getting lost in a ‘what if they think that I think that they think’ is how you lose, Commander,” Rex said patiently and then smiled at her, adding, voice dry, “Besides, I’ve never exactly seen getting captured be more than a small and temporary inconvenience to Jedi.”
“To Skyguy, maybe,” she argued, fighting a giggle. “He could fly a Venator through the forests of Umbara!”
Rex laughed at the hyperbole, though he did shrug as if wondering. “Not unless he had a dozen other pilots at hand, he couldn’t,” he objected. “Which is what espionage is all about, you know. Teamwork. The entire war, actually. But espionage and knowing your environment is especially important.”
Ahsoka sighed again, a long-suffering thing that Anakin often groaned about, saying it reminded him too much of his own Master and she should really invent her own way of showing that she was disappointed in him. Sadly, her subsequent attempt, admittedly half-a-joke – the baring of her teeth and a distinctly predatory Togrutan growl – was met with Anakin laughing himself to tears, so much so that he had to hold on to a counter to keep himself upright.
She smiled at the memory – and then blinked in slight confusion as it was followed by a strange feeling.
It rose from somewhere within her, but – not her own, seemingly more as a response to something, perhaps to that memory itself, perhaps to something around her. Ahsoka had learned more than enough to recognize a Force warning, but this wasn’t quite it, and she couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was instead – Rex wasn’t Sensitive and this didn’t feel like it was directed at him or centered around him – when she checked, the action was subconscious; and his bright presence in the Force had shifted little, if at all. He shone vividly when they spoke, strategy or jest, and so he did now.
She turned her attention elsewhere, missing that she’d been standing still for a good few seconds, now, but she just couldn’t find the source of her strange feelings. It was as if the ship itself was radiating a distant, distant grief, a twisted, muffled horror.
One of the troopers? No, they didn’t feel like that. She’d slept by their sides in campaigns and she’d seen them plagued by night terrors so horrid they’d accept her offer to help them go back to sleep with the Force, but it was always a sudden sting, a nauseating pain in the back of her head, never this. This was invasive, running deeper than she cared to follow but close enough to some surface to make her yearn for the knowledge of what it was, what it wanted, why it was here.
“Um,” she said, blinking quickly to get past the feeling. “Rex – do you mind if we finish talking later? I think I have to… go somewhere, right now.” She waved her hand vaguely, which was probably not a very convincing gesture, but Rex just nodded with a shine to his eyes.
“That’s alright, sir,” he said, and the understanding in his tone would’ve made Ahsoka suspicious if she wasn’t so preoccupied with trying to follow the heavy threads in her head. “I get that it’s confusing.”
“’S not that,” she muttered, shaking her head a little. It was difficult to grasp – she knew the call of the Force when she sensed it, but this was – it felt like it was leading her toward something, but it didn’t seem deliberate, it didn’t seem like it was beckoning her closer, just – the Force was being drawn to it, and she felt like she had to find the source of it. “I – I’ll go now, Rex, see you, may the Force – good luck, yeah – “
“Are you – alright, sir?”
Taking off already, captivated by the pull, she forgot to give him an answer, missing the puzzled raise of his eyebrow. But her heart wasn’t singed by what she didn’t see, and she was already hurrying down the corridor, feeling as if she was being led by some invisible and incredibly complicated map, of which she could see but a fraction, at most.
This map led her further and further away from the bridge but not any lower towards the hull, rather through the corridors leading to the quarters of the officers – first pilots, bunks of lieutenants, her and Rex, too; anyone who might’ve needed to be up and on the bridge within minutes of any alarm being raised. But what could she find here, what was she being called for? Who was here, the Force’s calling so insistent that she would feel mindless if she forced herself not to follow the path being laid out in front of her?
Like lightning from clear skies, she realized – Obi-Wan.
She was being pulled toward Obi-Wan. But Obi-Wan was supposed to be sleeping, his cycle rhythm thrown completely off during the last days of the campaign – he couldn’t be calling, even if it was one hell of a nightmare that would exude this amount of despair. Nightmares didn’t feel like this. She was absolutely certain that nightmares did not feel like – whatever this was.
With a start, Ahsoka realized she had a bad feeling about this. Her stomach was turning by the time she reached the right door. Obi-Wan was inside, she could feel it like her own heartbeat in her montrals, he was there and he was –... and something was wrong with him.
And Ahsoka, as reluctant as her mind was to even touch whatever dark substance was wriggling in the corner of it, was not about to let this go without finding out exactly what it was. And, more importantly, what it wanted from her Grandmaster to be tormenting him so.
She knew the code to the door, so getting inside wasn’t an issue – it was stepping over the doorstep that was going to be the real challenge; for a moment, Ahsoka faltered. Whatever was going on felt so – so strange, so unfamiliar, so dark and so raw she – understandably – had little desire to get involved in it, to even approach it. But she would not be deterred by something that was obviously a deterrent.
Slowly, she peeked her head in through the door, squinting to get her eyes used to the dim lighting quicker.
“Master Obi-Wan?” she called, voice low as to not disturb him in case he was busy or asleep and she’d misread the Force, though she doubted it. She was not that inexperienced, and the cluster of the strange threads was all gathered here, in his quarters.
Receiving no answer for a good few moments, she tried again, a little louder in case she just hadn’t been heard – “Master?...”
Her eyes wandered automatically to where the bunks were in those standard quarters, but she found no figure huddled atop them – instead, even though her eyes did get used to the darkness quicker than a Human’s would have, she still a pang of guilt at the amount of time it took her to spot Obi-Wan.
“Oh, no,” she muttered to herself, quickly slipping inside and closing the door behind her, unwilling to let anyone else see this.
He was nearly blended into the wall in front of the door, and, at first, it was difficult to discern what was going on, but then – then she saw his fingers digging in to a counter he was still trying to hold on to even though his legs were clearly not holding him anymore, he'd collapsed – and he was muttering something, or perhaps humming, caught in some kind of – episode, an attack, a seizure? His whole body trembled when he tried to get up – why was he trying to get up, he’d never make it –
There was blood smeared on his hands. There was blood on his face.
Ahsoka was across the room before she even knew what she was doing, unceremoniously thumping to her knees next to Obi-Wan and forcibly pulling him away from the counter, ripping his fingers off the surface where they curled tightly, holding on in a death grip. Once his hand was off the counter, he latched onto her instead before shuddering and letting go, his arm dropping to the floor –
Her first guess, naturally, wasn’t ‘a vision’. Her first guess, having been at war for a couple of months now, was ‘head trauma’ and ‘internal bleeding’. He didn’t look like himself, eyes glazed over, gaze wandering aimlessly as if he was dreaming, muttering something she couldn’t understand.
But then she heard him. And she remembered, all of a sudden, a long time ago, a boy in the crèche – a boy her age, crying out suddenly in his sleep, and when they couldn’t calm him down they got the Crèchemaster and – and they brought him out, and returned him with barely any recollection of what’d happened hours later; he’d been tired, and the Master only told them that he’d had a vision and everything would be alright, but Ahsoka hadn’t forgotten it easily. No, she hadn’t forgotten it at all, the way he looked around frantically, eyes wide just like this, reaching for something none of them could see, and calling, and calling –
“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan choked out, and it was horror down to her very bones. He wasn’t looking at her; he was staring somewhere away, and he was calling out to her with eyes that Ahsoka couldn’t begin to comprehend the terror behind – “Ahsoka, Ahsoka!”
“Master,” she answered him, hoping that – perhaps, perhaps she could call him back from wherever he was, find out what had happened – and he was having a vision, that much was clear by now. And, by the sounds of it, it was not a good one. Well, they were – they were rarely good.
Oh, this all would’ve been so much easier if only they were in the Temple - the Healers were always well-prepared to handle difficult visions, and Ahsoka had never been prone – but then again, she’d never known anyone in her lineage to be prone, either, least of all Obi-Wan, or perhaps he’d just kept quiet about it, or perhaps this was a first, or just one of a few rare instances when –
But none of that mattered now, she scolded herself, shaking her head decisively. None of that mattered.
Obi-Wan was her Grandmaster, and she was a Jedi, and she was not helpless, and there was no chaos, there was harmony.
She took a breath and took his hands in hers gently, holding him steady so he didn’t move too much and hurt himself or her; and she spoke, quietly, out of a lack of anything else to do – she knew it would pass, visions passed, but she didn’t have the slightest clue on what she should've done while it was happening.
Regardless, Obi-Wan was shaking, lips parted like he was trying to tell her something – not, not her , of course, she doubted he knew she was there, but it was as if he was trying to speak, say something important, something they needed to know, something – and a Jedi was supposed to listen to visions, she knew that, too.
So she listened. There was not much to be heard – amongst names, most of which she recognized, and quiet pleas about something she didn’t understand, Obi-Wan was just – quivering in place like a leaf, and if he wasn’t already on the ground, then his legs definitely would’ve failed by now.
“I’ve got you,” she told him, quietly, when he tried to flinch away from her and almost slammed the back of his head into the counter. “No - Master, hey. Master Obi-Wan, please, it’s got to end in a bit. It’s got to end, come on, come up, let’s get you up –“
And he was heavier than she thought, completely limp and uncooperative. Which was to be expected, of course, it’s just that Ahsoka could hardly even pull him away from the counter, and what with him squirming and twitching everywhere, it was even worse.
“Ahsoka,” he managed, nails digging into her skin. His voice was hoarse, his throat seemed to be closing up on him, he sounded like any words he spoke came from somewhere deep in his chest.
“Right here,” she answered him, finally leaning him against his own bunk, a slightly-raised mattress that wouldn’t cause any trouble if he started to spasm. “Right here, Master, it’s gonna end soon, I’m sure. You just hold on in there, yeah? And I’m right here, remember, right here with you.”
She took his hands once more as he seemed to – to look at her, just for a brief moment of time, and let out a shaky breath.
“Right here with you,” she repeated, calmly, and tried to pay no mind to her heart beating all the way up in her montrals.
It caught him by surprise. It caught him absolutely off-guard – or, admittedly, he’d tried a smidge too hard to convince himself that this could not be happening, because this place and this time were objectively the worst for this to happen.
It started with a strange feeling. It always started with a strange feeling, muddled and confusing and a bit disorienting – something that would only increase by the minute until he was lost in it completely. But he’d brushed it off – exactly what he shouldn’t have done, in hindsight, but it was too surreal. It felt too disarming. It felt too open, even as he stood in the closed quarters that were given to him aboard the Resolute .
In the Negotiator , he could close himself off and get himself off the bridge and rest assured Cody could handle the ship by himself for a few hours. No, scratch that – Cody could handle the ship for as long as he needed to, Obi-Wan knew that very well. So he'd let him know, quietly, that he’d disappear for a few hours when it was coming on, his Commander would just nod and take the reins for him. And Obi-Wan would wait it out. Quietly. Unobtrusively.
Here, on Anakin’s ship, it wasn’t the same. Of course, Captain Rex was just fine in command of the ship, but the only other Jedi aboard was Ahsoka, and Ahsoka wasn’t – Ahsoka didn’t know . He wouldn’t have been too surprised if she didn't have a clue on what she was supposed to do. He’d likely just frighten her. And if he let the strange tightness in his chest and the clouding of his thoughts leave the bounds of his small Force bubble, she would know, and she would most likely come see what was happening, because that was who Ahsoka was – always eager to help, even when she wasn’t certain of how she was going to do it.
So, in the end, it meant he’d have to either try and keep it contained somewhere within – which was not going to end well, it never did, - but the only other option was telling Ahsoka before she wandered over of her own accord, which would – which would not be fortunate for either of them, Ahsoka was too young to deal with him when he was like this, especially alone. Force, he didn’t know what he’d say to her, how would he explain, how would he tell her about the –
How could he ever explain to her, the –
The void between worlds and the myriad paths – how could she walk them all without losing herself in it?
There it was, he knew when it began, a numbing of all his senses, a takeaway of all concentration, it -
It would need great focus, something she would muster up if she knew that she could, by all means she was a traveller – interstellar travel or travel between time, between the space a conscious mind couldn’t comprehend –
In her mind, she had killed her Master, she had witnessed the deaths of thousands that have gone and millions more that would, and she had buried all her old loves and herself along with them, now walking alone, stripped down to the starlight that her core shone with –
How could he explain to her, yellow eyes, golden eyes, you will die, you will die, it was impossible – she was fourteen, she was a child, she could not understand that – that all things die, all things wither and become husks of all that they once were – and sometimes you watch your family wither like so, and it is only up to you to murder a Master that can no longer bind you, that can no longer keep you – you kill him so you do not have to kill who you are, who you always were, someone he could never accept if you came to him as you are now, and –
And, oh, she was a child – Ahsoka Tano, Ahsoka Tano, a dark, menacing figure and – Ahsoka Tano, he could never break you. Ahsoka Tano, he will never be the death of you. Ahsoka Tano, this is not the end. This is not the end, and this is –
This was not the time . He grit his teeth, dropping his hand. There it was, taking over. His eyes flashing with memories that weren’t his, or perhaps just not yet. This wasn’t going to work. She wouldn’t make it in time to understand what he was saying, it would take him before that, and he’d just –
When he tried clamping down hard on the foreign, maddening bursts of unreasonably potent emotion that had its grip on him, he wasn’t thinking anymore. Perhaps if he just shut it tight, perhaps if he just – held onto it, and didn’t let go – kept it close to himself, and –
You keep it all inside and it kills you, it kills you to hide, and yet you disappear into the sand like a frightened snake, like a fearful critter, on a mission no one will ever know of, a mission and a trail of bodies behind you, those you’ve ever cared for, those you’ve ever loved, those who are all gone, those you’ll never get back, never see again -
He gasped, throwing out his arms in hopes of bracing himself against something, anything, but he couldn’t feel a thing as his knees buckled, bringing him to the ground hard as he still tried to fight against it. He inched to the side just before the fall, a sharp pain against his hip and then a dull hit, a burning shock flaring up to his head –
And then he was falling to his side, the floor uncomfortably farther away than he’d thought – and it didn’t hurt at all, to fall, and suddenly he knew he couldn’t tell real physical pain apart from the vision that was insidiously dragging him closer, dragging him down under. And though he fought it with his mind and body as instincts dictated, unwisely, he couldn’t fight against the echoing tide that swept the ground from beneath his feet.
It was a terrible shock, shaking his body and threatening to close his eyes for good as he managed to push himself onto his back, panting. Something hurt but he didn’t have the slightest idea what – or where – or why, trying to breathe right, but it felt like he was taking in fumes, filling his lungs with smoke, petrifying himself with rancid ash that reeked of burning flesh –
Oh, eyes like molten gold – eyes like a curse, like a nightmare, like murder, seeping through the cracks and dripping like blood, thick and merciless and unforgiving, looking up and looking down, and staring through you, and violent and unforgivable and cruel and yet you can still smell fear, afraid, afraid –
It would’ve been so much easier just to sink, to give in and to let it take him, take him away, to see what it wanted to show him, but he had little practice with going quietly, with going obediently, and the mind fought instinctively against the distant futures, futures that might come and go, and futures that might ripple and shift before settling in, and futures that would sweep past like a hurricane, leaving only ruin and unavoidable destruction in its path –
It was natural for the consciousness to resist. It was natural to fear it, natural to fight tooth and nail to not be dragged down into speculation, into something that can be and could have been, and it was natural to disbelieve, natural to shout that it could not be real, that it could never be like this, good or bad, beautiful or horrific and – and, and it could never be so vile –
Then you will die, and flame consumes you, and you will die stripped of all that you have loved, then you will die and I can’t save you, then you will die, lost among a thousand different worlds –
He saw figures, their edges blurring in mist – they collided with him, his consciousness, and it hurt, it burned, the sense of him that wasn’t truly there, like he was someone else – like he’d been ripped from his own body and put into someone else’s, violently and against all rules that bound the Galaxy for what it was, beyond the command even of the Force, which was illogical, for the Force held everything, everything , and –
And faith saves no one, in the end, faith saves no one, bodies of children scattered across bloody floors, bodies of those that would guard this place, those that would lay their heads down here and give back a bloody debt that was not theirs to pay, never theirs to bear, they die and they die and they die along with their children, all around they die, and there is nothing in your head except this brutal truth, this brutal falsehood: this is what becomes. This is how it ends, and this is the field upon which no grass will grow again. This is your reaping. This is your reward. This is your payback for a crime you never committed.
A veil of red and yellow dropped over him and he felt a little like he was slipping from his own mind, being submerged into images he could not tell apart, into visions between which he couldn’t differentiate at all, into a dark path he’d rather never walk, no, let it come, let them come instead, he did not want it. He did not want this.
What were his regrets?
There is a loneliness that man cannot comprehend, a brutal abyss that drags you back into itself as soon as you step foot toward a lighter path, toward a more joyful future. It paves itself in memories, those that have passed and those that will – it invites a loss of sanity and mind and heart, a slow and deliberate fall unlike the violence that forces down the weak, but, in the end, is there a difference? It’s bound to you, coming for you, and there is nothing you will do – and in the memory, in the abyss, a century is but a moment, and the moment stretches on – so in the end, is there a difference?
The suns are scorching. The heat is a fire upon your skin.
The sunlight stretches into two stars, and yes, you like to say they make the difference. You put the future of the Galaxy in peril for only they can bring continued peace; you put your faith in this future, knowing that the future has never brought you any sort of joy before. You know that all you’ve ever had to look forward to is pain; so why do you continue? Why do you keep on? What do you have to strive for, what do you still have to lose?
Nothing, you say. You say, - I have nothing left to lose but the potential of a brighter continuum. But I have all to gain. And if I am to gain eternity before anything else, then may those behind me only receive kindness in return. May they be braver than me, may they be more clever than me; may their foresight be more accurate and their fateful predictions acted upon. May this tragedy never strike them, may this tragedy die with us; may it die with me, scatter upon the earth and let go and fade into the cosmos when it’s my time to go.
The suns are scorching. The heat is blistering, burning up your lungs.
Do you trust it? Do you trust yourself? Yourself, who has done nothing in his life but fail; yourself, who has no more to lose because everything is already lost. How truthful are you with yourself? With us? With them? How truthful are you with that which you still trust? If you deceive, child of the Force, it will always know. There is no deceiving the one who is all.
The suns are scorching. The heat is unbearable, and you cannot breathe.
“Master!”
A single word cut through the fog, through the impassable mist, and there was a sudden touch in the darkness. There was a baseline and there was ground. But not for long. Not for long, even as something shook, and something drew close, and he couldn’t even see them –
She’s grown so tall, you think to yourself, and you do not reach out and touch her because it is no longer your place. She is looking at you, and she is thinking the same thoughts. She cannot touch you. Perhaps she’d like to, for old times’ sake. For her own heart. For the fact that she’s missed you, and she’s thought you dead for so long. Perhaps you, too, would do the same. For your own heart, for the fact that you’ve missed her, and you are so sorry she had to grow up a war child. And you are so sorry that she is still one; beneath the tall montrals and the muscled body and the lines in her face and the lekku that fall to her wrists, you look at her, and you see her who was once a child and still never got to know what youth felt like.
You look at her, and you see your child. You look at her, and you want to touch her, but you cannot. Because it is no longer your place. And she is looking at you, and she’d perhaps like to touch you, but she cannot. It is no longer her place.
He gasped out something even he wasn’t sure was a word. Something was holding onto his arms. Something was pulling him forward. The mist of the vision was thick, overpowering, but there was – a figure, there, something concrete, something he could’ve perhaps opened his eyes and seen, even, if he had the recollection to remember where his eyes were, that he had them, that there was something else beyond this suffocating darkness.
Something around him, around his throat, and then there was a sense of touch on his head, or so he thought. Whoever it was felt gentle, guarding, keeping him from slipping back under, but visions did not concern themselves with the Force presences of people around it, and the pull plunged Obi-Wan back down, like he was falling into deep waters, like he was sinking down with a heavy body atop him –
“No, Master – hey!” The grip, it was so difficult to keep his consciousness. It was so tempting to let it fade into whatever came next. To give up and go where it was taking him. To give in. “Master Obi-Wan, please, it’s got to end in a bit. It’s got to end, come on, come up, let’s get you up –“
Force, he didn’t think he knew which direction ‘up’ even was.
There was a distinct force pulling up at him, something that felt like he was in another world altogether, or perhaps in two worlds at once – it felt like it was ripping him apart.
“Master,” said the voice, again, from whichever world, whichever place, real, or perhaps only in his head. “Master Obi-Wan.”
It was him. He was there. He could hardly recall where ‘there’ was. But he was certain he was there, with someone, and –
Obi-Wan remembered his name, all of a sudden, and that he was a person, still, and that he was alive. Those were heavy realizations. Those were wonderful, if temporary, truths.
He groaned, dropping his head and knowing that ‘there’, somewhere, he had a body, but no way to return to it when his mind was still leading him away, threatening to plunge him back into those horrible images, those heart-wrenching, nauseating views of what could only be described as a future that had no substance – a soul-sucking void.
Could anyone save him from it, or was it his responsibility to save the world from it?
But the world was never his responsibility, not inherently, anyway – he was refused by it far too many times to count.
The children. The children are the future. Your children are the future, those not by blood but by soul bond – by the Force, given to you in return for a lifetime of hurt. They hurt with you. You will sooner cut your own heart into paper-thin slivers than let them feel what you felt.
Don’t let them feel what you felt. Don’t let them see what you saw. Are you going to stand by them? Or are you going to stand in front, protecting them from it until the last possible moment, never letting them grow into war until you are cut down, and they are forced to?
No. None of it. War and blood and death are theirs by birthright. And by the Force, you’re going to keep them from it for as long as you live, and let love be your greatest weakness, forever known never to be a flaw. I love them, I love the children. I care for all of them like I would care for my own. They are my own. Not by blood, but by soul bond. Blistering, beautiful lights, their little hands held in mine, given to me by the Force – to protect, to protect, to protect, even if I never get to see it.
They grow, and they leave. They grow, and they abandon you. And you watch their backs, and you love them all the same.
Call into the abyss. See if anyone comes to you. You’ve loved so many. Wait and see if anyone responds. Call and wait and see.
“Right here, Master. It’s gonna end soon.”
The voice was too bright, too sharp in the Force, cutting through all the mist. It hacked away at it like a merciless pendulum, cutting deeper and deeper with each swing, with each word. He was trying to reach out, helplessly, and hold onto it like it was a leading light. A helping hand. He just needed to see it, needed to see where they were trying to help him, and grasp the thread tight, and follow it out of the maze and into the light.
“You just hold on in there.” The voice was whispering to him, and for all its kind intentions, it echoed in his head, disorienting him further. And he was trying to hold on, yes – but to what?
“I’m right here, remember, right here with you.”
She was here. She was with him. He could feel her hands, small, and still holding him up.
It tried, in a last, desperate attempt, to draw him back under.
This is how you die, this is how he dies, this is how he dies and this is how she dies, this is how they die, this is how they all die and die and die –
“Ahsoka,” he heard his own voice muttering, and someone was pulling him out of it. Someone’s hands on his forearms, holding him up, holding him there, anchoring him in his own head, a strong and heady and deliberately obtrusive presence. And before he could even see her, really recognize her in his mind and in front of him, he was calling out, he was reaching out in desperation and confusion, “Ahsoka?”
“Still here, Master,” he heard, and he didn’t know exactly whether the voice was coming from his own head or from the blurry figure he could somewhat see, maybe he’d even make out who it was if his eyes weren’t acting up and muddling everything. “Still here with you. It’s bad, but you’ve got to remember to come back to me, alright? We’re almost through, and now all you’ve got to do is come back.” After a moment, a little quieter, as if unsure, there was the voice again, “Take your time and all, but come back. I’m waiting for you, you know. I’m not really sure how to do this, but I hope I’m doing it right.”
And he wanted, somehow, to tell her that this was it, this was it and she’d pulled him right out of it just by – Force, just by talking to him, even though he couldn’t exactly understand. But he knew what he’d seen – and he’d seen horrible things, and Ahsoka – and Ahsoka , tired but persevering, aged experience in determined bright eyes, hands steady on a lightsaber as she evaded foes she’d once loved. And hurt, and so much hurt, so much so that his chest was tight just at the hint of it.
Half-blinded by the fog in his brain still, he raised his hands and took her by the shoulders, and tried his best to look over her. Montrals less than a finger-thick where they ended just above the bend, lekku falling down to her chest at their longest. And her eyes, young and – and frightened, Force, he knew – but young, and without the sense of that lingering pain that so many war-torn veterans harboured. So unlike what he’d seen in the vision – and he could recognize it, now, remembering himself; it had been her, there, strong and steady and sorrowful. Heartbreakingly sorrowful.
Before he even knew what he was doing, he was pulling the sweet child to himself and locking his hands behind her back – she was safe, she was alive, she was unhurt. She muttered something and slung her arms over his shoulders, resting her chin on his head like what he was doing wasn’t strange at all.
You’re alright, Obi-Wan thought, so clearly he might as well have said it out loud. You’re alright, you’re alright, you’re alright.
”Of course I’m alright,” Ahsoka huffed, and perhaps he had said it out loud after all. “I’m just fine, Master. I was just talking to – I was talking to Rex, you know, about what you said? So I’m all fine. Are you okay?”
What had he said? He couldn’t recall it, now, the worlds had blurred together. “I... Is Anakin?”
“Oh, no, you saw Anakin too?” She tightened her grip absentmindedly, sighing. “He’s also just fine, Master. Secret mission, remember? So secret I don’t even know it exists, actually. On paper.”
“Yes,” he muttered, hardly hearing the rest of her words. “Yes. You’re okay?”
A hand in his hair that brushed it back gently, and then she drew back. She looked concerned, nodding quickly. “I’m okay,” she promised. “So’s Anakin, and Rex, and, uh – and Cody, and everyone else. Everything’s alright.”
He blinked, slowly, feeling as the traces of the fog slowly faded. Not completely. But it would do for now. “Okay.”
It was slowly giving way to a terrible headache. He squeezed his eyes shut. Even the dim light in the room felt horribly bright. “Where are we?”
“Um,” and he heard the lekku rustling up her shirt as she turned her head, as if she’d forgotten herself – “Your room. On the Resolute , you know?”
“No,” he muttered, feeling his lips try and twist into a smile. “No, I mean – “
“Oh.” She cleared her throat. “The, uh, the floor. We are on the floor.”
That much seemed right. He could feel the ground underneath him as Ahsoka slowly let him go. “Why are we on the floor, Padawan?”
“Because I didn’t want you to crack your head open on the counter!” Her voice wasn’t any louder than it usually was, but now the volume made Obi-Wan grimace. “...Sorry. I found you there, by the table, and I thought that putting you on the bunk could’ve ended wrong if you – I dunno, thrashed around and fell out, or something, so I just sort of moved you away and put you here.”
“Thank you,” he said, honest, trying to look up at her with squinted eyes. Honestly, the chances of him hurting himself by accident while already under were slim – it was just the very beginning that brought any risk, as his psyche tried to fight against the sudden flooding of images that it couldn’t put a memory to. But the fact that Ahsoka thought of it was comforting. “Thank you, little one, I appreciate it. And I’m sorry for frightening you.”
“I wasn’t frightened,” she argued, rocking back on her heels where she was crouched down and standing up in one quick hop. Ah, little folks. “I was just worried about you. I should get you onto the bunk now, though.”
Obi-Wan was honestly about to object – he could’ve gotten onto the bunk himself just fine, he thought – but the second he even tried to sit up straighter, his head spun, and everything around him blurred for a moment more. This vision must’ve certainly been something.
“Hm,” Ahsoka murmured, leaning down. “No, maybe that’s not such a good idea, if you’re not too cold.”
“I’m alright,” Obi-Wan answered. Or at least that’s what he thought he said.
“Yeah, uh-huh. Where do you keep bacta?”
“I didn’t bring any.” Even without seeing it, he knew he was being glared at, so he just shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “There should be some in the drawer there, standard procedure, but – hey, I don’t think I need any.”
“And I think you did crack your head a little against that counter,” Ahsoka objected, her words followed by the vague sounds of a drawer being pulled open and a little victorious noise when she must’ve found the bacta. “And if not, it’d be good to check. Ooh, there’s bandaging in here!”
He closed his eyes. He didn’t want or need bacta. He just wanted to lie down in complete darkness and be left alone for a couple thousand years. “I’m glad you’re making discoveries, but I don’t really think...”
“Oh, Master, please, there’s quite enough here!” Her voice was closer again, now. “The Senate loves funding bacta refills, you know,” she told him as if she was telling a secret, chuckling to herself as she tore something open. “They don’t really care what it’s being used on, just that we’re apparently making progress.”
“Because injuries and casualties are obviously the objective measurement of how much progress is being made in war,” Obi-Wan murmured, trying not to grit his teeth too hard as Ahsoka tilted his head this way and that, though she was admittedly trying to be very gentle. “Did Anakin tell you that?”
“As a matter of fact, yeah! Not the part about the progress, you know, but about the Senate.” She leaned him back against the bunk again, humming pensively. “No, your head seems fine. That’s a relief.”
“Anakin certainly seems to know a lot about the Senate,” he grumbled as Ahsoka dropped the bag she was holding and bodily hoisted him up a good meter to lower him again onto his bunk – and even though he tried to take most of his weight with his legs, he didn’t exactly succeed, so Ahsoka’s feat was rather impressive.
“I don’t think too hard about it,” she admitted, sighing as she leaned back up. “Get a headache if I do.”
He chuckled, and the bunk dipped a little when she knelt down on it, checking him over – entirely needlessly, in his honest opinion.
“I understand,” he assured, holding her glance for a few moments of mutual exasperation. “I can’t keep track of him these days either.”
“Mhm.” With a little gasp, she grabbed at his hand, raising it up. “Ah! You bruised your arm, Master. Give it here.”
Lightly amused, he would’ve commented on how cheerful she sounded upon finally finding an injury – and an injury he barely felt at that, but he quieted down once she pulled out a roll of bandaging from the bag she’d looked for bacta in. Instead, he just sighed.
“This is excessive.”
“This is so you can hold your saber once we’re back on the field, actually,” she told him, and, in spite of all that, she was very careful in wrapping up his arm. She did it with the speed of someone who’d practiced, too. Which Obi-Wan did not like to think about very much.
“It’s just my forearm,” he told her. “Just a little nick.”
“I’m betting there’s something vital in your forearm, though.”
He bit back a laugh. “There are no vital organs in my forearm.”
“You say that like your wrist isn’t directly attached to it, Master.”
At that, he did laugh, the noise startled out of his throat. At least things weren’t blurring anymore, and the pounding pain in his head had somewhat ceased. He still would’ve liked there being less light, but one couldn’t have everything in life. “That’s not an – Ahsoka, little one, you are going to be the death of me.”
“I am currently being the life of you. I am wrapping your injury.”
Again, it was hardly an injury, but Obi-Wan refrained from saying anything, watching her nimble fingers tie three knots – two of them unnecessary, but, well, it was definitely going to be secure. And once she was done, she raised his hand for him to look at it, and all he could do was hold back the chuckle and compliment her on a job well done.
“Thank you, Ahsoka,” he said again, and this time he could look at her without scrunching up his whole face from the light. “This all would’ve been much more trouble than it was worth without you.”
She smiled a wide and toothy grin, and Obi-Wan really wished she looked this carefree more often – it made her seem her age, less like a young girl thrust into a whirlwind of pointless death and destruction. “I’m happy to help anytime, Master,” she said, and her eyes darted around for a moment as if she wanted to add something else. “Do you want me to – stay with you? A little bit?”
And Obi-Wan really should’ve said no. He really should’ve told her to go back to Rex and leave him be, he’d made her take care of him far more than a Padawan ever should’ve taken care of their Grandmaster, but his head still hurt, and she was a bundle of warmth in the Force, young and bright and hopeful, and some things were worth a little embarrassment over.
“A minute or two, if you’d like,” he conceded, and Ahsoka grinned at him again, lunging over him to settle in the corner of the bunk, over the blanket, kneeing him in the ribs a couple of times before she was comfortable, one lek curling softly over his shoulder.
“Here I am,” she chirped, resting her cheek against the top of his head. Obi-Wan smiled to himself, sensing that this likely wouldn’t last – young Padawans got very bored very quickly, though he appreciated her presence nevertheless.
It eventually turned out that he was right, but only in part – not even fifteen seconds passed before she yawned, and asked him, quietly, “Do you want to hear a totally legal story one of the men told me? I won’t tell you which one, though. I don’t want you to steal him away into the 212 th .”
“I would love to hear an, ah, a totally legal story one of the men told you,” Obi-Wan agreed warmly, wondering what kind of high treason she was about to describe to him.
“Yes! It’s a good one,” she promised him – and so it was.
He nodded along, listening to her recalling something about a loose and hungry rodent and classified documents, chuckling every so often at her dramatic re-enactment, wondering whether she was taking pages from Anakin’s books – his storytelling abilities had always been well-honed and engaging.
It was definitely not Ahsoka’s fault, then, that somewhere along the line drowsiness overtook his senses – his head was hurting less and less with each passing moment, and soon enough all was blurring together again; this time, though, it wasn’t pulling him under into darkness, but rather into a gentler, fuller abyss where he felt nothing – where he thought of nothing.
Perhaps Ahsoka noticed, perhaps she did not, but she was at his side for far longer than the negotiated couple of minutes. She finished her story and told another one, watching his eyes slowly flutter closed, listening to his breathing evening out gradually.
And if she rested her head against his again, yawned and sprawled out a little more comfortably, arranging her legs over his, with great care, willing herself into what was, in her opinion, a very-well deserved nap alongside her Grandmaster – well, nobody was going to look for them just yet.