Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Walking up the stairs of the Jedi Temple, Anakin could feel a divergence in the Force. It made him slow his stride a little, which in turn brought Ahsoka to his dragging pace, a trait most padawans carried: being able to be in tune with their Master. The slower pace was probably better for her, as her recent injury in Felucia caused her leg to be wrapped in a cast and one of the 501st to steady her up the steps. 

This feeling made him nervous. 

Whatever the Force was trying to warn him of didn’t feel malicious in its intent, but more of the Force wanting him to be taught a lesson, and he was in no mood for learning. With his mech-hand in need of repair and the Togruta out of commission, unable to be at his side, he would be at a disadvantage for whatever it was that came his way. 

But, he figured, an attack from within the Jedi Temple would be met with the might of the galaxy’s finest warriors, none finer than him of course. He puffed out his chest in arrogance, one of Ashoka’s leks grazing his arm in his movement. He brushed the fleshy appendage off of him with slight nausea. 

She doesn’t notice, too busy focused on keeping her footsteps aligned with Kix’s up the stairs. 

Upon reaching the top, he paused, and glanced around the near quiet Temple, emptier than he had ever been used to. A few Jedi walked past him, solo or in pairs, but none that posed a threat to the Hero With No Fear. 

“Master?” Ahsoka’s voice sounded tired, and he knew without any doubt that he’d find the same exhaustion in his own. 

“I’m sorry, Ahsoka. I thought I sensed something.” The warning still didn’t feel evil—and he knew evil. Fighting Sith Lords, and Sith acolytes, and Pirates, and Bounty Hunters, and Murderous Cyborgs will teach you one way or the other—but rather like disappointment. Like when Obi-Wan tried to teach him a lesson he couldn’t be bothered to grasp.

He tried to be patient and understanding with his old Master, but his lessons felt like they dragged on forever and were as useful as his Arithmetic classes in the Temple when he was younger. He never saw the need to actually learn it, Watto having taught him everything he needed to know about transactions anyways. 

With a shake of his head, he resumed their pace, the giant Grand Entrance making the back of his skin crawl as the walls seemed like they were closing in on him. His eyes darted from hallway to hallway until he finally saw it. 

A shadow that seemed out of place. 

Did it just move?!

What was that? Anakin wondered as he once again stopped walking. This time Ahsoka not so lucky in noticing his delay, bumping right into him and jostling her leg at the impact. 

It was her hiss of pain and Kix’s soft curse of apology that made him lose his focus on the shadow. 

That was his first mistake. 

The shadow, which of course, wasn’t really a shadow, but a figure in what could have been tight-skinned black outfit or the figure’s actual skin, raced towards Anakin on all fours at an alarming speed that he only had the time to push Ahsoka and Kix away and shield his body from the brunt of the figure’s impact, a roundhouse kick. 

He skidded closer to the entrance, giving him his moment to unattach his lightsaber from his belt and dash forwards. His first move against his opponent felt unreal as the lightsaber didn’t appear to make any sort of contact, almost gliding through the shade as if it wasn’t there. 

The shock of his lightsaber going through nothing paired with the shifted weight distribution, caused Anakin to stumble forwards as he tried to realign his body to his next stance, questioning the tangibility of his attacker. 

His second mistake. 

It was his attacker’s perfectly tangible uppercut that knocked a few screws loose in him, figurative and literal. He glanced down at his arm, the panel missing one or two of the bolts needed to hold everything together. But he had to pack that away for now. 

He glared in frustration at his not so great standing in the fight at the moment, but didn’t let that deter him from winning. Anakin ran through the slashes on Djem So with half of his normal energy and the trials from the latest campaign, he couldn’t even tell what species this thing was from. Said shade was dodging every stroke with ease, flipping and turning its body backwards while Anakin charged it, which only fueled to make the hot-headed Knight angrier. At one point, it stood perched on the ground, snarling and posturing. 

It could have been a trick of the light or Anakin’s tired state, but the creature’s form in front of him never stayed consistent. At what first looked like a tall person wearing black clothes, almost similar to Anakin’s preferred color of Jedi robes, now looked like a towering soul of agony, complete with the shifting images of curling antlers at the top. 

A giggle erupted from it after a while, as it went back to its somewhat usual appearance, and Anakin knew with severe irritability, that this thing was just toying with him. That it was just a game for it. The hidden power in its body showed the Jedi that if Anakin truly had his regular strength back, this thing would still prove to be a worthy challenge. 

Why does it move like a Jedi? He frustratedly darted forward in a Makashi-like move that would make Dooku proud, in an attempt to catch his opponent off-guard, but his breath and his weapon were caught.  

By twin blue lightsabers. 

Glancing quickly at Ahsoka, he knew he saw the same level of apprehension that he felt in his very bones. While Ashoka might have been learning the basics of Jar'Kai these past few months, there was a reason Obi-Wan was the one to teach her and not him. Not only was Obi-Wan more experienced with dealing with two weapons, Anakin had never seen the appeal other than the childish admiration of adding more lightsabers than was needed. And now his inexperience had caught up with him. 

His third mistake. 

In addition to fighting sleep, he was also trying desperately to fight masterly wielded blades that came close to cutting his head off. 

What would Obi-Wan do? What would Obi-Wan do? This mantra ran through the Knight’s head as he knew he could very well be impaled on a lightsaber in the next second. 

He would find a weakness to his adversary! But it was so hard to tell with no discriminating characteristics. 

At first, Anakin would have guessed Human, but the figure in its natural state, stood more like a loth-cat than any Human or Near-human Anakin spent time with. It was clearly sentient, so that ruled out many species like Wookiees, Trandoshans, Hutts, and Geonosians. There were no disturbing Montrals or Lekkus protruding out the top. It could be a Chiss he thinks, but truth be told, he didn’t pay much attention to their species during class time. Mirialan was a strong guess, as was Zabrak. 

He tried and tried to remember any defining traits as his arm got weaker and weaker, but he couldn’t even tell you the difference between a Rodian and a Neimodian. 

His thinking process was unexpectedly thrown off as the figure in front of him, tossed out an arm and threw Ahsoka and Kix backwards from where they were watching the fight with worry, the teenage landing gentler than he expected on the Clone Medic, who caught and cradled her before they hit the ground. 

It didn’t matter that the two weren’t hurt, it was the intention that made Anakin see red. He didn’t know the exact race of the savage in front of him, but he knew it was no Human. No human would ever be so hateful, so beastly in their actions, that they would harm what was his . 

“You despicable cur! I’ll cut you down like the primitive you are.” He screamed, moves getting sloppier as the animal he fought bounced in what appeared to be glee, happy at the reaction it caused. 

Anakin noticed many Jedi watching the proceedings, trusting his skill but still keeping a wary distance if ever he should fall and the brute still stands. 

It was a common action performed by Jedi throughout a padawan’s life, making sure the padawan was safe and wasn’t going to get seriously injured while dueling…

with….

their…. 

….Master. 

Oh Force, no. 

With the final realization in place, Anakin didn’t move out of the way for Obi-Wan’s final moves that swept his legs from under him, deactivated his lightsaber, catching it in midair, and punching him once again for good measure. 

With the spiteful Knight down, Obi-Wan straightened his posture for the first time in the fight and stored all three sabers back from the ether where he got them. 

Anakin’s dizzy head waited for Obi-Wan to rip the black mask he was surely wearing off his face, exposing the familiar beard and red hair he was used to. But, he must have blinked, as his Master’s face was suddenly in front of him, the usual features in place, no mask in sight. 

Anakin expected an exhausted smile from their surprise practice, with the routine shared barbs they would throw at each other. 

His final mistake. 

He was unprepared for the downright pissed off and vindicated look on the Stewjon’s face. 

Chapter Text

Quinlan stood still by the doorway of the shared Kenobi and Skywalker suite, while Obi-Wan remained seated on Qui-Gon’s old couch he was gifted from Dex. The old couch used to be crowded with Qui-Gon’s Knight and Master friends for a late-night hubcap, a popular study spot during Obi-Wan’s padawan days, and on one memorable occasion: the birthplace of a litter of loth-cats, a pathetic lifeform Obi-Wan couldn’t put all the blame on Qui-Gon that time, both enamored with the expecting cutie pie. 

Obi-Wan's soul ached remembering having an empathetic heart-to-heart with Master Tahl there when they were both rightfully home from the trials of Melida/Daan, both hurt in their own way and could only find comfort in each other. Qui-Gon had wisely left them to their own, deciding to find his own solace in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, or one of the many Jedi Mind Healers. It felt too personal to be in the room where clear, unseeing eyes were unable to notice just how much they now matched the anguished blank slits of the spectre across from her. 

It was tragic for Obi-Wan to see such an keepsake bursting with memories and love, now holding the datapads and multiple detailed reports of his former padawans' transgressions against innocents and hate for those that have wronged him. 

The Stewjon native continued to sit in the silence, sometimes clenching his fists until the force of his nails left impressions on his battle-worn and scarred hands, occasionally blinking short words in morse code; a trait he’s had since his teen years, when he and his friends had learned it for fun. It helped calm him, as at least a little focus was required. It seemed Quinlan kept up with the little quirk as well, foot tapping in a recognizable tune of the Mon Cala alphabet. 

Speaking of Quinlan, the Kiffar, who usually was the model of calmness and a cool demeanor, was twitching periodically, and when Obi-Wan moved suddenly to scratch at his beard in contemplation, the other Jedi’s hand flew towards his lightsaber, and Obi-Wan flinched with understanding and regret. 

“How did you find out?”

“Would you believe it was an accident?” Quinlan choked out a dry laugh. “A fucking accident.” 

“About a week ago, on Tatooine, I had finally finished my report on Jabba and his entire Hutt slave trading.” 

The report was true of course. It had taken Quinlan Vos nearly nine months to infiltrate Jabba’s gang, forcing himself to sell himself in different ways just to gain the trust easily given to non-Kiffars. The actions he had done had put both his life and the faith the more orthodox members of the Order had in him into jeopardy. If any other Jedi had the experience, and power that Quinlan had, the Council would have sent them, but wishing on miracles is for the Crèche. But what’s done is done and what was in his report was crucial, but for the moment, it was buried under the mounting evidence of Anakin’s betrayal. 

“I should have gotten on the closest shuttle to Mos Eisley, but would you believe it, I got on the wrong one. You’d think after all that time spent on that blasted planet, I’d learn how to read a goddamn shuttle map.” Quinlan gave a bitter smile to Obi-Wan who refused to give a pity one back. 

“We ended up further and further into the sand, past the town, past a quaint moisture farm run by a young couple, until I remained the last passenger. I should have gotten off as soon as I realized my mistake, who wouldn’t? But that day, I figured, why not? I go as the Force commands. I continued to the end of the line. When I got off, I realized why the driver gave me a cursory glance. You might not have heard about it, as intra-planet news, especially from an Outer Rim planet, doesn’t usually become headlines in the Core Worlds, but there was a problem.”

Quinlan’s voice started lowering, and the room’s atmosphere chilled the other Jedi, who unconsciously wrapped himself deeper in his robes, the eyes by the door still not leaving his form. 

“What once was a thriving Tusken community, now lays disturbingly silent. The pyres that once held bonfires of gatherings of a people, now lay broken and covered by dust, stomped into the ground by a failed attempt of escape. The shelters they called home, slashed methodically in half, intent clear in the destruction. And the bodies….” He breathed in to center himself, fingers now taking over tapping the Code of the Jedi Order. 

“Tusken bodies don’t decay as yours or mine would. It would take twenty five years for them, what ours would do in a year. And the beliefs of Tatooine forbid the removal of dead bodies, only on one account: Massacre. The bodies that laid there might as well have been murdered two hours ago. Heads separated from bodies, maggots swimming in the open gashes of the stomach, and babies slaughtered still in their cribs, mouths still open screaming for their parents.”

Obi-Wan wiped his face with both his hands, feeling as old as he ever did whenever something pertaining to his Anakin came up. He’s done this on several other occasions, including; the night after Qui-Gon’s funeral and Anakin wouldn’t stop bothering the new Knight who had taken to locking himself in his room to silently scream, to Anakin’s childhood rivalry with Ferus Olin, to the First Battle of Geonosis, where Artoo had guiltily, as much as an astromech could project guilt, rolled into Obi-Wan’s room to show him the footage of Anakin’s secret wedding. 

But this time, there was no lecture, discussion, or talk he could have that would fix this. 

“Did you look ?” Obi-Wan asked.

Quinlan pulled off one of his gloves in response, the bare hand waving around frantically.

“HOW COULD I NOT?!” His volume increased. “I don’t know if it was stupidity or curiosity that made me see , but that’s what led me there in the first place, so who am I to argue with the Force?”

“I saw hate , Obi-Wan, true hate. Nothing compared to you after Naboo, or you after Rattatak, or even you after Zigoola. It blinded me at first, the rage and loathing broke through my shields, crippling me temporarily, and I almost passed out.” While he spoke, Quinlan paced, absentmindedly rubbing his side, as if feeling the phantom ache. 

“Until, through the fury, I could only see two things. Skywalker and yellow eyes.”

Quinlan stopped moving and stopped talking abruptly as Obi-Wan stood from where he was and took a step towards him.

Although he knew the reasoning behind it, it didn’t hurt any less when Quinlan glared at his movements and unhooked his lightsaber from his belt.

“You may be my bond mate, Obi-Wan Kenobi, but you know as well as I, that my duty is to the Jedi first. If I must ignite this weapon to see that the Tuskens get their justice and Skywalker serves his penance, know that I will do so without any hesitation, and will not go easy on you should you attempt to stop me. Should any harm come to me or prevent me from leaving this room, trusted allies will deliver the full itemized reports to every data-pad of the Council and the Senate Rotunda before you reach the Temple Stairs.”

Aayla or Siri then, most likely Aayla, Obi-Wan thought, as Quinlan refused to give up his stance, expression cold, except for one tear he didn’t think he noticed escaped. If there was a way for Obi-Wan to fall more in love with this man, it’d be impossible. Either way, he held his hands up in peace, smart enough to know not to make another step. 

“Quinlan, I say this with full sincerity and honesty, I had no idea.” The Force rang with the confirmation the Kiffar needed, who relaxed slightly, still not inching away from the door. 

“If this happened when you say happened, then the only witness around would have to be….Force no.” Quinlan hummed a questioning sound.

“Padmé Amidala.” 

Quinlan’s eyes widened and for the first time since he barged into the quarters and force floated the evidence to the couch, moved towards Obi-Wan. 

“You’re telling me that a very public and openly-philanthropist of the Republic, knew about the massacre of a recognized tribe of Tatooine, by a General of the Grand Army of the Republic, said General that she is secretly married to ?” Both knew their horrified expression was matched on the other’s face. 

“He wasn’t a General at the time.” Obi-Wan weakly mumbled, still trying to process the media shitstorm that would no doubt incur. 

“Ben, that DOESN’T MATTER! Everything she does, everything we do, will now be watched and scrutinized. Every relief mission we run to Naboo will now be judged by the entire Senate floor, as they will think that Jedi have a preference for them. Planets will start rioting for special treatment, treatment that we can’t provide. And when leaders and politicians don’t receive it from the Jedi, you know who they’ll run to for it.”

Dooku. 

“Amidala is too well-versed in the insider trading of politics to hint at what she’s hiding. To go after her, we’ll need to be clever.” Obi-Wan said, picking at one of the other proofs of Anakin’s clear signs of biases towards non-human sentiments. Where did I fail him, he wondered. “Anakin though…Anakin’s volatile, hostile, too angry at the galaxy to monitor his thoughts right. All you would need to do is stroke the fire within him. He is the easier target.”

His eyes darted up at Quinlan. 

“That is, if you’re planning to expose him.”

“You would condemn him to his crimes? His former master?”

Staring back down at the log marked from merely three weeks ago, where Anakin got into a brawl with a Twi’lek man for the young Knight calling her kind a “glorified slut only fit for the back alley of Mos Espa”, his inebriated state revealing the not so hidden views of his childhood on his home planet. Obi-Wan knew Anakin, knew the child he raised from the age of nine, and although it would hurt to see it, knew Anakin’s time as a Jedi was over. 

“What’s the plan?” 

And through the night, they sat pressed together, legs intertwined as Stewjoni and Kiffar designed for the reveal and prosecution of the Chosen One. 

Chapter Text

Let it be known that Luminara wanted to move.

Let it be known that she simply wanted to visit the Archives.

It was not of her own will that she stood there spectating the fight. And from the look of some of her fellow Jedi, they felt the same tugging sensation on their robes as for once in their life, the Force resisted their choice. 

Some were held down worse than she, their bodies dragged to kneeling positions, while she was allowed the use of her hands. 

Master Drallig, next to her, wondered aloud, as he often did.

“What kind of…” A sentiment no doubt the rest contemplated, but had no answer.

But she did. 

She knew the insistent, albeit gentle psychic chains twisting around the green of her legs as the figure beat unyieldingly onto Knight Skywalker, forcing him further and further into the Temple. Past pillars and past unwilling spectators, and suddenly…

She was 12 again.

It was a few days before her 13th, and already a Padawan. 

Which couldn’t be said the same for her clanmate, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Obi-Wan, a year younger, but already written off as a failure by Master after Master. The so-called angry boy with a multitude of remarks, a history of bullying, and a temper that could bring down the Temple was not what any Jedi was looking to be saddled with for 10+ years, and they made that explicitly clear.

So this angry boy could only grow angrier and angrier each day until he finally snapped.

It was well known among the clan that Obi-Wan was not a human. Their childlike minds could not particularly differentiate what he was exactly, but what they could tell was that he was as close to a human as Quinlan was–no doubt the reason for their closeness. 

Luminra Unduli, a fresh padawan, felt sick as she realized just how wrong they’ve been. 

Aalto was still on the ground from where he had been slammed into the wall. The reinforced steel wall had not yielded to the impact of a rather small human child, no matter the Force sensitivity. The only way to tell an impact was even made resides in the smallest crack from what would have been Aalto’s head slamming against it, and the resulting stream of blood on the Jedi's head that flowed continuously. 

The bruise from where Aalto had hit her not two minutes ago no longer seemed so important as she watched him struggle to even stand, constantly slipping on his blood in his endeavor. 

She kept her eyes fixated on his losing battle; however, as it was preferable to turning her head four feet to the right and seeing the monster that overtook her best friend drooling with hate. 

The glance she had gotten at first was all she wanted to see for the rest of her life.

Pitch black horns protruded painfully out of the initiate’s forehead, reminding her nauseatingly of the nature documentaries of Kybuck she and Siri would watch. Obi-Wan’s seemed to be a twisted version of the beasts’ distinctive feature. 

Inky, black skin made it very easy to see the jut of each rib, not dissimilar to the malnourished form of his regular state. 

The elongated bony fingers were probably what horrified her the most, as they were what had grabbed, yes, grabbed Aalto, and thrown him against the wall. 

“Obi-Wan…” She whispered. “What did you do?” Finally braving up to look up at him, as he now probably stood taller than Master Plo. Aalto, in the background, at last gave up, or rather lost his remaining strength. 

The fight that started this was not a furious one, or even a serious one.  Quite frankly, one of their tamest.

On the way to the Archives to once again research Masters for Obi-Wan to beg to take him on, Aalto had emerged from a hallway to relentlessly tease the younger one of his fruitless search. As the older one, Luminara had stepped forward in Obi-Wan’s defense. 

She was rewarded for her bravery with a Force push that backed her up only a couple feet away. That would’ve done nothing, but his intangible hands on her, troubled a wound from a… let’s call it “aggressive negotiations” mission with her Master, caused her to cry out in shocked pain. 

Obi-Wan had not liked that.  

Whatever Anakin had done must have pushed him over the edge. 

Auburn locks framed the disgusted face of the elder Jedi Master turned General. 

“Say it again.” 

Unused to his Master’s fury in front of so big an audience, the young Knight failed to answer on time. 

“SAY IT AGAIN!” Obi-Wan commanded, uncaring of Anakin’s flinch at the volume. “Despicable cur, is that what you said? That you’ll cut me down like the primitive I am?” 

Not one to back down, Anakin jumped up to his defense, swaying on unsteady feet. 

“How about you tell me what the fuck that was first, Master!? I thought you were an intruder! I’ve said worse to enemies on the battlefield. Not only do you completely blindside me for no reason at all, but you had to get Ahsoka and Fives dragged into it as well?”

Obi-Wan gritted his teeth, and Luminara shuddered, Oh Force…

“Ahsoka and Kix are fine, Knight Skywalk–”

“ Knight Skywalker ? If you have a problem with me, Obi-Wan, just fucking say it. I’m a grown man. I can take hard news.”

“Like you took the news of your Mother’s death well?”

Anakin froze.

Everyone in the Temple has heard of Anakin Skywalker’s unconventional introduction into the Jedi Order due to the influence of Qui-Gon Jinn. May the Force wish him well. The untold story of a nine-year-old slave boy taken to a new world, away from his family, or more specifically, his mother. 

It wasn’t that Jedi were forbidden from having families or having connections to their families. Still, there was a certain aspect of influence the Jedi were worried about, especially after Xanatos. And for Anakin to leave at such a crucial age, with his mother still in captivity, could only lead to future damage. 

And here it was.

Out of the corner of her eye, the recognizable form of Quinlan half materialized out of the shadows, waiting, doing nothing to calm her nerves.

Anakin tried backing away from the knowing look in his former Master’s eyes, but the same force that held the others grabbed him, too. 

“Did you, or did you not, take the news of your Mother’s death well, Anakin?” 

Anakin mumbled incoherently with wide eyes. 

“Who killed her, Anakin?”

At this, Skywalker’s eyes narrowed and his brows drew closer.

“If you’re asking, Master, you already know I did what I had to.” He growled out.

“I’m sure Master Drallig doesn’t know, Anakin.” The mentioned BattleMaster perked a little at the sound of his name. “Or perhaps for the Sentinel guards, a couple of ways down there.”

“You know those repulsive freaks deserved it.” He hissed at a lower volume this time, the incorporeal bonds tightening with each word, sickened by his lies and distortions.

“I’m still not hearing a name, General.” 

“THOSE TUSKENS DESERVED EVERY BIT OF WHAT THEY GOT!” He screamed himself hoarse. “YOU DIDN’T SEE WHAT THEY DID TO HER. NONE OF THEM DESERVE TO LIVE AFTER WHAT THEY DID.”

Obi-Wan didn’t look so much resigned as he did disheartened, angling his head around the Knight.

“Did you hear that, Master A’Sharad Hett? Anakin here doesn’t believe you should be roaming these Halls right now.”

It was normally hard to read the elusive Jedi, but his Force presence glowed with well-known Tattooine turbulence. 

Anakin peeked behind his back and turned back to Obi-Wan.

“Are you kidding me, Obi-Wan? Just look at him! You think the likes of him should be living amongst us?” He muffled a snort, chest heaving from partial loss of air. “Those bandages are filthy, and he’s weak. Why should he be a Master and not me? Humans like us rule over rogues like him.”

Luminara and pretty much everyone else in the hallway's jaws dropped. 

Human-only based ideologies were, unfortunately, not unheard of in the galaxy. Humans make up at least 50% of the galactical population, the number of humain-oids raising that number to an even 78%.

But not here. 

The Jedi Temple is known to house some of the most diverse species in the galaxy. From the Creche, they live and cohabit a shared lifestyle, celebrating multiple cultures, holidays, and aspects of life. 

It was the one place in the entire galaxy you could be certain wouldn’t discriminate against you based on language, race, or color. 

Luminara knew since childhood that Mirilians were not allowed on a couple of worlds out in Deep Space, was the Jedi Temple was an open-door haven for those like her.

A fact Obi-Wan knew quite as well.

Any sort of joking or trace of humour left his stature as he slowly stepped foot after foot closer to the struggling Skywalker. 

“Yes, us humans…” He tapered off.

Step . 

The once orange tresses darkened as they thickened into jagged spirals.

Step . 

Familiar tunics and tabards melting into the Jedi’s stomach, caving in while bloating his chest to further accentuate their difference. His wrath was bleeding the color out of the fairly bright Jedi garb to match the dark tones of his antlers. 

Step.

Out of the area underneath his armpits, two more arm-like appendages burst through the inky ether on each side with a burst of blood that evaporated upon contact with the polished floors. This was new to Luminara, who had the pleasure of seeing Obi-Wan’s bearing form over Aalto.

Step.

Grey eyes faded painfully into white, scrubbing all of what recognized Obi-Wan in so many lives.

Step.

What had been an almost six-foot man quickly rose to eight, ten, twelve in the blink of an eye, standing firm in front of the now shorter General.

“Yes, we humans rule over those pesky rogues, don’t we, Anakin?”

Luminara closed her eyes.

All she wanted was to go to the Archives.