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Something was deeply, worryingly wrong with Obi-Wan Kenobi’s newest Padawan.
He’s known this practically since he first met the boy.
The boy who was jumpy (if not outright terrified) around the clones for weeks at the beginning, who had foresight and visions in the Force for their enemy’s battle tactics, of all things. The psychometric youngling who willingly stepped onto the frontlines, into a war full of Force echoes of death so deeply embedded in every object that even Obi-Wan could sense the presence of them.
Yes, he knew very early on that his newest Padawan was… different. Harrowed.
Cal held himself as if he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Obi-Wan had initially thought it to be the burden of being a commander in a war at his tender age, but, no. There was, impossibly, horribly, something more behind it. Something heavier. Call it one of Obi-Wan’s bad feelings. He knew it to be true, though.
Cal’s unease worsened with each battle they faced, like he was waiting for something to go horribly wrong each time, a ticking time bomb that only the child’s eyes could see. He was a clever thing with a wit to match his own, and a sense of humor that Obi-Wan treasured. Yet, battle after battle after battle, it seemed the young one’s bright light diminished.
Cal certainly acted like he trusted Obi-Wan, verbally and physically. When measuring by the Force, however…
Well. Obi-Wan could hardly ever feel anything through their Padawan-Master bond, for one. Cal kept his side tightly sealed, and had since day one. What did a boy his age have to hide that required such fortified walls?
They had never connected during meditation, either. Not as Obi-Wan had with Qui-Gon during his own time as a Padawan, nor as he had with Anakin during his apprenticeship. It was a way of deepening one’s bond with their Padawan, sharing their feelings and emotions and memories before releasing those feelings into the Force.
And Obi-Wan knew it wasn’t an issue of skill, not when Cal had shields that surpassed even some Masters’ in terms of their rigid, impenetrable defenses. In fact, they had come close to it, once, during their first time meditating together. Obi-Wan had seen glimpses of echoes of memories— junkyards of half-assembled ships, red hair flying in the corners of his eyes during a daring jump, the high-pitched trills and beeps of a droid standing right behind him, just out of sight.
Cal had all but slammed the metaphysical door shut as soon as he detected the tendrils of Obi-Wan’s force-presence.
Obi-Wan did not pry. Cal was not obligated to share his feelings with him, after all. He was deserving of his privacy. Thus, from then on, their shared meditation sessions were silent and detached from one another in the Force.
Yet, Obi-Wan fretted.
Was it Obi-Wan’s own fault? Was he failing his student, failing this child, as his Master? If the boy did not trust him enough to open up, was he not suited to teach Cal after all?
—
In the privacy of his quarters, he shared all of this and more to Cody, his confidant in all of his Padawan-related woes. He was both a good outside perspective, as a non-Jedi, and one with good experience to relate, as a brother of many siblings. More than that, though, he was Cody.
His dear Commander had looked at him with warm eyes and sincerity. “I think you’re exactly what the kid needs, sir,” Cody said, assurance in his voice.
Obi-Wan’s immense doubt must have shown on his face, as Cody then continued. “He was scared karkless of me and my brothers at the start. That is, until you had the idea to invite him to sabaac night in the barracks, so that he could see the men beneath the helmets. He hadn’t been able to sleep a lick ‘til you figured out that he actually liked the noise of the engine running, and moved his room closer to it,” Cody said. “The Commander’s not one to talk about his burdens. None of us are, but especially not the kid.”
“I can’t fix a problem if I don’t know what it is, and he won’t simply tell me. Just as he didn’t tell me directly of the other issues he’s had.” Because he doesn’t trust me, Obi-Wan thought but did not say. “I cannot read his mind, much as I wish I could.”
“Can’t you?” Cody asked. “With the Force? You can get a read on General Skywalker fairly well.”
Obi-Wan huffed. Well, he wasn’t wrong. In theory. “Not when Cal’s closed himself off from me so completely in the Force. If Anakin’s presence is an uncontrolled river, Cal is a reservoir. Dammed off and unflowing.”
Cody gave him a sympathetic look, and scooted closer so their shoulders touched. His warmth was a balm to Obi-Wan’s harried state. “One thing that got my brothers to spill what was bothering them was to shove them into a training sim session,” Cody said. “Nothing like a hard fight to make you realize you need to face whatever problem you’re avoiding.”
Ah. Obi-Wan’s eyes lit up. Similar tactics had worked on Anakin, once upon a time, whenever something was troubling the boy. Anakin would become sloppy and aggressive after too many rounds of sparring, then accuse Obi-Wan of “cheating” by using the defensive form Soresu against Anakin’s outright assaults, and he would pout for an hour or two. He would then come to Obi-Wan’s open bedroom doorway with his tail between his legs, never outright apologizing, but explaining to his Master that he had actually been mad about this-or-that-or-the-other-thing. Not at Obi-Wan, usually, not really.
That… could work. Though, goodness knows Cal was infinitely more level-headed than Anakin had been. It may not end exactly the same way, but it was worth a shot.
“Thank you, my dear Commander,” Obi-Wan said with renewed vigor, as he stood from his seat. Cody’s lips twitched as if he itched to smile at the endearment, just like they did every time. “Now, please do excuse me. I have a Padawan to go bond with.”
—
When he had first come under Obi-Wan’s tutelage, Cal’s lightsaber forms had been appallingly sloppy (and that descriptor was him being generous) for a boy fresh out of the Temple. Cal simply couldn’t have had the time nor opportunity to learn such bad habits while being a mere Jedi initiate, yet there he stood. His fighting style was an unhinged mix of forms in such a peculiar way that it was barely, barely comparable to the generalized form Niman. It was like he had skimmed the top off of every lightsaber form and cobbled together the dregs, building his own system from a half-forgotten memory.
Yet, Cal more than made up for his lack of propriety with his instincts, ones that had saved both his Padawan’s life and Obi-Wan’s own more than once. And just where had this boy learned such battle-honed intuition? He’d wondered more than once if muscle memory was something one could learn through psychometric Force echoes, though he hadn’t had the chance to ask Cal nor Quinlan. That was the only feasible explanation Obi-Wan could come up with for why a freshly braided Padawan (who had never once fought in a battle before then, much less a war) brought droids down with his saber like it was as easy as blinking as soon as he was brought to the frontlines.
It was difficult unlearning such ingrained habits, but in the past few months of being under Obi-Wan’s wing, Cal had come very far. His good instincts meshed easily with his rebuilt foundations of proper lightsaber forms.
He clearly had not come far enough, though, as Cal went to block a hit with the back of his lightsaber. It was a glaring, inexplicable weakness that he couldn’t seem to shake off no matter how hard or how often Obi-Wan trained with him.
Cal fell backwards from the unparried hit, landing on his back and skidding onto the training mat. His Padawan’s own blade slipped from his hands and deactivated, rolling a few feet away.
Hm. Perhaps he ought to look into getting the boy a double-bladed saber. Lean into the habit, rather than force him out of it. It would be… unconventional, to say the least, for a Padawan Cal’s age, but it might be just what he needed.
That was a thought for another time. Right now, though…
“Are you quite alright, Cal?” Obi-Wan asked, his hand outstretched to help his Padawan back up.
Cal blinked at the hand in front of him, like he was surprised to see it there, before taking it and hauling himself to his feet.
“I was… ah, running on autopilot a bit there. I wasn’t thinking enough about my next move. Sorry, Master,” Cal said, shaking his head as if to clear it of any distracting thoughts.
“And what exactly were you thinking about instead, my dear Padawan?”
“I… the war. Our troopers. Our next battle. If we’ll make it out alive.” His answer rang with truth in the Force, but it wasn’t the whole truth. Hardly any of the truth, in fact, a shallow answer hiding something in its depths.
“You know I am far from a fool, Cal,” Obi-Wan said, not unkindly. “I know you have been hiding things from me.” He shoved aside his own insecurities, for the sake of his Padawan. “I have been waiting to earn your trust enough that you will tell me the truth… but, if not me, then someone. Ahsoka. Anakin. Anyone.”
“I… I do trust you, Master. I trust you more than anyone else.” Cal said it in such a tone, slowly and achingly sincere, that it seemed as if he himself had come to that realization in real time as he spoke the words aloud.
“Then why not allow me to support you with whatever it is that troubles you?” Obi-Wan asked, keeping his voice soft and unobtrusive.
Cal stayed silent, briefly scrunching up his nose in displeasure before schooling his expression.
Obi-Wan let out a quiet sigh. “Cal, you are wise beyond your years, so it is easy for both of us to forget. But, you are a child. It’s—“
“I’m not a child!” Cal yelled suddenly, his voice cracking in the middle of it. His cheeks flushed pink, likely in embarrassment, but he didn’t break eye contact. “I’m not a child,” he repeated, more quietly and confidently.
Something deep in Obi-Wan’s chest ached at Cal’s words.
He was just as complicit as the Council that had assigned Cal to him, for allowing him to fight in this Force-forsaken war. He himself knew how it felt to be a child soldier, his time on Melida/Daan irreparably etched into him and making him the High General he acted as today. How could he let such a bright soul suffer in the same way he had? How could he so blindly allow his Padawan to lose out on his childhood so severely, such that Cal thought himself to be as mature, as adult as any of the other lab-grown soldiers on the field?
“Cal, I—“
Cal must have seen Obi-Wan’s line of thinking in his expression just then, because he quickly cut his Master off.
“Don’t. Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” Cal trailed off, his face becoming redder as he looked down and fidgeted with his gloves.
Obi-Wan took a steadying breath, to seem calmer than he felt. “What I was thinking,” he started, “was that this conversation may be best done somewhere more comfortable than the training room. Let’s head to my quarters and speak over tea, hm?”
And Obi-Wan smiled softly at his Padawan, trying to send a wave of calm-concern-care in the Force and hoping it made it past Cal’s shields.
Cal just nodded, following Obi-Wan silently. He held himself tensely and anxiously the whole way, like he was a man being lead to his execution rather than just a boy speaking to his mentor.
Hm. That wouldn’t do, not at all.
He ushered Cal to the small couch he was afforded in his living space on the Negotiator— being a General did have perks, though they were few— and grabbed the spare blanket from the foot of his bed. He walked back over and, ever so gently, draped the blanket over Cal’s small shoulders.
Cal, who had evidently been lost in thought, tensed at the sudden weight, before settling again. He looked down at the blanket with awe and maybe something like nostalgia, if Obi-Wan was reading his expressions correctly. (Goodness, what he wouldn’t give to feel his Padawan’s emotions through the Force. Otherwise, he would soon become a veritable expert in Cal’s microexpressions, if things continued as they were. A useful skill to have, to be sure, but it had not been an easy one to achieve.)
Obi-Wan ran through the motions of making them tea, his muscle memory taking over in a way that was almost meditative. He and Cal had yet to find Cal’s favorite flavor, but his Padawan had been a good sport about trying each one in Obi-Wan’s collection, unlike a certain former student of his. Today, he settled on a blend already familiar to both himself and Cal, one that the Jedi served to younglings in the temple to promote calm minds for meditation. Perhaps the comfort of something like home would do Cal well, in the same way Obi-Wan would attempt to make sarlacc soup for Anakin when he was young and homesick.
As he did every time they partook in this little ritual, Cal slipped off his gloves before accepting the mug of tea, a plain handleless thing with a small chip on one side. He breathed in the scent of the tea leaves, and went eerily still for just a moment, in a way that Obi-Wan now recognized as him experiencing a Force echo.
Obi-Wan wondered what memories he saw in it. Memories of Qui-Gon, perhaps, or maybe the ceramicist who created the mug to begin with. His curiosity must have shown on his face, because Cal piped up to answer.
“This mug’s my favorite. Yours too, I think,” Cal said. “I saw Qui-Gon hand it to you, time and time again, and later, you handed it to Anakin. He hated your tea.” His lips twitched into a frown, and his fingers brushed over the rim of the cup, over the broken part. “The chip’s from when Anakin threw it against the wall with the Force when he was younger, while you were arguing. You looked at him and said, ‘That teacup was Master Jinn’s,’ then you just… walked away.
“He felt so bad. Realized whatever he was upset about didn’t matter, and that you were just a person who was hurting, the same as him. He stayed up almost all night, searching for the piece that chipped off so that he could fix it for you.” Cal now held a soft smile on his face. “He couldn’t find it, in the end. But he got up early and made your tea for you the next morning, as an apology, in this same mug.”
Obi-Wan’s chest and throat tightened at Cal’s retelling, for several reasons. One being the reminder of his former Padawan, and seeing his side of a story they’d never spoken of since. Another being that Cal did not tell him exactly what he saw in his echoes very often. This was a gift from his Padawan to him, an outstretched hand welcoming him in.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, and finally sat down next to Cal.
“Thank you for sharing, my Padawan,” Obi-Wan said, his voice carefully steady. “I appreciate that more than you know.” He took a sip of his own tea to ground himself. “Now then. Care to share what had you so troubled earlier?”
His Padawan made a displeased face, as if he had tasted something sour, before sighing.
“I’m just… trying to figure out where to start. I didn’t plan on telling you this tonight,” Cal admitted ruefully.
“But you did plan on telling me eventually?”
Cal pursed his lips at that, staying damningly silent for far too long a moment. “Well, I mean… I… it’d be a lot for someone else to deal with,” he murmured, skirting quickly around the question in the same way he did an opponent in battle.
So it’s a lot for you to deal with alone, then. “A burden shared is a burden halved,” Obi-Wan said, a gentle nudge.
“It’s a lot to deal with,” Cal repeated. “Too much. And you won’t believe me, anyways.”
“Try me, my young Padawan. You may be surprised at what I am willing to believe,” Obi-Wan said, keeping his voice and body language and presence in the Force open-encouraging-hopeful- loving.
Because, Force help him, he did love his Padawans. Both of them. Ahsoka as well, for that matter. No matter how troublesome they may be, they were his family— although he’d never say as much aloud. He wished, desperately, that they could read his love between the lines of his words and actions instead.
Cal looked at Obi-Wan carefully, as if searching for a specific something in his demeanor. Obi-Wan smiled softly at his Padawan, and hoped he saw what he was looking for.
Evidently, he did, because he took a steadying breath before he spoke:
“You remember how I knew there would be a hidden unit of droids on Ryloth? Or how I knew ahead of time that the Malevolence would be coming up on us through hyperspace?”
“Yes. Your Force prescience,” said Obi-Wan. Cal made an odd face at these words, something wry and guilty in the twist of his lips. “…Is it not?”
“Not… quite. I, um,” Cal huffed out a breath, and muttered something like here goes everything. He broke eye contact, staring at the mug in his hands, before he finally spoke. “The truth is, I didn’t know all of that because of any Force visions. I knew it because I’d lived through it before.”
Obi-Wan’s brow furrowed. What?
“What I mean is… I can’t die.”
What?
Before Obi-Wan had a chance to react or to comprehend what in the Sith hell that could possibly mean, Cal quickly barreled onward, like he only had one shot to say everything, only one moment where he’d be brave enough to rip off the bandage. “I mean I literally can’t die. Or, I can’t seem to stay dead. Every time I do, I just… get sent back to the last time I meditated. Like the Force itself is pulling me back to where it last held me.”
Cal visibly halted in his onslaught of words, looking back up at Obi-Wan to gauge his reaction.
Obi-Wan found this hard to believe— or, no, it wasn’t that at all, actually. He knew that the Force was capable of a great many things. It was more accurate to say that he didn’t want to believe it. Because if this was true…
“That’s how you know what lies ahead in every battle we face,” Obi-Wan said, his mouth suddenly dry despite the tea. He set his cup down in favor of holding his hand partially over his mouth, in disbelief, or perhaps in horror. “You had lived through the events before, as you said, but hadn’t… made it through to the end, the first time.” Had died every time, perhaps multiple times, until he finally got it right.
“Yes. I mean— not in every battle!” Cal said, as if that was any reassurance. He blinked, then, backtracking. “You… actually believe me?”
“Your voice rings true in the Force,” Obi-Wan said. “More importantly than that, though— I trust you, young one. You have never once lied to me.”
Cal tensed at that last statement, and Obi-Wan raised a brow. Ah. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been surprised, given what he’d just learned.
“Well. You have never lied to me except by omission, surely.”
At that, Cal nodded a little too emphatically. Hm. Something to tackle later, then.
A sobering, horrible thought occurred to Obi-Wan just then, unbidden.
“You’ve never…” Obi-Wan began— and how exactly would he word this delicately to his eleven-year-old Padawan? “You’ve never activated this ability purposefully, have you?”
Cal blinked at him. “What do you— oh. No. No, kriff no. It sucks. You don’t have to worry about me doing that,” he said assuredly.
Obi-Wan’s tense shoulders slumped a bit in relief at hearing that. Yet, still…
‘It sucks.’ It being dying. Because his Padawan had died before, under Obi-Wan’s watch, and Obi-Wan hadn’t known.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath, and in the exhale, released his guilt-horror-shame into the Force. As best as he could manage to, anyways.
“So this is what has been bothering you,” Obi-Wan stated-not-asked, stalling a bit against the conversation ahead. He needed a moment, just a moment, so help him.
“Well… not exactly,” Cal said, setting his cup down in order to nervously fidget in his seat more effectively. “Not just that. There’s more.”
“More?“ Obi-Wan inquired, voice deliberately neutral. (More?! And he thought Anakin had been a handful.)
“There’s… how do I put this…”
Cal was hesitating far, far too much. What could possibly be worse than repeatedly dying?
“There was this fight that I got in, once. Against an enemy I couldn’t hope to defeat,” Cal started. His green eyes became stormy, fearful. “A… friend of mine came in to rescue me. He killed her, killed dozens of men… and then me,” he continued, the last part no louder than a whisper.
Obi-Wan expected something horrific, but still drew in a sharp breath at the confirmation. This poor boy. No one should have to live knowing how it feels to die, over and over again.
How had his Padawan stayed sane, all this time? How was he still so light in the Force, in spite of all his suffering?
“I begged the Force to send me back to the past, like it always does, but… it, uh, it sent me too far back,” Cal said, his fingers digging into the fabric of his robes like claws clinging onto a cliffside.
A few things, disparate yet connected, began clicking into place in Obi-Wan’s analytical mind. A Padawan wise beyond his years, who despised being treated like a child. A boy who had inexplicably taught himself the most improper lightsaber habits Obi-Wan had ever seen, yet equally inexplicably made them work in a way that was scarily effective. Like he’d somehow had the time to practice them outside of the Temple. But surely his hunch was wrong, surely it was impossible, and Cal didn’t mean something like…
“That fight happens— happened— seven years from now,” Cal said, staring down at his own hands, like they held answers that Obi-Wan could not see.
“I-I woke up afterwards, in the Temple, and I was eleven years old again, and I didn’t know then if I was stuck in the past permanently or not… but I had to try and change things. To do things differently, this time.”
Well.
Sithspit.
His Padawan was, or was meant to be, eighteen years old.
(So, a teenager. Now that, more than anything else, explained a whole lot about Cal Kestis.)
There was silence for a few moments, Cal chancing a glance back up at his Master. Cal’s eyes were nervous, yet big and bright and determined.
“…You were not my Padawan the first time around, were you?” Obi-Wan asked carefully. He’s not certain why that was his first question, of all things, but, well. That would explain Cal’s hesitance to trust him fully.
Cal shook his head. “No. No, I wasn’t.”
“Well, I’m honored that you chose me now,” Obi-Wan said, projecting the truth of it into the Force, deep into their bond. “And do know that it was very brave of you to share these secrets with me. I will help you in your pursuit however I can, if you’ll allow me.”
His Padawan looked back up at him, a certain starry light in his eyes, not unlike the day they had first met; Cal had stared at him then with wide-eyed wonder, like he wasn’t sure Obi-Wan was even real. And, given this new context, wasn’t that a terrifying thought? That he was no more than a legend in Cal’s future-past life, no longer a man, but just a story to be told?
“Are there any more galaxy-shattering revelations you have been burdened with, my dear Padawan? Other future events I should be immediately aware of?” Obi-Wan asked, his tone deliberately light, though his heart wasn’t truly in it.
Please, say no, he begged internally. (They should talk more. They should. They will. But he would like his Padawan to get some rest. And himself, too, selfishly.)
Cal opened his mouth to speak, and abruptly shut it again. He then started, cautiously, “are you ready to hear them if there are?”
Force help him.
“I think that’s quite enough revelations for one evening, don’t you agree?”
Cal huffed out half of a laugh. He looked lighter than he had in weeks, and Obi-Wan wanted to sigh in relief. “Yes. Yes, you might be right. We can talk more tomorrow, yeah?”
His Padawan made to stand up, and Obi-Wan stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. “You may stay here, my dear Padawan, if it would help you to sleep better tonight.” Part of Obi-Wan, admittedly a rather large part, was hoping that Cal would acquiesce, as it would help Obi-Wan to sleep better if Cal stayed.
Cal hesitated, then nodded.
—
Obi-Wan was awoken from his bed to the sound of muttering. He reached for his lightsaber on instinct, before he quickly remembered his overnight guest.
He flicked on the arc lamp on his bedside table, then stood and walked over to the couch where his Padawan lay. His heart broke a bit at the sight of Cal’s scrunched brow, his face the antithesis of what a peaceful night’s sleep should look like on a child. Or a teenager-turned-child.
“No, no… run… I’ll never give it to you… no—!”
Obi-Wan quickly took action. As he’d learned the hard way from Anakin, and later from members of the 212th, shaking one awake from a nightmare was a surefire way to earn a punch to the face. Instead, he spoke with gentle, prodding words. “Cal, dear one, please wake up. You’re just having a bad dream.”
Cal stirred at the noise, blinking his eyes open, and then scrunching his face up at the sudden assault of the lamplight to his senses. He looked uncannily like a frustrated tooka kitten, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help but let out a very soft, relieved chuckle.
“Are you awake now, my Padawan?”
“Mm, yeah, maybe,” he responded, rubbing his eyes free of sleep. “Was I talking in my sleep?”
“I’m afraid so. Nothing coherent, if that’s any reassurance,” said Obi-Wan.
Cal’s small shoulders slump.
“You don’t have to talk about it,” Obi-Wan assured, “but if you feel it may help, I am here to listen.”
“‘A burden shared is a burden halved,’ or so a wise Jedi Master once said,” Cal said, a corner of his lips quirking up in a barely-there smile before falling again. Then he sighed, a sound too world-weary to have come from a boy his age. Either of his ages.
“It was just about, uh. The guy who… y’know, killed me,” Cal murmured, his voice cracking on the words killed me.
Oh, Cal.
Suddenly, Cal’s shoulders began to shake, then he broke down in tears.
Obi-Wan was quick to sweep his Padawan into his arms, holding him close, pressing the boy’s ear right above where his own heart lay. Cal wrapped his arms around him in turn, and clung to the back of his Master’s robes like his life depended on it.
Cal trembled in Obi-Wan’s gentle hold. “Sorry, Master, I’m so sorry. My handle on my… reactions to things, isn’t, um. It’s not normally like this,” Cal blurted out, his voice half-muffled from how buried in Obi-Wan’s sleep robes he was.
“But you’re a child again,” Obi-Wan guessed, “so your emotional regulation is that of your eleven-year-old self.” And plus, Obi-Wan assumed, normally no one was around to see him like this— immediately following a harrowing nightmare, that is. So, Cal likely did not have much experience in hiding his reaction. (The image of Cal, alone, while the engine whirred in the room beside his and covered up the sound of his crying… Obi-Wan stopped that thought in its tracks, before his heart could further break.)
Cal nodded into where his face was pressed up against Obi-Wan.
There is silence for a number of moments, save for their breathing, Cal’s sniffling, and the ever-present hum of the ship and its engines.
“I’m not actually a kid, you know that now,” Cal murmured. “You know that. So why do you…?” His question trailed off. (“Why do you coddle me?” Obi-Wan heard a younger Anakin ask him, biting and irritated. “I’m not a child anymore, Obi-Wan!”)
“You may not be a child,” and yet he was, Cal was a child despite his protests against it, only eighteen-now-eleven, and he had seen so many horrors somehow worse than war… but, Obi-Wan would be diplomatic and not speak this truth aloud. Instead, he breathed, “but you are still my Padawan.”
Ungloved hands clutched tightly at the back of his robes, and Obi-Wan brought his own hand up to pet through his Padawan’s red hair, brushing over Cal’s braid with something like reverence. A deep feeling of protectiveness washed over Obi-Wan then, and he hoped that Cal could feel it through the Force.
If the way Cal relaxed into his hold was any indication, he had.
Then, just a moment later, he was rewarded with a faint-but-there message of thanks-safe-contentment from the other end of their bond.
Obi-Wan’s heart swelled and his hold tightened, like his arms alone could safeguard this boy.