Chapter Text
After a brief good-bye to Master Vant, Papa took Obi-Wan back to his quarters to have a very serious talk. He sat Obi-Wan on the bed and then sat in front of him, staring down at him with a disappointed look in his mask.
Obi-Wan scrunched his nose, chittering nervously.
“Obi-Wan,” Papa started, sounding very much in need of a nap. Obi-Wan was also in need of a nap right now. Turns out crawling through the vents is very tiring, especially for one so small as Obi-Wan. Hey! What if they just forgot Obi-Wan ever hid himself and the sad man in his shields and took a nap instead? That’s a great idea!
“...Obi-Wan, are you listening to me?”
Oh, whoops.
Obi-Wan trilled, hoping it came across as agreement. From the unamused look on Papa’s face, he didn’t do a very good job. Papa sighed, pinching the bridge of his mask between his claws.
“Obi-Wan, what you did today was very bad. You know you’re supposed to stay in the creche until a master comes to pick you up. You do not go on a journey through the temple vents. What if you got hurt in there?” Papa pulled his claws from his face to level a look at Obi-Wan that made him want to shrink into himself. “More than that, what if you got lost? We wouldn’t be able to find you! You could’ve been stuck in there for a very long time.”
Obi-Wan huffed. He wouldn't get lost! He has the Force to guide him! Obi-Wan borrowed Master Vant’s voice to say so. “As Jedi, we have the Force to guide us through our troubles.” Papa continued on, rudely ignoring him.
“And more than that, you deliberately cut off your connection to the Force within your shields! I’ve told you not to do that - we’ve trained you to not do that - especially when I am not in the temple. I’d be more understanding if I knew this was another trauma response, Obi-Wan, but I felt your intentions in the Force. This was you not listening to me! What in the galaxy were you thinking?!”
Look, Obi-Wan likes to think that he’s very brave and strong (Master Vant and Papa tell him all the time) but Papa’s never been mad at him before. Maybe a little frustrated or even tired of his antics, but he was never angry. The Force felt sharp around him in a way Obi-Wan wasn’t used to, and Obi-Wan could feel tears welling up in his eyes.
At the sound of Obi-Wan’s sniffles, Papa immediately softened, the Force practically melting into a warm mush. “Oh dear…” Papa reached out to brush Obi-Wan’s hair out of his hair, and Obi-Wan flinched back. Papa let out a pained trill as Obi-Wan started sobbing, his mind quickly spiraling like all younglings do.
What if he told Master Windu and Depa and then they would know he’s bad and then they stopped spending time with him?
What if Papa didn’t want him anymore because he was bad? Obi-Wan needed him, he was his Papa!
What if Papa gave him back to his mom?
Obi-Wan descended into sobs in a way only a youngling could. He liked the Jedi! He liked being in the creche, and hanging out with Depa and Master Windu and Master Vant! Obi-Wan loved his papa! He didn’t mean to be bad! He thought Papa would still be on his mission!
But Papa had been there, and Obi-Wan had woken up from his nap to the sounds of him growling and hissing at the other Jedi. Obi-Wan wasn’t able to use the Force because of his shields but he knew Papa had been angry and it was just really scary!
Suddenly there was a blanket of warmth wrapping around his Force presence, apology and calm woven through. Obi-Wan immediately leaned into it, barely registering his papa picking him up and pressing him against his chest. He let out a series of rhythmic chirps, and Obi-Wan felt his heart slow as he listened to Papa’s heartbeat. They sat in silence for a while, but just as Obi-Wan felt his eyes droop, a claw brushed through his hair, causing him to look up at the Kel Dor.
“Obi-Wan…” Papa started again, this time his voice measured and slow, like he was thinking through every word he said. “I won’t lie to you and say that your actions today do not frustrate me. You broke multiple rules and even endangered yourself for reasons I am not aware of.” Obi-Wan whined, but Papa cut him off with a low trill.
“But I only got so mad because I was scared. When you hide like that, I cannot feel you in the Force, and it terrifies me. What if something happened to you that I cannot sense? It makes my instincts scared too, and then I freak out.”
Without thinking, Obi-Wan echoed his papa’s words from the lake. “You cannot let your fear control you.”
Papa paused to stare at Obi-Wan before he chuckled. “You’re absolutely right, my smart little echo.” He booped Obi-Wan’s noise, causing a bright giggle to burst out of him. But then the Force turned heavy as Papa sighed. “But your papa wasn’t a very good Jedi today. He let his fear control him - let his instincts control him - and he ended up hurting someone really badly.” Papa was rambling now.
“I saw him holding you, yet I couldn’t feel you, and I got so scared he hurt you while I was gone. I lost control of my instincts and lashed out on him, and it wasn’t until I found you safe that I realized he wasn’t hurting you at all.” Papa paused to take a breath, and Obi-Wan felt his chest shake. He’s never seen his papa so unsteady. The Force was so heavy with regret that it almost hurt. That wasn’t right, Papa should never be sad!
“That is no one’s fault but myself, I should have better control over my instincts as a Jedi master.”
Obi-Wan hugged his papa tightly, trying to squeeze all of the bad feelings out. “It is not our emotions that define us as Jedi but our actions.”
Papa stiffened for only half a second before squeezing back with a low trill, his mask resting in Obi-Wan’s hair. The two sat there, hugging and trilling back and forth until Papa finally lifted his head to gaze at Obi-Wan.
“What was it that made you go to those quarters anyways?”
Obi-Wan’s immediate answer was the Force, but he paused. Yes, the Force led him through the vents, but it was Obi-Wan who made the decision to help the man. And even though he got in trouble, Obi-Wan knew that he’d do it again in a heartbeat, no matter how many times Papa got mad at him. So, Obi-Wan decided to be honest.
“He was really scared,” Obi-Wan started, his words a mixture of different voices - Depa, Windu, even other Jedi they pass by in the halls. Papa stroked his hair in encouragement as Obi-Wan fought against the lingering tightness in his throat.. “The Force gives him night terrors too.”
With that, Obi-Wan leaned into Papa’s robes, ignoring the snot and tears still on them. Papa had paused stroking his hair, growing tense beneath him, before Obi-Wan’s whine made him resume.
“Your night terrors…oh Force, they aren’t nightmares, they’re visions.”
There was a certain heaviness on the last word that probably meant it was important, but Obi-Wan had no idea what it meant. Well, that’s a problem for another day. He finally let the exhaustion from the day lure him to sleep, completely missing Plo’s worried mumbling.
“My son gets visions, I nearly killed Yan, and Qui-Gon has a padawan...oh dear.”
- - -
Yan was hiding.
Not that he would ever admit it.
If anyone asked him (not that anyone would willingly come up to him), he’d simply state that he needed a secluded area to meditate, and if they knew what was good for them, they’d accept that answer.
Yan was sitting in a small cove behind the large waterfall that overlooked the gardens. He sat with his legs hung over the edge, gazing down at the younglings playing below. Unknown to most, there was a small opening at the side of the falls, allowing anyone from within the cove to see nearly the entire gardens. From below, all the Jedi would see is the waterfall, completely covering where Yan was.
He had been attempting to meditate before he realized he would not be getting any meditation done. When Yan tried to reach for the Force on his own, it backed away, as if it were afraid of him. Maybe it should be.
It had taken Yan only a few days after the incident to realize what was happening to him - what he was becoming. It should’ve frightened him. But really, hadn’t he seen this coming? Hasn't everyone seen this coming? From the whispers of the high council to the looks he got from his master when he sat beside Sy’s feverish, twitching form; from the way he refused to leave the Order because Sy was here, yet he cut himself off from everyone he held dear because he couldn’t handle their pity, their distrust.
For the first time in years, the Force was quiet. There was no voice in Yan’s ears, cursing the very temple’s existence. There was no weight on Yan’s heart, no invisible hands around his neck.
There was nothing inside Yan.
Absolutely nothing at all.
Distantly, Yan wondered why he hadn't left by now. His ship was still in the landing dock, doors opened and everything. He could get on his ship, move to a new temple, join a new Force sect. Kriff, he could leave the Order entirely. No one would notice his absence, they’d only realize something happened when he didn’t show up to his annual check-in. But by then, it’d be too late. Yan would be gone, never to be seen again.
It would be so easy…but perhaps that’s why. His whole life, Yan has never chosen the easy route. When Yoda offered to train him - with his narrow-eyed scrutiny, his endless responsibilities to the Order, and his riddled speech pattern - Yan knew he would be challenged to the very end. When he met Qui-Gon - loud, impulsive, endlessly dirty Qui-Gon - he knew he had met his match.
Force, even when he fell for Sy - sweet, kind, oh so trusting Sy - he knew it would be one of the most difficult things he would have to admit to himself. That he, the esteemed and prodigious student of the Order’s Grandmaster, went against everything Yoda preached about attachment and fell in love.
Whether it was out of true ambition or some selfish need to prove himself, Yan didn’t know. All he knew was that the easy path was often the cowardly path, and Yan was no coward.
(So why was he hiding?)
But of course, nothing lasts forever. Yan registered the presence before the footsteps, the Force reaching out like one would a frightened animal. Is that what Yan was now? Feral? Fragile? Dooku made no move to reach back, instead letting Plo passively brush against his Force presence.
“Did the council send you to execute me?” Yan didn’t move as he felt the Kel Dor sit beside him on the ledge, watching the younglings play below. In the distance, there was a little redhead youngling making a sandcastle, isolated within the sandbox as the other kids played together around him.
Plo said nothing, and Yan pushed forward.
“I thank you for keeping Qui-Gon away from me that day. I didn't need him seeing me in such a state.”
(But did it really matter? Qui-Gon knew he was in that room to begin with, had felt his Force presence before even touching the door. Yet just like his former master, he was nothing but a coward.)
“If I may, I would rather you kill me now in private instead of having my execution be broadcast across the temple. I only implore you to make it quick enough that Qui-Gon doesn’t suffer for too long from the snapped bond.”
Once again, Plo stayed silent, and Yan could feel his patience wearing thin.
“What did the council say when they heard of my attack?” Yan turned to Plo, something cruel taking over him. “Were they surprised at all? Were they relieved they finally had a reason to be rid of me?”
Yan leaned forward, hissing between his teeth. He wanted Plo to yell at him, to attack him once again and finish the job. “What did my master do when he learned? Did he mourn at all? Or was he the one who made the final decision as Grandmaster of the Order-”
“The council does not know.” Plo’s voice was final as he interrupted Yan’s rant. Yan stared at the old master, his previous antagonism briefly forgotten.
"…what?"
Plo had the audacity to shrug casually, the very action reigniting the spiteful, hateful creature within Yan. (Oh how far he's fallen, so controlled by his emotions.)
"Oh, so that's how it is," Yan sneered at the Kel Dor. "You're here to kill me by yourself and gain the glory of killing the first Sith in a thousand years. I never knew you were such an opportunist."
Yan knew he was acting like a child, purposefully trying to provoke the old master, but Yan didn’t care. If he had nothing else, at least he could have this satisfaction.
But Plo didn't even flinch. Instead, he hummed thoughtfully, watching as the little redhead toddled around the sandbox, picking small shells out to decorate his castle.
“As a child, you and Jocasta used to hide here whenever you were in trouble. You two would sit here, giggling while watching the creche master tear the grass out of the gardens looking for you.” Plo chuckled quietly. “I remember finding you both here, snacking on those little cakes the mess hall served every Taungsday."
At the mention of his old crechemate, Yan felt his very skin tighten as he flinched. What would she think of him now? Yan didn't want to find out.
"Plo," Yan stressed. He tried to ignore how strained his voice sounded. "You and I both know that I am a danger to this temple. It is your duty as a Jedi Master to protect the Order-"
“My duty is not to the Order, it is to the Force.”
“I am Falling, Plo.”
“Falling, yes. But Fallen, no.”
“What difference is there?!” Yan's voice cracked at the end, but he didn't care. He felt manic, like the Darkness inside him was rebelling against his very being. The Force felt thick with anticipation, two currents crashing against each other in waves within Yan.
It's too late you're Falling there's no coming back for you there's no one saving you-
NO NO NO NEVER TOO LATE HELP WRONG YOU CAN BE BETTER YOU CAN BE SAVED-
“The difference is that you have people waiting to catch you, if only you would let them."
Plo finally turned to given Yan a long look. It felt like he could see every thought behind Yan's eyes - every regret, every scar, every bit of Darkness.
(For the first time in years, Yan didn't hide.)
"…why would you want to help me?" Yan hated how small his voice sounded, how the words felt fragile between his lips. "I was going to kill that boy." Plo shook his head with a huff of something close to amusement.
“I have lived hundreds of years, Yan. I have had thousands upon thousands of men attempt to kill me and my loved ones. You are not one of them.” Yan scoffed in somber disbelief.
"I had that youngling in my grasp - you sensed it yourself - I was going to hurt him-"
“Then why did you lift him in the air so gently?" Plo's voice cut through the air. "Why didn’t he wake?”
Yan wanted to say that the youngling just couldn't sense Yan's intentions. Yan wanted to argue that the boy was too young to know the dangers of the dark side. But something stopped him. For the first time all night, Yan didn't have a reply. Plo continued on, his voice softening with a quiet trill.
“The Force around you does not hate nor kill. The Force grieves for you, Yan.”
(NO no no wrong wrong flooded Yan's senses, but why did the words feel so right?)
"…I still don't understand why you are trying to save me." Plo shook his head as he touched Yan's shoulder softly.
"I am a Jedi. It is my duty to protect the Light, and if that means saving the Light within others, then so be it."
For just a moment, Yan was a youngling once again, staring up at the Kel Dor and resisting the urge to bury himself in his robes and never leave. He let Plo gently guide him into his arms. When was the last time he allowed himself to be touched like this? When was the last time he stayed in place long enough for someone to catch him?
"Stop running, Yan. No more missions, no more hiding. Just take a break, meditate on your thoughts."
Yan didn't answer for a long time. A part of him wanted to sneer at the words…but wasn't Plo right? The countless missions, the hatred for his home, hasn't it all been an elaborate cat and mouse game between him and the past? He never rested, because resting meaning reminiscing which meant remembering.
Maybe, he could just…stop.
Rest.
It wouldn't be easy. Yan's been running for so long, he doesn't how to stop. He would need to remain in the temple, avoiding both his former master and his former apprentice as much as possible. He would also need to talk to Master Windu and avoid questions about his sudden leave. He would need to meditate on the mystery of Sy's temporary death and the codependency he has developed for his lover. Force, he'd need to talk to Jocasta, and who knows if he'll make it out alive.
But when has Yan ever chosen the easy route?
However, before he could do so, he had one more question for the Kel Dor.
"If I am not so dangerous, why did you attack me that night?" He knew he hit a nerve when he felt the Kel Dor stiffen beneath him. It was Plo's turn to sit in silence, his Force presence turning bitter with every second. Finally, he sighed.
“I acted according to my instincts. They deemed you a threat, just as something inside you deemed Obi-Wan a threat.”
There was a spike in the Force, and Yan watched as the little redhead below turned to stare at the waterfall. No, that wasn't right. Yan realized with a start that the youngling wasn't staring at the waterfall, he was staring at them. It was supposed to be impossible, but the sheer pride Yan felt in the Force when the youngling broke into a wide smile and waved up at them told the truth. But there was undercurrent to that pride that was so much more fond, and suddenly it all made sense.
"…I guess we are both attached.”