Chapter Text
Part I
Dying felt a lot like falling.
Of course he’d read theories about what it might truly be like; some people said that it would be like floating, others like the slow dissipation of steam. Obi-Wan was falling.
It wasn’t the type of falling he would have first thought of, however. It was like walking down the stairs in the dark, and thinking there’s one less stair than there is: jarring at first- the unexpectedness making you seize up; then the fast swoop of your stomach making you dizzy; and finally what he expected to be the punched out relief as the adrenaline left his system, letting himself relax into the fall, leaving a calm shock draped over his shoulders like a blanket.
He never touched that cold relief. He just kept falling, and falling, and falling.
When his back finally hit the ground, Obi-Wan woke up.
~
There were voices, things that were just vague sensory impressions beyond his consciousness. He didn’t want to open his eyes at first, content with being blissfully ignorant about his surroundings and instead moved his index finger, slowly becoming aware of his limbs- he felt… lighter? Like a droid that had been taken apart and put back together with new wiring. He was on his back, one arm outstretched and hanging off the edge of what he guessed was a bunk, the other was across his stomach and his legs were haphazardly entangled in thin blankets.
He still didn’t open his eyes, heart pounding dangerously in his chest. Memories flashed across his mind; bright and difficult to make out. He could only remember the feelings- and even then only the strongest ones were met with fragmented images. Obi-Wan drew air into his lungs, and in the far reaches of his mind called back his last and most vivid moments.
A young man. Anakin. Golden eyes. Fire, flames, the warning thrum of a lightsaber and the sizzling sound of his weapon cutting through flesh. Newborns, Luke, Leia. Tatooine. Anakin, but not Anakin. Not his Anakin. This man was more metal than human, subjected to a fate worse than death. His heart clenched at the memory of his entire being just breaking away from the physical world, the way he’d tensed as his former padawan- former friend’s lightsaber had come so close to his neck.
And falling. He remembered falling.
He remembered dying.
Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open, scrambling into a sitting position with his hand flying towards the ghost of a lightsaber wound. He could feel it, even though it wasn’t there, he could still feel the heat, the spattering bursts of barely contained energy of the red ‘saber. The strangled cry of Luke Skywalker as he watched. His stomach twisted and he fell from the bunk, landing on his knees with heavy retching, coughing up bile and half-digested food. He scrabbled at the ground for purchase and only just reached the ‘fresher in time to finish unloading whatever was left in his stomach.
His head spun as he leaned back on his knees, gripping the sides of the bowl to ground him as he focused on his breathing. In, out, in, out, come on Kenobi. Obi-Wan willed his consciousness back into the present and when he got himself under control he straightened up, looked down at himself, and nearly doubled over again.
This was not his body. Well, it was, but it couldn’t be, could it? This didn’t make any sense- his thoughts were scrambled like a dodgy transmission and a splitting pain wound itself like a vice around his head. Like two parts of himself were at war with the other, neither becoming dominant enough to overpower and instead forcing them to fuse together.
He shakily got to his feet, startled by how easily he moved- there were no protest from his joints, no ache in his back to make him groan. The ‘fresher mirror showed him a face he hadn’t seen in what felt like years. The dimple in his cheek still visible, not covered by a neatly trimmed beard, his eyes brighter and not dulled by age. Obi-Wan touched his face, feeling the sting of tears threatening to spill over at the sight of a man that hadn’t yet been touched by the corruption of war and betrayal. He reached out to the Force, letting it wash over him comfortingly as his mind stitched itself back into one. He knew himself, but there were places and people and things alongside them he knew were his own memories but… they felt detached, like watching a holovid.
He washed out the acrid taste of vomit from his mouth, grimacing at the taste. Obi-Wan pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing away the tension behind them with a long sigh. When he finally opened them he hissed and blinked against the harsh light of the ‘fresher. That was until his eyes caught sight the long braid hanging over his shoulder, several different beads intertwined with it telling him he was reaching his eighteenth life day. A Padawan.
Qui-Gon.
His body reacted faster than his brain, the phantom discomfort of a body unused to his limbs after years of being old and slow. His heart beat out of his and blood roared in his ears- everything that was happening outside of his tunnel vision was nothing but white noise in the wake of his footsteps. Scrambling out of the fresher, he hardly realised where his feet were taking him before he was in the cockpit, face to face with his master, his deceased master.
Flashes of a red blade swarmed in his mind and he grinded to a halt. The mountain of a man looked no different to how he remembered him. Obi-Wan held himself back, stunned into silence at the presence of his former master. Stars, why did it hurt so much to see him? He groaned internally- seeing that they were not alone; the young captain and his co-pilot either didn't notice him come barging through- or didn't care enough to pay attention.
“Where are we?” Obi-Wan asked, more than a little shaken by the youthfulness of his voice, the high lilt of a thick Coruscanti accent turned his cheeks pink.
Qui-Gon quirked an eyebrow at him, “We’re heading for negotiations still- Are you alright, padawan? You seem…” He paused appraisingly, “...different,”
He clenched his jaw. They hadn’t arrived at the Trade Federation outpost yet. He hadn’t met Padmé or Anakin yet. That much he knew from the fragmented things he remembered. He was back at the beginning, he realised. The beginning of the end.
“Obi-Wan what’s wrong? Is this because of your bad feeling again?” His master’s voice was concerned, Obi-Wan scrunched his eyes shut, recalibrating and forcing the bile back down his throat.
He couldn’t tell Qui-Gon what was happening, the Force had reworked time and space just to send him back before it all began. He was here for a reason; to stop Anakin from falling? To reveal Palpatine? Ugh it hurt to think too much about it. He needed time to meditate, time he didn’t have. He looked back at his master, his kind sloping eyes, long greying hair… knowing that he was destined to die it… it didn’t sit right. It was a spanner in the works. A shatterpoint in another world that set Obi-Wan on a course that had led to- well, this.
“I’m sure I’ll be okay, M-Master.” He choked on the sentiment, having gone so long without saying it. He pushed his anxieties out into the Force, hoping that somehow he could make sense of it later. Qui-Gon didn’t look convinced but didn’t say anything, turning to the captain and telling them to send out the transmission to the Trade Federation.
Obi-Wan looked down at himself, apparently he’d had the good sense to reappear in his new body while it had clothes on. He loathed to think what would happen if he’d come to halfway through a shower, the thought made him huff out a small laugh- that certainly would have been an interesting explanation.
He bit his lip; time was tricky, there were points in history- shatterpoints in the Force that marked critical moments in history, changing the pathway of the timeline in its wake. He’d studied them, after Qui-Gon’s death and taking on Anakin as a padawan. It had seemed interesting at the time, fun even. His way of remembering his old master’s love of ancient prophecies and theology. He glanced at the man whose eyes were set on their destination, and he so desperately wanted it to feel like a dream, a small voice in the back of his mind pleading don’t do this, don’t let me fail again. He ignored it and schooled his expression; Obi-Wan would not let history repeat itself, he would not watch his master die, he would not let Anakin fall to the dark side and watch his friend succumb to the whim of a Sith.
As they approached the Control Ship he steeled himself.
Obi-Wan would not fail. Not again.
~
His meditation did not prove as fruitful as he would have liked. The Force whispered in his ear but no matter how much he strained and concentrated he could make out little more than a quiet wait. It was frustrating- knowing that there was a reason for this that he didn’t know. The headaches that had felt like a hot vibroblade piercing his skull had dulled to a slow but heavy ache every time he tried to remember too much. But the feelings were ever-present, like the cold touch of a ghost that wouldn’t leave- bone deep bursts of sadness and pain and grief, nostalgia for things he had seen yesterday. He recognised people he’d never met before, like knowing that the Queen of Naboo wasn’t truly her, and instead her handmaiden. These epiphanies were helpful as well as annoying, he supposed he could use that.
Meeting Padmé for the first time was far more amusing the second time around. We must have looked like such fools, he thought with a fond smile, knowing full well that his Master’s antics usually didn’t go down well with authority.
“Where will we be taking refuge?” Padmé asked, her orange dress showing her face well enough for him to see her concern. Obi-Wan smiled, he knew her, he may not remember anything more than feelings of pride, sadness and pain- but he felt he did, and Yoda had taught him to trust his instincts.
He took a seat next to her in the comfortable galley, “Tatooine.” He said- for a moment he had debated whether or not to choose another planet, eradicating the risk of ever meeting the Chosen One and just avoiding it all. It would be so easy. But then he ran the risk of the Sith finding him first… No. It was best to get him into the care of Qui-Gon. He would be a much better Master for Anakin.
“it’s a small planet where the Queen will be safe and we may get enough parts to fix our ship.” He paused, “your home on Naboo was beautiful,”
Padmé sent him a sideways look, a small smile on her face, “I fear you see right through me, Padawan Kenobi.” Obi-Wan chuckled, “I’m coming with you. I must keep an eye on what happens here…” she threw him another look, “For my Queen.”
This time Obi-Wan laughed properly, in a way that he hadn’t done so for a long time. Padmé was ever the same, he realised, even in his other life he remembered her humour,
“Of course, for the Queen.” He said.
They talked for most of their way to Tatooine, mainly because Obi-Wan wanted to see how much he could remember without agitating his splitting headache, and also that Padmé was good company and they got along greatly. He felt them approaching their destination and anxiety welled within him, no matter how much he tried to release it to the Force it must have shown on his face because Padmé placed a placating hand on his shoulder,
“Are you alright?” She asked, Obi-Wan looked down,
“I don’t know,” he admitted, “but I’m sure I will be.”
Before they could say anything more Qui-Gon entered, and Obi-Wan’s trepidation sky-rocketed, with a half-glance at Padmé another vision flooded his mind. The gargling of lava and a desperate plea of you’re breaking my heart reverberating in his ears. He clenched his jaw and forced it back. That would not be their fate.
“Obi-Wan you will stay here-” Qui-Gon said,
“No.” He interrupted, the harshness of his tone surprising even himself, Qui-Gon scowled,
“Excuse me?”
Obi-Wan blinked and straightened under his master’s intense gaze, “I’m sure the part we need will be difficult to come by-” he slipped easily back into his charming lilt, despite scrambling for an excuse to go with them, “and I am a much better negotiator than you are, if you don’t mind me saying, Master. I’ll be of more help out there with you than I could ever be here.”
Qui-Gon was about to answer when Padmé spoke up: “I believe Padawan Kenobi is right- it will be easier to cover more ground and find the part quicker if we split up.”
Qui-Gon considered them both for a moment, and for the first time Obi-Wan reached out through their training bond, holding back the phantom grief that threatened to burst ranks as he recognised his master’s Force signature. It was calm and at ease, flecked with curiosity and felt like walking into an old archive, stars how he had missed it..
“I believe you have me cornered,” the old man smirked “I’m not sure we’ll have enough credits for everything though…”
“We could sell the Queen’s wardrobe,” Obi-Wan said with a mischievous glint in his eye, “though that may not be enough to barter with.”
Padmé narrowed her eyes at him, and she pinched his arm making him squirm, though the small twitch at the corner of her mouth gave her amusement away.
Qui-Gon chuckled, “Padmé, you’ll come with me… that is if Obi-Wan can handle his own?” He teased, Obi-Wan let out a gasp,
“I can handle myself perfectly well I'll have you know, master.” He tilted his chin up in defiance, making the two others laugh.
They stepped out of the ship and into the blazing heat of the binary suns, it struck him with such painful nostalgia that he almost keeled over again. He shielded his eyes and took in his surroundings- sand blew everywhere and in the distance the rocks glowed a bloody orange in the light. There were minimal clouds in the sky and the suns shone so brightly and so intensely that he struggled to keep his eyes open. Obi-Wan’s gut twisted at the familiarity of it all, faintly recalling another lifetime spent on this planet.
“I’ll take the East, you take the West.” Qui-Gon said, but Obi-Wan wasn’t listening- instead he was looking out over the dunes, taking in the shadowed silhouette of Mos Espa. He was going to meet Anakin Skywalker for the first time. That was alright, he had a plan… well, the vague formation of one. The thing that had sent him back here must have scrambled up his brain somehow, making his ability to think things through go out the window- he mentally named it the Skywalker effect and was utterly affronted with how fond he felt at the sound of it. He knew what he had to do, something that would be best for all of them in the long run, no matter how much it may hurt in the moment. This was for the greater good.
Obi-Wan swallowed. He had a bad feeling about this.