Chapter Text
When the man, girl, droid and gungan walked into Watto’s shop, Anakin hadn’t been expecting much. Then suddenly he was packing his bags, telling his mother goodbye, and running off with the man (Qui-Gon, his mind supplied) back to his ship, off to be a Jedi.
He doesn’t remember much of how he blew up an entire army and destroyed the trade federation, he just knows it was canceled out by everything else that happened that day.
Crash landing, Anakin hurriedly pulled his small body out of the still smoking aircraft, gesturing quickly for Artoo to follow him because something was wrong. He could feel it.
The red shields that Anakin doesn’t know the name of rose up to block him out, and all Anakin can do is watch, eyes wide and scared as he observes the duel taking place.
Qui-Gon is a centre of peace, perfectly intwined with the living force as he pulls out swing after swing, but he’s starting to tire, starting to falter. He won’t be able to keep up for much longer.
The black cloak that Anakin assumes the man’s opponent wore was discarded across room. He’s young, (with a really bad haircut) Anakin realizes, so much younger then Qui-Gon but so much louder. The way his force pushes up against his ears isn’t anything like Qui-Gon’s. While the Jedai’s presence was like that of safety, like coming home after a long day of playing outside, the other man’s presence was harsh, dark, piled up with anger-hatred-coldfury, and something else Anakin couldn’t quite place.
Qui-Gon moved to push back the other man, but he mis-timed his step, brought his green light sabre up just a moment too late.
The shields fell, but it was too late. Anakin could barely get out a scream of Look Out! Before Qui-Gon was being stabbed straight through the gut.
He makes eye contact with Anakin, just before he fell to the ground, with only one thing being shared between the Jedai and the newly freed slave.
Run.
But he couldn’t. The red shields had closed up again. They wouldn’t reopen till the next cycle. Anakin would be dead by then.
The force cries, attempting to circle around them but being forced away by the intense darkness surrounding the dark man. He has his sulfer eyes tracking Anakin as he stumble runs towards Qui-Gon. Strangely, he hasn’t moved.
Anakin skids desperately towards Qui-Gon, falling to his knees before the man who freed him and gave him a chance at everything, watching the life wilt from his eyes. Anakin can barely feel the man’s presence anymore, a mere flickering candle against his own signature.
“Apologies, Anakin,” Qui-Gon coughs out, attempting to rise but being forced down, the wound burning in cauterized agony.
“Tell your mother...I’m sorry,” he hisses aloud, using all his strength to hold the former slave’s hand in his. Anakin immediately grips down on it, breathing getting more and more harsh. His skin is cold. Anakin can feel tears pricking at his eyes but he refuses to let them fall.
“That I couldn’t train you to become a Jedi,” he shakes his head, and Anakin leans down to rest his chin on the man’s chest, unable to find any words to say. People are quiet on Taooine when slaves die.
“Anakin, listen to me,” Qui-Gon whisper hisses, suddenly serious, and Anakin immediately tightens up to listen. “You must live. You cannot beat the sith. You must run.”
The sith. He’s still here. Anakin can feel his darkness behind him and why isn’t he doing anything.
Anakin’s throat tightens, and he managed to gulp down on the knot in his throat. “Okay, I’ll do it.” He whispers. “Okay Mister Qui-Gon.”
He doesn’t entirely know how, but he’s done the impossible before right?
“Other Jedi will be here soon...you must find them and get to safety. Find the Queen,” Qui-Gon already sounds so much quieter, but unlike Anakin’s who’s completely panicking, Qui-Gon is an image of serenity. He smiled, and with his other hand he laid it on top of Anakin’s head.
“Live, Child” the light that was his presence flickers, and then fades out completely. It’s cold, his body. No longer a flame Anakin could return too when he was scared without his mother. The Master Jedi had given him a command, one he needed to follow through. He needed to survive.
But the Jedi were right, he’s scared. He’s terrified. No matter what Qui-Gon had said, Anakin doubted the Jedi would be here on time. He doubted he could run, the dark man’s legs were so much taller the his, he could chop him into pieces even if Anakin had a five second head start. He definitely couldn’t beat him in a fight. Sure, Anakin had Qui-Gon’s sword, but if Qui-Gon hadn’t been able to beat the sith with it then Anakin, who hadn’t held a weapon in his life, definitely couldn’t.
He could try to use the force, but the man was also more skilled with him with that.
There’s no escape.
It was a quiet realization. A resigned tilt of his head, the quiet closing of his eyes as he let go of Qui-Gon’s slowly cooling hand and he turned to crawl up next to his prone form. Nestling his head into the crook of his neck, he shuffled himself as close to Qui-Gon as he possibly could, acceptance radiating off of him.
He wasn’t getting out of this alive, Anakin knew that. He wasn’t oblivious to death. He just hoped his mother wouldn’t be too sad. So, he curled himself into the fetal position next to Mister Qui-Gon’s body, and waited for the cold man to slice him up like he did the Jedai.
He wasn’t expecting the man to start crying.
Anakin stared with wide eyes at the now collapsed form of the Sith Lord, whos just...sitting there, little quiet sobs ripping their way out of his throat with obviously a lot of effort to hold them in. He’s sitting so close to him, if the man reached out he could probably grab Anakin by the throat.
“I’m sorry,” he hisses out, and Anakin flinches. He hadn’t been expecting him to speak, let alone sound like that. He feels his muscles tense, still cradled beside Qui-Gon, his head lifted slightly to stare at the cold man. “I didn’t,” he sniffles, shaking his head. “I didn’t know,”
“I didn’t know he had a child.” He whispers, mostly to himself, shoulders hunched as more sobs shake his form. The darkness that ripples off of him in waves is different now, less angry-hatred and more sadness-fear-regret-sorry.
If Anakin could speak he would’ve probably thought to correct him, but he couldn’t, and also that mis-truths was probably what was keeping him alive.
The man was still sobbing, head ducked down, revealing a mess of auburn hair. Anakin didn’t know exactly why he started moving, maybe he realized he had nothing left to lose, or maybe his survival instincts were just that terrible, because before he knew it he was slowly sliding away from Qui-Gon’s body, scooting himself over towards the Sith Lord.
This was how he die, Anakin decided. Definitely not what he was expecting.
He raised his hand and placed it on Qui-Gon’s murderers cheek.
The sobs choked off almost instantly, and the man lifted his head slowly to stare at him. Anakin shivered, resisting the urge to pull his hand away and make a break for the exist. That wasn’t going to work.
The man’s yellow-orange eyes stared deep into Anakin’s blue ones, and he stared death back, eyes wide, trying to project curiosity-hope-please into the air instead of scared-terrified-fear . He stifled a gasp when he felt the man’s dark presence pushing itself into his mind, fear rippling through him. He didn’t have any shields yet, so Anakin could only sit there as the Sith tore through his mind. He was- surprisingly gentle, or at least Anakin thought he was. He had never had anyone else in his mind before. It didn’t hurt, just mildly tickled. After a bit, Anakin felt the dark tendril of force presence wither away, apparently finding what it was looking for.
While the man continued to stare at him, Anakin found himself examining his face. Black bags lay thick under his eyes, face pale and gaunt. The creases in the forehead had relaxed the longer Anakin stayed, and he seemed almost peaceful now, only a few hiccups forcing their way out of his throat. The tears still streamed down his face, but they were quiet now, silent. It was like in the span of a few moments they had managed to create of bond of some sort. A link tying the two of them together.
‘I didn’t want to’ he speaks without words. ‘I didn’t have a choice’
‘I know’ Anakin reassures.
‘I’m scared’
‘I am too’
At that the man seems to snap out of his trance of some sorts, and Anakin yanks his hand back, clutching his temple as his head starts to unbearably ache .
“ Fuck ,” the sith lord curses, stumbling back, eyes clenched shut and his hands clutching his head like it was about to fall off, moisture still staining his red cheeks. “ Shit , I wasn’t supposed to-“
Footsteps rush towards them, and he curses again. Anakin can’t say anything, his head’s hurting so much he can’t think.
They find him alone, on the verge of passing out by Qui-Gon’s body. The Jedi (they did come. They did.) desperately try to get him to stand up, but he can’t . In the end he passes out, hushed whispers and comforting words are the last things he hears.
He woke up in a hospital bed surrounded by people he’s never seen. The force buzzes around him with pity and static. The queen of Naboo is there, grateful to see that at least one of the two heroes of Naboo managed to make it out alive. Qui-Gon is still dead. His funeral will be held soon. There was no reason for his own sudden passing out, besides a few missing nutrients he was pretty healthy. Somehow.
(The weak, feeble bond, barely as thin a strand of hair and practically unnoticeable unless you were looking for it specifically, tends to disagree)
“I’m not going to cut it short with you, kid,” a doctor tells him, after the buzz of the examination has worn off and Padmé’s left for her own planet with a heartwarming goodbye, “You probably wouldn’t have survived if those Jedi hadn’t shown up just in time, but I’m glad you’re still with us.” The man clamps his hand on his shoulder, and tells him ‘good man’.
But they hadn’t shown up just in time. They had been too late. They should’ve been too late. He should be dead with Qui-Gon, but he wasn’t. Somehow.
A few days later, after resting up in the medic (honestly bored out of his mind) he’s called up to testify to the council, and standing with him is an older man he’s never met before. Before entering, he introduces himself.
“I’m Master Dooku, Qui-Gon’s former master” Dooku tells him. He explains how he’s going to stand by Anakin while he talks to the council about what he saw.
“I truly apologize for this, child,” Dooku says, right before entering the council room. “This was quite obviously a traumatic event for you, and to make you talk about it once more, and so quickly as well, is quite despicable in my own personal opinion”.
Anakin didn’t quite know what to think of the older man, but as he sauntered into the council room, doors swinging shut behind him, Anakin had to admit he was glad to have somebody on his side.
Even though he wished he was standing by Mister Qui-Gon instead.
“I’ll train him,” Dooku spoke up after Anakin had finished giving his version of the events, and his encounter with the sith. (‘A Sith Lord!? Impossible! Surely we cannot actually believe the child-‘ ‘Master Rhara and Padawan Muln caught sight of him escaping. He was even holding a red lightsaber! The boy’s story matches up’) “it’s what Qui-Gon would have wanted.”
“The boy is still too old,” Master Ki-Adi-Mundi cut in. “That fact has not changed.”
“And yet,” Dooku said, “the boy has proved he is worthy of becoming a Padawan, don’t you agree? He survived an encounter with the first Sith in a thousand years. He’s the only one, infact”
What’s more ‘Chosen One’ then that?
“I don’t like this,” Master Windu admitted, “however I agree. The boy should be trained, not only because of his abundance of force abilities, but also for his survival. The sith might begin hunting him down in anger, for revenge.”
Anakin shivered, feeling an almost unnoticeable twitch in his head. He brought his hands up to hug himself.
“But,” Anakin stared up at the Korun jedi. But’s were never good. “I’m under the impression that you don’t exactly want to take on another Padawan. I believe I have a better idea.”
Dooku cocked an eyebrow at that, tilting his head to stare down at the man. “And may I ask what that idea is, Master Windu?”
At that, Mace turned to Anakin, a far nicer look replacing his usual one. It wasn’t necessarily happy, but it wasn’t as mean as it has been earlier. Despite his reservations, Anakin felt himself relaxing.
“Skywalker,” Mace started, levelling him with a look. “What would you think about becoming my padawan?”
Anakin felt his mouth opening slightly, falling agape. Mutely, he noticed the other masters in the room giving a similar response. He nodded, unable to get any words out. Mace smiled, not really, just a twitch in lips, before his face returned to normal, and he nodded back.
“Decided, it is.” Master Yoda, who had silently been observing everything happening in front of him, tapped his stick on the floor. “Master Windu’s padawan, young Skywalker shall be.”
Dooku didn’t say anything, eyes slightly narrowed as he adjusted his robes, but when he caught Anakin’s eye he gave the boy an encouraging nod.
Anakin nodded back, still stuck in shock. Everything was moving so quickly. He still had to attend Mister Qui-Gon’s funeral. He felt like he was just a slave yesterday, and now he was going to be a padawan. He was actually going to be a Jedi.
A small part of him would always long for Mister Qui-Gon to train him, but...maybe Mister Windu wouldn’t be that bad.
The weird ache in the deep of his head pulsed again, stronger this time, but Anakin ignored it. He was a Jedi, that was what he had wanted all along! He shouldn’t let some headache ruin this.
It would be fine.
Probably.