Chapter Text
“Who- who are you? Where am I?”
The kid bunched up the thin sheets that made up the sterile medbed in small fists, pushing himself into a corner as his wide blue eyes bore straight in his soul. His red hair was wild and stuck in several, gravity defying directions, his freckles strikingly prominent and reminiscent sun-kissed youth, his characteristic mole slighter than he remembered.
And he didn’t recognize the medbay.
He didn’t recognize Anakin.
The room around him began to shake, ever so slightly, as the air began to leave his lungs faster than he could bring it back. He felt his mind race, unable to keep up with it, body and mind disconnected as panic began to set in.
The kid pushed himself further into the corner, hesitantly raising the sheets to hide himself.
Anakin bit his lip, a slight twinge of copper dancing across his tongue as he desperately grasped for a means to ground himself.
Breathe. “I’m… I’m Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” he answered, after a moment. “And who are you?” He knew this answer, deep within the very crevice of his being. Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, his Master, High General, teacher, one of the last remaining anchors keeping Anakin steady-
The kid shook his head. “Where am I?” he restated, firmer than before, not even acknowledging the question sent his way.
Why couldn’t he just-
Okay, breathe.
“The Negotiator's Medbay,” he said. “What’s your-”
“Why am I here?”
By the Force.
Breathe, Skywalker, it’s Obi-Wan- he’s always been like this.
“For medical care,” at the boy’s narrowed eyes, he grasped wildly at a means to expand. “You were wounded on your last… mission, so you were brought here for medical attention.” It wasn't... wrong, per-say, it just left out an important piece of information. You were in your mid-thirties, woke up barely a teenager, and we have no idea whats going on.
The boy’s nose scrunched- Oh, wait that was adorable - as he took in Anakin’s words. “I don’t remember that.” Suspicion still laced his tongue, but honest confusion wove its way in.
“Well, you have a concussion, so that may be-”
The boy took an audible breath, and Anakin knew he was going to be interrupted yet again. Yeah, okay, that one was a lie, but could he please just let him finish one sentence-
“Where’s Master Jinn?”
The world stopped, and Anakin forgot how to breathe.
Where’s Master Jinn?
Memories of a man, surrounded by clouds of hazy idealism and raised on a pedestal of hopes and dreams, sprung to his mind. A man who was supposed to be his father, to teach him, to guide him. His hero, his savior, his freedom.
A man ready to defy the Council, all for his sake.
His hero struck down before he even had a chance to know him.
“- ker? Master Skywalker?” A small, high pitched but cracking voice poked through his thoughts, drawing his attention. “Master Skywalker, where’s Master Jinn?”
Where’s Master Jinn?
The words rang in his head hours after the conversation passed.
He remembered asking Obi-Wan the exact same thing over and over, not accepting the man’s pained, choked silence. The kind of persistent questioning only a young child could display.
He had never gotten a straight answer.
It was easy enough to piece together later on, and he had discovered Qui-Gon’s death the minute he caught whiff of his funeral. There was shame that festered in looking back at that time, at how much space he had been unwilling to give Obi-Wan, but…
But that shame rivaled the utter distress and betrayal of Obi-Wan’s sheer inability to just communicate with him, even from the very beginning of their partnership. He was a child, yes, but he still deserved honesty and trust.
And, yet, he had…
“Master Skywalker, where’s Master Jinn?”
“Master Jinn?” Anakin choked momentarily, grasping at straws to keep himself composed. “Master Jinn, he…” The kid deserved the truth, to know what was going on, even if- “He’s being transported to the Healing Ward- at the Temple.”
Wait, what?
The kid sat straighter. “Is he going to be okay?” Eyes wide and pleading, searching for an answer to a question that would never have one.
There was a shovel in his hands, and Anakin could feel the hole he was digging sink deeper. “Yes… He just… He just needs a healer, and some time to heal.”
“Then why,” the kid stumbled, a sense of insecurity Anakin never assumed possible radiating off of him in waves. “Then why am I here? Shouldn’t I be with Master Jinn?”
The shovel was gone, he was just aimlessly clawing at the dirt with anxious hands, so far down he could feel the earth around him begin to cave.
“Because,” he took a breath, steadying himself in an ever looming lie. “Because I will be taking over your training, in Master Qui-Gon’s… Absence.”
He felt the walls of dirt collapse around him and bury him six feet under.
“Where’s Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker?” Mace’s deep baratone swept through the small room, threatening to knock Anakin off his bone-tired feet. This was his third holo-call in a row, and he was running out of meaningful creative ways to deflect this exact question.
Force, why did Obi-Wan have to have so many meetings?
It made his Padawan’s day really hard; he should really consider that next time.
“He’s, uh, not available,” Anakin offered, a silent plea sent to any diety watching that it could, maybe, work?
His sheepish smile did nothing to persuade the Grandmaster, if the unimpressed look he got in response was any indication. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Skywalker, but today is not the day. Just put Obi-Wan on the call, or I’m sure one of the commanders will be more forthcoming.”
“I, uh, can’t do that.”
“And why not?”
“Because, uh,” Anakin reached down, throwing one of his hands over as many of the holo projector’s controls as he could and another calling a piece of scrapped aluminum to crinkle. “Because we’re going through a tunnel- se… e? We’-re losing con..nection.”
“I can see exactly what you are doing, stop playing around-”
Anakin threw his hand down on the end call button. “Sorry, looks like we lost you.”
That bought him time. Not a lot, and he now had comm units to confiscate, but it went better than he expected.
Right?
Now, he just had to come up with a plan, a way to get everyone on his side, for no one to force him to face the impending doom of awkwardness that came with facing the truth. He could do this; he just needed to do what Obi-wan did, and make a plan.
“Skyguy,” Anakin spun around, nervously looking at his padawan who peered curiously into the room. “What are you doing?”
So, scratch that whole 'time to make a plan thing.' It seemed he'd have to wing it. That was cool, just fine. That always worked out for him, so it should now, right?
“Oh? I, uh…” Ah, opps. Anakin sheepishly scratched the back of his neck. “How long… have you been there?”
An utterly unimpressed look flashed across her face as she held up her comm. “I got a comm from Master Windu.” She crossed her arms, her lack of answer all but confirming his anxiety. “What’s going on?”
Mentally, he pushed 'stealing everyone's comms' to the top of his to-do list.
“Ah, so… how do you feel about going by Knight Tano for a little while?”
Despite her obvious apprehension, delighted mischief flashed across her eyes.
His comm was beeping, the soft melody that indicated a High General needed him. Cody hummed. That’s odd. Sliding into one of the empty rooms to his right, he lifted his wrist steady before him, watching as the little blue figure flickered to life.
“Commander Cody, thank you for answering on such short notice,” High General Windu spoke, tone exasperated and tired. “If you could please redirect me to General Kenobi; it seems his comm has been disabled.”
Oh. ”Well, sir, I-” his words were cut short and a dark figure darted forward - how did he not notice earlier? - snatching his comm, ending the call all within the same moment. A flash of blue eyes and a sharp nervous smile, and the figure vanished.
General Skywalker… ?
They all decided that it was safer to just pretend nothing was wrong.
Well, by they, he meant Anakin himself. And by decided, he meant he already karked up, and he would just prefer to sink deeper and deeper into this hole, thank you very much.
Little Obi-Wan looked at him with such deep trust, and the thought of breaking threatened to shatter something deep within Anakin.
Padawan Kenobi was not to know of his current time displaced dilemma.
The kid was young, too young, just barely Ahsoka’s age. All round chubby cheeks and bright blue eyes. Anakin had always reveled in being taller than his Master (and he dreaded the day Ahsoka may surpass him), but now, with the kid smack dab in the middle of his growth spurt, just barely reaching Anakin’s shoulders, he could only find himself anxious at how tiny his master was.
Just how was he supposed to keep the kid safe on a warfront?
If there was one thing Anakin wanted Padawan Kenobi to stay forever for, it was the flimsiwork.
Obi-Wan took over his flimsiwork from time to time, sure, but he also would constantly poke him to file it on his own.
With Padawan Kenobi, Anakin never even saw the flimsiwork; it would be completed and filed by the handy little padawan before Anakin even knew it existed. Which, of course, became a problem, every once in a while, when contents were mentioned later, and Anakin had no clue what was being referenced.
“How about we use a similar maneuver to the one you mentioned in your Rishi report, Knight Skywalker?” Master Tinn looked at him expectantly through the holo.
Anakin fought the nervous grin trying to form. “Right, the, uh, maneuver from the… Rishi report.” He whipped his head to the side, raising a hand to cover his mouth as he stared at the commander. “What Rishi report?”
Commander Cody just sighed and handed him a small disk.
It also had the unintended consequence of making the Masters trust him as a capable leader, and, Force, he had to take back every complaint he ever made to Obi-Wan about not being trusted enough.
It was not all it was cracked up to be.
Datapads and flimsiwork filled his desk, haphazardly stacked, towering to an impressive height and threatening to topple at the slightest movement from the air vent just above his desk. Why did he put the desk there? The gentle breeze was nice, yes, but watching the datapads shift slightly brought all the accumulating negatives to the forefront of his mind.
It was all new responsibilities the Council now thought he was equipped to take over.
And it was nothing in comparison to the untouched flimsiwork that had been accumulating on Obi-Wan’s desk that Anakin absolutely refused to look at.
Judging by the lack of Council response, Commander Cody deserved a raise. By tenfold.
The daunting sight of the datapads grew and filled his vision, and Anakin gulped. They had all been delivered within the past few hours, outside of the usual hours Anakin knew little Obi-Wan snuck his way into his office. That much just had to be illegal in some way. He'd have to ask Padme.
He couldn't, on good conscious, leave this for the little Padawan. Begrudgingly, he grabbed one pad, eyes glazing over as he read over such dull content. Ration packs request accepted. Additional comm units denied. Was that Ahsoka’s essay on Alderaanian negotiation tactics? Information packets on new clone units; requests for their division placement.
A loud thunk filled the empty room as his head fell heavy onto his desk, towers of datapads falling over and clattering onto the floor.
He needed help. He couldn;t leave it to little Obi-Wan on his own, but he could...
Which is how he ended up here, with his and Obi-Wan’s desks pushed together, Anakin on one side, and little Obi-Wan on the other side. Each of them had their own stacks of datapads, Anakin monopolizing the physical flimsi. It was because they had more sensitive information, not the fact they tended to be easier to fill out, thank you very much.
Where Anakin could feel himself dozing, Padawan Kenobi had an intensity to his gaze, fervently completing datapad after datapad. His stack steadily thinning as Anakin’s stayed packed and full.
That just can’t be normal.
He eyed the boy’s work, watching as his neat print sped across the page, somehow easily legible despite his haste. How was he processing the information so fast? Anakin starred in horrified amazement as the boy zipped through three datapads in quick succession, never hesitating nor breaking from his momentum.
Though, it was there that he noticed the beginnings of cracks.
Sixteen casualties in the Corellian sector: fourteen wounded, three dead, one MIA. The space is secured for now; requests for further backup is recommended in order to maintain control. The information wasn’t wrong, in fact, little Obi-Wan was flawless in how he transferred Anakin’s Commander Cody’s end-of-battle notes.
It’s just, well…
“Hey,” he spoke up, breaking the silence of the room, shattering the thin veil of peace like glass, freeing the tension that little Obi-Wan had been stewing in since the start as his eyes whipped up to seize Anakin’s. His jaw tensed, shoulders straight, back ridged. Was he okay? “That’s the Dantooine report, not Corellian. You wrote the wrong system.” It was a simple mistake, especially with how he seemed to be repeating the same phrases over and over in favor of efficiency.
Regardless, little Obi-Wan flushed and threw his head down, hunching over his datapad, shoulder and arms collapsing in on himself, in a desperate attempt to hide his budding shame. And, Anakin noted, hiding any and all view he had over his work from across the tables.
It wasn’t something Anakin would broach now, but he definitely filed it away under ‘weird baby Obi-wan things to confront later.’
The boy’s pace slowed significantly after that, the rhythmic thumping of datapads near nonexistent as he seemed to more carefully examine his work. The peaceful atmosphere never returned, just overwhelming tense nervousness so thick that it clogged his airways taking its place.
Okay, there was no way he was getting work done now. “Alright, kiddo,” he tossed his datapad back into the overflowing pile, stretching back out and legs forward in his seat. Little Obi-Wan didn’t spare him a glance this time. “This is boring. Let’s get food.”
He was already out of his seat when the boy shook his head. Anakin sighed, turning around to Obi-Wan’s desk, reaching out to touch the boy’s shoulder. “Don’t tell me you actually want to work on these. Come on, I know there’s brownies-”
The temperature in the room dropped, datapads rattled, and Obi-Wan’s chair shot across the room as Anakin’s hand landed on his shoulder. The boy jolted, whipping around and burying his face under his bangs. “No- no, it’s okay, I’m not hungry.” His words were muffled and quiet.
Anakin’s hand fell to his side. More things to add to the list. “Ah, okay.” The boy huddled over to grab his chair, returning to his work, a soft rumble filling the silence. “No worries.” Obviously, the kid was hungry; Anakin just had to work around this setback.
He returned twenty minutes later, two trays full of every human-palatable food option available in hand. The smell immediately overtook the room, and piqued the interest of little Obi-Wan as he rose his head gently to find him, the source, at the doorway.
“What are you doing?” His voice was soft, still muffled like before, but stronger and more controlled.
“Eating.” He made his way to the desks, using the force to push away any datapads in the center of their desks, before placing the trays down.
“No, I just thought you were holding datapads. Of course you’re eating-” his cut himself, mostly likely biting his tongue in effort to stop such snarky remarks. That’s a shame. It was the most Obi-Wan thing he could be doing. ”But why here?”
“Because the cafeteria’s too loud,” Anakin plopped down in his seat, whipping out two sets of silverware. “And, I got too much, so I thought we’d share.” The boy’s eyes narrowed, seeing through his thinly veiled lie, but he grabbed one of the forks anyways, reaching for a slice of a Nubian pear, so Anakin considered it a win.
It was in that moment when Anakin knew that he had to become little Obi-Wan's favorite person by the end of the week.