Work Text:
The hermit life was a peaceful one, as filled with uncertainties as it was. Obi-Wan had no place to call home. No more than a handful of credits in his pockets. But solitude suited him well after everything that happened with Leia. With Luke. They’d both be fine. They had to as he embarked on this seemingly endless journey, looking for something he didn’t quite know what it was. Then, he’d go back to Tatooine. Back to being a shadow over Luke’s shoulder. Watching him grow. Wondering if Anakin -no, if Darth could ever feel the same sense of pride he felt when he thought about Luke and Leia.
They were so much like him and Padmé. He’d known from the first time he saw them.
And he… He once had so much of Obi-Wan in him, too.
Anakin had left a void in his heart that could never heal. It would stay there, forever, tearing itself apart day after day, never letting itself scab and stitch together. It was a reminder. Of better days. Of being alive.
Of something being amiss.
The dawn on the horizon was soft, basking the forest in soft oranges and yellows. The fire he’d burned was long gone, turned only into ashes that gently blew with the wind. But Obi-Wan felt no comfort from the sunlight. No warmth. Only the feeling of being in the eye before the storm, a false sense of calmness before a red blade whooshed past his head, cutting the three behind him before it was called into his assailant’s hand again.
An Inquisitor.
He could see nothing beside a helmet and red as the lightsaber came alive in their hands before they lunged at him. Obi-Wan was swift on his feet, the drowsiness disappearing completely as his fight instinct kicked in, calling his lightsaber that was buried in rubble to his hand, red meeting blue.
“Kenobi.” The modulated voice snarled.
“In the flesh.”
Their blades cracked together, flashes of purple lying in their wake. Maybe, he could be persuaded, just like Reva. Maybe, not all of them were alike. Maybe, just maybe.
He could make a dent in his helmet. See him in the eye. A twirl of his lightsaber and a push were enough to send the Inquisitor in a bit of a daze, leaving an opening small enough for Obi-Wan to make a gash through his helmet, leaving a blazing, amber path in its wake.
The Inquisitor tore it off without a second thought, golden eyes staring right at Obi-Wan’s. The sight was enough for his blood to run cold, lightsaber turning off the more he studied the face of the young man in front of him.
“Cal?”
And, just like that, his heart had split open at the very seams.
He’d tried to erase his reflection. The way Cal looked so much like Satine when he was a youngling in the crèche, eyes full of mirth and wonder. How, later, he’d met Bo-Katan and the red hair made even more sense. How, while Satine died in his arms, he thought about him. The image blurred by time and war, but it was still there. Green. Red. Constellations of brown across his nose.
He’d spent too much time in the crèche, pretending not to look at Cal. It was no coincidence he’d found a Force-Sensitive child in Mandalore because the only thing he’d found was his child lying in Satine’s arms, silent tears rolling down her face in a rare state of vulnerability. That was it for them. For all their escapades and carefully guarded love.
“Cal Kestis.” She’d said, not Kenobi nor Kryze, and, with stronger hands than his, she passed on the small bundle to his hands. It was hard to believe he had a son. A son with Satine, whom he’d loved dearly all those years. Who he loved still.
He’d always thought that, when he finally became a Knight, he’d wait until Cal was old enough to take him as a Padawan. His heart yearned for it. To have his son by his side. To teach him everything he knew. But the moment was ripped away from him, anger and revenge clouding his senses. He felt like a boy thrown into Knighthood, sworn to train another boy who was just as lost as him. And it was hard. Hard not to love Anakin. Hard not to harbor strange feelings in his chest when Cal started following Jaro Tapal around, looking up at the Lasat like he was the most remarkable being he’d ever seen as they walked across the temple halls.
Jaro knew. Promised he would protect Cal with his dying breath over tea at his quarters. The Jedi Master was tough, oriented, but even he couldn’t deny a father from seeing his son. So they would have tea together under the guise of letting their Padawans get to know each other. Anakin was too old, but he’d indulge Cal in the games he’d learned in the crèche that Anakin never got to experience in the childhood that was ripped away from him.
And he’d be a fool if he thought Quinlan didn’t know, too. He’d seen Obi-Wan running after Cal like a mother tooka, careful of what he’d touch with his bare hands. He’d made a passing comment that he used to be like that with Aayla, but Obi-Wan knew it was a lie. Quinlan pushed, but never shoved, and if Obi-Wan wasn’t willing to talk about the way he saw Cal, then he’d keep his mouth shut.
And it was funny how, in just one second, he went from Darth to Anakin in his eyes. How Cal was able to bring the memories out even if their sabers kept furiously clashing against each other. Even when the pain started to get unbearable and Obi-Wan, in a daze, pushed Cal against a tree and heard a smack as the side of his face collided with the trunk.
“I’m so sorry.” He whispered to the wind.
Obi-Wan watched the steady rise and fall of Cal’s chest as he slept. The blood smeared across his cheek. The uniform. Oh, the uniform. Jaro swore he would protect him. He swore he would. And look at him now, donning an Inquisitor uniform, calling him a name that held traces of a poison that plagued his already broken heart.
He’d mourned Cal. Still did until that very morning. Felt the void right next to where Satine rested in his heart. Still felt it as he examined the lightsaber beside him, twirling the mechanism, wondering how Cal got himself into that place. Wondering if there was anything he could have done to prevent his children from turning to the dark side, and coming out empty-handed.
The lightsaber flew from his hand and went straight into Cal's, the fire between them lighting up his eyes and making them seem fierier than ever.
“Do what you must.” Obi-Wan said, crossing his legs, at peace even when Cal extended his hand and Obi-Wan feebly clawed at his constricting throat.
His lightsaber was there, right beside him. He could call it to his hand, catch Cal off guard. But he didn’t. Cal’s eyes flickered to the saber and his grip got tighter, hissing every word that came out of his mouth.
“Fight back.”
“I won’t.” He managed to choke out, and Cal’s grip faltered for a second, eyes looking for evidence of deception in Obi-Wan’s and ultimately finding nothing, taking a few strides punctuated by his hand closing even tighter on Obi-Wan’s throat.
“Why?” There was a storm brewing behind his eyes, barely containing the anger simmering in them. “Fight back!” He said, louder this time, hating how his voice broke at the end because, in Kenobi’s eyes, he was still that freckled-faced Padawan running around the temple halls with Anakin Skywalker behind him. Someone who needed to be protected. Who needed him to wake up by his side in the Healing Halls after a psychometric attack. Not a killer. Not a failure. Not everything that had been ingrained into his brain ever since Trilla brought him to the Fortress.
He let go, eyes burning through Obi-Wan’s form as he caught his breath.
“I failed you, Cal.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I failed you as a father.” Obi-Wan continued, and it all started to click.
The tea parties. The fond looks. The strange records. The image of him and Jaro Tapal standing on top of the training platform, looking down at him with pride and something else sparkling in his eyes. He’d always been there for Cal, offering a comforting presence amidst the chaos and doubt. A meditating partner. Always making time for him. A stranger. All because he reminded him of someone.
“Who did I remind you of?” The question lingered heavy in the air, Obi-Wan’s wheezing filling the stillness.
“Your mother.” Was the answer.
Cal took a deep breath, walking closer to Obi-Wan, saber ignited. “Where am I from?”
“Mandalore.”
“The records said I was from Stewjon.”
“It was the only way I could explain the red hair.” Maybe it was a bad idea but, from his pocket, he took the only reminder he had of Satine. A dainty necklace he kept from back when they were young and freshly in love. A token of affection. A promise that he’d be back. He offered it to Cal with trembling hands, the chain dirtied by the years no matter how hard he tried to preserve it. “Take it.”
And he did. He listened. Cal was a blazing storm and crashing waves as he examined it before taking off a thick glove and grabbing it with his bare hands. His face contorted in pain, holding the necklace in a vice-grip as his eyes shut tight. Obi-Wan remembered when he couldn’t do that. When he couldn’t control his psychometry and he’d convulse until the memory passed. But now, he only opened his eyes, staring at Obi-Wan long and hard, the edges of his eyes softening the more he took in his features before looking down at the necklace hanging from his fingers, looking as small and frail as the thing itself.
And, for a moment, Obi-Wan felt like he was looking at a Padawan again. Gold instead of green. The same red. The same constellations on his scarred face.
The storm was still inside Cal, raging hard, breaking everything in its wake as he tried to fully grasp what Obi-Wan had shown him. What he knew. What everyone had told him up to that point.
Anakin was Vader, and he knew. He knew from the very start when Trilla first brought him to the temple. He knew when he forced him to use his psychometry over and over again until his nose was bleeding and red was dripping down all the way to his boots. He wanted him to be the one to find Obi-Wan. His own father. And bring him his head on a silver platter.
Obi-Wan stood up, moisture forming in the corners of his eyes, bringing one callous hand to the side of Cal’s face so gently it made the Inquisitor's eyes flutter shut.
“What have they done to you, my child?”
“I did it myself.” Cal whispered.
And the dam inside Cal’s mind and heart broke.
The hermit life was not a peaceful one. Not when you were a former Inquisitor and a wanted man. But they made do, hoods covering their faces, sharing food. Omitting stories.
They meditated together as Cal’s kyber crystals still bled between them, brows furrowed in concentration as they tried to cleanse them with their combined strength. A tabula rasa. A way for Cal to start anew. White instead of red. Not blue, not anymore.
Cal’s emotions swirled too fast for him to latch onto one. Pain. Anger. Grief. Letting them in with an inhale and letting them out with a shaky exhale. Cal had spent years as an Inquisitor, being told to use his emotions, his anger. And now, he was trying not to, a single ray of hope breaking through Cal’s mind as more and more emotions clouded his senses.
Would he’d been able to forgive himself if he had continued instead of letting go? If he’d found the pendant after sifting through all the memories, all the love, grief, and faraway pride because it was the only way Obi-Wan could keep him safe in Coruscant?
No, he wouldn’t.
He would have fallen in deeper. Finally losing the way. Getting lost in the darkness once and for all.
But, now? He had something to hold on to as he watched the crystals slowly turn from red to white. As Obi-Wan smiled softly at him, the corners of his eyes crinkling with pride, looking at him the same way he’d done when he was a child. Even if his eyes were different. Even if he was different.
And, maybe, Cal wasn’t as broken as he thought he was.