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There was a beeping sound, somewhere in the distance, and Anakin couldn’t figure out what it was.
It was different from R2, not as shrill, not as personal - instead it was a rhythmic sound, clinical. A monitor?
R2 was blissfully quiet, a first for the droid, and that either meant good news, or terrifying news.
Wait? Was R2 even there?
He reached out. The Force was silent too, there, a trumming energy underneath his skin, but quiet, not a single concern, not a single warning, as if it were silent on purpose, and if he struggled, if he reached, he could feel Obi-Wan’s signature blazing, a prodding thing reaching back, frantic almost.
Anakin was in the dark.
Why was Anakin in the dark?
“Anakin?”
Words were difficult to force out of his mouth, he couldn’t do much but groan, and he realized the darkness was the back of his eyelids. It was too hard to open his eyes. Why were his eyelids so heavy?
“Anakin, please…”
That voice.
Obi-Wan.
He reached out with the Force, reached aand reached and latched on, and heard Obi-Wan make a soft noise, relieved, a hitching in his breathing that sounded like - was Obi-Wan crying?
Why was Obi-Wan crying?
He needed to open his eyes. What happened? Why couldn’t he remember?
“’bi-Wan?” He muttered, but his eyes remained stubbornly closed.
A gasp of relief, it sounded yanked forcefully from Obi-Wan’s lungs, it sounded painful.
“Yes! I’m right here! You’re alright, Anakin…” His Master spoke too fast, too loud, and Anakin winced, but was soothed anyway by the familiar voice, even if the panic in his tone was unfamiliar - the panic of it, the worry, the tears. “Don’t try to open your eyes, you had…there was a nasty head wound, the lights are too bright, it’ll hurt you if you open your eyes. Keep them closed.”
Anakin relaxed into the cot.
“What happened?” The effort to get the words out was worrying, Anakin’s tongue felt too heavy, clumsy, and he tried to move his arms - his mechno-arm wasn’t there, he couldn’t feel it, but his remaining arm was intact, he could move it, he could move his fingers too, make a fist, even though it took some conscious effort for even the smallest movement.
His legs were also there, heavy and unyielding, but there, healthy - so were his toes, he could wiggle them.
His head was screaming at him, the splitting headache he associated with the nasty kind of headwound that probably bled too much and made everything feel like it was stabbing his brain directly.
His torso, though - oh, that wasn’t good.
Obi-Wan’s hand fell on Anakin’s shoulder. “Don’t try to move, Anakin. Please.”
His chest was aching, a bothersome throb on his ribs that he could easily ignore, a fractured rib, maybe two, nothing Anakin hadn’t felt before during the war. His gut though… that was a different story.
“I got shot.” He said, wonder in his voice - more wonder than shock.
Obi-Wan sighed. “Yes. You did.” He sounded so tired. “You’re safe now, though, all you have to do is focus on healing.”
There was something though, something nagging at the back of his head, something he should remember. What was it? He was going to see the Chancellor, he was…why was he going to see the Chancellor?
Padmé.
Wait.
Padmé. The baby.
“Padmé?”
Don’tpanicdon’tpanicdon’tpanic
“She is alright, Anakin.” Obi-Wan reassured, his voice gentler, something out of a memory of when Anakin was nine and terrified and everything was so new and strange. He used to talk to him like that, a hand on his shoulder, a kind smile on his lips, and tell him that everything would be just fine, that Anakin just needed to trust in the Force.
Trust in the Force.
The Force was quiet today.
Quiet and - Anakin prodded, a silent question, and received an answer - sad?
Oh.
It was grieving.
Anakin pushed.
The Force pushed back, tried his shields, poked at them curiously, and, after consent from Anakin, It shattered them.
Anakin gasped, the weight of the pain suddenly crashing through him, like a door had been broken open, wave after wave of heartwrenching pain, so much death, why was there so much death? He trashed on the bed - a beeping, concerning, blaring in the distance -, Obi-Wan grabbed him tight by the shoulders and then Anakin felt it, through the overbearing sorrow, the beckoning light of Obi-Wan’s Force-signature grabbing Anakin out of it, enveloping him, warm and peaceful and sad too, so sad, but loving, so much love too, so much pride. Anakin let himself be submerged in it, let the grief fade, the wave recede, and Obi-Wan was all he knew, that sweet peace, that loving heat.
“Obi-Wan, what...?”
He tried to open his eyes, struggled, felt them flutter for a second, there was a hint of artificial light, of auburn hair, an immediate pain stabbing through his brain, but Obi-Wan’s hand fell on his eyes and plunged him into the soothing darkness again.
“Keep them closed, you stubborn man. Why must you strive to hurt yourself every time?”
Anakin whimpered, wrapped an hand around Obi-Wan’s wrist, and tightened.
“What happened?”
Obi-Wan hesitated.
There was something nagging at the back of Anakin's mind, he needed...there was something he was forgetting, something...
The younglings.
Anakin remembered the younglings, panicked and screaming, clutching at him as he tried to stay awake.
He remembered shooting. The Temple. He had to get the children out. He had to. They were so small, he told them to run - why were they running? Who was attacking the Temple?
“Obi-Wan?”
He leaned down, pressed a kiss to Anakin’s forehead, featherlight and soft, and oh, oh, Obi-Wan was crying.
“You have time to find out later. You need to heal first.” He whispered, his breath falling on Anakin’s skin, and Anakin wanted to ask, he needed answers, anything, where was Padmé, why was Obi-Wan crying, why was he hurt?
The Force was grieving. Thousands were dead. Jedi. Thousands of Jedi were dead? What?
“Anakin, quiet now.”
Oh. Right. Their bond.
“Master, please.”
Through the bond, Obi-Wan sent peace, tranquility, rest. Anakin struggled, tried to get his shields back up fast enough to keep Obi-Wan from putting him to sleep, but the suggestion had already been made, and Anakin was still so tired, his stomach was starting to burn more and more, his ribs made it uncomfortable to breathe, and he was just so tired, so very tired.
Obi-Wan kissed him on the forehead again. That was so strange. So nice. Obi-Wan had never done that before.
“I promise I will explain everything, I promise, but right now you need to sleep, you need to heal. Can you do that for me, Anakin? Can you rest for me?”
Anakin nodded, felt his hold on Obi-Wan’s wrist slacken, but his Master took his hand in his, held it tight, and Anakin was glad for the gesture, for the immediate comfort it gave him.
“I’m so proud of you.” Obi-Wan sobbed, his voice so saturated with grief that Anakin whimpered again, tried to do something, anything, but the darkness was spreading.
He was so tired.
So very tired.
“Go to sleep, dear one. We’ll talk when you’re feeling better.”
The Force embraced him, felt apologetic almost, and when it lulled him to sleep, he could swear it sounded like his Mother’s voice.