Chapter Text
Ben Kenobi
Every day was the same here. The suns came up. He would go to whatever job it was had managed to get, sometimes helping butcher the massive carcasses of giant creatures, sometimes polishing up scrap to sell back to the Jawas, and sometimes going into Mos Eisley to sell the meager amount of vegetables and mushrooms he had grown. After a long day of hard labor in the relentless suns he would eat his watery gruel and then go to bed for another night of nightmares.
He wasn't a Jedi Master here, or a GAR General, or even Obi-Wan. Here he was just Old Ben Kenobi, the crazy hermit who lives out in the Jundland Wastes. He barely spoke to anybody more than absolutely necessary. He hadn't even really reached out with the force for many years, too afraid of drawing attention to himself and thus Luke. But also, now, the Force felt cold and dark and empty without the warm light of the Jedi filling it. Every night his dreams were filled with the echoes of his friends' screams as their lives were ruthlessly cut short. Every morning he woke up with a piercing headache as he felt the phantom ache of those bonds snapping. He could still feel the blistering heat of Mustafar, still hear Anakin's screams.
Every day he wondered if living was still worth it. Everyone else was dead. Why did he have to be the one who lived? Every day he thought about how easy it would be to simply fade away into the Force. Every day he reminded himself that he did still have something left to live for. He remembered Luke growing up just a few klicks away and Leia growing up on Alderaan. All hope was not lost. One day they would need to be trained. One day they would bring balance back to the Force.
For now Obi-Wan, Ben, simply had to survive, avoid the Empire, and continue to live life one day at a time.