swhurtcomfort

[swhurtcomfort]

Happy holiday!

Thank you, you too!! ❄️💞

[swhurtcomfort]

For @luvvewan <3

[swhurtcomfort]

The last bit of this update to the Recovery series is up!

[swhurtcomfort]

New chapter!

[swhurtcomfort]

Recovery AU update!

[swhurtcomfort]

Can you make a part two to "Obi-Wan rescues Anakin after months of torture and cleans him up and cares for him while they wait for a medevac" where Anakin recovers from the lasting effects?

(thanks, anon! sequel to [this])

Obi-Wan’s heart didn’t stop pounding until the evac landed behind the safehouse. Two medics and two ground troopers met Obi-Wan at the door.

It was much easier to rouse Anakin this time. Hopefully that meant the sedative was clearing out of his system. Anakin nodded in recognition at the soldiers, but didn’t make any other effort to communicate except to moan in pain as they loaded him onto a gurney.

Obi-Wan watched the medic buckle the safety straps across Anakin’s chest and just above his knees.

“He might prefer to lie on his side,” he said breathlessly, thinking of the awful wounds crisscrossing Anakin’s back. Anakin groaned in agreement.

“Once we jump to hyperspace, we can reposition him.” the medic promised, already moving towards the exit and not looking up from his work. “Vitals are okay for now, heart rate 126, normal rhythm, B.P. 190 over 110 and coming down, temp is 99.9,” he said to his partner.

Anakin started to calm down once they were in the air. Obi-Wan typed a short update to Cody, then a more informal one to Ahsoka.

A trooper took the seat next to Obi-Wan’s and quizzed him about everything that had happened in the eight hours they spent waiting at the safehouse. “You said you think he was drugged, sir?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “There are needle marks, and he was barely lucid when I found him. Sedated, I think.”

“Tox screen,” one of the medics mumbled to the other, who nodded and immediately started tying a tourniquet around Anakin’s flesh arm and searching for a vein there. “Just a quick pinch, General Skywalker,” he said. He drew blood, then used the same line to start a bag of IV fluids.

“Can I roll on my side now?”

“Yes, let us help, sir.”

Anakin couldn’t hold back the pained noises as the medics repositioned him.

“I’m sorry we can’t give you any relief, sir,” the medic explained. “Can’t go mixing painkillers with an unknown dose of mystery sedative.”

The trooper who was interviewing Obi-Wan continued, “And he tolerated a bit of food and water?”

“On the second attempt, yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “I’m afraid initially, I didn’t consider that a meal pack would be too much of a shock to his system, and it came back up. A while after that, he was able to keep some pureed fruit down.”

From behind the trooper, one of the medics piped up “I’m glad, but he really shouldn’t be taking anything by mouth until we have an electrolyte panel back. Skywalker was a healthy weight before this, so just going off the look of things I’d say he’s a refeeding risk.”

Anakin grimaced at the reference to his appearance, while Obi-Wan swallowed a pang of guilt. Anakin had been so desperate and so obviously starving, Obi-Wan had failed to consider that giving him food could be dangerous.

“Hear that, Patch?” the medic asked.

“Check electrolytes and serum glucose; on it, vod.”

Anakin remained stable and awake as they zipped through hyperspace. Obi-Wan sat beside him in silence, one hand resting on the side of the gurney. His commlink chirped.

“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan gently, waiting for Anakin to turn his head in response. “I let Ahsoka know that you’re alright. She asked if you could comm.”

Anakin’s face fell.

“I should,” he mumbled.

“You can say no,” Obi-Wan assured him. Anakin looked relieved. The separation and uncertainty had been grueling on Ahsoka, but certainly Anakin had suffered more. If he didn’t want to talk about it while tired and in pain, Obi-Wan couldn’t fault him.

“Would you mind if I stepped out to speak with her?” he asked. Anakin shook his head.

***

The clone medics turned over care to the Jedi Healers on Coruscant, and the whole process of examinations and tests started anew.

While Anakin was being transported straight to the Halls, Obi-Wan met Ahsoka in the hangar bay. She rocketed into his arms, gripping Obi-Wan tight.

“It’s alright, Padawan. He’s home. We’ve got him.”

Ahsoka squeezed Obi-Wan tighter. They made their way to the Halls and waited together, but when a healer appeared, she invited only Obi-Wan to follow her.

The healers’ recommendations were much as expected: short bacta soaks and oral antibiotics for the mess of wounds on his back, careful monitoring and bloodwork as they reintroduced small amounts of food, an evaluation by a mind-healer.

Anakin was looking much more relaxed now that he had completed his first round of bacta treatment and finally been administered some pain relief. Obi-Wan leaned over him to gently touch his cheek. Anakin smiled as he reached up for the hand, taking it into his own and resting both on his chest. He then promptly fell asleep.

Anakin was in lower spirits in the morning. He asked for a mirror, and then seemed even more upset when this request was granted.

Obi-Wan knew that Ahsoka was still waiting to see him, but he didn’t bring it up yet. First, he procured a basin and supplies and set to work easing the knots and tangles from Anakin’s woefully neglected hair. Anakin was uncharacteristically silent, only flinching when a few particularly stubborn mats had to be snipped away. Obi-Wan almost teased him, given that his former padawan had always been just a little bit vain about his hair, but he refrained. They were able to save most of it, which was impressive, all things considered.

After Anakin had a chance to use the shave kit as well, he was looking much less haggard.

Anakin cleared his throat. “You said Ahsoka helped find me?” he rasped.

Obi-Wan nodded. “She did. It was her idea to breach the facility through the fuel delivery bay. She wanted to be the one to extract you, but I thought it would be better if I went.”

Anakin nodded.

“She’s been waiting down the hall–”

“I’m not…I’m not ready,” Anakin stumbled, averting his gaze. “Not yet.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in concern, but did not comment.

Obi-Wan didn’t technically request leave from the Council, but it went without saying. Over the next several days, about half the times Obi-Wan arrived at the Halls of Healing, he was told that Anakin wasn’t feeling up to visitors. When he wasn’t turned away at the door, he would sit by Anakin’s bedside, but there wasn’t much conversation.

Obi-Wan had grown to expect a certain amount of griping from a recuperating Anakin – complaining about the healer’s demands, about wanting his own bed, or about dietitian-prescribed meals, but this time there was none. He didn’t speak much, except at night when he mumbled incoherently through restless dreams. And he still wouldn’t see any visitors other than Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan made excuses to Ahsoka. Anakin was tired, he was groggy or nauseous from the medication, he hadn’t slept well. Often, the excuses were true, but it didn’t make things less awkward.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan spoke up one evening as he was getting ready to depart. “Perhaps–at least a conversation over holo would–”

The words died on his lips with the pleading look Anakin gave him.

***

The long-term plan the healers proposed was unsurprising too: weekly weigh-ins until Anakin was back to his previous weight, six more sessions with the mind-healer, gentle katas and exercise under a healer’s supervision until they were confident that the neither excess scar tissue nor weakened muscles were likely to cause further injury.

A droid removed Anakin’s IV and monitors. Obi-Wan helped him pack up the belongings that had accumulated in his room; Obi-Wan and Ahsoka’s attempts to make him feel more comfortable in the Halls surrounded by blankets, mugs, and other familiar items from home.

Seeing him dressed in full Jedi attire again calmed some of the feelings that sometimes felt like they were restricting Obi-Wan’s windpipe. It began to sink in that Anakin was truly safe. He no longer looked so malnourished, and several bacta treatments had closed his wounds and jumpstarted the physical healing process.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan tried again, but he faltered.

For a moment, Obi-Wan wondered whether he would ask to stay in Obi-Wan’s quarters rather than the suite he shared with Ahsoka, to continue hiding from the world.

Anakin cleared his throat.

“I want…I wanted to be better. Before she saw me.”

Obi-Wan put down the blankets and paused carefully before he said, “Anakin, you were a prisoner of war for several months. No one expects you to be alright just like that.”

“They’re not…they’re not all fresh scars, Master,” Anakin mumbled cryptically.

The long, thin scars across Anakin’s back were not all new. Obi-Wan knew that much. He hummed.

“I just keep thinking, round and round my head…she deserves better. It wasn’t fair, what this whole thing must have put her through.”

“All padawans who grow up in wartime deserve better,” said Obi-Wan. “Yourself included.”

After a pause, he added, “And she needs you. Your healing came first–she’s alright, and I’ve tried to be there as much as I can, especially while you were missing–but she needs her master.”

Without sharing the exact reason, Obi-Wan made sure that Anakin was discharged while Ahsoka was in class so that he would have a bit of time to settle before he had to confront her.

The outer door mechanism clicked, and Anakin suddenly shot Obi-Wan a look of panic.

“She doesn’t need you to be okay all of the time. She just needs you to be there,” said Obi-Wan quietly from where he stood in the corner of the living area.

Ahsoka was fidgeting with the shoulder strap of her school bag when she entered.

“Hey, Skyguy,” she said nervously.

“Hey,” Anakin choked.

“How about both of you sit down,” Obi-Wan suggested gently. It was only partially because Anakin had turned pale. He slipped into the kitchen to put on a kettle. From the doorway behind him, he heard muted conversation that eventually devolved into sniffling. When he heard two peals of nervous laughter, Obi-Wan set down the tea and allowed himself a sigh of relief.

[swhurtcomfort]

Can you make a part two to "Obi-Wan rescues Anakin after months of torture and cleans him up and cares for him while they wait for a medevac" where Anakin recovers from the lasting effects?

(thanks, anon! sequel to [this])

Obi-Wan’s heart didn’t stop pounding until the evac landed behind the safehouse. Two medics and two ground troopers met Obi-Wan at the door.

It was much easier to rouse Anakin this time. Hopefully that meant the sedative was clearing out of his system. Anakin nodded in recognition at the soldiers, but didn’t make any other effort to communicate except to moan in pain as they loaded him onto a gurney.

Obi-Wan watched the medic buckle the safety straps across Anakin’s chest and just above his knees.

“He might prefer to lie on his side,” he said breathlessly, thinking of the awful wounds crisscrossing Anakin’s back. Anakin groaned in agreement.

“Once we jump to hyperspace, we can reposition him.” the medic promised, already moving towards the exit and not looking up from his work. “Vitals are okay for now, heart rate 126, normal rhythm, B.P. 190 over 110 and coming down, temp is 99.9,” he said to his partner.

Anakin started to calm down once they were in the air. Obi-Wan typed a short update to Cody, then a more informal one to Ahsoka.

A trooper took the seat next to Obi-Wan’s and quizzed him about everything that had happened in the eight hours they spent waiting at the safehouse. “You said you think he was drugged, sir?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “There are needle marks, and he was barely lucid when I found him. Sedated, I think.”

“Tox screen,” one of the medics mumbled to the other, who nodded and immediately started tying a tourniquet around Anakin’s flesh arm and searching for a vein there. “Just a quick pinch, General Skywalker,” he said. He drew blood, then used the same line to start a bag of IV fluids.

“Can I roll on my side now?”

“Yes, let us help, sir.”

Anakin couldn’t hold back the pained noises as the medics repositioned him.

“I’m sorry we can’t give you any relief, sir,” the medic explained. “Can’t go mixing painkillers with an unknown dose of mystery sedative.”

The trooper who was interviewing Obi-Wan continued, “And he tolerated a bit of food and water?”

“On the second attempt, yes,” Obi-Wan confirmed. “I’m afraid initially, I didn’t consider that a meal pack would be too much of a shock to his system, and it came back up. A while after that, he was able to keep some pureed fruit down.”

From behind the trooper, one of the medics piped up “I’m glad, General, but he really shouldn’t be taking anything by mouth until we have an electrolyte panel back. Skywalker was a healthy weight before this, so just going off the look of things I’d say he’s a refeeding risk.”

Anakin grimaced at the reference to his appearance, while Obi-Wan swallowed a pang of guilt. Anakin had been so desperate and so obviously starving, Obi-Wan had failed to consider that giving him food could be dangerous.

“Hear that, Patch?” the medic asked.

“Check electrolytes and serum glucose; on it, vod.”

Anakin remained stable and awake as they zipped through hyperspace. Obi-Wan sat beside him in silence, one hand resting on the side of the gurney. His commlink chirped.

“Anakin,” said Obi-Wan gently, waiting for Anakin to turn his head in response. “I let Ahsoka know that you’re alright. She asked if you could comm.”

Anakin’s face fell.

“I should,” he mumbled.

“You can say no,” Obi-Wan assured him. Anakin looked relieved. The separation and uncertainty had been grueling on Ahsoka, but certainly Anakin had suffered more. If he didn’t want to talk about it while tired and in pain, Obi-Wan couldn’t fault him.

“Would you mind if I stepped out to speak with her?” he asked. Anakin shook his head.

***

The clone medics turned over care to the Jedi Healers on Coruscant, and the whole process of examinations and tests started anew.

While Anakin was being transported straight to the Halls, Obi-Wan met Ahsoka in the hangar bay. She rocketed into his arms, gripping Obi-Wan tight.

“It’s alright, Padawan. He’s home. We’ve got him.”

Ahsoka squeezed Obi-Wan tighter. They made their way to the Halls and waited together, but when a healer appeared, she invited only Obi-Wan to follow her.

The healers’ recommendations were much as expected: short bacta soaks and oral antibiotics for the mess of wounds on his back, careful monitoring and bloodwork as they reintroduced small amounts of food, an evaluation by a mind-healer.

Anakin was looking much more relaxed now that he had completed his first round of bacta treatment and finally been administered some pain relief. Obi-Wan leaned over him to gently touch his cheek. Anakin smiled as he reached up for the hand, taking it into his own and resting both on his chest. He then promptly fell asleep.

Anakin was in lower spirits in the morning. He asked for a mirror, and then seemed even more upset when this request was granted.

Obi-Wan knew that Ahsoka was still waiting to see him, but he didn’t bring it up yet. First, he procured a basin and supplies and set to work easing the knots and tangles from Anakin’s woefully neglected hair. Anakin was uncharacteristically silent, only flinching when a few particularly stubborn mats had to be snipped away. Obi-Wan almost teased him, given that his former padawan had always been just a little bit vain about his hair, but he refrained. They were able to save most of it, which was impressive, all things considered.

After Anakin had a chance to use the shave kit as well, he was looking much less haggard.

Anakin cleared his throat. “You said Ahsoka helped find me?” he rasped.

Obi-Wan nodded. “She did. It was her idea to breach the facility through the fuel delivery bay. She wanted to be the one to extract you, but I thought it would be better if I went.”

Anakin nodded.

“She’s been waiting down the hall–”

“I’m not…I’m not ready,” Anakin stumbled, averting his gaze. “Not yet.”

Obi-Wan raised his eyebrows in concern, but did not comment.

Obi-Wan didn’t technically request leave from the Council, but it went without saying. Over the next several days, about half the times Obi-Wan arrived at the Halls of Healing, he was told that Anakin wasn’t feeling up to visitors. When he wasn’t turned away at the door, he would sit by Anakin’s bedside, but there wasn’t much conversation.

Obi-Wan had grown to expect a certain amount of griping from a recuperating Anakin – complaining about the healer’s demands, about wanting his own bed, or about dietitian-prescribed meals, but this time there was none. He didn’t speak much, except at night when he mumbled incoherently through restless dreams. And he still wouldn’t see any visitors other than Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan made excuses to Ahsoka. Anakin was tired, he was groggy or nauseous from the medication, he hadn’t slept well. Often, the excuses were true, but it didn’t make things less awkward.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan spoke up one evening as he was getting ready to depart. “Perhaps–at least a conversation over holo would–”

The words died on his lips with the pleading look Anakin gave him.

***

The long-term plan the healers proposed was unsurprising too: weekly weigh-ins until Anakin was back to his previous weight, six more sessions with the mind-healer, gentle katas and exercise under a healer’s supervision until they were confident that the neither excess scar tissue nor weakened muscles were likely to cause further injury.

A droid removed Anakin’s IV and monitors. Obi-Wan helped him pack up the belongings that had accumulated in his room; Obi-Wan and Ahsoka’s attempts to make him feel more comfortable in the Halls surrounded by blankets, mugs, and other familiar items from home.

Seeing him dressed in full Jedi attire again calmed some of the feelings that sometimes felt like they were restricting Obi-Wan’s windpipe. It began to sink in that Anakin was truly safe. He no longer looked so malnourished, and several bacta treatments had closed his wounds and jumpstarted the physical healing process.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan tried again, but he faltered.

For a moment, Obi-Wan wondered whether he would ask to stay in Obi-Wan’s quarters rather than the suite he shared with Ahsoka, to continue hiding from the world.

Anakin cleared his throat.

“I want…I wanted to be better. Before she saw me.”

Obi-Wan put down the blankets and paused carefully before he said, “Anakin, you were a prisoner of war for several months. No one expects you to be alright just like that.”

“They’re not…they’re not all fresh scars, Master,” Anakin mumbled cryptically.

The long, thin scars across Anakin’s back were not all new. Obi-Wan knew that much. He hummed.

“I just keep thinking, round and round my head…she deserves better. It wasn’t fair, what this whole thing must have put her through.”

“All padawans who grow up in wartime deserve better,” said Obi-Wan. “Yourself included.”

After a pause, he added, “And she needs you. Your healing came first–she’s alright, and I’ve tried to be there as much as I can, especially while you were missing–but she needs her master.”

Without sharing the exact reason, Obi-Wan made sure that Anakin was discharged while Ahsoka was in class so that he would have a bit of time to settle before he had to confront her.

The outer door mechanism clicked, and Anakin suddenly shot Obi-Wan a look of panic.

“She doesn’t need you to be okay all of the time. She just needs you to be there,” said Obi-Wan quietly from where he stood in the corner of the living area.

Ahsoka was fidgeting with the shoulder strap of her school bag when she entered.

“Hey, Skyguy,” she said nervously.

“Hey,” Anakin choked.

“How about both of you sit down,” Obi-Wan suggested gently. It was only partially because Anakin had turned pale. He slipped into the kitchen to put on a kettle. From the doorway behind him, he heard muted conversation that eventually devolved into sniffling. When he heard two peals of nervous laughter, Obi-Wan set down the tea and allowed himself a sigh of relief.

[swhurtcomfort]

Hey, if you're still taking whumptober asks (I know you're a busy person so if all your slots have been filled please feel free to ignore this) but I would humbly like to request Anakin Skywalker with either 21 with blood-matted hair or 27 with whatever you choose. Whatever you feel like writing, or if you feel like this at all, it's totally up to you^^ Thank you sweetness your writing is amazing!

So clearly I fell off the Whumptober wagon. but I still really appreciated & wanted to answer this very kind request 💕 Happy Star Wars Day, and May the Fourth be with you!

[Whumptober 2021 Day #21 theme was  blood-matted hair | pressure | bleeding through bandages ]

In the end, Obi-Wan had nearly stepped on him.

“Come in, Rex,” he managed to mumble into his commlink. “Anakin’s here. Transmitting our coordinates.” 

There was no time for honorifics and titles, and no time for details. Obi-Wan knelt by the form he had nearly tripped over, half-buried in the jungle underbrush. After he’d crash-landed his ship (again), Anakin had been missing for just under 16 hours. Clone crews had swept the entire area surrounding the wreck, but Anakin had seemingly wandered away from the site of the impact and found himself somewhere dark and cool (and damp and dirty) to collapse from his injuries.

That behavior alone made Obi-Wan wary about a head injury, and a quick examination confirmed this theory. There was a significant amount of blood soaking the back of Anakin’s head, some fresh, some long dried and matted into his hair.

“Anakin? Can you hear me?” he asked.

“Hmm,” Anakin responded.

Even small head wounds bleed more than you’d expect. This knowledge had been drilled into Obi-Wan over years of combat training, and he knew better than to judge the severity of the wound by the amount of blood. Unfortunately, it was hard to see where the bleeding was coming from. He held the penlight from his kit between his teeth as he carded his fingers through Anakin’s hair, searching, which drew a pitiful whine of protest.

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” said Obi-Wan softly. “Help is coming.”

He eased a folded spare cloak under Anakin’s head and rested his hand gingerly under the bend of Anakin’s jaw to feel the pulse there, sluggish and weak. He quietly reported his findings to Rex via commlink, hoping that Kix and the other medics on duty would be prepared for their arrival. 

Obi-Wan continued to use the penlight to search for other injuries. There was a gash torn through Anakin’s upper left sleeve, but the abrasion underneath looked like it was only skin-deep. He’d bitten his lower lip badly as well, but it would heal with bacta. Although his breaths were shallow, there was no coughing or wheezing. Anakin’s head seemed like the only worrisome thing.

He didn’t think Anakin was awake until he felt a gloved hand grab his wrist.

“Hey,” Anakin mumbled.

“Hey.”

Obi-Wan shifted from crouching to kneeling by Anakin’s head and returned the grip on his hand.

“Crashed another ship.”

“So I see.”

“I thought–I wasn’t sure if–” Anakin’s bloodied lip made him slur his words. “Glad you’re here, Master.”

“Yes, well, I believe I owed you a debt after that business on Felucia.”

“Hmm,” Anakin snorted softly. “You’re like a father to me, Obi-Wan. I love you. Should’ve told you that more.”

Obi-Wan’s heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. For a moment, he couldn’t bear to reply. He quietly leaned over to his commlink and asked Rex for an ETA.

“Don’t get sappy,” Obi-Wan finally whispered. “You’ve lost a lot of blood–might be concussed too for all I know. But Kix will patch you up.”

“Okay,” Anakin mumbled.

[swhurtcomfort]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37905436

Excited to share the newest installment of my collaboration with @sanerontheinside @firondoiel and @luvvewan !!

[swhurtcomfort]

Whumptober Day 7: Helplessness

Quinlan’s tone is lighthearted, the only way he knows how to be in these situations. “Hey Kenobi,” he calls as he knocks on the door. “Anybody home?”

Anakin answers the door in pajamas. “Hello, Knight Vos,” the little padawan says politely.

“Hey kiddo, I heard from Tachi that you weren’t in your classes today or yesterday,” says Quinlan.

“Oh yeah. Sorry,” Anakin mumbles.

“Is there a reason why?”

Anakin shrugs. “Obi-Wan is in the living room.”

Quinlan takes off his boots at the door, because old Kenobi has always had strong opinions about the tracking of mud and the cleanliness of living spaces. But looking around, it strikes him that the place is not up to Obi-Wan’s usual standards.

“Hey Kenobi,” Quinlan says as he enters the living room. Obi-Wan is curled up in a ball, staring out the window with a blank expression. “Everything going alright?”

Obi-Wan ignores him.

“Buddy, nobody’s seen or heard from you two in a few days. What’s going on here?”

Obi-Wan’s head tilts slightly, glancing towards Quinlan and then quickly away again. “Nothing,” he whispers.

“Are you feeling alright?” Quinlan falls silent when Obi-Wan meets his gaze again. “I’m sorry, Obes.”

Quinlan knows what this is about. The same thing it’s always about. In the first few months after Qui-Gon’s death, it had been dark and incessant. In the past month or so, Obi-Wan had become less open about his grief, maybe starting to wonder if the socially acceptable period for mourning had passed, but they all knew it was still a heavy weight on him.

Too heavy to lift himself off the couch, some days.

“I’ll make us some tea, would that be alright?”

Obi-Wan gives no response, which is a yes as far as Quinlan is concerned.

Anakin hovers in the kitchenette while Quinlan puts water on to boil.

“You had lunch yet, kid?” he asks over his shoulder.

“No.”

The afternoon is quickly waning into evening; it’s going to be a very late lunch indeed. Quinlan opens the refrigeration unit, and there really isn’t much inside. He files that away under concerning observations about Obi-Wan’s current mental state, but decides he’ll think about it later. He checks a few cupboards before he finds one with some dehydrated soup packets.

“Hey Anakin, is there anything in here that both of you like?” he asks, inviting the young padawan to come pick one out. Anakin frowns over the choices.

“What does this word mean?” he asks, pointing to one of the boxes.

“Haranfruit. It’s a savory vegetable, like a squash.”

Anakin wrinkles his nose and puts the box back. He picks up another one that is just rice and roast nerf.

“This?” he offers.

Quinlan nods. “Sure thing. Do you want to go put on some daytime clothes? I assume those are last night’s pajamas,” he says.

“Okay!” Anakin scurries away.

The tea is ready before the soup. Quinlan sets a cup down on the coffee table in front of Obi-Wan.

“Hey, far be it from me to judge whatever’s going on here,” he says. “I get it. I do. Sometimes you just need to sit in a pile of blankets in yesterday’s clothes. But if you need help, especially with Anakin, you know you can ask any of us, right?”

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan whispers.

“You don’t owe any apologies to me,” Quinlan says pointedly. “Do you mind if I take him out into the city this afternoon? It’ll give you a little break, and him some fresh air. We can ride up to that huge supermarket, the one where you found Tatooine food that one time.”

In his mind, Quinlan is already brainstorming ideas for simple meals that don’t require a stove or anything that Anakin shouldn’t be operating unsupervised. As a harm-reduction strategy, there should at least be food in the apartment that Anakin could prepare for himself if he got hungry.

Obi-Wan only manages to nod. When the soup is ready, Quinlan sets a bowl next to the teacup, but doesn’t press the issue. Anakin eats his at the kitchen table.

Grief is like this, sometimes. It leaves Obi-Wan feeling helpless.

They’re getting to be old friends now (honestly, Quin feels like they’re getting to be old, period.) Quinlan knows how to provide what comfort he can, same as they would do for any of their friends. He’ll spread the word, and Bant will probably stop by the next morning to offer to take some laundry to the quartermaster and walk Anakin to his morning class. Garen can’t often call from the Starfighter Corps, but he’ll reach out and leave Obi-Wan a message even if Obi-Wan doesn’t pick up.

“It’s okay,” he says, just as a reminder while he’s cleaning up the dishes and getting ready for his outing with Anakin. Obi-Wan doesn’t respond, but Quinlan doesn’t expect him to. “It sucks. But we’re here for you.”

[swhurtcomfort]

Whumptober Day 6: Bruises

Ahsoka pulled a pillow over her head to drown out the sounds of snoring, but to no avail.

She wondered groggily if she was dreaming it, and could will it to go away. When that didn’t work, she wondered if she could wait it out, or go back to sleep in spite of it.

Finally, when the snoring continued and Ahsoka was awake enough to do something and annoyed enough to try, she prodded the bunk above hers with her foot and hissed, “Skyguy, shhhh,”

There was no response except for another snore. Ahsoka kicked the mattress above her and was met with very little resistance.

Ahsoka sat up further, and saw her master sprawled out on ground beside the bed, dead asleep with his face scrunched up against the cold duracrete floor.

“Hey?” Ahsoka said, louder.

“Hmm?” Anakin replied without moving.

“Why are you on the floor?”

“Hmm?” Anakin said again. “It just seemed easier.”

“You were snoring.”

“Okay.”

“No, not okay,” said Ahsoka with a little laugh. “Why not get in bed?”

“Anything is a bed if you try hard enough.”

Ahsoka threw her pillow at him, and Anakin’s next quip was cut off by a sudden gasp. Ahsoka rubbed her eyes. “Wait a second, are you hurt?”

“No,” Anakin sniffed.

Ahsoka turned the light on. “Master, it’s starting to sound like something happened and you can’t climb up into the top bunk.”

“It’s fine.”

“Is it?” She knelt down on the floor next to him. Anakin sat up with careful, slow movements, resting one hand protectively over the lower left side of his torso.

“It’s fine, Snips. I really mean it.”

“But you are hurt?”

“Just…bruises.”

“Bad ones?”

Anakin shrugged. Ahsoka fought the urge to whack him with the pillow again. “Then take the bottom bunk, Master,” she said. “And um… maybe I should wake up Kix?”

“No, no,” Anakin shook his head. “Go back to sleep. The floor is kind of nice and cool.”

Ahsoka almost asks if he’s feverish. “Are you sure you don’t want Kix? Or Master Obi-Wan?”

Anakin exhaled with soft laughter. “I’m sure.”

“What about the bottom bunk and an ice pack?” she said. “Final offer.”

“I’ll take that,” Anakin begrudgingly concedes.

[swhurtcomfort]

Sickfic Whumptober Day 5: Couch

This snippet takes place in the same universe as Recovery, the hurt/comfort series I’ve had the pleasure of co-writing with LuvEwan, Firondoiel, and sanerontheinside. Based on @dontfeeltoohot ‘s sickfic whumptober prompt list ... Fuzzy pain tugged at the corners of Obi-Wan’s consciousness. He barely registered it. An awkward lump of pillows supported his back, dipping slightly in the middle--ugh, he had allen asleep on the couch again.

Someone was moving around in the kitchen. [Qui-Gon?] he probed their Force-bond carefully, and only a pleasant hum replied. Qui-Gon was not too far, likely somewhere in the Temple.

The old sofa creaked as he reached for the light, and he heard footsteps in the common area scurrying in response. 

“Hi!” Anakin said.

“Where’s Qui-Gon?” Obi-Wan mumbled groggily.

“He had to go talk to Master Yoda about Ragoon 6. He said it might take a while. Are you feeling okay?”

“Fine,” Obi-Wan affirmed.

“Do you want to get in your chair? I’m not as strong as Master Qui-Gon but I bet if we worked together we could manage it!”

Obi-Wan wished that he were ten years old and had that kind of energy. Anakin was already moving back towards the door to fetch the hoverchair. Obi-Wan suppressed a sharp whine as he shifted his spine to sit up halfway. Nope, that wouldn’t do. This morning’s painkillers were ancient history.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan called out to stop him. “Maybe after…um, maybe in a couple minutes. Can you bring me the pill organizer from the counter?”

“Oh, right. Master Qui-Gon said that, too. I’m supposed to make sure you take two of the blue ones, and one of the pink ones cut in half. And you can take the white one if your tummy’s upset, but you don’t have to.”

“I know,” Obi-Wan huffed. “Just bring it to me, please.”

Obi-Wan tried to pay attention as Anakin babbled, but found himself dozing in and out. Qui-Gon would worry about him sleeping on the couch too often, and whether it was good for his back. Obi-Wan daydreamed about just melting into the soft cushions, letting the old couch claim him. Two hours later, he was just awake enough to register the noise of the front door, then Anakin’s feet scurrying across the room to warn Qui-Gon to be quiet. 

“He’s still not up?”

“No, he was,” Anakin whispered back. “He took his pills, and had like, one bite of toast.”

“Hmm,” Qui-Gon sighed. Obi-Wan kept his eyes shut, feigning sleep. The middle cushion dipped as he sat down beside them.

“I know you said it could take a really long time. But I think he’s getting a little better,” Anakin said.

Obi-Wan almost snorted and gave the game away. He felt Qui-Gon’s calloused hand stroking the hair on his forehead. “Of course he is,” Qui-Gon agreed. “But it’s hard work, Anakin. He’s very tired most of the time.”

Obi-Wan couldn’t help but stir a little bit.

“Good morning, Obi,” Qui-Gon whispered as he placed a kiss on his padawan’s forehead.

[swhurtcomfort]

Whumptober Day 4: Taken Hostage

Anakin is lying on his side, facing the wall of his bunk. Padmé fidgets with the fringe of the blanket in her arms before she works up the courage to knock on the doorframe.

“How are you feeling?” Padmé asks, holding out the blanket.

Anakin is quiet—unnervingly quiet. He looks up and stares quizzically at her offering.

“When you were a little boy, you always got so cold in space,” Padmé explains. “I just thought…I guess it was silly.” She looks away, color rising to her cheeks.

Anakin takes the blanket and spreads it out over the bunk, rolling onto his other side to face her.

“Was it the right decision?” he asks her plainly.

Padmé sits down on the floor and leans against the bedpost. “Ani, I could never let you go. I wasn’t going to let them use you as a pawn in their twisted game.”

“But that means we lost the game,” Anakin says. His eyebrows knit in confusion and he swallows hard. “Doesn’t it?”

Padmé reaches out to comfort him by rubbing his shoulder, but a grimace stays her hand. She doesn’t know what injuries he might have sustained beyond the electrocutions they had all witnessed. Kix had examined him and apparently felt comfortable sending him to his own bed instead of medbay, so hopefully it wasn’t anything too serious, but it must still hurt.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders and stroking his hair instead. “I’m so sorry. Are you in pain?”

“It’s not too bad. Obi-Wan and Kix made me take something,” he mumbles.

Padmé keeps stroking his hair, and he closes his eyes.

Anakin exhales, and for a moment, there is nothing but relief and comfort between them. Then he opens his eyes again.

“We lost Grievous. Dooku won. Was it worth it?” Was I worth it?

There was too much to unpack there, personal and professional. Dooku had wanted it that way. Padmé had rethought her decision a thousand times, examined the problem from a thousand different angles, and there was no scenario where she saw herself walking away from the proposed prisoner exchange without something to feel guilty for.

“Ani, I don’t have the answer to that. But I’m so glad that you’re safe,” Padmé finally says.

[swhurtcomfort]

Whumptober Day 3: Who Did This To You?

“Hey Princess,” Han said into the comm. “I gotta tell you something, but only if you promise not to freak out.”

A sharp bark of laughter turned into static. Han could hear the steady bustle of the senate building behind her. “What have you done now, Solo?”

“Hey now, I’m innocent,” said Han with a lightheartedness he didn’t truly feel. “I’m with the kid at the medcenter. He had a seizure last night, so we’re just getting him checked out. Sure it’s nothin’, but we thought you should know.”

“What? What kind of seizure?” Leia asked.

“I don’t know! It was maybe 30 seconds and he was up and talkin’ right after. Didn’t even want to go to medical, but I convinced him to play it safe.”

Leia inhaled slowly. “That was a very responsible decision, Han.”

“Don’t have to act so surprised,” he said. “I’ll comm you again when I hear more, okay?”

Leia agreed, and Han signed off. He paced back down the hallway bustling with gurneys and droids. He rubbed his eyes. Luke had gone back to sleep after the seizure, but Han had stayed up to keep an eye on him.

The kid really had seemed fine, though. Even this morning, he’d acted alright and complained the whole way about not needing the medcenter. Han hadn’t heard any news since a few minutes after Luke was checked in and a privacy curtain had been pulled in his face.

It seemed to take forever. Han had been waiting for hours and was starting to feel a little fidgety by the time a droid came to fetch him, saying that Luke had asked for him.

Another droid was removing an IV line from Luke’s flesh arm when they arrived. The prosthetic arm offered Han an awkward little wave.

“Hey Junior, what’d the doc say?” said Han.

“Hey,” Luke whispered. “Boy am I ready to get home.”

“Do they know what happened?”

“Not really. I gotta go see a neurologist in a week or two. But it also might heal with…well, it might go away, whatever it is. And I’ve got meds until then.”

That didn’t sound too bad, all things considered. With an inward grimace, Han wished Leia were around. She would’ve known what to say.

“I will remove the EKG leads now,” the droid announced. This required Luke to undo the top of his medical gown. He fumbled with the hem of one sleeve, glancing sideways as if he wanted Han to look away, but didn’t want to ask.

Han cleared his throat awkwardly. He wasn’t sure what was making the kid self-conscious, it wasn’t as if they hadn’t changed into their flight gear in the same locker room a thousand times. But either way, Han tried to avert his eyes without being too obvious about it. He leaned down to retrieve the plastic bag with Luke’s clothes in it, but when he turned to hand it over he nearly dropped it in shock.

Luke had shrugged his shoulders out of the gown, exposing the top half of his chest. It was scored with deep purple burns, jagged lines like lightning-shaped veins zig-zagging across his skin. The long, thin burns extended across his back as well, smaller red welts branching off the main scar in every direction.

“Shit,” Han said before he could stop himself, and Luke visibly cringed.

“It’s nothing,” he said, pulling the last EKG sticker off and hastily pulling the fabric over his back again.

“That ain’t nothing,” said Han. Nausea roiled in his stomach. “When’d all that happen, huh?”

Han had been tortured. Leia had been tortured. But Luke…well, he hadn’t said anything.

“Hey?” said Han, pushing Luke to look him in the eyes. “Who did this to you?”

“Han,” Luke huffed, turning away.

“Vader?” Han guessed, and Luke flinched again.

“The Emperor,” Luke corrected him firmly. “I just want to go home and sleep. Can we do that?” His voice slipped into an almost-whining note at the end, and Han took pity.

“Don’t think this conversation is over,” he warned with a wave of his finger as he handed over the dropped bag of clothes. “And don’t think you can hide this from your sister, either.”

“She’s had worse,” Luke mourned.

Han fumbled for a moment for the words. “I’m not sure ‘worse’ really applies here, kid,” he finally said. “Alright, though, let’s get you home.”

...

Feel free to send me a character + whumptober prompt if you want to!

[swhurtcomfort]

Sickfic Whumptober Day 2: Cough

Anakin was fighting with every iota of his being to stay angry.

After their embarrassingly public argument, Obi-Wan had slunk back onto the ship, showered, and gone straight to bed. He hadn’t come out of his cabin since, not even to get food from the mess.

Through their shared wall, Anakin could hear him coughing. Served him fucking right. If a stupid sore throat from the stupid voice changer was all he got, it would be too gentle a punishment.

Anakin sat on his bunk, curling and uncurling his fists.

If you gave one single crap about me, you wouldn’t have let me fucking bury you.

If you gave one single crap about Ahsoka, you wouldn’t have let her be the one to hold you while you pretended to die. You wouldn’t have left her to cry in my bed every night for a week.

Anakin had barely slept, ate, or spoke while he thought that Obi-Wan was gone. Gone like Qui-Gon, gone like Mom. There had been no words. There had been no tears either, after a while. He could only rub Ahsoka’s shoulders silently when she crawled under the covers late at night, for once allowing herself to be profoundly fourteen, young and scared and grieving. And for what? A stupid trick?

The coughing echoing from the other side of the wall was deeper and hoarser tonight than it had been last night. Anakin did not care. He would be angry about this until he keeled over himself.

Anakin curled and uncurled his fists again, breathing slowly. Obi-Wan had been checked out by the Temple Healers after the mission, so he was obviously fine. And he didn’t deserve any pity.

The coughs continued into the night, sounding more and more like the bark of a anooba seal. It was honestly becoming painful to listen to.

Anakin wasn’t going to soften up, but he needed the awful sound to stop. So he felt justified in wandering down to the mess and asking Buffer to dig some of the good tea out of the storage room. And he felt justified in adding a little honey to it for good measure.

He opened the door to the officer’s cabin without knocking. Obi-Wan was curled up in bed, visibly shaking and ghostly pale. Anakin still wasn’t used to seeing his face without his beard. He wished the ginger stubble growing in would hurry up.

Obi-Wan managed to stop coughing long enough to look up at Anakin. He looked truly miserable, and something more than just sore from having the voice changer removed.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

Obi-Wan didn’t even try to deny it. “It turns out, prisons are not the most sanitary places.”

Anakin held out the tea, and Obi-Wan looked shocked.

“Anakin, I—”

“I’m still really fucking mad at you.”

Obi-Wan cast his gaze downwards. “I know.”

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

“Okay.” Obi-Wan nodded in acceptance as he took the mug into his hands. “Thank you, Anakin.”

...

from @dontfeeltoohot’s alternative prompt list! feel free to send me a character + prompt from either list if you want.

[swhurtcomfort]

Glad you’re still alive and you’re putting school first :)

Stay safe :)

thank you!! <3

[swhurtcomfort]

Whumptober 2021 Day 1: Bound

Anakin wakes up gagging.

He casts his gaze around the dimly lit room for help. Obi-Wan is there, lying prone on a mattress beside Anakin’s, his mouth hanging open softly in sleep.

Anakin’s throat contracts involuntarily around some foreign object, and the only thing he knows is that he has to get it out. He cries out for Obi-Wan’s help, but only muffled sounds and coughing comes out.

Obi-Wan grunts as he comes awake. “Anakin?” he whispers.

Anakin coughs until he starts to wonder if the object is obstructing his breathing. He needs to get rid of it now.

He finds a decent grip on the object and gives it a decisive tug, and his mouth floods with the taste of iron.

 Anakin wakes up coughing again.

There’s something in his airway that shouldn’t be, and he needs to get it off. But his arms won’t move.

He cries out for help, mumbling again, and a warm hand slips into his.

“It’s alright,” Obi-Wan says. “The healers said you’ll be alright.”

Anakin tries to move again, but his arms are secured at his sides. His fingernails dig into the hand that Obi-Wan is holding as he tries to speak. Can’t Obi-Wan see that he’s trapped and can’t breathe?

“Shhh, breathe, Anakin,”

He can’t.

Or, now that he’s tried it, it turns out maybe he can.

“I’m sorry that they had to restrain you,” Obi-Wan says softly. “It’s just for a little while. You keep waking up confused and they were worried you’d hurt yourself.”

That’s ridiculous, because Anakin is awake now and he just wants to get the weird thing off his face.

“I know,” says Obi-Wan, which is annoying because how could he possibly? Anakin scowls, and that makes Obi-Wan smile.

Obi-Wan tries to slide something into his hand—a datapad maybe, so he can type what he cannot say. Anakin tries to take it, but his fingers are clumsy, and his eyes won’t focus.

“Go back to sleep,” Obi-Wan suggests. “I’ll be right here.”