#and vokara lost a bet

[bolithesenate]

happy halloween @ the jedi temple

(Rael is Dooku ofc, Jaizen is a CorSec guy, Vokara is a nexu, Mace is the sw equivalent of the phantom of the opera, Jocasta is the mortis daughter, Dooku is a tirra'taka and Sifo is himself as a force ghost)

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding VIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Part I - - - Part II - - - Part III - - - Part IV - - - Part V - - - Part VI - - - Part VII

He didn’t feel any pain when the saber pierced him

the world exploded and Obi-Wan was relieved. it worked- this must be breaking out

then not Anakin was there and that wasn’t right and he felt like he was burning alive and broken pieces fell but he wasn’t free he closed his eyes had to concentrate

Wake up Break Out Not Real

Woke up but he wasn’t Out and it hurt and Not Real Anakin was yelling at him for being stupid but he was trying to get Out and he had to try harder and went for the knife but it didn’t reach and his arm felt weak and he started to black out

He FORCED himself to WAKE UP and it ALMOST worked he could feel the heat but the rest wasn’t real so he tried again and

“STOP TRYING TO DIE!”

and that was irritating because trying was all he had left anymore he was trying so hard and if he wanted to die then he would have just

There were hands on him and lightning in his chest and this must be

Obi-Wan blinked aWAKE confused-

“He keeps fighting the sedatives! -”

“-Varp! Up the dose, we need to finish the operation before...”

The familiar haziness of a full Bacta Immersion and there was something he was supposed to remember he had to WAKE UP and he struggled and there was yelling from somewhere

Bacta Pod- must be the temple. and he tried to remember how he got there but whatever it was must have been bad because he was VERY high and he had to... had to wake up (but he was awake someone told him he was already awake) and he had to break out (but this was safe safe someone was telling him this was safe so he must have broken out already) and something else not something not he heard cursing and everything got even fuzzier

--

Obi-Wan woke all at once, as though someone had dumped a bucket of water on him. Vokara Che and a Nautolan he vaguely recognized were hovering over him, watching him with unnerving intensity.

He shifted slightly under their gaze, and was confused to find himself unable to move any of his limbs.

“We’ve cuffed you to the bed,” Healer Che told him calmly. “Do you remember why?”

Wake up Break Out Not Real

Obi-Wan thought back furiously. The memories of the last few days came racing back, then the last few years.

He closed his eyes trying to think; his life had been so surreal for so long that it was hard to assess using reason. But something wasn’t adding up. He backtracked to the the last memory he knew to be true.

Luke, of course. Luke was the most real thing in the galaxy. He held Luke for a short time before Owen rightfully kicked him out.

Then...back to his hut, to try and desperately fix whatever was wrong with the vaporators now...The Jawas stopped by...They had spice.

He had thought about purchasing it before, but he knew the Sandcrawler was a safer bet if only for its indifference to him. They wouldn’t judge him or take note of the vulnerability in the way the people of Mos Eisley would. He sat in his hut berating himself before finally giving in.

Then having a wonderful, perfect lucid dream- Cody, and Anakin, and Plo Koon and Bant and Mace and Anakin, his Anakin. But...if it was a dream, why did his attempts to wake fail so miserably? His body felt odd, not really hungry or thirsty. It didn’t make sense. 

Even assuming a distorted sense of time, this was too involved for a hallucination. The fact of the matter was that he was a Jedi Master. Even without the force, if he was lost inside his own mind...he should have been able to get out. 

This...couldn’t be a drug-induced hallucination. Maybe it was at some point but...

Obi-Wan sucked in a breath, suddenly struggling for air. Vokara laid a hand on his shoulder and he flinched away.

“Master Kenobi, please try and take deep breaths,” The Nautolon urged in a soothing voice.

He complied, steadying his breathing and finding calm. He had an enemy to fight against and he was done making a fool of himself. 

“I understand now,” Obi-Wan said flatly. “This must have been very entertaining for you.”

“I assure you Master Kenobi,” the Nautolan said frowning, “Your pain is not a source of entertainment for I, nor anyone else in the temple. Quite the opposite- a number of people were stricken at the thought of you joining the force before your time.”

Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. “You can drop the act, Sidious.” 

There was a pause.

“I’m Master Vokara Che, Chief Healer of the Jedi Temple. I’ve known you since you were a crecheling,” she responded carefully. “This is Master Sife Aerdo, they’re one of our best soul healers. Neither of us are putting on an act, nor are we here to harm you. Is there something we can do to convince you of our identities?”

Obi-Wan glared at her, before turning to look straight at the ceiling.

“Vokara Che is dead, along with everyone else. I assume my mental defenses weakened after I drugged myself; you must have been besides yourself with glee to find me in such a state. I hope you’ve had your fun watching me run around in your Sith mindtrap, because its over. Torture me all you want, parade as many ghosts in front of me as you desire, you know I have nothing useful to tell you. And you’ve already destroyed everyone who you could possibly use as leverage against me, so I have no motivation to allow you a shred more entertainment. You can try and turn me if you wish, but honestly, what could you possibly put me through that you haven’t already?”

Master Aerdo tried to catch Obi-Wan’s eyes, “Master Kenobi, I understand you had a terrible vision of some kind. I am not denying how it has impacted you. But I ask you to take a chance to see for yourself that those you fear dead are still here, and they still care for you. I’ve had a look at your shields and I’m concerned by how fully you’ve blocked yourself off from the force. I understand you may have done this in an attempt at defense, but-”

Obi-Wan let out a snort, responding snidely, “You’re going to have to do better if you want to get any further into my mind, Emperor Palpatine”

And at that, he closed his eyes, sinking deep within. His weakness had cost him Luke but there was still a chance that Leia was safe with Bail and Breha.

(don’t think too hard about Luke you’ll lose what strength you have left)

He might not be able to escape, but he could raise his shields even higher, cutting himself off further from his surroundings.

If Palpatine wanted his attention he would just have to torture him like a decent person. 

Part IX

[glare-gryphon]

Horizon Light - Part 3

~3300 Words Chapter Tags: Suicidal Ideation, References to Substance Abuse, Graphic Violence/Description

I fiddled with Ahsoka & Anakin’s age gap. They’re only about three years apart in this fic, for the sake of them being a piloting pair.

If you missed them, here’s the link to...

Part One, Part Two, and the story on Ao3 if that’s more your speed.

Bant holds Obi-Wan's hair back as he heaves into a biohazard bin, her other hand rubbing soothing circles into his back. Honestly, he's surprised that he managed keep everything down until he got to medical; a part of him was certain that his breakfast was going to end up all over the hallway floor. At this point he's mostly just throwing up bile, stomach long emptied of anything solid. Several times he'd thought himself in control at last, only for the nausea to come flooding back when he accidentally glances at the flimsy, fabric partition separating his cot and Skywalker’s.

The younger ranger has, at this point, ceased his yowling at the medical staff. This is due more to the fact that they've sedated him than any personal preference on Skywalker's part, but Obi-Wan is still thankful for the silence. When he can't hear Skywalker, he can almost pretend he's not there. He can almost pretend this horrible day never happened. Then he remembers, and he's sick, and he owes the first nurse to discover that he's not quite as controlled as he seems an apology.

It's hard to forget, with all the pain he's in. Obi-Wan doesn’t think there's a part of him that isn't sore. His disused muscles ache; he hasn't had to work that hard in a spar since his last practice session with Qui. The last round with Skywalker had taken more out of him than he expected. On top of that, his entire face is pulsing with discomfort. Skywalker's prosthetic had certainly done its damage; his entire damn face is tender and bruised. The nurses have already reset his nose—he's got tissue stuffed up his nostrils in attempt to stop him from further bleeding all over himself—and his left eye has swollen completely shut. What painkillers they’ve given him don't even take the edge off due to the low dosage. There is apparently a note in his psych profile about a substance abuse problem.

Sometimes (most of the time) Obi-Wan hates Vokara Che.

"You're alright," Bant croons, petting him gently as he gasps raggedly for breath between heaves. "You're safe."

She says that, but the man who beat him senseless is literally in the next bed over. Restrained and unconscious, sure, but Obi-Wan would bet Skywalker could find a way around that if he really wanted another go at him.

He almost wishes he would—almost wishes that no one stops him, next time.

"Honestly, what the hell were they thinking?" His friend continues. "Pairing you and Skywalker together was a recipe for disaster. Everyone knew it. There's a reason they haven't been able to find him another copilot since Ahsoka. He's reckless, and angry, and violent—"

"Yes, I had figured that out on my own," Obi-Wan says dryly, glancing up from the bin to offer his friend a weak grin.

It must be terrible, or perhaps he just looks that bad, because the look he gets in return is more pitying than amused. "At least it's over," she says, before adding with a wry twitch of lips, "Yoda had to have seen how bad a match you two make, no matter how poor his eyesight is."

Obi-Wan knows she's trying to be helpful, to cheer him up, but that doesn't stop the way his blood turns to ice in his veins all over again as he remembers the outcome of their spar. Bant and the other pilots may not have been able to see it, but that doesn't change what Obi-Wan felt.

"It's not over," he murmurs, turning his face away from Bant and staring at the partition instead. He can't deny it, no matter how much he wants to. He is to be bound to the man on the other side of that curtain, even if it kills them. "They're going to throw us into a jaeger, Bant. Skywalker and I are drift compatible."

When he looks back, the expression on Bant's face is like a fresh punch to the gut. His friend is clearly trying to keep it together, but he can read the sorrow in the twitch of her lips and the horror in her eye. "Obi-Wan, you can be serious!" Bant exclaims, shaking her head in denial.

As much as he'd like to comfort her, to tell her it was nothing more than an ill-thought jest, he has no reassurances. "I felt it," he forces himself to explain. It hurts worse, he thinks, to admit it aloud. As though speaking the words has suddenly made them real. "I felt a... A pull to him like I hadn't felt with anyone. Not since Qui."

"No! You're mistaken. They're mistaken. You can't drift with him if you can't even get through one spar without nearly killing each other!"

"They don't need us to like each other," Obi-Wan sighs, shoulders slumping. "They just need us to fight. If that spar proved anything, it's that our combat styles are compatible—even if our personalities aren't."

"I'm not going to let them do this to you, Obi-Wan!"

"What do you think you can do, Bant? Leave?"

"If that would make them realize—"

"And where would that leave Kit?" He asks, drawing the woman's angry tirade to a halt. It's a low blow, but Obi-Wan doesn't have any other cards to play.

Bant pauses, a wounded expression crossing her face as she realizes that Obi-Wan has backed her into a corner. She's seen the damage a lost copilot can do; the proof is right in front of her. She would never abandon Kit, who had so happily taken her on as his copilot when Bant graduated the academy, to that fate. To the struggle of finding that connection with another. "He's going to get himself killed, Obi-Wan," she says. "He's going to get himself killed, and he's going to take you with him."

"Maybe I deserve it," he mumbles under his breath, low enough that he thinks Bant can't hear him.

As such, it comes as quite a surprise when she strikes him across the face. Granted there's not much damage she can do that hasn't already been done, but the fresh wave of pain drags him from his melancholy thoughts.

"You stupid man! Don't you ever say something like that again!" She shouts, drawing the attention of the nurses puttering about the ward. They all look torn between interfering on behalf of their patient and letting Bant put the fear of god in him. Stars knows their lives would be easier if they weren't having to hover over Obi-Wan's shoulder all the time. "You're not the only one who would be effected if you got yourself killed! Believe it or not, we care for you! All of us! We're a fucking family Obi-Wan, and family looks out for each other. Qui-Gon's death wasn't your fault, no matter what that bastard Dooku says! You don't deserve to die."

She storms from the ward, eyes glazed with tears, when he doesn't respond. It hurts to know that he's wounded his friend so badly, but Obi-Wan can't make himself agree with her. If he'd just been braver, maybe things would have been different. If he hadn't hesitated, maybe Qui would still be alive. As far as he's concerned, death is the only thing he deserves.

A nurse comes over to check on him when she's gone, changing his bandages and taking away the bucket. The nausea has finally subsided, having come to terms with the reality of his situation. Obi-Wan won't be allowed to leave the ward until their first drift, too much of a danger to himself, so he makes himself comfortable on the thin mattress.

He doesn't realize that Skywalker had woken during the course of his argument with Bant, nor does he feel the man's gaze settle on the curtain separating them. Instead, there is only the hollowness in his chest as he waits for the inevitable.

They come for him and Skywalker the next morning. It is to everyone's surprise that Obi-Wan is the more difficult of the pair to wrestle into his drive suit. The tan fabric of the under suit is clinging, strangling, in a way he knows is irrational but can't quite stop feeling. By the time they've got him stuffed into the armor, he's exhausted his extensive vocabulary of insults twice over.

Skywalker, on the other hand, is almost worryingly docile as he allows the techs to help him into his own uniform. He's silent, morose—resigned to their fate. Obi-Wan almost wants to get him riled up again just so they might have a chance of getting out of this. Maybe it just hasn't sunk in for Skywalker yet, and fight or flight will kick in on the way.

In contrast to the plain creams and beiges of Obi-Wan's armor, Skywalker's uniform is a striking maroon. The crest of his former jaeger, a white silhouette of an owl in flight, is emblazoned across the breastplate along with the traditional tally of Kaiju killed. Nobody had bothered to repaint either of their gear to match, as copilots traditionally do. Perhaps they thought it a waste of time, considering the risk of this next step. No point in wasting valuable resources if they can't fall into alignment or end up killing each other in their first drift. Considering Obi-Wan's track record with potential copilots, it's probably the smart decision.

They're escorted to the jaeger bay, and it feels like the eyes of every person in the shatterdome are following them as they go. Obi-Wan's skin is crawling, though that probably has more to do with his anxiety than their stares. At his side, separated from Obi-Wan by a security officer, Skywalker stares blankly ahead, apparently unfazed by all the attention. Obi-Wan wonders if he's actually as calm as he appears, or if he's just better at hiding it.

The fact that they aren't trusted to walk together doesn't bode particularly well for their future as a pair

In the jaeger bay, the Horizon Light stands proud and tall. There is still repair work to be done before she's ready to get out in the field, but a harried-looking technician assures him that her neural functions are operating at full capacity. They shouldn't have any trouble with the drift—at least, not from her end. The behavior of machines is easy to predict; the behavior of men much less so.

An elevator trip later finds them ushered across a short walkway leading to the Horizon's cockpit. Obi-Wan falters at the entrance, and again once he's inside. The first time it is memory that forces him to a halt, remembering his last mission with Qui and the trail of injured cadets he's since left in his wake. The second time is because it occurs to him that he doesn't know which harness Skywalker prefers.

Obi-Wan himself prefers the left, being dominant in his left hand, but Skywalker's injuries may force him to take the left harness. Fortunately (or perhaps worryingly) the man breezes past him before he's worked up the courage to ask, striding purposefully toward the right.

"Are you going to be alright over there?" He still finds himself asking, unable to simply bite his tongue and accept the good fortune.

"Mind your own business, Kenobi," Skywalker retorts.

A part of him wants to snap back that it is, actually, his business as they're going to be sharing a mind in a few minutes, but he holds himself back when he catches Skywalker fumbling with the various straps and snaps associated with the harness. He is, if the trembling in his organic hand is to be believed, just as worried as Obi-Wan about this.

At one point in his life, the ritual of hooking himself into the pilot's harness had been a familiar, soothing pattern that helped to settle wayward nerves. Not now, though. Now, memories lurk in the back of Obi-Wan's mind, and Skywalker's brilliantly colored armor is always present in the corner of his eye. His hands are shaking too, and he's sure he would be covered in sweat if the drive suit didn't immediately wick it away. There is no stopping this now, Obi-Wan realizes as the Horizon's view screen flickers to life.

"Good morning, boys." Mundi's voice cuts through the silence of the cockpit, and Obi-Wan heaves a sigh of relief that he'll be the one supervising their first drift. "How are we feeling this morning?"

Skywalker makes a noncommittal noise that Obi-Wan happens to agree with. They're anxious, unhappy, but unable to really protest their situation without drawing further ire from their superiors.

"Everything be alright," Mundi soothes as he prepares them for the drift. Obi-Wan can hear keys clicking on his side of the com link as punches commands into his terminal. "You've done this a hundred times."

Yes they've done this a hundred times, but they've done this willing copilots. Compatible copilots. Not with a man who beat them senseless without the slightest bit of remorse only yesterday. Obi-Wan's face still aches, and he saw bandages around Skywalker's chest when he was dressing; apparently his strike had cracked a rib or two.

"Are we ready, gentlemen?"

Obi-Wan glances over at Skywalker, but the younger man is staring fixedly at the view screen, refusing to look at him. "As we'll ever be," Obi-Wan wearily replies.

There is no warning for them; no gentle reminders not to go chasing RABITs. They're rangers, experienced pilots, and should rightfully know better. It'd be a lost cause anyways—no amount of reminders has been able to stop Obi-Wan from being dragged into the pits of memory.

"Beginning pilot to pilot protocol," a gentle, robotic voice announces over the speaker, "Activating drift sequence in 5... 4... 3... 2..."

Their minds come together in a violent clash of light and sound.

Obi-Wan at thirteen, chewing on the end of his pen in class, gazing distractedly out the window. He knows already what they're being taught, and the teachers have learned it's easier to leave him be than force compliance--

Obi-Wan at twenty-five, standing before a classroom of young, innocent faces. This is what he wanted, what he dreamed about since his youth, but something's not right. He's not happy, just resigned. Resigned to this monotony because what else could he do—

Obi-Wan at thirty-three, staring up at Qui-Gon Jinn as the ranger towers above him. His copilot, he knows, somewhere in his gut. His copilot—

Obi-Wan at thirty-eight, and Maul's massive jaws are clamped around the Horizon's cockpit. Serrated teeth gnash and gnaw, weakening the hull, and there's panic curled heavy in Obi-Wan's gut. The creature's four arms hold them in a crushing grip, and Obi-Wan can feel the beast’s claws digging into the Horizon's armor as though they were tearing at his own flesh. They need to get away, they need to escape, they need to wait for reinforcement, they need—

"Obi-Wan!? Qui shouts as Maul suddenly lets go, trying to draw him from his panic. "Obi-Wan, listen to m—"

All it took was that, that one moment of hesitation and Maul shoves them back. They're distracted, they stumble out of sync, and then the kaiju charges, ramming them with the bone spires that protrude from its skull. They tear easily through the already damaged hull, and the pain flares up Obi-Wan’s side when one of the horns grazes him is quickly forgotten when he glances over at Qui.

Qui-Gon chokes, a terrible, wet noise, and paints the inside of his helmet red when he coughs up blood. It's everywhere, getting everywhere, seeping through Qui's armor and dripping down into the Horizon's gears when Maul pulls its horns free with the sound of rending metal and—

—and there's pain, pain, so much pain. He can feel blood dribbling down his face from the open wound, stinging and blinding the eye that's still functional; can feel himself weakening as it flows freely from the place his arm should be, but isn't; can hear the gurgle of water as the cockpit fills. Oh god, oh god. He's stuck in the harness, suspended above it, and he can't get loose. Below him, it's already swallowed up Ahsoka. Ahsoka, his sister, his everything, consumed by the horrible, swirling black depths, and he can't get free.

What would it matter if he could? He can't swim.

This not Obi-Wan's memory, he realizes with horror. Somehow, Skywalker has dragged him away—dragged him down into the swirl of his memories.

"Obi-Wan? Anakin? You're both out of alignment!" Someone is calling, familiar and comforting, but he can't focus on anything but the chaos of Skywalker's thoughts.

It's like the raging hurricane, battering at Obi-Wan's own mind until he can do nothing but yield as it all comes pouring in.

He's six and happy in his mother's arms, the little they have enough for him. He’s too young to understand why she must take so frequent breaks when they play, why she spends so much time in the hospital, why she seems to be withering away with each passing day—

He's nine and alone, and there's a girl crying on the playground that no one seems to hear. They ignore her as they play, careless and free. She is not like them. She, like Anakin, belongs nowhere and has no one. If they won't hear her, he will. He'll hear her and together they’ll be the family that neither of them has—

He's twenty and she's graduating high school top of her class, their acceptance letters to the academy weighing heavy in his pocket. They're going to do this together, until the very end. They're going to win this war and protect their planet and he's going to protect her until the moment he can't—

It's too much, too much, filling him up and up and up until Obi-Wan is certain that he's going to burst. The emptiness in his mind is replaced with a storm, and now that's opened the door, he can't close it again. Skywalker's conscience clings, needy and desperate and demanding. Obi-Wan wonders how anyone can do anything with a head so full of noise.

Then, suddenly, there is silence. Silence, deafeningly loud in his ears, that he hasn't heard in so long. Not the aching, consuming quiet of loss, but a soft calm. Suddenly, there is only the drift.

"They're stabilizing," he hears Mundi say, relief heavy in his voice as his senses return focus to the outside world. "Skywalker? Kenobi? Are you back with us?"

Obi-Wan's gaze drops to stare at his hands in an impulse that might be Skywalker's, but might his. They bring their hands up, marveling at them as they turn in sync, and hear the whine of machinery as the Horizon does the same.

"Careful, boys," Mundi chides. "She's not at one hundred percent yet. Don't get carried away. You both alright?"

"How long were we out?" Obi-Wan asks, feeling the strain of an extended drift catching up with him. It takes time for a pilot pair to build up the endurance needed to stay connected for long period. Traditionally, this first attempt should have only lasted a few minutes.

"Almost an hour." An hour. They should have cut the drift as soon as they went unresponsive. Why had they not— "Yoda said you'd work it out eventually. Guess he was right."

A desire to punch the little troll in his smug face rushes over Obi-Wan, which definitely originated from Skywalker. He feels his lips twitch, the first real smile he's worn in ages.

"I'm going to cut you off now, alright? We got what we needed from this run."

"Alright," Skywalker says, and the voice returns to tell them that the drift sequence is disengaging.

Obi-Wan doesn't understand why he feels like he's lost all over again when his mind is once again his own.