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dathomirdumpsterfire · 3 days

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~~~Chapter 4 - Updated Tuesdays - Also on Ao3~~~

The Lars' speeder pulls up to Ben's cave with a recognizable whine. The jedi-in-exile looks up from idly watching the sand pile up from the wind blowing it in, curious about the visit. It's probably Beru, come to chat, or possibly Owen, come to make stilted small talk because all farmers knew that you kept in touch with everyone out here whether you liked each other or not. As a matter of practicality.

Either way, visitors were… nice.

Ben pushes himself up and moves toward the door to say hello. He doesn't get halfway before Owen is running inside and shoving a bundle of miniature chosen one at him.

"Here!" the man exclaims, dropping a shoulder bag on the floor, "We need you to watch Luke. The Roshan homestead is getting shot up by raiders and they need help! We can't take him with, damnit, time to pull your weight, wizard!"

Obi-Wan looks down at the eleven month old boy with a dawning sense of panic. Luke has the temerity to frown thoughtfully up at him, little forehead squinching up exactly like a fussy Anakin.

The jedi master swallows like he's been handed a live bomb. "Owen I-, I shouldn't-"

There's no reply. Ben looks up from the baby to explain that he can not, should not be trusted with the protection of children. Ever again. Or adults! He is a magnet for lethal levels of misfortune for beings of all ages. Guarding from afar is one thing, but Owen cannot expect-

Owen is gone.

He finishes the half complete walk to the entryway arch, and watches the speeder fling up a trail of sand and dust as it drives away.

"Blast," he curses, covering his mouth and watching it race for the horizon.

This is… not supposed to happen.

"Please, come back," he begs the dust cloud.

Owen does not. He is left holding the fate of the galaxy in his hands. Again.

His bloody, weathered hands.

"Bplbpbpplllll?" asks Luke, creating spit bubbles that go sliding off the side of his fat chin.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to get a grip on himself, eyes closed and face tilted up at the ceiling. Deep breaths. Luke is… not his father. He is just a cherubic little swaddle of pudgy baby. And he’s only going to be responsible for the child a few hours. Perhaps an afternoon. Overnight at a stretch. Unless the worst should happen and one or both of the Lars…

"This is a terrible idea," Obi-Wan states, forlorn. "I'm no good with children, you must understand."

"MnnpaH," the little one declares, then starts to make an angry face.

Obi-Wan shushes him automatically, tilting the bundle upright and patting his tiny back. "I'm going to need you to not listen to a word I say, alright? I've the wit of a brick when it comes to younglings."

"Mnnnpahpahpssss," Luke says, mood turning for the better at the discovery of 'sssss'. "Pahsss paasssss sssss!"

The jedi can't help the tight grin that tugs at his mouth. "See? Two minutes with me and you're already hissing like that horrible zabrak. I'm a terrible influence."

"Ssssuuussssuuuu Ssssshoooo. Heeee! Hsssss!"

"Come now, stop impersonating a sith lord," Obi-Wan insists, bending over carefully to pick up the shoulder bag Owen had dropped so unceremoniously. "Let's see if your papa has left you any toys, hmm?"

"Tee?!?" exclaims Luke.

"Toh ees. Toooyys." Ben repeats for him.

"Teys?!"

He snorts, "Better! You're rather good at this for being zero years old."

"GeeEeeeeEEE!" the baby squeals in delight, legs kicking in excitement.

Lunch time comes and an attempt is made to introduce Luke to black melon. Ben gives him a small sliver of rind to gum on. Luke sticks it in his mouth, makes a face, and then spits it up onto the stone floor.

“Really? Wasting food are we? Well. More for me then,” he replies to that, leaving the baby to his bantha milk and eating the rest of the melon himself.

Cleaning the spit in the middle of the floor turns into a mild tidying, which then becomes sweeping all the sand out of the cave. He has a broom of desert grasses bound to a long, gnarled bit of root. It’s more flexible than necessary, but it does the job.

The sand invades every nook and cranny of his house, as it does every day, beginning as soon as he finishes sweeping it all out. It especially likes to pile up in front of the raised bit of rock he sleeps on, and the wall by his food crate. It simply can’t be left to pile up, or it would bury the cave floor within a few days.

So he sweeps out the area by his bed, and sweeps out the corner by the wall.

Obi-Wan sweeps and sweeps and sweeps.

The rusk-rusk-rusk of the grasses on the stone floor as he works is almost meditative when combined with the faint creek of the root that makes up the handle.

Wait…

“Luke?”

He turns a circle, looking for the child.

“Luke? Sweetheart, where have you gone?”

There is a dreadful lack of baby in the middle of the floor, right where there was definitely supposed to be one.

“Luke Skywalker! Luke!”

When you are not connecting with the force, it is a great deal harder to find other people.

“Where did-!” Obi-Wan exclaims, hustling toward the nearest exit. “Where are- where are you?”

The front door and its window holes open to an empty spread of desert and stone, a bit of scrublands off to one side that surely couldn't hide a tooka nevermind an infant.

“How did-” he turns to go check the back door, heart thudding in his chest, “you’re barely crawling yet! How could you have even gotten this far??”

There is no precocious infant belly crawling to freedom behind his cave, either.

Dizzy. He feels dizzy. He's lost the chosen one. The chosen two? The second chosen… person. Baby.

Failed. Again.

Would the force even bring them a third chosen if he failed the first two this badly?

“Luke,” he calls out, struggling to breathe. “Please, don't go. Please, don't-”

“Gahhh?”

He spins around, wheezing, to find big blue eyes peeking out at him from under a spare cloak. Obi-Wan leans a hand on the wall and covers his eyes.

“Gahhh???” Luke asks again, chewing on the fabric.

Obi-Wan points at him, scowling. “So you are your father's son! Nearly giving me a heart attack over nothing!”

The baby looks at him dumbly for a moment, then his little face scrunches up in dire offense.

‘Oh…’ he thinks, ‘drat.’

Crocodile tears come pouring down, a serial offense in the desert.

“No, no, I didn't mean that, please don't cry-” he tries, shuffling over to unbury Luke from the dark brown cloak. “Come now, it's alright, everything is- it's fine. You're nothing like Anakin, I promise.”

He pulls the trailing edge of fabric from damp fingers, and the tears only work themselves up into operatic screams.

“I’m sorry, truly, that was unkind of me,” Obi-Wan offers, holding the child close and bouncing him a little.

Nevermind Luke's tears, the jedi finds himself sweating. The dizziness of distress has faded, only to be replaced with a feeling of weakness. His arms tremble in the aftermath of adrenaline, a complete divergence from the man he used to be. Something, admittedly, of an adrenaline junkie.

Luke's feeble infant upset is… it is a lot. All things considered, Obi-Wan decides sitting down is the better way to go.

“My dear, I know you're upset but you can't be gumming on dirty cloaks and hiding from your caretakers.”

That solid worldly advice does… absolutely nothing.

“I'm sorry I yelled. The yelling was the terrible part, wasn't it?”

Apologies are equally useless.

Obi-Wan tries patting his back, soft little thumps and the occasional circle. It seems to be helping…

…he looks down, and finds that Luke has discovered that this cloak tastes just as good as that cloak.

The jedi master makes a face of true dismay as sobbing turns into whiney hiccups.

“You're going to start screaming again if I take that away, aren't you?”

Luke hiccups extra hard. It's a sign.

“Yes, of course. Why did I even ask.”

Luke makes a face, just then. An odd face. A satisfied face. Obi-Wan is immediately suspicious.

A sniff test near the low back confirms his suspicions.

It's been a good while since Obi-Wan has had to change diapers. Since a long lost era where he was just a knight, and had served for a time in one of the youngling creches.

He manages.

Fresh drawers as needed, a bottle of bantha milk to settle, and half the afternoon is gone. Neither Owen nor Beru have graced his door, both suns are still up, and he wants nothing more in all the stars than a nap.

“You're going to escape if I go to sleep, aren't you?”

The response is a yawn, so perfectly timed it could only be a trap.

It is not a trap. The little menace curls up on the pelts of Obi-Wan's bed, and dozes right off. The jedi watches it happen, then turns away with a sigh.

“Your father used to call your mother an angel. I rather think you might consider taking after her. A delightful woman,” his voice grows thin, “a very good person.”

Obi-Wan lets his eyes close as he tips his head up toward the ceiling. There’s no reply, of course. He doesn’t expect one either.

“She would have adored you. Chaos and all.”

Luke snores quietly, a little bubble of snot building on his nose.

The nap lasts long enough for Obi-Wan to collect his thoughts, if nothing else.

“Mplbbb?” Luke asks in a sleepy voice a half hour later, pushing himself up into a sit in the usual manner of a pudgy uncoordinated infant.

“Mplbbb, indeed my young friend. Feeling rested?”

Luke stares. Blinks. Stares some more.

Then tries to escape the cave.

“Ohhhh, no. None of that. Out there is hot and windy and terribly dry. You'll bake.”

Ungrateful for the advice, his charge tries to escape four more times, and Obi-Wan's back begins to complain about all the up and down. The heavy lifting. The hip carries and the odd way it makes him stand.

“Ooof. I sound like pebbles in a jar. Goodness. Let's do something on the floor shall we? Do you like shadow puppets? What about a sock puppet? I do have a spare pair of socks.”

As it turns out, a playmate who can levitate things and make funny voices seems to be all Luke needs to have a great time. The jedi-in-exile ends up making a whole stage production with floating toys, giving each one a different characterization. That the plot mostly consists of a grumpy red rancor with a snobby core accent and anger issues, and a dashing blue fish who just wants a good cup of tea, arguing about donuts and going on a quest across the dunes for baked goods is… pure coincidence.

Okay, so he isn't the most creative individual.

Obi-Wan and Luke have a grand time, all things considered. When night falls with no sign of parental relief, they curl up on his pelts together. He decides to risk a doze, rather than risk being exhausted tomorrow.

With a warm little bundle on his chest, the jedi sleeps better than he has in… quite a while, actually. What irony, that it is Anakin's son who soothes the nightmares born of his father.

When Owen shows up the next morning -thank the force no worse for the wear- Obi-Wan packs up the distractions and diapers and puts Luke back into the arms he belongs in.

It is such a relief.

Luke stares back at him over Owen’s shoulder. Too-blue eyes watching him stay behind as they walk back to the speeder, brows furrowed with an innocent sort of confusion.

“Bii?”

Obi-Wan waves. He smiles. Luke frowns. They go.

The jedi turns away from the dust cloud and heads back inside his cave, where it is quiet, and calm, and there is no destiny awaiting him. No duties to fail, and nothing to mess up.

Nothing to gain and no one to lose.

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