#which Bant is founder and CEO of

[swhurtcomfort]

I don’t know if you guys are comfortable with this topic, but could you write something where Obi-Wan starts self-harming after the events of the phantom menace, and Anakin walks in on him?

Hi anon, this is a grey area of my comfort zone as a writer but I gave it a try. If this fic isn’t what you were hoping for, try submitting another prompt when Leslie comes back so maybe she can write you something.

tw non-graphic self-destructive behavior (not cutting) under the readmore; tw complicated grief

Be brave don’t look back be brave don’t look back

Master Kenobi comes home from his mission. He’s limping a bit and hides his face from Anakin, disappearing into the sonic without a word.

When he emerges, he is walking more normally, and he has something smeared on his face to cover up the black eye.

“Get dressed—casual robes will do,” he says to Anakin. “We are going downtown for supper.”

Master Kenobi gets injured on more missions than not. In lieu of the six-month solo assignment that a newly-made knight would traditionally be given, the Council sends him on shorter, more frequent missions so that he can be in the Temple with Anakin most of the time. Anakin hates that things have to be done differently to accommodate him, just another problem he’s created.

Anakin isn’t sure what to tell his classmates when they ask him about Master Kenobi, their eyes full of jealousy and sometimes malice. What’s it like being trained by the Sith-Slayer? He doesn’t think he’s supposed to tell them that Master Kenobi is unpredictable, sometimes friendly, sometimes aloof. And he knows he’s not supposed to tell them about the constant injuries, or the bloodstained robes that he tries to scrub clean in the sink rather than take them to the quartermaster. Or the fact that four months after the funeral, Master Kenobi still sleeps on the sofa rather than in the bed that was previously Master Qui-Gon’s.

Anakin gets dressed and follows Master Kenobi down to the hovertrain platform in silence. Anakin is painfully aware that Master Kenobi hadn’t really wanted a padawan in the first place, but he likes to think that things are improving between them. Master Kenobi is teaching him Shii-Cho so he doesn’t have to take Master Yoda’s class in a room full of 4-year-olds. They laugh and kid around sometimes. It’s just that other times, Master Kenobi comes home bloodied and bruised and they can’t seem to talk about it. Time passes painfully slow on the tram ride.

When they arrive at the diner, Dexter Jettster isn’t fooled by whatever he’s painted his face with. “Quite the shiner you’ve got there, my boy,” he thunders, grabbing Master Kenobi’s shoulder roughly and offering Anakin a smile.

“You know which booth. I’ll come and join ‘ya if I can catch a break.”

Obi-Wan leads the way to their usual seats. He’s still too quiet and seems distracted, even though Dex’s food is his favorite treat. At the end of their meal Dex asks Anakin into the back kitchen under some pretext about some spare parts from old kitchen droids.

“Listen, kiddo,” the Besalisk says once the kitchen door swings shut behind them. “Your master, he’s not acting right. Even considering all that’s happened.”Anakin averts his eyes and takes a half a step back, just another instinct he hasn’t unlearned from his previous life. He doesn’t want to get in trouble. He’s still very aware that Obi-Wan is the only thing standing between him and the Council, so he can’t screw things up between them.“It’s alright, you don’t have to tell me nothin’. But Anakin?”

Anakin’s head snaps up.

“There’s a healer at the Temple, sweet girl, goes by Bant. If our Ben needs help—even if he tells you he don’t—give her a call, alright? It’s alright to tell somebody if he’s worryin’ you. Go to your healer’s wing and ask for Bant.”

“I know Healer Eerin,” says Anakin quietly.

“Well, there you go.” Dex’s gentle smile reaches the corners of his eyes. He claps Anakin on the shoulder a little too hard. “It’s a bad job, poor Jinn, poor Kenobi. Shouldn’t be for someone your age to worry about, but somebody oughta keep an eye on him.”

Anakin agrees, shoulders this silent and awkward responsibility that he doesn’t quite understand.

Dex’s warning is timely; the following week is a rough one. Obi-Wan sleeps too much and eats too little, and barely pays attention to Anakin at all. It makes Anakin dreadfully homesick, mixed with a guilty wish that Qui-Gon were here to train him. He’s pretty sure Qui-Gon wouldn’t have stood him up for sparring practice and left him waiting in the dojo for hours.

Anakin comes home and lets himself in, crabby and feeling sorry for himself. A drop of blood on the hallway floor catches his eye.

Anakin treads lightly to the open ‘fresher door, and sees Obi-Wan kneeling on the floor in front of the med kit. He is dabbing bacta on the corner of his blackened eye.

Obi-Wan leans forward and shrugs out of his shirt, and it’s all Anakin can do not to gasp.

Obi-Wan carefully examines the mottled flesh that spans from his hip halfway up his rib cage in a rainbow of colors. The horrendous bruise sprawls at the edges into the outlines of blood vessels. Obi-Wan lays a hand over the injury and presses experimentally.

He grimaces while applying more pressure. There’s a sudden hitch of his breath.

Anakin swallows hard, sickened by what he is watching. He feels a wave of guilt for intruding on something so intimate and private, watching Obi-Wan explore the hurts all over his body with cruel fingertips, prodding and picking at the injuries as though the pain of them were a relief.

Anakin starts to suspect that some of these injuries were avoidable. He’s known slaves who possessed the same tendencies. They weren’t as easy to spot as those who inflicted wounds by their own hand, but they were the dejected folks who disobeyed and acted out, and didn’t seem to mind the beatings it earned them. An outsider might think they were simply strong-willed or foolish, but Anakin could recognize hopelessness when he saw it.

He sees the same look on Obi-Wan’s face, as if the pain is deserved, as if it brings him some sense of rightness. A wave of repulsion crashes over Anakin. He slips back through the hallway and out the front door. He thinks about Dex’s advice again.

His feet take him to the healer’s wing, but by the time he gets there he still hasn’t decided what to say. A padawan greets him in the lobby.

“I need to see Healer Eerin, please,” he squeaks.

“She’s in an appointment. Do you need medical attention?”

Anakin swallows hard. He is starting to feel like this was a bad idea. What if he gets Obi-Wan in trouble? What if Obi-Wan gets angry with him?

“It has to be Healer Eerin,” he stammers. “Master Kenobi—he—well, Dex said…”

Anakin is starting to panic. The junior healer leans over the desk. “Take a deep breath. If Knight Kenobi is injured, he might have asked you to fetch Bant because she is his friend, but another healer will still be able to help him. Is that what happened, padawan?”

“No!” Anakin’s stomach churns. He’s not sure if Master Kenobi is going to get in trouble for what he’s doing, but he’s obviously been trying to hide it. Anakin’s not a tattletale…but Dex said it was okay to tell Bant even if Obi-Wan said no. He doesn’t think Dex would have told him to do something bad, but then again, Dex isn’t a Jedi so maybe he doesn’t understand the rules. Everything is too confusing.

“Does anyone need a healer right now?” the boy behind the desk tries to get his attention again.

“No!” Anakin says quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, don’t, please,”

“Alright,” the junior healer looks thoroughly confused. “How about I just leave Bant a note, and have her comm Knight Kenobi in an hour?”

Anakin agrees before he takes off at a run.

Jacosta Nu is not particularly happy to see him sprinting through her doors, so he slows his pace to a respectable walk. He weaves through rows and rows of archived datafiles and finds his preferred hiding spot, a narrow cranny between two tall shelves, hidden by a row of force-sensitive ferns. It’s just right for someone his size, and impenetrable to anyone bigger. He used to come here a lot in the first few weeks, to avoid the mutual embarrassment of overhearing Master Kenobi’s crying. It’s comforting to have a place in the Temple that no one else knows about.

Anakin pulls his knees up to his chest and braces his feet against the flat side of a shelf. It’s oddly comforting to be so snug. He takes deep breaths. Be brave don’t look back be brave don’t look back

He lets out a few silent tears, and contemplates his options. Weighs the likelihood that Master Kenobi will find out he almost told and be cross with him. Weighs the likelihood that the Council will find out anyway and take Anakin away from him, or something equally horrifying. Wonders if Master Kenobi is going to be okay.

Anakin’s not sure how long he stays there, taking deep breaths. Probably a few hours at least. He falls asleep there and wakes up feeling worse.

The fronds of the oversized plant rustle. “Hi, Anakin,” whispers a voice.

Anakin’s head shoots up as he wipes the tear tracks from his face. “Master Siri?”

“It’s alright, Anakin,” Siri Tachi assures him. “Come on out of there, it’s past your bedtime.”

Anakin obeys, wondering suddenly why Master Kenobi wasn’t the one to fetch him.

“Is—”

“Everything’s fine,” says Siri quietly. “You’ll see.”

Anakin thinks a bit as he walks. “Master Siri, how did you find me?”

Siri laughs. “Jacosta said you weren’t the first little padawan she’s known to take a liking to those ferns.”

Anakin almost says something when they reach the level where he and Obi-Wan live. Master Kenobi never entertains and Anakin isn’t allowed to invite people over either – he suspects it’s to hide the fact that Master Kenobi still hasn’t cleaned out Qui-Gon’s room.

Obi-Wan’s not going to like it if Siri barges in, but before Anakin can say anything, the door is sliding open.

The scene that greets him inside is a complete shock. Master Kenobi sits in the center of the sofa, flanked on either side by Bant Eerin and Mace Windu, each with a hand at his back. Dexter is hovering near an armchair beside a green-eyed woman whom Anakin has never met.

Anakin and Obi-Wan make eye contact, then look away. Anakin can tell that he knows—knows what Anakin saw. That he’s wondering what Anakin thinks of him now. That a childish part deep down in Anakin isn’t sure of the answer.

“Anakin, it’s alright,” Obi-Wan manages hoarsely.

“You’re not angry, Master?” Anakin barely whispers.

“What?” he asks. Mace’s hand shifts higher on Obi-Wan’s back. Obi-Wan shakes his head. “Anakin, I’m sorry.”

Anakin nods and presses himself up against the wall.

“I’ll make you a deal, Obi-Wan,” says Bant quietly. “I’ll sneak some supplies from the Halls and patch you up here if you let me set you up an appointment with Raina.”

“I don’t think I need a Mind Healer,” Obi-Wan mumbles.

Bant shrugs.

“I’d take that deal if I were you, Obi-Wan,” says Mace with a rare note of humor. “If you make us take you to the Halls, Vokara will have some choice words about those bruises.”

“There’s no shame in it, kiddo,” says Dex sagely.

Anakin doesn’t know whose face to look at. He’s thankful no one seems to be paying attention to him.

“Okay,” Obi-Wan sighs.

Bant nods and rises to go fetch her medical supplies.

“We all miss him too,” says the girl sitting next to Dex. “If you want our help tomorrow, all you have to do is comm.”

“Thanks, Astri.”

“But if not, that’s alright too,” Dex adds. “Sometimes you gotta have your space. But we’ll just be here in a few clicks if you ever need.”

As they begin to take their leave, Obi-Wan beckons Anakin to him.

“Mace and Bant are coming over tomorrow morning,” he says slowly, as if the words were a great effort. “And we’re going to clean Qui-Gon’s room.”

Anakin glances towards the bedroom door, the one that they never open. He realizes he can’t remember the last time he heard Master Kenobi say Qui-Gon’s name out loud.

“If you would like to help, you can skip your morning class. It’s up to you,” he continues. He lays a hand on Anakin’s arm, almost gingerly.

Anakin doesn’t react either way, still watching nervously.

“I haven’t been myself,” Obi-Wan half-whispers. “Things are going to get better. I’ll be a better master to you.”

“You’re a good master,” says Anakin quickly.

Bant returns with her pockets full of bacta, gauze and painkillers. “Let’s try the kitchen table, Obi,” she says in a business-like tone. “Wouldn’t want to get blood on your sofa.”

Mace takes that as his cue to leave. Obi-Wan politely indicates that Anakin should go get ready for bed.

As he’s brushing his teeth, Anakin can hear the muffled sound of their lowered voices in the kitchen. It’s somehow a weight off his back, knowing that there’s a grown-up taking care of Master Kenobi. He hadn’t realized how heavy those secrets were while he was carrying them.

Master Qui-Gon’s presence is still missing in their home, something that should be there but isn’t, an empty hole that aches. And perhaps he always will be. But Anakin falls asleep with Obi-Wan’s promise echoing in his ears, that things are going to get better.