Chapter Text
He arrived in the middle of a hug.
From wrapped comfortably – comfortingly – in the vast, eternal embrace of the Force, to a sudden smothering constriction in the all-too-mortal embrace of thin, desperate arms. Squeezing, grounding pressure around his shoulders and ribs, as his eyes blinked open into the sad, worried faces of his childhood friends.
Reeft gazed mournfully at him, the Dressellian pressed tightly up against Obi-Wan’s left side.
Garen Muln, arms around Obi-Wan’s waist from behind, his nose buried in the back of his tunic. Obi-Wan could feel the boy’s hair brushing his cheek.
And Bant. Ohh, Bantling. She’d apparently grabbed him first, arms around his neck and webbed fingers rasping against his skin as she hugged him tightly.
Just past Bant’s scaled scalp, he could make out the vaulted arches and mosaic tiles of temple walls, he could hear murmurs of low voices echoing in the halls, and the light – little gods, there was so much Light! – the light was so bright, so warm, so … so everywhere! His lungs had forgotten how to work, and the squeezing pressure kept him from quite remembering how, until he was afraid he’d start to grow dizzy.
Obi-Wan Kenobi thought he might pass out anyway. What was—?
Breathe.
Overwhelmed, trapped, and very confused, his stuttering inhale sounded more like an aborted sob. Which, of course, made his friends squeeze him just that little bit tighter, and Bant to start up a very choked-sounding rant.
“--and if you get cold, remember those socks I made you, you’ve got to keep your extremities insulated. You don’t eat enough to put any meat on your bones, I swear, so we’ve just got to supplement. You did pack the socks, right? It took me four days to make those, Obi, and–”
He breathed in again. “Bant.”
“--you never can tell with automated systems, they’re usually adjusted to only the most common species! And that might not be human, you know! You’ll be working outside and it’ll be hot, and then you’ll come inside and it’ll be too cold, and without proper insulating garments that is a great way for your sinus cavities and your–”
“Bant?”
“--I just knew I should have done a sweater instead. Core temp insulation, it covers more area, that was a better choice, why didn’t I pick that? I can probably get you a spare one of mine? Can you fit it in your pack? How packed are you, exactly? Oh! And snacks! There’s a whole–”
“Hey, Bant.”
Garen muttered into his shoulder blade, not raising his head or letting go of his grip around Obi-Wan’s ribcage. “Settle in. She hasn’t gotten to the hydration part yet.”
A laugh, then, and Obi-Wan squirmed his fingers up between their bodies to grip Bant’s arms and push her slightly away so he could see her face. Huge, wet eyes echoed the worry and melancholy he could feel resonating in the Force around them all.
They were all so small.
Obi-Wan was very carefully not thinking about that.
He breathed in again. “My dear Bantling, you put all your time and effort into those socks, instead of into the astro-nav calculations that were due that week. You almost failed that exam! Of course I have them, and will wear them faithfully when the weather gets to be cool.” He touched her face, gently. “I will carry your words and your care with me, no matter where I go.”
He knew this moment.
He remembered this hug.
And he’d not lied, in the slightest. He had carried his friends and their care of him – their love – with him throughout his entire long, lonely life. Some days, he remembered, those memories were one of the only things that saw him through the nightmares.
He’d always wanted to tell them how much that had mattered.
The Force twanged slightly, discordant and distant, and yet still so bright.
“It’s going to be alright,” he told them all. “I will be alright, and so will you.”
Reeft sighed hugely and mumbled “Won’t be the same without you, though.”
Obi-Wan could feel Garen nodding. “Clan Mynock is supposed to be victorious and save the galaxy together.”
Oh, my friends, if only.
Obi-Wan shifted his weight enough to let them know he was serious about getting out of the hug, this time, and they reluctantly let him go. “It’s a very big galaxy, Garen. We’ll just have to spread out a little bit to cover all the angles.”
Bant giggled wetly. Mon Cala couldn’t cry, but her voice bubbled as she shook her finger in Obi-Wan’s face. “That means we have to coordinate!”
Garen chuckled and Reeft nodded his head quickly. “That’s right! You gotta write, and we’ll write too. And none of that bantha-poodoo about not wanting to ‘bother us’ with plant stuff. Plants are awesome, and you’re gonna be awesome at growin’ ‘em, and every time I see muja fruit I’ll know that the only reason we have ‘em is because you helped!”
His face hurt, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he was smiling so hard, or because he was trying to keep the smile from falling off his face. “It’s a deal."
He’d never been adept at the Living Force.
…Cody would tell him he was more adept at it than any other trooper in the entire GAR, though…
Not thinking about that, either.
“I’ll message you all when I get to Bandomeer, alright?” he said finally, stepping back.
Bant nodded and opened her mouth, even as Garen and Reeft took her by the hands and started to walk her back down the hallway, leaving Obi-Wan standing in front of his dorm room door.
“You’d better! Everyone will want to know you’re okay. And take a canteen with you! Rehydrated food is horrible for travel, but it’s even worse if you can’t even rehydrate it in the first place! Remember your allergies! I’ll make you a hat for Life Day–”
He waved, not moving until they were out of sight around the corner, and then he let his hand drop, trembling, against his leg. His breath hitched a couple more times, uncontrolled, and he squeezed his eyes tight shut while he wrestled his emotions back.
He remembered this.
The door to his assigned initiate’s dorm room slid open and quietly shut again behind him. All but two of the bunks inside were unoccupied, everyone else having been either picked by a Jedi Master and moved out, or already off to a Corps posting. He vaguely remembered that the last person occupying the room, Har Bulveta, was waiting on their Master to return from a mission. Once Obi-Wan left, Padawan Har would likely transfer either to a small room of their own nearer the classrooms, or be given a small cot in their grandmaster’s suite.
The dorm room would then be cleaned and furniture repaired or replaced in time for a brand new group of younglings.
It would be like he’d never been there at all.
His hands were still shaking and his steps wobbled as he walked to the fresher. He spent a moment at the sink, scooping water up to his mouth and gulping thirstily, splashing his face – so wasteful, all that water, was this what Anakin -
Don’t think about that, yet.
In the harsh overhead light, his eyes looked brilliantly blue, the skin around them red and puffy. He remembered crying a lot the week leading up to his leaving the temple. He had believed no one wanted him, that he was perceived as a flawed option for a Padawan. He had thought that all the Masters could see into his heart and knew his fear, his desperation.
He was twelve.
At nearly sixty, though, Obi-Wan had known a lot more than he had when he actually was the age he appeared now in the mirror. He knew more about loss, about fear, and about the fallibility of the adults he saw every day. He knew about the pros and cons of attachment. He knew love. He knew death. He knew hope.
He, arguably, did not know the Force.
He did not know how he came to be here. He didn’t know why he came to be here. Whatever cosmic entity or being had decided to pluck him out of the endless flow of the universe and plop him back in his own body more than forty years prior? Was either unfathomably cruel or —
Well.
“All is as the Force wills it,” he mumbled, walking back out to sit tiredly on his bunk.
He’d been picked. By the Force? By something? Someone? By someone and with the Force’s help and/or permission?
“...so what does the Force will me to do?”
—-
In the end, he thought about it for probably a lot longer than he’d needed to. Padawan Har had come and bunked down, wishing Obi-Wan a good night and safe journey the following morning.
Oh, right.
He was supposed to be on The Monument bright and early.
And then there would be a Hutt, and pirates, and a crash-landing. There would be a kidnapping, and cold, wet darkness, and a bomb collar.
And while Obi-Wan was fairly confident he’d be better able to get through all of those harrowing – for a twelve-year-old! – events, the older Jedi Master that his soul knew himself to be was … very much less interested in treading that path a second time.
He had been picked.
And he had arrived on this day, specifically.
And if the Force, or whoever, wanted him to do things the same way that he’d done it before, then it wouldn’t have mattered what day he’d arrive. If there weren’t to be any changes, why be here? If nothing were to change, or even be able to be changed, if everything was fixed, then…
Well, then, he’d end up on The Monument no matter what he tried to do, wouldn’t he?
If his fate was always to be infinite sadness—
“---then I’d better make it count.”
And if he could manage to take down a Sith or two in the process? He’d call himself satisfied.
Obi-Wan spent the rest of the night planning. He upended his pack, going over the contents as carefully as any Jedi Shadow on a long-term mission.
Three sets of robes (two of which he put aside for later), two pairs of pants, four pairs of socks – yes, including Bant’s – and one extra set of boots. Younger-him had really only thought about clothing, assuming everything else would be provided at the AgriCorps station, so Obi-Wan had to sneak out extra-early in the morning for the rest of his supplies.
He put on the extra robes, even if it made moving a little more awkward, and the boots, which in turn freed up more space in the pack. He raided the dorm’s med supplies for bacta patches and healing ointment, as well as a small sewing kit and a pad of flimsi. Colored pencils, two decks of cards, and the holo of his crechemates, cheerfully waving out of the image, their young faces beaming brightly.
The Quartermaster’s office was still on the night shift, and Obi-Wan was successful in using his sad, reddened eyes to acquire a small med kit (they didn’t need to know he already had one), a head-scarf in a lovely shade of blue, and the canteen that Bant had reminded him to get. He wasn’t entirely positive that her stream of warnings and advice hadn’t come from only a place of worry. The Force could have nudged her to speak.
Better to have it, he thought.
There were a few people in the refectory pre-dawn, most of them either nocturnal species or up ridiculously late cramming for tests. He spotted one Master frantically cramming for a test, but it appeared he’d be the one giving it, not taking it, and Obi-Wan smirked to himself at the low-grade panic the poor teacher was releasing into the Force.
Obi-Wan made himself eat well. Eggs and spicy sausage, toast and meiloorun jam, with blue milk. He grabbed a cinnamon muffin and managed to wrap up a small pouch of dried fruit and nuts for his pocket. (He’d also swiped two small eating knives, a spoon, and finagled a fire-starter from a Knight who he’d told he needed to light candles for his friend’s cake.)
The Room of a Thousand Fountains was his last real stop.
By the time he’d died, Crazy Old Ben, the Wizard of the Dune Wastes, had been to hundreds of planets in his life. He’d seen countless trees and shrubs, grasses and vines, flowing streams of almost every color water imaginable. And while he’d never been as able to connect with the Living Force as well as his Master had, or Grand Master Yoda, he’d still been able to feel the Force in all those living, moving things. The energy that held all life in the universe together, that beat as one giant heart in the souls of its residents.
And no one synergized that flowing, living energy like those who created and then maintained the pathways, biomes, and systems that formed the Room of a Thousand Fountains.
He’d miss this.
Obi-Wan spent only about fifteen minutes wandering his old life’s favorite spots, remembering and letting the memories move through him. Sunny patches he’d dozed in. That pond where he’d learned to swim. The waterfall. Many memories, with many different emotions attached, and he tried to let them go. It wouldn’t do to be bogged down now, in either grief or nostalgia. He couldn’t stay.
There was work to do.
Obi-Wan very carefully took cuttings of certain plants, harvested a few seed pods, and even found one very useful plant that he just dug up completely, careful of the root system, and plopped, dirt and all, into a small waterproof pouch. That one would have to go into a pot very soon, and he thought he knew right where to find one.
—-
Dawn saw Obi-Wan Kenobi sneaking out of the temple via the hangar deck. He’d gotten a utility belt, cauterizer, and a handful of coiled wires from one of the maintenance closets, and then skipped his way around the parked speeders to the edge of the landing pads.
He’d then blithely thrown himself over the side.
There was one small moment where he’d hung in the air, ready to start his descent, when he’d thought wait, can this body handle the Force I’ll need to– but then he inhaled, laughed, and dropped.
“Size matters not!” he yelled gleefully.
Early morning light shone off the tops off the upper level buildings. The sky was rosy with the rising sun, the traffic as heavy as it always was. Coruscant didn’t have non-peak hours. Obi-Wan very carefully tilted himself this way and that as he fell, using the Force to push or pull himself toward or away from traffic lanes, lightly touching off walls and gradually slowing his plummeting form. He bounced from one spire to another, the light dimming as he got farther away from the surface.
At last, he landed on a slanted roof, sliding gracefully to the edge and dropping the ten feet to the shadowed street. He checked around himself quickly, putting his back to the wall. While one or two people had seen him land, none seemed to realize that he’d fallen quite as far as he had, and continued on their way.
Crazy Old Ben resecured his head scarf, drew a firm notice-me-not around himself with the Force, and started walking too.