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Obi Wan times his breathing to make the pain lessen. Every thrust threatens his grip on the sheets.  Sweat stings his eyelashes.

A thumb swipes at the corner of his eye and a voice croons. The words are sweet on the surface. Obi Wan knows the voice loves when he cries. It thinks he’s beautiful. It whispers that he’s doing so good—that he is good.

It pulls him from his meditation and suddenly The Republic isn’t enough.

Obi Wan can feel his timed breathing slip from his careful rhythm, spiraling faster and faster as his ribcage is crushed beneath muscled weight. He tries to smile, to play his part, but there’s too much around him. His hamstrings ache as they stretch over shoulders.

Teeth bite his collarbone. A tongue licks over the bruises that have already bloomed. Warm palms slide over his lower rib cage, a direct contrast to the congealed blood it smears in its wake. A hum that’s not his reverberates through his chest.

Think of The Republic.

A layer of cotton, thick and protective, lines the palm that cups his cheek and gives him the distance he needs to survive this. He’s providing a service. Thanks to him, the law protecting Padawans from Requests will go to vote today rather than next week. Yoda personally thanked Obi Wan for his service to The Order. 

If The Republic isn’t enough, perhaps The Jedi Order will be.

Obi Wan imagines the collective relief in the force once this bill passes. He imagines the gratitude of his fellow Jedi charged with the protection of a youngling. He imagines the moment the crèche  masters are informed that their initiates will be safe for just a little longer than they dared to hope. He imagines—

Fingernails shred through the cotton barrier and dig into the the flesh of his hip as his position is forcefully shifted. It’s nearing its end. Obi Wan arches his neck to make space for lips to press against his hairline where his padawan braid used to start.

His Padawan.

The memory of Anakin’s laughter is enough to finally muffle the sharp panting in his ear. Remembering the way Anakin stifles curses as he fights with the innards of a new droid lets the force grow protectively thick. Obi Wan shuts his eyes to think of how delighted his young padawan will be when Obi Wan brings home his favorite candy. It’s a tart citrus flavor that Obi Wan pretends to enjoy solely so that his Requests will fill his pockets with them.

Anakin, bright and warm, is what allows Obi Wan to finally drift from his body and rest in the Force.

When he returns, his Request is gone. Most of them prefer to stay and cuddle, but this one does not. Before he moves a muscle of his free will, Obi Wan calls his lightsaber to himself.  The metal, sharp and cold, resonates with the crystal held within.

The protection it promises is not meant for him, but it’s comforting nonetheless.

Everything aches when he slides from the silk sheets and does his best to make himself presentable. Everything still feels distant; the proportions of the world around him warped beyond the bounds of reality.  Twice, he misses his face with the soft wet cloth he’s using to mop up the worst of it. When he runs it up the plane of his stomach, it slides a little to the left of his aim.

Everything will feel more settled once he’s within his own quarters. The Force is discordant within these walls, fed so so much pain by all of the Sensitive who visit. It crawls along his skin in a silent scream before curling around his neck with a sorrowful apology for not doing more. 

In return Obi Wan releases his own apologetic sorrow at forcing It to witness such depravity.

Something like affection coats his skin with a protective pressure and a nudge to return to his padawan.  Warmth purrs in his chest as he wraps himself up in his heavy brown robes, the gauzy lace he’d arrived in is torn and not worth salvaging,  and leaves the room behind. Later a member of the Jedi Guard will clean and refurbish the room as best they can so that Jedi with psychometry won’t be forced to live through his horror as well as their own.

Obi Wan forces himself to ignore thoughts of future Requests, both his and others. He needs to make it home to his padawan and so he takes each step with deliberate focus. The fingers of one hand trail the grooves in the walls—carefully carved to provide guidance to any Jedi regardless of sight—so that he can retain some semblance of spatial awareness.

These halls are empty. No one ever walks them but the Requested, and they try to stagger the time their visits to reduce the discomfort that comes from being seen after a request.

He cleans quickly, desperately. If he lets himself pause for even a moment, he fears that he won’t be able to hold together any longer. It takes precious minutes that he doesn’t have for his trembling fingers to don the Jedi robes, but he needs the armor that comes from so many layers. He needs desperately to feel shapeless—just one Jedi out of many.

He needs to know that his Padawan is safe from harm and so he pushes into his room, reaching out with a soft crooning for Anakin who is waiting with tea and comfort. The tea can wait, he needs to feel that Anakin is real and whole.

“It’s alright.” Anakin soothes, crawling into Obi Wan’s lap unbidden.

The solid weight of him helps to ground Obi Wan down further in the force. Anakin tucks his head under Obi Wan’s chin, blond locks prickling against his skin.  Small fingers take hold of Obi Wan’s and begin to soothe away the memory of past touch.

Obi Wan takes in a shuddering breath, breathing in the scent of Anakin; home and spice and metal grime. “The Senate meets to vote on the bill tomorrow.”

“It will pass.” Anakin reassures. His padawan braid has been let down from its binding and he tugs Obi Wan’s hands to it now. “A wise Jedi once told me ‘Sufficient to the day is its own trouble’.”

Obi Wan can’t stop the laughter that bubbles up at being so blatantly quoted and so he doesn’t bother to. His fingers find themselves steadying as he carefully braids the length of Anakin’s hair. “Master Windu will pass into the force should he learn that you pay attention to his lectures.”

“Master.” Anakin thunks his head back against Obi Wan’s collarbone in reproach. There’s fear, better hidden than usual, in his searching expression. It fades quickly, reassured by whatever he finds. “Master Yoda stopped by while you were gone. He said he believes me to be ready for a trip to Ilum.”

Obi Wan hunches protectively over Anakin, pressing his forehead to the padawan’s shoulder as he breathes out a quiet thanks to the Force. It’s not their turn to be sent Away, they’ve just returned, but Obi Wan isn’t sure how much longer he could last in the Temple. Already in the short year he’s been a knight, he’s been Requested more than some Jedi have been Requested through their whole careers. Most of them are kind and gentle, but even those Requests are exhausting in their own manner.

His popularity is due in part to Naboo’s favor towards him, he knows. The Trade Federation disaster followed by the death of his master, his knighting, and the simultaneous taking of Anakin as his apprentice has all served to thrust him into the galactic spotlight. Chancellor Palpatine’s, former Naboo senator, indulgent watch over Anakin has only served to make everything so much worse.

But there’s nothing to be done about it. The Council has granted them a reprieve and more importantly, they listened to Obi Wan when he recommended Anakin move forward with his lightsaber training. This is an exciting milestone in his young padawan’s journey towards knighthood and he’s determined to give it all the honor it is due. “I suppose I will have to see the Quartermaster for a sturdier set of robes, my young desert-dweller.”

“Coruscant is cold.” Anakin protests, not bothering to hide his laughter as he passes Obi Wan the tie for his braid. “I still think the Council hasn’t properly considered my suggestion for heating.”

“And lucky we are they didn’t.” Obi Wan tugs on the newly finished braid before he tweaks Anakin’s nose. “Otherwise you, my young padawan, would be spending much more time meditating on the tenets against stealing.”

“Scavenging.” Anakin corrects cheerfully.

Obi Wan nudges Anakin gently before leaning, carefully so as to not unduly jolt his still healing body, over to take up his tea cup. “Regardless of terminology, the principle remains discouraged. A Jedi is meant to divorce themselves from worldly possessions and luxuries in order to better serve the galaxy at large.”

“I’d better serve the galaxy if I wasn’t always freezing.” Anakin says, sipping at his own tea as he settles more fully into the crook of Obi Wan’s arm.

Obi Wan chuckles again. “Duly noted, my young apprentice. I will request the warmest furs for when you brave the cold of Ilum. Now, I think you ought meditate dear heart. Once you enter the caves, it’s only though meditative reflection on the force you’ll hear your kyber’s call.”

“Meditation is the answer to everything.” Anakin mutters, but obediently closes his eyes and softens his breathing. Here, in the safety of their quarters, Obi Wan doesn’t enforce traditional postures and it seems to have helped with Anakin’s initial difficulties.

Though his original intention was to join Anakin, it takes only a brief attempt at meditation to determine it would be counterproductive. The emotions and memories of the night run too close to the surface. So instead he contents himself with watching Anakin slip from meditation to sleep while he sips at his tea.

His brother-padawan is certainly not one he would have chosen for himself, had he gone the traditional route, Obi Wan doesn’t regret taking Anakin under his instruction. Grief is harder to lose oneself in if there’s a youngling depending upon you for survival. Especially when the youngling in question is suffering from a far greater grief.

There is fear in Anakin, as Master Yoda identified correctly, but it’s not a fear that comes from the unknown as is so common in failed Jedi initiates. Instead it’s a fear that comes from having lost everything the moment he was born.  Already it’s begun to fade, and the Force hums with a sense of right whenever Obi Wan brushes against their training bond. He can help Anakin sort through these emotions now and with time he will be able to do so for himself.

Obi Wan rescues the cooled tea cup from Anakin before it can spill, and sets aside the dregs of his own, so he can tug Anakin underneath the covers. The youngling curls close to Obi Wan, grasping hold of his tabard even in sleep.

Soothing away the nightmares before they can form, Obi Wan traces fingers across Anakin’s forehead and then down his nose to sooth away his furrowed expression. Seconds later he hums his favorite of the crèche lullabies, taught to him his crèchemaster when he’d struggled with his own nightmares.

Hush now my dear heart

you are wanted

From across the stars I have heard your call

The Force cradles you

Rest in its peace

From across the stars I have heard your call

Share in our dwellings

Cleanse all your wounds

From across the stars I have heard your call