Chapter Text
Mace sank back in his chair, weary to his very bones as the Council meeting carried on around him. Master Jinn was on the floor yet again, arguing over his continued restriction from missions or from taking a new Padawan. Mace thought it was all bantha shit, as usual. He wouldn’t trust Jinn with a tooka kit right now, let alone another child to fail.
Two years, now, that little Kenobi was missing. No matter how much Jinn claimed that he repudiated Obi-Wan, that the child had left the Order of his own free will, the truth was that Obi-Wan was on Melida/Daan until the war ended, and then he was not, and no one - not even the new government of Melidaan - knew where he had gone.
It was one of Mace’s biggest regrets that he hadn’t pushed Jinn harder for the truth of what happened on Melida/Daan. The Council had trusted what Jinn told them, that Obi-Wan left the order of his own desire, and that he was safe.
Finding out that Obi-Wan, instead of being safe, had effectively been a General of an army of children for almost a year, in the single picture of him in the media surrounding the peace talks at New Melidaan -
Mace’s hands gripped his chair, white-knuckled. In the bond between him and the other Council members, he pushed out his outrage and impatience, and Master Yoda responded, cutting off Jinn mid-sentence.
“Agree with you, we do not, that you are ready for another Padawan, the Council does,” Yoda said heavily. “Much more learning to do, you have. Dismissed, you are.”
Jinn scowled, but bowed to his Grandmaster and left the room, cloaks swirling behind him as he strode away. Mace bowed his head with the weight of his regrets, and sighed.
“Has he been attending his mind-healing sessions?” Plo folded his hands across his lap, fingers intertwined. “He seems…” He trailed off, but Mace knew what he meant.
Mace had been friends with Jinn, once. Good friends. But the friend he knew had never been so cruel or callous.
“Damaged, he is,” Yoda said quietly, ears wilting. “Know how to fix this, I do not. But try, we must.”
Agreement resonated through the Force, and Mace released his anger. Silently, they all heard the meaning behind the Grand Master’s words. If Jinn did not reel in his anger and discontent, they may have another Fall on their hands. It was the antithesis of what Mace considered of his friend, but Jinn had been changing for a very long time.
“Now, next on the docket is Senior Padawan Depa Billaba, reporting from her Watchman outpost in the Outer Rim. As a reminder, she is nearly finished with her trials, and is expected to return home within a few weeks. This is her last scheduled report.”
Despite himself and his worry, Mace felt a smile creep up on him. Depa had taken to her Watch posting with grace, and he couldn’t have been prouder of her.
In the middle of the room, the holo-table lit up, and Depa appeared, clad in her usual robes and hairstyle, though both seemed to be in shades of disarray. She bowed deeply to the assembled Council Members, and Mace felt the first stirrings of concern well up within him at her frazzled appearance and expression.
“Masters,” she said, voice bordering between anxious and attentive. “I bring news, both positive and negative.”
“Share with us, you shall?” Yoda questioned as the Council Members sat up in their seats.
Depa bowed her head. “On the negative side, the pirate attacks against the Educorps and Agricorps outposts on Breeka have increased again, though the losses are recoverable. There has been more strange activity on Eos, as well, though the reports coming from the planet are skewed by the atmospheric interference from the volcanic activity.”
Master Mundi hummed. “We will keep this in mind, Padawan. Thank you for informing us.”
“Good news, you have, Padawan?” Yoda’s spindly fingers tapped against the arms of his chair.
Depa straightened, and Mace leaned forward. “I am unsure of how to best explain this, Masters,” she said tentatively, glancing off to the side to something unseen. “Perhaps if you explain -“ she started, and then flickered out as she was replaced by another hologram, this time of a Jedi that Mace couldn’t claim to recognize. The Jedi bowed deeply to the Council members and then straightened, revealing long brown hair, plaited along the crown of her head, and pointed ears.
Master Yoda’s surprise was evident in the Force. “Master Fay,” he said, eyes wide. “Unexpected, this is.”
“It is good to see you again, my friend,” Master Fay said, dipping her head. “And to see these new faces on the Council. I am Master Fay; for many years now, I have traveled the Outer Rim, going where I was needed most. And now, well - here, I was called.”
“At least two centuries it has been, since last we talked,” Master Yoda said. “Found something, you have?”
Ah. Now Mace can pin a rumor to a face. There are legends of the ancient Jedi Masters who transcended aging itself in the Order, although he knew that most were nothing more than crechetales. Some tales, though, no matter how outlandish, were true, and the tale of Master Fay was one of them. But just as Yoda had said, it had been over two hundred years since she had last communicated with the Order. If it was not for Yoda’s staunch refusal that he would have felt her death in the Force, they would have held a memorial decades ago.
“Found someone,” Master Fay corrected. “Little one, will you come here?” Master Fay looked off into the distance, at someone none of them could see. “It’s alright, darling, it’s just the Council. I’m sure they’re very eager to see you.”
The hologram flickered, and then went back into focus, this time with two figures. Master Fay and a small child -
Mace’s heart skipped in his chest.
“I believe you know Obi-Wan,” Master Fay said, and the teen at her side looked up, face sallow even in the blue of the hologram. He was trembling, hands fisted in the material of Fay’s robes, but even with the fear he managed a sketched bow before hiding into the folds of the robe.
“Grandpadawan,” Yoda said, voice filled to the brim with emotion, and Obi-Wan shook his head without looking up.
Fay wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Obi-Wan burrowed into her further. “I will be returning with him to Coruscant shortly,” Fay said, and Mace let out a long breath of relief. “Padawan Billaba, if you would -“
There was the shift of movement, and then Obi-Wan disappeared from the hologram, presumably now held by Mace’s padawan.
Fay stared out at the Council. “We are going to have a long discussion when I get back, Yoda,” she warned. “About why I found a fifteen year old Padawan enslaved. One who claimed that he was no longer welcome in the Order.”
Yoda, if it was possible, wilted even more than he had earlier. “Failed Padawan Kenobi greatly, we have,” Yoda said, his regret circling the room through the Force.
Fay grimaced. “He is…” Her hands rose, as if searching the very air for answers. “Much wrong has been done to him.”
Mace pinched his eyes shut against the weight of the agony bearing down on him, the sadness and regret and pain of all the Councilors in the room filling the Force. He opened them again, and soothed his emotions away as best he could, feeling no freer even with their lack.
“We have been searching for him since we learned he did not leave the Order of his own volition,” Mace said to Master Fay, voice toneless. “He’s been gone from the temple for almost two years. His former Master,” Mace said, pushing past the emotions he still felt at Jinn’s utter lack of compassion towards his own Padawan, “Left him on a planet called Melida/Daan, in the middle of an active Civil War. Kenobi joined on the side of the Young, and helped win them their freedom from the Elders fighting against them, uniting the planet into Melidaan. He was taken from the planet shortly after the peace treaty was signed. No one had heard or seen of him since.”
He raised a hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the weight of the shatterpoints in the distance bearing down upon him. Master Koon finished his thought.
“To be frank, Master Fay,” Plo said, leaning in. “At this point, we were expecting to find evidence of his death.” The room winced, and Yoda’s ears lowered further, but no one protested. It was the truth, as horrible as it was. “It was a horrific failing, and the circumstances that led to it are hopefully no longer reproducible. The Master who allowed this to happen was restricted to the Temple after the truth of the matter was revealed, and had not been allowed to go on missions or take another Padawan since.”
“Good,” Fay said fiercely. “I will be at Coruscant within two weeks. Tell the Halls that they’ll need a trauma-informed healer for his case; I am fairly certain that he has been tortured repeatedly. I will see you when I return.” With that grave message, Fay’s image flickered out, and was then replaced with Depa’s after a few moments.
She wrung her hands, face pale, and Mace sent out an inquiry into the Force, one quickly agreed with by the room. “Padawan,” he said, voice soft. “You have done a good thing, helping both Master Fay and Padawan Kenobi. It is the opinion of this Council that you should consider your mission completed.” Depa’s eyes widened. “You have our permission to return to Coruscant with Master Fay. You have acted with the Force in your mission, with both grace and peace. Another will be sent to resume your Watch.”
Depa bowed, a small real smile on her face. “Thank you, Masters. I will keep you informed of our return.”
The hologram flickered out.
“Master Jinn cannot remain in this Temple,” Plo said into the empty air of the room. “Not if we are to welcome Padawan Kenobi back into the Order and assist in his recovery.”
Yoda grimaced. “Agree with you, I wish I did not. But agree, I do. To a respite, should we send him?”
Master Nu chimed in. “I am, as you know, of the opinion that Qui-Gon should have been sent to a respite years ago, after the debacle with Du Crion and Knight Feemor. He needs more assistance in restructuring his outlook than we can provide at this time.”
There was a faint mutter of agreement in the room, and the vote to send Master Jinn to the Temple of Eedit to seek sanctuary and respite passed with a fair majority.
“There is the matter of who Padawan Kenobi will stay with,” Master Mundi said, in the space that follows.
“He should be allowed to choose,” Master Shaak Ti said softly. “He has not been allowed many choices for a very long time. He should choose who he would feel safe with.”
Yaddle nodded in agreement. “Take a survey, we shall, of those who would wish to train him. Delicate, this situation is.”
Shaak dipped her head. “I agree with Master Yaddle.”
The Council meeting dismissed shortly after that, and Mace wandered through the halls back to his apartments slowly, mind caught in the looming shatterpoints on the horizon and the migraine brewing at his temples. By the time he reached his door, feet trudging along, Plo was already waiting outside, hands cradled around a mug of caf that he handed to Mace.
“Thanks,” Mace muttered, and he took a long sip as he punched in the code for his quarters. They both slipped in, and while Mace collapsed onto the couch, mug precariously balanced, Plo started rummaging through his cabinets, pulling out both a blanket that he tossed at Mace before grabbing the container of painkillers on the top shelf.
Mace caught both the blanket and the proffered painkillers, and downed two before taking another long sip of caf. Both were silent, for a moment.
“This is karked,” Mace said simply, and Plo sighed. His friend sat down beside him, and Mace leaned against the solid frame of his Kel Door friend. “That we missed this. That we let Jinn -“
“It is,” Plo said, and together they sat and let the world pass by.
It was cold on the ship.
He wasn’t used to it being cold. Not since the sewers, in the war. It was always cold, there. And dark. And damp. But it was hot on Breeka. When he first arrived there, shoved out of the back of the transport with his hands cuffed behind his back, his lungs had frozen from the sheer weight of the heat in the air. It took him days to get used to breathing on the planet, and that was before the sandstorm season began and he had to wrap his face with cloth to keep his lungs from filling with debris. The sand was part of him, now, under his nails and in his lungs and probably embedded in the scratches across his arms and legs.
It had been one of Overseer Kria’s favorite punishments, to send them out into the storms with no protection. The sand scoured away everything, she claimed, even the thoughts that led them to break the rules or falter in their work.
He wasn’t the youngest in the camp. Not at first. Jorael had been fourteen.
He went missing, one day. Kria claimed that he wandered off into the dunes to die. Obi-Wan only half believed it. Some part of him hoped that Jorael made it out.
Maybe he did. Maybe he didn’t. Obi-Wan didn’t blame him if Jorael actually went walking away into the sands. Sometimes death was the only freedom you could hope for.
(He had considered it, more than once. Something always stopped him.)
After Jorael left, then he was the youngest. And his Master -
Obi-Wan wrapped his arms around himself in the mimicry of a hug, knees curled up to his chest.
He was the youngest, then, and Master liked him the best. Liked young the best.
He was cold.
He was - he was shivering. He, he should fix that. He could fix that. He could -
Footsteps.
When the knock on the door came, Obi-Wan was scrunched under his bunk, sheets positioned to hide him from the door, breaths coming in quick pants as he wrapped his force presence around himself smaller and smaller and smaller. When no response came to the knock, it repeated, and then his door cracked open.
“Obi-Wan?”
Oh. It was -
Just Depa. He knew Depa. She was safe.
He let his presence in the Force uncurl, just a bit, but stayed where he was, his whole body shaking. He heard Depa take a few steps toward his bunk, and then he saw as she knelt, her robes draped across the floor.
“You’re safe, Obi-Wan. We are on the Wanderer. Fay found you. We’re almost home.” Depa’s words and her calm presence in the Force washed through him, and Obi-Wan uncurled more. “Just another hour.”
Obi-Wan’s hand reached out, and he twitched aside the bedsheet, scrambling out to sit on the floor by Depa. Depa didn’t move, and stayed a few paces away, but he could feel how she was sending waves of calm to him in the force.
He shook, both with cold and with fear, and Depa’s presence prodded at his mind gently. Obi-Wan lifted his own shields just barely, enough to send back cold-shaky-scared-cold-hungry and Depa’s expression flickered before solidifying back into a warm smile.
“Let’s get you some more blankets, okay?” Depa pointed out into the hallway. “Do you want to come sit in the cockpit? It’s a little warmer out there, and Fay’s there. You can supervise the landing procedures.”
Obi-Wan’s lips curled into a smile at her phrasing, and considered it. On one hand, he was safe in here. He could hide under the bed, and no one could get him, and he could drift and wait for this to be over.
On the other, he was cold, and he could sit by Fay.
Silently, he held out two fingers, and Depa smiled at him. “Alright. Why don’t you bring your pad with you, and I’ll set up something for you to watch.”
Depa stood, and offered a hand to him. Obi-Wan stared at it for what was surely too long of a moment, but Depa’s expression didn’t falter, and eventually he took it, taking her assistance to pull himself upright. Depa made to let go, but Obi-Wan clung on, and she tightened her fingers in response.
Obi-Wan held onto her hand the whole way to the cockpit.
Fay, as promised, was in there, sitting sideways across the pilot seat as she oversaw the autopilot leading them through hyperspace to Coruscant, and she glanced up as they entered, a warm smile breaking over her face. “Hello, little ones. Are you joining me, Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan nodded, and let go of Depa’s hand, creeping up to sit in the copilot chair next to Fay. He stared out the viewscreen, at the blurring stars of hyperspace beyond them, and wrapped his arms around himself. The stars were bright, and Fay’s presence exuded a palpable sense of safety and reassurance. His hands shook even as he stared out into space.
He - it had been a long time since he was at the Temple (at home, some part of him whispered, and he told it to shut up). Not since the war. Not since M-Master -
Master -
The war, and being abandoned, and fighting and starving and dying and killing and winning -
And being taken, and hurting starving touching hiding running working touching hurting starving hurting starving touching hurting -
A hand touched his shoulder gently, and Obi-Wan flinched, even as he recognized it to be Depa. She smiled down at him, expression a little worn, and smoothed down the blanket he hadn’t noticed, now wrapped around him. He was warmer now. His pad was in his lap, something quietly playing - some animated show he vaugely recognized, about sentient rocks - and Fay was sitting properly in the pilot’s chair, checking the controls as they moved through hyperspace. He’s rocking, gently, like a toy boat on the ocean, and the movement is calming enough that he doesn’t stop it even after realizing he’s doing it.
“You went away for a bit there, Obi-Wan,” Depa said gently, dropping into the seat beside him.
He does that a lot. Fay uses words he recognizes, when she writes her reports - words like dissociation, like traumatic stress responses, like depersonalization and derealization and other things that he knows from researching how to help his Master - how to help Qui-Gon, when they came back from Bandomeer and Qui-Gon was so angry and sad about Xanatos. It doesn’t make sense to use them for him, but Fay doesn’t make sense a lot of the time. She told him that he was still part of the Order, and that the Council was going to welcome him back, and that he’d never have to leave again. That what happened to him was terrible, and that she’s so sorry she didn’t find him sooner.
Fay says a lot of things that doesn’t make sense.
Floating helped him stay safe, at the camp. Floating meant that he could work longer and eat less. Floating meant that when Master called him to his tent he could sleep afterwards. Floating helped him.
“Obi-Wan?”
Oh. He was doing it again.
Obi-Wan blinked heavily, and the world focused around him, some of the fog drifting away. Depa was holding out a glass of water to him.
He took it in both hands, fingers trembling around the glass, but managed not to spill any as he raised it to his lips and took a long sip. It was a miracle, to have this much water. For over a year he’d been living on rations and musty-tasting canteens and the constant dryness on his tongue, and now he could drink as much as he wanted.
The water was cold, and it soothed away the fog, even as it made him shiver again in his blankets. Depa tucked the blanket back around his shoulders, and Obi-Wan curled into it, holding the glass in his lap and staring out into the stars.
“We’re going to be coming out of hyperspace, soon,” Fay said, hands curled around the controls. “I’m going to go over what’s going to happen once we land again, alright?”
Obi-Wan nodded without looking at her.
“Once we land in the hangar bay, a healer is going to meet us with a hoverchair, and we’re going to go right to the Halls of Healing. Healer Che has been in contact with me, and she has a room all ready for you. The first thing we’re going to do is get your chip out. Then a general check up, and then you can sleep as long as you want.” Fay took a breath, and let it out slowly. “Depa or I can stay with you if you want us there, or if you need us there. Someone from the Council will need to talk to you, but that will wait until you’re feeling a little bit better. Does that make sense?”
He nodded again, still not looking at her.
“The healers will need to ask you some questions. You can talk, or sign if you know how, or type it out. If none of those work, they’ll figure something out.”
He glanced at her in the corner of his eye, and found Fay to be staring out into hyperspace, hands clenched.
Obi-Wan hadn’t said a word in months. Fay and Depa, they don’t know that it’s been that long, but he hasn’t said anything to them since Fay found him. He doesn’t know how to explain it, how is tongue feels heavy and sharp every time he thinks about talking, how his hands tremble at the thought of signing. Talking isn’t safe. Talking gets him punished and being punished makes him hurt and being hurt makes Master angry and when Master is angry -
He cuts off that thought, and tucked his hands under the blanket. He isn’t with Master anymore. He’s on a ship. They’re -
Coming out of hyperspace.
The ship shakes as they slide out of the space between the stars, and Fay tapped on her headset, dialing in to Ground Control for the Jedi Hangar Bay. Beneath them, Coruscant unfolded, bright sparks of light in vast webs across the surface of the planet.
“This is Jedi Master Fay, landing code 43552-aleph-tav.” She listened for the response, and then nodded her head. “Confirmed, go for landing.”
The ship descended through the atmosphere of Coruscant, and Obi-Wan watched with wide eyes as they approach the city, building flashing through the viewscreen as they start the descent. In the distance, he saw the Jedi Temple.
It was strange, but seeing it was a relief. He had thought he would never get to see it again. It’s nice to be here, even if it won’t be permanent. They’ll kick him out, eventually, but to be home -
Maybe he can even see his friends, before the Council formally repudiates him.
The Temple rises in the distance, until it becomes too large to see properly as Fay lowers the ship into the hangar bay. It settled with a minor jolt, and Fay sat back, flicking the buttons until the interior lights come on and the viewscreen dimmed.
“Alright, darling. Let’s get you looked after.”
The trip to the Halls of Healing passed in flashes that he has trouble piecing together. The hoverchair is smooth and unfamiliar, but the floor of the hallways is worn tiles and the tapestries on the walls are familiar. The people that they pass are in clothing that he can imagine the feel off, well-loved fabrics and care woven into every stitch. The whole building feels suffused with light.
He hasn’t felt that for years. He forgot how it felt.
He’s so enraptured with the sheer brightness of the Force around him that they arrive at the Halls before he can even begin to feel nervous. When he realizes that they’ve stopped, they’re already in an exam room, and there’s soft conversation around him.
“…you said that he wasn’t talking?” A gentle voice asked, and Obi-Wan placed it as Healer Che.
Fay’s voice responded. “Not verbally, and not through sign. I don’t know if there’s a physical issue at play or a mental one. We’ve been more focused on helping him be present than trying to go for complex communication.”
Obi-Wan moved his head, and the conversation ceased. Healer Che stood in front of him - and when did he sit on the exam table, he wonders - and she bowed to him, a half-bow. “Obi-Wan,” she said warmly. “It is good to see you again. Fay told me that you’re having some trouble talking; is it alright if I ask you a few questions about that?”
He nodded.
“Does your throat hurt?” No. “Does talking hurt?” No. “Did something happen to your throat or your mouth?”
He hesitated, and then made a seesawing motion with his hand.
“Something did happen, but it didn’t impact your ability to talk?”
He nodded. He’s glad that she understood.
“Alright. Is it talking in Basic that’s hard? Do you want to try another language?”
He shook his head harder. Other languages were - if Master caught him talking in Dai Bendu, even in his sleep, he would be so angry with him, and if he found him talking in Amatakka that would be even worse -
“Shh, shh, that’s okay. You don’t have to talk. Is signing okay?”
It was better than talking. Master didn’t know sign. Sometimes he could get away with more subtler ones with the other slaves. But that was before…
He held out his hands, with his half-curved fingers, both trembling even as he tried to still them. He shook his head no.
Healer Che’s voice sounded wet. “Okay. That’s okay, Obi-Wan. Would you be comfortable if I asked one of our telepaths to come help you out?”
Tentatively, he nodded. He had fond memories of some of the telepaths he knew growing up, of the gaggle of Quaemerians a few years older than him and some others. They were always so careful, in their telepathy. They wouldn’t hear anything he didn’t mean to share.
“Padawan Ya is available to help us. Would it be alright for me to invite her in?”
Oh. He knew her. Kindee was four years older than him. She was part of Heliost Clan. She had always been kind to the smaller kids.
Obi-Wan didn’t feel much like a kid anymore, but she was probably still kind.
He nodded again.
A few moments later, the door opened, and admitted Kindee, taller than he remembered her being. Her padawan beads glimmered, light reflecting off the quartz and stone as they draped across her forehead.
Hello, Obi-Wan, she said, voice clear as a bell in his mind.
Hi Kindee.
She grinned at him, and folded herself onto the grown, knees under her. “I’ll just be here to facilitate the connection so you can talk to Healer Che directly.”
Healer Che thanked her, and turned back towards him. “We’re going to start with your - with your chip,” she said, voice hesitating.
It’s in my thigh, he broadcast, placing a hand over the spot. It still ached, sometimes. He didn’t heal well anymore.
Healer Che nodded tightly. “I’m going to use a scanner, just to make sure. Do you want me to numb the area?”
He was surprised that she even asked.
His surprise must have been obvious, because Healer Che continued, “I know that for some people, the pain helps remind them that it’s gone. You’ll have a choice, of whether you want the scar or not. Either option is fine.”
His hand rose up to his neck, to the ridges of scar tissue still there from the collar on Bandomeer. He hated that scar.
But he was only on Bandomeer for a few weeks. The chip in his thigh had been there for over a year. If - how would he know it was really out, without a scar? How could he be sure that he was gone from there, that Master wouldn’t come and take him back or hit the detonator for him daring to flee and how -
I want the scar, he broadcasts out, thoughts unsteady. But you can numb it.
“Alright, Obi-Wan.” Healer Che helps him change into a medical gown, and Obi-Wan steadfastly ignores the sheer upset in her presence as she catches sight of his scars, of the way his ribs protrude out from his skin. The insertion point on his thigh had long since healed over, but Obi-Wan knew exactly where it was, and he traced circles around the spot as Healer Che prepared the numbing cream and the scanner.
The cream was cold, but in minutes, he couldn’t feel his thigh. He watched the whole time, as Healer Che cut through skin and tissue. The blood didn’t bother him.
He’d seen worse.
The chip is smaller than he thought it’d be. Healer Che removed it and sealed the wound closed with steristrips before layering it with bacta and a bandage.
“I’m going to have this sterilized, Obi-Wan, but then you’ll get to keep it.”
What?
He hadn’t meant to broadcast that, but it slipped out anyway.
Healer Che looked at him, expression unreadable. “Some people want to destroy it,” she said quietly. “Others keep it. My friend Lili turned hers into a necklace, as a reminder of where she came from. It’s yours to do with as you think is best.”
She set it aside in a medical container, and Obi-Wan stared at the bandage on his thigh. It -
It was out.
He -
He was free. He was free.
He was home.
Unbidden, his eyes well up, tears gathering but not falling. He shouldn’t - he shouldn’t waste the water, but -
He was home.
The tears fell, and Obi-Wan curled into himself and cried.