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Chapter Text

ver·i·si·mil·i·tude

/ˌverəsəˈmiləˌto͞od/

noun

the appearance of being true or real.

There were hard weeks.

This was a truth that Obi-Wan had grown to know intimately, objectively, even. In fact, most of the weeks that had made up the last few months had been growing increasingly difficult. Don’t even get him started on the days that made up those weeks. Stagnant yet somehow each more dangerous than the last, filled to the brim with the same old threats, rearing their heads and needing to be decapitated in the same breath over and over again. Monotonous. The worst kind of dangers were the monotonous ones.

He snorted to himself at the idea of it. It was a thought that seemed very reckless. What a privilege to be bored by Separatist invasions, Obi-Wan thought. Maybe it wasn’t the war that bored him, it was the predictability of it, two years in. Even now, holed up in a Venator-class cruiser outside of some nowhere planet- there are no ‘nowhere planets’, Obi-Wan, not to the inhabitants, Qui-Gon’s old chiding rattled in his head- he couldn’t get the caf machine of all things to work. The caf machine. He rested his throbbing forehead against the metal of the wall, hunched over the clicking and sputtering machine, the thrum of war engines in deep space bringing no comfort. Was a broken caf machine really going to push him over the edge into madness?

He set down a too-cold mug as he scowled down at the machine, body purring to just crush it into a cube, fingers itching to punish for some unknown reason. Would anyone really miss it? The clones didn’t drink caf, did they? He’d never paid close enough attention to really note the smaller habits of his troopers. Would they get too jittery? Did Jango ever drink caf, before his head was severed with searing heat all those years ago? Maybe crushing it would be some sort of retribution, a statement to how out of control all of this had grown-

A voice snapped him out of mindless engrossment.

“We’ve touched down on Hypori, General Kenobi,” Admiral Yularen’s voice seemed tinny, echoing throughout the empty breakroom. The man had seen both the best of the worst of his Jedi in the past few years- this brief break in stoicism was of no greater value to him than one of his own men idling.

“Right. Good.” Obi-Wan set the mug down as he collected himself, turning to follow the older man to the bridge in silence. There were responsibilities he could not shirk, no matter how deeply he ruminated on the morality of them.

The bridge was muggy yet buzzing with activity, blaring klaxons and beeping being addressed by smaller clusters of crewmates huddling like flies, just for them to scurry to another dashboard, fleeting movement blurring as they clamped down another sensor as soon as it blared. This was a familiar sight- with touchdown achieved, all there was to do was to ensure a successful mission. In this case, the end goal of weakening a Techno Union droid production facility.

It was a relatively slim crew for a relatively slim mission: one battalion of clones, a handful of Jedi (nowadays a handful meant he and Anakin and Ashoka and maybe a backup if they could afford to tag team it. War was no place for practical, hands-on Padawan training). Obi-Wan was really starting to regret the lack of caf in his system when his eyes flickered up to the too-bright screen, displaying the mission from their on-planet drones’ perspective.

The first two clone transportation units touched down on the dusted landscape- this part always made his breath hitch. His eyes scanned although he could feel it before he saw it- yes, there. Shorter, slipping through the lines of identical duraplast armor in the grime, a smidgeon of orange and white: Ashoka. He let out a minute breath, stifling the relief he felt. One accounted for, one to go.

Obi-Wan had realized his protests fell on deaf ears when strategizing this mission, and his stomach churned in the stall of it now. Upon insisting they only needed ground forces, Anakin, ever the opportunist, countered that insistence with a request to support via air. Even now, he could hear the gimcrack octave of his voice barely suppressing excitement- don’t you think it would be at least a little useful to have air support? Ashoka can handle the troops down there, I can break in early- it’s an easy win. Ashoka had only smirked and stayed quiet, deceptively placating. Obi-Wan’s face had fallen when he had realized (with severe displeasure) his authority was now subverted by slim majority rule.

Obi-Wan felt the flutter of their connection before he saw the dive in, the Force working overtime with the two of them miles apart. He felt it well before the crackled check-in over the comms, Master Jedi hovering a little to close over the poor crewman monitoring the Interceptors swooping in from neutral space, Anakin’s flight dispatch confirming he and the handful of clone pilots Obi-Wan had allotted had made visual contact with the brigade. His brows always furrowed at the shudder of joy Anakin got from doing this- he could understand flying in neutral space, but this was life or death, no matter how simplistic it seemed. It wasn’t some sort of podrace to be won.

Nostalgic for a time when Anakin didn’t need firefights to feel the thrill of being alive, he listened attentively to the soundoff- Hawk, Odd Ball, Tag, good enough, maybe not the best, but they were spread thin enough as it was- and watched with rapt attention as the swirl of Interceptors diving low was met with its first round of resistance a klick ahead of the ground troops, shoddy droid fire from a small cropping of industrial buildings. Not a surprise. Essentially acting as scouts for the troopers, Anakin had insisted they move in first. Never a surprise.

“Ground units clear to move forward. We’ve got their attention,” Anakin’s voice came as a crackle over the shared feed between air and ground. Obi-Wan’s grip tightened on the back of the now-empty seat once occupied by a crew member, most likely one that quietly slipped away to avoid the tension. Steady, Obi-Wan pushed through in their connection- not a distraction, but a reminder bordering on a plea. He could practically feel the roll of Anakin’s eyes at the notion.

Troops marched on, weakened droids being taken out early on by the Interceptor crew a few klicks ahead. Anakin’s crackling laughter over the intercom fueled by adrenaline was, if anything, boosting morale- at least that was the way Obi-Wan chose to justify the unfettered sensations of glee in their Force tether.

Set down already, Obi-Wan snipped through the bond, arms crossed over his chest as he tracked the flashing dots on the holoprojected map of the barren wasteland below.

You’d like that, wouldn’t you? came Anakin’s silent response laced with a challenge, tone and tenor as clear as if he’d said the words lurking behind Obi-Wan. The response caused the older man to let out an exasperated huff, eyes never leaving the map, aching with something so close to anxiety.

Jedi didn’t get anxious. Well, they did, but how unbecoming it would be to let the feeling fester, he reminded himself.

Enough. Stop toying with them, Obi-Wan shot back with a twinge of heat. A warning. Things had been strained between them since a mission on Kadavo a few weeks ago, the barren blackness of Wild Space making both of them itch with restlessness. He could feel Anakin’s thoughts, his agitation, as if the feelings were his own. Anakin had felt suffocated, like the leash was too short- I’m not your Padawan anymore, stop treating me like one, he’d snapped at him one night after a particularly long day cooped up without action. The sentiment would’ve been upsetting for anyone else, Force bond shielded from Anakin’s side in the weeks thereafter leading up to this. But Obi-Wan had recognized the sentiment for what it was: pent-up frustration, seething out into hardened words meant to cut. Feeling the sting of the cut would mean that Anakin had won. Not this time.

And maybe Obi-Wan had been needling a bit too hard for a two-Jedi mission in the first place. He could recognize that much. He had pushed his luck and gotten burned.

What are you so eager to get back to on Coruscant? You’re jumpy.

Nothing.

Anakin, please pick up after yourself, you know it’s just us here and it's getting-

I will.

Another game of sabaac?

Kriff, give it a rest, Obi-Wan.

Silence on the other end of the line equivalent to phone static made Obi-Wan pull back, expression stony as ever and jaw clenched. He reminded himself that staying in the moment meant higher chances of staying alive.

“Odd Ball, Tag, meet me down there. We’ll hide ‘em offshoot. Hawk, stay in the skies, keep your eyes on the units coming up on foot,” Anakin crackled out after a brief moment of reflection. A communal sigh of relief from inside the Venator. With the grounding of the air troops, phase two was now officially in effect.

Obi-Wan watched the flickering dots on the map slowly, slowly descend before the beeped confirmation they’d grounded safely. Thank the Force. The crew in orbit felt the tension dissipate a bit, tension Obi-Wan was not focused on snuffing out. A Jedi on the bridge, contrary to popular belief, did little to soothe any nerves, especially the ones of those not on the Temple’s payroll. Obi-Wan cared little for the niceties- of course he wasn’t outright rude to Yularen’s crew, but executing this mission was the highest priority, as it was theirs. It had been since it’d been slapped down on his desk the week before with a clear unspoken message: get it done, and get out of there.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Anakin- it wasn’t even that he didn’t place his faith in Ashoka leading a batallion at her too-young age, forced to take on far more than any one Jedi was supposed to, even fully grown. It was the fact that the Force had been thrumming with… something since they’d reached orbit.

Something wasn’t right here. It was too quiet. And it made Obi-Wan’s nostrils flare.

The blaring of a klaxon was enough to make him jump, skittish with the intensity of his focus. Something was off, alright. Crew mates scrambled to intercept the distress call- Hawk, circling above had seen something after moments of tense silence- Obi-Wan butted in front of the gangly, overworked crew to hold the comms button down, eyes narrowed. “Hawk- report in. What’s happening?”

“General Kenobi- forces from the East, unidentified-” A frizzed hiss cut in through the speaker, the rest of the crew leaning in slightly, like the air itself had gone electric.

“Comm Ashoka, tell her to come in from the southwestern slope now, two klicks forward and move quickly,” Obi-Wan snipped back, tone even if not a little rushed. All the while he was digging, almost rooting around his psyche for Anakin’s presence down there, for any sort of indication of a more accurate status update- preferably not one that was a klick above viewing level. “Plans have changed.”

What’s going on? Obi-Wan shot a slight wither of concern through to Anakin via Force tether, met with a overwhelming rush of shared adrenaline that made his own lashes flutter and suck in a breath at the intensity. Yes, Anakin had met the droid brigade head on and yes, he was enjoying it to say the least. Obi-Wan stood rigid with an aborted sigh. Anakin’s overconfidence, his arrogance was seeping into this campaign.

An eerie silence, both in the Force and via the comms system rang in the bridge. As if the midichlorians were holding their metaphysical breaths in wait.

A muted snap, like a twig breaking, then-

Obi-Wan could sense it before any siren went off, and his eyes widened in slight surprise. A quiver in their Force tether, then a blinding dazzle of pain, not shared voluntarily by Anakin like he sensed the adrenaline and dopamine and thrill of the fight were, as if to say see what you’re missing all the way up there?

“Wait, something’s-”

A crew member cut in at the sight of a shaken Master Jedi, pressing a finger to their headset, brows furrowed in attention but focused on nothing in particular in the black swatch of space stretched in front of them. “General Skywalker- do you copy? Copy, General Skywalker- check in-”

No response. A beat passed in silence.

“Ready my ship.” The others turned in surprise at the words, the request spoken under his breath. The swirl of Obi-Wan’s cloak as he promptly turned to exit the bridge was what broke the crackle of uneasy silence. It was like lightning had struck- he’d never felt something like that from Anakin, not even when Dooku had severed his arm, the bond dull and weak with delirium. Something was wrong. Something was deeply wrong. He’s alive, thank the Force, but something had happened. He clicked the button on his own communicator, static fuzzing as he paced evenly, always evenly, down the hall towards the docking bay.

“Odd Ball, check in. General Kenobi to CC-2237, repeat, come in,” Obi-Wan breathed into the communicator, body working on autopilot as worker droids buzzed about in the hangar. The spare Interceptor glimmered like a beacon in stark white light. Obi-Wan’s brow was set- he had the last known location of the flight squad, he knew Odd Ball and Tag were also on the ground-

The communicator didn’t bother with a response outside of a sharp hiss and crackle. Obi-Wan resisted the urge to launch it directly at one of the cheap R units currently beeping and whirring around the ship as he was strapped in and prepared for takeoff. R units and caf machines, all made up of the same shoddy binary, Obi-Wan thought bitterly to himself, but he knew the sentiment wasn’t helpful. The anger and the mounting frustration were just a result of the sharp jab of panic he felt at Anakin’s barely-there Force signature fluttering in shudders of hurt, nearly taking him out on the bridge with a sharpened pang.

Strapping himself in, flipping all the right switches in muscle memory and punching in the correct coordinates as the hatch closed, he felt the adrenaline that had been steadily coursing through his bloodstream and pushing him to this position swirl in his gut. The Force gives, and the Force takes away, Obi-Wan reminded himself through the early onset nausea of flying. If Anakin is truly injured, or fading, or- or- A steadying breath. There is nothing I can do to change the will of the Force. The thought was supposed to be comforting. Instead, for whatever reason, it made bile rise in his throat.

He punched the controls when cleared for launch, coordinates and bulbous droid unit blaring screeches of warning of where they were headed, trying so desperately to warn of the carnage the ship and the robot and the pilot himself would be subject to. He pushed forward, breaking orbit swiftly and using a combination of the tracking coordinates and his weakened Force tie to Anakin to pinpoint the squad’s approximate location. Dust and dirt and rocks kicked up by the continued air activity specked past his window, the bright glare of the midday sun making him squint.

“Scan for life,” Obi-Wan breathed out, eyes straining, flying low. He figured he’d at least see some remnants of clone activity by now. They were coming up on some tattered disregard of more than a few war droids, Separatist issue, but there was no way of telling how fresh the damage was. Then-

“There,” Murmured to no one but himself, Obi-Wan steeled himself at the sight, a few clicks eastbound, almost missing it the way his heartbeat was rushing blood to his ears.

A cluster of Droidekas, actively firing into a few durasteel carrier crates, hunched behind them now laid one lifeform, the other, more heavily armored being turning to return fire and being shot down to a crumple after what Obi-Wan had assumed was a valiant effort. He watched Anakin- Anakin- sheath a glowing blue blade as the droid fire halted for the smallest fraction of a moment, scrabbling to support the clone next to him despite his own obvious injuries. It was just the two of them. Now one, against…

Obi-Wan acted on instinct, something he rarely allowed or permitted himself to do (something he actively discouraged the current and prior Padawans under his supervision from doing, at least given the context).

The Interceptors weren’t necessarily meant to fire in open atmosphere, more attuned to in-orbit dogfights, but he could make an exception.

Once he locked onto the target, his thumb clicked the trigger, almost beating the poor generic R unit’s whistle of lock confirmation. A snap of sharp red light, and the cluster of Droidekas were a smoking hull of ash and flame following an ear-splitting crash of thunderous light before Anakin could raise his head to see the backup arrive.

Obi-Wan’s fingers didn’t shake at the sight like they used to. He set down away from the whipping flames, old dirt and fresh ash stinging his eyes as he stepped out onto solid ground. In the haze of the heat, he could see Anakin in the shadows of the makeshift barrier, blood matting his sweaty curls, hunched over his trooper- no, not his trooper, not our troopers, Obi-Wan had to remind himself, his armor clicking and squeaking as he all but rushed over, trying to maintain some semblance of composure.

The first physical words Anakin had spoken to him all day were hushed, voice quiet and cracked as he hunched down, placing a hand over the trooper’s- not the trooper, oh Force, it was Tag, Tag- Tag’s head and Anakin pulled off the man’s helmet with shaky hands.

“He’s- He’s gone,” Anakin’s words were rough, hoarse as Obi-Wan did his best to lay Tag down in the shadows, protected as he could be in the desert of a warzone.

“You’re hurt,” Obi-Wan rasped out, brows pulled together as he pulled his attention away from the crumpled clone, pulling forward curled down on one knee to properly assess Anakin, holding his chin up in his hand to check his pupils, mind racing.

“I’m…” Anakin’s eyelashes fluttered, voice weaker. Obi-Wan’s jaw clenched at the sight of a trickle of blood down Anakin’s jaw, their skewed knees bumping together against the dirt and sand. Kriff, Anakin probably couldn’t stand, not in this state, the boy’s too weak- no, he’s not a boy anymore, Obi-Wan, he thought, trying to channel some sort of muted healing energy through their bond, dusted fingers cupping Anakin’s slackened jaw. It was a weak attempt with little effect on Anakin’s disjointed state.

Obi-Wan half considered pulling him to his feet, scattered thoughts making blood rush hot in his ears. He slid a hand down the dusted armor on Anakin’s chest, trying to find the source of concern, eyes darkened and brows furrowed in concentration.

Anakin isn’t mortally wounded by any stretch, Obi-Wan was able to string together logically through the mental clutter. If anything, a mild concussion and a blaster wound, it would’ve been cauterized on impact.

What was that shockwave in the Force? What compelled me down here onto dry land? Unless- a trap? Or- or-

“I’m just- s’just a scratch,” Anakin breathed out, interrupting scattered rationalizing, rise and fall of his chest seeming laborious as he reluctantly pulled back his robe just enough to show dark swathes of blood caking his side. He let out a sharp exhale as he winced in pain. “You shouldn’t have come down-”

“They can handle themselves up there.” An understanding, weary look shared between the two of them. If the situation wasn’t so dire, or bizarre to say the least, Obi-Wan could’ve allotted a wry smile.

“No, that’s not why I-”

Anakin’s breathless hiss of a response was interrupted by a sharp, stinging inhale. Obi-Wan sensed it too, if only milliseconds after the younger man. Keen ringing, a searing sensation that caused the both of them, huddled against each other, to quake.

Anakin’s eyelashes fluttered, blood loss the last thing on his mind as his teeth grit together almost painfully, fingers dug into Obi-Wan’s tabards to steady himself. “That thing-”

They raised heads in unison, a flash of red light, something akin to a searchlight near-blinding them, washing the dirt and sand they were burrowed in blood red-

Vision blurred to black, sand to dust, panic to quiet and the blur of the nowhere planet seemed to quiver with an unknown tremor in the Force.

Chapter Text

ver·i·si·mil·i·tude

/ˌverəsəˈmiləˌto͞od/

The problem of verisimilitude is the problem of articulating what it takes for one false theory to be closer to the truth than another false theory.

It happened so quickly. Too quickly. Haste wasn’t a foreign tenet to a Jedi, especially now of all times- quick reflexes, thinking in velocity and strategizing on-the-go was a core component of staying alive, whether your opponents were binary, nuts and bolts or something, on occasion, much more sinister.

This would, by all regards, be classified under the latter.

The first thing Anakin noticed when regaining consciousness was the feeling of sand filling his mouth. Not just any sand- fine, filtered, beaten down by wind and made silky by time and a hot sun beating down over millennia.

Well, suns. Multiple. Very hard to ignore.

He noticed that, too- how could he not? Facedown, head throbbing, he turned to blink the sand out of his eyes, coughing up a lungful of the silt. Sunlight beat down overhead, making his already burning eyes ache in the bright beams of light. Needless to say, this was not the terrain nor the organic presence of the planet Hypori.

Anakin’s weakened fingers clenched the grit, familiar and warm- Tatooine? Was this a dream? Was there some sort of final blast from a droid he didn’t catch soon enough? Was this his life flashing before his tired eyes? The thought wasn’t as jarring as he had expected it to be. He let his head flop back onto the sand with a huff, reminiscent of when he’d get shoved down as a boy, the older boys always too rough or too mean for poor little Ani. Oh, how he missed his mother.

Tatooine in the afterlife. I could get used to this, Anakin thought along the lines of a dream, a dopey smile pressed into the warmth of the sand before letting the exhaustion claim him once again.

Obi-Wan did not harbor the same nostalgia for Tatooinian sands. His consciousness sped up to a crawl, coming back online slowly, sluggishly, as pain wracked his overworked body, head throbbing in the heat. A breathy groan as he struggled to sit up on his elbows, armor grinding against the grit beneath him as the suns beat down. It had to have been anywhere between midday and evening with the intensity of it.

The older man’s screaming muscles strained, driven to the brink by what he assumed was exhaustion as he turned onto his back, energy leaking to a slow drip as he slung an arm over his face with a grit-out noise of pain. This was not Hypori. Sith’s hells, Obi-Wan couldn’t even tell if this was the same star system. He felt the weakened flutter of Anakin burrowed into the dusted sand beside him- a miniscule comfort. Something had very clearly happened, and the two of them were knee-deep in… something. Something Obi-Wan had no energy to sort out now.

A shadow overtook the twins in the sky- a figure approaching, looming, organic- on some sort of mount. A blink of sand dusted out of blond lashes, Obi-Wan strained to crane his neck even a few inches, everything in his mind a blaring alarm klaxon to move, to defend and get to some sort of shelter-

Reaching a weakened, outstretched arm to his lightsaber clipped to his side, his vision blurred before making contact. Exhaustion took over as the shadow engulfed the both of them, surrendering to the whipping sands.

The next time Obi-Wan’s consciousness decided to rear it’s traitorous head, he almost wished it hadn’t.

Groggy, weary, and more than anything desperate for some sort of hydration, Obi-Wan awakened- sitting up now, shielded from the suns blaring. The first thing he noticed as his eyes adjusted to the cool dampness of this- cavehomethingdwelling- was his restrained movement.

Fingers clenched, tied behind his back- no, cuffed, he’d been cuffed enough times before to recognize the cool metal of suppression cuffs digging into his wrists, the Force muted enough to make him tremble at the lack of sensation, he’d rather have gone blind, or mute- he wriggled with what little energy he had left, squirming and sticky with sweat and sand and grit. Eyes adjusting, he slumped back against the stone wall, not able to muster enough energy, panting roughly into the cool silence of what he assumed was evening on…

A click of a blaster being cocked. A stranger emerging from the shadows. Obi-Wan stilled, sweat stinging his eyes. This had to be some sort of joke.

A man emerged from the shadows, cautious but seemingly relaxed, silent. A wild look in his eyes. Obi-Wan recognized those eyes.

“He’s hurt,” croaked the older man. Obi-Wan recognized that voice.

“I know.” This had to be some trick of the light filtering through the cave. That face-

Obi-Wan stepped forward further out of the shadows, but it wasn’t the same Obi-Wan that had been pulled from the sands of Tatooine. This one had been shaped by those sands, beaten down by desert life. He looked ten, maybe twelve years older than his restrained counterpart, eyes darker and hair grown wilder, browned by the suns and streaked with silver at the temples. This Obi-Wan stood straighter, beard gruffer and hands more calloused. The only thing he really had in common with the man on the floor was the furrow in his greying brows and the steadiness in which he pointed the dusted blaster. This Obi-Wan had experienced it all, and more, and lived. But this… situation seemed to unnerve him a bit, from what the younger man could sense through his own amazement. Who could blame him?

The Obi-Wan with his legs curled on the floor beneath and his arms behind his back just stared in a frazzled horror at the man towering over him, tattered cloak billowing in the softened breeze filtering through cracks in the stone.

“Oh, dear,” the older man rasped, eyes narrowed. It sounded like he was moments away from cracking, despite his still demeanor.

Obi-Wan felt as if his mouth had been refilled with sand, voice barely breaking a whisper. “Who are you?”

The older man’s eyes narrowed, a flash of emotion- disgust, confusion, then restraint- before lowering the blaster after a long moment. Too long. “I go by Ben now.”

Ben. Obi-Wan would’ve laughed had he not felt so sick to his stomach. This was a joke. He’d been drugged, or poisoned, or- or-

He grit his teeth as he struggled harder against the handcuffs, confusion and shock replaced by the rare sting of anger, boots skidding across the dusty stone of the floor. He could see dual lightsabers resting on the wood of what he assumed was a sad, lonely little kitchen table. If he could just scoot a few feet farther, a few inches more he could grab them, he was sure of it. The older Obi-Wan- no, Ben, oh how dare he use that name, set the blaster down on the counter of his little alcove with a quiet sigh.

“Stop struggling. You’re weak enough as it is,” the older man breathed out, sounding as tired as he looked. He grabbed a cup of water, and turned to crouch in front of his younger self. He cupped Obi-Wan’s chin despite his younger self’s snarl of disapproval, huffing out a noise of exasperation when his jerk caused water to spill. He hooked a thumb behind the lower row of Obi-Wan’s teeth, forcing his mouth open to drink, causing the younger man to wince and sputter, water darkening his beard. The older Obi-Wan- Ben- stood again with a look of disinterest, as if he was coercing a difficult eopie refusing to drink as opposed to a doppelganger. A spectre.

“He’s asleep. You shouldn’t wake him now,” Ben breathed out, jaw turned to face a smaller alcove where the sunset filtered through the sheen of a worn curtain. He turned to face the man on the floor, brows knit together as if chiding a pouting youngling. “Don’t try to startle him, either.”

“As if,” The man on the floor hissed, anger spiking as metal dug into his wrists. This was going to be a long night.

When Anakin’s consciousness reared its own swimming head, it was much more pleasantly surprised. The silken sand had been replaced by cotton, linen, the heat and boring light replaced by darkness, barely-there starlight filtering through an open window with a gentle breeze. So he hadn’t died. Anakin figured he ought to be relieved by the revelation, but the pain throbbing in his side and against his temples made him less grateful than he would’ve normally been. Teeth grit with the thrum of pain, his eyelashes fluttered open in the dim light of the cave. As his eyes adjusted, he felt the presence of another- but it wasn’t Obi-Wan. Was it?

The pleasant surprise quickly dissipated with the uncertainty, tensing with a sharpened inhale as he attempted to sit up on his elbows, tendons screaming with the strain. A voice emerging from the shadows, softer and more genuine than he was used, to caused him to pause.

“You’re hurt, just… rest, for now.”

Anakin’s delirium soothed him, blurry vision softening. “Obi-Wan.”

“My name’s Ben. You’re on Tatooine.” The older man, tall and coarse but soft, quiet, sat beside the bed, his Force presence dampened but sweet. It made Anakin want to melt into the sensation, take his word for what it was offered as: a chance for respite, even if it was a fever dream.

It was strange, to say the least. It was Obi-Wan’s voice, but darker, like shattered glass tempered and broken down into sand crystals. It was Obi-Wan’s fingers threading through his hair as they did when he was a youngling, soothing despite not knowing how to be, not properly. Anakin lifted thousand-pound eyelids, vision vertical with his head pressed against the pillow. He could see a figure behind the strange man at his bedside, a little bit farther back and tucked away. That was Obi-Wan as far as he could tell. He could’ve sensed it from klicks away, the familiarity of it no comfort, the feeling and sense of Temple ferns and petrichor in the Force. This man sitting bedside him…

Anakin turned his tunneled vision upwards, face feeling a bit hotter and voice sounding scraped off the floor. “Ben? No, no-”

The older man looked down, streaks of gray at his temples and hair curled behind his ears making Anakin’s stomach twitch with an unknown feeling at the sight. His gaze seemed… more distant. Guarded. Although, he was used to that look from Obi-Wan, his Obi-Wan, more and more frequently nowadays.

Anakin let out a breath, relief flooding his stomach. A strange feeling of catharsis crept up on him at the (least logical) explanation available. “No, you’re him. How did…”

The Obi-Wan nestled in front of him let himself deflate a bit, sad smile so familiar. The gentle lilt in his voice was not as familiar. “There’s no fooling you, is there?”

There was something deeper there in those words, in that look, like a reverent sadness that Obi-Wan- no, Ben now, how odd, he wasn’t going to call him that- felt because of Anakin. It made him want to dig deeper, figure out where they were, what this older, more rugged version of his Master was doing here of all places, feeding him…

“Here. This will help.” Warm, some type of soup, blended with spices that reminded him of his mother. His home. The older man raised a spoon to Anakin’s mouth, and to his own muted surprise, Anakin opened his mouth, accepting the liquid and swallowing, eyes never leaving the older man’s as his caution melted into curiosity. This really was Tatooine, but was this man really him?

“Anakin, don’t,” He could hear the croak of Obi-Wan back against the wall, his Master, the right Obi-Wan. The click of duraplast armor squeaking against stone was what gave it away.

It was… refreshing in a way, this version of Obi-Wan in front of him. It may have been wrong to think, but Anakin wasn’t exactly in the mood to do any deep reflection on the matter with his head pounding the way it was and such a gentle touch practically tucking him in like a youngling. Anakin melted back against the sheets, letting himself be coddled for once and playing the role to perfection, if he did say so himself.

Oh, Obi-Wan without the leash. An Obi-Wan that cared. He could get used to this.

A muffled snarl caused both of them to look back.

“Don’t touch him,” Obi-Wan snapped, arms still bound, irritation throbbing in the Force as tangible as Anakin’s own aches.

The older man sighed, turning back to face Anakin with a wave of his hand, causing the handcuffs to clatter to the ground.

Within the second, Obi-Wan had saber in hand, Form I ready to go behind him, looming like a shadow. Anakin couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen the man so armed and ready to-

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin breathed out- it was his turn for sardonicism, a rare opportunity he wouldn’t dare let slip. It caused both of the men to perk up in response. Their twin reaction elicited a huff of fevered laughter out of Anakin, a full-blown grin coming out at the realization.

“Oh, I’m so kriffed.”

The scene a few hours later was deceptively domestic. Night had shrouded Ben’s dwelling, this nook in the desert, the darkness illuminated by outdated oil lamps Anakin hadn’t seen since his own days buried in the sands as a youngling. Anakin was curled in fresh bandaging around his ribs, dusted and cracked datapad in hand as he researched, placated by the warmth of soup in his belly. Obi-Wan did not consider himself as easily placated, considering his doppleganger was sitting across from him.

They sat around the small table in an stiff silence, Obi-Wan’s narrowed eyes never leaving Ben- Ben, this projection of everything wrong with their situation. He refused to come to the conclusion of who he was, what he stood for, why he was here in the first place. This… Ben character had been effortlessly sidestepping every question posed to him so far: who he was, why he was here of all places, where the other Jedi were, the state of the Order. Obi-Wan placed his spoon down in his untouched bowl with a sigh, brows furrowed in a neutral scowl.

“You’ve been entirely unhelpful up until this point. You realize that, don’t you?”

Ben’s eyes softened, setting his own utensil down. Obi-Wan refused to let it unnerve him that his own voice answered back.

“I wouldn’t call fishing you out of the sand before the Tuskens found you ‘entirely unhelpful’.”

“This has to be a different dimension, or something,” Anakin cut in from across the room without raising his eyes from the datapad, more than happy to coil in sheets with armor discarded in a messy pile on the floor.

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed further, irritation setting in as his gaze flickered over to Anakin. He could understand Anakin was more severely injured than he was, but he wasn’t exactly being helpful, either. In fact, it seemed as if he was making himself at home. Well, technically this planet was his home, but-

No. No. Obi-Wan refused to accept this pantomime of comfort. There were troops being abandoned, a war being fought, a Padawan undoubtedly searching for them. Both of them. He stood with a rough noise, his muscles still aching with the exertion. The scrunch of wood against stone caused Ben and Anakin to look up at him.

“Wait-” Anakin let out a bark of a noise, almost as if realizing something. “Maybe- maybe a holocron. A Sith holocron could do this.”

The dual Jedi looked back at him, both their expressions clashing. Obi-Wan stood straighter with crossed arms, patience worn thin. “Oh, please, Anakin-”

“It’s entirely possible,” Ben murmured, pleasantly surprised. He stroked his beard in thought, a familiar fashion that made Obi-Wan want to set fire to this shoddy table separating them. Ben’s face lit up, the gears turning, looking to Anakin with a sort of soft admiration Obi-Wan did not appreciate with an even softer tone. “That’s very helpful, Anakin.”

Obi-Wan’s face fell when he realized (with severe displeasure) his authority was now subverted by slim majority rule. Again.

Anakin wasn’t a stranger to sharing a bed. The Temple had always had a bad habit of cutting costs, especially on longer missions. He was less of a stranger to sharing a bed with Obi-Wan in particular. He’d grown to be an expert at recognizing his sleep cycles, how deeply he was sleeping, even without the use of the Force tether- it came with the territory, especially after he’d become accustomed to sneaking off, away into the night. Anakin scrunched his nose at the thought- when put like that, it seemed a little unsettling, maybe intrusive, even. But he couldn’t help himself- the night was the only time Obi-Wan’s iron gaze seemed to drift.

He pulled himself away once he could sense Obi-Wan had drifted off, really asleep- surprising, considering the circumstances. Anakin had half expected him to keep watch all night, fingers flexing on his lightsaber while scowling daggers into his double. He stifled a huff of laughter at the thought- while, yes, Anakin could see why it would be jarring, he knew the instant he woke up to fingers threading his hair and spoonfeeding him that the threat was minimal.

It was something he’d grown to resent about the older man, how on edge he always was. That always translated to watchfulness bordering on suffocation when it came to Anakin, and Anakin was always ready to shirk it in whatever way he could, even if it was just for the night. It usually was.

He slunk out of the alcove separated from the living quarters, footsteps silent against the stone. He knew where he was at, getting a few glimpses out the window in his fevered state earlier- the Jundland Wastes weren’t far from here, then the salt flats. A few klicks north would be the Lars homestead. He could visit, visit his mother’s grave, feel the sand slipping through his fingers in the moonlight, maybe get some sort of answer as to why they'd been dropped here of all places-

“Wait.” A whispered protest in the dark. Anakin whipped around, his Force tether with Obi-Wan still silent. It was his voice, but not-

Anakin’s defenses lowered once he saw him. This older version of Obi-Wan. His eyes were more gray in the moonlight that filtered through the cracks of the cave, more understanding. It didn’t compromise this air of authority about him. It made Anakin squirm inside, rendered speechless despite himself.

The softness didn’t last. Anakin straightened. This was still Obi-Wan he was dealing with, after all, even if it was… different. “We have to get to the bottom of this somehow,” Anakin hissed out, keeping his tone even and quiet.

“In the middle of the night?” Ben offered a wry smile, brows furrowing as if to say I know that excuse; I know you. The older man relaxed a bit, which made Anakin fidget more. He knew if Obi-Wan could get someone talking, he could take them down just as easily. The ‘Negotiator’ just instilled more respect than the ‘Staller’, Anakin had always joked.

“You haven’t been any help so far, so yes.” Anakin’s gaze devolved into a scowl, instinct to bite back kicking in. He crossed his arms, as if that ever helped. “We don’t even know if you’re real, or- or some sort of-”

“Trick of the light?” That elicited a breath of laughter out of the older man. He puttered to the kitchen, if it could be called a kitchen, and pulled a bottle out of the cabinet, nicer than what Anakin had expected. Alderaanian ale. It looked like a gift. He poured himself a drink after pulling the cork with a soft hiss. Anakin had hardly ever seen his Obi-Wan drink, at least casually. Ben leaned against the counter, grazing his eyes back over to Anakin’s form in the dim lamplight. He was picking him apart. Anakin let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, fingers dug into the sleeves of his robes. This felt like a scolding, or a chiding of some kind. An interrogation. He just couldn’t put his finger on why, or how.

“I could say the same about you,” Ben murmured into the glass when Anakin didn’t reply, his gaze distant. This Obi-Wan’s movements were smoother, less practiced, as if he had nothing to lose. Anakin couldn’t pin down what of value he could lose, but, then again, that wasn’t too uncommon amongst Jedi. Ben set his glass back down on the counter after downing it in one last swig, his tone a bit more playful. “Are you old enough to drink?”

“Are you serious?” A touch of humor to crack the tension. How diplomatic, Anakin thought. His shoulders slumped a bit, scowl feeling more forced. He took the cup offered to him, almost tentative as he eyed the dark liquid.

His Obi-Wan wouldn’t have let him. He shouldn’t. He then pondered why exactly he cared what his version of Obi-Wan would have and wouldn’t have let him do. The taste of the liquor was a welcome bitterness.

“You’re very hard on him,” Ben breathed out after a beat, amusement evident as he watched Anakin scrunch his nose at the flavor. Anakin turned to shoot a look at the older man, tone still quiet as his mind was read.

“He’s hard on me.” Anakin’s guard hardened at the words, mindful of his grip as to not shatter glass. Their eyes met, and Anakin could sense the strange fog of sadness over this man even without using the Force. It was the same Obi-Wan, but the way he looked at him…

Anakin felt his teeth clink against the glass after a long moment of thought. “He’s been smothering me lately. I can’t stand it.” He didn’t know why he said it, but it felt as if a weight had been lifted. He ducked his gaze down to the floor as he swallowed. “M’not a Padawan anymore. I haven’t been for- for-”

“I know,” Ben murmured, as if he did really know. He stepped forward, gently taking the cup from Anakin’s shaking fingers. Anakin could feel the heat radiating, and it made his head spin. “I’m sure he’s trying. Very hard, might I add.”

“You’re so different from him,” Anakin choked out after a beat, swallowing thickly, self-conscious of the sound seeming to echo in the dark space. His eyes betrayed a deep-seated feeling that he wasn’t fully prepared to confront, a want for connection, for more. He needed more, and the thought scared him. Their fingers brushed on the glass, and he could feel Ben pulling away- if not physically, he could feel the walls going up mentally, and Anakin knew it was Obi-Wan’s choice of defense in close combat. It made his teeth grit in frustration- it seemed as if this version was as averse to connection as his own. He hated it.

“Not by choice,” Ben breathed out, averting his gaze and pulling his hand away. Anakin could feel the tension bordering on internal conflict rolling off the older man. He certainly wanted something. Anakin could feel it.

“No, you are. You’re not like him,” Anakin stuttered out, eyes eyes flared with something akin to stubborn mischief. A thought crossed his mind- oh, this would send Obi-Wan off the rails if he found out about this. He’d go ballistic. He could feel his mouth watering at the thought, doe eyes dropping.

Anakin dug his claws in deeper, voice dropping an octave. “He doesn’t give me what I need. He doesn’t understand.”

The words caused Ben to pause a moment, as if considering something. Anakin could see the surge of emotions rushing over his face even in the dark. Disconnect, hurt, conflict, a twinge of fear, settling on… a morbid kind of curiosity. He turned to face Anakin again, this time eyes steely but the crack in his voice betraying him. The older man looked like he was seconds away from dropping to his knees, worshipful and something akin to remorseful. Anakin couldn’t understand why, he didn’t think remorse was a part of Obi-Wan’s extensive vocabulary. The look made him feel like the most powerful man in Tatooine. It made him feel like Obi-Wan had done something terribly wrong, hurt him somehow, but that hurt wasn’t real- at least, not yet. Not in this timeline. His chest felt tight.

“And what do you need, Anakin?”

A wide, terrible grin split Anakin’s face, teeth glinting like Nabooian pearls. Oh, how he could get used to this.

Chapter Text

sim·i·lar

/ˈsim(ə)lər/

adjective

resembling without being identical.

When Anakin leaned in for the kiss, it was reminiscent of a dream he’d once had, many years ago.

Tatooine wasn’t known for its vast oceans, but once, he imagined himself swimming in the moonlight in the middle of a desert oasis, soaking in the cool rays and absorbing the water as if it wouldn’t be used for currency. As if it would just be used for leisure, for enjoyment and pleasure. He splashed and drank and dove deep without the thought of self preservation, without the pins and needles of survival on his mind. Just letting go.

His eyes fluttered shut, purposefully oblivious to Ben’s freeze of shock at the feeling of lips against his own. He swallowed the older man’s gasp easily, happy to drink his fill without worry. Anakin relished in how he tasted: like Tatooinian spices, tea and toothpaste, delicate yet sweet, heady, deep. Just like he pictured it being. Gods, it was perfect.

It was also addicting. Anakin had never been one for self-control. He slid hands up the older man’s robes, eager to continue the sensation-

Ben pulled away with a shuddering gasp, half-lidded eyes blinking in the dark as if adjusting to shell shock. The silvery string of spit that still connected them gleamed in the yellow light, sound of roughened panting the only noise to echo against the walls. Anakin was ready for the epic chiding that was sure to follow, the snap of discipline he was so used to at this point. It didn’t matter- he’d taken what he wanted, finally. He’d be satisfied with this, if it could only be this, just happy to bask in the haze, knowing it wasn’t to last-

He was not expecting rough hands to wrap his waist and pull him back in for a bruising kiss.

Anakin let out a muffled noise of pleasure at the feeling of teeth and tongue and fingers and scruff scraping his jaw. He felt his own surprise snapping the tenderness of the moment like a tether spread too thin for far too long.The thrill of realization made his stomach flip as he scrambled to reciprocate quickly enough, reaching hands up to thread shaking fingers in unruly, sunburnt hair with a muffled moan.

It seemed there was some fight left in the older man after all.

There were hard weeks.

This was a truth that Ben Kenobi, as the locals knew him, had grown to know intimately, objectively, even. Days spent in the sand and sun were often tougher than any others, the days when he had to leave this glorified shell of what he had made home on this nowhere planet so tedious in nature. No, not a nowhere planet- the planet that had birthed and fed and raised the culmination of his worst fears.

Fears he now knew he physically, spiritually, in every sense of the word, had to face head on.

After the fall- he’d dubbed it the fall in his mind, maybe a bit more dramatic than what he was used to, but he had no other words for it, even ten years after the fact- he’d dedicated his life to rebuilding as best he could, keeping a watchful eye on Luke, staying low and quiet and peaceful. Ben considered himself a good person, a good citizen, even, gainful employment filling his days, even flying underneath the radar of the occasional Inquisitor in the Outer Rim territories a full-time job. Tatooine was as chaotic as it always was, but Ben stayed the same. He focused on staying the same. Sameness meant surety.

Then this situation was thrown at his feet, quite literally. Ben Kenobi did not consider himself equipped to deal with… whatever this had devolved into.

The waking nightmare of the past twenty-four standard hours had him questioning his own sanity more than he had in the past ten years, save for the first few months in self-imposed isolation. Those first months had been the hardest, filled with the expected hysterics and logistics of living alone in a cave as a hermit, no community to fall back on or reach out to, not to mention the overwhelming grief nipping at his heels threatening to consume him. Grief surrounding Anakin’s death, his own responsibility falling through, in his own failures- even meditation was impossible, the incredible weight of all that had happened too much to bear. He couldn’t even pull himself out of bed half the time, glazed-over eyes watching the sand trickle through the holes in the wall for hours on end.

He should’ve left them both in the sand and gone home to drink himself blind. That would’ve been more appropriate and certainly would’ve caused a lot less grief. Ben’s first mistake was bending down in the sand to see if they were even real, let alone to see if they were still alive.

The last he’d seen of Anakin had haunted him for years, the image of him smoldering and screaming and dying over that foolish woman, over what essentially amounted to nothing on the shores of Mustafar kept him sleepless night after night. Now, by some sort of sick reckoning, he was here, being nursed back to health and dozing off in his bed. The fact of the matter was that Ben simply couldn’t accept the reality of the situation, that Anakin was here in front of him and sleeping peacefully within arms reach. He’d allotted himself a short break in the middle of the night to dry heave silently into his own toilet.

He hadn’t even started to open up the can of worms that was Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan, Obi-Wan, the man he was ten years ago, the name he hadn’t heard since touching down on this planet, all too cocky and assured and graceful, haughty and cheeky and elitist.

The worst part was how oblivious his counterpart was to the hell that was inevitably going to break loose in his own timeline. Ben wanted to wrap fingers around his neck, his own neck, wring some sense into him and snarl, scream at him to do something, anything, something real and tangible to stop this hellscape the galaxy had devolved into, batter at his own self-hatred materialized, Jedi tenets be damned to hell-

He could reckon with himself just fine. He’d been doing it for the last ten years, after all.

What he couldn’t reckon with was this.

This, of all things. A needy, squirming ghostcreaturething in his lap on the floor, like something out of a bad holoporn. Anakin, golden and seemingly real and all too eager to stick his tongue in his mouth. Anakin, running a blend of flesh and mechanical fingers through sandy hair, something akin to all of Ben’s nightmares unleashed in a puddle of desperate, needy tan skin. Anakin, in front of him an on him and around him-

Anakin wanted him. Anakin wanted this version of him. Ben couldn’t put any sort of sense to it, this nightmare. Was this really what he needed this whole time? The thought made his stomach lurch, the taste of Anakin’s spit in his own mouth causing something to stir inside of him. Ben gripped the slender waist in front of him harder, flipping Anakin onto his back, confusion melting into something resembling bitter retribution and muscle memory.

Ben wanted to laugh at the irony of it all. What was one more thing? He’d given Anakin everything, everything, including the last thirty years of his life, stewing in torment for the last ten. He’d given him his future, his sanity.

What was one more thing?

Anakin clawed hungrily at the older man’s robes, fluttering with excitement as he was manhandled onto the ground. This was what he needed, what he craved. His heart was a constant thrum of blood in his ears, unable to stop himself from smiling into the bite of the kiss. This was actually happening. His own version of Obi-Wan would have never let this happen, would’ve shoved away immediately, prescribed ten sessions of meditation- not this one. Ben’s body was broader, stronger but leaner, more imposing as he towered over Anakin, an unruly beard scratching at his throat.

Anakin had to keep a hand at his mouth to muffle the little whines and squeaks this Ben elicited out of him when he slid lower, roughened panting picking up as he felt sharp kisses and nips be pressed against the column of his throat. Ben was everywhere, sure hands sliding down the planes of his stomach, against his hips, clutching his ass and squeezing- Anakin was well aware of how embarrassingly hard he already was, practically seeping through his robes as his legs were spread uncomfortably wide.

He leaned up on his elbows to crane his neck up for another sloppy, wet kiss, mind a frazzled mix of heat and want and sogooddirtywrongbad, eager to milk every last drop out of this. It was no secret that he and Obi-Wan had been living on borrowed time since the war started, and it seemed like this dragged out every excruciating minute that much longer.

“Thought about this for so long,” Anakin breathed out against Ben’s mouth, giddy as he scrambled to shove off his own robes and somehow also pull Ben closer, needing more friction and heat, wanting to rut so desperately his voice bordered on a whine. “I want you so bad, I needed this so bad-”

He could notice, this time, the hesitance in the older man’s body language. Ben’s fingers were trembling where they gripped and held tight. He looked down at Anakin’s bare torso with a complicated look on his face.

“What?” Anakin didn’t like the hesitation- it reminded him too much of his own Obi-Wan. He swallowed thickly, back cold against the stone of the floor. His eyes narrowed, trying to slip into what he sensed would be appealing, puppy dog eyes near pleading as he wrapped slender legs around hips, trying to urge him closer with a near whisper. It was obscene, and too demure for Anakin to be anything other than taunting. “You don’t want this?”

That struck a nerve, Anakin could tell. He could always tell. The older man gasped as Anakin slid a hand up underneath his cloak, a knowing smile tinting his whisper. “You don’t want me?”

Ben’s jaw tightened as his eyebrows furrowed with something Anakin recognized as frustration, delight swirling as Ben ducked his head down, tracing teeth and scruff against Anakin’s rapidly beating heart. Anakin squirmed as Ben sucked a pert nipple into his mouth, causing him to bite back an embarrassing noise of pleasure at the barely-there sting of canine teeth. Just like Obi-Wan to give into the goading.

Ben’s quietly gruff voice cut the sound of Anakin’s squirming as he moved lower, lower, words pressed with a wet kiss into the fluttering muscle of his bare stomach as if he was discussing the weather.

“This isn’t real.”

It caused Anakin to pause, even with teeth against his hip bones- so close, yet so far away. He jutted his hips up a bit, digging fingers through long, sandy hair to urge him further, trying to move past the sentiment with a breath of laughter. Just a few more inches and he could kick these stupid leggings off. “What?”

Ben didn’t reply. Anakin’s stomach twisted when he was flipped onto his stomach without a second thought. Suddenly in a more vulnerable position than he was ever used to, Anakin had the breath knocked out of him with his hips pulled back, ass in the air. The thought made his cock ache despite himself. He squeaked as Ben pulled him back with a pleased hum, as if he had come to terms with the fact that Anakin was some sort of spectre delivered to him for this sole purpose. Anakin’s heart really started to drown out any sort of trepidation when his leggings were ripped down unceremoniously, scruff gracing his bare skin as his cheeks were spread wide, hot breath making him shiver.

“You’re not real,” Ben growled in Obi-Wan’s voice, but it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s voice, it was something darker, more resolute. Anakin’s nails scraped across stone with a sharp gasp when he felt a slow glob of spit fall against his winking hole, squirming and shuddering at the sensation of being so spread open and on display for hungry eyes. His spine ached as he arched further, desperate for some further sensation-

“You can’t be real,” Ben whispered to himself, reverently, slowly rubbing the spit into Anakin’s hole with his thumb. Anakin clenched with a low whine at the feeling, teeth digging into his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood. He was certain he broke skin when Ben finally, finally ducked down to swipe long broad strokes of tongue against him, lapping deep and hungry, fingers spreading him unrelentingly wide as his scruff made Anakin twitch and leak pathetically. He let out a quiet wheeze against the dirt of the floor as he rutted his hips back, precum drooling out of him in time with the muffled hums of pleasure Ben was murmuring against him, licking him open like a wild animal trying to strip meat from the bone. Unrelenting.

Anakin was half ready to disavow his own reality nearly a minute in, scream yes, I’m not real, I don’t care anymore, I was sent here for this, Gods, m’gonna cum-

A sharp gasp as a hand reached between his shaking legs, strong fingers squeezing his cock almost too tight, making his balls curl tight towards his body. A muffled noise into his core- “Don’t even think about it.” The subsequent sting of teeth against the meat of his ass had Anakin choking back a sob of pleasure, nodding to no one but himself as he struggled to catch his breath.

Ben didn’t pull back just yet, beard wet and slick and hot breath ghosting across Anakin’s winking hole when he needed to breathe, like a thirsty creature at a watering hole. He could feel himself rutting into nothingness as Anakin squirmed and pushed back against him He was enjoying this, this small delicacy, the taste of Anakin earthy and real a relief in a decade of toil. It was enough to make his toes curl. He squeezed tighter at the base of Anakin’s cock, feeling precum dribble against his fingers. Ben was going to enjoy every last second of this to the fullest extent.

When he did pull back, pupils blown black and panting, Anakin was nearly ready to explode, shivering with heat against the floor. Ben moved with purpose, pulling Anakin back against him and blanketing his body against the sharp jut of Anakin’s curled spine. He rubbed spit-slick fingers against Anakin’s hole, breath hot and wet against his ear.

“You’re just an apparition, thinking you can come here to haunt me? Tempt me?” Ben hissed. Anakin couldn’t confirm nor deny, too distracted by the feeling of thick fingers breaching, stretching as his eyelashes fluttered with a sharp inhale-

“This is what you needed?” In to the knuckle, Anakin saw stars as he struggled to adjust, aching and wet, fingers still clutching his cock. “You’re telling me I could’ve prevented everything? Everything? Had I just-”

Ben grit his teeth with an exasperated noise, eyes blazing- “Bent you over? Filled you like this? Like a slut?” A particularly harsh jab at Anakin's prostate had him mewling, stomach muscles cramping.

What was he talking about? Anakin’s remaining brain cells, frazzled and melting together, tried to piece together some sort of theory behind Ben’s nonsense ramblings. Had he done something? Had the future or past or multi-dimensional version of himself done something heinous to this Obi-Wan? To the galaxy? It was like a joke where he’d only heard the punchline. Anakin was pulled out of his half-minded train of thought when a third finger was added, the burn a welcome distraction as he let out a heady groan, curling into the sensation.

He’d gladly accept whatever narrative Ben pushed if it meant an orgasm in the near future. The Force was alive with sparks of heat, threatening to spill over into reality, and Anakin was ready.

He stayed quiet, their wet panting and squelch of spit the only noises filling the silent cave. The Force, however, was singing, braying with the emotion Anakin felt swirling. He was drunkenly surprised it hadn’t-

Ben pulled spit-wet fingers out with a squelch, tunnel vision making his head throb, his cock throb, the sight of Anakin beneath him like a dream, it had to be a dream. He pulled back, shoving down his own tunic, eager to rut through the wetness and finally slide inside. Take what was owed.

“Please,” Anakin half-croaked, half-whispered desperately, back arched and rutting back, the spongy head catching against his rim as he whined. His curls bobbed as he looked back, tear-stained cheek pressed against the floor. He wasn’t going to pay attention to what the Force was singing to now, of all times, they were so close-

Finally, finally, a duplicate hiss of pleasure that was admittedly a touch too loud, fueled by burning desire when Ben slid a few inches inside, tentative now of all times.

“Mmph, good boy,” Ben breathed out, throaty through clenched teeth. Anakin smiled into the floor once he felt the heavy weight of Ben’s balls, his hips flush against him, impossibly full and achingly hard. The crackled buzz of toomuch in his head had been drowned out by a sense of sofulldeliciouslygood, eyes fluttering shut as Ben’s fingers dug into his hips, just letting him adjust. The Force was a symphony now, loud and piercing but pleasant, warm, shared-

Wait, shared? Anakin turned his swimming head towards the shadows a split second before Ben did, disturbance noticed by both of them within the instant.

Anakin’s stomach dropped when he realized who was also hearing that symphony.

Obi-Wan usually wasn’t an avid dreamer.

Not in the pessimistic sense, the sense that there were no dreams to be had in a time of war. Not even in the sense that his entire life had been laid out before him, destiny intervening too early to really nurture any sort of lofty ambitions. Ambition, at least the selfish kind, wasn’t exactly encouraged in the ranks of the Jedi Order, let alone rewarded.

No, in the literal sense. When he slept, truly slept, he slept hard, despite his best efforts not to. Maybe it was due to the excess amount of half-sleeps on missions, or the physical exertion required of them on a daily basis. He’d never really dug into the root causes: it was just the way it was, as many things were.

This first night in Tatooine, however, was alive and bursting with brilliance behind his eyelids, much to Obi-Wan’s discontent.

He awoke in a quiet huff as he blinked the sand of sleep out of his eyes. He also wasn’t usually this groggy, feeling weighed down by the events of the day, uncertain the past twenty four standard hours hadn’t been a dream in itself. He didn’t have to be fully awake to realize Anakin wasn’t next to him. Obi-Wan had half-realized that fact before he’d even fully gained consciousness, their minds so tangled together half the time it was hard to separate himself even when he wanted to.

It wasn’t a reason for panic. He doubted Anakin would purposefully skirt his authority to go galavant around the sands of Tatooine at night. The sleepy thought almost made Obi-Wan laugh. The younger man knew the dangers of that better than anyone here. He’d most likely woken up to get some water, or pester their haunt of a host for answers on his own-

The latter thought caused Obi-Wan’s smile to fade. Well, the thought and the quiet muffle of… something outside the shallow alcove that could barely be called a guest bedroom. Ben didn’t have many guests, and their thin mattress on the floor was a testament to that.

Obi-Wan stood on sleep-shaken legs, brows furrowed as he tried to sense whatever that was before he saw it. It wasn’t exactly unpleasant, and even if it was, he’d want stealth on his side. He crept out of the lip of the cave, eyes adjusting to the dim lamplight as the sound of roughened panting broke the ringing in his ears, the Force almost luring him in with a siren song-

That song fell deadly quiet for a fraction of a second once their eyes met. 

The look Obi-Wan gave Anakin and the flash of emotions across the older man’s face -- confusion, surprise, a deeper, more visceral confusion, then settling into unfettered horror -- would’ve caused him to bark out a laugh in any other situation.

In this case, it only incited a deep-seated panic, the kind that made his stomach twist and bile rise in his throat.

Anakin tensed in surprise, clenching out of instinct, causing the Obi-Wan blanketed over his body shudder at the sensation, throbbing inside of him. Inside of him. The realization of the entire situation hit Anakin like a ton of duracrete, wet and widened eyes ducking down in something akin to scrambled shame, needing to gather his bearings for just a milisecond-

Ben lifted his own gaze without Anakin, dark eyes meeting his younger version's wide, steady look of horror head on. No, his own gaze of horror. One phantom wrangled underneath, one a few feet away, both frozen in shock.

Quick thinking, lightning quick. The years of isolation hadn’t dulled Ben’s senses, despite what the two of them may have thought. The two Obi-Wan’s moved nearly at the same time in a jagged second of intermission, the younger lurching as if to strike with a rare gleam of hatred in his eyes. Ben whipped out a hand on instinct, calling on the now-silent Force to stop him, other hand still slipping in sweat on the trim muscle of Anakin’s flank. A quick flick of invisible movement and his counterpart skidded, stumbling back against the wood of the kitchen counters and slamming against the floor, breath knocked out of pattering lungs with a rough exhale, once-full glasses shattering against stone.

Anakin squirmed up onto his elbows, quick intake of breath muffled by the sound of breaking glass, shock shared in their bond. He had to make sure Obi-Wan was okay. A smooth hand sliding up his back gave him pause.

“Shh- it’s okay,” Ben cooed against his ear, voice still tinged with heat. That hand slid up to his throat from behind, gentle pressure, the heavy press against his back pushing his bare chest against the floor again. An unspoken request for submission, for calm. “It’s alright.”

Their shared twinge of dread was quickly broken by a deep grind of Ben’s hips. Anakin’s mind short-circuited with a stuttered-out whine of pleasure, eyelashes fluttering when he felt the blaring klaxon of anger, fear, disgust swirl from Obi-Wan. Ben still had a hand raised, pinning Obi-Wan to the floor feet away with what looked like little concentration, the younger man still sputtering and trying to scrabble up. The sight coupled with the sensations made Anakin’s toes curl in a sick kind of delight he knew he was wrong for feeling.

“Good boy,” A barely-there whisper against his jaw and Anakin was done for.

Obi-Wan wasn’t a dreamer, but he could recognize a nightmare when he saw one.

This couldn’t be real. Logistically, statistically, the situation he’d found himself in couldn't have been real. It felt a bit too real, however, when he flexed his fingers, wrists aching and heart galloping. He struggled against the invisible weights pinning his wrists against the floor of the kitchen, muscles cramping with the effort of trying to break free and put an end to the waking terror playing out in front of him. Ben’s- Ben, this thing that had pulled them from the sand, this horrible evil creature, was this really what he was doomed to turn into?- half-lidded, hungry gaze hadn’t left him since he’d happened upon this.

This. This violation of all that was good and sweet in his life. Obi-Wan felt sweat dripping into his eyes, teeth bared in a snarl as he squirmed in the dust, the Force betraying him. He was forced to watch this, watch as Anakin’s face shift, feel his mood shift in the bond from something akin to panic and shame to… this. Obi-Wan had never seen anything like this.

It was like Anakin’s face had hardened into something akin to outward defiance after that murmur into his ear. Something darker, more twisted, as if considering his options.

At the very least, he wasn’t in distress. In fact, Anakin seemed to be enjoying himself quite thoroughly. The thought didn’t bring any comfort. In fact, it made Obi-Wan’s stomach churn and ache, as if it was Anakin’s way of saying this is my life and more importantly my sex life, Obi-Wan, go kriff yourself, in fact, you can after I’m done for all I care-

He was certain he was going to be sick.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan croaked out, still scuffling in the dust with his teeth grit. The weight of the Force pressed up against him made every movement a struggle, vocal chords straining into a snarl. If he could just press up a bit more, scoot that much farther- “Anakin, please-”

Obi-Wan turned his snarl towards Ben’s watchful gaze once he realized his pleading would get him nowhere with Anakin, helplessly hoarse and eyes blazing. “What is wrong with you- he’s-” A huff of distress, sweat spattering onto the floor. “Stop this- I’ll kill you-”

“If you stop, I’ll kill you,” Anakin rasped to the man above him, cheek pressed into the floor as he ground his hips back. He’d never been this full before, cock-drunk and drooling. He would’ve felt like a fool under any other circumstances. Ben pressed his nose into the sweaty curls at the nape of Anakin’s neck to stifle a smile, grinding deeper and deeper as Anakin let out a throaty noise of pleasure. He could feel the trembling of Anakin’s legs, sure his hips were already aching as he set up a deep, strong pace, always bordering on reverential, drilling into the hot wet clutch of Anakin.

Obi-Wan could not bear to keep watching, eyes catching the slick gleam of drool against Anakin’s sharp jawline, the way his curls bobbed with each slam of hips. If he looked close enough through the pinpricks of tears threatening to bloom, he could see Anakin’s - Anakin’s- red cock bobbing and dribbling in time with each slam of hips, fingers scrabbling on the floor for purchase. He could see his double pressing breathy kisses against the column of his throat, hands everywhere, touching everywhere, drinking in each sensation. Closing his eyes didn’t help, still rattled by the breathy whines Anakin tried so hard to stifle each time Ben hit that spot inside of him, hips angled just right. His jaw ached from how tightly he was clenching it.

Obi-Wan was half-afraid he didn’t want to close his eyes.

“Master,” Anakin wheezed out, causing Ben's movements to stutter with a groan. Neither of them knew who he was calling for, one far too strung out on the dopamine rush and one too far deep in roiling panic to pin it on either of them with certainty.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan breathed out, voice cracking and letting his head fall against the cold floor, bordering on resignation as his body ached. This hurt. This hurt more than any blaster bolt or saber singe could ever hurt. But seeing Anakin, Anakin, of all people like this, spread out and speared and debauched and, more than anything, liking it-

Obi-Wan felt heat rush to his cheeks, certain he was glowing with the flush in the lamplight. He clenched his thighs together. No. He was better than Ben. He would not give in to-

“This is what he needs,” Ben hissed out, eyes flickering over to Obi-Wan, pupils voided in the dark. He slid a hand up Anakin’s neck, cupping his wet chin as he drilled in harder, sound of flesh slapping echoing off the dark walls. His other hand twitched slightly, still holding Obi-Wan at bay as he pressed lips against Anakin’s ear. “Isn’t it?”

Anakin whimpered when a particularly sharp thrust jabbed just right, eyes glassy and milky with heat. Ben’s eyes never left his double’s, even while nipping Anakin’s earlobe, eliciting a shuddered gasp. Right where he wanted him.

“You just needed to cum on your Master’s cock, hm?” Ben snaked the hand holding Anakin’s jaw down, down between his legs, clutching his cock while digging teeth into the shell of his ear. They could both see, feel Anakin seize up at the sensation, knowing this was some sort of tipping point. Ben dug in deeper, pulling him back into each slam while half-snarling into Anakin’s jawline, drunken, rough rambling spurring him on. “Cum for me, darling, so good for me, dearheart-”

A pet name that hadn’t been used since Anakin was shorter than Obi-Wan.

All three of them knew it. All three of them seemed to shudder when Anakin bit back a breathy groan, spilling over Ben’s fingers with a full-body tremble, the flare of pleasure in the Force magnetic. Obi-Wan dug teeth so hard into his lower lip he was certain he drew blood. It was like time stood still, the sand stopped beating against the outer walls of the cave, synthetic serenity filling the three of them.

Obi-Wan hadn’t even realized Ben had released the Force hold, too enamored by the sight of Anakin twitching in sheer delight, eyes glossy and dazed at the sight. He could’ve been free long before, or for only seconds. It made no difference to him at this point.

Ben gripped Anakin’s slumped waist harder, chasing his own pleasure as his fingers slid through sweat, slap of skin becoming harsher in a greedy chase to the end. Obi-Wan didn’t notice, Anakin’s flushed face glowing in the light as they met eyes. The horror in his gaze had dulled in favor of something deeper, more tender. He craned out a hand to touch, to hold, muscles feeling like jelly after being released-

Obi-Wan slumped against the floor, a mirror of Anakin, just watching. Watching the way Anakin opened up so prettily to the barrage, heavy eyes glued to the way his plush mouth formed the perfect o-shape to huff out little noises of content, even so blissfully fucked-out, ragged and boneless. He watched the way Anakin tensed ever so slightly when Ben finally spilled deep and warm, plugging him full to the brim with a sharp grunt, knees quivering and surely bruising against the floor. He couldn’t bear to look away, fearing to lose even one second of Anakin’s boyish huff of laughter, the way he was practically purring in the afterglow.

It was deceptively sweet. For the first time during this whole awful thing, Obi-Wan felt as if he was intruding on something tender, not some sacrilegious act bordering on insidious. A pantomime of making love, if such a thing existed. He let his eyes flutter shut- what had they gotten themselves into? 

Ben let out a heady huff of breath as he slumped against Anakin’s slender back, the sound of his own thundering heartbeat the only sound in his ears as he leaned back a bit. He pressed his forehead between Anakin’s slick shoulder blades, coming back to reality, ready to accept it in a new way.

An entirely new way.

This changed things. This would change things. Ben felt a morbid rush of satisfaction.

Good. 

Chapter Text

a priori

/ˌā prīˈôrī/

adjective

relating to or denoting [reasoning] or knowledge which proceeds from theoretical deduction rather than from observation or experience.

Breakfast the next morning was anything but colloquial. Anakin hadn’t expected anything different, after all.

Being discovered face-down, ass-up by your one-time Master wasn’t ever really that much of a conversational lubricant, to no one’s surprise.

The three of them huddled around the table in the eerie silence of Tatooinian morning, the only sound between then the hollow swishing of wind-blown sand beating down the stone of the cave outside. In time, it would break the rocks down to nothingness, just more sand, always just more sand, as if it was needed. Anakin half-wondered if they’d sit here long enough to witness that happen, the tension palpable in the dry morning air.

Still, there were benefits to the quiet. Anakin had rarely ever experienced a morning on Tatooine that hadn’t been bustling with energy, barked orders at usually before the suns rose in his days of slavery. This was… nice, if he could ignore the horrible rigidity to all their movements. He rolled sore shoulders, mushing his wooden spoon around what Ben probably considered oatmeal. His Master had never been a good cook, and the thought almost made him smile at the similarity.

Ben was happily stirring his gruel, shame seemingly an afterthought to the older man. Anakin envied it. That was another part about this that he would’ve savored without the looming tension- someone sticking around long enough to make him breakfast the morning after, bumping their feet together underneath the table, quick glances along the nape of his neck, a lick of lips reminiscing on the night before. It made Anakin duck his head with a poorly concealed smile every time Ben’s knowing glance flickered his way, flustered and feeling revered, almost wanted. Like he was getting away with something.

He had felt liked for the first time in Force knows how long.

Obi-Wan was unfortunately privy to the poorly-hidden exchanges happening in front of him. He didn’t want to be subjected to what was playing out in front of him. He tried to stifle the growing sense of injustice and failed. Miserably. The scratch of his voice broke the show of peaceful silence they’d settled into as his spoon fell into his bowl with an unseemly clatter, accompanied by a sigh.

“He is twenty-two years old.”

Ben and Anakin swapped a glance, Anakin flushing deeper as he ducked his eyes back down to his bowl. Ben dragged his eyes up to Obi-Wan, brows furrowed, as if to say: don’t start this.

“Twenty-two years old,” Obi-Wan sucked the inside of his cheek, meeting this creature’s gaze head on, unafraid. He realized how utterly insane he sounded, like a man on the brink, but he dug in. One of the most important aspects of verbal sportsmanship was continuing, even if you knew it lead nowhere. Carrying on: “You’ve got- what, twenty-six standard years on him? You knew him when he was twenty-two, didn’t you?”

“Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmured under his breath, cheeks flaring red as he hissed out the words.

“You know him now,” Ben racketed back, unafraid and even as he leaned back into his chair. Anakin was fully aware this conversation was being had regardless if he was there or not. Typical. Ben sucked his spoon into his mouth, eyes goading- “Or, I suppose you thought you did.”

“You disgust me. How could you even think about- about-” Obi-Wan’s jaw clenched hard at the words, tendons nearly snapping. The heat of the morning was intensifying the heat in the Force. Oh, if he could crush him into a little tiny ball like that caf machine-

“I am you,” Ben snipped back, exasperated, effectively shutting down any form of dissent. He shrugged, tongue darting out to wet the corner of his lips. Anakin wanted to be the one to lick his lips, eyes dark and pupils blown wide at the words, enamored. Of course the only one able to parry his Master was his Master.

Oh, the effortlessness of the taunt made Anakin ache inside. He wanted to scramble underneath the table now, shove down his robes, thank him for this endless hospitality, wet and hot-

Obi-Wan must’ve gotten the mental picture. He stood abruptly, eyes blazing as the wooden chair legs scratched against the floor. “We are going to get this resolved,” he croaked, pulling Anakin out of his starstruck gaze with a tone that was light years past admonishing. “Then we will be going home.”

Another successful round of negotiations.

Anakin shot Ben an apologetic look, mouth still watering as he was practically dragged out of the cave into the blaring sunlight by his tabards.

Mos Eisley was the most logical place to start their search, both geographically and with its obvious and grimy reputation for the eclectic.

Their trip through the sands was silent, as expected. Stiff and tense on a beat-up, too-old speeder, Anakin chewed his lip as he tried to feign disinterest in the swirl of emotions they were both trying to ignore. The twin suns beat down relentlessly, making the sweat drip, curls sticking to his forehead as the blast of sand made his eyes grit. Obi-Wan wasn’t doing anything to mute his flare of white-hot anger through their bond, knuckles clenched on the handles of the old speeder- Ben’s speeder. Ben was so polite when he wanted to be, Obi-Wan thought to himself, not even hiding the surge of bitterness in the thought.

Obi-Wan so desperately wanted to snap, to rant and rave, to beg the question of how could Anakin do this to him, hurt him so deliberately and deeply, with this cheap imitation himself of all people, the instinct to scold and correct almost overbearing. Then again, even bringing up the memory of Anakin, mentioning his disappointment in how Anakin looked bent over, spine curled up, panting into the dust, debauched and disgusting- it made him throb. Not with anger, with something else entirely. Something he could name, but naming it might bring legitimacy to the feeling. The thought made him grip the handles tighter, jaw set as his own selfish wants ate at him. Who was he to savor the thought, hold onto something so depraved, keep it like a cherished memory when it was the exact opposite, something horrid and obscene, and wrong?

He pushed the groaning speeder forward, ever onward through the bright morning light, stewing in his own frustration, Anakin blatantly looking at everything else the sparse landscape had to offer.

Anakin bit back a sigh in the sound of wind whipping past. Another thing Obi-Wan was going to ignore and bury, that anger. Another thing they wouldn’t talk about, just wash over it until they both got over it.

What was one more thing?

Had they been on any other mission, it would have been laughable.

So many elements of the situation the two halves of the open circle had been dropped into were near-comical, like a tragedy of the days of old, like the ancient storybooks of the Jedi outposts that hadn’t been dusted off in ages.

Finding the seemingly legendary Sith holocron, something that they weren’t even sure was real, like so many elements of the past few days, the ones that existed in those sorts of storybooks- it hadn’t exactly proven difficult.

A few ‘Je’daii mind tricks’, a lot more skulking around the Hutt’s underbellies for too long, a few officials bribed in the dark heat of a pumping nightclub and the two hooded figures had found themselves staring down the barrel of some sort of machine for sale. A machine that emitted a strange humming, burning with red, warped Force energy. Anakin was able to confirm it was it, that was the device used to blast him before Obi-Wan had come into the fray, and shoot them into the future once the trap was set. It didn’t look like something that would have the title of holocron tied to it, dingy and rusted and glowing red, but Anakin was certain. Their theory was confirmed with the pulsating, crackling headache it gave the both of them upon being within ten feet of the thing.

There were no mind tricks involved with taking out the dealers, aggressive negotiations deemed sufficient as the two snuck out into the dim twilight with the thing shoved into the dingy bag, borrowed from Ben, as most things were for today’s mission. So generous.

It was too easy. It was… deceptively easy. It made Obi-Wan’s mounting frustration rear its head as Anakin dragged his feet back to where they’d stashed the speeder. Anakin had offered to drive back, another denied request. One of many, apparently, Obi-Wan thought to himself.

“I figured you’d be more eager to get back than you are,” Obi-Wan remarked once they’d hit open desert once again, breaking the quiet. It was the first direct words he’d spoken to Anakin, outside of some poor character acting used to distract a guard earlier in the day. It caught Anakin off-guard when the silence was broken, but it shouldn’t have. The retort was so distinctly Obi-Wan, to Anakin: seemingly innocent, but just plain bitchy. Always a little bit off, and always backhanded. Anakin’s teeth grit, his own frustration boiling over.

He swung the door of the buzzing speeder open, slamming a foot down in the burning sand, nearly skewing them sideways. Obi-Wan slowed considerably, jarred and letting out a noise of surprise at the jolt of the machine. Anakin was done.

“What has been your problem lately?” Anakin’s words were a near-shout over the whine of a now-stalled engine, no denying it now. Obi-Wan’s wild eyes widened, hair fluffed by the wind, taken aback to say the least. The proverbial floodgates were open now.

“My problem?” Obi-Wan’s voice was raised to compensate for the roar of the wind- surely no other reason. He slammed the speeder into a full-stop with a screech of the brake pedal, flaming hot and snarling, nearly jolting the both of them into the sand with the reversal of momentum. The streaks of orange and pink from the sunset cast a heavy shadow.

“My problem, Anakin,” Obi-Wan growled, standing for better leverage, as if to get his point across, boots squeaking on rusted metal- “-is that thing-” He waved an arm in the general direction in which they were going- “-so very clearly taking advantage of you.”

That was the straw that broke the proverbial bantha’s back. Anakin all but fell out of the speeder with a scoff, teeth bared as sand whipped past the leather of his boots, burning and teeth bared. “Taking advantage of me? Are you serious right now?”

“It’s painfully obvious. He’s not real, Anakin,” Obi-Wan groaned, running a gloved hand through sandy hair, assessing their surroundings in desperation. So much sand, enough to drive even the most grounded man absolutely insane. He was starting to sweat with the realness of it all.

Maybe it was just the muffled, ever-constant sheer whine of the weapon hidden underneath blankets and torn cloth in a hand-me-down carrier. Obi-Wan’s voice cracked despite himself. “There’s something he’s not telling us, he’s not to be trusted, let alone trusted in the way- you’ve trusted him*.* I simply can’t believe you’ve let him*- blind* you like this-”

The words were fueling a growing buzz of uncomplicated rage in Anakin’s head, making his ears ring. Humiliating was the only word Anakin could tie to this exchange accurately- at least, in the heat of the moment.

He couldn’t allow Obi-Wan to finish that train of thought.

“He was right, you know.” Anakin’s gaze was dead-eyed, barren and glassy underneath a furrowed scowl. He could feel himself using the anger of it now, like he knew he wasn’t supposed to: striking to kill.

Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed, huffing out a disbelieving noise as he crossed his arms. It never helped. “About what? The Tuskens finding us? Because honestly, Anakin, I-”

“No,” Anakin’s fists clenched harder, eyes blazing and hair whipping in the twilight winds. “About you. You don’t give me what I need.”

He could see Obi-Wan’s frame tense in the waning sunlight, could feel the pause the words forced him into. Anakin does spit into the sand, a habit he was always scolded for. It was his turn to do the scolding, scornful, fingers digging into his own palms.“You never have and you never will. How is this a surprise to you?”

Anakin digs his heels in, undeterred by Obi-Wan’s look of shock at the words. No stopping this time- not even for a sandstorm. Not even for the high-pitched whining of the holocron that was making both their brains ache.

“I didn’t break any rules. I’ve always worked so, so hard to be a good Jedi. I worked hard for you.” A moment’s pause, his next words delivered in a snarl, voice wavering. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, Obi-Wan. You’re just- just too much of a coward to do anything about it. The difference between you and him, is he isn’t. He gives me what I need, what I ask for.”

The words visibly rattle Obi-Wan, much to Anakin’s sickened delight. The same delight he felt meeting Obi-Wan’s eyes last night. The older man’s surge of anger dwindled weakly, like a trickle, instead feeling more sick than anything else. In fact, Obi-Wan couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt well on this Force-forsaken planet. Anakin’s words cut deep, something he usually didn’t allow them to do. Had he allowed this? Was this his fault?

“What? You don’t want me, or something? This- this is news to you? I’m just being crazy again?” Anakin barked in response to Obi-Wan’s gaping look of surprise, fists clenched so hard they ached, motors screaming. He made a mental note in the haze of fury that he’d have to check in on the servos in his hand when they got home.

Home. What a joke, that Temple, those people who were supposed to be his peers. Anakin didn’t even want to get this resolved, at this point. Why would he? By his own logic, he was fed here, familiar with the terrain and the company, he was loved.

That was the core of it. Anakin stared down the wilting man in front of him, sand stinging his lashes as his stomach twisted. His own Obi-Wan didn’t love him, not like he needed him to— it was simple math. This one did, this one on Tatooine, the one who’d pulled them from the sands. And very well, too, might he add.

The screeching of the holocron was going to make both their eyes bleed at this rate. His teeth grit harder. They couldn’t afford do this right now.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said softer now, the hurt disguising itself as sympathy in Obi-Wan’s eyes, barely audible above the cacophony of noise, of too-much stimulation. So terribly predictable.

“No. Don’t- even say anything. Let’s just… get this over with,” Anakin huffed, circling back around to claim the driver’s seat for his own, kicking the speeder back to life as his knuckles ached.

The ride back was caked with a thick silence, the roar of the winds too deafening to even settle the shock of it all. Anakin fidgeted with the controls- usually, fidgeting behind the bars of a speeder was supposed to be comforting in a way. Nostalgic, almost, for his younger days, sneaking out to the underground to race with what little credits he could scrounge up. Obi-Wan really could ruin any experience he really put his mind to, Anakin thought bitterly, eyes watering as they pulled up to the cave once again, night falling on the wind-whipped desert behind them.

The smell of spices, rich and warm and inviting was flowing from the small outlet at the entrance to the cave. Ben had dinner ready. Anakin pulled himself off the gritty speeder, stomach grumbling, aching for the comfort of it, aching for someone’s arms to crawl into and hide for the rest of the night.

Obi-Wan’s hollowed-out gaze tracked him up the stone, more shaken than anything as he gathered their things. There was a certain sort of haste behind his own lagged movements, as if kicking back online. Jaw set and brows furrowed, he followed Anakin up. Like Sith’s hells he was going to let those two be alone together again.

Ben turned away from the dingy stove in slight surprise when they entered, eyes softer as he wordlessly assessed their state. He’d silently hoped some time together might facilitate some sort of conversation, ease the tension that had been suffocating the three of them since the night prior-

The older man deflated when he could sense the buzz of discourse the moment Anakin stepped foot in the door.

Anakin, ever the opportunist with the knowledge his Obi-Wan was delayed, even if for a few seconds, shucked off his ragged cloak once he stepped in, gaze dead-set on the man in the kitchen. Mind buzzing with agitation, quivering with the heat of the argument, he strode forward and gripped him, shoving his tongue into the older man’s mouth with a quiet mmph for a sloppy kiss. Ben’s eyes shot open wide before he could even get a word of greeting in. His shudder of shock and the sound of a pan clattering back onto the hot stove must’ve caused some sort of alarm, because Anakin pulled back after only a moment, mouth wet and panting and heart still racing a mile a minute.

“Welcome back,” Ben murmured out after collecting himself out of a daze, eyes fond and glassy. Anakin’s grin in response lit him up, itching to reach forward for more, dinner be damned to eternity.

The sound of boots scraping on stone pulled Anakin away from his reverie, sharp stab of want quickly stifled as Obi-Wan pulled himself through the door, accompanied by the high-pitched keening shoved in the bottom of the duffel. Anakin avoided eye contact with his Obi-Wan, while Ben offered a wince of a smile, trying to be welcoming at the very least. He was met with a scowl, suspicious and off-kilter, Obi-Wan’s flush noticeable even in the oiled lamplight.

“Well. Short and sweet,” Ben breathed out to no one’s continued delight.

Anakin had started to associate mealtime in the cave with a quiet sort of hostility, one that made the air stuffy and his clothes itch against his skin.

He shoved his fork into whatever it was that Ben had made for dinner. Despite his grumbling stomach, he had no want to eat, mouth feeling gritty and nervous system frayed by the day’s events. It didn’t help that the stupidholocronblasterthing was making all of them squirm just by being in their presence. It was tinging the Force with something dark and muddled, transforming it into a warm haze instead of a stormcloud. How picturesque.

Ben broke the silence, per usual, bless his heart. Anakin kept his eyes down, not particularly craving any sort of retribution that would come with going too far. At least for now.

“If you two can figure out how to work that thing, you should be back home in no time. What a relief,” the older man spoke, matter-of-factly and hollowly chipper. It didn’t dull the daggers Obi-Wan had been habitually shooting at him with his glare the past hour. Ben’s eyes lifted to track Anakin’s slumped frame, almost seeking the validation, any sort of indication of eagerness. This was the Anakin he was most familiar with, stormy and brooding and off. This was the Anakin he’d wished farewell to before jetting off to Utapau, a scene he’d replayed for so many years it was practically memorized-

Ben blinked, pulling himself back to the moment. No. He couldn’t think about that now, spoil what little time they had left. Precious time, something he had so much of in his day-to-day life, now seemed to be slipping through his fingers.

“What a relief,” Obi-Wan echoed, voice darker and more gruff, as if demanding Ben’s attention back to him. Like Anakin, he had no appetite- both for whatever stew was in front of him, but for the entire situation had devolved into. He narrowed his eyes towards Ben’s seemingly innocuous frame, biting the tip of his tongue at his own shadow across the table. He had refused to acknowledge what Anakin had screamed at him in the desert, and he had little patience for legitimizing any aspect of this*,* including his double’s cheap niceties.

“We can figure it out in the morning,” Anakin rasped out after a pregnant pause, and the dual reactions in the Force were enough to offset each other entirely. Obi-Wan’s flare of indignancy at the words combined with Ben’s flush of quiet, pleased surprise almost made Anakin want to laugh. So much of this made him want to dissolve into the absurdity of it all, preferably with someone broad and warm plastered against his back. Someone he knew would want the same.

Speaking of…

He could push farther, he knew he could. And he knew Obi-Wan had no choice but to watch.

Good. He could deal with it. They weren’t going to ignore this- not this. Anakin turned up half-lidded eyes towards Ben, swanky smile poorly concealed. “I mean- you wouldn’t mind us staying another night, would you?”

Obi-Wan recognized Anakin toeing the line from a mile away. He forced an exaggerated sigh, tone tightly strung together. Bitter. “We shouldn’t overstay our welcome, Anakin.”

”I wasn’t asking you.” Anakin shot Obi-Wan a look, more than happy to crank up the heat. He brushed a foot up Ben’s ankle underneath the table to incite a squirm, break some sweat, turning his eyes back towards the older man. “I was asking you.”

Ben let out a huff of a laugh, covering for his throb of arousal at Anakin’s straightforwardness, the flip in his attitude so rapid it was jostling. In their absence, Ben was able to ponder over own his role in this tragedy, a newfound plaything being used to infuriate an authority figure to some sort of end. It wasn’t… ideal, given his many complicated feelings about this entire situation, but Ben wasn’t in the business of turning his nose up at something being offered so readily. Again. On a silver platter.

Silver was rare on Tatooine.

“Maybe we could all use a little… space,” Ben breathed out. A flimsy compromise, and they all knew it. Anakin’s foot slid higher, Ben’s shaking fingers sliding down subtly enough underneath the table to dig nails into the bone of Anakin’s ankle, the feeling of skin on skin making both of them jump a little bit. Anakin’s canine teeth dug into his lower lip tightly, foot sliding up just that much further-

The scrape of Obi-Wan’s chair being shoved back from the table caused both their heads to turn up towards him.

“We’re resolving this. Tonight.” Obi-Wan’s tone left little room for argument, blue eyes turned a chalky gray with muted fury as Anakin looked up at him with pinched brows. Obi-Wan turned away abruptly to shovel through their sand-crusted bag on the floor.

“Maybe I don’t want to go home tonight,” Anakin snapped, irritation flaring as he turned his gaze towards Obi-Wan’s back turned towards the both of them. The irritation was more due to having to pull his attention away from Ben for longer than necessary. “There’s no reason to be stubborn. We can fix this in the morning just fine-”

“Maybe, as a Jedi,” Obi-Wan hissed, standing to face him, tone sharp as a live wire as the palpable tension snowballed to an almost unbearable level, “You don’t always get what you want, Anakin.”

That was enough to wash all three of them a stunt of chilly silence, breathing stilled.

The double meaning was lost on no one. Anakin’s eyes widened. He pulled his legs underneath him before standing to face Obi-Wan head on, direct and blazing gaze enough the snap the freeze of shock. “Excuse me?”

“Honestly, Anakin, I thought you’d be more responsible than this,” Obi-wan sighed out, quieter this time as if to gloss over the cut of his last statement. His teeth clenched as crouched down again to shovel the bulky weapon out of the bag- even touching the damn thing was making his eyes buzz with the beginnings of a migraine. He tried to ignore the dual sets of eyes boring into the nape of his neck, starting to sweat when he realized how much projecting he was doing. Obi-Wan was used to his own words doing some heavy lifting, but even that was a bit too much.

“Think of Ashoka,” Obi-Wan muttered under his breath, hyper aware of the spark that ignited.

“Don’t you dare talk to me about Ashoka,” Anakin growled, anger mounting despite himself. Ben’s eyes widened at the name, flush of anxiety mounting at the sight of the rusted weapon in Obi-Wan’s hands. He could tell even without the words they’d had this conversation before in some capacity. Ben’s breath hitched despite himself, fingers digging into the worn wood of the table.

Anakin didn’t notice. His head was throbbing from the low buzz of that thing, eyes burning with anger that felt doubled every moment it was in their presence. He had half the mind to snap it in half, grab it from Obi-Wan’s fingers clawing into the metal.

“Put it away,” Anakin spoke quietly, almost indistinctly, dark and buzzing. Obi-Wan met the gaze head on, unrelenting as always, nostrils flared inches away.

“Anakin,” Ben breathed out. He stood, itching with the need to do something-

In a split second, Anakin had lunged for the thing, catching Obi-Wan off-guard for that fraction of a moment. Ben could only watch in mounting horror as the two scrabbled, Anakin trying to pry the thing out of Obi-Wan’s hands, both sides indignantly scrabbling as Ben’s jaw sat hanging open as he tried to get a word in. This wasn’t exactly the best idea-

“Anakin,” Ben spoke this time with a little more gusto, wincing when the metal clacked to the ground, the two men snapping at each other the entire time. It would’ve been comical had a weapon of seemingly mass destruction not been their end goal-

A muted snap made all three of their ears rang when it hit the ground, the same that Obi-Wan had sensed when Anakin had been on Hypori, the same one that had lured him down, down, down into the hellfire that was Tatooine now. Claws dug into Obi-Wan’s biceps covered in the dust and dirt, another red flash and deafening ping, and-

Familiar blackness.

Wonderful.

Chapter Text

Obi-Wan stared blankly down at the Temple caf machine as the life slowly trickled away from it.

An ill-timed buzzing and a puff of smoke signaled the death of machinery, springs clogging to a halt, never to churn out burnt caf again.

This scene was oddly familiar to him, but some aspects of it had changed. He supposed that fact should’ve been at least a little comforting, but it wasn’t something that would lessen the throbbing in his head, sharp and dull right behind the temples. He had been hoping some caf would achieve that.

No. Instead, he was half-convinced his dead-eyed stare had some sort of effect on caf machines, specifically.

Obi-Wan allowed himself a quiet sigh, the cafeteria quietly buzzing with life around him- other Jedi, littered from ranks of Padawan to Master filtering in and out in the late hour, hoping to find some sort of respite from the rest of the Temple. From the rest of Coruscant’s heavy, vibrant thrum, the planet that never slept. Most, if not all, of them were oblivious to the seemingly unapparent exhaustion seeping from Obi-Wan’s bones.

The past week and a half since the incident- well, Obi-Wan had dubbed it the incident in his mind, maybe a bit more dramatic than what he was used to, but he had no other words for it, even in the official documentation provided to the Council that blurred the details a bit too heavily- things had been tense, to say the least.

The sithweaponthing had smashed like crimson sea glass during their squabbling on Tatooine, apparently made too brittle by the years of dereliction to withstand a drop of that height. Obi-Wan had found himself rethinking that moment in the days after, Anakin’s claws going for his throat paused by the harsh slice of light and weightlessness that accompanied it. Would he have gone for the kill? Obi-Wan didn’t want to think about that, but it had crossed his mind.

It had to have crossed his mind, filling out the paperwork afterward, checking boxes- chronological anomaly, is what the Temple librarians had dubbed it, and, yes, they had seen something to that magnitude before, just not recently. He’d had to remember it clear as day when they had come to on Hypori, as if they’d been knocked unconscious for a few moments and not the long stretches of days on Tatooine. He’d remembered Tag’s armor still fresh with blood- it hadn’t had time to dry in their absence.

He remembered Anakin scrabbling against the dirt, the look of shock smeared on such pretty features that this was in fact Hypori again, not Tatooine.

He’d also remembered how Anakin had dry heaved in the ship’s ‘fresher for at least an hour on the flight back. He remembered Ashoka’s worried gaze, the surviving clones looking to him for guidance. He hadn’t had the energy to explain to her, the shock of it all still too fresh. He remembered thinking in that moment what a good Padawan she was, knowing when to push harder and knowing when to stay quiet. She stayed quiet.

They’d received a guarded escort to the Archives with the weapon in tow, both of them too ashen and too devoid of any sort of comprehension of it all yet to provide any hard and fast details. And, of course, Anakin hadn’t spoken to him since then.

And now the caf machine of all things was broken. Obi-Wan set a too-cold mug down with a furrowed brow.

Now that the sand had been scrubbed from his hair, he would have to go talk to Anakin. What a foreign idea, talking. Out loud. About… what had happened. He remembered what had happened, how could he forget? The sight of Anakin being driven to the brink of madness, all fucked-out and made wanton by him-

Obi-Wan’s feet were in motion before he even realized he’d started moving.

Anakin, in the cold familiarity of his Temple quarters, ached.

Night had slipped through the cheap curtains on the rounded windows, staining everything it touched. He could only describe this as stewing, although he knew if Obi-Wan could see him now, curled under a heap of tattered and worn blankets, he’d describe it as pouting.

What did Obi-Wan know?

Anakin curled further in on himself, feeling the emptiness inside threaten to consume him in a cold sweat. Obi-Wan didn’t know anything, let alone know this ache. Anakin felt the hurt well up inside of him, the hurt growing sharper, filling every corner as he glowered into the lightless corners of his own quarters.

This must have been how the first Force user had felt, that momentary blip of weightlessness, of euphoria, gone and never to be replicated. Anakin could picture them now, picture their frustration trying to recreate the magic of making a stone inch across the floor, trying to summon the strength to make it happen again. Any way to make it happen again.

This must have been how he felt those first few days in the Temple, though those memories had long been purged or shoved down. Anakin faintly remembered feeling cold, and alone, and thoroughly out of place without the coarseness of sand and silt between his fingers. The warmth of his mother had been replaced with a grieving, too-young, practically widowed Master looking at him with thinly-veiled contempt. 

Anakin closed burning eyes slowly. He’d already been halfheartedly scheming to steal Obi-Wan’s access badge to the Archives- he’d done it before, after all, over much more trivial things. He’d know how to charm Master Nu, slip past the doors down to where they kept the good stuff, filter out the useless, ancient nonsense before getting his hands back on that weapon. He’d weigh it in his hands, run fingers over the cracked glass, movements gentle despite the headache the dull screeching instilled. He’d point it at himself and pull the trigger, the flash of light making his eyes burn before-

He clenched tighter in the sheets, as if to banish the thought. Was he really that desperate to get back to the feeling of Tatooine between his fingers and Ben’s Force presence nestled against him?

It wasn't just the sex that had drawn him in- no, he had known Obi-Wan for far too long to be that shallow about it. It was the way Ben was looked at him, like a sun from a shady spot, like an acolyte to a demigod. The way Ben's fingers ran over aching muscle knowingly, the way his voice dropped an octave when he was concerned, the gruffness in his tone when asserting himself, the sparkly look he got in his eyes when Anakin had said something smart or charming or funny. These were traits that were so uniquely Obi-Wan, but also so uniquely Ben. He couldn't have ever had Obi-Wan, but oh how he had had Ben in every sense of the word. 

How could he go on living in this past when the future had been plastered so brightly behind his eyelids?

Anakin could feel the thrum of his own pattering heartbeat when a presence shifted outside his door. He turned away from it, feeling the creak in his bones with a shudder. It was probably just Ashoka again, hellbent on feeding him shards of ice chips from the cafeteria, trying to convince herself he was sick with something physical. That was the easiest explanation, after all- the Chosen One with a stomach bug, how mundane. It would’ve been easier to swallow than the truth. Anakin didn’t blame her for that.

The guest outside his door let themselves in. Anakin could feel the presence like the back of his hand as the schlick of the metal slipped shut, and he clenched his eyes shut tighter. Not now.

“We should talk,” Obi-Wan’s rasp cut through the darkness, and it wasn’t a question- it wasn’t even a suggestion. Anakin let out a relenting sigh.

When it had happened, Ben hadn’t even had the time to stand up from the table, dinner forgotten.

The flare of red and ear-piercing tenor of a weapon unleashed seemed to still time for just that split second, and Ben found himself rendered useless to stop it, just like so many things he had seen in this lifetime.

By the time the dust had settled and the silence crept in, dusk was upon Tatooine. The planet seemed more barren and lifeless to him now than it did even ten years ago, the sound of his own tattered breathing the only thing cutting the gloom of a rapidly-approaching evening. He was standing- when had he stood?- at his own kitchen table, mind ablaze with the things he should have said, could have said-

He could feel the uncaring wood beneath the palms of his hands. He could feel- feel- the wet, hot tears globbing down his face with a muted curiosity, as if the sensation was happening to someone else. Crying was a privilege reserved for few on a sand planet with each drop of moisture coveted like a jewel, but Ben- no, Obi-Wan- watched those jewels tinker down past wood and into the sad cracks in dusted stone, turning millimeters of sand to hot, thick mud through his fingers.

It couldn’t possibly end like this. He hadn’t been able to warn them. He hadn’t been able to warn himself about the inevitable cracks in their serenity. The haughtiness of the Jedi leading to this, a quiet night in a cave on a nowhere planet.

Oh Gods, and Anakin, Anakin, golden and bright and beautiful beyond anything. How many years did he have left? How much time until- until-

Obi-Wan wasn’t sure when his knees had found the floor, some time between the rush of panic and the breakdown into stabbing grief. He rested his head against uncaring stone, eyes fluttering shut with the beginning of a migraine.

How he’d thought he’d grown used to loss in the last ten years.

In the dark of Anakin’s room, something stirred.

“I don’t want to talk,” Anakin croaked, the first words he’d said to the older man in a very long time. Too long. It was a weak protest that never really held any authority between the two of them. Obi-Wan’s words on Tatooine rattled around in his head, as if he expected the bite of a sharp remark-

You don’t always get what you want, Anakin.

Nothing came, except a dip of weight in the cheap Temple mattress that didn’t prompt Anakin to look up, still cocooned in the seeping warmth of his own sheets. Messy golden curls were flung haphazardly across his pillows, and his eyes were brimmed red, though he had hoped Obi-Wan hadn’t been able to tell in the dark of his room, back to him.

Obi-Wan let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, sliding a sure hand down to run fingers through Anakin's knotted hair. Anakin flinched at the contact, wholly unexpected but not entirely unwelcome, though every instinct made him want to lash out, so used to hurt and bitterness spurring him on. Anakin let tired eyes flutter shut again, sinking into the feeling. It was grounding, in the least.

Obi-Wan could at the least admit it hurt to see him like this, so utterly strung out over what seemed like nothing. But it wasn’t nothing, and neither of them could pretend like this was some one-off mission that rubbed them the wrong way. Neither of them could pretend like this didn’t change things.

It hurt more than seeing him debased like that, and it was certainly worth more than any inkling of pride Obi-Wan had left.

In the quiet dark, he hunched over to rest his forehead against Anakin’s temple, eyes fluttering shut. His voice was a whisper. 

"I'm- sorry. For everything." 

It gave Anakin pause, hearing that, aching body tensing further. The weight of someone else's head against his own was the first physical touch he'd had since- 

Anakin let out a breath, his own eyes scrunching as he gripped the sheets tighter to prevent hot tears from staining the sheets. This wasn't the warmth, the weight of his Obi-Wan. Well, for all intents and purposes, it was, but- but- 

“I know,” Anakin rasped back, the unspoken reason behind the words shared between the two of them in silence.

Anakin swore he could feel Tatooinian sand grit behind his eyelids as they fluttered open to stare at the dark.