Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He was told his whole life he complained too much, was too aggressive, too argumentative. He talked too much.
He vividly remembers telling the crèche master about Bruck several times, his pleas falling on deaf ears while Bruck’s complaints were immediately addressed—or so it seemed.

He fought with all he had to impress Master Jinn, only to be rebuked for it. Too aggressive.

Then he argued with the man on the way to Bandomeer. Too argumentative. One more reason, one more rebuke.

In the end, the mines taught him to shut up, keep his head down, and take it. When he offered his life, it seemed to snap something in Jinn. He took him on.
It was fantastic. His whole existence, he’d been told what not to be, but finally, he saw what he should be to get results—something he could grasp onto.

But it was hard. Submissiveness and silence didn’t come naturally. Sacrifice, fortunately, was the way of the Jedi and something he found natural. The problem was, sometimes the only thing he got right was the thing that made everything else go wrong.

It was his instinct to sacrifice himself for the young—a pull so strong and clear that no part of him argued against it, even as he threw away all he had hoped and prayed for, giving Jinn his lightsaber back. He knew it was the right thing to do.

Then Cerasi died, and the war was over. Nobody wanted him, not really. He was an unpleasant reminder of a war and a point of contention. Neil couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

He did the right thing for the young, but it turned out as wrong as it could for him.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was shattered during that time, and what he felt—what he knew—was nothing.

He crawled back, broken and ready to submit. The whole Temple sneered and jeered at him, but eventually, Jinn took him back.

His friend Quinlan prompted, pulled, and bashed him over the head to go talk to somebody—anybody. Master Tholme came and spoke with him when Master Jinn was away.

But Obi-Wan reverted to the first lesson from Bandomeer that had served him well: keep your head low, don’t talk, work hard, and be ready. No… no, that last one didn’t work. It had to be the right sacrifice.

But that part of him was broken now. He couldn’t decide what the right sacrifice was anymore.

So he didn’t.

He followed his Master’s lead, and while his aggressive, snarky side sometimes resurfaced, he squashed it relentlessly. It was wrong; it was a detriment. Frustration boiled under his skin. By the time they got to Mandalore, he was ready to explode and undoubtedly burn his life down again.

Looking back now, the time he spent running with Satine, without his Master—thinking on the fly, adapting, and making use of his natural gifts on the war-torn planet—was perhaps the truest he’d ever been to himself. The constant itch under his skin, like he was covered in some unfamiliar, restricting shell, was gone.

He almost stayed with her.

But then Jinn said go, and so did she. And who was he to argue when that part of him was broken?

He crawled back into that perfect, uncomfortable shell. For all the frustration and sadness it brought, it seemed to make everyone around him who saw this version of him happy—truly happy. It was nice.

Not perfect. He was told he had to be better at this and that, so he trained and studied, and then they were happy again.

He was told he needed to eat less and meditate more, so he did. Master Jinn didn’t have to worry—he hadn’t stocked the room’s pantry anymore.

But then Master Che wasn’t happy, so he had to take vitamin shakes, which made Master Jinn unhappy. So he strove to drink them when Jinn couldn’t see, and everyone was happy again.

Everyone except Quin. Quin and Tholme were never happy. It was scary. No matter how he twisted himself, they were never happy.

He broke down once and yelled at Quinlan, slammed him into the wall, and asked him repeatedly, violently, what he wanted from him.

They got into a fistfight. Obi-Wan didn’t want to hurt him—he really didn’t. And worse, as he lay there on the floor, bruised, bloody, and vibrating in his own skin, he was horrified to realize he felt… better. Like something had lifted from him. Was he falling, like Jinn said he would, like Xanatos?

“I want you…” Quin started with a huff from his spot on the ground.

“Yes?” Obi-Wan asked eagerly.

“To not try to make me happy.”

“What the kriffing…?!” A slurry of curse words spilled from Obi-Wan’s lips as a violent rant tore through him. In response, Quinlan laughed—the truest, hardest, happiest laugh Obi-Wan had ever heard.

“That’s what I want. I want my tiny brother the way he was.”

A part of him mended that day—or at least, that’s how it felt. He couldn’t show it outside; too many people would be disappointed. But the fact that he could be Obi-Wan—not just Padawan Kenobi or Padawan with Quinlan and Tholme—the fact that being himself made them happy… it kept him away from the darkest of places.

Jinn wasn’t ready to let go. The more Obi-Wan grew, the tighter his hold became. Until it wasn’t. Suddenly, Obi-Wan found himself in free fall through the abyss as his Master rebuked him once again, this time in front of the entire Council. He threw him away in front of everyone Obi-Wan had twisted and bent himself out of shape to please.

All of that for a child who was unapologetically broken by Jedi standards. Anakin wasn’t at fault for being what he was—he was raised differently. But Jinn didn’t seem to care that he was angry, mouthy, and compassionate to a fault. He was patient with him, loving, encouraging him to be… himself.

Oh, I think I’m breaking again, Obi-Wan thought to himself as his Master gave him a small box of his belongings and “encouraged” him to go sleep over at Quinlan’s. Anakin needed space to adjust. It was that same broken feeling he had when he crawled back from Melida/Daan. He did everything right, but it didn’t work.

Why?

Quin was angry, and it was only Tholme’s iron grip on his belt that stopped the young Kiffar from charging up there to give the man a piece of his mind—and then some.

Obi-Wan was never good at sleeping, not since the deep-sea mines. Too good a memory for that, too many visions of past and future he couldn’t acknowledge. He substituted with meditation. It was fine; he was young. He didn’t need to sleep or eat—his body could take it.

It might have been Quinlan’s anger and Tholme’s talking that broke him that day. He made a mistake. He decided that after this, after he became a Knight, he would finally be himself. He was already a Jedi; he didn’t need Jinn’s approval. The man already had a replacement.

Then, the last time he and Jinn spoke together, the man was dying in his arms and didn’t acknowledge him at all. Why would he? Obi-Wan had made a grave mistake. He killed the Sith by being himself, by unleashing who and what he was.

In that single moment, he had shown Jinn who Obi-Wan Kenobi was, and the man didn’t acknowledge it at all—just asked about the child.
And just like that, he died, and Obi-Wan broke into pieces again.

This time, he reformed as close to a copy of Jinn as he could, for Anakin. This mold was even more restrictive than the last, and he struggled a lot.
He couldn’t force himself to be with Anakin the way Jinn was with him. He saw those bright eyes, that flame of life and love Anakin had, and he couldn’t force himself to stomp it out. He tried. He used Jinn’s internalized advice to guide the boy, to ignore his visions, to smother his aggressive tendencies.

Sometimes it was hard to breathe—that’s how tight the mold got. Anakin never responded right to what he did. He could barely find things that worked and held onto them tightly. Too tightly.

Quinlan encouraged him to drop the perfect act and be himself.

He didn’t understand. If he was himself, he could only ruin his own life and reputation. But now he had to care for Anakin, and he couldn’t ruin his life.
So he cut Quinlan off.

And suddenly, it was just him and Ani now.

It was okay, for a time. But the thing about time is, it never stops. Soon enough, the little boy he held in bed wasn’t so little anymore, and he wasn’t interested in staying put with his Master anymore.

A part of Obi-Wan died in perfect loneliness at the thought of Anakin being knighted and leaving. He had invested so much in the boy, he didn’t believe there was anything of Obi-Wan left anymore. He just felt hollow. For a moment, he wanted to hold on like Jinn did, but he couldn’t.

Because when he looked in a mirror, he saw a hollowed-out, broken shell of somebody that once had this body. And as much as a part of him wanted to live—and it did feel like he would die if Anakin grew up and left—there was a louder part of him, sounding like Quin, that said out loud, “This isn’t okay. This is no way to live. Don’t do it to him.”

Anakin went on his excursions with Padmé and the Chancellor, and Obi-Wan stayed behind. One night, he got into the brandy from Balle and took a walk to the highest tower of the Temple. He stood on top of the railing, barefoot, and took in a breath. The city was so beautiful at this time of night, thousands of lights above and below.
Jinn hated Coruscant. It never jelled with him despite being born there. Obi-Wan felt all the life in this place, above and under the shell of this artificial world. And he thought to himself, This is me. Coruscant was his home in all the ways possible, and all it took to mold them together was one step in the right direction.
But then, the comm chimed.

And life kept on keeping on. Kamino, Jango… the Clone Wars.

It was funny, if you thought about it, how war always seemed to find him and vice versa. How good he was at it and how comfortable he felt in it.

The clones had a saying: “They were made for war.” And partly, he wondered if it wasn’t true for him too. He was more himself than he ever was. The men seemed to appreciate it. Despite being constantly hungry, tired, and hopped up on adrenaline, everything seemed better.

His mental health, despite the occasional hiccups—who doesn’t have the urge to eat a blaster now and then? His relationship with Anakin! Finally, they had common ground, and it thrilled him. Anakin seemed to… like him. HIM. Not the shell of Jinn he projected during Council meetings.

There was Quinlan’s voice in his head again, sounding eerily like, I told you so. He ignored it outright.

But the best part of it all was Cody.

His brave, intelligent, and loyal commander. He adored the men under him, even the medics, though they bullied him relentlessly. But Cody—Cody had a special place in his heart.

At some point, they became more, and it was almost as new as it was with Satine. Thrilling and wonderful.

And that’s about the time it all went wrong again.

His relationship with Anakin deteriorated. He saw the boy he loved become more despondent and aggressive, hopeless and jaded. Ani refused to let him help, throwing the shadow of Jinn—the one Obi-Wan had been for so many years—back in his face. And it hurt.

Somehow, he went from him and Cody to being the fuck toy for most of the 212th. Cody was born into a culture of sharing; his brothers were stressed and apparently admired him greatly. Obi-Wan silently pleaded for his commander to refuse when he was asked to share, to be a bit selfish and keep him for himself. But he didn’t. And Obi-Wan himself didn’t have it in him to make somebody unhappy by refusing.

He stopped eating and sleeping. The clones noticed, and their advances lessened as they tried to get him better. But it never stopped completely. Cody distanced himself, and Obi-Wan slowly lost the ability to care about what shell he was inhabiting once more.

Maul came back, and it was a completely new shape of pain. He took away Satine and everything else he could get his jagged claws on. For a bit, Obi-Wan hated him. Then, when he looked into his eyes, he understood the truth.

They were both broken, just in different ways. Where Obi-Wan felt like an empty shell with no warmth to cling to, Maul desperately clung to the dying embers of hatred inside him just to feel something.

Hating Obi-Wan made him happy. A part of Obi-Wan—the part that was slowly letting go of his own hate for apathy—was happy for him. Because not feeling anything was perhaps the scariest place to be.

--

Quinlan was dating a clone: Commander Fox of Coruscant. And it turned out… Fox did not share. He was a selfish bastard who kept his Jedi for himself. Because Quin set down boundaries in the beginning, explained it to him, and they were allowed to make that choice together.

It hurt to see the solution to his misery be so kriffing simple.

But it broke him completely to see it work.

Tortured, tired, and depressed, they leaned on one another and kept each other afloat. Aayla was there, picking Quin up when he literally fell.

He had a bit of an upset after that realization. Quin and Fox found him—well, mostly Quin. But he knew the drill: no healers, nobody knows. So Quin dragged in Fox and the medic from the Guard.

And now, far too many people he didn’t want to know, knew how broken he was.

Ever since then, nothing feels… right. It’s an odd feeling to describe, but it’s like he’s losing the ability to physically feel anything. His skin is numb. His hands and feet move just fine, his reflexes don’t suffer—it’s just… now he can pierce his hand with a hypo needle as a party trick, clean through, and feel absolutely nothing.

Quinlan is not amused. In fact, he freaks out severely, then goes to tattle on him to Fox, that traitorous bastard.

The information eventually gets to Cody. They fight. The whole of the 212th backs off with their commander. Obi-Wan is ready to service them; he just… doesn’t feel anything. He hasn’t for the longest time. But he’s a good actor, so why should it matter that he’s faking it? Well, maybe it matters that he can’t fake that one thing.

Maybe if he trains, he could get the blood to go there if he focuses. But that would require time the war doesn’t give them.

Somehow, “upset” gets to the medic in the 212th, and there’s a massive freakout. One more fight with Cody. And then they make up. Obi-Wan tries to give his lover what he wants, but it… it doesn’t feel right, and apparently, he’s not a good enough actor to fake it after all.

Cody presses down on him, demands to talk, and it turns out he knows a hell of a lot more than he should—no doubt keyed in by some traitorous son of a gundark!
Anger is the first emotion Obi-Wan feels in a long time. It’s warm, and it tickles on the inside. He’s been numb for so long, it almost catches him by surprise.

They talk. A lot of things slip out. A lot of his “I’m fine” gets challenged and falls to the relentless force that is his commander.

Suddenly, he’s not required to do it with others. Cody is perfectly fine with going steady and exclusive, and he’s there.

The second emotion Obi-Wan feels is overwhelming, drowning sadness, immediately followed by relief.

He cries in the clone’s arms until they need to call in a medic because he scares Cody shitless with his lack of breathing.

Anakin calms down. He seems to be digesting things, acting as if he wants to make amends, like he wants to tell him something but doesn’t know how. Obi-Wan gives him space and waits for him to find the words.

Instead, the Temple burns. Cody burns. The twins cry, and he’s left… alone with a crying infant in the desert. Broken into tiny pieces. For the first time in his life, not being forced into any mold in particular.

He’s lost, adrift in the wind. He leaves Luke with his family, afraid to taint him, and holds onto the smallest piece of himself Yoda gave him to ground his tattered soul.

Protect the boy.

That’s what he does. He lets go of Obi-Wan, of being a Jedi… of everything. When Jinn comes along, he’s a pile of ash, ready to be molded. He doesn’t resist, doesn’t talk back, takes the admonishment of failure as he deserves, and lets his Master do with him what he will.

It doesn’t matter; it’s the last stretch of the game anyway. One last job.

When he spreads his arms out for Vader, he does it with the utmost peace and joy he has ever felt in this life. It is THE END.

For him.

Except it isn’t. His consciousness is in the Force, reeling and in pain. Jinn and Yoda reach out to him, perhaps seeing him truly for the first time ever. There are a thousand voices there with them, and all of them can see how broken and imperfect he is.

The Force was supposed to be peace. And it is, because aside from the image Jinn molded for the last few years, there is… nothing. No piece of Obi-Wan left. Obi-Wan Kenobi ceased to exist in the sands of Tatooine. All that remained was a sculpture of a memory made out of sand, slowly polished off by the wind into nothingness.

If anybody notices, it isn’t his problem anymore.

Except, as always, somebody does make it his problem. AGAIN.

What does the world at large have against him being at peace, anyway?

“Well, for one, I wouldn’t call this peace.”

Obi-Wan blinks… in a desert. Except the terrain is completely flat. There are no dunes, hills, dips, or rocky outcrops, neither close nor in the distance. The sky is a perfect shade of blue, no clouds to obstruct it, but oddly enough, no sun either. It feels like Tatooine but also not at all like Tatooine.

Beside him, there’s one more person. A younger man in a black suit, with an immaculate haircut, pale skin, and a devilish smile.

“Well, now that you’re done with your life flashback, I’d reckon we could talk.”

“Who are you? Where am I? Last time I checked, I was dead.”

“Ah, splendid. Good to have that pesky thing out of the way. You’d be surprised how many souls here are hung up on the… being dead thing.” He sings the last bit with a half-smile. “Sorry, dreadful musical, but the tune was hellishly catchy.”

“Huh?”

“Right, right, from the beginning. Let me introduce myself.” He bends down to give Obi-Wan a hand in getting up. Just like that, the whole world shifts, and they’re in a rather cozy, wood-paneled room of some sort, with a plush sofa and a professional-looking desk the man is now leaning against.

“My name is Lucifer Morningstar.” He smiles brightly, picking up a wooden plaque with golden lettering from the desk to showcase it. “And I am your therapist for this leg of eternity.”

Obi-Wan blinks several times, slowly watching the man tilt his head back and forth as he processes.

“You okay, buddy?”

“I don’t need a therapist,” Obi-Wan barks, then freezes. “I’m sorry, look, I… appreciate the offer, but I’m at peace. I don’t need therapy. Life is what… was… life was what it was.”

“Yeah, I saw. Rough trip.” The man nods. “Personally, I can somewhat relate to a strained father-son relationship. Me and my old man… we didn’t really get on, not until the very end, and even then, he was kind of a dick.”

That bit of honesty startles a laugh out of Obi-Wan. Somehow, he feels compelled to be… open? Honest. It’s strange. It isn’t a Force compulsion; it’s…

“What are you doing to me?”

“Nothing. Tea? My brother brought me an interesting blend recently… you humans do so many funny but ingenious things with food.”

“Thank you? No, wait, don’t muddle the subject. Something is compelling me to be honest. That’s you, right?”

“Well, as a therapist, I’d hope I have that type of aura.”

“Once again, I don’t need therapy, and you know what I’m talking about. This isn’t a human aura. Also, yes please, I’d love a good cup of tea, thank you.” He breathes in the rich, flowery scent, and it’s heaven, considering how often his nose bled from the dry desert air.

“Now, who said I’m human?” He passes a steaming hot mug to Obi-Wan—not quite a proper tea set, but it gives off a weary, informal vibe Obi-Wan suspects the man is going for. He eyes him up and down and hums. Okay, so not human, but humanoid.

“That’s a fair assessment.” The man smiles, sitting behind the desk and promptly placing his feet on top of it. “I’m an angel.”

“Angels don’t exist,” Obi-Wan replies in a split second. A second later, the entire wall behind the man is filled with the most glorious pair of stark white wings he has ever seen. And just like that, they’re gone.

“You were saying?” the man prompts politely.

“Huh… I stand corrected then.” Obi-Wan blinks, and his head is starting to hurt now.

“Ah, don’t think too hard on it. You’re still processing the whole realization. Just… enjoy the tea and let it sink in as it does.”

“Okay…” He nods at the stranger and sips his tea, trying to relax.

“So… I’ve been taking notes on you… through your whole… flashback thing?”

“Flashback?”

“Yes.”

“That wasn’t a flashback; it was my life.”

“It was a flashback of your life.”

Obi-Wan feels a migraine coming on again.

“Specifically, it’s the 135th full flashback you’ve had so far before I got to you.”

“What?”

“You’ve relived your whole life 135 times so far.”

“That can’t be…”

“Trust me, it is. I have my demons do paperwork nowadays.”

“No, it can’t be, because if I had the chance, I would have changed something… anything.”

“Would you? The longer you go on, the more apathetic and listless you become. That life stripped you of any energy you had. Really, in a way, you’re a case study for the demons working here.”

“You make it sound like I’m in hell.”

The man stood up and went to the window. Flicking the curtains up, he invited Obi-Wan to come, and reluctantly, Obi-Wan agreed. What greeted him was a stony, ash-covered wasteland under a permanently clouded sky.

“What…”

“Hell. You’re in hell.”

“I… but… I’m… oh… okay.” Obi-Wan’s shoulders slumped as his defiance fell into submission again.

“No, not okay. Ugh, you seemed to get that spunk of yours back, and now you’re like this again. Buck up, buddy. You don’t belong here.”

“But I am here!”

“Yes.”

“So how can I not belong in hell when I’m in hell?”

“Ah, see, that’s the beauty of self-determination.”

“The what now?”

“You,” the man pointed to Obi-Wan, “believe you screwed up so badly you deserve to be here.” He pointed downward. “Therefore, you are here.” He spread his arms like it was obvious. “Hell is a state of mind where you yourself are the jailer. Even if all the demons walked out of this place right now, none of the souls here would leave.
Well… maybe not none, but very few—those too narcissistic to be enraptured in their own guilt. The baseline is, your feelings of guilt and self-loathing are what keep you in this dump. Interesting thing is, for most folks, it’s a collage of a few select moments that hold them down. For you…” He tapped the pane on his little wooden board that had notes pinned to it. “And I did watch you—I have the paperwork to prove it—it’s your entire existence.”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to react to that. He’s uncomfortable and reflexively wants to leave.

“Oh, you’re free to leave, if you think you can. But it might just end up taking you to relive your life again… remember, you’re the jailer here.”

“I’ll take my chance.”

Opening the door out of the small room, he stepped right back into the Jedi crèche. He couldn’t believe it...

Chapter Text

Opening the door out of the small room, he stepped right back into the Jedi crèche. He couldn’t believe it.

It was scary how easily everything fell into place. Life flew by, the numbness crept in, until he was holding Jinn’s dying body before he remembered the odd dream of a man with wings.

Blinking, he looked down at Jinn’s prone form. After a moment, he sat back, looking around reluctantly. The room was as he remembered it, but now that he thought about it, he couldn’t see the corridors past the doors. They were fuzzy, and not just because the shields were up.

“None of this is real, is it?” He turned and looked at Jinn’s body with sadness, only to be scared witless when he saw the corpse had its eyes open, smiling at him with a smile his Master never had.

“Sorry, kid.”

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Bartholomew, at your service. I’m the demon that lends a physical form to your Master.” The demon in his Master’s form sat up and brushed off some creases from his robe. “By the way, nice work in that battle. I’ve got to tell you, I’ve watched it over 200 times now, and I never get tired of seeing it.”

“200… but the guy said it was 135… oh… it’s not my first go-around, is it?”

“Sorry, buddy.” All he could do was shrug.

“Why is it so easy to get lost in this? It’s all so… miserable.”

“Kid, I just work here. But I ain’t arguing the point—your life has been pretty shitty so far. You need to start standing up for yourself a bit, buddy.” He punched him in the arm lightly. Obi-Wan snorted a laugh.

“You sound like Quinlan.”

“Love playing the guy. Sometimes I ad-lib my own lines, and you rarely notice,” the demon said with unhidden pride in his voice. In one blink, it wasn’t Jinn before him but Quinlan in his adult Clone Wars body.

“Whoa.”

“I know, right? Sex on legs,” the demon laughed, flexing his muscled arms like he was posing for the Holonet. Obi-Wan laughed.

“This… this isn’t a joke, is it? I’m really in hell, and I’m torturing myself, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but if it makes you feel better, you’re so good at beating yourself up, I’m pretty much the only guy working here most of the time. Frankly, I think you’d keep this place running just fine if I wasn’t here, but… frankly, I like the epic battle scenes. So I tend to volunteer here often.”

“Well, kriff, I’m glad my life can be of some value to somebody. Or rather, that Anakin’s flair for trouble proves to be good visual stimulation.”

“Well, you’re not exactly Mister Lucky yourself. I saw your life—wherever you go, you always walk right into the perfect place for trouble.”

“Yeah… yeah, I do, don’t I? Heh…”

There’s a silence between them before the demon speaks up again. “You know you control this place if you focus. You could turn this place into a cantina with actual booze.”

“I can?”

“Well, you make the decor, I’ll grab the booze. I hate drinking the imaginary stuff.”

“Sounds fair.” Obi-Wan nods and tries to focus. The world gets a bit twisty and bendy, but it’s still the reactor core. His new demon companion laughs and stands up.

“You keep at it. I’ll go for the booze. Choose something nice, will ya?”

“Same to you.”

“Right, right.”

How long it takes him, he doesn’t know. Time in the afterlife is irrelevant. But regardless, he chooses 79’s as the place to be. It’s easy—it’s on Coruscant, and he remembers all the details from Cody’s and the other clones’ stories. Despite their misunderstanding, he holds no ill will toward them.

“Nice job. And it’s even stable,” the barman suddenly speaks up in the demon’s voice.

“Not bad,” agrees one of the Twi’lek girls he imagined to fill the empty spaces. Imagining the clones felt too painful, so he filled the spots with random civilians he remembered from magazines, streets, and missions. He stares at the Twi’lek woman.

“A friend of yours?”

“Sister, actually.” He claps his hands, pouring them shot glasses. “Oy, Lenfri, move your skank ass over here, or we’re starting without ya!”

“Choke on a dick, B, I’m coming.”

“That’s what she said.”

“Not to you, ugly.”

“Hey!”

Obi-Wan laughed a little before picking up his glass. “Well then, to… one hell of a company?”

“Hear, hear!”

And so it goes on for quite a bit. Obi-Wan has no Jedi obligations, just a world he slowly learns how to form and two rambunctious drinking buddies.

--

79’s slowly expanded as the sibs, as he started to call them, brought in more of their family members to drink. Apparently, it was a nice place to unwind after millennia of torturing sinners.

Their stories were fascinating. Slowly, Obi-Wan learned about a world completely separate from his own, ruled by fluid rules and filled with fantastical beings. Millennia slipped by, and his previous life drifted further away. He retained some maturity gained in his life, but the constant company of creatures with no boundaries or moral qualms provided a challenge that made him more lively and flexible. For the first time ever, he was developing himself.

Ending up behind the bar, he put his gifts to use, shaking up all manner of colorful and silly drinks. Sabacc and poker weren’t that far apart. Life—or rather, unlife—was good. He laughed, cried, fought, played, fucked, and even struck up the occasional romance.

“Hey, Benny, need two more Dragon Tooka Tails, one Sler’mo Cock, and a Corellian Bruiser,” called out a demoness named Pepper, the self-appointed waitress of the joint, because somebody had to, and doing this meant not sleeping around with gross old sinners.

“On it,” Obi-Wan called back. Right now, he was behind the bar, beard and hair immaculate as ever, except now his hair was longer, tied with a silk ribbon from one of his lovers in a nice ponytail, dressed to the nines in a spiffy black waiter’s uniform. He really liked this job.

“And I’ll have your homebrew Kote whisky,” came a soft, English-accented voice from right next to the bar.

“Coming right up.” He was rather proud of his homebrew. Looking at the client by the bar, he froze. It was the man from before—same suit, same toothy, wide smile—except this time, he had with him a lady in a nice dress and a younger teen at his side, chewing on a toothpick.

“It’s you.”

“Yeah, me. And look at you—nice place you’ve got here.” He splayed his hand out toward the bar. “I kept hearing rumors about this place but never had the time to pop by.” He leaned a bit closer to Obi-Wan. “You mind if I put a piano over there and play something? It’s mine and the missus’ anniversary tonight.”

Obi-Wan looked the man up and down and shrugged.
“Go for it. Who am I to stand in the way of love?” He picked a whole bottle of his Kote from the shelf and gave it to them with the nicest set of glasses. “On the house.”

“On the house? You take payments from this lot?”

“Nah, everything’s here on the house. Payment is the company.”

“Well then, I insist on at least tipping.” The man took out a silver coin from his pocket, grabbed Obi-Wan by the tie, and slid it into his breast pocket. “For good luck, buddy.”

“Appreciated.”

“You have no idea, Obi-Wan, no idea at all,” the man laughed, grabbing the bottle and glasses and heading off to a newly manifested table by an equally new stage with a nice, sleek black piano.

“To happy times, yeah?” Lucifer shouted out to the hall, and everyone shouted back.

From that point on, Lucifer became a semi-common fixture, him or his daughter. Both were incredible musicians. And it was that which introduced Obi-Wan to the second love of his life.

Making music. He was never as talented as them, but he believed he would forever cherish the few times he got to play with the family.

Chloe Decker was a joy to talk with, someone with the same moral spine he had. Through her, he got to know Lucifer’s strive for justice, and while he wouldn’t always agree with him, he understood the pull.

He drank with the demons, laughed with them, held them when they went through their own struggles as newly free agents. What is a demon if he’s not a demon? was a big concern nowadays. And he got close with the Morningstars.

Unlife was good. Occasionally, he got this nagging itch in the back of his head, like someone was trying to… do something. Pull at him? Call him? It was so distant, like a memory of a scraped knee from childhood; he didn’t pay it any mind.

Up until he woke up in the Jedi Temple, in the crèche, and realized… he couldn’t bend the illusion.

That was decidedly not fun. He looked around at his sleeping clan members and slowly crawled out of bed toward the door. Doors were access points; if he was trapped in a vision, it would be an out now that he knew it could be an out. Perception is reality in hell. Faith is law. He looked back and stopped just before the door with a sad smile, gazing at the young faces of all his friends. It must have been someone else’s illusion—probably done for him as a joke and a gesture of goodwill after he said something.

“Cute, for a bunch of sleeping degenerate demons,” he mused to himself, assuming all the gathered younglings were just that—a heap of passed-out demons sleeping off a century’s worth of libation.

Patting down his hair and fixing a cufflink that wasn’t there to look presentable, Obi-Wan stepped out, expecting to be a grown man again… and he was not.

He stepped into a perfectly normal, quiet corridor with doors leading to other living quarters. There was no frayed point at the edge of his vision; the details were immaculate, and when he touched a relief on the wall, he actually felt its texture.

“This is really detailed,” he muttered to himself, feeling a tinge of panic crawl into his skin. “This isn’t funny… I don’t like this,” he mumbled under his breath, backing away slowly, not really knowing where, until his back hit something warm and solidly alive that made a sound.

Turning around, he stood face-to-face with a slightly older Kiffar looking down at him with bleary, sleep-filled eyes.

“Bartholomew?” he asked weakly, ready to panic. Quinlan blinked a few more times, each blink bringing more awareness to his face.

“Obi… you okay? It’s me… Quin.” The boy’s voice was etched with concern as he lowered it conspiratorially. “Did you have a dream again?” He instantly knew what finding a confused Obi-Wan meant this early in the morning. Quinlan always knew. He was the only person Obi-Wan told after Qui-Gon taught him to ignore the visions.

“I really need you to be Bartholomew,” Obi-Wan said with a very small and sad voice, “and I need to know this is a nightmare.” He begged. Quinlan clearly didn’t understand, judging by the expression on his face, but he hugged Obi-Wan all the same, cuddling him and petting his hair as the redhead sobbed silently so as not to disturb anyone. Then he felt it—there was a pocket in his robe that wasn’t there before, a small breast pocket on the inside of his outer robe, and something small and round was inside.

All day, he looked for signs of an illusion, and by the end, despite his friends’ hard efforts to fix it, he was ready to cry. He needed to be shocked out of his self-pity, and that came when he went to the refresher to relieve himself. Settling down, his brain refused to process what he was looking at.

Oh no. No. No. No, this is a really bad joke! The moment he catches who’s making it, they’ll get his tiny youngling shoe lodged so far up their ass, you might as well attempt to remove it through their throat as a shortcut!

He was a girl! Fumbling with his robes, he heard a soft, melodic clink hit the marble floor and spied, in an instant, a familiar coin—the “tip” he got from Lucifer! Lunging for it, he barely stopped it from going into the sewer grate. He examined the etchings carefully before fishing in his pockets for anything else.

“Come on, come on, there has to be something else here,” he pleaded with the cosmos, but sadly, nothing. Defeated and ready to cry hysterically, he looked once more at the coin and wondered. It was definitely a mystic item. How would one activate it? Would activating it switch off this illusion? Summon someone he knows? Would it work at all, or was it already spent creating whatever it was he was trapped in?

His head hurt. Standing up, he reached for the sink to splash some water on his face and sighed tiredly. It felt crisp and cold, lacking the smell of hellwater—that vaguely ashy and brimstone tang. It also didn’t taste like the recycled water on the Venator. It was exactly as he remembered in the Temple: clean, filtered through complex systems mixing biology and mechanics, making the liquid suitable for most species inhabiting the Temple. The few that needed more had special adaptations in their quarters.

Cooling off, he looked at the coin again and sighed.

“I’ll figure it out,” he promised himself, refusing to accept this was reality. “I will figure it out… I’m not doing any of this again. I can’t.” He groaned and flipped the coin in his hand upward. “Heads, I succeed; tails, I fail,” he joked as the coin flew through the air. Suddenly, something shifted. The Force slowed down, heartbeats elongated, and the constant noise of the room fell silent. He caught the coin in his hand, not even paying attention to how it landed, and looked around curiously. It was the refresher—there was barely anything to see in there. So he stepped out carefully and froze. The whole world around him moved in slow motion. He saw people walking by so deliberately slow, you could see the afterimage as they moved through reality. Clouds that were already still were motionless.

“Wow… okay, this would be useful in a bar setting,” he admitted. He straightened his clothes and stepped out into this odd, slow world. It was incredible. It made him almost completely forget he didn’t want to be in this odd world and now in an odd body. Walking down the halls, he looked closely at some familiar faces, even dared to touch them before scampering off. In slow motion, he watched as the Masters reacted to it, but at the same time, he wasn’t there, so all it was was a ghostly touch. It had undeniable pranking potential.

“If this is how it’s going to be, I can entertain this illusion a bit,” he nodded to himself.

“Excellent! I was hoping you’d say that!” came a familiar, punchable voice. Turning around rapidly, Obi-Wan stood face-to-face with a man dressed to the nines in decidedly non-Jedi attire, slick black hair, and a charming—nay, devilish—smile on his face.

“YOU!” he shouted with his squeaky, prepubescent voice. “You did this to me!”

“I did!” the man answered happily. “Took some cajoling on the part of my siblings, but you were never really meant to be where you were, so… they came around to the idea of a retry eventually.”

“I retried this shit 200 times, and it never got better!” Obi-Wan fumed. “You have the paperwork for it!”

“Yes, and it says try 201 was different,” he argued back with equal fervor. “You broke out of the spiral, you started a pub in hell, and made it work for millennia. You made a change and changed yourself!”

“I don’t know if you know this, Lucy, but change usually means going forward, not back to one’s infancy! This is the opposite of change!” He pointed around himself.

“And why am I a girl?!”

“Ah, that… well, okay, let’s start from the beginning.”

“Karking please, I’d love to actually understand why I’m being punished.”

Lucifer gave an exasperated groan.

“You’re not being bloody punished. YOU, yes YOU, are given a once-in-a-millennium chance to fix things. And NO… no… I don’t mean fix the world or the war. NO. Bad. You leave that responsibility where it is.” Lucifer pointed at him accusatorily, and Obi-Wan crossed his arms in defiance. “No,” Lucifer mouthed again, maintaining eye contact.

“Get bent,” Obi-Wan huffed.

“Oh, for the love of… never mind. Anyway, you are here, you’ve got a shiny new life, a shiny new body that doesn’t creak, ache, or have any STDs. You are more than welcome to take it on the ride of a lifetime and do with it whatever you bloody please… is that not something to look forward to?” The devil looked at him tiredly but with the smile of someone trying to sell you an overpriced speeder.

“And this?” Obi-Wan pointed down at his crotch. “Because I distinctly remember having a dangly bit there for the last 200 runs. And you better have a good explanation for this, Morningstar, because I nearly pissed my own hands trying to grab something that’s not there!”

Lucifer made a soft “ah” noise and smacked his lips, looking anywhere but at the rather cute but crudely speaking tiny human who looked like he could set him on fire with his tiny rage alone.

“Well… see… we both know it’s really easy to slip up and go back to the old way things were. It’s like jumping on a familiar track. You don’t think about it, then BAM, you blink, and you’re on it. You know what I’m describing?” He asked, and Obi-Wan nodded slowly.

“Yeah, so… essentially, I gave you an inbuilt reminder you can’t ignore. Now, every time you go to scratch your nuts, you’ll be reminded… hey, this isn’t my original timeline.”

“Lucy…”

“Yes?”

“When I get back downstairs… you are banned from my club. Indefinitely. And no, I’m not reviewing that decision in this millennium.”

“Now, hold on…”

“Every demon that brings you alcohol from my establishment will be likewise banned.”

“That’s just being extra.”

“And I’m telling Chloe.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

Chapter Text

There was some talking afterward, but Obi-Wan could barely focus on anything, for kriff’s sake, because every single sentence Lucy uttered seemed to only make his migraine grow exponentially. Not to mention, it was starting to sink in that there was no escape from this. He was in the past, truly stuck and trapped as an adult in a child’s body and he had to adapt to a different gender, incompatible with his previous life experience.

He felt strapped for breath, tired yet wound up, and the constant pulsating pain behind his eyes was close to bringing his tiny body to tears.

“I’m done… I’m done for now… come back… I don’t know… just not now,” Obi-Wan sighed, covering his face and fishing out the coin from his pocket.

“Hey, are you alright? You look ready to…” Lucifer started worriedly but didn’t get a chance to finish when Obi-Wan flipped the coin. Suddenly, like an unpaused holo, the world rushed forward. Lucy had vanished, and some Jedi had stopped, confused, in the corridor. “You felt that?” they whispered to one another, but after a moment of contemplation, they just shrugged and kept moving.

Obi-Wan propped himself on the windowsill, sticking his tiny head out. He felt ready to barf, and he really preferred not to do it on the floor where someone could slip and get hurt. Really, he even flinched at the thought of someone getting their robe dirty and being inconvenienced. Then again, his whole existence was one big inconvenience to everyone, so…

“Hey, kid, get off the ledge!” came a sharp voice—a familiar voice that had no business being here in this time period. Turning around, Obi-Wan stood face-to-face with an adult… well, young adult Knight Anakin Skywalker. His former student seemed just as shocked to see Obi-Wan as Obi-Wan felt.

Years of repressed trauma and undigested emotions toward Ani were the single last straw his mental state and small body could take, and he just vomited out of pain and stress, right onto his former student’s robes.

“Ack!” Knight Skywalker yelled, trying to back up but stepping on a bit of bile and falling on his ass.

Obi-Wan vomited profusely until his lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, and only then did his body seem to stop. Breathing haggardly, his face stained with tears, he realized he had attracted the attention of nearly all the Jedi in the hall, who were crowding him, looking truly concerned.

He wheezed and hiccuped, trying to get some air into his system, and the moment he had enough, he just… bolted.

Oh, there were several voices shouting for him to stop and come back right this second, but he was not having it. He pushed off several Force compulsions that would render a youngling dumbstruck and skittered between outstretched hands and Force grabs like a fish between currents. He ran and ran until he outran the voices, the Force presences, and seemingly his own mind, because when his legs finally couldn’t take it and he hit the ground, his brain was ready to shut down, overwhelmed by everything.

Sniffling and gasping, he crawled into the first nearest small, dark spot where he could curl up—a cupboard under a sink—and closed the door behind him.
He didn’t know whose sink this was, in whose room, or how he got there. He just lay there with his eyes open, not thinking, just breathing. It was easier to shut down in the dark. Eventually, when his eyes began to itch, he closed them and promptly fell asleep in the cold, damp space, content to just let himself leave this body right there. If he was lucky, he’d wake up back in his bar after this.

The next thing he knew, he opened his eyes to see two concerned and very familiar young Knights peering down at him, one with dark, bottomless eyes and one with a metal breathing mask.

“Hey there, little fish… you had the whole Temple up in arms,” Kit spoke softly, his smile faltering for only a moment.

“Why did you choose to hide in a place like this, tiny one?” Plo Koon asked sincerely and gently.

They used to be his best friends, Masters he respected greatly and who respected him. They were friends. Or so Obi-Wan thought. But were they really, if he was never truly Obi-Wan in front of them? For all he knew, they would have never liked the real him.

“It’s easier to breathe in the dark,” he said silently, with a hollow voice.

The two Knights shared a concerned look.

“Well, is it okay to breathe now? Or do you feel a burning sensation… or maybe…” Kit tried, prying for answers to find out if he hadn’t inhaled any of the vomit, probably. Obi-Wan shook his head gingerly, regretting it instantly as the small space left his neck cramping.

“No… I just… broke for a moment. I’m good now,” he sighed, crawling out of the cupboard and sitting primly and properly with a tired expression in his hollow eyes. “I apologize for causing a stir and wasting everyone’s time… and… for Knight Skywalker’s robes,” he added after a moment, flinching at the mere thought of Anakin, which made his tummy hurt.

If he was allowed to be selfish, he might just skip that apology. Kids have short memories, right?

“Hey, hey… you didn’t waste anyone’s time. Younglings are the Order’s greatest treasure… we were just worried about you. You ran like someone was chasing you,” Fisto said slowly, like he was addressing a spooked animal.

“I’ve heard you have visions from your crèche master, little one. Was that it? Did you see something scary?” Plo interjected with his characteristic warmth and sincerity. And yet, Obi-Wan just felt it slide off him like water off a duck. What was wrong with him?

“Can’t remember,” he lied, looking at the floor. “Just… too many… things in my brain, I guess…” He did tell the truth, from a certain point of view. “I’ll do better next time… please forgive me.”

Once again, he didn’t see it, but both Jedi Knights looked increasingly perturbed and worried about his behavior, nudging one another to ask something.

“Ah… Obi-Wan? Where… did you learn to shield like that?” Kit finally asked, and just like that, something snapped in Obi-Wan’s brain again. Suddenly, he was overwhelmed. He had shielded for years on Tatooine, and now, as a kid, he employed that same tactic. How many old tricks did he show while running through the Temple? He had given himself away… oh… there goes the do-over.

Slowly, he backed up into the cupboard and closed the doors behind him, hyperventilating. In a dark, quiet box, it was easier to get his bearings. He’d feel bad for ignoring his friends later. Right now, he was too busy trying to force his own mind not to tear itself apart, and yeah, breathing—breathing was important.

Obi-Wan really didn’t know how long he sat there in the dark, even once his mind cleared up. Well, the panic and anxiety did, but all that was left was tiredness and the urge to just cry and sniffle and, for once, feel bad for himself. He was allowed to do that, right? Or wasn’t he? He really should be better at this. Master Qui-Gon would be disappointed. Yoda would be disappointed… Anakin… Ahsoka… Cody… they all got disappointed by him. He failed them all. He was just a failure.

He allowed a deep sigh to escape him as he curled up even tighter before a soft, clawed knock sounded on the cupboard’s door.

“Little one?” cooed a soft voice. “Are you… better?”

Am I? Obi-Wan wondered. I don’t think I ever was.

“I think I’m broken,” he said finally.

“That can’t be true,” came a reply.

“Feels like it,” Obi-Wan countered.

“Yes, I suppose every now and then we all feel like we committed some grievous sin by failing, but trust someone who’s older and has had his share of failures, little one. Life does not end because of one bad day. There will be a tomorrow, and a day after that, and one after, and so on.”

“Yeah, there’s no mistake so big and so dramatic there’s no coming back from it,” Kit added, and all Obi-Wan could think of was the Temple burning and the crèche and… he swallowed hard. But there was a day after that, and after, and after… long, lonely days in the desert, not even allowed to interact with Luke, not allowed to be a Jedi, just admonished by a spirit of a dead man who never truly wanted him. Did Qui-Gon even like him? No… no, he couldn’t, same as Kit and Plo. They didn’t know him; they couldn’t like him.

“I’m broken,” he just repeated blankly, truly believing it and somehow at peace with it. In hell, he didn’t feel it, but then he was surrounded by broken people all the time. It was hard to feel out of place when you’re in a place full of broken individuals like you. He felt needed then, like his brand of broken could help smooth out someone else’s edges. In a way, he found a calling in that. Now, though…

He didn’t have time to ponder it before the door to the cupboard opened suddenly, flooding the inside with light as he was dragged out, scratching and biting like a wild tooka kitten, and embraced with loving aggression by Plo. He was effectively smothered in the man’s arms, no matter how he thrashed about, until he fell limp and just… accepted the torrent of Force, the projection of positive emotions washing around the shields he had put up so intensely that he could feel it leaking in.

“Please let go…” Obi-Wan sniffed in Plo’s arms, but his tiny hands held on tightly to the brown robes.

“No,” Plo stated simply. And it broke something apart in him again, but this time it felt… good-ish. It felt good to be held and hold on. At some point, he must have just fallen asleep. He truly didn’t realize how tired he was. Even though it felt like he napped in the cupboard, it also significantly felt like his body didn’t rest at all due to the stress. Now, everything in him just went limp and gave up.

--

He woke up in the crèche, surrounded by a pile of warm bodies huddled around him like a safety blanket, and he actually sighed happily at the feeling. He almost forgot how safe and nice puppy piles felt as a kid. Yes, they still felt phenomenal as an adult surrounded by… demons. Surrounded by demons. He didn’t want to think about the vod right now—all the implications and so on.

“Bi bi?” Quinlan mumbled sleepily. “You awake?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled softly. “I need to pee,” he answered, and Quinlan, ever the older sibling, helped them wiggle out from the pile and walked with Obi-Wan to the refresher, going in with him.

“I don’t think you’re allowed to go into the girls’ bathroom,” Obi-Wan mumbled, feeling suddenly embarrassed about this body but playing it off as a joke. Quinlan shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s okay, I got permission from the crèche master.”

Obi-Wan stopped before the cubicle.

“Permission? Why did you get permission to go into the girls’ bathroom, Quin?” she asked slowly, and Quinlan looked to the side, stubbornly refusing to answer.

“Why did you get permission to follow me into the bathroom, Quin?” she asked again, stepping closer to him. Quinlan turned a bit darker, like he was flushing internally, and puffed up his cheeks in a way that indicated he was trying not to chew on the inside of his mouth in frustration. Obi-Wan’s adult brain went over all the possibilities before stopping at a conclusion.

“Oh… oh… you… you were told to follow me, weren’t you? So I… don’t run away?”

Quinlan looked intently at the floor, his hands swaying by his sides nervously.

“You scared a lot of people, Obi… they came and asked us a lot of questions, and we were told to keep a close eye on you because you were… not okay.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan sighed. This was exactly the type of attention she always tried to avoid. Now everyone would know how needy and insecure she was, how much of a fraud her whole Jedi path was. There was no chance to be a Jedi this time around. No Master would want her.

But did she really want to be picked anyway? she thought suddenly and defiantly. Do I want this life I had again? A life with hands tied behind my back and this suffocating shell of a life? Is there a way I could be a Jedi and not be… that? Is there a way? There has to be… I mean, even a broken bowl can still be used as a scoop or a weapon. There has to be a use for her, even if she grows up crooked and broken and not perfect.

“Obi?” Quinlan’s gentle voice brought her out of her deep thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“I… I don’t think I am…” Obi-Wan answered thoughtfully. “But I don’t think I’m… I think I can be better. I just need to figure out how.”

“You mean how to find a Master to train you? I’m positive there’ll be a lot of Jedi interested in you; you’re talented and smart…” Quinlan said enthusiastically, and Obi-Wan smiled, blushing a bit.

“No… no, I don’t think anyone will have me… or at least… I don’t think I want to be had by those who would.”

“Obi?”

“I… um, had a vision. That a Master would take me on… and… and I’d be a Jedi…”

“That’s awesome…!” Quinlan cheered but then noticed Obi-Wan’s face looked somber. “…Isn’t it?”

“Not really… I… um… I really hated that life. Really hated it. I want to help, I truly do, and I feel it in me—I’m meant to be a Jedi… but I don’t think I can do… that… again and again. I… Quin, he hated me every step of the way, and then threw me away… and I tried so hard… every bit of me felt wrong and broken and…” She was breathing hard, and Quinlan instinctively embraced her and just held on.

“It’s okay… I don’t know who that kriffer is, but you don’t have to go with them. We’ll find a way.”

“How…? Nobody else will pick me.”

“Well… then I’m going to pick you,” Quinlan said with a grin. “I’m going to become a Knight first, and if by then nobody picks you, I’ll take you on, and you’ll still be a Jedi.”

“Quin, by that time, I’ll be in the AgriCorps…” Obi-Wan looked at him with pity.

“Good, I’ll know where to find you then. Easier than chasing you down across the galaxy.” He bent down and started tickling Obi-Wan, who shrieked and laughed and swatted at him.

“Seriously, though… even… even if you go to the AgriCorps, I’ll find a way… it’ll be only temporary, I promise.”

“Heh… Quin, don’t take that type of responsibility on yourself…”

“Shut up and let me big-brother you,” Quinlan whispered into Obi-Wan’s hair, and for the first time in forever, it felt like things would be okay. Somehow.

Weird things started happening from then on—or perhaps not weird, per se, just different. This timeline was definitely different than the previous one, she noticed. For one, she was a girl. Two, Anakin was apparently born and found early and was Master Jinn’s Padawan, now a newly minted Knight.

Obi-Wan didn’t know how to feel about that. If anything, a part of her was happy they got to be the pair they were meant to be, that Ani got the Master he deserved. Surely, this time around, he’d just be better. It also made the feeling of complete failure settle on her even stronger. No matter, she supposed. None of this matters. Anakin will remember her as the kid who puked all over him and had him embarrassingly fall into a pile of vomit in front of a hall full of Masters. If he remembered her at all. He used to keep quite a list of grudges as a teen. Obi-Wan always hoped he had grown out of it, but then… what did she know? It’s not like she saw her own brother, whom she raised, falling.

She sighed deeply, looking at her crayon drawing. It was so silly—just a house on sand. She supposed it was a bit advanced for her age, but she was no artist, so…

“Oh, Obi-Wan… I didn’t know you understood perspective,” one of the attendants said, sitting by her and looking at her drawing. Looking down, she really didn’t see what was so interesting about a few tricks she picked up from the plethora of artists in hell until she gazed at everyone else’s flat, two-dimensional drawings.

“I don’t know what that is…” Obi-Wan mumbled like the little liar she was, and the teacher gave her an odd look, especially since she still saw the perspective lines on the paper. Reaching out for her cup of juice, Obi-Wan made sure to spill the dark brown liquid all over the paper.

“Oh no…” she pretended, using the drawing to dab away the liquid, crumpling it.

“No, no, Obi, you’re destroying your work!” the teacher tried to stop her gently.

“It’s okay… it’s not that good,” Obi-Wan dismissed, throwing the soggy paper into the bin before the teacher could get it. She reached out for another piece of paper and just… doodled tookas until the bell rang. As she left class to go to meditation, she froze on the spot, seeing that the Jedi assisting the class that day was none other than Count Dooku. Her gaze fell on the man’s Jedi robes and younger, softer face, and she forced herself to relax. This wasn’t Tyranus… this was Jedi Master Yan Dooku. She reminded herself: He is not a Sith and might never be.

She breathed in harshly. It’s not my job to fix the galaxy… this run is different. The world is different. I’m only a crècheling, it’s not…

There was a solid pat on her back, and Obi-Wan exhaled rapidly. Apparently, at some point, she had stopped breathing, and Quinlan was on it.

“That him?” he asked conspiratorially, looking suspiciously at the older Jedi who was keenly watching them in that way adults do when they don’t want to be seen observing you.

“Nope… but I know him,” Obi-Wan answered, her voice very quiet and strangled as bits of cold sweat dotted her skin. Quinlan frowned.

“But he’s on the ‘not interested’ list, right?”

“Oh, he’s on the list, alright. I’d sooner jump off the main tower,” Obi-Wan answered and instantly regretted it as Quinlan looked horrified.

“I’m joking… but… yeah, it’s a no,” Obi-Wan tried to soothe her friend. She was the older soul here, and it was her responsibility to soothe.

“Don’t ever joke like that,” Quinlan huffed. They were about to keep talking when Bruck and his friends elbowed past them, knocking Obi-Wan to the floor.

“Hey!” Quinlan protested. “Apologize!”

“For what?” Bruck asked, feigning innocence, only to look at Obi-Wan, who was standing up. “Oops… sorry, I barely noticed nobody over there,” he dropped his voice not to be overheard, then added louder, “Need help?” His tone was condescending, even as he reached out to help. Obi-Wan just looked at him with pity. She had somewhat forgotten how petty Bruck Chun could be, but it all paled in front of the boy’s future.

“I’m fine, Bruck,” Obi-Wan stated calmly, straightening her robe. “But do pay more attention in the future, Bruck. Thinking forward helps avoid… things.” She sighed, looking at her tormentor with sadness and pity, which only served to unsettle the bigger boy and anger him more.

Before Bruck could muster some sort of comeback, a large shadow loomed over them all. Turning around, the kids realized they were under the imposing gaze of the older Master. Bruck was immediately starstruck and feverishly fixed his appearance. Obi-Wan, on the other hand, held the gaze of the older man with cold indifference.
There was a soft probing at her shield—a curious, not malevolent one—but all the same, Obi-Wan decided that since everyone knew she had shields, she might as well use them. They slammed down on the not-yet-Count’s Force fingers like a durasteel airlock door.

Dooku straightened, surprised, as Obi-Wan smiled politely and just a bit smugly.

That’s what you get for probing at a lady.

Weird things started happening from then on—or perhaps not weird, per se, just different. This timeline was definitely different from the previous one, she noticed. For one, she was a girl. Two, Anakin was apparently born and found early and was Master Jinn’s Padawan, now a newly minted Knight.

“Is everything alright here?” Dooku asked calmly, paying far more obvious attention to Obi-Wan than Bruck. The reaction was instantaneous—the anger and jealousy that filled the air as Bruck looked at Obi-Wan like they stole something from him. But underneath that was… so much fear, sadness, and desperation.

Why hadn’t I seen it before? Obi-Wan wondered with pity. Right… I didn’t notice because I was the same way. Bruck is older; he feels the clock ticking more than I do…
Then she looked at Dooku and wondered. Maybe they’d be good for one another? No. No, Bruck needs someone steady and reliable to guide his anger. If Master Dooku is still to fall… he’ll drag him down with him, and they’ll die all the same.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Obi-Wan finally said, walking past the older Master to everyone’s surprise. “Come on, Quinlan, the lesson’s running late.” There was no point in acting nice and respectful. If Dooku thought less of Obi-Wan, he would be less inclined to be around her.

It was a shame in that moment that Obi-Wan failed to remember how badly the older Master liked a challenge.

“Is he still watching?” Obi-Wan whispered to Quinlan, who looked back.

“Like a hawk.”

“Bugger…” Obi-Wan concluded, sitting down as far away as she could in the back, which was noticeable considering the rest of the class crowded forward to get as close to the older Master as they could.

“Pa… ehem… Initiate Kenobi, was it?” the Master addressed Obi-Wan. “Wouldn’t you like to come closer?”

“It’s a designated spot,” Obi-Wan answered. “I see well from here.”

“But do you hear well enough?”

“Enough to have a full conversation,” Obi-Wan pointed out defiantly. “I’m ready to listen, Master.” Dooku grimaced but then smiled, almost with enjoyment, looking at Obi-Wan like she was a prize to be won.

It was instantly off-putting. It also made something in Obi-Wan scream in defiance. He… eh… she would not be dragged back into the disaster lineage! Not by Dooku, not by Master Jinn… or Anakin… even if he ever tried to ask… maybe Ahsoka… but as far as she could tell, Ahsoka wasn’t here yet, so… so maybe she could finally be her Master. A burst of optimism sprang through her before it died again.

Can’t be a Master if you’re not a Jedi, and Jinn was the only one to want you, a small voice in her head said. Obi-Wan deflated visibly, watching as Master Dooku explained to the younglings the intricacies of the Force. In her last life, Obi-Wan didn’t remember seeing the man… ever. He was too busy to come down to the crèche, and if anything, he preferred the older students learning swordplay. Made sense—he was, after all, a generation-defining Master swordsman. Shame all that got wasted by Sidious… by the war…

The weight of a previous life just kept piling on Obi-Wan’s shoulders the longer she thought about it. Then, suddenly, she was picked up from the ground, surrounded by Master Dooku’s Force presence lifting her, and… a sharp memory of being thrown across a room into a metal wall overwhelmed her system. She pushed back so violently that all the levitating children were suddenly dropped. Except none of them had her ability, and instead of landing on all fours and instantly getting back up, they all landed on the floor in a heap of tears, aches, and hurts. Every single one of the kids looked at her with betrayal on their tear-streaked faces, and it dawned on Obi-Wan what she had done.

“I’m… I’m sorry… I… I got startled…” she mumbled, and before anything could be said, she bolted out of the room.

Some time afterward, senior Padawans Plo and Kit found her again in the abandoned quarters. This time, she didn’t sit in the cupboard, just on the couch, trying to meditate but failing. Young minds were extremely hard to quiet down.

“This is going to be a thing, isn’t it?” Kit asked, sitting next to her on the left while Plo took the spot on the right.

“I’m sorry… it… I just… it was too loud,” Obi-Wan struggled to articulate her thoughts while also not lying to her dear former friends. What a sad, pitiful sight she must be right now. She sighed out loud.

“Is that why you Force-punched Master Dooku and made him drop everyone?”

“Kit!”

“What? Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Everyone’s gonna hate me now… and I wasn’t that liked before, either.”

“Pfft… nah, you’re good. Kids have short memories; they’ll forgive you before the end of the week.”

Chapter Text

They did not, in fact, forget. Obi-Wan was quickly labeled a weirdo by the other kids, with some help from Bruck, who kept the memory alive. Quinlan, Bant, Garen, and Reeft stuck by her like glue, but Siri drifted away, and Obi-Wan didn’t chase her. Honestly, she didn’t chase anything, besides perhaps an exit every time someone from her old lineage decided to pop up in the crèche. She had an uncanny way of sensing everyone, from Master Yoda to Anakin, and through several close calls, she avoided them all.

“Why are they here so often? They never used to be here this often,” she groaned to herself one night where she actually had to implore the hell coin to get away from a three-way attack—Master Yoda from the left, Anakin on the right, and Master Jinn just waiting passively for her to bolt toward him. “It’s like they know… like they remember… but that’s impossible.” She held herself tight, arms rubbing her own shoulders. “Impossible, impossible… if they remembered, they’d do everything to avoid me… it must be because I piqued their curiosity… ugh… LUCY!”

“Present…” came the same charming voice she was now used to. He sat there on the marble bench with his perfect grin and immaculate black suit.

“Is it possible they remember?” She ran up to him, clutching his pressed black pants in her small hands. “They act like they do! I can’t deal with them hunting me like this!”

He looked at her, a bit disbelieving.

“Hold on, you think they remember you? As in, a previous life?” He laughed, exasperated, but it only made Obi-Wan look at him with narrowed eyes. She knew this man for what seemed like centuries, and she could pinpoint him being nervous in a millisecond.

“You don’t know?” she countered, her tiny hands on her hips.

“Pfft, of course I know… there’s no way. You must be paranoid… unless…” His optimism lost steam fast.

“Unless what?!” she almost squeaked, and he flinched.

“Heavens, your voice is at a pitch right now. Why on earth did Father decide to give tiny tots like you such shrill voices, I’ll never know,” he attempted a deflection, and Obi-Wan was having absolutely none of it.

“So, bastards like you don’t ignore us. Now answer the damned question!”

“Sheesh, okay, okay… well, I made the request, and it was approved… but I’m not the person who did the groundwork, so to speak… so… there is a tiny, tiny chance some wires got crossed…” he said with a soft smile. “But, hey, it’s good, all’s good… even if that’s the case, you know them like your own di—ah… right… like the back of your own hand,” he corrected, and Obi-Wan just stared at him for a long, long, painful moment before turning back around and clambering over one of the railings that led straight into the abyss that was Coruscant’s lower levels.

“What are you doing?” he asked, standing by her curiously. Looking down, he frowned. “This place is a dump, isn’t it?”

“Yep… I’m going back to my pub. See you in a bit,” she said with surprising ease and just smiled like it was the most obvious thing in the world as she allowed her body to dip beyond the balustrade and start falling.

“Wait, what?!” Before she could even get a few good meters down, there was a rustling of wings, and he jumped after her, encasing her tiny body in a flurry of feathers that were whiter than white and shone so bright they made her eyes bleed from the corners alongside her nose. No mortal mind was meant to see them as they were, and her body was buckling under the stimulation. They landed a few levels down, where she was sat down on a crate rather forcefully as the man in front of her absolutely lost his osik over her.

“What is wrong with you?! I gave you life, I gave you a chance at everything, and you just… jump off the mother-karking ledge like you’re going swimming! How about a bit of gratitude for all I’ve given?!”

“I don’t want anything you give me! I want to go back to hell, to mind my pub and live out the rest of my eternity in peace!” she screamed back.

“You were never at peace! You named every drink after somebody you knew and filled the entire pub with shells that look like your friends. You were living a lie! I gave you a chance at an authentic life, a life where you’re free to choose everything!”

“I chose my hell, and you didn’t seem content with letting me keep it!”

“That is not… ughhh… why am I arguing with a kid? You are so immature!”

“I’m more than 300 years old, I know 90 languages, and I can use magic to scorch even your ass. Don’t you patronize me! It’s enough you cut off my dick in this life; you don’t get to cut off my choices!”

“Your choice is to kill yourself! That is not the same. I chose to give you things, not take away from you.”

“Now that’s debatable,” she crossed her arms defiantly, looking at him like he was an unruly Padawan.

“Oh, so you’re not happy to see that Quinlan guy, or the fish girl, or those two knuckleheads you call friends? None of that makes you happy? Not the squid man that smiles at you or the bug-headed one with a mask… nothing? I did nothing at all here?” he shot back aggressively.

Obi-Wan flinched visibly. He didn’t raise a hand at her, and yet it felt like a gut punch. Years of repressed sadness and self-loathing spilled out like a punctured, feverish pustule.

“None of them like me!” she wailed. “None of them know me! They all think they do, and they like that person I was, not me.”

“Bullshit! They don’t know a different you than the one you are right now. They like you.”

“No, they don’t,” Obi-Wan cried out.

“Why?” Lucifer growled, his frustration hitting a peak.

“Because even I hate myself! If I can’t like myself, how can anybody else like me?! The only way they can like me is if I deceive them, pretending I’m something I’m not. They don’t like me; they like what I can be for them!” she yelled until her voice gave out.

The rest was an incoherent exchange of barbs she couldn’t even remember. Her brain felt like overboiled sugar mush, both moving too volatile and too slow at the same time. The world was just too much in this current iteration, and for once, there was no cupboard under the sink to hide in. So, she took out the coin, tossed it in the air, and made the world move again because, even if it got louder, nobody was actually talking to her.

Not much changed outside of Lucifer disappearing. They were really deep under the Temple. For someone her size, it was a very dangerous place to be. Force, it would’ve been dangerous even if she was an adult. A bit stiffly, she walked forward until she came to a place that had something more than a flickering dim light and skittering, rat-like creatures looking at her with contemplative eyes and hunger.

A scurry caught her attention long enough to register something. A bunch of bigger predators were corralling a borrat the same way she got triangulated today. With a frown, she walked over, not just scaring the beasts but picking up the measly bones-and-skin rat and just holding it.

“If I don’t get to die today, neither do you,” she said softly, projecting calm and safety at the thrashing animal that was biting her hand until it bled, probably giving her some nasty infection, but at this point, she welcomed it.

With a sigh and a new friend to pet, she walked forward again. Lights flashed from passing speeders, and she could hear life was just an alley or two away. Who knows what she’d find there? A den of debauchery and crime, no doubt. But who was she to judge after so many millennia in hell indulging in her own vices?

She walked and walked, avoiding the livelier spots and choosing random pathways and lifts as the Force dictated. Listless, she followed the gentlest of pulls until she found herself right in front of Little Kaldeba. Oh, this was not the place she wanted to be in. Damn. The rat nestled warmly in her robe squeaked and peeked out at the mention of food. Without thinking, she crouched down near a trash can, picked up a piece of flatbread, and gave it to him. Better to satisfy his tiny tummy before he goes running off into an alley full of warriors with blasters on their hips and impeccable aim.

“Don’t run off here, or you’ll end up in a pot,” she counseled the animal, which just squeaked dismissively, tracking crumbs all over her neck.

“You think Mandalorians eat rats, adika?” asked a slurred, slightly combative voice. Obi-Wan turned around to look at an older warrior with many scars dotting his face and a good chunk of nose missing.

“I think you customarily have a refuse pot in your kitchens that you empty into the bin when it’s full, instead of going there with every stray scrap,” she explained emotionlessly. That was, at least, how it used to be when she was on Mandalore. The man paused and regarded her carefully.

“I haven’t seen you ‘round here before, ade. Whose your buir?”

“Nobody you’d know,” she shot back and kept walking. It wasn’t like she knew anyway. She just needed to get through the alley to the next lift. The not-so-even steps behind her alerted her to the fact that this man was following her—heavy, crunching armored boots. People were starting to pay attention.

“I just want to get to the lift,” she stated clearly without turning around.

“You’re a bit too small to be wandering around on your own so deep in Coruscant’s underbelly. I can tell by your clothes you’re not from around here… you look like…” The man stopped, his voice suddenly tensing and more calculating.

Wonderful, she thought to herself. Now he’s put the pieces together. There was a strong hand clasping her forearm, and she turned back to see the man now seriously peering down at her.

“You’re a baby Jedi, aren’t you?”

“Babies wear diapers,” she huffed back. “I’m fine.”

The man beckoned someone with his hand, and there were a lot more people surrounding her now, casually sizing her up while holding bowls of tiingilar or skewers of grilled meat. The smell of the familiar spices made her really hungry, but before anything could happen, the tiny rat in her robe ran up the older Mandalorian’s arm and made a valiant effort to bite the other part of his nose off. Savage little critter that it was, it almost went flying into a vat of boiling oil in one of the stalls. Almost, because Obi-Wan was right there, panicking, making a leap of faith right after him and dunking her tiny arm into the boiling mess just to spare the tiny screaming animal.

The ensuing chaos was intense and absolutely insane. Everyone became activated like bees in an attacked hive. She was dragged up and back into the kitchen area, where her upper half was stripped, and her whole arm was dunked into freezing water. Someone took the borrat away, and she screamed her head off after him. Everything hurt so badly it felt like her brain was slamming into a wall. The absolute pain threshold had been reached, and there was nothing her limited body could understand past this point, so it just shut down. The world moved in slow motion as someone with a medical symbol on their pauldron rushed in and started treating the skin peeling off her arm, bit by painful bit.

It was kriffing funny because Obi-Wan knew for a fact she had lived through far more painful things, and yet this was where her brain decided to call it quits today. Or maybe she got some sort of sedative, and she hadn’t noticed? Where’s my rat, anyway… hope he didn’t get stomped to death in the commotion.

When the world started darkening at the edges, she concluded she was definitely drugged, and while she still had the knowledge to filter out the poison from her body, Obi-Wan just couldn’t find the drive to fight it in her.

She woke up a few times, as far as she could remember, groggy, in pain, and drip-fed something that made her feel really giggly. Nothing compared to the hell-grown stuff, but still pretty good for someone who wasn’t even fully 10 years old.

There was an older Mandalorian, who she assumed was with his son or assistant, tending to her. He spoke softly in Mando’a, and at some point, she couldn’t help herself.

“You feel like a big, fluffy bear…” she said groggily with a smile, startling the man. “Like a really big, scary one with a lot of scars… but still fluffy and safe… and nice,” she rambled on, and someone in the room broke the astonishment with a wicked cackle. The baar'ur turned around like a whip and growled at the unseen person.

“See… bear,” she giggled and flinched as her arm pulsed and hurt. They had to activate some sort of drip after that because she just drifted off again.

The next time she woke up, there was that old, grizzled Mandalorian with a missing bit of nose and a black eye sitting next to her, talking to a young man who looked like…

“Cody?” she asked quietly. The boy startled and looked at her, his buir perplexed, not really knowing if he was being addressed. All it took was looking a bit too closely for her to start crying.

“You’re not Cody…” she sniffed. “I miss Kote…” she cried, and both men freaked out severely.

“Aii, shh, adika… it’s okay. Is Kote your friend? Is that why you were in Kaldeba, looking for him?” the older man asked.

“No… I jumped off the Temple balcony,” she sniffed, and there was a cold, freezing feeling in the Force. “And you won’t find Kote because he’s not here yet, and he probably won’t be, and if he is, he’ll hate me. And before then, you’ll die because Montross will betray you and set you up on Korda VI, and then he’ll batter Jango, and… and it’ll all be a setup. They’ll use the Jedi to kill the True Mandalorians, and then Jango will be a slave, and then… then he’ll break out, and he’ll be mad and make the clone army, and Kote and his brothers will be born to live as slaves and die, and… and I think I just murdered about six million people just telling you this.” She cried loudly and hysterically, her vitals spiked wildly, the machines started screaming as she got sedated again. The last thing she heard was a very perturbed—

“What the kriff was that?” from a young Jango.

“A vision from the Ka'ra, ade.”

Next time she woke up, she was loopy, but there was a man with long black hair and Jedi robes there. He spoke softly, but there was something dripping and venomous in his voice, a shadow overcasting his eyes, and a horseshoe-shaped scar on his cheek.

“Xanatos…” she whispered tiredly. All conversation in the room ceased, and she could see Xanatos reaching into his robes for something. His smile tightened, and his eyes narrowed like a predator’s. Jaster approached her bed slowly.

“He’s the Jedi Master sent here from the Order. He says he is your buir. Is that true?” he asked gently but firmly, his own hand tightly around the blaster. One wrong answer, and there would be a deadly shootout in what was most likely a hospital.

“He’s my vod'ika… I’m too young to have a Master yet… unless he’d like to take me on…” she answered lazily, trying to diffuse the tension yet being too groggy to muster any care toward herself. She turned to Jango. “Can you take care of my borrat for me? I don’t think the Temple would let me keep it.”

Jango flinched, not letting his eyes off the stranger—his eyes just as predatory and suspicious. Instinctively, he knew a predator when he saw one, even if his logical brain tried to explain it away.

“This is hardly the place for propositions like that, Initiate Kenobi… but… yesss, I’d love to take you with me,” Xanatos said with his patented wide smile, like she had just walked into a trap. She returned that triumphant stare with indifference.

“Then you’ll have to carry me… I feel really drunk right now,” she said simply, nodding to the drip. “This is almost worth having your arm skinned.”

Everyone in the room groaned at the joke except for Xanatos, who looked a bit taken off guard and just smiled awkwardly.

“You’re a bit too young to be a connoisseur of drugs, little one.”

“Hardly call it connoisseur—not like I can help constantly being hooked up to something,” she rolled her eyes.

“Well, perhaps if you were less problem-prone…” Xanatos felt a bit of an annoying twitch come over him.

“You don’t get to lecture me on that,” she snapped back, and then there was tension in the room again—except now it was more predominantly between her and her estranged lineage sibling. The rest just felt uncomfortable.

In the end, she knew there were only two options: she could say the truth and refuse to go, which at best would result in a shootout and Xanatos fleeing, or at worst in a Jedi-led massacre like that on Galidraan occurring far earlier than scheduled. Or she could go with her lineage sibling and hopefully get sent off to the bowels of hell.
Xanatos lifted her up surprisingly gently, trying to make a show of his care as Obi-Wan rested her head on his shoulder with a drunken smile.

“You think you won this round, but I’m not playinggg…” she sang into his ear. “I’m okay with dying. I’m even more okay with being an absolute nuisance in the meantime,” she promised him, awkwardly raising a hand to pat the man’s dark hair.

Xanatos gave her a questioning side-eye but said nothing as Obi-Wan smiled so widely her mouth hurt.

“What did you give her exactly?” the wanna-be Sith asked the medic, who in turn skeptically offered him an empty bottle of sedative. Xanatos wrinkled his nose a bit and shrugged. “She wasn’t lying, saying it’s the good stuff… please send your bill to the Temple; they’ll reimburse you, I’m sure,” he said with a wolfish smile.

“Send the least trigger-happy guy you have,” Obi-Wan advised from her place on Xanatos’s shoulder. “Preferably somebody that likes talking.”

“Okay, that’s enough out of you,” Xanatos patted her head and tried using a sleep compulsion, which Obi-Wan swatted away like an irritating fly.

“You are not getting your way that easy, vod,” she chirped quietly but settled down for the time being, patted her pet rat goodbye, and off they went into a car that was too wealthy-looking to ever belong to a Jedi. “Really?” she asked as he tossed her into the back seat. “I suppose money can’t buy common sense. You should have opted for something… less flashy?” she tried, pointing out. In her previous life, Xanatos was a tragic, traumatic memory. Obi-Wan didn’t know him at all until the day Master Jinn had taken her on, and suddenly all the hate and anger his older lineage brother had in him was heaped upon her. Worst yet, he used Bruck’s fear to get at her.

She looked at Xanatos and hummed from the back seat. If he gets me now? Does this mean he won’t go after Bruck? Can I save at least one life? Her small brow crinkled. Oh, Obi-Wan knew perfectly well this whole Sith thing was too big to solve on her own—the Republic was corrupt and struggling. Even if Palpatine died, there was really no saving all of this. Maybe there wasn’t even a way to truly save the Jedi Order as it was right now. But… there had to be a way to save more of them, to soften the blow perhaps. If not for everyone, then for those she loved, even if they didn’t love her back truly. She owed them a lifetime of loyalty, some good memories, and so much more. It wasn’t their fault she was a ruin that dragged everyone down with her.

“It’d be a lot easier if I didn’t feel like a fish swimming through molasses,” she commented loudly, watching the hover cars fly by and suddenly deciding this was not a good idea. The constant flash of lights and sharp sound of the horns made her motion sick as heck.

As they stopped at a light, she looked to the side. It was an old, beat-up transport ship, and behind the wheel sat a familiar Besalisk former—or perhaps current—gun smuggler. “Dex,” she muttered to herself and blew on the glass to fog it up.

With her finger, she wrote a short, visible message: “KIDNAP, CONTACT THE JEDI, OB K.” Force only knows if he saw anything, because the fogged-up window obscured his image for Obi-Wan. If not, feh… why was she trying to escape anyway? This is what she wanted, no?

Mustering her energy, she all but fell onto the front seat. Xanatos gave her a look from the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Obi-Wan waved at him.

“Eh… hey,” he answered back, sounding pained to still be pretending.

“You’re going to killl meee…” she sang sweetly. Once again, he gave her a look but smiled venomously. “Ooh, can I overdose?” she suddenly asked enthusiastically. “Please?”

They almost rammed into upcoming traffic as Xanatos completely lost it and turned fully around, losing sight of the changing light.

The momentum of the sudden stop threw her back into the passenger seat.

“Ouch! Hey, I meant kill me! Not us!” she protested.

“What is wrong with you?” Xanatos asked with a growl. “You think this is a joke?”

“Pfft, no. I know who you are, and what you want to do… also who you want to spite by doing it.” She said, laying down on the seat, her tiny legs pushing into the back of Xanatos’s chair as she annoyingly poked at him. “I’m okay with it,” she said out loud. I’m also okay with annoying the hell out of you till it’s done, she thought to herself.

“Stop it.”

“Make me.”

The car suddenly lifted up and did a few clearly illegal maneuvers that rolled Obi-Wan from one side to the other of the vehicle.

“How’s that?” Xanatos asked venomously, and Obi-Wan responded by throwing up all over the middle dash where all the controls were.

“I had worse,” she said defiantly as she thought of Anakin crashing their ship into an enemy vessel. “But this time, I actually can throw up,” she commented with a smile. “You know, it’s fascinating how much that actually helps. We really shouldn’t stigmatize having a natural body function as adults,” she rambled… and rambled, making Xanatos more and more frustrated as he drove and questioned several of his life choices.

Chapter Text

Qui-Gon Jinn's quarters in the Jedi Temple were a far cry from the opulent halls Dooku once favored or the cluttered mechanic's den Anakin preferred in botch life. They were simple, almost ascetic, with a low table surrounded by worn cushions, a steaming pot of herbal tea—Qui-Gon's latest blend from some Outer Rim herb—and a plate of plain biscuits that looked like they'd been part of a emergency ration pack. The room smelled of incense, faint and earthy, meant to promote calm meditation.

Today, it did little to mask the tension hanging in the air like a storm about to break.

Qui-Gon poured the tea with deliberate slowness, his long fingers steady as he handed cups to his former Master and his... well, in this timeline, his former Padawan. Dooku accepted his with a polite nod, his aristocratic features schooled into neutrality, though his eyes flicked disapprovingly at the humble setup. Anakin took his without a word, slouching on his cushion like a coiled spring, his mechanical hand—already a fixture from some early mishap—tapping rhythmically against the cup.

"Thank you for coming," Qui-Gon said, his voice calm as ever, though the Force hummed with undercurrents of unease. "It's been... enlightening, these shared visions of what was. The Force has given us a second chance, it seems."

Dooku sipped his tea, his posture impeccable.

"A 'second chance,' you say? More like a cruel taunt. The galaxy unravels differently now yet stays the same—Sidious's shadow lingers, but without the boy... without him." He set his cup down with a soft clink, his gaze sharpening. "Or should I say her? The child in the crèche—Obi-Wan Kenobi, altered but unmistakable. She must be brought into the fold properly."

Anakin snorted, nearly spilling his tea.

"Properly? You mean under your wing, old man? No way. Obi-Wan was my Master—brother, whatever—in the other life. He grounded me, kept me from... i…i owe them this, after everything." His eyes darkened, memories of Mustafar and Vader flashing unspoken between them. "She's got that same fire. I felt it when she puked on me. I need to train her, show her the ropes right this time. No more holding back. He…she..will love it."

Qui-Gon raised a hand, ever the mediator.

"Peace, both of you. We're on the same side—for now. The lineage endures, but Obi-Wan... she's the key. In my visions, she was the bridge, the one who held it all together despite my... shortcomings." His voice softened with rare guilt, recalling the rebukes, the rejections on Bandomeer and Melida/Daan. "I failed her once. This time, as her Master, I can guide her toward the Living Force, away from the Council's rigidity. Towards the true light"

Dooku leaned forward, his elegant fingers steepled.

"Your 'shortcomings' are precisely why she needs a firmer, more precise and understanding hand, Qui-Gon. She is a potential blade at risk of being dulled into a blunt tool. Under me, she'd become refine, a force against the corruption festering in the Republic." His eyes gleamed with ambition, the seeds of his fall already sprouting, though he cloaked it in talk of reform. "The lineage demands excellence, not your... mystical wanderings."

Anakin slammed his cup down, tea sloshing over the edge.

"Honed? You mean broken, into a pet? Obi-Wan doesn't need your cold lectures. He—she—needs someone who gets it, who fought the same battles. We were a team! Without him, I..." He trailed off, the unspoken Vader hanging heavy. "She's mine to protect this time. No more leaving her behind."

Qui-Gon sighed, rubbing his beard.

"Anakin, control your attachments. Dooku, your pride blinds you. We all remember how it ended—the war, the fall. Obi-Wan was the light we dimmed. If we pull her in now, gently, we can restore balance. But fighting over her like a prize… she already avoids us like a plague. I fear we have come on too strongly."

Dooku arched an eyebrow. " Perhaps she senses our... history." He paused, a sly smile creeping in. "Or perhaps the Force has already whispered to her. If she remembers—"

"She doesn't," Anakin cut in, though doubt flickered in his eyes. "She's just a scared kid. But if we approach her together—"

"Together?" Dooku scoffed. "And tell her what exactly? To choose who she wants, or that we remember her being an exceptional jedi with an exceptionally miserable life? By all means young skywalker go ahead and bear your truth to her it will make it easier for the rest of us to sound sane "

The argument simmered, voices rising in hushed barbs—Qui-Gon invoking the Force's will, Dooku his legacy, Anakin his raw emotion. Tea grew cold, biscuits untouched, the "family tea" devolving into a verbal spar. Yet beneath it, a shaky truce held: they agreed to observe Obi-Wan more closely, probe her shields subtly, and "guide" her back. For now, they were Jedi, united by memory and want. But as they parted—Dooku with a curt nod, Anakin storming out, Qui-Gon lingering in quiet regret—the air crackled with unspoken rivalry. The lineage's disaster loomed anew, and Obi-Wan remained the unwitting prize.

--

Xanatos’s vehicle came to a stop in front of a seedy establishment somewhere close to the spaceport. Obi-Wan pressed her hands to the window and gazed longingly at the flashing neon signs and tinted windows. It wasn’t 79’s, but it was built in a similar time period and thus looked sentimental to Obi-Wan. Chewing on her bottom lip, she was almost surprisingly energetic when Xanatos opened the door and made a move to yank her out, but no—she was already a few steps ahead, stopping before the entrance, entranced.

“You’re not afraid?” Xanatos asked, surprised and suspicious, gazing at the awestruck kid below him and then at the entrance to the seedy hellhole he was clandestinely financing to have a foothold on Coruscant. Most kids would be absolutely ready to cry their heads off being taken to a neighborhood like this after getting seriously hurt. Heck, this whole day, as far as he knew, was hell for a tiny tot like Obi-Wan, and yet she was energetic and suddenly more optimistic than she was high on painkillers.

“I want a pub like this,” she said with big eyes, looking at Xanatos and grabbing his hand, pulling him toward the entrance.

“The kriff…” he snarked but allowed himself to be pulled. The bouncer by the door looked at his boss and the tiny kid with both surprise and curiosity. He was an older Twi’lek with sharp teeth.

“Boss… didn’t know you had a kid,” he started, and Xanatos just looked at him in a way he hoped showed how much he absolutely hated this situation, but before he could verbalize anything snarky, Obi-Wan piped up confidently.

“Common misconception. I’m the one who has him, actually. Now show me to the bar, please and thank you!” she chirped, dragging her lineage brother past the stunned bouncer, who started cackling as they passed, abandoning his spot by the door to come in and watch this unfold.

The inside was smoky and dim, with few patrons, and the few they had were complaining and pity-flirting with a Togruta bartender. She had an hourglass figure and a chest size that could only aptly be described as “village feeder.” Obi-Wan stopped looking at her and then gazed at her own pre-pubescent body. No, she could not imagine having that size. But it did make her wonder: what would it be like to have boobs?

“Oh, now you’re shy?” Xanatos teased.

“No… I’m just wondering what size boobs I get when I’m her age…” she stated rather honestly. There was no reason to lie. If hell had taught Obi-Wan anything, it was that quite often the truth was so absurd it really didn’t need a lie to mask it. At a certain point, people would just censor reality themselves. Also, she was curious how long it would take for Xanatos to break and toss her out—or could she actually get him to drop her off at the Temple? It was a long walk from here, after all, and she had tiny, short legs.

Xanatos looked down at her tiredly. He had spent a whole car ride indulging her absolute nonsense stories. “What is wrong with you?” he finally asked when he spoke up, and she gazed back at him honestly, without malice.

“You want the list alphabetically or by date?” Lucifer, after all, did have paperwork nowadays.

With a tired sigh, he marched up to the bar and signed something at the bartending Twi’lek, who instantly started pouring him a mix that made Obi-Wan just shudder.
“No, no, no… no,” she stated firmly, and the glass levitated out of the surprised girl’s hand as Obi-Wan confidently trotted behind the bar. Xanatos leaned over, as did a few other patrons, to watch this tiny, bewildering creature pull a bar stool over, climb it like a drunk tooka using only one hand, and start flicking through bottles displayed on the wall behind.

“Um, sweetie, this isn’t—” the Togruta started gently, casting a questioning look to her boss, who just put his head in his hand and waved a dismissing hand. He was a bit too tired to deal with this, and all he wanted right this second was something strong.

“It’s okay, I’m a professional,” Obi-Wan assured the lady with the cutest smile, earning a few “awws” from the collective of drunks. It took a few minutes and pointing out what she needed, but before long, Xanatos was given a round barrel glass of a blue liquid with a mint leaf in it and some ice.

“501 True Blue,” Obi-Wan stated confidently, placing it before him, grinning with pride. Oh, she always wanted to use the actual alcohols from Coruscant in her drinks, not just the hell mock-ups. This was thrilling, and it felt like home!

Xanatos looked at her, then at the drink. Everyone was paying attention, including the bartender and bouncer. He sniffed the glass and felt it in the Force. Nothing seemed to be amiss, so with a grimace, he slammed it down. It took him a bit before he blinked and pushed the glass toward Obi-Wan.

“One more.” Obi-Wan wasn’t ashamed to say she actually bounced up and down with joy for a few seconds, her kid body overwhelmed with absolute delight at being back in a familiar role, before she could compose herself. Straightening out and trying to look proper, she curtsied on the bar stool she was using to stand and very politely replied, “Coming right up.”

As she was busy mixing things, the bartender walked up to Xanatos with a bit of a bewildered look.

“When I asked for help, I was thinking of somebody a bit older,” she admitted. “How old is she?”

“Not old enough to be mixing drinks,” Obi-Wan piped up, once again beating Xanatos to the punch, who was starting to get somewhat used to it. The chair rolled forward on its squeaky wheels as Obi-Wan came back with two drinks: one 501 True Blue for Xanatos and a second one, colored like a nebula in soft pinks and purples, in a small shot glass for the bartender.

“Corellian Highway,” she stated proudly, giving the girl her glass. The Togruta looked at her oddly but accepted and tried the offering.

“Holy kriff, this is good,” she sputtered out and quickly covered her mouth, looking perturbed at Obi-Wan. “Don’t repeat that.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Obi-Wan responded with a soft smile, feeling like her old self again, eyes crinkling with delight.

“Hey, what about the rest of the loyal patrons?” one of the regulars piped up, and the bouncer eyed Xanatos’s blue drink curiously. Obi-Wan felt, for the first time in a long while, not just happy or fulfilled—she felt in control of her own life, even if she had to precariously navigate the bar at a quarter of her original size!

Obi-Wan didn’t even notice when Xanatos staggered away into the back rooms to do some shady business. She frankly couldn’t care less. Even if this trip ended with her in a slave collar again, back in the deep-sea mines where she would surely die at this age, she had this moment. You can’t threaten someone who has nothing to lose and no fear of death. Obi-Wan paused as she polished the used, chipped glasses to a sparkle. Well, it wasn’t completely true—she had things to lose. She had people she cared about. Her energy levels were dropping rapidly, and the endorphin high that kept her awake as the drugs worked their way out of her system made her groggy and oddly hungover. Her arm was starting to itch, and the previous bravado was starting to yield to more rational, cynical thoughts.

She looked back at her reflection in the glass wall, distorted by displayed bottles and glasses. It almost looked demonic. Is that really me? she thought to herself tiredly. Two hundred years reliving my own life, three hundred bartending in hell, yielding to every debauchery I could just to… not confront this. She looked tiredly but intensely at her reflection. Who am I? If I’m not the person everyone wants me to be?

Those thoughts ate away at her and made her mood rapidly dim. Instinctively, she poured herself a drink and was about to down it before slender Togruta fingers whisked it away.

“Oh, no you don’t,” the woman chided with a hiss. “You start drinking now, you’ll stay short like that.”

“Listen to the lady,” a man laughed.

“Well, I heard men like short girls,” she huffed, with her hands on her tiny hips. “We fit better in bed.”

The bouncer snarked and laughed.

“Yeah, and if you act out, we can just plop you down on top of the cooling unit. Not like you can get down.” The bar exploded with laughter, and Obi-Wan grumbled. Well, it could have been worse—at least Anakin wasn’t there to laugh at her… or anyone else she knew. To lose a contest of wit with a drunk… Force, she needed a nap. A real one, not a drug-induced one.

Then a woman, surprisingly well-dressed, shy, and nervous-looking, entered the bar. Everything in her posture screamed anxiety, and Obi-Wan would know—she had spent most of her life feeling on the inside how that woman looked on the outside. She approached the bar gingerly, staying a good distance away from all the patrons, and addressed the Togruta.

“Um, excuse me… I’m looking for my husband… Xa… Xanatos.”

“Ah, Miss Tura,” the Togruta said with a smile. “The boss is just in the back finishing up some business. Please, take a seat.” The atmosphere suddenly got tense, and everyone avoided looking at this random shy woman, and she avoided looking at them.

Tura, Obi-Wan mused. I know that name. Where do I know it from? She’s involved with Xanatos, but I don’t remember even meeting her face-to-face… maybe if I could get her last name.

“Can I get you something, miss?” she piped up sweetly, prodding the woman gently with the Force. Startled and surprised, Tura looked at Obi-Wan, bewildered, then at everyone else.

“I… you… you’re a bit small to be here, aren’t you?” she asked carefully, looking her up and down like she suspected something nefarious. Obi-Wan almost felt sad for her. She was with Xanatos, and while she probably didn’t start thinking badly of him, she was now clearly jittery and suspicious of her beau. Love holds one to delusion for dear life, Obi-Wan thought sadly as an image of Cody flashed through her mind.

“Yeees, I am, but I just make the drinks…” She glared mock-seriously at the Togruta. “I’m not allowed to drink them because apparently… it’ll make me short. And that’s a bad thing.”

“Nobody said it’s a bad thing, kid, more so convenient. You get mouthy, you can be put in a standard-size kitchen cupboard for a timeout. That has its merits,” the bouncer said over his drink. “How about you mix something up for the lady instead of snarking, kid?”

“Oh… oh no, no, I… um, I can’t. I’m… I’m on medication, it… um… I can’t mix it with alcohol,” the woman offered clumsily and way too fast. Everyone was suspicious now. Obi-Wan poked at her with the Force again, and there it was—a baby. Xanatos was about to be a dad. That prompted a flash of memory. Back when Anakin was young, they met Xanatos’s son! Ah, what was the name? Yes… Granta! That poor woman… Heh, maybe she could offer her some advice or something. Force damn it, Xanatos could have at least left a fund for his own kid. How absolutely irresponsible. She huffed to herself, looking like she was seriously thinking about something.

“I’ll make you a non-alcoholic lemonade,” she declared sternly as everyone looked at her, expecting something on par with all her concoctions. In all honesty, this was a bit of a novel experience for Obi-Wan. The only person in hell to order non-alcoholic was Chloe when she and Lucifer would visit. She smiled faintly, mixing the juices.

Yes, she was mad at Lucifer, very much so, for a myriad of very good reasons, most of them would stand up in court. But she also missed the type of camaraderie they had back then, back when she didn’t have to think about who she was—she just… existed and was, for once, happy and in the moment.

“This one’s called Chloe Decker,” she said, putting a fruity, tea-like drink in front of the woman. “Also has ginger in it, so you’ll feel a bit warmer.” And less nauseous, she thought to herself. Succubi were a very good source of information about aphrodisiacs and medications of the womanly sort.

“Oh… that’s… not what I expected,” Tura examined the colorful glass and tiny umbrella. She sipped through the straw carefully and smiled. “Ah, this is actually pretty good.”

“I know my craft,” Obi-Wan tried to humble-brag, leaning backward and cracking her fingers. The whole display was mitigated by the fact that she toppled over with the chair and was barely caught in time by the Togruta bartender, only to be plopped down on the counter as the lady went to clean up the mess the chair made, knocking glasses off the shelves as it went.

“I’m so sorry… oh no… please let me help!” Obi-Wan was on her way to climb off the counter to fetch the dustpan before she was picked up by the scruff of her robe and pulled back to the counter. Xanatos was there, looking fed up at her.

“Stay,” he pointed at her and only then noticed Tura, his demeanor shifting noticeably.

“Tura… what… what are you doing here…” he asked, almost nervously, sounding more like a fresh Knight than a mob boss. “Please don’t tell me this gremlin made you sick with her stories.” He patted Obi-Wan on the head extremely hard, and Obi-Wan took great offense to this. Her stories were fascinating! She had met a plethora of absolutely brilliant, savage, and crazy people in hell, and she could entertain for days, thank you very much! All she told Xanatos was her musing about Van Gogh’s ear—that was it. Hardly sick.

“Oh, no… no… she made me a really nice drink,” the lady smiled at Obi-Wan, who smiled back. “So… um… is she… your… sibling’s kid?”
“No,” Xanatos answered swiftly with a deadpan.

“I’m his Padawan,” Obi-Wan said out loud before her brain could fully process why this was a bad idea. Both the woman and Xanatos looked at her and blinked several times, absolutely shocked. So she knows Xanatos used to be a Jedi. Interesting. Obi-Wan kept on smiling like a cat that had just knocked something expensive off the table.

“Y… you adopted a child without telling me?” Tura asked, her voice so small and sad, and Xanatos reeled back like he was struck.

“No! No, no, no… absolutely not, I would never take her on as a Padawan.”

Obi-Wan mock-gasped, looking sad and almost teary-eyed.

“Don’t say that,” Tura admonished instantly. “No, sweetie, don’t cry…”

“Boss, that was…”

“Not cool, man.”

“Uh, I… ah… Tura… what was it you came to say?” Xanatos rather abruptly changed the subject, feeling just a bit anxious about his loss of control. Nothing since acquiring the tiny Jedi had gone to plan.

“You two should probably talk in private about this,” Obi-Wan said, her voice normal, not even mock-sad suddenly. Then she pointed at Xanatos. “Be happy and don’t say anything stupid.”

“Weren’t you just on the verge of tears?” Xanatos asked, one eyebrow raised questioningly. Obi-Wan shrugged.

“I’m a tiny lady; I’m allowed to change my mood on a dime,” she proclaimed, trying to sound like a diva, which was absolutely hilarious said out loud by a tiny, childlike voice. A few people in the pub covered their mouths while concealing laughter.

“Well, maybe we could… um… it’s… actually, I don’t think I have to say… you’re Jedi after all, so…” Tura looked with those big, dark eyes at Xanatos expectantly, like he should know, and he had no idea what it could be about. Hesitantly, he looked to Obi-Wan, who looked at him, then her tiny eyes darted down toward Tura’s belly. It took a few minutes for Xanatos to feel it in the Force, but once he did, his eyes went wide, and he was at a loss for words. Obi-Wan leaned back, kicking her lineage brother.

“Say you’re happy, dunce,” she prompted, and Xanatos, just to be defiant, lifted his wife up in a hug happily. Obi-Wan sighed and watched the two young lovers have a moment of pure light.

What a life.

Chapter Text

Xanatos sat in the front row of tables along with Tura and their young son. It was the grand opening of the club, and as a primary sponsor in this limited-guest extravaganza, he felt really proud of himself that he had snatched Obi-Wan from the jaws of the Jedi Order—especially since it frustrated his former Master and, indeed, his whole lineage. It was a personal point of pride… even if the gremlin child gave him a fair share of trouble and grey hair with her constant disappearing acts. And so what if he had a tracker embedded under her skin when she became a teenager and went off to war on Mandalore? He was, by all estimates, her legal guardian—heck, as close to a parent as he could get—and he was rightfully allowed to take countermeasures to keep his gremlin of a Padawan safe and in a relatively known position.

Was it a bit unethical? Yes. Was it necessary? Also yes. He wouldn’t be taking any more questions on this topic, thank you.

Obi-Wan entered the stage in a modest dress, her hair neatly done in a complex yet humble braid, barely any makeup present. She was the epitome of innocence and class, a pure, perfect lady. Xanatos had to hide his snicker in the glass of provided alcohol.

“If I didn’t know her, I’d be fooled,” he whispered to Tura, who gently nudged him in the side with her shoulder.

“Be nice; it’s her big night,” she chastised. “She just came back from a civil war. Maybe she’s finally ready to calm down.” Tura, who was fully on board with being the mother figure Obi-Wan needed, never lost hope in her step-gremlin.

“Have you met her?” Xanatos countered, crossing his arms with a smile. “If anything, she’ll drop a bomb on us all tonight and smile through it like it’s nothing big.” He scoffed, accepting his son to sit in his lap for a minute while Tura cleaned his cake-smeared face.

The lights dimmed as Obi-Wan took the mic and thanked everyone gathered. There were plenty who Xanatos vaguely knew, like the Besalisk weapons dealer who somehow squeezed himself into a suit, the Nabooian senator and his wife, an oddly elegant gentleman with a wide smile and a blonde woman, and a whole slew of people that, if he looked too closely at them, made his head hurt. He swore some of their faces melted if he focused too much.

“In addition to being so happy to share my new club, LUX, with you!”—the handsome man whistled and clapped for some reason—“I’m here also to use this occasion to tell the people that mean the most to me a very important thing.” Dread boiled up in Xanatos’s gut as, predictably, the gremlin teen mounted a bomb in front of them.

“I’M PREGNANT!”
—
Xanatos woke up with a start, heaving and gasping for air, his pupils dilated as unknown emotions raced through him like podracers on Tatooine. Tura woke up beside him, looking at her husband questioningly.

“Honey?”

“I have invited a gremlin into our lives…” he gasped out, breathing slowly. “Or maybe she’s a demon… a demon gremlin… can you exorcise those?”

“Sweetie, you’re not making any sense. It was just a dream. Come back to sleep, love,” Tura kissed him tenderly, gently pushing him down into the plush mattress on board his flashy traveling vessel.

---

Obi-Wan did not, in fact, sleep well—if at all—though she was more tired than she could actually say. There was no word for the type of feeling that inhabited her small brain besides maybe paradoxical. Because that’s what it was: she was so sleepy she could not sleep. She meditated, she tossed and turned, and even had a bit of a frustrated cry.

It wasn’t even like she was in a jail on a hard stone floor, or on Tatooine where she slept on a mattress so flat it might as well have been the durasteel slab below her. She was in a nice, cozy first-class suite on an expensive cruiser made for a diplomat like Xanatos’s father. The mattress was soft, the covers were warm, and the pillows fluffed and smelling of fresh linen.

“What am I missing?” she wondered out loud as she sat on the floor. She didn’t have this type of problem in the crèche. What did she have there and not… oh. The puppy piles, Quinlan’s cuddling. She had forgotten how hard it was to sleep once upon a time until she started inviting demons into her bedroom to sometimes just sleep off hangovers. It wasn’t even about the sex—that still felt weird after her original life—but the closeness. Then, in the crèche, she was surrounded by her friends’ auras and Force presences, and it all finally felt okay. It felt okay to relax and sleep, even if she didn’t know what the night would bring. Instantly, Lucifer’s angry voice hit her like a brick: “So I did nothing here?!”

“Fine, you did something, asshole,” she mumbled to herself and looked around cautiously, almost expecting a triumphant “AHA!” It never came. She reached into her robe to find the coin. She stared at the golden bit for a long time, thinking. She probably should flip it and apologize like a responsible adult for her tantrum. That was really unbecoming.

She put the coin away and dragged the cover from the bed onto the floor, where the carpet was cooler and firmer. Good thing she was a small kid and could put things off, citing forgetfulness.

I will apologize. Eventually, she promised herself, squeezing her eyes shut as she pretended to be just a heap of trash on the floor. Just not now. Maybe when I have a bit more dignity to spare.

--

The morning started with a lot of shouting as Xanatos, assuming Obi-Wan had escaped, kicked the pile of bedding on the floor, which caused Obi-Wan to scream, and that caused Xanatos to scream. Now Tura was standing by the kitchen table, looking at a small child glaring over a cup of steaming tea at an adult man who glared back at her with equal vigor over his mug of coffee.

“You two are really similar; no wonder you chose her as a Padawan,” Tura commented softly, breaking the glaring contest like an expert magician. Both Obi-Wan and Xanatos looked at her with absolute betrayal in their eyes.

“We are not in any way alike,” Xanatos stated firmly. “She is a gremlin!”

“I wasn’t the one who had a habit of eating berries out of the fridge at midnight like some vitamin-C-deficient troll,” Obi-Wan shot back, remembering the few times Jinn could actually be coaxed to say anything about Xanatos. It was late in her apprenticeship, and Obi-Wan strongly suspected his sharing was her Master finally letting that pain go. Doesn’t mean she won’t weaponize it, though.

Xanatos gasped like he was shot, instantly almost crawling over the table to loom over Obi-Wan.

“Who told you that!?”

“A lady does not gossip,” Obi-Wan shot back petulantly with a sharp, wide smile, before sticking out her tongue at Xanatos in a far more age-appropriate display of petulance.

“You little… ugh!” Xanatos huffed a few times as Tura slowly pulled him back into his seat.

“Now, now, I know we’re all a bit on edge from this morning, but that’s no reason to be mean. Xanatos values you, darling; he’s just a bit perturbed after the dream he had of you,” she tried soothingly. Tura would make a good mom in the future—she was gentle and loving and, in Obi-Wan’s opinion, far too pure for someone like Xanatos. That said, maybe if she stuck around, she’d be a good influence on him.

Oh, like you were a good influence on Anakin? the intrusive voice in her mind started sarcastically. Or are you ready to admit you’re just a bad influence on anyone and everyone in your life?

Obi-Wan ignored that train of thought with all she had, choosing instead to focus on what Tura said.

“You had a dream about me?”

“Yeah…” Xanatos huffed, hiding his face in the mug of black, steamy goodness topped with so much milk it would make a coffee lover nauseous. Cody would be absolutely disgusted by this decadence, Obi-Wan thought to herself idly. “I had a dream where you opened a club named LUX.”

Oh? Obi-Wan perked up; that sounded nice. Maybe it was a vision?

“Yeah, you were giving a speech on stage for the opening, and then you dropped a bomb on everyone that you were pregnant.” He waved his hand around in annoyance. “And you were, like, a teenager that just came back from a war zone… uh… why did I have to see any of that…” he complained audibly as Obi-Wan’s mind spun.

Pregnant? Her… well, yeah, she could do that now, couldn’t she? It’s funny how, only over time, the differences in sex actually occurred to her. She would have boobs… eventually. Maybe she should ask what size she could be settled with according to the vision? Anyway, she would have boobs, and boobs are for feeding kids, so yes, she could successfully engage in sex when she’s older and have a baby. It was so obvious yet so… unfathomable. Things really won’t be the same, will they? she mused before her brain clicked at a specific detail.

“Wait, you said I came back from a civil war? Like… Mandalore, maybe?” she asked carefully.

“Uh, yeah… something like that,” he rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, but Obi-Wan’s brain was already working overtime, putting pieces together. If it was Mandalore and she was there during the civil war… that means the baby could be… Korkie!

“I’m going to be a mom!” she shouted out happily. Both adults looked at her like she was crazy. Obi-Wan composed herself and sat back down. “Eventually,” she added softly, trying to avoid suspicions and wondering who the mysterious partner would be since Satine was, after all, a woman. And would it really be Korkie? Oh, she hoped so. It was… heartbreaking back in her original life to find out he was… that Satine did that.

Of course, he felt Korkie was his son in the Force. Of course he did—why wouldn’t he?! But what was there to say? The boy had two parents who seemingly treated him well; he lacked for nothing and had more than Obi-Wan could ever offer. Satine was close to him, even if not as a mother as she should be… it just hurt not to be told. Back then, Obi-Wan justified it. Korkie was about as Force-sensitive as Obi-Wan, so he barely cleared the passing point. It was so barely, in fact, that had Obi-Wan’s own life not been in danger on Stewjon, he would not have been admitted. Korkie would have been left with his mother, and he would have had to make a choice to leave the Order or leave his family behind. And, frankly, back then, staying wasn’t an option. Hell’s bells, even now, Obi-Wan suspected it wouldn’t be. Satine was an intoxicating dreamer, but Obi-Wan was just too jaded by life and war that seemed to chase her down at every occasion.

Well, she was realistic, too. Let’s be honest—she sold Korkie for a political favor to her cousin and his husband, a small voice in her head drilled again, and Obi-Wan squashed it. Yes, yes, she had found out later, much later, after Satine’s death, when a personal message was delivered to him. And merciful Force, how many times can one woman break a single man’s heart? Love was not meant for Obi-Wan; Obi-Wan was not meant for love. That was the moral she had taken then and stuck by till now. But to not be a Jedi, to own a club like LUX, like Lucifer had reminisced about, to have her own child and train them and love them—surely a mother’s love can’t be cursed, right?

Fingers snapping before her face pulled her out of her musing as she looked at Xanatos’s sour face.

“No,” he pointed at her and stated authoritatively.

“I didn’t say anything,” Obi-Wan defended, sipping on her cooling tea.

“I can see you thinking. I don’t know about what, but the answer is no. And I’m not discussing it,” he stated seriously, pointing at his eyes and then at Obi-Wan to let her know she was watched. Tura was ignoring their squabbling, making pancakes at the counter.

---

Anakin ran through the halls, his breath coming out in shallow gasps as his feet hit the floor so rapidly he might actually have been walking on air. He turned the corner sharply, almost barreling into the former Count, who took no time at all to admonish him for his disheveled appearance and un-Jedi-like behavior.

“Obi-Wan was kidnapped!” Anakin gasped out, barely catching his breath, which cut off any further comments. The man looked as if he was just struck by thunder. Whirling around with his cape flaring just so to look dynamic but not wide enough to get snagged on anything, he declared stiffly, “We must find Qui-Gon and plan our next steps.”

Skywalker looked at him, feeling a wave of irritation wash over him, but he didn’t dispute it, following the old man closely. Once they found Jinn meditating under the large tree in the Temple holding a borrat in his lap and patting the creature with care, they noticed he was rather politely discussing something with a big Besalisk . When he noticed his family members, he smiled brightly, but it didn’t reach his eyes, which remained serious.

“There you are. I was just given some intel about Obi-Wan’s whereabouts. It seems she was last seen by our friend Dex here heading toward the Coruscant spaceports in a rented car. According to Master Syndraling’s report, she was picked up from Mandalorian care in Little Kaldeba by an individual posing as a Jedi Master.” His face tightened, and his eyes grew distant. “His name was Xanatos.”

Dooku exploded nearly instantly.

“I told you this would happen if you allowed that dead-end threat to persist! That boy had it out for you ever since he met his father. There was no reason to give him a second chance.”

Qui-Gon looked down, his jaw clicking, before turning to his former Master. “There is also no reason for me to give a second chance to you, and yet it seems I continue to be a hopeful fool.” He stood up as Dooku froze in place, startled by his practically son’s coldness. There was something dead and frozen in Jinn’s eyes that Dooku had never seen before, and it stabbed at his heart deeply. Qui-Gon stood up from his spot and nodded at Dex.

“That’s a discussion for later, though, for when I can meditate on it all. Right now, I will take responsibility and close this matter alone,” he stated firmly, and Anakin made a choking noise behind him.

“You don’t get to make that call! Not alone. Obi-Wan is important to me, too.” He hesitated, looking at Dooku, and after a moment added with a face suggesting he just swallowed something unpleasant, “She’s important to us all.”

“Young Skywalker is right. This might be our chance to not just prove our intentions this time around, but it will also serve as atonement,” Dooku added after a moment, looking at Anakin like he was some strange, exotic beast he had just now noticed. For the first time, he referred to him respectfully, and it left both parties uneasy.

“If I can’t stop you, I can’t stop you,” Jinn said with a sigh and walked toward Dex.

“He will try to shake us off,” Anakin assessed grimly.

“Indeed,” Dooku agreed sternly. They were not friends, but as creatures who had plunged into the mire of the dark side, they held and shared a common understanding of the world.

Chapter Text

Life was truly a series of unfortunate events. Obi wan once saw a book with that title and even though he never read it. He never forgot it.

Obi-Wan sat quietly as a thug-looking Weequay pirate plopped her down in her new cage. She sighed loudly and belligerently, looking back at the man who had her tied down. He looked back, eyebrow raised, and pointed at the floor of her cell.

“Stay here.”

“Why not there?” she pointed at a chair outside with her tiny head.

“Because you’re a prisoner; you stay in the cell,” the pirate explained, and Obi-Wan gasped, putting on her most exaggerated look of surprise.

“Nooo? Really? I assumed the ropes were a party game,” she replied sarcastically, and the pirate huffed.

“Just for that, you’re going hungry today.”

“Fair enough; a lady has to work on her figure early,” she shot back dismissively. The pirate knelt by her, sizing her up seriously. He reeked of unwashed leather and poor hygiene.

“You think I’m some sort of joke, little lass?” he asked, bending so close Obi-Wan could pinpoint every single cavity in his mouth. Cringing away from the smell of chewed tobacco and alcohol, she replied, “Jokes have punchlines.”

“You’re lucky your parents will be paying more to have you back unscuffed, kid. Why, if I spoke like that to my pappy, I’d have my ass handed to me for dinner.”

“Explains the breath, but hardly a punchline,” Obi-Wan huffed. Xanatos wasn’t paying for her release when they got boarded—he was all too happy to give Obi-Wan up as collateral to save Tura. Fair play, Obi-Wan reasoned; she was about to offer the same deal. After all, she risked nothing. If things went bad, Tura was pregnant and… maybe, just maybe, she was the only link Xanatos had tethering him to any form of light. They promised the pirates that if they let them go, they would instantly wire money to pay the ransom for the “poor, poor daughter” the moment they could.

Obi-Wan watched the pirate stand up and make a move to walk out of the cell. One stray Force push, and he was just enough to the side to walk into the doorframe and knock himself cold.

“Well, look at that—not exactly a punch line, but at least you’ll have something funny to share when you wake up,” Obi-Wan smiled, stepping closer to her captor’s prone form and rummaging around in his pocket awkwardly as she was still tied up. First things first, she procured a small knife to cut her bonds, then the cell door key and everything else that could be considered valuable.

“Stealing is a sin, so let’s just say… it’s a donation, yeah?” she joked, fishing out several credits from the man’s pocket. Xanatos wasn’t about to pay, and she was light-years away from home; she needed funds to at least get a shuttle back to some sort of civilized world.

Using the card to lock her captor in the cell, she ran off merrily into the bowels of the ship, using the Force to avoid guards. Climbing a door to see through the viewing port, she saw a mass of wiggling tentacles inside. Are they animal smugglers? she wondered. Or are they just masking as legitimate cargo haulers? After all, they had a variety of things on board, as she managed to glean from her short trek through the corridors. This ship was way too big for just a small ram-and-rob operation.

Honestly, who’s running this? Attacking a small vessel with a hulking monstrosity like this, especially one looking affluent, was just asking to bring the Jedi and Republic on their heads.

Finally, she managed to find a datapad next to one of the doors. Thanks to it, she could potentially see who she was dealing with and on whose orders. Flipping the coin in the air, she saw the world slow down. Thankfully, Lucifer seemed to be absent this time around. It made her as relieved as it made her uneasy. Lucy was a friend—a tremendously tone-deaf one, but a true and honest one nonetheless. Not to mention that, among the astral planes, having him watching your back meant more than anyone could understand.

Hunkering down, she started hacking the pad. It wasn’t that complicated—would have been easier if she had more tools, but a few savvy tricks learned from older Quinlan to get past the lock and into the raw files of emergency protocol were all it took to give her everything she could want. The first thing she saw made her facepalm.

“Hondo Ohnaka’s Wildlife Import-Export Company.”

“When did the galaxy get so small?” she moaned out, dropping heavily against the wall. Idly, she scrolled through the manifest, and it seemed legit, but then… it had a few positions that made her pause. They were vague, sticking out in a manifest that had species and sex listed very clearly. She compared the dates—they were later than all the animals. Were these perhaps other hostages like her?

She stood up, determined. Hondo wasn’t the type to trade in people, per se—if he capitalized on anything, it was bounties, and even then, only if he could catch somebody with minimal risk to himself. Because no matter how feverishly he proclaimed Obi-Wan was a friend, Hondo Ohnaka had only one person he always prioritized: himself. He would never get involved in something that would overtly put him on the chopping block. Crazy coward, but not a fool.

The Force guided her down the halls toward the misnamed cells. Using a Force jump, she clambered to the viewing window of one of the doors and froze, falling back on her ass so hard it made her lose her breath. Or at least she thought it was the fall, because breathing was suddenly very uncomfortable after that.

The cell was full of young adults and children with heavy slave collars—the specific make and model she knew from… from… Bandomeer.

I’m fine, I’m fine, the Force is peace, she chanted to herself as memories flooded her brain. She rubbed at her neck where she used to have a scar from the collar’s electric prongs that were nailed into her flesh.

I’m fine.

Rubbing at her neck became scratching as she feverishly tried to get something that wasn’t there off.

“I’m fi… fine…”

She pulled at her skin and scratched until it was raw, her breath coming in shallow gasps like there was, in truth, something around her neck getting tighter and tighter.

Get it off…

Get it off!

GET IT OFF!

--

Xanatos leaned back in the plush pilot’s seat of his sleek shuttle, guiding it through the glittering hyperspace lanes toward Telos IV, his homeworld and seat of his governorship. The hum of the engines was almost soothing, but it did nothing to drown out Tura’s voice, which had been a relentless thorn in his side since they’d escaped the pirate ship. Tura sat across from him in the co-pilot’s chair, her arms crossed, her dark eyes boring into him with a mix of determination and disapproval that made his skin crawl.

“We’re going back for her, right?” she asked pleadingly, with a hard edge that made it sound more like an order than a question. Xanatos sighed and kept looking
forward, feeling her intensity in the Force boring into the side of his head. “She’s your Padawan. That makes her a part of this family. You basically adopted her,” she pointed out sternly. Xanatos grimaced to himself.

“It’s not… I really didn’t take her on as a Padawan.” She looked at him with big, wide eyes, like he’d said something shocking.

“But she’s a Jedi youngling, right?” she asked pointedly, and Xanatos just responded with a nod, stubbornly looking forward.

“And you took her off Coruscant, where the Temple is,” she pointed out again, distressed. Xanatos felt a cold prickling start at the base of his neck as the Force warned him this was going in a bad direction, yet he kept stubbornly silent.

“Xanatos, if she wasn’t your Padawan and you took her off-planet, we kidnapped her… Why did you kidnap a small child?” she asked, her voice sweet but laced with a sharp edge, like a vibroblade covered in silk.

“It’s not like that,” Xanatos finally answered, looking back at Tura, who sat in the seat next to him, full pregnant fury on display, arms crossed. “She can’t be my Padawan… because I’m no longer a Jedi,” he quickly filled in, and that seemed to calm Tura down a bit.

“But you took her on regardless?” she asked hopefully. Xanatos looked away again and nodded diplomatically, stating, “Her being with us was the will of the Force, and maybe this was the outcome she was here to make.” He hated how closely he sounded to Qui-Gon right now. It made him feel dirty.

“Xanatos!” He sat up straight as Tura almost shouted into his ear, as well as into the Force.

“What?”

“You are going back to get that girl! Or you’re paying the ransom… or both. You will bring that child back home to us, where she belongs!” she stated sternly, already practicing her motherly voice. “My son will not be born upon his sister’s grave!”

“Sister?!” Xanatos scoffed, absolutely flabbergasted. “I don’t remember siring a gremlin. For all we know, she’s probably already taken over the ship and is running it like her private fiefdom!” Or she’s already dead for mouthing off to her captors, a smaller voice quipped in the back of his head. Tura was unmoved by any of this; she sat there stone-faced, looking at him like she was waiting for a child to finish throwing a tantrum.

“Tura… love, please. I know it’s hard, but you and our baby are the priority right now. I couldn’t let them hurt you. Even if I took out my lightsaber, all it would take is one stray blaster bolt. I couldn’t live with losing you like that,” he tried, softer, more charming, with a smooth, silky voice that he knew Tura could not refuse.

Her expression softened for a bit, but then it crumbled completely as pregnancy mood swings took over, and his dear wife broke down into tears like she never had before, dropping into his arms. “I want my baby girl!” she wailed, and Xanatos internally panicked, doing his best to stay composed on the outside.

“Love, I think your hormones might have you confused…”

“I’m not confused! She was your Padawan; that’s like a Jedi baby! And I’m your wife, so she’s my Jedi baby too! I want my baby girl!” she sobbed, and Xanatos, if not for the position that limited his moves, would gladly have banged his head on the console in sheer, undiluted frustration. Damn that little gremlin.

“Fine… fine. I’ll go and get her,” he finally said, not able to stand the heartbreaking wailing. It was not healthy for a pregnant woman, that he knew without being a medic. “But first, we get you safe and sound back to Telos, okay? I’ll sort it all out. I promise. She will come back home.”

Tura looked at him, teary-eyed but calmer. Sniffing pathetically, she allowed Xanatos to fix her hair and wipe her face gently.

“You promise to bring her back?”

“Hey… I suppose I can’t be a part club owner if the future owner is missing… Force help me,” he muttered defeatedly. The Force felt lighter, like this was, in fact, the right thing to do. He just really didn’t want to. It felt like such a blessing when they took her. But if it meant Tura would be this distressed, he really couldn’t accept this outcome. “But let’s get one thing clear: she is not my kid,” he pointed out sternly.

Tura nodded slightly after a moment of contemplation. “You don’t have to be her father,” Xanatos smiled, but he knew better.

“But?”

“But I’m still going to be her mom. It’s a two-for-one deal. I’m not passing up on it because you’re afraid to have a little girl.”

--

The panic attack was exhausting, and in a timeless environment, it was even worse because there was nothing to ground her besides herself. At some point, Obi-Wan assumed she’d blacked out, purely because she couldn’t breathe and felt herself slipping away. Then she blinked, and aside from the fact that she was cold, stiff, and her neck hurt like hell, she could breathe again.

Did somebody help her? No, probably not. This wasn’t that strange. Sometimes this happened in her previous life. Resetting like this in seclusion was a personal choice to not burden anyone. She looked at her crooked reflection in a nearby panel and sighed. Why wasn’t this a problem in hell? Because you drank yourself stupid and treated yourself so destructively everything else became a blur? a very unhelpful voice pointed out.

“I hate it when he’s right…” she sighed, her mind going back to Lucifer. “How… how have I really worked through… nothing?” she whispered desperately to herself. “Nothing at all? I was better, I felt better, it was so long ago…” She put her hands to her neck. “So long ago, then why does it feel so fresh in my memory…?”

“Maybe it’s not the way you remember, and your brain is just fucking with you? Ever considered that, love?” a heavily accented voice came to her. She looked to the side with widened eyes, spotting a red-headed man with thick black glasses and a half-done-up suit.

“Crowley?” she perked up. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been asked to drop by and see what the hold-up is, seeing as I’m allowed to go legally to and fro. Perks of being that type of wanker, I suppose,” he replied with a snide smile, walking to Obi-Wan and bending down to see her better in the most condescending way one can approach a short person. “Well, I’ll be, he really did chop up your nuts and bolts, didn’t he?”

Obi-Wan looked back at him, unamused. “Indeed. I’m also so grateful… truly,” she replied, holding back an eye roll.

“You did just admit he was right about something, though,” Crowley pointed out, entirely unhelpfully.

“Something! Not everything. A broken clock is right once or twice a day,” she retorted, as irate as she was. This was also a nice distraction from self-pity. “Crowley, tell me, how’s my place doing? Is it still there?”

“Mm… that pub thing you had down there? Haven’t been, to be honest,” the fallen angel shrugged. “You know Earth is more my speed. But I reckon it’s probably faded out of existence by now. Would explain why all the sods down there are more miserable than before, and that is saying something. We’re talking about hell, after all.”

“What?! Why?” Obi-Wan jumped to her feet, alarmed and thoroughly distracted from her previous problem.

“Well, it was in your personal hell bubble. Now that you’re out of it,” he made a popping sound with his mouth. Obi-Wan looked at him, absolutely bewildered, and after a moment, her shoulders slumped.

“So that’s it… I don’t even have a place to return to. All there is, is… this…” She pointed at herself and turned around, kicking the wall with all her tiny fury, dislocating a few toes. Crying out in pain, she fell on her butt.

Crowley stood there with his hands in his pockets, looking at that tiny expression of misery thoughtfully. The sad matter of fact was, if one lives long enough, they will eventually learn there is no going back—not even for angels. Well, at least there’s no going back to exactly what was. Hence, even when the angels moved time back and forth like a fidget spinner, something changed. Because every time, there was at least one person who remembered, or thought they remembered, and that, like the wings of a singular butterfly, affected everything else.

With a flick of his hand, a heavenly light descended on Obi-Wan, healing her scratched-up neck, broken toes, and scarred arm. “There you go, let’s say that’s my condolences basket,” he said simply, leaning forward, grabbing her by the scruff, and standing her up.

“Right… what now?”

“What do you mean, what now?”

“I mean, what do we do now? I’m here, you’re here. There’s a bunch of people in there who don’t seem to be that happy with their accommodations. What do we do?”

“…Are you even allowed to help me like that? Isn’t that interfering with some sort of ineffable plan or something?” Obi-Wan asked skeptically, remembering Crowley’s ramblings from the few times he did make an appearance in the hell pub.

Crowley spread his arms and half-grimaced, half-smiled.

“I neglected to ask,” he shrugged. “Besides, I’m here as a favor to Lucy, so all the absolute bullshit I do will be on him.” He grinned, and Obi-Wan spied his fiery hell eyes above the black-tinted glasses. At first, it unnerved her, but upon closer inspection, there was a very profound difference between the sickly splotchiness of a Sith’s eyes and the absolute, still-living inferno contained in a fallen one’s gaze.

“So you’re here on Lucifer’s orders?” she said with a sigh, pulling up a map on the datapad.

“I don’t really take orders anymore. I’m more here because Aziraphale got asked to ask me,” he said, looking as sour about it as he sounded. Obi-Wan gave him a smug smile over the datapad.

“Right, I suppose first things first: we need to take over this place and send out a message to, preferably, a Jedi Sentinel that’s close, or the nearest Republic reinforcements. Considering I have no idea where we are in the galaxy, this will require access to the cockpit. Even with the slowdown provided by the coin, I need them all out of there to do anything. I most likely can’t make a call when the world is running in slow motion,” she explained, trying to stay calm, then looked at Crowley.

“Can you cast some sort of… protection on them so they don’t get hurt?”

“Eh… that sounds like the right thing. Demons get in trouble doing that,” Crowley complained.

“Didn’t you just say you’re not worried about orders?”

“There’s a difference between declining a stupid-ass order and going against the natural order of things. But fine, I suppose it’s not the first nor the last time I get bamboozled into being the… ugh… good guy.” He pointed at Obi-Wan. “But you’re keeping it to yourself, got it, pipsqueak?”

“I’d never abuse the trust of a friend,” Obi-Wan smiled sweetly, some form of understanding cultivated by many nights of one-sided drinking and rambling and one-sided listening.

Together, they walked through the halls, Obi-Wan occasionally climbing a door to see what was inside. Crowley, who was known for a bit more patience than the average demon, got fed up with it after a time. He had long legs, and keeping pace with somebody who had to take three steps for one of his was tedious at best. So he picked the tiny Jedi up under his arm and, when directed, lifted her up like a cat to see through the viewing port.

“You’d think this would irritate me, but I’m actually oddly enjoying this,” Obi-Wan mentioned offhandedly, hanging limp from Crowley’s arm, scrolling her datapad.

“I always knew under all that self-sufficiency, you’re a needy little bastard,” Crowley cackled before yelping as Obi-Wan pulled harshly at his tie. “That is not a bloody brake! And I’m not a car!”

“This door!” Obi-Wan pointed at the cell. Crowley lifted her by the scruff to look in. “Found him!”

“Him who?”

“The owner of this ship, the one and only Hondo Ohnaka… we’ll need him to help navigate this thing.” She reached into her coat pocket for the coin. “Keep watch,” she pointed Crowley to the corner.

He sighed openly but went to stand where he was ordered as Obi-Wan released the grip of time from its constraint and slowly hacked the cell door open. Inside sat the famous—or rather, infamous—pirate boss, a bit banged up and very unhappy. He gazed up at her as she opened the door.

“Well, well, well, isn’t it the famous Hondo Ohnaka… beaten up and locked in the bridge of his own ship,” she chided. “Quite the debacle.”

“My young lady, I am not trapped; I am merely resting,” the pirate proclaimed proudly. “And… who might you be?”

“My name’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I’m a Jedi here to rescue you,” she proclaimed proudly. Hondo lifted a single eyebrow, looking at her closely before bursting out laughing.

“Precious, truly. I admire the bravado, tiny miss. You have a flair for the dramatic close to my own heart.” He stood up. “But now, let’s be serious—where’s your Jedi Master?” He looked out of the cage and frowned.

“Yeah… we got separated, and since I’m not allowed to walk without adult supervision, I have to ask you kindly to help me take this ship back and kick some ass,” she stated matter-of-factly. “I have long-term life plans, and I can’t just waste my time on being a slave, you understand, right?” She could sense Crowley’s presence there, even if he was hidden by a veil of the unseen. Hondo Ohnaka cackled again, taking the datapad from her.

“You? Plans? If your short-term ones are as ambitious as taking over the ship, I’m curious what the long-term ones are.”

Chapter Text

There were two men standing guard by the cockpit center and, more likely than not, four additional people inside steering this hulking thing.

“How did you even get a ship like this?” Obi-Wan mumbled to Hondo, sneaking a peek over the corner they were currently hiding behind.

“Fascinating story! I won it with nothing but my brilliance and hard work at a harrowing game of sabacc with the most dangerous fiends this galaxy has to offer at one table,” Hondo proclaimed with a smile and a flourishing hand gesture. Even though Obi-Wan couldn’t quite perceive Crowley in this plane of reality, she could just feel him snorting.

“You know, I always thought I’m not half bad at cheating in sabacc. I wonder who would win,” Obi-Wan gave the surprised pirate a side-eye. Hondo laughed and ruffled her hair. “Once we have this ship, we can make a contest out of it, missy, but I have to warn you: I doubt a young lady like you has a trick up her puffy sleeves old Hondo isn’t aware of.”

“Deal!” She stood up and pointed at the small divot in the wall behind them, just enough for a skinny man to crawl into. It most likely was a maintenance cupboard that had its sliding door removed. Hondo nodded, getting out of sight and picking up a pipe on his way, while Obi-Wan jumped out into the middle of the corridor, smiling, her hand raised high, waving at the pirates and making as much noise as she could to get their attention. Both men instantly charged at her as she proceeded to run off. Well, this wasn’t exactly the plan, and she tried to push a compulsion at one of them to stay behind and guard the door for now, but it surprisingly bounced back.

As they ran past Hondo’s hiding spot, one man fell slightly behind, and that was realistically all the pirate needed to put him in a chokehold with the pipe instead of cracking his skull open like an egg with it. The second pirate did pursue Obi-Wan with an almost blind, predatory zeal. No wonder my suggestions just bounced off him. He’s so thick-headed, nothing but a bigger beast would actually penetrate his mind with fear. That sparked an idea in her head.

“Crowley! A bit of help, if you will!” she shouted, her tiny legs working overtime to compensate for the older man’s long strides.

The lights in the corridor flickered and died out. The man stopped abruptly, gazing into the darkness.

“Come out, come out…” he sing-songed, brandishing his blaster.

A single light came on. He didn’t even question how, since the light came from a place where there was no light fixture. It was a small, flickering beam right above the tiny girl sitting sprawled-legged on the floor with her head down. Triumphantly, he smiled, assuming the kid’s legs had given out from fear once the darkness fell.

“Aww, there, there, love… got scared?” He moved forward. “Let me take you back to yer safe little cell…” He made a step forward, and the darkness under the girl rose and inflated into a defined shape—tall, monstrous. A shaggy black canine form, missing a head. Instead, the sleeve of its neck spewed blood and hellfire as the corridor filled with the smell of sulfur. It had no head, and yet he could hear it growl. And that tiny thing sat atop it like she belonged there, her eyes glinting just above a wide smile.

“Oh, I’d reckon I’m not going anywhere. But you just might,” she said. The lights flickered off and then on right before his face as the dog was there, its hellish blood sprinkling him like rain. The man froze in fear, color draining from his face as he looked into the stump of the neck and saw hell itself reflected back.

“Run!” the girl yelled, and the man obeyed without question, scrambling desperately for his life. As he ran past the cupboard, pale as death, Hondo jumped out and knocked him with his pipe right in the kisser, sending the already traumatized guard to the ground, blissfully unconscious.

Examining his newest victim’s pale complexion, Hondo scratched his head, perplexed, just as Obi-Wan came skipping back over the corner, singing, “Run, rabbit, run, rabbit, run, run, run!”

“What did you do to him?” Hondo asked curiously, and the tiny Jedi shrugged her shoulders.

“Just a jumpscare,” she looked down at the man, feeling bad. “I think he might not be cut out for this job,” she commented in a loud whisper, and Hondo nodded thoughtfully because, frankly, he couldn’t think of anything scary this kid could do. Clearly, this guard was just lacking in some way.

Borrowing the blasters from their unconscious shipmates, Obi-Wan and Hondo stuffed the two guards into the nearest bridge locker and moved on to phase two.
Obi-Wan jacked into the comm system and, with a wicked grin, queued up what the galaxy sentimentally called “Hondo’s Greatest Hits” on her datapad. The Weequay’s voice boomed through the ship in full, overblown glory:

“THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN SPEAKING! YOUR LOYALTY HAS BEEN… MISPLACED! BUT FEAR NOT, HONDO OHNAKA IS BACK, AND HE IS MAGNANIMOUS!”

Every corridor, every bunk, every terrified pirate heard it. Panic rippled like a shockwave. Some sprinted for the lock room where the “captain’s” voice was coming from—only to find themselves sealed inside when Obi-Wan remotely slammed the blast doors. The datapad, already on its last bar of battery, died with a pathetic beep. Just to be safe, she crushed the power cell with a casual flick of the Force. Click. Dead.

The rest of the crew barricaded themselves in the cantina, welding doors and praying to whatever gods pirates believed in. Little did they know Crowley was already there—lurking unseen, wearing the hulking form of Black shuck. One dramatic shadow, and the cantina would scream itself into surrender.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan and Hondo strolled into the control room like they owned the place—which, technically, they now did. Blasters dangling loose at their sides. Smiles so wide they could’ve powered the hyperdrive.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Hondo announced, vibrating with theatrical grandeur, “I regret to inform you—your adorable little rebellion—is at an end! But fear not! I am a gracious and magnanimous man. I’m sure you would never have betrayed me had those scoundrels not forced your hand!”

Obi-Wan just watched, amused, as the four pilots frantically recalculated survival odds in their heads. Who to side with?

Using the chaos, Obi-Wan bounced to the nearest comm and chirped into the void in her sweetest little-girl voice:

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi M—youngling! Calling any nearby Sentinel for assistance! We have a slave ship in custody—all offending parties contained!”

Static crackled. Then—

“FEE!”

She jumped, fists pumping. Freemor. The one from her lineage she’d seen the least—and regretted it most. The moment he’d been knighted, he’d vanished into the stars like a shooting comet. She hoped, fiercely, that he’d survived the Purge, blended into some backwater world, and raised a whole clan of Force-sensitive hellions.
She gave Freemor a crisp, professional debrief—coordinates, captives, slavers in custody. He sounded more baffled with every word but promised rendezvous at the nearest spaceport.

Later, on the bridge platform

The surrendered pilots scurried under Hondo’s benevolent tyranny while Obi-Wan lounged like a tiny empress, legs swinging. Crowley leaned invisibly against the wall, nursing a smirk.

Hondo, ever the showman, leaned in.

“Sooo… a proper establishment, eh?” he mused as Obi-Wan enthusiastically mapped out LUX—bar, stage, VIP list, the works.

“More than proper,” she said, eyes glittering. “It’ll be the greatest show in the galaxy. And I’ll be ruthless about who gets in. I already have a Do Not Serve list.”

Hondo threw his head back and cackled like a maniac.

“You’re too precious! A fanged little princess!” He wiped a theatrical tear. “Tell you what...when I finally retire...”

“...when they shut you down,” Obi-Wan corrected with a cheeky grin.

“...I will, with great honor, ship you the rarest spirits this galaxy has to offer.”

“At a suitable markup, I’m sure,” she laughed.

“A man’s gotta eat, love.”

“Of course.”

They clinked imaginary glasses, both grinning like lunatics.

Who knew being a menace could be this much fun?

--

Feemor and Xanatos arrived at about the same time as they docked at the nearest station to free the slaves and hand the imprisoned pirates into custody.
Xan came all geared up for war from the left with a few bodyguards, and Feemor came running from the right.

“Obi-Wan!” they both shouted and instantly skidded to a halt in their run as they saw one another.

“You,” both men hissed. Obi-Wan, very unhelpfully, looked to Xanatos and smiled.

“Hey, you came back for me!” she laughed out loud. “And here I thought I’d have to become a pirate queen.”

Feemor made his way to her, not letting his gaze off of Xanatos, who stepped closer but just a bit slower, watching the tall Jedi pick Obi-Wan up with a look of true peace and relief on his face. Oh, so you think you can just hand me off here? Obi-Wan thought to herself, clinging to Feemor’s soft robes smelling of herbs and flimsi. Something in her smile must have alerted Xanatos because the man raised his hands in the air and stepped back.

“I am not fighting you for her. I just need a holo of her safe so I can show my wife.”

“You… have a wife?” Feemor looked at him skeptically, and Xanatos was truly offended.

“Yes, I have a kriffing wife—what’s with that tone of voice, Mr. Longlegs?” he barked back, and it sounded very sibling-coded to Obi-Wan. She had no idea those two had any connection.

“I don’t have a tone, Xanatos—you’re imagining it. I’m just a bit surprised… you had time,” Feemor shifted uncomfortably.

“He knocked her up,” Obi-Wan responded just to stir the chaos a bit. Feemor looked down at her, then at Xanatos, and deadpanned:

“Ah… that makes sense.”

“NO, IT DOESN’T! And I married her before I knocked her up!” Xanatos protested, sending his men off with a wave of a hand—he was not about to have a family domestic in front of his servants. “And you will stop spreading rumors like this,” he pointed at Obi-Wan, who stuck her tongue out at him.

“Gremlin!” Xanatos hissed.

“Takes one to know one,” Feemor said with a laugh. Then something softened in his face, and Obi-Wan watched Xanatos melt a bit, lose some of that edge. Heck, he even looked away from Feemor, who reached out a hand to put it on his shoulder.

“How have you been?”

“Don’t pretend to care… I’m not a Jedi anymore, and I’m clearly fallen.” Xanatos slapped his hand away, but not as hard as he could.

“You don’t look that dark to me—coming in guns blazing to save a youngling.” Feemor pointed out softly. You should have been his master. Why weren’t you? Obi-Wan wondered idly as she looked at them interacting. There was a warm, fatherly calm in Feemor. This lineage is so messed up, she concluded with a sigh.

Xanatos started mumbling something incoherently about his wife being worried, having a reputation, this and that. It made Obi-Wan bored, so she pointed at the dark-haired man.

“I’m his Padawan now, and when I grow up, he will sponsor a club for me.”

That sentence short-circuited both of her lineage siblings, and the fact that Hondo was there to grab them both by the neck and pull them into a non-consensual huge proclaiming proudly, “And I will be her alcohol provider!” did not help anyone besides one fallen angel that was watching this with a glass of Shardionne and popcorn. As pedestrian as a combination as it would seem to be, it fit the theme.

Chapter Text

Once they got somehow separated from the character that was Hondo Ohnaka, both Jedi, youngling, and wannabe Sith walked into a bar.

"Feels like we're a setup for a cosmic joke," Obi-Wan commented with a sigh, still held by Feemor, who was, as it turned out, so far the best handler ever. He was tall enough for her to have a good lay of the land, steady,gentle, and his arms and chest were the perfect combination of muscular and soft.

"You made my life into a joke," Xanatos quipped tiredly, flashing an ID before the bar staff that immediately got them a table.

"Ni… I can't afford this…" Feemor said very politely and firmly, but Xanatos just waved him off.

"Keep your paltry credits. I'm sure you'll need them, and the Council will want them back if they can get them. I have plenty to share," the man proclaimed with false modesty.

"Wait, Ni? Your nickname is Ni? How do you get from Xanatos to Ni?" Obi-Wan giggled in Feemor's arms and looked at Xanatos's indignant expression like a tooka that just got hold of a juicy borrat.

"Well… it started as Xani, but he complained it was too childish, and since Xa doesn't quite have a ring to it… Ni it was," Feemor answered with a smile only an older sibling nuking his younger brother's prestige could have.

"Xani… I love it. Tura will be thrilled."

"She will not be thrilled," Xanatos said firmly, "because she won't be finding out. You are going back with him to the Temple, and you will record a nice message to Tura beforehand saying it's what you want and that you will be a good girl and study hard to be a respectful Jedi," Xanatos pointed out while Feemor pointedly ignored this good-intentioned hostility by ordering them something non-alcoholic to drink for now. His brother did say he was covering the bill.

"That's a lot of demands for very little incentive," Obi-Wan crossed her arms, looking back at Xanatos like a seasoned sabacc player. "Sweeten the pot. Hint: I want my club."

"You're not even double digits. What makes you think you can threaten somebody like me?" Xanatos flailed his arms, exasperated, and turned to his brother. "Feef, do something with her—this kid is clearly broken," he protested while Feemor looked at him a bit surprised.

"Ni, let me remind you, you had quite the sass mouth on you as well when Qui-Gon brought you back with him."

"He KIDNAPPED ME!" Xanatos yelled out and would most likely have gone on a rant if not for Obi-Wan's tiny hands clasping his mouth and her angry hiss.

"Not in the middle of a bar," she pointed out, and true enough, a few people, including the bar staff, did turn to watch them, not even trying to be subtle. Xanatos swallowed his anger, sat down, and placed his hands firmly, grounding himself on the table before starting up again in a low, controlled voice that barely masked his inner fury.

"He kidnapped me from my home and siblings. I had all the right in the galaxy to be belligerent."

"He said your father agreed, though," Feemor challenged calmly, and Xanatos slammed his hands on the table.

"But I bloody well didn't! I was too old, I didn't want to leave my family, my mother didn't want me to leave, and my father said he regretted it…" There was something bitter at the end there. "He regretted it."

Obi-Wan looked at him and saw hurt. This belligerent, angry adult was still that same child from long ago that got torn away from his family and then, after years, used by his father to further his own goals, sabotaging the somewhat stable Jedi life he had built. But it was clear that to Xanatos, who had this festering wound of abandonment in him, it meant everything to hear that man didn't want to give him away, even if it was a lie. She reached out and placed her small hand on his in what she hoped was comfort, projecting into the Force her understanding. She too would have at one time given everything for just a bit of praise from Master Qui-Gon.

Oddly enough, a second aura joined the Force, similar to Obi-Wan's, as Feemor placed his own big hand on Xanatos's second palm, projecting the same type of understanding. Obi-Wan looked at her oldest lineage sibling and saw something sad behind that serene smile. You got abandoned too, didn't you? Obi-Wan wondered silently. How funny. It’s all the same festering hurt. And yet it has so many outcomes.

"I don't need your pity," Xanatos spat out, balling his hands defensively into fists but not moving them away from this odd, familial comfort.

"Don't mistake us understanding for us pitying you," Feemor stated softly. "Xani, I really don't know what series of events brought us all here, but… I'm happy I got to see you. That you're doing well for yourself. I truly am happy that you found contentment and a family to help soothe that hurt."

Xanatos scoffed and laughed humorlessly.

"You'd be the first. Qui-Gon was more than offended when I left the Order the day I was knighted." And that piqued Obi-Wan's interest. In her world, Xanatos left a lot earlier than that. He was close to graduating but, as far as she knew, he never completed his training.

"Master Qui-Gon…" Feemor started, and for the first time, he actually looked like he was struggling, not just with words but with his own emotions.

"Has a tendency of abandoning people for the newest shiny project," Obi-Wan verbalized bitterly and let go of Xanatos's hand in lieu of curling up on the sofa going round the table. Both men looked at her, perplexed, and then at one another, looking for answers.

"... You know Master Qui-Gon Jinn ?" Feemor asked softly, like he was addressing a baby duckling.

"In a manner of speaking. He, Master Skywalker, and Dooku have been chasing me down for a long time. But I don't want to be any of theirs. I know how it ends… I saw… I lived through how it ends. He will throw me away eventually without a second thought, and I will live a life of misery, pretending to be the best I can and, for some reason, always feeling like he's… more than just disappointed with me…" She sniffed, very unladylike. Xanatos wordlessly passed her a handkerchief, and she blew into it loudly, with a nod of thanks.

"You're a seer, then? Like Master Sifo-Dyas?" Feemor addressed worriedly. "Is that truly what you saw? Are you sure it's not nightmares and visions mixing together?" He was oh so patient and loving.

"Sounds like Master Jinn to me," Xanatos sighed, propping his head on his hand, looking suddenly tired but also enlightened. "Is that why you jumped at me to be your master—so you wouldn't have to be his?"

"Kind of… yeah… but also… I saw you kidnapping me eventually because he was interested in me and sending me into the deep sea mines… then you just poped up and… well, I figured I might as well get it over with. Then I can move to the rest of the big things in my vision, knock them out, and…" She shrugged. "I don't have much of a plan. I just want to keep the people I love safe, out of harm's way, maybe have my pub… and…" She mumbled something that sounded like "baby" under her breath. Xanatos groaned loudly, hiding his face in his hands in a true display of anguish, which put Feemor on high alert even more than the mention of kidnapping.

"You are not getting pregnant before you're legal!" Xanatos declared tiredly, like it was something he couldn't believe he had to say least of all repeat. "No babies for babies. End of story."

"I think I need a run of this from the beginning," Feemor said finally with a tired expression, and as the waitress came with the drinks, he softly asked for a single headache medication.

"Make it two," Xanatos added, "and if it's on the menu, give the kid some ice cream. She's too young for drugs." Obi wan didn't protest since a good establishment probably didn't haw the same good type of drugs as the mandalorian medick.

So they sat and talked. The next drink Feemor ordered was a stiff one. Obi-Wan offered to whip up something good, but Xanatos pointed out, for once rightfully so, that most pubs would not let a kid in single digits play around behind the bar like he did. Point taken—Obi-Wan would have hated for somebody to lose a good job because of her.

"Ni… what exactly did you have planned for her when you kidnapped her from the Mandalorians, posing as a Jedi?" Feemor asked well past the point of asking ‘why?’, knocking his drink down in a single, uninterrupted swallow. Obi-Wan stifled a comment about whoever Feemor ends up with being a lucky son of a gundark.

"Is it important?" Xanatos shrugged his shoulders, pointedly avoiding eye contact. "Whatever it was or wasn't—I'm not saying either way—went right out the window in the first 24 hours. Mostly because this THING can't get with any program," he pointed at Obi-Wan accusingly, like she was the one wrong thing in this whole story.

"Said thing has a name," Obi-Wan commented, swallowing a mouthful of some really top-notch ice cream. She didn't know if they had it on the menu or somebody popped out to get some for her, but either way, she was leaving a thank-you note. It was really good, and whoever did this deserved to know. Ha, maybe if Feemor was here, she could even leave the credits she… sto—accepted from the unconscious pirate as a tip. That’d be karmically returning them, right?

"I'm well aware, gremlin," Xanatos huffed while Feemor pondered long and hard what to do next with this information. Then the dark-haired man did something surprising—he actually commented something insightful. "Hey, where’s your burn scar?" he blinked, examining Obi-Wan’s hands.

Obi-Wan hummed at that, honestly startled and not knowing how to answer.

"Miracle?" she tried sheepishly, and Xanatos gave her a cold, measured look, so Obi-Wan sighed and looked back at her sibling with exactly the same energy.

"Listen, I might as well say I shed my old skin here. Do you really want to know? Do you really care to know?" she asked pointedly, and Xanatos opened his mouth as if to say yes but stopped himself, looking a bit surprised at what he tried to do. Then he let go of her hand and hesitantly feigned a huff of disinterest.

"I don’t, and for all I care, a weirdo like you probably did shed her skin. I wouldn’t put it past you."

"Please, the two of you, stop fighting," Feemor begged softly and sighed, pointing at Xanatos. "I’m not asking any more questions—if I do, I’ll have to do something about it. But that said, Obi-Wan can’t be your Padawan. You’re not a part of the Order, and Obi-Wan, as a very underage individual, belongs to the Jedi Order until stated otherwise or given proper permission." He stated clearly, and Xanatos just looked at Obi-Wan, mouthing wordlessly, "Told you."

"Yeah, I know," Obi-Wan said, chomping on her ice cream. She was, after all, a Master and a Council member once—of course she knew. But Xanatos didn’t know she knew, and neither did anyone else, so why stop the game when you’re having fun?

"You… what? If you knew, why did you make all those scenes?!" Xanatos chased. Obi-Wan shrugged.

"Entertainment, mostly," she replied honestly and then turned to Feemor. "Do you have a Padawan?"

"No?"

"Oh, I know where this is going," Xanatos grinned widely.

"Can I please be your new Padawan?"

"Why the hell are you asking nicely?!"

"Because he didn’t kidnap me, and I’d like to start on the right foot with my new Master," Obi-Wan explained patiently. Feemor stifled a laugh while Xanatos fumed. To be honest, she did not want to be anywhere near the disaster lineage this time around. At all. But if it couldn’t be avoided by ditching the lineage altogether, she’d opt for the best member she knew—or at least the most sane and mature one.

Feemor did his best to not give a firm yes or no answer, opting instead for being polite as always and leaving it up to the Force. Obi-Wan just sighed theatrically and turned to Xanatos.

"Well, looks like I’m stuck with you," she responded, and Xanatos suppressed the violent urge to punt the child out of the station, not just the bar. Was this what parenting is truly like?

"I am NOT your consolation prize, gremlin," he chastised, looking at his brother, who was very interested in hiding his laugh in the drink he was downing for help.
"Don’t throw stones at glass houses, Ni-Ni," she shot back smugly. "Or should I say Xani?"

"I will drop you at the first, sternest prep school for uptight ladies I can find," he promised. Getting Tura on board with fancy education wouldn’t be too hard, and she didn’t have to know everything.

"And I’ll lead a revolution to overthrow a tyrant," she responded, and something in her twisted. Oh, you’ll lead a revolution? Like you did last time? Sitting on a sandy rock all day hoping never to be found? Face it, you’re not a fighter anymore.

That’s not true. I fought on Melida/Daan, I fought in the wars… I am a fighter… I… I was just… tired.

You were a coward!

I…

"Obi?" A soft, strong voice dragged her out of her inner monologue, and instantly she saw both men looking at her, concerned. "You vanished in the Force for a bit… what happened?" Feemor asked, full of concern. Xanatos didn’t say anything, but he looked a bit freaked out too.

"Oh… I, um… when I think too much, I… put my shields up so I don’t upset others," she offered sheepishly. "Sorry?"

"Don’t ever kriffing do that again," Xanatos finally spoke up in a deadpan voice, and Feemor gently swatted him on the head.

"I sympathize with the sentiment, but phrasing, Xani, please," the older Jedi asked gently, and Xanatos just rolled his eyes and flopped back into his spot.

Before the conversation could get any further a shadow fell over the table as they turned to see the man that connected them all with a soft yet sharp smile.

‘It's nice to see you all getting along.’ Master Jinn said serenely.

---

Anakin and Dooku boarded the ship with Master Jinn despite several attempts by the man to shake them off. They weren’t overt—that’s not how Master Jinn works, but if you knew him, you knew what he was doing. Eventually, though, they were all on board, and it made for a tense flight to Xanatos’s homeworld, where they planned to confront the man and get their precious baby Obi-Wan back.

After infiltrating the governor’s palace, Anakin and Master Dooku sped to the home wing while Master Jinn disabled the alarms. After slamming a few guards into the walls, they made it into the quarters.

They were lived-in and had several new baby items, which perplexed Anakin. Yes, Obi-Wan was young, but not that young. This was more like things Padmé collected when she was expecting—or at least things her handmaidens collected clandestinely for her. Why this was became apparent when he stood up straight, unfurling his Force presence to find Obi-Wan anywhere in the palace.

There was a pregnant woman hiding behind the kitchen counter, frightened but not in danger. He certainly didn’t plan on hurting her—why would he even try? What he did feel, though, was Master Jinn leaving on his ship.

Turning around to Dooku, who must have sensed the same thing, he was so distracted he didn’t notice Tura emerging to swinging a cast-iron skillet at his head. A hit that connected with the side of his skull so loudly it made the former—and not quite yet—Count flinch.

Skywalker fell to the ground in a bloody daze as a panicked woman stood over him with a kitchen utensil, madness and determination in her eyes as she brandished it at the jedi. Truly, the most dangerous beast of a man—or woman, in this case—is one that has nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Smiling in amusement, Master Dooku lifted his hands up in surrender before turning to slow clap. Seeing Skywalker brought down this way was a… rare joy.

"Magnificent hit. Ah… I believe we have gotten off on the wrong foot, my lady. Allow me to explain," he was sure he could charm his way into Xanatos’s inner circle, and if Obi-Wan was here, good. If she wasn’t, well, nobody ever suffered from too many allies, now did they? Besides, he felt his Padawan son was already too far beyond their reach, undoubtedly having planned for this as the last-case scenario. When they were focused on getting to where Obi-Wan should have been, he already knew she was nowhere on-planet and undoubtedly decided to follow the whim of the Force to her, free of the pesky distraction of traveling companions. 'Heh, I do love that boy like a son, but he is half-feral, and I’m starting to come to terms with the fact that there is nothing I can do about that. What a pain.' the former Sith admitted to himself.