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Anakin Skywalker slowly regained consciousness, coming to the realization that the only good thing about this mission was that the ship hadn’t crashed. Everything else was an unmitigated disaster. Bleary and dim, he felt himself rise to a hazy, drugged awareness, with the full knowledge that his brain wasn’t firing on all cylinders and that he was strapped to a cot. Fuck.
Anakin struggled against his binds for a moment, realized that it was currently futile and gave himself a second to think. Feeling foggy and weak, he guessed that he had been injected with something almost like a Force inhibitor but not quite. Little did his captives know, the good thing about drugs was that they could be metabolized, and Anakin was good at it. He began to take in his surroundings, hearing soft voices in the background, ones that sounded like the male and female scientist who had invited them to this planet.
“The younger one’s burning through it quickly. It has a limited effect on him,” the woman said.
“The formula will have to be adjusted to be longer lasting. And the older one?” the man asked.
“Succumbs to the drug more readily and deeply but is having some unusual reactions,” she replied.
Fuck, they were talking about Obi-Wan! Anakin cracked an eye open and peered about the room. It was sterile and full of medical equipment, a few droids, and the two scientists in the far corner, the same two who had invited them to this Force-forsaken planet. No stubborn, self-sacrificing, ginger Jedi Masters were present. Damn.
They should have never gone on this mission. Obi-Wan wasn’t ready, but the Jedi were no good at letting people rest, not since the war started. These scientists had promised a substance like bacta that was easier and less expensive to manufacture, so naturally their Order had been interested and wanted to send representatives to check it out. The mission had seemed harmless enough when they’d been debriefed and not at all taxing.
“We were lucky. They sent two powerful specimens,” the man said.
“I suppose. The elder Jedi is not entirely well. The medics suspect he recently underwent some ordeal. He shows elevated stress hormones and signs of recent injury and malnutrition,” the woman replied.
Of course he did. Anakin’s stupid, frustrating, fragile, irreplaceable Master had just returned from some Sith planet that had tried to kill him, Zigoola or some stupid name like that. Anakin should have been with him, not Bail karking Organa. He really hadn’t been gone for long but returned burned bare, with haunted eyes and shaking hands. Obi-Wan hadn’t been himself since, oddly quiet, with less of his usual snark and banter. He’d spent long hours alone in his quarters, doing Force knows what, recovering to some degree but not to the degree that Anakin liked. Anakin worried that he was irreparably changed.
“He’ll still be useful?” the man asked.
“Hard to say,” she replied.
Anakin would murder them slowly if they caused Obi-Wan permanent damage. He had to get out of here. If he could just break free, he could easily overcome the scientists.
“Do you think this will work? It is risky,” the man asked.
“It may be too early to tell. You know I find it foolish and short sighted to kill the Jedi. They will be far more useful if they could be made docile and obedient,” the woman replied.
“Judging by the elder’s reactions, the formula needs some adjustment,” the man said.
“Yes, but if we get it right- we’ll be quite rich,” the woman replied.
“This one is awake. Redose him, will you?” the man said.
Anakin felt a cool fluid enter his veins and felt himself fade to darkness. He awoke some undefinable amount of time later, a little clearer. He was still restrained and alone in the room, not even a droid to detain him. Anakin focused his considerable power and directed towards his metabolism, imagining burning through the drug like a wildfire.
No longer hampered, Anakin broke his bonds and looked about the room. He found his cloak folded up on a counter, but none of his other things. The door was coded and locked, and he had nothing to break it with. Anakin didn’t have a problem with being unarmed, he could fight like a rancor if needed, but Obi-Wan wasn’t well. Their best bet would be to sneak out of here and make it back to their ship without being noticed. Anakin looked up and spied a reasonably sized vent in the ceiling. Perfect.
After he knocked it open and climbed into the dusty space, he eked along, trying to find Obi-Wan in the Force. His presence felt weak, amorphous, uncentered. As Anakin moved closer to the interior of the building, it grew slightly brighter, a sad forlorn beacon that should have been radiant and blazing. Anakin found himself over another medical room like the one he’d been in and spied his Master’s auburn head through the slats of the vent.
Anakin sighed with relief and kicked the vent open, jumping into the room below and landing without a sound. His Master was laying there, limp and boneless, legs flopping to the sides of the cot, arms cuffed. He looked terrible.
Obi-Wan was wearing just his trousers, which his proper Master would be horrified by, if he was at all aware. Zigoola had changed him and not for the better. Normally his Master was strong and compact with healthy muscle and a tiny bit of softness to his tummy, which was perfect for hugging (which he always pretended to be startled by but glowed happy and content in the Force afterward) or sleeping on if they were stuck in close quarters. Now he was nothing but too lean muscle and sharp, elegant bones. Anakin hated it. He shouldn’t have been sent on this (or any) mission yet, but Obi-Wan had pleaded for something to do- and he called Anakin the restless one.
Anakin walked over and brushed the errant hairs off Obi-Wan’s forehead, then snapped his bonds using the Force. Obi-Wan sighed, nearly inaudibly, his arms flopping to his sides. “Obi-Wan? Can you wake up?” Anakin asked, gently shaking his shoulder. “Come on, old man. It’s not time for napping.”
“Master?” Obi-Wan asked, half-opening glassy blue eyes, pupils big and unfocused. He tried to sit up and scramble off the cot with limbs as wobbly as a newborn nerf, causing him to nearly slump to the ground.
Anakin caught Obi-Wan under the shoulders and propped him up against him. “It’s me. They drugged us and are experimenting on us or something.”
“Can we go home? I don’t feel well,” Obi-Wan murmured into his chest, not seeming to grasp the situation, his voice uncharacteristically meek. He leaned heavily against Anakin, breathing shallow and quick.
“That’s the idea,” Anakin said, rubbing his back. His pale skin was cool and goose-pimpled, tiny shivers racking his frame.
“I can’t... I’m not right,” Obi-Wan mumbled.
“You were drugged. You’ve got to metabolize it,” Anakin advised.
Obi-Wan hummed to himself, closed his eyes, and his features went relaxed and loose, like when he was meditating. After a few moments, his skin became almost grey with fatigue and his knees buckled. Anakin caught him again and pulled him upright. “Can’t,” Obi-Wan whispered, sagging against him. “You’re not… Where is Qui-Gon?”
“He’s… He’s not here,” Anakin said, the old grief filling his throat and nearly choking him, both for the man who’d found him and for his own dear Master.
“Oh… yes,” Obi-Wan murmured, rubbing at his beard and then pulling away his hand in shock. “I know you,” he said, stepping away from Anakin and rubbing at the spot where Anakin’s braid had been. “Padawan,” Obi-Wan whispered.
“Yes, that’s me. Your old Padawan,” Anakin said with a noncommittal stab at levity, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around his former Master. “We’ve got to get you out of here and to a healer.”
“Feel bad. My head,” Obi-Wan slurred, leaning against Anakin’s shoulder and closing his eyes. Anakin could feel his heart pounding.
“I know,” Anakin said, feeling his Master’s unshielded pain through their unsevered bond, the searing pain boring through his own skull. Anakin shored up his shields, hearing what sounded like someone about to open the door. He leaned his wobbly Master against a cabinet and grabbed a metal tray. As soon as the door opened, he clobbered the male scientist over the head, and he fell to the ground in a heap. The lady was nowhere to be seen.
“We have to go. Can you walk?” Anakin asked.
Obi-Wan drew his ginger brows together in deep thought. “I think so,” he replied, voice shaky. It did not instill confidence and neither did his walk, which could only be defined as unsteady.
Anakin took Obi-Wan by his cold hand and led him down the hallway. They passed an office where Anakin spied their ‘sabers sitting on a desk with a com link nearby. He thanked the Force and grabbed them. Maybe their luck was about to turn, though Obi-Wan would have said that there was no such thing as luck if his mind was working appropriately.
They snuck along the long hallway, almost to what looked like an exit, when Anakin heard a shrill voice call out “It’s them! Don’t let them leave! Kill them if you must.”
He turned to see the lady scientist, flanked by some battle droids… and super battle droids. Where in the kriff did they get battle droids? No time to ponder that question. Anakin grabbed a bewildered looking Obi-Wan and made for the door, heading out into a narrow alley. He ignited his ‘saber and deflected what he could while half-carrying his drugged Master. It was not very effective.
“I can run,” Obi-Wan said, freeing himself from Anakin’s grip and shakily jogging beside him.
But for how long, Anakin thought, feeling his Master’s sluggishness and fatigue bleeding through the Force.
They turned the corner and bolted down a narrow stair, almost gaining some ground, when a stray blaster bolt struck Obi-Wan in the back of the shoulder, burning a hole through Anakin’s cloak. He cried out and stumbled, losing his footing on the stairs. Anakin, still deflecting a barrage of blaster fire, couldn’t catch him. He heard Obi-Wan land with a sickening crunch and a thud. Angry and terrified, Anakin lashed out with a massive wave of the Force, sending battle droids scattering and buying them a few moments of reprieve.
Anakin ran down the remainder of the stairs to reach his Master, who lay in a crumpled heap, left ankle bent the wrong direction. Still drugged and not himself, Obi-Wan was softly whimpering, a puddle of blood forming under his head and pooling about his body. Anakin tried not to panic. Obi-Wan would not die here. His beloved Master would not die here. This was not happening. Anakin, not knowing what else to do, bent down and heaved Obi-Wan over his shoulder, then took off at a run. Heading in what he thought was the direction of the space port, he tried to ignore Obi-Wan’s soft cries of pain, though each one was in reality tearing rents in his very soul.
Anakin could hear more battle droids assembling, feel the vibrations of their marching in the ground beneath his feet. He spied what looked like an abandoned warehouse and managed to climb the siding and propel both himself and Obi-Wan through an open window. They landed in a heap on a dusty floor, narrowly missing stacks of unopened crates.
Anakin turned to Obi-Wan, who lay on his side on the floor, hair blood-streaked, nearly panting with pain and shock. Anakin had nothing but his clothes, ‘saber, and the Force, but he would do everything in his power to help his Master. Anakin still needed him. Obi-Wan was everything to him.
Anakin willed his hands to stop trembling. Think. He took the com link and activated it, hoping they could get a signal out. It was Obi-Wan’s. He hit the first pre-programmed number.
“General? Is everything all right, sir?” Cody’s strong baritone sounded through the comm.
Anakin would give Cody a hug and a fruit basket the next time he saw him. “Cody, it’s me, Anakin. Obi-Wan’s hurt and drugged. We’re being hunted. Can you track our signal? We need help,” Anakin whispered, hearing the battle droids pass by.
“I’ll get a lock on it now, sir. The men and I will be there as soon as we can,” Cody said.
The planet was in the Outer Rim, not too far from where the 212th was stationed with the 501st, but Anakin could hear the sounds of battle surrounding Cody. They’d have to extract themselves from the field before they could mount any rescue. Kriff.
Anakin knelt down in front of his Master and gently rolled him onto his back, so he could assess the damage. “Master, Obi-Wan, can you hear me?” Anakin asked.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan answered, his eyes slightly clearer as if some of the drug had been purified by his pain, though his pupils were still huge, his irises glassy.
“I’m going to look you over, ok?” Anakin said.
“Mmhmm,” Obi-Wan hummed, seemingly trying to control his rapid breathing.
Anakin brushed his hand through Obi-Wan hair, noting a large bruise to his left forehead. The skin had cracked open on impact and was sluggishly bleeding. Gently removing his cloak, Anakin noted that the blaster bolt had passed through his left shoulder, the burnt edges of the skin blackened and swollen. That would need bacta. Various bruises were forming over the translucent skin of his ribcage. Anakin ghosted his fingers over these, trying to sense deeper injury. Obi-Wan hissed with pain.
Anakin got up and pulled some of the planks off one of the nearby crates. They would serve as a makeshift splint. Now to the worst of his duties. “I’m going to have to set your ankle,” Anakin said, with great reluctance.
Obi-Wan whimpered a little, his usual stoicism inhibited by the drug. Anakin would have given anything in the world to take away just a little of that pain. Anything. Kriff, if falling to the Dark would heal his Master, he’d go for it. Just give me that red ‘saber now, Anakin thought to himself, laughing a little hysterically at the idea.
Anakin steadied Obi-Wan’s calf with one hand and yanked the deformed ankle straight with the other, feeling the ends of the bone grind and crunch back into place. Obi-Wan opened his mouth to scream, and Anakin covered it with his hand. They couldn’t be discovered. He could see the silver tracks of tears streaming down Obi-Wan’s face in the dim light. Anakin felt his stomach roil and burn with the horror of it.
With shaking hands and nausea burning through his gut, Anakin splinted the ankle and wrapped it with part of his under tunic he’d ripped off. The air was cold and brisk and Obi-Wan was starting to shake violently, teeth rattling together as he whimpered. Anakin took the edge of his cloak and tenderly wiped his face. “It’ll be ok, Master. I’ll get you warmed up,” he said.
Anakin leaned against one of the crates and pulled Obi-Wan up so that he was sitting between his legs, nearly in his lap. Obi-Wan let out a little anguished sound, but then settled against Anakin’s chest, his head lolling against his shoulder. Anakin wrapped the cloak around the both of them and revved his metabolism again, trying to put out as much heat as he could. It would rapidly deplete his energy, but he had nothing left to give. He would give Obi-Wan everything he could.
Once they were warm, Anakin dozed, and he guessed that Obi-Wan did too. Time passed and night fell. There was a single, dim light in the warehouse, providing a minimum amount of illumination. No battle droids clanked about. They just had to wait. Anakin awoke later, back aching. They weren’t exactly in the best position and neither one of them was particularly padded or cuddly, but he hoped Obi-Wan was comfortable.
“Anakin, what in the Force happened?” Obi-Wan asked, sitting forward and peering about the warehouse. He at least sounded more like himself. “Everything hurts,” he muttered, taking a scan of his body. “I take it the mission didn’t go as planned?”
“Do they ever?” Anakin replied.
“Why don’t I have a shirt?” Obi-Wan asked, grimacing as he looked down and noticed his half-clothed state of affairs.
“Long story,” Anakin huffed.
“I see. My brain feels like I went a few rounds with a Trandoshan prize fighter. Did I hit my head?” Obi-Wan asked, rubbing at his temples.
“Um, yeah. And you were drugged.”
“I hope I didn’t do anything untoward.”
“Not exactly.” Except for mistaking Anakin for Qui-Gon.
“That’s not reassuring,” Obi-Wan said, rubbing at his temples. He looked so pale and gaunt, the faint light illuminating his too sharp cheekbones and clavicles. “I,” Obi-Wan began, then scooted away from Anakin as fast as a man with one good leg, bruised ribs, and a shot to the shoulder could scoot and expelled the meager contents of his stomach onto the warehouse floor. “Don’t feel so well,” he finished.
He crawled back over to sit beside Anakin, dragging his splinted leg behind him, shivering violently. Anakin wished he had some water or anything at all to give him. He slung his arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulders and pulled him into his side, wrapping the cloak around them again.
“That was undignified,” Obi-Wan whispered, leaning heavily against him, the shivering abating just a little.
“It’s not like you can help it. The drug is still in your system. They were experimenting on us.”
“How rude,” Obi-Wan said with a snort.
“You said it,” Anakin agreed.
“What are we going to do?” Obi-Wan asked.
“Don’t you usually come up with the plan, General?” Anakin snarked. Glad that his old Master was mostly back.
“I’m clearly not well, Anakin,” Obi-Wan huffed, with mock annoyance.
Anakin chuckled. “Yeah, at least you’re admitting it this time. Don’t worry, Master, Cody is coming. We just have to hold out here for a while. Does your ankle hurt? Your shoulder?”
“I’ve had worse, young one,” Obi-Wan murmured. “I’d love to be rid of this blasted headache, however.”
“Why don’t you go back to sleep? It’s not like there’s anything else to do,” Anakin said.
Obi-Wan shifted so that his head was resting on Anakin’s thigh. Anakin carded his fingers through his thick, soft hair, massaging his scalp like Obi-Wan had done when he had been sick as a boy. “Does this help?”
Obi-Wan hummed to himself, closing his eyes and settling against Anakin. Despite the pretenses, Anakin could tell by his breathing and the slight rigidity of his shoulders, that Obi-Wan was still awake. “You’re not sleeping,” Anakin said.
“Observant as always, my young padawan,” Obi-Wan murmured.
“I’m not. Not anymore. Your padawan that is.”
“I’ve noticed. You’re quite a bit larger and noisier. And at times, wiser.”
“Did you just complement me?” Anakin asked.
“Perhaps,” was the nonchalant reply.
“Why aren’t you sleeping? Just go into a healing trance. I’ll keep watch.”
“I can’t,” Obi-Wan replied.
“Since when?”
Obi-Wan sighed. “The drug is still in my system, whatever it is. As far as healing, I haven’t been able to since…”
Anakin could feel his pain bleeding through the Force, electrifying his own nerve endings, causing his own head to throb. “Since Zigoola?”
“I suppose,” Obi-Wan replied, tone noncommittal.
“What happened, Master?” Anakin asked, keeping his tone soft and gentle. Now, on this hard warehouse floor, this conversation had to happen.
“Anakin…” Obi-Wan replied, dragging out the consonants and adding a few extra.
He knew he was walking on thin ice, treading a very fine line, but he had to know. “You came back so wrecked, Master. Like a shell of yourself. How am I not supposed to worry?”
“I’m recovering,” Obi-Wan stated firmly.
Anakin grit his teeth, willing himself to be patient but to also carry on. “Too damn slow. What happened? You can’t sleep and we have nothing better to do. Tell me.”
“It was a Sith planet,” Obi-Wan said, as if that explained everything.
“I know that. What did it do? Was there anyone there other than you and Organa?” Anakin couldn’t understand how an uninhabited planet could do so much damage.
“No. No-one alive that is. Just a presence of sorts,” Obi-Wan replied.
This still was as clear as mud. “How did a presence hurt you so badly?”
Obi-Wan took a deep breath. “It got into my head, Anakin. It said things, made me see things, do things. Fighting it took all my energy and more.”
“What things?” Anakin said, pushing on.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan whispered, almost pleading.
With horror, Anakin looked down to see tears streaking down his Master’s face, dampening his eye lashes and beard. Obi-Wan reached a shaky hand towards his face to wipe them away. When he was finished, Anakin took his cold hand and held it in his own.
“Stars-end Anakin, everything hurts,” he murmured. “My head worst of all. The last thing I needed was to hit it on something again
Anakin was not going to let this go. “What did it do to you, Master? You need to get this out.”
“Blast it, Anakin, you’re worse than an akk dog with a bone sometimes,” Obi-Wan said, with a rueful laugh. “It started as a voice in my head, telling me repeatedly to die. I had visions of people dying in horrible ways. I tried to kill Bail Organa. It ate at me, figuratively and quite literally,” he said, sitting up and leaning against the crate, burying his face in his hands. “I saw you get injured, maimed, over and over again,” he whispered, reaching over to touch Anakin’s mech hand.
“I’m here, Master. I’m with you. I’m safe,” Anakin reassured.
“I wish it would go away,” Obi-Wan said, voice small and lost.
“Can I help you?” Anakin asked.
“How, dear one? You’re no healer.”
“Let me meditate with you.”
“You hate meditating,” Obi-Wan said, a hint of levity in his voice.
“Yeah, but I’d do it for you,” Anakin replied. I’d do anything for you.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and they sat in silence for a minute. “I suppose it can’t hurt to try,” Obi-Wan said.
Anakin took Obi-Wan’s hand in his own and sank down into the Force. Obi-Wan released some of his shields and Anakin met his mind via their bond. He felt an alien presence, so dark, so cold, one that didn’t belong in the warm light of his Master. Obi-Wan was pure, baked in brightness, something that should never be sullied by something so profane. Anakin gathered up his strength, imagining himself sweeping away the darkness, pushing it back into the void where it belonged until his Master’s Force signature shone like it should, sunlight reflecting off sparkling, clear water.
Anakin released the meditation, panting a little with the effort. Obi-Wan sagged against him, made a contented, exhausted little sound and passed out, though it was difficult to tell if it was into sleep or unconsciousness. Whatever had happened, Obi-Wan felt more like himself in the Force. Anakin gave into his own fatigue and slept.
Some ill-defined amount of time later, the Force alerted him to numerous presences outside the warehouse. This time, he knew they were friendly. Rex and Cody were out there and now were breaking down the door. “General!” Rex called out. “Are you injured?”
“No, but he is,” Anakin said, pointing at the still unconscious Jedi Master slumped in his lap.
“Just like old times,” grumbled Cody, walking over to them. “I’ll get him. It’ll be hard for the men to get a stretcher in here,” Cody said, reaching down and scooping up Anakin’s unaware Master.
“Be careful,” Anakin warned, unable to help himself.
“I will be,” Cody replied, walking towards the exit. “I’ll get him to Kix. Rex’ll help you out.”
“I don’t need help,” said Anakin, standing too quickly. His vision went black and filled with stars. He swayed and caught himself on one of the stacks of crates.
Rex slung a supporting arm under his shoulders and started walking him out. “Of course you don’t,” he said, laughing.
Anakin smiled, vision returning, and leaned against Rex. They could all use a little help. Anakin would see to his Master’s recovery and the war would go on. He hoped it would end soon and they all would be safe.