Chapter Text
Qui-Gon Jinn was meditating in the room of a thousand fountains when a man fell out of the air and landed on the ground in front of him.
He naturally startled a bit (he flung himself backwards and had his lightsaber in his hand before realizing the man wasn’t, in fact, moving,) but he recovered quickly. Aside from the fact that the man had fallen out of thin air, he lay there perfectly ordinary and still. Cautiously, Qui-Gon stepped forward to get a good look.
Ginger hair. A rumpled cloak, covered in scorch marks. The man lay facedown on the ground and made a weak, pitiful sound. Less than a groan, more like a wheeze.
The man wasn’t wearing Jedi robes, but he was wearing a Jedi cloak.
Qui-Gon slowly reached out to touch. The moment his hand made contact with the man’s head, the Force rose up and slammed into him.
The vision hit him like a wave- he heard screams- someone was crying-
I hate you, he heard-
-the world exploded, for a moment, into colors and shapes and light. He reeled backwards, unable to see, throwing a hand up in front of his eyes and tripping over his own two feet. It lasted one second, two-
-he couldn’t breathe-
-and then it was over. His vision cleared and his breath evened out as the vision faded from him. He could make no immediate sense of what he’d seen- the flash of images had been so intense- but that was fine. He paid it no mind, for it was irrelevant. Qui-Gon had always followed the will of the Force and looked for it to guidance, and now he knew.
“Padawan?” he said, in shock.
Yes, whispered the Force. Yours.
Obi-Wan. Of course. How could Qui-Gon have failed to recognize his own Padawan? But something was wrong. Obi-Wan’s breathing was shallow and rapid, and when Qui-Gon rolled him over, there were tears on his face. He was so very pale.
Dying, said the Force. Hurry.
How could this have happened? Qui-Gon had seen Obi-Wan earlier that day- his Padawan had been healthy, he’d been fine. What could have-
No matter. Time was of the essence. Qui-Gon leaned down, grabbed his Padawan under the arms, and lifted him up, positioning him over his shoulders in a field carry.
Hurry.
“I heard you the first time,” he muttered. He ran for the healing halls, Obi-Wan’s arm dangling limply over his shoulder.
*
“It’s psychic shock, if you can believe that,” said Vokara Che, mere minutes later. The Master Healers had taken Obi-Wan from him moments after he entered the halls, and unceremoniously shoved him outside as every on-duty healer rushed to help. Everyone could feel the urgency in the Force, but Qui-Gon had to believe the healers would help him- he paced outside, back and forth, wishing there was something he could do. He and Obi-Wan had been through hell together. There was no way he’d just drop dead in the middle of a perfectly ordinary day! And fall out of the sky!
Qui-Gon had jumped when Vokara stuck her head into the waiting room, much too soon.
“Psychic…shock?” he repeated, dumbly. People did not die of psychic shock.
“You said he’s your Padawan?” She was all business. She gave him a hard, considering stare.
“Of course he is. That’s Obi-Wan, Vokara!”
“That man is not Obi-Wan. But is he your Padawan?”
What a nonsensical statement.
“That is Obi-Wan! What are you- obviously some weird Force shit is happening to him, but that doesn’t mean-”
“Is he your Padawan, Master Jinn?”
“Wh- yes! Why is this such an issue?”
Her mouth pursed. “This is against my better judgement, but the fact is that we haven’t had this bad a case of psychic shock in, well…ever. The situation is…urgent. And from what I could gather from my examination, he does have the remnants of a training bond with you. It’s an old stump, as if…from years ago. A severed stump from years ago.”
“I don’t-”
“Whatever you did in the past-” she threw up her hands. “However you might have gone and created a Padawan bond with a man I’ve never seen before- I don’t care. I think you can help him.”
What in the sith hells had happened to his Padawan?
“Of- of course, Vokara. Whatever you need.”
She nodded and ducked back inside, beckoning him to follow. With urgency, he followed her.
Obi-Wan looked very…strange, lying on that bed. They hadn’t removed his clothes, but had yanked up his sleeves, and Qui-Gon felt that there was…something odd about his Padawan’s body. But with the vision in his mind, distorting everything around him, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. There was an oxygen mask over Obi-Wan’s face, and Qui-Gon dimly registered a beard. A beard?
Three healers had their hands on his Force-points- the inside of the elbow, the palm of the hand, the lymph nodes on his throat. Their brows were furrowed in concentration, and as he watched, one cried out and ripped their hands away. Another healer smoothly stepped in to take their place.
“Hands,” barked Vokara, and she guided him to place his palms on either side of his Padawan’s head. “Feel for your bond with him. If there isn’t one, create one- but try for the same place as your old one. He needs something to pull him back.”
“We already have one- every Master and Padawan do-”
“Well, if it’s not there,” she snapped, sounding very much like she thought there would not be an active bond. “Just make one in the old place.”
Why shouldn’t there be? His relationship with Obi-Wan had never been better. Of course they had a bond.
Qui-Gon closed his eyes and sunk into himself, immediately reaching for that connection, so close to the forefront of his mind, thick as a strong vein.
It was there, healthy as anything, pulsing with warmth and light.
Padawan?
Master? The answer was confused, but attentive.
Come back to me.
…Alright. I’ll be there shortly, Master. The confusion leaking through was palpable, but Qui-Gon paid it no mind, and prepared to pull up out of his mind and tell Vokara there was no need to worry: Obi-Wan would be waking up momentarily.
No, said the Force. Wrong one.
What?
But Qui-Gon always listened to the Force. So with the same amount of confusion that his Padawan had displayed mere moments before, he began to feel around with more care. If not that training bond, what was there?
His mind was made of light. He had tethers to his family, everyone he loved…there was Obi-Wan’s connection, by far the strongest, and Tahl’s, and Feemor’s, and the remnants of what he’d had with Xan, which he shied away from-
Moving on.
There were the links to his friends and crèchemates, and his own old training bond. He had links of varying strengths with his lineage, with Master Dooku and Mace and Grandmaster Yoda and even one to Vokara, who he’d grown up with-
And one more. It was like the fluttering of moth wings. Ephemeral and light and intangible. It was more like the echo of a bond than anything real. A memory.
A vision.
With wonder, he reached for it, gentle and slow. Curling invisible hands around it, mindful of how delicate it was.
Padawan?
He heard nothing on the other end except a muted sigh. Encouraged, Qui-Gon pulled at it, and it became tangible in his mind, taking shape, becoming real.
Padawan, wake up, please.
…
Padawan. Obi-Wan.
…Obi-Wan, came the reply, flickering in and out like the flame of a candle. That’s…right. My name…is Obi-Wan.
That’s right. Come back to us, please. Come back to me.
Master?
Yes. I’m here.
I am one with the Force. Where shall I come back to?
Follow me.
Qui-Gon pulled up, slowly, making sure his Padawan was following behind him. Obi-Wan’s presence was strange, blowing as if in a great wind. He had to keep looking back to make sure his Padawan was still there. But eventually, after minutes or hours, they reached the surface.
“That was the strangest thing,” Qui-Gon muttered upon opening his eyes.
“How so?” said Vokara, reaching over to take Obi-Wan’s vitals.
“It felt like- I’m really not sure. Just strange. Anyway, I think he’ll be waking up soon. He seemed very confused.”
Obi-Wan’s eyes opened, first one and then the other, squinting in the light. He seemed to take stock of his surroundings, looking around at them all. He took a few deep, carefully measured breaths- a breathing technique all Jedi were taught to do for periods of unconsciousness. Qui-Gon smiled to see it- his Padawan had been struggling with that particular thing recently. It required some deep mental fortitude, to wake up in an unknown situation and not panic.
He send a pulse of reassurance down that new tether in his mind, and felt Obi-Wan press against it in return.
“Stable,” said Vokara as she read the pulse ox, relief coating her tone. She moved and turned the oxygen off, then gently reached over and removed the mask, checking back to his vitals periodically. “We’ll have to keep closing those mind-wounds, but we can do it more slowly and safely.” With that she nodded to her three assistants, who backed off his lymph nodes and elbows and focused their efforts on his hands.
Obi-Wan, for his part, merely continued looking around. There was an infinitely peaceful expression on his face, and, Qui-Gon noticed, the tears had ceased.
Obi-Wan’s eyes were reddened and raw, so raw. As if he’d been crying for days.
“Oh,” he said, soft and awed. “I’ve come home.”
“Yes,” said Qui-Gon. “You never left, Obi-Wan. What’s happened to you, Padawan?”
Vokara tried to interject. “Qui-Gon-”
“Oh, Master,” said Obi-Wan. “Jaieh. Look at you. So young. I love you. Did you know that? I never said.”
Qui-Gon chuckled, bemused. “I know. I love you too, child. We are family, after all.”
“Shall I tell the whole Order? Is everyone here? Is this the Force?”
“Qui-Gon!” Vokara was insistent.
“What?” he snapped at her. “He’s had a shock! Leave him alone!”
“That’s not what I’m trying to tell you-”
“Then can’t it wait? Just let me take care of him- we can discuss whatever it is later-”
“Look, with your eyes, you daft man!”
Qui-Gon drew breath to bark at her that this really wasn’t the time. He was comforting his Padawan, thank you very much.
“Master?”
Obi-Wan had walked into the room. Qui-Gon’s actual Padawan, with his short haircut and his long, beaded braid and his clean-shaven, young face.
“Did you call me?” said his sixteen-year-old apprentice, who was standing under his own power and decidedly not injured in a hospital bed.
Qui-Gon looked between the Obi-Wan standing by the door and the Obi-Wan in the bed. And, as if to mock Vokara’s earlier words, now he saw the difference. Some part of him had always known, but he’d been panicking and listening to the Force and relying on his metaphysical senses instead of what his eyes were telling him.
The man in the bed had a beard, no braid, and was clearly not sixteen, not even close.
Qui-Gon looked, once more, between the two of them. “What the fuck?”