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A heavy weight had been lifted off Obi-Wan’s shoulders after his last encounter with the man he loved as a son. His former Padawan. His best friend. Darth. He’d refused to acknowledge him as anything more than his title. Anakin was gone, and he had taken his place, forever lost to the Dark Side.
He still dreamed about him. About the pride swelling in his chest when Anakin became a Knight, giving him the signature Skywalker smirk when he rose after leaving the title of Padawan behind. About all the times they fought side by side in the Clone Wars, enhancing their strengths and filling in for their weaknesses. About the late-night conversations they’d have by one of the balconies in the Temple, staring at the Coruscanti sky, laughing and sharing stories because, in those sparse moments, the war didn’t exist, only they did.
Their bond had always been strong. Stronger than the ones Obi-Wan shared with anyone else. Still, he felt a prickle of familiarity as he walked down the street market he’d stopped by to get supplies.
It didn’t feel like Anakin, no. It felt like someone else. Someone that was tugging at his heartstrings as he gazed at the boy a few stalls down. His red hair was glowing under the blazing sun as he showed different fruits to the droid perched on his shoulder so it could scan them and, with a smile, explained what they were while the vendor was too busy tending to other customers.
Obi-Wan approached him casually. If he was Force-sensitive, he was doing a good job at hiding it - just like Obi-Wan was. The Force was practically singing a tune he didn’t understand as he adjusted the hood on his head, sneaking a glance at the boy beside him.
Pale. Green eyes. Faded scars. Freckles dotting his face. An electro-tattoo on his wrist. He couldn’t be older than twenty, for he still had that youthful look on his face. The mirth that didn’t belong on a planet like this or in scars like that.
And, for a brief second, Obi-Wan dropped his shields, letting his Force signature glow before it was dimmed into nothingness again. The boy turned to face him, eyes wide, and Obi-Wan managed to see the traces of a frown forming on his face when he walked away.
“Wait!” The boy jogged until he caught up, breathless, even if only a few meters had stood between them.
“Not here.” Obi-Wan replied, and the boy nodded, looking back to see if anyone was trailing them before walking by his side, telling his droid it would be alright when it beeped its concerns.
The sun went down quickly on this planet and, by the time they’d reached somewhere desolate and safe enough, night was beginning to stir. They made a small fire and sat down on the cold, harsh ground, letting the fire crackle and burn and light up the boy’s face in shades of orange and red before Obi-Wan, at last, pushed his hood down.
“Master Kenobi?”
“I prefer Ben, if you don’t mind.”
“Master Ben.” The boy corrected.
“No need for formalities.” He replied and, after a long second, asked: “What’s your name?”
“Cal Kestis.”
“You were Jaro Tapal’s Padawan.”
“I was.” Cal replied, and left it at that.
Obi-Wan wasn’t exactly friends with Tapal, nor were they in the battlefield together often, but he was a formidable Jedi, and they’d indulge in pleasant conversations when they could.
Now that he thought about it, he remembered overseeing Cal’s training once. He was short. Skinny. The robes looking a little too big for him. Obi-Wan rarely did this, but Tapal had asked for a favor and Obi-Wan had enough time to spare to look at how the Padawans were faring. Cal was determined. Soaked up every praise with a smile on his face. Looked at him with nothing short of awe when they met in the training platform.
Maybe he’d felt the pull there, too. A little sensation at the back of his head. Like a pleasant headache that he’d chalked up to tiredness and the feeling of a job well done. But he didn’t press the matter any further. Anakin needed him. He’d felt the strain in their Force bond. The frustration. The hopelessness. The need for grounding. He’d left Cal with a smile and hollow words of seeing him again soon.
And, now, Cal was in front of him years down the line.
He spoke of the harsh times on Bracca. Of the Inquisitors. Of how Cere Junda was alive and her Padawan-turned-Inquisitor dead. Of the holocron. Of how he’d traveled with Cere, a Nightsister, and a Latero, but needed time to sort things out on his own before he went back with them.
Back home.
The Force sang again. Louder this time. Telling him to let her out. To let her show him.
And he did. Even if there were still Inquisitors out there. Even if no place was truly safe. Cal’s eyes widened, and then, he did the same.
The Force engulfed them in warmth, the tendrils of a bond threading between them, the heartache and sorrow left behind to give way to one thing:
Bound.
Bound by blood.
“I… I don’t understand.” Cal said.
But Obi-Wan did.
He thought about Satine. About the time they’d spent together after he’d snuck through her window instead of watching over the Palace. About the secret visits to Mandalore. About how he could never disregard his attachment -no, his love for her.
He would’ve left his life as a Jedi behind for her, but they both knew that as soon as he stepped on that ship, nothing would ever be the same.
And it wasn’t.
Satine grew their child in her womb, keeping him a secret so no one could hurt him or use him against them. Keeping their reputations. Their love locked away. Knowing her, she probably came up with an elaborate plan for the Jedi to find a Force-sensitive child in Mandalore, raised by one of the few people she trusted because he’d be safe in Coruscant, even if it meant she’d never see him again.
The ultimate testament of a mother’s love.
Obi-Wan tried to steady the turmoil in his mind by breathing in the emotions and letting them out into the Force, even if some of them clung to his heart, refusing to be let go. Refusing to let her go even as he closed his eyes.
She should’ve told him. She should have. But he couldn’t dwell in the what-if’s of a life where he stood by Satine’s side, holding Cal in his arms. Not a Jedi. Not a General. But a father.
“Cal,” He started, pausing for a moment as he considered the weight of his next words. “I am your father.”
Obi-Wan didn’t know how long they stayed like that, in silence, the only sound coming from the crackling fire in front of them as the heaviness of his words began sinking in. And, for a moment, Obi-Wan felt as tired as he’d ever been.
He had a son. A son who’d been so close, yet so far. A son who shouldn’t have gone through that on his own.
And, now, he wasn’t sure if he could make things right. Not when they were virtually strangers.
He’d missed decades of Cal’s life and couldn’t make up for all the lost time. The missing memories. The parental love that Obi-Wan could only find in Qui-Gon because that’s all he’d ever known.
But Cal had him. And he’d been too busy. Too worried to, at least, try to make the connection when Cal was young.
He wanted to apologize, but no words would ever be enough to explain the sinking feeling in his stomach. The rising headache at the back of his skull. The heartache that kept running deeper and deeper the more he looked at Cal and the fire reflecting in his eyes before the boy met his gaze.
“Did you know?” Cal’s voice was soft, measured, probably keeping in as much as he was.
Obi-Wan took a steady breath.
“I would’ve left the Jedi Order if I’d known you were my son.”
That struck a chord deep within him, remembering what he’d told Satine once. What he was now telling their child.
He wouldn’t have hesitated to do it.
Cal slowly rose from his seat and approached him, an unreadable expression on his face. And, on their newly formed bond, a flurry of emotions he couldn’t quite understand sped by. Obi-Wan stood up when Cal stopped in front of him. Expecting the worst. Questions whose answers he didn’t have. Explanations he might not be able to give. A strike, perhaps, if the boy was more temperamental than he looked.
Instead, Cal took a step forward and wrapped his arms around him. Tightly. As if he’d disappear if he didn’t hold on to him like that. Obi-Wan returned the gesture, rubbing soothing circles on Cal’s back when his body began to shake.
“It’s alright. I’m here. You’ll never be alone again.”
They spent the next couple of weeks paying for passage on the cargo bay of numerous ships. Filling up gaps. Talking about their lives. About them and what this all meant. Cal radiated honestly in every word he spoke, but Obi-Wan couldn’t completely cut himself open like that. Not without bringing forth wounds that were just beginning to scab and sharing pain he’d rather bury deep inside.
Instead, he spoke about Satine. About who she’d been. What she’d accomplished. Of how much she would’ve loved Cal if she was still alive. With fondness, he recounted the times they’d butted heads but, in the end, their love never faltered throughout the years. How, now, he could see Satine in Cal’s determination and will, and he couldn’t be prouder about it.
He wasn’t sure how many cycles had passed before they arrived at their final destination: Bogano. One of the places where it’d all started for Cal. One he wanted to share with him.
The air was crisp. Sweet. And they could find refuge in the vault for as long as they needed. Cal’s droid, BD-1, told him the name of the creature who lazily lounged at the top of the highest mesa and the fuzzy ones who scrambled into burrows as soon as they saw them. It was relatively safe, the droid said.
Relatively was better than nothing.
Cal spoke about his strained connection with the Force and how he had to figure things out himself after Tapal’s death. No one was there to teach him. To guide him. To show him the way.
Obi-Wan figured the first thing they would try was to meditate things out.
And so they did, side by side, knees barely touching each other, feeling the grass underneath them. The wind gently rustling their hair. By the time Obi-Wan opened his eyes, a bogling had made its way towards Cal, resting at a respectful distance from him and BD-1.
By the end of the week, Obi-Wan had eased out of meditation to find a bogling sleeping on their laps and half a dozen more scattered around them. He’d gently nudged Cal with the Force, coaxing him to open his eyes.
Cal let out a barely audible ‘yes!’ as he took in the sight, turning to smile at him, the gesture never faltering even when the creature bolted out of his lap as he tried to comb his fingers through its fur, making them all run away.
Obi-Wan couldn’t remember when he started smiling.
He didn’t ask Cal how old he was when Order 66 was executed but, judging by his skills, he’d been young. Far too young. Their lightsabers clashed against each other in a friendly spar, blue against blue. Some of Cal’s movements were too raw, leaving openings here and there that he protected by igniting the other end of his lightsaber. A sound strategy, but not the best one.
Obi-Wan retaught Cal the forms because, at the end of the day, what felt right didn’t matter, doing it right was. For protection. For strength. He promised it would make things easier.
They sparred one too many times, and Obi-Wan slowly but surely noticed the little changes in Cal. His posture. His footwork. His confidence. He’d been tense at first, too guarded and defensive. Intimidated, almost. And, now, he smiled freely as they fought, keeping up his pace, his face lighting up as their lightsabers clashed, neither of them willing to give in to the other.
Cal completely shutting off his lightsaber took Obi-Wan by surprise as he slashed at thin air, off-balanced, the grip on his lightsaber softening just enough for Cal to reach out with the Force and call it to his hand with a small laugh.
It’d been a mistake.
He stood in place, frozen, staring blankly in front of him before his eyes rolled into the back of his head as he fell to his knees, shaking, keeping Obi-Wan’s lightsaber in a vice grip.
“Cal!” Obi-Wan was by his side swiftly, holding him in his arms in a feeble attempt to stop whatever this was. It seemed as if Cal was convulsing, lips parting and shutting themselves every now and then, silent tears trailing down his cheeks before he snapped out of it with a loud gasp, jerking his body away from Obi-Wan’s and trying to even out his breathing as he clutched fistfuls of grass in his palms.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had to do that to Master Sky-“.
Obi-Wan stopped him there, placing a soothing hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t strain yourself.”
He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not with Cal.
But this wasn’t a vision, no. It was psychometry. He’d seen Quinlan Vos reacting like this when he was a youngling, wide eyes brimmed red with tears, seizing violently on the floor before he was whisked away to the Healing Halls. And, then, all he had to do was close his eyes for a second and keep going.
They’d talked about it briefly. How the memories would eat you alive if you stared at them for too long. How it was easier to let them flow through you instead of latching on to them.
If he knew where he was now -or if he was still alive-, Obi-Wan would’ve begrudgingly asked for his help. Still, he tried to steer Cal in the right direction. Bring the memories in with an inhale and letting them go with an exhale because it seemed… logical. Doable.
Obi-Wan hadn’t played hide and seek since he was a youngling but, this time, it felt appropriate. He left small crumbs of his whereabouts around. Muddy footprints with annoyance seeping out of them. Half-eaten berries laced with disgust. Double lightsaber gashes on the trees here and there, some infused with mirth, some others with sorrow.
And, yes, this was part of Cal’s training. If he wanted his weapon back, he needed to find him first.
By the time Cal found him, Obi-Wan was stroking the fire he’d made an hour ago and brought a pot of fresh water to boil, offering Cal a king’s feast for his success: questionable ration bars -that was on Cal, he chose the dreadful things at the market- and a fresh cup of caf.
Obi-Wan’s mug made its way only halfway to his lips when he noticed the packets of sugar he’d brought laid untouched on the ground.
Cal took his caf the same way Anakin did.
Two packets of instant powder. No sugar.
While Obi-Wan’s preference for tea was obvious, he occasionally indulged in caf. Without sugar, of course. He mused Anakin got that from him when he’d first asked to take a sip of his cup at the ripe age of 10. It’d been strange for a child to like such a bitter thing, but Anakin wasn’t like other children, now, was he?
Anakin’s caf preference eventually evolved into two massive spoonfuls of it placed in a cup. And, when they were out on the field, he would make it just like Cal did - except he’d tear the packets open with his teeth and dump them unceremoniously on whatever he had resembling a cup instead of the gentle way Cal did it. Not having it gave him headaches at times, and the 501st had learned, the hard way, that at least someone had to keep a couple of packets in their person in case their General started getting a little… cranky.
Cal was the opposite. Said he drank so many cups of it to fill his empty stomach and keep up with the work on Bracca that he didn’t even feel the caffeine anymore. He still liked the taste and the warmth, but, other than that, water was fine. Tea? Only if there was enough sugar around to make it taste a little less like old plant water.
They would’ve gotten along.
They would’ve gotten along just fine.
They stumbled across an old, broken-down ship while they were on an evening walk one day, the skeleton of a humanoid poking out of a broken window, helmet still on.
“Master Tapal was supposed to teach me how to fly, but we never got that far.”
“I can teach you.”
Obi-Wan wasn’t thrilled about it. He’d lost count of how many times he said flying was for droids. How many sour landings he had. He’d already come to terms that flying was just… not his thing. But, for Cal, he’d try.
When they had enough credits, of course.
Right now, they had just enough for passage and food and, maybe, to rent a speeder. Getting a ship was out of the question.
“I’d like that.” Cal replied with a smile.
That night, Obi-Wan dreamed of Anakin again. Except Cal was there, on a ship's pilot seat. Both of their backs were turned to him as Anakin explained what this and that were for. Which buttons to press. Which ones to ignore - for now. How he, later, would teach him how to fix the basics in case of emergency.
And, then, they were up in the air, Anakin in the copilot seat, Obi-Wan right behind him.
“Keep her steady.” Anakin’s voice was as clear as he remembered back in the day. Neither raw like when he yelled he hated him, nor modulated like the last time he’d seen him.
He didn’t need to see Cal’s face to know he was smiling as they drifted aimlessly, going through sharp turns before Cal learned to steer a bit smoother. Move the ship a little faster.
“Wanna know Obi-Wan’s favorite trick?”
“Anakin…”
“Sure.” Cal replied, all sunshine and innocence in his voice before Anakin instructed him to lean the steering wheel all the way to the right, sending them spiraling onwards.
R2 let out a distressed scream. BD-1 jumped off Cal's shoulder and climbed on Obi-Wan’s lap, who was gripping the armrests just a little too tight, trying to figure out if he should scold Anakin, Cal, or both for trying to give him a heart attack.
In the end, he opened his mouth and decided to shut it at the sight in front of him.
They were both laughing wholeheartedly and, finally, he caught their profiles as they smiled at each other. Cal, with honest mirth and thrill. Anakin with a playful smirk and a glint of pride in his eyes.
“Good job, kid. Let’s hope you land better than your dad.”
They weren’t able to do much that day.
Or, rather, Obi-Wan didn’t let Cal wander around outside when it seemed like the sky was falling apart.
“It’ll make you sick.” He said as Cal was about to walk out of the room they were in, BD already on his back, looking for thrills in the pouring rain armed with a worn poncho on his back.
“Fine.” He sounded resigned, but the tug on his lips betrayed him as he took a seat in front of Obi-Wan, thanking him for the tea and the handful of sugar packets he’d given him.
Neither of them packed many clothes, so they made the best out of it and gave them a little wash under the rain.
He supposed the sight was unruly: the three of them hurdled close to the fire, logs stacked beside a pillar, two cots lying near the flames with shirts and pants decorating ancient artifacts around them.
Cal grimaced when he took a sip of his tea.
“Do you need more sugar?”
“No, I put too much in it.”
He was barely able to down the second sip. Obi-Wan took the cup away from his hands and placed it beside the pot with a flick of his wrist, even if Cal let out a weak protest that he didn’t quite mean.
Such frivolous use of the Force.
But things like that didn’t matter anymore. At least not in the grand scheme of things.
Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea as Cal walked towards his bag, presumably looking for caf. He looked at one of the pillars as he rummaged through it and, sneakily, pushed a piece of underwear out of sight. Obi-Wan hid his smile into his cup.
He’d done the same for modesty’s sake. And because who, in their right mind, would like to see their father’s underwear?
The smile on his lips quickly faltered as a memory flooded his senses.
Obi-Wan had done Anakin’s laundry since he was a child- it was his responsibility at the time, after all. He did the laundry on the fourth day of the week when he was in the Temple, and, with a sigh, he’d come into his room one too many times to find dark robes and unfitting shirts in his laundry basket.
And, truly, Anakin had no shame. Handfuls of underwear. Socks so dirty they looked brown instead of white. His reasoning was that Obi-Wan had already seen it all, so why would it matter now?
Well, it mattered because Anakin was eighteen. But, of course, it was easier to sneak into Obi-Wan’s quarter and pick his clothes up with a smile and a ‘thank you’ once they were neatly folded and ready to be dumped into a single drawer.
Then, Ahsoka came into the picture and, eventually, Obi-Wan started finding her leggings, robes, and pants in there as well. His Grandpadawan, at least, had the decency of washing her own undergarments. She also thanked him for the help by bringing him cans of tea from the planets she visited with Anakin. He had them on a shelf by the kitchenette. Some of them were empty within a week. Some others were only for display because they were, frankly, dreadful. Not that he would ever say that out loud.
Obi-Wan let out a close-mouthed sigh.
He hoped she was alive.
“How old were you when you had me?” Cal asked once they were lying down on their cots, warmed by the dying fire and thin blankets.
It was dark outside already, but the rain hadn’t stopped for the past two cycles. If anything, it seemed to let out its blistering anger on Bogano. Obi-Wan had asked about their bogling friends at some point, but Cal said the rain wouldn’t reach their resting places, so they would be safe and warm underground.
“How old are you?” It was a question he was dreading to ask, and it took a moment for the words to slip out. He had his theories, of course, but the cold, harsh truth would always make things more difficult.
“Twenty-two.”
Obi-Wan hummed. “Twenty-six.”
Cal was conceived on the first anniversary of Qui-Gon’s death.
He’d been… distant. Aloof. His concentration had been wavering. His mind elsewhere because a whole year had passed and his Master, his father, was gone, leaving him alone with a child he wasn’t sure he was taking care of properly.
Anakin slept on his floor -and on his bed, once Obi-Wan realized what the child was doing. He ate either too much or too little. Talked a lot or not at all. Being a Master was hard. And he didn’t know how Qui-Gon had done it. How he never seemed to doubt himself. His abilities. His role as a mentor and whatever he’d needed at the time: a father, a friend, a partner in crime.
Master Yoda noticed he was out of it, and told Obi-Wan he needed time away from the Temple. He offered to take care of Anakin personally. Let him sleep in Obi-Wan’s quarter like he’d been doing for the past year -ah, how perceptive he was, but Obi-Wan supposed no secrets could be kept from Yoda.
Obi-Wan accepted and went straight into Satine’s arms.
She knew what to do. What to say. How to hold him the way he needed and ignore the threat of tears in his eyes. If he concentrated enough, he could still smell her perfume. Hear her voice in his mind, telling him she would always be there for him.
Telling him she would always love him.
He never said it back.
It was something he’d regret forever.
“Don’t fall behind, Padawan.”
Calling him that was easier than calling him son. At least for now. Cal fluctuated between calling him Ben, Obi-Wan, and, occasionally, a mixture of the two.
“I’m actually a Knight.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “Who knighted you?”
“Cere.” Cal replied. “But I’m not sure if it counts, since she cut herself off from the Force.”
Obi-Wan stopped and folded his hands behind his back. Cal noticed when he was a couple of steps ahead and gave him a quizzical look.
“I suppose it doesn’t,” He said, and watched Cal’s face drop before he continued. “As a former Master and member of the Council, I could knight you properly, if you’d like.”
Cal’s smile was as bright as the sun as he kneeled down in front of him, head bowed in respect. BD scurried off his back and climbed up Obi-Wan’s leg until he rested comfortably on his shoulder, ready to watch the scene unfold.
Obi-Wan ignited his lightsaber, and brought the blue blade close to Cal’s left shoulder. “By the right of the Council,” Then, to his right. “By the will of the Force.” Finally, he held it above his head. “Cal Kenobi.”
Cal’s head snapped up, eyes wide. Obi-Wan smiled.
“Rise, Jedi Knight.”
Cal did it slowly as Obi-Wan clipped the lightsaber back on his belt, the smile never faltering. If anything, if grew bigger. Prouder.
“Thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me. You deserve it.”
The title. The surname.
Cal deserved it.
Cal deserved it all.
Obi-Wan dared to think that Bogano’s sweet air smelled like home now. Being with Cal felt like home. But he had to go back to Tatooine. Back to Luke. And he couldn’t stand the thought of depriving Cal of his life by taking him to the hot, humid cave he lived in - he’d say yes, if Obi-Wan asked, but Cal had a long life ahead of him. A life that didn’t include feeling like his skin was going to melt off and looking after a boy he didn’t know.
“You could join us on the Mantis. I’m sure Cere would be happy to see you.”
“I apologize, but I must go to Tatooine.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Cal,” Obi-Wan started, sternly. “Tatooine is no place for you.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
It was miserable. He had to be careful. Work odd jobs that barely brought enough credits. Cal was a scrapper once, and having him work with him -or, if he was lucky, as a mechanic, judging by his abilities with droids - would be unfair. Reckless.
“You can do better than that.”
“But I want to be with you.” Cal retorted. “You said I’d never be alone again.”
“And you won’t. You have the Mantis’ crew.”
“They are not you.”
It almost felt like a low blow. Having his own words spit back into his face. Knowing he’d made a promise that Cal would make sure he saw through. Feeling the pang in his chest when his son was willing to leave his own life behind because of him.
And, in the end, the decision wasn’t his to make.
Cal had a certain charm that Obi-Was was certain he’d gotten from him. But, while his was dry and sarcastic, Cal’s was…genuine, and evoked trust from those around him.
That’s how they’d gotten there in the first place.
Obi-Wan no longer worked for scraps, but rather at Cal’s side as a mechanic. Their combined knowledge made things easier, and Cal knew a few shortcuts and cheap replacements that Obi-Wan had missed in the past few years.
Every time someone questioned Cal’s abilities, he’d subtly show his electro-tattoo, and that seemed to change people’s minds about the young man in front of them -or, at least, the minds of those who knew what it meant. BD-1 was a great helper. Showing schematics. Running diagnostics. Jumping from Cal’s shoulder to Obi-Wan’s depending on who needed him the most.
Tatooine was still relentless, and they lived in the small cave Obi-Wan left behind when he’d taken a break from it all. It was meager and, quite frankly, sad, but Cal said it was better than Bracca. Everything was.
They had dinner together while gazing at the horizon every day, watching the twin suns slowly disappear behind the sand dunes. And, sometimes, when the night was beginning to sink, Obi-Wan would catch a ghostly image of Anakin by Cal’s side, looking, for once, at peace.
Owen and Beru were rather surprised when Obi-Wan came to their homestead to introduce Cal as his child, and even more so that he’d brought him to Tatooine, out of all places.
He couldn't believe it, either.
They visited the Lars' every once in a while, always welcomed with cups of tea that Cal would politely decline time and time again.
Speaking about his son, Cal stepped inside with Luke dragging him by the arm, smiling when the boy ran off to Beru’s arms to talk about the latest ship BD showed him from the holo-net.
“Cere commed me," Cal started, taking a seat beside Obi-Wan. "Said she needed help. Think we could leave the shop for a couple of weeks?”
Oh, Obi-Wan could see the sparkle in Cal’s eyes. The one he’d seen in Satine’s far too many times. The one that meant he’d made up his mind and hoped he’d come along for the ride.
He left the cup on the table, feeling a smile tugging on his lips. “When are we leaving?”