Chapter Text
If Obi-Wan thought about it— really thought about it—he would’ve pinned the moment of his fall not when he swore himself to the Sith.
Obi-Wan Kenobi’s fall came on a night not unlike any other, deep in the middle of the Clone Wars. It had been raging for over three standard years then, and he had grown used to the sounds of battle just beyond his ship. It wasn’t something he ever thought he would grow used to, but after the first year, he found himself able to sleep through grenades and blaster-fire and death. He used to lay awake all night, telling himself that he would be more than useless if he couldn’t dull out the sounds long enough to sleep for a few hours.
But, that night, in his tiny bunk, barely wide enough for two narrow beds, Obi-Wan slept soundly.
It didn’t matter that there was a battle raging on Isalon. It didn’t matter that Obi-Wan had fallen asleep in clothes he had worn for three days straight. It didn’t matter that Anakin was snoring louder than any bomb lobbed in their direction.
Obi-Wan slept. And Obi-Wan dreamed.
Dreams were rare for the master. After everything he had seen—battlefields, murder, Satine —Obi-Wan had dulled himself to dreams through extensive mediation. If he was more likely to get nightmares that would make him wake in a cold sweat after only an hour of rest, then they were a detriment and needed to go.
But every now and then, they crept through. And they weren’t good.
Fire. There was fire everywhere . It scorched Obi-Wan’s skin as he stood on the bank of a river made of lava.
And Anakin—
Anakin was a ruin at his feet.
Anakin writhed in pain, screaming and howling as his flesh melted. His hair had burned away, leaving behind a burnt, barren scalp. His arm, his legs—they were gone.
And his eyes —yellow, monstrous.
As Anakin howled, Obi-Wan took a step back. He stepped away from the fire, from the mangled undead corpse in front of him.
Away from Anakin.
Obi-Wan gasped as he awoke, launching himself into a seated position. Hands trembling, he wrapped them around his legs as he pressed his face into his knees and made himself breathe.
It had been a dream. It had been a dream that was precisely the reason Obi-Wan didn’t want dreams. He focused on the room around him.
He could hear a muffled battle from outside the ship—quieter than it had been when he had dozed off, so it must’ve been the middle of the night.
He could feel his beard tickling his skin—overgrown, he would need to shave in the morning if he wasn’t charging into the battlefield.
He could sense Anakin only a few feet to his right—close enough that if Obi-Wan stretched out his arm, he would be able to shake his best friend awake and confirm that he hadn’t been burned beyond recognition.
As if knowing Obi-Wan’s thoughts had strayed to him, Anakin sleepily mumbled, “Master?”
“I didn’t mean to wake you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, unashamed at the shake of his voice. He could never be ashamed around Anakin, not after everything they had endured. To hide weakness would be a point of shame.
“Are you alright?” Anakin asked. Obi-Wan turned his head to look at Anakin, eyes slowly adjusting to the dimness of the room.
It was small and dark, with a faint light creeping out from beneath the door of the fresher stall tucked into the wall. It was a cabin that had been intended for only one bed, but after Anakin had blown his ship to bits in a small skirmish on the way to Isalon, he had no choice but to squeeze a bed into Obi-Wan’s cabin.
But Obi-Wan didn't complain. It was preferable to Anakin having been lost with his ship.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said before taking a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Just like Qui-Gon had taught him a lifetime ago.
“Forgive me for pointing this out, but you look like shit ,” Anakin said, before adding, “Master.”
“Thank you, Anakin. I don’t think we would have survived so long without your insight,” Obi-Wan said, but just hearing Anakin’s voice soothed the fear the dream had left in his mind. Anakin lay a few feet away, eyes slowly blinking as he returned to consciousness. The scar over his right eye hadn’t quite healed yet, and Obi-Wan felt a sudden urge to apply a fresh bacta strip and ensure the healing process continued without complications.
Anakin had been his responsibility for over a decade. First as a student, then as a brother, and now as a friend.
Though friend didn’t seem like the correct word sometimes. It didn’t seem to carry the proper weight.
“It was just a dream,” Obi-Wan said. “Nothing to make a fuss about. Just… a dream.”
“Sounds more like a nightmare, based on what the Force is telling me,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan privately doubted that Anakin was able to read the Force clearly enough to know what Obi-Wan was feeling. It was more likely that he could still see the slight tremor in Obi-Wan’s hands and hear the rattle in his voice.
“They can’t be helped,” Obi-Wan said. “If this war ever ends, I’m sure I’ll dream about dancing on mountaintops with Master Yoda himself.”
“I bet Master Windu could outdance him,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan let out a light laugh. The comment wasn’t even funny , but it was from Anakin.
Living, breathing, unburnt Anakin.
“I’m sorry for waking you,” Obi-Wan said. Anakin shrugged as he made himself comfortable again.
“You know I could fall asleep standing up,” Anakin said. “I’ll be back asleep in a few moments.”
“How lucky you are,” Obi-Wan sighed. There was a chance he would be awake until sunrise, and he would need the strongest caf on the ship to get through the strategy meeting planned at dawn.
“No, you’re the lucky one. A nightmare is just a nightmare to you. I have to wonder if it’s a vision every time, and I haven’t been lucky so far,” Anakin said, his voice already drowsy. “I never know.”
“Sleep, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and he lowered himself back into bed. He stared at the ceiling until Anakin’s breathing leveled out, and then he kept staring.
Before the war, Obi-Wan hadn’t thought about death often. The matters of the Force weren’t his concern or speciality. Qui-Gon was gone, and it was a loss that stung him all those years later.
But in the three years since the Clone Wars began, Obi-Wan found himself worrying constantly. There had been losses too heavy to count and too many close calls for comfort.
And despite it all, and despite their roles as generals, Obi-Wan still found himself worrying about Anakin. Maybe he always would, even as Anakin one day became a master alongside him.
That’s why, even as Obi-Wan tried to still his mind and slow his thoughts, he couldn’t fall asleep again. Whenever he came close, the same thought ran through his head, and it chilled him to the bone and woke him up.
What if it hadn’t been a nightmare? What if it had been a vision?