Obi-Wan breathes a sigh of relief when Jango leaves to find whatever it is he’s looking for. Even without the reminder about how dangerous this planet apparently is he can’t imagine leaving the ship. He can’t imagine risking it.
He needs to meditate.
The joy of having the Force again is indescribable, even as it almost overwhelms him. His shields are nearly nonexistent now, cruelly torn apart one too many times to be rebuilt in any short amount of time.
He needs to process.
He can fall apart now, it’ll be alright.
It feels like all he’s been doing is falling apart and scraping himself back together lately. It feels like that’s all he’s been doing for a very long time. Picking up pieces of himself bit by bit, missing a few more each time, sometimes finding a piece that just won’t fit no matter what he does.
He’s broken, he can feel it.
He’s lucky Jango doesn’t seem to be force sensitive, he’s probably projecting quite a bit as it is.
He wraps the blanket Jango gave him around his shoulders, it’s warm and soft and he’s sure if he were psychometric it would leave nothing but pleasant echoes behind.
Finally, he settles down in the co-pilot's chair. It has wonderful padding and probably won’t leave him sore when he inevitably comes out of his meditation tired and hungry.
He breathes in slowly and out again, whispering a mantra under his breath.
The Force greets him as an old friend. He spent a lot of time meditating on the forest moon, asking for guidance for the future and doing his best to shore up his shields, and it always curled around him in soft comfort.
Now he’s looking for something more. The Force knows, there’s a tinge of sadness to its embrace.
He needs to touch the things he’s only barely skimmed the surface on, afraid that it would leave him vulnerable.
He can’t keep burying and repressing them for the future.
He takes a deep breath, steadying himself and considers where to start.
He could start with Mast-, it’s just Xanatos now, only Xanatos.
He’s free, he’s free, and he’ll never go back, Jango promised him that.
That might be best saved for another time, he isn’t ready to touch those things yet.
Instead he takes a deep, steadying breath and turns his attention to the revolt.
The tense hours before, the pressure of his role, the only slave who ever left, the only one who stood a chance at deactivating the collars.
The fear and his stubborn refusal to consider failure.
He remembers the giddy, disbelieving elation of success.
Grinning for the first time in… he didn’t know how long.
The joy of freedom, not quite won yet, but in reach.
The promise of an older slave in an ebb in the fighting, to take his collar off when it was over, to see him free.
He remembers something flashing black at the edge of his vision and panicking. He remembers running, abandoning the others and hardly realizing that he’d made it onto a ship.
The Force squeezes tighter and he wishes again that he could have felt it in those moments, even though he knows that much pain and fear would have risked a fall.
He doesn’t remember falling asleep, he does remember what comes after. The fight, if it could even be called that. The white, hot pain of the collar activating. The absent thought that he never did get used to its searing agony.
He breathes in and out, it’s over now, he’s alright.
He remembers the devastation, realizing that the man before him knew, knew what he was and what the remote was for. That all he could do was cower and beg and hope that didn’t anger him, didn’t make it worse.
He feels it, as if it only just happened. The tears running down his face and the fear, ever present, his only constant companion. Choking on his frustration, that after all that work, all that pain and fighting, he was right back where he started and maybe, maybe even worse off than before.
The sensation of his hope, so carefully protected and hidden for so long leaving him. He cursed himself for hoping, for dreaming that one day he might be free. Just a foolish child with a useless daydream.
He risked a look at the Mandalorian, terrifying and so much stronger than him.
He remembers the spark of hope when the man offered the remote back, almost taking it before remembering. Berating himself for forgetting about the traps, the lies, the punishments. Did he learn nothing from Mast-
-just Xanatos, just Xanatos and this isn’t the time.
The sheer relief when Jango gave it back, the comfort of knowing that at least he’d see it coming now. That the Mandalorian would have to get close to hurt him, that he would have at least a moment to prepare himself.
He remembers hiding the remote and thinking that maybe, maybe, even if Jango was lying, even if he kept him, it would be alright.
That was a rotten lie, it wouldn’t be. No amount of kindness would make it alright. Jango Fett could be the nicest master the galaxy had ever seen and Obi-Wan would still be nothing more than a piece of property, not a person with thoughts and feelings of his own.
He would still have to grit his teeth and obey, no matter what was asked of him.
Still…
it could be… better.
He tried to comfort himself with the idea, it didn’t work.
He would have accepted many masters over Xanatos and nearly anything over the Deepsea mines. He would have accepted almost anything, he didn’t have a choice.
Obi-Wan takes a moment to reach out for the Force again, steadying his connection. It’s hard now, to keep hold of it even in meditation.
It slips through his fingers in a way it never did before.
It reaches back eagerly and he takes comfort in its ready cooperation.
Once he’s steady and stable again he moves on. To the immobilizing cot and his terror at the sight. The knowing glance from Jango that told him that he knew, that he saw, that he recognized his fear. He wasn’t fast enough, wasn’t careful enough, he’d shown weakness and he was going to hurt.
And then he didn’t. Jango didn’t hurt him.
He looked him in the eye and swore he wouldn’t.
Obi-Wan wished he could feel him, could tell if he was lying. He’d gotten better at reading people, months without the Force had made sure of that. He wasn’t good enough to trust.
He was desperate enough to take the risk, the possibility it was all some cruel trick. Desperate enough to make his deepest desires obvious. He wanted it off, wanted it gone, he wanted to crush it in his hands and be free. He wanted to feel again, to reach out and get something back.
He wanted to move his head and not be reminded of the fact his life wasn’t his own anymore.
He was willing to risk it.
It was so hard, letting another person touch the collar. He wanted to curl up and hide from the probing fingers, he wanted to run away, he wanted to shove him, to scream not to touch him.
He did none of those things.
He sat there, as still as he could be, as Jango carefully worked. His hands were gentle and slow. Obi-Wan just had to trust, unable to see anything that Jango was doing.
Then, after what felt like an eternity, he heard a little click and Jango carefully took the collar away.
It was the greatest gift Obi-Wan could have asked for. He could feel it, the Force, it was back! It felt like a dam had broken, the water rushing over parched earth. Desperately needed but too much at the same time.
It was so wonderful and so overwhelming and so much and it had been so long and he saw the lights and…
What if Jango didn’t like the Force? What if he put it back on? What if he hurt him? Obi-Wan never wanted to be without the Force ever again. He carefully struggled through half remembered childhood lessons and tried not to make his relief too obvious when Jango didn’t say anything.
He had even let him hide it. He didn’t keep it so he could put it back if Obi-Wan made him angry or frustrated. Obi-Wan had started to think that things might really be alright, that Jango really wasn’t lying.
That he was really free, with choices and options for the first time in a very long time.
It was amazing.
It was terrifying.
He had missed it so much.
He remembers the peace of existing, of being with someone else and feeling them for the first time in he didn’t know how long.
The other slaves had helped him, taught him, planned and schemed with him but he couldn’t feel them. The Force was out of his reach.
He remembers opening up, starting to trust and share and…
He remembers walking back to the cockpit and hearing his voice, knowing that he would never mistake it for another.
He remembers running, nothing in his hands and no plan in his head. He remembers falling.
His last ditch efforts failing and knowing it was over, feeling Jango’s annoyance and knowing that he would suffer for it. That the ruse was over and Jango had no reason to pretend to be kind now. It was just the kind of thing that Mas-, Xanatos would do. He hadn’t thought that Jango was the kind of person to play along with something so cruel.
He had wanted nothing more than to hide, to curl up in some small corner of the ship and cry. He wanted to find some dark crevice that no one else could fit in and sob and break apart. He had to stay though, because running and hiding would make it so much worse.
He had reached out instinctively for the Force, hoping for comfort, only for it to slip away again, not even a whisper of reassurance. That had hurt more than anything, to be kept from the Force in what might have been his last moments with it.
Obi-Wan, for all that he had suffered, for all that he would suffer, still wanted to live, still wanted to be safe and in as little pain as possible. Why couldn’t he be free? He had hurt so much and tried so hard and it was all for nothing.
He takes a shaky breath as the anger comes back, the fury that Jango had been so cruel as to let him think he was free. That he would allow him to hope, it hurt so much to have it ripped away again.
The frustration that he had been so foolish as to believe him. He should have known better. Had he not listened to the stories of Mandalorians in the creche? Had he not read the history?
He reminds himself to breathe, in and out, a steady pattern. It’s over and finished now, he’s alright, he’s safe.
He breathes out long and slow, releasing the anger of the past. After all, in the moment, he hadn’t stayed angry for long. He couldn’t, not with his panic threatening to choke him from the inside out.
The way his breathing had stuttered slightly at the thought that he was going back, he was going back, he was going back.
He was so tired, of pleading and knowing no one cared, of being in pain for others' amusement. He wanted to rest, to sleep without aching muscles and an empty stomach. He wanted to snack on pieces of fruit with someone he could trust and not worry about where the next blow was coming from. He wanted to be free.
Obi-Wan sucks in a shuddering breath, the Force wraps itself around him, warmer and more comforting than any blanket.
He focuses on the relief of Jango’s promise. The whispers of the Force telling him of the truth of his words, the power of his oath.
He remembers and he meditates. He examines his feelings, tangled and messy and painful, and he lets them go.
It will not help him to heal if he holds on to his fear, his anger, his bitterness over what has come to pass. They were useful, they kept him alive, kept him as safe as they could. They will not see him recover well.
He reaches out to the Force and feels its comfort and a sensation of pride.
He breathes out in relief, feeling something somewhat close to balanced for the first time in… well, it’s been a very long time.
He should figure out how long. Is he still thirteen? Or has he lost more time than that in the dark mines of Bandomeer.
He stretches carefully, not sure how long he’s been meditating for.
Now, to find the date. It takes a bit of searching but it isn’t long before Obi-Wan is standing before the current calendar.
He’s fourteen.
He isn’t sure why that hurts so much, he knew it was a possibility, he’d lost track of time so early into his capture.
It’s just, he’s fourteen. He hasn’t seen the temple in well over a year.
There wasn't a moment of his thirteenth year spent safe and free.
He’s so different now.
Obi-Wan wonders if they would recognize him now. If his friends would look at him with pity and sorrow, a ghost they’ve long since mourned. He wonders if they’ve changed as much as he has. A year is not so long for all that it felt like a lifetime.
He wonders what’s going to happen to him now.
Before he can travel too far down that path the Force nudges at him softly and then more insistently.
He follows it to the ship’s exit.
He can’t leave, he promised Jango he would stay put, it’s dangerous out there. He tries to explain what a bad idea this is but the Force, as usual, doesn’t seem concerned. It only nudges him harder.
He could ignore it, could stay in the ship like he’s supposed to and pretend he never heard the call. He’s not a Jedi anymore, he isn’t ready. He’s already made that decision. But… He’s still Obi-Wan.
He’s still the little boy who got terribly lost in the temple because the Force told him someone needed his help. He’s still the person who tried to comfort Padawan Feemor when he couldn’t seem to get his forms right and then immediately burst into tears when asked if he knew where his crechemates had gone.
He hasn’t changed so much as to stop listening.
Obi-Wan really wishes the Force would be more specific, he also wishes Jango had left his comm code behind.
He just hopes he won’t be angry if he comes back to an empty ship.
He really hopes Jango doesn’t leave him.
He doesn't think he would but the possibility is more terrifying than Obi-Wan would like to admit.
Obi-Wan huffs and takes a minute to think. He’ll follow the Force, but he isn’t naive, it pays to be prepared.
He spares a pained thought for his lightsaber, he hopes Mas-, Xanatos, just Xanatos. He take a calming breath in and out, he hopes Xanatos didn’t try to bleed it. His kyber probably doesn’t sing for him anymore but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t deserve to be safe and happy.
He breathes in, and out. He feels awful about taking Jango’s things but he isn’t so foolish as to wander the streets without a weapon.
He finds a spare blaster that isn’t too bulky and a couple small vibroblades. He searches around until he finds a plain sheet of flimsi and writes out a quick note, apologizing for taking Jango’s things and promising to return them.
Obi-Wan feels as ready as he can be to venture out into the city but takes a moment to close his eyes and tilt his head and ask the Force for guidance. It leads him to the corner where Jango took his collar off and guides his hands to the lock-picking tools still nearby.
He takes a shaky breath and tucks them away.
His hands clench and unclench nervously as the ramp lowers and he sets the ship up so it will let him and Jango back in but no one else.
The city isn’t huge, not like Coruscant with its never ending levels and overwhelming size. It’s sprawling and busy but taps out at only a few stories, if he climbed the higher buildings he could probably see the edges where the buildings start to thin and the city ends.
It’s still a lot of people, a lot of noise, a lot of activity, a lot of danger.
He wonders why he needs a lock-picking kit and tries his best not to dwell on it, instead leaning into the Force and wandering the streets.
The Force guides him away from the nicer parts of the city, the pleasant markets and busy crowds. The parts where it might be a bad idea to snatch up a wandering child.
There are people watching him with a considering eye, he doesn’t need to feel their intentions to know what they’re thinking.
He knows what they see.
A vulnerable child, perhaps useful, worth at least a little something, and perhaps easily missed.
He weaves the Force around himself as best he can, leaving a whisper of don’t look, don’t see, there’s nothing interesting here.
It helps, for all that it’s incredibly hard to maintain. The eyes start to drift, lose their greed and threat.
He lets out some of the tension in his shoulders and carries on.
He hopes he finds whatever it is soon.
-
There are slaves here.
He can feel it.
It makes him shiver, he’s vulnerable and alone. He’s afraid, no matter how hard he tries not to be, he’s afraid.
The Force curls around him with calm and care.
He breathes in, and out.
He can do this.
He takes another step and finds himself facing a door. It’s locked, he can hear someone snoring on the other side.
He needs to get into that room.
He wanders the outside, wondering what to do, the Force spikes in warning over waking the being on the other side.
There must be another entrance, somewhere.
He finds it on the other end of the building, a window, boarded up haphazardly and covered on the inside with a cloth.
He pries one of the boards off with his knife, taking great care to keep quiet. Once it’s gone he shifts the cloth over to see inside.
There’s a little Twi’lek girl staring back at him. He startles harshly and nearly drops the cloth before catching it again.
He glances around the rest of the room and finds it empty aside from her and the still snoring man in the corner.
There’s a sensation in the Force of someone reaching out to him, clumsy and untrained, he snaps his head back over to the little one.
Cautiously, carefully, he reaches back.
There is joy in connecting with someone in the Force, it’s indescribable and wonderful and overwhelming.
She beams at him and Obi-Wan can only smile helplessly back.
He knows why he’s here now.
The Force has always loved its children.
He continues to pry rotting boards off the window, periodically checking his surroundings and wincing when the man shifts in his sleep.
It takes some time and the shadows have lengthened considerably since he started but finally he silently pries the last board off and slips into the sunken room.
The man shifts in his sleep, he might tip over with how poorly he’s balanced on the chair.
Obi-Wan can’t risk it.
Killing him would be foolish, would up the stakes too much. A single child slave may be an acceptable loss, especially if her force sensitivity remains unknown, worth a search but maybe not a hunt. A dead slaver would bring the whole local trade down on them.
He sets the blaster to stun and fires, cringing at the noise. He’ll wake up, ideally he’ll take the blame, with no knowledge of Obi-Wan’s existence.
He turns back to the little Twi’lek.
“Hello there little one, what do you say to getting out of here?” He asks in Ryl, not sure if she understands basic, ever grateful for all his lessons at the Temple.
“Yes!”
“Alright,” he takes the lock-picking kit out and starts examining the chains before remembering. “Do you know if he has the keys?”
“No, the other one, the very mean one, he took them.”
“That’s alright, this’ll just take a little time.” He starts his fiddling, grateful that it isn’t a collar. He really doesn’t know what he’s doing, he hasn’t done this before. At least the chains don’t come with traps.
He steadies himself carefully, remembering whispered instructions given late at night. He never had the chance to use them but he still remembers. “Do you know when the mean one was coming back?”
She shakes her head and he can only hope he’s fast enough.
Neither of them speak as he works, tense with anticipation.
He nearly cheers in triumph when the first one goes and sighs with weary relief when it’s over.
It’s not a moment too soon as he hears pounding on the door and a loud call to open up. He whips his head around to the entrance. The man laying on the ground makes no move, still fully unconscious.
Obi-Wan wastes no time scooping the little girl up and shoving her through the window, barely making it out himself before he hears the door swing open with a loud slam.
He takes a breath, shaky and uncertain.
The little one looks up at him with her wide, hopeful eyes and he picks her up and he runs.
He races down side streets and alleyways, dodging carts and passersby. He ignores the shouts of outrage that follow him.
He doesn’t dare stop, afraid that if he does he won’t be able to start again.
He lets the Force guide him, in odd directions and circles and backtracking routes until finally, finally he stops.
He’s back at the mechanic’s yard.
He takes a heaving breath of pure relief, suddenly exhausted beyond measure.
Obi-Wan stumbles to the ship and somehow manages to remember how to get it open.
He sets his little companion down as carefully as he can manage with shaking limbs.
He collapses flat on his back as soon as the door shuts behind them.
“Hello again,” he pants as she crouches next to him, looking concerned. “I don’t think we’ve been introduced, I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.”
She tilts her head, examining him carefully. Her Lekku twitches with sympathy as she watches his chest heave with exhaustion and weakness.
“I am Aayla Secura, I’m five.”
“That’s wonderful Aayla, I’m-,” he swallows.
“-I’m fourteen.” He admits in a gasping exhale.
She stands and looks around with wide eyes. “This is a big ship! Is it yours?”
“No, it’s-, it’s not mine.”
He moves to sit up and winces, at some point he must have torn something open. His back throbs with sharp pain.
Aayla narrows her eyes at him. “You’re hurt.”
“Y-yes.” He smiles in an attempt at reassurance. “I’ll be alright though.”
He tries not to cringe under her eyes, he knows they settle on his neck. His shirt collar isn’t high enough to hide the scarring.
“Did your master do that?” She whispers, suddenly much more subdued. He could lie, but what good would that do. He nods and her eyes dart around the ship.
“Yes, but he isn’t here anymore.”
“Where is he then?”
“Telos, maybe Bandomeer. I don’t know and I don’t care right now.” He does care, he cares so much. He never wants to see him again.
“How did you get such a big ship? Did you steal it?” She looks way too excited about that idea.
“I told you, it’s not mine. I’m just staying here for now.” He moves to sit up further, breathing in sharply as his back is further exposed to the air.
“Come on, we should do something about those scrapes before Jango gets back.” He points to the bruises and cuts peeking out under her dress. He hopes Jango isn’t upset by their new addition.
“You too Obi-Wan.”
He cringes as he moves to stand, kriff that hurts, he’s amazed it didn’t tear before.
“Alright, me too.”