Obi-Wan Kenobi is going to die.
He’s known that for a while, he realizes, staring at the Mandalorian landing across the roof.
He ignored the thought the first time when he realized none of his messages were going through, that no one was coming for him.
He’s going to die on this Force-forsaken planet.
The thought hurts.
The war isn’t going to stop and he’s going to be just another unremarkable casualty.
He’s honestly more surprised by the method than anything, but maybe he shouldn’t be. Mandalorians are known for killing Jedi and he isn’t even a proper Jedi anymore. Really, this is just overkill.
He breathes out.
He wonders if it was the Melida or the Daan. He wonders if it matters.
The Mandalorian is talking now.
Bragging probably, what else would they have to say to an ancient enemy?
He could ask them not to.
The blaster isn’t pointed at him anymore.
What’s the point?
“Ad’ika?” It sounds like a question.
Obi-Wan Kenobi is going to die, rifle in hand and nothing to show for it.
When did he start thinking like that?
He takes a breath.
Alright, so, he’s going to die.
He doesn’t want to.
Force, he still wants to live.
He can’t fight.
They’re so much bigger than him, stronger too.
His ancient rifle is nothing next to their array of modern weaponry, as equally likely to misfire as not.
If there’s one thing he’s learned in the last several months it’s that fighting isn’t always everything.
Living another day is enough.
He takes a step back.
Glances behind him.
There’s a crumbling balcony below him.
All he has to do is jump and trust and hope and run like death is following.
The Mandalorian has their hands up in an almost placating gesture. Obi-Wan doesn’t have the energy to begin to parse out what trap that could possibly indicate.
Obi-Wan is so tired.
“Don’t–”
He takes a breath in.
Jumps.
The Mandalorian shouts, some sort of curse.
Obi-Wan lands, stumbles.
Grits his teeth.
Kark.
There’s pain, so much pain.
Maybe Obi-Wan Kenobi is going to die. He isn’t about to make it easy.
He makes it into the shattered building.
It’s only three steps. It feels like an eternity.
He puts more weight on his throbbing foot to make the fourth and crumples.
“Kark.” He hisses.
Alright.
He can do this.
His ears pick up the whine of a jetpack from the other side of the building and then the thump of a landing.
Of course they would be smart enough to head him off.
He dropped his rifle on the landing.
Obi-Wan never stood a chance.
He lifts his head as they walk in and glares as much as he can manage. It probably comes off as pathetic but Obi-Wan frankly doesn’t care.
The Mandalorian walks over quickly, muttering something under their breath.
Obi-Wan scoots back until he hits the wall.
The Mandalorian doesn’t take their blaster out and just finish him off. No, that would be too easy. They kneel once they reach him and ignore his attempts to get away.
“Apologies.” They mutter when he flinches at the gentle probing touch examining his ankle. He kicks out with his good foot and they just brush it aside.
“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan tries for strong, unflappable. He nearly cries out when they press on a particularly sensitive spot.
“Well,” they settle back on their heels, almost slumping in relief. “You’re very lucky, ad’ika. I don’t think it’s broken.”
“That’s… good?”
“Yes, that’s good.” They huff out in an almost chuckle.
Force help him, they want him to live.
Obi-Wan’s breath hitches without his permission.
“I am not–” The Mandalorian must catch on to the direction of his thoughts. They pause and hold their empty hands up in front of them. “I don’t wish you harm.”
“Really?” He scoffs. It’s a false front, probably doing very little to hide the pain and the terror and the helplessness. “Elders lie better than you.”
“I am not lying.” They insist, calm and steady.
Obi-Wan doesn’t bother to argue, just glares in defiance.
It’s going to hurt, probably more than anything he’s felt before. He won’t give the Young up, not for anything.
He still flinches when they reach out.
“Sorry, perhaps…” They pause, settle for backing up a bit and sitting on the ground instead of crouching. Obi-Wan refuses to admit that it helps. “Why don’t we start over. My name is Jaster, ah… he/they?”
Obi-Wan says nothing.
“What are you doing out here, ad’ika?” He asks, as if it isn’t obvious, as if the Elders didn’t already tell him everything they know.
Obi-Wan doesn’t answer.
Jaster sighs, like Obi-Wan is the one being difficult, like he should just give up and betray his friends already.
“You need medical attention.”
“I’m fine.” Obi-Wan doesn’t want whatever this Mandalorian counts as medical attention.
“You’re not.” Jaster says, deceptively reasonable in tone. “Just because it’s not broken–” It sounds almost rote, like he’s had to coax other stubborn children to medical treatment.
It isn’t a comfort.
Obi-Wan’s ankle is throbbing pain with every beat of his heart and there’s no escape and the Mandalorian won’t even kill him and he doesn’t want to die but he doesn’t want to live through whatever they plan either and it’s going to hurt so much and the Young don’t know where he is and even if they did they’re smart enough not to fight a Mandalorian for him and even if they weren’t they can’t win and–
“Breathe.” The Mandalorian, Jaster, says.
Obi-Wan obeys on reflex, sucking in a breath and nearly choking on it.
“Slowly,” He soothes and it’s a nice guiding sound.
Obi-Wan wants to cry.
“There you are.” There’s no impatience in Jaster’s voice when Obi-Wan’s breathing finally starts to resemble something close to stable. “It’s alright. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Obi-Wan shudders. It would almost be better, he thinks, if Jaster sounded as cruel as he must be.
Or maybe he isn’t really cruel, a paycheck is a paycheck after all. That doesn’t mean he has to enjoy his work.
Jaster shifts, like he’s going to speak again.
In the distance, an explosion cracks the air.
Obi-Wan tilts his head, calculating the direction.
“That’d be the Melida, weapons cache, I think.” He says, just in case they’re the hiring party, just in case Jaster can be persuaded they aren’t likely to pay.
Jaster hums, giving nothing away.
“I have bacta on my ship.” He says, obviously leading.
Obi-Wan glares, there’s no amount of convincing that’s going to change reality.
If Jaster wants Obi-Wan on his ship, Obi-Wan will go. He has no choice in the matter, not with his foot like this.
“It’s safer than staying here.” Jaster continues.
Obi-Wan doesn’t respond.
“I’m going to take that as an agreement.” Jaster sighs and reaches out. It’s slow enough that Obi-Wan doesn’t flinch. “I’m going to pick you up. Please don’t try and fight me, I mean you no harm.”
He waits, not quite touching until Obi-Wan nods slightly.
There’s no point in fighting, Jaster will win one way or another, at least this way he might be able to bide his time and escape.
Obi-Wan isn’t sure what this Mandalorian is playing at.
Jaster carries him back to his ship, and doesn't threaten him once. Obi-Wan can’t see his face behind the helmet, tries not to reach out with the Force lest he get overwhelmed by the bleeding suffering and hate of some long past massacre.
Jaster sets him down on a cot and leaves.
He almost wishes they would just get it over with. He’s already here, there’s no stopping Jaster anymore.
Most of all he wishes Jaster would leave him in peace.
Obi-Wan never gets what he wants though.
Jaster comes back, helmetless now, and hands Obi-Wan a small object.
“It’s a fruit.” He explains at Obi-Wan’s baffled look. “It’s sweet.”
Obi-Wan just looks at it, it’s blue.
He’s not sure he’s ever eaten this kind before.
“You can eat it.” Jaster nudges and smiles. It’s… it’s not a mean smile.
Obi-Wan bites into it.
It’s amazing, sweet and juicy and real.
He sniffles.
He’s not going to break.
He’s not.
“You’re alright.” Jaster soothes.
He’s not though.
He’s trapped and he’s going to hurt and he’s never had fruit this good before in his life.
Suddenly Obi-Wan can’t think of anything but eating, his stomach remembering all the misery of hunger and starvation.
He chokes on the first sob.
He clamps a hand over his mouth to muffle it, to make sure not even a drop of the fruit’s juice is lost.
Jaster crouches, he isn’t looming anymore and it doesn’t help. It doesn’t.
He reaches out, slowly, like Obi-Wan can tell him not to and pats his knee once, twice.
It doesn’t hurt.
Obi-Wan doesn’t understand.
There’s a play here, there has to be.
“I’m not–” He chokes out. “I won’t betray them.”
“That’s alright.” Jaster says and starts to work loosening Obi-Wan’s shoe, like it really doesn’t matter if Obi-Wan doesn’t spill all the secrets he knows.
It should be threatening, he thinks, the sign of creeping inevitability. Jaster has all the time in the galaxy to convince him that secrets aren’t worth the pain of keeping them.
He focuses on his breathing, getting his traitorous lungs under control and wiping away the tears that dare to spring up.
Jaster gets the shoe off.
His ankle is swollen and red, at least something about this situation matches Obi-Wan’s expectations.
He doesn’t expect Jaster to follow through on his offered help, not now that he has Obi-Wan in his power.
He jumps at the cold, wet feeling of bacta and his eyes snap over to look.
Jaster meets his gaze with an almost half-sad smile.
“There,” Jaster shifts back. “That should heal just fine in a few hours as long as you let it be.”
“Alright.” Obi-Wan nods, adds in a mumble. “Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Obi-Wan can’t quite parse the look on his face.
Force, he’s tired.
“Rest, ad’ika.”
Obi-Wan can’t muster the energy to find the trap in that.
“You shouldn’t be walking on that yet.”
Obi-Wan startles, violently, puts a bit too much weight on his bad foot and flinches into the door frame.
Of course.
He’d hoped it would work, that Jaster would by some miracle miss his escape, but it was nothing but a wishful dream.
Jaster is sitting, faced away from him, a mess of wires and pieces of metal around him on the floor.
Obi-Wan’s heart only slows after a few long moments of calm. Jaster doesn’t get up, doesn’t punish him for his attempt to get away, doesn’t even look over.
It should be terrifying, an indication of just how much power he holds.
It isn’t, somehow.
His escape foiled and not willing to learn the consequences of making Jaster chase him, Obi-Wan limps over and sits outside the ring of equipment. Well out of Jaster’s reach.
“What are you doing?” He asks.
“My comms are down.” Jaster explains, pushing a wire into place. “The distress signal should have reached my people by now but that’s no guarantee.”
He sets a piece of metal down with a click and smiles. “I suspect the rest of the sector would appreciate it if they only had to search one planet for me.”
“Your distress signal?” Obi-Wan asks, slowly.
“Yes.” Jaster nods and looks around his pile for something. “They should be here within the week, if I can’t hail them sooner.”
“You… didn’t intend to come here.” He tries not to hope.
“Stars no!” Jaster laughs. “They will have my head for this, the one time I insist on traveling alone and here I am. A war zone, with ad’ike holding snipers.” He twists something tight behind the wires.
Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t know what ad’ike means, though he can guess it’s to do with him.
“This has been going on a long time, hasn’t it?” Jaster pauses.
“Yes.” Obi-Wan fidgets, his fingers twisting.
“I’m sorry for it.” The Mandalorian turns to look at him.
“Not your fault.” Obi-Wan shrugs, avoiding his gaze.
“I suppose not.” Jaster goes back to his project. “Not your fault either.”
Obi-Wan flinches.
If he’d been better, if he’d fought harder, if he’d known enough to fix the comms, if he’d spoken the right words.
“You’re sure they’re coming for you?” He doesn’t mean to say it, he sounds small when he does.
“Yes.” There’s no doubt in Jaster’s voice. “They won’t leave me.”
They sit in silence for a few moments.
“Did they leave you?”
Obi-Wan flinches hard this time.
“Apologies, that was rude.” Jaster says and doesn’t push more.
It takes a long time for his breathing to feel normal again.
“How did you know?” He asks when the world feels less like a tragedy.
Jaster hums, picks a piece up and discards it for another.
“Several things. I don’t think most of this planet would know a Mandalorian on sight.”
“You have a lot of weapons.” Obi-Wan points out, rather than agreeing.
“Certainly,” Jaster concedes. “I don’t think there are many neutral parties left on this planet.”
“No, there aren’t.” Obi-Wan says softly.
“You thought I was hunting you.” He says it like it’s obvious, it probably was.
Obi-Wan imagines he has the experience to know.
He doesn’t say anything.
“You didn’t know which side hired me though.” Jaster’s voice is quiet, most of his attention seemingly on the project before him. “You should have, if there are only two in this war.”
Obi-Wan doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.
“You’re alright.” Jaster doesn’t stop fiddling with the pieces around him, doesn’t make a move towards Obi-Wan. “I have no stakes in this fight, remember.”
“Right.” He takes a deep breath, tries to calm his racing heart.
“Can I leave?” Obi-Wan waits to ask until after he’s finished the broth that Jaster set before him. He isn’t above biding his time, not anymore, not for a chance to take himself off the list of mouths to feed for even a day or two.
Jaster pauses, almost surprised, visibly hesitates.
“I won’t let you keep me.” Obi-Wan warns, pushing some degree of danger into his voice.
It probably isn’t all that threatening but he needs Jaster to know. He’ll fight him, odds as bad as they are, if it comes to it.
At least in a warzone his choices are his own. If he dies it will be for a cause he chose, not for a master who thinks himself kind for stealing him away.
Jaster frowns, tilts his head to the side slightly.
“I am not going to keep you.” He says, then adds softly. “Not that way.”
Obi-Wan glares at him.
“What way is that?” He’s rapidly losing all illusion of polite submission and he isn’t sure if that’s a mistake.
“I am not–” Jaster expression firms and he continues. “I am not in the business of owning people, ad’ika. If I were, my people would be right to abandon me to my fate.”
“Then I can leave.” Obi-Wan insists.
Jaster hesitates again.
“You said you wouldn’t keep me.” He reminds him, not that it matters. Jaster can say whatever he likes so long as he wins the fight over the outcome.
“I am not…” He pauses, visibly tries to get his thoughts in order. “I will admit I am not comfortable with you leaving just yet, your foot may not be fully healed.” He holds up a hand when Obi-Wan opens his mouth to argue. “How about this, my people are not likely to find me for some time and I am curious about this world and its conflict. I am not interested in involving myself, only passing the time. This world is short on many supplies, yes?”
Obi-Wan nods, wary.
“I will give you what bacta and rations I can spare, in exchange, I would like you to stay here at least another day or two.”
It’s a lie, it has to be, and a cruel one but Obi-Wan’s mind is already buzzing with the possibilities if it isn’t. The Young haven’t managed to find medical supplies of any sort in weeks and food is as scarce as ever. If it isn’t a lie he can’t say no.
“Fine.” He agrees.
“Thank you.” Jaster smiles and Obi-Wan can’t find any cruelty in it.
“What does ad’ika mean?” Obi-Wan asks, blatantly avoiding any promised discussion of the war.
Jaster passes him another piece of fruit, dried this time and waits for Obi-Wan to eat it before answering. He would like to hide some for the smaller Young but the Mandalorian is so far too attentive to try it yet.
He hums, shifts back. “Well, in this context the Basic would be something like little one.”
Obi-Wan scowls.
“I don’t have a name for you.” Jaster points out, smiling.
“That doesn’t mean you have to call me that.” Obi-Wan doesn’t fall for the implied inquiry.
“I suppose not.” He concedes. “Would you prefer verd’ika?”
He sounds curious, nothing more, nothing less.
“What’s verd’ika mean?” Obi-Wan sighs.
“Little soldier.”
Obi-Wan feels his expression twist into something complicated. He is a soldier, now, more than. It feels like everything he was never meant to be, it feels like something out of place and broken.
“You can call me Obi-Wan.”
Jaster hums without comment for a moment, hands him another piece of fruit.
“It’s nice to meet you, Obi-Wan.”
He needs to meditate.
This isn’t a new thought, he’s often sat awake at night wishing he could reach out for calm and get it.
Meditation is a precious commodity on a planet unknown hundreds of years into a civil war. He doesn’t dare try in the Young’s hiding places, where the fear and suffering bleeds through. He can’t try out in the city, where he might stumble on the echoes of a long passed atrocity or, worse, the Elders might stumble on him.
Obi-Wan looks around.
Jaster’s in the cockpit, apparently comfortable enough to trust Obi-Wan to his own devices.
The ship isn’t connected to the war, he’s… safe here, at least from the Elders. They should be smart enough not to pick a fight with a ship this well armed.
He might… he could…
Obi-Wan walks to the other end of the ship, slow and careful of his nearly healed foot.
He finds a spot between two crates and settles into his hiding place. It’s away from any obvious areas on a Mandalorian ship that might radiate suffering.
He hesitates, for just a moment, before he lets himself reach out.
The Force is gentle, comforting in its own way.
He nearly falls out of his meditation with the force of how much he’s missed it. Instead he focuses, drifting in the peace and seeking out the other presence on the ship.
Jaster is warm.
Obi-Wan relaxes more than he has in months at the feeling. A cruel being set on deceit would carry traces of intent, even in their quiet moments.
Jaster feels steady, controlled. He is dangerous but not malicious, and has no clear intentions of harming Obi-Wan.
Obi-Wan’s shoulders lose their tightness and come down.
He breathes.
It is a long time, it is a short time, it is no time at all.
“Obi-Wan?”
He comes out of his hiding place too fast, blinks up at Jaster’s bewildered expression.
“Yes?”
“What are you doing in there?”
Obi-Wan shrugs.
“Alright.” Jaster says slowly and awkwardly holds a cup out. “Would you like to try some shig?”
Obi-Wan lets the warmth seep into his fingers for a moment before taking a sip.
It’s good, different enough that it doesn’t have him fighting the sadness of memories.
“Alright?”
He nods, not quite up to speaking just yet.
“Why are you helping?” He can see it now, free from the worst of his fears. If Jaster is not keeping him for cruelty, what other motivation is there?
Jaster startles, it’s subtle but not invisible, pauses.
“You're a child.” He says, as if that is an explanation by itself.
“Am I?” Is he, after so long, after so much? Obi-Wan knows little of Mandalore but he has heard their children become adults much faster than most of the rest of the galaxy. Has he passed the threshold? Surely he has, he feels so much older than he is.
“Yes.” Jaster says it with all the confidence in the galaxy, like it’s obvious, even though Obi-Wan really isn’t sure it is.
It has been such a long time.
He nods, half-absent, if being a child will bring kindness and assistance than Obi-Wan is a child.
“You had questions?” He changes the subject.
Jaster hesitates, grimaces just slightly.
“You do not have to.”
Obi-Wan just shakes his head, takes a sip and closes his eyes for a moment. “You were right, there aren’t two sides to this war. There are three.”
Jaster gives him all his attention, Obi-Wan dares to reach out and feels nothing but concern and focus.
“The major forces and the sides for at least the last several hundred years are the Melida and the Daan, no one really remembers why they’re fighting.”
Jaster nods and Obi-Wan steadies himself with another sip.
It isn’t a betrayal, not like this.
If Obi-Wan is a child, what are the Young?
“Months ago, maybe even a year. A third faction formed, the Young.”
Jaster’s emotions spike with upset, though his face gives nothing away.
“They wish to end the war, not for the Melida or the Daan but for the future, for peace.”
“And you are one of them.” Jaster finishes.
Obi-Wan nods.
Jaster breathes in, blows it out.
The Mandalorian reaches out and Obi-Wan blinks but doesn’t move away. He takes his hand and squeezes it.
Obi-Wan hesitates for a moment, not quite sure what to do, before tentatively squeezing back.
“You stayed for them.” Jaster realizes.
“Yes.”
He wonders what it is about him that makes Jaster think so.
Jaster looks at him a moment longer, and there’s something knowing about it.
It’s too much.
He looks down and he can’t see Jaster’s expression, whatever it is, but he hears him mutter something under his breath.
He hears the chair in front of him scrape against the floor and doesn’t look up.
Obi-Wan trusts he isn’t going to be hurt.
It’s a very strange thing to believe, after all this time, that an adult isn’t actually going to do their worst to him.
He knows that there are still kind adults out there, somewhere, but they aren’t kind to him anymore. It isn’t their fault that he’s alone. It isn’t their fault his calls for help didn’t reach beyond the atmosphere of this planet.
He wishes that someone had come though, wishes someone had told him that everything would be alright and meant it.
Jaster moves somewhere in his peripheral vision and Obi-Wan can’t muster any fear.
He’s so tired.
A hand moves him, lightly encourages him to slump into a warm side.
“It will be alright.” Jaster murmurs.
No, it won’t be.
“You’ve been very brave, Ob’ika.” He continues, Obi-Wan doesn’t feel very brave.
“I’m tired.” He admits.
“I know.” Jaster shifts an arm around his shoulders and pulls him even closer.
It’s warm and maybe it should be scary, being so close to someone so dangerous.
Mostly, Obi-Wan feels safe.
He never feels safe. He never is safe.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” He whispers.
Jaster takes a breath, deliberate and careful.
“You don’t have to.”
Obi-Wan hums.
He doesn’t think that’s true but well, it’s a wonderful thought.
He wishes it was true.
Maybe someday it will be.