Chapter Text
It’s carnage the moment Obi-Wan opens his eyes.
As if this is a flash-back, bodies litter the streets of Zehava with screams and the familiar pews of blaster fire filling the air.
People rush by, mostly young adults that look a mixture of terrified and outraged. Some of them are in white plastoid armor that’s nothing like the scraps of protection the Young had worn with blasters in their hands.
These are proper soldiers and, hauntingly, they all have the same face.
But it seems they are not the ones attacking. Instead, some guide people into houses and urge them to stay there while others rush ahead, to the white building in the middle of the city.
It’s a beautiful thing, elegant with sleek lines and many windows which means it’s an easy target. Obi-Wan might be fourteen, but he’s seen enough war by now to know this is potentially the most vulnerable building in the city.
“The hospital!” someone shouts, and a shiver of almost-recognition shudders down Obi-Wan’s spine. “We can’t let them get to the hospital!”
The man that rushes past him has auburn hair and a beard. He looks both determined and heartbroken, yet a fire obviously burns in the man’s blue eyes.
His eyes, Obi-Wan realizes with a startle. Because standing next to him with horror on his face is a future version of himself, here in what must be a future version of Zehava.
Again at war, Obi-Wan thinks mournfully even as he follows after his future self as the man sprints forward. He clenches his fingers around the frayed and dirty edges of his Jedi robes—something his future self isn’t wearing—as he has to run to keep up. But he must find out what’s led to this, how he can prevent it. They have only just secured peace and even if a vision shows only a possible future, Obi-Wan knows the lengths he’ll go to to see Melida/Daan safe.
“Triumvir Kenobi!”
One of the soldiers runs into view, some of his armor orange instead of white and on his helmet Obi-Wan can see both tally marks and a Twi-Lek’s face.
“Waxer, where is the Commander?” future him asks, and the Force is almost thick with worry.
This Commander must be someone important, Obi-Wan thinks. He wonders if it’s Nield, for if Melida/Daan is to have an army there is no-one else that he can see leading it.
The soldier—Waxer—nods his head towards the white building. “At the hospital, sir. He was visiting some of the shinies and— they’re trying to evacuate.”
Obi-Wan frowns. What are shinies? Are they important?
Waxer turns his head away, pressing something at the side of his helmet at the same time a warning rings through the Force.
His future self’s eyes widen and he looks ready to run off again.
“Triumvir, wait!” Waxer calls after him and runs to follow. “There’s hyena bombers incoming! We have to get all the civvies out of here.”
“No, I can help!” the soldier gets in reply, and Obi-Wan feels faintly happy at the fact that even when older he will still help all he can without hesitation. “We fought too hard for our peace to give it up. I won’t—” A commlink beep interrupts him and future-him answers quickly. “Nield! Tell me you’ve got someone working on those particle shields.”
“We’re trying, but it’s gonna be difficult,” comes the reply in what must be adult Nield’s voice.
“A clanker threw a grenade sir,” someone adds from the other side, the words rather dull just like when Waxer is speaking with his helmet on. Another soldier, perhaps, Obi-Wan thinks and makes a mental note to find out what a clanker is.
His future self strokes a hand over his beard with a sigh. “Right, okay. Well, keep trying. Cerasi?”
“Helping to take the kids to the underground shelter,” Nield replies, “and you, Obi-Wan?”
Determination flashes in blue eyes. “I’m going to the hospital. Cody is there and—”
A loud explosion drowns out all other noise, the ground shaking at the impact of a bomb taking out a small block of buildings. Dust, smoke and fire rise up together with bile in Obi-Wan’s stomach as he sees this rebuilt version of Zehava being destroyed.
He stands frozen, body numb. By the time he turns his head, as if he’s woken from a haze, more soldiers in white and orange plastoid armor are in the streets and the conversation his future self was having with Nield has finished.
Nield, who isn’t at the hospital. But this Cody is. This Commander Cody, who must be important.
“Sir please,” Waxer says, gently taking the other’s arm as it’s obvious future Obi-Wan is trying to sprint away. “I understand, I do. But the Commander would want you to be safe.”
His future self glares at Waxer. “The Commander is putting his own life at risk to save our people. I won’t let him do that without me by his side,” he says, voice steady and gaze unwavering, challenging the other to disagree.
“Fine,” Waxer says even if his expression looks anything but fine. “Fine. So we go to the hospital.”
They don’t make it.
They are forced to watch as another bomb is dropped, this time on the easiest target in the city.
The hospital.
“No,” his future self breathes as he comes to a stumbling halt. “Cody,” he whispers, the name a broken plea from his lips and he falls down to his knees with a sob, the Force choking Obi-Wan with grief and anger that washes over him like a tsunami that destroys all it finds in its way. It’s like a noose around his neck, tightening and suffocating. His mind is an echo of Cody, Cody, Cody while it feels like his heart is ripped from his chest.
It forces him to the ground, gasping without drawing air and as another hyena bomber passes low overhead, the world turns black.