i couldn't be any happier.

by starsandwarsandstuff (judesrivers)

Summary:

Obi-wan reflects on his trauma when he used to be Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan, but then he doesn't as he gets drunk with Anakin.

The parallels eat at him the most.

Notes:

idk star wars terms for different things so if this is illiterate im sorry

The behavior parallels exhibited seemed close to being considered like a cycle at first, well, up until it didn’t. It’s been tinkering for years, even before Anakin was brought to the temple.  

Out of the many times it had happened, this time had been one of the few occasions it had ever been impactful in the development of a new master-padawan relationship. A-just-turned-ten-year old Anakin Skywalker had rushed to the corner nearby a vase that’s big enough for him to curl behind, a long, green plant sprouting from the dirt resting inside of it. Anxiousness unnerves him when the hiss of the door echoes in his ears, and he’s trying to hide before he faces the look of disappointment. He had not yet seen nor witnessed Obi-wan be disappointed in him though, and he wasn’t looking forward to being put through the wringer just yet, especially since Obi-wan had finally grounded himself after Qui-Gon’s death. 

Anakin wanted to prepare juice for them, letting them both have one last night for them to relax before they actually got started with this Jedi training. If anything he’s both absolutely ready and absolutely terrified. 

So here he is, latched onto the side of a plant sitting in the corner of his and Obi-wan’s shared quarters, thinking it would be big enough for him to hide behind. Obi-wan walks inside while tugging the  hood of his cloak down from his head, he looks around with a lilt of concern flickering in his eyes when the force strikes him with anxiousness and impending fear. There’s a figure who could be none other than Anakin shifting nervously in his peripheral vision, and he relaxes, but just a bit.  

Obi-wan looks over his way and it makes Anakin still with a small squeak, panic rising, and Obi-wan immediately sends him comfort through their bond before doing anything else. The knight turns to the boy and stares at him with his lips parted open and his brow furrowed into a concerned knit as Anakin welcomes the warmth but cowers behind the vase. “I’m sorry, master.” Anakin finally says as he feels his master’s eyes on him, his voice is muffled and soft, he sounds close to crying but he doesn’t. 

Anakin points his small index finger at the mess that has him all disheveled and nervous. Obi-wan traces the direction, eyes falling over to the mess blanketing the platform of the table. The knight takes a few steps away from Anakin into the dining area, eyes roaming over the dripping, cold green liquid that’s currently creating a puddle on the floor underneath the table. As Obi-wan immediately reaches for something to clean the mess up with, Anakin finds it in himself to straighten his posture after breathing in deep, focusing his rampid emotions with the help of the Force surrounding him, and letting it guide his anxiousness into a less difficult obstacle. “I was - I was just trying to pour me and you something to drink because I wanted you to rest. I thought you’d be proud of me, but I spilled it all.” 

Obi-wan blinks in surprise, removing his tired eyes from the slightly cleaned table back to Anakin who slowly steps away from the plant in the corner with an ashamed look in his eyes. The knight beckons him closer as he wipes down the table, tugging the table covering off due to it being prominently soaked with the juice, not able to be put in further use until it’s washed clean. “Not to worry.” He says with a tired rasp, smiling over at the boy but it doesn't exactly  reach his eyes, and Anakin’s not sure if his master is upset or amused, or both, but he relaxes a bit when the warmth of Obi-wan’s free hand palms at the top of his head. “Anakin don’t be afraid of me,” he says fondly, genuine pleading pouring into his voice, and it catches Anakin’s attention, his distant gaze that lingers over the boy’s head makes Anakin shift around guiltily on his feet. Still, he looks up at him with glistening, bright colored eyes that flood with slight concern and confusion. When Obi-wan eventually catches his curious eye, he thinks he looks boyish and small, more like a boy who had just gone through one of the toughest times in his young life than a padawan who seeks following alongside the Jedi order and Republic, you know, with him being an ex-slave and such. 

“But I - I spilled and wasted the whole gallon of juice.” 

What was Qui-Gon thinking ? This is just a baby. Chosen one or not, the actual idea of dropping an inexperienced kid - also an ex-slave - right Jedi training seems a bit rushed into, but it’s not like Obi-wan had a choice in the matter. “That’s alright. It’s just a table covering, an old one to be exact. No need to fret. Plus, there’s plenty of juice we can buy.” 

Anakin keeps pushing though, the feeling of shame squeezing tight around him, and it hurts. “It’s not right to waste it. A lot of people could’ve had that juice, my mother could’ve had that juice, and putting it to waste like that is - is -” 

“Not your fault.” Obi-wan finishes as he stares dead at the boy, removing his palm from his head, but Anakin doesn’t falter from the loss of touch or the stare his master is sending him as he scrunches his nose up, ready to argue some more.  

“But it’s all stained now, what if we can’t get the liquid out -“

“It’s alright dear one, we’ll just replace it with another one.” Obi-wan says with a taut voice, and his expression is neutral but Anakin notices how his hands twitch at his sides before he sinks it into the sleeves of his robes.

Anakin looks at the now wiped down table, frowning. 

 

Obi-wan was only a year older when he did something similar, eleven years old, still considered a youngling by many. Even his own master at times, but his massive maturity rightfully makes up for the ripe age. However, there were still times he got ahead of himself and the reprimand that followed suit with those incidents hit him so hard it made him nauseous. So Obi-wan tries his best to level his confidence down whenever he’s faced with tasks of any difficulty, he tries his best to stay realistic, to combat the greater fall that will soon come with walking around with a high ego. 

Sadly, his nerves spilled over during this task, and his blue eyes widened with fear when he noticed that something had actually spilled over. Obi-wan places the bottle down on the table, murmuring repeated chants of  ‘no, no, no’ under his shaky breath as he races to tug at the towelettes hanging on the rack near the floor to ceiling window. The lights of Coruscant reflect the sheen of sweat that falls over his face as he cleans and cleans, wiping down the mess as heat races up his back leaving a trail of sweat behind. He doesn’t know how long he’s been wiping the table and floor, but his fingers begin to hurt from the friction, and his damp hair, in desperate need of another cut, falls out of place into his fearful eyes. “Come on, come on.” Obi-wan mutters to himself, knees aching while it just digs painfully into the floor as he wipes his mess, desperately trying not to leave spots or extra droplets of his failure to do something as simple as pouring juice into a cup.

 When Qui-Gon arrives at their quarters, he’s already annoyed by something, but Obi-wan is only eleven and he needs to ask a question that he currently thinks is the most important question he’d ever have to ask in his life. “Master Qui-Gon, I -“

“What?” Qui-Gon responds, his voice cutting and unwelcoming. Obi-wan’s rattled, face paling. Did he do something wrong? The boy holds his breath, his fingers are twisting and tugging at each other, something he had been doing since he arrived at the temple at three years old. Qui-Gon repeats himself, letting out an exasperated sigh along with a get along with it motion of his hand as the second ‘what’ cuts through Obi-wan’s racing thoughts. 

It’s been a long day - week, actually. Maybe that’s why Obi-wan couldn’t bring it in himself to question why his master seemed so cold. It’s been quite a long day, and he’s just tired from it all, right? Obi-wan, being just eleven, could only understand so much about his master’s mood swings. Also, maybe it’s because Qui-Gon isn’t young anymore, and it’s showing. Obi-wan briefly wonders if he has hypertension, but he quiets his thoughts as Qui-Gon begins to release his negativity in the force, talking to Obi-wan in a calculated voice as he does. “Force, padawan, what is it? Don’t call my name and just stand there looking silent, you know how I feel about that.”

“I know, master.”

“It pisses me off because you do it in public too. It makes us look stupid, as if we don’t know how to communicate it.” 

 Obi-wan doesn’t say anything, ignoring the second half of what Qui-Gon said for his better judgment  as he averts his sea blue eyes back to the table he had aggressively cleaned only an hour or two earlier, sheer disappointment weighing down his shoulders as his master’s harsh words drink him in anyway despite trying to ignore it.

 It makes something bitter trickle down his gut. It makes us look stupid? More like it makes me look stupid, you can say it Qui-Gon. 

“I try to improve my communication, and I’ll continue to do so. I just wanted to ask you a question.” If you could give me tips on how to wield a lightsaber without your non dominant hand in case your arm gets incapacitated in battle.

“I just got home and you want to bombard me with questions?” 

“I said question, not questions master, I just mean one.” Obi-wan snips without making eye contact, his inner anger towards his master bubbling through. 

Qui-Gon back slaps him, summoning all his strength to do so and Obi-wan is sent flying to the floor with a small yelp, he’s grabbing at his mouth which starts bleeding fast.  “You learn to respect me, padawan. Don’t, ever , talk down to me like that. Understood?” 

“Yes, master.” 

Qui-Gon’s hands are on his hip, face tight, his posture even tighter. “It better have been an insightful question, padawan.” 

“Nevermind. It’s nothing.” Obi-wan mutters as blood draws from the corner of his mouth, looking downcast, but since he’s eleven he believes that Qui-Gon just seems too stressed enough to care and they leave it at that. 

Obi-wan cleans his blood that drips onto the floor up with a quivering bottom lip, and swollen jaw, tears that promisingly threaten to slip through without his consent. Qui-Gon is sitting in his bedroom with his face buried in his hands, and Obi-wan couldn’t tell if he was crying or not because he was too busy scrubbing the floor of his blood. Shields from both sides are up, and their quarters are tidy again, no juice, no spilled blood. Obi-wan goes to his room after spending an hour in the bathroom appointing his cheek with some bacta, he seeks to finish his assignments from his classes when he hears Qui-Gon walk to the door muttering something about what apology gift Obi-wan would like. It sounds like he’s talking into a commlink. 

Obi-wan convinces himself that Qui-Gon didn’t mean to hit him, and it was his fault for being smart to him instead of asking the question he deemed so important, but the ‘make us look stupid’ line had bitten him so hard. Scratching at the back of his hand hard enough to draw blood, he punishes himself for his actions, and for forcing an obviously tired Qui-Gon to go back out to search for an apology gift due to morale. Obi-wan hisses and his small body crumbles up at his desk, he’s jerking a bit as he pulls his nails from his skin, the two inch scratch that cuts across the back of his hand is enough to grovel. 

“Master Obi-wan?” 

“Hm?” Obi-wan hums, his eyes still closed. 

“I had a bad dream.”

Obi-wan’s eyes flutter open embracing the darkness aside from the dim light of his lamp in the far side corner, chest clenching at the sight of Anakin standing beside his bed with hot tears rolling down his cheeks, wet hiccups being produced in the middle of his sniffling and gasping.  Obi-wan just stares blankly at him after regaining his awareness from the shrouded waves of exhaustion trying its best to pull him back into his much needed slumber, and soon he’s rolling onto his side to fully sit up on his elbow with a tired groan. 

Anakin takes a step back as he no longer feels Obi-wan’s presence, unsure as to why the man is suddenly shielding himself. He becomes fearful that he’s being too needy, too grabby, too close in desiring comfort from his master in the middle of the night due to a nightmare. 

Jedi don't do this. Anakin aggressively wipes at his wet eyes as he prepares to leave his master’s bedroom and no longer bring this night up in the near future, something squeezes at his aching heart, he wishes his mother was here — “Come here, Anakin.” Obi-wan murmurs to him in a groggy voice, his eyes are not all the way open as he scoots to the middle of the bed so that there was enough space for the boy, lifting the blanket up and patting at the warm spot next to him. 

Anakin’s eyes widen, disbelief from his master offering bed space flickering across his face for a second, but he immediately shakes his head and takes a few steps forward. He’s unsure on whether his master means to climb into bed or to just walk close enough to it and sit down, but when Obi-wan pats at the spot again shifting more to the middle, he’s sure that it means climb in. “Are you sure?” Anakin asks before wincing to himself, immediately hating how young he sounds through his wet, broken breaths. He's eleven, he should be old enough to sound like a man already instead of a squeaky brat even after sobbing like a freshly born baby due to him dreaming of his mother’s last moments. 

 “Yes, come and climb in padawan.” Obi-wan mutters, laying there on his side patiently, eyes closed. He’s dozing off with his head resting against his shoulder, still sitting up on his now aching elbow that digs into the soft mattress as Anakin’s small hands pat the bedding as if it were this dangerous being. The boy is even looking around as if it was all a trap before he eventually lifts his left leg up onto the bed, climbing the rest of the way onto it as he lays down next to his lightly sleeping master. Once he was in the bed, Obi-wan seemed to awaken on cue as he wrapped the comforter around them and he let Anakin’s little arms wrap around his torso, his teary face burying in his chest as he cried softly about the nightmare. “It’ll be okay Anakin. It’ll be okay.” Obi-wan cooes while he rubs the boy’s scalp, sleep heavy in his voice, but he’s awake enough to apply minimal comfort to his upset padawan.

 

“Obi-wan, I think, I think, I think, I think -” 

Obi-wan giggles, covering his face as laughter hits him full throttle, his stomach hurts as it does and tears build in his eyes. Anakin follows suit, but he’s more in control of his laughter as he tries to continue what he was beginning to say. “I think - I think - I - I drank too much.” 

“Just filter the thingy.” The older man waves his hand around, hoping Anakin just automatically understood what he was trying to say.  

Anakin did, he always does, but he’s too drunk to play along. “What’s the fun in that?” 

“Keeps from hangovers.” 

“Hangar?”

“No, no, you -” hiccup, “dummy the fucking,” Obi-wan pauses and slaps his hand over his mouth as Anakin just howls out in laughter. “Excuse my language, oh goodness.” 

“I’m more so offended at you calling me a dummy than you saying fucking.” 

Obi-wan blinks. “Me saying fucking what?” 

“No, no, I meant you saying fucking.” 

“Fucking what?” 

“What?”

“What?”

Anakin sits up abruptly, hands animated as he turns to his master who was still laying down on the grass staring at him expectantly, a drunk amused smile on his face. “No I meant like you saying the word fucking. You said the word fucking and apologized for it,” Anakin burps into the fist of his mechno hand, staring deadpan at his giggling master, “but I was more offended at you calling me a dummy.” 

Obi-wan gasped loudly, his lungs expanding too fast from the sudden intake of breath and it hurt him for a split second. Seriousness drinks into his features despite being wasted and soon he’s scrambling up into his knees, almost falling into the younger Jedi’s lap as he slaps Anakin’s cheeks into his hands. Obi-wan’s so drunk as he lets apologies pour out of his mouth, sagging his shoulders as he cups and squeezes his former padawan’s cheeks, not hearing the drunken giggles that fly out Anakin’s mouth as the feeling. “I’m sorry, I was just joking, I didn’t mean it - I was just - I was just joking with you, Anakin. You’re the smartest person I know. You - you even rival master Yoda with how smart you are. I didn’t mean it at all. You’re my best friend, I love you so much, please don’t be mad at me.” 

Anakin becomes alarmingly sober when he sees tears of regret run down Obi-wan’s cheeks, a sight he has never seen before, and he’s hearing words he’d never thought he’d hear before either, which makes it all the more worse for him to digest. It’s all too surreal for him, and he filters the alcohol as best as he could manage, immediately sending comfort into their shared bond as he reaches up to grasp at his master’s wrist. “Obi-wan just calm -”

“I shouldn’t have called you that. I don’t know what got into me. I swear I didn’t mean it - I -” Obi-wan’s full on sobbing, “I’m so sorry, Anakin.” 

“Obi-wan I’m not upset or mad or anything. I knew you were joking. I just found it funny how -” Anakin shakes his head, forgetting the meaningless explanation, instead he pulls Obi-wan’s shaking hands off of his face, holding them in his own as his concerned eyes dart all over his master’s face. “Just forget it, okay? Are you alright?” 

“Huh?” Obi-wan asks with a head tilt, eyebrows furrowing together as he lets his hands squeeze into fists as they sit in Anakin’s palm. “I feel happy and good. What about you?” 

“You literally freaked out because you thought my feelings were hurt or something.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

Obi-wan just sits there for a bit, staring at Anakin like he has three heads. Before the silence could grow uncomfortable though, the older man releases one of his hands from Anakin’s protective hold, pulling another full bottle of alcohol towards them with the use of the force and catching it with a light shiver. Anakin shifts so that he’s sitting criss-crossed, cast over eyes focused on the grass surrounding them as he tries to regather himself after seeing Obi-wan go through a full on meltdown. “Forgive me dear one, it’s just - my master used to call me names like that and,” he laughs softly at the way Anakin’s neck almost broke from how fast he looked back at Obi-wan with saucer-like eyes, “don’t worry it’s fine. I deserved them. I was a reckless padawan, almost worse than you.”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Anakin silences him, squeezing his master’s hand in his as Obi-wan just shrugs and chugs down the liquor, the burn of the drink that slides down his throat makes him feel like he’s on top of the world. “Master Qui-Gon would call you names? That’s - that’s not right. What the kriff ?” 

Obi-wan’s lips pop off of the bottle, he smacks his lips, swiping his hands from Anakin’s hold. He turns to the side before leaning back, his back to Anakin's lap, the back of his head resting on his best friend’s stomach. Obi-wan’s shorter than him nowadays, using this as one of the few advantages of their height difference (he sort of hated it because outsiders assume that he’s the younger brother but with actual facial hair), it’s a much easier fit to lay on Anakin now.  “Don’t worry about it now, Anakin. It was probably his,” Obi-wan giggles through a soft burp and waves his hand animatedly, “methods he picked up from being Count Dooku’s padawan.”

Anakin doesn’t say anything but he leans back against his hand, letting his former master get more comfortable, and the two of them stare at their ship that sits across the grassy field. Ashoka and Rex were in there repairing a broken pipe, it’s taking them hours to do so because they didn’t have the right tools with them so they had to venture off to a nearby villagers mechanic shop in the middle of this grassy, plain, planet. Anakin had pestered Obi-wan into getting them something from the liquor store that wasn’t too far away to pass time while the other two stayed back at the mechanics to get the parts they needed.

Weirdly, it didn’t take much convincing. 

“Anakin,” Obi-wan starts, a smile that he probably doesn’t even notice is on his face. Anakin allows himself to snort at the sight, he secretly wishes Obi-wan would let loose more, he’s absolutely adorable under the influence and much more open to conversation of any type. It’s not that Obi-wan is closed off when he’s sober, but he’s much more filtered with certain topics as if he couldn’t really find it in himself to have an opinion about anything. It was annoying at times, but Anakin grew up with him, and so he’s used to Obi-wan’s open and closed personality. He’s practically his little brother, and for some reason, it just now dawns on him that he is the only child of Shmi Skywalker. 

Wow.

Before Anakin could zone out, Obi-wan’s soft voice cuts into his thoughts. “I wish we met as kids. Like both of us being younglings, and training together, you know - instead of me training you and raising you. I mean - I loved training you. I’m just saying, imagine if we were knighted together, it’d be the coolest thing ever. It would actually feel like we’re brothers.” Anakin chuckles, ruffling his master’s hair with his mechno hand which earned him a small rib nudge that sent him full on laughing, but Obi-wan lets him palm his hair back revealing his forehead. 

“I think, in a way, we are brothers nonetheless. I mean at some point I seen you as my father, but I guess it was when I got knighted -” 

“I don’t remember my brothers.” 

Everything pauses, his thoughts, his fingers running through Obi-wan’s hair, his breathing, it all just pauses, and he just sits there blinking. “What?”

“I don’t - I can’t seem to remember my brothers. In Stewjon. I don’t even remember Stewjon. You remember Tatooine, but I can’t remember Stewjon. It’s probably because I was three, but I feel like I remember my mother’s face and my father’s and the Force tells me that I had siblings but I just can’t remember.”

“How do you feel about that?” 

Obi-wan lets the half empty bottle float above his head, his hand raised, arm bent at the elbow,  controlling how the bottle spins lightly in the air as the force tingles in his palm. “I don’t know. I’m just thinking about it.”

“Obi-wan,” Anakin couldn’t help himself, feeling too bothered and distracted by it now. “What did you do for Master Qui-Gon to talk to you like that?” 

The bottle drifts down a bit, but Obi-wan keeps it upright. “Talk to me like what?” 

“Like - calling you names and stuff.” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t have to do much.” Obi-wan replies, giggling a bit because he’s drunk and he thinks about how funny his master looked when he was yelling at him, the way he’d curl his lips up and point a bony finger at him. Anakin watches in disgust as Obi-wan’s eyes light up, kicking his feet and laughing as he snuggles up more against his former padawan.  “One time - oh this one’s funny - one time he slapped me because I spilled a drink. I was eleven, I think. It was funny because I remember when you were little and when we were still getting to know each other, you did something similar, we were only a year apart -” 

“He did fucking what ?” Anakin asks, sitting up so abruptly it made Obi-wan squeak a bit, losing focus on the bottle floating above. It came down fast next to them, the drink spilling out into the grass and Obi-wan had silently glared at the bottle as if it were general Grievous before casting his attention back to a seething Skywalker. 

“He slapped me.” Obi-wan said before smiling sheepishly afterwards, making it all sound scaringly innocent. 

“Obi-wan, he can’t do that.” 

“Can’t do what?” 

“Slap you!” 

Obi-wan looks confused as to why Anakin makes the force feel so hot, fueled with his rage, but he’s so fucking drunk he couldn’t be bothered to actually question it. Instead, he slowly leans up so that he’s all the way off of the younger Jedi, and he goes to twist and tug at his fingers again. “Why are you worried about it, Anakin?”

“Because it’s wrong and it’s you - you don’t deserve that Obi-wan.”

Obi-wan feels like he’s missing the point. “So?”

“So maybe we should tell someone, like, master Yoda or something. We could acknowledge how you’ve been abused as a padawan and maybe they can send you someone professional to talk about it to or -” 

“Anakin, he’s dead, and that’s all that will be left behind.” Obi-wan says, voice dropping an octave, and there’s a shadow that casts over his features, a shadow that scares Anakin to death. “Master Qui-Gon is dead, and I couldn’t be any happier.”