Chapter Text
Day 2
Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn’t think he’s ever had a headache this bad in his life.
Of course, he has no way of proving this. He just knows his head hurts beyond reason. It hurts so terribly he cannot see straight and his stomach churns with nausea.
He woke up in a nondescript alleyway. It was dark and his face was half in a puddle, wetting his hair and chilling him to the bone.
Now, he sits in the same alleyway, because truthfully, he has no idea where he is. For that matter, he has no idea who he is beyond the simple matter of his name.
His name is Obi-Wan Kenobi and his head hurts.
This is all he knows.
Every attempt to think back before he awoke half-drenched and completely nauseated just makes the pain in his head all the more terrible.
But he still tries, because he can’t remember anything before this pain and surely his life hasn’t always been this painful.
Surely.
Still, he has nothing to compare it to, and he is not sure which he finds more alarming: the pain or the mystery of it all.
He looks around — searching for anything that may help him get his bearings. The alleyway he finds himself in is dark, so whatever planet he’s on must be in its night rotation, though he has no way of knowing how long the night rotations are.
There is no telling how long the nights are.
It is this fact that sends him cascading into a spiral of panic. Not the pain in his head, not the memories that have seemingly been stripped from him, but not knowing the length of the night. Perhaps this is one of those planets that have endless nights. Maybe it will be over in a matter of minutes or hours. The sun, (or suns, he supposes) could crest at any moment, though he knows not when that moment may be.
He tries to calm himself — to breathe through the panic and the pain — but there is so much of it and he doesn’t know where to put it.
Obi-Wan staggers out of the alley and surveys the area around him. City lights dance in his eyes as he steps out of the shadows. His jaw slackens as he steps to the railing at the edge of the walkway and peers at the sight before him. He looks up and down and then up again. For miles in either direction, he finds buildings stacked on top of one another. Hundreds upon hundreds of homes and businesses and industrial complexes are all piled up and extending out endlessly.
Vehicles of all sorts float and meander through the air lanes. The air is thick with their exhaust, and the fumes are undoubtedly adding to Obi-Wan’s headache.
Obi-Wan looks up as far as he can and realizes he cannot see the sky. A deep-seated claustrophobia claws its way to the surface. He looks back down before it can take full effect and only make his existing panic worse.
He swears he’s never seen anything like it before, but somewhere inside, he knows the name of this place.
Coruscant.
A small twinge of hope blossoms within him. It seems his mind is not stripped of everything. His basic education remains. Looking out over all the neon signs, he realizes he can read all of them perfectly. He remembers that Coruscant is a city planet, but he can’t recall why he’s here. The planet holds no significance in his mind. He does not know if he was brought here or if he came here of his own accord. But at least he knows where he is.
Kind of.
He knows what planet he’s on, but not the specifics of where on its surface he is.
He frowns. The basics may be there, but everything else… everything that makes him him , save his name, is gone.
Obi-Wan’s moment of observation and reflection is interrupted by the stabbing pain in his head. His knees buckle and he clings to the railing like a lifeline. He needs to get out of here. He needs to find somewhere he can rest, or at least try and recover from whatever it is that ails him.
Willing the nausea down, he takes to walking down the pedestrian pathway.
There are few other people out, but Obi-Wan can’t help but feel like there are people everywhere. He supposes that makes sense. This is a city planet, after all. But it’s almost like he can sense all of the lifeforms around him.
Like he’s being watched.
He shudders and hurries his steps, despite not knowing where he is hurrying them to. Eventually, he comes across a building that appears abandoned. Heart pounding, he eases his way inside of it.
“Is anyone in here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse and cracked from disuse. He clears his throat and tries again. “Hello? Is anyone in here?”
Obi-Wan receives no reply.
There is no light in the building, but he navigates the space easily enough. It appears to be an abandoned retail store of some sort. Aisles of empty shelves segment the building. The scratching of rats and distant dripping water can be heard throughout the store.
On one of the shelves, Obi-Wan finds a pile of towels. He grabs them and navigates to the back corner of the building. Part of Obi-Wan wants to explore the building more before he makes it his shelter, but he still feels blinding pain behind his eyes and all he wants is to lie down for a little while.
He lays the towels out and takes off the wet robe he’s been wearing. He balls it up and rests his head on it. The setup is not comfortable or ideal, but Obi-Wan sees few other options at the moment. He just needs to rest and recover, and then he can get to work on figuring out what happened to the man he used to be.
Lying down now, Obi-Wan gets a moment to think. He pushes hard in his mind, searching for memories of a past that seemingly doesn’t exist. But that’s impossible. He has to have a past. Everyone has a past.
Certainly, if he has a past, then he also must have friends. He probably has a family too. In his mind's eye, he tries to conjure up a face. Any face. Just one face.
There is nothing.
The loneliness of this realization hits him harder than anything else thus far. Tears prick his eyes as the existential fear of this profound loneliness sinks in fully.
Still, there is a desperate hope inside of him — a hope that someone, anyone , who loves him is looking for him. Perhaps he has a mother or a father who are looking for their son. Maybe he has siblings that are in search of their brother. It’s possible that he’s married and his significant other is missing him now, just waiting for him to come home.
Stars, what if he has children?
He thinks he would remember his own children, but he’s not too sure. He’s not sure of anything at the moment.
He hopes that if he has children, they are safe and protected without him. He hopes they know they are loved, though he is unsure how to love something that may not be real.
All of these romantic thoughts aside, if Obi-Wan doesn’t have family, then he must have friends. Maybe even a best friend. If he does have friends, he hopes they are looking for him now.
Or perhaps he has no one.
The poisonous thought sinks like an anchor in his soul.
The ground he lays upon is not exactly comfortable, but he turns on his side and closes his eyes. He wills himself to dream of his past, to remember.
He dreams of nothing.
Day 4
Obi-Wan cannot remember the last time he has eaten.
Literally.
Though he cannot remember when he last ate, he can make an assumption that it was at least three days ago. Now that the initial nausea has passed, his stomach growls in protest of its emptiness. Sharp pangs of hunger nearly make him double over and a lightheadedness makes him feel weak and shaky.
He needs some food.
The only problem is, Obi-Wan has no way of getting any. The tattered clothing he awoke in days ago hangs on his frame, practically in ribbons. When he woke up on that first horrifying day, his pockets had been empty. He possessed no form of identification, no weapons, no clues, and certainly no currency.
With nothing better to do and no real plan or direction to guide him, Obi-Wan has spent his time wandering through the city streets searching for something that may stick out to him as familiar. So far, nothing has, but now he has a mission to at least guide him in this sense.
He strides forward with a confidence he does not know if he has earned, hoping that maybe looking like he knows what he’s doing will help him do it.
It does him little good. The unearned confidence does not make him any less lost, and as he only grows hungrier, his surefooted gait becomes more of a meandering wander.
That is until his feet stop him in front of a shop window. No, not a shop. A bakery.
The scent of the fresh bread is so strong it’s dizzying.
In front of him lie loaves of bread and delicate pastries, clearly made with care. His eyes wander all over the display, and he can feel himself salivating at the mere sight of the baked goods.
The only thing between him and the food is a pane of glass. And credits, of course. Small price tags label the rows of delicacies. They appear to be fairly priced, but Obi-Wan doesn’t have anything.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?”
The sudden voice makes Obi-Wan jump out of his skin. He looks to his side where the voice came from. Standing beside him is a woman with dark hair and dark clothing.
“Geez, baby, you’re a jumpy one,” the woman says. “I was only making polite conversation.”
“Apologies,” Obi-Wan says. “I was… lost in thought.”
“I can see that,” she says, glancing back at the storefront. “You look hungry.”
“I’m okay.”
He doesn’t know why he’s lying. A wave of lightheadedness threatens to knock him off his feet, but he holds his ground.
“You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No,” Obi-Wan says, trying to portray confidence. Truthfully, he could be from around here. He just doesn’t know it. But this woman seems to know more than him, so he plays along in hopes she may reveal something he has been trying to find for days now.
“So, where are you from?”
Obi-Wan hesitates. He wants to lie and tell her the name of some planet somewhere. There are thousands to pick from. Ithor, Dantooine, Pantora, Jakku, Alderaan, anywhere — but none of them feel like home.
He’s not sure he ever had one.
His hesitation goes on for a little too long and the woman’s posture shifts.
“That’s okay, baby, you don’t have to tell me where you’re from. All I need to know about you is that you’re an outsider.”
“How do you know I’m an outsider?” Obi-Wan asks.
“Because there are only three types of people this far down here.”
“And those are?”
“Thieves, beggars, and courtesans, and baby, you aren’t any of those.”
“How do you know I’m not any of those?”
“Well, you are not a beggar. You are clearly starving, you have nothing on you of value, and yet, you choose not to beg. You’ve still got your pride.” The woman looks him up and down. “You are not a courtesan, but I’m sure if we cleaned you up a bit you could be.”
Her eyes roam over his body and Obi-Wan squirms under her gaze. She caresses the back of her hand along his cheek.
He grabs her wrist and pulls it away from his face. “Don’t,” he says.
“Definitely not a courtesan,” the woman purrs. “Very well.” She drops her hand back to her side.
“And how do you know I’m not a thief?”
“Because thieves recognize their own kind,” the woman says. “And you are not a thief.”
“I suppose that makes you one?”
“So you’re not stupid,” she says. “Perhaps a little lost. But not stupid.”
Obi-Wan glares at her.
“You look like you need something to eat,” the woman says.
“I’m fine,” Obi-Wan insists. His traitorous stomach chooses this moment to growl. His face heats up as the woman raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him.
“Tell me, baby, are you more of a sourdough person or a sweetbread person?”
“What?”
The thief looks him up and down again. “Hmm, definitely a sweetbread person. All right, wait here. I’ll be back in a second. Stand over there and don’t bring any undue attention to yourself.”
“What? Where are you going?”
The woman doesn’t answer. She strolls into the store without a second glance at him. Through the window, Obi-Wan watches her talk to the baker. She gives him a suggestive smile, and her flirtations seem to have a much stronger effect on him than they did on Obi-Wan. The baker is lost to her charms.
One of the thief’s hands caresses the baker’s face while the other snakes into the tip jar. Obi-Wan watches wide-eyed as she slides the credits into her back pocket. The action is seamless, and the baker remains non-the wiser.
She continues to talk to him a few minutes more but then stalks around the store. She grabs a loaf of bread and brings it back to the counter. She slides one of the credits across the counter and smiles pleasantly at the baker before strutting away.
She strides out of the store and throws an arm around Obi-Wan’s shoulder, steering him away from the store.
Slack-jawed, Obi-Wan looks down at the bread in her hand.
“Did you just steal that?” he asks as if he didn’t witness it with his own eyes.
“No, I bought this bread,” she says. “The credits, I stole.”
“But that’s—”
“What? That’s wrong? Illegal? Immoral? Baby, I don’t know where you came from, but this is Coruscant and you’re in the lower levels now. We may all be filth down here, but we’re survivors.” She hands him the bread. “This is how you survive.”
The loaf of bread is still warm in his hands, and Obi-Wan’s empty stomach aches.
“Here, you can have the whole thing. I know how to fend for myself.” The thief flashes the remainder of the credits in Obi-Wan’s face and winks.
“Thank you,” Obi-Wan finally says, unsure how to thank a thief for helping him. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I know,” she drawls. “Take care of yourself, baby.”
She stalks off into the night, leaving him alone with the warm loaf of bread in his hands.