Chapter Text
* * *
Obi-wan hummed desperately to the little girl whose head was cradled in his lap, trying to drown out the noise around them.
The sound of children crying could be heard even over the roar of the ship’s engines, overpowered only by the heavy feeling of misery and fear in the force.
He hummed a little bit louder, closing his eyes, and tried to remember how to breathe.
This was all Obi-wan’s fault. He’d sensed something off the moment the Mandalorians had landed on the edges of the city, slinking through the streets in their blue and grey armour, searching for something.
But the Young were getting desperate, with so many injured in the latest Daan attack, so many children slipping away, and it had hit Obi-Wan like a light in the dark- the Mandalorians and their value of children above all else. Surely, they would be sympathetic, he had thought, surely, they would help.
It was a risk, of course, they were adults, they were Elders, but they were Mandalorians, and the children were dying. It’s taken days, hours, and Nield watching another four-year-old slip away before he’d been able to convince Cerasi and Nield they should seek out the Mandalorians’ aid before they left the planet.
And here they were, sitting in a dark hold, bruised and bloody, taken.
The Mandalorians left the more injured children behind, the ones that wouldn’t make it through the end of the week and the ones that would if only someone was there. They’d left them behind.
Cerasi had refused. She stood her ground, even with the others subdued, even with Obi-wan on ground, inches from unconsciousness.
Gil’s little hand was clutched tightly in her grasp, the boy still with fever, laid out there on the cot, and she’d ordered them with the power, the authority, of a matron queen to leave the Young alone.
His last glimpse of Cerasi has been her crumbled there on the stone floor, bleeding out from a blaster bolt in the side.
Nield wouldn’t look at him and Obi-Wan couldn’t even blame him.
He tried not to think of the children left behind in the sewers, the darkness closing in, no one to sing to them, no one to tend to their wounds, no one to save them. He tried not to think of the children well enough to surround him.
The sewers would have been a kinder fate.
His humming wasn’t loud enough to drown out the roaring in his ears. It sounded like the groan of metal walls as the ocean pressed in, the echo of pickaxes striking stone, the sniffle of adults crying at night. It felt like helplessness. It felt like failure.
“Obi.” Em whispered, voice muffled against his leg. Two sets of tear tracks had carved through the dirt on her face. “Are we going to get out of here?”
Obi-wan ceased his humming to run a soothing hand through her tangled hair. “Of course.” he promised, quietly.
Obi-Wan had felt the moment the ship left Melida/Daan’s surface, but it wasn’t until the ship rattled with the distinct shift to hyperspace that something in him shattered. The part of him that had hoped-wished-screamed for a year for the Jedi, for Qui-Gon, to swoop in to save them. The knights would pour in and subdue the Elders, and the healers, a whole flood of them, would rush in after and no more children would die, and the Council would make sure no more fighting ever happened here, and Qui-Gon- Qui-Gon- would sweep Obi-wan up in his arms like that one time he got sick when he was little and hold him tight, and he’d finally be able to break.
But the truth was… no one was coming.
No one ever was.
“Obi, Obi don’t cry.” Em said, dazedly. She tried to pat his face with clumsy fingers. “It’ll be okay.”
He reached up to touch his face, surprised to find tears there. He wiped them away with a grimy sleeve, but they just kept coming back.
He gave up, going back to petting Em’s hair instead. She didn’t seem to notice the moisture dripping onto her shirt.
“Keep singing, Obi-wan.” she asked.
He tried. But he couldn’t find a song.
He’d been here before, Obi-wan thought, as the Mandalorians herded them down the ramp and into the dusty ground. Whether on a mission or in a dream or a vision, he wasn’t sure. But the taste of red dirt in the air was familiar.
“Pick up the pace.” one of the warriors snarled and Obi-wan kept his eyes low, hiking Tomas further up in his arms. Em was strong enough to hold on by herself, clinging tightly to his back, and for that, Obi-wan was grateful.
He kept half an eye on Nield as they made their way towards the strange compound in front of them. He’d only just managed to convince the boy running was a bad plan.
“There’s more than double of us, they can’t possibly catch us all.” Nield had hissed at older children huddled in the corner of the hold furthest from the ladder. “We’ll regroup and come back from the others stronger-”
“On an unfamiliar planet, with unfamiliar terrain, and unknown predators, and thirty injured?” Obi-wan said. His eyes were fixed on his hatch. He couldn’t feel his body.
“Shut up, Obi-wan,” Nield snapped, glared at him. “You’re not a part of this conversation-”
“I don’t care.” Obi-wan said shortly, too exhausted to mince his words. He let his gaze drop to them. “Do you want to survive this?”
“We don’t need your help,” Nield spat, “We’ve fighting this war long before you arrived-”
“This isn’t Melida/Daan.” Obi-wan interrupted, sharp. “This is worse.” he said, and some of the children shuffled back at the rawness in his voice. “So, I’ll ask you again. Do you want to survive this?”
Nods, hesitant and shaky. Even Nield stayed silent.
“Good.” Obi-wan said, grim. “Listen up. This is what you’re going to do.”
The children were all silent, eyes on the ground, as the Mandalorians led them through the halls. They separated them by age, and not one of them protested, though Em clung to him as long as possible. They followed every instruction and didn’t say a word, and he couldn’t help the quiet breath of relief even as a ball of lead settled in his chest.
They listened. They listened.
He wasn’t sure if it would take. He’d gotten one sentence into his speech to the younger ones and froze with panic, taking in their faces. These were children, children, babies-
Nield had taken over while he tried not to hyperventilate, explaining that they were going to play a very important game, like the one where the Elders got close, and they had to be as quiet as a tiny mouse. They’d seemed to understand, but he couldn’t be sure.
They, they would survive this, he told himself. They would.
He tried not to think of Cerasi and Gil the others.
The sight of the militant bunkroom, concrete floors, no blankets, made Obi-wan want to throw up. The heavy weight of a myriad of strangers’ despair was woven in the very walls.
The door slammed shut, key turning in the lock, and they turned for Obi-wan for answers, for guidance, for hope. He couldn’t provide any of it.
“Get some sleep.” he told them instead, and only when they turned away did he let himself waver.
He threw out a hand to brace himself against the wall as his knees wobbled under him. Here again. He screwed his eyes shut, letting out a silent, shaky breath.
“Obi-wan?” Kelli asked, eyebrow raised. Her posture was loose, but the concern in her eyes was badly hidden.
“Just a bit dizzy.” he said, forcing a crooked smile, and taking a step forward. “I’m fine.”
He wondered if it rang as false to her as it did to him.
The Mandalorians were planning an assassination, Obi-wan learned, because the mines had taught him to keep his head down and stay silent if he wanted to survive, but that didn’t stop him from listening. He was always listening.
The reason for the assassination was lost to Obi-wan; Mando’a hadn’t been in the temple curriculum for thousands of years, but the hatred for their target was perfectly clear.
The Mand’alor- their ruler. They utterly despised him. Kyr'tsad, they called themselves, Death Watch.
That’s why they’d taken them, the children. More soldiers for their coming war.
Nield laughed out one sharp breath and turned and broke three fingers punching the wall.
“Maybe we’re fated for war.” Kelli said, bitterly, head in her hands. “Maybe there never was another choice.”
Obi-wan didn’t have anything to say to that, infinite suffering bouncing around in his head.
He knew next to nothing about the current politics of Mandalore, but it was never a particularly good sign when a group had to resort to stealing children to fight their battles.
Children, caught up again in the arguments of adults. Bleeding, dying, for such senseless things. The Melida and the Dann, the Mandalorians. The Jedi.
He hated them all.
To no one’s surprise, Obi-wan had broken his own rules on staying quiet, staying complacent, within the week.
They’d passed by one of the younger groups out in the courtyard on their way to the weapons range.
Obi-wan had tried to meet as many as their eyes as they could, send them encouraging smiles, gentle waves of comfort, when the “trainers” weren’t looking.
A Mandalorian woman snarled, cuffing Em on the head for missing a step, and Obi-wan’s feet were moving before he could think.
The trainer was on the ground, groaning into the dirt, before Em had even begun to cry.
They’d made Nield drag him into solidary.
“Don’t fucking do that.” Neild had hissed, but the way he tried so hard to find an unbruised hold belayed his anger. “You’re our only hope, okay?”
Obi-wan stared at the dusty wall from his place sprawled out on the dirt floor of the dark, empty room. His whole body throbbed, and he focused on breathing, trying to remain as still as possible.
Most of the compound was asleep now, in the middle of the night cycle. The children were restless, afraid, hurt.
Their fear, their pain, had always cried out strongly in the force. It was a good portion of the reason Obi-wan couldn’t leave them all those months ago, why he knew he had to stay, try to change things.
But now it was like a foghorn positioned next to his ear, screaming at him. It was all he could hear. They were so very afraid.
It was so terribly wrong.
“You’re our only hope.”
He closed his eyes and reached out desperately to the force. It swirled around him just out of reach, a calming balm.
He took in a deep breath, comforted, and rolled into his back.
A vent stared down at him.
Funny, how they kept their enemies' comm codes in the system, Obi-wan thought, tapping quickly at the display in front of him. Had to send their death threats somewhere, he supposed.
He’d slid a thick metal cabinet in front the door just in case, but it wouldn’t hold anyone who was really trying to get in for long.
He hesitated once more, surveying the numbers, and let the force nudge him once more. He tapped the one that rang right in the force.
There was no answer for an agonizing minute, and he felt his body sagging lower with every second that passed. What if there was no answer? People didn’t pick up random comm calls these days, did they.
But, against all odds, there was a click and a helmeted Mandalorian appeared. Obi-Wan stiffened, back as straight as possible- the severe expression burning even through the helmet visor. It lessened at the sight of Obi-wan, bruised and bloody.
The stranger asked a question in Mando’a that Obi-wan didn’t catch.
“My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, leader of the Young.” Obi-wan repeated, unwavering. “And I must speak to the Mand’alor about an urgent threat to his life.”
“How did you get this comm code, child?” the mandalorian said, a disapproving tilt to his helmet.
“I am a General,” Obi-wan snapped, impatience taking over. “And I have limited time before Kyr'tsad breaks down the door. I’d very much like to get this sorted before then.”
There was a brief, shocked silence, and a murmur of conversation that the comm failed to pick up.
A flash of movement and a tall man stepped into frame. He was scarred, with dark hair, and a square jaw. He exuded the same commanding presence that Master Windu always had during council meetings.
“You wished to speak to me, adiik? ” he asked, voice rumbling.
Obi-wan swallowed and sent a quick prayer to the force that this gamble worked.
“Mand’alor.” he said, with a respectful dip of his head. “I apologize for my unorthodox call, but there isn’t much time. I would like to make a deal.”
The man tilted his head. “A deal?” he said, curious.
“I have the location of a group currently planning your assassination. They are strong, and they are many. They wish to take over Mandalore for themselves and are attempting to raise an army to do so. They call themselves Kyr'tsad."
Voices erupted in the background. “Kyr'tsad. Vizsla.” the Mand’alor said, voice dark. "Never seems to die right, does he."
Obi-wan heard a rustle of movement from the hall but did not let his eyes stray from the hologram.
“In return for the coordinates,” he said, raising his voice. “I ask for immediate safe passage for me and my companions back to our home planet Melida/Daan.”
The Mand'alor tilted his head, considering, as those around him spoke in overlapping tones.
“And how exactly did you get this information, child?” a woman’s voice snapped out above the rest.
The doorknob jiggled as someone tried to turn it and Obi-wan let in a sharp breath, hand darting out to mute the call.
Turn and walk away, he tried to send. Turn and walk away, nothing interesting is here.
Another jiggle and then a thud. The metal cabinet rattled but the door, blessedly, did not open. Shouting started up in the hall and Obi-wan couldn’t help his flinch. He unmuted the call with minutely shaking hands.
“I am out of time, Mand’alor.” he snapped, leaning forward. “Is this deal amenable to you?”
The man's brow furrowed as he studied him. “Ad’ika, are you there right now?” he said sharply.
“Yes,” Obi-wan reported, scanning the room quickly for weapons. There were none. “We were taken from our world a tenday ago to fight a war we know nothing about.” A thought occurred to him, and he turned quickly back to the hologram. “Do not- do not hurt my people, please, we do not wish to be here.” he begged. “We have no quarrel with you.”
“We will not. I-”
The whole wall shook; someone was firing at the lock now.
“Your word, Mand’alor.” Obi-wan said desperately.
“I swear.” he promised, and it rang loudly in the force, echoing into Obi-wan’s bones. “I will get you and your people safely home.”
“Transmitting coordinates now.” he said, and sent his fingers flying across the keys. “I- thank you.”
“Received.” someone snapped out. “They’re in the Mandalore Sector, on Vorpa’ya, coordinates 158, 327.”
“There’s forty-two of us,” Obi-wan told them quickly, “About thirty of us need medical attention.”
“We’ll bring medics.” the Mand’alor promised. “We’re prepping ships now. We’re twelve hours out, but we can make it in ten. We’re coming.”
Obi-wan slumped in relief. His legs finally gave out and he hit the ground with a thud.
“Obi-wan, Obi-wan, are you still there?” the man said, a bit frantic, and Obi-wan jerked his head up, surprised the comm line was still open.
“I’m here, sir.”
“Is there another exit, a window, vent, anything? Can you get away?”
Obi-wan gave a wry smile that didn’t reach his eyes, grateful the man couldn’t see it. “Ankle’s twisted.” he said. “Arms gave out getting out of the vent. Hit the ground at the wrong angle.”
“Okay, okay. What about weapons? Anything like that? Can you defend yourself?”
“There’s nothing. And nowhere to go. Besides,” he let his head thump back against the wall. “I won’t leave the kids.”
“Kids-” the man sputtered, the whole room falling quiet. “Obi-Wan- are there other children with you?”
His brow furrowed a bit. Maybe they hadn’t heard him earlier. “Yes, forty-two.”
A split moment of silence and then sound erupted on the other end.
“Hang in there, Obi-wan.” the Mand’alor swore. “We’re coming, okay? We’re coming.”
“Mand’alor.” Obi-wan said, quietly, watching the door splinter. “I have nothing left to trade. But I must ask… please hurry.”
“Give us eight hours.” the Mand’alor said, without hesitation.
Obi-wan nodded. He dragged himself back to his feet, picked up a spoon laying there abandoned on the desk. He hefted it once in his hand.
They were moving now on the hologram- running- if Obi-wan wasn’t mistaken. Calls echoed back and forth to each other, prepping ships, filling holds, requesting more men.
“Mand’alor.” he said, with a last, final, dip of his head, and waited until the man looked at him. “The Young thank you.”
He drove the spoon through the console before there was an answer. The door exploded inwards and Obi-wan went flying.
“Nield.” Obi-wan managed to say, hoarse. The word hurt. “What are you doing here?”
The boy slipped inside. There was blood on his hands. It wasn’t his.
“The compound’s under attack.” he said, “We overpowered the trainers and freed the kids.”
“Why are you here?” Obi-wan muttered. “The ships are the other way.”
“I’m here for you, idiot.” Nield said. “Cerasi would throw a fit if I left you behind.”
Neither of them mentioned there may be no Cerasi to throw one.
“Can you walk?” he said.
“Think my ankle’s broken.” Obi-wan said.
“Is that a yes or a no?”
Obi-wan swallowed and drew on the force. “Yes,” he said, and repeated it until he sounded sure, “Yes, I can, just- help me up.”
Nield took his outstretched hand and hauled him to his feet.
“Good,” he said. “Cause I’m gonna need to be able to shoot.”
He heard them before he saw them, rapid fire shots in the rhythm only Kelli could keep up.
“Shit.” Nield muttered, yanking Obi-wan down behind a crate in a sharp movement that made his body ache. “They’re pinned down.”
“How many?”
“Looks like three.” Another shot rang out. “Two.” Nield amended, with a sharp grin. “She’s better.”
Obi-wan closed his eyes, focused on the life forces in the room, trying to pick out the muted tones of the enemy Mandalorians.
“The closer one’s already injured,” he said. “Left arm.”
“Can you handle it?” Nield asked, eyes fixed on the crates the children were cowering behind.
Obi-wan nodded. “Let’s go.”
They split up, creeping silently through the dim warehouse towards their prey.
Obi-wan found his target climbing the ladder to the catwalk that stretched overhead, gun slung into her back.
“I’ll have a clear shot in a sec,” the woman was saying into her comm, “I’ll take care of the girl.”
Obi-wan hobbled desperately closer. She was already clambering into the catwalk, and he knew he couldn’t follow- not with a broken ankle. She stalked down the metal grating and he followed, hurrying from shadow to shadow, trying to think of any sort of plan.
But his thoughts were moving terribly slow, head aching from many knocks, and the force seemed to swim just out of reach.
The woman hefted her gun, aiming carefully into the shadows. She flicked the safety off.
Focus, they always spoke of focus. But focus wasn’t always possible.
I am one with the force and the force is with me.
He closed his eyes and raised a hand.
The catwalk groaned.
“Oh, kriff-” the woman managed to bite out, before the entire catwalk came crashing out of the sky and hit the warehouse floor in a wave of metal and dust.
Kelli emerged out of the shadows. “Holy shit, Obi-wan.” she said, and gave a slow whistle.
Obi-wan stared at the mass of metal, unable to focus on anything but the sense of life slowly snuffing out.
“Obi-wan.” Nield called, two kids already hefted in his arms. “Hurry, we have to go.”
It took all his strength to turn away, leave the tarnished light to slowly fade.
“Come on, the ships are this way.” Nield said.
“We can’t go.” Tomas snapped, distraught, tugging at his sleeve. “The mean man, he took Em.”
Obi-wan wasn’t sure he’d ever moved so fast.
He was closing his eyes, honing in on the familiar sense of Em before Nield and Kelli could even get a word out.
There.
The south side of the compound. His eyes snapped open.
He snagged a dead Mandalorian’s blaster off the ground and strode for the hall.
“Obi-wan- wait - where are you going?” Kelli called.
“I’m getting Em,” he snapped, “Get to a ship, get it running-”
“You have a broken ankle-”
“If we’re not back in fifteen minutes,” he said darkly, turning back in the doorway to meet their eyes. “Go without us.”
Nield jogged to meet him, face set, and Obi-wan felt his anger flare.
“We don’t have time to argue about this-” he snapped out, but Nield just grabbed his hand, shoved a knife into his.
“May- may the force be with you.” Nield said, and he only tripped a bit over his words.
Obi-wan swallowed, hit with a wave of grief. How long had it been since he’d heard those words?
“And with you.” he managed to say and tightened his grip on the knife.
Neild hesitated there, watching him. Something in his gaze was terribly final. … He didn’t expect him to return.
Obi-wan gave him a final nod, and vanished.
He slipped through the halls like a ghost.
In some ways, he already was one, he mused. A ghost of the child he’d been before Bandomeer, before Xanatos, before Melida/Daan. Obi-wan Kenobi, Jedi Initiate, Jedi Padawan, Jedi Knight to be. He’d been so naive, then, so ignorant… so… bright.
The Masters would be disappointed if they could see him now. He tried not to think of life snuffed out under metal and stone.
It would take a long time for word to get back to the Jedi temple that he was dead. He wondered if anyone would even care. He was already lost, in their eyes, after all. He’d left the Order. He had already failed.
Quinlan… Quinlan and Siri Tachi would say the rites for him. It’d be too late for a traditional funeral pyre, but he wasn’t a Jedi anymore, was he. They wouldn’t have been able to do one anyway.
He threw himself into the shadows of a doorway, barely avoiding two Mandalorians running past. His body ached to lie down and let his eyes drift shut, to rest, just for a moment, but he limped onward.
He… he didn’t think he’d mind the ground.
Being surrounded by life flourishing in the warm darkness, roots intertwining their way through the dirt, worms searching for snacks, seeds just beginning to sprout a new adventure.
As long as he got Em to safety. Please, he whispered to the force.
Em was close, now, her distress, her fear, terribly potent in the force.
Obi-wan took a deep breath, centering himself, releasing her fear and his own into the force. He sent a wave of comfort and calm- sunshine warm on your face after a thunderstorm- and turned the last corner.
The Mandalorian towered tall, armour the same deep black as his hair. He was pacing, barking rapidly into a comm, dark red cape flapping behind him. Em's wrist was captured in a bruising grip. She was crying.
“Stop whimpering, girl.” he snapped out, shaking her.
Obi-wan stepped forward, out of the shadows.
“Stop.” he ordered. The authority of a General echoed in his voice.
The man had a blade to Em’s throat in an instant.
He caught sight of Obi-wan, shoulders loosening immediately. “A child.” he drawled, dropping the knife. “You’re lucky I already found my hostage.”
“Obi-wan.” Em whimpered.
Obi-wan sent her another wave of peace and she stilled.
“Funny.” Obi-wan said, slowly approaching. “I was under the impression that Mandalorians had honour. ” The man’s eyes snapped to him, sharp with anger. “But here you are, cowering behind a child. ”
The man’s grip tightened, fury painted across his face. He shoved Em away with a sharp sudden movement, and the girl stumbled, almost falling flat.
Obi-wan shifted quickly between them, never taking his eyes off the man.
“Do you know who you challenge?” the man said.
“A coward who gets children to do his dirty work.”
“I am Tor Vizsla.” he hissed, towering higher. “Leader of Death Watch, head of Clan Vizsla, rightful Mand'alor.”
“Oh.” Obi-wan cocked his head. “Is all that supposed to mean something to me?”
“Maybe this will.” Vizsla said and withdrew a hilt from the fold of his cape.
Obi-wan’s entire world narrowed down to silver. The Jedi had known for a millennia that all kyber crystals- and thus- the sabers- were sentient to a degree, but while most whispered a language that was not a language, a harmony or dissonance in the force, this one screamed.
The man laughed in the face of his shock, misunderstanding. “You have no idea what you toy with, boy.”
Obi-wan brought his eyes up to his. “Who did you steal this from?” he growled.
The man’s eyes flashed. “No one. It belongs to me.” he hissed and lunged.
Obi-wan fired his blaster, all three shots hitting home, but the force shouted to him, and he threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the ricochet.
What kind of armour was this?
The horribly familiar snap hiss of a saber being drawn had Obi-wan’s limbs moving before the realization could even process. He ducked under Vizsla’s swing, rolling to the side, and kicked out with his feet, sending the man stumbling.
The saber- the blade was black, black and shaped like no lightsaber Obi-wan had ever seen. Yet it shone, in a way that seemed to defy Obi-wan’s very perception of sight. The sight had him faltering, only for a moment, because then Vizsla was attacking again, and it may have been an unorthodox blade, but it wasn’t all less deadly.
Obi-wan evaded again, with a lunge and a twist that had his ankle screaming at him.
Vizsla was grinning now, beginning to circle.
“Do you understand now, boy?” he asked, and let the saber hilt drop into a low hold-
No. Obi-wan though. Not let.
The muscles in Vizsla’s saber arm were trembling. So slightly that Obi-wan almost didn’t notice.
Even when the blade should have been weightless.
“It’s fighting you.” he said, in realization. “The blade.”
Vizsla swung, snarling, and Obi-wan looked this time. Vizsla strained under the black blade’s weight. His posture, his positioning gave him away as a trained swordsman, but despite this he could barely control it. Obi-wan stepped back, but the sword didn’t even get close.
He let out a breathless laugh. He’d never- he’d never seen anything like it.
Forgetting about Vizsla, he reached out in the force, extending his senses towards it and suddenly it was there-
Older, wiser than anything he’d felt before, jaded, angry, and powerful. It didn’t speak in words, but Obi-wan didn’t need them. The blade was clear.
“It cries out against you.” he said, meeting Vizsla’s own, suddenly steady. “It cries out against you, and you continue to wield it.”
“It is mine to wield.” Vizsla hissed and lunged again. “It is my right-”
Obi-wan side-stepped the wild swing easily, watching the blade again. It pressed against his shields, it wanted him to speak, to understand, to avenge-
“It is not.” he said, certain now. “It was stolen.”
Tor Vizsla swung with a wordless scream and Obi-wan threw out a hand.
The blade froze in place, shimmering with a note of anger. Vizsla struggled against it and it didn’t budge.
The blade pressed again, humming loudly in his ears, and Obi-wan listened.
“It cries out against you,” he said, voice heavy with Truth. He met Vizsla’s eyes. “It knows of your sins, and the sins of your father, and your grandfather. Sins against the people of Mandalore. It has taken note, and it will not lay in the hands of Clan Vizsla any longer.”
Obi-wan let go, and the blade detracted with the hiss of a deep sigh, terribly final.
Vizsla could not reignite it, no matter how hard he tried.
“What are you doing?” he snarled.
Obi-wan looked back at him steadily. “It’s not me.”
Vizsla slammed a hand against the saber once more, and when it did not react, he let out a wordless scream and hurled it. Before it had even hit the ground, the Mandalorian was moving and Obi-wan didn’t even have time to take a breath.
There was a glint of light, and the force cried a warning, but Obi-wan couldn’t move quickly enough.
The sound registered long before the pain did. It was a terribly familiar noise. Em screamed, and Obi-wan didn’t dare look down, but his hands shot up to clutch at the Vizsla’s own, still wrapped around the hilt of the knife.
The man, eyes wild, gave a terribly cruel smile. “I am Tor Vizsla," he said, “and you will die for your contempt -”
He twisted the knife and Obi-wan cried out, vision whiting out, fire erupting in his stomach, and suddenly Em was there.
She attacked, a feral tooka, biting Vizsla’s unarmoured wrist was all her strength, and the man released Obi-wan with a hiss, stumbling back. Obi-wan fell to his knees, clutching at his stomach, trying to breath, trying to get back up.
But Vizsla was faster. He spun, kicking out, and Obi-wan got a brief glimpse of Em’s wide eyes before she hit the stone wall with a sickening thud. She fell to the floor and was terribly, terribly still.
A hum started up at the edge of his mind, calling to him.
Vizsla shook out his hand with a hiss, and didn’t hesitate in drawing his blaster, aiming it at Em-
The humming spiked, screamed out for him to protect, and Obi-wan didn’t think, he threw out a hand and the saber was there.
It was light in his hands, and the metal was warm against his palm, a soothing heat, and the pain in his side was muted.
A hundred gentle hands propelled him to his feet, whispering words of encouragement he couldn’t understand, and the saber lit itself without him needing to fumble for a button.
Vizsla turned at the sound, changing targets in an instant, face creased in rage.
Demogolka, the voices whispered, and Obi-wan fell into a stance he didn’t recognize, one that despite this managed to feel more natural than breathing.
Vizsla's shots deflected harmlessly into the floor with a twirl of the saber, a phantom of weathered hands against his, and then there was a nudge, a point, and Obi-was could suddenly see the weak point between Vizsla's left shoulder pauldron and breastplate as if they glowed.
He dodged another shot, ducked beneath a throwing knife, and was there in two steps, sliding the saber into the man’s shoulder as if it were butter.
The humming grew louder again, strong and comforting, muting the Vizsla scream, and Obi-wan struck out again, slamming the hilt into the man’s helmet.
Vizsla dropped like a sack of rocks.
There was a brief feeling of a hand on his shoulder, pressure on his forehead, proud, mandokarla, this is the way, and the blade vanished with a hiss.
Obi-wan blinked in the sudden silence.
His side ached.
Em was stirring, mumbling, and Obi-wan limped quickly to her side.
“Em, it’s okay, I’m here.” he murmured.
“Obi-wan?” she whispered, eyes clenched tight, hands coming up to clutch at her head.
“I’m here.” he repeated, and gently tugged her hands away from the blood. “We need to move,” he said, despite himself, “how do you feel about a piggyback ride?”
It was cruel and it was unfair to have to move her so quickly, but it had been far longer than a few minutes and Obi-wan could feel the blood already quickly seeping through his shirt.
But Em was a child raised on war, and she simply nodded, jaw clenched tight, and stumbled to her feet.
Obi-wan drew on the last dredges of his energy, supported measly with the force he could still manage, and hoisted her up on his back.
“Hold this for me?” he asked, handing over the saber. “Don’t let it go, okay? It’s really important.”
“What is it?” she mumbled, as she slipped it into one of her deep, tattered pockets.
He considered the question for a moment as he snagged Vizsla’s blaster from the ground, readying it, and tucked his other arm under Em’s knees.
“A friend.” he settled on, finally.
“Okay.” she said and didn’t even blink. “I’ll keep it safe.”
He glanced back only once at the crumbled form on the ground. Vizsla’s chest still rose and fell stutteringly.
The saber hummed at him, and he turned and left the scene behind.
Sithspit. The Young hadn’t made it to the ship.
The hangar was crawling with Mandalorians. The kids had only gotten a few yards past the hangar doors and were now pinned down behind stacks of crates there, heavily armoured forms surrounding them.
Nield was facing off with a tall Mandalorian, his teeth grit tight, blaster in a white knuckled grip.
Obi-wan bit back a carefully curated collection of interplanetary curses and wove his way closer, Em held close.
“Tell your people to clear a path to a ship.” Nield growled. “Or I shoot you.”
“I can’t do that, adiik.” the Mandalorian said, almost gentle. “You’re children, you’re injured. We can’t let you go, you need medics.”
“We’ve survived worse.” Nield spat.
“You may have. But you shouldn’t have had to.” the man said, “We have medical supplies, food-”
Obi-wan was close now, close enough to see the angry confusion that darted across Nield’s face, the way the gun trembled in his hand.
He has the shot, Obi-wan thought, why doesn’t he take it. The man’s weapons were firmly holstered, hands held out in a sign of peace, and while the other Mandalorians looked more uneasy, they too had their blasters pointed carefully away.
Obi-wan’s confusion only mounted when the Mandalorian reached up and took off his helmet. As if he didn’t have a blaster pointed straight at him.
“Please, adiik, we only want to help-”
“Oh, right,” Nield snarled. “Like your friends here.” he said, jerking his head at a body in grey and blue.
Another Mandalorian spoke up, voice rumbling, denying this, but Obi-wan was no longer listening.
Something was nudging sharply at his mind, and he wracked his brain, eyes darting about.
His gaze settled on the tall Mandalorian again, the saber humming a near single clear note in the back of his head, and finally the man turned enough that Obi-wan could glimpse his face.
Oh. Oh.
Several things happened at once. A small Mandalorian- not an enemy, he realized, not an enemy - rounded the edge of the supply crate they were hiding behind and caught sight of Obi-wan and Em, stilling.
Nield turned his eyes to the ceiling and whistled a sharp, familiar, note.
And Obi-wan realized with a flush of dread what looked so wrong about this picture.
Kelli was nowhere to be seen.
Obi-wan moved. He shoved Em in the small Mandalorian’s direction, trusting the person, who radiated protection, kindness, righteous anger, to catch her, and threw himself forward.
Someone let out a startled shout as he burst out of his hiding place, but Obi-wan barreled past the hastily outstretched arms and slammed into the Mand’alor at the exact same time Kelli fired.
It was not unlike ramming into a concrete pillar, and he was thankful once again for the force as they hit the ground hard. As he gasped for breath, he dimly registered the shot that would have reduced the Mand’alor’s head to mush pinging harmlessly off a crate instead.
The Mandalorians were shouting, ducking for cover, raising their weapons, all except the Mand’alor. His eyes were fixed on Obi-wan as he climbed back to his feet, slid to a stop in front of him, barking at his men to find the sniper.
Obi-wan could feel Kelli’s panic, Nield’s, his own, all swirling into a terrified mess. Kelli’s fear dimmed, intent sharpening, as she went to try again, but she wavered with Obi-wan so close- and kriff- the Mandalorians had pinpointed her position now- their weapons snapping up to the top of the nearest fighter-
He struggled to his knees, pain radiating out from his stomach in hot waves, and shouted, “Don’t shoot! Nobody shoot!”
“Obi-wan-” Nield made it two steps in his direction before he stopped himself, jaw clenching.
“They are allies.” Obi-wan said desperately, raising his voice loud enough to be heard by Kelli too, wherever she was. “They’re allies.”
“What are you talking about?” Nield ground out, narrowed eyes taking in the warriors.
Obi-wan was struggling to find words now, the world beginning to tilt. “Please god, no one, shoot.” he begged once more instead, and then grey overcame his vision, and he was falling.
There was a startled shout, and gentle hands caught him, lowering him safely to the ground.
“Haar-chaac- I need a medic over here-” someone was shouting, and that was never a particularly good sign, in Obi-wan’s experience.
“Stay with us, Obi-wan.” someone commanded, no argument in their voice and Obi-wan automatically fought to obey. “The medic is almost here.”
But the pain in his side was too much, exhaustion dragging him under. Voices were speaking rapidly above him and he couldn't understand any of it- Why couldn’t he understand any of it?
There was a sudden pinch of a hypo in his neck, and he panicked, fingers twitching weakly as he tried to remain afloat. The kids, Nield, Kelli, Em- the Mandalorians- he needed to- he needed to-
“It’s okay.” the voice said, softer this time. “Your people are safe. You have my word. Rest now.”
Someone was taking his hand, warm and gentle, and the saber was humming peace, rightness in the corner of his mind, and there was another pinch at his neck, and he knew no more.
* * *