Chapter Text
Obi-Wan’s knees buckled and he caught himself on the railing in front of him. He was gasping like he’d run a marathon; there was a bitter taste in his mouth, more than the tang of smog and artificial oxygen. Wind ruffled his hair. Pain radiated from the palm of his hand. His head was spinning. Something was wrong.
From nearby came the hubbub of music and conversation, intermingling with the wind, the ambient urban din, and a voice. A voice, speaking to him in words he couldn’t quite parse through his disorientation and a sudden, mind-bending exhaustion. A cold palm came to rest over Obi-Wan’s right hand.
Obi-Wan pried open his eyes to discover that for some reason, of all people, Supreme Chancellor Palpatine was looming over him. It was night, and they were alone on a balcony; the golden light from the building behind them cast oddly sinister shadows across the Chancellor’s face.
“Your Excellency,” Obi-Wan said, masking his confusion. He had no idea what the Chancellor was doing here — or what he himself was doing here — or where here was, for that matter — but he wasn’t about to let the Chancellor know that.
The Chancellor recoiled in shock. “Kenobi?”
Obi-Wan plastered on a baffled smile. “…Yes?”
The Chancellor’s eyes briefly went blank, then softened with grandfatherly concern. “Forgive me, Master Jedi. My eyes aren’t what they once were. I… stepped out just a moment ago for some fresh air, and couldn’t help but notice you collapsed against the railing. Are you quite alright?”
“Yes,” Obi-Wan said weakly. His whole body ached like he'd been hit by a speeder, or else like he hadn't slept for a week. He cleared his throat and straightened his back and said, more convincingly, “Yes, your Excellency. I’m fine. I’m enjoying the… the view.” He looked out from the balcony. Thousands upon thousands of glittering skyscrapers stretched to the horizon, criss-crossed with lines of speeders. In the distance, one massive edifice rose above the rest, lights blinking at the tips of its five pointed spires. The Jedi Temple. Obi-Wan was on Coruscant.
Huh.
Last he recalled he was on the Negotiator, doing formwork; the Invasion of Kamino had been a shitshow on all levels, including bureaucratic. He’d been looking over Shaak Ti’s report as Cody made a joke about the latest military enhancement bill, and Obi-Wan… couldn’t remember what the punchline was.
“What is it that you have there?” the Chancellor asked, peering down at Obi-Wan’s right hand.
“Hm?” Obi-Wan followed the Chancellor’s gaze to the Sith Holocron he was holding.
At least, that’s what Obi-Wan assumed the spiky, crystalline polyhedron pulsating with an ominous red glow was. One of the spikes was impaling his palm. In the force, Obi-Wan got the barest impression from the Holocron that his blood had satiated it.
Oh dear, Obi-Wan thought.
“Just a… a Jedi artifact I was… examining,” he lied, hastily shoving his hand, and the Holocron, into his pocket.
“Are you sure you’re quite alright?” the Chancellor asked.
“Never better.” There was a gust of wind. Obi-Wan didn’t bother to hide his shiver. “If you don’t mind, your Excellency, I’m going to head back to the… er…”
Obi-Wan gestured inside, where all the light and noise was coming from. He waited for the Chancellor to complete his sentence for him until well past the point of awkwardness.
“…The event,” Obi-Wan finished lamely.
“Of course,” the Chancellor agreed. “Ah — one thing, before you go. You said something intriguing during our earlier… conversation, and I was hoping you could remind me what it was.”
Obi-Wan’s last conversation with the Chancellor had been a maybe six sentence exchange during which Obi-Wan politely accepted the Chancellor’s praise for discovering the Aqua Droids beneath Tipoca City during the Battle of Kamino. Obi-Wan had not said a single thing of substance. He had no idea what the Chancellor was talking about. “I simply reiterated that it is my duty as a Jedi to thwart the Sith and their schemes wherever they may be hidden.”
The Chancellor pressed his mouth into a line. “Your memory is as sharp as ever, Master Jedi.”
“You’re welcome, your Excellency,” Obi-Wan said before bowing and fleeing one of the strangest conversations he’d ever had in his life as quickly as he could without outright running. The Chancellor’s gaze bored into the back of his head.
Inside, Obi-Wan found an opulent ballroom filled to the brim with all manner of sentient life. It must have been a gala of some kind. Obi-Wan even recognized a few senators in attendance. Obi-Wan ducked into a corner and pulled the holocron from his hand, hissing through his teeth. The wound in his palm was bleeding profusely now. The spikes — and Obi-Wan’s blood — were absorbed into the faces of the holocron as if they’d never been there.
Oh dear, Obi-Wan thought again, more forcefully.
It was likely too late to undo the worst of the damage, whatever that damage was. Because it seemed that, for some Force-forsaken reason, Obi-Wan had activated a Sith Holocron. The situation was not good, to say the least, but Obi-Wan’s fear would do nothing but feed the dark side more than he already had, so he pocketed the holocron, clenched his fist, and took deep, calming breaths. It was a little more difficult than usual.
Obi-Wan released his discomfort into the Force, then stretched out his senses, searching for anyone he knew. To his relief, Anakin was at the other end of the hall. Obi-Wan almost missed him because his force signature was dimmer than usual — shielded, perhaps, not that Obi-Wan could imagine why.
Obi-Wan wove through the crowd and found Anakin leaning against a wall, engaged in a lively conversation with Padmé Amidala in one of her signature ostentatious gowns. They were standing a little farther apart than usual. That was good. Maybe they’d finally sorted out the secret part of their secret relationship.
When Anakin saw Obi-Wan he straightened and said, “There you are! I was wondering where you were hiding.”
But Obi-Wan was too distracted to respond, now that he could see Anakin properly. He couldn’t place why, but Anakin looked different .
“Did you get a haircut?” he asked, frowning.
Padmé tried to hold back a smile as Anakin rolled his eyes. “Good one, Master. Very original.”
Obi-Wan smiled along with them, though truthfully he had no clue what was so funny. “Yes, well. I’m very sorry to interrupt the two of you, but I was hoping I could have Anakin for a moment.”
“Uh-oh,” Anakin said. “What did I do this time?”
“Nothing that I’m aware of,” Obi-Wan replied, voice clipped. “I just need to speak with you. In private.”
The humor drained from Padmé and Anakin’s expressions, and they glanced at each other, concerned. Padme said to Anakin, “Why don’t we continue this conversation later.” Anakin nodded, and then, in a move that Obi-Wan found very audacious, Padmé gave Anakin a kiss on the cheek before gliding off, her gown fluttering behind her. Maybe he had spoken too soon about the two of them figuring out how to keep a secret. Anakin at least had the decency to look embarrassed about it.
Once Obi-Wan had herded Anakin into an abandoned hallway he extricated the holocron from his robes, held it out to Anakin pinched between his thumb and his index finger, and said, “I was hoping you might be able to tell me what this is.”
Anakin goggled. “That’s a Sith Holocron. What are you doing with a Sith Holocron? ”
“Good question,” Obi-Wan said grimly.
“You mean, you don’t know?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“You— you’re bleeding.”
“Well, that I do know.”
Anakin gaped. “Master. You can’t fall to the Dark Side. You’d be unstoppable.”
“I didn’t activate it on purpose, Anakin,” Obi-Wan protested. “Or at least, I don’t think I did.” Now he was frowning. He didn’t feel Dark. If he fell to the Dark Side and then forgot about it, did that count?
Whatever face journey Obi-Wan was going on was not doing much to reassure Anakin.
“If it helps, I’m just as confused as you are. I woke up standing outside, holding it, with no memory of how I’d gotten there. I’m not even quite sure what we’re doing here.”
“Padmé invited us,” Anakin said, like Obi-Wan was supposed to know that already.
“This is the first I’ve heard of it.”
Anakin took Obi-Wan’s arm and guided him down the hall. “Master, I hate to say it, but I think this is the worst mess you’ve ever gotten yourself into and I have no clue how to begin fixing it,” he remarked in a mild tone that belied his anxiety. “What’s the last thing you remember?”
“I was doing formwork … ” Obi-Wan began.
“Be more specific,” Anakin said. “What was the date?”
Obi-Wan gave Anakin the date. Anakin swore.
“Not good?”
“That’s a month ago.”
“Lovely,” Obi-Wan said with a grimace. “I do hope I didn’t miss anything too important.”
“Nothing worth mentioning,” Anakin lied, radiating sadness. “I’m impressed with how well you’re taking this.”
“Panicking wouldn’t exactly help,” Obi-Wan said mildly. It was only as a result of decades of Jedi training and, frankly, a year spent running a kriffing war against the Sith that Obi-Wan was not currently having a meltdown over the fact that he exposed himself to a Sith Holocron and then forgotten why.
Anakin found a ‘fresher and all but shoved Obi-Wan inside. “Wait here,” he said before swanning off for backup.
Now alone, Obi-Wan placed the Holocron — still pulsating with a blood-red glow — on the sink. A commlink in one of the pockets of his cloak began to beep, and he absently turned it off before pressing paper towels against his open wound.
With little else to do as he staunched his bleeding, he took stock of himself in the mirror. There were dark shadows under his eyes, but otherwise he looked the same as always: hair cut short and beard trimmed, draped in cream Jedi robes and a new cloak. He hadn’t received any obviously disfiguring scars in the past month. He did feel an injury on his side, above his hip— a distant throbbing and the telltale sliminess of a bacta patch against his skin.
He twisted his hips to check his lightsaber out of a sense of thoroughness more than anything. It was different. Briefly neglecting his wound, Obi-Wan unclipped the ‘saber and examined it. The design was similar enough to that of the lightsaber Obi-Wan last remembered having, though unless Obi-Wan’s senses were deceiving him it was made of Beskar (how had that happened?) . And the crystal… for all that it felt like his, it was entirely unfamiliar to him.
A lot could change in a month. The state of the War could be completely different. Entire relationships could have formed or been destroyed. People Obi-Wan cared about could have died. He hoped to the Force that no one was dead.
Obi-Wan’s wound had pretty much stopped bleeding by the time Anakin’s muffled voice filtered through the door.
“ …wouldn’t let something like that leave the Archives. But it’s not like Obi-Wan would’ve stolen it.”
“Under the influence of a Sith Holocron, there’s no telling what Obi-Wan would have done,” replied a deep, sonorous voice that made Obi-Wan’s stomach drop past his knees. “Many such artifacts have been known to exert a psychic influence over their victims, lowering their inhibitions and provoking unnatural feelings of obsession.”
“I love how you know that off the top of your head,” Anakin said.
Obi-Wan stiffened, his hand unconsciously going to his new lightsaber.
The door hissed open and Anakin stepped into the ‘fresher, followed by Separatist Leader and Dark Lord of the Sith Count Dooku. Dooku was wearing a hideous mockery of Jedi Robes, and Obi-Wan wasn’t sure who he was trying to fool. They all knew Dooku hadn’t been a Jedi for a long, long time.
Sweet Force, they were on Coruscant. They were in the same building as the Chancellor.
“The literature on the subject is fascinating,” Dooku told Anakin defensively. His gaze fell on Obi-Wan, and whatever he saw made his face go blank.
“Obi-Wan?” he asked, voice resonant with concern that seemed genuine. His eyes flicked down to where Obi-Wan’s hand was resting on his lightsaber, and he repeated, “Obi-Wan?”
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, not taking his eyes off the Count, “please explain what Count Dooku is doing here.”
Obi-Wan was hoping Anakin would say something he could accept. Maybe Dooku had allied with the Jedi against his Sith Master. Maybe he was a Prisoner of War. Maybe he also had amnesia! Instead, Anakin’s brow furrowed and he said “He’s… here for the Gala?”
“I can see that,” Obi-Wan said. “I just don’t understand why no one’s arrested him.”
Count Dooku’s expression twisted in an impressive facsimile of confusion.
“Neither of us have any idea what you’re talking about,” Anakin said. He felt sincere. Obi-Wan would have believed him if it weren’t for the fact that he couldn’t be telling the truth.
It was Dooku, wasn’t it? Dooku had given Obi-Wan the holocron. Dooku had— had manipulated him into activating it. Dooku had stolen his memories. And Dooku had done something to Anakin, such that he was on Dooku’s side. Anakin— not Anakin—
Anakin didn’t feel dark. But — somehow, Dooku didn’t feel dark either. It was as if he’d never turned. An uncanny trick, but a trick nonetheless.
Obi-Wan activated his lightsaber. Dooku stilled, but made no motion to draw his blade.
“I don’t know what you’ve done to Anakin,” Obi-Wan said to Dooku, “And I don’t know what you’ve done to me , but it will not prevent me from doing my duty to the Republic and to the Jedi Order.”
Anakin stepped between Dooku and Obi-Wan and said, “Okay, before we do something we’ll regret, why don’t we all take a deep breath and put down our lightsabers. Obi-Wan, it would be great if you’d stop threatening Master Dooku—”
“That’s not his name,” Obi-Wan hissed. “He has no right to call himself a Jedi. Not after what he’s done.”
“And what is that?” Dooku asked. “What is it that you think I’ve done?”
“You can’t be serious,” Obi-Wan all but laughed — but on Dooku and Anakin’s faces was confusion, disbelief, concern. “You can’t be serious,” Obi-Wan repeated.
“A Sith Holocron is clouding your judgment.” Dooku said, palms outstretched. “Whatever it showed you is a lie, a ploy to drive you to the Dark Side. Search your feelings. I am not your enemy.”
Obi-Wan shook his head, even as Dooku’s words rang with startling truth in the Force. “If you expect me to believe your lies then it is your judgment, not mine, that the Dark Side has clouded.”
“Grandpadawan,” Dooku said with such pain that for a moment, Obi-Wan almost believed it was real. That was the worst part.
Obi-Wan tightened his grip on his ‘saber. “Step away from Count Dooku,” he ordered Anakin.
“I can’t.”
“I don’t want to fight you.”
“Then don’t,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan realized he would have to arrest them both.
He closed his eyes and allowed himself one moment of sadness.
Anakin’s lightsaber flew from Anakin’s belt into Obi-Wan’s hand and ignited with a snap-hiss , and then Obi-Wan had blue blades pointed at Anakin and Dooku’s throats.
An overwhelming force slammed into Obi-Wan’s chest and sent him flying back through the air. Obi-Wan had enough time to register Anakin’s guilt before he crashed into a wall and everything went black.
Obi-Wan sensed as soon as he awoke that he was in the Temple. He was safe. Thank the Force.
He blinked open his eyes and found himself sitting up in bed in the Halls of Healing. When he tried to shift, his wrists wouldn’t move — they’d cuffed him to the bed.
Obi-Wan was still absorbing this fact when Vokara Che stepped into the room.
“Master Che,” Obi-Wan rasped.
“Obi-Wan,” she said warmly. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” he said, not really trying to convince her it was true. He tested the restraints again, “I assume this has to do with the Sith Holocron?”
Master Che’s smile became strained. “That would be correct.”
Obi-Wan would never enjoy being in the Halls of Healing, but at least it wasn’t a torture chamber on Serenno.
“Have I fallen?” Obi-Wan asked, quite seriously.
“If you have, you’re hiding it remarkably well.”
Obi-Wan exhaled a long, relieved breath. “Where’s Anakin?”
“He’s here in the Temple, safe.”
“And what of Count Dooku?”
Master Che’s face fell. “Master Dooku is also in the Temple.”
“Master Dooku,” Obi-Wan repeated in dismay.
Gingerly, Master Che said, “Obi-Wan, it appears that the Sith Holocron has— altered your perception of Master Dooku.”
“He’s a Sith."
“He’s a Jedi,” said Master Che. “He’s your Grandmaster. Search your feelings.”
Obi-Wan did. He sensed no darkness in the Temple; he sensed no deception in his surroundings, or in Master Che.
“You don’t understand,” Obi-Wan said, struggling to understand it himself. “I have seen him do such terrible things. All of us have. He is an enemy of the Republic, of the Jedi, of the light itself!”
Vokara paused. Perhaps she sensed the truth in Obi-Wan’s words. “Except, he’s not. The Holocron—“
“That, we can agree on,” Obi-Wan said. Again he tried to shift, but the cuffs stopped him. “If Dooku has clouded the minds of the Jedi, he must be stopped. We must stop him. The fate of the galaxy depends upon it.”
“Master Kenobi, you know I can’t release you from the Halls. Not in the condition you’re in.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you’ve had a brush with a dark Holocron that is manipulating your thoughts.”
Something terrible dawned on Obi-Wan. “How do I know you’re not working with him?”
Now, Master Che was truly alarmed. “I’ve been your mind healer for five years, Obi-Wan.”
Obi-Wan paused. Because it felt true. And yet—
“No,” he said. “That’s a lie. I’ve never had a mind healer in my life.”
“Why don’t you get some rest,” Master Che said, pained. “We’re going to run a few tests, see if there’s anything—“
“You have to let me out of here.”
“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
“If you really are a Jedi,” Obi-Wan said despite how wrong he knew the words to be, distress mounting, “you have to help me. If Dooku is allowed to complete his plans, it could shift the War in his favor!”
“What war?”
“What war?” Obi-Wan parroted in disbelief, voice pitched, which probably was not helping his case. “The Clone War! The War against the Separatists — against Dooku!”
Master Che palmed a hypo and approached the bed, presumably because it was standard procedure to sedate patients in the midst of a paranoid breakdown — or possibly because she was an agent of the Sith.
They must not have expected him to be cognizant enough to release his restraints with the Force, because doing so was child’s play. He sprung out of bed and threw himself into the corner opposite Master Che.
“Obi-Wan!”
Obi-Wan eyed the door. He’d have to make a run for it. He swept out with the Force and shoved the bed at Master Che, then lunged for the door right as Qui-Gon Jinn barged into the room.
Obi-Wan stopped and stared.
Qui-Gon. He was here, in the flesh, living and breathing, and it wasn’t possible—
“Master Jinn!” Master Che cried, not out of shock at his miraculous resurrection, but warningly, like Obi-Wan was the most startling thing in the room.
“Calm yourself, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. Though his voice was even, Obi-Wan felt his anxiety through the bond between them that hadn’t existed for ten years. “You’re safe. You’re in the Temple—”
“You died,” Obi-Wan choked out.
Qui-Gon’s face went sheet fucking white.
“ You died,” Obi-Wan repeated. “I held you in my arms and felt the life drain out of you. I watched the body burn—“
“Padawan, listen to me,” Qui-Gon commanded, voice trembling. “You cannot let your visions overwhelm you. Focus on the here and now. Reach out with your senses. Feel the world around you, feel the Force, feel my presence.” The Qui-Gon that couldn’t be Qui-Gon touched Obi-Wan’s shoulders, and when Obi-Wan jerked away Qui-Gon clutched him tighter.
“Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said. “I am here.”
Obi-Wan stretched out his senses and felt the truth of it. He felt Qui-Gon, burning bright in the Force, alive . This was real.
That wasn’t possible.
But it was real.
Obi-Wan fell, like a youngling, into his Master’s arms. Qui-Gon let him cling, perhaps unsure what else to do; he had never really mastered physical affection. When Qui-Gon awkwardly patted Obi-Wan on the back, Obi-Wan let out a wet laugh, because it was such a Qui-Gon thing to do. It was really him.
“Master,” Obi-Wan gasped out. There were tears running down his cheeks.
“I’m here,” Qui-Gon murmured.
Slowly, Obi-Wan withdrew from Qui-Gon’s embrace. He studied his old master — older, now, than he’d ever been in reality. There were lines on his face that hadn’t been there before, and his hair was more silver than brown. But it was still him. He was alive. And that simply wasn’t possible.
“Something is wrong,” Obi-Wan said, addressing Qui-Gon and Master Che. Master Che, his mind healer; Dooku, a Jedi; Qui-Gon, alive. All these things true in the here and now — but not true to Obi-Wan.
“Oh,” he said, as the pieces fell into place and he finally understood exactly what had happened to him: “I’m in an alternate universe.”
Obi-Wan’s conclusion was not actually as out there as one might initially think.
There were records of Jedi moving between different universes or times going back thousands of years. Obi-Wan had written a paper on the subject as a padawan: it was a simple fact that on very rare occasions, the Force thinned the walls of reality and things slipped through. Thus, Obi-Wan’s hypothesis was that the Sith Holocron had taken his spirit from his home reality and transplanted it into the body of an entirely different Obi-Wan in an entirely different galaxy: one where Qui-Gon was alive and Dooku was a Jedi, and where there was no War.
Qui-Gon was the only one who believed Obi-Wan without hesitation. Master Che didn’t buy it until she’d examined his mind thoroughly, concluding that he was not under the active influence of the Dark, and that he surely wasn’t Obi-Wan when his shielding was so weak (evidently, the other Obi-Wan’s mind was impenetrable). Then Obi-Wan suffered through examinations by two other healers and a lengthy round of interrogation by half the Jedi Council, because apparently when a Jedi Master and High Councilor said he’d been replaced by an alternate version of himself after activating a Sith Holocron, people tended to have questions.
Throughout this process, Obi-Wan shared about his own galaxy, and in turn learned a little about the galaxy where he had found himself. Galactic history seemed to have passed identically in the two realities up until the Vote of No Confidence against Chancellor Valorum during the Naboo Crisis, which had never occurred here. Palpatine had only been Chancellor for some three years. After that moment the differences grew and grew until modern day, where the Separatists were a fringe political movement and there was no Clone War. The Jedi were at peace. Sure, the Sith were out there — they’d emerged during the Invasion of Naboo, the same as back home — but for one reason or another they had failed to accrue the power and influence they’d gained in Obi-Wan’s galaxy. It was amazing.
Obi-Wan’s awe was matched only by the horror of the Council and the Healers at the mere idea of the Jedi Order going to war — a Jedi Order more alike than not to their own. Obi-Wan couldn’t blame them. He shared all he could about how the Clone Wars had come about in case it proved useful. The Council might have been grateful under their nausea. Mace looked like he was about to have a coronary.
Everyone’s most pressing concern, though, was the Holocron. It had not come from the Archives; no one on the Council had seen it before. Where Obi-Wan had gotten it was anyone’s guess, including Obi-Wan’s. Master Nu, he was told, had been tasked with examining the Holocron and figuring out how to send Obi-Wan back to his galaxy. Because for as wonderful and light as this place was, it wasn’t his, and he had a War to fight.
Yoda made the final determination.
“Light, I sense within you.” Master Yoda said, perched in his councilor’s chair, hands resting on his gimmer stick. “Bright light. Familiar light. But different, nonetheless. Obi-Wan, you are — but our Obi-Wan, you are not.”
The other Councilors present nodded in assent.
“Thank you, Master Yoda,” Obi-Wan said.
“A danger to the Temple, you are not. A Jedi, you are. Welcome here, you will be.” Yoda smiled. “Rest from your battles. Find peace. A child of the Temple, you are, and your home, this is.”