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After all these years, Obi-Wan really should have learned to listen to his gut when it tells him something’s wrong. Although, no amount of preparation could have prepared him for this.
It had started off easy enough; the 212th and the 501st had been stationed together in some backwater Outer Rim planet for what should have been a textbook mission. They shouldn’t have even had to grab their lightsabers.
“I don’t know why they had to send us,” Anakin had complained after he and Obi-Wan finished briefing the men.
Obi-Wan secretly agreed.
It was meant to be easy.
Sometimes, Obi-Wan thought he was always meant to be the butt of the Force’s cruel jokes.
Very cruel indeed, Obi-Wan muses as he gazes down at a nine-year old Anakin Skywalker
~
Anakin has seen the look in the bearded man’s eyes before. The clinical stare that would always find Anakin lacking. He just hadn’t expected to see it here, wherever here was.
In truth, Anakin doesn’t know how he got here. Where is his mom? Why do all the men surrounding him wear armour and helmets?
“Anakin?” The bearded man finally speaks, crouching down to be eye level with him.
Anakin nods, eyes flickering around the room in search for an escape even as he responds, “How do you know my name?”
Has he been sold? Is that why his mom isn’t here with him? It makes sense; sooner or later they would have been separated. The amount of families in slavery that end up staying together are abysmally low, and a part of Anakin is surprised it took this long.
All around him, low murmurs from the men who look alike ping around in his head.
“General Skywalker?” Most of them whisper, but all of them keep their heads firmly on him.
Anakin doesn’t see any other slaves with him, at least no one he recognizes. Is he supposed to do what all of these men tell him? Anakin’s back aches just thinking about the punishment he’ll get when he undoubtedly fails.
The man crouched in front of him reaches out slowly to rest on his shoulder, and Anakin fights to hide a flinch. He can’t show fear now, then his new master will know that he’s weak. He needs to show that he’s strong and he’ll be good, as good as he can be. Maybe if Anakin is real polite to him, he’ll take it easy on him the first few days.
“Do you know who I am?” The man has a pleasant accent. It sounds very refined and unlike anything Anakin has ever heard on Tatooine. “Do you know where you are?”
Anakin shakes his head jerkily, and despite the way he begs himself to be strong, his breathing is shaky and he feels his palms begin to sweat. His throat feels clogged and like he’ll burst if he tries to speak.
The man sighs and brings his hand back to stroke his beard, “The Council won’t be happy with this,” He muses, more to himself than to Anakin. “Rex?”
“Yes sir?” An armoured man asks sharply, stepping forward. His armour is painted a pretty blue, and Anakin would try to touch it if he didn’t think it would end in punishment.
“Take Anakin to the barracks, see if you can’t find him something that fits better,” The words were careful, as if to preserve Anakin’s modesty.
With a frown, Anakin looks down to find himself half naked. His hand is tangled in a bundle of clothing to keep them wrapped around his waist, but his top half was completely bare. It isn’t the first time Anakin has been undressed like this to a crowd. At most slave auctions on Tatooine, slaves are supposed to be shirtless so that potential owners can see any damage on the product.
The armoured man, Rex, nods once, “Yes, sir!”
Rex takes a step towards Anakin, who flinches so violently in the face of the unfeeling helmet that it stops him in his tracks.
Anakin clenches his eyes shut and tenses his body for the punishment he knows is sure to come. He shouldn’t have flinched like that, now everyone knows he’s weakweakweak.
Instead of a harsh slap or whatever else could be used to inflict punishment, a soft gloved hand grasps Anakin’s shoulder, and when he looks up he sees a man instead of a helmet.
Cropped blonde hair and, if Anakin doesn’t know any better, worried brown eyes stare back at him.
But Anakin does know better. He knows this man doesn’t care about Anakin, he cares about his product.
“It’s okay,” Rex says slowly, and his mouth tries to smile, but it falls short, “You’re safe, Ge-Anakin. You’re safe, Anakin,”
He calls the man with the beard sir. Maybe he’s a slave too. Maybe all the men in armour are slaves, and the man with the beard owns all of them. That makes sense. Perhaps the man is very wealthy, and he bought all of them. Yes, that must be it.
Anakin nods up at Rex and lets himself be led out of the room.
Heads turn as they pass and one hand moves like it wants to touch, but Rex tugs Anakin closer to his side and leads him away.
Anakin does his best to keep up, he really does, but the clothes that are too big surround his legs and make him trip and stumble as he tries to keep up with Rex’s long strides.
He grunts as he stumbles again and almost faceplants, and Rex finally seems to take pity on him.
“Would you like me to carry you?” Rex asks, and he seems almost amused with the way Anakin kicks out to try and disentangle himself from the clothes that wrap around him.
The question takes a moment to register. Carry him? Anakin hasn’t been carried since he was a baby! And he’s nine now, and that basically makes him an adult, because he does a lot of adult things. Babies don’t work at Watto’s shop, but Anakin does, so that makes him an adult.
“Y’don’t have to,” Anakin mutters, a flush covering his cheeks. If it was his new master asking, Anakin would stoutly refuse, but this was a slave, just like him. That makes it okay right? His mom would always tell him that slaves have to look after each other. She also says that Anakin isn’t very good at letting people take care of him.
But, his mom isn’t here anymore and he doesn’t have the safety of relying on her like he used to.
“I know,” Rex says, kneeling in front of him, “I want to, though.”
Oh.
Oh.
Maybe someone taking care of Anakin won’t be so bad. As long as it’s Rex. Only if it’s Rex.
Rex stays frozen in front of Anakin, no inkling of impatience anywhere to be found, only a warm feeling that makes a sun burst and glow deep in Anakin’s chest. Even when Anakin nods, Rex doesn’t move, “Yes, Anakin? I can?” He prods gently, one hand slowly extending.
“Yeah,” Anakin smiles and tries not to seem too desperate as he practically flings himself into Rex’s waiting arms.
Rex’s laugh rumbles against Anakin’s bare torso and shakes his ribs. The feeling of the armour, while cold, isn’t entirely unpleasant. He adjusts Anakin to his right side so that the large blue piece of armour that sticks out of his left shoulder doesn’t press against him while also making sure to keep the clothes bundled tight around Anakin’s waist.
The two walk in silence and Anakin busies himself with tracing the blue paint that adorns Rex’s armour anywhere he can reach. The longer the two of them walk, the more questions bubble around in Anakin’s head. They ping against his skull and rattle between his ears until it’s all he can do to not blurt all them out at once.
Rex keeps glancing at Anakin out of the corner of his eye, as if Anakin is some puzzle that Rex absolutely has to solve.
Anakin knows that feeling well. The 3PO droid that Anakin is fixing back home is the biggest puzzle Anakin knows. He’s trying to fix it up so his mom doesn’t have to work so hard when she doesn’t have to. Anakin frowns and the sun that burst in his chest suddenly plummeted and only an icy cold remained.
He probably won’t ever see his mom again. Will she miss him? He hopes she won’t miss him too much. Grief gets in the way of work, at least that’s what Watto says when one of Anakin’s friends gets sold and he gets sad.
“What’s wrong An’ika?” Rex hikes him up a little higher and his fingers tighten against Anakin’s torso.
Anakin shrugs and lets his head drop onto his shoulder, “Nothin’,” He says as he taps his fingers against Rex’s breastplate. “Wha’s An’ika mean?”
Rex’s steps falter as if he wasn’t expecting the question but he quickly resumes his pace, “Well, it’s like… a nickname,” He decides, “The first language of my brothers and I use ‘ika’ for someone young and your name is Anakin,” Rex shrugs and the movement lifts Anakin, “So, An’ika.”
Anakin tampers down the giggle that threatens to rise when Rex shrugs, “My mom calls me Ani,” He supplies helpfully, “So does Kit, and I call him Kitster!”
Rex hums thoughtfully, “Do you want me to call you Ani instead?” He sounds hopeful, and Anakin pauses to consider it.
“No,” He decides, smiling toothily at his new friend, “I like An’ika,” he tries to replicate Rex’s accent, another one that he’s never heard before on Tatooine and it makes Rex laugh.
They finally come to the end of a long hallway and Rex walks into a room that’s one of the biggest Anakin has ever seen!
And it’s got beds in it! Lots of them!
Anakin gasps and wiggles in Rex’s grip until he finally lets him down, “You sleep in here?” He whispers as if speaking too loud will scare the beds away.
Rex flushes and rubs at the back of his neck, “They aren’t big but the Republic-”
“It’s awesome!” Anakin cries, waddling to the nearest bed and pressing a reverent hand to the mattress, “This is so cool, I’ve never seen so many beds before,” He presses his hand against it a little more firm, “This is so much better than my bed at ho- uh, at Tatooine.”
Behind him, Rex’s frown deepens with every word he says. The stars forsaken mattresses that are only comfy after three glasses of Echo’s most-likely illegal moonshine? Anakin looked at them like they were the sun and stars.
“What was your bed on Tatooine, An’ika?” Rex asks gently as he roots around Fives’ sleeping area for a spare set of blacks. He can shrink these down enough to fit Anakin, hopefully. Rex doesn’t know much about natural born kids, but he’s pretty sure his tiny general is too tiny.
“My mom and I would share a sheet,” Is all the little Jedi says, too engrossed in testing the give to the mattress to pay much more attention to Rex.
Rex feels his jaw click with how tight he was clenching it. He knows his general’s life before the Jedi wasn’t what other Jedi went through, but his general also never disclosed any information beyond the fact that he grew up on a sand planet that he hated.
Anakin flexes his hands that were bunched in the clothes around his waist. Why isn’t Rex saying anything? Is he realizing that a slave like Anakin from the scummiest of scummy places doesn't belong with him? Rex and all the other slaves have beds, actual beds! Anakin never had anything like that before. Does that mean he might get a bed here?
“Um, Rex?” Anakin whispers.
“Yes, An’ika?”
Anakin feet rub together in a nervous habit that Kitster likes to make fun of, “Who was that man? With the beard?” He figures he should learn the name of his future master.
Rex looks up from his search, “That’s Obi-Wan Kenobi, An’ika,” His voice sounds sad.
Anakin knows the feeling. He gets sad when he thinks about Watto too.
“Is he our master?” Anakin’s voice chokes at the end, and tears well up. Anakin hates crying. All it does is show weakness, and his mom always tells him that crying is a waste of water. He can’t afford to waste any water.
“What?” Rex can’t help the sharp way the word comes out and his stomach drops at Anakin’s ensuing flinch.
“He’s… he’s our master right?” Anakin’s watery gaze stays firmly on his bare feet, “And… and we’re his slaves? That’s why I’m here, because I was sold?” Anakin is so stupid, he should know that some slaves don’t like to be called that. Rex hates him now, Rex hates him, hateshimhateshimhateshim.
“Oh, no, An’ika,” Rex breathes, throwing the clothes in his hands to the ground and leaping over the bed to land in front of the little boy, “No, An’ika, you’re not anyone’s slave,” His shaking hands gently clasp Anakin’s bare shoulders, “Obi-Wan isn’t your master. An’ika, An’ika,” Rex repeats himself and carefully raises Anakin’s chin so he could see his face, “You’re free, An’ika,” Rex promises as he thumbs away a tear that tracks down Anakin’s cheeks.
Anakin’s next breath comes out as a heaving sob and he collapses against Rex, “I’m free?” His voice is muffled in Rex’s neck and his body is wracked with sobs, “I’m free. I’m free. I’m free,”
Rex wraps an arm tight around his little general and brings one hand up to cup the back of his head. Tears soak through the collar of his blacks and Rex finds himself ready to tear any Tatooine slaver he finds limb from limb if he ever comes across one.
“Wait,” Anakin pulls back from Rex’s neck, and Rex’s heart seizes at the way his lip trembles and tears still track down his cheeks, “What about you? And-and your brothers?” His fingers cling to the divots in Rex’s armour.
Rex nods quickly and Anakin collapses into him again with another sob of relief, “Yes, An’ika, we’re all free. All of us.”
Rex sits there with a lap full of a crying general and rubs comforting circles into his bare back. The clone is startled by the first tear that falls from his own eyes.
How could anyone harm such a wonderful boy? Such a gift? Rex knew his adult general was one of a kind, but little Anakin was something else entirely. His first thought upon being faced with new faces was to immediately assume he had been sold again, and upon learning he was free he demanded to know if Rex and his vod were free. How has he never known his general used to be a slave?
They sit there until Anakin’s tears slow to a stop and his shakes slowly subside, but Rex doesn’t pull away until Anakin starts to withdraw from the hug.
Anakin wipes furiously at his face and refuses to look up at Rex until he’s sure that there’s no residual wetness left on his face, “‘m sorry for crying on you,” Anakin whispers hoarsely, standing up on shaky legs.
Rex smiles as best he can and wipes away his own tears, “Don’t be sorry, An’ika, it’s okay,” He stands up and backs away to let the boy compose himself. He steps back over to where he threw down the spare blacks he found.
“You said you got brothers?” Anakin sits gingerly on the mattress and he lets out a breath of amazement at the softness of it.
Rex nods, using the motion to try and knock whatever unpleasant feelings still remain. “Oh, lots of them,” He confirms as he sends the blacks down the laundry shoot with special instructions to shrink.
Anakin looks up at him with a determined glint in his still puffy eyes that Rex recognized from the battle field, “Well, I wanna meet all of them!” He declares and Rex can’t fight the incredulous laugh that bursts from his throat.
“All of ‘em?” Rex repeats, taking a seat next to Anakin on the bed, “That’s a lot of brothers, An’ika,”
Anakin puffs his little chest out and directs his challenging gaze to the clone, “Well, I wanna! They’re all related to you, so they gotta be good,” He reasons soundly, oblivious to the way Rex’s heart clenches inside his rib cage.
“Why don't-” Rex clears the lump in his throat, “Why don’t I introduce you to one now?”
Anakin’s whole face brightens, a far cry from the tear-filled expression that stared up at Rex just minutes ago, and he jumps off the bed, “That’d be awesome! What’s his name?”
He follows Rex out the barracks and down another hallway.
“His name’s Kix,” Rex says, “And he’s just gonna make sure you’re in tip-top fighting shape, An’ika,”
Anakin preens, “I’m tip-top fightin’ shape!” He promises, flexing his skinny arm that isn’t preserving his modesty.
Rex whistled, “Woah, kid, put the guns away!” He raises his hands in surrender.
Anakin practically cackles with glee and has a considerable skip in his step. He’s never had this much fun with someone else before, not besides his mom and Kitster at least.
“Can I try on your helmet?”
~
There was no amount of meditation that can clarify what happened in Obi-Wan’s eyes. He’s been trying, key word trying, for the past thirty minutes to some possible answer to what happened to his former padawan, and all he came up with was a voice that sounded suspiciously like Qui-Gon Jinn saying it was the will of the Force. The fact that Anakin’s shields, made strong through practice, had crumbled the moment he regressed in age, and Obi-Wan was attacked with an onslaught of fear and sadness wasn’t helping either.
Obi-Wan sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave off an oncoming headache. Why has his life come to this? Wasn’t raising Anakin once enough? A hysterical laugh threatens to bubble up at the thought of trying to raise him again.
Obi-Wan is about to attempt another try at meditation when commotion from outside his quarters pulled his attention.
(Perhaps Obi-Wan was looking for an excuse to stop meditating.)
“Oh wow!” Anakin exclaims, fully dressed in a pair of blacks that were still a little too big. The waistband is rolled a few times and his feet still can’t be seen and the sleeves extend long past his fingertips.
Obi-Wan smiles at the sight and watches his little padawan with amusement.
Anakin’s hands are clasped firmly on Jesse’s face, and he’s inspecting his tattoo with a focus reserved mainly for droids, “That’s so wizard!” He turns Jesse’s face this way and that, (and Jesse seems to be enjoying this way too much for his own good, as do the surrounding clones) and he takes in every angle of the tattoo, “Do you think I could get a face tattoo?”
Laughter erupts from the vod and Rex pulls Anakin off his poor brother. Obi-Wan feels dread stab through his gut. This is much worse, Obi-Wan thinks, much much worse.
From the eye of the storm of clones, Anakin’s gaze locks onto Obi-Wan’s. Were Anakin’s eyes that old the first time around? Obi-Wan feels as though he were gazing at an elderly Master, not his deaged padawan. Such old eyes for a young boy…
Obi-Wan slowly approaches Anakin, the memory of the way he flinched away from him fresh in his mind, “Hi, Anakin,” He says warmly.
“Hullo,” Anakin looks up at him and scuffs his socked feet against the ground, “Rex said your name’s Obi-Wan,”
Obi-Wan smiles and crouches down in front of him, “Yes, I am,” He holds out a hand, “It’s very nice to meet you,”
Anakin balks at the hand, staring unblinking at it, as if it would disappear if he took his eyes off it even once, but slowly stretched his own hand out to shake it, “‘S nice to meet you too!”
His hand is so small in Obi-Wan’s grip. Was he really this small when they first met a little over a decade ago? Even in his young age, Anakin’s hands are calloused and scarred from years of manual labor.
“Why don’t we get you to the cafeteria, little one?” Obi-Wan lets their hands drop but doesn’t raise from his crouch, “Are you hungry?”
Anakin frowns and glances up at Rex, who nods firmly with a forlorn expression on his face. What was that about, Obi-Wan wonders.
“Yes, please,” Anakin finally replies, a light flush rising in his cheeks, and the first line of troopers that surround them coo in delight at their little general’s manners.
Obi-Wan rises and winces at the pop in his knees. He knew he wasn’t exactly young anymore, but looking at his de-aged former padawan was really not helping his confidence in his age. “Shall we?” He waves his arm out in the direction of the cafeteria with a flourish that makes Anakin giggle.
Little Anakin nods firmly and tugs at Rex’s hand, “Le’s go, Rex! Obi-Wan is gonna feed us!”
From behind Rex, Fives seems like he’s about to faint. His hands clutch at Echo’s and he leans over to whisper in his ear, “He’s got Rex wrapped around his little finger!”
Rex doesn’t even turn to raise his own finger in a very rude gesture.
“Rex, what’s that mean?” Anakin asks sweetly, still tugging at his other hand.
“Nothing, An’ika, don’t worry about it.”
~
Rex’s nickname for Anakin spread like wildfire among the vod. The clones that sit with Anakin at the table in the cafeteria all insist on calling him that. Obi-Wan particularly likes seeing the flush that rises on Anakin’s cheeks when someone calls him by his nickname.
The first time Anakin met Obi-Wan, he was energetic, sure, but this is something new entirely. Anakin flourishes in a way Obi-Wan has never seen before under the attention and affection of the clones. His hands are always touching someone: tracing tattoos or scars or painted armour, or just to have something to do with his hands. He seems extremely content to sit on Rex’s lap (he had been too small to comfortably sit by himself at the table) and just talk.
Once Anakin had gotten over his initial amazement at the sight of the food he is allowed to have, he took to the cafeteria like a fish in water. He’s had, by Obi-Wan’s count, two plates of food and at least three ration bars that some clones kept on their person.
“Jeez, An’ika, you act like you’ve never seen food before!” Fives teases handing over another ration bar.
Anakin tears into it with a single mindedness that brings a smile to Obi-Wan’s lips, “Never this much! I love these things!” He brandishes the ration bar above his head, nearly whacking Rex in the nose, before biting into it.
Fives’ nose scrunches up, “Those nasty things? You can have as many as you want, kid,”
“These are so much better than the bugs on Tatooine,” Anakin mumbles through a mouthful.
Any smile on anyone's face disappeared. Bugs?
Obi-Wan knows that sometimes on particularly long campaigns he might find Anakin eating bugs, but he always thought that was because Anakin was a shameless heathen. Did Anakin have to eat bugs on Tatooine because he and his mother couldn’t find anything else? Obi-Wan knows Anakin used to be a slave, but he never saw it firsthand on Tatooine; it had been his master who found Anakin and freed him.
Above an oblivious Anakin, Rex’s face is stone cold and he only shakes his head at his brothers’ beseeching looks.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan breaks the tense atmosphere, “How would you like to meet some colleagues of mine? They’re very interested in meeting you,” He knows the smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes, but Anakin seems none the wiser.
“Really?” He squirms at the prospect of meeting more people, “Yeah!” He shoves the rest of the ration bar into his mouth and leaps off of Rex’s lap, dusting off his hands and shirt. He races around the table to where Obi-Wan sits and his whole body vibrates with the urge to yank Obi-Wan to his feet and go. “Where are they? Are they here?”
Obi-Wan chuckles and rises to his feet, “No, little one, they’re not here. We have to call them,” He holds his hand out to Anakin, who grabs it with only a second’s hesitation, improvement in Obi-Wan’s eyes. “Gentlemen,” He says to the clones, “We’ll be back,”
He leads little Anakin out of the cafeteria and towards his personal quarters, watching with no little amusement as Anakin decides to use his socked feet to slide along the metal floors as opposed to picking his feet up.
By the time the two of them arrive at Obi-Wan’s room, Obi-Wan has answered countless benign questions. How old are you? What’s your favorite color? Why do Rex and Fives and everyone else look the same but you don’t? Have you ever seen a pod race?
He takes them all in stride, with the same amused air he used to answer Anakin’s questions the first time he had been this small. Despite the light atmosphere, a tight knot winds itself in the base of Obi-Wan’s spine at the thought of Anakin asking a question he doesn’t know how to answer.
Anakin lets Obi-Wan set up the call in relative silence, only asking a few questions about What’s that? And What does it do?.
The figures of various Jedi Council members blink into view and promptly shut Anakin up. Right in front of Anakin is a little thing. It stands practically eye-level with Anakin and it’s face is full of wrinkles.
“Wizard,” Anakin breathes out, reaching forward with a hand to try and touch, but it just passes right through the hologram.
The little troll taps his walking stick against the ground and smiles, “Young Skywalker, this is,” He guesses.
Anakin giggles, “You talk funny.”
“Been told this many times I have,”
Obi-Wan crouches down to Anakin, “Anakin, this is Master Yoda,” He introduces him quietly and is oblivious to the way Anakin’s heart drops.
“M-Master?” He repeats quietly, feeling ice envelop his bones. Obi-Wan worked with masters.
Obi-Wan nods and turns Anakin slightly, “And this is Master Windu,”
A severe looking man stares down at Anakin, arms crossed and an expression of distaste firm on his face. At least this type of master, Anakin figured, was familiar to him.
Obi-Wan continued to introduce Anakin to every holographic figure and each and every one was a master.
Anakin’s breathing quickened. They’re all masters, but Anakin is free right? He’s a free boy, now, and they can’t do anything to him. That’s what Rex said, and Rex wouldn’t lie to him, right? Not after giving him a nickname and carrying him around and letting him cry without judgment.
“- Master Kenobi?”
What?
Obi-Wan answers whatever question was asked of him, deaf to Anakin’s horror.
He was a master too? He’s a master and he introduced Anakin to other masters. They didn’t want to meet Anakin, he realizes, they wanted to see the merchandise. This was just another auction.
The first tear that tracks down Anakin’s face startles him into movement. He jerks away from the circle of masters fast enough that his socked feet fly out from under him and he lands on his butt.
“Anakin?” Master Obi-Wan asks, voice deceptively caring as he steps closer.
Anakin pushes himself back, furiously backing towards the door, “I’m free,” He whispers, “He said I’m free, I’m supposed to be free,”
Obi-Wan frowns and reaches a hand out, “Of course you’re free Anakin,” He lies but Anakin doesn’t listen.
With shaking hands, Anakin pushes himself up and races out the door. He needs to go. His feet carry him faster than he’s ever gone with no destination in sight. Every hallway looks the same and Anakin has no idea where each door leads, but he can hear Master Obi-Wan calling his name somewhere behind him.
Tears obscure his vision and Anakin tries to wipe them away but they won’t stop falling and that makes Anakin cry even more. Why won’t they stop?
He slides around a corner with his pulse pounding against his head and crashes into a hard figure.
“An’ika?” Rex stares down at him in confusion.
A sob bursts from Anakin’s lips, “You lied!” He cries out, pushing angrily (and futility) at Rex’s legs, “They called him m-master! He’s a ma-master and they’re gonna se-ll me again!” Anakin knows he’s blubbering and he can hear Obi-Wan’s voice getting closer with every second.
Rex collapses to his knees and grabs Anakin’s hands before he can hurt himself, “No, no An’ika,” He promises, voice pleading, “No one is going to sell you, you’re free, I didn’t lie to you about that,”
Anakin pulls tight against Rex’s unyielding grip before his body seems to give out and he slumps against the front of Rex’s armour, “They called him Master Kenobi,” He cries into his chest.
“It’s just a title, An’ika,” Rex whispers into his hair, “I promise you he’s not-”
“Anakin!” Obi-Wan rounds the corner, hair disheveled and his eyes lock onto the crying boy, “Why did you run?”
Anakin flinches and pulls himself away from Rex. His knees ache as Anakin shifts into a more submissive position, “I’m sorry!” He cries out, keeping his eyes on Master Obi-Wan’s feet, “I’m sorry, I know I ran, but I’ll be good!” Tears start falling quicker, “I can be real good, please don’t sell me!”
“Oh, Ani,” The old nickname escapes him as Obi-Wan falls to his knees before Anakin, “No, I’m the one who’s sorry,” he reaches out with gentle hands and cups Anakin’s face. He thumbs tears away, and the ones that replace them, “Ani, I’m sorry, I should have known you would-” Obi-Wan cuts himself off as he feels his own eyes well up.
Had Anakin believed himself a slave this whole time? Is that why he was so afraid of Obi-Wan in the beginning?
“Ani,” Obi-Wan starts again, and the crying boy slowly meets his eyes, “I’m a Jedi, not a slaver, I promise you,” He pulls Anakin into his chest and wraps his arms tight around him. Anakin trembles in his arms and his hands grips the front of Obi-Wan’s tunics. “I’m so sorry, please forgive me,” Obi-Wan whispers into his hair, holding him tighter as he feels tears soak his neck and collar.
Obi-Wan hears more than sees Rex slowly rise from where he had fallen onto the floor, and feels a warm hand squeeze his shoulder before Rex disappears down the hallway.
“You’re a Jedi?” Anakin’s muffled voice repeats in disbelief, and Obi-Wan pulls him back just a little.
“Yes,” Obi-Wan wipes more tears from Anakin’s face, “I am, and you will be too,”
A fleeting look of hope crosses Anakin’s face before he sobs again and collapses against Obi-Wan’s chest, “I will?”
Obi-Wan holds him tighter against his chest, “You’ll be the best of us, Anakin,” he vows, “I promise you.” You already are.
Anakin sobs again and his own little arms wind tight around Obi-Wan’s neck. Tremors rack his small frame and clings tight, like if he loosens his grip for even a second Obi-Wan will vanish.
As Obi-Wan rubs circles between Anakin’s shoulder blades and whispers nonsense into his hair, he starts thinking. If he missed Anakin’s obvious fear today, how much did he miss when he raised Anakin the first time? How many days did Anakin think he had no choice and had to obey Obi-Wan’s every word? How many nights did Anakin fear he would be sold to the first bidder because he wasn’t worth the trouble?
No more, Obi-Wan vows. Even if he has to raise Anakin again, he will make sure this precious boy knows what he’s worth, and that he’s cared for, and above all free.
Anakin’s tremors slowly stop and his breathing deepens but his grip does not loosen in the slightest. His body leans further into Obi-Wan’s as he tips headfirst into an exhausted sleep.
Any other time, Obi-Wan would tease his former padawan about his ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat, but Obi-Wan only shifts himself into a more comfortable position and resigns himself to being a personal pillow.
Besides, Obi-Wan muses with a small smile as he closes his eyes, I think the two of us could use the rest.
~
“Master?”
Obi-Wan grunts as his shoulder is jostled.
“Master?” The voice is accompanied by another violent shake, “Obi-Wan!”
Obi-Wan’s eyes fly open and he’s greeted with the flushed face of his fully grown, fully naked, former padawan.
The two of them stare wide-eyed at each other until Anakin finally clears his throat, “Could you-” He coughs awkwardly, “Can I borrow your robe? I seem to have grown too big for my clothes,” His face flushes as he looks down at the tattered blacks that surround them.
Obi-Wan can’t help the laugh that escapes him and he pulls Anakin down for a tight hug. Anakin wheezes at this initial impact and his body goes ramrod straight, but he slowly wraps his own arms around Obi-Wan.
This was nice. Obi-Wan could get used to this. Minus the naked part.
~
Once Anakin dresses himself in clothes that actually fit him, he begins the trek to Rex’s personal captain’s quarters.
He barely has to knock before the door is opening and Rex is staring at him.
“General?”
Anakin flushes and rubs at the back of his neck, “Hey, Rex,” he smiles thinly, “Can I talk to you for a second?”
Rex nods once, “Yes sir.”
“I just…” Anakin shifts uneasily, “I just wanted to thank you for…” Taking care of me? Letting me cry multiple times? Being a friend?
Rex slowly brings a hand up to clap him on the shoulder, “I know, sir. I know,” His smile is small, but no less warm.
Anakin’s own smile widens a fraction, “Okay,” He nods to himself, “Okay, uhm… I’ll see you around then,” He slowly steps away from Rex’s doorway.
“Yes, sir,” Rex agrees and starts to turn back to his room.
“Rex?” Anakin calls again, face flushing even deeper, “If you… you don’t have to, but if you wanted… to call me, uh, call me An’ika still,” He fiddles with the ends of his tunic, “You can…” His eyes clench shut. Stupid, why would he want to call you that?
“Okay,” Is all Rex says, but his eyes crinkle with his smile, “I’ll see you around, An’ika,” He says before turning and disappearing back into his room.
Anakin stares at the closed door. Did he-? Anakin laughs softly to himself and shakes his head as he turns around.
The warm feeling in his chest stayed with him long after he closed his eyes to sleep later that night.