Work Text:
It’s raining on Devaron.
For as long as he can remember, Obi-Wan always thought that he would die watching the sun, but here he is, dying, and the sun is missing.
He has long since lost the time, there is no light to tell him what has become. He is laying in a field, he thinks it was beautiful when he first saw it, he thinks there was blue flowers coloring the grass, but their names are escaping him, as all else. The flow of the dying fed the soil, he wonders if the flowers are purple now. The rain washed over him, and as the pain in his bones disappeared, as his blood began to dried, Obi-Wan forgot he was supposed to survive.
It’s raining on Devaron.
He can feel the water in his eyes, in his neck, taking away the blood and the sooth. He tries to remember why he was here in the first place, tries to recall how many he saw dead before he lost count, tries to find their names to honor them one last time.
Gregor, Aelios, Ben, Squirrel, Crys, Boil, Leonard, Willow-
There are so many names, so many names and so little time left, and Obi-Wan cannot remember who was really here and who was not. Will there be anyone left to add his name to the list?
Cody did not come, that he knows, that he hopes. There is blurry arguments in his mind, the Negociator cannot spar both of its officiers at the same time, the mission doesn’t need us two, it's too big of a risk, and Obi-Wan is selfish enough to be glad his commander did not come, to cling at those fragments and pray they happened. But there is only the ghost of a hand in his, and he wishes it was real, the last comfort of a dying man, maybe this is why there is no sun.
It’s raining on Devaron.
Obi-Wan cannot feel his fingers anymore. His lightsabre is rolling away, free of his weakened hold, will someone find it? Or will it stay besides his rotting corpse, an old fragment of forgotten bones. He long for warmth, for it has long abandoned him. And Obi-Wan wants to scream, burn me, wants to beg, don’t let me rot here. But there is no one to hear his call, and he has no sound left to give. Only silence remains now. His men have stopped, no breaths, no blood left to lose, resting forever in the dirt of a spoiled field.
It’s raining on Devaron.
There is orange flooding the corner of his vision. Shouts are breaking the silence of the dead. Oh, thinks Obi-Wan, the sun is coming.
It’s raining on Devaron.
Obi-Wan always thought he would die watching the sun. And here, there is rain falling on his body, and here, there is no time left for him, and here, there is the sun running to him, bright orange full of hope.
Obi-Wan Kenobi is dying.