So I had this idea where Emperor Palpatine ruled the universe and he found child!Anakin and raised him his whole life to be his perfect right hand/fist. But only a few years after Anakin was old enough to begin performing his duties, Palpatine's rule collapses because Sith!Obi-Wan skips in and kills him. Now, Emperor Obi-Wan thinks Darth Vader would be a very useful weapon to have at his own disposal.
And Anakin, who's been raised in isolation his entire life and is kind of like a poorly socialized puppy ... well, he's kind of distracted by how soft and nice-smelling and pretty Obi-Wan is???
I decided that since I keep coming up with obikin scenarios on the daily, i might as well post them. Todayâs ideaâ the classic amnesia trope. But what if both of them forgot who they are? Thatâs right, itâs double amnesia!
~~
Obikin Drabble
10.9.23
Rating: G
He was on his back, against solid ground. It was quiet, only the sound of chirping birds could be heard. He was breathing, thankfully, smelling chilly, thin air, and plants or trees of some sort. The bright, overwhelming light of the sun streamed into his eyes, he raised his arm to shield his face, and was surprised to see his knuckles were bloodied.
Blood? Am I in danger? His mind struggled to keep up, he didnât hear any commotion, he didnât feel pain- well, much pain. He did feel pain- his back, ribs, but it didnât seem urgent. It was dull, and he had a distinct thought that it was something he was used to. There was something shiny next to him as well- a ship, grounded, slightly tipped forward with its nose stuck in the dirt, but in good shape otherwise.
âHello there,â a voice sounded, from not too far away and he sat up, not sure if he could stand yet, but still ready to defend himself- but the man was just sitting, cross legged on the ground, hands empty, with auburn hair swaying in the wind.
âWho are youâ- he asked- âwhere am I?â
âIâm afraid Iâm not sureâ he said, with a wry smile, âwho are you?â
Eyes wideâ the realization hit him that he didnât know. He was himself, of course⌠but he couldnât conjure up a name. He looked down at his body again, it seemed familiar, but, âIâ I donât know.â
Sad, blue eyes met his. âAh. I was hoping you would.â
They held eye contact, and somehow, though the words went unsaid, established they both didnât remember their identities, but knew they were close- with an integral trust between them. He couldnât place their relationship but he knew they hadnât been fighting each other.
Fighting. Looking down, he recognized the telltale signs of a fight, and on the ground between them were two cylindrical metal objects with handles, but no blade. They were wearing similar clothes, his own were just a darker shade.
âAre we fighters? Have we been⌠using theseâŚâ what were they called? âlight, lightââ
âSabers!â The other man finished, âlightsaber, thatâs what these are then,â coming to the resolution at the same time.
âHuh. Lightsabers,â that seemed right. Somehow he could tell which one belonged to him, and he grabbed it, also realizing the same arm was metal- but whose blood was it then? âWell, it seems we lost.â
âPerhaps. But weâre not dead, which is good I suppose,â the other man stroked his beard, which seemed a familiar gesture; but sparked annoyance.
âNo. This is not goodâŚ! Who are we, what are we doing here?? Does anyone know weâre here? Will.. whatever we were fighting come back? Are we stranded?â
Anger, irritation, fear, and profound confusion swirled through him. It felt⌠dark, but the world around him was still so brightâ
âWeâll Iâve only been conscious for a few minutesââ the other man snapped back, âyou donât have to be so rude.â The man looked so disappointed, an expression that seemed endemic to his facial features. The man seemed to be older, muscular of course and, handsome. Very good looking, with shining blue eyes, which made something in his chest clench up.
The thoughts of darkness faded, instead he felt small, subdued, hollowâ
âUgh!â He rocked forward to get on his hands and knees before attempting to stand, but something around the other manâs wrist began crackling with static, so he sat back on his knees. They both watched it as it activated itself and shone with blue.
âGeneral Kenobi, do you copy?â came from the unit, but the other man looked confused. They made eye contact, and held it again
âI- I- yes I suppose thatâs meâ he said, and adding as an afterthought, âCopy.â
âYou suppose?â
âWell this comm unit is on my wrist, is that my name? And who night you be?â
âThis is Cody, sir. And yes you are General Obi-Wan Kenobi What happened? What is your status? Is General Skywalker with you?â
âDescribe him for me?â General Kenobi said back.
âBrown curly hair, scar across his eye, dark clothes, metal armââ
âAh yes, but more of a golden brown color though, donât you think?â Kenobiâs eyes were twinkling, regarding him.
âI donât really thinkââ cutting himself off and sounding resigned, he continued, âyes, thatâs Anakin Skywalker, sirâ
âAnakin Skywalker,â he, Anakin, tested out, bringing a hand to his lips. It seemed right. âWeâre generals?â
âYes you are,â the voice, Cody, sounded annoyed, âwhere are you? Are you harmedâ
âI couldnât tell you where we are but we donât seem harmed,â General Obi-Wan Kenobi said, âwe are near a ship, but donât know if it still works.â
âThereâs been a fight,â Anakin interjected. Somehow he trusted the man on the comm, too. âBut it doesnât seem like weâve been fighting each other,â he pointed out.
âOf course you werenât- what is the last thing you remember?â
âI donât⌠I donât remember anything,â he replied.
âSame hereâ Obi-Wan said. âBut we arenât bodily injured.â
âAll right, well we have your location, we should be there in a manner of hours, just stay there, sirs.â
âWait, wait, donât goââ Obi-Wan said, bringing his comm closer to himself like he could grab onto the disembodied voice. âWho are we? What are we doing here? Where are we?â
As if this vital information was just general knowledge, Cody replied âYou are Jedi knights. Obi-Wan, Anakin was your Padawan. You were sent to find and capture a night sister, but⌠it seems she found you first. She must have cast some sort of memory spell on you. Kix and Ahsoka are already researching it⌠oh you donât know who they are âwell Iâll have Ahsoka comm you to explain. I need to coordinateââ
âWhat are we to each other now?â Anakin asked, ânow that Iâm no longer his Padawan?â
âI, ugh,â Cody replied âReally? This is what you ask..? Ok listen, no one really knows ok? You are close, closer than friendsâŚ? Familial, but not actually related? You two fight and bicker, but youâre always together, you are a teamâ I donât know. Undefined. I just do my jobâ he sounded increasingly frustrated.
âOkay, okay, thank you, Cody,â Obi-Wan said, shooting Anakin a chastising look, âReally, Iâm sure weâll figure things out and remember soon.â
âJust please stay there and be safe; go inside the ship, there should be supplies and cots- please donât do anything risky. Just. Donât do anything at all.â He pleaded. âCody outâ
âSeems like he really wanted to avoid that question, hm?â Obi-Wan regarded Anakin, blue eyes twinkling again, before looking back at the ship.
âWe should explore!â Anakin blurted out- and shot up to stand. He thought about being in close proximity to Obi-Wan, someone heâs apparently âcloser than friends with,â âhow close?â tending each others wounds, cots around⌠and felt his stomach flip over.
âNo, Anakin- weâre going in.â Obi-Wan said firmly, standing up himself and dusting himself off to turn to the ship. Even covered in dust, and blood, he looked good. Strong. Almost regal. Anakin felt his eyes stray to strong looking thighs, a toned ass, as Obi-Wan turned toward the shipâs side door. His former master. How close were they, really? Was past Anakin getting to experience this man in bed? If so, good for him. Or was he just hot for teacher? Had they ever spoken about this need he felt deep down? Or was it only now that whatever other stuff filled their relationship was gone, that Anakinâs mind could shift to romance and sex?
He found himself not really caring. And suddenly he desired nothing more than to be in close quarters with a handsome stranger.
Obi-Wan froze with his foot on the first step of the staircase, staring unseeingly at the second landing. He had only just come back from burying his father and speaking with the solicitor.
Obi-Wanâs chest rose in a shuddering breath. The house, and everything inside of it, belonged to him.
Which included the doll.
Anakin.
Nausea rose up his throat like a high tide. Obi-Wan retreated. Up the stairs was Qui-Gonâs study, the place that he hadnât been allowed to enter, not after the incident that had started it all.Â
Fuck. How had he forgotten? He supposed that it shouldnât matter, not anymore. Qui-Gon was gone. There was to be no heartfelt reconciliation between father and son. No probing questions about had truly gone on between Qui-Gon and Tahl, no explanations. With Tahl also gone, it was only him left.
The liquor cabinet was unlocked. If it hadnât been, Obi-Wan would have taken a hammer and cracked the glass. He was in no mood to be sober. He tossed the keys onto the dusty dining room tableâthere was dust everywhere, implying Qui-Gonâs habit of locking himself up in his office hadnât changedâand grabbed a bottle of rum.
Prize in hand, he settled on the steps of the backporch. The shrill mating call of grasshoppers seeped through his brain, another reminder that he was back in Stewjon, even more so than the copse of trees facing the property. Somewhere, out there, were all his old hiding spotsâwhere heâd go to escape the arguments, the cold silences.Â
Better the hush of the uncaring forest than the emptiness of his foster parentâs dissolving marriage.Â
The first sip of rum burned. So did the second.
Obi-Wan tipped his head back, the bottle pressed to his lips like a clarion, and swallowed all the fire and bitterness that he could take until he was nothing but ashes, bombed out and numb.Â
He hung his head forward, shoulders slumped. Receiving the newsâCodyâs apologetic expression, right on the heels of what should have been a victory for them, a major contract signed that meant they were now playing in the big leaguesâthe plane ride, the other papers signed. The calls and texts from friends to extend their condolences, well-meant, but like being punched with a screwdriver each time his phone rang. Putting on the mask of the famed Negotiator to reassure them that he was doing as well as could be expected, that his father had been in his seventies, a heart attack was shocking but not that much of a shockâ
He took another drag of the rum. His fingers twitched restlessly. So did his mouth, craving a cigarette. He should have stopped by the convenience store. But the funeral arrangements. The ceremony. The solicitor. All of it in a whirlwind of two days.Â
And the fucking doll was the first thing that popped into his head the moment that he was alone. Figured.
Anakin. A name he hadnât allowed himself to think of in forever. Referring to it as the doll had been easier, and then itâd been easier still to sweep up those memories into a dark corner of his mind. Banished along with the rest of his childish fears, to be suppressed in favor of bigger, more important worries. Getting into a good school. Getting along with his roommate. Getting laid. Getting a job. Getting out of Stewjon.Â
Not necessarily in that order.
Two hours later, he was still sitting there. Above him the sky was an endless expanse of dark, clouds shrouding the moon and the stars that still glittered like gems, undisturbed by light pollution. Obi-Wan had cycled through grief, anger, and exhaustion until his eyes ached, eyelids drooped, and his stomach was an empty pit.Â
He felt like he stood on the set of a play. If he got to his feet and walked over to the trees, heâd discover them to be two-dimensional, made up of plywood, painted with care to trick the eye. That if he pushed through, heâd wind up backstage, where heâd findâŚ
Obi-Wan blinked, startled. He jerked as if yanked out of a deep sleep.Â
âFuck,â he swore softly. The rum bottle was empty. His grieving suit was hopelessly rumpled.Â
Time to call an end to this day from hell.Â
He rose to his feet, overly cautious, and felt his way into the house, turning on the lights and then leaving them on as he traveled. Climbing the stairs in his condition was a foolâs gamble, his center of balance was definitely skewed to the left, and if the floor didnât stop lurching underneath his feet like a capsizing ship, Obi-Wan would throw up.Â
Eventually, it did stop. Mostly because he collapsed on the sofa.Â
Displaced dust fluttered in the air. Obi-Wan turned his head and coughed. âJesus, dad.â When was the last time Qui-Gon had been in the living room? Who lived like this?Â
A crazy man, whispered an insidious little voice.Â
No. He wasnât going there. Tomorrow, fine, whatever. He could deal with that tomorrow.Â
He could deal with Anakin tomorrow.
â
âWant to play?â
Obi-Wan plucked at the hem of his shorts and then looked up, surprised. There was a young man blocking out the sun. Obi-Wan didnât know him.
But then, Obi-Wan didnât know anyone. This was his third foster family in as many months.Â
He pressed his lips together, doubtful. People were sometimes nice to him, only to then be mean. Best if he kept his distance. Even if this wasnât a trap, what was the point in talking to someone heâd never see again?
A minute passed. Obi-Wan plucked at his shorts again. They were too big for him. His new foster mom had bought them thinking he was the normal size for a five-year-old boy, but he wasnât. He was scrawny and gaunt. Food had been scarce at the last house, that was why theyâd taken him away.Â
âCat got your tongue?â
Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose and, unbidden, blurted out: âCats donât eat tongues. Cats are nice.âÂ
Then he cringed. Crap.Â
âCats are nice,â agreed the young man, and knelt down on the grass. His eyes were a deep blue, darker than Obi-Wanâs own. Even kneeling, and with Obi-Wan sitting at the bottom of the back steps, he was slightly taller. He offered his hand the way adults did. âWould you like to see some kittens?âÂ
Obi-Wan was suspicious. He didnât shake the hand. Instead, he crossed his arms, tucking his arms under his armpits. âNo.âÂ
âAre you sure?â came the playful rejoinder. âTheyâre very cute.âÂ
Obi-Wan firmed up his chin. There werenât any kittens. This was a lie. A trick. âNo, thank you.âÂ
His strange visitor⌠pouted.Â
Obi-Wan wasnât sure how to react to that. âUm,â he said, a little breathlessly, because oh, no, was the young man actually sad? He was wiping at his eyes like there were tears there, and Obi-Wanâs sense of compassionâand guiltâwas immediate and all-consuming.Â
âIâm sorry! IâI do want to see the kittens. B-but I donât know you. I should stay here.â Within sight of the back door, like Tahl had told him.
âOh, is that all? But I live here, too.â
âUm. Do you?â
âOh, yes. For aâŚâ The young man stopped. A line formed on his brow. âYou know, I donât remember how long Iâve been here. Isnât that funny?â he shrugged, as if it wasnât really that important. âIâm Anakin.âÂ
âIâm⌠Obi-Wan.âÂ
The smile Anakin gave him was sweet, mischievous. âWell, we wonât go anywhere, if youâre not comfortable,â he announced. âBut that means weâre not strangers anymore, right?â
There was a certain logic to that, Obi-Wan supposed. But when he opened his mouth to agree, the door behind him creaked open on its hinges.Â
âObi-Wan? Are you hungry? Iâve made snacks,â Tahl said.
âYes, maâam,â Obi-Wan automatically said, and then turned back to Anakin. If he really lived there, shouldnât Tahl have made snacks for him as well?Â
But Anakin was gone.
âÂ
Heâd sell the doll, Obi-Wan decided the next day, after the hangover had stopped pounding nails into his skull. As much as he wanted to throw it in the bin, he couldnât. Itâd meant so much to Qui-Gon, and it had historical value andâŚÂ
Why destroy something out of pettiness? He was a better man than that. For Godâs sake, he wasnât a kid anymore. There was enough gray in his hair that he was considering dyeing it, but then heâd questioned himself why heâd bother.Â
The rest of the house would also have to go. Donated. Or whatever. There were probably museums that would salivate at the chance to go through Qui-Gon Jinnâs collection. The man had been both well-respected and infamous in certain circles, loved and hatedâif not hated, by the end. Surely if he reached out, theyâd send someone to evaluate what was worth preserving⌠they could have all of it, really. Obi-Wan didnât care.
But before that could be set into motion, he needed to go into Qui-Gonâs study.Â
He left the house to pick up something to eat, and came back with caffeine. Heâd need it.Â
Unlike the rest of the house, the upstairs hallway was clean. Obi-Wan placed his hand on the doorknob to Qui-Gonâs study and cast a worried glance around, reduced to being nine years old again, and sneaking into his then-fatherâs study.Â
Sneaking in to see⌠to see Anakin.
Obi-Wan exhaled sharply through his nose. The doll. Sneaking in to see the doll. Anakin had never existed. Anakin was the product of a young childâs overactive mind. Heâd overheard Qui-Gon at some point talking about the doll, and then his mind had filled in the gaps.
That was all. Logical.Â
And yet. He couldnât turn the knob. Not out of fear that Qui-Gon was around the corner and would find out, but out of a strange swirl of anticipation in his gut. The doll was his now.
(Anakin was his now.)
Obi-Wan opened the door.Â
â
âWhy is Qui-Gon so mad?â Obi-Wanâs voice trembled, along with his lips, his hands. Even his breath squeezed in his lungs. He didnât want Qui-Gon to be angry. Qui-Gon was the best foster dad heâd ever had; he always had something to teach Obi-Wan, some curious stone or feather to show him. He never sighed and rolled his eyes at any of Obi-Wanâs questions, no matter how dumb.Â
Fear sat like a block of ice in his chest. âI d-donât get it.â To his despair, tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. Obi-Wan scrunched them shut, but they rolled down his cheeks.Â
Anakin was quiet. Then his hand brushed the top of Obi-Wanâs head. âI donât know,â he confessed, and he sounded young even to Obi-Wan. âI donât think heâs mad at you. If anyoneââ Anakin broke off. âHeâs probably angry with me.âÂ
With Anakin?Â
The fear melted with the heat of indignation. He scrambled off the bed. âHe canât make you go away.â Obi-Wan wouldnât let him send Anakin away, heâdâheâd tell Tahl, even though she was just as weird about Anakin. Heâdâ
âNo,â said Anakin, with a strange, resigned expression. He was usually lively, if moody, and Obi-Wan didnât like the change. âNo, he canât. So donât worry about it, alright? Cry if you need to, and then letâs go visit the Open Circle.âÂ
âBoys donât cry.â Obi-Wan sniffed.Â
Anakinâs smile was lopsided. âI cry all the time. And Iâm just as much a boy as you.âÂ
This was not the revelation Obi-Wan expected. First, Qui-Gon angry with Anakin, now Anakin, somewhere, crying? Where Obi-Wan couldnât see?Â
âYou canât cry anymore,â Obi-Wan told him. What he really meant to say was you canât cry if Iâm not with you, but his young mind couldnât translate his thoughts into words without losing something along the way.Â
But Anakin understood.Â
Anakin always understood him.Â
â
Obi-Wan flipped the light switch. And there, under a large glass cloche on Qui-Gonâs desk, was the doll that his father had destroyed his life for.Â
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