#angstprilday2

Tonight, the desert planet is quiet and calm with no hint of malice.

Obi-Wan’s eyes burn. It’s likely due to the fact that he’s keeping his gaze locked on the sunset of the twin suns, but his face is wet — a tell-tale sign that he’s crying.

That, though, is not a rare sight these past few months.

A gentle wind rustles Obi-Wan’s robes, causing him to wrap them tightly around himself.

He blinks and his mind wanders.

He thinks of counting the stars with Anakin and of late night conversations with Ahsoka, among countless other memories with countless, dead friends.

Homesickness is always the worst feeling. It’s something Obi-Wan’s felt a thousand times before, but now it’s a constant, never ending ache in his heart, because there’s no home to go back to.

Ahsoka’s hiding in the shadows. Blending into her surroundings is a talent she’s always had and now, under the changing circumstances, is something that has become somewhat of a specialty.

Presently, she’s watching a family of three interacting with each other: the oldest is wearing a fond smile as the middle child carries the youngest on his shoulders, laughing.

It’s something Ahsoka wishes she could do. She misses the carefree, playful version of herself. She misses the way she used to laugh in sync with Anakin for no reason except for the heck of it. She misses the witty banter between herself and Obi-Wan.

Her throat constructs painfully at the memories and unpleasant reminder that her family in all but blood are gone.

Ahsoka further slinks into the shadows of a nameless city on a random, unfamiliar planet, because nowadays she’s nothing more than a homeless wanderer — and will remain one until the end of time.

Mustafar is a devilish planet, a horrible mix of reds, yellows, and blacks.

Though these days, his vision is only ever in varying shades in red.

His body aches with phantom fires. Sometimes, he thinks he’s still burning. Agony laces down limbs that are no longer there.

Past memories swirl with new ones, vicious thoughts accosting him at every turn.

Hatred burns deep within him — it extends outwards to the galaxy and even more so internally, directed at himself. Crippling regret and sorrow threaten to overthrow the hate, wanting to consume him.

Faintly, echoes of laughter are heard. An unwanted sense of peace and happiness is felt before being forcefully shoved aside.

And far into the depths of his mind, a child screams, begging for release.

Vader lets the fire surround him.

Sure enough, Anakin is there on the bed, still as a statue. It’s quite the contrast to who he used to be, always moving, fidgeting, anything. Now it was like he was frozen in time. And whenever Anakin was in pain, so was Obi-Wan.

He would do anything to make Anakin smile again. To laugh again. Anything.

“Ahsoka’s decided to come back,” Obi-Wan said, gently sitting on the bed. Anakin stared blankly at the ceiling, giving no indication that he’d heard Obi-Wan. He decided to try again. “She talked to Master Yoda this morning. She’s willing to come back as an apprentice. Your apprentice.”

Anakin didn’t even blink. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan murmured. He squeezed Anakin’s hand, desperately trying to reach him. It wasn’t the first time they’d gone weeks without speaking, and on some level, Obi-Wan was used to it. But even then, there was light in Anakin’s eyes. Now Anakin’s still alive and breathing, but the light in him has gone out. He’s here, but not present. “I don’t know what else to do. I need you to say something.”

The silence dragged on. The stillness of the room was infectious, and Obi-Wan found himself doing something he’s never done before - fidgeting. His leg was bouncing in a way that made Obi-Wan want to laugh, because it was something he’d always berated Anakin on as a child.

But he didn’t laugh, because he didn’t want the silence to break.

“Past.”

The sound was soft and scratchy from disuse, but it was Anakin’s. Obi-Wan stared at him, half-believing he was hearing things. 

But then Anakin’s lips moved. It was barely a whisper, but it was there. “You can change the past.”

“I wish I could,” Obi-Wan said softly. “If I could, I would. You know that.”

Anakin’s eyes flickered briefly in his direction before rolling back up to the ceiling. “Whatever.”

“Anakin…” Obi-Wan sighed, not knowing what to say.

“I did everything right.” Anakin whispered, eyes glassy. Tears began to leak from the sides of his eyes and Anakin made no move to stop them.

“Everything. I defeated the Sith. Brought peace to the galaxy, fulfilled the prophecy or whatever… Got help with the visions. Appointments and checkups. Healthy. And I still…” Anakin let out a shuddering breath. “Lost them.”

He ripped his hand from Obi-Wan’s and brought it to his face, completely breaking down. Loud, gasping sobs that caused Anakin’s entire body to shake. 

Obi-Wan always prided himself on keeping his emotions in check, but his composure was all but gone. His heart ached deeply, a constant pain that made it hard to breathe on good days. And what made it worse was that Obi-Wan knew exactly how Anakin felt, because he had lost Satine not too long ago.

The worst part was that Obi-Wan knew this feeling and he didn’t know how to ease Anakin’s suffering. He could say anything he thought was comforting and it would do nothing.

Tears were still streaming down Anakin’s face, but the sobs subsided after a couple minutes. Instead, harsh laughs replaced it. “Twins,” he said bitterly. “We didn’t know… we fought over the gender, and we picked out names and… twins… twins…”

Obi-Wan forced Anakin into a sitting position and before Anakin could say another word, Obi-Wan enveloped him in a hug.

“I’m truly sorry, Anakin.”

Anakin leaned into Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “Luke and Leia. That’s what we were going to call them. And it’s just me now. They’re gone, and I’m the only one left. I don’t know what to do.”