#socloseyetsofar

He should win Barcelona, too, imho. Charles would‘ve won in 2022 had the F1-75 not given up on him. Plus it would be a nice fuck you to you know who. 🤭

Aaand, I could witness my third Charles win live as I‘m attending the race… 🤗

no worrieeees!

yes he should win there as a revenge for 2022!!! + that would make me enjoy a race which I’m not particularly fond of!

alt prompt used: So Close Yet So Far

ao3

continuation of the winter soldier/amnesia au, follow up to this and this

It's nearly a year into training Ahsoka when Obi-wan finally has his suspicions confirmed in the worst way. 

They're on a mission, him and Ahsoka—a reconnaissance mission on a jungle planet with only a few clones for backup. It had been his idea for them to scout ahead while the clones stood guard by the camp. He regrets it, now. They'd returned to the clones dead.

The work of a lightsaber.

The work of a Sith.

He's heard of the new Sith assassin, of course; the Sith Master, whoever he is, seems to be snatching up minions like meiloorun fruit. They're deadlier and quieter than Ventress, who seems to prefer making memorable impressions, but not quite as destructive as Grievous. 

Either way, it was a mystery Obi-wan was hoping not to get closer to. Especially not with his pada—new padawan in tow.

(He's very proud of Ahsoka. But he's still bitter at the circumstances of their union. The Council means well, he knows. But it still feels like he's spitting on Anakin's memory, irrational as the thought is.)

"Master," Ahsoka says shakily. "That doesn't look like Ventress's work."

"No," he agrees. "I believe we might be making a new acquaintance today." 

Escape is, unfortunately, not an option, considering that they're rather surrounded by trees shrubbery at the moment and that the ship is much too far to reach in time. They'll be cut down in minutes. Their only option is to stand and fight.

The assassin is near. Obi-wan can sense them. Their presence is—strange. Blank. Familiar, almost.

He and Ahsoka exchange an uneasy glance.

The shaky truce lasts for another two seconds before the assassin allegedly has enough and a saber ignites behind them. He and Ahsoka turn in unison, pulling out their own weapons, but the assassin is practically already on top of them.

The battle is quick and furious. The assassin, whoever they are, has only one goal—killing them.

Or, well, as the blank, soulless blue eyes bore into him, it occurs to Obi-wan that he might be the primary target. The assassin spares hardly a glance for Ahsoka at all. 

The figure behind all of those mysterious Jedi killings is targeting him. Specifically. 

He deflects another blow that would have taken his arm off if he hadn't been paying attention. He's aggressive, certainly. The mask—muzzle?—covering half his face doesn't seem to hinder him at all.  

But his eyes are so. . . empty. Not like Ventress, or Dooku, or even Grievous, tiresome as the cyborg is. It's as if Obi-wan is fighting a puppet, not a person.

(But why does something seem so familiar?)

A very dangerous puppet, Obi-wan remembers, when his distraction nearly loses him his eye. Good grief, he can't let his curiosity get him and his padawan killed. What sort of Jedi is he?

"Master!" Ahsoka shouts, and suddenly she leaps, aiming for the assassin's head—

The assassin turns to meet her attacks—

Obi-wan moves from behind—

And catches the mask. Which now has a massive gash through the middle, from the upper cheek to the chin. 

And shows the assassin's face.

"Anakin?"

What in the galaxy—how could this have happened? Anakin is dead, has been since the Battle of Geonosis, but—

You always knew something was off, a vicious voice in his head whispers, Didn't you find it strange that there was no body?

 Anakin, what have they done to you?

 Anakin's eyes widen at that, though they're still frighteningly blank. He presses forward but it's more hesitant, now. His brows are furrowed.

Ahsoka has no such qualms.

"This is your old Padawan?" she shouts incredulously and parries another swipe only to return with a strong one of her own. "Why is he trying to kill us?"

Those words also seem to strike some sort of chord in him, because Anakin slows even more, blinking rapidly. 

And then Ahsoka catches him with her shoto across the face.

"Ahsoka," he shouts, something in him twisting at the sight of Anakin injured. But it's no use. Anakin scrambles back into the woods, pulling the force tightly around him and practically vanishing, force wise and sightwise.

No. Obi-wan has to find him.

Ahsoka holds him back. "Unless you want to be fried bantha meat, Master, we've got to get out of here now."

"I have to find him," he says blankly. "We have to bring him back."

"We can't do anything if we're dead." She jerks her head in the other direction and—oh. Obi-wan senses it too, now.

Droids.

Too many droids.

They don't have time.

Heart in his throat, Obi-wan takes one last glance back before they leave the jungle—and Anakin—behind for good.

*

"Am I to understand," Sidious says from above him, anger reined in tightly. "that not only did you fail to kill Kenobi, you allowed both him and his apprentice to discover your identity?"

Identity. That's a funny word, isn't it. Before his encounter with the Jedi and his apprentice he didn't even know he'd had one. 

Anakin, Kenobi had said. Your padawan, the younger girl had said. 

So he was the man from his strange dreams, then. Obi-wan Kenobi. It's a relief, to finally have a name to put to the face. But what in the galaxy does it mean?

Had they known him? Had he known them? 

But his life has always been just this. The cell, the missions, the darkness. His Master. Unless—

"Answer me, Vader."

He drags his gaze back upwards. To any of Sidious's questions, there is only one correct answer. "Yes, Master."

The smell of ozone hits before the pain registers. 

He's burning, he's burning, he's burning alive from the inside out— 

Electricity crackles through his flesh, his bones, his veins. It lights up the room in strange hues as the sharp pain digs into him relentlessly, not giving up even as his throat tears in two. The metal arm dangles uselessly beside him, spasming as someone far away screams.

"I am giving you one last chance," his Master says, finally granting him a reprieve from the lightning. He crumples to his knees, gasping against the blessedly cool floor.