Chapter Text
It had been a long day, and all fourteen-year old Anakin Skywalker wanted was for it to be over. He'd been reprimanded by Master Windu in the dojo for "using too much aggression" while sparring - whatever that meant, and he'd flunked his intergalactic history test - a fact he was not looking forward to Obi-Wan finding out. He'd tried to study; really, he had. The timelines had just been so jumbled and politically charged that his brain couldn't keep them straight no matter how hard he'd tried. Master Jocasta Nu from the archives offered tutoring to most padawans who were struggling, but he got the distinct impression that the wizened Jedi master harbored an intense dislike for him, so he chose not to approach her for help. None of the Jedi here really liked him, he acknowledged ruefully. Obi-Wan had said to give it time, that they would warm up eventually, but he'd been here for five years now, and if anything, it seemed like they liked him less than before.
The chancellor would have helped him with his test, he thought sadly. Chancellor Palpatine had sat with him through countless study sessions, never making Anakin feel dumb for knowing less than his peers. Even when he was brand new at the Temple and just learning to read at nine years old, the older man had met every bout of tears, frustration, and despair with steady patience and kindness, always expressing his belief in Anakin and celebrating every win. But the chancellor had been unusually busy this past week, and Anakin hadn't wanted to intrude. So here he was - a flunked test, a soon-to-be pissed master, and a whole lot of pent-up frustration that he apparently wasn't allowed to let out while sparring.
There were other ways to let it out, he supposed, though he really knew he shouldn't. Obi-Wan would be pissed, but Obi-Wan was already going to be pissed, so what did that even matter at this point? He dropped to his knees next to his cot, fished around under it for a moment, and pulled out a small cardboard box. He opened it, contemplating the tightly wrapped paper cylinders in them. He pulled one out, inhaling the scent, and made his decision. He was already in trouble, and the spice would help calm him, since he was apparently "too volatile" for the Jedi's tastes anyway. Chancellor Palpatine hadn't judged him for smoking the drug; in fact, he'd encouraged it, explaining that it was only fair Anakin have an outlet for all of his stress. Other Jedi had meditation - a practice instilled in them since they were infants, but Anakin always struggled with meditation. The Force was too loud, screaming at him and threatening to drown him in its essence. As an alternative, he had spice. He lit it and settled into the rickety chair by his work desk, inhaling deeply as he closed his eyes.
Obi-Wan Kenobi was livid. He'd just received a report from Master Windu that his padawan had lifted his sparring opponent three feet into the air with the Force and launched her, slamming her into the wall of the dojo with enough force to nearly knock her out. Master Windu had explained that boy had clearly been using the rage that always seemed to surround Anakin no matter how much Obi-Wan made him meditate to fuel his fighting style - a practice that brought one into a dangerously close dance between the fine lines of tapping into one's strength and tapping into one's darker urges. On top of that, he'd received a report that his ever-challenging padawan had failed his most recent intergalactic history test. Obi-Wan didn't expect perfection, by any means, but failure was unacceptable. He took a deep breath, trying to temper his frustration before he talked to the boy. He entered their small quarters and marched to the boy's room. He knocked and recieved no answer. A futile delaying tactic, he thought irritably. He could sense Anakin's Force signature in the room, so after another unanswered knock, he opened the door, only to be blasted by the scent of spice.
He heard the knock, and sighed deeply. Obi-Wan was home, and judging from the sound of his heavier footsteps and the way the Force swirled around his signature in red wisps before dissipating, he was quite upset. He'd probably already gotten the news about his failures. He heard him knock again and closed his eyes. He was too tired to get up. Let Obi-Wan come in here and throw him around or beat him, or whatever, but didn't have the energy to get up. Obi-Wan had never used physical force against him before, he mused, but somehow, here under the foggy influence of the spice he was smoking, it seemed to make sense in Anakin's brain that this time he would. That was okay. Watto and Gardulla had punished him in ways Obi-Wan would be horrified to think of, so he was pretty sure he could handle whatever punishment Obi-Wan would deal him. He heard the door hiss open and felt the pause in the Force.
Oh. He was still smoking. Obi-Wan's force signature erupted into flames, writhing, shrieking with anger. Anakin opened his eyes blearily and looked through the haze at his master. Obi-Wan stood motionless in the doorway, looking at him. Anakin was pretty sure he was supposed to say something, but the spice was making his brain too sluggish to come up with a greeting. Before he could, his master abruptly turned on his heel and walked out. Huh. "He didn't say anything . . ." the boy slurred, his head dropping back.
Obi-Wan had never been so pissed at his padawan. On top of everything else this idiotic maniac got into trouble over, he had decided to add drugs? He resisted the urge to snatch the spice roll out of Anakin's fingers and drag the boy out of the room by his hair for a proper lecture. The boy looked up at him, blue eyes glassy. Anger would get him nowhere, he told himself. He couldn't talk to Anakin like this, he decided. He turned and walked out of the room to clear his head. Deep breaths, he reminded himself. Deep breaths. Anger didn't solve anything. He was supposed to be the one in control. Questions swirled in his mind. How long had the kid been doing drugs? Why had he started? Would Obi-Wan be able to make him stop? Should he tell the Council? He closed his eyes and sank into meditation, trying to calm his mind before confronting his wayward padawan.
Anakin was almost asleep, the spice quieting the frightful visions and nightmares that normally tormented him, when he heard his door hiss open again. Obi-Wan. He looked up at his master through half-lidded eyes. Obi-Wan was less angry now. That was good, some part of him thought. "Master," he sighed absently.
Obi-Wan sat down on the edge of his bed. "Anakin," he said quietly. "Put the spice roll down."
Anakin blinked slowly. Best not to make him angry, a part of his mind thought. He closed his eyes and placed the mostly burnt nub down on a metal dish he had placed on the desk. "Sorry . . ." he muttered.
Obi-Wan sighed. "Talk to me, young one." That was it. An invitation to let him into the clearly complicated mind of his young padawan. A chance to let Anakin vent freely.
Anakin leaned back, shifting slightly in the chair. "'m tired . . ." Obi-Wan didn't respond. Right. He probably wanted an explanation for why he was doing drugs in his master's home. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. " . . . dunno, master . . . 'm just tired." Somehow, that's all his brain could compute. "'m tired of being behind, 'm tired of being too angry, of bein' scared, of hurting - 'm just - tired."
Obi-Wan nodded. "Tell me more," he said softly.
Anakin opened his eyes, looking at his master, and Obi-Wan was surprised to see the amount of HURT those blue eyes held. "Watto gave it to me first," he murmured. "To help, he said. Mom was mad . . . I miss her . . ." he trailed off. "Sorry," he mumbled again, realizing he'd said the forbidden words. He wasn't supposed to love or miss anyone. Stupid fog in his brain was making it hard to think before he spoke.
"It's okay, Anakin," Obi-Wan reassured him. "You can tell me whatever. I'm not going to punish you."
Anakin blinked lazily. "Thanks . . ." he murmured because somehow, Obi-Wan's words and signature seemed sincere. He pulsed a warm yellow glow through the Force, inviting Anakin to bask in it's warmth, relishing in one of the rare moments of safety he got in the Temple. "Normally only chancellor feels this safe," he slurred, not realizing he'd spoken it out loud. Obi-Wan tactfully chose to ignore that statement. "I - oh, yeah . . . Watto. Mom was mad, but it did help." He yawned. "I was real little, prob'ly about four or five. He'd sold me - for the night, y'know," he explained. Part of his brain wasn't sure why he was telling Obi-Wan this, and he was sure he was going to get in trouble for it, but the other part was still basking in the warmth and safety Obi-Wan was offering through the Force and too hazy from the spice to really feel real enough for consequences.
"It was my first real time . . ." he added, the haze and comfort winning out. "And the guy was fucking HUGE." He chuckled ruefully. "Or at least, he seemed that way. I was really small, y'know, so I guess everything seemed huge. Anyway - he ripped me open," he chuckled again. He wasn't sure why he was laughing, but the fog in his brain was mixing emotions up and right now, the pain usually associated with the image of himself as a child bloodied and bawling after the customer had used him was strangely dulled. "I couldn't walk when he was done. Jus' kept crying and shakin' . . . Watto was mad that I couldn't work - a crying slave's no good, y'know - but he was nice enough to help me."
"Help you?" Obi-Wan prodded, carefully shielding the absolute rage and sickness that was spreading through him as the teenager talked. Anakin needed to feel safe around him. Anger wouldn't help that.
Anakin nodded lazily and chuckled dryly. "Yeah . . . he got out some spice and rolled it up in paper and made me smoke it. I hated it at first," he remembered, almost forgetting Obi-Wan was there now. "Kept chokin' on the smoke an' it burned my throat and chest. But it did help. Quieted the pain. Made everything seem - farther."
"And now?" Obi-Wan asked quietly.
Anakin shrugged. " 've used it on and off ever since. I didn't tell mom when I got older. She didn't like it. Hurt her soul. So I didn't tell her. It does help, though," he added, almost pleadingly. "Shuts off my mind for a while, y'know? Everything usually hurts and is so - big," he explained, his hazy mind unable to grasp the words he was really looking for. "So overwhelming - I just - I need to make it all go away for a while sometimes." Then he chuckled. Obi-Wan wasn't here about the spice. He'd almost forgotten. Obi-Wan was here for the test. To punish him. "Sorry . . ." he muttered. "Got carried away. Stupid mouth," he grumbled, struggling to stand up.
"It's okay, padawan," Obi-Wan said. "I told you that you can come to me whenever, and I meant that. I - I'm sorry you went through that, Anakin." He didn't really know what else to say.
Anakin shook his head, trying to clear it. "Didn't mean to fail that test," he mumbled. "Tried hard -"
Obi-Wan rested a hand on the teen's shoulder, a piece of his heart cracking as he noticed the slight flinch his touch elicited. "Never mind the test, Anakin. We'll talk about that later. For now, why don't you lie down?"
A shiver ran down Anakin's spine and a tendril of what felt suspiciously like fear wrapped around his core. "Are you gonna use me?" he asked almost tearfully.
Again, Obi-Wan had never even demonstrated the slightest bit of interest in using him like the old slavers did, but right now, the spice was clouding his brain and he'd just told Obi-Wan that story, so maybe he'd given him the idea, and he had just made Obi-Wan really mad, so maybe this was punishment, and he really didn't want to but he didn't think he had a choice, and he couldn't breathe or see now that he thought about it, and -
"Anakin." The voice was firm and quiet, bringing him back to reality for a moment. It was Obi-Wan's. "Anakin. Listen to me carefully. Can you do that?" Anakin nodded, the treacherous fear still lingering in his throat.
"Anakin, I will never touch you in any way that you don't want. I will never hurt you in the ways you've been hurt, and I'm so sorry you went through that. I will do everything in my power to make sure you're never hurt in that way again. Okay?"
Anakin nodded again, the words slipping incomprehensively through his mind. "Never?" he asked, and somehow, it seemed like an important question to ask.
"Never," Obi-Wan repeated firmly. "Now get some sleep, my young padawan. You need it."
Anakin was pretty tired, though he couldn't really remember why. "'kay," he muttered, dropping onto the bed. "Stay?" he pleaded. "Jus' till I'm asleep?"
Obi-Wan nodded. "Of course, young one."