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Burning

"You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you."

Obi-Wan's having a hard time thinking coherently now. It's been that way since he saw the holovid of Ana- of Darth Vader slicing the Younglings, their mouths opening in silent screams as he hits them and they fall and he can't think about it without wanting to scream.

How did it fall apart so easily? How could he have not seen the attachment to Pad- he can't think about her now either, no without thinking of her with her hands around her throat, being strangled by love and trying to scream to Ana- (he's trying hard to separate his brother from this monster on the ground, writhing like all the monsters he's ever seen or heard of or believed would kill him, eat him, torture him in the long nightmares) to Vader to stop, to let her go.

His thoughts are erratic at best, at worst unhinging and raving like so many lunatics he's seen in the long years of war. He's not seeing straight, the red is in the air and in the ground and in the lava around him. He's breathing it in, which explains the burning he's feeling in his chest or maybe that's the place his heart used to be. He's red and sore and aching and he can't seem to comprehend what's happening beyond the basic realities of the fire and the smoke and theruin inside him.

"It's over, Anakin. I have the high ground. Don't try it."

But he did and there was no choice, no choice at all but to swing the lightsaber and slice into his brother and now Vader's lying on the ground, a warped and warping thing as he curses his Master, his once-Master, his ex-Master with eyes that are red and crying and hateful and tragic. He's in pain and not just from his ruined body, it's ruined now no doubt about that, with the arms and legs gone, thank the Force for the cauterization otherwise he'd be bleeding his life out on this inferno, his mind is a mass of hate and love and both mixed together.

He knows what Vader's thinking, how could he not when he'd spent ten, twelve years of his life teaching him to think that way? But he doesn't know now and it hurts him but not that much, because he couldn't bear to know what Vader was thinking as he cut down the Younglings, all the children he knew when they had reached the Temple bright and ready to become heroes and everything a Jedi was supposed to be, and it burns inside him to know that he taught Vader everything he used against them. It's torturing him, making him know everything he's caused, the "oh, too late" acknowledgement of the giant wave he's ignored for too long and now it's rushing over him, drowning him in the red and fire and the hate.

The fire inside both of them is outside too, and as Vader cries and curses and hates his way uselessly up the incline, he slips farther down to the brink and he's at the edge and oh Force he's burning, he's kindled like Qui-Gon's pyre on Naboo all those years ago when Ani was just a little boy, a Padawan with hopes and fears and a habit of rewiring droids whether they wanted to or not, but he's on fire and it's not fast at all, it's fitful like his thoughts and takes its sweet time climbing up the flesh and skin and he can smell it, Force he can smell the skin and hair burning as he talks to Vader, telling him what he did, what he ruined, what he left for everyone, but everyone is dead thanks to the lessons he taught Ani, "Remember Ani, swing up while thrusting otherwise you won't get any leverage," well he sure did get leverage, straight up the chests of a hundred Younglings who screamed in the Force and were little candles for their own death pyre, joining the Force all together, which is a good thing because that way they won't be scared, he thinks insanely, before he realizes that they were too young and shouldn't have joined the Force at all, at least until they had a good long life of meditation and good friendship and then only joined when they were sleeping or let go.

The fire on both of them is almost done, its passion burning out, looking for new fuel. The stench is still there, though. It won't go away and he has the sinking feeling that he's going to have to wash his clothes with some really heavy duty wash to get it out of the fabric, but then he realizes that if it's in the fabric it's in his skin too, so he knows that the first thing he does after this – what "this" is, exactly, he can't quite name yet, probably never will, just know the emotions he's feeling, which is all he's feeling right now, no pain, no wounds, nothing but the tilting of his thoughts– will be to scrub his skin raw, rub it bleeding, do whatever it takes to get that stench off him, at least outwardly.

He's still burning inside and An- Vader is still burning outside but it's going away, it's gone now but the skin is red and black when it's there, fitting colors, and in some places it's not there at all and he doesn't want to look but he has to because he caused it. Inside he feels the pain too and knows that in his mind it's red and raw and blistered too, and it won't ever heal, not ever, not even if someone filled him with bacta and let him set for years. The betrayal is there, was there to begin with he supposes, ever since he said, "Sure whatever Master, just don't leave me," to Master Qui-Gon and took his first apprentice out of duty and calling and a little hate because despite twelve years of constant companionship, Master Qui-Gon didn't say anything about his poor, alone apprentice on his deathfloor, just, "Train the boy, he's the chosen one," exit stage left Master Qui-Gon Jinn, been a real pleasure knowing you.

He caused this so it's right that he's there,spinning the end to what he began, the inside fire on the outside at last, and he walks away because he finally gets enough coherence to know that he is finished, at least for now, with his fallen brother in the dirt on the shattered pieces of his love, and the Force isn't there when he calls for it, so he deals with his entropy as well as he can, which isn't very good at all.

End-