Author's Note: It's strange what odd story ideas will enter your mind when the power on your college campus randomly dies on you, and this story idea is among them.
Warning: Um, this story is far more fluff than plot, so if that upsets you flee from it as though it contains swine flu. This was also originally written in a notebook, so my work is generally lamer when that is the case. I say all this in the interest of full disclosure, but hope that some brave beings will stick with me anyway.
Disclaimer: In my wildest dreams, I own Star Wars. In reality (something I can still distinguish from fantasy, thank you), however, I do not. Hopefully, there are no surprises for anyone there, and if this is shocking to anybody, that person needs a lot more help than this little disclaimer can offer.
Reviews: Reviewers get virtual sleeping pills and thanks.
Nightmares
He was on Ord Mantell again. He was standing in a field soaked with blood. He was seeing dead bodies everywhere he turned. Bile was scorching its way up his throat into his mouth. He would never know peace again even if he managed to escape this place physically, because it would never lose its emotional grip on him. For the rest of his life, he could only gaze out at the gory corpses, knowing that he would never see grass or wildflowers as beautiful again. All he wanted to do was howl, so that some of the anguish weighing on his chest would be released.
"Obi-Wan." That was Qui-Gon's voice, which meant that he hadn't just wished to scream—he had done so. Strong hands grasped his shoulder and shook him, but they didn't so roughly. "Obi-Wan, wake up."
Wake up? That's right. This wasn't real, or, at least it wasn't in the strictest sense of the word. It was just a nightmare that had been all too real to the bodies strewn across the field, and he, unlike them, had broken free of it. Well, he had escaped physically, but his brain and his heart were still trapped on Ord Mantell, and he would never be free of the place. The horrors of what had transpired there hadn't just rattled his bones; they had been absorbed into them. The blood shed there had invaded his veins. The ghosts of those who had been massacred there haunted his spirit. No wonder everything dreadful that had enfolded there was being resurrected in his nightmares.
Nightmares weren't real, though, and it was time to rejoin a reality that was for once preferable to fantasy. Slowly, his brain yanked him away from the terrors that had occurred on Ord Mantell. As he returned to the present moment, he opened his eyes and stared around his oddly tranquil bedroom at the Jedi Temple, half- expecting the man who had slaughtered all those unfortunate beings on Ord Mantell to accost him from the shadows. After all, the seeming placidity of his room meant nothing, for that field on Ord Mantell had been peaceful, too, since everyone was dead.
However, after a tense inspection of the chamber, Obi-Wan was forced to conclude that the only other sentient in the dark room was his Master. When he spotted that Qui-Gon alone was here, his relief that this was the case turned into humiliation faster than a fair weather friend would disappear in a monsoon on Drongar. If it was possible, his humiliation rocketed up further when he noticed that his pillow was wet. Force, he wasn't a thirteen-year-old anymore, which meant he shouldn't be crying, nonetheless about nightmares. Next thing he knew, he would be regressing to wetting his sleep couch or throwing tantrums in the Temple rectory if vegetables he didn't care for were being served.
"I'm sorry I disturbed you, Master," he mumbled, immeasurably grateful that the darkness concealed his flush.
"You didn't disturb me, Padawan," Qui-Gon reassured him softly, squeezing his shoulder gently.
It was very diplomatic and considerate of him to make such a comment, but Obi-Wan wasn't groggy enough to believe it.
"I woke you up in the middle of the night with my screaming and crying, Master," he pointed out, wishing that his tone would steady out like it was supposed to, instead of sounding like he was striving to talk through a mouthful of gravel. Of course, he also wished that the nightmare would lose its hold on him entirely, and that had yet to happen. Struggling to distract himself from memories of Ord Mantell that refused to die as the occupants of the nightmare had perished, Obi-Wan wondered if it really was the middle of the night and not early morning. Obviously, it didn't signify what time it was, though, as he was surrounded by darkness, and that was all that amounted to anything, so it wasn't worth craning his neck to check the chrono on his nightstand…
"Yes, you woke me up," confirmed Qui-Gon, flipping on a light near his apprentice's bed. Reflexively, the younger man squinted against the brightness, as his mentor continued, "However, you make the mistake of equating any interruption with a disruption. In order to be a disruption, an interruption must drag our attention away from something we should be doing and redirect our energies to something we shouldn't. You can't be a disruption to me, since you are my Padawan, and I am supposed to guide you. I'd rather comfort you than sleep."
For some reason, his compassion undid Obi-Wan. If he had ordered Obi-Wan to control himself, then he would have forced himself to regain his composure, but his Master's understanding just brought tears to his eyes, and, to his embarrassment, they trickled down his cheeks. At least they were falling silently as they probably hadn't been during his nightmare. Sadly, however, he was aware that they were streaming down his face now, whereas he hadn't been cognizant of that when he was asleep.
Curse it, he was twenty, and he was crying in front of Qui-Gon. He was a pathetic wreck, but he wasn't nearly as messed up as some of the people on Ord Mantell had been, and he was nowhere near as messed up as many of the inhabitants of the galaxy, which had to count for something. Thinking about the people on Ord Mantell was more of a torture than a balm to him, though, so he ought to stop contemplating it before he started sobbing in earnest like a five-year-old burned by a training lightsaber.
"Sorry, Master," he repeated shakily, not caring if he sounded like a broken holorecord since that was infinitely better than sounding like a broken man, as Qui-Gon's hands tightened around his shoulders.
"Revisiting Ord Mantell, are you?" Qui-Gon inquired gingerly, ignoring his apology.
Obi-Wan nodded mutely.
"Do you want to talk about it?" pressed Qui-Gon delicately when he failed to elaborate.
Unable to bring himself to discuss the horrors of the scene he had just relived in his nightmare, since that would of necessity entail returning to it again, Obi-Wan shook his head. Besides, he didn't need to tell Qui-Gon about what had transpired on Ord Mantell. After all, his Master had been there, and he had seen that words utterly paled as a means to describe the carnage there.
Worse still, if he tried to discuss what had enfolded on Ord Mantell, he would end up crying again, and his eyes were finally stopping their leaks now, and he wasn't about to open his tear ducts once more. As this notion spiraled through his head, he choked out, "Will I ever forget about it?"
"No, but the pain of it will lessen as your memories become less vivid," replied Qui-Gon. "Time heals all wounds, Padawan, but deep cuts leave scars, and Ord Mantell is a deep slice. Still, you wouldn't want to forget Ord Mantell, because it has many lessons to offer."
"I shouldn't cry about it," Obi-Wan remarked hoarsely, disgusted with himself and his weakness. "I should be stronger than this. I thought I was stronger than this…"
Of course, he had thought a freight ship worth of things before the mission to Ord Mantell and nearly all of them had been as inaccurate as the assertion of the mad scientist last year who claimed that hyperspace didn't exist, so why shouldn't this assumption be proven wrong, too?
"There's no need to be ashamed about crying over the horrors that organisms inflict on others without a trace of remorse," returned Qui-Gon, and Obi-Wan felt slightly less abashed by his breakdown. "It is far more natural to cry at such things than to not, and, as agonizing as it is, it is infinitely better to feel pain at such atrocities than to feel nothing. Indeed, a Jedi who could witness such things and feel nothing would not be a true Jedi."
"But Jedi are supposed to be in control of themselves and their emotions at all times." Obi-Wan frowned in confusion, his forehead knotting. He was pretty confident that bursting into tears in the middle of the night after a nightmare about a mission wasn't exactly a textbook example of serenity.
"Exactly," Qui-Gon agreed. "Jedi are supposed to feel emotions and let them go in an appropriate fashion, instead of being dominated by them. They are not supposed to deny their feelings or shove them to the side. They are supposed to face them and release them somehow through meditation, exercise, or confiding in others. Of course, crying is a traditional and effective method of handling grief, and there is nothing shameful in it even for adults when there is a reason for anguish. It is far better to cry and release an emotion than to keep it bottled within you, Obi-Wan."
"Yes, Master," Obi-Wan responded automatically, although he didn't think that he would be making a habit of releasing his pain in tears. That required giving a lot more freedom to his emotions than he was willing to give for one thing.
"Remember, Obi-Wan, that you are not alone," finished Qui-Gon softly. "If you ever want to talk to me, I'll be there for you."
"Thanks, Master," Obi-Wan murmured gratefully. Yes, he knew intellectually that this was so, but it was comforting to be reminded of it.
"There's no need to thank me for doing my duty and my pleasure." Qui-Gon smiled as he rose and headed toward the door, turning the light off after him.