Chapter 1

Obi-Wan sat on the floor of his hut, hands folded neatly in his lap, the sunlight creeping through his one window to warm his shoulders. The Force, too, was close, flowing in its never-ceasing currents through his mind, over his skin.

The Force was Dark now.

Even in meditation, Obi-Wan could no longer find balance – there was no balance anymore. There was simply the Dark, growing more and more pervasive, bleeding into his thoughts, making it harder and harder to reach for the Force without using his anger, his grief, his exhaustion. Meditation was better, but today- Today, in the sun, wrapped in Qui-Gon's old robe, Obi-Wan could feel nothing but chaos.

There was a message, waiting for him, whenever he finished his meditation. He had one link to the world outside of Tatooine, only one besides the unreliable news from the locals.

It was a holocomm, one that only Bail Organa had the frequency for, and him only because Obi-Wan had left Leia with his family. Sometimes, Bail sent Obi-Wan messages – he had begun a resistance cell, and he was convinced that Obi could be of help to this resistance.

Obi-Wan could not risk such a thing.

There was a new message waiting for him and he knew it would be another plea from Bail. "Please, old friend," he would say. "Come stand with us like you used to. The people need you." That was what he always said, one way or another.

Obi-Wan always listened to the messages, so that he could send the same answer. No. No, he would not leave Tatooine to join this resistance against the Empire, because however well-organized it was beginning to sound, however he sometimes felt threads of light, of defiance, in the tapestry of the Force, he could not come out of hiding. There was too much at stake, and far too much to risk, for him to throw himself back into the conflict in the galaxy. He knew that there was nothing the Empire would like so much as to see him dead.

He was not sure what Vader thought. Sometimes Obi could feel him, the Emperor's prize enforcer and apprentice, and at those times he knew that Vader was searching for him. Then he would stay in his hut and cloak himself in the Force, in the balance and the nothingness that came in the desert, and in those times he would not allow himself to think of the people he had lost, for fear of seeming too much like himself.

He didn't know if the Emperor or Vader could find him, in the Force, but he knew that there was a sense of awareness between himself and Vader, a slight pull like a faulty compass needle.

Today, however, was not one of those days, so Obi-Wan let the Force pull him under, until he was only aware of his hut and the surrounding country through its pattern in the Force. He could feel little sand mites outside the door of his hut, a womp rat sniffing around the vaporator that he had scrounged up the credits to purchase a year ago, and off in the distance some Jawas hiding from a prowling krayt dragon that felt like a beacon of fire.

He also felt Luke, four-year-old Luke, playing and running around in the sand, and for a moment he sensed no irregularity in that – Luke was an active child, a little spark of imagination and excitement that he could almost always feel when he listened to the Force.

He quickly realized, however, that Luke was not where he ought to be, that the little boy was not at home with the steady, warm flames that were Owen and Beru, but was scrambling about in the sand dunes, thrilled with his adventure and entirely too far from the safety of his aunt and uncle. Obi-Wan opened his eyes, keeping part of his focus on Luke, and pushed himself to his feet. He knew that Owen and Beru would not allow Luke out so far alone, and he also felt that the burning point of hunger and ferocity that was a hunting krayt dragon was entirely too close to Luke's location.

Obi grabbed his staff, a sturdy wooden stave that he carried in place of his saber, now, and hung his canteen on his belt – only fools risked going out into the desert without a source of water. Even if he knew where he was going, he no longer left his hut without the canteen. Not after he had once become lost on his way to Mos Eisley, in a sandstorm, and had barely made it home.

With these two vital items on his person, Obi-Wan stepped out his door, the heat of the twin suns hitting him like a wave of blaster bolts, the wind blustering and carrying stinging grains of hot sand to scour his cheeks, his hands, his eyes. Obi pulled up his hood, accustomed to the punishment of the desert, and stepped forward in a brisk walk toward the pull of Luke's Force signature.

Other people, people unused to the desert, would have struggled to move as quickly over the sand dunes as Obi did, but he had been here for four years, trekking regularly back and forth in the sands between his hut and the Lars's home and Mos Eisley. Tatooine made its people tough, by necessity, and Obi-Wan had only to reach for the Force to strengthen his legs and help himself walk faster and with better balance. He followed Luke's signature to the dunes that swelled along the edges of one of Tatooine's canyons, and as he drew closer, he could almost feel the ground shake from the steps of the hunting dragon, although he could not see it. He could hear it, however, by means of its heavy, grinding footsteps.

Not its hunting call now, though - most likely, the creature was very close to a kill.

Obi-Wan thought it was still focused on the Jawas, and not Luke.

He found the little boy sitting cross-legged in the sand, in a bit of a hollow that he'd dug for himself near the edge of the canyon. Luke was scooping another hole in the sand, pulling out smooth stones and things to pile in his lap, and Obi smiled and pushed his hood back as he walked around to where Luke could see him.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked, softly, crouching down by the busy boy and raising an eyebrow.

Luke startled, a little, and stared at him, then shrugged sheepishly and shook his head. "Nothing. Aunt Beru said I could be outside."

"I'm sure she did," Obi-Wan sighed, and sat back on his heels, smiling. "I don't think she meant you could be out here, Luke."

"But it's so cool," he pointed out, which was indeed a fair point.

"Yes," Obi-Wan agreed. "But you'll get thirsty."

"I'm not thirsty!"

Obi suspected that was not the case, especially since Luke was half-buried in sand and there was sand in his blond hair and in the folds of his light brown shirt. He chuckled and reached over, tousling Luke's hair. "Now, Luke, you and are going to have to go home."

"Aww, Uncle Ben," Luke complained.

Obi chuckled again, although for just a moment it stuck in his throat. "I know it's disappointing, but do you see the canyon?"

"Yeah."

"There is a krayt dragon in the canyon," Obi said, very gently, although to his surprise Luke only stiffened a little, and his eyes lit up with a sharply familiar and unfortunate look of interest.

"Woah," he breathed. "Really? I've never seen a krayt dragon."

"That is because they are very dangerous, Luke," Obi said, calmly. "You wouldn't like to see one. It's time to go."

Obligingly, Luke scrambled out of his hollow, sandy seat, dropping all his collected rocks and bits of scrap into his pocket. Unfortunately, once he latched onto Obi-Wan's hand, he stayed put, stubbornly, eyes fixed on the canyon.

"I wanna see it," he said, very quietly, but Obi-Wan could feel the dragon was very close to them, and even if it was intent on its hunt, Obi was not anxious to give it any reason to come after them. He suspected the dragon would think them easier prey than a band of Jawas (although that wasn't really saying much).

"Let's go," he said, cheerfully. "I can draw you a picture of a krayt dragon when we get you home."

Luke grumbled, leaning forward so much Obi-Wan thought he was going to fall flat on his face. "But a real dragon," he pleaded.

Obi smiled. "I hope you're never unlucky enough to see one this close." Luke grumbled, and Obi chuckled and started back toward the Lars homestead, with Luke reluctantly trudging after him and hanging onto his hand.

It was very quiet.

And Luke stopped walking.

"Hey Uncle Ben," he whispered, "I think it's coming."

Obi-Wan stopped too, automatically spinning the Force around them into a shield and disguise all at once, and reached out for the feeling of the krayt dragon's mind.

"Ah," he said. "So it is."

No wonder it had gotten quiet.

Then the edge of the canyon shook, and there was an echoing crack of stone, the sound of heavy claws gouging into rock, and Obi-Wan bent down and scooped Luke up into his arms, pressing into the Force and trying to convince the dragon's heavy, intelligent mind that it should turn around and stop climbing the canyon wall.

But it was a futile effort; the dragon's claws hooked over the edge of the canyon, grey-brown and wickedly curved, and then its wide, craggy head, the size of a sandspeeder, reared up past the lip of rock, and Obi-Wan retreated as far back as he could get, tightening his arms around Luke, whose Force signature hummed with an electric mix of excitement and terror.

The dragon was the color of the sand, dull brown and gold, with eyes lit fiery orange and yellow, slit pupils narrowing in the sunlight that glinted off the dunes. Muscles bunched and strained in its massive shoulders as it crested the top of the canyon, and Obi-Wan retreated still further back, cutting around behind a sand dune so that they had some slight shelter, because when the dragon settled and sniffed the air, all forty meters of it stood long and low and powerful at the edge of the canyon, tail lashing back and forth and spraying sand and pebbles into the air, and it would only have had to make a small leap forward to crush them both.

Obi-Wan thought that it would be incredibly ironic to die like this. To escape all the forces that were trying to find him, only to be eaten by a canyon krayt dragon because his padawan's son was every bit as rebellious as his father had been.

Actually, that might be fitting.

Then, for a long moment, everything was very still. Obi-Wan could have counted all the scales along the dragon's snout, could also have counted the teeth in its half-open mouth. He could smell its breath and see its claws digging deeper and deeper into the sand, and the dragon looked back at him, head tilted, the way all predators look at unfamiliar prey. Taking his measure.

Obi-Wan closed his eyes.

Everything in the Force was hot and bright, fire and energy, and as he had long ago learned to do, he reached out again toward the dragon's mind with his own, open to the Force and to the hunger and power that the dragon was.

Asking the dragon to change was like asking a mountain to change, like asking the canyon below them to turn its course, but stone was always shaped by wind, by water, by the shifting sands, and Obi-Wan had long ago learned to let the Force's currents do the work for him. He felt the raw hunger and ferocity of the dragon, felt it wanted to leap forward and claim an easy meal, and Obi-Wan smoothed over this desire with his will and the Force's power, dared to redirect the creature back to its original hunting grounds. I am a friend, he said, to the mountain, to over forty meters of claws and ridged scales and curled horns. We are not worth your time.

The ground shook and Obi-Wan opened his eyes to see the krayt dragon take two steps towards them, raising its head to look down, waiting, nostrils flaring as it scented the air. There was a rumbling growl hanging between them. Obi-Wan did not move. He stood in the sand, immobile, practically between the dragon's arching claws, one hand carefully outstretched, and the Force flowed between them.

Obi-Wan did not try to control. He understood the dragon's hunger and drive to kill. And now the dragon could understand Obi-Wan's need to protect, could understand that he was not, after all, easy prey.

The krayt dragon blew out a sharp breath, shook its heavy head, and dropped low to the ground again, turning to climb back into the canyon, a careless swipe of its tail nearly clipping Obi's head. And Obi-Wan hugged Luke closer to him, turned around, and started the trudge back to Owen and Beru's homestead.

They did not thank him.

That was not, perhaps, a conscious choice: when he came to their door, Beru practically lunged at him, grabbed Luke out of his arms and hugged the four-year-old tight to her, pressing her cheek against his small one. "Where was he?" she said, and Obi-Wan told her, trying not to make it sound as if he'd been in any real danger.

Luke damned his case, somewhat, with loud and cheerful explanations of just how huge the dragon had been, how Uncle Ben had made the dragon run away by himself, how Luke helped and wanted to learn how to do that, too. His story-telling made Beru frown at Obi-Wan, who simply pointed out again that he had only gone to find Luke because he sensed he was far from home and close to danger.

"Well," Beru said, brusquely. "Come eat something before you go home, Ben."

Obi-Wan nodded and followed her back into the kitchen, where she sat Luke in a chair and informed him that he was not allowed to play outside for the rest of the week.

"Owen is looking for him," Beru said. "I hope he doesn't stay out long." With no way to contact him and tell him Luke had been found, he might end up wandering fruitlessly through the dunes for some time. There wasn't much way to help that, though – no one around here had the money to waste on frivolities like commlinks.

"I collected some stuff!" Luke said, digging into his pocket and dumping the sandy rocks and bits of scrap metal onto the table. "Look, Aunt Beru!"

She tutted, disapprovingly, shaking her head. "Luke, put that mess away. You've gotten sand all over the table."

Luke looked disappointed, but he did as he was told, settling his forearms on the table and propping his chin on them. Obi-Wan sat down next to him and tousled his blond hair.

"Master, can I- show you something?" Anakin stands with his arms crossed, trying to look as if he doesn't care what Obi-Wan says. He's thirteen, so of course he's much too old to ask for his Master's approval about anything.

Obi smiles, though, and nods, so Anakin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a little disk that he sets on the floor. He presses a button, and the disk turns out to be a little crab-like droid, which scuttles around in circles for a moment before darting off under the couch in their quarters. "It's for finding stuff you lose," Anakin explains.

"Like your lightsaber?" Obi-Wan suggests, raising an eyebrow.

"No." Anakin shrugs defensively. "I mean, maybe."

Owen came back just after Beru had given Obi a bit of coarse flatbread and some milk, and the look of relief on his rough face was immediate and completely sincere, although all he said was a gruff, "There you are, Luke. Where were you, then?"

Luke huffed. "Playing."

Owen was not one for scolding, like Beru was; he just leveled Luke with a disapproving glare and strode over to the counter to get himself a cup of milk.

Luke peeked over at Obi, and half-whispered, "That was so cool, Uncle Ben."

Obi saw Beru looking at them, felt her frustration in the Force, but focused on Luke, who looked curious and eager and as if he wanted Obi to tell him he was right, that what happened was exciting, instead of scolding him.

Perhaps Obi should have told him that he oughtn't to have gone out by himself, perhaps he should have said that krayt dragons weren't cool, perhaps he should have told Luke not ever to try what he'd just done. Instead, he met Luke's bright, questioning blue eyes, and said, "It was, wasn't it?"

Luke nodded, happily, and spread his hands in front of him. "It was so huge, and then it just-" He stopped, thinking for a moment. "How did that happen, Uncle Ben? Did you make it do that?"

Obi smiled. "Yes."

"Enough chatting," Beru said, suddenly, very sharp, and Obi leaned back, realizing both Owen and Beru were looking at him reprovingly. "Luke, I want you to go to your room until you can tell me why you aren't allowed to go wandering in the desert by yourself. Ben, unless you plan to stay and help with the chores, I really think you'd better go. I have things to get done."

Obi-Wan stood, suddenly feeling a bit cold, and nodded. "Of course. I'm sorry for intruding."

"You weren't," Owen said, gruffly. "You brought our boy back. I'm sure Beru is just tired."

Beru scowled, at that.

Obi nodded. "All the same. Excuse me." He tucked his hands in the sleeves of his robe and left.

It was not until he got home and closed his door and set his things down that he recognized the galling burn in his throat and the tightness in his chest for bitterness.

Owen and Beru didn't seem to want him near Luke, not really, and Obi no longer believed they'd let him train Luke. They barely wanted him to see them anymore, he thought, and it ached a little. He knew they owed him nothing, he knew that they felt he would only endanger Luke if he tried to raise a new Jedi, but at least for a time they had let him play with Luke, although he knew they didn't know what to make of him. Now he thought they had decided he was dangerous, a cancer, almost. He did not blame them for that. Sometimes he agreed with them (only sometimes, only when he was very tired and the Force was too heavy).

Obi-Wan used to comfort himself with the idea of someday getting to train Luke, but he should be teaching him soon, and Owen and Beru had shut down the conversation every time Obi had tried to bring it up. It seemed an impossible idea, now.

He should not be bitter about it. He should release it to the Force; for after all, this must be the will of the Force, and he could hardly question that. But still, he sat down on the edge of his bed and for a moment, he felt the full empty weight of the desert sweeping through his veins again, all the loneliness of it, and he almost didn't want to reach into the Force to let it go.

But he did. He closed his eyes and forced his breath to slow and held tight to the currents of the Force until he just felt hollowed out and smooth, like a shell.

He decided to busy himself with his latest project - rather an ambitious project, he thought, but one he had come to believe was necessary. He pulled out one of his many journals and opened it to the notes he had been making about criminal activity here on Tatooine – especially on the connections he had found, in the course of his daily activities, to Jabba and his palace. He had come to the conclusion that Jabba ran just about everything of importance in every back alley of Mos Eisley, all the brothels and drug dens and bars and the slavers who had only become more prevalent since Obi-Wan started living here.

And perhaps it was a bit unwise, but Obi-Wan had decided he needed to do something about it. Maybe it was the best penance he could think of, an apology to his lost padawan, the boy who'd wanted to save all the slaves in Mos Espa someday. Or perhaps it was just because it was hard to be content with small things when he was really only putting bacta patches on gaping wounds.

Whatever the reason, he had set himself the task of dismantling Jabba's criminal empire entirely on his own. So far, he wasn't quite sure how – he'd managed to shut down quite a few of the smaller bosses and slavers (they were all afraid of him; he didn't need a lightsaber to make an impression), but as for the problem of Jabba himself, with all his formidable allies and his extensive resources – Obi-Wan was not yet sure how to tackle that.

So he went over his notes again, pages and pages of them, and made new ones. Mostly questions, neat and organized, about Jabba's suppliers, about whether he had Imperial support (Obi-Wan was fairly sure that the Empire spared no interest or effort for Jabba's affairs), about connections and weak points and whether this were even possible until his eyes burned and a headache beat a rhythm in the middle of his forehead. Then he finally sighed and closed his journal and set it back away in his chest.

Next to his other things, few as they were.

He skimmed his fingers over his saber, the one he'd built at the beginning of the Clone Wars (a long time ago, now, it seemed to him – some ten years or so, it was hard to remember exactly), and without really meaning to he curled his fingers around the hilt and picked it up, automatically shifting the weapon into the old familiar grip in his hand.

It was not right of him, but sometimes he missed the war. Sometimes he missed the motion and the rush of fighting, missed being High General Obi-Wan Kenobi, missed not having to fear the hum of a saber in his grip or the flow of the Force in his veins. And, always, he missed his men.

He thought he understood what had happened to them. He'd worked it out, after, when he remembered how to think and had found himself here, alone. Then he'd remembered about the 501st ARC trooper, Fives, and about what Anakin had explained about Fives' death, and about the inhibitor chips in the clone army's brains that Obi-Wan, like everyone else, had forgotten.

Obi didn't know exactly what had happened on the day the Republic fell, but he comforted himself (it was a thin, bitter kind of comfort) with the knowledge that his men didn't turn on him out of their own free will. He didn't know where any of them were now. He wasn't even sure if the armies that razed the galaxy now were still the vode, committing atrocities they never would have before. Sometimes he thought it was better if he didn't know.

He sighed, turned the saber hilt in his fingers, and set it back in the chest. He couldn't think about those things, not anymore – attachment to memories was attachment all the same.

(His hand still hovered over the hilt of Anakin's saber, the one he wanted to give to Luke, and Obi was still not strong enough to silence the dry pang of regret. For a moment, and a moment only, he could feel Vader's attention turn towards him in some far-distant galaxy.)

Obi-Wan clenched his hand into a fist and closed the chest on his journals and the pair of lightsabers.

He left the message from Bail Organa alone.


A/N: This was your first real chapter, with angsty/badass Obi-Wan because what else do we all want, really.

Tbh I have no idea at all where this fic is going.