Obi-wan went before the council on his knees. His heart was pounding in his chest- echoing uncomfortably in his ears. He felt like he couldn't breathe. There was a strange sense of disconnect as he existed before them, without really feeling like he existed at all.

Is this even real?

He had dreamed of this moment so many times in his mind over the years. Everything he had ever worked and suffered for had been leading up to this- his supposed freedom. One knife delicately held to the cord of braid that symbolized his former self, swiftly and precisely sheared away.

He held the woven lock of golden hair in his hands. The moment was nothing at all like he had ever imagined. This was supposed to mean many things. Separation between padawan and master. Knighthood. It would have meant his independence. As far as his expectations were concerned, he found it devastatingly underwhelming.

So this is it then.

The reality of what was happening hit him like a ton of bricks. He tried not to think about it. He tried to stay as removed as he could from what was happening, and how wrong it all was. He didn't want to embarrass himself by crying in front of the entire council. His eyes were already becoming dangerously full of unspilt tears that he struggled with every ounce of his concentration to stay.

The best way to not cry was to feel nothing at all, so he put all of his sadness and fear deep inside himself. He could feel it later, there was no way to escape it in the end. Right now, in the absence of his heavy emotions, he felt as if he were in a living dream, like none of this was real. Perhaps he would wake up as a child again and realize all of this hell he had lived through was nothing but a terrible nightmare- an omen. Perhaps he would have a second chance at life, make different choices, take a different path.

But that was not the case, and there were no such thing as second chances. He had already chosen this path, already made pacts and arrangements. All of the ceremony and circumstance, the weight of it, felt numb and foreign to him as he floated above his body, as his subconscious took over control so he could have just an ounce of relief.

He saw the room full of smiles, looks of admiration. It felt like they were all pictures from someone else's life. If anyone had known, truly known, how he had earned his way here, they would look at him with every bit of disgust that he felt towards himself. But he wasn't sad about it anymore, not here, not now. He even laughed within himself at the absurdity of it all. He was a fake- an imposter. A slave flaunting a Jedi's tunic and a Jedi's weapon, who slept in a Jedi's bed and lived in the Jedi temple. But he knew the truth, the one that only he and his master shared.

I am no Jedi.

If he had any emotions left to feel, the thought would have brought him to his knees with grief. But right now he was no one. Just an observer. He saw his body rise, meeting Master Windu's eyes with veneration and pride. He saw his lips move and say words of thanks and gladness. None of it was real. Nothing was real.

Because it didn't mean anything. Nothing was going to change. He was still bound to his master, but not as a padawan. He wasn't sure if he had ever truly been a padawan. He had been a possession, a slave. One cord of braided hair was not going to make the difference of his freedom or bondage. He was eternally held in his masters debt, or so Qui-gon had told him. He wasn't sure if he believed it. The observer thought it was too much, that he had paid the price a thousand times over. It didn't really matter because Obi-wan didn't know how to escape, or what to escape to. But all of it was just nonsense, a silly thing to dwell on. Because there was one unavoidable truth that weighed on him like the gravity of a thousand worlds.

There is no escape.

From the space above his body, he can see a hand falling on his shoulder. His head turns to look into the cold eyes of his former master, his owner. He sees a face curl up into a smile, one that was grand and most certainly faked, for the eyes were still deep empty bottomless pits of black where a soul might have once been a long time ago. Or perhaps he came into this life without one. He couldn't decide which one he believed to be true.

A voice catches his attention as he turns towards the small boy standing to the side of his tormentor. A cheery innocent smiling face meets him with kind happy words. Anakin. A young yet weathered soul who had undoubtedly seen too much suffering. He had lived the life of a slave. Obi-wan felt a pang of empathic heartache for the child, for all that he might have seen, all that he might have been subject to.

From a numb distance, he looked at him with a certain amount of jealous curiosity. He couldn't help but envy him, as much as Obi-wan's gentle heart could feel such an emotion. He did wonder what it might be like to truly be free- no longer a slave. He didn't know if he would ever learn what it was to be free. Sure, he had memories of his youth, when his spirit was unbroken, when he had been wild and belligerent. It felt like another life, like another Obi-wan. It certainly couldn't be him. He couldn't relate to that boy anymore. He felt like a distant memory- a dream to haunt his waking nightmare.

The ceremony was over, and the crowd dissipated while Obi-wan's legs carried him towards his apartment. The one he still shared with Qui-gon, and now the boy, too. His thumb moved over the braid he still held in his hand. His stomach dropped and twisted as he began thinking of all the times Qui-gon had held the cord in his hand so posessively, to remind him of the contract he had been party to. How he had agreed to it all. He wanted to throw it away, the reminder of all the times Qui-gon had hurt him under the excuse of ownership.

As his feet moved one in front of the other, his mind began to imagine the different ways he could die. There were so many options. Falling, bleeding out, speeder wreck, suffocation, the list was endless. Out of everything in his adult life, it was the only thing that he might have any agency over in the end. The idea of exercising control over his own death gave him a sense of power. He hadn't experienced anything of the sort during the last thirteen years as Qui-gon's slave. The idea became attractively intoxicating as he entertained it more and more.

But there was a big problem, one he couldn't seem to work around. No matter how much he tried to devise an effective plan, he couldn't be sure Anakin wouldn't be hurt. By the time he had arrived at the apartment, he had thought of nearly every way he could do it, and he had come to the horrid realization that there was absolutely no way to kill himself and keep Anakin safe. His gut wrenched at the thought of living, at the thought of enduring another night of Qui-gon climbing on top of him. He tried to stuff it all away. Now was not the time to let himself get caught up in his feelings.

Obi-wan walked towards his room, saying words to Qui-gon and Anakin about turning in early, about being tired. He tried to continue his show of smiles and happiness to maintain appearances. To try to hide the thoughts that boiled beneath. After all, he had just been knighted, he was supposed to be overjoyed. He didn't want Anakin to wonder about his sadness. He would have no way to explain it. How could he even if he tried?

Finally alone, Obi-wan crashed face first in bed, braid still held in his fist. Repulsed by it, he threw it onto the floor, a few tears of anger falling from the corners of his eyes. He was trapped- his room was a cage, his existence a curse. He didn't want to stay. He couldn't leave. He didn't want to live. He couldn't die.

There was nothing to do but stay, wait. Wait for the next time his master came to him. Obi-wan was afraid if he even left for a moment Qui-gon would use Anakin instead. His skin crawled as his tortured imagination projected horrific images into his mind's eye that made him sick to his stomach.

He curled up on himself, stifling the urge to let out the sobbs and ragged screams that ached inside his chest. He would never understand his master, how he could be so cruel. Partially he was glad he couldn't understand. If he did, that would make him just as bad. But his heart was too kind to ever want to hurt anyone. At least if he had nothing else, he had his soul. That was one thing he wasn't sure Qui-gon ever had possessed.

Obi-wan stayed fully robed, frozen in a ball on his bed for hours. Eventually the light outside dimmed, the traffic thinned out. Then, just like clockwork, his door opened slowly and quietly as his master made his way inside- just like he did nearly every night. Obi-wan wished he could have gotten used to it. He never did. It was always just as terrible. His master always seemed to find new ways to make him suffer that kept Obi-wan constantly on edge. He never knew what the next visit would bring, aside from the promise of more suffering and conflicted emotions.

Qui-gon settled down on the bed beside Obi-wan, running his hand through his hair ever so gently and softly, fingers trailing down his neck. Obi-wan wondered when he would get to it. He hated when he toyed with him like this. It was a mockery of tender affection that made his chest ache.

He doesn't love me, he told himself, trying to keep a level head. Trying to stay sane. Trying to get himself to completely believe it, fighting the part of himself that had been beaten into mental submission, the broken part of himself that told him this was the only form of love he would ever deserve.

"I brought something for you," Qui-gon spoke in his soft voice. Obi-wan had learned never to trust it. He was volatile, just as easily thrown into violence at the drop of a pin.

To ignore his master would certainly earn him nothing pleasant so Obi-wan sat up, rubbing at his tear-swollen eyes. He looked to see Qui-gon holding a golden circlet in his hand. Without a word his master picked up his foot and took off his boot and stocking ever so gently. Each motion was careful and intentional as if he were made of delicate porcelain and about to shatter at any moment.

With a slight manipulation of imprinted buttons on the inner surface, the bind unlocked it's self, hinging open.

"This is proof of your ownership. Proof you belong to me." He spoke sweetly still, clasping the circlet closed over his ankle and locking it in place. "Lest you forget again." He added, in a morbid tone that clashed with the softer voice like two fronts of a wicked storm.

Obi-wan sat there silently through it all. It took a great measure of self control to keep from screaming. His throat was sore with restraint as he tried not to make a sound, tried to keep his feelings to himself. It wouldn't do to say anything. He couldn't speak without either screaming or crying, or both. He took a deep breath instead, trying to calm himself. Trying to keep the pathetic fear from showing on his face, although he couldn't help but to tremble.

Qui-gon was not content with his silence. It was obvious by the way his deathly stare pierced through him, by the way he was skulking over him. Obi-wan cowered in response, shrinking down onto the mattress, pressing his back against it as hard as he could to avoid physical contact with the monster that loomed over him.

"Aren't you going to thank your master?" He asked in a whisper as his silver hair fell over his shoulders, into Obi-wan's face as he came closer.

Obi-wan opened his mouth, but couldn't control his voice. "...Thank you... Master..." His words were composed of pathetic squeaks from holding back so much.

He wanted to cry. To scream. To break something, to crush and bash and tear anything he could get his hands on. He couldn't do anything but lie there frozen and hope Qui-gon would be gentler than the last time.

Quickly, Qui-gon moved a hand to circle his throat. Obi-wan's body was rigid in response, awaiting whatever his master had to inflict. But instead of applying pressure, his hand only rested there, while his face looked pensive and thoughtful. Oh no this is never a good sign, Obi-wan thought with dread.

An expression fell over Qui-gon's face. Clearly, he had come upon an idea, one that brought a sly devious smile to his lips. A wicked smile- the only kind to ever reach his eyes. He stood up and began to disrobe entirely, then he laid out on the bed, reclining against the headboard. Obi-wan was still too terrified to say or do anything.

Lying there, hands clasped behind his head as he got comfortable, he issued the dreaded familiar command.

"Strip."

Obi-wan stood up mechanically and began to disrobe. This part had become routine to him over the years. All the same he hated the way his master would stare at him as he unclothed himself. He supposed it only added to his masters enjoyment of it. Every time Obi-wan tried hard to imagine he was all alone, that his master wasn't devouring his body with his eyes, imagining all of the terrible things he was about to do and all of the pain he would inflict. He wasn't sure how much his efforts ever helped him, it never made him feel any better.

"Good," Qui-gon spoke as he stroked himself slowly, eyes studying his naked form. He reached out a hand to retrieve a small bottle of lubricant from his clothes and floated it over to Obi-wan.

Qui-gon didn't need to say a word for him to understand what it meant. Shamefully he opened the bottle and thoroughly lubricated himself. It was a kindness to provide him with it at all, since most of the time he required Obi-wan use his own saliva as lubricant, which was not nearly as effective and had a tendency of drying out over time and becoming quite painful.

"Now come fuck yourself on my cock like a good little slave." His words were coarse and harsh.

Obi-wan began to sweat, his chest tightened and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He hated himself for the tears that fell down his face, hated himself for always breaking so easily in front of Qui-gon. It always felt like defeat when he gave in to his emotions. But now he couldn't help it.

He wanted his master to just come and take him forcefully, just like he always did. He had never been ordered to do such a thing. The idea of crawling on top of Qui-gon made his knees weak with disgust. His mind wandered over all the ways he could kill himself again with longing, knowing that he could never act on any of it without Anakin taking his place. More tears fell at the thought of that poor tortured child taking on this burden.

He felt like if he obeyed his masters command, it would be agreeing to it. It would be consent, validating the last thirteen years of hell. But if he failed to serve, Anakin still would suffer.

Glancing up at his master in fear, his eyes held a plea that he did not dare voice. He knew he would be shown no mercy. Qui-gon clearly had no patience for his hesitation, as a lethality fell over his black eyes, violence swimming about his aura. Obi-wan knew what it meant.

I never give orders twice.

Obi-wan had no choice but to submit. Slowly, he moved over to the sleeper and climbed on top of his master. The dark tempest abated just a fraction as he mounted him. Sick chills of nausea and cold sweat pulsed through his body as Qui-gon emitted low grunts of approval. Tears still escaped his eyes silently as he moved obediently on his masters cock.

He wasn't sure how long it went on for, he tried so hard to escape his body, to be anywhere else than here, where he felt so complicit in his own abuse. Every moan his master made had him feeling sicker and more disgusted. He was sure Qui-gon could feel every ounce of his reluctance, and was almost positive that he was drawing it out just to savor his pain.

Finally as his master moved to grip his hips, moving him quickly on his length, he was nearing orgasm. Please, just get it over with, he thought, like so many other times. Then he felt his master stave it off again. His heart ripped in his chest.

When will it end?

"Touch yourself." Qui-gon commanded him, voice audibly brimming with pleasure yet still stern enough for him to know it wasn't a suggestion. Nothing ever was.

Obi-wan did as he was told. Qui-gon writhed as he did so, drinking in the sensations that Obi-wan was feeling, as well as reveling in the feeling of being inside of him.

With a jolt, Qui-gon pushed his own senses onto Obi-wans. Shamefully, he couldn't help but gasp in surprise, overwhelmed by the flood of pleasure that was filling his body and mind. He tried to stop the whimpers of extacy from escaping his throat, mixing with his masters sick grunts as they both approached orgasm.

He felt himself quicken his pace, riding his master with more enthusiasm, chasing his own pleasure. He closed his eyes, tried to pretend that he was with someone else, anyone else but the wicked man beneath him.

He doesn't love me...

Qui-gon suddenly and quickly threw Obi-wan down beneath him. Obi-wan found he didn't mind, still stroking himself, body still welling with warm pulsing sensations that echoed throughout his limbs.

Abruptly Qui-gon shut himself off from him. It felt like someone had pulled a plug, the all consuming pleasure that had been pooling in him now only felt like a ghost of what it had been. He made an involuntary sound of disapproval at his master. Qui-gon was beginning to become slightly firmer inside of him, so close to climax.

He bowed down to Obi-wan's ear, growling between labored breaths. "Beg you filthy slave. Beg your master to let you cum."

Reactively, without so much as a thought, Obi-wan obeyed. "Please master, please, please, please," He continued to chant mindlessly, completely overtaken by the promise of pleasure.

Qui-gon opened up to him again, overwhelming extacy thrumming through is body. There was nothing else. His voice trembled as he groaned, sensations hitting him hard. He found his hands gripping his masters hips, driving him harder inside of him, legs wrapped around him, pulling his body onto Qui-gon's length.

As the two of them came, their bodies pressed up against each other violently, thrusting and trembling, loudly crying out as the shared orgasm filled their senses. Qui-gon continued to lightly pulse inside of Obi-wan as he filled him up with cum, their two bodies slicked by Obi-wan's semen that covered their chests.

The moment after, as the warmth bled out of their senses, Obi-wan felt nauseous, overwhelmingly so. He immediately ran to the fresher, heaving into the toilet, body shaking in a cold sweat. Qui-gon wandered in behind him, rinsing off in the shower without a word, or mention of what had just transpired. After clothing himself, his master left him.

Obi-wan stayed like that, frozen on the fresher floor for a long time. Feeling completely repulsed by himself, utterly disgusted. He crawled into the shower and turned the hot water on until it was scalding hot. He curled up under the water, without the will to move until the water had long gone cold. After his skin felt numb, he quickly soaped up and dried off. He glanced at himself in the mirror, his lips a translucent bluish color from being so chilled.

He put his sleep clothes on and tore off his bed sheets, replacing them and crawling under the new ones, shivering the entire time. He felt like he would never be warm again, but that was okay. When he was so cold, he wasn't thinking about anything else.

As the heat seeped back into his body, the knowledge of what he had just done ran circles in his mind, how he had been so complicit, so willing. It had never been like that before. Qui-gon always just took what he wanted. Now, he had leverage. If Obi-wan were to disobey, Anakin would suffer. So Qui-gon knew he could get him to do anything. Mostly he hated how much he had begged his master to let him cum, how he had truly been desperate. How much he had actually wanted it. Now he just wanted to lock himself away and never see anyone ever again. What he really wanted was to just die, to let it all be over.

After how much he had loathed his master for all the ways he had ever hurt him, it felt like what he had just done had made everything his fault, more than it ever had been before. His heart was racing, he wanted to rip it out so that he wouldn't have to feel any of this anymore, or ever again. He dug his nails hard into the skin of his arms, trying to distract himself from the shame of it all. He would have preferred being beaten to what he had just done.

His mind changed to thinking about ways he might hurt himself. The thought of a blade tearing his flesh open felt comforting. He found the desire growing as he thought of it, blood pouring out of him, the warmth of it, how it felt on his skin. He moved from under the covers, towards the fresher in search of something that would suit his needs. He had nearly reached it, when the door to his bedroom opened again.

What he saw immediately tore his thoughts away from his objective. It was the boy. Young Anakin. He had tears at the corner of his eyes. Obi-wan immediately flew into a panic, rushed over to him, kneeling to meet him at eye level.

"What is it? What's the matter?" Obi-wan asked, searching out his bright blue eyes, terrified of what the response might be. Petrified at the thought of Qui-gon laying hands on him.

"I had a nightmare…" Anakin confessed, eyes cast towards the ground, feeling shameful for being so childish. Immediately Obi-wan felt relieved, his worst fears abated for now. "Can I sleep with you tonight?" The boy asked sheepishly, afraid of being rejected, visibly on the edge of bursting into tears.

Obi-wan's heart instantly melted. He had never had to take care of anyone, ever in his life. The way the child had approached him, so vulnerable, made his heart sing. A sharp contrast to his thoughts only moments ago. His mind was completely removed from himself, and now focused on the young child before him. The little soul who was asking him for comfort, who went to him in a time of need. Even though he had only been living with them for a few days now, Obi-wan found it interesting that Anakin had come to him instead of Qui-gon. He was glad he did. Obi-wan didn't want to think about what Qui-gon might have done if that was the case.

"Of course you can." Obi-wan answered, a kind smile forming on his face. Anakin looked hopefully into his eyes. Obi-wan remembered when he had been so young, so innocent. Obi-wan felt a new feeling rise up in him. He was protective of Anakin. He had been before out of necessity, because he could never stand for Qui-gon hurting anyone out of retaliation to him. But now that Anakin was reaching out to him, opening up to him, Obi-wan felt that he might kill anyone who ever tried to hurt the boy. It was a new fire inside of him, it gave him strength. He wondered if what he was feeling would be a fleeting thing. He assumed it would be. Flights of emotion would come and go, but the way his master made him cower had been hardwired into him.

He didn't think too much about it, as he crawled under the covers and Anakin followed him. Without so much as a word the boy snuggled up as close as he could get, burying his face in Obi-wan's chest as he curled up against him.

"Do you have nightmares often?" Obi-wan asked, noticing that Anakin was trembling.

"Yeah. Usually when that happens I sleep next to my Mom…But…" Obi-wan could feel the boy's silent tears soaking through the thin fabric of his sleep clothes.

"Shhh. It's alright. You can sleep next to me instead." Obi-wan felt panicked again, not knowing how to handle or console a crying child. Every alarm in his head was going off. He felt lost, unsure of what to do. He wanted to help the boy, he wanted to erase all of his sadness, all of the pain. But there was little he could do. He would never be a substitute for the boy's Mother. Obi-wan didn't even know what it was like to have a mother. He couldn't remember the faces of his parents if he tried. He didn't even know their names.

"I'm sorry... I know master Qui-gon says Jedi don't have attachments, that I need to forget about my Mom. I don't know if I can. I guess I'm not going to be a very good Jedi." Anakin spoke critically. Obi-wan wanted to reach out and slap Qui-gon across the face for talking to him like that. It was different, coming into the order at such an older age. Easy for someone who has never known their parents, to say that Anakin should forget about his. Of course Qui-gon was not the pinnacle of love and understanding.

"Never mind what your master says. It's natural to love your Mother. You will still be a great Jedi who I would proudly serve beside." Obi-wan said warmly and reassuringly. He meant every word of it.

"Really?" Anakin seemed surprised at his response, relieved that he had the choice to disagree with Qui-gon.

"Absolutely." Obi-wan spoke with resolution, hoping to give Anakin some sense of peace on the subject.

"When I'm a Jedi knight, I'm going to go back to Tatooine and free my Mom, and all the slaves. Qui-gon said I need to forget about it. But I don't care what he says. He doesn't understand what being a slave is like." Obi-wan's heart quickened at the boy's words, as he became overly aware of the golden circlet that clasped around his ankle. He wanted to cry, but managed to quell the tears for now, shoving more of his protruding heavy emotions into the recesses of his mind for later.

"You would do well to forget about what he says in that regard." Obi-wan spoke, but then recounted slightly. "But you must remember that he is your master. He only means the best for you." He was afraid of what might happen if Qui-gon got the impression that Obi-wan was trying to undermine his teachings.

"I guess." Anakin spoke, a hint of annoyance towards the idea of authority.

"I think it's time to get some sleep, now. Good night, Anakin." Obi-wan let out a yawn, realizing just how tired he really was.

"Night night Obi-wan."