With a strangled cry of outrage, Anakin gained his feet and stumbled over to his master. Obi-Wan was sprawled on the ground, a tangled mess of man and clothing. He didn't move, didn't respond to Anakin's cries; he didn't even respond through the bond.
A good place to die. He remembered his heart thudding all the way to his boots when he had heard Obi-Wan utter those words and the sudden fear that had gripped him. That fear was nothing compared to the icy fingers of horror that now paralyzed his heart.
Anakin fell to his knees, and groaned in dismay and mounting fear as he saw Obi-Wan's terrible injuries. At least two limbs lay at impossible angles. One pant leg was already soaked red, the cloth tattered and torn, clinging wetly to the skin underneath with a sharp shard of bone sticking up as a snow-covered mountain peak from a field of crimson flowers. A smaller patch spread across his tunic, hungry drops seeking fresh threads to stain, like a draigon's maw devouring all in its path. A trickle of blood dripped down a cheek, wandering like an errant tear.
The spurting of blood from the broken leg spoke all too eloquently of the damage. The Jedi was in danger of bleeding to death, if he were not dead already. Anakin reached out a trembling hand- but he couldn't bring himself to actually touch him. Not at first. He was afraid of what a touch would tell him. Afraid of what he would find. That once he knew the terrible truth, there was no turning away from the knowledge.
A good place to die.
But what if Obi-Wan was alive? What if he ceased to be, all because his padawan was afraid of what he would find? What if Obi-Wan died, uncomforted, when he could die in the arms of his padawan!
Anakin put away his fear, and his rage, and reached to the man that was closer to him than any person, save one: the man that been father, brother, mentor - the man who would not have hesitated for one instant had it been Anakin lying on the ground.
Obi-Wan was aware of Anakin's sucked in breath, aware of his padawan's touch to his throat, and was aware of nothing, and yet, everything.
Then the pain exploded within him. Every cell in his body quivered and vibrated with its intensity, awakening screams that shook his mind but could not escape his lips. That was when he realized he must still be alive, and death became a preferable alternative. He would welcome it when it came, if it came.
He would die with Anakin at his side; the knowledge gave him peace.
Obi-Wan opened himself to the Force, tried to release the pain into it, but release first required acceptance. It was too much to accept. He lay, trying to be patient as his body writhed in agony, waiting to join with the Force, should it so will it. As Darkness crept on velvet paws through his mind, he thought with a sense of wonder, so this is what dying feels like. It brought sweet oblivion as it stilled the body taut with agony and Peace's gentle arms welcomed the man into its soft embrace.
"Medic!" Anakin yelled frantically, again and again, his screams echoing those silent ones that had torn through his mind, that he had felt emanate from the fallen Jedi when the pain had hit. It had come without warning: exquisitely sharp, red hot thrusts - an agony that set every cell in his own body to screaming. Anakin nearly fainted with the pain. If he had felt it so intensely, than what had Obi-Wan felt?
If Obi-Wan was in such terrible pain, he was yet alive!
Flinching despite himself, the young Jedi carefully laid a hand on Obi-Wan's brow and reached in to try to quiet his mind and reinforce its shields. He found nothing, nothing except the echoes of pain that were still reverberating. The mind was as quiet as if it had been drained, as if it was... forever silent. The silence was - and Anakin suddenly panicked.
What should he do? What wise counsel would Obi-Wan give?
Think, Anakin. Think. You must release your fear. Airway, breathing, circulation. The ABC's of first aid, drilled into him long ago. Then, treat blooding and shock.
Because the silence was the absence of breath, of circulating blood; perhaps of life itself.
Airway, breathing, circulation. He carefully opened Obi-Wan's mouth, checked his throat. It seemed to be clear, thank the Force. But he wasn't breathing. And his heart was not beating.
Clear airway, give two breaths, check for pulse. If there's none, give thirty compressions, after locating the "V" notch in the center of the chest. Depress rapidly, using the heel of the hand in a steady rhythm. Check again for breathing, breathe twice if none. Check again for pulse, if none, give thirty compressions. Repeat as long as necessary, repeat until the heart beats and the lungs draw breath.
Anakin chanted the procedure in his mind. Repeat until help arrives or the rescuer is too tired to continue. But Anakin would not tire. He would not allow himself to. He had to have the power to save Obi-Wan. He would save Obi-Wan.
Forgetting everything, Anakin bent to Obi-Wan's mouth and breathed for him, pushing air into the unresisting mouth and into his lungs. He put the heels of his hands on his chest, doing the heart's work for it, all the while willing the valiant heart to get back to work, remembering those long ago lessons that Obi-Wan had so patiently tutored him in.
All Anakin could do was breath for him, bind his wounds, and cry to the Force for help. And prepare himself to bid his master farewell.
Anakin checked Obi-Wan's breathing again, breathed for him again, tasting blood. By the Force, was no part of the man free from blood? When he dared, every so often, he screamed for a medic.
Until finally one arrived. One look, and the medic shook his head sadly.
"I'm sorry, son," he said gently. "Let him go."
"No, he's a Jedi, he can survive this," Anakin protested angrily. The medic just shook his head slowly, staring into the young Jedi's eyes. Anakin dropped his. He couldn't take the pity in the medic's eyes. He wouldn't accept it, for accepting it would be accepting that Obi-Wan was beyond help. That, he could never accept. Obi-Wan would live. Obi-Wan had to live.
The medic shrugged. If it made the younger man less frantic, he would do only what he could do quickly, for others were injured. If they could be helped, he would move on to them. If the older Jedi were still alive - if he wasn't already dead, he amended - he would come back and see what he could do.
His job was to help those who still could be helped. Not those who were beyond help.