This... was a little better. He guessed.
The moment he dropped Qui-Gon onto the couch, Obi-Wan immediately went to the kitchen to make tea.
Truth be told, he was in the mood for something a little stronger. He knew Qui-Gon owned a bottle of Itharian wine, but seriously doubted his Master would allow him to drink. He was still underage, after all.
"Obi-Wan," his Master's voice carried from the living room. "Forget the tea. Come here."
Obi-Wan mentally counted to five to calm himself. He could do this. It was only Qui-Gon.
Force, he could really go for a beer.
Obi-Wan walked to the edge of the doorway, his steps slowing and found he could go no further. He knew he should sit on that couch, talk to Qui-Gon like a Padawan should. Instead he leaned against the door frame, his body refusing to move from that spot.
Qui-Gon eyes gazed over his stiff posture. "What has changed?"
"Everything," Obi-Wan said. It was too big a question, with a too big of an answer. How was he to tell something like this to him; to anyone?
A brief moment of pain stole Qui-Gon's breath away and he closed his eyes for a few long seconds. "I know," he hissed. "Tau was possessed the moment I saw her step off her ship. Within seconds she killed Shoures and Whan. She…" he licked his lips. "I think she tried to possess me."
"She did," Obi-Wan said. "You were too strong and resisted."
"And Castiel? What of he?"
"He'll be back. He always does."
"Can we trust him?"
"Yes."
The way Qui-Gon grimaces, Obi-Wan could see his Master did not wholeheartedly agree. "He did not hurt you?"
Obi-Wan shook his head. "He wanted to protect me, keep me away from the demons." Meg's taunting laugh echoed in his ear and a shiver danced through Obi-Wan's bones. She probably didn't know any more than he did. However, there was a reason why she lasted as long as she did.
Force, demons roaming the galaxy and no hunters to fight them. No weapons, for god's sake. How was he to make holy water without rosaries? And many alien species abhor salt, thus some planets were totally empty of it. Even Castiel admitted he didn't know whether or not the rules of the past still applied. Was silver still an effective weapon?
Force, where was the Colt? Probably lost forever to ages. And Ruby's knife? Maybe sitting next to the Colt.
"Obi-Wan."
The Padawan jerked out of his thoughts. It scared him, knowing how easily it was to sink into himself, into Dean. He stared at Qui-Gon, who was studying his every move.
His Master frowned at Obi-Wan's clenching hands. Dean always had the bad habit of fidgeting. "There is much you're not telling me," Qui-Gon said.
Wasn't that the understatement of the century. Obi-Wan drew in a breath, his chest suddenly tightening. His eyes darted around the room, aware of the close quarters and with every second it felt as if the walls became smaller. Dean was slightly claustrophobic. Waking up in a coffin will do that to you.
Obi-wan bit his tongue and called upon the calming waves of the Force. The aura he has known his whole life surrounded him gently, slowing down his heart rate. "I'm not ready to say," he admitted. He had spent the last couple of hours keeping his focus, acting as a Jedi; he hadn't given himself time to process, really process the situation.
"Obi-Wan," his Master began.
"Master, please," He wasn't even sure if he wanted to include his Master in this. People who got involved with Dean all ended up dead. "Trust me."
It was very unJedi of him, playing the waiting game. If Obi-Wan was younger, Qui-Gon could've easily demanded the answers, except Obi-Wan was at the age where his Master must take him seriously. If the senior Padawan needed time, his Master should not deny him this.
Qui-Gon clearly disapproved, wanting answers. "I do trust you, Padawan," he finally said, a little strained in his annoyance. "I will give you your space. However, you do not have long. I'm not saying this to be cruel; I do not believe Master Krin will stop simply because I told him to. I can't protect you if I don't know what I'm fighting against."
()
Neon green. His drink was neon green.
Obi-Wan drank it anyways. He slapped his hand down as his young body was unused to the burn. It was fairly easy to find a bar that was willing to sell drinks to underage humans, though Obi-Wan suspected it was because his status of a Jedi. Who was going to deny a Jedi a drink? Nobody, that's who.
Thank goodness for that. Despite his need to wet his lips, he wasn't about to Force suggest someone into giving him a drink. Dean would. Not him.
After Qui-Gon has slipped into a healing trance, Obi-Wan quickly demon-proofed their apartment. He drew Devil's Traps above every doorway and salted the windows. He had a few pieces of scrap iron and gathered them into one spot, resolved to melt it down and make himself a knife.
His saber still hung neatly against his hip. Demon or not, he wasn't going to give this up.
A familiar patron took the seat next him. Obi-Wan gave him a customary glance before going back to his drink.
Castiel frowned at him. "You're too young to be drinking."
The bartender stiffened guiltily and Obi-Wan waved him away. He glared at the angel next to him. "Say that a little louder, would you? I don't think my Master heard that." To further aggravate the angel, Obi-Wan would've drowned the rest of his glass, except he already felt the beginnings of a buzz. Seesh, not even done with his first glass and already he was drunk. Pathetic.
He sighed into his glass and placed it down. "I can't stay, can I?"
"I'm sorry."
Obi-Wan snorted. "You're sorry?" he mocked. "Cas, I'm not sure how much good I am going to be to you. I don't remember everything, I don't. The Winchester Gospel- Force, I can't believe that- said I allowed Michael in. I don't remember that. There are whole portions of Dean's life I can't-"
"It's understandable you won't remember everything. Dean has been asleep for nearly-"
"Don't!" Obi-Wan hissed, holding up his hand. "Don't tell me. I don't want to know how long it's been."
But he did knew. Given the history of when the Republic was established and the events before, Obi-Wan estimated the time between Dean's death and now ranged about half a million years.
It was too big of a number to think of. And it was more than likely he was wrong about his estimate. It probably has been longer.
He pushed his drink away. He couldn't finish it. "So what's your theory? Do you have any idea why all of this is happening now?"
"If it were only demons, it would make much more sense," Castiel leaned back, closed his eyes. "Perhaps they've found a way out of hell. It would be as simple as exorcising them. However…"
"I'm the unknown variable."
Castiel nodded. "Dean should've never woken up. He had done his duty, he deserved his rest."
Isn't that just a kick in rear? Dean had spent- literally his whole life fighting off the forces of evil. And even though he'd been dead for… years, just when he thought it was all over, they pulled him back into the fray.
"I have, however, taken necessary precautions," Castiel continued. "I've placed numerous hex bags around the vicinity of the Jedi Temple. You will not have to worry about demons crossing over."
"That's, ah, good," Obi-Wan said, a little bewildered. It took him a few long seconds to recall what the heck hex bags were again. Even more, how did Castiel find materials to make anti-demon hex bags in this year? "Wait, around the vicinity? Not in the Temple?"
Castiel blinked at him. "I thought you knew," he said, surprised. "There are Enochian symbols guarding the Temple. It's one of the reasons I could not follow you. I am physically incapable in crossing the threshold."
Obi-Wan rolled his eyes at him. "Oh yes, Cas, I naturally forgot to tell you Jedi also use ancient script to ward off angels. Of course I didn't know!"
Castiel ignored his sarcasm. "The script was written on years ago, perhaps even before you were born."
Obi-Wan couldn't believe what he was hearing. "So you're saying… that somebody in the Temple knows about angels?"
"I don't know," Castiel admitted. "The Jedi who wrote the script may be dead- if it is a Jedi."
"I'll do some research. Maybe there's something in the archives. What are you going to do, in the meantime?"
Castiel looked up to the sky as if the answers were written on the ceiling. "Follow a few rumors. Try to get more answers."
"There is no try," Obi-Wan said automatically, easily. It slipped off his tongue and he was glad for it; that it was something of his, not Dean's.
It didn't matter, either way. Obi-Wan blinked and the seat next to him was unoccupied.
()
A/N: Man, this was so hard to write. Because I am shooting from the hip, trying to go from one scene to the next is a pain. Even though I have no clear cut rules, there is a certain way I want this fic to go.
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