Title: Teach the Padawan

Chapter: One: Death and then the Force

Author: alexjanna91

Fandom: Star Wars

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ben Kenobi, Jango Fett, Yoda, Mace Windu,

Series: Teach the Padawan. Save the Galaxy.

Rating: PG

Genre: Canon Divergence - New Hope, Canon Divergence - Melida/Daan

Warning: Time Travel, Fix-it, De-Age, Master&Padawan, Not Qui-Gon Friendly, Mandalorian Culture, Hurt/Comfort, Child Endangerment, BAMF Obi-Wan,

Story Summary: The man that was once Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, GAR General, knew that his death was finally here. Just as he was struck down he made a wish. As he disappeared from the mortal plane, he didn't realize the Force had been listening. When he opened his eyes, with a younger body and in a time long past, it was apparent that the Force took a somewhat creative interpretation of his last thoughts. However, the man that was once Crazy Old Ben, Wizard of the Wastes, wasn't going to squander this second chance. After all, he had a padawan to teach and the galaxy to save.

Ch. Summary: Ben Kenobi dies and the Force takes creative liberties.

A/N: I shortened Obi-Wan's age during Revenge of the Sith from 38 to 35 so there will be a 13 year age difference between Obi-Wan and Anakin.

Standing in front of Darth Vader was somehow better and worse than walking away from Anakin on Mustafar. The old man that had once been Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Master, High Council Member, and GAR General, looked into the black bulbous eyes of the Sith Lord's mask and wished there was enough of Anakin left in that walking nightmare creature that he could apologize. For not being a better master, a better friend, a better brother, for not being what Anakin needed.

Because the man that was once Obi-Wan Kenobi had almost twenty years in the unforgiving desert to reflect on his failures. And there were many; from the impersonal of failing to see the corruption at the heart of his home – in the Senate, in the Jedi Council, either and both -, to the very personal and possibly most devastating failure of not realizing just how far his padawan, his brother – his son – had fallen before it was too late.

And here he was standing before the man he had raised - silently loved - and it was much, much too late to atone.

Their lightsabers clashed and the man now known as Crazy Old Ben, the Wizard of the Wastes, could hear the cry of pain that came from the bleeding kyber crystal in the Sith Lord's saber. It made his stomach knot, but Ben held his ground and held Darth Vader's attention. Because even though he was old and tired and heartsick, Ben had something, someone to protect.

Feeling his aged, battered arms tremble with the force of Vader's strikes, Ben noticed a bright shining presence finally drawing near.

Flicking his eyes to the side, Ben caught Luke's startled and frightened gaze. His heart gave another ache because though he'd watched that boy grow up from a distance, he still loved him so very, very much. And now Ben was going to have to leave him.

"If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine."

Twenty years of regret and grief and infinite sadness and Ben let his guard fall. His lightsaber held steady and sure in a surrender salute, Ben, with his last dying moments, reached out in the Force and pierced through the viscous miasma of Vader's Force presence and hoped and wished and prayed that he would touch even just a single remaining thread of the bright, kind, brave young man he had known.

There was a simple moment of searing pain then Ben was gone into the Force, leaving behind both the nightmare creature that he still after all this time loved, and the boy he'd watched over and loved despite his grief.

Luke would live, so Ben had little regrets at his passing into the Force. He just wished, a bare whisper before he disappeared from all time and space, that he would have been able to see that one single shining flicker of light hidden away inside what used to be Anakin become a bright blazing star once more.

Unlike in his darkest moments of imagining, where the thought of simply letting go and sinking into the Force seemed preferable to living, being "one with the Force" was not what Ben had been expecting.

For example, the insistent clanging demand that echoed through his being as the Force practically shouted at him.

There was no peace to be had in death, apparently, and Ben figured that was just his luck. He'd finally died and left the harsh painful galaxy behind and the Force chose now after twenty years of silence to want something from him.

Very, very loudly, it wanted something from him. It took a while, rusty as he was with interpreting the Will of the Force, to figure out what exactly it was demanding of him. And when he finally understood he was confused. Confused because it sounded like the Force wanted him to take a padawan.

Yes, Yes.

Or, well, Ben thought that's what that burst of near blinding positive sensation was supposed to mean.

Fix, Fix. Padawan of Padawan. Fix.

Alright then, Ben thought. His consciousness was becoming clearer and more coherent the longer the Force had him trapped in this amorphous purgatory. And with his renewed coherency the message, or the demand more like, from the Force was becoming more distinct.

Atone. Atone. Teach the Padawan to Teach the Padawan.

That, Ben had to conceded, was what he'd wanted, wasn't it. To atone for failing Anakin and, through his mishandling and ignorance, allowing him to travel down the path to darkness.

Return As Was at First Death.

That was a little harder to parse. Ben focused his reestablished sense of self to gently, humbly prod the Force for clarification.

In response he got the sensation of scorching heat, of ash clogging his throat, of sweat sticking his linen tunic to his once youthful body. It was all things that featured in his reoccurring nightmares, and Ben was less than pleased that the Force would show him this.

Less than pleased, but unfortunately understanding. That horrid, fateful night on Mustafar could indeed be considered a "death". There had been a theory, a concept, a belief that appeared in Jedi texts from before the Reformation that delved into the idea that certain events, life changing experiences or choices signified the death of your current self. Much like shatterpoints, Ben reflected, these "deaths" only occurred when your path in life was irrevocably changed, consequently making you a different person.

So, yes, Ben could see how the Force would consider the tragedy on Mustafar to be his first death.

Return to First Journey of the Will.

Ben hummed in his mind, it was finally beginning to solidify. Journey of the Will, the Force said. He thought back through his life trying to remember when he'd first felt the true unquestionable Will of the Force. An old scarred sadness and grief rose up inside him as he realized what the Force meant.

Melida/Daan and all the violence and horror he experienced there was the first time he'd truly felt and understood the Will of the Force. The Force had guided him to help the Young. To protect the children fighting for the their lives and for peace.

Return. Return. Atone. Fix.

Alright, Ben thought, taking a deep steadying breath now that he realized he was starting to feel his body once more. He thinks he knows what the Force wants from him. He thinks he understands the puzzle pieces it gave him. Now that he knows, that he can guess at the Force's plan for him, Ben centered his thoughts, the Force filling him up, and for the second time in his existence he let go completely.

Yes. Yes.

Opening his eyes once he felt solid ground beneath his feet was both what he expected and not. Ben breathed in the smell of dust and decay and despair. He looked around to orient himself and recognized, from the depths of his cloudy memory, that he was in the capital city of Melida/Daan.

The city was more than half destroyed and mostly abandoned. Mostly, because even with the dwindling populous, both the Melida and the Daan had a base within the city limits. It was also the birthplace and the operation center for the Young.

Ben took a step in the direction he vaguely remembered the entrance to the Young's underground base to be. And promptly went down on one knee in shock.

The Force had told him, Ben thought slightly hysterically. It had told him that he would return to how he was at his first death. And it hadn't lied, because instead of the aching creaky joints he had been expecting, with his first step in the past he discovered that he was healthy. Young and healthy and staring at his hands in shock. They were muscled and still had the callouses he'd build up over the course of the Clone Wars. The scars and marks scattered over his hands, earned throughout his years as a Jedi, had faded while he was in the desert. The two suns had beaten down on him relentlessly until he'd prematurely aged, became almost unrecognizable.

Yet here he was kneeling on a civil war torn planet flexing his hands and examining the complete lack of pain and exhaustion that used to plague his body. Lifting his hands to his face, Ben stroked over his neatly shaped and trimmed beard, ran his fingers through his thick and undoubtedly red hair. He patted down his chest feeling the return of his lean, hard won musculature, and finally noticed that he was also clad in his preferred Jedi style robes. A brown under tunic, layered with a cream colored over tunic and tabard, cream colored leggings tucked into his sturdy brown leather boots, and a heavy brown leather belt buckled over the sash around his waist.

And there hanging off his belt over either hip were two lightsabers. Ben stared in shock as he shakily touched the hilt on his right side. He recognized that saber. It was the saber he picked up off the ashy ground in Mustafar and kept locked away in a trunk for twenty years. It was the saber he'd passed on to Luke with a twist of both dread and fondness in his gut.

He forcibly pushed his conflicting thoughts and feelings about the saber to the back of his mind. It was unimportant right now, the Force wanted him to have both sabers as he tried to follow its Will in this distantly familiar time, so he would hold onto both until it was time to let one go.

Jerking his eyes away from that lightsaber, Ben hurriedly moved to examine the other saber. His saber he recognized, but when he went to draw it from his belt a flash of gold caught his eye.

In a daze, Ben pulled the sleeve of his tunic up to expose the other gift the Force had left for him. There wound around his right wrist and securely fastened in place was a tightly woven padawan braid. Anakin's padawan braid, still adorned with every single achievement bead and colored band he'd earned through their years together as Master and Padawan. It looked just as it had when Ben cut it from his too young padawan mere months into the Clone Wars.

Oh, what a painful torturous gift it was, Ben thought as he stroked a shaking finger along the braid. Then he slowly pulled the cuff of his tunic back in place hiding it from view. A gift and a reminder of why he was doing this, why the Force had granted him this path to journey down.

Rising to his feet, Ben took a moment to close his eyes and recenter himself, to ready himself for the long, and undoubtedly painful journey ahead. He was only allowed a minute of deep breathing, before something, a presence, glanced off his own and drew his attention.

Over the war, through trial and error and some instruction from the Jedi Shadows he'd taken various missions with, Ben learned how to extend his searching presence over the area while still keeping himself hidden from others' awareness. When he expanded his attention out into the Force looking for who had brushed against him, he was not shocked to find a bright, partially trained beacon in the Force several other, dimmer, presences clustered around it.

Following that bright beacon was easy and Ben found that old war instincts came close at hand as he stealthily made his way through the city. He only had to travel a few blocks before he found them.

A group of children, all emaciated and dirty and dressed in rags, carrying blasters in inexpert hands as they quietly as possible hauled their scavenged supplies down the street.

Ben kept himself hidden as he drew closer, observing the hunting party with keen eyes. There were five of them. Four between the ages of five and ten being lead by an older, more experienced - if only just so - boy, barely a teen. He was in better shape physically than the other children, though still dangerously underweight with dark circles of stress and exhaustion under his eyes that Ben could see from thirty feet away.

The boy, the teen, was the lookout. He moved along the outer edges of the group with his head on a swivel, as the clone troopers would have said. Every sound, every shadow, had the teen's sharp eyes darting around. Ben watched as he followed at a distance. When the group came to a misshapen manhole cover, the teen used the crowbar hanging from his belt and levered the cover off. Then he stepped back and placed his back to the hole in the ground keeping watch as the other four children, hastily dropped their supplies down into the dark and quickly scurried down the ladder after.

When the last child had disappeared down into the sewer, the teen took a minute longer to examine the area, a frown of concentration on his face, before he too climbed down the ladder and struggled to tug the cover back over the hole after him.

Ben remembered this. He remembered going on supply runs with small teams of children. He'd been on practically every single run since he'd joined the Young. With his temple training, mostly initiate level though it was, it was still enough to give them a warning if they were about to be ambushed by a group of Elders.

Ben stayed in the shadows just watching the area, his eyes kept flitting back to the manhole. He felt a sensation of disconnect in his mind. The memories of the supply runs, protecting the younger children, being the lookout, guiding them through the perilous streets, were suddenly so clear that watching it happen before his eyes was surreal.

But it did teach him one thing. Ben realized that though he can remember his own time on Melida/Daan, he didn't feel like that scared young teenager he'd just seen disappear down a manhole was him. When he looked at that serious, freckled, dirt smudged face, Ben didn't feel like he was just looking at a copy or a holo of himself. The things he'd experienced since he was a traumatized fourteen year old had so vastly shaped him that seeing himself as he was then made it all the more apparent that from this moment on he and Obi-Wan Kenobi would be completely different people.

Judging that enough time had passed that the group of children were either back at their center of operations further through the maze of the sewers or nearly there, Ben stepped out of the shadows and made his way over to the manhole.

A little flick of the Force and the manhole cover floated soundlessly to the side. Jumping down into the dark, Ben landed lightly in a half crouch then straightened up and used the Force to float the cover back over the entrance. The sewer was then plunged into an uneven patchy darkness from the misshapen cover blocking out most of the sunlight.

He didn't get a chance to orient himself and choose a direction to head in before a voice from the darkness further down the tunnel made him freeze.

"Don't move."

Ben held still and waited. He debated putting his hands up in a show of surrender, but thought from what he remembered of his own frayed nerves at the time, any unexpected movement would be ill-advised.

"Who are you?" came from the shadows about ten feet in front of him.

"My name is Ben," he replied, his voice steady and calm. He didn't try to use his Force presence to project any soothing feelings, it would just spook his new companion.

"Why are you following us?" the voice asked, suspicion and a hastily squashed thread of fear.

"I thought I might be able to offer my assistance," Ben said, then since he hadn't gotten shot yet figured his could push a little. "Might I know who you are, young one?"

There was a tense pause and Ben could feel the indecision and worry and just a thread of hope drifting along the Force before it was clumsily closed off again.

Finally after a long moment, there was a light scuff of shoes on concrete and Ben's interrogator took a hesitant step into the light.

"I'm Obi-Wan Kenobi," the almost painfully young teen said with a glint of defiance in his clear blue-green eyes, a blaster held ready in his steady hands.

Despite the threat the teen tried to present, Ben could do nothing, but smile gently and greet him with warmth.

"Hello there."

TBC...