Note: I actually wrote this dream sequence before AOTC came out. The similarities to the movie are eerie indeed. I only made one change - originally it read "kitchen floor" instead of "tent floor." That's the only change, I swear!
Dark hands reached out for him. Shadows followed wherever he went, even though there were no suns to cast them. He existed in a fog of utter darkness. A dry laugh echoed in his ears, like the sound of paper tearing, the sound of a heart breaking. A broken heart. His mother all alone, her heart bleeding steadily onto the tent floor, drop by drop, the thick red liquid pooling on the sand, spreading out in rivulets, smoke rising as the blood bubbled and boiled, devouring everything in its path, scarring the land. And always that voice cackling, like the links of a chain rattling together, "I shall be watching you with great interest."
"…I shall be watching you…."
"…watching you…."
Anakin's eyes flew open, but the darkness surrounded him. He was choking, suffocating. He felt a scream building up within his chest, but he could not summon the breath to release it. Mom! he cried desperately in the tomb of his mind.
A door opened somewhere, silent footsteps crossing the room. He couldn't hear them, but he could feel them. It was coming for him. Whatever it was, it was coming, reaching out with its claw-like hands, and he could not move to avoid its grasp.
…I'm watching you….
The hands grabbed him, and he choked out, "No!" But no claws ripped his flesh. The touch did not burn.
"Anakin."
A soft voice, gentle hands, pulling away the blankets that had tangled around his body. "Mom?" he called, whimpering.
A pulse of sadness in the shadows, sympathy, kindness. Not his mother. Someone who was sorry not to be his mother. The hands eased him up, broad palms cupping his thin shoulders. "You were dreaming, Anakin." Not the cruel voice. Quiet, elegant, sad.
…I promise…I promise I will train you…you will be a Jedi, I promise….
"Obi-Wan?" Anakin looked up at the pale face above him. Not the face he wanted to see, but then he wasn't the face Obi-Wan wanted to see, either, was he? They were both alone. Alone together.
"You're all right, Anakin. You were dreaming." A strong arm against his back, one hand stroking his hair, heavy, firm, comforting. All his uncertainty about Obi-Wan evaporated in the aftermath of the terrible dream, and he reached out to Obi-Wan with the desperation of a child in need of reassurance. He burrowed his face into Obi-Wan's warm chest, felt the Jedi's arms wrap around him, holding him the way he had in the meditation yesterday. Some of that peace returned to him now, soothing his fears, calming him.
A long silence. The darkness was not so frightening now. It hid the things he did not want to see.
"Do you remember what you dreamed?" Obi-Wan's voice was low, and Anakin felt rather than heard the words, echoing in his skull through Obi-Wan's chest. He shook his head, rubbing his face against Obi-Wan's nightshirt, smelling the musky scent of sleep on his clothes. The images of the dream faded away as quickly as they had arisen, replaced by the sensations of Obi-Wan, a soft voice, strong hands, a warm scent.
The plea from yesterday's meditation came back to him. Please let him like me. Had he said it aloud? Or had Obi-Wan? But the silence continued, Obi-Wan rubbing soothing circles on his back, rocking him slightly. No one had said anything. But maybe this was the answer to that prayer, for him or for Obi-Wan he did not know. It didn't really matter.
…I promise…I will come back for you…I promise….
Sleep crept over Anakin once more as he floated in Obi-Wan's arms, but then the cocoon split around him. He felt Obi-Wan pulling away, the cold seeping in once more. "No," he moaned, opening his eyes. "Don't leave. Stay with me."
Another silence, hesitant, uncertain.
…oh, please, let him like me…
Then the mattress dipped next to him beneath Obi-Wan's weight. The covers slid free, settling over them both, and Anakin was gathered once more into Obi-Wan's arms. He snuggled against the large, comforting body, his fingers curling into the neckline of Obi-Wan's nightshirt, so that even as he drifted in sleep he would be moored.
"Good night."
Had he said it? Or had Obi-Wan? It didn't matter. The dreams would not come again.
That is what mattered.