Author: TemporaryUniverse
Characters: Obi-Wan Kenobi, Sheev Palpatine/Darth Sidious, Padme Amidala, Commander Cody
Summary: Anakin dies on Mustafar, and Obi-Wan is certain he will join him. But Sidious is in need of a new Apprentice, and Obi-Wan Kenobi, injured, alone, and grieving, makes the perfect candidate. First, he must be broken. The battle for Obi-Wan's soul has begun, and the Sith won't accept anything less than complete submission. Obi-Wan will Fall, or he will die.
Word Count: 3,450

A.N. This is the longest fic I've ever written, and most definitely the longest I've ever completed. The original concept was Obi-Wan and Anakin dying on Mustafar together, but then it changed to, well, what if Obi-Wan didn't die? and then it grew into this monster.

You can expect 8 more chapters. Entire fic is written, but I will be posting every three days, hopefully.

Anakin was dead.

It was all Obi-Wan could think about as he lay there on the black sands of Mustafar, gasping in smoke and heat. The lightsaber had gone right through his heart and the life had faded from his eyes, leaving them dull and betrayed. He'd killed his brother.

It was only fitting that he die beside him.

He blinked his eyes open to look at the ash-dark sky, feeling the ache in his gut, both physical and spiritual. Something shifted at the edge of his vision. He tilted his head in its direction, gritting his teeth at how even that small movement ignited a wave of terrible pain. The figure approached slowly, cloaked in black, and then Obi-Wan was staring up into the sulfuric gaze of Sidious, the glow of the lava river lighting the edges of his twisted face.

Obi-Wan coughed, tasting blood, feeling it trickle from the corners of his lips.

Not long now.

He closed his eyes.

He woke up to find himself on some sort of table, surrounded by med droids. Unable to move, unable to even feel his body. A grey metal ceiling above him and grey metal walls boxed him in.

He closed his eyes.

The next time he woke, he was in a different grey room, more a cell than anything. A ray shield thrummed in the doorway. A fresher sat in the corner, no privacy whatsoever, across from the bed slab where he lay on a thin mattress covered by an even thinner blanket. He had no shirt.

Something felt wrong, but he couldn't figure out what.

He lay there for a few minutes, staring at the small, metal sink bolted to the wall and wondering how he was alive. Had… had Sidious saved him? Why?

He was supposed to die. That was his payment for killing his brother. That's what he deserved.

Tears blurred his vision.

Anakin.

Even after it all he still didn't know why. What had the Sith promised him that he would have… done what he did? The Anakin he knew would never have—have murdered younglings. Or attacked Padmé.

Padmé. Please, let her be safe. Her and her children. He could only hope that they made it off Mustafar by the time Sidious arrived.

His hand wandered down to his abs, feeling for the place the saber had pierced him and he found a thick scar, right beside his belly button.

Then he realized what was wrong. He couldn't feel his legs. Couldn't feel anything below his waist actually. His heart jumped, alarm shooting through him. He struggled to sit up, his abdominal muscles weren't working properly, forcing him to push himself up with his arms. By the time he made it upright, he was shaking and sweating, feeling much weaker than he should.

He slumped against the wall, letting it hold him up, and caught his breath. Hand trembling, he pushed away the blanket covering him and hesitantly poked at his thigh.

It was a strange sensation, to feel his own leg under his fingertips, but not his fingers on his leg, like he was touching something unattached to his body, even though he knew it was. He dug his fingernail in through the thin pants and felt no pain, not even the slightest pressure. His breathing picked up again, lungs shuddering oddly in his chest. He glanced down at his toes and tried to wiggle them. Nothing happened.

He was paralyzed.

The saber must have gone through his spine, severing the spinal cord. He reached his hand behind him and felt around, fingers catching on something hard and cold along his vertebrae. Metal, a port of some kind, but for what?

And why? What could Sidious possibly want with a cripple?

There was a hiss as the ray shield deactivated and Obi-Wan glanced up from his useless legs. A med droid entered, followed by a trooper in plain white armor pushing a cart. After wheeling the cart to Obi-Wan's bedside, the trooper took up post by the doorway, and the droid stopped in front of the Jedi.

"Patient Obi-Wan, I am 2-1B-95. You have suffered complete and permanent spinal paralysis at the T10 segment. You have been under sedation for two weeks to facilitate healing. Your treatment plan includes the affixation of a cybernetic exoskeleton, which I will install presently. This exoskeleton will allow you to walk again after an adjustment period and intensive physiotherapy. Do you have any questions?"

"What am I doing here?"

"Emperor Palpatine has assigned me to your care until you are recovered."

"That didn't—" He huffed. "Nevermind. So how does this exoskeleton thing work?" He glanced over at the cart, examining what he assumed was the cybernetics. It looked a bit skeletal, the long lines of gleaming white and gray metal reminding him of Grievous' legs.

"A neuro-interface has been surgically grafted to your spinal cord at the level of severance. The exoskeleton will be fitted around your legs, and movement will be operable through this interface. Over time, your neurophysiology will change to accommodate the interface, so your control becomes both conscious and subconscious."

Obi-Wan was no expert in cybernetic prosthetics, but he thought he understood most of what the med droid said.

"Alright. Let's get this over with."

The droid helped him move to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs over the side. He still couldn't sit up straight, having to prop himself up with his arms.

"CC-2224, would you assist me?"

Obi-Wan's head shot up, staring as the trooper approached them. With his unpainted armor, he hadn't even realized…

"Cody?" He cringed at the way his voice cracked. "What—"

Why was Cody here? Cody had… Cody had shot him down on Utapau. Obi-Wan hadn't had much time to think about it, the betrayal of his troops, there'd been too much else. He reached out with the Force—slightly surprised that he could do so, why had he not been given a Force-Suppressant?—and brushed against his Commander's mind. The only impression he got was a wall of blankness, dull in a way even non-Sensitives weren't. He pressed harder, searching for something, anything, some spark of life still within Cody, and was met with a surge of good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders, good soldiers follow orders.

He recoiled with a gasp.

"Cody, what is happening? Why are you—?"

"Patient Obi-Wan, your heartrate and blood pressure are increasing, please calm down."

Obi-Wan ignored it and grabbed Cody's forearm, staring up at that featureless visor.

"Please, Cody, talk to me."

"I am not permitted to talk to the prisoner," he said, his voice just as monotone as his armor. Obi-Wan closed his eyes, his heart sinking.

"What has he done to you…?" He whispered. Because there was no other explanation, Sidious must have some hold over the clones. Cody would never have tried to kill him if he had a choice… right? He knew Cody. And it was obvious something was very wrong with his mind.

Cody said nothing. Obi-Wan let his hand drop.

"May I fit your prostheses, now?" 2-1B-95 asked, its tone somehow more annoyed than Obi-Wan thought a droid could sound.

"Yes," he said, his voice rough.

Cody helped hold him up as the droid pulled out the first piece. It was a wide, metal, segmented belt-looking thing with curved plates on the narrow ends that extended down about a handlength. 2-1B-95 slid it on over Obi-Wan's limp legs all the way up around his waist.

"Connecting neuro-interface. You may experience some discomfort."

The cybernetics connected to the port on his spine with a click, and Obi-Wan flinched at the sudden sharp shock of pain and tingling as his nerves adjusted to the new sensory inputs. The droid put on the second piece, one of the leg struts that clicked into place on the left hip plate, the metal running down the outside of his leg with circular joints at the hip, knee, and ankle. It was strapped firmly into place with padded bands around his thigh, calf, and the bridge of his foot.

2-1B-95 attached the second leg brace and stepped back, letting Obi-Wan examine his new prostheses. He ran a hand along the smooth metal plating and took a deep breath.

"How does it feel?" The droid asked.

"Strange."

"The neuro-interface will take some getting used to. Can you extend your left leg?"

Obi-Wan frowned and stared at his leg, concentrating. After a few seconds of him throwing mental commands at it, his foot jerkily began to lift.

"Good. And back down." He lowered the leg. "Now the right."

He was quicker to raise this one, now that he had started to figure it out.

"Prostheses are responding, neural connection looks stable. Would you like to try walking?"

"Yes."

"Wait here." The droid went back to the cart, taking out two long, metal poles and their stands and setting them up right in front of Obi-Wan, parallel to one another and about two feet apart. He grasped the bars, and with Cody's help, hauled himself to a standing position. His balance was a little wobbly, but the braces held most of his weight.

Taking the first step was one of the most difficult things he had ever attempted. It wasn't as simple as just thinking "Walk" and having his leg move. He had to tell it to lift his knee, shift his weight forward, and then set his heel down, all while keeping his balance. The second step was nearly as hard, pushing down with his front foot and bringing his back up and forward.

He was sweating and trembling by the time he reached the end of the bars. He stood there for a minute, struggling to breathe as he held himself up with his arms.

Then he faced the next problem. Turning around. He blinked down at his legs, trying to work out the logistics of the move.

"Patient Obi-Wan, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good, 2-1B."

"My designation is 2-1B-95," the droid said, again with that annoyed tone that his vocabulator shouldn't be capable of.

"Right. 2-1B-95. I'm just... Figuring this out."

"Take your time, then." Obi-Wan had never met a more aggravating droid. Even C-3PO didn't irritate him this much.

Inhaling deeply, he refocused on his task. He firmed his stance and then brought his right hand over to meet his left. Then he began shuffling his feet around, each movement requiring his full attention. He stopped when his feet were perpendicular to the bar, and then extended his left hand behind him and gripped the second bar. A few small steps and twisting got him back to facing ahead.

He was at least gaining better control of his legs, starting to understand what all the impulses his brain was receiving meant in terms of their positioning. It still didn't feel right, especially since he couldn't feel his legs, but he could see that he was using them. There was this weird disconnect between mind and body that he was struggling to reconcile. He had barely been awake long enough to stop and think about his paralysis, or even consider his situation at all.

Here and now, Qui-Gon would say. He had a task ahead of him. Everything else could wait. He was sure he had plenty of time later to freak out.

For now, he set his sights on taking another step.

The days passed in a monotony of physical therapy, meditation, and boredom. Every day, 2-1B-95 and Cody would come in and help him put on his prostheses, then work him through walking until he was too tired to stand. After a few weeks, he was able to take his first steps without support, although his control of the neuro-interface was still conscious and required most of his attention.

Walking wasn't the only thing he had to worry about either. With the loss of function below his navel, he no longer had control over his bladder and bowel movements. The cybernetics unfortunately couldn't help with that. He had to learn to use a catheter and schedule his visits to the fresher, and he also had to quickly get over the embarrassment of needing help.

Cody was there as his guard, but he would bring food as well, and assist whenever Obi-Wan was struggling. He at least talked to him now, although Obi-Wan wouldn't label any of it as a conversation. It was like his Commander didn't even know him anymore, leaving them more strangers than when they first met.

Obi-Wan could admit he was lonely, with a droid and a no-longer friend as his only points of social interaction. Besides his therapy, there was nothing to do but think, and thinking…

He avoided thinking about Utapau, and Mustafar, and the Temple. About Anakin, Ahsoka, Padmé, Cody, Yoda. It wasn't healthy, but he couldn't bear the grief that threatened at every moment to suffocate him.

The problem was that there was nothing else to think about, because even the happy memories, from before everything went wrong, were painful, reminders now of all the bad.

Qui-Gon would tell him not to dwell on the past, there was nothing he could do to change it, but it had always been a flaw of his, his inability to focus on the present, especially when the present was not worth focusing on, as dull and draining as it was.

After his therapy, he would pass out on his bed slab and the nightmares would come. He would dream of fire and death. A lava planet and the clash of sabers, desperation and grief. He would hear the gasp Anakin made as the blade went through his heart, and the thud the body made as it landed on black sand. "I hate you," Anakin would scream, his dead yellow eyes staring up at Obi-Wan.

Then there were the dreams of walking through familiar hallways to deafening silence, the corpses strewn across the polished floors, missing limbs and heads, riddled with blaster bolts. He would look down and a small body would be at his feet, the little girl's eyes wide with shock even in death, her stubby Padawan braid barely long enough to brush the floor. A few feet away, lay a Iktochi Master, surrounded by fallen troopers, a hand stretched out toward their Padawan. Obi-Wan would walk, and the bodies would pile up around him. "Why didn't you stop him?" They would hiss as he passed by. "This is your fault."

He always woke up crying.

Meditation didn't help. When he opened his mind to the Force, all he found was Darkness, the thousands of lights that used to be so comforting all snuffed out. He could only assume there were others, Jedi that survived just as he did, because how could they all be dead? But if there were, he couldn't find any. The Force itself seemed to be grieving, the Light all but vanished. Every time he tried to touch it, he was left with wet cheeks and sobbing breath.

This, he knew, was the reason Sidious had not used a suppressor. So that he could feel the emptiness where his family once was, a reminder of everything he lost.

Because he still had the Force, it should have been easy to deactivate the ray shield and escape. The only thing holding him back was the lack of fully-functioning legs. The fact that 2-1B-95 took his prostheses every night and he was never left alone otherwise was very effective in keeping him in that room. It didn't stop him from plotting.

Not that there was much plotting he could do, with how little knowledge he had.

He didn't know how long it was before 2-1B-95 declared him fully recovered, or at least, as recovered as he was going to get. Two months, maybe. Or three? The days all blended together, the only thing that changed was his progress with the cybernetics, and the length of his hair and beard. He could walk now without effort, and he'd regained much of his strength and agility, once again able to practice open-handed katas at full-speed, the ones he had the space for anyway, and anything that didn't involve aerials.

The only things he couldn't do were run or jump. 2-1B-95 told him the prostheses weren't designed for it. They were made for stability, not speed. He was limited, also, in his range of motion, the joints of his braces did not allow for the same flexion as regular joints.

One day, 2-1B-95 came in with actual clothes for him, rather than just the loose pants he'd been wearing. The droid helped him dress and he grimaced at the outfit. It was all black, the style vaguely reminiscent of Jedi tunics. There was a symbol on the right sleeve that he didn't recognize, but looked similar to the Republic Cog, with the circle of spokes. He assumed it was the symbol of the new Galactic Empire, and it made his lip curl in distaste. But as he had nothing else, he accepted it. When he was fully dressed and the cybernetics were attached, his new clothes tailored around them, Cody came in with three other troopers.

"Lord Sidious demands your presence," he said.

Obi-Wan felt a sliver of dread stab into him.

"Well," he smiled grimly, "Let's not keep our esteemed emperor waiting then."

Obi-Wan held himself tall and confident walking into the throne room, flanked by his clone guards. They brought him to a stop a few meters away from the throne, a huge, ugly, black thing that dominated the room. Its back was turned to him so it faced the window, but at some unseen signal it began to rotate around, revealing the hooded figure sitting upon it.

"Emperor Palpatine, or should I say Darth Sidious? I have to say, I don't like the new look."

Sidious' burning yellow eyes stared at him out of a twisted visage, shadowed by a dark hood, and he stood a little straighter, lifting his chin. The Sith flicked his fingers, and suddenly Obi-Wan's legs collapsed under him.

His knees hit the floor with a thud that he couldn't feel, and he caught himself on his hands. He tried to get up, only to find that his cybernetics wouldn't respond.

"What—?"

"Obi-Wan Kenobi." Something about the way Sidious said his name made shivers run down his spine. It was low and sharp, nearly a growl. He looked up. "You surprise me."

Obi-wan blinked. Whatever he had been expecting to hear, it was not that. He sat back on his heels.

"I've been told I'm full of them," he replied warily. Sidious ignored his response, continuing on in a conversational tone.

"You know, Anakin thought you were the perfect Jedi. Emotionless. Unattached. He told me once that he did not think you were capable of love. I encouraged that point of view, of course, but I did not actually think it was true. I never thought you would be capable of killing him."

Obi-Wan held back a flinch even as it felt like he'd been punched in the gut. It shouldn't surprise him that the Sith was skilled at making his words hurt. That didn't make it any less painful. But he could not let the Sith get to him, or, barring that, not let him know he was getting to him.

Still, he couldn't help wondering just how much Anakin had confided in Palpatine. How deep the manipulations had run.

He remained silent.

"I underestimated you, it seems. To think a Jedi as average as yourself could defeat your so-called Chosen One. It's really quite impressive. I assumed only Yoda had the skill to do it. Not that the little troll was much of a challenge."

He couldn't mean… Yoda couldn't be dead. Obi-Wan couldn't be the last of the Jedi. It was impossible. Yoda was… had been… was unkillable. He was there for hundreds of years before Obi-Wan was born and was meant to live many years after, not…

His fists clenched in his lap, nails cutting into his palms.

"What do you want?" He asked, too tired and broken to play Sidious' games.

"Since you killed the last one, I find myself in need of a new apprentice."

So that was why he was here. Why Sidious had saved him from the burning sands of Mustafar.

"If you think I will ever call you Master, you are mistaken." If he was the last of the Jedi now, then he would have to carry that flame. If he Fell he took the Jedi with him.

"We shall see."

Thanks for reading! Reviews are much appreciated.