Sorry for the delayed update. Other plot bunnies (the Monty Python and the Holy Grail types) have consumed my brain.
At the Jedi's request, Organa has set up a cot in the corridor beyond Vader's cell so that, even when sleeping, Obi-Wan will be by his cell at all times. In courtesy, Organa dims the hall lights to allow him better rest. But even so, his purpose there is clear. Even with Organa's own soldiers lining the hallways, Obi-Wan is to be a constant guard on the Sith Lord. It is an awkward arrangement, but necessary to ensure the safety of the Alderaanian household.
Vader receives the bare minimum of the Rebel's treatment. Even so, the bare minimum is enough to get him back from the brink of death. Between bacta, blood transfusions, and adequate rest, he recovers better than Obi-Wan might have imagined.
Within a few days, he is up and walking, albeit sparsely, around the secured hospital room under Obi-Wan's watchful gaze.
Despite Obi-Wan's protests, after receiving minor repairs, he is ordered to return to the life support suit since there is no cost-effective alternative.
As a security measure, the detachable armor is stripped from the suit, the red lightsaber seized along with the weapons belt, and the irreparably damaged respirator is carved out of the helm and replaced with a detachable breathing mask that covers his mouth and chin. Despite these minor modifications, Anakin's appearance returns largely to the looming inhuman frame of Darth Vader. A sight which Obi-Wan cannot help but loathe. Despite his unease at seeing Anakin's face disappear once more behind the expressionless helm, the old Jedi takes it upon himself to meditate within Vader's chamber. Modeling it for him as the other fidgets like a caged tiger, the Force vibrating with his unease.
Vader speaks little, only when strictly necessary as part of the Rebel's continued debriefing, and their bond falls strangely silent. However, on the third day of his meditations, Vader sits cross-legged beside him. Though he does not speak, Obi-Wan smiles as he feels his mind humming with conflict, as though, at last he has re-opened himself to the possibility that there may be more than the darkness.
"Any thoughts you care to share, Darth?"
He feels the responding agitation spike inside of Anakin. Obi-Wan assumes it is prompted by his provocative intonation on Anakin's false-name, but, instead, he is surprised when he feels a spike of true indignation.
You will not address me in such a manner. Vader spits back.
Obi-Wan is surprised by the genuine anger he senses flowing in relation to the use of the title. It is layered anger, more diverted and shifted than truly connected to what he has said. But it is anger all the same. And anger is not an emotion he wishes to encourage. Even so, this is...interesting. After a moment's deliberation, he decides to find the edge.
What then am I to call you?
Obi-Wan knows what he is doing. Provoking him. He wants to hear the man beside him say it. Hear him claim the name that was once his. It's a dangerous gamble. But one he hopes will pay off all the same.
There is a pause as Vader broods, his emotions churning like the ocean.
Enough of this, Kenobi. We both know you have no qualms with calling me by the name of a dead man.
It is Obi-Wan's turn to feel a swell of indignation as the residual peace of his meditation shatters.
"Then why does it matter to you if I call you 'Darth?' Tell me, Anakin, is it so hard to live with what you've done that you have to tell yourself a lie to bear the guilt?!"
"Enough—!" Vader roars, but Obi-Wan's tirade will not be stopped.
"No." Obi-Wan snaps. "You will listen. Your conscience accuses you, Anakin. As it damn well should. For once, you would do well to swallow your pride and listen instead of wallowing in self-pity!"
And with that, he stands and leaves. They only have a few days more before Bail transfers Anakin to a safer facility, and Obi-Wan needs the seeds of conscience he has just planted to germinate now before Anakin has fully recovered his strength, and, with it, his insensate pride.
'Darth' has never been spoken with anything but fear, loathing, and disgust. However, 'Anakin' was once a name uttered with faith, love, and devotion.
The damnable Jedi has insisted on provoking him. They both know it. Even so, he cannot help but admit he has a point. Vader was once called 'Anakin Skywalker,' and some part of him longs to be called by that name once again. It is just that... He does not wish to be called by that name with the disgust and horror inspired by 'Darth Vader.' At least, this way, the memory of Anakin Skywalker remains untarnished. One of the perfect dead, eulogized with hagiographic glory after their demise.
Even so, 'Anakin,' had once been spoke with tenderness...perhaps it could be once again.
Obi-Wan does not return to Anakin's cell for the remainder of the day. Preferring, instead, to allow him the space to contemplate their earlier conversation. He feels oddly peaceful. Grateful to have at last confronted his Padawan's morality and reminded him of his own conscience.
Even so, Obi-Wan's peace is not to last.
That night, Obi-Wan wakes on his cot to the Force rumbling with unease. There is something poignant in the air. Something dangerous. Before he knows it, there is a blazing red light flashing above his vision. On pure instinct, he draws his saber, the blue blade darting forth in an attempt to block the impending blow. But his blade is too slow.
Obi-Wan roars in pain as the red light plunges through his chest.
There is a white face over him, jeering him, mocking him as it tears out the saber. At first, he thinks it is Vader. And then he sees the red streaks running down its cheekbones. The Grand Inquisitor.
The Obi-Wan's blue blade hums in his hand as he reaches for the Force and throws back the inquisitor. As the Darksider crashes into the wall, he staggers to his feet and pulls the alarm cord beside his post. He shouts for help, his voice wet and gurgling as he begins to cough, blood filling his throat. His heart sinks as he glances down the darkened hallway and sees two limp soldiers beyond his line of sight, dark pools of slick red puddled beneath their skulls.
The alarms should be blaring by now, and yet the halls are despairingly silent—!
Obi-Wan braces himself and blocks as the Sith inquisitor lunges for him, but, in his focus on the one opponent he fails to notice the shadow over his shoulder until he feels another blade plunge through his back—!
A scream pierces the Force, jolting Vader from his slumber.
There is pain washing through him, and he thinks at first that he must be back on the Emperor's operating table, flayed alive at his Master's pleasure. He gasps for air, panting, gulping…he can't breathe, he can't breathe…!
Except.
He can.
With a start, he realizes that the respirator is still hissing softly, his chest rising and falling with blessed oxygen flowing into his lungs. Then, why…? His head is spinning. He is dying, and yet he isn't. There is so much pain…! Why is there so much pain?!
And then a thought sends him flying to his feet despite the aching of his wounds.
Obi-Wan.
Weak though he is, he holds his saber at the ready, pointing the shaking blade at his two opponents as they circle him, like hyenas on a dying lion, ready to move in once they feel the danger of his claws has passed. If he had a presence of mind, he would almost be flattered. Even like this, gasping for air, pierced through twice-over, they are still afraid of him.
Obi-Wan's one thought as his legs buckle is that he is a dead man. Nonetheless, even on his knees, he holds his blade at the defensive. Daring them. Challenging them. He knows they will not leave the hallway until they are sure of his demise. In this way, he buys as much time as he can for the Alderaanians to recognize the danger. The Inquisitors poke at his blade, mocking his ever-precise parries. They are toying with him. Wasting time as he suffocates, and his vision begins to go black.
'There is no emotion, there is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.' He recites the mantra as a silent prayer for strength as he leans into the Light. 'There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no death, only the Force.'
As he slumps fully to the ground, his fingers at last slacken around the hilt of his weapon, the blade disengaging as he collapses. In a wide red arc, he sees a blade swing toward him as the Fifth Brother lunges to decapitate him.
He flinches, waiting for the blow that will sever his head from his neck. Instead, he hears the sizzle of blade meeting blade.
When he hazards to open his eyes, he sees that Inquisitor's blade frozen above him, its bleeding kyber locked against the brilliant sky-blue of his own weapon. As he follows the line of the blue saber, it meets a black-gloved arm, and a midnight silhouette stepping over his broken frame, shoving back the raging red weapon.
His heart sings with hope until—
"What is the meaning of this, Inquisitor?" That insidious false baritone growls above him. "Does your incompetence know no bounds? Not only have you thwarted the Emperor's purposes in my presence here, you have presumed to kill Kenobi for yourself! He is mine!"
Obi-Wan had thought his soul had died on Mustafar. But that death was nothing compared to the anguish now shattering his final moments.
He has been betrayed.
Deceived.
And now, Luke…Leia…they're in danger! He must protect them...! He must...! He mu—
Obi-Wan's thoughts begin to fade as his soul fractures under the weight of his failure...
During the Clone Wars, Anakin had seen Obi-Wan injured, since the rise of the Empire, he'd seen the grim resignation and quiet pain of the Jedi over his Padawan's actions, but the unflappable courage of the Jedi had never waivered. Even when they had met on Mapuzo, heavy with grief though Obi-Wan had been, he had endured and borne it with the quiet weathered dignity of the fundamentally good man that Anakin had once adored.
He had thought nothing could break the Jedi.
But when he strides coldly over Obi-Wan's body and speaks those words of betrayal… it's as if every bone in his body cracks as Obi-Wan's heart shatters into fractals of glass. He almost staggers under the tide of grief. Instead, he cuts himself off from their bond, even as his grip tightens around the unfamiliar hilt of the Jedi's weapon. From behind the HUD, his eyes fix on the leering faces of the Fifth Brother and his Grand Inquisitor. They will not have come alone.
"You will come with us, Lord Vader, the Emperor will be so pleased to see you." The smug, white-faced fool presumes to purr as though his grasping for Vader's standing is not his aspiration.
"You think you know the Emperor's schemes, little fool," he growls, "but it is you who has been tested. And you have failed." The Darkness within Vader bays like a hellhound wishing to sharpen its teeth on the bones of the damned.
"You are a traitor." The bold Pau'an purrs.
"Which do you think is more likely: that I am a traitor or that you are a fool?" He growls.
With flick of his hand, he sends the Pau'an slamming into a wall, the Fifth Brother flinching as he takes a tentative step back.
"Where are your brethren?" He demands, crushing the Grand Inquisitor's frail body against the wall. The Dark sings in pleasure at the doubt and fear creeping across the white-face. "Are they also here to frustrate the Emperor's designs?!" The pale face twists in pain as his bones begin to creak under the power of Vader's strength.
Though still weakened by his near-death, Vader knows the Inquisitor is no match for even half of his power.
"And you?" He barks, turning to hold the blue blade at the throat of the Fifth Brother, "did you also share in his aspiration to thwart my good work? I have found the seat of the rebel's command, and you have gone to great pains to waste my efforts. Now I repeat: where are your brethren?"
The Fifth Brother hesitates, lowering his blade in submission, but still remaining silent, eyes darting in doubt between Vader and his prisoner.
"Or maybe you would like to tell me?" He barks, turning back to the Grand Inquisitor who is beginning to suffocate as his ribs snap and the full pressure of Vader's power crashes into his lungs.
"…they're not here." The Fifth Brother's voice says slowly, his tone hesitant and fearful, even as he comes closer to him, as if to aid the Grand Inquisitor.
"Are they not?" He barks, turning back to the white face now going purple. "It seems you are more incompetent than I believed!"
"…w-we…came…as…scouts…"
"Very well, then." Vader says, his tone suddenly measured. "Did you at least have the good sense to report what you found?"
"Of course, master!" Fifth Brother exclaims. "I did. I contacted the Emperor!"
The blue lightsaber makes a single sweeping arc.
And then four thuds hit the floor, two bodies, and two heads.
His eyes bulge from his skull in oxygen-deprivation, but he barely registers any sight of the world around. Despite the blood filling his chest, he cannot help but try what wet, failing breaths he can manage. He is not clinging to life, far from it! As Kenobi unwillingly overhears Vader's brutal interrogation, he wishes mightily that he were dead already so that he might not witness his once-Padawan's sadism.
Even so. In and out. In and out. The sucking goes. He cannot help but feel panic. Who wouldn't? To drown on dry land is a horrible thing.
He feels the two Inquisitors die, and his heart pities them. Now it is his turn. As Vader's hurried footfalls approach, he resigns himself that the Sith will want to be the cause of his demise and can only pray that Vader will make it quick.
"Obi-Wan?" That unnatural voice booms in his ear like a deadly pronouncement from the heavens. And then, more quietly, it whispers in both thought and speech.
…Obi-Wan…?
Is it his dying mind deceiving him or does it come out almost like a sob?
He hears the respirator hissing quietly above him, and then it stutters strangely.
…go on, what are you waiting for? Kill me, Vader, kill me like you always planned…
There is no fight in his words. Only pained resignation.
All of a sudden, there is something being slipped over his face, he fumbles and fights reflexively but, all the same, durasteel hands force the strange object over his nose and mouth.
Instantly, it becomes just a little easier to breathe.
There is now a strange wheezing noise accompanying the horrible gurgling in his chest… As his thoughts clear ever-so-slightly from the return of oxygen, that is when it hits him—the respirator, Vader has given him his respirator!
…no, Anakin! you'll die…! He presses weakly through their bond, even as he reels with the weight of what Vader has just done.
Not before you will. Hold on, Obi-Wan. Just hold on!
He feels so cold, so tired, but dimly he realizes there is pressure on his chest where the wheezing Vader must be holding shut his wounds. Before he quite knows it, his eyes moisten with tears. His faith had not been in vain! Anakin lived. His boy. He was alive.
And now Obi-Wan's only task is to ensure he keeps breathing and does not abandon him.
The Dark falls quiet as their heads bounce cleanly to the floor. Its bloodlust satiated by the deaths of the Inquisitors. If what they have confessed is true, then they are all in grave danger. Even so, he does not have time to think of that now.
Before their bodies have even gone limp, he grabs a communicator off a dead soldier and hits the emergency alert button.
Obi-Wan feels so horribly weak, his light fading even as Anakin rushes back to him with a terror he had not known he could feel. He can only hope the Alderaanians respond in time and that they do not kill him in their over-eagerness.
When Anakin looks upon Obi-Wan's visage, something inside him shatters as fear floods over him anew.
It's as if the fullness of his humanity rushes back to him all at once as his eyes roam over the gory sight.
There is red all over him. So much red. Spilling from Obi-Wan's mouth, spewing onto the floor as the Jedi's normally calm visage is defaced by the abject horror of drowning in his own blood. His once-dignified Master is now reduced to sucking for air, his face twisted in horrible desperation for even a modicum of oxygen as their bond throbs with gutting cries of failure and betrayal.
Obi-Wan does not deserve this.
And worst of all.
Anakin has done this to him. Humiliated him. Desecrated all he has held dear. He created the Empire. He created the Inquisitors. His pipe dream of freedom was the reason the Inquisitors had come.
He screams Obi-Wan's name into the impassive vocoder, even as it erases the sob of anguish that accompanies it. And then he whispers it across the Force in prayerful reverence, reaching for the Jedi's fading consciousness. What he finds is like an altar defiled, Obi-Wan's fading soul writhing in pain from maddened grief over the profanities of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin wants to be sick. He wants to vomit under the weight of the soul-crushing despair flowing from the one man whom he had truly thought knew no fear.
He doesn't deserve this. No matter what Vader might have once claimed, Obi-Wan has never deserved this!
Forgive me, Master, forgive me! Please forgive me.
But now is not the time for remorse. His Master needs him. Obi-Wan needs him!
Obi-Wan is dying. He's dying in front of him. Suffocating and suffering in a manner, Vader knows all too intimately.
Help him breathe. He has to help him breathe!
After a moment, he realizes there is an easy solution.
Sith should not do what he deigns to do. But at that thought, Anakin Skywalker screams in inner outrage, and, without further hesitation, he reaches up and disengages the edges of his mask before he even quite realizes what he is doing.
Even as his own lungs begin to burn, Obi-Wan fights the mask and begs for death as Anakin pushes it desperately over his nose and mouth, praying with all the Force that somehow…someway…he can make this right.
Keep breathing! Keep breathing…! Anakin is begging, chanting the thought more loudly than he probably knows. His wheezing is getting louder as Obi-Wan grows weaker.
…Even in death, I will always be with you…my dear Padawan…
Do not…Do not honor me with that name, I am unworthy…Unworthy! Unworthy! He is wailing.
Obi-Wan makes a sad bloody attempt at a smile. Somehow, Obi-Wan finds his metal hand and manages a feeble squeeze that he knows Anakin cannot feel.
My Padawan…you shall always be.
He clings to his companion's Force presence, unwilling to leave him, reluctant to abandon him. Not now. Not when he is so close.
Anakin is holding him, and then suddenly, he is not. There are shouts from angered voices, and the sound of blaster fire, words spoken just beyond his hearing, and then, he feels flesh hands take hold of him.
Then everything goes dark.
I hope this was update enough. Sorry for the delay!