Chapter Text
Prologue
It would be fair to conclude that the negotiations had not gone to plan.
That was the first thought that came into Obi-Wan's mind. The second was Anakin is never going to let me forget this. Those two concepts were all the higher brain function he could manage for a while as he drifted in the quiet place that resided just above unconsciousness.
And then slowly, very slowly, another thought came creeping in. He might not know precisely where he was, or how he had been brought here. He couldn’t even really be certain what had happened to put him in this predicament. But nevertheless, it seemed evident that he had gotten himself into rather a lot of trouble.
The transport jolted, bumping through another rut. Obi-Wan felt his head knock hard against the metal as the floor rolled, dragging him further into reluctant awakeness. The rest of his body felt almost absent, even though he thought there should have been pain; he could see blood spreading out across the transport floor but all accompanying sensation was disconnected. The shock had come on fast.
The vehicle bucked and jolted, engines roaring, straining. Something exploded nearby and dirt was thrown against shatterproof windows. Everything was so loud—engines and blasts and the shouts of the men. They were still under fire even in retreat; the soldiers must have somehow got him to a transport for evac just moments after the ambush. He hadn't even come to the planet to fight. All the battlefields of this war he had walked away from unscathed and it was in his role as a mediator that he had ended up lying here in a pool of his own blood. Anakin would laugh himself hoarse.
Beneath him the floor rocked, and perhaps Obi-Wan let out a sound of his own because half a dozen faces turned to look down at him where he lay on the floor between the transport’s two long rows of seats. Above him, a human soldier Obi-Wan didn't recognize was saying something sharp and urgent into a commlink, and opposite, one of the bird-like Vostaka natives clacked their beak and tightened a taloned hand on a slugthrower.
The vehicle hit another rut and Obi-Wan's head struck the metal floor again, stars sparking in front of his eyes. Everything stank—mud and fumes and blood. It was pooling under his back, wet through his clothes, and now the pain was starting to tear through the numbness of shock, pawing at him like a wild creature. The avian Vostaka soldier above pointed down and Obi-Wan heard more shouting, but then his vision was going grey, the pain was mounting in waves and there was the taste of bile and blood in his mouth.
He drifted in and out, aware of light and shadow, muffled sounds and, through it all, a foundation of constant, unrelenting pain. He couldn't hold onto consciousness for long, but each time he surfaced it was to the growing awareness that his situation was… Well, not good. Very not good. The Loyalist soldiers must be evacuating back to the Defence Command Centre, but it sounded like they were still under fire. How had the rebels become so strong?
They drove on, and eventually the ordnance outside lessened and died away. The bouncing, jolting of the transport changed to a smooth rumble as they picked up speed. Something wasn't right, something other than the fact that his blood seemed to be increasingly on the outside of his body, of course. This was taking too long, and he was still bleeding. He needed a medic, or bacta. Something.
Anything.
Vosk was hardly Endor, but nonetheless he couldn't hope for Republic-level medical care here, and he was a long way from the nearest Jedi healer. Obi-Wan had seen for himself the strain the war had put on Vosk's planetary resources, even in the capital. Who knew how many bacta tanks they might have?
Unconsciousness dragged him under like a tide.
Sudden quiet startled him awake again as the roar of engines cut out. The surface beneath him went still. There were shouts, bangs, the crackle of chatter over comm units. His body was lifted onto a board, and carried. They had arrived somewhere.
Not the command centre, but not a field hospital either. It echoed like an aircraft carrier. Perhaps they were changing transports?
Well, wherever they were going on to from here, it would be too late. The damage was severe. Even without having yet seen the wound in his belly Obi-Wan knew that; the wrongness of it was jarring in the Force. He couldn’t heal this. He had to buy time.
There were no other Jedi here, and for Obi-Wan to put himself in a healing trance unaided meant being alert enough to focus. But everything felt so vague and uncertain; his body, the Force…But he must concentrate enough to put his mind into the right place to slip into the trance. It was that or bleed out right here.
The stone roof and industrial light fittings above his head were flashing by as they carried him, lights streaming out behind like comets' tails, ten, eleven, twelve...
The trance, Kenobi. Focus!
A trance would leave him totally vulnerable, but the soldiers were taking him to get help. He just had to buy himself enough time. Sink into the trance and then the hardest part was done. Either he’d wake up when they brought him out of bacta and it would all be over, or he wouldn't wake up at all. Then it really wouldn't really be his problem to worry about.
With a supreme effort, the last of his strength, he withdrew from his surroundings, stilled his mind, and collapsed into the Force.
Obi-Wan’s last thought was of Anakin.