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Obi-Wan groans again. Anakin can’t take it anymore.
The sound is driving him mad. There’s so little that he can do, so little that they both know he can do.
Artoo is piloting the ship back to the rendezvous as fast as he can. He’s ignoring war protocol to do so, he doesn’t even have to be told. Anakin prays that the Separatists aren’t tailing them, that Ventress knows better than to follow.
Force, it was so karking stupid of them, so unbelievably karking stupid.
Anakin tears through another medkit looking for any kind of anesthetics, pain relievers, disinfectants, anything. Instead, he finds expired protein rations, gauze, and stimchew. He chucks them as hard as he can against the wall of the ship in his anger, running his hands through his hair in desperation.
Obi-Wan is on the floor covered in his own blood, his leg is broken, a gash across his thigh. Anakin can’t get a good look at it, he knows that it’s still bleeding, that every ounce of blood being lost brings his master closer to death.
He had been so karking quiet behind him, Anakin hadn’t even thought to turn around. Their bond hadn’t felt off, he hadn’t felt any of Obi-Wan’s pain. Anakin had been so focused on getting out of there before Ventress could show up-- kriff. It had cost him so much time. He should’ve just destroyed them, he should’ve pulled everything in and crushed it. Anakin keeps his palm against his forehead as he attempts to think.
Kriff, he should’ve just stayed there. He should’ve just relayed a message through Artoo and dragged Obi-Wan deep into the empty corridors of the Separatist destroyer. He could’ve applied pressure right away, it would’ve stopped the bleeding, or at least slowed it.
Obi-Wan groans again, turning his head away from Anakin as he tries to sit up. Weak, he falls back down to the floor of the ship’s storage bay.
Anakin kicks the kit as hard as he can. It explodes, littering flimsi-plastic everywhere. He has nothing. There’s nothing. He can treat papercuts, he can mend clothes, he could put another coolant system together, but he can’t perform field surgery.
“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says softly.
“No.” He says, ripping open a backpack and dumping its contents onto the floor. More rations, splint tools, other miscellaneous junk. Anakin quickly makes his way to the pilot’s cabin and looks underneath the seats for any sort of kit.
When he returns, he has a tiny aid kit in hand as well as a bottle of Alderaanian brandy. The kit doesn’t have anything that’ll save Obi-Wan’s life. Inside are tiny bacta pouches meant for accidental burns from starship repairs. It’ll have to do.
He finds his master trying to pull himself up again, Anakin feels his panic stir into anger, the Force kicks up around him and lowers Obi-Wan back against the floor. It doesn’t even feel like he’s done it, but he knows he has.
“Just kriffing once, could you not-” he starts, but Obi-Wan cuts him off.
“ You!” He shouts, heaving breaths. “You didn't pack the kriffing kit!” He screams his throat raw as he throws his head back against the floor, still breathing heavily.
“It’s not my karking ship!” Anakin screams back. He kicks the other half of the medkit, it sails over Obi-Wan and clatters into the corner. “You didn’t pack anything! How’s a karking bottle of liquor supposed to keep you from karking bleeding out!”
“Say kark one more time!” Obi-Wan threatens, as loudly as his overtaxed voice will allow him. He’s soaked in sweat and turning paler by the minute. He swallows, gasping a few breaths. “Kriff, Anakin,” he says softer. “You have to do it.”
“I can’t!”
He breathes, just breathes, his eyes are so wide and filled with pain that Anakin doesn’t want to look at him. He’s never seen his master look so desperate before. Anakin’s chest tightens, he puts the small first aid kit down and uncaps the brandy.
Anakin takes a swig first, it’s revolting. He helps Obi-Wan sit up just enough to drink some.
“A healing trance,” he says, knowing what he has to do. He’s known ever since he saw it, ever since he pulled Obi-Wan up the ramp of the ship and told Artoo to get them the hell out.
Obi-Wan shakes his head, blinking quickly to keep his tears at bay. “You have to.”
He doesn’t want to do it, it’s the last thing he wants to do. It’s going to cause his master so much pain, there are so many complications, all of them mounting in his head. He could be sealing in infection, sepsis, fever, Obi-Wan could lose his leg if he karks it up even a little.
His eyes are welling with tears. Anakin looks away, he rubs his face with his sleeve, he can cry later, he tells himself.
He carefully reaches for the torn pant leg. The fabric is saturated with blood, slimy and warm, Anakin tries not to think of it as blood, but as transmission fluid. He tries to convince himself that all of this can’t be from Obi-Wan, that it has to be from something else, too. It doesn’t help. He rips it further, pulling it out of the way.
Anakin undoes his belt, then the obi that holds his robes together. He bundles the leather and offers it to Obi-Wan, who already knows what’s coming. He nods, biting down hard into the leather bundle as he takes a heavy, steady breath.
Anakin douses Obi-Wan’s leg in brandy, hoping to clean some of the flowing blood. Obi-Wan slams his hand against the hull of the ship, startled by the stinging pain. The blood only turns pink, diluted by the liquor, but he can see the torn skin, how close it is to one of the main arteries of the body. They are so kriffing lucky, he thinks to himself.
Picking up his lightsaber from the floor beside him, Anakin has to stand to avoid cutting through the hull of the ship. He keeps his feet on either side of Obi-Wan’s leg to stabilize him as best he can. He takes a deep breath and activates the blade.
Obi-Wan tenses underneath him.
He lowers the blade, focusing intently on the form of his master underneath him. Anakin can feel every centimeter of Obi-Wan’s body, the less-worrisome injuries he’s hiding, the way he’s shaking with exhaustion and pain, the way the pain in his leg has numbed the rest of his body.
He’s careful. The blade doesn’t even need to touch the skin to cauterize it. Obi-Wan makes an awful, throaty screaming sound as the plasma melts his skin, sealing the wound closed. Anakin deactivates the blade, dropping it and instantly falling to his knees.
The scent of burning flesh clings in the air, he wants to be sick. He doesn’t want to look at the blistering skin, the burns that he’s caused. Anakin works hastily, popping the packs of bacta and carefully oozing the liquid over the wound.
He can feel Obi-Wan beginning to fade, the way he blinks in and out of consciousness. Anakin reaches up and taps the side of his face, but it does little to keep him out of trouble. He removes the leather from between his teeth, Obi-Wan barely moves. Anakin takes a deep, steadying breath, the last thing he wants to do is shove all of his terror into their bond.
“C’mon,” he prods softly, tapping the man’s face again. Anakin closes his eyes, searching for Obi-Wan, even though the man is right in front of him. He tugs on the bond, allowing the man to siphon energy from him. He feels like a reactor, he’s so full of panic and fear that he could sustain multiple men like this if he had to.
Obi-Wan takes hold of him in the bond, his grasp is soft and weak. Anakin wonders if he’s helping at all, or if Obi-Wan is just humoring him.
“Obi-Wan,” he says, holding the man’s face. “Don’t-” he says softly.
“Mm,” he blinks, still breathing heavily.
Artoo chirps loudly from the pilot’s cabin. Anakin misses half of what the droid has said, something about the communications channel. He doesn’t move from where he is until his comlink blinks.
“Grand Army of the Republic,” a voice chirps over the communicator. “Identify yourself, please.”
Anakin clicks to allow it, Artoo must’ve patched his com through the ship. “General Skywalker,” he breathes, “have medical meet us at the hangar. Immediately.”
“Yes, yes, sir!”
Every ounce of stress that had been holding him together snaps, Anakin rests his head against the steel floor for several moments as Artoo engages the landing gear. He sits up when his ears pop over the difference in pressure as the ship sinks into the hangar.
Obi-Wan’s eyes are open, but Anakin doesn’t know if he’s fully conscious. It’s better than nothing. He takes a deep breath, resting a hand over Obi-Wan’s chest as the ship docks.
This is the last time he takes a ship from the old man.