#alternate ending: cody tells obi-wan they got jumped on their way there

[tennessoui]

pbatmb anakin telling obi-wan “i’m not wearing that” for the four word prompts please!

so this is pbatmb anakin saying "i'm not wearing that".

but not to obi-wan.

(1.2k) (warnings: general pbatmb warnings apply? vaguely fluffy sorta disturbing, a few uses of daddy but not in a serious way)

There’s a thunk on the other side of the door. It could be either Cody’s fist or his head.

Anakin doesn’t particularly care. He stares directly opposite him, drawing his legs closer to his chest as he shifts on the marble floor.

“Skywalker, come on,” the man says, sounding impatient. Anakin sneers. “We’re going to be late.”

“Fuck you,” Anakin says, resting his chin on his knees.

“We’re going to be late and your fiance is going to think you’re getting cold feet and planning to leave him at the altar and he’s going to make it everyone’s fucking problem in the entire goddamn city. Including me.”

Anakin narrows his eyes, considering the words. He’s not—he doesn’t want Obi-Wan to think he’s running out on him. He’s in his suit, light gray with a golden pattern swirling through the fabric, pristine white shirt and tie, lingerie beneath it all. He’s washed and plucked and styled, and he’s ready to marry Obi-Wan Kenobi.

He is absolutely not ready to leave their shared bathroom in their loft to go to whatever venue Obi-Wan has booked for their ceremony and then their reception. And that has nothing to do with his soon-to-be husband.

And everything to do with his husband’s brother, currently thumping his fist—or head, and Anakin prefers that mental picture—against the locked door to the—to the tune of…

He’s on his feet and unlocking the door in a fit of pique. “Is that really fucking ‘Here Comes The Bride’, you fuc—”

Cody’s fist, raised and pulled back for another knock, doesn’t stop. 

Not until it makes contact with Anakin’s eye.

The pain is secondary to the fucking shock. “Holy shit,” he says.

To his credit, Cody doesn’t look as celebratory as Anakin’s always thought he’d look after laying a punch on Anakin.

He actually looks pretty fucking terrified. “Fuck,” he says succinctly. “Obi-Wan’s gonna kill me.”

“Yeah,” Anakin agrees, turning around to look in the mirror behind him. “Holy shit, Fett. I’m bleeding. You made me bleed on my wedding day.”

“Quick,” Cody says. “Display the bedsheets.”

Anakin leans over the sink and prods at the red skin beneath his eye in morbid curiosity, pushing extra hard over the small cut left behind by Cody’s ring. “Oh, dead man walking’s got jokes. Tell that one to Obi-Wan, I think he’d love the implication another man took my virginity. On our wedding day.”

Cody’s glare could level a city. “Now you have to wear this.”

“I’m not wearing that,” Anakin shoots him a look in the mirror. “I wasn’t going to let you tie a blindfold on me before and now that you’ve punched me in the face, not sure I’m trusting you more.”

“Yeah, well. Before you were going to put this on because your fiance requested that you’re led to the venue blindfolded—ostensibly so it’s all a surprise, but if you ask me, he doesn’t think you can run as fast without your eyes—and now you’re going to wear it so Obi-Wan doesn’t see the shiner you’ll be sprouting in a few hours.”

“You think I’m going to wear a blindfold my entire wedding?” Anakin asks, laughter bursting out of him. “You think I’m getting married to someone as hot as Obi-Wan Kenobi, and I’m not going to look at him? Fuck, Fett, if I thought it’d work, I’d tear out everyone else’s eyes so I could look at him through them as well.”

“You say the most disturbing things like they’re something to be proud about,” Fett says, a bit like it’s a miracle.

“Like you’ve never torn out a man’s eyes,” Anakin rolls his own and prods at his cheek again.

“Yeah, well, at least I’m sane enough to understand they’re pretty fucking useless outside of the skull,” Cody leans against the doorway with a sneer.

Anakin sneers back. “Daddy, look what Cody did to my face, Daddy. Daddy, it hurt and I cried it hurt so bad. Daddy, did you hear that? I gave tears that should have been yours to Cody instead.”

Cody starts forward automatically, eyes narrowing. Anakin smirks at him.

“Just practicing, Cody,” he smiles. “In case it comes up.”

“You dirty fucking liar.”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Is that news to you?”

“Skywalker, wear it.”

“Fett, no.”

“Skywalker.”

“Fett.”

“Skywalker.”

“Fett.”

There’s a vein pulsing in Cody’s forehead. It’s the prettiest thing about him. 

“Skywalker. I’m putting this blindfold on you. And you’re going to fucking consent to it because it’s what Obi-Wan fucking wants from you. And me. And it’s my brother’s fucking wedding day and honestly, I was really hoping we’d never fucking get here, but fuck if life’s been that nice to me, ever. Even once.  And when I go to sleep, the idea of leaving you on the side of the road in a soggy cardboard box like a stray cat in a fucking hurricane is literally my happy place. Add a few bullets in your most annoying bits, it’s practically heaven, alright, so please don’t think I care about your wedding day, but fuck you if you think I don’t give a fuck about his.”

It may be the most Cody’s ever spoken to him in one go.

He narrows his eyes and weighs his options.

“Fine,” he says.

“Fuck yo—wait. What?”

“Fine,” Anakin turns to face him with a shrug. “I might never trust you not to punch me in the face given half a chance—” he gestures to his eye. “But Obi-Wan wouldn’t trust me with just anyone. Especially blindfolded. So. If I’m marrying into his mob and his multiple properties and his family, I guess. I guess I’m marrying into his trust in you.” 

Cody’s eyes narrow. “What else.”

Anakin shrugs again and grins. “And I can’t wait to hear you try to convince Obi-Wan Kenobi to last the whole wedding ceremony—to me—without demanding to see my eyes.”

Cody’s face freezes, fabric of the blindfold stretched between his fingers.

Feeling very obliging all of a sudden, Anakin leans forward to press his face into the silk. “But Cody, you have to know that if my daddy asks me to do something—like, I don’t know, show him my eyes during our wedding ceremony—I will.”

Cody grimaces. Anakin smiles.

—--------

“Thank you, Cody,” Obi-Wan murmurs as Fett guides Anakin to a stop in front of him. “I’ll take him from here.”

“I think I’m just realizing you made me walk him down the aisle,” Cody hisses. "Kenobi, it fucking looks like I'm giving him away."

“It’s not as if he has a father to do it,” Obi-Wan points out, hands wrapping around Anakin’s, strong and sure and achingly familiar. “Thank you for your service.”

“I thought you wanted the venue to be a surprise,” Fett sounds furious.

Anakin beams. “I’ve known it’s going to be in the club for ages. Who do you think suggested the venue? Ceremony and reception in one place with our bed a few floors away? Come on, use your brain, Cody.”

“Don’t make me punch you again,” Cody mutters as he takes a step back.

Obi-Wan’s tone changes like a light flickering off. “Again?”

“Yeah,” Cody huffs. “Did I fucking stutter?”

[grumpyhedgehogs]

something old, something new

Summary:  Cody meets Luke. It stirs up mixed emotions. Cody also gets a mission; it's not any more straightforward. AO3. Part 4 of the “scraps” series. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 5.

Warnings: Grief/mourning, anger, canonical character death.

Cody meets Obi-Wan’s last padawan on a rebel base after he’s just signed up for a covert mission onto the Death Star.

His limbs shake. His spine tingles; heat and chills flash alternately over his skin. Cody feels sick bubble up his throat but swallows it as best he can. His vision is blurry around the edges. He can’t quite believe what he’s agreed to. He’s been running from the Empire for months, picking off Imps at a distance for months, avoiding the void in space that is the Death Star for months. But the rebel commanders are right; Cody is the best person to go back in. He’s the best undercover operative they have on hand. He’s already familiar with trooper regs, and he’s used to filling out the armor. His face, while recognizable as Jango Fett’s copy, is not uncommon among Imps. Cody is the best choice. It still turns his stomach.

He wonders if this is how Obi-Wan felt before the Hardeen incident. General Windu had told Ponds offhandedly that Kenobi had asked to veto the mission but was overruled by the need to save Chancellor Palpatine, and Ponds had let Cody know too. Cody wishes they’d just let him die.

He’ll have to leave behind his armor. His own logo has spread, first to Rex's chest piece, then Ahsoka had carved it into her vambraces, then any clone the rebels rescued seem to have the lightsaber and 212th insignias overlapping on their armor somewhere. It makes it a little easier to strip off his own armor, knowing the symbol will still be upheld when Cody isn’t wearing it. It still feels like a betrayal.

“I’m sorry,” Cody whispers to any Jedi spirits who might still be listening. “I’m sorry. I keep failing you.”

“Who are you talking to?”

Cody doesn’t jump, but his hand is on his blaster when he turns. A man not much older than boyhood stands at the entrance to Cody’s bunk; it’s not odd to see strangers on the base, everyone moves in and out as needed, but most people don’t stop to chat. Especially not with Cody. He thinks they might not be used to seeing someone so old fighting with them.

“You ever knock?”

The kid’s face, round and tanned and youthful, falls a little. “There’s no door,” he mutters, petulant. Cody is reminded absurdly of General Skywalker at the beginning of the wars. He shakes it off.

“What’d you need?” He has to get to packing. Cody bends down and picks up the repurposed trooper armor he’d been given for the assignment. The stark, empty whiteness mocks him. He longs for his own armor; his own trooper stuff or his 212th outfit, it doesn’t matter. At least they’re his . This costume he must don belongs to a dead man.

“I just heard you talking and wanted to know if you needed to talk to someone.”

“You go looking for conversations with strangers often, kid?”

The kid shakes his head, blond hair flopping in his face as he does. There’s a strange, familiar little smile on his face as he says, “Sometimes I just get these feelings about things.”

The smile is what does it, it's so like Obi-Wan's. It hits Cody like a blaster bolt between the eyes. He wobbles on his feet and the kid takes a surprised step forward, ready to assist, but Cody holds up his hand and regains his balance. He still feels shaky, and he ends up lowering himself onto his bunk. It’s reminiscent of all those months ago when he made the decision to desert; reflexively, he reaches over and tugs the robe from where he’d folded it after removing it from his armor. Cody pulls it into his lap and tries not to look directly at the young man. “You--Kenobi saved you from the Death Star. You and the Alderaanian princess.”

“Wh--yes,” the kid says. “How did you know that?”

“I was there.”

Blue eyes dart to his discarded armor, to his weathered face, to the new stormtrooper armor he’ll have to wear. He can see the gears turning before the kid blurts out, “You deserted?”

That's one way to look at the chip deactivating. Cody nods. The blond grins widely. “That’s great! Gosh, I knew not all of the Empire could be evil.”

“Enough of it is.”

He seems to shrug this off as he steps further into the room. He sticks his hand out to Cody. “I’m glad to meet you. My name’s Luke Skywalker.”

It takes everything in Cody not to crush his hand in surprise. He lets go hastily. “Where’d you get a name like that?”

“Tatooine. I’m named after my father, but I never met him. If you--you knew Kenobi?” Cody nods, numb. “He was from Tatooine too. He trained me in the ways of the Jedi before we got to the Death Star.”

No he’s not , Cody wants to say. He’s from Coruscant. He’s Stewjoni but he doesn’t remember any of that place and he grew up in the Temple on Coruscant. His padawan was Anakin Skywalker. Who are you?

But it’s all clicking in his head the minute he thinks of these questions. Skywalker, the former slave. He used to avoid sand like the plague. He never talked about his home planet. Amidala had been pregnant. Obi-Wan disappeared, presumed dead by most of the Empire, for years.

What was the one place Skywalker would never return to on pain of death?

“Clever,” Cody mutters. He waves off Luke’s confused expression. Cody focuses, evaluating, and Luke shifts on his feet, ducks his head. He’s wearing the orange flight suit of the rebel pilots, but he’s too skinny and it’s baggy on him. He certainly doesn’t look like he’s going to follow in his father’s footsteps to the Dark side. “I knew Obi-Wan in the wars, before the Empire. He was my general and I was his commander.”

“Really? That's so wizard! Can you tell me more about him?” Luke asks eagerly. His intensity is a little overwhelming. Cody picks up the new armor and starts strapping it to his legs over his blacks. He can’t stand to put on the new chest piece before he has to.

“I’ve got a mission.” He cuts Luke off shortly. His head pounds, his heart pounds. Obi-Wan would say he’s being rude. He is being rude. “Sorry.”

“Oh. Okay. That’s okay.” Cody doesn’t look up. Luke sounds like the shinies used to, all nervous and fearful of rejection. The sound clamps tight around his lungs. “It’s just that he knew my father but he didn't talk a lot about him. I was hoping…”

Cody looks up then, and rage blazes through him. He remembers Vader’s saber slicing through someone beloved, he remembers the black cloud of misery and death sweeping away, he remembers those loathed hands curling around the hilt of a trusted weapon. He looks up and Cody is ready to scream, to fight, to sink his teeth in and hold on.

He meets guileless blue eyes and a slight, kind smile. It’s a smile he’s used to seeing on a dead face. Cody’s mouth shuts with a click.

(This child doesn’t know his father. This child barely knew Obi-Wan. Cody trusts Obi-Wan still, at least enough not to break this child’s trusting idealism. There’s a reason for everything Obi-Wan did.)

“I didn’t know Skywalker personally.” He mutters, looking away. When he catches Luke sagging out of the corner of his eye, guilt gnaws at Cody. He amends, “I only met him during missions. He was a good fighter. Obi-Wan cared a lot about him. They were--people called them The Team, they were so good together.”

“Wow,” Luke breathes. There’s a ruckus outside, a group of fellow pilots and soldiers rushing past, but he doesn’t waver from his study of Cody’s tight expression. “Thank you.”

“Obi-Wan raised you, then?” Any topic is better than Skywalker. He wishes Rex were here, but he and Ahsoka have to deal with some mess the rebels had made for them on the other side of the universe.

“Oh, no,” Luke laughs. He scrubs a hand across the back of his neck and Cody’s heart twists. “No, but he was around the whole time. I think maybe he was watching out for me, in memory of my father, you know.”

“Sounds like something Obi-Wan would do.”

A taller man in a vest swings into the open doorway and crosses his arms over his chest when he sees Luke. Squinting, Cody thinks maybe he remembers this man from the Death Star too. Small galaxy. “Luke. It’s time to go.”

“Sure thing, Han!” Luke waits until Han has left with a grumble before turning around and holding his hand out to Cody again. Cody rises and shakes it; his skin doesn’t burst into flames from touching a Skywalker a second time. “Thank you for your time. If you--if you ever want to talk some more about Obi-Wan…?”

“You know where to find me.” Cody offers and hopes the words don’t sound too wooden. Then, moving as if he is deep underwater, he pauses and turns back to his bunk. The edges of the robe are even more frayed now, and there's one corner with a hole in it. Cody begins to lift the scrap of cloth up, because he loves Obi-Wan, he does, and he knows without a shadow of a doubt that Obi-Wan would want a Skywalker taken care of. His whole being rejects the notion, grief and heartache and longing screaming at him to stop, yet Cody offers it anyway, words dry on his tongue. But Luke's eyes are wide, and he shakes his head mutely. Relief floods through him. When Cody drops the cloth back to the cot, Luke carries on like nothing has happened.

“You’re going undercover on the Death Star, right? That’s you?”

Cody nudges the new trooper bucket near his foot and grunts. “Scarif helped us get schematics of the place, but the command wants to make sure we’re not leaving anybody--or anything useful--behind. So they’re sending me in to make sure, minimize collateral damage.”

“That sounds like a dangerous job.”

“I’m used to it.”

Luke pauses for a long moment. He doesn’t look directly at Cody, his eyes far away. Suddenly the kid turns back, continence even brighter than it's been for the entire conversation. “Keep your own armor on,” he advises. Then, with a sly glace to the cloth bundle on Cody's cot, he adds, “And the poncho. I think it might help you soon. It certainly couldn't hurt, right?”

Cody nods, a little uncertain. Luke smiles again and wanders out. Pensive, Cody turns back to his bunk and spreads his fingers over the fabric of Obi-Wan’s robe, trails them over the insignia on his armor. “Another Skywalker, huh? You sure know how to pick ‘em, Obi-Wan.”