For
just a moment, just a single moment, Obi-Wan day dreams of green
fields, he dreams of a bright blue sky, he dreams of a festival below
the hill he’s on, he dreams of laughing beings, dancing as the sun
shines bright above them, he dreams of an excited Anakin, he dreams
of the light in those blue eyes and the vibrant smile on his lips.

He
dreams of a better moment.

And
then he’s back.

Back
to the dusty brown field he’s in, trampled down by droids and
humans, the ruined buildings all around, the dying trees, a
yellow sky from all the pollution.
Anakin
cautiously holding his flesh arm with his mech arm, the ever present
shadows of his eyes half hidden as he gives Obi-Wan a grimacing smile
with
Kix quietly bandaging his arm.

Beyond
that is the battlefield, Cody and Rex still directing their troopers
to collect white armored men with blue, orange or nothing coloring
their white armors.

Collecting
their brothers.

Collecting
the dead.

And
yet Obi-Wan is here, standing in front of the single upright
building, a former bank Obi-Wan thinks but he is not sure, a camera
in front of him and a microphone shoved in his face. The
area has been cleared, to give the impression of a successful
campaign.

A
fresh tool in the propaganda wheel, to keep morale
and spirits going for people that barely even notice that the war is
going on unless its on their doorstep and causing them direct
trouble.

They
had won, but so many lives had been lost. This
particular town in itself would not be able to rebuild, most of the
landmass was now so unstable that it was dangerous to collect
vehicles
back from
the unstable ground where they were, leaking toxic chemicals into the
ground and water surrounding them.

Yes,
very much a ‘successful’ win for the Republic.

Another
devastated planet.

Homeless
refugees, dead troopers, injured civilians, a slowly dying planet
unless they could find a way to remove the chemicals.

He
should be feeling something about that, should be feeling something
about how desperate and bloody this war was but for some reason all
he could think of was that festival from the past, the festival of
the butterflies, Anakin’s excited eyes.

And
the reporter in front of him was asking questions about the troopers.

“You
must be proud of your battle hardened clones, they’re doing their
job quite well!” He practically chirped.

Obi-Wan
raised his eyes over Anakin again, watching Boil ever so carefully
lift Lamb up onto the stretcher with the other fallen.

Lamb
was four years
old,
one of the recently rushed out troopers just like Fives, just like
Echo.

Lamb
was curious, spent half of transit sitting beside Obi-Wan as the Jedi
went over Tritaka flora and fauna, wanted to learn, had a childish
spark in his eyes that Obi-Wan adored seeing.

Lamb,
who was so shiny and new that he only recently gained his name, Lamb,
who had no decorations on his armor just yet and only had a cute
little swirl painted onto his helmet.

Lamb,
who
was dead and
would never decorate his armor with anything more than the swirl.

Lamb
and so many others, who should never set their foot onto the
battlefield and yet they had because the Republic had demanded it and
Jedi were their Kharon, their ferry guide to the dead.

As
he stared, Lamb’s
already loose helmet fell off and onto the ground, exposing his blank
eyes and loose expression, his mouth slightly open, mocking Obi-Wan
with the visual that Lamb would never again smile, would never ask
him curiously about another animal in his life, their life. Because
Lamb had taken a blaster impact right to the chest
Obi-Wan’s vision grew clouded and he opened his mouth to ask for a
break, only a hiccup escaped him.

“Obi-Wan!”
Anakin was suddenly there, blocking Obi-Wan’s view of the
battlefield and the camera, his arms coming around him, pulling him
into the others black clothed chest. “That’s enough! Stop
filming! I said stop filming this!” Anakin snarled out, far away in
Obi-Wan’s mind even as he started to sob into the others shoulder,
arms coming up to weakly wrap around Anakin’s neck, his knees
failing him as the only thing keeping him up was Anakin’s strong
grip.

“That’s
enough, the General said to stop.” Another voice injected, Obi-Wan
feeling more than seeing troopers coming over with Wooly taking
charge, his tone dark as Anakin shifted Obi-Wan and lifted him up.

“It’s
alright Obi-Wan, I’m here, you can cry, I… I’m here.” Anakin
whispered, rocking him while keeping his back to the camera, his
voice low and shaking but intent as he rocked Obi-Wan.

Sobbing
faintly, Obi-Wan pressed his nails into the others back. “Lamb’s
gone. Everyone’s dying. Anakin, I can’t do this anymore…”
Obi-Wan let out a louder sob, shaking while pressing his heels into
the others back.

He
heard Anakin’s breath hitch for a second, being pressed to his
chest as he was before Anakin let out a little mournful whine. “Oh,
Obi-Wan, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He
whispered, pressing his face into Obi-Wan’s hair.

Obi-Wan
wanted to ask why the other was sorry.

But
he was too tired, tired of death, tired of pain, tired of being
another cog in the war machine.

Just
so tired.

He
didn’t want to have more blood on his hands, why did he have his
troopers blood on his hands… why
couldn’t he just sleep for a long while.