Anakin doesn't remember how they lost control of the ship.

Right about now, the only thing he knows is the smell of coolant that's making the ground spin. Dull aches tease at the corners of his consciousness but they aren't real pain, not yet. He is vaguely aware that he should feel something, probably unbridled terror, but in this moment he doesn't. In this moment he is just…alive. And it's amazing. He and Obi-Wan had thought they were going to die. He and—

[Obi-Wan?]

(While one is rejoicing in life, the other is reflecting on death.)

Anakin braces his hands against the…something, because he hasn't really stopped to figure out where he is yet, and pushes himself towards a sitting position. The legs come next, folding them up under himself, frustrated by the time it takes, and thrusting upwards, standing now, stumbling, and then not standing anymore. Anakin drops to his knees and retches up the contents of his stomach, which is a particularly revolting experience because the sickly sweet of coolant still tickles his nose. But when it's finally over, his mind feels clearer.

He tries to stand again, because he has to, if he's going to find—

[Obi-Wan?]

(There is no death, there is the Force. But this is not the Force, this is a ragged, sickening pain that screams that he is going to die here by himself. There's no lonelier feeling in the world.)

Anakin reaches out into the Force, but the training bond just buzzes innocently, Obi-Wan is alive and nearby, but he is not answering.

Standing is starting to feel like a more manageable task. Anakin wipes his dirty face on his dirty sleeve and tries again.

[Obi-Wan!?]

(Someone is calling, someone is crackling, staticky like a bad holovid. He can't make it out, let alone respond, but at least it takes his attention away from the pain.)

Anakin knows his former master would never purposely ignore him at a time like this. A little ball of panic starts to crackle in his chest, dampened by the numbness for now, maybe, but getting stronger. He finally attempts to take stock of where he is. It's the cockpit of the familiar cruiser, but bits of quartz-glass from the windshield cover everything, glittering bright red in the dim light. There's red speckled all up Anakin's arms too but he doesn't really remember why.

He climbs out of the cockpit and nearly wipes out because where his foot expects a short step down there is nothing but a gaping, smoking hole. He catches himself by throwing a hand against the wall, turning his foot at a funny angle. He can see broad moonlight illuminating the smoke in the air, shining down into the ship where the durasteel hull has come apart at the seam.

Anakin struggles to get his bearings in the thick, black smoke, but it seems like a huge chunk of the ship is just…gone. He tries to send feelers out into the Force, to sense Obi-Wan's location even without their bond, but he's not sure if it's really the Force or just the growing ball of panic that sends him ploughing through the smoke, coughing, suddenly feeling grass and roots instead of hot metal beneath his feet.

The air he's gulping is almost fresh now, and if he pries his stinging eyes open, he can see. He's moving downhill, past big, leafy trees and the scattered remains of the ship. He begins picking through the rubble methodically, almost impersonally. Finally he lifts up a large panel to glance beneath it and the panel gasps.

Or rather, something gasps. Anakin's heart jumps as he immediately lets go, causing an awful groan as the panel thuds back to its original position. Anakin runs towards the noise, nearly tripping over debris.

[Obi-Wan!]

[Ana—]

Obi-Wan is on his back, half-buried in rubble including the panel that Anakin disturbed.

"Obi-Wan!" Anakin barks as his knees hit the ground beside his former master. Obi-Wan attempts a smile which comes out more like a grimace.

"Padawan," he murmurs.

"Are you okay?" Anakin hisses, grabbing Obi-Wan's shoulder. The latter answers with a groan. Anakin notices hot, slick blood soaking through his glove and feels his breath hitch in his throat. Obi-Wan's right arm and the visible part of his torso are stained dark crimson.

"I'll get you out of here!" Anakin announces. He conducts the Force through his fingertips and sends the debris flying up into the air, unburying him.

"Anakin, wait—AH!" Obi-Wan protests as the movement rips a sizable durasteel rod out of his open chest wound. "You shouldn't have…oh, son of a…" Fresh red blood is pouring over the black stains.

"Kriff!" Anakin yelps, letting the debris fall haphazardly a little ways off. "Obi-Wan, I'm sorry!" Anakin knows he has to stop the bleeding. Stop the—oh hells, there's a lot of bleeding. There is no time to look for something sterile. Anakin rips a segment from his robe and hastily covers the wound. He knows he has to apply pressure. The wool has already soaked clean through, and blood is still pulsing—yes, there must be a damaged artery because that is pulsing—up out of the wound. Not enough pressure. Anakin closes his eyes and wills the Force to add strength to his hands. It kicks in with a jolt.

"Anakin—" Obi-Wan shouts. "Anakin, you're hurting—"

Too much pressure. "I'm sorry!" he repeats. Just enough pressure. Not too much, not too much. Moderation is harder.

"You need to calm down," Obi-Wan chides.

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't be sorry—argh—just be calm," he pants. "Release your…fear."

Anakin tries, but only manages to redirect his energy to other objects in the vicinity, making rocks and scraps float around them.

Obi-Wan notices. He quirks an eyebrow and manages a feeble smile.

Anakin doesn't care, the Code and the Order can kriff themselves as long as he's not hurting Obi-Wan anymore. There will be other times to worry about emotion and peace.

He feels a weak tug on their training bond, a tiny flicker of soothing energy. Hells, is Obi-Wan trying to comfort him? He's hardly the one whose blood is starting to pool in the grass by his shoulder.

[Are you going to be okay?]

[I think...are you…hurt?]

"No. I don't know. Not badly." Anakin says, out loud this time since it's obvious Obi-Wan is struggling to connect with the Force. He inhales and puts the rocks down, one by one. "What do you need?"

Obi-Wan takes some time to mull over the question. "…hurts," he finally decides.

"What hurts? Just your chest, or…?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head like he's not really sure.

[Show me,]

Obi-Wan lowers his mental shields, which weren't at their strongest to begin with but Anakin wouldn't have tested them without an invitation. Anakin reaches in and allows the sensation to flood through his own body – dizzy, ringing ears and jittery pain diffused all through his body, burning most brightly in the excruciating hole in his chest. Even the watered-down version of the feeling is enough to make Anakin feel like passing out.

"Does it help?" He asks through gritted teeth "Me feeling some of the pain?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head again. He's only projecting his state onto Anakin, not sharing the burden. With a bit of guilty relief, Anakin pulls back into his own mind.

"…'s a lot of blood," Anakin glances around at it all, on the ground and their clothes and their hands.

Obi-Wan focuses his vision on Anakin's face, breaths coming too shallow for speech. The pressure braced against his ribcage isn't helping. Anakin eases off, hoping to give Obi-Wan's lungs some more room. He has no idea if it really works like that, he has no idea about any of this.

"We need bacta," Anakin concludes. They probably need more than that, but bacta is always a good place to start. "There's got to be some on the—" oh right, the ship. They'd had to…crash land? He's forgotten already.

"Ana…"

"I'm going back for supplies, okay?" Anakin interrupts. "Obi-Wan?"

It is a lot of blood, but he's seen soldiers lose much more. It shouldn't be making Obi-Wan this dizzy and pale. Unless some of it's internal. Anakin feels the panic crackling in his chest again. Hypovolemic shock can kill.

"Ana…kin," Obi-Wan pants. And when that's ignored, "Anakin,"

"What?"

"Meditate with me."

Anakin opens and closes his mouth like a Nabooian gooberfish. "But—"

Obi-Wan reaches up and grabs the wrist of Anakin's flesh hand. The message is clear. [Stay.]

"Al…alright I guess." Given the choice, Anakin tends to reach for a medpac over Force-healing. It's in his nature; he prefers being alert, moving, helping, fixing, to the stationary task of meditation. But if Obi-Wan is going into shock, then steadying his heartrate and blood pressure is crucial. Anakin keeps his mechanical hand braced against the wound but arranges the rest of himself in a cross-legged position.

Anakin has seen healers in holovids rest their fingertips on a patient's forehead, but he feels a bit foolish trying it. Instead he gives Obi-Wan's hand a squeeze. They close their eyes and Anakin feels Obi-Wan's breathing become calmer, but the connection he reaches out for is wobbly at best. Anakin's knowledge of Force-healing doesn't extend far beyond required military training modules, but the Living Force is stronger with him than most Jedi. He centers his thoughts and sends calm, encouraging pulses through their training bond. It seems to help.

Anakin's mind is a curse sometimes; it was not made for meditation. As much of his childhood was spent trying to explain to Obi-Wan, long periods alone with his thoughts make his head buzz, like a psychological itch that he can't help scratching. He has to get up and give it something to do before it drives itself mad. Obi-Wan had seldom accepted this as an excuse, and sometimes assigned extra meditation 'for practice' if he complained too much. Even though he is no longer a padawan, Anakin half expects to be scolded when he opens his eyes after just a short time.

At least, he'd thought it to be a short time. He looks around and sees that the three moons are almost setting with the dawn on the strange planet. The fingers entwined with his are limp. Anakin can feel in Obi-Wan's Force signature that he isn't comatose but well and truly asleep, thank the Force. For once, Anakin wasn't the one who left their meditation unfinished. With that amusing thought, he collapses onto the grass beside his former master and surrenders to his own exhaustion.

The pain comes first. Then the confusion. Then the fear.

Anakin is ripped from sleep by deep aches in his muscles and a throbbing in his temple. In his first moments of wakefulness, his shields are down and all the things he hadn't felt in last night's chaos assault his senses. He feels the stinging scratches on his arm, the tender knot on the back of his head, shrill stabs of pain radiating from his ankle. And why—

He sits up too fast and has to close his eyes for a moment. His chest feels constricted as he struggles to remember where he is, and what could have gone so terribly wrong because it was only a diplomatic mission, wasn't it? They should be on their way home to Coruscant but there's grass here and blood caked up to his elbows. His blood? No, wait—

Anakin can't breathe, nothing feels real. His former master lies beside him, apparently still resting—but he was dying, he was—and the wound—Anakin's heart is racing. He reaches for his belt, gripping his lightsaber for reassurance. He breathes.

He has to help Obi-Wan. That's a fact he can hold on to while he works on inhaling and exhaling. They never really finished treating his wounds properly. Anakin digs his fingernails into his palm. He should have made sure his master was alright before just—just passing out like that. He can't bear it—won't bear it—if he's harmed Obi-Wan again with his carelessness.

Anakin nudges Obi-Wan a bit through their Force bond, and gets no reply. Asleep then. Good. He is careful to reconstruct his mental shields before getting to his feet. He doesn't have to feel the pain, he doesn't have to feel anything at all. He retraces his steps from the day before. What seemed like miles and miles then is only a short walk up the hill.

Pulling the front of his tunic over his mouth and nose against the lingering smoke, Anakin climbs up into the damaged hull of their ship. The light, two-pilot cruiser was not equipped with any great wealth of medical supplies, but every ship is bound to have some bacta patches and pain tabs squirrelled away somewhere. The trouble is finding them.

Something rankles in the back of Anakin's mind as he walks past the entrance to the cockpit. Something confusing. Something wrong. But Obi-Wan needs him, so in a feat of 'living in the present moment' that would have done old Qui-Gon proud, Anakin moves on.

He finds a locker in the aft storage units labelled "EMERGENCY" in boldface. He punches the key on the side to open it, but there is no power to the ship. Growling, he pries at the edge with his fingernails. He nearly stumbles backwards when something in the inner mechanism snaps and the compartment springs open. Anakin grabs a medpac from the survival kit inside, then hurries back the way he came. His ankle screams in protest as he hops out of the ship and lands on it, but he soldiers on with an iron resolve. There is no time for weakness.

Obi-Wan is awake and scowling when Anakin comes bounding down the hill.

"Good morning," he says pointedly.

"It's night." Anakin informs him. Although how the entire day's gone by is beyond him.

"I told you to stay."

Anakin sits down, looking sheepish.

"I woke up and you had disappeared," Obi-Wan presses.

"'Well, I got supplies," he says. "You okay?"

"Hmm," Obi-Wan spends a moment taking stock of himself, paling as the corners of his mouth twist in discomfort. "Delightful. Preferable to the alternative, I imagine."

It's now Anakin's turn to go pale. So it had been close, then, he hadn't been exaggerating to himself. Seeing his former padawan's jaw hang open, Obi-Wan backpedals. "It will be fine, I am fine, forget I said that."

"Can I see?" asks Anakin, (who will not be forgetting he said that). He shuffles closer and lifts a corner of the makeshift bandage he'd used to staunch the bleeding. It is stuck fast, melded to Obi-Wan's shredded tunic and the flesh beneath.

"…don't…" Obi-Wan whispers. Anakin drops it faster than if it had burned him.

Their attempt at meditation seems to have exhausted all of the elder Jedi's ability to call upon the Force. His end of the training bond is silent, shields all but nonexistent. Anakin has only to brush up against his Force signature to feel Obi-Wan's unrelenting vertigo, and the pain which has passed a threshold into something unrecognizable as pain, something horrendous. He draws his own shields tight, in case Obi-Wan can sense his fear, his utter incompetence. He doesn't know a kriffing thing about healing. So naturally, he smiles. "Let's see what they packed for us, huh?"

Anakin slings the pack off of his shoulder and unzips it, pawing around inside. He finds some cold-and-flu hypos, scissors, packets of electrolyte powder, a thermogauge, a sheet of pain tabs in aluminum foil—

"Hand those over, padawan mine." says Obi-Wan. Anakin obliges. "Brilliant." Obi-Wan pushes three pills out of their packets and tips them back in one go.

In the meantime, Anakin has found some bacta patches and antiseptic gel. "I'm sorry, Master, this has to come off," He touches the cloth glued to Obi-Wan's skin. He doesn't pull this time, but gives a tiny, experimental tug.

Obi-Wan snaps up and grabs his wrist. "Give…give the pain tabs a minute. Please."

"Sorry!" Anakin lets go again. He sits back on his calves.

The fingers curled around his wrist are trembling. "Are you feverish?" Anakin answers his own question with a hand on Obi-Wan's forehead. The fear must show in his expression.

"Trauma does that," says Obi-Wan.

"You sure? It's not…like, starting to fester, is it?"

"Too soon for that," Obi-Wan reassures him. "It's just a reaction, shouldn't take too long to sweat out."

Something about that answer doesn't sit quite right. Obi-Wan's forehead is dry. "But you aren't sweating," He thinks about it. "Force, you were hypovolemic, you need fluids. Here." He rummages through the depths of the medpac to produce a rectangular carton of water. He starts to pry up a corner and affix the built-in straw, but Obi-Wan motions for the carton.

"I can do that bit," he insists. He doesn't realize how dry his throat was until he takes a sip and it feels a hundred times better. Holding the straw so he can drink while on his back turns out to be a messy affair, but he waves away Anakin's attempts to help.

They both become aware of a delicate quiet hanging over them, each waiting for the other to speak. The medication has had enough time to kick in, and they've exhausted all the time they can stall with the water.

"Is that sunrise?" Obi-Wan asks.

"Already?"

"What's the rotation of this planet?"

"I'm not even sure what planet we're on."

That draws Obi-Wan up short. "It's Rion, Anakin," he says with concern.

"Well, I'd say it's less than half of a Standard day, or I'm going crazy," says Anakin hurriedly.

The quiet returns. Anakin feels too small for the weight of the task before him. Obi-Wan may not be able to feel his Force signature, but there's enough to read in his face. The boy doesn't trust himself to know what to do. But there's no way around it, no excuses left to wait. And dear Maker above, it is not going to be fun for either of them.

"It'll only get worse, Anakin. If you don't clean it—"

"I know!" he snaps.

"Just…just go slow. Please."