Stained

Disclaimer: All belongs to the all powerful Mouse. Neither the characters nor the galaxy in which they act belong to me. No money is made or expected to be made from this work.

No betas, therefore the errors are all mine.

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"Obi-Wan?"

"It's... not... mine."

It took the master a few moments to process his apprentice's meaning as he looked to the scene before him. It had all the trappings of a nightmare.

Qui-Gon Jinn had come in search of his padawan the moment he felt the unsettling burst of emotions rush through their bond. First fear, then determination, then... horror. He had rushed into the small office building knowing his padawan was inside. The Force nearly shivered in the air the moment he entered the hall and went down the short stair. He slowed his pace and approached the open door carefully. When he reached the room, what he saw, he knew, would be forever burned into his memory. Obi-Wan was kneeling in the middle of the room. His face, his tunic, his hands, and leggings were all covered in blood. Blood pooled around him on the floor making the thirteen year old seem like a desolate island in a sea of crimson.

Qui-Gon dropped to a crouch and moved closer to the still kneeling child.

"Padawan?" he said gently. Obi-Wan was staring at his hands, his palms up and covered in the darkening ruby liquid. He glanced up at his master, his blue-gray eyes were wide and bore a half glazed look.

"It's not mine," he repeated and then returned to staring at his hands. Qui-Gon looked to the left of the boy for the first time and noticed an unmoving body. The figure wore the black and grey uniform of the rebels currently terrorizing the capital city of Rhys on Xjasso'pia. The pair of Jedi had been sent to help broker a truce between the government and the rebel group, but negotiations deteriorated rapidly when the sister of the Xjasso'pian Prime Minister was found dead. Poison was suspected. After that, it was all Qui-Gon could do to try to get himself and his padawan out of the palace and to the spaceport, but they were ambushed and separated. Apparently, Obi-Wan was attacked by one of the rebels and was forced to kill him. Qui-Gon didn't see Obi-Wan's lightsaber nearby only a vibroknife covered from tip to hilt with, presumably, the rebel's blood-the same blood that now encased much of his padawan's form like a second skin.

"It's not mine," the boy repeated once more. Qui-Gon nodded slowly as he moved closer to his apprentice.

"I know, Padawan," he said gently as he continued to move forwards. "Obi-Wan, are you injured?" he asked. The boy didn't speak. He only stared at his hands and shook his head. Finally, Qui-Gon was close enough to touch him. He carefully put his hands on the boy's tremulous shoulders.

"Obi-Wan, you're alright. You're safe now," he said as he sent waves of comfort and reassurance through the bond, but all he felt from the other end was an odd sort of static-an uncomfortable white noise with only traces of emotion, namely horror and disbelief.

"It's not mine," he whispered. He raised his gaze to look into his master's eyes. Qui-Gon stared into the eyes of his padawan and saw in them nothing he recognized of the boy that had lived with him for the past few months. Those eyes had held a light, a twinkle that seemed to reflect the compassion and warmth of the boy himself. But, these eyes... these eyes that stared at him now were dull, empty. They were dead eyes.

"It's not mine."

"I know, Padawan. I know," Qui-Gon said as he placed a hand on Obi-Wan's forehead, only dimly noting how clammy the boy's skin felt under his touch.