TRIGGER WARNING

This story contains potentially disturbing content such as eating disorders, self-harm, PTSD, suicidal thought. If you're easily triggered, please don't read this.

The Lars were dead. The local said they died in a Tusken Raiders raid. Obi-Wan wasn't surprised. The universe had been cruel lately.

Mindless creatures, that's what Anakin used to call them.

Anakin... No. Don't think about him. Don't think about him. Don't think- It didn't work. No matter how much he told himself, how hard he tried; he couldn't. His mind kept flitting back to Mustafar. To the body burning by the sea of lava. 'I hate you' resonated in his head. It was too much for his psyche though he was powerless to stop it.

Memories continued to assault him. The hold on him only broke when Luke cried, probably sensing his distress in the Force.

"Shh. It's all right, young one," he whispered to Luke. "Everything is alright."

Obi-Wan wished he could believe it to be true.

Luke was asleep and demons came.

No, they were always there, residing in the pit of his soul, waiting for the right opportunity. They made themself known every time he closed eyes, bringing him nightmares and unwanted memories. They told him he would fail Luke as he did Anakin. He was a horrible mentor, a horrible friend. He would never be good enough.

And Obi-Wan agreed with them. If he had been more experienced, he would have guided Anakin better. If he hadn't brushed Dooku's words off, they would have found out Palpatine was the Sith lord. If he had been more observative, he would have noticed Anakin's turmoil after each meeting with the Chancellor.

It was his fault. Obi-Wan was not arrogant as to think all of it was, but a huge part was his failing.

He was guilty and his demons agreed with him.

A part of Obi-Wan-the one that was rational Jedi Master-was aware that this wasn't right. The rest of him ignored it. He was so tired of fighting, especially with himself. He had spent so many years doing so. Maybe it's time to stop.

So weak, pathetic. His demons spat.

The taunt made him reach out to the Force to release his emotions to it. It was a futile attempt, like a tired wanderer trying to reach a mirage of oasis. The Force eluded him yet again.

You are worthless. Even the Force abandons you.

It was like a blaster shot to his gut. All his life, he was taught that the Force was a Jedi's ally, even in the most desperate hour. The Force was what gave a Jedi his power. Except the Force was not with him anymore.

You are nothing. Demons were not whispering in his ears anymore. They were shouting, demanding his full attention.

Too loud. They were too loud.

"Shut up. Just shut up." They didn't. "There is no emotion, there is peace.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There is no death, there is the Force."

The Code brought him no peace. It didn't stop the voice. Obi-Wan had felt like this before, in weeks following Qui-Gon's death. He remembered that meditation helped. Sinking into the Force with someone to ground him gave him reprieve from his demons. Even then, it hadn't been easy. He hadn't escaped unscratched. His fingers twitched at the thought, trailing ridges on his skin under the sleeve of his tunic.

Obi-Wan shivered as fingertips brushed past each of them. It was sickening how fast the voice quieted down.

Cut it. Just one cut. We will go away. They pleaded in a hushed voice that was siren song.

It would be so easy to just give in. No, no, no. He couldn't. He remembered their broken promises. Demons would go away, just for a moment, before they came back with even more of their friends. Then he would cut again, and the cycle would continue.

Obi-Wan couldn't fall. There was no one to drag him up this time. Yet there was no one here to stop him. His logical brain told him to stop. His legs had a mind of their own. They led him to the medkit. His hands dug inside and brought him a scalpel.

That's it. Not hard huh?

Obi-Wan studied it. The durasteel blade gleamed in dim light.

So sharp, isn't it? Imagine how good it feels pressing on your skin.

His breath quickened as the edge of self-control started to fray. He couldn't do this. He wanted to scream, but he was afraid of waking Luke so he settled on biting his lips instead.

It was a mistake. He must have bitten too hard. Metallic tang of blood filled his mouth, flooding his sense.

Do it. The blade is your friend, your salvation.

He did. The cut was shallow a thin line of ruby on white.

Bile was bitter at the back of his throat. He felt sick, the way he did on Geonosis, with the knowledge that the first blood was spilt. There would be many more to come.

Good. One more. Just a little deeper. The voice purred like a satisfied cat.

Tiny prick of pain came, chasing away the mental one. It was grostequely calming, a parody of meditation.

Blood didn't immediately rise to meet the blade. It liked to wait before coming up.

Fascinating.

It was easy to get lost in it. Far too easy.

Obi-Wan made 11 cuts in total, one for each year of Anakin being his Padawan. He didn't bother to put on Bacta. He just wiped away blood and made sure the bleeding stop so he wouldn't stain anything.

Lying on the hard mattress, he felt numb. Except for the dull throbbing on his arms. It was a good kind of numb, one that freed him from himself and harsh reality.

Obi-Wan could picture the cuts in his mind, a tidy row of red lines. He took care to make them parrarel and with equal space between each other. The cut started shallow on his wrist, getting deeper as it neared his elbow.

They were art in its finest form. His body was a medium, letting him express emotions he couldn't show by other means.

Obi-Wan laughed. There was nothing funny about it, but he laughed anyway. He felt like he was losing his mind yet couldn't bring himself to care.

Obi-Wan didn't eat that day. Or the next. Even thinking about doing so nauseated him.

It went on. Emptiness tasted good in his stomach. Days went on-maybe weeks, he couldn't remember-until he collapsed. Luke was hold in his arms at the time.

Obi-Wan couldn't think he could forgive himself if the boy had been injured. Luke was fine, thankfully.

Unfortunately.

Demons didn't like Luke. He was too bright, too pure. They usually kept their distance when Obi-Wan was with Luke.

After the incident, Obi-Wan made a point of eating once in a while. He couldn't let self-destruction harm those under his care.

Obi-Wan admired hunger. True, it was not pleasant, but it was his loyal and steadfast companion. Hunger was always there when he wasn't eating. It was so simple. Hunger couldn't deceive him so Obi-Wan let it become his best friend. It never betrayed him-

-like Anakin did. Demons finished his thought.

Or sleep.

Sleep was the opposite of hunger. Obi-Wan begged for it to come night after night. It never did. Sleep seemed to enjoy the notion that Obi-Wan was in dire need of its company. He gave up after a week or so, content himself with insomnia and permanent smudges under his eyes.

On a rare occasion, sleep took pity on him, letting him drift off in peace. More often than not, Obi-Wan woke up in cold sweat and panic, feeling worse than he did after sleepless nights.

Obi-Wan avoided it like he would a corrupted politician.

But Obi-Wan was mindful. He would keep himself alive until Luke didn't need him anymore.

He owed that to the boy and the memory of his parents.