Chapter 1 – Falling
Plot: Obi-Wan Kenobi is dead. Except he's not. And Anakin Skywalker doesn't know how to cope with the crushing betrayal. "He knows he shouldn't hurt himself, but as long as no one knows, it won't matter. He can live. He can face Obi-Wan without breaking apart. He's fine. Everything's fine. Except he's not, and he's the only one who knows it."
Author's Note: Okay, so this fic is... dark. Like very dark. I've never written anything like this before, and I frankly don't know what hole it crawled out of. But here it is! I've put Anakin through so much suffering in this fic (please forgive me), and I'm only half-way sure what all will even happen in it (I'm only on chapter 5-6 or so). As dark as this may be, I hope y'all enjoy it if you're willing to continue on to read. :')
Updates will be monthly!
WARNING: Self-harm, suicidal thoughts/feelings, blood, and general darkness!
~ Amina Gila
It starts when Anakin stumbles into his bedroom after the funeral and arresting Hardeen, tears blurring his eyes, unbearable pain crushing his heart. It's dark, and he can't be bothered to turn on a light, so he shouldn't be surprised when he trips on one of the stray pieces of some contraption on the floor. His reflexes aren't what they should be, so he lands hard, the sharp edge of the metal cutting into his arm.
Muttering a curse under his breath, Anakin shoves the things aside, before going to tend to the wound. It's not bad, and he stands in the 'fresher, numbly watching the blood drip down his arm. That's when he first realizes that he feels... not better maybe, but certainly not worse. It's more like comfortable in a bad sort of way. The hollow ache inside of him isn't quite as overwhelming as it was a minute ago, and it's with that thought in mind that Anakin stops the bleeding and crawls into bed.
He tries not to remember – or acknowledge – what happened the previous night as he awakens, dragging himself out of bed and robotically eating breakfast. He doesn't think he looks too good, but then again, neither does Ahsoka, her expression unusually vacant, hardly responding to anything around her. Obi-Wan's death hit both of them hard, and Anakin is floundering. He doesn't know what to do, how to go about bringing himself and his Padawan out of this.
"You want to spar a bit?" he finally asks, growing restless in the heavy silence hanging over them. He's desperate for some sort of release, something to alleviate the gnawing pain inside of him. The cut on his arm no longer hurts, but it's there, and it's as though he can feel it, much as he tries to ignore the sensation.
"Sure," Ahsoka mumbles, without a shred of enthusiasm.
Anakin sighs, forcing himself to rise and placing a comforting hand on Ahsoka's shoulder as they step into the hall of the Temple. She stays next to him as they walk to the training room, eyes downcast. If someone says something to them on the way, Anakin hardly registers it, desperate to find some way to unleash the storm of emotions which are drowning him. If he was better, Obi-Wan would still be here. If he wasn't so – so weak, perhaps things would be different.
They spar for a couple hours until they're almost too exhausted to move. Anakin tells Ahsoka that she has the day off before going to his bedroom and staring down at the droids scattered about. The duel was good. It made him feel better, and he's fairly sure it helped Ahsoka too, though he didn't ask. After showering, he throws himself on his bed and lays there.
Eventually, when the sun is sinking towards the horizon, he's pulled from a short, terrifying nightmare of being trapped in a suffocating void, unable to call for help. He ignores the tears pricking his eyes as he rolls off his bed to the floor and begins pointlessly fiddling with the parts laying strewn around. Anakin hardly remembers what it was that he was trying to build, but he starts working anyways, finally giving up less than half an hour later when the memories won't stop tormenting him.
He can't believe it's really come to this, to the point where he's desperate for help and Obi-Wan isn't here to help him. Because he's dead. He clenches his fist around one of the parts, ignoring it even when the edges bite into his fingers, drawing blood. Pain helps him focus on here, so he'll use it. When Anakin opens his hand, there's a long, shallow cut oozing blood on two of his fingers. He flexes them, focusing on the sting to hold back the torment threatening to devour him whole. It's replaced by guilt.
This – whatever it is – is not right. Anakin knows logically that it won't help, but it's either hurting himself physically or letting his emotions overwhelm him to the point of no return. It's not even a choice he has to ponder. He's always struggled with controlling himself, and this just proves that he's a terrible Jedi. If he was better, he would meditate and release his emotions to the Force. But he's can't. He doesn't let himself dwell on it, not then, and not later when he finally goes to bed.
The following morning is even worse, partially because he couldn't sleep the previous night. I love you, Master. You know that, right? Ahsoka's words echo in his mind, and Anakin realizes that he doesn't at all regret sharing so much with her, or letting her see him cry, because if nothing else, it's brought them closer. They still have each other. He repeats that over and over, even as the grief becomes stifling.
By early afternoon, he caves, slipping into his bedroom and pulling up the sleeve on his left arm before using the Force to pull one of the sharper objects in the room to his hand. He presses it against his skin, slashing it diagonally. A stinging pain erupts, and Anakin realizes that if he single-mindedly focuses on it, he can drown out everything else. He doesn't feel the guilt over letting Obi-Wan die, he doesn't feel pain or anger – at himself. He feels nothing at all.
As the thoughts and emotions begin to bleed back into his awareness, he digs into his arm again, deeper this time, nearly flinching at the pain which shoots through his nerves. He shouldn't need it; he shouldn't even want it, but he does. It soothes some part of him which has been shattered beyond recognition and repair.
He sits there for hours probably, until the sun disappears. When he hears Ahsoka moving around, he finally gets up and cleans the blood off his arm – and there's a lot of it by now. Anakin resolutely does not think about what he did when he steps into the main room to see her poking at a bowl of something, seeming as unenthusiastic about eating it as he would be.
"There's something for you if you want it," she says without looking up.
"I don't." His voice is flat, and he knows he sounds far too distant and detached.
Ahsoka looks up at him, a hint of worry flickering through her blue eyes, and Anakin feels the urge to squirm. It's not as though she could know what he did, so he tries to reason away that illogical fear. What she doesn't know won't hurt her. He intends to keep this secret and take it to his grave if need be. He won't let anyone know, refuses to see the dismay or pity or disappointment or even disgust. No. It absolutely doesn't matter.
He stands there awkwardly for another moment before returning to his room, closing the door behind him. It's far too early to sleep, but then again, he doubts it will come anyways.
And, of course, he was right. Anakin drifts in and out of a fitful slumber, tossing and turning as he struggles to find a semblance of rest. By the time the sky begins to lighten, he actually feels more tired than he did before. His heart – or rather, the place where his heart used to be – aches torturously, and he reflexively reaches for the bond which has always been his strength, flinching when he again hits emptiness.
Tears flood his eyes, and he lets them fall, too exhausted to be bothered with wiping them away. Why can't it just stop hurting for one second so he can actually try to do something other than be miserable? It doesn't.
Anakin rolls over, pressing his face into the pillow and letting his pain flow out, though it seems to be never-ending. All he's doing is tiring himself out further. Eventually, he sits up, the bedding tangled around him. In the dim light coming in the window, he studies the cut on his arm, probing it roughly. The physical pain isn't enough to pull him out of his mind, so he tears it open again, using the same object as yesterday.
The sharp metal cuts a little deeper than he intended, and Anakin winces at the throbbing pain, blood flowing freely down his arm. That spurs him into action, and he stumbles from his bed, slipping into the 'fresher and turning on the light. A few drops of blood land in the sink, and he quickly applies pressure to staunch the bleeding. He won't bleed out, but it would be stupid to faint or something from accidental blood loss.
It takes longer than he'd like, and for a moment, a sliver of unease snakes through him. Why can't he cause pain without bleeding himself out at the same time? Actually, he can. His mind drifts to his sparring match with Ahsoka yesterday. They hadn't turned their lightsabers onto a low setting then, but he'd been burned a couple times. Though they were relatively minor, if he hadn't automatically treated them with bacta, they would still ache today. Of course, lightsaber burns leave scars far more prominent than those caused by cutting, but – it's still an option.
Or he could just learn how to heal himself using the Force. If nothing else, it would be a way for him to reduce scarring. So, he tries experimentally, sitting cross-legged on the 'fresher floor, reaching into the Force and focusing on the injury. Honestly, he has no idea what he's looking for, but as he delves deeper, he realizes that he can feel the tissue in his arm, and the abnormality – the cut – which is in it. He nudges it, trying to get it to return to its normal state, drawing in energy from the Force for healing.
To his immense surprise, he can actually sense the tissue knitting itself back together. It makes his arm feel weirdly itchy and tingly at once. When Anakin finally pulls himself back to the present moment and looks down at his arm, all that's left of the cut is a thin line of new skin. He knows there will be a faint scar which will likely fade in time and join the myriad of other scars marking his body. No one will know. That realization sends a strange thrill rushing through him. This... secret will stay his.
He stands, suddenly feeling completely drained from the Force healing. Yawning, he stumbles back to his bedroom, checking to ensure that Ahsoka is still sleeping. She is. He crashes face first onto his bed, not bothering to pull up his blankets as he closes his eyes and slips into a doze for the first time in a couple days.
A wave of guilt and pain echoing into the Force pulls Anakin back to wakefulness, the sun shining through the window letting him know that he was sleeping for no more than three hours. Ahsoka. He stumbles to his feet, running his flesh hand through his hair to make himself look semi-presentable and straightening out his robes – he'd not bothered to take anything off before trying to sleep yesterday... or maybe it was the day before. Everything is blurring together, and he's no longer certain about the passage of time.
He can't simply do nothing when Ahsoka is in pain. He's not a good master; he's focusing on himself and his own pain instead of his Padawan. They've spoken a few times, but not much beyond that. And she's upset now. She's in her bedroom, so he knocks on the door, quietly asking permission to enter which she grants.
Ahsoka is sitting in the middle of her bed, knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them as she stares fixedly at the wall opposite her, silent tears running down her face. Something clenches within him when he sees her crying, and without even thinking, he's moving across the room to sit next to her, resting a hand on her back. "What's wrong, Snips?" he asks quietly.
"Nightmare," she mumbles, sniffing, voice shaking. "I should've saved him," she adds.
Anakin had known, in an abstract sort of way, that she blames herself, but this makes it so much more real, and he doesn't know how he feels about it. She shouldn't blame herself though. He knows that much. It's his fault. "'S not your fault," he whispers to her.
Ahsoka chokes on a sob and throws herself at him. He catches her, holding her tightly as she cries against him. He thinks he ought to say something to comfort her, but he doesn't know of anything which could lessen her pain – or his own. She's just managed to calm down when Anakin's comm beeps with a message from Rex. Hardeen has escaped from prison along with Cad Bane and Moralo Eval.
The world around Anakin seems to stop. His master's murderer escaped from prison. The Council has put a bounty on their heads, but somehow, Anakin has the feeling that they won't be caught. He wants to pursue them himself to ensure that they get justice, but he knows that if he sees Hardeen again in this state, he'll break. He won't capture him; he'll kill him, and that's not something Obi-Wan would want. Just thinking the name sends a wave of grief and pain washing through him. He feels like he's drowning in it.
When Anakin finally sinks back to reality, he vaguely recognizes that Ahsoka is still hugging him, but now, it seems more to give than receive comfort. He blinks away the tears blurring his eyes and forces himself to stop holding the comm so tightly. He doesn't want to break it. "He's free," he says numbly, knowing how strangely detached he sounds. "He escaped somehow."
"Will we go after him?" Ahsoka asks, and he's not so far gone that he doesn't catch the hopeful, dark note in her voice. Her eyes are hard, her anger simmering just below the surface.
Anakin closes his eyes and breathes out. He lets himself imagine how satisfying it would be to wrap his hands around Hardeen's neck and strangle him to death. The surge of desire which rushes through him, snaps him out of the daze he's in. It's wrong. He knows that. He knows that Obi-Wan wouldn't want it either. He's a terrible Jedi, but he doesn't think he should go that far. Pulling back from Ahsoka, he crosses his arms and shakes his head. "I want to, but I don't think I could stop myself from killing him," he admits. "Obi-Wan – he wouldn't want that." He tries to ignore how much his voice breaks on the name.
A myriad of emotions flash across Ahsoka's face, and for a moment, Anakin thinks she's going to protest. She doesn't. Slowly and unobtrusively, Anakin digs his mechanical fingers into his left arm hard enough to bruise. He needs something to ground him, so that he doesn't lose control. He's teetering this close to tumbling over the edge, over the point of no return.
"We probably should eat something," he suggests half-heartedly to distract Ahsoka from her internal struggle. He doesn't know what else he can say to dissuade her from her desires of revenge. There isn't much to say. The last time he lost a parent, he killed an entire tribe. This time it's so much worse, and Anakin is afraid of himself, of what he might do if he loses his final shred of control.
"I'm not hungry," grumbles Ahsoka, flopping back onto her bed. He isn't either. The thought of eating making him feel vaguely nauseous, even though he hasn't really eaten since before Obi-Wan died. He ought to take better care of himself, but... he doesn't know what he could do.
"Then, I'll be in my room if you need me," he decides, slipping away. As soon as he's in the safety of his own room, he pulls off his outer tunic to better look at the damage on his arm. There's a red hand-shaped marking, and he knows it will bruise soon. Good. But it's not enough. He doesn't let himself second guess before picking up the piece of durasteel, which is laying off to the side where he'd put it, and cutting into his arm, slightly above the previous place.
Anakin feels strangely disconnected from his body as blood wells up, the stinging registering vaguely in the back of his mind. He waits until it's dried over before he curls up on his bed, trying to quell the ache deep inside his chest. He doesn't any way from here but down, and that scares him, at least the part of him which isn't totally numb right now. While he has undoubtedly struggled from time to time, he's never been openly self-destructive or suicidal like he feels right now. It's difficult for him to admit that he wants to fall asleep and never awaken, but he does want it, so badly. It would be an end to this pain, to this grief which is tearing him apart.
Another nightmare a few hours later drives him out to the couch in the living room, all evidence of the injuries on his arm carefully covered by his robes. Ahsoka joins him not long later, and they sit together in relative silence without speaking or moving. Being with Ahsoka somehow seems to take the sharpest edge off of his grief, so Anakin is loath to leave her. She seems to feel the same, because when the sun sets, signaling the end of yet another day, they curl up together to brave another sleepless night. Together.
They're still there the following afternoon, still mostly silent, simply taking comfort in one another's presence. The storm of grief in his mind has subsided temporarily, which is why Anakin is irked when he gets a message from the Chancellor, asking him to come over. He doesn't want to. He doesn't want the platitudes and empty condolences, but he goes anyways, because it's only proper.
"I am terribly sorry for your loss, my boy. It's a terrible thing, Master Kenobi's death," Palpatine tells him when he gets there. "I know he meant a lot to you."
"Yes," Anakin agrees, forcing himself to speak, "Yes, he did."
"Have you been sleeping?" the Chancellor asks with grandfatherly concern, putting a hand on Anakin's arm. "You don't look good."
Anakin closes his eyes and reigns in his emotions. "I can't sleep," he admits, "But I'll be alright." He doesn't believe that in the least, but he doesn't want Palpatine to worry about him needlessly. The Chancellor has far more important things to deal with, namely the war.
Their conversation is interrupted when there's an incoming comm from Windu, explaining that the Council has removed the bounty from Hardeen and the two other escapees. Anakin can't hide his flinch when he hears, tensing as he stands in front of the window, staring out at the city.
"Why are you removing the bounty on the three fugitives?" demands Palpatine.
"If they're free to move, they could lead us back to Eval's operation," Windu explains. It's as if it no longer matters that Obi-Wan is dead, as if the Council cares more for the Republic than the passing of one of their own.
Anakin inhales slowly, keeping an iron grip on his emotions as he digs his mechanical fingers into his arm again, not wincing even when the pain ricochets through him. It's sharp and grounding, and he relishes in it. He deserves it and so much more. This is all his fault. He should have been better, been more careful. And because he wasn't, Obi-Wan is dead.
"Very well. Keep me apprised," the Chancellor declares, sounding displeased as he disconnects the comm. "You look troubled, Anakin," he notes.
"How can they simply act as though it means nothing that Obi-Wan died?" he blurts out. "His murderer is on the loose, and they want to sit back and wait!"
"Have they spoken to you about their plans at all?" the Chancellor questions, a look of profound sympathy on his face. When Anakin shakes his head, he continues, "It is possible that they do not trust you to control your feelings."
"There isn't much I could do anyways," Anakin says miserably. "Hardeen killed my master, my best friend! And now he's escaping with Cad Bane and Moralo Eval, and the Jedi Council won't do anything about it!"
"I have it from a reliable source that the fugitives were last headed towards Nal Hutta," Palpatine tells him. "You cannot deny your feelings, Anakin. They are what make you special. If you believe you can stop this plot against me, I trust you."
For a moment, Anakin is so tempted to agree. He and Ahsoka could easily kill all three of those bounty hunters, but... He knows it's not what Obi-Wan would want him to do. Slowly, he moves his hand down, pressing hard on the cut which is still healing. It hurts somewhat, a reminder of what he'll cause if he agrees. "I – I can't," he manages to say, shaking his head. "I'm not thinking clearly right now."
The Chancellor smiles sadly again, but this time, there's a hint of disappointment in it. "If that's truly how you feel," he murmurs, "Then I will respect your decision."
Anakin excuses himself, making his way back to the Temple where Ahsoka is waiting. He's exhausted, but he doesn't want rest right now. The tension humming under his skin is far too strong for him to relax. Instead, he takes Ahsoka out sparring, and they duel until they're almost too tired to move. Once they clean up, they go to the cafeteria to eat, and Anakin tells Ahsoka about his conversation with Palpatine.
"The Council has decided to remove the bounty on Hardeen and the others in the hope that they'll be able to find out what Eval is planning," Anakin explains tonelessly.
He doesn't miss the flash of anger in Ahsoka's eyes. "And what?" she demands incredulously. "They'll just let Hardeen get away as if he's innocent?!"
Anakin makes a face. "I imagine they intend to be a temporary measure, but more likely than not, they won't catch him." He exhales slowly, feeling oddly detached from his own body, as if he's not really the one in control. It's a weird sensation, though he's too distant to even decide whether or not he cares. "The Chancellor told me that he heard from a source that they were spotted on Nal Hutta."
"Are we going after them then?" Ahsoka queries, eagerness underlying her tone.
Anakin is quiet for a long moment. "No," he admits, "I'm not in my right mind." That he's even saying such a thing is, he thinks, proof enough that something is majorly wrong with him. He needs to silence the pain clawing its way up his throat, making him feel as if he can no longer breathe, his heart shattered into more pieces than he can ever find. If not for Ahsoka – and Padme too probably – he might... he would find a way to end himself. A part of him fears that if given the choice, he'll succumb to the temptation and forget about the consequences.
Ahsoka makes an aborted gesture, suddenly still as she studies him up and down. It makes his skin crawl, as if someone is peering into him and reading all of his secrets. "Okay," she concedes finally, "But if we're not going to go, then you need to take some rest, Master." Her tone brooks no refusal, and honestly, Anakin can barely keep his eyes open anymore. He doesn't think he'll actually sleep, but he wants to curl up in a ball and never move.
"Deal," he mumbles, shaking his head to chase away the weariness. His grief is dragging him down, and he feels like he's drowning now.
They exchange another look, and by mutual agreement, they leave their uneaten food and stumble back to their apartment. Anakin really wants to go to Obi-Wan's apartment, to soak in the Force signature which will numb the part of him that crying out for his former master. But he doesn't because it will hurt even worse.
Neither of them speaks as they go their separate ways into their own bedrooms. Anakin collapses on his bed, sitting with his back pressed against the wall, knees pulled to his chest in a vain effort to quell the ache inside of him. Everyone says that wounds heal with time, but Anakin doesn't believe that. He can't, not when his tentative grip on sanity is fast disappearing. He – he needs to stop thinking like this, stop thinking at all, preferably. Resting his forehead against his knees, he tightens his prosthetic fingers' grip on his leg, tight enough to bruise. If he can't sleep, he'll try healing himself, so he collapses from exhaustion.
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