NEW FIC: Life is Good ('Cause Everything's Awesome)
Author: patientalien
Fandoms: Star Wars: The Clone Wars
H/C: Wild Space (Isolation), Abandonment Issues, Suicide Attempt, Hospital Stay
Title: Life is Good ('Cause Everything's Awesome)
Medium: Fic
Rating: R
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, depression, self-harm, isolation
Summary: The first inkling Anakin Skywalker has that not all is right in his head is when he wakes up some two or three weeks after Ahsoka’s departure feeling somewhat disappointed to still be alive. It just sort of goes downhill from there.
The first inkling Anakin Skywalker has that not all is right in his head is when he wakes up some two or three weeks after Ahsoka’s departure feeling somewhat disappointed to still be alive. The second clue he has is when he finds himself actively wishing that a stray aneurism would cross through his brain while he’s brushing his teeth. The third, and possibly most disturbing thing that makes him think something might be seriously wrong with him is when, while sitting in the hanger bay, overhauling the inertial dampeners on his fighter, he catches himself tracing the blue veins in his flesh arm with the business end of a utility knife. Not close enough to touch the skin, not yet, but his brain had said ‘just dip in there, buddy,’ and Anakin had dropped the knife with a start.
'Well that just doesn't seem normal,' is what he tells himself as he gathers his wits again. Because yeah, sure, he's been sad since Ahsoka has left. He'd even classify it as a mild depression, in total fairness. But he still has a job to do; the war doesn't end just because he's having a little bit of a hard time adjusting to his apprentice's sudden, painful departure. He's managed to stay perfectly functional, to the point Obi-Wan had even pointed out how well he's handling the whole affair. Obi-Wan's praise, so sought-after, makes him feel good, so it's with a great deal of surprise that he is suddenly, actively, wishing for death.
He’s not sure who to bring it up to. The Jedi are out of the question, even Obi-Wan, because they would probably take it to mean some manifestation of the Dark Side in him and that’s kind of the last thing he feels like putting up with. He doesn’t want to worry Padmé; she has enough going on as it is without him going to her and asking ‘Hey sweetie, have you ever just really wanted to take waaaay more than the intended dosage of cough medicine just on the off chance you might choke on your own puke?’ Also he’s a little worried he knows what her answer would be as well. Still, going to her is kind of a last-resort-type option. There’s Palpatine, but he doesn’t want the Chancellor to pull him from the front lines. So he stays silent. Because there is nobody else in his life who might even remotely care.
He’s used to not having friends. Ever since he was a Padawan, in his earliest days at the Temple, it was clear he was destined not only to bring balance to the Force, but also to be a habitual loner. He’d had some friends for a while, but one of them died and the other two blamed him - one since left the Order and the other pointedly ignores his greetings in the Temple halls. He’d had Obi-Wan, and Palpatine, and then Padmé and Ahsoka and that had been enough. It’s still enough, if he weren’t feeling so ridiculously, nonsensically miserable.
He can’t even really put his finger on WHY. Things that normally wouldn’t phase him in the least make him upset and anxious; everything he touches is assessed on how good of a weapon it would be against himself. Each moment is spent hoping that there won’t be a next moment.
He bottles it up, like he’s been taught. Okay, he’s technically been taught to release his emotions into the Force but it really boils down to the same thing. Don’t think bad thoughts. Don’t feel sad, or worried, or anxious, or suicidally unhappy. The more you pretend, the better you’ll feel. Except the more Anakon pretends, the more isolated he feels. Because no one knows, and that’s no one’s fault but his, so if it wouldn’t be too much trouble to get hit by a speeder bus, that would be phenomenal. Then it wouldn’t be anybody’s fault (well, except the speeder bus driver, but that’s kind of unfair to put that guy in the untenable circumstance of being the one to run over the Hero With No Fear so Anakin doesn’t walk into traffic today).
Padmé notices something is wrong and tries to get him to talk. “I just want you to feel better,” she implores, but he doesn’t tell her the whole thing because he doesn’t want to scare her. Instead he drinks a metric ton of her booze because at least if he’s not actively feeling anything he’s not passively trying to die. It isn’t until he wakes up the next afternoon with the worst hangover he’s ever had that he realizes the irony of giving himself alcohol poisoning in order to keep from giving himself any other kind of poisoning.
This goes on for weeks. This push and pull of misery and pretending to be fine, just fine. His men stop trusting him to make command decisions because they all involve him charging out by himself. If he dies in battle, that’s the Separatists’ fault. No guilt, no blame. But for some reason the men of the 501st don’t see it the same way so they keep interfering.
He’s fucking around with his utility knife again one day. Nothing better to do, he supposes, and this time the voice that says ‘just dip in there, buddy’ is a little louder and more persistent than previous days. So he does, dips into the flesh of his left wrist, slides the blade up the inside of his arm to the elbow. The pain is instant, and far more intense than he’d expected and it’s only his Jedi training that keeps him from crying out.
The cut is deep, the blood dark red, deoxygenated so he sliced the vein, not the artery. He tries to see into his arm, to find that vessel, like he can with the hydraulics and wires in his mechno. But it’s different when the wound keeps bleeding and obscuring the view, and when his vision is starting to go a little cloudy. Pain pain pain and warm blood is seeping through his tunic, spilling onto the floor. Sleep sounds like a good idea so he curls up, wrapping himself around his wound. Protecting himself from prying eyes. This time he’s the one doing the leaving.
----
"Wake up. Oh, Ani, please wake up."
"We’re right here, Anakin."
"C’mon Skyguy, you can get through this."
----
His arm hurts and his first thought upon waking is that Dooku took the other one while he wasn’t looking. But it turns out it’s not gone, just heavily bandaged, and the voices he’s been hearing for the past however many days and nights haven’t just been dreams.
It takes an agonizingly long time to remember what happened and when he finally does, he tells everyone - Padmé, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka - to go away and leave him alone. He deserves to be alone. After the pain he’d seen on their faces, it’s better for everyone if they just don’t have to see it anymore.
The Jedi aren’t equipped to deal with a case like this, not at the Temple anyway. He’s sent elsewhere, a temporary Force suppressor injected under his skin, told to get well. Because nobody wants a broken Jedi. The doctors give him pills, tell him to talk about his feelings. He takes the pills and lies about his feelings.
Days stretch into a week. He’s left alone for the most part, only a handful of other patients recognizing him. That suits him just fine. The fewer people who know him are the fewer people who can be hurt by him.
The week stretches into more days and then two weeks have gone by and he takes the pills every day and every night and is starting to be a little more honest about how he feels. He doesn’t tell every secret, but admits to some, and as two weeks stretch into three and then four, the days where he wants to wake up dead grow fewer in number until one day he realizes that it is this, the fifth week, that he wakes up glad to see the sun shining outside his window every single morning.
He stays another week. Takes the pills and is honest about his feelings. He’s scared, and angry, and lonely. He’s thrilled and happy and in love. He is all of these things and more and the trick is keeping them all in balance. But he is the Chosen One, and balance is his destiny so he’s pretty sure he’ll be okay.
And he is, for the most part. Crisis averted, everything’s fine, situation normal. He goes back to his life and sometimes still feels miserable and depressed and anxious, but he never tells himself to ‘just dip in there’ again, and he doesn’t wish the universe would swallow him up anymore.
---
It all falls away the moment Padmé tells him she is pregnant and he knows it’s only a matter of time. He holds her and tells her it’s the happiest moment of his life, but inside, and especially after the first of the nightmares, all he can hear is… ‘Just dip in there, buddy. This is the end.’
Fandoms: Star Wars: The Clone Wars
H/C: Wild Space (Isolation), Abandonment Issues, Suicide Attempt, Hospital Stay
Title: Life is Good ('Cause Everything's Awesome)
Medium: Fic
Rating: R
Warnings: Suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt, depression, self-harm, isolation
Summary: The first inkling Anakin Skywalker has that not all is right in his head is when he wakes up some two or three weeks after Ahsoka’s departure feeling somewhat disappointed to still be alive. It just sort of goes downhill from there.
The first inkling Anakin Skywalker has that not all is right in his head is when he wakes up some two or three weeks after Ahsoka’s departure feeling somewhat disappointed to still be alive. The second clue he has is when he finds himself actively wishing that a stray aneurism would cross through his brain while he’s brushing his teeth. The third, and possibly most disturbing thing that makes him think something might be seriously wrong with him is when, while sitting in the hanger bay, overhauling the inertial dampeners on his fighter, he catches himself tracing the blue veins in his flesh arm with the business end of a utility knife. Not close enough to touch the skin, not yet, but his brain had said ‘just dip in there, buddy,’ and Anakin had dropped the knife with a start.
'Well that just doesn't seem normal,' is what he tells himself as he gathers his wits again. Because yeah, sure, he's been sad since Ahsoka has left. He'd even classify it as a mild depression, in total fairness. But he still has a job to do; the war doesn't end just because he's having a little bit of a hard time adjusting to his apprentice's sudden, painful departure. He's managed to stay perfectly functional, to the point Obi-Wan had even pointed out how well he's handling the whole affair. Obi-Wan's praise, so sought-after, makes him feel good, so it's with a great deal of surprise that he is suddenly, actively, wishing for death.
He’s not sure who to bring it up to. The Jedi are out of the question, even Obi-Wan, because they would probably take it to mean some manifestation of the Dark Side in him and that’s kind of the last thing he feels like putting up with. He doesn’t want to worry Padmé; she has enough going on as it is without him going to her and asking ‘Hey sweetie, have you ever just really wanted to take waaaay more than the intended dosage of cough medicine just on the off chance you might choke on your own puke?’ Also he’s a little worried he knows what her answer would be as well. Still, going to her is kind of a last-resort-type option. There’s Palpatine, but he doesn’t want the Chancellor to pull him from the front lines. So he stays silent. Because there is nobody else in his life who might even remotely care.
He’s used to not having friends. Ever since he was a Padawan, in his earliest days at the Temple, it was clear he was destined not only to bring balance to the Force, but also to be a habitual loner. He’d had some friends for a while, but one of them died and the other two blamed him - one since left the Order and the other pointedly ignores his greetings in the Temple halls. He’d had Obi-Wan, and Palpatine, and then Padmé and Ahsoka and that had been enough. It’s still enough, if he weren’t feeling so ridiculously, nonsensically miserable.
He can’t even really put his finger on WHY. Things that normally wouldn’t phase him in the least make him upset and anxious; everything he touches is assessed on how good of a weapon it would be against himself. Each moment is spent hoping that there won’t be a next moment.
He bottles it up, like he’s been taught. Okay, he’s technically been taught to release his emotions into the Force but it really boils down to the same thing. Don’t think bad thoughts. Don’t feel sad, or worried, or anxious, or suicidally unhappy. The more you pretend, the better you’ll feel. Except the more Anakon pretends, the more isolated he feels. Because no one knows, and that’s no one’s fault but his, so if it wouldn’t be too much trouble to get hit by a speeder bus, that would be phenomenal. Then it wouldn’t be anybody’s fault (well, except the speeder bus driver, but that’s kind of unfair to put that guy in the untenable circumstance of being the one to run over the Hero With No Fear so Anakin doesn’t walk into traffic today).
Padmé notices something is wrong and tries to get him to talk. “I just want you to feel better,” she implores, but he doesn’t tell her the whole thing because he doesn’t want to scare her. Instead he drinks a metric ton of her booze because at least if he’s not actively feeling anything he’s not passively trying to die. It isn’t until he wakes up the next afternoon with the worst hangover he’s ever had that he realizes the irony of giving himself alcohol poisoning in order to keep from giving himself any other kind of poisoning.
This goes on for weeks. This push and pull of misery and pretending to be fine, just fine. His men stop trusting him to make command decisions because they all involve him charging out by himself. If he dies in battle, that’s the Separatists’ fault. No guilt, no blame. But for some reason the men of the 501st don’t see it the same way so they keep interfering.
He’s fucking around with his utility knife again one day. Nothing better to do, he supposes, and this time the voice that says ‘just dip in there, buddy’ is a little louder and more persistent than previous days. So he does, dips into the flesh of his left wrist, slides the blade up the inside of his arm to the elbow. The pain is instant, and far more intense than he’d expected and it’s only his Jedi training that keeps him from crying out.
The cut is deep, the blood dark red, deoxygenated so he sliced the vein, not the artery. He tries to see into his arm, to find that vessel, like he can with the hydraulics and wires in his mechno. But it’s different when the wound keeps bleeding and obscuring the view, and when his vision is starting to go a little cloudy. Pain pain pain and warm blood is seeping through his tunic, spilling onto the floor. Sleep sounds like a good idea so he curls up, wrapping himself around his wound. Protecting himself from prying eyes. This time he’s the one doing the leaving.
----
"Wake up. Oh, Ani, please wake up."
"We’re right here, Anakin."
"C’mon Skyguy, you can get through this."
----
His arm hurts and his first thought upon waking is that Dooku took the other one while he wasn’t looking. But it turns out it’s not gone, just heavily bandaged, and the voices he’s been hearing for the past however many days and nights haven’t just been dreams.
It takes an agonizingly long time to remember what happened and when he finally does, he tells everyone - Padmé, Obi-Wan, Ahsoka - to go away and leave him alone. He deserves to be alone. After the pain he’d seen on their faces, it’s better for everyone if they just don’t have to see it anymore.
The Jedi aren’t equipped to deal with a case like this, not at the Temple anyway. He’s sent elsewhere, a temporary Force suppressor injected under his skin, told to get well. Because nobody wants a broken Jedi. The doctors give him pills, tell him to talk about his feelings. He takes the pills and lies about his feelings.
Days stretch into a week. He’s left alone for the most part, only a handful of other patients recognizing him. That suits him just fine. The fewer people who know him are the fewer people who can be hurt by him.
The week stretches into more days and then two weeks have gone by and he takes the pills every day and every night and is starting to be a little more honest about how he feels. He doesn’t tell every secret, but admits to some, and as two weeks stretch into three and then four, the days where he wants to wake up dead grow fewer in number until one day he realizes that it is this, the fifth week, that he wakes up glad to see the sun shining outside his window every single morning.
He stays another week. Takes the pills and is honest about his feelings. He’s scared, and angry, and lonely. He’s thrilled and happy and in love. He is all of these things and more and the trick is keeping them all in balance. But he is the Chosen One, and balance is his destiny so he’s pretty sure he’ll be okay.
And he is, for the most part. Crisis averted, everything’s fine, situation normal. He goes back to his life and sometimes still feels miserable and depressed and anxious, but he never tells himself to ‘just dip in there’ again, and he doesn’t wish the universe would swallow him up anymore.
---
It all falls away the moment Padmé tells him she is pregnant and he knows it’s only a matter of time. He holds her and tells her it’s the happiest moment of his life, but inside, and especially after the first of the nightmares, all he can hear is… ‘Just dip in there, buddy. This is the end.’