Heyo, human beings from outer space!
This was requested by DyslexiccRatt and is actually whumpy unlike the last part.
From all fluff to no fluff. Cold turkey day!
Read on if you dare.
It was easy, during a war, to feel like the planets were spinning too quickly; to feel like time was passing in a messy, unceremonious blur riddled with pain and loss and hardship; to feel like an empty shell flowing through the motions of wallowing in grief.
The war was like a crooked IV in Anakin's veins. It hurt, but it pushed painkillers through his blood. It numbed him. And numb was better than hurt. Sure the IV ached in his arm, but why pull it out when he grew more and more attached to that beautiful numbness it provided everywhere else?
He let the time blur and the galaxy buzz, nursing on the numbness.
But what happens when the IV is rudely ripped away?
Withdrawal symptoms.
The moment Ahsoka fell was the moment everything came crashing back to Anakin. Time stopped blurring, the planets stopped spinning, and the galaxy went still. Absolutely, terribly still. Suddenly he could feel again and oh it hurt.
He sat in the waiting room of the Halls of Healing. Cool air flowed from the vents in the top corners of the room, chilling Anakin to the bone. His muscles throbbed sorely from excretion and sitting in the chair for so long, but he couldn't be bothered to notice.
Maybe he was hungry, but he wouldn't know because his stomach was tied in knots.
Every time a healer walked through, Anakin's heart would spike. He'd heard nothing of Ahsoka's condition, which couldn't possibly mean anything positive, and the healer at the desk was beyond tired of his constant asking.
The minutes passing made him more and more fidgety, twitching and squirming. He wanted to cry... or punch something. Either one would have the same effect. It was times like this when his movements became so feverish that he'd like to get up and obliterate whoever caused this damage. But the droids had done it this time, and they'd already been wiped out.
But he wasn't satisfied. Droids weren't satisfying in the way beings were. They had no expressions of surprise, then dullness as the life leaked away and–
"Master Skywalker."
Anakin shook himself from his thoughts. Ahsoka didn't like it when he ruthlessly killed anyway. He glanced up hopefully at the young humanoid healer with large, purple eyes.
"Ahsoka?" Anakin said, his heart thundering in anticipation.
"Padawan Tano is ready for visitors," the healer waved for Anakin to follow her down the hallway.
"How is she?" Anakin asked, his chest burning with worry and anger when the healer hesitated for several beats.
"Stable," she said quietly.
"Okay, but how is she? Is she in a lot of pain or anything?" Ankian prompted, impatience swelling.
"No, not in any pain at the moment," said the healer quietly, and when Anakin frowned and opened his mouth again, she held up her hand with a sigh.
The young healer brought them to a stop next to a door. "Padawan Tano, unfortunately, is–" she paused to palm open the door, "--comatose."
Anakin's heart dropped.
He clambered over to her bedside and tumbled into the chair. "Oh, Ahsoka."
The healer looked at him with sorrow in her large, violet eyes. She said a few more things but Anakin didn't listen. He only knew she left when the door clacked gently shut behind him.
Anakin took in Ahsoka's form and once again the galaxy went still.
Ahsoka lay there so motionless she could've been dead. She'd lost most of her color, a sickly gray plaguing her montrals and skin. Though her sternum rose and fell steadily, Anakin had to watch too intensely to see it. It was too slow, too small.
She was too small. Between the bed that stretched far past the length of her figure and the humming of all the machines hooked to her, she may as well have been a child.
Oh wait.
She was.
In a war.
And now a coma.
The urge to cry or drive his fist into something (or maybe both) consumed him. Face burning with rage, he pounded the wall with a flat hand. His palm tingled and prickled from the impact and he huffed out an angry breath.
What the kriff did Ahsoka do to deserve this? Nothing!
If anyone should be in that bed, it was Anakin. And yet Ahsoka ended up there anyway.
She shouldn't even be in the war.
Anakin swallowed hard. If only he'd been faster, stronger, better... if only he'd been there to ward off the danger.
But he hadn't been there.
He'd failed.
Swallowing hard, Anakin brushed his fingers against the back of Ahsoka's hand. The iciness of it had him recoiling. Togrutas were naturally cool-skinned, but this was too cold, even for Ahsoka.
Again he reached out, this time his fingers enveloping her tiny, light hand. He folded both hands around hers to try and warm it if only a little. Maybe she'd respond?
Of course, she didn't. He shouldn't have hoped. He knew it was hopeless.
Anakin tried to swallow the forming lump in his throat as he began tracing her skin. Up a finger, around the knuckle, down a finger, around the knuckle, to the wrist, and back again.
And finally, finally, the urge to cry swallowed him whole, and a pathetic whimper escaped him, tears stinging his eyes. He lifted Ahoka's hand, pressed her cold knuckles to the bridge of his nose, and sobbed.
"I'm so, so sorry, Ahsoka," Anakin shuddered out. "I failed you."
And the galaxy went perfectly still.
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Word Count: 920
Published: 18 October 2023
I feel... poetic. And also my arm is sore because I have to hold it up while I type because I'm broken and have a cast that doesn't let me use my wrist. And no I will not stop bringing this up because I pity myself... and it's the most interesting thing that's happened to me in a fat minute. I'm a boring person :)
Requests are open, feel free to message me or make a comment if you have an ideas!
Bye, peoples!