Angel of Death

Chapter 1 - Slavery

Author's Note: First of all, I want to say that I wrote all of this for Deadcember last year. Second of all, nothing is as it seems. Enjoy this incredibly dark and messed up fic. All you need to know is that it revolves around death, so... uh, that's a warning, I guess. xD I 

I posted most of this on tumblr during Deadcember. :) One extra note I want to add here is that there's an OC in this chapter who we are very possessive over. :D Enjoy! Lemme know what you think is happening here! I'm curious to see what your thoughts are. 

~ Amina Gila

"Tell me, Anakin, on Tatooine, if a slave kills their master, how are they punished?"

"... Pardon?"

"Just answer the question."

"They are executed."

"And if they are too valuable to be disposed of?"

"They are punished harshly. Beaten. Brutalized. All in the hope that they will break."

Another smile, this one more insidious than the first. "Thank you, my boy. You have been most... helpful." Pain. Searing, agonizing pain. Then, darkness.

***

Death is unstoppable, and even the strongest and wealthiest will cow before it. No one will escape. At times, it is almost welcomed, a reprieve from the horrors of life, the only place where a slave will truly be free. Death is common on Tatooine; it happens so frequently that individuals become inured to it. That is not true for everyone.

Anakin Skywalker doesn't think he will ever be able to accept death the way so many of his fellow slaves have. He feels the loss of life keenly, as if something inside of him breaks apart every time someone dies.

He doesn't hear the news for a few days, each passing day troubling him more and more as he fears for his best friend. When he hears, at last, nothing can stop the wave of pain from washing over him. And nothing can stop him from going to Kitster's bedside. "Kit," Anakin whispers, reaching out, touching his best friend's arm lightly. "Kit."

"Hey Ani," he whispers, dark eyes focusing on his face with some difficulty. He's flushed from the intensity of his fever, even though he's wrapped under a blanket, trembling with chills. Natural causes, they said, and it makes Anakin feel sick. This is wrong. It's as if – as if they're saying it's good, as if they're saying that death from a severe illness is somehow better than death from their masters' hands.

It's not.

Anakin has no words of comfort, no words to reassure Kitster that he'll be alright. He won't be. Anakin knows it. Kitster knows it. Their parents know it. All he can do is stare at the face of his best friend, engraining it forever in his memory so he will never, ever forget, regardless of whatever his life brings.

"You... go out... find freedom, yes?" Kitster says with some effort, lips quirking into a faint smile that hardly reaches his eyes.

"For you," Anakin vows solemnly. He could cry, but he won't, because crying wastes water. Instead, he does everything he can to make Kit's last moments more comfortable, staying beside him all throughout the night.

"It'll be okay," Kit whispers as dawn breaks. His gaze is distant, mind addled from the fever, and somehow, he manages to be lucid. His hand reaches out, closing around Anakin's, his fingers icy cold. It's wrong, so very wrong, for Kitster to be offering comfort when he is the one dying.

Anakin could protest, could beg him not to leave, but he's far more mature than most children his age. He knows, already, that there's nothing he can do except accept the inevitable. "We'll see each other again someday." His best friend's voice weakens, trailing off entirely as his eyes fall closed again. This time, it's different, and something shifts in the atmosphere around him as his body stills forever.