I'm (Not) Broken

Chapter Six

     When he was 9, Obi-Wan was very happy, all things considered. He joked and quipped and enjoyed life as a child should. The problem was that such behavior, such lack of seriousness, was unbefitting of a Jedi. Obi-Wan learned this the hard way.
     He and his crechemates had just begun piloting class a few months ago, and it was stressing most of the younglings out. Obi-Wan, however, was in love with flying. Nevermind the fact that he was not very good at it. Their first team simulation, he inadvertently caused his entire squadron to go down in balls of fire.
     "Well," he chuckled when they all left their simulators, "at least we went out with a bang."
     The piloting instructor was angry. So were his crechemates. He remembered their words. He remembered the feeling of loss as he followed his friends back to the creche, head hung low and face a bit too sad to be called blank.
     The new door that formed in Obi-Wan's headspace was a warm mahogany with a child's drawing of a Varactyl taped to the outside of it. The nameplate to the right read, "Joey."
     After that day, Obi-Wan was rarely carefree again. His jokes were used sparingly, his smile soft, not a wide grin as it once had been. While some saw this as an improvement, his best friends Garen and Bant worried at the sudden change. They spoke with Healer Che when their Crechemaster suggested so. Che reassured them that Obi-Wan was a sensitive person, but that he'd come around again after some time.
     It was only after the younglings left that the Healer had a disturbing thought. She dug through dozens of old medical books she had acquired until she found the one she was looking for: "Attachment, Trauma, and Multiplicity: Working with Dissociative Identity Disorder" by Valerie Sinason.
     She took a breath to center herself. If he truly had developed the disorder... he had a long, long road ahead of him.
     She opened the book and read.