Ahsoka Tano One-Shots

Scars Open Wide

Heyo, human beings from outer space!

So yeah, I spent my day yesterday getting mad at Google and rewriting my fabulous chapter 22, but this time as a trashy remake, and not making anything for you guys. 

But now I have, and it's not the happiest thing I've written, so enjoy :)

Trigger warning for blood. 

Read on if you dare. 

The blood was everywhere.

It smeared the walls, pooled on the floor, painted the crates serving as furniture, and stained the bed blankets.

Everywhere.

Ahsoka Tano sat cross-legged in the midst of it, feverishly attempting to tie a shred of one of her shirts that she'd ripped up over the blaster shot on her shoulder from which the warm blood gushed from. The strip of fabric was caked with dirt and oil and would undoubtedly infect the wound, but she supposed that it was better than bleeding out on the floor of her moldy shack of a house.

At times like this, Ahsoka really wished for some GAR medkits and high-grade painkillers. But such things that she used to avoid now felt like a far-fetched longing, a slowly disintegrating dream.

Then she chided herself. It shouldn't be the lack of bandages that disappointed Ahsoka. Rather, it should be the fact that she continuously needed the bandages.

Ahsoka had always had a nose for trouble, and now it was ever in her way. Wherever she went, there was always an issue to be solved, and it was against her nature to ignore it. She couldn't just go without helping someone who needed help!

This time it was a gang fight, just like around ten times before. They were mugging a woman and holding her son hostage, saying they would kill him if she didn't hand over her speeder bike. Ahsoka couldn't just stand by.

Ahsoka sighed and used her teeth and one free hand to cinch the fabric around her shoulder as tight as she could get it, which wasn't very tight. Only being able to use one hand made that rather difficult.

With a sigh, she stood up and crossed the room to the kitchen area, where she fished out the cleanest rag she could find and soaked it with the not-as-clean tap water. She moved to the counter and began scrubbing at the blood.

Kriff, it looked like a murder scene in there.

Ahsoka could almost hear Fives' voice in her head. "Commander, who did you kill, was he a jerk, and why didn't you ask me to help you? If you killed him, he completely deserved it."

She let out a little laugh at that. Oh Fives, how he could brighten even the most devastating situations.

Then there was Echo, in the background, pulling out the cleaning supplies to help her mop up her mess, softly saying, "It's okay, vod'ika. We're here now."

Kix, flicking open his medkit and plastering that I-am-a-medic-and-you-will-do-as-I-say look masterfully all over his features. "Alright, Kid, where does it hurt?"

Rex, his warn eyes smiling, telling her, "you did the right thing" and his arms opened wide, inviting her in for a hug.

Hardcase, bubbly as ever, probably drawing pictures on the red, stained floor as he ranted on and on about some random topic that was so irrelevant that it was hilarious, never failing to make the situation a little less heavy on her shoulders.

Tup, giving her a gentle, reassuring smile and a little pat on the uninjured shoulder or the head. "Don't worry, Commander. We'll sing Hakuna Matata at your funeral after Kix kills you for getting hurt."

Ahsoka laughed outright at that one. Oh, Tup... always so... Tup.

Her laughter turned bittersweet and Ahsoka felt the hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Sorrow washed over her and the laughter turned into sobbing.

Hardcase was dead.

Tup was dead.

Fives was dead.

Echo was dead.

Kix and Rex were gone.

And Ahsoka hadn't even been there when Fives and Tup died... she'd only heard about it from some dingy wannabe holo-news broadcast.

But they were gone and she didn't even get to say goodbye.

Ahsoka sank to the floor, the knees of her pants absorbing the scarlet liquid from the floor. So much red. So much blood.

It's okay. It's over. There's nothing you could do! Said one little voice in her head.

But those were lies and she full-well knew it. If she had stayed, if she had done better, if she hadn't given in to her selfish desire to leave because of all the trauma of betrayal and the 2nd-hand lies...

It was her fault. She clawed at her head aimlessly, reopening some of her battle scars. And the turmoil inside of her ferociously and mercilessly ripped open the emotional ones: the ones that no one could see.

Blood. So much scarlet blood. So much red.

Blood on her lies.

Scars open wide.

-----------------

Word Count: 991

Published: November 14, 2022

I was talking to some of my friends earlier today, telling them about why I wrote this one depressing story (around 10,000 words of pure angst) and I told them while laughing and now they think I'm clinically insane. 

The next chapter should be a lot more light-hearted. 

Oh, and if you read all of the A/N at the beginning, props to you, brave soul. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. 

And yes, this was inspired by the song "Running with the Wolves"

Requests are open, feel free to message me or make a comment if you have any ideas. 

Bye, peoples!