Worthless (CLOSED)

(OOC: WARNING: The following post contains depression and suicide. Read at your own discretion.)

It had been only a couple days since Scorchstar gained 'control' over his Clan again. Though ... he shouldn't be calling this situation a controlled one. He certainly hadn't had any control over himself the day Jaystar helped him reclaim his Clan again. The stress of losing so much so quickly had taken its toll on him, and he ended up snapping at all of his Clanmates, both those who stayed loyal and those who betrayed him in favor of Burntstag's backwards ideals. Ever since then, he hadn't felt very confident in his leadership capabilities. In fact ... he wasn't even sure anymore if he had ever been the right cat for the job right from the beginning. Had Littlestar just made a mistake in electing him to be deputy all those moons ago? Could he have done something different to save his Clan, or had it always been doomed right from the start when he had become second-in-command?

Half of his Clan had been destroyed by Burntstag. He had lost many valuable warriors, being forced to exile some and permanently retire others, and he had also lost his beloved little brother Wildstrike. It was all too much for him to take. He was no longer a strong leader. He was weak. He was cowardly. He was disrespected by all of his Clanmates for one reason or another.

Thornbriar had been named ShadowClan's newest deputy the day before the Gathering -- the Gathering that he hadn't even attended, for he still felt very fragile, as if the smallest of words spoken against him would knock him down and force him to show his ugly side again. He had already lost the respect from all his Clanmates; he didn't need all of ShadowClan getting a bad reputation from the rest of the Clans because of their weak leader.

Thornbriar would make a much better leader of ShadowClan. Scorchstar never stood a chance to protect ShadowClan the way Littlestar, Thrushstar, and all the other leaders all the way back to the very first leader Shadowstar ever could ... and Thornbriar would also be a much better leader than he could ever be.

Scorchstar sighed heavily and opened his eyes from their closed state, looking down at the bright red berries laying on the floor of his den. He had collected these berries the night before in preparation for his own demotion of leadership status. He had lost too much, and he was no longer respected by any of his Clanmates. They wouldn't miss him if they found him unable to wake up the next morning. In fact, they would probably rejoice: ShadowClan's weak and pathetic former leader would be dead, which meant the Clan would finally be able to start growing stronger again thanks to the new and stronger leader Thornstar.

But Daisyflame would miss you.

Scorchstar shut his eyes tightly, trying to fight back another sudden rush of depression. If there was any cat who possibly could still feel even an inkling of respect towards him, it would be his best friend. Daisyflame had been his closest friend for as long as he could remember. He could only imagine how heartbroken he would feel if he found him unable to wake up the next morning.

Well ... being leader means making sacrifices for the good of the Clan. And he wasn't doing the Clan any good by staying alive.

"I'm sorry, Daisyflame," he murmured softly, "but I love ShadowClan too much to let it continue to suffer the bad leadership of an unqualified and incompetent cat." He looked down at the berries before him again.

Three berries in each bunch still attached to the branch of the deathberry bush. Just enough to kill him.

Six bunches of berries. Just enough to strip himself of his remaining six lives falsely given to him by StarClan.

Taking in one more shaky breath, forcing himself not to back out of this final duty to his Clan as leader out of fear, Scorchstar gingerly plucked three berries off from the branch with gentle nips of his teeth. He chewed them thoroughly, making sure they were completely demolished by his teeth to allow as much of the poisonous juices to release from the shiny red exterior as possible, before swallowing. He lay his head back down on his paws and waited for the poison to take its effect.

Nothing happened for several moments. He felt a sudden spike of fear. Had three deathberries not been enough to kill himself? Perhaps he needed more.... He went for another three berries, realizing that if this worked, he would only have enough doses to end half of his remaining lives. He would have to collect some more later while no one else was looking.

Not even a minute passed before Scorchstar started feeling chills travel throughout his body. He panted softly as his body began to contort, and all of a sudden he regurgitated the toxins from his system into his nest. At least, he hoped it wasn't all of the toxins.

And sure enough, he felt his limbs would no longer respond to his will. They twitched and jerked and contorted uncontrollably, causing such great pain to the massive tom, and he struggled to breathe around the froth that began gathering and spittling from his mouth. Great StarClan above, it hurt so much! Make it stop! Grant him mercy!

After what felt like a full lifetime of endless agony and sporadic movements, Scorchstar's body finally stilled, his amber eyes staring out into nothingness.

Nettlesting, for the first time since he was born, had found... Peace. He spent nearly every moment by himself, finding that most StarClan cats hated him. Honeydrop still did not forgive him. His time was made even worse when Gingerstripe joined the ranks after the flood. So, instead of enjoying this luxurious afterlife with family (of which he had none) or friends (of which, he also had none) he watched. He watched the flood, he watched Scorchstar lead the cats back to the forest, his favorite place. He watched them rebuild their life. He watched as the rise of Burntstag happened, muttering curses and yelling directions, furious he could do nothing to stop what was happening. He watched as Scorchstar fell, he watched as they stayed in RiverClan. He watched as Scorchstar's son was ripped from him. He watched as StagClan was kicked out. And most importantly, he watched as Scorchstar collected the deathberries.

Panic rose in Nettlesting's chest. What in his own name was he doing? The reddish tom yowled and yowled. Those berries had taken his life, except he didn't have more after it to save him. The former medicine cat began to pace, his green eyes watching, watching, watching with anticipation. As he walked back and forth, the irony of the situation hit him like the wave of poision about to hit Scorchstar. He had given Scorchstar his fourth life, the one he was about to lose, Justice. And he had died from deathberries.

But try as he might, Nettlesting couldn't save Scorchstar from himself. This time.

He could feel the agony that the black leader was going through. In more ways than one. He could feel the poision, but he could also feel the desperation, the depression, the lonliness. The sense of failure. He would speak to the leader. His first time as a StarClan cat, he would greet a living soul.

When the darkness faded to black for the leader, Nettlesting slipped into Scorchstar’s ‘StarClan’. When the leader opened his eyes, there was Nettlesting in his tall stature, staring down at him. He let the moment settle in for the tom.

“Well, isn’t this the funniest thing I’ve seen in moons.” Nice, be mean. Nettlesting couldn’t help it. He was named after the burning herb for a reason. “I hope you see the irony in this, Scorchstar.” The tom backed up, allowing the leader time to stand.

“This is your fourth life. The one I gave you. And you died from deathberries. Because you thought my words applied to you. Do you remember what I said to you, when I gave you your life, Scorchstar?” It was a rhetorical question. He did not give time for the tom to answer. “You will find in life that some cats just aren’t worthy of second chances.” This time, he did pause. He wanted this lesson to sink in. To really, truly, make an impact on this tom. The cat standing before him had tormented him for moons, but after his own death, the tom had come to respect him. It ached in his bones for him to be alive again. He would do anything, anything, to have been working with ShadowClan by his side. But he couldn’t. This was his only hope.

“That didn’t apply to you, you absolute mousebrained of a cat.” It hit Nettlesting in that moment that in order for his point to be made, he would have to die as he lived. Loud and angry. “Who says you have the right to choose your own destiny? You? Ha!” The tom began to pace, but trained his starry green gaze on the leader. “That’s not Justice. Killing yourself isn’t Justice. It’s cowardice. You aren’t a coward, Scorchstar and you never have been. You need to grow the The Dark Forest up, and be the leader ShadowClan deserves. Or I swear on my entire existence, your life here in StarClan will be a miserable one, at the paws of this red tom.” Though his words were harsh, and his tone sharp as ever, his eyes were soft with longing… Desire.

“I was the weak one, Scorchstar…” he softened his voice, coming close. “I played judge, jury, and executioner. I thought I was the voice of justice, the only one who could see it all. But… I was wrong. And I made a mistake. More stupid than the one you did…” Once again he backed away, turning his back on the leader. His sharpness returned.

“You have a chance to fix this mistake. You still have five other lives.” Nettlesting turned his head, looking over his shoulder. “So suck it up buttercup, and redeem yourself.” He paused, the stars in his pelt beginning to shimmer. “Do you have anything else you need to know, or say, mousebrain?” A soft smile and a gentle look crossed Nettlesting’s face. He hoped he did his job right then…

Scorchstar blinked open his eyes to find he was laying in StarClan's territory once again. It hadn't even been one moon since he had last been here, where he had been greeted by Honeydrop. She had tried so hard to show him just how strong he could've been ... when in reality he wasn't strong at all. He was weak. But at least, once he returns back to the waking world with his fifth life, he'd be able to take the rest of them away, so that his weed of an existence wouldn't plague his Clan anymore.

The sudden voice from the StarClan cat that he hadn't even noticed stood there until just now spooked him into raising up his head, and he had to force himself not to moan out loud. Nettlesting. Of course, how could he have let it slip his mind that the former medicine cat of ShadowClan would visit him upon his fourth death, as he had just wasted the fourth life this cat had bestowed upon him? He knew he was in for one heck of an ear-full now.

Raising himself up to a sit, Scorchstar tried to find an opportunity to cut off the cat he had once tormented as an apprentice, but he wouldn't give him one. Thus, he was forced to sit there and listen to what he had to say. Gradually, his words began to sink in. He had a vague idea of what had happened to Nettlesting when he suddenly died; the scent of deathberries on his pelt had been unmistakable when his Clanmates had presented his lifeless form to him seasons ago.

How ironic, indeed, that the cat who had given him the life of justice had died the same way he just now had.

The next thing the former medicine cat said succeeded in perking his interest. Nettlesting, during his life, had always had a strong sense of justice. Sometimes, he would let it control him absolutely, such as in the instance with Gingerstripe when he had been banished from ShadowClan so long ago, going so far as to warn every leader, deputy, and medicine cat of the surrounding Clans of his 'murder' against Honeydrop -- which, in retrospect, he still knew was nothing more than a terrible accident at the Thunderpath. But to hear Nettlesting admit his own sense of justice to end his own life was anything but....

His revelation gave Scorchstar pause. Sure, he had always thought himself as weak ever since the aftermath of Burntstag's rule over StagClan, but ... he had thought that, by stripping the rest of his lives away from himself, would have done more good than harm in the long run. Was Nettlesting right? Was he really just giving up too easily when there's still something -- anything at all -- he could still do for his Clan?

Sensing Nettlesting was about to leave as he turned to walk away, Scorchstar quickly shot up into a stand and took a few panicked steps towards him. "W-Wait, Nettlesting! I...." He stared down at his paws, feeling quite conflicted. But more than that, he felt ashamed. It was at this point that he couldn't help but think about Daisyflame again. Seeing the situation now in a new light, he came to realize that he truly was doing more harm than good by giving up. Daisyflame wouldn't want to have to say goodbye to his oldest friend while simultaneously never getting the chance to actually tell him goodbye. Thornbriar, while she was definitely deputy-worthy, had no idea how to lead a Clan, having had no experience. And his remaining kits would become orphans if he died, now that Minnowcall was dead.

He sighed heavily and looked back up at the former medicine cat. "I ... I still don't know how much good I'll be able to do for ShadowClan. But ... I'll still try. I'll do my best to bring glory back to ShadowClan to the best of my ability, even if it kills me. Thank you, Nettlesting."

Coming to StarClan, Scorchstar had expected to be returning to the waking world with his mind set on consuming the rest of the deathberries in his den to strip himself of his remaining lives. But now, after this sudden turn of events, he wanted nothing more but to chuck those poisonous berries as far as he could throw them out of the camp.

He didn't know how he would be able to bring glory back to ShadowClan ... but he supposed it was a good thing he wouldn't be doing it alone. He still had Thornbriar and Daisyflame, at the very least. And hopefully ... hopefully ... he'd have the rest of his Clanmates to back him up as well over time.

Scorchstar closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he found himself back in his den, laying in his now filthy nest, with those evil little berries laying in front of him. He looked down at them, seeming to study the way the setting sun's light reflected off their shiny surfaces. Then he growled and grasped the branch tightly between his teeth and rose up to his shaky and unstable paws, set on disposing of them before any cat could find out what he had done ... or before he changed his mind.

Scorchstar yelped at the sudden appearance and voice of his deputy, so startled he ended up dropping the berries to the ground. "Great StarClan, Thornbriar, don't startle me like that please!..." he huffed. He bent down to grasp the branch again -- thankfully, none of the berries had been dislodged from it during their fall -- and he spoke around it, suddenly looking very uncomfortable and ashamed. "You, uh ... you saw that, didn't you.... What I had done...."

Scorchstar snorted, displeased with the tone of voice Thornbriar used when speaking to him. Then again ... he knew she was just worried about him. Or maybe just disappointed. Or perhaps even both. He shook his head. "No, I will not. I will dispose of the rest of these. I was foolish to try and find the easy way out of my pain, especially without taking the rest of my Clanmates into consideration. With all due respect to you and your capabilities to second-handedly lead this Clan, Thornbriar, you are not yet ready to fill in my paws. And ... there are other cats who will still need me, too." He slipped past the new deputy. "I'm going to dispose of these, and then I will want to speak with you about what will become of ShadowClan from here, and how we can better our chances in assuring no more Shades, Lichenmasks, or Burntstags try to destroy this Clan again."