A/N: This is possibly the silliest thing I have ever written. This was started back in October '07 as a Hallowe'en fic. I got sidetracked about halfway through and finally finished writing it now. It's six chapters long, and completely silly the entire way through. Don't take it seriously at all. Spoilers for Sacrifice and LotF.

Oh Stang, I'm a Force Ghost!

I. It's Not Easy Being Dead

The young man folded his hands behind his head and leaned back, broodingly watching the flickering holovid. His legs were crossed and he tapped one foot impatiently in the air to a beat only he could hear; he sighed exasperatedly and rolled his eyes.

The Galaxy was falling apart without him. Civil wars and rising Sith Lords trying to create as much havoc as possible… He should be there – be there to smack his stupid, idiotic brother on the head and knock some sense into him; be there to enjoy being an uncle; be there to enjoy running around fixing the Galaxy, as all Jedi did.

Or at least – as all Jedi should.

But no! He just had to go and die on Myrkr, which – in his opinion – had been, while tragically heroic, a very bad idea in the first place.

So much for heroics. The only good thing about them, he had come to realize, was that you were greatly admired afterwards. But, of course, you could only appreciate the admiration if you were alive in the first place…

Grimacing, he shook the train of thought from his mind. There was a bright side to being dead – thoughts were easy to dispel. If he didn't want to think about anything, he could easily dismiss it and never have the thought bother him again; until, of course, he thought of it. It was so much easier not to think about anything when one was dead. It was a trait he had come to enjoy very much in these boring days. It wasn't easy, being dead…

The young man brushed a strand of brown hair off his face and continued to stare at the holovid. It had been with much anticipation and effort that he had built that holovid. It was very special – not only had he painstakingly constructed it from thoughts alone, it transmitted whatever he wanted to see. This allowed him to keep an eye on the Galaxy without having to go through the whole tedious business of learning the ways of the Force that allowed him to communicate with it. It was a secret he could potentially learn – he did have the resources, after all – but he just hadn't gotten around to it. Yet.

For the first time in a long time, a frown appeared on his face, replacing the lazy expression. The scene – an epic lightsaber duel between two very familiar people – flickered before him momentarily and then he found himself rising up in anger.

Literally.

He barely noticed that he was floating several feet above the floor, his mouth open in outrage. A pained expression flitted over his face and his thoughts were projected so forcefully that they echoed around the room.

NO!

He threw his boot viciously at the holovid and hissed in annoyance when it passed right through it with ease.

No, Jacen, you, you…

The word idiot didn't seem to encompass his irate feels at that moment. Still floating several feet above the floor like a balloon, he watched in horror as his aunt was struck by the poisoned dart his brother held and collapsed.

Oh, well done, Jacen, he thought savagely. Your sacrifice, huh? What a wonderful way to bring discord to the entire family.

Stupid, kriffing Sith. Stupid, kriffing brother.

The first feeling she had as she was swept away into tantalizing darkness, was that she was light. She felt… oddly enough… weightless, as if she had merely gone on a spacewalk. Every emotion seemed to have been wiped clear from her and she floated contently.

Only when it seemed to be getting light again did some inkling of emotion wash over her. Surprisingly, considering her situation, it wasn't fear or anger – but confusion.

What…?

She was standing in a large, broad room that seemed to contain a single, large chair and a flickering holovid. Hovering near the ceiling, several feet in the air, was a young man dressed in a black jumpsuit.

She stared incredulously and then her jaw dropped as the young man turned around and fell out of the air.

"Anakin?!"

She rushed forwards to where he was sprawled unceremoniously on the floor. Anakin raised an eyebrow as he looked up at her from the floor and flashed the traditional Solo grin before pulling himself upright.

"Hi, Aunt Mara."

"This is a dream, right?" Mara said. Then she threw her hands over her face and shuddered. "Oh, Force, please tell me this is a dream."

"Um…" Anakin's voice sounded hesitant. She slowly let her hands fall to her sides and she looked at him. He was standing now, an odd expression on his face. "Uh… Would you be mad if I said that this isn't a dream?"

Mara shot him as frosty a look as she could muster, but she felt the corners of her lips twitching. She forced herself not to smile.

"So this is what the afterlife is like, then," she said. "Watching people fall down from the ceiling. Very amusing."

Anakin folded his arms. "Oh, don't worry, that's just me. It tends to happen when I'm not concentrating."

"Oh?" Mara asked.

Anakin nodded and grinned again. "You see, here you have to concentrate, otherwise…" His voice trailed off and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why aren't you floating? You're not concentrating on keeping your feet on the floor are you?"

"I… what?"

Mara wondered dimly what her nephew was talking about. The afterlife must have addled his brains… or perhaps this was all a figment of her imagination.

"Or maybe," Anakin mused, speaking to himself as he looked at Mara, "you have someway of keeping yourself steady subconsciously… Or maybe –"

"Anakin, would you just… shut up or should I slap you?" Mara snapped fiercely.

"You can try," Anakin replied, grinning again. "Your hand might go right through me though; things tend to do that if you're not concentrating."

There was something very odd indeed going on here. Mara wasn't sure what exactly she felt like doing – screaming in frustration or sitting down and trying to figure this out. There had to be some logical explanation for this.

"Yes," Anakin said mildly, "you're a ghost."

"I… I'm a what?"

"Welcome to the afterlife, Aunt Mara," Anakin said blithely. "Honestly."

"Oh, you're not serious!" she exclaimed.

"Look on the bright side," Anakin said, turning and throwing himself down on his chair, "at least I have someone to help me think of stupid names to call Jacen now!"

Mara stood still, looking at her nephew in horror.

Stang… what happened to me?