Chapter Text
Kanan was at the point of only just becoming unsteady on his feet as he left the bar and began walking down the street toward his small apartment just a few blocks away, his hands in his pockets and his head bowed against the night air, still freezing in mid-April. He let that frigid air fill his lungs, cutting harshly at the warm buzz that had built up in his chest. He didn’t particularly care about the cold. He’d be home soon enough. Once he got there, he could collapse into bed and slip into unconsciousness.
Up ahead, he could hear something scuffling loudly in an alley. Probably a couple of raccoons fighting over something they’d found in the trash; nothing he needed to worry about. But as he drew closer, he heard a distinctively human sound, a cry of “no!” that was quickly muffled.
Spurred into action by instincts he had never been able to abandon completely, Kanan ran forward, hanging a sharp left into the alley. He slowed as he quickly assessed the situation the way Depa had taught him so many years ago.
There were four people in the alley and it appeared to be three against one. A young boy was struggling in the grip of an older teen or young man. The boy’s arms were pulled behind his back, the man’s other hand pressed tightly over his mouth. One of the other men had a knife drawn, the point of it held up under the boy’s chin. Kanan would put the odds of resolving this without a fight at about fifty-fifty.
“Let him go,” Kanan said, cursing the slight tremor in his voice. He hadn’t had enough to drink that his words were slurring, but he was just buzzed enough to be dismissed as a threat, just some random drunk idiot who would lose interest and walk away within the next few seconds. And the less seriously these guys took him, the more likely this would end up coming to blows.
“This doesn’t concern you,” the man holding the knife said, sparing Kanan a quick glance before turning his attention back to the boy. “Just walk away and we can pretend this didn’t happen.”
“Sure,” Kanan said, taking another step forward. “Just let go of the kid and we’ll be on our way.”
“You heard him,” the third man said, stepping forward, his hand twitching toward his pocket where Kanan was sure he had his own weapon. “Get moving if you know what’s good for you.”
Kanan took half a step back, as if he were reconsidering. His gaze darted briefly to the side and he locked eyes with the boy for a moment as he tried to silently communicate trust me.
He flung himself forward, throwing an arm around the neck of the man holding the knife and wrenching him back. His first priority had to be getting that blade away from the boy’s neck.
The man swung wildly at Kanan with the knife. Kanan narrowly avoided the first slash at his shoulder, the burst of adrenaline clearing his head just enough to help him think straight. With his free hand, he grabbed the man’s forearm just below his elbow, digging his fingers in hard enough that he knew the man would wake up with bruises in the morning.
The boy took advantage of the other men’s surprise at Kanan’s actions and stomped on the foot of the man holding him. Kanan didn’t have time to dwell on the kid as he saw the third man coming at him. He released his grip on the neck of the man he was holding, shifting until he had the man’s arm locked straight. He wrenched at it until he heard the sharp crack of a shoulder dislocating. As the man let out a shout of pain, Kanan whipped around and flung him into his comrade.
He spared a glance toward the kid, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the boy was pinned against the wall, the final man’s hands around his throat. The boy kicked, his foot slamming into the man’s crotch. The man let out a yell of pain as he instinctively released the boy. He drew his fist back, about to swing at the boy’s face. Kanan grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back and throwing him to the ground.
“Come on!” Kanan said, grabbing the kid’s arm and running for the mouth of the alleyway.
They made it a whole block before they slowed down. A quick glance back told Kanan they weren’t followed.
“Hey,” he said, pulling the kid off to one side. “Are you okay?”
The moment he took a good look at the boy, Kanan regretted the question. The boy’s face was covered in bruises, and there were still more around his neck, not just from the man pinning him to the wall. From the awkward way he held himself, Kanan could easily guess there were other injuries hidden under his clothes. Those three men hadn’t just grabbed him; they’d beaten him. And by the looks of things, they weren’t the only ones who had done so recently.
“I’m fine,” the boy said, wrenching himself out of Kanan’s grip. “I had that handled.”
If the situation hadn’t been so dire, Kanan might have laughed.
“From where I’m standing, it looked like you were about to get your throat cut,” Kanan said.
“I had it under control,” the boy insisted, taking a step back, away from Kanan.
“Alright,” Kanan said, getting the sense that trying to argue with the kid wasn’t going to get him anywhere. “But they might come back. At least let me walk you home.”
“Right,” the boy said, taking another step back until he was out of arm’s reach of Kanan. “I’m just going to show a total stranger where I live.”
Kanan winced as he reminded himself that in the kid’s position, he wouldn’t trust some random guy offering to walk him home, either.
“Just be careful,” Kanan said.
The kid was already turning away, his only response a dismissive mm-hmm. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his orange hoodie and ducked his head as he headed off down the street. He glanced back once, probably to make sure Kanan wasn’t following him.
Before long, the kid had turned a corner and disappeared. Kanan’s shoulders dropped slightly as the adrenaline of the fight and the escape wore off and his head began to spin. He glanced around, trying to determine where exactly his feet had carried him as he’d fled with the kid. He was only a few blocks out of his way. With a sigh, Kanan tucked his hands into his own pockets. He was starting to feel the cold again.
With one more quick glance in the direction the boy had gone, Kanan turned away and began walking toward home.
It had been over a decade since he’d felt that push driving him into action. He didn’t know what it was about tonight or about the kid that had driven him to it. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe he had just been drinking too much and rushed into danger. He didn’t know, but unfortunately, he was still just able to care.
But in the end, it didn’t matter. They’d gotten away relatively unscathed and the kid was gone now. Kanan would probably never see him again. There was no point in dwelling on it.
Ezra paused and glanced back over his shoulder again. He had determined a while ago that he wasn’t being followed, but now that he was getting closer to his current squat, he wanted to be absolutely certain. Seeing no sign of the men from the alley or the man who’d rescued him, he quickly turned into another alley.
He hauled himself up onto a dumpster and leapt for the ladder to a fire escape. It had been jammed so it couldn’t be pulled down since long before he’d taken up residence here, which was fine by him. It meant less of a chance of anyone getting the drop on him.
He quickly scaled the ladder until he reached a small platform on the third floor. The dilapidated building had long since been condemned, but for now, it was still standing, and the gaping pit in the ground floor kept most people from trying to gain access to it.
Ezra crawled through the window into a dark room, making sure to land loudly to scare off any mice or rats that might be in the room. He winced as the bruises he’d received earlier ached. He crossed the room to the small jug of water he kept in the corner, eyeing its contents, trying to judge whether he could spare any right now. After a moment, he retrieved a rag and poured a small amount of water on it, wiping at the open cut on his forehead. It wasn’t exactly sanitary, but he figured it was cleaner than the alley he’d been beaten in.
He kicked at the pile of blankets he slept in. When nothing emerged, he lay down, wrapping a few of the blankets around himself. He should have known better than to steal from anyone who worked for the Gray syndicate, but it had seemed like an easy score. His mark had been new, inexperienced, and Ezra had thought it would be simple. He hadn’t counted on there being a second lookout. He certainly hadn’t thought that they’d be able to track him down.
He’d gotten lucky when that guy had wandered into the alley; he knew that. The closest animal he’d been able to sense was a rat, and one rat would have done nothing against the three men who’d attacked him. But he couldn’t admit that he’d actually needed the help. The last thing he needed was to be in that guy’s debt. You didn't survive as long as he had by accepting help from strangers on the street.
Ezra pulled up his hood as he burrowed deeper into his nest of old stolen and discarded blankets, his bruised limbs protesting as he moved too quickly. His parents had always told him that he was special, that he’d been given his gift for a reason. He wondered what they would think if they saw him now, using it to get a cat to distract a 10-year-old lookout so he could pickpocket a drug dealer.