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Kanan doesn’t think too much of it when the pale Inquisitor’s lightsaber swings toward Ezra. In that moment, his only thoughts are getEzraoutgethimoutofheregethimoutgethimoutgetEzrAOUTOFHERE!
Ezra’s scream, however.
That he does notice.
He grits his teeth against the lingering pain from his interrogation and rushes the Pau’an, yelling to (hopefully) draw his attention away from Ezra.
It works.
Barely.
The man turns, his lightsaber coming with him—was that a pained grunt from Ezra he heard or just his own imagination conjuring up horrors?—and up in an attack position as he bares his teeth at Kanan, pushing him back across the narrow catwalk with the Force before he can get a blow in. “Ah, the Jedi. Always leaving those you love to suffer in your place.”
“And what would you know about love?” Kanan grounds out.
The Inquisitor smiles, fangs glinting in the uneven light.
From behind him, Ezra cries out again.
“Not much,” he says as Kanan hesitates, trying to sense for Ezra’s exact location in the chaos of the Destroyer’s collapse, “but I do know what it takes to make someone like you fall.”
Behind him, Kanan finally senses Ezra and...no...no, not yet, he’s too young—
Kanan lunges, reaching out uselessly for Ezra as the boy stumbles off the catwalk and into the abyss below, unconscious.
Ezra falls.
He falls,
falls,
f a l l s ,
and hits a catwalk far below them with a sickening crunch that makes Kanan wish he couldn’t hear.
The worst part is that Ezra now lies there on the durasteel, still.
He takes a moment to center himself, to let go.
I’m sorry.
May the Force be with you, Ezra Bridger.
On the catwalk behind him, he senses the Inquisitor approaching. His boots ring sharply off of the durasteel, the sound echoing in the engine room.
Kanan rises and turns, his gaze dark as he ignites both his ‘saber and Ezra’s, their blue blades shining.
You’re going to wish you hadn’t done that.
He defeats the Inquisitor.
The Force is, after all, much stronger than fear.
Ezra arrives at the control center seconds after the Inquisitor falls from it into the inferno below—the kid’s alive? How?
“I thought I lost you,” Kanan says, smiling in relief.
“I know the feeling.”
How is he still alive?
He hugs his Padawan. Ezra winces, but before Kanan can take a look, he’s waved away. “I’m fine, we– we need to go.”
He nods in agreement and the two help each other down to the hangar, both limping heavily.
Something’s wrong, take a look at him, something’s wrong—!
You need to get out of here alive first. Then, and only then, will you even be able to take the next step.
They find a TIE—the Inquisitor’s, actually. Ezra makes a dark joke about how he won’t be needing it anymore, clearly a ploy to hide the faint wave of pain that flows through their bond, and even though Kanan knows why he’s making the joke he can’t help but laugh regardless.
“Sometimes you worry me, kid.”
They escape the imploding Destroyer alive, thanks to a group of ships that appears out of nowhere. They dock with the Ghost, and a hologram of a senator Kanan remembers more from his Temple days than he does his rebellion ones appears to explain. Other rebel cells. It’s not a surprise, per se, that there are others; they’ve worked with Fulcrum more than once and so, he supposes, it makes sense. He just never expected this many others. He brushes the thought away as a woman comes down the ladder and turns to greet them.
She sings in the Force.
“Fulcrum,” Hera greets.
“Ahsoka. My name is Ahsoka Tano.”
Kanan steps forward. “Why did you come here?” he asks, voice hoarse.
“Because of you and your apprentice,” she says, nodding to Ezra, “many in this system and beyond have heard your message.”
Something’s wrong with Ezra.
The bond warns him prematurely, but Ahsoka’s still speaking, still saying, “You gave them hope in their darkest times. We didn’t want that hope to die.”
“So what happens now?” Ezra asks. His voice is weak, unnaturally so.
Kanan something’s wrong I’m too hot it’s too hot in here—
“I don’t know,” Ahsoka says, shrugging. “One chapter has closed for you, Ezra Bridger. This is a new day, a new beg—”
And without warning, the bond shorts out and Ezra collapses.
Kanan finds himself sitting at the kid’s bedside when he wakes.
“K...K’nan?” he mumbles sleepily into the breathing mask, clearly still in a haze. “Wh….Where’s K’nan?”
“Here, kiddo, I’m here.” Kanan pats his knee, watching Ezra’s face carefully to look for a reaction.
There is none.
“Hey Ezra? You still awake?”
“Yeah but wanna...go back to bed…” the boy mumbles, shifting on the cot as he tries to turn onto his stomach. Kanan carefully shifts Ezra back onto his side, shaking his head slowly.
“No, kiddo, I’m sorry. You’ve gotta sleep like this.”
“C’n’t,” Ezra mumbles, shaking his head and trying to turn over again. Kanan sighs internally and gently pulls him back again.
“I need you to, Ezra. Please.”
“It hur’s, K’nan. Hur’s.”
“I know. And I’m sorry.”
“Please, K’nan. Hur’s so...so much….”
Gradually, Ezra’s pleas fade to even breathing as he falls back asleep.
Kanan massages his temples, closing his eyes and taking a moment to center himself in the Force before scooting his chair back and rising. He goes to the partition and opens it slightly, revealing the rest of the med bay.
“Can I get a med droid? I have an update on the kid.”
Moments later, the rusted 2-1B droid comes clanking down the short medical wing, slipping into the partition under Kanan’s arm as he holds it open. It rolls over to Ezra, scanning him briefly before rolling back slightly and turning to look at Kanan.
“What happened?”
“He...he woke up, kept trying to roll over onto his stomach I think—Hera and I noticed, whenever he was sick, and Zeb noticed too, that he sleeps on his stomach. Probably to protect himself better or something, I dunno, never asked, but he got kind of upset just now when I wouldn’t let him.” Somewhere in the midst of his ramblings, Hera walks in, tattooed-on brows knitted together as she takes in the sight of Kanan, the med droid, and a still-prone Ezra. He holds up a hand to her to signal that he’s not quite done and then continues.
“He kept saying he was hurting and that he wanted to go back to bed, and at first he was confused and he couldn’t tell where he was or who I was. Is that normal? Please tell me that’s normal.”
“It is normal for patients with potential concussions to wake up with some confusion periodically. Expect this for the next few weeks.”
“O– okay,” Kanan says, nodding slowly. “Okay. What about– about his other—the thing on– on his side—“
“Patient Oh Nine Eight Three Seven’s infection shows no signs of improvement.”
Something in Kanan’s stomach plummets.
“Oh. O– okay,” he says quietly. Hera steps forward then.
“Kanan, love, go take a break for at least a couple hours, alright? I’ve got Ezra until then; he’s not going anywhere.”
Kanan nods, still in a daze. He doesn’t move, only staring at Ezra’s slightly trembling form, trying to see his Padawan past the sweat pouring off of the boy’s forehead in sheets and the multitude of IVs jabbed into his arms.
“Love, please go. Take a nap at least; grab some breakfast. You’ve been here all night.”
“Break...fast?” he asks haltingly. “It’s...it’s not even evening yet….”
Hera laughs softly. “Even more proof that you need to sleep soon. It’s well past evening now, Kanan. Go sleep.”
He nods, still hesitant.
C’mon kid, pull through this. You’ve done it before, now you’ve just gotta do it again.
He turns and ducks under the partition before he can change his mind.
“Kanan, have you had anything other than caf in three days?”
They’re in the mess hall. Too far from Ezra and the med bay, in his opinion. He shrugs at Sabine’s question, opting to shake his head instead. “No.”
“You need t’ res’ up too, boss,” Zeb points out. “Ezra’s injuries, bad as they are, are accidental. You were tortured.”
“I’m fine,” he insists, throwing back the rest of his mug of caf and rising. “Just fine. Ezra needs me. And it’s time I get back to him anyway; it’s been too long—“
“Kanan, jes’ take a break, that’s all we’re askin’. No’ t’ abandon ‘im completely.”
Kanan slams the mug back down on the table, glaring daggers at both of his friends. “Well he wouldn’t be in this mess if I hadn’t abandoned him,” he snarls, the sudden edge of darkness in his voice new.
The Inquisitor’s ‘saber swings toward Ezra.
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
Sabine and Zeb exchange wary glances before Sabine stands, raising her hands placatingly. “Kanan, look—”
“I need to get back to my Padawan. And right now, you two are stopping me from doing that,” he snaps.
Kanan picks up the mug only long enough to drain it of its dregs before slamming it back down again, wiping his mouth with a sleeve and limping out of the near-empty mess hall.
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
He makes it back to the med bay in record time. He slips inside, limping past the other patients—a trio of pilots injured in the attack over Mustafar, the attack that saved them—and into Ezra’s partitioned-off section. Hera looks up from where she sits by his bed, reading from her datapad.
“I thought you’d be out there long enough to at least take a nap—“
“He needs me, Hera,” Kanan says, voice rough.
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
She purses her lips before finally nodding and rising. “Comm me when you’re ready to take another break.”
“Sure,” he lies. He knows he won’t be, not until Ezra’s healed. She leaves without another word, and he stares down at Ezra’s still shivering form, unable to hide his concern.
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
“The first Jedi watched as her first Padawan died in her arms. She couldn’t do it, couldn’t just sit there and do nothing, so she begged the Force for a miracle. And the Force obliged.
“It took her Life Force, and in her Padawan’s final moments, it gave it to the younger girl.
Her spirit revived itself in that of a baby being born at the same moment. The Padawan grew up and grew old all over again, and when she died, the same thing happened: another baby was born with her same spirit.
“Since then, this has happened in everyone—they die, and they return, and life goes on. Only, the Padawan eventually grew sad. She wanted her friends to experience this with her, so she wouldn’t be alone with the whisper-memories of dreams she had once upon a blue moon. She prayed to the Force, and finally, the Force gave in again, but with a catch.
“The Padawan would never be as alone in this as she was before. She already had the company of all other beings, who were also brought back. But for the Force-sensitives, including her, there was a change.
“They would remember their past lives. Not every time, but enough times for it to matter. There would never be a way to tell if they would remember or not when they died, beyond hoping. But often, that was enough.”
Kanan remembers telling his Padawan the story ages ago, just as Depa once told it to him, as he watches Ezra’s body tremble uncontrollably, watches the boy shake and shudder and groan from both the cytokines rocketing through his bloodstream and the nightmares likely plaguing his mind. He wants to help, he wants so much to help, but every time he does, Ezra only blocks him out more. It’s subconscious, he knows, but it still kriffing hurts.
The med droid comes back in.
Kanan shifts before sitting up, rubbing an eye. “Has anything changed?”
“No,” the droid says tonelessly, rotating to glance at Ezra before returning its lifeless gaze to Kanan. “He will still die within the next 48 hours.”
Kanan wants to scream.
The faint beeping of a comm stirs Kanan awake and he groans, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand before answering. “Yeah?”
“It’s Spectre Five. Spectre Two wants me to switch out with you for med bay duty.”
“No,” he states flatly, moving to turn his commlink off when Sabine interrupts him.
“Please Kanan, I...he’s our family too, you know. I just...I wanna spend some time with him...before….”
He understands. So much. More than she knows.
“Of c– of course,” he says after a moment of silence. “Just come inside when you get here. Spectre One out.” He clicks the commlink off and turns to look at Ezra, only to freeze. He’s fully awake, and even seems somewhat lucid. He withholds a breath, ducking out quickly to summon the med droid before leaning back in to speak to Ezra.
“Hey, kiddo. How’re you...how are you feeling?” he asks hesitantly.
“Better,” Ezra says, blinking rapidly. “My side hurts though. And...and I can’t...Kanan, I can’t– I’m too cold,” he says, panicked. Kanan rushes to reassure him.
“It’s okay, kid. It’s okay. It’s a new drug they’re trying, to make you feel better.” He pulls his chair closer and sits, smiling.
Ezra’s wide-eyed gaze remains on him, blue eyes fixated on Kanan’s own firm gaze with every rise and fall of the boy’s chest.
Sabine and the med droid enter at the same time. The droid does a brief scan of Ezra before turning to Kanan. “It is advised that we meet outside to discuss the patient’s condition.”
Sabine jumps in. “I’ll stay with Ezra.”
“Okay,” Kanan says slowly, nodding. He shoots a glance at Ezra. “That okay with you, kiddo?”
“Ye– yeah,” his Padawan says, breath catching.
For a brief moment, he feels his heart stop. Ezra lets loose a rattling cough and the panic passes.
“Get better soon, kid.” As Kanan rises to go switch out with Sabine, a clammy hand grips his arm bruisingly. He glances down, eyes wide.
“What if– if– if I don’t remember?” Ezra asks hoarsely, the question blunt. Kanan's heartbeat stutters to a halt once more.
“Remember what, kiddo?”
“Remember you, remember Hera, remember all this, remember dying, ” he says, voice still rough from disuse. Kanan swallows.
“What do you mean, ‘dying?’ You’re not—“
“Don’t lie. I can feel it. Just...just tell me what happens if I don’t remember.”
Kanan sucks in a breath, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’m...not sure, kid. I’m not sure. But we’ll find you. I’ll find you.” He moves his arm in Ezra’s grip until he’s squeezing the boy’s hand lightly. “Promise.”
The clarity starts to trickle out of Ezra’s gaze as he nods, blinking at Kanan. “Okay. Pr– promise.”
Kanan holds on for a moment longer before rising once more and stepping out with the droid. The droid doesn’t waste any time dancing around the issue.
“Patient Oh Nine Eight Three Seven, also identified as Ezra Bridger, now has approximately twelve hours to live.”
Kanan spends the next twelve hours at Ezra’s bedside, joined intermittently by the other members of their crew.
In the last hour, they’re all crowded into the partitioned-off area of the med bay, and Hera, Sabine, Zeb, and Chopper are all manning separate datapads in search of birth counts across the galaxy, trying to find where Ezra will pop up next. Kanan sits by Ezra, trying to calm his feverish mind in his final moments.
“K’nan...hurts...want….I want Mom...I want my mom…” he pleads, nearly sobbing. Kanan keeps rubbing circles on the back of his hand, murmuring softly to him.
“Shhh Ezra, shhhh it’s all right, it’s okay….Shhh kiddo, I got you, I got you….”
“K’nan...K’nan plea– plea– please— “
“What do you need, Ezra? I’m here...I’ve got you….”
“M– Mom, I need– I need Mom...K’nan ple– please, K’nan...hur’s….”
“I know, kiddo...I got you….”
“Please, K’nan….” Ezra’s eyes are squeezed shut and his breath comes in sharp, rasping gasps as the sweat continues to pour off his face.
“Ezra, you’re okay, I got you, I got you—“
A moment is all it takes to realize.
We’re losing him!
“Ezra, Ezra, I need you to hang on for me, can you do that?”
His signature peters out without another word. Moments later, so does his breath.
All Kanan can hear is the ringing in his ears.
“Ezra? Ezra, can you hear me? Ezra?”
He shakes the boy’s shoulder carefully, confused as to why the normally vibrant eyes seem glazed over.
“Kiddo?”
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
“Kid, I need you to answer me. Just– just touch the bond or something, even, okay? Kiddo, please, I need– I need—”
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
“Ezra, I need you to answer me, okay?” Hera’s to his right now, pulling at his arm, trying to pull him away from Ezra, he can ask her for help—
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
—ask her to get the med droid, yeah, the med droid—2-1B can fix everything—or at least tell them what to fix—
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
A low keening, in his ears. His own sound?
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
Someone pulls him away from Ezra, tries to get him to look at the heart rate monitor—
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
—no, no, that’s not Ezra’s, Ezra’s alive—Ezra’s alive—Ezra’s alive—
Kanan doesn’t notice.
Ezra screams.
“Kanan—“
“Don’t.”
“Kanan, we’re all missing him. You don’t get to be the only one who’s allowed to grieve,” Sabine snaps before Hera can try again. “We loved him, too.”
It’s the rough edge to her voice that draws Kanan’s gaze up to her. She’s standing with arms crossed, looking down at him with what’s almost a glare.
She’s right, he knows. Ezra wasn’t just his. Ezra was all a little bit of theirs.
“You’re– you’re right,” he says slowly. “I’m sorry. I—“ He breaks off, looking back at the now-empty medical cot. They’d done a proper space burial for Ezra, knowing that was what the kid would’ve wanted. Lothal was where he had been born.
The Ghost, Kanan knew, was a bit more of a home to him than any planet had ever been.
He squeezes his eyes shut, taking in a slow, shuddering breath. Breathe. He’s going through life again now, on his own. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll meet him again one day.
But if Ezra didn’t remember—
Kanan didn’t know what he’d do if Ezra never remembered. If he had to go through life knowing that he’d never see the kid again.
He needed Ezra. Needed to finish his training, needed to pull him back from the edge if something happened. Needed to keep him safe from the Empire.
The Empire.
He shoots Hera a hesitant glance. “What if the Empire finds him?” he asks, voice hoarse.
Hera inhales sharply. “I don’t know if they’ll bother looking at babies, Kanan—“
“Force-sensitives have a chance at remembering, Hera. The Empire knows that. There’s gonna be testing at each birth to make sure the child’s taken if it is Force-sensitive. And there’s no hope of getting a baby out of Mustafar.”
“What if...what if the baby wasn’ born in a medcenter?” Zeb says slowly.
Chopper whirrs curiously, trilling sharply. Zeb shoots him a nervous glance, rubbing his neck as Kanan finally glances up.
“What do you mean?”
“I jes’...I dunno, I remember there was a big thing a while ago on Lasan for parents who though’ their kits had a strong connection t’ the Ashla. They’d have their kits at home, so they’d be born closer t’ the Ashla or whatever, I dunno. But eventually, everyone jes’ started ‘avin’ their kits at ‘ome. Maybe...maybe there’s somethin’ like that with others, too, Kanan. Parents sensin’ that their kits are different...after all, Ezra wasn’ born in a medcenter, right?”
“No, he wasn’t,” Kanan confirms, shaking his head. “He said his mom told him she had a feeling they shouldn’t.”
“But tracking the sheer amount of babies that aren’t born in a medcenter...Kanan, that’s….”
“I know,” he says, glancing at Sabine. “I know it’s a lot. But so far, it’s the best chance we have.”
Hera clears her throat, calling Kanan’s gaze to her. He can see the cold grief simmering underneath, feel it more than anything.
I’m with you, it says.
“I need to help the rebellion get off the ground a bit more.”
He opens his mouth to argue, to say he’ll go it alone even though he shouldn’t have to, because kriff it they’re Ezra’s family and families stay together.
But Hera raises a silent hand before he can.
“But I will be helping find him with any other time that I have. I’ll pass on any information we find, and when I can, I’ll come help you. As for you three, you’re free to choose whether to go.”
Chopper immediately beeps, albeit with what Kanan recognizes as a slightly reluctant tone, that he’ll stay with Hera. Sabine and Zeb glance at each other.
“I’ll stay,” Zeb says slowly. “I’ll come with ‘era when she leaves, bu’ fer now….”
“Me too.” Sabine sighs, hugging herself. “I...I can do more good here. I’m sorry, Kanan.”
He inhales shallowly, breath rattling in his chest, and nods. “Alright.”
“But Kanan, don’t...leave right away. Give it a couple months. It’s not like you’ll be able to tell if it’s Ezra until he’s able to talk anyway,” Hera points out.
“And what if the Empire can?” he asks, voice as shaky as his breath. “What if– what if they find a way, Hera? And either way, I owe it to Ezra to help any Force-sensitive kids I find, even if...even if they aren’t him. I owe it to him.” I owe it to Depa .
Hera’s brows knit together in thought, and a distant part of Kanan realizes that Sabine, Zeb, and Chopper are all trailing out of the med bay to give them some space.
“And what if...kriff, Hera, if I find the Bridger...we owe it to them to tell them what happened to their son. He was theirs before he was ours.”
She nods. “I...yes. Yes. That’s….If you need to go now, Kanan, I won’t stop you. Just know that...that I’ll miss you. We all will.”
Hera rises and approaches him, carefully bending enough to press a soft kiss to his forehead.
“Before you leave, at least sleep for a while. You won’t be getting good rest for Mother knows how long,” she says, smiling fondly. He nods.
“Yeah, I...I will.”
She leaves without another word and he sits in silence, staring at Ezra’s empty cot.
Kanan remembers his life before.
He doesn’t identify with the Lothali boy he’d been much anymore, but the boy’s experiences had been invaluable when he and Hera and Zeb had first started operating primarily from Lothal.
Unfortunately, much like Ezra, his life before had ended much too soon.
He doesn’t remember too many of the details thankfully—otherwise he would likely have even more repressed trauma than he already does—but there was definitely something about people with lightsabers arriving. Jedi, maybe, but from what he remembers, more like Sith. Or at least they acted more like Sith.
They tried to take him from his family, saying something about someone looking for him and that they would protect him from them.
He’d been young, he knows, very young. Under ten, maybe.
His own screams had sounded foreign to his ears. They still do, whenever he has nightmares of his death.
As far as he remembers, however, the Jedi weren’t the ones who actually killed him. It wasn’t someone at all really, but rather something.
At least, that’s assuming he’s translating the blurred images of a cliff and water correctly. There had been a face, above the water, but he can never quite remember whose it was.
And they’re probably dead at this point, anyway.
For the first time in a long time, the Lothali boy’s experiences are going to come in handy.
Kanan is eight months into his search when Ahsoka contacts him and tells him to meet her in a dusty old bar on Dantooine.
And, of course, he goes.
“There are more Inquisitors hunting us,” she says softly, the words more slithering into his ears through air currents than from her proximity to him. They sit back to back at lone tables, Kanan sipping his drink and glancing absently through bounty pucks while Ahsoka leaves her hood up, watching the establishment with hawk eyes and barely touching her drink. “And, we think, you. They’re looking for younglings. The same kind you are.”
A chill runs through his bones and he swallows. “How many of them are there?”
“Two, that we’ve seen. Here.” She slips him a datachip through a careful hand brush and he pulls it up and into his sleeve discreetly. “A basic rundown on them. Sabine and Zeb ran into them while looking into some coordinates I found.”
A chill creeps along Kanan’s spine. “Oh,” he says quietly.
“The coordinates I stole from them are on that chip, too. They might help you.”
“Thanks,” Kanan says. “Honestly. I can’t thank you enough.”
“Do you have any intel?”
“No. I’ve been trying to stay under everyone’s radar. I promise I’ll find a way to contact you or Hera as soon as I find any.”
“Thank you.”
He nods to himself out of habit before remembering she can’t see it.
“I’ll...go.”
“That would be for the best, I think,” she says. “You first. And, Kanan...good luck.”
He doesn’t bother nodding this time, instead knocking back the rest of his drink, placing a pair of cred chips on the table, and walking out.
The tricky part about coming back is that there’s no way to know where you’ll come back. Not until you’re much older, at least.
Kanan ponders this as he hitches another ride on a freighter, locking himself away in the ‘fresher and pulling out the datachip Ahsoka gave him. He plugs it into his chip reader, gaze scanning the lines of coordinates. Some he knows right off the bat aren’t right, or at least have very little chance at being right. For the most part, the Force likes to protect her children. So the ones he recognizes as Coruscant are a no right off the bat.
Though he does wish he could have a chance to rescue those other kids. For some reason, the Force wants them there. He can’t imagine why, but he sure won’t argue.
He’s done that often enough before Ezra’s life was on the line. He can’t risk angering the Force now.
Closing his eyes, he does what he should’ve done from the beginning, and reaches a hand out toward the list. He starts mentally going through it, rooting out the ones the Force doesn’t immediately make jump out at him.
Not that one...not that one...no, not that one either, kriff it!
He inhales shakily, sighing.
He’s out there somewhere.
He hears footsteps outside the refresher. Come on, come on…..
A knock on the door. “Koda, you still in there?”
“Yeah, just a minute!” he calls, trying to keep the strain of using the Force this way out of his voice. Connection’s always been Ezra’s forté. Not his.
“‘kay, hurry.” The footsteps fade away again and Kanan keeps searching.
There was something—something right there—
Connection’s always been Ezra’s forté connection’s always been Ezra’s forté always been Ezra’s forté always been Ezra’s forté always been Ezra’s forté—
That’s it.
That’s it, that’s it, that’s it, he knows which coordinate is Ezra, he knows—
Jedha.
Kanan grits his teeth as the ship jolts again.
“How much longer do we have?” he calls.
“Should only be ten minutes, but—”
The pilot’s cut off as the light freighter shakes violently for the fifth time in as many minutes.
“Is that a tractor beam they’re using on us?!” Kanan asks, eyes widening as he looks up at the Destroyer above them.
“They’ve been mining the planet for a couple years now, but normally they don’t detain civilians.”
“And you used the civilian codes, right?”
“...yeah. At least, I think so.” The pilot sounds uncertain now and Kanan withholds a groan.
“You forgot?!”
“I—”
“Never mind, just– just get us out of here!”
“I’m trying!”
The ship continues to shake and Kanan sends a quick, silent prayer to the Force.
Get Ezra out safely, please. Please make them satisfied with having caught me. Please.
The freighter lands inside the hangar bay of the Destroyer with a quiet thud, and Kanan inhales shakily. “Alright, when they ask us, I’m your second cousin and you were taking me to explore Jedha for the first time, alright?”
The man nods, eyes wide, and there’s a loud knock from the outside of the ship. “Open up!”
Kanan inhales once more, unbuckling the safety restraints and moving to open up the ship as he exhales.
Half a squad of stormtroopers rushes in, pointing blasters at both men. “Hands up!” Kanan obeys instantly.
The pilot, however, tries to make a run for it.
He withholds a groan as they stun the man. They cuff him and drag him off the ship before returning their attention to Kanan.
“Cuff him,” the squad leader orders.
“Wait, I think I recognize him,” another says.
Kriff this.
He kicks out, managing to knock the ‘trooper approaching him with cuffs to their knees before running toward the loading ramp.
“Stun him!”
A blue ring from a stormtrooper still outside the ship hits him smack in the face and he falls ungracefully, losing consciousness almost immediately.
Kanan wakes to pain.
He blinks, groaning, and hears footsteps. Someone walks around from behind him, and he belatedly realizes he’s strapped to an interrogation table.
Kriff no please no no no no n o—
“So. Kanan Jarrus.”
He looks up at the Imperial before him, marginally relieved to realize he doesn’t recognize the man. “And you are?”
The man’s lips dip into a frown. “That’s not why we’re here,” he says dismissively, sniffing. “You will answer any and all questions put to you, and you will—“
“You’ve never interrogated anyone before, have you?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. The man’s frown deepens. He takes a step forward, grabbing Kanan by the collar of his shirt.
“Listen, rebel—“
The door opens.
“I see you’ve begun a preliminary interrogation, Agent. Though it doesn’t appear to have progressed much.”
The man’s face flushes and he releases Kanan, taking a step back as Kallus approaches. Kanan glares defiantly as the newcomer stops a few feet away.
“You may leave, Agent. Your presence is not required.”
“But—“
“I said your presence is not required.” The man nods once, glaring at Kanan before leaving. Kallus clasps his hands behind his back as the man leaves.
“Now. I assume he had barely gotten started?”
Kanan doesn’t answer, only watching as Kallus moves to the controls for the table. The man begins adjusting the dials.
“Quiet today, are we? I can work with that. Would you like to know what happened to the pilot you were with?” Kanan doesn’t care much, not after how the man had bolted, but it seems Kallus is going to tell him anyway. “He has been sent to a labor camp; it doesn’t matter where. But he will be punished for helping a known criminal.”
“He didn’t know my name,” Kanan says before he can stop himself.
“We’re well aware of that, ‘Sadarr Koda,’” Kallus says. He finishes with the controls and turns back to Kanan. “Now. Before we begin, there is something else I need to tell you.”
His hand hovers over the lever for the electroshock controls and Kanan tenses in apprehension.
“The boy has been handed off to the Inquisitors.”
He throws the lever.
Kanan fades in and out of consciousness for the next several hours, days, weeks, months—however long it is, he’s not sure. When he is awake, he can sense the drugs working their way through his mind. He barely makes out any questions they ask, if any, and tries to simply not speak.
He thinks he succeeds.
He floats between full, star-shine bright pain and the thankful lesser pain of the Lothali boy whose eyes he watches from as he falls into the cold grasp of the water.
The boy is always calling out, stretching arms toward the surface of the water, and always always always, whoever stands above simply watches.
He passes out again.
He’s in the midst of one of his periods of unawareness when he feels a faint touch on his mind, one of...recognition?
Ezra.
He wakes to a shock.
“Where are the rebels?” a harsh, cold, Core-accented voice says.
“Never...I’ll never tell…” Kanan rasps, eyes already fluttering to close.
“Send him with the Inquisitors. Maybe one of their trainees can find a use for him,” the man says in disgust, shaking his head. Someone throws the lever for the electroshock and Kanan convulses, eyes squeezing shut reflexively. The electricity disappears moments later and he sags forward against the restraints even further, breathing hard.
Someone undoes Kanan’s restraints and his knees buckle, sending him to the floor with a cry of pain. He’s pulled to his feet, and nearly dragged out of the cell behind two stormtroopers.
His head pounding, the pain only growing worse at the light in the corridor, Kanan allows his eyes to shutter closed as he passes out once more.
“No! No, don’t take him, no no no no no no—“
“Quiet, girl!” Someone strikes her and he screams.
“Eema, Eema!” he yells, struggling against their grip. “Eema!”
“My tatele!” His eema continues fighting to get to him, even as the man picks him up and pretty much tosses him over his shoulder.
He continues to scream, even as the man begins murmuring to him. “Don’t worry, kid, we’ll protect you. The Sith are looking for you, but we’ll protect you.”
“I want my eema, not you!” he screams, kicking against the man’s stomach. He feels the man suck in a breath, but he merely readjusts him, not reacting otherwise.
He keeps kicking.
He lands his knee in the man’s throat and the man stumbles, giving him the chance to scramble off. He tumbles to the ground, rising before bolting.
He runs through the grass, breathing hard as the salt air fills his lungs.
“Come back here! We’re trying to….”
He tunes their shouts out, sprinting toward the edge of the grass. He jumps.
“Boy!”
The water meets his face with a cold, harsh awakening.
Kanan surfaces from the endless nightmares in a darkened room, so devoid of light that for a second, he thinks he is still dreaming.
And then the door opens.
“Here,” someone says. A metal cylinder, glinting in the thin line of light from the doorway, rolls toward him. “Defend yourself.” The door closes, and Kanan grabs the cylinder.
He finds the ignition button and presses it, activating an emerald blade that is definitely not his own. He rises unsteadily, head pounding and skull squeezing his brain like a vise. He can’t remember the last time he drank anything.
He uses the light of the weapon to investigate the cell, unsurprised to find himself stripped of his usual boots and anything that could potentially give him an upper hand. An upper hand against what, he’s not sure, but the voice had warned him to prepare to defend himself.
And now that the scattered conversations from before his passing out are starting to come back to him, he’s more concerned than ever.
A door opposite the one that had opened earlier—at least, he thinks it’s opposite, but he’s not sure—eases open, a blank darkness yawning behind. Kanan knows it’s likely a trap.
He knows it is, and still he goes.
He enters the inky void, and almost immediately, the door behind him whooshes shut. He holds the humming lightsaber ahead of him, trying to use its aura to make out details of the new room, but the light reveals nothing.
He hears, instead, the hiss-click of another lightsaber igniting and turns to see a horned face bathed in red light.
The figure moves forward—to attack, he somehow knows without asking, as if anyone holding a red lightsaber would do anything but—and he staggers back, raising the green blade in a defensive position. His attacker is shorter than him, but that’s about all he can tell without access to the Force or better lighting. They exchange a brief series of blows that they each both block before Kanan manages to back them into the corner.
“Give up, and I won’t hurt you. I just want my son,” he whispers.
“No,” his opponent hisses, and he realizes that if he wants to see Ezra again, he’s going to have to kill them.
This isn’t the way of the Jedi! part of him, the part that is Caleb Dume, Ezra Bridger’s teacher, screams.
The larger part, the one that is Kanan Jarrus, the closest thing Ezra Bridger has to a father right now, reminds him that, The Jedi are dead, and if you don’t defend yourself, you will be, too.
He heaves a sigh, pulls back his borrowed ‘saber, and plunges it into his opponent’s chest.
The attacker gasps, letting out a whimper that reminds him just enough of Ezra that part of him aches, before he withdraws his ‘saber. Their grip on their own blade slips, flicking against the ignition, and they drop the sheathed weapon. It clinks against the durasteel floor, and the lights turn on with a harsh click. Kanan watches in silence as his assailant, a mere child, falls, her chest shuddering as her breaths slow to a halt.
I’m sorry, he allows himself to think for half a second.
And then, he turns to the wall.
Time to find Ezra.
The Force begins to come back to him as he makes his way through the building. The wall of the cell had not been lightsaber-proof, surprisingly; likely the Inquisitors aren’t used to their trainees failing.
Or maybe they’re just not used to their victims fighting back.
The thought of Ezra here, of whatever incarnation he is, as young as he is, worms its way back into his mind and he swallows down the bile. They wouldn’t hurt a baby.
They would, he knows.
Kanan uses the Force to follow Ezra’s signature like a golden thread, tugging on it tighter and tighter as his grip on the Force returns. He follows it down what he can only assume is the detention block, growing more and more concerned he hasn’t left it yet until he rounds a corner and faces a pair of black-armored ‘troopers walking toward him.
Suddenly he has more pressing concerns.
“Halt!” one of the ‘troopers calls. Sucking in a breath, he turns and bolts.
Ezra’s signature slips through his fingers like water as he puts distance between them. No no no no no—
Stand and fight, Padawan, Depa’s voice hisses in his mind without warning.
He slows to a stop, swallowing hard before turning. He ignites the green blade, already moving to block the first shots.
He deflects one at the helmet of the first ‘trooper and another at the chest of the second, not enough to stop them forever but enough to make them hesitate. He takes full advantage of that hesitation and turns to start running before they can continue firing.
He skids around a corner, pausing and listening to his breath come in sharp gasps as the pair radios for backup and runs past him. He’s okay. For the moment.
Now, to find Ezra.
Kanan reaches the end of the golden string, and carves a hole in the door with the green ‘saber. He kicks the disc in and steps through the hole, stopping short.
There are rows of cradles, each holding sleeping—he hopes—children.
Kanan sucks in a breath and begins going down the rows. Each cradle has an ID holo projected above, with a number, planet of origin, midichlorian count, and age, but nothing else displayed. He’s hit by a sudden realization.
I can’t leave the rest of them here, either.
He swallows, realizing what he has to do.
Kanan charges toward the landing pad, pushing a group of hover-prams coupled together ahead of him and slamming a fist on the door controls as he passes through. He pauses to slash them with his ‘saber before turning back to continue, breathing hard.
He needs to get these children off Nur, before the other Inquisitors show up. They need to be long gone by then.
Already, he’s furious with himself for leaving the rest behind; but five babies are enough to deal with on their own without throwing the term “nascent Force-sensitive” into the mix. Just get these ones to safety, he promises himself, and then you can go back for the rest.
Get Ezra to safety.
He heads for the first ship big enough with an open ramp, about to push the prams up when he realizes a safer way. A way to throw the Inquisitors off their trail.
Glancing over his shoulder, he takes the first two babies out and hurries into the ship. He barely shoots them a glance; he can get to know them later. He sets them inside what looks like a storage bin—you can find somewhere better to put them later—and then heads back out to get two more. The third one, a small Twi’lek girl, starts bawling the moment he picks her up and he winces. The fourth one, however, stays sound asleep, and he allows himself a moment to breathe.
He sets them into another storage bin and then heads out to get Ezra.
Only, Ezra’s gone.
“Kriff this,” he hisses under his breath, noting that the other prams are now gone, too. Apparently his distraction worked too well. Swearing again, he starts back toward the entrance of the fortress, unclipping the lightsaber from his belt and holding it loosely in his hand.
The lights have gone out.
He’s not sure why this is the first thing he notices, but it is. He’s tempted to use the lightsaber’s emerald blade as illumination, but just as quickly realizes that the darkness is likely a trap to get him to reveal his position by doing just that. Swallowing hard, he continues into the darkness with only the faintly blinking emergency lights along the edges of the walls to guide his way.
“Looking for something?” a cold voice asks.
He turns.
A figure stands in the junction of two hallways, her triangular helmet and armor marking her as an Inquisitor. And before her floats the pram. Ezra’s pram.
“Give him to me, and I’ll leave you alone,” he says, voice hoarse.
“I think not.” The woman leaves the hover-pram behind, sauntering toward him, and his eyes flick to it warily. He just has to get past her, and they’ll be home free.
“He’s just a kid. What do you want with him?”
“I don’t know yet. He has much...potential.”
“He won’t Turn,” Kanan answers automatically. The woman laughs, her voice tinny thanks to the helmet’s modulator.
“We’ll see.”
Her lightsaber is in her hand in a second, blade ignited as Kanan follows suit with his. They circle each other for a moment, eyes locked on the slightest movement each makes.
And then she strikes.
He steps backward, blocking the blow and shoving back with enough force to knock her several steps backward. He takes the brief opening and turns, rushing to grab the baby from the pram before racing back out to the landing pad.
On his way, he hears an explosion devour the hall behind him, and the baby starts wailing as he staggers against a wall. Grunting, he pushes himself back off and continues.
Kanan emerges from the now-burning entrance, holding the baby close to his chest as they wail.
“Shh…” he murmurs absently, glancing around the small, exposed landing pad. Water surrounds the fortress on all sides, and he swallows hard.
The baby cries again.
“It’s going to be all right,” he murmurs, unable to bring himself to continue calling the child Ezra when he’s not even sure who their parents are. He swallows hard.
Go, now, before they flood the landing pad.
He forces himself to move if not for his sake, then for the baby’s. The child cries again, and Kanan speeds up his limping stride as he spies the shuttle the other babies are on at the far end of the exposed duracrete. There.
He enters the ship, frowning as he realizes he has nowhere to put the baby. The storage bins the others are in are full. He’ll just have to hold them as they take off, and hope they don’t fall. He closes the ramp and doors, starting the ship up and lifting off just as the doors at the end of the landing pad open and a pair of black-armored figures rushes out of the flames. One doesn’t hesitate before throwing a whirling crimson lightsaber at the shuttle and he swings the ship in a wide bank, the blade just glancing off the hull as he speeds into the upper atmosphere and finally beyond.
He punches in the first hyperspace coordinates that come to mind and throws the lever, noticing only then that the baby has fallen asleep against his chest.
I’ll protect you, I promise. I’ll get you back to your parents on Jedha, he thinks, smiling down at the baby. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.
