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“Stop!” Ezra howled, his hands curling around the blanket that was bunched up beneath him. “Stop! Please!”
He lifted his head, forcing his eyes open so he could look at Kanan. The man’s hands remained on his leg, but the searing pain eased as he stopped applying pressure, trying to ease the broken bone back into its correct position. Not that it mattered. Ezra’s leg still hurt worse than anything he’d ever felt in his life, even without Kanan doing anything.
“Kid,” Kanan said, his voice gentle. “I know it hurts, but I have to do this.”
“I – I know,” Ezra said, panting as he dropped his head back onto the bunk. “Just – just give me a second.”
He drew in a long, shaking breath, squeezing his eyes shut and slowly opening them again. He repeated the process a second time, and then a third, but it did nothing to curb his nausea at the thought of just what Kanan was doing. Before the boneknitter would help him, the broken bone in his leg had to be set back in its proper place. Kanan knew what he was doing, but each time the man touched him, Ezra couldn’t help but picture the bones shifting beneath his skin. The mere thought of it would have made him squirm if he didn’t know that could just make his injury worse.
Get it together, he scolded himself. Since when are you squeamish?
He held his breath for another long, painful moment before nodding.
“Do it,” he said, forcing the words out before he lost his nerve.
He regretted the words immediately as Kanan went back to work and the pain started again. Ezra fought to ignore it, gritting his teeth and continuing to draw in long, deep breaths. His hands curled around the blanket once more as he focused his gaze on the seam where the wall met the bottom of the bunk above him. On pure instinct, his good leg twitched, his heel digging against the bed, trying to push him away from Kanan. Away from the source of the pain.
Just stay still, he told himself. The less you move, the sooner he can get the bone set. It’s not that kriffing hard to stop moving.
“Ezra,” Kanan said, his voice soft. “Don’t think about your leg. Just focus on my voice, okay?”
Ezra nodded again as he bit back a grunt of pain.
“You’re doing great,” Kanan said. “I’m almost done.”
As he said it, a sharper, shooting pain lanced through Ezra’s leg. A small, traitorous part of his mind whispered that he was stupid to decline the painkillers Kanan had offered him. But they had a limited supply, and Ezra wasn’t about to waste a precious dose on this. He’d been hurt and unable to afford painkillers before. He could get through this. Once the boneknitter did its work, he’d be fine.
“I’m just putting the splint on,” Kanan said.
Ezra clenched his jaw as tight as he could as he felt something hard press against either side of his leg. He held his breath, not wanting to move even a hair’s width as Kanan strapped the makeshift splint to his leg. Seconds later, he felt the boneknitter set against his leg. It was all he could do not to jump as it was switched on, sending a harsh buzzing feeling radiating through the limb.
“It’s okay.” Kanan shifted his position on the bunk so he was close enough to put his hand on Ezra’s shoulder. “You’ll be fine.”
Ezra let out the breath he’d been holding, going limp as all the energy he’d spent trying to keep himself still seemed to evaporate. Only now that he wasn’t focused on his leg and what Kanan was doing to it did he notice the presence of something warm and wet on his face.
Kriff. He was crying, and there was no way Kanan hadn’t noticed.
Ezra wiped the tears away, blinking as he drew in a deep breath and forced himself to speak.
“Thank you,” he said. “I…” he trailed off, not sure of what else to say. “Just, thanks.”
Ezra didn’t realize he’d moved closer to Kanan until he was resting his head against the man’s thigh, focusing on his master’s presence to avoid thinking about the unsettling tingling in his leg. It was so soothing he almost forgot about the pain, about the sheer terror that had gripped him as he plummeted toward the ground, failing to break his fall with the Force.
Ezra’s eyes widened as he realized what he was doing. He wiggled away as best as he could without jostling his leg too much, putting a few inches of space between himself and Kanan.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “I didn’t – just… sorry.”
He curled his hands into fists at this sides to stop himself from covering his eyes. It wasn’t like that would actually do anything to hide him.
“Ezra,” Kanan said, “you don’t have anything to be embarrassed about.”
Ezra winced. Of course Kanan knew exactly what was going through his head. Even with all their lessons on shielding, keeping his feelings hidden from Kanan had never been that simple.
“Pretty sure I do,” Ezra muttered. He just wanted to roll over and turn his back to Kanan, but he had to keep still or risk messing up the boneknitter. It was supposed to be a simple op, and he’d karked up the whole thing by nearly falling to his death. And now he was acting like a little kid about it.
Kanan’s hand tightened on his shoulder, a small thread of warmth working its way through the dark cloud in Ezra’s head.
“On my third mission with Hera, I got stunned and fell right out of a window,” Kanan said.
Ezra couldn’t help but grin at the mental image that conjured up.
“I broke my wrist, nearly cracked my skull open, and I was so banged up I could barely walk for two days.”
Ezra knew what Kanan was trying to do. And for just a second it had almost worked. But that bitter, nauseating shame overpowered the brief moment of amusement.
“Hera didn’t think any less of me because of it,” Kanan said. “And no one will think any less of you, either.”
“It’s not the same,” Ezra muttered. “You’re not…” Not a kid. “You’re a Jedi.”
“So are you.”
“Barely,” Ezra said. “You just – you don’t have anything to prove. Not like I do.”
“Kid,” Kanan said, his voice gentle, like he thought Ezra would break. “You don’t have to prove anything, either.”
Ezra shifted slightly, determined to look anywhere but at Kanan. No matter what his master said, he knew it was different. Kanan was the first of them to join the crew, other than Chopper. He’d been there since the beginning. Zeb clearly had some kind of combat experience, even if he wouldn’t talk about it, and Sabine was a kriffing Mandalorian. Ezra was the only one who’d hadn’t walked onto this crew with years of training already behind him.
“We all get hurt sometimes,” Kanan said. “It’s one of the hazards of the job.”
“I just – I don’t want you to think I’m a liability,” Ezra said, fighting to keep his voice from shaking. “I don’t usually screw up like that, and when I get hurt, I – I can handle it. I always have.”
“Ezra.”
He flinched, though he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why. There was just something about Kanan’s voice. It wasn’t harsh. In fact, it was the opposite. But Ezra hadn’t been expecting the gentle tone or the flood of warmth and reassurance that surged across their bond.
“You don’t need to handle it on your own anymore,” Kanan said. “Being part of this family means you have people looking out for you. And it’s not because we think you’re weak or can't take care of yourself. It’s because we love you.”
Ezra’s hands twitched, a hard lump forming in his throat until he could barely breathe. It had been years since anyone had said something like that to him. Hearing it from Kanan filled him with a raging mixture of emotions. Fear that he was being manipulated. Pain at the memory of watching his parents, the last people who had ever actually cared about him, being dragged away. Denial as some cruel part of his mind insisted that it wasn’t true, that no one could care about him anymore, that he wasn’t worth it. Warmth. Warmth that drowned out everything else as his hand found Kanan’s and gripped it tightly. He couldn’t get himself to speak, but he knew he didn’t need to.
“It also means you don’t have to suffer needlessly,” Kanan said. “You sure about those painkillers?”
Ezra nodded. No matter what Kanan said, he didn’t want to cut into their medical supplies. They were so much harder to replace than food.
“Alright,” Kanan said. “But they’re there if you change your mind.”
“Thanks,” Ezra said.
Another sharp spike of pain shot through his leg and he gasped, squeezing Kanan’s hand even tighter.
“It’s okay,” Kanan said. His free hand rested on Ezra’s forehead, gently brushing his hair away from his face. “It’s almost over.”
Ezra shut his eyes, focusing on the points of contact between him and Kanan. Anything to block out the pins and needles in his leg. Kanan’s voice was like a distant rumble of thunder, firm and comforting all at once.
“I’ve got you.”