Chapter Text
The Force wasn’t the only great power in the Galaxy.
There were also the laws of physics. Kanan was strong in the Force, but the bind he had gotten himself into had to do with physics.
Time seemed to slow, and Ezra saw exactly what was happening and how it was going to play out unless he could find a solution. Every action has an opposite and equal reaction. An object at rest or in motion will stay so until acted on by an outside force. Force—the physics kind—is equal to mass times acceleration.
Kanan had gotten himself locked between two different, opposing vectors—one hand holding back the explosion, his other hand pushing away Hera and the transport. He was caught in the middle, both actions rooting him in place, and he didn’t have the leverage to move himself. He needed an extra hand. Another vector, the outside action that would overcome his inertia.
He knew Kanan—caught between multiple options, many choices, he would put his energy into the one choice that would save Hera. Using all his strength to push her out of danger, even if it destroyed him.
But there was another option. Ezra: the outside force, the opposite and equal reaction. He just had to make sure Kanan made the exact opposite choice that he was inclined to.
Kanan, turn away.
Ezra poured himself into the Force, raising a shield against the fire to match Kanan’s. A wall. Something for Kanan to push against, to launch himself off of. If he could push the transport away, then he could push himself, too. If he had something to push against.
The wall, Kanan. Ezra willed him to understand. Don’t push us away. Push yourself, toward us. Then we can all leave this place together.
Ezra was holding the wall, helping Kanan hold back the fire. Did he feel it? Did he see the solution?
Kanan started to move, to raise his hands to together, bending all his will in one direction.
“Kanan!” Hera cried out, a heart-rending sound.
Kanan held both hands—against the fire, against the wall that Ezra had built. And the fire billowed, pushing out—Ezra held the wall, the explosion pushed it, and Kanan rode that wave of energy. Ezra held firm, everything depended on on the strength of his will in the Force.
The explosion, bursting against their Force wall—metaphysics and physics working together—pushed Kanan into the transport, then pushed them all away, ahead of the shockwave. Just like one of Sabine’s shaped charges. Beautiful.
Hera grabbed Kanan, Ezra grabbed them both..
“Sabine, go! Go!” Ezra shouted.
The transport raced away.
Kanan was on fire. The shield had fallen at the end, some of the flames got to him, but Hera threw herself over him, stamping it out in moments. He was burned, but he was alive. They clung to each other.
Hera bent over him, saying over and over, “I love you, I love you.”
Kanan clung back, murmuring, “Don’t let go, don’t ever let go.”
The fuel depot was made of fire, now. A terrible roar deafened them, and the heat still chased them. Then somehow they were shoved clear and racing away. Safe.
Ezra sank to the floor of the shuttle, dizzy, about to pass out. It was all so much. He had touched the fabric of the galaxy. Kanan had listened to him. Do or do not, there is no try. He understood now.
“Ezra.” Kanan reached. The right side of his face was blistered with burns, but somehow he was smiling. “Ezra, that was crazy.”
Ezra grabbed his hand. “I wasn’t going to let you go out in a blaze of glory, Master. We need you.”
“Kanan?” Hera asked, a desperate edge to her voice.
“This really hurts,” he said, chuckling roughly.
“We’ll get you help,” Ezra said. “Just hold on!”
“I will.”
***
They picked up Zeb and Chopper, who both freaked out, and Sabine was yelling, and why the hell didn’t the Imperials didn’t keep med kits in their transports, so they immediately took off for the Rebel camp—after first making sure they weren’t followed. They weren’t—another miracle in this night that was full of them. Kanan had gone quiet, sinking himself in some kind of Jedi meditation. The others kept asking, “Is he—“ And stopping, not wanting to know the answer. But every time, Hera looked up and nodded. She had a tight grip on his hand, never letting go. He was squeezing back. Still alive.
At the camp, the six of them somehow stumbled off the shuttle. Kanan was upright, barely. Ezra and Hera were on either side, holding him up, while Sabine hovered.
Zeb was frustrated. “Right. I got ‘em,” he said, stepping in to scoop the tall Jedi up in his arms like he was a child.
Kanan muttered, in a voice thick with pain, “I’m fine, I can walk—“
“Kanan. Let me do this,” Zeb said.
That Kanan didn’t argue after that was an indication of how much he was really hurting.
They went straight to the med bay tucked back in one of the tents, drawing a procession of concerned and curious rebels with them. Ezra couldn’t be bothered to pay much attention to what was happening around them. He was focused on his family. Zeb had Kanan, and that was all right, so he turned his attention to Hera.
She stumbled, and he held her arm. “Hera, how are you?”
“We almost lost him. We came so close. We’ve had close calls, but not like this. I can’t lose him, Ezra, do you understand? I can’t, I can’t—“
“We won’t. And we won’t lose you.” He tried again. “Are you all right?”
She stopped, looked at him. “I don’t know. They filled me with drugs. They were really going to hurt me. Then he came. I can’t think straight. I don’t know how I feel.” Hera’s eyes were glassy, her steps uncertain. He was really worried about her.
“We’ll figure it out.” For so long, Kanan and Hera had taken care of him. Him being the one to look after them felt weird. A pair of human medics, along with an uptight medical droid, met them and immediately got to work.
“We’ll need the bacta tank to stabilize those burns,” one of them said.
They had an emergency tank—a smaller, portable version of the full scale tanks that formed the basis of trauma medicine. Ezra tried not to notice how it looked more like a coffin than a place of healing, as they pulled it out of its crate and started filling it with the life-sustaining liquid.
Kanan was arguing, even as they were cutting off his shirt. The fibers were sticking to his burned flesh, which extended from his face down to his shoulder. “No, we’re saving that bacta for an emergency.”
“Yes, and you’re the emergency.”
The Jedi seemed nonplussed at that, sagging back on the cot where they’d set him. “Where’s Hera?” His blind eyes searched vaguely, and he was really losing focus if he couldn’t instantly find her.
“I’m right here.” She pulled away from Ezra and took up Kanan’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“You need to get checked out. Can we get a medical droid here? The interrogation droid had already started—“
“Kanan, I’m fine. We’re worried about you.”
“No, I’m worried about you, there’s something weird going on with you—“
“I’ll get checked out, I promise. You need to relax, please.”
“Sir, we need to sedate you,” the medic pleaded.
“Hera, will you be here?”
“Of course I will.”
“All right then.”
And just like that, they injected him with something, fitted the breather to his mouth, and he was submerged. Wearing only his shorts, he lay flat in the rectangular tank, his arms curled up, and a steady rhythm of bubbles streamed from the breather as he inhaled, exhaled. Alive. Ezra had seen Kanan in a bacta tank before, recovering from a stab wound. But this—the blistered flesh along his right side was stark, glaring. He was so obviously injured. Hera knelt by the tank, pressing her hands to it, like she would never take her eyes from him. She was still in the Imperial prison jumpsuit. Kanan was right, she needed to get checked out.
“Hera,” Ezra approached, gently touching her shoulder.
She straightened, and for just a moment held herself upright, like she was about to take charge and tell them what to do. Just fine, nothing to worry about. Then, suddenly, she folded, crying, burying her face on Ezra’s shoulder. He put his arms around her and just held her.
***
They convinced Hera to leave Kanan’s side long enough to shower and change clothes. It wasn’t like Kanan was going to be awake any time soon. Sabine took charge, guiding Hera to the Ghost, which was the only place that had hot running water.
The rest of them continued sitting vigil with Kanan.
Sabine and Hera came back far too quickly, Ezra thought. Not enough time had passed for a real shower. But Hera looked a little bit better, wearing loose-fitting shirt and pants. Not the flight suit, which was both weird and a relief. At some level Hera must know she needed rest, and that she didn’t need to be in charge, not right at the moment. She went right back to sit by the bacta tank.
Sabine looked exhausted, her face smudged, her hair a greasy mess, eyes dull. “I tried to get her to lie down but she had to come straight back.”
They found a cot, scooted it next to the emergency tank, and settled Hera on it. She fell asleep instantly. In the tank, Kanan raised a hand and pressed it to the plasteel, half a meter from where she lay. They couldn’t tell if he’d woken up, and they held their breaths, watching.
He didn’t move again.
Waiting nearby with the rest of them, Kallus sighed. “Those two make my heart hurt.” He ran a hand through his hair and with an embarrassed blush announced that he was going to get water and juice and ration bars because they were all likely starving, and he walked off.
The makeshift med bay fell quiet, with only the ticking of computers and power generators as background noise, along with the bubbles from Kanan’s breather. They all clung to that steady rhythm.
Rex leaned his elbows on his knees. “So. We tapped into an Imp feed surveying the site. The fuel depot is a crater. How the hell did you get away?”
Ezra was staring at nothing, and he swallowed visibly. “I don’t really want to talk about it.” Kanan’s Jedi teaching talked about being one with the Force; tonight was the first time Ezra had really felt that, right down to his marrow. His own sense of self, merging with the galaxy. He was still shaking.
“Just tell me,” Sabine said. “How close was it, really?” She’d been in the cockpit of the transport. She hadn’t seen it.
“That close.” Ezra held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger just about touching.
“Karabast,” she murmured.
Zeb got to his feet, stretching to his full height, his ears flattening, his expression turning determined. “Right. It’s you kids’ turn. You haven’t slept in thirty hours and you’re still wearing those Imp uniforms. Let’s go.”
Ezra and Sabine didn’t move.
“Please,” Zeb said roughly, unhappily.
“I’m afraid if I look away from them they’ll disappear,” Ezra said. “We almost lost them, Zeb.”
Chopper rolled up, and even his usual rude squawking was subdued.
“Hear that? Chop’ll watch them. They’re safe now,” Zeb said, then raised a brow. “When was the last time you charged up, Chop?”
Chopper blatted back, offended, and Zeb rolled his eyes.
Sabine touched Ezra’s hand. “He’s right. We should at least get changed.”
Something had shifted. His awareness in the Force was still thrumming. Paths converging… They would look back on this as a turning point. Ezra was right on the verge of understanding what it meant. The knowledge kept slipping from him. He was so tired.
He squeezed Sabine’s hand and let Zeb steer them back to the Ghost.