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As his head lolled back and eyes rolled, Ezra wheezed and clutched the gaping wound above his hip. In an instant, blood streamed through his glove, and Ezra’s eyes widened at the drooling red liquid.
Losing his footing, Ezra had lost his balance and took the brunt of the Fifth Brother’s attack. His ribs, definitely bruised and probably snapped in two, refused to let him breathe and distracted him from the Seventh’s sisters blade. Although he felt her brutal presence through the force, he’d turned into the stab and her lightsaber passed straight through him.
Ezra gritted his teeth and attempted not to scream. The pain was too unbearable for him to move and that scared him. For the first time in a while, Ezra wondered if he was going to die. All he could see was his blood…
Energy drained, Ezra couldn’t stay in his sitting position and his body flopped backwards like a rag-doll. He needed to stay awake, keep his eyes open, so Kanan could find him, but his eyelids were so heavy and his weak hands could barely press on his wound. His blood was everywhere. It wasn’t supposed to be everywhere…
Ezra floated in and out of consciousness, often snapping out of his sleep when he wheezed for air. His lack of blood and wrecked ribs made it hard to breathe ; every gulp of air was a sharp, bitter intake, and every breath out burned. Where was Kanan? Why wasn’t he coming? What if the Inquisitors had hurt him, too?
He was going to bleed to death, wasn’t he? He couldn’t hold his wound, he was too weak to apply the pressure and it hurt to try, so nothing stopped the puddles of crimson dying the concrete. Kanan wasn’t coming.
A muffled voice’s pleas forced through his ears, but Ezra was too tired to decipher its words. He’d lost his awareness of time in the moment that he was stabbed, so for all Ezra knew, he’d been laying there for a day or so. He wheezed, tears forcing through his shut eyes, as pain spread through his body. “No.” He pushed out in a small, raspy voice. “No-no, st-stop, don’t- don't touch it, please, it hurts-" After prying open his heavy eyelids, he could see a figure in front of him, but his vision was too blurry to see, who it was. He hoped it was Kanan. It had to be Kanan. Ezra screamed as the figure (Kanan, Kanan, Kanan) applied more pressure to his wound. It hurt so much. Couldn’t he see that it hurt so much? Head spinning and lungs crying, Ezra fell unconscious from the pain.
…
Kanan saw his blood before he saw his body. His own blood was drying on his forehead, dying his cheeks, and pouring from a harsh slash on his shoulder, but even combined, his blood was nothing like his Padawan’s. Ezra’s blood was everywhere, spreading across the concrete like a wildfire, and covering him in a rotting blanket ; Kanan struggled to breathe.
“Ezra!” He pushed out and fell to his knees, ignoring the blood as searched the crime scene for the source. The hole was so big, it was a miracle he was alive— if he was alive. Ezra looked so dead, so lifeless, but his ragged breathing and force signature told him otherwise. “Ezra, buddy, it’s me, Kanan, I’ve got you, I-I’m here, you’re going to be okay.” He closed his wound with his hands and Ezra wimpered in reply. “I know, buddy, I know, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I should’ve been there. I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Please, hold on, I-I know you can do it, j-just stay awake for a little longer, okay buddy? Can you do that for me, Ez?”
“No.”, Ezra wheezed as his head rolled back, “No-no, st-stop, don’t- don't touch it, please, it hurts-"
Hearing his Padawan in so much pain, wheezing and crying and fighting to live, broke him. He’d failed as a Master, just like he always knew he would ; Ezra was going to die, wasn’t he? He was going to lose his kid.
“I know, buddy, I know it hurts, I’m sorry.” Kanan forced out, tears threatening to pierce through his eyes. “You’re doing so well for me, bud, so well, b-but I have to hold your wound or else you’ll— you’ll bleed ow-out. I need to block your wound.”
In an instant, Ezra went from screaming with all he had to limp in his arms. Tears welled in Kanan’s eyes, but he refused to give up ; continuing to push down on Ezra’s wound. He needed to move him, get him back to the Ghost, so he could have surgery, but he didn’t want to make his wound worse. If Kanan didn’t do something soon, Ezra would die.
“This is— this is Spectre 1,” Kanan rasped into his comm, “Ezra— he’s— force, he’s dying. There’s a deep lightsaber wound on his side and he’s lost blood fast. I don’t want to move him, but if I don’t, he won’t— he won’t make it.”
“I-“ Hera breathed, “I’ll fly the Ghost as close as I can get her.” She told him, but her usually calm demeanour was tainted with the realisation their Ezra may never come home.
“Zeb and I are coming.” Sabine’s panicked voice added. Kanan had left them on lookout, worried about their safety with Inquistor’s around, but if he’d been more trusting of their capabilities, maybe Ezra wouldn’t have been left to fend for himself.
There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no death, there is the force.
“Please!” Kanan begged. He couldn’t keep his emotions in, he couldn’t hide, he couldn’t pretend everything was okay when it so clearly wasn’t, and openly sobbed through the comms. “You need to hurry!”
…
The hospitals were too far. There wasn’t even an Imperial Medical Station in their star system, let alone the surrounding ones. However, Hera stayed calm and took Kanan and Sabine’s blood to see if they were a match to Ezra’s. The kid needed a blood transfusion as soon as possible, so if they had to do it themselves, they had no other choice not to.
Kanan watched as Sabine sobbed into Zeb’s arms. The sorrowful look on the Lasat’s face told him more than if he was crying too — Ezra was his brother and he was afraid of what was happening to him. Ezra might have been the newest member of their team, but he was as much of a member of their family as the rest of them. Losing Ezra in this cruel, agonising way was gut wrenching. Kanan didn’t want to have to think about burying his Padawan ; Zeb and Sabine didn’t want to, either.
Air whooshed as the door opened and Kanan held his breathe at the sight of a quiet Hera. “So?” Sabine asked, breaking away from Zeb and asking the question for him. “Are we— are we a match?”
Hera took a deep breathe and Kanan tensed. “Ezra’s blood type is AB, yours is A, and Kanan is O.”
Sabine gulped. “B-but that’s okay, right? Kanan can still give Ezra blood because he’s type O!”
“It depends if I’m positive or negative.” Kanan told her, softly. “If I’m O minus, I can give blood to anyone, but I’m if O plus, I can only give blood to other positive types. If I’m positive and Ezra’s negative, then…”
“You’re both positive.” Hera finished and everyone let out a sigh of relief.
Zeb shut his eyes. “Thank Ashla,” He muttered to himself. “That’s good news.”
“Take all the blood you need.” Kanan rasped. “Just save him.”
“I will.” Hera forced out. “I promise.”
…
Ezra’s force signature felt so close to death. Kanan’s soul ached, unable to do anything more, but squeeze his lifeless hand. Hera had disinfected his wound and sewed it up immediately, but he was still attached to two drips : one giving him liquids and nutrition and the other Kanan’s blood. His last words couldn’t be dying begs - Kanan had to hear his voice again, his sun-stained laughs and sarcastic snarks, or else he’d go insane.
“Don't- don't touch it, please, it hurts-"
“I’m sorry.” Kanan gulped. “I’m so sorry.”
Sabine only left when Hera took her by the arm and guided her to her room. Zeb didn’t want to leave, either, lingering silently by the door, until he muttered a strangled report that he was “hungry” and left, too. The only reason Kanan hadn’t been ushered to rest was because he’d turned it back on Hera and promised to call her if something changed in Ezra’s condition. He couldn’t leave his Padawan — not again. It was his fault for turning his back on him when he was with the Inquisitors. They could’ve killed him on impact… Kanan shuddered at the thought of Ezra experiencing his final moments scared, alone, and in so much pain, and his mind clung to their dwindling bond.
“Come on, Ez.” Kanan begged, sending warmth and love to his unresponsive Padawan. “Keep fighting, I know you can do it, just hold on. I-I can’t—“, Kanan’s voice hitched, “I can’t do this without you by my side. There’s no one else I’d rather have as a Padawan, as an equal, as a… a son.” Kanan gulped and stroked Ezra’s knuckles with his fingertips. “I know you don’t… trust easily, growing up alone and on the streets does that to you, but I hope you see us less as a group of individuals against the Empire and more of a family. We’re not perfect, we can be messy and dysfunctional and nowhere near traditional, but we care about each other deeply and we… we love, and my family comes before any Jedi or Rebel code or belief. You’ll always come first, Ezra. You have to live. You must live because I need you.”
Even though Kanan knew Ezra wouldn’t reply, it didn’t mean the silence hurt less. Kanan wanted his kid.
…
Amidst voids of numbing white, Ezra felt him, their bond wrapping around his mind like a security blanket, and Ezra knew that he was safe and home. It didn’t hurt anymore ; not when his master was by his side.