Chapter Text
The wooden staffs slammed together with a loud clack that echoed through the room. Caleb felt the other staff slip as Ezra’s grip wavered under the force of the blow. Ezra’s yellow eyes narrowed into an expression of frustration that was almost adorable on his small face. The kid dropped to the floor, throwing himself to one side as Caleb’s “blade” cleaved through the air where he’d just been standing.
Knowing exactly what his Padawan’s next move would be, Caleb pivoted, bringing his staff around in a downward sweep. As Ezra went up onto one knee, preparing to spring to his feet, Caleb gently pressed the end of his staff into the small of his apprentice’s back. Had they been using real blades, the blow would have paralyzed him from the waist down.
Ezra froze up for a moment, his shoulders stiffening before he dropped his weapon to the floor with a frustrated sigh. Caleb could sense anger—something more than just the irritation of losing a practice bout—pulsing within him like a second heartbeat. A harsh shudder wracked the kid’s whole body as he fought to suppress the flicker of fear that clung to their bond. Caleb had a strong suspicion about what was causing it. Ezra knew his actions had been sloppy and predictable, and during his time with Maul, such a mistake would have been met with a beating.
“Kid,” Caleb said softly. He stayed where he was, not wanting to frighten Ezra even more by getting any closer. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Ezra muttered automatically. Caleb sensed the swell of exhaustion and hopelessness that accompanied the word.
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
Ezra stayed silent for a long moment, conflicting instincts warring within him. They’d been through this before. The kid wanted to talk to him, but ever since Caleb had officially become his master, Ezra had started closing himself off again as old habits of fear and deference and unquestioning loyalty fought to take over.
“Nightmares.” Ezra bit out the word viciously, furious with himself for admitting it. Maybe even for having them in the first place. Both were things Ezra had been taught to see as a sign of weakness.
With a quiet growl of frustration, Ezra shot to his feet, grabbing his staff. Turning to face Caleb, he spun it deftly in one hand.
“Let’s go again,” he said, a hard edge to his voice.
“Easy.”
At Caleb’s command, Ezra lowered his staff, his irritation carefully masked under a blank expression.
“Ezra, you can talk to me,” Caleb said. “Maybe I can help.”
His Padawan shifted uncertainly, his weight moving between his feet as he glared at the floor.
“I don’t even remember that much,” he finally mumbled. One hand tightened around the staff so hard his knuckles went pale. “There was a man with a blue lightsaber. And a girl. A Zabrak. She was – she was crying.” His voice broke, his hands shaking. “And then she died. Th-that man killed her.”
Caleb swallowed hard, his breath catching deep in his chest. He knew exactly what Ezra had dreamed about, because it was his dream. Late in the night he’d woken up in a cold sweat, paralyzed by the sheer agony of the memory. It hadn’t occurred to him that Ezra might have seen it too. He’d heard of Jedi sharing dreams, but it was incredibly rare, and usually happened between people who were extremely close at turbulent times in their lives.
“It’s not the first time.”
Caleb felt something go cold in the pit of his stomach. His own dreams had been getting steadily worse for weeks, and without him even realizing, his Padawan had been suffering for it too.
“Ezra,” he said slowly. “I think I know what you saw. I… I had the same dream.”
Ezra blinked, his eyes widening slightly.
“What?”
Caleb breathed deeply, trying to steady his nerves. After nearly ten years, he’d come to terms with what happened long ago. But the weeks of nightmares had left him shaken.
“Have you heard anything about the Crucible Massacre?”
Just saying the words made his mouth go dry. The way Lina screamed was the clearest memory, seared into his mind as he’d watched his friend be cut down. He’d spent years processing the trauma, working through the grief, but remembering those screams brought it all coming back.
Ezra thought for a moment, then nodded slowly.
“A bunch of kids died, didn’t they?” he asked.
“Six of them,” Caleb said, his voice hollow. “And four clones, a Jedi knight, and a Padawan. They were all on their way back from Ilum, after the Initiates retrieved their lightsaber crystals.”
His voice shook as he recounted the death toll. It should have been the proudest day of those kids’ lives, and instead it had been the last.
“You were there?”
The way he asked it was so matter-of-fact, so blunt, that it was almost unnerving. Caleb reminded himself that the way Ezra grew up had normalized violence for him. Turned it into something he wasn’t supposed to react to.
“No,” Caleb said. “The Padawan who was killed was my friend, Lina. Her master, Ryn, was Master Billaba’s first Padawan, so we were all close. When she called for help… I don’t know, she must have panicked, because she called me. I saw everything.”
He squeezed his eyes shut as his voice broke. One of the Initiates had been barricaded in the ship’s cockpit along with Lina. The little Miralan boy’s terrified face flashed before Caleb’s eyes. The kid had been even younger than Ezra was now. If he’d lived, he would be well on his way to knighthood. But he’d been struck down in an instant, all for the sake of one man’s selfishness.
As he opened his eyes, he saw Ezra watching him intently. A mixture of worry and fear emanated across their bond.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb said. “I didn’t know…” He sighed, feeling as if a heavy weight had suddenly dropped into his arms. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.”
There was a clattering of wood against wood as Ezra let his staff fall. Suddenly, Ezra’s arms flew around Caleb’s waist, clinging to him tightly. Caleb returned the kid’s embrace with one arm, his other hand running gently through his Padawan’s hair. It was moments like this that reminded Caleb just how young, and how starved for genuine affection, Ezra really was. So often he acted much older and more subdued, like he was trying to be an adult. But sometimes the mask fell away and revealed the scared little boy whose deep capacity for love had been suppressed for far too long.
“I’m okay, kid,” Caleb said, recognizing Ezra’s wordless way of trying to comfort him. After years under Maul’s vicious tutelage, Ezra barely knew how to identify emotions other than anger, let alone express them in words. Actions were easier.
Ezra released him abruptly and stepped back, sickening shame and embarrassment leaking across their bond like spilled poison. It hurt Caleb’s heart to see it happen. Every time Ezra reached out, offered or accepted any kind of affection, he would pull away as if he’d been burned. He didn’t want to think about what had happened to the kid to cause it, but as Ezra’s master, his first and most important job was to understand just what was going on in this badly hurt boy’s head.
“Ezra,” he said softly. “You can always talk to me about your nightmares. There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
Ezra hung his head, fixing his gaze back on the floor. No matter how hard Caleb tried, he never seemed to be able to phrase things in a way that didn’t make Ezra feel like he was doing something wrong.
“Having nightmares doesn’t make you weak,” Caleb said. He knew just saying it wouldn’t convince the kid. It was a slow process, repeating these sentiments and then following up in his actions, gradually chipping away at the years of lies Maul had taught the kid.
“You don’t like talking about it,” Ezra murmured. His voice wasn’t just quiet, but small, as if he was trying to cower away from Caleb without actually moving.
“I don’t like talking about what I saw,” Caleb said. “But if you need to, I will. And not just these nightmares. Anything you need to talk to me about, I am here for you.”
Ezra shrugged and fell silent for a long moment. Caleb could feel the kid thinking and said nothing, not wanting to disrupt whatever process was going on in that complicated, fearful little mind.
“It… it was like I could feel it,” Ezra muttered. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, searching for a way to fight the threat that was no longer there. “His lightsaber just – just hacking into me. I – I know what that really feels like, so I –”
His voice broke off, his jaw trembling. Caleb could see that faint glimmer of tears welling up in his eyes, but knew they wouldn’t fall. The kid never let himself cry, at least not in front of anyone. Not since the day Caleb had taken him on as an apprentice. Tension coiled through every muscle in the kid’s body, as if he was feeling it all over again now. Caleb had seen the boy’s medical records. He knew perfectly well that Ezra had scars left by a lightsaber littering his body. But it was one thing to see it written down in such clinical, detached terms, and another to see Ezra experiencing it all over again right in front of him.
Before Caleb could say anything to remind Ezra that he didn’t deserve it, the kid snapped himself away from the memories. His eyes refocused and darted back to Caleb, a hardened, angry look on his face.
“Is it true that a Jedi did it?”
“Yes,” Caleb told him, voice hollow. After so many years, it felt somehow simultaneously like a fresh wound and something distant enough to be vaguely unreal. “A Jedi called Anakin Skywalker turned to the dark side. It was all part of Palpatine’s plan to destroy us.”
“Palpatine was Sidious?” Ezra asked, speaking slowly as he processed everything Caleb was saying. Younglings who were raised in the Temple learned this story early, but for Ezra it was all new. “Maul’s master?”
“He was.”
There was a long silence and Caleb found himself wondering just what Ezra knew about the long-dead Sith Lord. Whether he’d been taught to revere or hate the man who’d trained his own master. The man who would have destroyed half the galaxy in his quest for power.
“Am I gonna turn out like them?” Ezra’s voice had vanished into that small, frightened half-whisper that was painfully familiar to Caleb. It always made him think the kid was trying to apologize for his very existence.
“No,” Caleb said immediately.
“I – I still think like Maul,” Ezra said. “And I know…” He swallowed, and Caleb could see his hands shaking. “I know I’m not easy to deal with when I get angry.”
“Kid, you haven’t even been here six months,” Caleb said. “It takes time to unlearn what Maul taught you. And you’re doing better than you think you are.”
“I’ll never have not been his apprentice, though,” Ezra mumbled.
“Are you planning to hurt anyone?”
Ezra blinked, incredulous. “No,” he said. “Of course not.”
“Well, there you have it.”
Ezra looked up at him in confusion, not understanding what Caleb meant.
“You’re not a time bomb, Ezra,” Caleb said. “You are your own person, and Maul can’t force you to do anything anymore.”
Not for the first time, Caleb could clearly sense that Ezra wasn’t convinced. The kid had been raised as a weapon of the dark side, and some days it was obvious that was all he still saw himself as. Maul had gotten to him at just the right age to completely mold his sense of who he was and where he fit into the galaxy.
Poor kid never stood a chance.
“Come on,” Caleb said, lifting his staff once more. “I think we have time for one last round before you have to go see Master Nema.”
Ezra’s eyes lit up as he shifted his stance, preparing himself for Caleb’s attack. The kid leapt at any chance to spar, or really to do anything that involved movement. Every time, Caleb could feel his Padawan’s mood lifting, his distress melting away with the rush of endorphins. Kid was good at it, too. If there was one area where Maul had trained him well, it was combat, even if he needed to work on detaching himself and reigning in the anger Maul had taught him to rely on.
But this time, as Caleb blocked Ezra’s quick, decisive strike, he couldn’t help but follow the kid’s train of thought. Maybe he was doing this all wrong. Maybe he was encouraging those very instincts to solve his problems with violence, encouraging him to hide from his fears through distraction instead of confronting them.
Maybe he was just encouraging the darkness that was still fighting to consume his Padawan.