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Ezra’s boots struck sharp against the cold metal floor; each slapped step bouncing off of the walls, and rebounding into a hollow echo that chased him down the corridor. The passage ahead was eerily empty, except for the scattered forms of fallen stormtroopers, which Ezra dodged with ease, pivoting, twisting, and leaping with a fluid, natural ease learned from life on the streets.
The air felt too still. Too quiet. Where was the gunfire? He turned a corner, hurdling over another broken helmet, and continued to stride forward, his body cutting through the silence.
”Kanan?” He called through their bond. ”Kanan, where are you? Where did you go? Kanan!”
No reply.
“Guys, it’s Spectre Six, I’m, like, stupidly lost right now. I got split up from Spectre One, and I don’t know where he went, so, um, update me please?” Ezra muttered through his comm-link.
Nothing.
Ezra frowned. “Um? Guys?” He adjusted his comm, bringing it closer to his face.
The line crackled.
“Karabast!” Ezra hissed. The connection’s cut.
”My comm’s down.” He reported back to Kanan. ”Is yours working okay?”
Still, no answer.
Great. “Guess I’m on my own.” Ezra muttered to himself.
He continued through the facility, sprinting left, right, and centre, and fearing he was only running in circles. Where was everyone?
Then there was red. A stark construct to the smooth silver of the facility’s floor. Ezra’s feet stumbled to a halt. Old, dried, crimson blood, splattered against the tiles and left wall and snaking forward. Ezra stilled.
”Kanan...” He called with a nervous caution. ”Um, Kanan, ‘you okay?”
Silence had never been so striking.
”Kanan? Kanan, please. Answer me. Please, I need you. Tell me you’re okay, Kanan you’re okay, tell me you’re okay, please, please, Kanan!”
Ezra ran.
The trail of blood never seemed to end. He turned a corner. Then another. And another. And another. “Come on! Come on! Come on!” Ezra muttered, pushing himself to his limit with each large stride.
”Kanan! Kanan, please! Kanan! Where are you? Where are you? Please! Kanan! Talk to me! Don’t go! Please, don’t go! I need you! Kanan, I need you! Come on! Answer me! Answer me!” He yelled through their bond.
Nothing. Still nothing.
“Karabast! Fuck! Shit!” Ezra yelled out loud.
He couldn’t lose him. He couldn’t.
Ezra kept running. His legs burned, threatening to give out beneath him, and his heart hammered hard against his chest. He had to get to the end of the trail. He had to. Even if it killed him, too. Ezra turned another corner and—
His insides twisted, knotting tightly inside his stomach. “Oh.” Ezra choked. “Oh, stars.” He fell to his knees; eyes wide, breath hitched, and heart stopping for a moment.
In Ezra’s mind, Kanan was invincible. It was silly, a child’s naivety, but he had always assumed that his master had some sort of hero’s protection, the plot armour of the main character from a book, so that he could never really be harmed by anything or anyone, that he could never truly get hurt on a mission, never truly die, but there on the floor was what Ezra had feared as he ran, there on the floor was a body in a pool of wet, crimson blood, there on the floor was—
Kanan wheezed, eyes fluttering half-open, as he coughed up blood. “Ezra?” He slurred, barely conscious enough to hold the weight of his head.
“Don’t.” Ezra stressed, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. “Don’t talk. You’ll— you’ll make it worse.” He cried. Ripping off Kanan’s sleeve, Ezra folded the fabric, and tied it around his waist as an attempt to put pressure on the wound, and stop the bleeding. “Fuck. Karabast. Fuck.”
“Language.” Kanan coughed.
“Dude!” Ezra exclaimed, pressing his hands down against the wound. “I said, stop! You’re coughing up blood! What if you’ve got, like, I don’t know, internal bleeding or something?” He panicked. “You’ll make it worse!”
Kanan winced, head lolling, and flopped back against the wall.
”How did you find me?”
“I don’t know — maybe because your blood is everywhere!” Ezra exclaimed; hands already dyed red, despite the fabric in between. “I followed the trail for miles! You— you shouldn’t bleed like that! Humans aren’t supposed to bleed like that! Your blood isn’t supposed to cover the entire place’s floor! It isn’t a frickin’ carpet!”
Kanan almost snickered; then regretted it with a sharp, pained cough.
”’Didn’t mean to.”
“Yeah!” Ezra snapped. “Obviously! I know!”
”Everything okay there, Spectre Six?” Hera’s voice crackled through Kanan’s comm-link.
Ezra let out a relieved sigh. “Hera! Thank the force!” He exclaimed. “Where’s Sabine and Zeb?”
”Back at The Ghost.” Zeb’s gruff voice replied. ”’Been back ten minutes. ‘Told you we were leaving ages ago.”
”Where are you guys?” Sabine added, sharply. ”We need to go.”
“Do you think I don’t know that?” Ezra snapped. “You need to come back for us. Kanan’s injured, bad, and I can’t carry him on my own!”
”Bad, how?” Hera asked, calmly.
“Well, there’s a massive gaping wound in the side of waist that I’m trying to keep closed, and he’s coughing up blood, so, um, pretty fucking bad if you ask me!”
Silence. Then a hissed ”Karabast.” from Zeb, and muttered Mandalorian from Sabine.
”We’re on our way.”