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Ezra felt. Ezra fought. Ezra was not afraid.
And most importantly…
Ezra was fine. Really. If he was honest, he had never been better, thank you very much. Despite everything he felt truly alive: saber hilt in his hand, the green glow lighting up the battlefield around him and mixing with the icy blue from his master’s blade.
It had been too long since he and Kanan had found time for a sparring session. After Maul’s return and the Night Sisters’ disturbing magic glowing through the caves on Dathomir, Ezra had kept himself at arm’s length from the rest of his team. Partly for their sake… “It’s not Maul, look at him!” And partly for his own…
But Ezra was fine. Totally, perfectly okay. He was alright, great even, good. It didn’t even hurt anymore.
“You ready?” Kanan asks in a teasing tone, a soft smile playing on his lips.
Taking a deep breath, Ezra tightens his grip on the heavy metal between his fingers. Every part of his body is tense as he gets into his stance “Born ready.” His voice cracks. Kanan bends his knees softly, feet spread apart, saber raised. Blue light casts shadows over his maskless face, reflecting in those foggy, white eyes. Bile pushes its way up through Ezra’s throat.
Kanan strikes first. Green eyes glowing. Effortlessly the saber swings through the air, only stopped by Ezra’s own blade. They clash with such power that Ezra takes a stumbling step backwards, feet slipping in the sand.
His master places his full strength into the attack, towering over his padawan. Ezra is by no means a child anymore, and since his first meeting with the rebels, he’s grown many inches. He is much taller now, shoulders broader. Over time he’d become almost mature.
Attempting to twist them out of the saber lock, Ezra sweeps for his Master’s lower legs, while throwing himself to the ground. He rolls over on his stomach, just in time for Kanan to thud down heavily next to him, his saber discarded a few meters away. An opening. Taking his chance, Ezra pushes himself up, assisted by the force. But Kanan is fast too. Another strike sends Ezra back into the sand. A foot planted on his stomach. Saber lost.
“Thought you were born ready,” Kanan laughs as the lightsaber hovers inches from his forehead. The heat from the weapon makes Ezra shrink into himself. It burns against his skin, raw and untamed.
His master offers him a friendly hand and deactivates the saber. Ezra wants to take it. He knows Kanan isn’t dangerous. They’ve become close over the years, fighting back-to-back against inquisitors with the blood red lightsaber blades, and taming loth-cats and loth-rats on Lothal’s fields. Master and Padawan. Father and son. Family.
Yet Ezra feels shaky as he takes Kanan’s hand. He moves too slowly, worry radiating through their shared bond.
He staggers to his feet, dizzy. Ezra felt. Ezra fought. Ezra was not afraid. Despite the two thin lines on his left cheek, he’d never feared the power of a lightsaber. He knew what they could do, of course. It was a weapon, and all weapons had to be handled with respect. Otherwise, people could get hurt. All the same, Kanan’s ice blue saber sends shivers down his spine… and a spike of pain through his head. It didn’t even hurt anymore. It didn’t hurt physically anymore. But the pounding memories of darkness and battle lingered in his mind.
Memories… attaching him to the past.
“Forget the past!”
“Forget your memories!”
“Forget your attachments.”
“Ezra?” A hand reaches for his shoulder, heavy and warm, safety, protection, trust. His whole-body flinches away, the force screaming in the back of his mind. Swallowing the sour taste of vomit before it can make it past his lips, Ezra looks up. “Are you okay kid?”
It’s just Kanan! Ezra wants to scream, Kanan would never hurt you, never!
But he had. Eyes engulfed in neon green fog, voice ringing empty, evil, and loud inside his head. Like an echo from the future, of what could be. Of what would be. His own saber out of reach, only bare skin to shield him from the sabers burning pain. Leaving raw, red, swollen marks behind.
It still hurts.
But he nods. He nods and nods and pretends that everything is fine. Just fine. Ezra was fine!
Losing the battle against the bile, he scrambles. Heaves roughly as the sour, bitter remains of his last meal escape him. Gasping for air as he falls to his knees, tears spilling from his eyes. Flowing down his cheek, mixing into vomit, stinging in the healing wound down his nose and right cheek. The scar is raised, thick and still red. He wonders if it will ever fade. The pain throbs.
Hands hover over his shoulders, ready to catch him if he falls any further.
“Ezra… Kanan’s worry spills over the bond like an ocean, “talk to me.”
But words won’t form in his mouth. Sound won’t come out for Kanan to hear.
“It’s okay Ezra.” Kanan kneels down in front of him, milky white eyes meeting Ezra’s blue. “Whatever is going on inside that head of yours, it will be okay. I’ve got you.”
He wants Kanan to touch him, to hug him, to pull him close. He wants to lean against his Master’s chest, and take in that well-known scent. Kanan protects him! Kanan has always meant safety and comfort, even when he messed up. Even when he ventured into the dark side. He could trust Kanan to be there, even during the hardest part of his life.
Late nights around campfires when memories of long dead parents raise to the surface. When injuries leave him paralyzed and hurting. When nightmares leave him shaking and weak and stuttering.
But Kanan’s touch burns.
No. No, no, no no. Not Kanan. Not Kanan. Not Kanan. Not Kanan. Not Kanan.
The Night Sisters hurt him.
Maul hurt him.
Used him.
Manipulated him.
Broke him.
Destroyed him.
Ezra felt the burning pain of the saber against his skin. Ezra fought to hold the scream back, as he pulled Kanan behind him out of the dark cave. Ezra could not be afraid of Kanan.
“Kanan…”
Black spots dance in his vision, a hand dries of the tears from his cheek. Hands catch him as his muscles give out. An echo of a voice lingers, before it disappears with the world. “Ezra!”
***
Ezra was not fine.
The last rays of moonlight bathes the medbay in a white light. The hard chair under him makes him restless, but he stays all the same because Ezra needs him here when he finally wakes.
“Kanan…”
Kanan brushes his fingers through what’s left of Ezra’s once long hair. When had he cut it? When had he changed so much?
“He’ll be fine.”
Kanan senses Hera hovering in the doorway before she speaks. He can imagine the deep frown on her face as she steps closer.
“The doctors say it isn’t physical. He just needs some time to rest.” He doesn’t know if he’s telling her or himself. Maybe both. He wants to believe it, wants to make it real.
“Yeah?” Hera asks. “What happened out there?”
Ezra had always been good at shielding. During their first meeting, his sheilds had been raised so high, Kanan wasn’t even sure the kid was truly force sensitive at first. He had appeared more like Sabine or Zeb in the big picture of the living force. Their sparring sessions were usually much the same, his mind zeroing in, focused completely.
Not today.
Bits and pieces had flown between them. They meant nothing to Kanan, of course, but to Ezra they were nightmare scenarios. Ezra was followed by fear and pain, with bits and pieces that Kanan can’t make sense of.
The kid had been tense after Dathomir, flinching away from Kanan’s touch, like it would burn him, seeking out missions away from the rest of the Ghost crew, hiding from his team. They’d been through so much in such a short time, that Kanan hadn’t put much thought to it. Ezra would come to him when the time was right. When he was ready. Only he hadn’t.
And Kanan hadn’t asked. He was still struggling with the missing time from the cave.
“I wish I knew,” Kanan settles on, deflating with a deep sigh, “He seemed so scared. Of… me?”
Hera has made it all the way to Kanan’s side, sliding down into her own chair. Her fingers braid together with his. “It’s Dathomir. Isn’t it?”
She knows him too well.
“I think so,” Kanan whispers, reaching out over the bond again. It’s quiet now. Relaxed. Ezra’s steady breathing is the only sound in the room as they sit there. Just the three of them. “Has he talked to you about what happened after Maul brought him there?”
Hera stiffens, shifts in her seat. “He hasn’t talked to you?” she returns bluntly.
Kanan shakes his head, feeling the distance between him and Ezra grow bigger. They’re sliding further and further apart in the cosmic force. Much like… before. When Kanan couldn’t be bothered to talk to him. To teach him. To be there for him. And Ezra had slipped to the dark side. Almost died because of it. Because of Kanan.
No. No, no, no no. Not Kanan. Not Kanan. Not Kanan. Not Kanan. Not Kanan.
The bond between them throbs in pain as those words echo. Pushing as much comfort he can muster through to Ezra, he feels the boy as he slowly wakes. Distant. Strong. Closer. Closer. Closer.
“He was injured… by a lightsaber.” Hera finally speaks, guiding his hand to run down Ezra’s face. Jagged skin brushes under Kanan’s touch.
“Hera… Kanan…” Ezra’s voice is small, soft. “What-“
Hera whispers reassuring words to his padawan that Kanan can’t hear. She stands, hovering over the med bay bed before she disappears to find a doctor who can discharge their youngest team member. She touches Kanan reassuringly before she goes.
Kanan can still feel the scar tissue at his fingertips.
Stay calm. Stay calm. Stay calm. “You didn’t mention you were injured on Dathomir.” He hears Ezra’s breath hitch. “Why?”
“Hera told you,” Ezra says slowly. Not accusingly. There’s no fight to it. “I did tell Hera and Sato, even got treatment. It’s almost healed.”
But you didn’t tell me, Kanan doesn’t say, but he thinks it. “Did Maul do that to you? Did Maul hurt you, Ezra? Swear to god if he did something to you I’ll make sure he’s dead. He won’t ever touch you again. I pr-“
“Maul didn’t do this,” Ezra cuts in. “Maul didn’t hurt me.”
“Then who hurt you, Ezra?”
Fear radiates from his padawan, so intensely that Kanan almost wants to raise his shields and close off the bond that ties them together. He doesn’t. He takes it all in, trying to understand why Ezra would be afraid, here, now. Fear fills the room. Fear for… of… Kanan himself.
Ezra says nothing, but soft sobs escape him. Instinctively Kanan reaches for him, offers what little comfort he can as it clicks for him. Ezra is scared of him. Scared because Kanan left that scar…
“I’m sorry… Ezra, I’m so, so, sorry.”
He doesn’t dare pull the kid close, but as he moves to give the boy space he’s held there. Fingers dig into his sleeves, pulling him closer, before reaching for his t-shirt instead. The shirt becomes wrinkled under Ezra’s hold, as he rests his head on his Master’s chest. “I… I don’t want to be scared of you Kanan… I don’t want to be scared of you… y-you’re like a… like a dad to me. I don’t want to be scared.”
“I know. I know.” Kanan rubs circles on Ezra’s back in repetitive motions. “I know…”
“It hurts so much, all the time,” Ezra keeps going, voice turning hoarse and wet, “I just want it to stop…”
“I know… it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. It’s gonna be okay,” Kanan repeats, tears soaking into his shirt. He feels the wet spot against his skin and the scarring on Ezra’s face where it rests against his chest.
He hopes they can figure it out. He hopes.
He hopes.
Ezra whispers softly, “I don’t blame you… it wasn’t, your fault.”
Ezra would be fine.
They would be fine.