Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ezra had never meant to get anyone hurt. Of course, that ended up with everybody hurt except himself. Ahsoka dead, Kanan blinded, whereas he and Maul got out with barely a scratch. And a Sith Holocron. If he’d thought about it, he’d have figured the Sith Holocron probably didn’t help with the guilt that built up, night after day after night.

But Ezra was fine, really. It was Kanan who wasn’t, and Ahsoka who would never get the chance to be.

When they’d first arrived back from Malachor, Hera had immediately wrapped the boy in a hug. He could remember how a patch of her shirt was slightly dampened by his tears, and the relief that shuddered through her. The next thing she did was ask where Kanan was, and he supposed that the guilt on his face when he glanced towards the medical wing was enough of an answer.

Hera, Sabine and Zeb had immediately run off down there, leaving Ezra alone in the console room. He’d wanted to follow, to be there for his master (before Malachor, he might have even said friend). But Kanan didn’t need him, Kanan had people better than him there, who surely wouldn’t want him intruding.

And so, Ezra walked back to his quarters and locked the door. It was only then that he let out the sob that had been festering quietly since the events had unfolded, a full-bodied sob that had him curled up into a ball on his bed. His breathing was deep and shaky, and his nails were digging into his scalp. He was hardly thinking, instead letting his untempered grief build into a painful pressure inside his head.

He forced air through his teeth, methodically and slowly, yet apparently too deeply, because now he was dizzy. That was fine. Of course it was fine, he wasn’t the one blinded, or dead. He was just the one who’d caused it, who was naïve enough to think he was in control. He could never be in control . That thought alone sent him back into the uncontrolled attempts at breathing he had only just stopped.

He spent the first night like that, in a constant cycle of own creation. He fell asleep out of pure exhaustion, never quite registering the difference between his hazy, guilt-crazed breakdown and sleep. All he knew was that by the time he woke up, his face was sticky with half-dried tears and snot, and his hand was resting on the Holocron.

He’d left his room the first day, to check on Kanan. He walked into the medical wing, and swallowed down bile as he’d looked over him.

Kanan was asleep, or Ezra had to assume as such. It wasn’t as if his eyes would open to confirm otherwise. That thought had sobered him up quickly. The padawan took in the bandages wrapped around his eyes, and the bacta patches applied intermittently across his body, covering less than half of the wounds and yet still covering far too much of his body. No one had come to offer Ezra any, but of course, he hardly needed them. The wounds were grounding, if nothing else.

Kanan moved slightly in his sleep, and the boy bolted. Heart racing faster than it should, he shut the door to the medical wing and took a deep breath, walking at a far slower pace, in the aim of appearing calmer.

Calm went out the window when just outside his quarters, he saw Sabine. He carried on walking, very conscious of how his heartbeat echoed in his ears, hoping she wouldn’t speak to him. Of course, he wasn’t that lucky , he didn’t deserve to be that lucky .

“Ezra!” He didn’t respond, shutting himself back into his quarters and locking the door. Shutting her out only increased the building guilt - she deserved to be treated better - and yet he still didn’t deserve her company, and she didn’t deserve to deal with his.

“ Ezra! ” Once again, he didn’t respond, resisting the urge to clamp his hands over his ears and block her out.

“Ezra, we just want to check you’re okay.” It was silent, except for the gentle sound of them breathing.

Sabine sighed, and rested her head against the door. “Kanan wasn’t able to tell us much, but he told us it wasn’t your fault. That’s got to count for something, right?”

A lump formed in his throat at the mention of Kanan, and he found that he was struggling to breathe, to stay quiet. He forced air through his throat, and after a moment of mutual silence, he could hear Sabine’s footsteps, slowly walking away.

It was 3 days before he stopped dodging the rest of the ghost crew, and began interacting with them again, albeit hesitantly. 3 days of letting guilt fester until surely it was to come out in an ugly wound.

It was on the second day that Ezra detached a blade, and on the third that he finally pressed it to his skin and bled .

Ezra walked into the common living zone, a knot of guilt sitting in his stomach, but also unnaturally calm. Sure, his arm stung, and the guilt was barely plastered over, but there was a kind of apathy that came with just accepting that it was his fault.

“Ezra!” Sabine sat up straight, seeming surprised but relieved to see him there. She’d been the one leaving food outside his door, and trying to make conversation, so she was probably just glad he wasn’t being a nuisance anymore.

The boy smiled, trying to keep the slight giddiness from taking over, and leaving him reeling. “Hey! Is everything okay? Is Kanan-“ He didn’t need to ask, yet he still needed the confirmation.

This time, Hera answered. “He’s breathing. Pretty good condition as well, considering…” She didn’t need to bring up Ahsoka. “The medics say it’s too early to tell if he’ll regain his sight, but-“

“But?”

Hera didn’t answer verbally, just resorting to shaking her head. In the end, it was Zeb who answered.

“But it’s unlikely, looking at the level of damage.”

“Oh.” Ezra swallowed, shoving the wave of guilt down. “But surely there’s something we can do, I mean – with how advanced healthcare is-“ He looked around, finally making eye contact with Zeb and speaking quietly. “Is there really nothing?”

Zeb laid a hand on his shoulder. “Listen kid, we all wish we could. But it’s a lightsaber wound, right? They aren’t easy to fix, but at least they’re self-cauterising.” He’d clearly intended to lighten the mood, but in his current state, the boy didn’t catch onto that, jerking Zeb’s hand off of him.

“Do you not care?”

Hera looked at him abruptly. “Of course we care, Ezra. Kanan is like family to us.” As if he didn’t feel the same way.

He chose not to respond, staring at the floor.

“We’re just glad you’re okay, kid.” Zeb’s hand didn’t return, and he tried to squash down the wave of guilt that came with the statement. In a twisted sense, he was glad Kanan wasn’t here, so that he wouldn’t be able to feel any of it. That thought only made the guilt grow.

Ezra forced a half-hearted smile onto his face. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

***

The nights were when it was worse. When he was dizzy from hyperventilation, but struggling to get each breath in and stop him feeling like he was choking. When he would shake until his body ached from the tension, but he couldn’t stop it. When his nails dug into his skin and left marks, despite being so bitten down he was surprised he could feel them at all. 

It was when everything felt so painfully real, and yet nothing felt real at all, that Ezra would seek out the comfort of blood trickling down his arm, and the stinging that served as momentary relief.

“Kanan’s awake!”

Ezra pushed himself up from the bed so fast, his vision began to blur for a moment. He caught himself on the wall – refusing to let his arm buckle – and opened the door so fast that he thinks he scared Sabine.

“Is he taking visitors?” he asked, almost breathlessly. The Mandalorian hesitated, seeming unsure. That was almost enough to make his mood slump again, but he rubbed his arm and waited for an answer.

“They’re checking to make sure he’s alright, properly lucid. Withholding visitors until then, though I reckon Hera would let you in. ‘specially if you ask nicely.” Sabine cracked a smile at that, and so Ezra forced one onto his face in response. It was worth it to feel the accomplishment and relief radiating off of her, which might’ve made the boy actually smile, if it weren’t for the guilt building in his stomach.

The Mandalorian grabbed Ezra's sleeve, and if she caught his wince, she didn't mention it. He didn't even notice where they were going until they reached the door outside of the medical wing; too caught up in trying to squash the guilt and sickening hope down. 

Those efforts all went out the window the second the padawan saw through the open door. Hera was sitting on one side of Kanan, supporting his arm whilst simultaneously clinging to it, as if he would disappear the second she let go. On the other side, the medic was carefully unwrapping the bandages around his eyes.

Nausea crept up Ezra’s throat, and he ended up tightening his grip on Sabine.

The wound was clean, sterilised, yet still gaping open, detailing only the absence of what was meant to be there. Kanan’s eyes were dull, lifeless; tinged red, as though the light of Maul’s lightsaber hadn’t left.

He wanted to gag, but he found himself unable to look away from the damage he’d caused. Sabine immediately looked away, reeling and taking a moment to collect herself.

“Ezra, I don’t think-”

“Ezra?”

Kanan’s head moved, as though he was trying to look at them, only giving them a clearer view of the injury. The boy stayed motionless, the only movement to show he was even there being his chest moving with each breath.

Hera stepped out of the room, looking at the padawan in question before turning to the girl next to him.

“I thought I told you no visitors.” Sabine matched her gaze.

“Can you honestly tell me that either of them would be better off that way?” Hera sighed.

"I'll let Ezra in, but that's it. He doesn't like people seeing him vulnerable."

"That's all I was asking for."

Ezra felt Sabine let go of his arm, and he didn't know when they had switched, but he glanced towards her in panic. She gave him what must've been a reassuring smile.

He looked at Hera, then back at Kanan. His eyes were now obscured by the medic rebandaging them, but the unease didn't fade. It was quite literally putting a patch (albeit a bacta patch) over a gaping wound that they all knew was there.

His walk was more alike to a broken stumble, and each breath felt manual. He was very aware of Hera’s eyes on him, yet still, he sat down on the bed next to his master; he gently touched his arm, and the Jedi flinched.

“Hey,” Ezra whispered, pushing calm through their bond. “It’s just m- it’s Ezra.”

“I’d figured that much out.” There was a smile on Kanan’s face as he spoke, and the boy simply took it in for a few seconds. “I’m blind, not stupid.”

Ezra let out a choked laugh, that slowly dissolved into little hiccups. He didn’t want to speak, instead just sinking his face into Kanan’s shoulder, vision blurred with tears he refused to let fall.

“For what it’s worth, nobody blames you for what happened - I don’t blame you for what happened,” his master spoke softly. Softer than Ezra had heard him before, and yet it felt insincere.

“Never said they did,” he mumbled in response, knowing in even his dizzied state how unconvincing he sounded. It was almost laughable, but nobody was laughing.

“I could feel the guilt from the moment I woke up, Ezra.”

“Oh.” His stomach dropped, and the guilt began to rise again. He pulled away from the hug that they had unconsciously sunk into, but didn’t let go completely. The warmth of Kanan’s skin against his was grounding. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“Please, don’t apologise for that.” He was smiling once again, just as softly as his words. He felt a pulse of what was probably meant to be calm, but came across more as condescension. Oh, just calm down Ezra, stop making this about yourself . It wasn’t making it all about himself if it was all his fault anyway, he wanted to retort. But then, that sounded rather egotistical. As if he held enough power to claim the responsibility. 

Kanan sighed, moving his hand onto Ezra’s shoulder. The sudden lack of skin-to-skin contact made him uneasy, his only method of grounding removed in the simple reshuffling of positions. “Maul is… horrifically good at what he does. He preys on the emotionally vulnerable and exploits them for his own end. Falling victim to his manipulation isn’t your fault.” The speech somehow made him feel even worse than he had before.

“Yeah, but- you and Ahsoka warned me, and I was stupid enough not to listen, and arrogant enough to think I knew better.” He spat the words out, refusing to meet Kanan’s gaze. Only to realise that the gesture was pointless. Somehow that made it even worse.

“Don’t forget, me and Ahsoka still believed him. Maul has manipulated many older, more experienced Jedi than either you or I. Your ability to believe in the good in people is not to your detriment.” Ezra stared at him incredulously, and maybe that emotion got sensed across their bond. Or the Jedi knew him too well.

“Not to my detriment? My- my blind assumption that nothing bad could happen, just because I think I know best ?" Ezra breathed slowly, dragging himself down from hysterics. "Don’t try sugarcoating it, that’s what it is. It’s what got you blinded and Ahsoka killed."

This time, Kanan had no smart response, no consolation. Instead, he seemed lost for words; if Ezra didn't know better, he'd say he was staring blankly at the wall. Then, the Jedi asked quietly.

“Ahsoka’s dead?”

"I- I thought Hera told you."

The grounding hand was gone, he noticed. He felt suddenly very distant, as if their bond now had a metal fence in between, marked very clearly with 'stay away' .

"They never found a body, so really she's only missing." Ezra spoke hurriedly to fill the silence, hoping his words would curb the nausea climbing up his throat.. "It's just… it's Vader."

Kanan still didn't speak, blank even in his force signature. His padawan stumbled away from him, vision feeling as though it was narrowing and his airway tightening. He was prepared to bolt as soon as he was out of Kanan’s sight (and every time Ezra forgot, he felt like a monster).

"Ezra?" It was Hera this time, breaking away from her conversation with the medic. "Is everything okay in there?" As if on autopilot, he nodded in response: his words kept getting stuck in his throat, and all he could do was open his mouth aimlessly.

The boy tried to make a run for the following corridor, but Hera grabbed his arm first. Ezra flinched, whether from pain or panic, he wasn't sure. It wasn't as if he was coherent enough to tell the difference.

It seemed that the twi'lek in front of him assumed the former.

"What happened?" she asked gently, still gripping on firmly. Panic set Ezra's nerves on fire, desperately trying to force something out of his mouth. Instead he just stood there, dumbly.

"Was it Maul?" That was a logical explanation. He nodded, possibly too fast, and tried to pull away from Hera.

“You really should get checked over, Ezra.” His stomach dropped even further down, and the panic began to rise again. "Who knows what Maul might've done." He shook his head violently, jerking away. This time, he managed to free his arm, and he started to run.

He heard his name called down the hall, but by the time they made to follow him, he was in his room; door barricaded with a desk, hands clamped over his ears, and his arms cradling the Holocron against his chest.

He stayed like that for the next 18 hours.

There was a knock at the door, and Sabine's voice came calling through. He was growing tired of the constant uncertainty: he couldn't quite figure out whether he'd prefer for them to forgive him and comfort him (even if it'd all be fake), or to just outright shun him. Instead, they did neither.

The Mandalorian took his lack of answer as permission to enter. Ezra had hardly moved from the nest of blankets he'd set up in the far corner of the room on the hard flooring, not since Sabine had last entered to check on him. He'd lost track of how long ago that had been.

She sank down next to him, keeping enough distance that he could feel slightly less on edge. 

"I've left some food outside your door," she spoke softly. "Though you're always welcome to eat with us."

Ezra smiled, and it wasn't entirely fake.

"Thanks. Maybe later." His voice was slightly scratchy from disuse. He shifted positions slightly, meeting Sabine's eyes. He knew he looked terrible, but he couldn't be bothered to care.

She frowned, looking down at his arm. He followed her gaze, only to remember he was wearing short sleeves. He'd thrown his jumper across the doom during a fit the night previous, and only now was he regretting it.

Kriff.

His panic was eased only by the fact that he'd thought to bandage it, and play it off as an injury from Malachor.

"What happened there?" The concern in her voice was almost unnerving. The last person who'd cared so much was-

"Maul." She seemed sceptical, but she didn't push it.

Instead, she laid a hand on his shoulder; slowly, and well within his line of sight. He could've pulled back, but he didn't. 

"We want you to be okay, Ezra." He wanted to scoff, but he stopped himself. Instead, he gave a half-smile and said;

"Thanks."

"Take care of yourself." The boy didn't answer that (he couldn’t), watching as Sabine pushed herself up using the wall, walking out and shutting the door with a click .

Later that evening, he walked into the common zone, and pretended he didn't see the looks being passed around. Kanan was noticeably absent, and Ezra didn't dare ask where he was.

The conversation was casual, bringing up everything but what he knew they were avoiding. Maybe he preferred it that way. He didn't know.

At one point in the evening, Sabine's gaze fell onto his now-covered arm. She looked away the second she noticed Ezra watching, expression guilty.

She didn't bring it up.

***

"I'm sorry for how I acted before."

Ezra picked at a piece of loose skin on his hand. "Don't apologise. It's not your fault." 

"Still. It wasn't yours either." He wanted to refute that statement, but he held his tongue.

"I'm just glad you're alive," he said instead.

Kanan didn’t respond immediately, seemingly thinking through how he spoke. As though he was treading on eggshells.

“Given who we were up against… Yeah.” They fell into a silence, which wasn’t quite comfortable, although it wasn’t uncomfortable . Ezra clung onto the warmth of their bond tightly, reaching through it like an offer that his master didn’t accept. Then he pulled back, hesitant to get close. He didn’t want to feel his blame (blame, not anger. Kanan was better than him that way. He could just turn the anger inwards and pretend it didn’t exist).

“It’ll be a while before Hera lets you on missions though, I reckon.”Ezra wasn’t entirely sure why he started the conversation back up, but he preferred the sound of conversation to silence. Silence let all too many thoughts roam free, undistracted. 

His master laughed, only slightly, but the sound was almost a relief.

“You know how overprotective she is,” Kanan smiled fondly. “Though in all honesty, I’ll need the time to… adapt.” Guilt shot through Ezra again, like a lightsaber had been thrust into his gut. He couldn’t help but look towards the bandages wrapped around his head, crisp and white. 

“I’m sorry.” The words slipped out almost unconsciously, and Ezra wanted to hit himself almost as soon as he said it. What would ‘sorry’ do to fix it? It was cheap, and it was like a cry for sympathy.

“Don’t be.” His tone was slightly grimmer now, but it sounded earnest. “It’s not your fault. Were you the one to drag a lightsaber over my eyes?” Bile rose in his throat, but he shook his head. “Exactly.” He thought he’d made a point, and the boy didn’t object. Neither of them believed it, he was sure.

“Talking of lightsabers.” Ezra abruptly changed the subject, refusing to let the emotions sit. He pushed them to the back of his mind, to burst out in the privacy of his own quarters. “Do you still have yours?” Kanan frowned, confused.

“Why wouldn’t I- oh.” He could tell when his master remembered. “I’m sorry about your lightsaber.”

“It’s fine.” He was sure Kanan could sense the lie, but neither commented. 

“We can get you some new crystals.” He spoke quietly, but it still felt too loud. Or maybe Ezra was overthinking it. “There’s mention of old mines and temples, in texts the Empire never discovered.”

“Only when you’re feeling up to it.” The if you’ll ever recover went unsaid, and he hoped it never reached across the line of their bond.

“Of course.” And Kanan smiled stiltedly, but neither knew what to say next. And as such, they returned to silence once again.

It was a basic recovery mission, where there wasn’t meant to be any imperial contact. Kanan wasn’t there, but that was unsurprising - Ezra being allowed to go was unexpected enough. Though given how understaffed the rebellion was, maybe it shouldn’t be. If they’d had anyone but Hera as their section commander, they’d have both been shoved out into the field as soon as they could walk straight.

As it was, he was trekking across a hot desert with Sabine and Zeb (Chopper had refused point blank to step off the ship), on a planet he could hardly be bothered to remember the name of. They were on track to raid an abandoned clone war base in the hopes that the Empire hadn’t cleared it out already. Kanan and Rex said bases such as that were supposed to be stocked with enough rations to last a company for 6 weeks. In Ezra’s experience, that rarely tended to be the case.

Zeb had been complaining about the heat for the past mile and a half, and arguing pointlessly over it with Sabine for just as long.

“Don’t see why they couldn’t’ve dropped us nearer to the base coords,” the lasat grumbled. “Not as if there’s any imperials in this wasteland.” He kicked at the sand in an attempt to prove his point, only sputtering violently as it blew back into his face. Ezra laughed, and Zeb looked as though he was going to argue, but he didn’t. 

“It’s protocol,” Sabine replied with a teasing tone. “But if you guilt trip her enough, maybe Hera will pick us up from there.” Zeb let out a sound that sounded similar to a growl, though they could both tell there was no real malice behind it. Then, Sabine made a comment that caught him off-guard.

“Are you not hot in that jumper?” In all honesty, he hadn’t thought properly when preparing for the assignment, and hadn’t thought about the fact that he was wearing short sleeves beneath his jacket, forcing him to leave it on.

“Not really,” Ezra shrugged. He was lying, and not even lying well. They could probably see him sweating. “Besides, it saves me from sunburn.” Zeb didn’t push, as he never tended to, and he could just ignore Sabine’s stare. He could brush it off as a force thing, if it came to it. He had enough excuses lined up, produced during late night paranoid hazes.

It was around that point that Ezra felt a prickling at the edge of his senses, that uncomfortable feeling he got when there was a threat nearby. He glanced towards where it was coming from, but he couldn’t see anything over the dunes.

“Is something wrong?” Sabine interrupted, noticing that he’d suddenly stopped. Zeb turned around and stopped, looking at him with a kind of curiosity.

“Imperials. Stormtroopers, I reckon.” He looked back at his crewmates, gesturing with his head. “About half a mile that way.”

Zeb swore not-so-quietly under his breath. “Can they see us?”

“Hard to tell.” Ezra responded, focusing on the presences, digging into them subtly enough not to be noticed. “If I had to guess, I’d say not.”

“We don’t want to bet our safety on a guess.” The tension creeping into Sabine’s voice wasn’t helping them stay calm.

“We never do.” Ezra hesitated, trying to slow down his thoughts to a rational point. “We’re not far from the base though, if we’re fast enough, they won’t notice us.”

Zeb considered the idea. “We’d need a distraction.”

Ezra grinned. “I can handle that.”

***

 By the time the desert sun was beginning to dip from its place in the sky, Ezra was walking back to the Phantom, definitely not stumbling, and absolutely not injured. It was just a bruise, nothing major (or it wouldn’t have been, if he’d moved away in time. He wasn’t sure if he’d been trying to).

Zeb gave him a raised eyebrow as he walked ( not stumbled) into view of the ship, and the boy just gave him an obnoxiously irritating smile in response, though he suspected it came across as more of a grimace. 

The ramp began to close quickly after he stepped foot into the hangar, and Ezra was seriously fighting the urge to collapse into the nearest chair. The flaws with that being that there were no chairs in the hanger, and that it wouldn’t coincide with his ‘not injured’ story.

“You good, kid?” Zeb asked, playing the concern off as a jibe.

“You should see the other guys.” His smile was definitely a grimace by now, and his arm was throbbing far more than it should be. But that was a problem for future-him to deal with, and he shoved it to the back of his mind.

Zeb disappeared into the cockpit soon after, and Ezra finally allowed himself to let out a shaky sigh, and cradle his arm. He didn’t let himself roll up his sleeve and look at the damage -  he was far too exposed there for that - so he just rested one arm on the other, tracing his fingers over the fabric.

Then Sabine entered the room, and he quickly dropped his arm. 

“We’ll be taking off in 20 minutes or so, we’re just waiting for the guard shifts to change,” she explained, looking him over, presumably to check for injury.

“Were there any supplies at the base?” He asked quickly, interrupting whatever thought process was going on at her end. 

“Yeah, a decent amount actually.” She seemed slightly surprised, as if she wasn’t expecting him to reply, but continued on without missing a beat. “I’m assuming everything went okay on your end.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” He attempted to joke, but in the end just gave a wry smile. When Sabine didn’t respond, he added on: “Destroyed their comms at any rate, so we’ll be long gone by the time they report it, if they decide to report anything.”

“Let’s hope.” She smiled at him, and maybe it was projection or paranoia talking, but he was fairly sure it was fake.

***

True to what Sabine had said, it was around 20 standard minutes later that the Phantom took off. He’d jolted, not expecting the movement, and instinctually had reached out to the wall to steady himself. He realised pretty quickly that that’d been a bad move. He inhaled sharply at the motion, but otherwise gave no other indication of the pain that shot through his arm.

He pushed himself back off, and adjusted to the instability of flying. He then noticed Zeb’s eyes on him, and suddenly stilled. 

“What happened to your arm, kid?” Ezra wasn’t sure when the Lasat had even entered the room, but now he was staring at his arm. The boy gave him a look of confusion in return, but looked down at his arm. His left sleeve was stained with blood, but only slightly - not enough to be the cause of attention. In contrast, his wrist was bright red, and part of the skin looked to have been scraped off and irritated.

“Wrenched it.” He tried to shrug the comment off, and ignore the concern surrounding their signatures. It wasn’t concern for him, it was concern that he hadn’t done the job properly. And so, he slammed his shields down and refused to acknowledge it.

“Ezra, if you need to get looked at by medical…” Sabine trailed off, joining the conversation out of nowhere.

“It’s fine, it looks worse than it is.” Zeb gave him a sceptical look. It was a blatant lie, and they probably knew it. But ‘probably’ wasn’t ‘definitely’, and they could never be sure he was lying. It wasn’t like when he was with Kanan, when every emotion was shared through their bond, and they felt firmly connected . Though Kanan probably wouldn’t want that, not when it was all Ezra’s fault that-

“Honestly, I’m not stupid - if it was bad, I’d go to medbay,” Ezra snapped. He tugged on his sleeve nervously, and tried to breathe slowly. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Calm down kid, nobody’s forcing you to.” Zeb replied, sounding as if he was trying not to laugh. Maybe he was, because Sabine elbowed him in the stomach, pretty hard if Zeb’s wince was anything to go by.

“Good.”

And that was the end of that conversation.

“You mentioned that we might be able to start training again soon enough?” Ezra tried to keep the question casual, but he suspected Kanan could feel the hope across the bond. The uncertainty his master echoed back shot that hope down immediately, and then his following words stamped on the bulletwound, just for good measure.

“I really want to, Ezra, but I don’t know if I can.” And he sounded apologetic, he really did, but that didn’t stop the doubt creeping in, the idea that he was just making excuses. He felt repulsed by the thought as soon as it crept into his head, but it lingered regardless. “I’m just trying to adapt to my… current situation.” He danced around directly mentioning it, but when Ezra was staring at the bandages wrapped around his face, it was pretty pointless.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s… of course, that’s the priority.” He wanted to sound convinced, and less like a clingy kid with attachment issues. “Is there any way I can help?”

“You could guide me back to my quarters?” Kanan answered lightheartedly, and Ezra all but jumped up from his seat at the suggestion.

“I can do that, yeah.” He guided his master through gentle nudges (both physically and through the force), and light touches against his arm. Kanan had one hand trailing against the wall, and the other near Ezra. His face was sunk in a look of tense concentration, and his presence was reaching out in an attempt to gauge his surroundings. The familiarity probably helped with that.

Ezra gently pulled away his arm, trying to give Kanan the opportunity to guide himself. It worked, for a time, until Kanan suddenly grabbed his arm for support, and Ezra winced as pain shot through his arm. He tried not to dwell on it, but their bond had already betrayed him, and his master was now looking at him with concern.

“Is everything okay?”

Ezra nodded his head, before guilt shot through him when he remembered that it was pointless. He ignored it, and made an audible sound of agreement. He forced a smile onto his face, hoping that in somehow doing it, he’d be able to express it across their bond.

“Just a bruise that hasn’t finished healing yet.”

“Couldn’t you get a bacta patch for that?” Kanan’s voice was laced with concern, far more concern than Ezra deserved, especially considering it was concern for a lie.

“Didn’t think it needed one.” He was going to shrug, but he caught himself just in time.

“If you need something checked out-” The concern in his voice was starting to fade, only to be replaced with suspicion. Ezra could handle suspicion - it was familiar at least.

“I’ll put a patch on it later, if you want?” He offered tentatively. It was a lie.

“If I want?” Kanan’s confusion projected across their bond, though given his tone, it didn’t need to. “Ezra, that’s not why you should be looking after yourself.” The boy gave him a look, only for it to fall off his face once he remembered. It was becoming something of a pattern.

“It’s fine, Kanan. Honestly.” When the Jedi didn’t respond, Ezra prompted him forward slightly. “Let’s get back to your quarters.”

Sabine didn’t even have to knock for Ezra to know it was her at the door. Her presence was intimately familiar, much like the others on the ghost - albeit only one sided. It was almost calming, and that was as close to peace as any of them would get.

The door opened, and the Mandalorian made her way towards where Ezra was curled up on his bed in the corner of his room. He smiled at her, a genuine smile, and allowed himself to relax slightly. Not completely - the part of him that was always on edge was still there - but more than he’d allowed himself to around the rest of the crew since Mala-

Well. Dwelling on it would undo the calmness he selfishly craved, even if he didn’t deserve it. So he didn’t let himself think about it too long.

“Hey,” Ezra greeted, moving to make room for her.

“Came to let you know that Kanan’s gone off the Ghost,” she said casually, although her face was all but casual; Ezra could sense that she was scanning him for a reaction, and so he tried to keep his posture steady.

“I thought he hadn’t been declared fit for missions yet?” 

“He hasn’t.” 

“Then where’s he gone?” Sabine paused, uncertain in her response.

“Hera wouldn’t say.” 

Ezra breathed slowly, but it wasn’t necessary; he was unnaturally calm, maybe to the point of apathy. “When did he leave?”

“During the night, I assume.” Sabine gently touched his arm, looking at him with… far too many emotions. Concern might’ve been one of them, but he couldn’t be sure. More likely it was closer to repulsion. “I thought it’d be better for you to find out now, rather than later.” 

Ezra nodded dully. “Okay.” 

There was a certain sense of relief that came with knowing that Kanan did blame him, and couldn’t stand to be near him. That was the only explanation that made sense. There was also the relief that he could let down his shields, even if guilt quickly slammed down on that one. 

Sabine didn’t start up the conversation again, but she didn’t leave either. And most surprisingly, Ezra wasn’t uncomfortable with that.

Still, he couldn’t help his eyes from drifting to the chest of drawers, and the pulsing, familiar presence of the Holocron. Maybe even comforting, though it would only be comforting in the same way abandonment was.

Her gaze followed his, but then she caught a glint of metal, and her breathing stilled. He didn’t have to look to know what she’d seen, and while every instinct was telling him to react, to hide them, to do something , he instead froze.

“Ezra, that’s not-” He was all too aware of Sabine’s eyes on him, watching for a crack to appear in his walls, for them too all come tumbling down. But they wouldn’t, he refused.

“I-” He fumbled for an answer, hoping his desperation wasn’t as obvious as it felt. “Broke a razor while shaving. Was going to try and fix it later, but I forgot.” He’d thought this lie through before, not even long before, and yet the words stuck in his throat like sand. 

Don’t you want her to know? The little voice whispered, that sounded unnervingly like the one from the Holocron. Maybe it’d make them care. He would’ve shut that thought down with a pinch to the arm, but he thought that wouldn’t help his case.

“How’d you break it?” She sounded calm and lighthearted, but her force signature said anything but. She sat tensely, as if each word was a step on a minefield.

“It’s embarrassing,” he deflected, mind racing. His heart was beating against his chest, and his head felt slightly too light, and it was making thinking far more difficult than it should’ve been. When Sabine didn’t say anything to continue, he forced more words out of his mouth, hoping they even made sense. “I was frustrated, and angry, and I… threw it.”

It didn’t sound believable, even to him. 

Sabine raised a disbelieving eyebrow. “You threw it?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “I told you it was embarrassing.”

She didn’t argue that point, instead choosing to gently pull his hand away from where it was scratching lightly at his wrist. Ezra thought not to move it back.

“Do you want me to take this, get you a new razor?” She asked tentatively.

“No!” He answered quicker than he should’ve, quicker than normal. “No,” he continued slower, trying to cover up the obvious panic. “I don’t want it to become a thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be.” The boy was starting to feel as though he was being boxed into a corner, left with no way out, and he wanted to bolt through the gaps still left. But of course, that would raise far too many questions, as would literally running out of the room, blades in hand.

“I just want to do it myself,” Ezra snapped, grabbing the blades and shoving them in the top drawer. He stared at Sabine, almost accusatively, except they both knew he was on the defensive. After a second or so, she relented, and stepped away. It felt like he’d won, but it didn’t feel good.

“Okay then.” She seemed far too willing to just drop it, and it wasn’t a surprise when she followed it up with a condition. That didn’t stop the relief from starting to swell, and a twisted hope that he’d got away with it . “Can you do one thing for me, then?”

He nodded, trying to suppress his emotions so it felt less like they were about to explode from his chest.

“Can I see your arms?” 

Ezra’s first response was to laugh tensely, and to pull away from her.

“Why would you need to see my arms?” He slowed his breathing down, trying to calm his voice. He was well aware of how defensive he was, but with how Sabine’s panic radiated through the force, it was mixing so heavily with his that he could hardly tell the difference between his and hers.

“Just something I’d like to check-”

“What could you possibly need to check that involves my arms?” Sabine didn’t answer, and Ezra tried to express confusion. At least, he thought it was confusion, and he thought that was the normal response.

“Okay,” she eventually said. “Okay.” And she started to walk out of the room, slowly, as if waiting for him to call her back. Or maybe that’s what he wanted to do.

Then she paused in the doorway, and they were both still. She turned around slowly, hesitantly, before she spoke.

“Ezra, if you ever need someone to talk to…I’m here.” 

Ezra swallowed, the lie tasting bitter in his mouth. “Why would I need someone to talk to?”

***

That was probably about when he’d ended up distancing himself from Sabine, and he was sure that the rest of the crew had noticed. And he knew that it wasn’t fair on her, but every time he tried to hold a conversation alone with her, his throat closed up and he was tugging on his sleeves. In the end they both gave up trying, and the marks on his arm were starting to fade into layers of scars.

Kanan had returned the night before, from one of his… excursions, for lack of a better word. Hera seemed to be the only one who knew where he went each time, and she wasn’t telling anyone. She didn’t even say when he left, instead leaving Ezra to figure it out when he went looking for Kanan, finally relented and searched for his presence, only for him to be systems away.

And for as much as Ezra wanted to talk to him, or even just be around him, if Kanan had wanted that, he wouldn’t keep disappearing. He probably just needed space, it probably wasn’t remotely to do with him. For kriff’s sake Ezra, not everything’s about you-

Maybe it was his master returning no more than 8 hours previous, that was the reason why he didn’t want to leave his quarters. Scratch that, it was definitely the reason. Even if Kanan was trying to keep to himself, Hera would drag him out for breakfast at least. She’d never done that for him.

It was surely reaching the time they ate breakfast. But checking the time seemed like a waste of energy, not when he could just continue lying in bed, listening to quiet whispers through the force. Maybe this could be considered a form of meditation, if it weren’t for this being far from calmness. Closer to numbness.

The door clicked open, disturbing whatever semblance of peace Ezra had found. He immediately scrambled to get himself into a more respectable position, dragging his sleeve over his hand, before he realised it was Kanan who’d just entered. Kanan, who couldn’t see it anyway . And with that realisation, he felt a twisted sense of relief.

That feeling made his stomach twist in discomfort as he tried to behave like he would’ve before Malachor, but all he did was pinch at the sore and freshly scabbed over skin through the thick material of his jumper.

“Sabine mentioned last night she was worried about you.” Kanan inquired after a few moments of tense silence, seeming just as on-edge as his Padawan. “She seemed upset.”

If he was trying to guilt-trip Ezra, then it worked. Shame started to bubble up to the surface, and he felt frozen, trapped.

“It was just a broken razor.” Ezra’s lie from the previous conversation faltered in the space between him and Kanan, and yet he insisted on adding to it. “I don’t know what she thought it was, but it wasn’t.”

Cynical at the poorly attempted lie, Kanan made as close to eye contact as he could manage. “Sabine never mentioned a razor.”

Kriff .

The implication was out there, hanging between them like a loose thread that sooner or later, one of them would have to tug on. 

“I-” He tried to speak, but he found he’d run out of lies to tell. The two Jedi stood facing each other in unflinching silence, close enough that Ezra could hear Kanan’s breathing.

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, Ezra; you don’t owe anyone that.” Kanan paused, his words feeling even more hesitant than they had been before. “But… I love you. I don't want you to feel alone."

In the moments following, Ezra made a desperate, selfish decision. Every instinct he had was screaming at him not to, and the Holocron whispering danger from it's place in the draw.

Maybe it was risky, maybe it was stupid, and if Ezra didn't feel vulnerable then, he didn't know what did.

Against every irrational thought in his brain, he pulled the too warm jumper over his head and let it slump onto the bed next to him.

Kanan must have noticed the movement, but he didn't immediately move. He waited a moment before reaching out, slowly enough that the boy had the option to pull away, yet he didn’t.

Kanan traced his hand gently along Ezra’s arm, his face too blank to give anything away, and the muffled bond too hazy. The boy tried not to wince as the first cut was brushed against, but his breath caught. He knew Kanan could likely feel the scabs, and the slightly raised skin.

He was suddenly desperate for the comfort of long sleeves, but he managed to stay still until the warmth of Kanan’s hand left his skin. Then, he crossed his left arm under the other, and stared at the floor. He wanted to curl up into himself and hide.

“Ezra, I-” Kanan sucked in a breath, seeming genuinely distraught. “How long?”

“Not long, it’s not a problem-” 

“How long, Ezra?”

The silence before he answered was answer enough, if Kanan’s signature in the force was to be judged. And yet, he still admitted.

“Since Malachor.” There was a moment after the admission in which it was quiet, before Ezra spoke again. “But it’s fine, honestly, I mean, it’s not like I don’t deserve it.”

The last part came out in a shameful whisper, and it was as if he’d laid the last little bit of his soul bare, and was now awaiting condemnation.

Kanan didn’t say anything, but the devastation echoing across their bond said everything for him. Instead, he reached out for Ezra’s shoulder, and pulled him into a hug. It was a fairly tight hug, if Ezra’s previous knowledge was to judge by, but it didn’t feel possessive, or choking, or mocking. Maybe it was just the unfamiliarity, but he would’ve described it as loving.

He was expecting it to disappear at any moment, but a minute or so passed with no sign of Kanan pulling away, and Ezra let himself bury his face into his master’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You weren’t supposed to know.”

Kanan hugged him even tighter, speaking softly near his ear. “I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you for something like this.”

“It’s just… It’s the only thing that makes me feel any better.” Ezra’s voice cracked, and then, he finally broke down.

The rest of the crew knew. It would’ve been obvious even if they’d never brought up the topic; they seemed more on-edge around him than he could remember them being, not even when he first joined the crew. If they’d been treading on eggshells before, now they were dancing on a 100 metre highwire with no safety-net.

The more blatant signs were, well, blatant. Hera pulling him aside after a failed mission, and refusing to leave him alone until Kanan intervened. Zeb barely leaving his side during the few assignments he was cleared to go on, and getting a blaster bolt to the face because of it. (he’d given him a few more feet of distance after the sheer amount of complaining he’d done while getting the 4 stitches needed.)

Sabine had probably been the only one to actually mention it though. While the others had darted around the subject, she’d avoided him for a solid two days before crashing in his room one night and having a breakdown on his shoulder. Guilt surrounded her in a suffocating cloud, though maybe he shouldn’t have been surprised when it felt so familiar.

"I convinced myself I was reading too much into it, kriff - Ezra, I'm so sorry,” she’d whispered, gripping onto his shoulders tightly and pulling the hug in deeper.

“I was trying to hide it,” Ezra had whispered back, burying his face further into her shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

And if they’d cried after that, and spent the night in the same room? Neither brought it up to the rest of the crew.

And then there was Chopper, who true to form, was the exact same irritating presence as he had been before. The familiarity was grounding, and at some point became endearing. Maybe treating him the same was the Droid’s way of caring, but more likely, he hadn’t been told (not that he’d have done anything if he had known). Ezra preferred that though, it made him feel slightly less alienated

He’d spent the first week or so desperately hoarding his blades and bandages in vents, and little corners only he knew about. He expected to be moved rather swiftly into shared quarters, or at least confiscate his blades, yet a standard week passed and no such thing happened. Another standard week passed, and the only change was Hera and Zeb starting to give him a bit more space. And so, he started to remove some of the items from their hiding places.

He’d asked Kanan why, one night, and the Jedi had answered softly:

“That wouldn’t help though, would it? It wouldn’t stop you, and would just make you feel like you can’t reach out to us.” While there had been undeniable sympathy in his voice, and Ezra wanted to resent that, the pulsing understanding echoing through their bond negated that, and the boy found he couldn’t resent it at all.

And he’d been completely right, even if Ezra wouldn’t admit it. He felt slightly more relaxed around the rest of the crew, even if he felt guilty about it. He stopped wearing bands around his wrists, for fear his sleeves would fall down. 

One night, he knocked on Hera’s door with blood dripping down his arm, and waited nervously for judgement, but none ever came. She cleaned his arm with disinfectant, and rinsed it, until the water ran clear. She then hugged him, and invited him to stay longer.

Another night, it was Kanan’s door he knocked on, and winced from the sting when he hugged him. Kanan hadn’t commented, and just let him cry softly into his shoulder. He clung to the warmth of their bond and his presence, and near the end, Kanan offered him a pill to sleep.

A different night once again, he’d sat down next to Zeb in the living quarters in search of a distraction, and accepted his offer to play holo-chess. The game hadn’t lasted longer than an hour or so, and his sink still ended up stained red, but he would swear that there was less blood than there otherwise would’ve been.

However the first night he stayed clean, it was Sabine’s door he knocked on; nearing one in the morning, still clutching on to the piece of metal in his pocket as a lifeline. He’d ended up buzzing his hair in her fresher, and fell asleep against her shoulder.

Slowly, the lonely nights of bloodstains in the carpet and crimson in the sink shifted into late-night training sessions with Kanan, until he was about to collapse from exhaustion; conversations started in the dead of night that lasted until the early morning, when they all fell asleep in places other than their beds; being tasked with repair work on the Ghost and Phantom, that he suspected didn’t really need repairing, but it gave him something to do. And on the worse nights, sterilised bandages in medbay, and the steady grip of Kanan's hand.

The scars didn’t disappear - they stayed, as a permanent reminder every time he rolled up his sleeves. The immediate urge to break apart a razor, whenever he messed up didn’t disappear either, and he didn’t always fight the urge. But in the end, they started to fade, and as far as Ezra was concerned? That was more than enough.

Fin.