Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was (frankly and objectively) an embarrassingly long time before Kanan realized how deep, how irreversibly, into the Dark side Ezra had strayed.

To be fair, Kanan had not been in the most perceptive mood since Malachor. Pfft. Perception. Not to be on the puns already, without eyes to perceive. All these years, perhaps he'd overestimated his edge from his connection to the Force…

Sabine had tried to encourage him by telling a cliché Mandalorian folk tale of some blind chick whose other senses had strengthened to compensate. He appreciated her intent, but as days passed since the battle, trapped in his new reality, and none of that was happening for Kanan — it was getting extremely difficult to listen to. Sure — he didn't know what he would do without the Force, pulsing through the world around him — but not everything could be replaced! Not everything could be compensated for. Especially when his connection to this single lifeline was obscured with the throbbing in his head, the icicles hammering at his chest, the straight-up frightening… kriff that, he wasn't frightened. He wasn't defeated, it was just…

He was already missing Sabine's colorful paintings. He hadn't even liked her paintings; not when she apparently didn't know which surfaces weren't appropriate canvases; and he missed them. He missed… he missed faces. Oh, Hera. (A wave of overwhelming loss swept through him. It wasn't helpful at all. Best to offer it into the Force.)

With his world reduced to darkness, Kanan was spending a lot of time in his head. Ever since his return, Hera hadn't once taken a step out of his shouting range, which he appreciated — not that he'd ever tell her, for fear of making her feel obligated. Listening to her steady presence in the Force, he could almost pretend things weren't so bad. Almost. That is, he could when he was calm enough to remember the darkness wasn't, in fact, all there was.

On the somewhat funny side — at least, he'd told Hera it was funny, and he was usually right about these things — he'd managed to screw up his goatee twice this past week. Now he'd given up, resigning to grow a full beard. It wasn't like he had reason to bother with keeping himself handsome anymore; he could feel the disgusting texture of layered burns peeking out from his blindfold, ruining that job for him. Therefore his resistance to letting Hera help him shave and wash himself felt perfectly reasonable to him — he wished it seemed that way to her, too — but unfortunately, that probably added to the growing, omnipresent whisperings that Kanan was "depressed".

Kanan was actually inclined to strongly disagree on that one, although he guessed he could tell where they were coming from. It was true he didn't exactly do much lately — but he hadn't been assigned any missions since Malachor. He pointed this out to Hera in his least-eager way, having taken it his real personal mission to not let her worry — but coming up with ways to do that made him so exhausted. Existing was tiring when you were an irreparably broken Jedi. Keeping busy was what had helped him focus on the brighter things in his dim past, but that was when he'd quit Jedi-ing, and that didn't work anymore. And no lie, blindness didn't help with keeping busy either; not that it was entirely an excuse, as he hadn't practiced his lightsaber kata in ages now.

Well, it wasn't like he was physically up-to-snuff, either, even after several weeks of bacta treatments, with another operation each week since the battle — and physical injury was way less awkward to talk about, although it did bring his attention to where physical and mental seemed to collide. If his wound, his concussion, the scuffs of battle, had broken something that in his brain (which because reasons felt scary plausible), it was something else entirely — Kanan wasn't sure which medical realm it fell into when he couldn't stop shaking, when his skin froze like eyes and unfamiliar emotions plugged up his senses, when his Force bond with Ezra pulsed with fire, when he sensed with a burning certainty that something here was very very wrong — but well, it wasn't a normal human experience. Panic attacks, Hera had called them on one of the rare moments he'd confided in her, but he wasn't sure that descriptor exactly fit. Sure, one moment he was just sad, the next he was in a shivering fit of cold and fear with helpings of evil for all.

Whatever this was, he sensed it was entwined deeply with the Force — surely in a way Kanan had never received enough training to decipher — or maybe it was just an effect of head trauma. The med droid had said something seemed to be up with that.

Kanan's weekly medical operations were supposed to work on whatever was causing the headaches, not the 'panic attacks'. That, or they were trying to improve the pressure causing pain by clearing up the scar tissue — he didn't really pay the attention. Either way, they were spaced them about a week apart. He didn't think he'd have to keep being put under every week for more than a few more weeks, though.

Something that was increasingly worrying (apart from the fact that anything could be more worrying), was precisely how these episodes affected his connection to the Force. This felt evil, and no — he had the courage to acknowledge that it did scare him. In odd moments he would get lightheaded and lose his balance; and it wasn't like he didn't realize the severity of taking a lightsaber right to the face, but the Force didn't seem to be helping in these moments; rather it seemed to echo around him in unfamiliar ways, strangely making him feel even colder and alone.

It wasn't like he was helpless. Meditation did combat the experiences, but it took energy that he never felt like expending; and besides, sometimes the cold tremors hit too hard to even attempt focus. If the Force had any clear message for him, that sense of something being very wrong was what consistently pulsed through his mind. Something, here, in his immediate vicinity, was not the way it should be.

He just didn't like how scared he got in these drawn-out moments — himself being as collected an individual as any Jedi Master (thanks Temple Guard) was supposed to be. But maybe it was for the best; it was getting hard to stay detached when he wanted to scream at the sky. If only he could pour all that energy into meditation! Or here's a revolution, into life! He knew he was never gonna feel good, but that didn't mean he was willing to settle with the tumult that kept enveloping him — that especially… especially these disturbances had to happen when Ezra was around! Thus it all lead back to Ezra. Ezra Bridger, and the embarrassingly long time it took for Kanan to realize the inevitable.

Defense is always an important line of strategy, so again in Kanan's defense: he had noticed the pattern from early on. He was still together enough enough to notice his "panic attacks" correlated somehow to Ezra. It had first begun on their flight back, as Kanan held his sobbing apprentice on the Phantom; Kanan, through the haze of pain and dissociation held together by roaring adrenaline, had felt an unmistakable surge of the Dark side swelling out from Ezra. Not a surprise, but nothing that would have lasting implications, Kanan had thought dimly. The kid's life had just fallen apart around him, and Ezra couldn't help how the Dark side coaxed the loss of the orphan. Ezra was strong enough, wise enough, never to give in to it. Krag. It had been idiotic of Kanan not to worry then. Oh, how stupid that had been… in his defense, he barely remembered that day. His head had throbbed and the world had crumbled.

Then there had came the rolling and the agony, and the ice colder than ice, and the tremors and the terrors and the sense of overwhelming sadness and the Force-given knowledge that something was just so wrong right here and now —

An image of the last face Kanan had ever seen, would ever see, hovered behind his roasted eyelids. Red and black with horns burned into Kanan's nonexistent retinas. It was the face that would wake him from nightmares into darkness for the rest of his life. That was alright, though. He'd survived Order 66. He could live with that. It made sense. It was perfectly understandable.

And, and now —

Ezra had been withdrawn since Malachor. He'd cried some, and wandered off by the spiders more, as if he couldn't stand to be around the Ghost crew. Kanan knew the kid was distraught, but how could he help Ezra when he couldn't even help himself? Ironically, Kanan was at highest motivation to be strong when the kid was around. Ezra's shady Force signature was a living reminder that somebody needed training from Kanan. But it was like that irony hated him, because of course that was also when it was hardest for Kanan stay strong. He could feel the Dark side, more frequent than it ever had before, and tumultuous emotions, and then his heart would pound so hard, it was impossible to make sense of what was going on, and he was so confused.

The Dark side — that unnerved him so much it probably could've made him quake without the eery medical problems. Was it him? Did he blame Ezra, somehow? Kanan didn't think he did, he knew that the Dark side of the Force called to his apprentice in ways Kanan could never relate to. He'd seen it, even before he'd been been flat-out told so in his vision — but Ezra was a good kid, and more than that, he respected Kanan (a miracle in itself), and he'd proved it all in what they'd been through.

In contrast Kanan was a mess, regardless of any diagnosis. He spent as much time in his cabin as Ezra spent trying to connect with spiders, which was seriously a lot. The shaking, the tremors… and it didn't only happen when Ezra was nearby. Ezra would never try to hurt him. No matter what, Ezra couldn't be inflicting this on him. Even if he was something he was capable of. Or if it was even possible.

Kanan had never felt a pull to the Dark side. There had been a time when he'd rejected the Force altogether, but he never would even have considered practicing something as inherently evil as he'd been taught the Dark side was. Besides, there was just no desirability to it! But maybe, that unguarded attitude had… made him susceptible? He had no idea how it worked beyond negative emotions, even that was considered too dangerous to teach, but he was equally sure that Ezra wouldn't do it — not just because it was evil, not just because Kanan was hurting, but the strength, the power… the Dark was overwhelming. Kanan told himself he'd have to be crazy to think Ezra could be responsible for this. Although, he'd also have to be pretty crazy to be inflicting this on himself, if it did come from within… And he was supposed to not be worrying Hera! By not being crazy!

Emotion was a gateway drug to the Dark side, and with how bad Kanan had been falling apart since Malachor, barely able to hold himself together for the people he cared about… there was definitely reason to… wonder. He would've thought he'd know if he was tapping into that forbidden energy, but it fit. He had been taught that the Dark side was very strong, impossibly vast and dangerous, and this all fit. It was evil.

So he fought. Now guilt for whatever he must subconsciously feel about Ezra was what drowned out his brain whenever these episodes came upon him, which only made it even harder to think to resist what was happening; until he didn't know how to even begin to meditate, and he couldn't control it, and he got so confused — and no, it still wasn't Ezra. Kriff the kid's Force signature getting in the way. Ezra would never do this. Ezra might think otherwise, but the kid wasn't even half as screwed up as Kanan was. Kanan had a longer, darker history to call upon.

He had a horrible, perfect explanation why the majority of these episodes took place when Ezra was near. Ezra was a reminder. Anger lead to the Dark side, and no, Kanan didn't want feel any anger towards Ezra, he was his Paduwan, he loved him — he couldn't blame him for what had happened to his eyes, it wasn't Ezra's fault. Darth Maul had used the boy like a plaything; and the loss of Kanan's sight — and Ahsoka's life — it all was because of Darth Maul. That was why the red and black haunted Kanan. The last face he'd ever see. Ezra was another victim. Kanan's pounding heart went out to his Paduwan. It was Darth Maul who had done this to both of them… and to Ahsoka. But it was Kanan who couldn't control his response — Kanan who was becoming like the Sith who had done this to him. And the Dark side was supposed to lure through power, but it made him feel smaller than he'd felt in years.

But it wasn't Ezra. It couldn't be. He told himself that whenever he sensed something that didn't fit in, because he told himself it had to be true. Irony. Until, the embarrassingly long time had run his course.

And it was happening again. The chill, the horror, and like a ghost he arose half-disoriented from the sedatives of his weekly medical operation, shrugging off the hands and hooks of the med droid and Hera ("Kanan, talk to me?"), because it was happening again, and he was so cold, he could barely feel the touch of her skin on his cheek before he turned away, reaching for the blindfold which wasn't in the same place he'd left it.

It would consume him, and that shoulder-hug she gave him would be tainted, and he'd hurt Hera, as he'd hurt Ezra, and this couldn't be the doing of someone he loved, and he couldn't bear it, so he fled, because it was happening again, and Hera didn't deserve this.

The frosty coldness, throbbing terror, Kanan was shaking as he made up a reasonable-sounding excuse about needing to meditate before fleeing somewhere he could lose coherence… The panic was ever constant, somewhere in the back of his mind, even when Ezra was far away. Kanan supposed panic could be natural when anything could be happening around him, how would he know? The confusion. The fear. The same as what lead to the Dark side.

Everything was cold. Was that noise his heart thudding? His teeth chattering? Loth-rats nattering at his skin? How horrible, he thought, he should react to that, but all he could do was retch. Darkness spun. He tried to collapse on his bed, but his sense of distance failed him. He tried to blink, but he couldn't, and he didn't know which way was up. It hurt. Like snow. He felt like he was dying.

Then a voice entered into his consciousness, screaming his name. It was familiar, but he couldn't focus on anything.

Then suddenly, he could.

Everything snapped into focus in a way it never had before. The Dark side still enveloped him, but he'd never felt it like this before. Instead of a hostile, unstoppable, ruthless, bewildering energy — it was soft. Cold, yes, but in a soothing way — refreshing. Like he was being rocked to sleep by a wampa. It still felt horribly wrong inside his heart. Not something he could be okay with. But anything was better than… than… No loth-rats. Of course. For a while, he gasped for air, his body shaking like a Kessel groundquake as he lay on his back on a hard surface. Gloved hands were light on his chest, trembling almost as hard as he was. "Kanan! No… no…" it sounded desperate, hopeless, broken, afraid. "Master, no…"

And then he realized what was happening.

"Ezra…" Kanan coughed, his Paduwan's Force signature glowing through the bond. "Ezra."

"Kanan," Ezra repeated, exhaling in relief, and briefly laid his cheek against Kanan's chest. It felt strange. Everything was so light and airy and cold. "Are you okay now? I just came in your room to borrow your lightsaber and — was that a seizure?"

Kanan didn't know how to answer. His brain felt like a mush of jumbled facts and thoughts, and the soothing Dark side was still… not uncomfortable, but so wrong, and… "Get away from me." Had he said that? He heard it. The words tumbled from Kanan's mouth without a second of premeditation, met immediately by a spark of hurt from his apprentice. Immediately Kanan tried to amend it. "Something's wrong, Ezra."

The pressure of Ezra's hands vanished, but didn't get up or take a step back. "I can see that. Hey, you wanna lie in your bed?"

"Ezra, something is wrong with me." Kanan's throat choked up. Again, words came unbidden. Why couldn't he express himself the way he wanted? "The Dark side is so strong."

Now it was Ezra's turn to swallow hard. "I know." Amazingly passive. Didn't he feel the weight of it? The Dark side? He paused. "I'll get Hera, master, she's better at fixing people up."

"No!" Kanan reached out accurately and grasped Ezra's arm before he moved away. His head was throbbing, and spinning, and the only thing he knew for certain was that they were way past due some master-Paduwan bonding time. Was that safe? "I don't want her to worry. She's babied me enough."

"Okay." A flicker of humor, brief but beautiful, but the concern didn't leave his aura.

"Something's very wrong, Ezra." Kanan's heart was still thudding, the Dark side feeling like an itch he couldn't scratch. His tangled mind was racing too fast for him to keep up. "It keeps happening. It won't stop happening to me."

"I know." Ezra was quiet, but extreme concern and a little bit of panic was thick in his voice. Did he really know? Kanan wasn't sure he did.

Kanan pressed on, a rush overtaking him because he didn't understand why. He found it difficult to form his thoughts into coherent sentences, sometimes, especially when this happened. "I feel so cold. I don't know what Maul did to me, but I'm cold and it hurts and, and, I don't know what's wrong with me." Did that sound factual? Did it sound worrying? He did have a pretty good idea what might be wrong, but it was even harder to form it into words to Ezra. He hated to worry Ezra, too, he was just a kid; but this was important directly to him, he could at least sense that much.

"I feel you," Ezra said, his hands on him again. Awkward pause. Obligatory backtrack. "I mean, I don't understand exactly how you feel because I've never been blind with seizures, but, damn, you sure you don't want Hera? Sabine? Zeb?"

"Ezra…" Maybe Kanan was depressed after all, because he sure wished he remembered how to balance his mood. He was also desperate. "It's the Dark side. I know it's the Dark side. I… I just need to know if you know anything about this, if you've been doing… anything… because I think I'm becoming something I don't want to be. And you need to leave me for your safety. Get rid of me. It's not like I'm useful in a fight anymore."

Ezra's breath caught into a pant, as if he was either running a marathon or on the edge of hyperventilating. That was bad. "Don't say that! You're who you were meant to be!"

"You don't understand," Kanan tried, exhausted. He'd messed up.

"Just tell me everything, and we'll work this out. Have you experimented with the Dark side? Is that it? It's not that bad, Kanan, and we've been through so much with the Jedi way when this was here the whole time. We can crush all the Inquisitors, we can destroy Vader, we can kill the Emperor. My parents, Ahsoka's death won't be for nothing. Don't be afraid of it, I was too at first, but it's okay…"

Kanan's mind swayed in ripples. He was barely listening to what Ezra was saying… he was just comprehending the first part. The next. One at a time. His heart was knifed with a million little pins. "It's you," he realized softly. It was a confession. And it didn't shock or surprise Kanan nearly as much as it should've. "You've been… Force, Ezra, what have you done?"

"What?" Ezra's voice was faint, as if snapped half out of a dream. "Why are you saying it like that? I just found everything, all in the holocron—"

"You opened the Sith holocron?!" Karan's heart was pounding. But he should be more surprised. Why wasn't he more surprised?

"What?" Ezra was clearly stressed. Hurt. "I knew you… I was pretty sure you wouldn't accept this way, that you wouldn't accept the holocron we went through so much for, but… I thought you said… you feel it too! Right? I thought… you… you know the real reason the Jedi rejected the so-called Dark side of the Force was because they were weak fools who couldn't admit the fact that they couldn't handle—"

"Ezra!" Kanan's head hurt so much he wished he could cry. Ezra's indignation flooded into worry through their bond. He was such a mess it was hard to think about all the dead Jedi he'd just insulted. And… it was him… he was doing this to him… "I thought I'd lost control of my mind!" Kanan shouted, but it ended with another tearless choke. "I thought I'd been seduced by the Dark side—"

"And how could you think that?" Ezra snapped. "I see now that you could never understand what I'm doing, you…" he paused, and swallowed. Kanan could hear the tears in Ezra's throat, but his voice took a sudden ice-cold edge. "They won't believe you. You have lost your mind, Kanan, it's been obvious for weeks, so my word will be stronger than yours. And if they do believe you, they'll understand. They'll have to. Kriff, Kanan, were you even having a seizure? What are you really doing on the floor? You lost your eyes, but you know your own kriffing room."

Kanan was silent. That, was…

Ezra was crying. It was obvious the teen's words right now more were lead by feelings more than any actual thought at all, so he tried not to let it get to him. He only wished it was true that he was just overreacting. He'd thought. He'd imagined. But it didn't change anything. Ezra was a little rogue, but he was being… cruel. It wasn't like him. Kanan reached out through the Force, looking for any trace of the soft compassion of his Paduwan, but he was met with a solid barrier of dark energy. All traces of that cold softness had gone. And the energy! Ezra was so powerful… how hadn't he realized it before? How had he ever believed… anything… so self-depreciating, so wrong? Ezra was his enemy and… no.

This was so wrong.

"You want to know, Ezra?" he whispered, and didn't even hesitate. He opened himself. He trusted him. They'd fought together. Watched each other's backs. For some reason, he trusted Ezra.

Ezra scowled, but Kanan could feel him jabbing carelessly at his mind. "What's your game? You would really try a move against me, the guy you promised to train? You never meant any of it, did you? It was all conditional, provided I conform to some mold laid out for me. The great legacy of the Jedi. You're worse than the Empire."

"Look. Please," Kanan flinched, though he was used to headaches. Ezra's accusations stung even more than the roughness in Kanan's mind, which was probably the point, but Kanan was putting his whole self on the line. His mind was still reeling from what he'd seen. This would be the test whether Ezra still… even gave a damn about him. "I give you permission to use your Dark side powers to see." Not that he would, but the thought didn't pass Kanan that Ezra could kill him right now if he wanted. He could slowly disassemble him from the inside out, he could destroy him, and he could get away with it, too. Seizures. Maybe Kanan's next decision was driven by panic, or bewilderment, or something else, but purposefully he tore back his own mental shields. It hurt, but how could he care? How had he missed this? Or had he. He had been expecting this for months, he realized. It was about time. If his Paduwan was going to kill him, so be it. The Temple Guard had said there was no way Kanan could save Ezra from himself. If this wasn't what he'd meant, Kanan didn't care. No wonder he was able to keep so calm right now.

Ezra was silent, but Kanan could feel him enter his mind. The distrust was tangible — what had Kanan done to earn it? — Ezra had never really known him if he thought Kanan would try anything against him. He supposed Ezra was too powerful to have much to fear from Kanan as he was now. Ironically warm against his physical skin, Kanan felt Ezra's fingers, but they weren't cruel. The boy was focused, searching, and slowly, Kanan could sense the scathing claws of anger dissipating. Ezra's chill filled his mind, entering his psyche, swallowing the warmth, replacing it. The feeling it created was impossible to explain, but he just wanted it to stop.

It was very brief, thankfully, because suddenly Ezra jerked back, the chill stumbling out, as if something had stunned him. "Kanan!" He pulled his hands away, standing up (from the sound of it) and taking a few steps backwards. "Kanan… I'm so sorry — you're so screwy!"

What? Kanan didn't know how to feel. It didn't sound like an insult this time. Screwy, huh? Maybe (he was starting to think), Ezra was the screwy one — because even accounting for the Dark side, none of his reactions were making any sense. "What?" Kanan's voice can out weak, as if the whole sense of betrayal that Ezra had dealt to him was too loud for anything else. The dread was really sinking into his soul. Ezra had been not only using the Dark side, but learning from the Sith holocron for weeks now, and… to think Kanan had considered himself a traitor for even humoring the thought that Ezra could be responsible for any of his torment!

"It doesn't make sense," Ezra's voice was shaking, and he seemed nervous more than vicious — because he was still a sweet kid, Kanan knew he was sweet, but the Dark side within Ezra was choking that out. "It's not my fault." Quick to defend himself, but his voice was still unsteady. "I would never hurt you. The whole reason I chose to use the holocron in the first place was to save you. Everything I've done has been for you, Kanan! Where could I have gone wrong?"

The realization of what he was saying hit Kanan some whole other type of way. Ezra had thought using the Dark side was somehow for his good? And then went and threatened to lie about him? Still, Ezra's horror seemed genuine, and Kanan's throat tightened as guilt threatened to explode inside him; but somehow he couldn't help a snarky, "Maybe when you opened the box in the first place?"

Fortunately Ezra ignored him. Instead he turned away, and Kanan heard the sound of stomping as if Ezra was throwing some kind of a pacing fit. "Explain this to me now! You promised! You promised I'd be able to protect them!" He was screaming about the room, rich with fury that seemed directed at no one. Was there someone Kanan couldn't see? Surely he'd know if someone came in! Kanan's throat tightened, and guilt seeped into his brain. Who was Ezra talking to? More guilt. Ezra wasn't thinking clearly, one way or another. The Dark side did things to a person. And, at least, that meant all this torture wasn't as entirely and hopelessly intentional as it seemed.

"Ezra—" Kanan pushed his body into a sitting position, but he was saved by another interrupter.

A loud knock on the door. "You boys okay in there?" Well great, Hera had heard the screaming. The door slid open before she could receive an answer, and she came in; the rustling of her orange harem pants audible as she crouched beside Kanan. "You okay, love?"

"Ask Ezra," Kanan jutted his chin towards the screaming apprentice, and she hummed in assent, taking off at the kid.

"Ezra! Ezra sweetie, calm down." It sounded like kind of a tussle, but Kanan didn't think they were actually fighting. Especially when it ended with (the Force told him clear as sight ever could) Ezra sobbing into Hera's arms, and the latter rocking him gently, concern radiating off her. It was all kind of a haze, really. Everything was always hazy, and it had all happened so quickly.

Kanan rubbed his limbs. They felt like jello, but refrigerated jello, and somehow, though the room swayed around him and his head resumed a teeth-grinding throb, he managed to stand and wrap his arms around both of them. They provided good balance, anyway. He rested his chin on Ezra's head, gently stroking Hera's lekku. Ezra's hair felt strange under Kanan's beard… it felt short, Kanan thought. He'd shaved it all off.

It was a disappointingly short hug. Ezra pulled back abruptly, the sound of leather scraping as he rubbed his arms. "I'm sorry, Kanan." His voice was fast, jittery. "I didn't know that was happening to you. It wasn't me, though, you have to believe me."

Believe you? Kanan said nothing, but felt cynical as hell. Just a minute ago you were threatening to lie about your Sithy-ness to make me look crazy to Hera. His own apprentice. His own apprentice.

"Hey, relax." Kanan felt Hera's body leave him to approach the trembling teenager once more. "We're all on the same side here. Just sit down, and we can talk about it, whatever it is."

"I, I don't think I'm the one we need to talk about." Ezra's voice was still fast, but Kanan didn't hear him sit down. "It's Kanan, Hera, we need to do something—"

"Shh. Not like this." Hera cut him off sharply. Stern for whatever reason, but also taking a panicky edge. That was never a good sign. "Listen, Ezra, please don't blame yourself right now…"

"I'm not! It's not my fault! I see that now!" Ezra's weeping gleamed loud enough to drench his voice in tears. "Well, maybe it is, but it doesn't matter if it's my fault! Tons of things are my fault! The old me. I'm trying not to be like that anymore. But… he, he… they wouldn't do this to him, they wouldn't, it must be inside of him… you need to tell him right now."

"Who's 'they', Ezra?" Hera asked quietly.

"Tell me what?" Kanan was on guard. What had Ezra told her? Was there more to Ezra's threat than a spur-of-the-moment reaction? The room was thick with the Dark side, and they seemed to have a secret, but no…

No.

Whatever evil Ezra had indulged in, there was no way in hell Hera would back the kid in it.

"Kanan, I think you need to sit down too." He'd seldom heard Hera sound this nervous. And he didn't sit down.

"I think somebody needs to tell me what the kriff you guys are up to." Kanan curled his lip against the cold in his spine. "Hera."

She took a deep breath, and immediately started speaking. "We've been trying to tell you since your operation this morning, but you kept ignoring me. You should really sit down for this. It's about your injury, what Darth Maul did to you on Malachor. It's about your medical examinations, the times when they have to put you out?"

Kanan nodded guardedly. Being put to sleep in the med bay had been a relief from the tension on the base lately… even though they hadn't been able to save his eyes.

"Well, the droid did get something out of this one. Darth Maul's lightsaber… didn't just fracture your skull. One of the tiny bone pieces, along the hairline fracture, was still lodged in your brain. It was a miracle you were able to move at all, let alone defeat Maul and save Ezra and get him back to the ship—"

"What's that mean, fractured my skull?" Kanan demanded, cutting her off from whatever rambling ideas her head had gotten. He was… he was upset. No. He was angry. He shouldn't be. His heart was pounding and his head was throbbing and he felt light on his feet but cold, so cold…

"Yes, Kanan, the lightsaber grazed your skull, near your eyes. You knew this, remember?" Hera paused, and it felt for all the world as if she was pausing for effect; but he figured it was really out of emotion. She didn't want to break down. "The good news is, it's healing now, but the brain is the most complex organ… it possibly damaged your frontal lobe."

That jerked him back to reality. "What?"

"You should start to feel better now, though that the droid says it might not fully heal," Hera was saying, as if it wasn't already the end of the world. "I'm sorry, Kanan, you seemed so down when you woke up, I wanted to be the one to tell you, and not like this…"

"But you didn't." Kanan's heart was racing. Were all his friends betraying him? Or was it just his brain injury making him think that? "But you told Ezra first, is that what happened?"

"No!" Hera sounded really upset now, too; Hera, the one who usually held them all together when things were bad. "He was there when the droid told me. He was worried for you, Kanan, he spent the whole operation by your bedside when you were asleep. He does that every operation."

"Do you?" Kanan's attention turned to Ezra, who emanated nervousness as he slumped against the wall. "Only here while I was asleep. I wonder why that might be."

"He cares! We care. I've spent all day trying to talk to you, Kanan! You've been paranoid." He felt Hera's hands clasp his, then travel up the length of his arms to reach his shoulders. She was quavering. "That is one of the possible symptoms of this kind of injury. I did get the impression the prognosis wasn't so bad. I know it's awful, I know everything has been so horrible, love, but they did say all the symptoms would be manageable with time…"

Kanan was shaking as well, fear traveling up is spine. And there was his lifeline. Untethered. Trying to understand. Trying to help, in a situation she could only fathom the slightest corner of — but how much did he fathom, really? Through his broken brain, in a world of darkness where all faded into oblivion and ice? Where Ezra had opened the holocron, and everything was so wrong.

Instinctively, he grabbed onto her, folding into her touch. He felt her start at the movement, but her arms encircled him, holding onto him too. Her voice had been so steady, she had held her composure so well, but he could feel her tears on his neck.

"It's not that bad?" Kanan whispered into her shoulder. It came out muffled. "You said they said my brain would start to heal now? I'll be fine?"

"Not necessarily fine fine, but manageable. Plenty of people live with brain injuries," Hera muttered back through tears. "I should have told you soon as you woke up. I'm sorry. Please don't fear, love, you will be fine, but if you aren't? You know that I care about you and I won't ever leave you, right?"

"I… I know." It was all too much. Kanan didn't know how to express anything he was feeling. But her warm presence in the Force almost shielded him from that of Ezra… which though not currently hostile, he couldn't deny was the root of something less-than-holy. If he could even trust his sense of the Force. Bitterly, he figured he could. "Tell me," he said then, standing upright and rubbing at his blindfold, "is it real or just in my head, that Ezra has gone full-on Sith behind my back?"

"Kanan," Hera gasped, with all the airs of how-could-you-say-such-a-thing combined with her level reassurance, but Kanan was focused only on his Paduwan. Ezra hadn't left them. He was still present, watching them through a sleeping cloak of darkness.

"I'm not a Sith," Ezra's voice said, but there wasn't as much emotion as there had been before. "Hera, it's okay. He's right, but he's not thinking clearly."

"I'm thinking about as clearly as I need to—"

"Kanan, please!" And Ezra was all emotional again, anguished. It struck Kanan suddenly that he hadn't done as he'd threatened. He hasn't lied, and in this horrific moment where Kanan had an actual chance of believing him, too. "I didn't do this to you. You have to understand. I thought you despised me—"

"Why would I despise you?" Kanan said reflexively. It was getting hard to focus again, but he faced towards Ezra, sensing his figure in the Force, and he did see his Paduwan, laced inextricably with the Dark side. All this power, and in the center stood a boy who had lost everything. A boy like him. How could he think he despised him? "I could never despise you, Ezra, I could never! I haven't been living up to my responsibilities lately as your master, and that's on me. It's just…" he tried to figure out how to say this without hurting him more. "These past few weeks have been difficult for me. Now I find out you're on a dark path to — to — to the evil we're fighting, and apparently my head is more injured than I knew, and you don't know… you don't know. You might not mean to, but your powers are killing me, Ezra," he pushed on so as not to linger on those words that just poured out his mouth, "the Dark side feeds of raw negative emotion, so you can't have positive feelings toward me."

"Kanan." Hera's hands were on his shoulder. "I don't think Ezra…"

"Shut it, Hera. He's making sense right now." Ezra grit his teeth. Kanan felt a sharp pang of offense on Hera's behalf, and was about to voice it, but Ezra's voice was so forceful as he continued. "Kanan is the only other Force-sensitive here, the only one who might sense what I've doing, and he's not wrong. And no, I don't have positive emotions around him. Look what I did to his eyes. But that doesn't mean I'd kriff him up. He took me in, when I was a stupid kid on my own. You all did."

Another silence, where Kanan didn't know what to think. Conflicted emotions swarmed him. Of course he would take Ezra in, as he would train him, teach him to be a Jedi… but he had his own life, his own history and future, and Ezra taken another road. After everything Kanan had done, one stupid battle injury was all it had took for him to let Ezra stray down this path — to lose him. "When you looked into my mind," Kanan found his voice slowly, "what did you see?"

Ezra clenched his fists, and there was a rustle of turning, before Kanan heard Ezra muttering indiscernibly, in a way that sounded like he was speaking with his lips practically against the wall. It was almost like a chant.

"Ezra, look at me," Hera began, but Kanan reached out to grasp her hand again, his anxiety clouding over him. Annoyance flickered from Hera, though quickly smothered, so he began to whisper quickly.

"It… hurts, Hera. He wields the Dark side in a way I haven't seen before, different from Vader or anyone."

"What if you're just not seeing the whole…" Hera mused with doubtful melancholy, but Kanan clenched his teeth.

"He thinks I am. The Dark side is vast. Dangerous. You can lose yourself in it, Hera. It's like a planetwide ocean that keeps spilling over its shores, and maybe Ezra thinks he can but he can't control them all. It's killing me," he hissed again without meaning to, as the dark and the cold and the fear and the rage came over him, only the rage was not his own — but it wasn't all Ezra's either — no, Ezra's main emotion presently seemed to be a deep sadness. But if not them, where did this anger come from?

The cold melted from Kanan's face, heating up like a fire, and suddenly he was aware a very dark presence in this room, far greater than Ezra.

And he lost his balance, all sense of directions, to the deep shivering cold. There was the sound of distraught voices over the ringing in his ears, but he couldn't hear what they were saying and it didn't seem all that important anyway, and then they were just background noise in the darkness.

Then a new voice, cold and echoing and far different from any of his friends.

Caleb Dume.

He shivered, blinking, and saw a face in the blackness, disheveled and faint.

Kanan Jarrus.

He saw it! He could see! Joy crashed with horror in a whirlwind of conflicting amazement. He looked around wildly. Other faces: some pretty, most far from it; but none were clear to make out. They all shared at least one trait in common — the Dark Side.

What do you want? Kanan tried to demand — only to find he was nothing but a shriek in the icy darkness.

We have what we want. The voice answered him all the same.

No… Kanan's heart unsteadied him, the fear wild in his chest. These, were Sith Lords — he didn't know how he knew that, but he was positive. Real Sith Lords, of old. The kind you might have been killed by if you were a Jedi in the Old Republic. Resolve glared in Kanan's heart. You don't have him. You never will. Not while I'm around. I'll fight for him.

That is an interesting change of tune from the master who couldn't trouble himself to get out of bed.

Kanan was seething, but he couldn't counter an argument to that. They were right. He had been useless since Malachor. He had been completely, utterly, worthless to Ezra.

Key phrase being, 'had been'.

You needn't trouble yourself further. It was his choice. He opened our holocron.

And now you're corrupting him with it? Kanan's skin was freezing. Sure, the Dark side called to Ezra, he'd known that already, but he wasn't a bad person. Everybody had their vices. Kanan had long leaned dangerously near the objective definition of an alcoholic, but that didn't mean he would necessarily drink if handed a glass.

There was never anything in need of corruption. The evil voice was flat, matter-of-fact. He has a darkness in him that you cannot suppress. It was always in him. If the Jedi Order still were active, they would want to destroy him.

Well, they're not. Bitter tears started at Kanan's eyes — tears, to his sick joy, though he'd never been much of a crier. Not very stoic. Not very Jedi. Even though he couldn't seem to make sense of his physical form, he was sure he was crying. He could feel the awkwardly hot wetness he hadn't felt in so long. I am the Jedi Order now. Me and Ezra. Master and apprentice.

The apprentice no longer wishes to be Jedi. He's seen a higher calling. Yes, he was wary at first; unleashing us out of desire the power to 'protect those he loves' is all too common — but even that was code words for vengeance. Soon he was begging us for instruction. His ripe and beautiful rage lead him. Oh, he didn't like the screams at first — he whimpered about how he hated the aftermath, whined about how disappointed in him he thought you would be — but he would always obey. He's very intelligent. Yet you wouldn't believe the atrocious acts Ezra committed, when we told him it was the right thing to do.

Kanan felt numb — but moreover, bewildered. Screams? Atrocious acts? That couldn't have been going on since Malachor. Ezra had never left the planet! …had he? Kanan realized he didn't know. But Hera would, and wouldn't she have done something? Or had he lied to her about his missions? Then he remembered the disappearances of a few rebels who had wandered too near the fence, too near the spiders. Nothing… condemning… but Kanan couldn't feel the tears on his face anymore. He couldn't feel anything. He refused to feel horror for something that couldn't possibly be true. This was Ezra they were talking about. I don't believe you.

You should. There was almost a smile on the shadowed face, and that sent a shiver down Kanan's spine. When Ezra came to us, he said it was because there was nothing more he could learn from his stupid, whiny, pathetic, holier-than-thou master, who never even graduated from his own. Who ran away at the end of the Clone Wars when his master needed him the most. When all the Jedi needed him most.

Anger burned at Kanan's throat, but he stowed it away forcefully; it was one of the hardest things he could currently remember doing. Because anger lead to hate, hate lead to suffering… all bad stuff for a Jedi. And Sith were liars. All he had learned in ancient history lessons had told him that Sith were dirty filthy liars — and this beast was the most deceptive of them all.

Do… do you know what I think? Kanan's heart pounded, the cold and the heat tumbling in his chest. I think you're saying whatever you can think of to make me give up hope on Ezra. I think you know I'm a threat to your schemes. I think you're afraid of me. That's why you've sent me tremors of the Dark side, the cold which amplifies confusion, all pulsing out at me like a star destroyer from Ezra's subconscious. You needed to cripple me before you launch your game. Security demanded it.

If that makes you feel better, Kanan Jarrus. It was demeaning. But he didn't care.

Kanan couldn't be brought down by those words, not now. He pressed on. I think it's because you know I could get through to him, given the chance. I think it's because you know Ezra loves me.

Ezra did love him — Kanan delivered those final words with confidence at an all-time high — at least all-time for this evening — but it didn't, unfortunately, have the desired effect on the Sith Lords. There was a silence; and an even deeper darkness (if that was possible); then a soft yet unmistakably sinister laugh.

Darkness swirled around him in a way Kanan never could've imagined in normal reality, even when he'd had sight of his eyes.

The voice spoke again, a whistle in the hurricane before he was thrown back into his waking life. You will regret dissing Lord Bane… enjoy it while you can.

Bane, he thought in horrified wonder, the name was familiar; but Hera was slapping at his face.

"Hey," he gasped, pushing her away — this was hardly her typical gentle approach — then he realized she must be mad at him.

"Kanan," she seemed relieved all the same. "It's okay. You'll be okay…"

Then he realized the background was loud, and a second later realized it was because Ezra was stomping around the room — positively screaming. "You promised you would keep them safe, Revan!" Kanan heard, and that's when it all seemed to add up to.

"Ezra!" Kanan scrambled to his feet, heaving his momentum to head all the way in his Paduwan's direction. Perfect aim. He threw his arms around him, but Ezra only stumbled back, shutting down. He seemed strange, stranger than he'd seemed all evening — disillusioned. "They hurt you," he spoke abruptly, his voice low. "I let them out. It's my fault."

"I'm okay," Kanan tried again to hug him, but this time Ezra pulled away more roughly.

"No," he said, then after a pause: "no," he repeated, his lip curled into a scowl.

Kanan wanted to hold him. His chest ached with the horror, the unfathomable nature of the vast darkness that Ezra had been dealing with this whole time since opening the holocron. Witnessing. Living. Who could survive it? He forced himself not to try again to embrace him, but he still tried to reach out to Ezra with words. "I understand now, Ezra. I can help you fight this."

"And me." Hera, of course, hadn't experienced the vision, but if there was one thing they all knew it was she looked out for her team. "I don't know much about the Force — its Light and Dark sides are complex energies, and I think you need to feel them to understand them. But if any of this is leads to something physical, any concrete problem that needs solving; I will be with you every step of the way. Both of you."

Kanan wafted towards her Force presence, more than a little struck with a fresh wave of affection for her, but Ezra swallowed audibly. It sounded dry. He then spoke, and his voice sounded faraway even though he stood right there. "That's… kind. Y'know, Hera, you might just be the kindest, most courageous, wonderful person I've ever met. You take care of Kanan, alright? I'm leaving him in good hands."

"Ezra, we stay together. All of us," she insisted, and Kanan heard her movement, but Ezra must be shaking his head, because Hera made that little grunt that she did sometimes.

"I could open the holocron because I have the thoughts, the mindset of a Sith, you must know that. I'm not like you two; which, believe me, wasn't easy to accept. None of this was what what I thought it'd be. Instead of just teachings like in the Jedi holocron — and you'll think I'm screwy as Kanan, but — there were also ghosts in that thing, I swear on the Force." Ezra's voice was intense, and his hands were definitely shaking a bit.

"I know," Kanan's chest was so tight with anguish, with new fear at the possibility of Ezra just leaving, he elected to ignore the 'screwy as Kanan' jab. Emotion bore Sith cruelty. "I saw them. They were Sith Lords who lived millennia ago. Perhaps the Dark side granted them some twisted kind of life," he wondered if that was possible. Kanan had no idea. Now, more than ever, (and he'd thought this so many times, but it really was more than ever right now), he really wished he had gotten more time with his own master before… before everything.

Ezra's breath hitched, and Kanan could've sworn he sensed a glimmer of hope in the boy's aura. "You saw them?" Ezra blinked then, narrowing his eyes as deep if in thought. "They didn't want you, did they." He said it more as a statement than a question.

"What can I say, I'm not really their type," Kanan quipped drily, but reached out gently through their bond. "But just because you are doesn't mean you have to follow them. They don't know two things about you. Plus, they're not the only people who like having you around."

Kanan sensed longing yet despair in his Paduwan's mind, and his heart yearned back with all the energy and love and urgency and earnestness, Don't despair Ezra, I know I wasn't there for you while you've suffered with this, but please give me one more chance to save you. Almost abruptly, Ezra raised a shield over his side of their bond, as if in apprehension; and Kanan hoped he'd gotten his vague idea. Had he?

Ezra's voice came out as distant, quiet; though it slowly grew in power, and not in a good way: kriff, the tone of the monologue he began practically showcased a quavering progression from desperate child to Sith apprentice:

"I'm not doing this for them. After what they did to you, they could go kriff themselves for all I care. But they can teach me, and dammit they get me. But they're the ones that hurt you, Kanan, and I didn't think they would, but I shouldn't have trusted them anyhow since they teach me to trust no one. I thought I could manage all this around you guys, but I can't! I'm putting you in danger! The Sith want the greatest for me, but that's directly opposed to your jazz. And, the times I spent running with you were some of the best times of my life — I loved the feeling of helping people, really I did, but we can't all have the luxury of do-goodery if we want to win. Somebody's gotta do what's necessary, to defeat the Empire. You're a stain on my conscience because I know none of you will ever forgive me for what I must do to make things right. I never expected you to. I don't expect you to understand, and I don't expect you to love me. I'm not a part of your rebellion, and I'm definitely not a Jedi."

Oh, and, back again. There was that desperate child, rearing his reluctant head. Ezra's teeth were chattering, if we wasn't crying, and he seemed to have backed himself against a corner of the room. Kanan's head was going fuzzy again. Kanan felt impossibly, horribly… sad for him. (Was this how he sounded? The rambling? The desperation?) And at the same time, it was absolutely impossible not to feel afraid. Afraid… of his own Ezra Bridger? Maybe it was the Dark side screwing with Kanan's head again. But there was something about the way he spoke… it was as if he had already considered his options. It was as if he'd thought about it, reconsidered, completely departed from the path of the good and true — and a part of him knew it.

The words of Darth Bane rang back through Kanan's pounding eardrums. The way Ezra was talking… what had he done? Why wouldn't they forgive him? Could he have actually done something… terrible? What Bane had told Kanan about Ezra's indoctrination into the Sith ways — was it possible that came anywhere near to the truth? Was Ezra really the monster he'd claimed? Kanan hated himself for considering any of that might be true about his Paduwan, but he'd learned so much this day, been faced with so much — he hated the reality that he had to consider it as seriously as he did. He hadn't thought Ezra capable of any of this, not even of trying to open the Sith holocron — forget actually doing it.

Was this boy a killer?

Kanan had seen Ezra hold back many times in battle, not willing to take that step. Thoroughly against it.

Was he now a thief of innocent lives? Was it even possible?

"Where would you go?" Hera broke in, her voice a loud ring in Kanan's ears, amazingly cool in this situation. "You want to join the Dark side? The Ezra I know would never join the Empire, but with what you're saying there's no way you're going back to your old ways either. Think about your options here."

Ezra's voice was soft, tired. "I was a street kid half my life. I think I can manage on my own." He leaned down; and presently Kanan could sense there were two objects in Ezra's hands. The holocron (oh, its aura still reeked of darkness and now betrayal) and Kanan's lightsaber. Probably because Ezra's was destroyed.

"Ezra." Kanan reached out a hand, silently begging him to take it. "I don't care what you've done. We're family." And he meant it. "The path you're going down… it's evil."

"The way you use that word! So Jedi of you. Maybe it's the kind of evil the galaxy needs," Ezra, oh Ezra — his voice sounded on the verge of tears, but the Dark side within him seemed stronger than ever. "You were a great master, Kanan. I want you to know that."

Then there was a loud, deafening noise, so loud Kanan worried he might end up deaf as well as blind — and he was gone.

Kanan heard coughing from Hera, and his own nose seemed to breathe in solids. He choked. "What — what the hell happened!" His voice came out high-pitched, like the yelp from his own darkness, and he made himself shiver.

"He broke the base open, holy — stay here, Kanan." She took off at a run, leaving Kanan, standing alone in his blindness.

He felt dizzy and numb.

He could still sense Ezra, he realized, through their bond. Pure adrenaline and determination was racing through him, though the Dark side that glossed it over made Kanan want to cringe. Ezra had gotten himself into some very real evil… he had allowed the evil entrance into his very soul. That reality was hard to deny.

The wait was broken when he heard Hera's cry — "He took the Ghost!"

It was all downhill from there, the hopeless impossibility of doing anything more.

That was how it happened that it was such an embarrassingly long time before Kanan realized how deep into the Dark side Ezra had strayed; not to mention more than embarrassing: dooming. Dooming to more Galactic citizens than anything ever should have been.

Kanan wouldn't find Ezra until a year later; not for lack of trying. Hera had put all her energy to track him through hyperspace with every tech gadget they had. When Sabine and Zeb returned from their milk run, they were in horrified disbelief, not accepting what they were hearing for a considerable time after. And for the entire rest of his life Kanan was sure Commander Sato wanted nothing more than to kill him slowly — not that he ever tried anything.

In the future, Kanan would often look back at that day full of regret. After one full year, when the late Emperor Palpatine's rule was extinguished by the blue-haired Dark Lord of the Sith, who had seemed to appear out of nowhere, the one who had once been a boy he used to know, all Kanan could feel was sadness while half the rebellion rejoiced. The Emperor was dead! As were all his lieutenants. Sure, it wasn't them who did it — but there were still parties that Kanan couldn't even halfway enjoy.

Their celebrations didn't last long. With a few swift actions, the new Dark Lord made it very clear to all that his new age would be even more oppressive than the Emperor's had been. No more pretense. No more lies. Thus they entered into a new reign of terror.

As Dark Lord of the Sith, Ezra never hurt Kanan. He never permitted any of his forces to lay hands on the select few rebels that boy had met on Lothal; but he wouldn't hold audience with them, either. Maybe that was for the best. Ezra seemed utterly unreachable now, and Kanan didn't know how he would even deal with the idea that if he ever saw him, it would be best for everyone to do whatever he could to end him, like Ezra had done to so many others. To give only one reason was the fate of Lothal, done in for whatever reason, Kanan assumed it had to be personal — apparently digging up the Emperor's frightening old 'Death Star' blueprints, Lothal was literally destroyed along with everyone on it. Dead. Still a better fate than many in the galaxy had under the new Sith Lord.

Kanan supposed he would never know what had lead his Paduwan — he would always speak of him as his Paduwan — to become something so unlike his nature. The figure of Darkness with the navy blue hair. If only Kanan had been more wary, stronger in the Force, would things have turned out differently? If he hadn't let fate make him so susceptible to manipulation, so blind to his apprentice's doings, would he have been able to stop it before he'd begun? Could Kanan Jarrus have saved the universe from all this death — and most importantly to Kanan (though he was loathe to admit), could he have saved Ezra from the Dark Side he had failed to resist, before it was too late? Or if fate was inevitable, and push had come to shove — if only Kanan had responded more gently when the revelation had come out, would he have gotten through to him?

Or were the ghosts of the Sith Lords of Old too powerful, already with Ezra under their thumb, and did Kanan never have a chance?

He'd never know. But whenever some horrific Sith atrocity sounded from the holonet news, whenever Kanan heard what was going on in the world…

He remembered what a good kid Ezra Bridger had been, what a kind and loving and compassionate person he once was, through and through — and a part of Kanan always blamed himself for failing to save his paduwan from Darth Jabba.

THE END