Chapter Text
I am one with the Force.
He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel, could barely see. Darkness swam in his vision like flickering ocean shallows under a moonlit sky as he spun out into nothing, became nothing.
And the Force is with me.
Shapes moved in the mist, purposeful, patient. There was no sound out here, no blast as the debris from the ship burst outward with all the silent power of a supernova in deep space. Is this how Kanan felt, at the very end? Fear swallowed up in acceptance, quiet victory in the survival of those who mattered? Not peace, but a heavy, numb thing that was close to it.
Child of the Force, this is not where your journey ends
Consciousness slipped away from him. The Force, like a mother at the end of the day, folded him into sleep.
But where it begins.
And the Jedi known as Ezra Bridger took his last breath.
:::
He woke to rain falling on his face.
Ezra coughed. Rolled over and almost retched at the smell. It was dark and crowded, water dripping down into the cramped alley he was lying in. Around him the Force throbbed like a persistent headache, unsettled in a way that he’d never felt in his life. He squinted into the dim light, scrambled up, and yelped as his shoulder promptly gave out. Winced while gingerly peering down at the blistered skin. Was that a blaster wound? What-
The Force throbbed again, a dull hammer on the inside of his skull. He screwed his eyes shut and tried to think past the pain. How he had gotten to this city? Did...Hera send him here for a drop? But she wouldn’t… no, wait, she had, several months ago, and then he’d returned with the intel, Mon Mothma had wanted…But why did he wake up here? Had he been attacked? Were the others okay- had Sabine...
Images flickered through his mind, nonsensical. Hera shouting in front of a wall of flame. A wolf running by his side. Ahsoka falling through a dark door.
Thrawn.
Someone moaned.
For a moment Ezra thought it had been him. But then the moan came again and there, in the shadow of the dump crate near the entrance of the alley, something shifted.
“Are you-” His voice rasped and Ezra winced. “Are you alright?”
Stupid question - obviously not, if they were hunkered down in the street - but a head popped up anyway.
“Who’s there?” a panicked voice called out. Something shifted in the air around him and Ezra blinked.
Force-sensitive.
“It’s alright, I just, uh, heard you make a noise and thought-” He honestly hadn’t known what he’d thought. But four years with the crew of the Ghost had rearranged something inside him he thought he’d forgotten ever since his parents had been taken.
Kindness was a reflex now, not an afterthought.
“-I thought I could help,” he finished.
More practically, any Force-sensitive drifter was vulnerable to the machinations of the Empire, and Ezra had seen too many damn Inquisitors in his life. Slowly, so as not to startle his companion, Ezra shuffled over until he was only a meter away from the sodden pile of fabric that was apparently a person.
Upon closer inspection he realized they were a child, probably no more than thirteen years old at the most. He was filthy, cheeks streaked with grime and clothes burned and torn. The boy studied him nervously in turn, eyes darting from the empty blaster holster on his hip to his injured shoulder up to his face before stilling completely.
“That’s a lightsaber scar,” he choked out.
That...changed things. Ezra touched his cheek with a frown. “And how would you know?” he said slowly. The kid’s eyes widened as if realizing a mistake.
“I-” Stopped, froze.
Something moved in the Force. The boy closed his eyes and seemed to reach out, an unspoken question hanging in the air between them. And without quite thinking about what he was doing Ezra answered in kind.
The boy’s popped open.
“You’re a Jedi,” he whispered.
The sound of falling rain filled the silence around them. Finally, Ezra replied.
“That’s a dangerous word to throw around these days.” When those wide, red rimmed eyes snapped up to meet his there was a terrifying hope in them.
“But, but-” The boy licked his lips, seemed unable to catch his breath. Ezra eyed the erratic rise and fall of his shoulders with worry as the kid seemed on the verge of hyperventilating. Finally he choked out the words. “But you’re a padawan, right? I thought-” he clapped a hand over his mouth as he gasped, taking big sucking breaths as he started to shake.
“Whoa, whoa hey it’s okay,” Ezra said quickly, hesitating before taking his shoulders in a firm grip. The boy shook his head, eyes watering. “Hey, it’s alright, I’ve had a few panic attacks in my day too. Just breathe with me. Follow my count, try to, uh, empty your mind.”
“Like meditation,” he choked out.
“Yeah, just like that, like you’re meditating. In, and out. In, and out.”
He lost track of time, world closing in to just the rise and fall of their breathing. When the boy finally took one, last shuddering breath before relaxing Ezra finally let go of the tension in his own body, collapsing against the duracrete wall with a low oof . Then immediately regretted it as his injured shoulder flared up in pain.
He opened his eyes to find his companion staring at him intently enough to sear a hole through his head. Ezra cracked a grin. “What, is my face that interesting?” he joked tiredly. The boy reached up and traced two fingers down his own cheek.
“How did you get those?” he asked, voice still a little hoarse but more confident than before. Ezra reached up to lay a hand over the scars in question.
“I got into a fight.”
The boy narrowed his eyes at the opaque answer. “Did you win?”
A red blade, the moment of blind panic as it lashed at his face. Kanan, countering the Grand Inquisitor’s vicious assault.
“No,” Ezra replied. “But my master did.”
The boy looked down. “I don’t remember you from the Temple,” he said abruptly, changing the subject. “You’re a padawan, right?” Again, that note of terrifying hope. “You’re a padawan, just like me. After everything...I thought I was alone, that I was the only one left.”
There were several things off about that statement. Ezra’s unease, already present since he woke up, only grew. “What do you mean, the Temple?”
The boy looked up at him warily. “Uh, the Jedi Temple? On Coruscant? Did you not…” he tapered off. “You are a Jedi, right?”
And wasn’t that a loaded question. “I’m from Lothal,” he said absently, and as the boy tried to puzzle that one out he picked apart the other thing that troubled him. “So when you mean, ‘a padawan like me,’ are you saying you were also trained in secret by a Jedi, or-” Something on the street caught his eye and oh no, oh no .
“In secret? So your master was a Shadow? I didn’t think they took padawans with the war going on, but-”
The boy’s words seemed to fade as Ezra stared, fixated on the date below the news broadcast flickering determinedly on the public holoscreen. White noise buzzed in his ears.
Empire Day. Plateau City.
Eighteen years in the past.
“-and, hey, are you okay?”
Ezra tore his gaze away. Suspicious eyes stared up at him, and in his mind’s eye he saw a similar expression in a Lothal market, so long ago.
“What’s your name?” he said abruptly. The boy clammed up.
“You first,” he said warily.
Ezra ran a hand over his hair, buzzing with nervous energy. “I’m Ezra,” he finally offered. “And you are?”
The boy opened his mouth, closed it, then finally relented.
“I’m Caleb Dume,” he said quietly, and Ezra’s entire world tilted sideways.
:::
This boy felt nothing like Kanan.
Ezra studied him out of the corner of his eye as he stumbled along beside him, crashed out on adrenaline and exhausted from running for who knew how long. It was easy to see the physical resemblance if he took the time to really look - the long jawline, the way shadows formed around his eyes when he got tired.
It was his demeanor that threw him off more than anything. The man who had been his teacher had been impatient sometimes, cynical at others, though it had been more than tempered by his softer moments when bits of the cocky spacer fell away - and they had fallen away more the longer Ezra had been with him.
He’d even seen Kanan afraid. For Ezra’s life, for Hera’s, for all those moments when the family they’d made together had been in danger.
Never though had he seen in Kanan this lost, needy grief.
Like a ship left adrift in dead space , he thought, as Caleb turned towards him with faint mockery.
“What, is my face that interesting?” he parroted back at Ezra, eyebrow rising.
Okay, so maybe he was a little like Kanan.
“You just remind me of someone I know.”
Caleb blinked, swayed, visibly trying to process the statement. Ezra frowned. They needed a place to rest and recover, fast. “Is...is that a good thing?” he finally stumbled out.
Even when they hadn’t been on the best terms Kanan had always loomed larger than life. Ezra hasn't thought him capable of looking as small and uncertain as the child in front of him. A strange sort of agony filled his heart.
Ezra looped an arm around the boy and pulled him in close until he was tucked against his side. “Yeah kid, it’s a good thing.” And then- “Oof, hey, what was that for?”
Caleb withdrew his elbow from where it poked against his ribs and fell back against him. “Don’t call me kid,” he mumbled.
Ahead, at the turn off to a side road, a blinking sign caught Ezra’s eye. “Bingo,” he muttered, and steered the two of them around the corner and through a drab doorway.
The hostel lobby was empty just as he’d hoped it’d be. Spaceport cities usually had a variety of disreputable hole in the walls like this where a weary spacer could pay for a few hours of shut eye or privacy, depending on the need.
“A room please,” he called out to the rickety droid behind the desk.
It took their credits and wordlessly handed over their room key, movements slow under the buzzing lights, before pointing them to the stairs. The walk up to their room was a silent one.
“Stay here,” he commanded Kanan - no, Caleb - as he gave the room a cursory sweep. Not the most secure place they’d used as a base of operations, but it would do for one night. “I’m going to go out and, uh, take care of some stuff.”
The words were barely out of his mouth before Caleb was stumbling back towards him, one hand getting a firm grip on his shirt. “No,” he muttered. Ezra gently pried his fingers off him.
“Come on, buddy, you’re exhausted.”
He shook his head again, agitated. “Can’t sleep. Master Billaba-” His breath hitched.
“Listen.” Ezra cast about the room for a place to sit before giving up and directing them both to the bed. “I know things have been tough-” the Force was still keening, tearing itself apart unlike anything he’d felt before- “but we need things like credits, and uh, food and maybe a comm link and some not Jedi clothes for you. And no offense, but you’re kind of dead on your feet.”
“I don’t-” Caleb grit his teeth.
“You don’t what?”
So quiet, enough to almost be a whisper. “I don’t want to be alone,” he forced out. Desperate hands were gripping his clothes again. “I can still feel them- still feel them all dying out there, in the Force. How do I know you won’t too?”
And, well. He couldn’t promise that, could he? For all he knew he might have already died once today. “Well, I’ll try my best not to.” It was an inadequate answer and from the tightening of Caleb’s grip they both knew it. He sighed and collapsed on the mattress beside the other boy, choosing his words carefully.
“Listen, it’s a risk, okay, but staying here with nothing we can use to survive is also a risk. We’ve gotta do something.” He laid a reassuring hand on top of Caleb’s where it clung to his sleeve. “I’ve survived for years on the streets on my own. A few stormtroopers won’t be a problem for me.” Ah kark. “Clone troopers, a few clone troopers.” And they won’t actually have a warrant out for me , he thought silently, though there was no easy way to explain that to Caleb.
Thankfully Caleb was too tired to catch his slip. However he was still hanging on with all the strength of a mynock. Ezra reached a decision. “Listen, I’ll stay. At least until you fall asleep. How’s that?”
Caleb didn’t say anything, but he didn’t disagree either. Ezra laid him down on the bed and awkwardly threw the blanket over him - they were both filthy, but neither of them had the energy to do much about it at the moment. The bed sheets would just have to suffer. As he went through the motion of tucking in the blanket an unbidden memory rose to the front of his mind - his mother’s warm hands, gentle voice reciting tales he’d forgotten years ago.
“Uh, how about a story?” Caleb shrugged. Well, it was better than nothing.
He feels like Zeb might have told him a bedtime story once in that gruff, rambling way of his, when he’d been down with a bad fever. “Uh, do you know the one about Lira San? It starts like this…”
The rain died down outside their window and a Jedi displaced in time haltingly spun the tale of the Lasat and their home. And so Caleb Dume, after the worst thirty hours of his life, finally fell asleep.
:::
“Search quadrant eight. Zeta squad, do you copy?”
“East district is clear, sir.”
The clones were a lot more difficult to evade than stormtroopers had been. Ezra’s mind flashed to Rex - where was he now, in all of this? Was he alright? Hoisting his newly obtained pack higher on his uninjured shoulder Ezra hurried on and carefully set the thought aside where all his other unvoiced worries were, the ones he would save until he had time to unpack them in safety.
Survive now, mourn later , Ahsoka had once told him. Mourn...yeah that might be a good word for it.
Ahsoka .
He stopped in his tracks.
Somewhere out there in the galaxy, Ahsoka Tano was still alive and if she was anything like he remembered her, she would know what to do.
“Hey, you there!”
Ah kriff.
“Sorry, sorry, sir,” he apologized, holding up his hands apologetically. “Just lost in thought.”
An armored hand pushed him firmly along. “Well, think elsewhere,” he said brusquely. “There’s <traitors> about.”
There...was something weird in that. Leave it , part of him said. Keep your head down . But Ezra had never been good at that to begin with. “Traitors sir?” he said earnestly, looking up guilessly into the trooper’s helmet.
“Jedi <traitors> to the Republic. They’re dangerous, so move along.”
It was jarring, in an awful way, to see someone with that helmet say ‘the Republic.’ He wanted to be sick.
Instead, he gasped. “Oh how awful! What did they do?”
The trooper’s helmet was impassive. “They betrayed the Republic, the traitor’s…” Twitched minutely, shook his head. “The traitors will be executed for crimes against the Republic. We follow our orders.”
And that was his cue to leave. “Ah, well thank you sir I think I’ll be on my way then,” and then he was hurrying away, down that street, around that corner, until he was certain he hadn’t been followed. Finally Ezra slumped against a wall and ran a shaking hand down his face.
It was one thing, to hear about the birth of the Empire. To see it in person…
He looked up towards the cloudy skies above Kaller. “Take care of yourself, Rex,” he whispered, and hoped that wherever Gregor and Wolffe were, they took care as well.
It had been years since he’d had to resort to thievery to get by but apparently old instincts never truly left. It didn’t make him happy, exactly, but since it was useful he wasn’t going to complain.
I’m a Jedi, not just some lothrat, not anymore. No matter what I’m doing in the moment that’s not going to change.
His feelings on the subject aside, his deft hands and gift for misdirection had procured him enough credits for the rest of the supplies they needed. Food for when Caleb woke up, an extra change of clothes about his size, a pair of cheap comms. A regulation blaster he’d lifted from a clone trooper, though he’d need to modify it so it wouldn’t be identified on sight.
What few credits had been left on his person before the jump were now well and truly gone - when Caleb woke up they’d need to find some paying work and a way off planet. Well. If Hera had taught him anything, it was how to be useful on a starship.
The Force tugged at him.
Slowing, he took stock of his surroundings with a frown. It was almost dark again, the docks nearly empty as crew personnel and pilots enjoyed their time planetside. Ezra scanned the ships before closing his eyes, reaching out with the Force to see just what it was trying to tell him.
“Kid, I get it, you’re used to following a master so you’re in the market for a new one. Trouble is, I’m not in the market for a padawan. So scurry. Before I do something no one else in the galaxy is alive to regret.”
A tall Kalleran, teeth glinting sharp in the ship’s light. A bedraggled child, defiance and desperation rolled into one.
The Kasmiri.
Something in the darkness growled.
Ezra’s eyes snapped open.
“Kanan?” he called out instinctively.
The shadows around him stayed silent. Water dripped slowly off the surrounding eaves. Ezra turned slowly, taking in every direction - there was no black wolf in sight.
Shaken but also vaguely disappointed, Ezra gathered his things and hurried back towards the hostel.
:::
Caleb was still asleep in their room when he crept in, quietly closing the door behind him. In the dim light coming through the window he looked even younger than before if that was possible, sleeping like the dead in a way that only the completely exhausted could manage.
Even at this age, Kanan snored.
Ezra put their things away and sighed, slumping down to sit on the floor. He studied the child in front of him wearily.
Kanan had always been close lipped about his history, though he’d let drop a few things here and there. His name had been Caleb Dume. He’d been padawan to Depa Billaba. He’d heard tales of Ryloth from Mace Windu at one point, if Ezra remembered his nervous attempt at camaraderie with Hera’s father correctly. Had been mentored by Master Yoda too, though if Ahsoka’s account was accurate that was true of all kids who’d been raised at the temple, and had seen a few campaigns before the Clone Wars ended.
Had never known his own parents, taken to the temple as a young child.
“You’re right, I never knew my parents.”
“Kanan, I- I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay. It’s too late for me, but maybe not for you.”
Ezra squeezed his eyes shut.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed quietly. Only Caleb’s faint snores answered him. “I was alone for so long, but now that you’re all not here-” He swallowed hard. “I don’t know how to do this on my own anymore.”
Hera. Zeb. Chopper. Sabine. Rex. Ahsoka. Where were they after he had disappeared? Ezra raised a hand toward the ceiling, as if he could just reach out and touch them through the Force.
Kanan, there was so much more I still needed to learn from you. You didn’t prepare me for this.
He hoped, wherever they were, that Lothal now stood free.
In this time, Hera and Chopper would still be with her family on Ryloth, helping with her father’s resistance. Sabine would be an infant on Mandalore within the traditions of Clan Wren. Zeb would be a member of the honor guard on Lasan, his people still around him. Rex- he winced - Rex was...probably not doing too hot right now. But he would survive, wherever he was, and Ahsoka as well.
As for himself. Well. He’d be one day old right now, living with his parents-
His parents.
It felt like he’d been struck in the gut. Ezra made a low, shocked noise as the realization hit him, bending until he was folded over on himself. Ephraim and Mira Bridger, common citizens of Lothal. Not yet rebels, or dissidents, or Imperial prisoners. Just another young couple celebrating the birth of their baby son on the world they loved so well.
The kindly looking face of the Emperor as he offered words like poisoned fruit. “As for your parents, my dear boy, allow me to offer what might have been and what yet may be.”
No. No .
“Are you okay?”
Caleb was groggily sitting up in the bed, leaning forward with worry even as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “I felt…” he frowned. “You felt…”
“I’m okay,” Ezra replied softly, and gently pushed Caleb back until he was lying down again. “Just…” Mourn later. “...mourning,” he finished.
Something in Caleb’s eyes went dull. “Yeah,” he whispered.
Ezra frowned. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?” he asked, and then felt guilty at the inordinate amount of relief he felt when Caleb shook his head. “Hey, you know you can talk to me, right?”
Caleb made a sour face. “I don’t even know you.”
“Well, yeah, but I’m better than nothing.”
Caleb just shrugged. Ah, back to the surly silence it was then. Then his shoulders slumped and he muttered, “Same goes to you though. If you want to...talk about anything.”
Ezra would give an arm and a leg to be able to talk to Kanan again.
“I’ll let you know if I do,” he said instead, and then startled himself with a yawn so big it cracked his jaw. When he opened his eyes he found Caleb scooting over, making as much room as he could on the cramped cot.
“Hey, it’s fine, I’ve slept on worse things than the floor.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Caleb replied flatly. Squinted. “Is that a blaster wound?” Winced, and then hurriedly shuffled out of bed to where his cloak was piled on the floor. “Of course it’s a blaster wound. Clones got you too, huh?” Ezra glanced down at where his sloppy bandage was showing through the burnt hole in his jacket and grimaced.
“Yeah, uh-”
“You suck at first aid. Hold on, let me do it,” Caleb said impatiently. He rummaged in one of his belt pouches. “Master always makes me carry a med kit,” he muttered.
He didn’t seem to notice the slip and Ezra was too tired to comment on it. After a moment he emerged victorious. “There,” he said absently, sticking his tongue out as he fished out a bacta patch and some bandage wraps. “Now take off that jacket and hold still.”
Ezra did as ordered and leaned wearily against the wall, Caleb clicking his tongue judgmentally over the inexpert dressing. He carefully took Ezra’s bandage off. Then hesitated.
“That bad?” Ezra guessed.
“No,” Caleb replied automatically, clearly lying. There was a beat. “It’s not the worst I’ve seen,” he amended. “You really should have treated it properly sooner though, or it wouldn’t have gotten like this.”
Ezra thought about Kanan’s nagging and rolled his eyes. “Oh, so you’re an expert, are you?” Caleb sniffed primly.
“Master Che said I have a knack for for being thorough. Even too thorough. Now hold still.”
His hands were hesitant at first, poking at the wound cautiously as he applied the bacta before growing more confident. “Now raise your arm,” he mumbled. Wrapped the cloth, undid it, and then rewrapped it again to his satisfaction. “You stink,” he added as an afterthought as the last length of bandage was secured.
Ezra snorted. “You don’t exactly smell like summer hay yourself.” Caleb gave him a weird look.
“Cannon calling the blaster black,” he grumbled. He gave the bandage one last tweak. “There, all done. Now rest already,” he commanded blearily before clambering back into bed and rolling over into the blankets.
Well, Ezra wasn’t going to argue with that. He waited until Caleb’s soft snores drifted through the air again before attempting to get up, pleasantly surprised when the old searing burn in his shoulder was now just a dull ache. Bacta, huh? There’d never been much of it on the Outer Rim where they’d operated and Ezra only had passing experience with it. If this is what it did no wonder the Empire had kept such a tight hold on it.
Carefully stretching out his newly bandaged shoulder, he almost missed when something hard and small fell out of his pocket.
“Oh.” The holodisk.
He gingerly retrieved it from the ground and flicked it on, staring at the familiar image of his mother and father as they had been in his childhood.
“I’ve-” His voice cracked. He cleared it. “I’ve always remembered the things you taught me. How to be good, be kind, how to stand up for what’s right. But-” Swallowed down the lump in his throat, “But I’ve also grieved you, and laid you to rest. The dark side...it’s tempted me. I needed to learn how to let you go.”
His thumbs rubbed at the worn holodisk case. “I’m going to save you, if I can. I’m going to do everything in my power. But the family I remember, the family I had...that’s never going to come back. And I’m not going to try to make it.”
He hesitated. And then flicked over to the next image.
The faces of the Ghost crew smiled back at him, the six of them turning in surprise towards the doorway. Ketsu had taken it while attempting to get blackmail material on Sabine and had passed the holo on to him later when she’d sorted through the images.
Rex had said the clones had had an old war time tradition, speaking the names of the dead. A name that’s still spoken never truly dies , he’d told him, late in the night cycle when Ezra had found him nursing a drink in the gun turret. He’d let Ezra sit there in silence as he recited a litany that sounded as worn and well tended as the handle of a beloved blaster.
“Hera Syndulla,” Ezra murmured, fingers tracing the amused tilt of her brow as she turned towards the viewer. “Garazeb Orrelios.” His head thrown back, teeth bared in a burst of riotous laughter. “Sabine Wren.” Chin in her hand, eyes slanted towards him with a longsuffering look on her face. “Chopper.” Arms upraised in startled outrage, figure slightly blurry as they charged the viewer.
His finger stopped over the last figure. “Kanan Jarrus.” Eyes bright, settled fondly on Hera with his old ponytail in disarray. Paused, and closed his eyes.
“Ezra Bridger,” he recited last, shutting down the image of his younger self, shaggy hair flopping in his eyes as he basked in the easy affection of his found family.
Rex finishing his litany, closing words like a ritual. We keep your name as an echo down the line.
He tucked the disk over his heart, crawled into bed, and fell into deep sleep.