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tarisilmarwen · 2 years

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Whumptober 2022 - “Sinking Worry“

(It's basically Whumptober tradition by now for me to hurt either Ezra or Teen Titans Robin but none of the prompts this year really struck me for Robin so Ezra it was. Not that any of y'all are complaining, lol.

Set early S1, idk sometime before "Rise of the Old Masters".

Prompts used!

No. 23 At The End Of Their Rope: Forced To Kneel/Tied To A Table/"Hold them down."

Alt. 7 Protective)

---

Hera stirred, feeling pleasantly stiff and warm all over. Taking a few moments to blink back into awareness, she realized that she was still curled up next to Kanan in her bunk.

Must've dozed off, she thought. She hadn't exactly intended to, but with Chopper running diagnostics in the cockpit and the other three out on their own separate tasks it was just all too easy to relax for a bit, afterwards, snuggle up next to him and be content under his arm.

Pushing the blanket off them she sat up, bare feet swinging down to the floor. Kanan roused at her movement, shifting, prying eyes open and squinting them.

"Did we fall asleep?" he asked.

"Looks like," Hera quipped with a smile, stretching her arms high above her head. The air unit cycled cool air on her skin. She worked a kink out of both of her shoulders, rolling them, then reached down for the pile of clothes at the base of the bed.

"Must have been more tired than we thought," Kanan mused. "How long were we out?"

Hera tugged on her top and underclothes quickly, mode turning professional and business-like. "Couple hours I think," she said, sliding on her jumpsuit, weaving her arms through the straps. "Chopper's probably still debugging the mainframe, otherwise he would have woken us." She pulled on her boots, tucking her feet into their insulated insides.

Kanan lingered in the bunk as she stood, going to her comms station and switching it on to check over the messages.

She frowned after scanning them for a few moments. She scrolled back up to the top of the entries and searched again. There was their mission briefing from Fulcrum that day... there was her outgoing one informing them of their success... the test pings before she'd sent the "kids" out, to make sure everyone's comlinks were working...

From the bed, Kanan sat up on his elbows, reading the shift in her mood. "What is it?" he asked.

Hera's mouth wrinkled. She checked a third time, opening up individual messages to read the transcripts this round.

"Ezra hasn't checked in yet," she told him. Her eyes scanned through entries, noting with satisfaction that Sabine and Zeb had both finished up their individual errands and met up in the central market to get groceries with the extra credits, but still anxiously searching for mentions of their youngest Spectre. "I sent him to the south district slums to check for that package Jho had sent to us at the usual drop point. He was supposed to comm every half hour to report his progress."

"Maybe he got distracted?" Kanan offered, though a twinge of nerves and annoyance was starting to creep through him as well.

Hera huffed. "He knows how important keeping in contact is, I have told him so many times—"

She stopped her tirade as Kanan shifted forward with a rustle, voice gentle. "Calm down," he said. "He isn't used to this. I'm sure he just forgot." He slipped his legs over the side of the bed. "And he'll get an earful about it when he gets back," he promised.

He grinned, attempting to be playful with her, but it faded when he saw the furrow between Hera's brows, how her features twisted.

"What?"

Hera inhaled through her nose. "He seemed a little nervous before going out. Asked if I was sure of the drop point more than once." She finally stopped scrolling through messages, shutting off the log. "I didn't think about it at the time but..." Her lekku swished as she looked over her shoulder at him. "Does Spiceman's Corner mean anything to you? Ring any bells?"

"Not to my knowledge," Kanan admitted.

Biting her lip, Hera turned back to the comm station for a long moment, considering.

"I'm calling him," she decided, opening the channel, pressing the buttons with a little more agitation than normal.

Kanan quietly began redressing, keeping one ear open and one eye on Hera as she spoke into the receiver.

"Spectre Six, come in. You missed the last three check-ins, over."

There was no response. Both of them strained for several moments, waiting to hear the boy's voice—always too bright, too casual, too sure of himself—but there was nothing.

"Spectre Six, please respond," Hera tried again.

No answer.

"Ezra I know you can hear me," Hera growled, dispensing with pleasantries and codenames. "If you can't answer just give me a couple clicks on the line. Something."

His comm better not be off, she thought furiously, even as her gut began to churn with an ill feeling.

Pushing up straight, Hera stalked to the door and hit the button to open it.

"Chopper!" she barked. "I need you in here for a minute."

Kanan heard Chopper complaining from the cockpit as he finished pulling on his clothes, taking out his own comlink.

"I know you're busy, find a stopping point and get back here!" Hera snapped.

Kanan held his comlink in his hand, rolling it in his palm with agitation, resisting the urge to make his own call to their wayward teenager. Prickles of anxiety tickled at his head; he reached out to the Force for calm but only got more of the same staticy feeling. Which was not reassuring at all.

With a slowly growing squeak of rolling wheels, Chopper made his way from the cockpit, grumbling all the while. The droid stopped in front of Hera's door and Hera stepped out into the hall with him.

"Can you check Ezra's comlink?" she asked, gentler but still anxious. "Make sure it's working?"

Chopper beeped to acknowledge, then extended his dish to swivel for a few seconds.

"WUB WUBB WUB WUB WUUB. WUB WUB."

"His comm is not off," Hera translated. "The line is clear."

"WUB WUB WUBBA WUB."

"It's just being—" Hera's voice hitched as her breath caught, and Kanan caught a spike of fear rising from her. She looked at him with widening eyes. "—jammed," she finished in horror.

Kanan's stomach dropped.

Their fears realized, the two lingered in horrified eye contact for a moment. Then they rushed into frantic motion, Kanan yanking the drawer with his lightsaber open, Hera stowing her comlink and strapping her blasters in their holsters, barking commands to Chopper all the while.

"Chopper, see if you can pinpoint Ezra's last location," she ordered. Her eyes darted back at Kanan as she rushed through the cockpit. "I'll take Block 12 through Block 25," she told him.

"I've got through Block 30," Kanan said.

Both adults slid down the ladder one after another and ran down the open ramp into the long Lothal grass.

***

Ezra pulled back and fought against the hands latched around his arms and yanking him forward down the hall but their grips were firm, squeezing. His feet skidded on the smooth polished floor as he tried to find some traction but it was no use, they had too tight a hold on him, he couldn't break free.

He swallowed dryly as he was led to a door at the end of the hallway. The room beyond was one he was, unfortunately, familiar with, vials and bottles lining multiples shelves along the walls, scattered and half open on tables, beakers full of the same stuff brewing over flames and being carefully mixed and ground into powders. A lone medical table took up a prominent place of display to his left, spotlit under one of the florescents. A tall figure with tufted ears stood in front of it, hands clasped behind him, back turned until Ezra was dragged in.

The Zygerrian turned his head, slick, oily smile cold at the edges.

"Bridger, Bridger, Bridger..." he tutted.

Ezra shrank under the vaguely hostile stare and the disappointed tone, feeling his arms as very small and skinny breakable sticks in the heavies' grips.

"Boss Irozi," he wavered. "Spiceman" himself, so named for his extensive underground spice manufacturing and distribution network in Capitol City, focusing extensively in the overcrowded southern slums where the poorest were shunted off when they couldn't pay the Empire's increasingly higher rent rates. "It's uh... been a while," he said, grasping for what to say that wouldn't immediately get him blastered in the stomach.

Irozi's demeanor was eerily pleasant, the man turning around and walking up with a casual ease. "It has, hasn't it? Haven't seen you around much, kid."

Ezra tried not to flinch as he closed in, looming tall above Ezra's slight frame.

"Almost feels like you've been... avoiding me," Irozi continued, just the barest needlepoint of sharpness in his voice now, an undertone that sounded alarm bells in Ezra's ears through the Force. Danger, danger, it whispered at him, like it had so reliably many times before.

His gaze flicked briefly towards his trapped right wrist, wondering what it would take to twist free. In the meantime his mouth kept moving, chattering, hoping to keep the drug lord distracted enough for him to slip loose.

"Me? Never. I've just been busy, you know?" A few experimental pulls just seem to annoy the henchmen, who tightened hands on him, painfully pinching. "Things to steal, Imps to dupe. You know how it is. Gotta keep merchandise flowing if I hope to have enough to survive the winter." He wished he could reach his comlink but it was stowed in his belt, and the one time he'd been left unattended long enough to pull it out—back when they'd thrown him in a slaver pen for a bit, in the forward part of the complex—it hadn't been able to get through. He didn't look the drug lord in the eyes, nervously shifting his gaze anywhere else, still babbling, trying to talk his way out. "Had to move away from the area because the pickings were getting thi—"

Boss Irozi's paw snapped out, slapping Ezra open-palmed across the cheek.

Ezra yelped at the pain, fear spiking through him, the Force's warning shrill in his ears. He looked up to see all pleasantry gone from Irozi's face, nothing left but snarling anger.

"Don't lie to me," the Zygerrian growled. "You know why you're here, you little thief."

Dread tightening in his throat, Ezra couldn't help the tremble that ran through him. "I... I don't know what you mean," he stammered.

Irozi's arm snapped out again, seizing Ezra by the neck. The heavies let go of his arms as their boss yanked Ezra across the room, slamming him facedown onto one of the tables. He hit with an uncomfortable crack! The bottles and equipment rattled loudly as he was pinned down, Irozi's meaty hand on the back of his head.

"The creds, Bridger!" the Zygerrian shouted. "You stole a fat 1k from the last package I had you pick up for me." The sharp talon nails of his fingers dug painfully into Ezra's scalp, and he screwed his face. "Don't even bother denying it," Irozi said. "That was the only job I had running that day that came up short and coincidence of coincidences you tucked up and went scarce right after finishing that little errand for me."

Ezra said nothing, holding very still, fear beating a dull rhythm in his chest.

The pressure eased off his head, but Ezra didn't even get to raise his cheek from the table; Irozi grabbed up both his wrists with one paw and pinned them up against his back, in the same motion pulling a nasty-looking, sparking electroknife from his belt and jamming it into the table inches from Ezra's nose.

The boy drew in a sharp hitch of breath, wide eyes watching the blade crackle right next to him.

"I'm gonna give you one chance to tell me the truth," Irozi said, tone oddly cordial again, "and explain to me why—after all the work I so generously gave you, all those times your pal Boss Irozi kept your scrawny hide out of trouble, kept you from starving—you'd go and steal from me, huh?" The knife was pulled out of the table and teased along Ezra's cheek, the electricity buzzing and tingling on his skin. "Why would you do that?"

Ezra gulped. All his right eye could see was the painful blue-white sizzle of the electroknife, too close, too bright. He had to force himself to breathe, panic and terror seeping through him.

He didn't bother to lie.

"I... I got sick that month. Really sick," he confessed, voice small and tight. Saying it immediately brought back the memory of the burning heat, the dizziness, the dread at knowing it was only going to get worse. "I just needed enough credits to buy the antibiotics!"

Irozi snorted. "You didn't look that sick."

Ezra clenched his jaw and fumed silently. The Zygerrian himself had told him he'd looked dead on his feet. Boss Irozi raked in hundreds of thousands of credits from his operation and he was going to hold a paltry thousand over a sick, starving kid?

"I can pay you—" Ezra started to offer.

"Ain't about the money, Bridger, it's about the principle," Irozi interrupted. "Anyone that cheats me gets what's coming to them." The knife withdrew, the crackling tingle pulling away. Ezra almost sighed in relief as Irozi put it down, but then curled in revulsion as the clawed fingers stroked over his face, tracing the line of his jaw. "You remember all those times I joked about selling you off" His eyes were thoughtful, appraising him. "Could still get a pretty penny for you, I bet," he mused.

Ezra felt his throat strangle, the breath clogging inside him, an open expression of dread on his face.

"But first I'm gonna teach you a lesson," Irozi hissed, eyes narrowing sharply.

He let Ezra up and barked something at his henchmen. They quickly came forward, grabbing Ezra while he was still disoriented, hauling him towards the medical table.

"No..." Ezra gasped, voice choked with fear. The panic hit him fully and he struggled, thrashing arms and legs. "No! Lemme go! Lemme go!" He kicked and flailed out wildly as the men lifted him onto the table. "You can't do this!"

"Hold him down," Irozi ordered coldly, and Ezra's breath froze in his lungs as the henchman pinned him heavily in place and wrapped thick canvas straps around his wrists and ankles.

Eyes darting frantically around the room, Ezra tried desperately to think. His breaths were shortening, each inhale seeming thinner and less sufficient. He tried to shake himself; he couldn't afford to panic, he had to get out, he had to get back to the Ghost and—

He wished desperately that Kanan or Hera were here. Surely they'd noticed he was missing by now, right?

The straps were pulled tight and Ezra held back a whimper, biting his lip so hard it hurt. Irozi idly spun his knife, smug look on his face, and Ezra's heart sank.

It just figured that right when his life was looking up something would come kick him down.

He glared at the drug lord through burning eyes as a final strap wound across his chest.

"Aww, are you mad?" mocked Irozi. "That's cute."

Ezra pulled against the straps with a low snarl, determined not to give the drug lord the satisfaction of seeing him quivering and afraid. Irozi approached, knife in one hand, pulling a small velvet pouch out of his pocket with the other.

"Care to sample some of the new merchandise?" The pouch was upturned and emptied over Ezra's face, sparkling red dust coating him, and Ezra coughed as he choked on it, feeling particles lodge up his windpipe. Irozi looked hideously satisfied as he explained, "It's a new type of glitterstim the boys cooked up. Gives a high like no other but also... enhances the user's sensitivity to pain. The Imps seem to like it a lot, prepaid me for two whole crates already."

Ezra tried to breathe past the drug, tried to concentrate on the words, but they already sounded watery, weirdly vibrating. The spotlight on the table was too bright; he felt light-headed and dizzy. A dazed, floating feeling seemed to come over him.

Through blurring eyes he watched Irozi carefully draw back his knife, his heart thumping with fear.

***

Kanan rushed from one side of the street to the other, calling out with the Force, frantically asking after Ezra to anyone he met along the way. He caught a glimpse of Hera as she turned a corner to his left, pulling out of her sweep of the next street over.

"Any sign of him?" he asked anxiously, grabbing hold of her.

"Not yet," she told him, lekku swinging as she shook her head. "I've already commed Zeb and Sabine, they're on their way over. Chopper's working on trying to get around the jamming. Sabine's been monitoring the Imperial chatter but there's been no reports of them arresting or catching Ezra."

His hands tightened around her elbows just briefly, a silent reassurance, and then he turned back with a brief, "I'll keep going down this way."

She nodded and darted back off.

Kanan slowed his pace as he walked past a Stormtrooper patrol, forcing himself to act casual, like his body wasn't clanging with worry that grew every second. He eavesdropped on their conversation, but it was all useless small talk, clock off times and ship specs, nothing that would help him.

Once out of their sight he resumed his frantic scanning through his senses. He just could feel Ezra as a vague presence, something distant and ill-defined, enough to know his padawan was alive somewhere but nothing that would tell him where the boy was, if he was all right. Kanan bit his tongue, kicking himself for not focusing on developing the fledgling fragile training bond.

Breathless, he stopped at the next storefront, really more of an open counter cut into the wall, with a hollow containing the wares on neat shelves behind, to ask the attendant his usual question.

"Have you seen a kid?" He measured out from right below his shoulders with a hand. "'bout yay high, fourteen years old, dark hair, blue eyes? Wears orange?"

Instead of the expected, "Nope, sorry," the shopkeeper looked thoughtful, yellow reptilian eyes pensive.

"You got a picture?" he asked.

"Uh..." Kanan fished around in his pockets and belt. "Yeah, uh... here," he said, finding a small holoprojector. He flicked it on and a flickering blue image of Ezra's face appeared, grinning and bright-eyed. Hera had taken it right after their first successful mission together. Ezra had performed beautifully, worked seamlessly with them as a team. He'd been so excited afterwards.

Kanan pulled himself out of the memory, noticing that the shopkeeper had a stony expression. The man carefully glanced from left to right, checking for anyone who might overhear, and then beckoned Kanan closer.

Pulse thumping, Kanan moved in, almost pressing up against the counter.

"I saw him," the shopkeeper whispered, through his thick cracked lips. "Almost an hour ago. Was with a couple of Spiceman's guys. Big fellas, enforcers I think. One of them had his arm around the kid all friendly-like, like—" He opened an arm out in a pantomime of a side-hug. "—but... kid didn't look comfortable. Had scared eyes. Kept wiggling like he didn't wanna be there. Heavy wouldn't let him go."

Stomach turning over and adrenaline beating an anxious rhythm inside him, Kanan pressed hands against the counter. "Do you know where they went?" he pressed.

"My guess, they probably took him to Boss Irozi's spice compound. Corner of 6th grid and Lothblossom Avenue." The yellow eyes bore into him. "Better be careful. Spiceman doesn't like intruders."

Kanan stowed the holoprojector and fished a handful of credits from the same pocket, dropping them into the shopkeepers claws. "Thank you so much, you have no idea how worried we've been."

"Don't relax 'til you've got him," the shopkeeper grunted, nevertheless accepting the generous gift and fading back into the hollow of his shop to straighten some merchandise.

Kanan scrambled for his comlink, putting it to his lips as he jogged down the street, scanning the aurebesh signs as he went. "Hera, I know where Ezra is. Shopkeeper I talked to says he ran into the enforcers of some kind of crime boss and he's probably at their facility now. 6th grid and Lothblossom Avenue, on the corner."

"'Spiceman's Corner'," Hera said, in quiet realization. "I should have pressed Ezra about that."

"Worry about that later," Kanan told her, veering around a corner. "I'll meet you there."

"Be careful," she implored.

"No promises," he quipped, humorlessly.

He stowed the comm and increased speed.

***

The compound looked admittedly impressive, unmarked buildings facing the street, watchmen on the roof patrolling with laser rifles, a narrow alley running alongside. Kanan crouched down behind a speeder as close as he could get, scanning.

"There's a side entrance that's more lightly guarded," he whispered into the comlink. "I'll clear a path for you."

"All right. I'm almost on top of you," Hera told him.

Taking that as his cue, Kanan extended a hand towards the sentries on the roof, sending a bit of Force trickery into their minds. Both of them swiveled, marching towards the opposite side, checking out the source of the distraction.

Kanan darted forward into the alley, crossing the distance to the side entrance in a few short steps and clotheslining one guard into the door, grappling briefly with the second before putting him down with a heavy punch to the helmet.

Adrenaline surging, ringing in his ears, Kanan slipped in through the door, holding it open and waiting. After a few moments Hera's light footsteps came trotting up. She passed through the open door and joined him, blaster already out and in her hands.

Silent communication passed between their eyes and then they proceeded.

Kanan kept a wary guard out, leading the way as they moved silently through the halls. They avoided detection as they sped through the compound. Now that they were closer, Ezra's presence in the Force was stronger... but there was something fuzzy about it. Slippery. Kanan strained after the thin blue wavering light, using it to direct their path forward.

After a while though, he didn't need it. Ezra's signature flared up with a hot wave of fear and pain, in tandem with the boy's cries ringing down the hallway.

Both he and Hera stopped for a moment in horror.

They increased their pace to double time, running quietly down the corridor until they came to an open doorway. Kanan pulled them up short, flattening them against the frame.

He took a peek inside.

Two large enforcers were standing to the sides of the room, which looked to be a brewery of some sort. A tall Zygerrian was looming over a medical table towards the other end. Kanan's heart clenched when he saw Ezra, strapped down, nearly horizontal on the gurney. His eyes were red and burning at the edges, and chest resembled a bit of a pincushion, tiny rips and tears in the front of his shirt. The Zygerrian was being very careful to make only shallow incisions, letting the electric blade of his knife do most of the work. He jabbed the tip into Ezra's collar as Kanan watched, horrified.

The sparks flared up, sizzling into Ezra's body.

"Nnnnggh!" he cried, back arching and seizing from the shock.

Kanan drew back furiously, a kind of raw parental anger flaring up inside him. He signaled to Hera—three unfriendlies—motioned where she should go, then slipped his own blaster out of the holster and braced against the frame.

Three... two...

Kanan rounded the frame and burst into the room like a gust of wind. One shot, precisely aimed at a thick neck, and the first heavy was down. One, two, three, as the other one was turning around, staggering him, a fourth shot straight to the chest to finally topple him over. Hera slipped into the room behind him as he fired, circling the perimeter, crouched low to the ground and ducking behind the labtables for cover.

The Zygerrian whipped around, thankfully drawing the knife out of Ezra, who gasped and then panted, chest heaving, almost sobbing.

Boss Irozi, Kanan presumed, froze, his expression turning to shock when he saw Kanan there, and his enforcers on the ground.

Kanan leveled his blaster at him. "Get away from him," he growled, voice low.

Over on the gurney, Ezra lifted his head, glassy-eyed like someone had dropped a film over his irises. His gasping hitched. "Kanan..." he whimpered, relieved.

Boss Irozi quickly got over his initial shock. Turning a glare at the older Jedi he demanded, "Who the hell are you?"

"Get. Away. From him," Kanan just repeated.

The Zygerrian didn't move, ears flicking forward with interest. "I'll be," he marveled. The knife crept dangerously back closer to Ezra, and Kanan's finger stiffened on the trigger. "Bridger got himself some friends."

With a pointed glare at Kanan, Boss Irozi retreated—not away from the medical table but futher alongside it—grabbing a thick handful of Ezra's hair and pressing the sizzling blade against his neck. Kanan tensed.

"You made a big mistake coming onto my turf," the drug lord growled. "You've got ten seconds to scram before I—"

Whatever he was intending to threaten, he didn't get to say; Hera sprang out from behind cover and got off three shots.

Irozi dropped the knife, grabbing at his chest with wide eyes before collapsing backwards onto the floor.

Hera came forward, lowering her blaster as she rushed up to the gurney.

"Hera..." Ezra warbled, misting eyes threatening to spill over.

"It's okay, Ezra," Hera reassured him with a smile, cupping his cheeks softly. "We're both here. We'll get you out of here, don't worry."

Kanan felt nerves shudder out of him, his hands shaking as he dropped his arms and struggled to put away his weapon. He joined Hera at the gurney and reached for the straps to unfasten them. Hera checked Ezra over for other injuries, but it seemed mostly contained to the myriad shallow cuts. Nevertheless, Ezra hissed in pain every time he was jostled.

Hera pried open his eyes, checking his reaction to the light. "You here with me okay, sweetie?" she asked.

He mumbled something about glitterstim, then looked up at her pitifully.

"I didn't get Jho's package," he told her, in a quivering, devastated tone.

"Shh, shh," Hera shushed him as Kanan finished undoing the straps. They both pulled him up into a limp embrace. "Don't even worry about that right now. You're safe. That's all that matters. I'm sorry it took us so long to realize something was wrong," she apologized with a slight tremble.

He hiccuped, and then his face fell into her shoulder.

Kanan glanced anxiously towards the door. "We should go before the boss's henchmen decide to investigate all that blasting."

Hera nodded, angling Ezra and carefully lifting him into Kanan's arms. Kanan took the kid awkwardly, like he was fragile glass, clinging maybe just a little bit tighter than he needed to. Ezra felt smaller than he looked, especially curling up against his chest.

"Let's go," Hera said, cocking her blaster and leading the way out.

***

Zeb and Sabine met them in the cargo hold, as they came in from the grasses onto the metal ramp.

"You found him!" Sabine exclaimed, rushing forward.

"So I guess he didn't run off this time," Zeb grunted, though tension seemed to ease out of his shoulders. "Drat. Was kind of hoping to get my room back," he joked.

Kanan cradled Ezra, whose head bobbed and swiveled like a gyroscope as he tried to take in the cargo hold. "'ssat smell?" he slurred. His eyes landed on Sabine and then widened. "Wow, you're really colorful."

Sabine's face pinched with concern. "Is... is he high?" she asked incredulously.

Kanan grimaced. "Disgruntled spice lord ex-employer drugged him with something before we got to him," he explained. "We think."

Hera began ascending the ladder. "Go ahead and put him down, Kanan, I'll get the medkit."

Wearily, Kanan set Ezra down on a cargo crate and began trying to undo his shirt. Ezra giggled randomly, gazing towards Sabine with glazed adoration.

"Hair's really pretty," he said. "Dunno if I ever told you."

"Oh, yeah, no, he's definitely loopy," Zeb commented. He leaned in and took a brief sniff, then clapped a paw over his sensitive nose. "Whew, that's potent! He won't be coming down off that for hours."

Sabine got a mischievous grin, holding up her hands and backing towards the ladder. "Oh man, hang on," she said. She swiveled and tramped up the ladder rungs.

"Sabine—!" Kanan started to call out to her in warning. Ezra had already been snatched off the street and almost tortured that day, he didn't need anyone humiliating him in his drugged state.

"I'm just going to get my charcoals!" she shouted back in loud reassurance. "And maybe a few hair clips," she added. "Gonna need to keep him occupied while he works it out of his system."

Kanan sighed in aggravation, but let her go.

***

Later, after Ezra's wounds were dressed and they'd pried a mostly-coherent story out of him—how Irozi's men had cornered him before he could make it to the drop point, how they'd dragged him along as they completed a couple errands before taking him to the compound, how he'd tried to call out but couldn't get through—Hera and Kanan watched from the cargo room balcony as he and Zeb and Sabine passed pages of scribbles around. All three of them had hair clips stuck various places in their hair and Ezra had even let Sabine give him a little side braid. He was still riding the euphoria from the glitterstim, but seemed to be calm and comfortable even with his pain oversensitivity.

Hera gave a sigh next to him.

"That was way too close," she said quietly.

Kanan nodded in agreement with a frown. "Sorry for distracting you," he said.

"No, it's my fault. I shouldn't have fallen asleep," she countered. "I'll just make sure the comms are on and set to ring next time."

"That wouldn't have helped us this time," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but it'll make me feel better," Hera sighed.

Kanan chuckled. He wrapped a hand around hers, squeezing gently.

They could only do their best. That was what she kept telling him. Kanan pushed down the guilty lump of self-blame, of all the things he could have, should have, done better to protect Ezra, even as they rose up to try and choke him. All his inadequacies and failures, they were irrelevant right now, he told himself. He could let himself get insecure again later.

Right now, Ezra was safe.

And that was all that mattered.

#whumptober2022 #ezra bridger #star wars rebels #star wars #whump #fanfiction #prompt fics #space dad and his precious pumpkin child #kanan x hera

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