Ezra swung his blade ferociously as he practiced his techniques, each movement more vigorous than the last. His feet made a metallic patter as he slammed his boots into the steel roof of the Ghost and his breathing that had originally started at a steady pace had increased into an exhausted pant. But Ezra was unaware of the sweat that trailed down his neck, or the aching in his bones, or even the burning sting that rippled throughout his muscles with each powerful flex.

No, he didn't pay attention to that. All he could focus on was perfecting his forms.

Swing. Slash. Block. Parry. Block.

There was no space for error anymore.

Back. Block. Counter. Forward. Swing.

But in the back of Ezra's mind all he could do was remember that day…

Jump.

The loss…

Slash.

The pain…

Land.

The cold-

Suddenly, the boy lost his footing and stumbled onto the hard roof surface, face first. His arms and legs screamed in agony when they slammed into the metal, clenching his teeth together in the hopes of easing the pain. But it did nothing more than make his jaw throb that much further.

Ezra opened his eyes in a daze, his vision blurred by the hot tears that swelled within them. He blinked rapidly and moved to push himself up, only to be met with a forceful protest by his own body. His arms shook, his legs unstable as the sweat cascaded down his nose and chin. The teen was utterly exhausted and had been pushed to the limit by his own stubborn will that demanded perfection. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just perfection.

Ezra moaned but, despite his pain, forced himself to his feet. When he finally found his footing, he swayed as his legs began to buckle, before managing to stabilise himself after a few long moments. Ezra took a deep breath and sighed.

Memories hit him like a flood as part of his soul was reactivated…


Sabine's expression was one of great care and concern as she wrapped Ezra's hand where the Sith's lightsaber had grazed his skin. But Ezra remained completely still, his eyes cloudy. It had been nearly half an hour since he and Kanan had returned from Malachor, but both were not who they once were. Kanan, blinded. And Ezra, the light sucked from his usually vibrant presence.

The boy didn't seem to be staring at anything in particular, just his scuffed boots and faded orange pants. But Sabine could see that something was off about him. She glanced up at her friend and asked "How you feeling?"

A ghostly gaze flickered upwards to meet hers, and he replied with an empty tone "Guilty…"

Sabine gave him a sympathetic gaze. "It wasn't your fault Ezra."

A fire ignited within him as he snapped "It was my fault! If I hadn't have been so trusting then Maul wouldn't have… w-wouldn't have…" He trailed off near the end, the spark receding. Ezra returned his gaze to his feet, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as he whispered "I saw the burns Sabine… I saw them…"

The mandalorian placed her hand on his shoulder and spoke soothingly "Kanan is strong, Ezra. He survived, he'll adapt, and then he'll thrive. That's the way he's always been."

Ezra began to sob, tears leaking down his cheeks as he rasped "And what if he doesn't? What if he hates me forever now?"

"Ezra, he could never hate you," Sabine sung as she wrapped an arm around his shoulder. "Kanan is still your master, blind or not."

Ezra shot her an unconvinced look, turning his head away and muttering in a hushed tone "I may be his padawan… but that doesn't mean I deserve to be..."


The teen inhaled sharply, his hands balling into fists despite the burn that followed so. He gripped onto his new lightsaber with disgust, activating the blade once again as he shifted into the starting position. He stared at the sword with hatred, wondering why he was forced to use such a shameful weapon. Its simple base could not compare to his old hilt, the one that once hung comfortably from his belt as he either stunned or swung at opponents with ease.

Now all he had was this piece of junk. It was unappealing, unpleasant to his touch, and most of all, it was not perfect in his mind…


"Kid, maybe you shoulder take a break," Zeb suggested softly. "You've been working on that thing non-stop. Surely you need to rest."

Ezra shook his head rapidly, twisting the screws into the frame of his new lightsaber. "I-It's not ready yet," he muttered with determination.

"I know kid, I know," the Lasat replied with a concerned tone. "But I just don't think it's healthy for you to be sitting there all day making that thing."

The boy's eye twitched slightly as he continued to build his weapon despite his room-mate's displeasure. Zeb sighed and rose from his bunk, stepping toward the jittery teen carefully. He bent down where the boy was perched on his knees, surrounded by pieces of metal and bolts and wires of all different sizes. There Ezra sat with his legs crossed and his back hunched, murmuring words under his breath as he rambled about it not being complete. "Kid," Zeb spoke with a gentle tone. "Kid, just stop."

The older man reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing Ezra to freeze and his eyes to go vacant. "It's not ready…" he rasped, voice scratchy and hoarse.

"I know, but it doesn't have to be-"

"I-It's not p-perfect yet," he stuttered.

Zeb's expression softened. "It doesn't have to be perfect Ezra," he cooed.

Slowly, his stagnant blue gaze flickered towards his hands. Zeb craned his neck to see what his comrade was staring at, only for his eyes to widen at the sight of his raw, red palms, blistered from weeks of creating his incomplete, inadequate and imperfect weapon…


Ezra bared his teeth as he tried to block out the memories, block out his emotions. His mind was not to be trusted, and his gut feeling had failed him… failed Kanan

With a new burst of energy, Ezra flowed through his forms once again, trying harder and harder to erase his stumbles or flaws. Every time he messed up, he started all over again. Every time his body ached, he told himself to stop complaining. Every time he felt weak, he pushed himself that much further.

A sharp grumble pierced his waist as his stomach roared in protest. But Ezra snarled and ignored the empty pit in his gut…


"Ezra, honey, you haven't eaten anything," Hera cooed when she noticed Ezra's vacant gaze. He was sitting at the table, staring at the wall as his plate of food went stone cold. Hera's brow creased into a frown when she stepped forward and placed her hand on his shoulder. But at her touch, he didn't respond. Didn't even flinch.

Concern began to grow within the pilot as her expression softened. "Ezra, it's been three months," she spoke in a calm voice. "You know he doesn't blame you, right?"

He didn't reply. Just kept staring.

Hera ran her fingers through the fringe of his short, blue locks. He had insisted on cutting their length, for reasons she still didn't know. But either way he was just as broken as before. Malachor had taken the Ezra they loved and replaced it with only a shell of who he once was. No more smiles. No more laughter. Only training. Only fighting. Only improving.

But in all honesty Hera would say he was getting worse now. The training made him tired, but he never stopped his sessions. His stomach could be empty for hours on end, yet he never had an appetite. They could try everything in their power to make him happy again, but the spark would never ignite. He was completely empty. A ghost himself.

Hera sighed and said warmly "I'm here for you Ezra, if you ever want to talk about anything."

Again, there was no response. The Twi'lek was about to give up hope until after a few moments, the teen rose to his feet, murmured a quiet thanks and swiftly departed the room, leaving Hera in complete and utter silence…


In the middle of his swung, Ezra's legs bucked and he fell to the floor again with a grunt. He laid there for a prolonged moment, his eyes half lidded as he stared off into the distance. He would have fallen asleep right there if he could have.

But his mind refused to do so, pushing his overworked limbs to do as they were told. They strained under the weight as Ezra tried to heave himself up, but to his great displeasure, with little success. His energy was all but non-existent, and his body was close to a complete meltdown. When the breeze hit his face he could feel the sweat pouring down his skin and soaking into his clothes. It chilled his burning flesh so much it made him shiver.

But never the less, he persevered, finally dragging himself to his feet. With wavering legs he reached for his sword again, the blue beam shimmering in the air as he stared at it in a slur. He sniffled and swung the blade, his form much more clumsy than what it once was.

Come on Bridger. Don't be weak!

He snarled at himself and slashed again, this time with much more power. But with that power came the wave of exhaustion that followed.

Don't stop! Keep fighting!

Ezra took a ragged breath and swung upwards in a large arc, until his legs finally gave way and he staggered onto his knees. The tears made their presence known as clear liquid began sliding off his nose. What it was, he couldn't tell.

He released a sharp sob and sniffed, disappointed with his poor technique. Kanan would never approve of such weakness in a student. He had to keep striving for that perfection he craved so much!

So with that one incentive, Ezra buried his pain deep down and forced himself upright once again. He sluggishly found his footing and raised his blade, trying his best to steady his racing heartbeat.

Must keep trying. Must make up for my mistakes…

Ezra raised the beam, about to bring it down in another ferocious strike until-

"Stop."

The air was sucked clean from Ezra's lungs, a shiver running down his spine at the sheer sound of his voice. He remained completely rigid, his eyes wide in shock, when the voice cooed again "Ezra."

Tears blurred the teen's vision and the blade trembled in his grip. The sound of footsteps approached, gentle and rhythmic, as Kanan spoke again "Please, Ezra. Stop."

Ezra could not disobey his master. He had disobeyed him back on Malachor, ignored his advice, trusted the one who used him and blinded his teacher. So no, Ezra wouldn't dare turn his back on the man's command.

Slowly, Ezra lowered the blade, his breathing strained and ragged. He stared at the hilt with petrified blue orbs, sweat practically pouring down his neck and soaking into his clothes. The footsteps grew closer as the presence he had once been so familiar with came forward, closing the gap between teacher and student.

Ezra gasped when Kanan's hand brushed against his arm, a sob escaping his lips as he rasped fearfully "P-Please don't be mad at me…"

The boy sensed his master's emotions flicker to a deep sorrow as a firm grip settled on his shoulder, Ezra wincing at his touch and tightening the grasp around the base of his lightsaber. "I-I'm not ready yet," he stuttered.

"You've been telling me that for the past four months, Ezra," he spoke softly. Ezra felt Kanan shift to beside him, not daring enough to raise his gaze to the charred remains of Kanan's eyes… of his own mistake…

Ezra panted, explaining with a hitch "I-I haven't p-perfected form three… I-I can't show you until I get it right…"

"Ezra," Kanan soothed again, placing his other hand a top of his own. Ezra's muscles coiled around his bones, staring at his master's hand through a blaze of hot tears. It was so gentle, his touch so warm. It was the complete opposite of Ezra's freezing, callused palms, shuddering under Kanan's comforting presence.

"Please… just stop," Kanan pleaded. "If not for me, do it for you, and your health."

Finally, stagnant blue orbs flickered upwards and gazed at the man through the short navy blue fringe. Ezra winced when he saw his bandaged eyes, how Kanan's head was turned in his general direction, but not directly facing the boy as such. Guilt and anger swirled within him like a storm. The hatred he felt towards Maul. The regret for the disability he had brought down on his master. The reminder that everything that had happened was a result of his own naïve nature. His ability to be fooled by hollow lies. His overall stupidity and selfishness that had blinded the one who loved him like a son…

Looking back at it now Ezra could only see how dumb he had been. It was a simple choice. Your master, the most trustworthy person who loved you dearly, or random stranger, who you found hobbling in the caverns of an abandoned sith temple. Easy decision you'd think.

But no, Ezra chose wrong, and it was Kanan and Ahsoka who had paid the price. Kanan was blinded, and Ahsoka was… was…

"Ezra, calm down," Kanan's voice interjected, snapping him from his distant thoughts. "You need to let go of the lightsaber."

The boy glanced down at his hands, not even realising that when his grip had tightened his fingers began digging into the sharp crevices of the lightsaber hilt, pain rippling throughout his nerves as the metal came close to breaking skin. Ezra just stared at the scene with a blank expression. It was as if he didn't really care, if he got injured. Like maybe it would act as some kind of punishment for whatever pain Kanan had experienced.

So blue eyes narrowed into slits as he wrapped his grip like a snake around the hilt and pressed firmly into the metal. "Ezra!" Kanan snapped, realising what he was doing and trying to pry his fingers away. "You're hurting yourself! Please! Stop!"

For a small moment Ezra resisted, until his energy levels completely hit rock bottom and the tension within his muscles unbound. The lightsaber extinguished when it fell from his grasp, his eyelids grew heavy and his knees crumbled simultaneously. But not a moment after he was suddenly pulled into someone's warm arms, the boy's head resting against Kanan's shoulder as he gasped for fresh air that never seemed to come. "I'm… s-sorry," he choked out, his voice scratchy and hoarse. "I t-thought… I could make… it better…" His legs wavered and his body shuddered. Glancing up, he sobbed "P-Please… don't be mad… at me…"

Kanan didn't move his head. He was still facing in the direction Ezra was standing at moment prior, his head held high. But the man moved one arm to Ezra's back, sharing the weight of the teen's weak figure, while the other one gently stroked Ezra's head. "It's okay, I'm not mad at you," the Jedi soothed as his fingers ran through Ezra's short locks. "I never was."

The tears finally leaked out of his eyes and Ezra began to weep. He buried his face into the fabric of Kanan's shirt and cried his heart out, allowing all the emotions that had been festering over 4 long months to slide of his back.

"Oh Ezra," Kanan sighed, holding the boy tightly in his embrace. "Why didn't you tell me sooner about all this?"

"I-I was afraid," Ezra sobbed. "I t-thought that if I was perfect… you'd forgive me for what h-happened…"

Kanan released a long, steady breath, replying calmly "There's nothing you could have done Ezra. And there's nothing you can do to fix it now. I'm like this, but that doesn't matter."

Ezra grinded his teeth together and hissed "I don't d-deserve your forgiveness."

"I'm not forgiving you," he spoke firmly, until his tone softened and he added "After all, you can't forgive what you didn't blame in the first place."

Slowly, the boy glanced up with blurry eyes. "You… Y-You don't blame me?"

"That's right," Kanan answered, lowering his head and resting it a top of Ezra's. He hugged the boy fiercely and wrapped his calming presence around his fragile frame while Ezra, after months of depression, anxiety and isolation, finally felt like he had been accepted again. Like he didn't need to prove his worthiness any further.

"Don't think for a moment that I ever thought it was your fault…" Kanan whispered softly into his ear. "Because to me, you are completely blameless…"

And for the first time since Malachor, Ezra smiled


Hello! Hello! Hello!

Now, before you say it-

*Dodges rotten tomatoes and starts running from an angry mob*

Whoa! Calm your farm people! I know it's been ages since I last updated, but I've had a lot on my damn mind okay?! I've got travelling a country, being a marriage councillor for my parents, catching up on half a terms work of school and my new school term while also trying to keep on top of my fanfiction stories!

I! AM! BLOODY! STRESSED!

So for those of you who were complaining about me not updating sooner, I'm telling you to go stick it up your-

Inner Fangirl- "Whoa! Sorry about that everyone, Tiger's just been having a short fuse lately. I'll take it from here Super."

*Super storms off and goes cry in a corner*

Sorry everyone, she really does care about all of you, she's just really stress at the moment (if you couldn't tell by her little tantrum).

Anyways guys, this is Inner Fangirl here just filling you in on a bit. The next super bomb probably won't be anytime soon. Tiger has a lot on her mind lately, and she (AKA me) is also so excited for STAR WARS CELEBRATION! I'm not going to it, but I'm hoping there's a livestream of the Star Wars Rebels Season 3 panel! I've been in such anticipation for new content and I hope I'm not the only one slowly going nuts! Raise your hand if you needed guidance counselling after that finale, am I right?

But anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little one shot! It was a bit delayed *cough* three months *cough*, but hopefully it was well worth it!

But until the next Super Bomb or my next session of therapy once the new trailer comes out, may the force be with you, always!

-Superherotiger (and Fangirl)