Disclaimer: Do not own.

-1-

Ezra Bridger was fourteen, and he was afraid. He was afraid because Ahsoka was not. Ahsoka Tano did not fear death.

"It was foretold that you would be here- our long-awaited meeting has come at last."

Ezra swallowed. Vader's robotic breathing bounced off the temple walls, ran down his spine like a phantom wind. He shivered. "Get her away, get her away, get her away from him," his mind screamed. "Don't let someone else you love die."

But he was rooted to the spot, ocean-like eyes boring into Vader's back, useless. Ahsoka flicked her gaze in his direction if only for a moment- a silent plea on her face. Run, she seemed to say. This is my battle.

But Ezra did not run. Instead, he watched as red and white lightsabers clashed with angry pops. And it was then that he understood. Ezra had long lived on the streets, examining fighting styles enough to know that Ahsoka's and Vader's were the same. He closed his eyes, bit back the scream that turned his vision white.

But he did not hold back his yells when Ahsoka locked the world out one last time.

-2-

Agent Kallus went next. Zeb had told him it was a disturbing sight as Fulcrum's body slumped to the floor, three blaster wounds straight through his armored chest. Ezra had not seen it.

But he had heard Zeb's roar.

He felt Kallus fade away- a link lost in the force. From within his stormtrooper disguise, his lightsaber became ledden at his waist. It took all his will not to take off Thrawn's head right then and there.

Zeb was not as collected.

"ZEB- BEHIND YOU!"

The explosion would rattle in his ears long after it was over.

-3-

Zeb was the first of the Ghost crew to go. The explosion that day- one of Sabine's own. It was meant to go off at her command only, at the press of a button as soon as her family was out of the way.

Thrawn rigged it. Thrawn rigged the explosion, and the Ghost crew would accept no other alternative. Sabine blamed herself into oblivion.

And so did Ezra. How dare she, how dare-

"You can only share a room with someone for so long before you start calling them brother," Rex confided in him one day. "Believe me- I know. My brothers- my fellow clones- we… loved one another."

Ezra did not reply, just kept staring straight ahead at the endless space. Rex continued. "I know how you feel, Ezra. And… I'm here. If you ever need to talk."

Ezra did not know when Rex walked out, only that eventually Sabine walked in. He cut her off as soon as she opened her mouth with a sharp turn in her direction. His eyes turned icy as they fixed on her shoulder, where Zeb's face was now painted.

His blood boiled. Red spots danced in his vision. How dare she, how da-

"Ezra- stop!"

And he snapped out of it, took a step back. His vision fixed on the metal door, which was now dented and crushed to the point of uselessness. Ezra dropped a hand he did not even know he was holding up, could have fallen to his knees over the fact that he had destroyed a piece of metal and not his friend's throat.

"Ezra."

Sabine took a step closer. He took a step back.

-4-

Rex died as he lived, with unfailing devotion. Unfailing devotion to his crew. Unfailing devotion to his commander.

So when Kanan, blind and injured, did not sense Vader's approach, Rex did not even hesitate. The clone, aged well passed his prime, flung himself in front of the jedi.

And met the padawan's eyes before the saber pierced his heart.

Brother.

-5-

Of all his friends- of all his family- Sabine Wren was the only one to die in his arms. He did not know which he preferred, watching the light leave a warrior's eyes from afar… or holding them as they struggled to form their last words.

Sabine had the gall to smile through crimson-stained teeth as she bled out through his fingers.

"Don't leave us," and it sounded like he was begging. Ezra, a legal man and knighted jedi, begged.

And Sabine had laughed a bitter laugh, because that's who she was. She was never one for heartfelt moments in words, instead always expressed herself through her art.

"Give me your lightsaber," she muttered. She was paling, her weakness evident in her trembling voice.

Ezra didn't skip a beat as he ripped his blade off his hostler. She let blood from her wound run over her fingers, then used them to etch a starbird into the saber's hilt.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes never leaving her last creation.

He waited for the saber to slip through her cold, stiff fingers before retiring it.

-6-

Kanan's mask was on the ground.

"Ezra, listen to me. You're hurt, you're-"

With a simple flick of his hand, his former master was thrown across the room. "Powerful," Ezra finished. "I'm powerful."

Kanan did not move for several moments, instead laid against the metal wall, eyes distant. His saber laid forgotten at his side, his mouth hanging open in what could only be described as shock.

"I don't see your Jedi calm now," Ezra continued. He stalked toward the fallen Jedi, tried not to notice the graying in his bronze hair or the slowness in his every move. Kanan was his master no longer, and he did not care. He should not care.

"Ezra," Kanan began. "Sabine! Zeb! They wouldn't want this for you," Kanan's eyes softened. "Hera and I are still here," from his place on the floor, the Jedi Knight reached upward to his former padawan. "Let us help you."

The lightsaber in Ezra's hand ignited, casting a crimson glow across the metallic base. How many times had they done this? One of them would fall into darkness, allowing the other to yank them back to the light.

It wasn't worth it. Not anymore. The former padawan raised his lightsaber above his head, meeting his master's eyes one last time before he brought the blade crashing down.

Ezra Bridger was twenty-two, and he was not afraid.