A/N: Alright, here's the first of this three-part Origin cluster. Heads up, the angst is back.
Chapter 21: Origins — Lothal
Kanan took several steps into the quiet cantina and smiled.
"Hey, Maz."
The small alien woman frowned at Kanan with magnified eyes as she cleaned her bar, and Kanan carried on as if he didn't know she was looking at him with a heavy dose of disappointment. Using his walking stick, he pretended to find his way to an empty bar stool after accidentally disturbing another patron. The girthy Besalisk snarled at him in anger from where he'd been hunched over in drunken sleep. It was only once Kanan had taken a seat several places from the grumpy Besalisk that he put his head back down on his upper set of arms and dropped off once more.
Maz eyed him as she approached from her side of the bar. "Kanan. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised to see you."
Kanan grinned roguishly in the direction of the elderly pirate, pulling out the old charm he used only with her. He'd first met her years ago, sporting the exact same grin, and had used it every time he saw her since. He knew it did little more than make her roll her eyes.
"Don't know what you mean."
He lifted his eyebrows expectantly as he held his roguish charm, and though the old pirate's lips pulled in a deeper frown, Kanan was pleased when he saw her wave to the bartender. He was careful not to let it show on his face until a mug of Maz's infamous grog – a specialty she only ever bestowed upon friends or the unlucky, though which he was tonight was in question – was pressed into his hand, some of its contents slopping onto his dirty fingers.
"You better pay this time, boy," Maz muttered lowly as she climbed on the counter to sit next to him, her eyes peering out into her bar. There wasn't much to keep an eye on. This time of night – or morning as it was – most had either wandered away or dropped off as the angry one had over there. A few still lingered in the far and dark corners, but so long as no one bothered them, they were content to mind their own business. For all it mattered, it might as well have been him and Maz alone in the large room.
Kanan always made sure it was like this, before he ever came to Maz's.
"Oh, come on Maz. We both know you keep an open tab for me."
Careful to keep up appearances, he traced his fingers blindly up to the lip of his mug, hooking a finger over the edge to find the top of his drink. He swallowed a mouthful with a face, followed by a sigh of relief. He'd been waiting for this for weeks. He let his appreciation show on his face.
"That's what you think," she replied blandly as she reached over to pick up a dirty glass that she could clean with a rag to keep her hands busy. More quietly Maz said, "I heard about what happened on Arkanis. The new Imperial Academy that was recently built there? As I hear, it undertook severe damage which destroyed most of the compound. On top of that, it also appears the Imperial command team for the project were all found with their heads cut off. That sector is set back years now, because of the attack." Maz looked at him again, angling her head so it was clear she was talking directly to him. "The Reaper was there."
"So I've heard," Kanan replied as he drank more of his grog. He'd been expecting this conversation. After all, he'd gotten the tip from Maz about the academy on Arkanis, and wasn't it something that the young Imperial Academy there had been all but demolished, a standard week later. Funny how things worked out like that. Especially when the Reaper was involved.
"The Reaper is bad news, boy," the old pirate queen growled. Kanan sighed because this wasn't the first time she'd voiced this particular opinion. It was growing in frequency, as a matter of fact. "Let him do his dirty work without you."
He frowned in her direction, off shooting it a little as the blind do.
"All I do is pass on information, Maz. Who hears about it, and who does something about it, isn't my business. Besides, who doesn't like someone who gives the Empire a headache?"
Maz's old lips pursed at Kanan's obtuse comment.
"He may be causing problems for the Empire, but his methods are questionable. His actions are wild and reckless, and if you are not careful, Kanan Jarrus, he will drag you down too. They will track him and then find you."
Kanan's eyebrows furrowed. The Reaper's actions were anything but reckless. Maybe she was right about their … enthusiastic tactics, but the Reaper put more time into planning his missions than he cared to admit.
"I don't know, Maz," he replied with a shrug. "He seems pretty careful to me. From what I hear."
"Then you are a fool," Maz grumbled. "I've seen his type before. His actions are those of a man with nothing to lose, and no care for his own survival. It may be the reason he is so successful, but it will kill him one day – perhaps even one day soon. I'm sure of it."
"I think he's more focused on the good he's doing against the Empire—"
"And the Empire. You can bet that if I've noticed, then the Empire has as well," the old woman carried on, cutting him off and silencing him in one strategic move. "They will set him up one day, and he will not survive."
Maz's prediction clung to the air, and she lifted two fingers to the bartender. Then she turned her attention back to him.
"As I said, he is careless. And he will bring you down as well."
Kanan remained silent as he thought about Maz's assessment of the Reaper's work. There was no way she was right, but he couldn't think of a single time the old woman had ever been wrong. It sat poorly with him, and he held his mug between his hands as he thought. Was the Reaper being too reckless in the missions he took on?
Unfortunately, now wasn't the time to be questioning those actions. He needed information for a new mission. That was what he was here for. He'd think about Maz's prophesy later.
"Have you got anything, Maz?" he asked quietly into his nearly empty mug before he finished it off with one final swallow. He put it down gently before accepting the second she pushed his way.
"I shouldn't tell you anything," she declared as she leaned back on a hand. "Not when I'm telling you he's going to get you killed."
"Maz."
The old smuggler glared at him with narrowed eyes before she shook her head and reached for her cup. Maz took a slow, time-consuming drink; one designed to test his patience he knew. When she finally set it back down, the look she gave him was reluctant and disapproving. But it was also the look that told him she did have something to give.
"I hear there are problems arising on Lothal. Out in the Outer Rim," Maz said softly. "I'm sure you've heard of the Bridger broadcasts?"
Kanan nodded. He'd heard of the broadcasts and the couple behind them, Mira and Ephraim Bridger. As a matter of fact, he listened to the Bridgers whenever he had the time to spare. They were good people, doing what they could to fight for the Galaxy in a way he never could. He always looked forward to their next broadcast.
"I think I've heard of them a time or two."
Maz snorted as if she was aware he knew more about them than he was letting on, but she let it slip by as she always did. "I've heard talk that the Empire is out for them, under the pretense of stopping them." She paused, then added, "In the next few days a raid will be conducted, and the Imperials have orders to kill on sight."
Shock slammed through Kanan and he jerked his head in Maz's direction.
"Kill on sight? That's extreme, even for the crime. For what they've done, it would be more likely they'd be locked away in an Imperial prison somewhere. Not sentenced to death."
The old pirate nodded in a way that told him she was not in disagreement. "You're right, which is why I dug a little deeper. There's something else driving the hunt. I don't know what it is, but I think the Bridgers have something valuable which the Empire wants. If you ask me, that's the reason for the kill on sight."
The Bridgers had something the Empire wanted? So much they'd kill them for it? In general that wasn't exactly surprising behavior, but usually the Empire attempted a buyout before outright taking what they wanted. But killing for it? What could the Bridgers possibly have? The curiosity alone would have been enough to get him interested, but these were the lives of good people on the line. He wanted to do what he could to help them.
And perhaps, if the Reaper could get to them in time, he'd find out what the Empire was so willing to kill for.
Decision made, he finished his grog and slipped a few credits onto the bar. Maz swept them up with hardly a glance, before she reached into her pocket and subtly slipped a data card into the palm of his hand. Smoothly he tucked it away, but didn't move to leave yet. Not when Maz started to speak again.
"When you first came here to my castle five years ago, Kanan Jarrus, you were just some brat falling over yourself and giving me a headache. But I thought you had potential."
"Have I disappointed you, Maz?" he asked lightly as he stood, gripping his walking stick before turning to the door. She slipped from the counter to the floor and followed next to him like a grubby wise-woman seeing a stupid traveler out of her temple.
"I'm still waiting, boy."
They got to the door and he paused just outside the threshold. The night air was balmy as it ever was here on Takodana, and the wind swept past his dirty hair like a caress. It was a breath of fresh air after the warmth of the cantina.
"You're getting soft on me, Maz," he teased with another roguish grin as he looked down at her. "You don't need to worry about me. It's not like there's a whole lot I can do given my disabilities."
Maz stared at him, and not for the first time did Kanan feel the Force surge at her command. It was a small thing, but after a thousand years of life it was a sharp thing, and it directed itself according to her will. No one knew Maz Kanata was a Force-sensitive, but Kanan had been surprised years ago to find that she was, after she'd done the exact same thing to him then as she was now. Checking him. Trying to divine a suspected truth from him which she could never quite pin down.
Kanan knew she suspected that he wasn't what he seemed. He knew she could sense it, somewhere deep in the Force, but before he'd ever come here to her castle he'd mastered the skill of Force stealth. Maz couldn't feel a thing from him, but the life force of a blind man.
Even so, he suspected Maz wasn't convinced that he was an informant for the Reaper. He knew she suspected he was the Reaper.
And she wasn't wrong.
But she found nothing, and once again he felt the Force slip over him quietly, unable to tell Maz anything she wanted to know or suspected. Eventually Maz said softly, "Just take care of yourself, Kanan."
He smiled as he lifted his walking stick to detect the stairs before him before carefully making his way down. "Don't worry. I only have number one to look after."
"That's part of my worry," he heard her mutter to herself as Maz turned to go back inside, the door creaking closed behind her. Kanan paused long enough to track her, watch as she picked up a rag and began cleaning her tables as if their conversation hadn't occurred. He turned and pretended to do the same.
Though there was plenty of space to leave the Kasmiri in the common landing areas around Maz's castle, he never did. Kanan didn't trust any of the other patrons to mind their own business, despite the pirate's nonviolence rule. Instead, she was hidden deep in the forest away from everyone and their prying eyes. Once Kanan was sure he wasn't being followed or tracked, he entered the tree line and dropped his blind act to move as he normally did. Twenty minutes later the Kasmiri came into view, and Proxy stood waiting to greet him.
"Welcome back, Kanan," Proxy said as he boarded, polite as ever. The ramp closed behind them, ensuring safety and privacy. "Did your visit with Madame Kanata prove fruitful?"
"I think so," Kanan replied as he unwound the dirty bandage from his face, stripping off his filthy blind beggar clothes while he was at it. Making the image of the blind beggar meant he had to be dirty enough for others who saw it to believe it. The devil was in the details, and it never hurt to err on the side of caution. Unfortunately, that meant he hadn't been clean in days. "I'll tell you about it later. For now, plot a course to the Outer Rim. We're headed to a planet called Lothal. Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be in the fresher."
"Of course," Proxy agreed as he turned to take the controls of the Kasmiri, and a few minutes later Kanan was sighing with relief as the sonic beat the grime out of his skin and hair. He felt the ship lift as it left Takodana's atmosphere before it made the jump to hyperspace. As wonderful as it was to feel clean again, his mind was already distracted and deep in thought by the time he slipped into the copilot's seat next to Proxy.
"How long's it going to take us to get there, Prox?"
"Approximately three days if we follow this route," the droid replied helpfully, gesturing to the display. "I had to plot a route around Imperially controlled sectors, which has added time to the trip since it takes us out of the way."
Kanan considered the route. Three days was a long time. If Maz was right, the Bridgers might be in danger sooner than that. If he wanted to help them, he needed to get there as soon as possible.
"How long would it take us if we passed through those sectors?"
"Roughly thirty-six hours, but I'd advise against it," Proxy replied, though his voice was hesitant. "It would bring us near areas reported to contain blockades and checkpoints."
"We'll work around them. Right now, we need to get to Lothal as soon as possible."
"I was afraid you were going to say that," Proxy said with a mechanical sigh as he began adjusting the instruments on the control panel. "I suppose I should prepare my Imperial templates, just in case."
"You know it, Prox," Kanan said with an approving smile. "Hopefully it won't come down to it."
"We're never that lucky."
Kanan shrugged as he stood to make his way aft of the ship before kneeling to meditate and think. Thirty-six hours wasn't a whole lot to plan with, but he'd made do with much less before. The mission was straightforward though, so he wasn't too concerned. The biggest problem would be getting to the Bridgers in time, and this was the best he could do about it. He just hoped it would be enough.
According to Proxy, they wouldn't hit Imperial space for several hours, and that gave him some time to organize himself. He'd gone from his last two missions back-to-back and then straight to Maz. This was the first sizable amount of downtime he'd had in a while. Usually if he had this sort of downtime, he'd spend it training, or meditating, or sometimes tinkering with his equipment and weapons.
Particularly his scythe.
But even as he knelt, he found his mind distracted and riddled with questions. Points Maz had posed earlier now refused to leave him alone, as if the Force refused to allow him any mental peace until he explored them, much as he didn't want to. Over the years, he'd come to understand himself and his connection to the Force well enough to know that there was no fighting this. It was better to confront the ideas and get it over with. He just wished it hadn't been Maz to give him these questions. These ideas. If it had been anyone else, he'd have written them off.
But it had been the wise old pirate. And that made him uncomfortable.
It was the recklessness point which he found himself most drawn to. Was Maz right? Were his actions careless? Noticeably careless? He'd never thought so. He always put so much work into his planning. Yet, if he thought about it, how often did he stick to the plan? He'd planned thoroughly for the Arkanis mission, but nothing ever went perfectly, and so he'd improvised like he always did. It was true, he'd taken some risks. Maybe he'd taken some dangerous ones too, but they always ensured his mission was a success. His actions always accomplished his mission.
But if he looked back on the last ten or fifteen missions … he had to admit there were times when he'd taken a more dangerous, reckless route when it would have been safer and easier to take an alternative. Of late, Proxy had become more anxious during their mission reviews, pointing out glaring alternatives that would have been more reasonable to have taken. Kanan always thought of it as Proxy being Proxy, the droid fussing over him because there was no one else to fuss over.
But what if he was wrong? What if Proxy legitimately had a reason to fuss? What if Maz was right, and he was taking these risks just because he could. Because there was no real reason for him not to, not even at risk of his own life? His sole purpose over the last six years was to harm the Empire as much as he could, in any way he could. At twenty-one, he was getting pretty damn good at it. His reputation as the Reaper was beginning to circulate. He'd heard his codename whispered as far Nar Shaddaa, like legends. Like folk tales.
Like warnings. And sometimes, even like hope.
Kanan didn't care anything about that though. He only wanted to do what he could to destroy the Empire. Beyond that? There wasn't a whole lot he cared for. There wasn't exactly room to care for anything, not when he was always moving, always trying to find new missions, always training. Every mission was a test of himself and his resolve, but he had to admit that of late … he hadn't exactly cared what the outcome was for him, so long as his missions succeeded. If he was injured, he didn't care. He'd heal. If he died? Well, he'd die doing what he vowed he'd do with his life. Proxy would take the Kasmiri to Maz, and both his droid and his ship would become hers. Simple.
Old Jedi tendencies rose in the back of his mind like a whiff of smoke, commenting like whispers that it would be such a loss of life. Of potential. Kanan shoved them away and ignored them. What did it matter anyway?
The only problem was that it did matter to him, in some way. Despite what might be a growing pattern in his behavior for the disregard of his own life and safety, people had died for him. And thinking of it in those terms, he wondered if he was becoming so reckless in his actions that they were all rolling in their graves. He knew they wouldn't want this for him.
Kanan sighed as he rubbed his blind eyes. Maybe Maz had a point, but what could he do about it? Those final few comments in their conversation were telling enough. She thought he needed something or someone, but what she didn't know was that that was the absolute last thing he needed. People that got close to him, they died. In the six years he'd been Kanan Jarrus, he'd maintained only acquaintances and distant contacts. Maz might have been the closest person he knew, but he kept even her at a distance. His presence was dangerous to everyone, and he thought it was only by some good grace that he hadn't lost Proxy in the three years since he'd found the holodroid on Raxus Prime.
Unbidden, an old, weathered voice whispered sound advice in his mind, advice he'd taken to heart when he'd first heard it years ago. Travel light, and death will never catch you. Well, he'd traveled light for years, and death hadn't caught him since. And it certainly had never caught anyone he'd cared about because there was no one to care about.
But deep down, down where he rarely ever visited, the truth was that traveling light as he had … on one hand it was easy. He only had himself and Proxy to look after. The Kasmiri and the mission. On the other hand, it was difficult and sometimes painful because he was lonely. Sure, he interacted with people because he needed to. Took on some evening company when he felt the urge. But he wasn't fooling himself. They lacked depth and meaning. The method by which his life was led lacked depth and meaning.
But it was easier that he didn't have those things, or at least, he'd thought so. When faced with Maz's words, however, all he could think of were the faces of all the people who'd given their lives for him, and he was so filled with doubt. This wasn't the life they'd wanted for him, he knew that, but what else was there? Should he risk forming a new relationship, maybe even a meaningful one, knowing it would bring with it an opportunity for death to strike again? Or did he continue as he had been, flirting with death. Waiting for the day it would finally take him too?
He also wondered if Maz was also right about the possibility of the Empire getting wise enough to design a trap that would exploit what might be suicidal carelessness. He would die, and what then? What would be the point of that? Would it even be worth it?
The Force felt hollow at the question, as if to give him its opinion, and he sighed again before he gave up and headed to his bunk. The gentle hum of the Kasmiri filled his ears and his mind, and his Force sense gentled as he watched hyperspace fly by like a current. An unstoppable current, one which he sometimes wondered went on forever.
As he dropped off, he continued to play with the idea that maybe Maz had a point and he did need a reason, if only to stop him from accidentally killing himself. Half-jokingly and half serious, he decided he'd make a personal deal with the Force. If it gave him a reason to stop with his reckless nonsense, then he would. Whatever that might mean, whatever that might entail, he would do it. It was a promise.
But if not, well, then he wouldn't. And that would be all she wrote.
Kanan was more than a little pleased when they made it through Imperial space with only one incident and a single detour. The incident had resulted in the destruction of two TIE fighters on patrol, and the detour had avoided the possibility of combat only because of Proxy's clever Imperial holoprojection. He'd managed to take on the form of an Imperial in a large data file a contact had sliced and sold to Kanan. The ruse had worked perfectly, but they'd both agreed it would be better not to test their luck, and go a little out of the way. Proxy had been visibly relieved when he'd let the projection of the impersonated Imperial go. The droid hated impersonating Imperials. Kanan sometimes suspected it had been the Empire who'd left Proxy in the mangled state Kanan had found him in. But the droid's memory was blank, and so all he could do was speculate.
They were only a few hours behind schedule when Lothal appeared before the Kasmiri's viewport. Using the information Maz had prepared for him and whatever he'd been able to collect on the way, Kanan directed Proxy to put the Kasmiri down far outside Central City. The Imperial presence here had grown over the past few years, and he didn't want to bring the Kasmiri any closer. He'd have to ride in.
"Will you be requiring your gear?" Proxy asked after they'd landed, concealed by several large rocks jutting out of the lengthy plains that covered the planet's surface. Dusk was setting, and Kanan was eager to get going.
"No, Prox. I don't think the Reaper will be making an appearance yet." He shrugged on a dark traveler's cloak, common and forgettable, before he put on a pair of goggles and began unloading his Joben T-85. "I'm just a traveler in town for a drink. Just passing through."
Even as he said this, he glanced a little longer than he needed to at his Reaper gear where it remained safe and concealed in a special compartment designed for smuggling. From where he was, he could feel a waft of heat curl toward him, enticing, and he frowned as he pulled his attention away. Truth was, he wanted to take his gear, put it on like a beloved layer of skin. Take the scythe hidden there and feel its strength beneath his fingers. But until he knew more, until he found the Bridgers and assessed the situation, there was no reason for it. Not yet at least.
Soon he was riding hard across the plains toward Central City. It was dark now, late in the evening, and that was good. Once he figured out where the Bridgers were, he'd be able to keep to the shadows before he found a way to convince them, and then smuggle them off planet if the Empire hadn't found them yet. But the closer her drew to the city, the more … unsettled he became.
Something was wrong in the Force, and whatever it was quickly put him on edge. Twice he considered going back for his gear, but decided speed trumped power this time. Some dark taint was in this city. In the Force. It billowed and writhed like a deadly flag twisting in hot wind, and Kanan clamped down on his Force stealth as he realized what it was.
Dark side. There was a darksider here in Central City, and ice began to form in his gut. This was too coincidental. The Bridgers were being hunted, and there was a darksider somewhere in the city?
What did the Bridgers have?
Kanan didn't have much time to think about it. Not when, shortly after entering the city, a great explosion lit the air and shook the ground nearby, followed by blaster fire. The chaos that erupted around him as civilians screamed and ran for cover cleared his mind of all useless thoughts as he hid his bike and vanished into the darkness. Moving quickly through shadows and over the rooftops, he could see where the violence shown bright in the Force, like a beacon.
He wasn't surprised when he felt the presence of the darksider emanating from there as well. Kanan didn't doubt that that was where the Bridgers were. Pausing for the briefest of moments, he closed his eyes and focused on his Force sense. His scope of sight expanded, extended, sketching the distant scene before him in real time. With a heavy heart, he saw what was happening.
A darksider was there alright, an Imperial Inquisitor, and he stood over the fallen body of Ephraim Bridger. Kanan closed his eyes, though it did nothing to stop his Force sight.
He'd been only moments too late.
Ignoring the guilt that threatened to wrap around his heart, he instead focused his attention on the Inquisitor. He watched as this tall, singed man began walking through the wreckage of what had been a home, stepping through the fire-edged rubble as if searching for something.
Or someone.
Guilt vanished in an instant and was replaced with determined hope as he changed the scope of his sight to instead scan the rest of the area. Mira Bridger wasn't there. He saw no mangled body in those ruins. That meant she had to be somewhere else.
And that meant he could find her. He might still be able to save her and whatever it was she had in her possession.
With his Force sense cast like a net, he burst into a sprint when he found a running woman followed by a couple of stormtroopers only a few streets away. A plan blossomed into his mind, and channeling the Force he leapt and covered distance fast enough that he was now ahead of the group, just above. As Mira dashed between two tall buildings into the narrow passage between them, the troopers following with their blasters raised to shoot, Kanan leaped down like a deadly shadow. With his own blaster, he shot them with a pair of well-aimed bolts before he crashed into them. The collision sent them sprawling, but he heard the tell-tale sound of bones cracking. He felt their presence in the Force fade. Quickly, he rose to his feet and turned to face the terrified woman.
"Mira Bridger," Kanan said as he slowly neared her. "You're in danger from the Empire. I'm here to help you. We need to go."
The woman's face was ravaged by pain and Kanan was caught off guard when she abruptly collapsed to the ground. A terrified, young cry filled the air and Kanan stood frozen as a child crawl out from the woman's arms. Small hands shook her urgently as tears streaked down his cheeks.
A child. A boy. The Bridgers had a son.
It was as if Kanan's mind had been put on pause as he reeled to make sense of what was before him. A child. He hadn't known that. None of the data Maz had given him even suggested a child, and his presence here was beyond startling. But that wasn't the only thing that made Kanan freeze. Mira Bridger was going to die. He could see it clear as day in the Force. Too many bolts of blaster fire had found their mark, and there was a long, diagonal burn across her back which he knew had been made by a lightsaber weapon. She didn't have long. Again, he'd come just a little too late.
"Hey, you there!"
Kanan instinctively burst into motion as the Force flooded him. He sprang, dodging blaster fire before leaping forward and, with focused determination he reached with the Force and pulled the stormtrooper that had found them telekinetically into his waiting fist. The man fell back and with the Force Kanan lifted the trooper into the air, only to hurl him against a wall. The force of the maneuver caused the stormtroopers presence in the Force to flicker away, and his body went lifeless as it struck the ground. Behind him, the boy whimpered and shook, and Kanan felt Mira Bridger's life force dwindle.
Checking as he should have before he'd frozen like a fool, he saw that for now he'd taken care of all the Imperials in the area. But more were on their way. The Inquisitor was on his way, and that meant he needed to hurry. He didn't know what he could do about the firestorm he'd all but flown into, but he sensed that he didn't have much time if he was going to do anything at all. Quickly he holstered his blaster before he knelt beside the dying woman and her son.
"Mira Bridger?" Kanan said her name softly, and eyes rolled his way.
"You … you're a—" Kanan knew what she was going to say before she said it, and he cut her off.
"I came here to help, but I came too late." There was no hiding the dark tone in his voice, nor the knowing comprehension of the woman's fate in her own eyes. "I'm sorry."
"You cannot help me," Mira said brokenly. "But you can help him." Her hold on the boy's hand tightened for emphasis. "Please," the dying woman begged. "Please, take care of my son. Please save him."
Kanan stared at the woman with blind eyes she couldn't see, surprise etched on his features, but she gave him a desperate look before reaching with her empty hand to take his. The child was crying hard on her lap, creating haunting echoes in the narrow alley. It was infinitely loud to his senses, and Kanan knew it wouldn't be long until others heard it. If that happened, he might be forced to reveal himself, and that was something he wanted to avoid at all costs.
"I'm not the one you want taking care of your son," he said softly, doubt and uncertainty filling his mind at the sheer implication of what she was asking of him. Kanan suspected that she was begging him because she'd seen him use the Force, and what better protector for an orphaned child than someone like him? But she was wrong. He was not a good choice for that exact reason. "I can get him somewhere safe, but that's it. My life is dangerous."
"And so is his," Mira pleaded. "The Empire is after him because he's a Force user, like you. His midi-cholorian count is high and they're trying to kill us to take him, since we wouldn't give him up."
Surprise flew through Kanan as he snapped his attention to the boy and was floored to find she was right. This little boy had the Force flowing strongly through and around him, and before he could stop them, Kanan's thoughts were dominated by memories of the past. By Order 66, by what had happened to Master Billaba, to him, to the whole Jedi Order. Memories he'd thought he'd buried long ago came to the fore, and he found that he couldn't shake them off.
What would happen to this boy, if the Empire took him? Would they kill him, as they'd done every Jedi they encountered? Or would they do something much worse? Would they instead pervert his mind and train him in the ways of the dark side? Would they turn him into a weapon of the Empire? Would this boy become the next generation of Inquisitor? Suddenly he knew what the valuable object the Empire had been after the Bridgers was, and why there was an Inquisitor here at all. This small, Force-sensitive little boy, who'd just lost his father and was now losing his mother. He was it, and the Empire was on its way to having him.
Kanan found the idea was too repulsive to comprehend, more uncomfortable than Mira Bridger's desperate request. He might not be much of a Jedi anymore, but he couldn't let something like that happen. He couldn't let a child be corrupted by the Empire and used in such a terrible way. He couldn't. Not when he could do something about it.
His response was already out of his mouth before he had another chance to think about it.
"I will take care of him," he promised as he clasped her cool hand in his, wanting to do everything he could to provide her with this one final thing of comfort before she died. "I will protect him from the Empire and keep him safe."
"Will you teach him the ways of the Force?" she asked weakly, "To become a Jedi?"
The request floored Kanan, but it was one he had to consider since he'd just agreed to take care of the boy. It would be a matter of time before this child's skills began to manifest, and he would need someone to mentor him and teach him control, or he was going to become a target and attract Jedi hunters. The boy would need someone to teach him and guide him.
But how could it possibly be him?
"I'm not exactly a Jedi anymore," Kanan told her, brows furrowed as he willed her to see. "I'm not sure I can do what you ask."
"I have faith in you," Mira whispered, honest and true as she struggled with the last of her life. "I can see the good in you. So please, I beg you, teach my son your ways. Help him become a light in these dark times. A Jedi, as best you can. Please."
Kanan was at a loss for words because the path he walked was not one wholly Jedi, but before he even realized he was doing it, he was nodding and his voice quietly filled the air. "I will do as you ask, to the best of my ability."
And now, he would because he'd given his word to this dying mother. Agreed to take care of, train, and protect a vulnerable child. He was sure this was a mistake, but it didn't matter now if it was or not. He'd given his word.
Tears leaked weakly from Mira's eyes as she whispered, "Thank you." Her body wilted with relief before she turned her eyes to the young child. "Ezra."
The boy, Ezra, cried harder but moved to obey his mother. Mucus ran from his nose and saliva slipped from the edges of his mouth as sorrow displayed loud and clear on his face and in the Force.
"Mom?" the boy asked in a wrecked voice as he clenched her hand and knelt over her. "The troopers shot dad. Why? Why did they shoot him? What did he do wrong?"
"Nothing," she said softly, her words cut off by a sudden coughing fit that made Kanan's heart sink. "They were coming for you, Ezra, and we fought to keep you safe."
"Why were they coming for me? Why'd that Red Blade—!" Ezra choked on his sobs as he clung to his mother's hand. She smiled softly at her son, and Kanan felt her heart beat slow from where he knelt.
"Because you're special, Ezra, and the Empire wanted to take you because of that."
"I don't want to be special!" the boy cried. "I just want things to go back to the way they were! I want you and dad—"
"I know, sweetheart. I know," she said, even as tears continued to slip down her cheeks and onto the ground, mixing with her blood. "But it can't be anymore. I need you to listen very carefully to me, Ezra. Can you do that for me?"
The boy hesitated, clearly aware that his mother was moments from death. Agonized, Ezra finally nodded, and there was love in her eyes.
"That's my Ezra," she praised softly. "This man has agreed to protect you and keep you safe from the Empire. He will … he will teach you to use that specialness you have, and to use it for good. You … you must listen to him."
Ezra's eyes flashed up to Kanan's and Kanan nodded solemnly. He would do as Mira Bridger asked, and the boy should know that from the start.
"I've already promised," he said. "You have my word, Ezra, I will do everything in my power to protect you and train you in the ways of the Force."
"The Force?" the boy echoed uncertainly before he looked down at his mother again. "I … I have the Force? That's my specialness?"
"Yes," his mother whispered weakly. "Go, Ezra. You don't have much time." Her life force flagged, and before Kanan realized it, he had a hand on the boy's thin shoulder. Ezra trembled in anguish.
"No, mom, no! I don't want to go! I don't want to leave!" Frantically Ezra looked up at Kanan and begged. "Please do something! Use the Force to save her!"
Kanan felt as if his stomach was lodged in his throat. He couldn't. That was the simple and honest answer. There was no way he could use the Force to save Ezra's mother. There wasn't anything in the galaxy except a miracle that could save his mother, and Kanan wasn't sure miracles existed. Not after Order 66. Not after … everything. But before he could figure out what he could possibly say to Ezra, his mother caught the boy's attention again with a soft shake of her head.
"The Force cannot save me now, Ezra." She choked. Blood ran thick from her lips. A pained sound slipped from Ezra's throat as he fell silent. Her eyes flicked up to Kanan's and with the last bit of firmness she could muster, she said, "Take my son, now."
The Force washed over Kanan as he closed his eyes for a moment, feeling it. Listening to it. She was right. Now was the time, and they needed to go now, or they might not leave at all.
"Come, Ezra. She's right," Kanan said gently as he turned the boy to face him. "We need to go."
Ezra struggled. "But—!"
"Ezra," his mother whispered, and they both fell silent in time to hear her final breath. "I love you."
And then she was gone. Kanan felt her passing in the Force.
And he knew that Ezra had too.
A/N: Yes, I made Ezra an orphan in a sudden and horrible way (I'm a vile monster, I know). Poor, sweet child. It's so hard hurting him. Anyway it feels weird and crass to say I hope you enjoyed this chapter, given what happened and the way it ended. Instead, I'd love to know what you thought.
The next chapter will follow hot on the heels of this one and will be posted next Friday, as usual. I wonder how Kanan's going to handle this new development? After all, he made a promise not only with Ezra's mother, but with the Force too ...