Archive of Our Own

It wasn't fair.

So what if he had gotten a little hurt on the last mission? It wasn't bad, he'd survived worse than a twisted ankle. It didn't even hurt much when it happened, and now, days after the fact, it didn't hurt at all. There was no reason for him to be grounded, stuck on the Ghost until Hera deemed him healed enough to be allowed on missions again.

Ezra knew the real reason he had been grounded, had overheard her and Kanan's agitated conversation through the vent. And no, he hadn't been meaning to eavesdrop, at least at first, but when he heard the angry, hushed yelling between his Master and the captain of the Ghost, he couldn't help himself.

"He deliberately disobeyed orders, Hera," Kanan had huffed, and Ezra could almost imagine him crossing his arms over his chest. "I told him-"

"I know, Kanan," Hera sighed, probably pinching the bridge of her nose with her free hand on her hip. "You've only told me about a hundred times."

"Then you should be in agreement with me! It's too dangerous!"

"It's just a twisted ankle, love, calm down-"

There was a surge of emotion from the Force, and Ezra shuffled forward a few inches, breath quiet, making sure to not give himself away.

"How can I calm down? He's untrained, doesn't listen–" Ezra flinched and looked away, almost chastised even if he wasn't supposed to be privy to this conversation– "What if I'm not there to bail him out of trouble next time? His skill with the Force is inexperienced at best, there's no way he could use it to help himself right now."

I'd be better at it if you'd just train me, Ezra thought bitterly, face screwing up in a twisted expression. He still wasn't sure why there was such a reluctance on Kanan's end, other than the fact that Ezra wasn't, apparently, good enough for the older man. He had thought they got through the reluctance after the whole… thing with Master Luminara, but the hesitance was still there.

There was a pause, in which Ezra could perfectly envision Hera laying a hand on Kanan's arm, and the man subsequently deflating. His voice was so quiet Ezra had to smash his face against the vent grate to hear it. He still missed the beginnings of what Kanan said. "...gets hurt? If he gets himself or someone else seriously injured or killed I wouldn't forgive myself." 

Another pause, the two most likely having some kind of silent conversation with their eyes, before…

"I can't ground him for no reason, Kanan."

"Hera."

"Kanan, it's not fair. He didn't technically do anything wrong. No–" she cut off whatever protest Kanan started. "Sabine was cornered, and Ezra jumped in to save her. Yes, it was reckless, yes he could have gotten himself seriously hurt. But he didn't actually disobey orders. I can't keep him stuck on the Ghost indefinitely, not for something like this. Do you know how he'd feel about it?"

"Hera, please."

Hera bit out a withering sigh, "Look, I can hold him back for the next mission, to make sure his ankle is healed, but I'm not going to keep him back forever. If you're worried then maybe try and talk to him. You promised to train him, so train him."

"You're right."

"Good. If you're sure about this, then you're breaking the news to him."

"Fine."

"Fine. We need to talk about our credit situation," Hera changed the subject. "We're getting awfully low. We're going to have to start taking more, or harder, jobs. Fuel and food is getting more expensive."

At that their voices shifted, leaving the cockpit, and Ezra shimmied backwards and quickly but carefully made his way back to his bunk, dropping onto the bed and putting the vent cover back just before there was a knock on the door.

Erza called out a short, "it's open," and glanced over at Kanan who entered. "'sup?"

Kanan hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. Ezra pinned him with his best, most innocently curious stare, head tilted slightly to the right to really sell the point. "Look, kid," Kanan started, letting his hand drop to his side. "Hera and I were talking… I–we thought it'd be best for you to sit out on the next mission."

Ezra knew this was coming, but he didn't want to give away the fact that he had been eavesdropping so he instantly cried with carefully-constructed indignation, "what? Why? I'm not that hurt, I'll be fine in like, a day!"

Kanan raised a hand to stop him and Ezra crossed his arms and slumped against the wall with a not-quite pout, not-quite glare. "It's just the next mission, just to make sure you don't hurt your ankle worse."

"That's not fair," Ezra grunted, earnestly this time, because it wasn't fair.

"I know it's not fair," Kanan sighed, and Ezra bristled at the blatant lie. "But it's for the best."

"No, you don't know," he all but growled, flopping back onto his bunk and turning his back to the man. He couldn't tell Kanan why he was actually mad, it'd be too obvious he had been listening in, but he could play the part of an angry teenager mad that he was grounded.

"Ezra…"

He ignored Kanan and pulled the blanket around his shoulders. He was done talking.

So, yeah, Ezra was grounded because Kanan didn't believe in him, didn't trust him, hidden beneath the flimsy excuse of him being hurt.

It was a load of Bantha shit, if you asked him.

Which led to his current predicament.

Ezra was now stuck on the Ghost, with not even Chopper to keep him company. They had landed on this seedy planet that Ezra couldn't remember the name of nor did he really care to try to remember, not on a mission but on a supply run. Ezra was told to stay put on the ship. Not even to guard it from any wandering eyes because despite the rather unsavory kind of people who frequented the planet, they had landed in a rather expensive hanger, and with a few well-placed, thinly veiled threats and blasters casually brandished, the owner promised no harm would come to their ship.

No, it was because of his ankle. It was because they didn't want him walking around on it. At least that's what they said. Ezra knew it was because he was a liability, that they couldn't trust him to not run off or do something impulsive.

Whatever.

He'd show them.

He'd show them he could sit still and do nothing and follow instructions. He'd stay on the Ghost, no problem.

Okay, he'd stay near the Ghost at least. He could only pace the length of the ship so many times, anxiously listening, waiting for something over the comms, a call to action or anything. But they were quiet aside from the occasional bout chatter and then pinched reminder that the comms weren't to be used to aimlessly talk from Hera.

After close to thirty minutes of nothing but pacing and a brief failed attempt at meditating, Ezra had ventured outside of the Ghost and into the hanger, peering around the space with narrowed eyes. Boxes were stacked high and various tools and scrap tossed around haphazardly, an unused fuel line lying partially coiled in the corner of the hanger.

He could… no that was stupid. If someone came in and saw him swinging around a lightsaber he'd be dead meat. And it'd be downright embarrassing to go through the exercises with one of the wrenches laying about. There'd be no excuse as to what he was doing. And meditating had already failed, and trying to practice and fine-tune his skills with the Force was out because again, if he were caught, he'd be dead or on his way to an Imperial prison or worse, some trafficking enterprise before he could blink. There was nothing to do.

Ezra hated sitting back and doing nothing. It was physically painful, like a buzzing in his limbs that left him restless, let his mind wander dangerously, made his thoughts scattered and hard to follow. He needed to be doing something and he couldn't and it was frustrating.

Hera hadn't even left him a list of chores or anything to do, just told him to rest. He knew there was stuff around the Ghost that could be done, like carbon-scoring or general maintenance, but he wasn't about to screw up Hera's ship and piss her off. No, sir, he'd wait to be told to do something in that regard. Hera's wrath was one he didn't want turned on himself.

He didn't know why this was stopping him. Not being told to do something, or being told specifically not to do something had never stopped him in the past. This train of thought made him pause in his pacing, arms crossing over his chest. Why was he trying so hard to follow the instructions of near-strangers? No, that wasn't quite right, they'd been through too much to be strangers, though Ezra was hesitant to call them friends, because he still wasn't sure if they'd leave him somewhere as soon as his usefulness was used up. Coworkers? No, too informal. Crew was correct but not quite what he was looking for. Ezra settled on acquaintances with a snort and shook his head, dislodging the train of thought, ignoring the they're your friends, your family you fool, that bounced unwantedly around his brain.

What had he been thinking about? He cast a glance around the area and remembered with a short burst of anger. Right. Being stuck here with nothing to do.

He was restless.

Well, what was the harm in going exploring if he was back before the others? What they didn't know wouldn't hurt them. As long as he stayed nearby and kept an ear on the comms—he thought they said they'd tell him when they were on the way back but he wasn't sure—there'd be no problem. This was a good plan. Ezra was patting himself on the back as he strode from the doors of the hanger, peeking over his shoulder to make sure the ramp of the Ghost was raised and the airlock door closed, then nodded when it was. 

With a little more pep in his step than the situation probably warranted, Ezra made his way out onto the not-so busy street and glanced around. A far cry from the open streets of Lothal's Capital City, which were large enough for street vendors on each side and for people to mill around, these streets were narrow. You'd be hard pressed to walk around without running into someone, though there were plenty of side streets and alleys that Ezra could see. Water puddled on the ground, showing it had rained somewhat recently, and the humid bite in the air warned of more to come.

He ducked his head slightly as he felt a slimy stare against his back and glanced around. Bright signs hovered above doorways, names for stores and buildings and places that Ezra didn't really care to read. Instead he turned his head to his left as he heard the unmistakable echo of drunken laughter, heading his way, and turned on his heel to walk in that direction.

A bar would be somewhere he wouldn't mind checking out. He hadn't had a drink in… well, since he joined the crew of the Ghost months ago. Hera had an extremely strict no alcohol policy on her ship, and he wasn't about to go sneaking off in the middle of the night. He already knew that Kanan wouldn't approve and would be giving him a withering stare with an arched eyebrow, lecture on his tongue. Sabine would probably just shake her head and call him an idiot, while Zeb would try and argue that he was too young to drink.

The drinking age on Lothal was 16, though growing up on the streets allowed him access to the less savory parts of society much younger than was expected. He had had his first drink at the age of 10, and had promptly almost spat out the vile substance, though choked it down with a few tears. He had gotten better since then, and could knock back a drink no problem now.

And he didn't drink often, it wasn't a problem, he just… did it to celebrate a job well done or to help him sleep, or to warm himself on the cold winter nights when his meager blanket didn't help. So what. He was an orphan, a Lothalian street-rat. The company he kept had never batted two eyes nor said shit about it, so he never saw the problem in indulging every now and then.

Ezra shook his head, not wanting to think about his past right now, and instead set a weary glance around the area. He had passed the drunken group a few streets back and was now on the lookout for the bar or cantina or whatever hole-in-the-wall they had come from. 

He found it almost by accident, nearly walking into the bouncer who practically growled. "Move it, kid," they warned in hissed Basic, and Ezra bristled.

"I'm not a kid," he huffed, crossing his arms and staring up at the much taller, much larger Trandoshan who regarded him with little more than annoyance.

"Oh yeah?" The lizard-like creature challenged. "How old are you then?"

Ezra wracked his brain for an answer. He didn't know the legal ages on other planets, and he was still too young for his own, honestly, though by only a year. What would be a good age… Well, one could theoretically graduate from the Royal Imperial Academy at the age of 17, so he'd try that.

"I'm 17."

The Trandoshan merely looked him up and down and barked out an amused laugh. Ezra narrowed his eyes and raised his chin in defiance. "You must think I'm an idiot. There is no way you're 17. You're kriffin' kidding me."

"I'm telling the truth, lizard-breath," he baited. "Look, I might be small–" he cringed internally because that was an understatement, he was tiny for his age though he refused to quite admit that– "but I can't help genetics. Come on, just let me in. If I got money then where's the problem?"

They looked at him again with a small, daring smirk, but shrugged their shoulders. "Hey, it's no skin off my shoulders. I don't care that much, do what you want. I won't hesitate to throw your scrawny ass out onto the street if you cause any problems though, got it?"

"Crystal clear," Ezra muttered, shoving his way past the overgrown lizard, who turned around and acted like the human didn't exist. "Whatever."

If only Kanan would show him the mind trick thing then Ezra would've gotten in quicker.

No, he wasn't thinking about Kanan.

Ezra pushed open the door with a little more force than strictly necessary and glanced around the dark bar. And it was a bar, a dingy, foul-smelling bar with a few booths and tables scattered around, and the counter itself front and center. Ignoring the curious eyes that bored into his skull, Ezra slowly made his way over to the bar and slid onto a stool with practiced ease, taking in the assortment of booze behind it.

The bartender sauntered over to him with an amused look, throwing her rag over her shoulder. She was human, tall and well built, tattoos spiraling her muscled arms. Her blond hair was shaved on the sides, the top pulled back into a bun, and her too-blue eyes gave him a once-over. Ezra crossed his arms on the counter and gave her a level stare back.

Sliding a menu across to him, she gave him a sharp smile. "What can I get'cha, hon?" She asked, accent sharp and unfamiliar. If she was expecting him to fumble, to prove he was some snot-nosed kid who snuck off from his parents for his first taste of alcohol she'd be wrong. He simply slid the menu back without looking at it and gave her a dazzling grin.

"A Jedi Mind Trick."

Her eyes flashed, grin growing wider. "Not'cha first rodeo, I'm gleamin'," she made small-talk as she turned on her heel and got to work. "'s a strong drink, kid. Good choice."

Ezra bit back another protest about not being a kid, and instead shrugged. "I need it," is all he said, and she sent him a knowing look over her shoulder.

"If it's a good time ya want, I recommend the Flameout," she offered freely, pushing the bright blue drink his way. "If it's forgettin' you want, then go with the Mirialian Whiskey. 'S the strongest, will knock any thoughts right outta ya head."

"Thanks," Ezra rasped dryly, downing half his drink in one go. He wasn't aiming to get drunk , per say, but he'd keep it in mind if he changed his mind.

"Any time, darlin'," the bartender all-but purred, turning her head sharply to glare at a patron whistling for her attention. "I'll be here if ya need anything. Just let me know." She gave him what could only be called a sultry wink before bellowing in a voice that echoed, "Do not whistle at me like I'm some kind of pet, I will break your leg off and shove it so far up your karking ass that all you'll be able to taste is your own foot-fungus for a week!"

Ezra hid his snickering behind his glass, seeing the man next to him do the same. "Serali sure is something," the man, a Devaronian Ezra noticed through a side-glance, mused, knocking back the last dregs of his drink. "Don't you think?"

Ezra doesn't answer at first, instead takes a long sip of his drink before sighing. "She reminds me of…" he hesitated for a moment, debating on what to call Hera, before settling on, "the captain of the ship I'm on. Wouldn't want to mess with her." He shook his head and looked up at the woman—Serali—who was still chewing out the patron who whistled at her. The person in question was squashed back in their seat, hands held in front of themself protectively.

"No, sir. No one does. She owns this place and will make your life a living hell if she has a problem with you." The Devaronian turned fully to Ezra and stuck his hand out. "Name's Sammut, Sammut Va'ct."

Ezra took the offered hand and shook it, giving the man a small smile. "Ez," he lied easily. He wasn't about to give out his real name, especially not on some seedy planet, even if it had a lack of Imperial influence. Bounty hunters and the likes were bound to be plentiful, and they'd jump at the chance to sell him to the Empire for a pile of lousy credits. And, hey, he didn't technically lie, just omitted most of the truth. It was fine.

"Nice to meet you, Ez," Sammut gripped his hand for a moment longer before letting it drop. If he thought Ezra's lack of a surname was strange, he said nothing of it. Instead he raised a hand to grab Serali's attention. She made her way over as Ezra finished his drink, and winked at him again, making Ezra's face heat up

"A Devonian Horn for me and the kid."

"I'm not a kid, why does everyone keep calling me that?"

Both Serali and Sammut laughed and Ezra glared down at his empty glass, not missing when it was swapped out for something decidedly less appetizing-looking. A murky reddish-brown, a slight head of foam, square ice-cubes clinking together so quietly that it was nearly silent in the hustle and bustle of the bar. "Listen, doll," Serali snickered, not unkindly, though Ezra's frown twitched slightly lower, "when ya been through as much as Sammut and I, any fresh face is a 'kid' to ya."

Ezra bit back a protest of you don't know what I've been through, and instead, with much trepidation he hoped he hid well, grabbed the glass. Pulling his head back, he took a swig, suppressing a full-body shudder, and barely managing not to make a rankled face. "Eugh," he bit out, lip curling despite his best efforts. "That shit is rank." Sammut laughed at him again, loud and joyous and grating on Ezra's nerves.

Wiping an invisible tear, the horned-near human caught his breath and clapped a large hand on the boy's shoulder. "Hoo! Your reaction was priceless!" He gwaffed, and Ezra turned a side-glare at the man. "You handled it better than I did the first time I had one," Sammut grinned, knocking back his entire glass in one long pull. "I actually started to cry, my brother didn't let me live it down for years. 'Oi, Sammut, remember your first drink? You big baby!' Haha!"

Ezra just took another hesitant sip, not giving the Devaronian a response. He did glance up when a hand landed on his arm, seeing Serali leaning in. Mirth danced in her bright eyes, a small smile slowly stretching across her face, and she shifted her voice into a loud whisper, like she was telling him a big secret. "I honestly hate it, too. Never managed to be able to stomach it. I don't blame ya, kid, if you don't finish it. I'm sure my husband wouldn't mind too much."

"Wait, wait, wait, husband?" He shook his head, disbelief coloring his voice. He cleared his throat and took another sip, shuddering at the foul taste that only the sharp sting of strong alcohol managed to make even somewhat bearable. He gestured to the Davaronian still carrying on next to him with a raised eyebrow and an unbelieving smile. "You're married to him?"

"Well, more like he's married to me. I'm the one who wears the pants in the relationship, if you know what I mean," she winked at him again, before knocking her knuckles against Sammut's head to get his attention. "Sam," she warned, as he stared up at her with wide, doting eyes. "No one's listenin' and I swear on the stars, if you scare off any customers with your carrying-on I will make you sleep on the floor."

Sammut's mouth shut with an audible click, and he gave a meek, "yes dear," and yeah, okay, Ezra could instantly tell their dynamic. They were obviously married, and it was then Ezra saw the matching rings on their fingers. 

"That's a good man. Your buddies are here," she stated as she sauntered off to help other customers, and Ezra saw Sammut brighten and turn on his chair.

"Ah! My Sabbac buddies!" He stood up, hand still on Ezra's shoulder, and the human was none-too-gently dragged over to a hodge-podge group of people who took over one of the few, larger tables. He managed to grab his disgusting drink and follow, the company honestly not all that unwelcome.

Despite the city he found himself in being so different from the Capital City on Lothal, the people in the bar were almost exactly the same. Ezra felt a strange sense of belonging and homeliness he hadn't had since leaving the planet on the Ghost, and although he wasn't hard-pressed to miss it, he wasn't about to avoid it now. It was a part of him that had been there since his parents' got taken by the Empire, and a part he wouldn't soon forget.

Ezra took in the five being before him, a bald human-woman with more tattoos and piercings than skin, a four-armed species with a crest and an almost reptilian, almost fish-like face, a green humanoid Ezra thought was called a Mirialian, a Snivvian, and a human male who gave Ezra a once-over with an arched eyebrow.

"My friends! Long time no see!"

"Sammut!" The human woman called, socking him in the arm with a friendly punch. "Who's the kid?"

Ezra glared, muttering, "not a kid," under his breath.

"This is my new pal, Ez! Ez, these are my Sabacc buddies. Ylvian," the human woman nodded, "Katakk," the four-armed being waved two of their hands, "Pavo," the Mirialian smiled, "Weze," the Snivvian also waved, "and Archer."

"You're new here," the human male said in lieu of a greeting.

Ezra shrugged, hand tightening slightly on his glass. "Just passing through, needed to get off the ship and found this place," he simply stated, off-handedly as if it were no big deal. "Captain doesn't allow alcohol on her ship."

"A traveler? Don't get many of those around here, especially not many as young as you," Ylvian mused, moving to sit at the table and prop her booted-feet up on the surface. "Where you from, Ez?"

He shrugged again, carefully picking his way around the table to sit. He watched with an amused look as Sammut shoved Ylvian's feet off the table with a grumble, before answering. "Around."

"That's not a very straight answer," Archer pointed out, watching Ezra with suspicion.

"What can I say, I was orphaned and grew up on the streets," he told them, explanation coming easier with the influence of the alcohol in his system. "Never really had a home." He shrugged again and finished his drink in one go, carefully schooling his face.

"Are we playing 20 questions or are we playing Sabacc?" Pavo asked, slapping a hand against the table. "Stop interrogating the kid and sit your butt down."

"How do we know he isn't an imp-"

Ezra growled and slammed his glass on the table, leaning forward. "My parents were taken by the Empire," he hissed, leveling Archer with a cold glare. "I promise you I have no love for those bastards."

The two stared at each other for a long moment before Archer glanced away, dipping his head. "My condolences," he muttered, sincerity singing through the Force. "I didn't know."

Ezra waved him off and leaned back in his chair with feigned nonchalance. "It's fine, you didn't know. Now, are we here to gossip or are we here to play Sabacc?"

"No offense, but do you even know how to play, kid?" Katakk asked, setting up the cards. They gave Ezra a side-long glance, "do you even have credits?"

Ezra just raised an eyebrow with a scoff. "Of course I can play, this isn't my first time in a bar. And do you think I'm stupid?"

"Never said you were, you just look awfully… small."

"I'm 17, I can handle myself," Ezra lied easily.

"Sure, kid," Ylvian smirked, propping her boots back on the table despite Sammut's protests. "You're totally not lying, you're definitely 17." Sarcasm dripped from her voice and Ezra turned to her with a pronounced frown. "Look, kid, you don't gotta lie here. I can assure you no one here gives a flying pile of Bantha dung how old you are."

Ezra was almost regretting coming to the bar, he was tired of everyone treating him like a dumb child. Well, that wasn't entirely true, they did serve him, and they were letting him play Sabacc, but it was the way they spoke to him that was getting on his nerves.

It was exactly how everyone on the Ghost treated him when he first joined. With a start, Erza realized that at some point the crew had stopped treating him as a naive child and instead as an actual part of the crew. Huh. He wondered when that happened, but shook the thought from his mind and turned back to the easy conversation happening in front of him. It had finally shifted away from him and instead they were bickering about who was dealing.

Ezra let the six of them argue. Well, it was three of them, Sammut, Archer, and Weze were sitting back and letting Ylvian, Katakk, and Pavo hash out who was going to be the dealer for the day. Ezra almost offered simply to get them to stop arguing and start dealing, but he didn't want to be bothered with the extra work and instead turned to Sammut who was seated closest.

"Do they always argue like this," he asked, smiling behind a hand as their voices raised only to quiet back down by a glare from Serali. It reminded him of Chopper, Zeb, and himself. Heh.

"Usually," the horned humanoid agreed, rolling his eyes. "I'm getting another drink, want anything?"

Ezra glanced at his empty glass, then at the comm on his wrist, and sighed. Another drink wouldn't hurt. Other than a warm feeling curling through his stomach and chest, he wasn't feeling the first two drinks, so what would be the harm in a third. "Yeah, I'm coming."

"You don't need to get up," Sammut pointed out, but Ezra shook his head.

"Sorry, no offense, but I don't trust anyone to not spike my drink."

Sammut hummed but nodded, "Good instincts. Story there?"

"You could say that," Ezra snorted, chasing away an unsavory memory. "Just don't want to chance it."

"Fair."

The two of them made their way over to the bar, Ezra taking Serali's suggestion of Miralian Whiskey. He almost got the Flameout, but refrained. It was bad enough he'd be going back buzzed at best, he didn't need to be hopped up on Spice and really piss everyone off. Sammut got himself another Devonian Horn for himself, and a couple other drinks for the others at the table that Ezra didn't bother paying attention to. He tossed some credits up onto the counter, probably too many for the drinks he had ordered, but felt no loss.

He had pickpocketed the drunken group that led him here in the first place. It wasn't his own money he was spending, nor money that belonged to the Ghost.

Plus, he was going to make it all back and more if Sabacc went well. Two birds, one stone and all that.

He made it back to his seat and was silently glad that the dealer had been decided, Pavo being stuck with the role. Ezra took a slow sip of his drink, relishing the burn of the smooth alcohol as it slid down his throat. As the cards were dealt out, and Ezra looked at his hand, his face settled into a neutral face, betraying nothing.

Kanan's voice echoed in his brain. Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. The partial Jedi Code swirled in his chest and added to his calm facade. It settled like a blanket over his bones, and a small part of him laughed at the blatant misuse of the words, Kanan wouldn't be proud, but he was sure Zeb would at least understand.

"That's one hell of a Sabacc face," he heard Weze mutter, flicking his eyes over to see the Snivvian nervously looking at his hand. Ezra didn't even need the Force to sense that the other's hand was bad.

He wasn't going to cheat, even if he easily could. He'd just bluff his way through it like he always did. Ezra slid a couple of credits into the pot, following the others' leads and took another card, not letting anything slip past his features as he glanced down at his hand.

Two, three, four times his turn came and passed, and he discarded only once and redrew, adding more to the pot.

He could tell by far his Sabacc face was the best out of everyone's, though Archer's perpetual scowl helped the man. Weze, in comparison, had next to none, and with a glance around the table and a nervous tapping of his hand, frowned heavily.

Ezra had a good feeling, his hand was decent, which was better than he started out with after a shift, and a quick glance around the table told Ezra all he needed.

The two humans looked somewhat confident, though Ylvian's finger tapping against her face in a short beat and the quick darting of Archer's eyes were tells Ezra found easily enough. Weze was glancing around the table, at the pot, and then at Ezra with a puzzled look. The other three looked nervous, but didn't want to back down, trying unsuccessfully to bluff their way through. Finally, Archer called, and Ylvian called as well. Weze folded with a sigh, as did Pavo. Sammut called next to Ezra, and Ezra called his own hand, waiting now on Katakk, who called as well.

All at once the table, minus Weze and Pavo, placed their hands face up, and Ezra's eyes quickly swept over the table.

Archer's total was at 19, and the man looked confident until he saw Ylvian's hand which was at -20. Sammut was at 20, and Katakk at a mere 17. All their eyes landed on Ezra's 22. "Damn, lucky kid," he heard Sammut mumble.

He pulled the small pot over to himself, silently gloating at the dirty looks everyone gave him. "What can I say, I've got a good Sabacc face."

Another round ended much the same, though he lost the third one. A fourth round followed quickly by a fifth round, only one of which Ezra won, then a sixth, during which Ezra's drink mysteriously was refilled by Serali. As they played the Sabacc pot grew more and more, no one managing a pure Sabacc or Idiot's array. Hands seven, eight, and nine passed in a blur, one of which Ezra won on default when everyone but him folded (and oh boy his hand stunk then and everyone's frustrated shouts were like music to his ears), and winning the next through pure luck.

It was during the dealing of the tenth hand that his comm went off quietly on his arm, and Ezra let his eyes glance down to it before standing up. "I gotta take this," he mumbled, stalking away from the table and the curious eyes following him.

He trusted them not to mess with his hand or his growing pile of earnings, they seemed trustworthy enough and the Force had been quietly curled around the table for the entire time he sat.

"Spectre-1 to Spectre-6, come in," Kanan's slowly-increasingly annoyed voice called over the Comm, and Ezra suppressed a groan.

"Spectre-6," he answered once he got far enough away no wandering ears would be able to listen in. "What'd'ya want, I'm a little busy."

"Doing what, exactly, Spectre-6?" Kanan asked sharply, and Ezra quickly scrambled to fix his mistake.

"I'm not in trouble or anything, don't worry Ka-Spectre-1. I'm just… busy."

There was a worrying pause, and a sudden nudging against his Force Signature and Ezra quickly sent one back to Kanan, reassuring his Master that he was, in fact, perfectly fine. "See, I told you."

He heard Kanan sigh, and Hera's voice cut in. "You're still on, or near the ship, I presume," she asked, and Ezra cringed, rubbing the back of his neck. 

He was close enough, so he guessed a small lie wouldn't hurt. "Yeah, something like that, Spectre-2."

"Spectre-6…"

"I promise I'm close to the ship…" Somewhat, at least, he tacked on in his thoughts.

"And you're not in trouble?" Zeb butt in, teasing smile evident even through the comm.

"I'm fine. I'm better than fine, trust me."

"When he says to trust him means he's up to something…" Sabine pointed out and Ezra scowled.

"Hey, I heard that!"

"I know, that was the point."

Ezra shook his head and sighed, "How long until you're back."

"Five minutes, Spectre-6."

"Karrabast," Ezra hissed, knocking a hand against his temple. There was no way he'd make it back before they did. He was as good as dead when they found out that he not only snuck off despite being explicitly told not to. Oh no, he snuck off to a kriffin' bar. 

"Spectre-6?" Kanan prompted and Ezra cursed again as he missed whatever had just been asked of him.

"Yeah, yeah, no, yeah it's fine, it's just. Uh…" He should come clean, save him some face and just tell them flat out where he was, maybe it'd be better than hiding it. Might get in less trouble that way. But… if he hid it he could properly get shit-faced and not remember whatever would happen to him come tomorrow morning. "It's nothing," he finally settled on. "I'll see you guys when you get back."

"Alright, Spectre-6…" Kanan's disbelieving voice answered, making Ezra shift in place and pinch the bridge of his nose.

"I gotta go. Uh, Spectre-6 over and out, or whatever." With that he fully shut off his comm, despite Hera repeatedly telling him to keep an open and turned on communication channel. He'd be dead within the hour so what did it matter.

Before heading back to the table he made a detour to the bar and got Serali's attention. "Yeah, so, change in plans," he huffed, grinning nervously. "Captain found out and isn't happy, so I'm planning on getting shit-faced. So how about that Flameout?"

Serali gave him a strange look, though said nothing past an inquisitive, "you sure?"

"Hey, I'm here for a good time," Ezra grinned, glancing over his shoulder, "not a long time."

"Cheers to that," Serali agreed, passing Ezra a flame red-orange drink that looked more like molten lava than a beverage. "Careful," she warned as Ezra took it in his hand, "it's got a bite." Ezra thanked her and went to pull out some credits but he was waved off. "No worries, I'll put it on my husband's tab."

Ezra quietly thanked her again and headed back to the Sabacc table, settling down with a short, "Sorry about that," and ignoring the inquisitive eyes that glanced at the drink held in his hand. "So… back to it then?"

"Sure, if you're up for it after that?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow and turned towards Pavo. "What do you mean by that?"

"... You do know that the main ingredient in that is… Spice, right?"

Ezra made sure not to visibly react, though he wanted to roll his eyes so badly it hurt, and instead reached for his drink, assuredly taking a sip. It burned, not like a normal alcohol, but like an actual flame licking his lips, but also froze his throat as it went down. Yep, that was Spice alright. "Yeah?" Ezra snorted, "Not the first time." He waved off their looks and turned back to the table, making a split second decision and draining most of his extremely potent drink in a few gulps. "How about we make it more interesting?"

"How so," Archer narrowed his eyes at Ezra's brazen display.

"Well, seeing as this is probably my last hand," he gestured to the mostly empty drink with an aborted movement, "how about an all-or-nothing?"

A beat of silence before Sammut turned to him. "You sure about that, kid? You could be losing a lot of credits."

"I could be winning even more," Ezra shot back, not taking the easy out offered to him. "What do you say?"

"I'm in," Archer grinned, shoving his small pile of earnings forward. Ylvian followed suit, throwing in what she had to the pot. 

"I'll sit this one out," Weze sighed, raising their hands.

"Sure," Pavo smiled, throwing the very small amount of credits she had managed to earn into the middle.

"I'm game," Sammut relented, putting his own bet into the pot.

Ezra just shoved his pile of credits forward without a word and turned to Katakk who also wordlessly added what they had to the pot. Once everyone who was playing added, the pile was impressive, the Sabacc pot itself just as big. If he managed to win he'd be loaded and the Ghost would be set for months.

Weze got to shuffling the cards, dealing them out quickly. Ezra glanced at his two cards with schooled features, internally wincing at the hand. An Ace and a Commander. It wasn't looking good. When the first turn went around Ezra traded his Commander and got a card worth less but still leaving him over the 23 limit. The second time he drew, hoping for a negative to bring his total down, but cursed silently in his head when it only added more.

Karrablast, his bluff wasn't working out. He was about to lose everything.

A familiar feeling tugged at the Force and Ezra let his eyes lift to the door as a large, purple Lasat entered the bar, yellow-green eyes scanning the small crowd and landing on Ezra. Zeb. The furry being quickly made his way over, and Ezra let his cards drop as he looked up at the older man with a quick, apologetic smile. "Heyyyy Zeb," he drawled, making sure the Lasat didn't get to see his hand. "I'll be done soon, promise."

"Kid," Zeb warned as he stalked over, ear flicking as he raked his eyes over the people at the table. He narrowed his eyes when a hand landed on the youngest Spectre, and Ezra turned to the Devonian with a shake of his head.

Is there a problem, kid?" The horned humanoid asked, and Zeb growled at the six pairs of withering glares sent his way.

"Nah," Ezra shook his head, brushing the hand off his shoulder. "Just my cue to hurry up. Hera sent you, I presume?" Ezra asked, not even looking at his hand as he selected a card seemingly at random and traded it for a new one.

"You bet your ass she did," Zeb huffed, noticing the pot for the first time. He couldn't help but give an awed whistle as he pulled up a chair to sit next to Ezra, a little closer than strictly necessary, but he didn't trust any of these characters as far as he could throw them. It was bad enough that Zeb could smell the offensive stench of alcohol wafting freely off Ezra, even if he showed little outward sign of being drunk.

"I'll deal with it later," Ezra grinned, turning back to his hand and lifting it enough to see, face smoothing over into practiced nothingness that made Zeb falter. That was creepy, Zeb shuddered, to see the normally expressive kid turn to absolutely nothing in a blink of an eye. He tried to get a view of Ezra's hand, but it was held carefully so as to not let the Lasat see.

Probably for a good reason. Zeb had absolutely no Sabacc face, unlike Ezra apparently.

Instead he reached for the bright red-orange drink, something prickling uncomfortably in the back of his neck. Carefully sniffing it he made a shocked noise, to which Ezra responded by taking the glass from his hand and draining it. "Karrablast, kid, what the heck is in that kriffin' stuff?"

"Spice."

"What?!" Zeb nearly roared, sitting forward so quickly his chair squealed against the ground. "Kid–"

Ezra traded another card, ignoring Zeb completely. 

"Hera's gonna kill you, and then she's going to kill me for letting this happen."

A change, a shuffle, a shift, and Ezra lifted his cards again, but this time something was different. None of the rest of the being at the table could tell but Zeb had been living with the kid long enough to see the set of his shoulders relax so minutely that even he almost missed it.

The two humans called, as did the Mirialian and the Devonian, Ezra following suit, though the Besalisk folded with a growl and both sets of arms crossing over their chest.

The human male placed his cards down. A total of 22. Zeb raised an eyebrow. Not bad.

The human woman's cards sat at a -22 and the Devonian at a 23, a pure Sabacc. All eyes turned to Ezra, who smirked and finally showed Zeb his hand. Zeb's ears perked, his eyes widened, and he couldn't help but laugh and slap his knee.

Ezra put his hand on the table and everyone froze.

An Idiot's Array.

Eyes bulged, an outcry though far from unfriendly started, and the Devonian started to laugh alongside Zeb, Ezra joining in a bit hysterically.

As soon as it quieted down the entire pot, the normal and the Sabacc pot, was pushed towards Ezra with a cheer, and Ezra quickly started shoving the credits into his pocket, all while talking animatedly with the gang around the table.

There was a noise from Zeb's comm and the Lasat cringed and pulled it out, having completely forgotten why he was here in the first place.

"Sorry, yeah, Hera, you won't-No he's fine but-Hera-" He sighed and put a hand on his head. "No I promise he's… well, he will be fine, if you don't kill 'im first, but-Yes he's had a drink or two but he seems fine to me. But, Hera, you won't believe the haul we're bringing back. No, yeah, I'm sure he'll fill us in when we get back. We'll be back soon, uh-huh, yeah. Alright, see ya in a bit."

Turning back to the table Zeb watched Ezra finish a previously unnoticed drink and sway for less than a second before turning to everyone. The Devonian was pressing something into Ezra's hand, something written on a thin strip of Flimsi, and Zeb caught the tail end of the conversation.

"Ez, if you ever need any help, with the Empire or old enemies or anything, contact me on that frequency."

"Ezra," the kid added quickly, nodding, clutching the Flimsi in his fist. A look of confusion spread across the table. "Name's Ezra Bridger."

"Well," the human male stuck out a hand, and Ezra took it. "Ezra Bridger, you've made yourself some friends. If you're ever in the area or need any help, let ol' Sam here know and he'll pass the message along."

Ezra hesitated, before ripping a piece of napkin and producing a pen from… somewhere. He quickly scrawled something onto it and passed it to the Devonian, 'Sam'. "Same to you guys. If you need any help, holler, and we'll swing by if we can."

"Alright, before Kanan comes storming in and drags us both out by the ears," Zeb interrupted, grabbing the kit by the shoulder, silently steadying the intoxicated teenager. "We really need to get going."

Ezra sighed and deflated, glaring weakly at Zeb. "Do I really have to? Can't we just, I dunno, stay here for a little longer?"

Zeb rose a challenge, a single brow lifting at Ezra's defiance. "It's either you come willingly or I pick you up over a shoulder like a sack of flour. Your pick."

"I'd go with the big guy," the human woman added helpfully, nodding sagely.

"If you're ever in the area you know where to come," 'Sam' agreed, patting Ezra's free shoulder and not-so-subtly nudging him towards Zeb. "But I think it's time to take your leave."

Ezra groaned but eventually, with much reluctance, agreed, letting his shoulders drop and a not-quite pout settle on his features. "Fine. C'mon. I'll see you guys around out there someday, maybe," he told the group at the table, raising a hand in a wave as Zeb steered them towards the door. There was a moment of resistance and Zeb went to push slightly harder but a glance down showed Ezra standing on his toes and waving at the Bartender who waved back with a wink.

"Don't worry," Ezra instantly soothed the fur rising on Zeb's arm, "she's married, she doesn't mean it. If she did, she wouldn't be so nice about it." Ezra laughed at some private joke and Zeb grumbled, simply tightening his grip on the boy's shoulder as they walked up the steps and out onto the street.

The two paused at the heavy sheets of water pouring endlessly from the sky. It hadn't been raining when Zeb went in, so it must have not been raining that long, but even still, the Lasat glared out into the driving rain.

Ezra simply shrugged and stepped out, turning on his heel—and nearly slipping on the wet stone, a sure sign of his inebriated state, even though he quickly caught himself with a startled wheeze-laugh—and heading in the general direction of the hanger. Zeb grumbled and quickly caught up, hunched over against the cold rain that soaked his fur. "Great, I'm gonna stink for hours after this," he grumbled, shaking his head violently to dislodge the water gathering.

"Yeah, wet Lasat is the worst," Ezra snickered, hands crossed behind his head without a care in the world. "But you get used to it."

Zeb just glanced down warily at the young human, a sudden thought creeping back up in his brain. "That drink back there…"

"Yeah?"

"The red one. It didn't… actually have Spice in it, did it?" Ezra grinned at him, which didn't soothe his worries at all. "Kid…"

"No, it did," Ezra told him matter-of-factly, "and I know it'll be kicking in fully once we get back to the Ghost, right now it's just a warm, floaty feeling, like I'm invincible. The rain feels nice, it was getting stuffy back at the bar. Hey, I never actually got the name of the place, did you happen to catch it–"

And great, now the kid was rambling, praddling on a mile a minute, topic changing every other heartbeat. Zeb gave up trying to follow the kid's train of thought and instead answered any vague questions with a grunt here and a noncommittal noise there.

He was so dead. Ezra was definitely dead once Hera and Kanan found out he was not only drunk—or at least well on his way there—but also once they found out the kid had Spice on top of it all. But Zeb was probably just as dead because he allowed the kid to finish not one but two drinks and gamble right under his nose.

Karrablast.

Well, life was nice while it lasted.

Zeb was lost in his own dark, private musings on how Hera specifically was going to kick his ass when he literally ran into the kid walking in front of him and nearly pushed him to the ground. He quickly grabbed the kid by the shoulders to steady him and was ready to shout something rude when he felt the minute trembling under his hands.

"Do…" the kid was quiet, unnaturally so after his loud blustering mere moments before. "Is… Will Kanan be mad? And Hera?"

"Yeah, kid. You promised not to leave the Ghost, and then did so anyway, and lied about it."

But Ezra was already shaking his head, hands fidgeting in front of him, twisting nervously, clenching into tight fists before loosening, twisting together again, and repeating the process. "No, not about… I know they're mad about that, but will they be mad about…"

"You drinking?" Zeb offered, and Ezra flinched.

"Kinda, more… mmm," the kid was nervously flapping his hands now, before he seemed to realize, stopped, went to shove his hands in his pockets only to hit the credits weighing his jacket down, and instead wrapped his arms around himself. "More about…"

Zeb waited patiently despite the rain weighing his fur down and making him uncomfortable. The kid wilted more before he shook his head and gave Zeb a brilliant, though obviously false smile. "Nevermind. It's nothing."

"Whatever it is you can tell me. Stars know I've done my own fair share of stupid shit, sneaking out to a bar once in a while the least of it."

"Yeah but you're," Ezra agitatedly gestured to all of Zeb with a frustrated noise, face screwing up in an unreadable expression. "You're, augh, an adult. I'm just a kid, it's obviously different." He spat the word kid like it was a pointed barb, and Zeb almost flinched at the vitriol dripping from the teen's voice.

"So you had your first drinks tonight, big deal," Zeb shrugged but Ezra violently shook his head, cutting him off.

"That's the problem, though, isn't it. It wasn't my first time." He hunched in on himself, flinching away from Zeb's hand as it landed on his shoulder. Zeb quickly pulled back and instead kneeled in front of Ezra.

"K–Ezra," Zeb got Ezra's attention, fighting back a cringe because Hera and Kanan were so much better at this than he was, shoot even Sabine was leagues better when it came to talking. "So you've drunk before. So you've gotten drunk before. Big karking deal. I have no room to judge, after… After my people… I drank myself nearly to my grave, barhopping and getting into fights in an attempt to forget. And I know Kanan has had his fair share of issues when it comes to indulging, though that isn't my place to share." Ezra was looking earnestly up at the Lasat, who, even on his knees, still rose a few inches over the boy's head, and it wasn't the first time Zeb realized how small he was. 

"What I'm saying is, no one in this crew is perfect. Yeah, you've had more experience with alcohol than you most definitely should at your age, but I can't say I blame you, not with how you grew up. And I can say for certain that no one on the ship can be angry about that, least we all become hypocrites."

He rubbed at the back of his head and offered a smile, which Ezra hesitantly returned. "Yeah, Hera and Kanan are probably pissed to the far reaches of the universe and back, but it's more at your disregard of orders and you lying then what you were actually up to."

Ezra looked away, arms dropping to his sides as he sighed. "Yeah," he finally mumbled, running a hand down his face. "I guess you're right. But, they won't kick me off the ship, right?" His voice turned meek and Zeb grinned to ease some of the fear leeching back into the kid's shoulders.

"Nah, Ezra, you're stuck with us whether you like it or not."

That got a laugh out of Ezra who looked at him, blinked, frowned, and muttered, "when did you turn blue? I thought you were purple…" There was a distinct slur to his voice that hadn't been there before and Zeb scrubbed a hand down his face.

Oh boy, and here comes the Spice.

"Alright, kid, back to the ship, c'mon." He rose and took Ezra by the shoulders, steering him as quickly as he dared back to the Ghost. Whatever conversation Hera and Kanan would want to have would probably have to wait until the drugs wore off, though he doubted Kanan would be quite that patient.

As it stood, Ezra was blubbering practical nonsense about Loth-cats, something about their fur and how it was used to not only keep them warm but cool as well, head leaning against the arm curled protectively across his shoulders. Ezra announced another fact about the dumb cats that Zeb didn't bother quite listening to, again something about how the reason they tended to be browns, grays, blacks, neutral colors versus the bright blues and greens and purples of a typical Tooka-cat. Had to do with blending in with the long grasses that made up much of Lothal's land or something or other.

Zeb stopped listening the second the kid compared him to one of the blasted creatures.

Finally the Ghost came into view, and with it the very displeased faces of Hera and Kanan standing at the top of the open ramp, arms crossed. Kanan instantly took a step forward, eyes narrowed but Zeb shook his head and let go of Ezra, who stumbled, barely managing to keep himself upright, and promptly looked confused as to where he was.

Zeb could hear Kanan's sigh from here, and Sabine's amused snickers from somewhere in the hanger as he took hold of the kid again and led him towards and then up the ramp.

And not once did Ezra stop talking until he actually entered the Ghost proper, at which his mouth shut so quickly that Zeb nearly worried that the teenager bit off his own tongue. He stared at Kanan with wide eyes, Kanan and Hera staring back with slowly growing worry.

Zeb passed Ezra to Kanan, and made sure he started up the ladder before calling down, "He may or may not be hopped up on some Spice, so I don't know how much he'll retain."

He was already moving towards the 'fresher when he heard it sink in, two suddenly very loud voices shouting "WHAT?! EZRA!"

Ezra blinked and he was being held in a fuming Kanan's grip. Last remembered he was on the street talking to Zeb about… and now he was in front of Kanan. Ezra glanced over his shoulder, seeing the lowered ramp and Sabine making her careful way up it before turning back to Kanan, blinking owlishly up at the man. Yep, he was on the Ghost even if he didn't remember how or when he had gotten there.

Kanan and Hera were talking over each other, voices growing louder and thus harder for Ezra to understand and he shook his head, trying to pull out of Kanan's tight grip. "What? I'm sorry, I wasn't listening," he admitted, rubbing his arm nervously.

He heard Kanan groan and Hera spit out a sigh, and Sabine socked him in the arm with a laugh and a "good going, idiot," tossed his way, but something drew their attention up and away from him. Ezra took this time to try and pry Kanan's hands off his shoulders but they didn't budge and the teenager grumbled and crossed his arms.

He heard something something, then the word Spice and then three sets of eyes were snapping to him. A long beat of excruciating silence that Ezra opened his mouth to fill because silence meant the stupid buzzing in his veins he hated, but then Hera and Kanan both shouted, in unison, "What?! Ezra!"

He shrunk under their glares and shot a silent plea over to Sabine, who shook her head with her hands raised. "Nuh-uh, you got yourself into this one, buddy!"

"But 'Bine," he whined, curling in further on himself as Kanan instantly launched into some long-winded lecture, Hera silently shaking in anger as she stared down at the 15 year old. Ezra sighed and hung his head. "I don't see the problem," he grumped, false bravado all he could muster to instinctively hide the bad feelings worming their way up his chest. "It was only the one drink."

"Ezra, don't lie to us," Kanan sighed, finally letting go of Ezra and scrubbing his hands down his face. "Zeb said you had at least two drinks."

"Yeah, and? I actually had…" His mind struggled to remember what exactly he had, counting on his fingers out loud as he went over it, "The 'Jedi Mind Trick', the 'Devonian Horn' which is absolutely disgusting let me tell you, uh, two, maybe three Mirialian Whiskeys, and then the Flameout. So that's…"

"Five, maybe six drinks, Ezra. That's a far cry from one drink," Hera pointed out sharply.

Ezra bristled and almost gave her a glare but thought better of it and glared at the ground instead. "I never said I only had one drink," he tried again.

"You-yes you did," Kanan started but Ezra raised his voice and shocked himself.

"No, I said only the one drink had Spice in it! If you ever bothered to listen to me then–" had slipped out before he could stop it, and he slapped his hands over his mouth to stop the rest. 

The room rang with a sharp silence that felt as if Ezra had been slapped and he let his hands drop. "Sorry," he managed after a couple heartbeats, refusing to meet any of their eyes. Especially since when he last looked up Kanan had way too many for his face and it took everything in Ezra's willpower to not laugh. "I didn't mean to yell. But, Kanan, it wasn't even a lot, hence why I'm still standing and not on my ass somewhere in a corner."

Another long stretch of silence and Ezra braved a peak upwards through his bangs. Kanan and Hera were having a silent staring contest, and he wasn't sure which one was winning, though neither showed signs of relenting. Sabine just stared cooly at him from her perch on a box, eyebrow raised in a silent challenge.

How you gonna dig yourself out of this one?

The same way he won Sabacc today, by bluffing his way through it.

"Listen, I-I know you're angry," he started, nervously twisting his hands.

"Angry doesn't begin to cover it, Ezra," Kanan huffed, slanting a sideways look at his Padawan that Ezra didn't meet.

"You have every right to be mad at me, okay, I get it. I snuck out, I disappeared without telling anyone, I got…" he hesitated on the word drunk because despite knowing it was true, he didn't quite want to admit it yet. 

"I messed up, okay. I get that. And-And I'd understand if you want to ground me for the foreseeable future, or-or if you just wanted to, I dunno, drop me back onto Lothal and leave me there. It'd make sense," he blundered on, talking louder, faster, desperate to say what needed to be said before he was interrupted or lost his steam. 

"But, I'm sorry. Please don't leave me? I-I overheard you and Hera taking, Kanan, and I know I shouldn't have been listening but you two seemed mad and I-I know we're low on credits, so, here."

He shoved both of his fists into his pockets and brought up two handfuls of credits, pressing them into Kanan's hands before dipping back in for more. "I won these playing Sabacc, and," the next words out of his mouth aren't quite a lie but not the full truth either, his breath has gone all twisted and funny but he barrels onwards, ignoring Kanan and Hera trying to speak to him. 

"That's why I was drinking, I-I lied about my age and had to keep up appearances, I didn't want to be kicked out before winning anything so I just, I drank, and I know I've done it before, and I know it's dumb and I'm too young but I started when I was 10 and just, never stopped, even if I don't do it often –"

"Ezra," he heard on some side of his consciousness, but shook his head.

"I know I'm stupid and can't always listen to directions and I'm restless and I know I shouldn't have left today but I couldn't not do something, there's this buzzing in my skin if I sit still too long and you guys were gone for a long time and-and-And–!"

"Ezra, breathe," there were hands gripping his arms, and it was with a shock and a sharp gasp that genuinely hurt, Ezra realized his breathing went from funky to downright hyperventilating, and that he was lightheaded and probably closer to passing out than he'd like to admit. He forced himself to take a deep breath, it shuddering in his lungs before being released, and then another, focusing on the grounding hands on him.

Ezra blinked black spots from his eyes that he hadn't noticed before and looked up at Kanan's pinched, worried face, then immediately dropped his gaze to the ground. "Sorry," he mumbled under his breath, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He didn't feel like he was about to start crying, but tears stung his eyes anyway and he shook his head, hiding his face behind his bangs. "Sorry, I-I just, I have to explain before–" His voice pitched up again in the same terror that had gripped him and made him spiral into half-baked thoughts and panicked explanations, hands already digging into his pockets and fishing out more credits and trying to hand them off to Hera desperately. "Please."

"Ezra," and her voice was soft, pulling him out from his tremulous thoughts, and she took the credits he shoved into her hands and set them aside onto a box before dropping to her knees and pulling him into a hug. "It's alright, we aren't going to leave you."

Ezra shook his head and hunched his shoulders, not daring to believe her words. Hope never got you anywhere, you could only trust your instincts, and his instincts were screaming that he was done, he was through, this was the straw that broke the Bantha's back, and the second they landed on Lothal or even any other hospitable planet he'd be left there, alone again, to fend for himself.

He didn't realize he mumbled all that audibly until Hera's arms tightened around him, and both Kanan and Sabine moved in to hug him as well. "Wha-what?" he squeaked through the mess of their arms, confused as to why they were hugging him.

"Ezra, you really are dense sometimes," Sabine whisper-hissed into his hair, hugging him tighter. She looked fiercely into his eyes and he blinked, eyes furrowing when he saw tears swimming in her own. "You really can't see we care for you."

"Why are you crying for me?" he murmured, shifting in place for a moment before leaning into the warmth of their arms. "Did I do something?"

"Ezra, look at me," Hera's voice was gentle but commanding and his sapphire eyes snapped to her emerald ones immediately. "We will never leave you, you're a part of this family, and you're with us through thick and thin, you hear me? Yes, what you did was foolish, and I wish you'd have told us what you were doing beforehand, and yes you worried the hell out of us, but stars, Ezra, we care about you, and we just have your best interest in heart."

Ezra didn't reply, just blinked at her for a moment before Kanan spoke, drawing his attention. "Kid, Hera's right. You scared the hell out of me when you said you'd be here and you weren't. You're my Padawan, and I-I know I haven't been the best teacher, but every day I worry about you, worry I'm not good enough for you. And I know my distance has been wrong, and hard on both of us, but I promise I'm trying, and it's not your fault."

Kanan sighed and pressed his head against Ezra's. "I'm sorry I made it so you couldn't come to me. It wasn't my intention but it was wrong."

Ezra's face pinched, eyes searching each of their faces before tears welled up so quickly and so thickly that he couldn't see straight, and he sank to the floor as a sob burst from his chest. He hiccuped as they all hugged him tighter, a hand in his hair, another on his back, a third rubbing his arm, hushed words soothing him, telling him he was okay.

He managed to whimper a broken, "we're family?" and the chorus of agreement that instantly rose made him choke and cry harder because oh, oh, he hadn't had a family since he was 7 years old, hadn't had anyone to care for him and he'd been all alone for so long.

But the people next to him, who cared for him and dare he say, loved him were his family, and it was just now he was realizing this, and a quick, jumbled memory of earlier where he had called them acquaintances sprung unbidden to his mind and he cried harder, choking out, "I'm sorry," though he wasn't sure what for.

He didn't normally cry this hard, and usually only on specific dates, like his birthday Empire Day or the anniversary of when his parents were taken, but there was something cathartic about it. Despite how awful he felt in the moment, and how embarrassed he'd be come tomorrow when he ultimately remembered this happening, it was also a huge relief off his shoulder he didn't know he so desperately needed.

He was hard-pressed to blame it on the alcohol and the Spice, because it wasn't, not entirely. He could already feel it wearing off, leaving him heavy-limbed and exhausted to his core, but he knew these feelings were always there, and it all just came to a head due to his sneaking off. It was almost a good thing, he nearly mused, that he had snuck off, because otherwise he'd still be holding this baggage near to his heart.

With great difficulty Ezra pulled back from the arms and rubbed his face, slumping in on himself and pressing his face against his knees for a moment as he built up the strength to stand up. "Thank you," he rasped thickly, voice muffled slightly by his position, but he looked up with a small, albeit genuine smile gracing his red, blotchy face. "I-I think I needed that. The," he laughed, rubbing his neck nervously and shrugged, "the crying, I mean not. Not the alcohol."

"I'm glad we helped," Sabine bit out, slightly sarcastically, but Ezra's smile grew slightly. "Wish you'd have let us help earlier."

"It was stupid of me, I'm sorry."

"I won't say it's okay," Hera told him truthfully, cringing as she pulled the boy to his feet and his knees cracked in a way she wasn't sure was normal for someone his age, but she filed it away for later. They'd had enough drama for the day. "But you're forgiven."

"That's all I ask," Ezra accepted in a small voice, dipping his head.

Kanan gave him a long, unreadable look before dropping his arm around Ezra's shoulders. "You should rest," he told his Padawan, squeezing his shoulder gently under his palm. "Sleep everything off. You'll need your rest, proper Jedi training starts as soon as you're up for it."

"Really?" This seemed to brighten Ezra up immeasurable, and he hugged Kanan around the waist before the man ushered him towards the ladder. "Thank you, Kanan!"

"He's not going to remember a thing we said, is he," Sabine snorted, scrubbing the tears from her face.

"Nope," both Hera and Kanan chirped but Ezra waved them off.

"Oh I will, I'll wish I didn't but I will, always do," he smirked, ducking past Kanan's hand which made a grab to ruffle his hair. "Gonna have one hell of a hangover, though."

"Which you'll have deserved. And if you'll remember this you'll know why you're going to be saddled with more chores than you'll know what to do with."

"Uh-huh."

"Come on, kit," Zeb beckoned the kid over, thoroughly dried and wet-Lasat smell-free. He managed to ruffle Ezra's hair despite his grumbles and herded him towards their room. "Time to sleep, you can tell me more about those Loth-cats you're so fond of." Ezra's eyes brightened and he immediately fell into step with Zeb, turning his face up towards the taller man.

"Can I tell you about Loth-Wolves instead?"

"Sure, kid, as long as you get into bed."

Zeb turned and met Kanan's eyes, nodding at the man who smiled gratefully at him. He knew the three of them needed a long discussion about things, about Ezra, but also knew none of them wanted to leave him alone in case he couldn't hold his liquor as well as he seemed to. Zeb silently stepped up to watch the kit while the other three talked, knowing he'd be filled in soon enough.

For now he'd deal with Ezra tiredly talking his ear off about Wolves and legends and stories until he either passed out or Zeb smothered him to sleep, whichever came first. Actually, first would be to get the kid to shower, looking at his sorry face, red-eyed, blotchy-cheeked, barely-dried tear tracks down his face made something in Zeb break a little. So he changed direction a bit and led him towards the refresher. "I didn't even use up all the hot water."

"Wow, I must be dreaming," Ezra grinned as he sped up.

"You wish you were dreaming," Zeb called after him, heavy footsteps receding into the ship.

Hera made her way up next to Kanan and took his hand in her own, running her thumb over the back of his fingers. "Credit for your thoughts, love?" she asked, bumping his hip with hers as he stared after where his Padawan left.

He sighed, heavily, and put his free hand on his face. "That was… just… wow," he breathed, hearing Sabine pad quietly up to his other side and pat him awkwardly on the arm as she passed. "I knew.. I knew the kid had a rough life but."

"I know. It's going to be a lot to deal with, but we'll manage. I broke through to you, didn't I?" She teased, a sparkle in her eye and Kanan couldn't help but laugh with a shake of his head.

"You did. You're right. I just… I wish we'd have met him sooner, or-or his parents were never taken. He's so young, and had to grow up so quickly. Even-Even I was 14 when… when it happened."

"Hey," she pulled him down and pressed a kiss against his cheek. "We'll be more prepared for whatever comes. And when it does, we'll help him through it. We'll deal with it one step at a time. And I think the first step is to make him some food, drinking all that alcohol is hell on an empty stomach."

"You're right as always, miss Syndulla."

"You bet your pretty ass I am."

"You think my ass is pretty, don't you? Well I'll show you pretty-"

"Kanan Jarrus, not on my ship!"

He sped away from her and towards the galley laughing, Hera hot on his heels with a grin of her own.