Chapter Text
Luke Skywalker was sitting lazily at his desk underneath the window, staring out over Coruscant's busy metropolis from his vantage point in the top floor of the building, when there was a knock at his door. Luke slowly scooted out of his chair and stood up, crossing the large living room in his quarters until he arrived at the door. He had expected this knock, as he had been told by one of his father’s assistants that he had been assigned a body guard who would be arriving today at noon. Luke checked his watch. It was, in fact, exactly 12:00 pm, Coruscant time. Luke rolled his eyes to himself. Of course one of his father’s servants would be exactly on time. Would it kill anyone to ever be a minute late? Or, hell, a minute early, just to spice things up?
Luke hesitated only a moment before opening the door. When he did, he took the smallest step back, eyebrows raising in surprise.
An inquisitor? That’s who his father had chosen to protect him?
Ever since his sister Leia’s disappearance a week before, it seemed the entire Empire was on alert trying to get her back, convinced she had been taken hostage by those rebel terrorists. They had inquisitors sent out all over the galaxy to get her back, but so far, there was no trace of her to be found. Luke’s father was deployed out on some star destroyer in the Outer Rim right now, but he knew he must have been worried for Luke’s safety, too, if the inquisitor bodyguard was anything to go by. The thought that his father worried about him sent warmth through Luke’s chest.
Luke sized up the inquisitor before him. He was a couple inches taller than Luke, dressed in all-black armor with a lightsaber hanging at his belt. He wasn’t wearing the usual inquisitor helmet, so Luke could see his blue hair shorn short into a buzz cut, matching well with his deep blue eyes–
Wait. Blue eyes?
The inquisitor nodded solemnly to Luke in greeting, and Luke stepped aside so he could enter the room.
Luke stared at him as he stood flat against the wall, back straight and chin up, eyes practically unseeing.
The picture of a perfect body guard.
“You’re the Thirteenth Brother,” Luke said to him. Rumors of the boy had spread through Coruscant like the plague. He was the newest inquisitor, and everyone said he was a prodigy.
They say he graduated from apprenticeship in only 6 months. They say he’s perfected every lightsaber form in the known galaxy. They say he is as silent as a statue. They say he took down a mob of 20 rebels single handedly. They say his eyes are eerily blue.
That one, at least, was true. Those blue eyes flickered to Luke as he spoke, and Thirteen gave the curtest of nods in response.
Luke couldn’t help but scowl. “Look, I appreciate you… looking out for me. But I can handle myself,” he said, patting the blaster that hung from his belt lightly.
And it was true. Luke may not be able to wield the force, but he was an excellent shot.
He waited for Thirteen to respond, but he didn’t so much as flinch. He just stared forward, standing straight as a rod.
Luke scoffed, turning his back to the man. Whatever. He hadn’t really expected Thirteen to defy orders from Darth Vader, anyway.
Walking back across the living room, Luke sat back down at his desk. His quarters were made up of a living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom, all lavishly decorated to Coruscant’s standards, as well as a little guest room where his bodyguard would be staying, not much bigger than a shoebox.
Looking over his shoulder, Luke saw that Thirteen had entered the room, now standing beside Luke’s desk, gaze as elusive as ever.
Anger simmered in Luke’s chest. The Thirteenth Brother? Really?
Luke knew his father was sending him a message by assigning him this specific inquisitor. Lord Vader didn’t do anything without a reason.
The Thirteenth Brother was supposedly the most powerful inquisitor alive. Was Vader trying to remind Luke of his own shortcomings by assigning Thirteen as his bodyguard? To make sure Luke never forgot how weak he thought he was?
(Years of training. Dozens of teachers, tutors, instructors. Hours upon hours of sparring and meditation and reading. All wasted on Luke).
It hurt worse remembering the rumors about the Thirteenth Brother’s training. Everyone knew that he had received specialized, one-on-one training with Darth Vader himself.
Luke couldn’t remember the last time his father had even spoken to him alone. Let alone bothered to spend any time with him.
Luke clenched his jaw and did his best to pretend the inquisitor wasn’t there. He returned to the paperwork he was working on on his desk… balancing budgets, assigning stormtrooper shifts… Luke groaned minutely and placed his head in his hands.
He was an administrative officer for a Coruscant unit of stormtroopers. This may have seemed impressive for any other 17-year-old in the galaxy, especially considering most kids couldn’t even join the military until they were 18, but Luke…
Luke was Darth Vader’s son. And he was an utter disappointment.
Luke wasn’t like Leia, who was brilliant in all things political and strategic. She understood exactly what buttons to push to manipulate politicians into doing what she wanted, and exactly how to come out of every battle victorious. She was a goddamn mastermind, she was her father’s daughter.
And what was Luke? Everyone knew that Luke was good with people, and good at smoothing over situations. Leia always said that as good as she was at politics, Luke would always best her at being so god damn likable.
One time, a couple years ago when Vader had all but given up on training Luke in the Force, he assigned him to squash a miner’s strike on Kenari– a test to see if he could be useful.
And Luke fucking nailed it. In a matter of days, he had met with the miners and heard their demands, and worked with them to make a deal that was beneficial for both the Empire and the miners. A job well done, right?
Luke still wasn’t sure why his father didn’t give him more assignments like that. He didn’t really know where he went wrong.
Since then, he had been pretty much stuck doing clerical work. Lovely.
His chest ached a little for a moment. He missed Leia. It was so lonely around here without her, where no one could really be trusted and every move he made was a test.
He hoped she was alive. He hoped she was okay. Sometimes, if he really thought about her, he could swear that he could feel her right there, telling him not to worry.
Giving up on getting work done, he turned in his chair to face Thirteen. “So, uh, what are you supposed to do all day?” Luke asked. “You really just gonna stand there?”
Thirteen’s eyes locked on him, so Luke knew he was listening, but he didn’t speak. His face was all sharp angles: a strong nose, intense jawline, and prominent cheekbones, one even with two thin parallel scars running across it. It made him look more mature than he was, but the more Luke looked at him, the more he doubted the inquisitor was any older than he was. Thirteen’s expression was blank, but somehow Luke could tell that he didn’t want to be here just as much as Luke didn’t want him there.
Instead of responding to Luke’s question, Thirteen just crossed his arms and leaned against the wall a little more casually, as if challenging Luke’s patience. Luke didn’t know what he expected from him. He wasn’t exactly sure how one was supposed to treat their inquisitor bodyguard, but Luke was tired of acting how he was supposed to anyway.
“I’ve heard you’re the only inquisitor who’s eyes haven’t turned yellow,” Luke continued.
Thirteen stared at him, his eyes so blue Luke could almost imagine they were glowing.
“Although, I heard a rumor that they turn yellow when you use the force. That true?”
Thirteen stared at him for a moment, expression dark and grim, then shrugged. He casually lifted a hand, and a vase on Luke’s desk lifted in the air. Jealousy twisted in his gut. Why should this random kid be able to use the force so casually? Luke was Darth Vader’s son, and he’d been trained his whole life! Where did he go wrong?
Thirteen’s eyes did, in fact, turn yellow. Even once he had returned the vase, they stayed yellow for minutes afterwards, until slowly fading back to blue.
“Interesting,” Luke said, thinking aloud.
Thirteen held his gaze for only a moment longer before looking back at the wall, staring into the middle-distance.
Luke resisted the urge to roll his eyes and returned to his paperwork. He had cross-checked suppliers and scheduled all the necessary shipments for the week before finally getting up and stretching. The sun was beginning to set, casting everything in hazy orange.
Thirteen was still standing there, staring at nothing. Luke walked up to him so they were facing each other. Thirteen was dazing at something beyond Luke’s shoulder.
“How’s it going?” Luke asked casually. Thirteen’s eyes wandered to meet Luke’s, but he didn’t react.
Luke sighed. Then he returned his gaze. Thirteen looked at him. Luke looked back. They stood there, neither moving a muscle except to breath, until finally, Thirteen blinked.
Luke jumped back, grinning. “Ha-ha!” he said. “I win.” He blinked dryness out of his stinging eyes.
Thirteen jerked out of his stiff position and opened his mouth as if to protest, and then closed it. He scowled.
It was the most reaction Luke had gotten from him all day, and he was proud to find that there might actually be a human in there, after all. He reached out a hand to pat his shoulder, saying, “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll beat me next time.” Thirteen flinched under his touch. Luke retracted his hand. “I mean, you’ve been practicing all day. Keep that up, and you’ll be able to win a staring contest with a fish.”
And, did he see that right? Did the ghost of a smile phase across Thirteen’s lips?
It was gone as fast as it came, but Luke knew what he saw. He took it as a win.
When Kanan awoke, the first thing on his mind was Ezra. Is that what it meant to have a padawan? To worry about them from the moment you wake up to the moment you fall asleep?
Kanan’s second thought was of Hera, which really showed his priorities in life.
It wasn’t for a few moments that Kanan remembered to think of himself, and realized he was nearly naked, encased in liquid. It would be frightening, probably, if this was his first time waking up in a Bacta tank. Luckily, though, or perhaps unluckily, this was far from his first.
Kanan unhooked himself from tubes and swam his way to the top, taking a deep breath for the first time in what felt like ages. Why did his lungs feel so stale?
And why was it so dark in here?
He heard a door hiss open.
“Kanan?”
He recognized the voice immediately as Hera.
“Hera? What’s going on?”
“Oh my…” she said, disbelief hushing her tone. “You’re awake.” Her voice was choked.
“Yeah,” Kanan said cautiously. “Hera…?” He stumbled out of the tank, and Hera’s soft arms helped him down, and wrapped him in a towel.
She held his face in her hands. “You’re awake, you’re awake,” she whispered.
“Hera, you have to tell me what’s going on.”
“Kanan… you’ve been in a coma for a year,” she said.
Kanan froze, the words running over his head instead of sinking in. “Okay,” he said.
“Okay?” Hera said. “It’s been 397 days, to be exact,” she continued. “A little over a year and a month.”
Kanan shivered a little. The cold smooth floor stung his bare feet. “Okay.”
“I didn’t think you were gonna make it.”
Kanan didn’t know how to respond. Nothing felt real.
“I’m so glad you did.” Hera wrapped him in a hug, but Kanan didn’t have the energy to hug back. He might have been in some state of shock, he thought distantly.
“Hey, Hera?” Kanan asked.
“Yeah, hun?”
“Why’s it so dark in here?”
Hera froze. She pulled away from him.
“Hera?”
“Still here,” she said.
“Can you turn on the lights?” Kanan asked.
The low humming of machinery and recycled airflow was the only sound for a moment. A shiver ran through Kanan’s spine.
“Oh, Kanan…” she said. Her voice was raw, but gentle. “The lights are on, love. It’s… you… you’re blind.”
“Oh,” Kanan said. He reached a hand up to his eyes. He could feel heavy scarring across them, but beyond that, mostly numbness where nerves used to be.
“Yeah.”
Kanan slowly sunk to the ground. It took him an embarrassingly long moment to realize he was having a panic attack.
Hera held him while the world spun, while his entire life seemed as elusive as smoke, while air seemed unable to enter his lungs no matter how hard he tried.
Eventually, she retaught him how to breathe, and they just sat there, on the floor, limbs tangled together. Kanan didn’t have to be able to see her to know she was beautiful.
“A year…” Kanan said. It had finally sunk in. A year was a long time. A long, long time.
“Yup,” Hera said, chuckling humorlessly.
“How’re the kids?” Kanan asked. “Where are they?”
Hera hesitated.
“Hera?”
When she spoke, her voice was soft and thick, and Kanan knew she was about to deliver more bad news. He decided he didn’t like that tone of voice. “Zeb and Sabine are on a mission, but they should be back tonight.”
Fear seized Kanan’s heart. “And Ezra?”
Silence. Then, “He’s– He’s with the Empire,” she whispered.
Kanan bolted up. “What? With the Empire? What does that mean, exactly?”
He sensed Hera standing up too. “After everything with Maul and the inquisitors… He was captured by the Empire. We couldn’t save him.”
Kanan remembered separating from Ezra in the Sith temple, remembered Maul’s lightsaber striking his face, and after that… nothing. He grit his teeth. Maul had beat him, and because of that, he couldn’t protect Ezra. He had failed him.
“Is he… is he alive? Do we know what…”
“He’s alive,” Hera said. “But, Kanan–”
“Then we need to go rescue him!”
“He’s an inquisitor.”
Kanan froze. He didn’t know how much more bad news he could take. “That can’t be…”
“It is. We’ve seen…”
“No– that’s not– no!”
“I know.”
“He’s my padawan– He’s my kid…” Tears flowed from Kanan’s mauled eyes, his throat aching. “What did they do to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“We have to get him back.”
“I know.”
“We can get him back,” Kanan repeated.
“We will,” Hera assured.
Ezra stood beside the wall, wishing he could bang his head against it.
He had been assigned the most boring task in the world. All he had done was watch Luke do homework or something for the past three hours. Ezra was losing his mind.
He should be grateful, he knew. All the time he spent here was time he didn’t have to spend loathing himself for doing the Empire’s bidding, tracking down innocent force sensitives and enforcing harsh laws in the Outer Rim.
At least watching pretty boy here would allow him to think, and give him time to plan his next data transmission to Commander Sato. That’s what Ezra told himself.
But, God, he was bored. And slightly insulted. He was the best inquisitor in the Empire! And they wanted to put him on guard duty?
He knew the reason he was given this assignment. They didn’t trust him.
Rightly so, of course. But still.
Ezra had done everything to convince them. He passed all their sadistic trials and tests. He used the dark side of the force. He suffered their neverending beatings. He bled his kyber crystal. He endured their infinite mind probes. He stopped speaking.
He let them–
And Vader–
No. Don’t think about that.
What more could they want from him?
He felt his heartbeat throb in his carotid artery in the left side of his neck. Right where the tiny, pill-shaped metal tracker lay, embedded underneath his skin.
His fingers itched to press on it, to scratch at it, to darken the bruise around it that he never let fully heal. This tracker was his plight, his obsession, the bane of his existence. If he could just get the damned thing out, he could be free. He could leave this godforsaken place.
He could see his family again. Not that he remembered who they were. But still.
Ezra’s chest ached. He yearned for the empty holes in his memory that he knew his family used to fill. He wanted to go home.
Home.
Just the word brought tears to his eyes.
( Metaphorically, of course. The Thirteenth Brother had long ago learned how to keep any and all emotions from his face).
But the tracker was embedded in his major artery. If it was anywhere else, he would willingly cut it out. But he wasn’t sure how to take a blade to his neck without bleeding out.
He got the message the Empire was sending: his only escape would be death.
And even if he could get it out and survive, Ezra doubted that was the only tracker implanted in him. The Empire was nothing if not thorough.
If only he could get his eyes to turn permanently yellow. But to do that, Ezra would have to give up the light side completely. Allow himself to be completely engulfed in the darkness.
As it was, he struggled to hold onto the light side of the force. His bond to his true master was hanging on by a thread, buried under layers and layers of shields so bulky and elusive even the Seventh Sister couldn’t cut through them.
( Sometimes, the Thirteenth Brother feared that he was kidding himself; his tether to his master was gone completely, and with it his connection to the light side. He was completely irredeemable).
He let her take his memories, rip names and faces right out of his consciousness. But the presence of the light side was still there. It had to be.
Lost in his thoughts, it took Ezra an embarrassing amount of time to realize that Luke wasn’t staring at him to size him up, or to test his will.
He was having a staring contest.
God, this kid.
If Ezra was still able to feel anything besides misery, he would have laughed out loud. He stood his ground, tracking Luke’s movements as he tidied up some odds and ends around the room, looking somewhat uncomfortable in Ezra’s presence.
Good. Ezra liked looking intimidating. It was always better to be the predator than the prey.
“Are you really going to stand there all day?” Luke asked him.
Ezra didn’t respond.
“I get that you’re my bodyguard, but you’re creeping me out. Just sit down, will you?” Luke gestured to the couch.
Was that an order or a suggestion? Panic bubbled up in Ezra’s throat. Luke’s tone was lighthearted, but he gave him a direct command. On the other hand, the inquisitors had hammered into him instructions on how to be the perfect bodyguard: stand motionless and out of the way. Be seen not heard. Stay on alert, but do not interact with people.
What did Luke want him to do? What should he do ?
“Really, I insist,” Luke patted a spot on the couch, and then sat down on a chair opposite it. “Sit. I’m sure you can guard just as well from here.”
Ezra gave a curt nod, and then sat stiffly on the couch. The cushions sunk under his weight.
Wow, that was comfy. How long had he been standing again?
He allowed his body to slump ever so slightly, relaxing his tense shoulders.
Everything about the room was disgustingly lavish. The gold plated ceiling, the marble floors. The ridiculously comfortable couch. Ezra couldn’t stand Coruscant nobility.
Ezra looked to Luke, who was tapping something on his datapad, biting his thumb nail absentmindedly.
When Ezra was given this assignment, he expected to hate Luke Skywalker. He was the son of Darth Vader, after all, so he was terrified to find out what kind of sadistic monster this teenager would be.
Ezra wanted to hate him. But…
He was just so soft.
Fluffy blond hair, light blue eyes, welcoming tone of voice.
He was so different from the snake-like politicians Ezra had met on Coruscant, and certainly different from his cruel father.
Ezra reached out discreetly with the force– the light side– to feel his energy and get a sense of his inner thoughts.
He had felt Darth Vader’s force signature many times before, and it was vast and freezing cold, as dark and unforgiving as outer space itself. Ezra expected something similar from his offspring.
But Luke was the exact opposite; he was warm and bright. He was a sun in the vast nothingness of the universe. Hell, he was two suns.
It was a lightness Ezra hadn’t felt in so long, he could’ve melted. He physically relaxed further into the couch.
“You’re sitting in Leia’s favorite spot,” Luke said, noticing Ezra’s comfort. “She loves that corner right there, and makes me move whenever I sit there first.” His smile faded a little.
Ezra shifted uncomfortably. He never considered that Luke might actually care about his sister, and might miss her now that she’s gone.
Guilt gnawed at Ezra’s stomach. What would he say, if he knew Ezra was the one that orchestrated her disappearance?
Luke picked up a book to read, and Ezra watched him. World’s most boring pastime: watching someone else read.
Ezra tried to busy himself by looking around the room at the different communication technologies. There was the data pad, of course, and the comm link on Luke’s desk. There was also a holo and a computer. Any of these he could probably rewire to encrypt the signal, and then send out Empire secrets without a trace. The datapad might be the easiest, but he would have to figure out how to wipe the data afterwards. The comm link was another obvious choice, but for that he would have to speak aloud, which was an easy way to get caught, not to mention how, well… Ezra didn’t speak anymore.
Annoyingly, Ezra’s planning kept getting interrupted by Luke’s presence. Ezra couldn’t stop himself from reaching out through the force a couple more times, if only to feel that warmth again. These days, all Ezra seemed able to feel was fear, anger, and numbness. But Luke’s energy was just enough that he almost remembered what it was like to be a person. Almost.
He watched how Luke’s eyes flickered back and forth while he read, eyebrows occasionally twitching with emotion, and left leg bouncing with excess energy.
Did he have freckles? He did, Ezra noticed, the more he stared at his face. They were lightly splattered across his cheekbones, giving him the complexion of someone who’d spent some time outside. It had to have been all that time at his desk by the window, Ezra mused, seeing as no one on Coruscant went outside unless they had to.
Ezra missed the feeling of sun on his face. He spent six months deep underground on Mustafar, and since then, had only spent small amounts of time on other planets, usually on missions with the Seventh Sister, and almost always at night.
But he craved fresh air, and warm yellow light. His brain itched in a place he knew a memory should be.
He couldn’t quite put his finger on it– his past had been shredded by the inquisitors on Mustafar– but he knew there was some planet, somewhere, where he’d felt freedom like that before. His home was somewhere waiting for him. It had to be.
“--irteen. Thirteen?” Luke was saying his name. And he hadn’t responded. Shit.
Ezra sat up straight, snapping to attention.
“You with me?” Luke smiled cheekily. “I said I’m going to get ready for bed.”
Ezra nodded, and stood up.
“I’m not really sure how this is supposed to work,” Luke said, scratching the back of his neck. “But, your bedroom’s over there. Uh, let me know if you need anything.”
Ezra bowed his head in understanding, watching Luke disappear into his bedroom before finally turning his back on the kid. After hours of doing nothing but watching him, it was strange for him to not be in his line of sight. It set Ezra on edge.
Ezra entered his tiny room, which only had a closet and a cot. The closet was already filled with spare inquisitor uniforms, as well as some undergarments and simple shirts and pants for sleeping in. Ezra reached into his cargo-pants pocket and pulled out his own miniature datapad, a model which was used only by inquisitors to get instructions and communicate about missions. He had been sent Luke’s schedule for the next day, which Ezra would shadow him throughout. He had combat training in the morning, in which both of them would be expected to train, and then he had two private classes (Statistics and Mechanical Engineering, oh joy), and then he had to attend a gala for some advocacy group.
Ezra pressed on the tracker in the side of his neck, rubbing circles around it until it hurt too much to touch. He put the datapad down and grabbed a fresh pair of sleep clothes before taking off his shirt with one hand.
He generally tried to avoid his reflection, hating being reminded of his own existence, but in this room one entire wall was made up of mirrors. He caught a glance of his torso, and felt like he was looking at a stranger.
He’d only gotten more lean and muscular since he began his training, and his bones no longer jutted out of his skin like they did when he was younger. In another life he might have liked these changes, but in this one they came with the heavy scarring and marred tissue, most of which came from his first few months with the inquisitors. He poked at a purple-yellow bruise over his left ribs that he’d gotten sparring with the Fifth Brother last week. It wasn’t too bad. His ribs weren’t even broken.
He dragged his gaze up to his face and scowled. Who was this person staring back at him? Surely he hadn’t always had such sunken cheekbones. Surely those eyes had once held some life.
“Hey, just wanted to let you know that–”
Ezra whipped around at the sound of Luke’s voice approaching behind him.
He coughed, and froze. “Sorry… I’ll just– come back later.”
Ezra all but rolled his eyes as he shoved the fresh shirt on, covering up his skin. What, had Luke never seen the scarred back of an inquisitor before? Didn’t he know all the horrors that had to go into breaking and remaking a person, all to preserve his pretty little empire?
Ezra faced Luke waiting for him to say more.
“Uh, sorry. Goodnight, Thirteen.”
Ezra pressed harder into the side of his neck, watching through the doorway as Luke walked away from him, into his commodious bedroom that had been built on bones.