"I've been on my own since I was seven, okay? If I'd let myself believe my folks were alive, if I let myself believe they'd come back and save me, I'd never have learned how to survive."

―Ezra Bridger

Loyalty told him to wait for Kanan.

Hope whispered that help was on the way.

The Force urged him to hang on a little longer.

Logic reminded him that he was on his own.

"Duracrete walls aren't moving by themselves," Ezra muttered, thunking his chin on his folded arms. "Come on, come get me. I'm ready."

Four feet of space in the cell. Six walls boxing him into a wad of aching muscles. No light, no sound; not even the scrape of droids rolling by.

"Just open the door." He'd never wanted to see a storm trooper so badly. "I'll show you what happens when you capture a Jedi. You think my helmets are just for show?" Thunk. Thunk. How many hours had passed?

"They'd better know what protein bars are around here." Thunk. Thunk. His teeth were starting to clack in time with his chin. Had it been that long since breakfast? "Kanan, I take everything back. Just show up with a caf and a roba sausage and I'll never doubt you guys again."

Thunk. Clack.

He'd tried sleeping once. The stiffness in his neck had doubled into a lancing throb. His back was going to be crippled soon, he knew it, and his legs would fall off if they were numb for much longer.

"Sabine, if I let you paint my room will you at least pull me out of here so I can watch you do it?" Did he really say that out loud? This had to be a dream. A dark, ongoing nightmare filled with his own voice and impenetrable silence.

He started listing off breakfast foods he expected as soon as he got out of this mess. He'd already finished the dessert menu hours ago (days ago, naptimes ago, filled with knifing cramps and illusions of escape that ended in the same dark cell), and he had sworn for just a moment that he'd been arguing with Zeb whether blatberry pie or dew cake was the better choice for after dinner. Did Hera really bake in that dream?

An image of Sabine taking the cake from his hands and stabbing it full of model storm troopers woke Ezra with a sense of despair. His head lolled violently and he yelled in frustration, scrubbing his palms against his forehead.

Can't fall asleep. You have to be ready to run.

He was so tired of dreaming he was back on the Ghost. Everything was warped in this cell. Hera made out with the Inquisitor. Sabine spray painted all of Ezra's helmets, and when he turned to look for them they had vanished. Zeb announced he was stealing the Ghost and turned all the lights off. Kanan patted Ezra on the back, and suddenly he was falling, shoved from the entry plank, watching the ship leave without him.

Logic reminded Ezra that he was on his own.

The Force whispered back, but it was so distant that he couldn't hear it.

Hope seemed like every childhood dream he had given up.

Loyalty made him wonder if he was the only one who cared about his friends.

Light spilling into the cell told him he had been wrong all along.

"I've got you, Kid."

Gentle hands unfolding his stiff limbs, shielding his eyes from the terrible white light, assured him that Kanan had never abandoned him.