A/N - For a prompt at SWR Requests. I don't write deathfic. I don't even read it. I have no explanation as to why I did this. Sorry!

The familiar presence slipped into his awareness without him noticing at first; it was so well known to him that to find it nearby simply felt natural. It did not disturb his meditation, but rather helped it, and he felt himself relax in a way that he had not for over a year. It felt as though his mind had taken a deep sigh of relief, as all became right with the world again. It took a moment before reality began to filter through and he realized that what he was experiencing did not, in fact, make any sense.

The sense of relaxation instantly dissipated as the impossibility of what he was experiencing crashed over him. His eyes flew open as he leapt to his feet, instantly alert, his hand hovered by the lightsaber that hung from his belt. Old habits die hard, and his eyes turned instinctively to the area where he sensed it. He saw nobody, nothing, but of course that was to be expected.

"Kanan?" said a voice that he had not heard in over a year. It… he sounded the same, exactly the same. It took no effort whatsoever to imagine the facial expression and body language that accompanied that tone of voice; the pleased-with-himself grin that scrunched his eyes just slightly, fists probably clenched in victory.

It seemed impossible that he was there. It was impossible. Kanan had heard of such things before; the Jedi had taught that the dead were not really gone, that they could and occasionally did return to offer guidance to the living, but it was something known to only the wisest of the old Masters. Ezra had had skill and talent, but he had hardly been that. Kanan had always believed it to a certain extent, but to be faced with it was something else entirely.

He shook his head. Not denying the truth of what he was experiencing, not exactly, but not quite ready to believe it either. "Ezra."

"Well... more or less."

Kanan reached out to touch him, his hands passed through the air. He tried again, and again connected with nothing.

"And I guess that's the 'less' part." Ezra's voice added, regret coloring his tone.

Kanan stopped, he allowed one hand to drop to his side while the other rubbed compulsively across his eyes, the sensitive tips of his fingers caressing the rough skin of the burn. His fingers itched to reach out again, to try once more to connect with his Padawan, but he knew that the result would be more disappointment. Over the past year there had been many times when he had cursed his blindness, but he had never missed his sight more than he did in that moment.

"How?" he asked.

There was a sound, a rustle of ethereal fabric as though the ghost of Ezra Bridger had shrugged his shoulders. "You tell me," he said. "You never got around to explaining this stuff to me."

"Because I didn't…don't understand it myself."

"Oh, well," the presence appeared to move a few feet to the left, and then back again, as though he was pacing the room. "You're the only Jedi I can see around here, so if you don't know, you can't expect me to."

Kanan gritted his teeth. "You're the one who's…"

"Dead?"

That wasn't what he had been about to say. It may have been the implication behind it, but he would have phrased it more... delicately. He opened his mouth to protest but Ezra spoke again before he could.

"Yeah, it turns out it doesn't give you any special knowledge or power. It just makes you… less tangible?"

Kanan slumped a little, struck suddenly by the impossibility of the situation, and by the much more likely chance that it was a dream, or that the pressure had finally gotten to him and he had gone insane. "This can't be real," he said.

"It is." Ezra… or whatever he was, stopped his pacing and came to a standstill right in front of him. "I mean, I think it is. I've been trying to get through for a while now, but I couldn't make my presence strong enough. I think you might have been able to see me if you… well, you know."

He still didn't believe it. Only… it was so much more real than any dream he had ever had. The impossibility of the situation, the fact that he was doubting it, only seemed to make it more likely that it was true. "Can you… can the others see you?"

"Don't think so," Ezra told him. "I've tried a few times, when I couldn't get through to you. I think you need to be Force-sensitive. Or maybe I'm not strong enough yet, or… I don't know."

Kanan nodded. It made sense. As far as any of this could make sense.

"I can see them though. Kanan, Hera's… not coping as well as you think," Ezra told him. "She blames herself."

He nodded. They had each taken on more than their fair share of the guilt for what had happened. There was no logical way that any of the blame could have fallen on Hera, but she had taken Ezra's loss hard. Harder than even Kanan had expected. It wasn't just her; Sabine, Zeb, Rex, even Chopper hadn't been the same since, but Hera had taken it harder than any of them. "I know," he said quietly. "She shouldn't."

He, on the other hand, was a different matter.

His Padawan had done as he asked; he had let go. He had trusted him right up until the second that his hand had slipped free and disappeared into the confusion of sounds, sensations and Force impressions that had surrounded him.

When he closed his eyes at night, just before he fell asleep, Kanan could still feel the sensation of Ezra's hand slipping away, the sense of loss as he gripped tighter, only for his fingers to close around nothing. He could still hear the cry of terror growing fainter as he fell further away; he could still feel his attempt to catch him, trying desperately to manipulate the Force to his will, to bring Ezra back to him, only to fail, time after time. Those nights - most nights - he didn't sleep much.

"It wasn't your fault either," Ezra told him quietly. "It was my mission, my decisions, my mistake. You tried. You weren't even supposed to be on there and you still came for me."

"For all the good it did."

Ezra sighed. "It did good. It got you back in the fight."

But if he had never left the fight, Ezra might still be alive. It was his actions over the months following Malachor that had ultimately led to his death. No matter which way he twisted it, that truth was undeniable. Had he been a better Master, not caught up in his own problems, if he had taken just a little time to talk to his Padawan, Ezra might be here in person. When he reached out to touch him, he could have made contact with a flesh and blood person rather than feeling his hand pass uselessly through the air.

"After our last talk, I'm surprised you even bothered coming for me," Ezra added. "I'm sorry about that. And for..." he tailed off. "For everything. I never had the chance to tell you."

Kanan drew in a sharp intake of breath as he remembered that final conversation; words spoken in anger that he knew would have been taken back if they had had the opportunity. It didn't matter now. Nothing mattered. What Ezra had said, done, whatever blame he had apportioned himself for what happened on Malachor, the slate had been wiped clean by that never-ending sensation of fingers slipping from his.

"There's nothing to apologize for. And I would have always come back for you."

The ghost of Ezra Bridger spoke with a smile in his voice. "I know," he said. "That's who you are. It's who I hoped I would be one day too."

Kanan felt the prickle of tears at the corners of his damaged eyes. He blinked them away. "It is who you were, Ezra."

Ezra sighed softly, sadly, and it was all Kanan could do not to reach out to him again. He restrained himself, not able to bear the sting of disappointment he knew he would feel when his fingers passed through the air again.

"I miss you," he said.

"I know," Ezra told him. "Why else do you think I came here?"

Kanan twisted his lips into some vague approximation of a smile. "Well, it definitely wasn't to impart any wisdom," he said.

"Speaking of, I have to go," Ezra told him. "I… I don't know if I'll be able to come back. You need to talk to Hera, tell her I'm okay. And then you need to go back to Lothal."

He hadn't been to Lothal since before they had lost Ezra. Since before Malachor. "Why?" he asked.

"Trust me," Ezra told him. "You'll understand when you get there."

"Why…" Kanan stopped, realizing Ezra's presence was flickering slightly. It solidified again briefly. "Why don't you just tell me?"

He could hear Ezra's smile again, and he ached to see it. "I'm being mysterious. It's what we dead guys do."

A familiar stab of irritation, one that he had not felt in so long that it almost felt good. "Well, stop it and…" he froze. The presence, Ezra, was gone.

He took a deep breath. The room felt empty, and the suddenness of the loss hit him hard. Instinctively, he reached out through the Force to find the connection again. He found Hera instead, alone in her own quarters.

Talk to Hera, then go to Lothal. Kanan sighed as he took a step toward the door. This was going to be a difficult conversation.

"Ezra," he said, speaking quietly and self-consciously now that he was alone, "if you're just trying to mess with me, you're in big trouble."

There was no reply, but just for a moment he felt the presence again, tangible this time, as the Force pushed him in the direction of the door.