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laughingphoenixleader · 7 months

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Hi I Fixed the Ahsoka Ending

The stormtrooper steps out of the ship, hands raised. It wasn’t like Hera has never seen that before. She raises her pistol, questions shooting through her mind. Why is this trooper alone, why did he hail them, and, most importantly, why is something about his walk so familiar? Suspense fills the air, and she can tell that everyone around her felt it, too. The last of the steam that has spilled out of the ship’s exhaust evaporates into the air, unlike that overwhelming sense of familiarity that’s flooding her heart. She braces herself for anything, setting her jaw. Had someone she’d once been close to become a stormtrooper? She runs through a list of names in her mind, nothing turning up any results.

Who are you and why’re you here? Chopper asks, apparently done waiting in suspense. The trooper gives no answer, continuing to step forward.

What, are you deaf or something? Are you, are you, are you? Chopper chatters impatiently. But then, instantaneously, his mood changes. Which isn’t really unheard of. Wait, Chopper mutters, starting to roll forward. Hera wonders if he’s picked up on the familiarity, too. He’s always been more perceptive than people give him credit for. Chopper heads straight for the trooper, his ever-squeaky wheels (no amount of oil can fix that issue, and Hera’s tried) filling the silence.

Who are you? Chopper asks as he stops at the trooper’s feet. And it’s at that moment that Hera realizes something: her mom sense is tingling.

It can’t be.

Huh? Huh? Huh? Chopper barks, until the trooper slowly extends one gloved hand and gently places it on Chopper’s head. Then his head spins around in giddy joy, his beeps turning into little excited ones. No words attached to them, just exclamations of happiness.

And, given that he usually hates people, there are only six of them Chopper’s ever gotten excited to see.

And Hera’s got a feeling she knows which one this is.

Sure enough, the trooper reaches up to grasp his helmet, and, when he pulls it from his head, the face that looks earnestly back at Hera is one she’s missed dearly.

He looks different now. Far from the boy he once was. Navy facial hair covers the lower part of his face, and his hair is longer and curlier than when she last saw it. It had never been curly before. Human hair never ceases to amaze her.

But he’s still got that effervescent light about him. Especially when he smiles at her, looking a little nervous, but there’s excitement spilling from him, too. She can feel it, as surely as she felt that she knew him as soon as he stepped out of that ship.

Hera doesn’t even realize she’s lowered her gun until her hand hits her thigh. Shock and joy are washing over her, wave after overwhelmingly powerful wave.

And grief. Because, though it doesn’t make sense, shouldn’t make sense, somehow, he looks so much like Kanan.

Though she already knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this is her boy, a part of her, the part that had always remembered the worst case scenario, that Ezra might just never come home, wants to know for sure. Doesn’t dare to believe it.

“Ezra?” she asks, dipping her head slightly, just making sure. Because she has to.

He seems to be as overwhelmed as she is, struggling for a moment to find the words. “Hi, Hera,” he greets her, and at that moment, even the most hopeless parts of her know it’s him. Because it’s the voice of a man who speaks back to her, but it’s youthful and casual and tentative and Ezra. That little boy who had been so lonely, who had looked up at Kanan and Hera like they were the most amazing people in the world every time they gave him something or complimented him, who had added so much joy (and chaos) to their lives, who had grown so, so much and made them so, so proud…he’s grown up, but that doesn’t mean he’s gone. He’s standing right here in front of her, after five long years.

He gives a little shrug, his eyes and expression brimming with joy, his smile bright. “I’m home.”

He chuckles a little, the sound sending fondness shooting through her.

Hera exhales shakily, eyes locked onto her boy, taking him in. He’s here and he’s real and if she wakes up, she’s suing the Force itself. She shakes her head a little, the feeling of her hopes finally coming to fruition freezing her in place, somehow. To be fair, it’s a lot to process.

Ezra slowly begins to walk forward, and Hera stands there for a few more seconds, but then she breaks out into a run, meeting him in the middle. She wraps her arms around the lost boy, and he hugs her back willingly, chuckling joyously, making her own laughter come spilling out of her.

“It’s so good to see you,” Ezra whispers, burying his face in her shoulder like a kid. Her kid.

She holds him closer. “I could tell you the same thing,” she replies, chuckling a little, blinking as her vision blurs with tears brought on by years of the homesickness that was being without a member of her family. By the pain that came from having no idea whether the Spectres were down to four. By having so many look at her in pity when she reported on the results of the victory on Lothal. By the obvious skepticism in people’s eyes when she told them that Ezra was missing, not dead.

They’d been wrong. She and Sabine and Ahsoka and Chopper and Zeb had been right. Though, these days, even Zeb had become disheartened. Last time they’d talked, sad skepticism had tinged his expression, too. But not for long, because Ezra is home.

And a piece of her home has returned with him.

“Welcome home, Ezra,” she tells him, her voice choked with tears. But so is the chuckle he replies with.

“Glad to be back, Mom,” he tells her, and a new barrage of emotions hits her, fondness and affection and love causing tears to leak from her eyes.

They stand there like that, just holding each other, this moment too special for any more words to be spoken.

Then she pulls away, because her Lieutenant, along with about 20 other people, are watching, and it’s starting to get a bit awkward in here.

She looks at him up close, and those blue eyes are just as brilliant and youthful and Ezra’s as ever. She places a hand on his cheek, laughing incredulously, and he grins brightly, leaning into her touch.

“What took you so long?” she asks, amusement and teasing in her tone, wiping at her eyes with her other hand. She drops the other one from his face and puts it on his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he apologizes, shrugging sheepishly, but his smile only gets brighter. “I was kinda stuck, you know. Not really my fault.”

“Fair enough,” she replies, chuckling a little.

Ezra’s eyes light up, excitement overflowing from his voice. “Oh! I have to show you something!”

Hera removes her hand from his shoulder to cross her arms expectantly, grinning. “Oh?” she asks playfully as he reaches for his belt, and then her eyes flick to the saber that rests on it.

Her heart stops beating for a second. Because that saber looks heart-wrenchingly familiar. The hilt is one she’s never seen before, but the emitter is unmistakable. It’s Kanan’s.

Hera’s breath hitches. Her gaze shifts to meet Ezra’s, shock filling her and her vision blurring again. “Is that…” she asks, her voice strangled.

“It’s not his,” Ezra finishes, understanding in his eyes. “His was one of two,” he begins, wiping his eyes, too. “The droid that helped him build his lightsaber when he was a Padawan gave me the other. And he told me a little about him, too.” He unhooks the saber from his belt and places it in her hands, and she rubs her thumb over the hilt, the familiarity of it sends a lance of pain through her heart.

“Huyang,” Hera realizes, smiling sadly, still stroking the saber, eyes glued to it. “Yeah, he’s told me some stories, too. When I needed them.”

“Yeah?” Ezra asks, a vibrant mix of curiosity and excitement and sadness all sparking in his expression.

“I’ll tell you all of them,” Hera assures him before he can ask, handing the saber back. Even though those stories would be hard to tell and talk about, he deserves to hear them. “Soon. After you tell me where Sabine and Ahsoka are.”

That’s when smile fades from his face, and Hera’s stomach drops. Dread and panic slam into her. No. Not again. I can’t lose anyone else.

“They’re where I was,” Ezra tells her, shame in his expression. Already blaming himself.

“I don’t know what happened,” Hera interjects before he can finish, even as everything in her screams WHY at the Force with all its might. It’s already taken so much from me. Was all that really not enough? But she continues, focusing on her mission, which, right now, is reassuring her adopted son. “But I know that, whatever it was, it wasn’t your fault.”

“It was their choice,” Ezra admits, nodding. “Ahsoka was fighting that Elsbeth lady so that Sabine and I could escape, and Sabine couldn’t leave her.” Ezra swallows, sadness spilling from his eyes, gaze shifting to the floor. “She…she was returning the favor. Making her own sacrifice. And,” Ezra shakes his head, chuckling ironically, “as much as I hate that, I’m also really proud of her.” He looks up to meet her eyes. “You know what I mean?”

Pain claws at her heart, but a corner of her mouth tilts up in response to his question. “Oh yeah,” she replies. “I happen to know exactly how that feels.”

Ezra chuckles, looking sheepish again. “Right. Sorry about that.”

“You’re here now,” she assures him, placing a hand on his shoulder again. “That’s enough.” Sadness seeps into her again. “Though I’d rather have all of you here.” Sabine, the daughter she’d never had. And would probably never have. But Sabine had always been enough. Hera loves her witty humor, fiery courage, and stubborn kindness with all of her being. She’s someone you never forget after you meet her, and her absence is just as unforgettable. Ahsoka, who had become her best friend over the past few years. They’d exchanged many a secretive look during important meetings, whether because of inside jokes or exchanging wordless opinions. She’d been someone who Hera had bonded very deeply with over a relatively short period of time. Maybe it’s because both of them had left their people behind at a young age. Maybe it’s because they’ve both suffered great losses. Maybe it’s the understanding that warriors share that those who have never been on the battlefield can never understand. Whatever it is, it had made them click in a way that Hera hadn’t with anyone but the Spectres in a long time.

She wonders how long it will be until she sees them again.

“I can find them,” Ezra tells her, determination filling his voice, jolting her back to reality. “The Force will guide me, and I know that planet like the back of my hand. It’s practically a part of me now, so I know I can find it on a starmap.”

“I believe you, Ezra,” she tells him, letting her genuineness show through the look she gives him. Then something pops into her head, something she’s been wishing she could tell him this entire time. “And hey,” she begins, her voice quivering, just a little. “As much as I hated that sacrifice you made, I’m so proud of you.” His face lights up, and it melts her heart to know he still cares that much about her approval.

“And Kanan would be, too,” she continues firmly, looking into her boy’s cobalt-hued eyes, which fill with grief and joy and a thousand emotions she doubts either of them can name. “He’d be so, so proud of you. You learned well, Ezra.”

He’s lost for words, his hand unconsciously going to his saber and fidgeting with it. His expression grows heavy with pain, with all the emotions that come with losing someone you love so much. Hera wonders just how much he’s let himself grieve over the last few years. And she aims to help him in any way she can.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice and eyes weighted with how much what she said means to him. “I needed to hear that.”

“I had a feeling,” Hera replies, smiling sadly.

“You’re always right,” Ezra tells her, a bit of that unstoppable playfulness infusing his expression.

He hugs her again, and not for the last time, either.

@kanerallels @accidental-spice