(NOTE, IMPORTANT! I'm going through a tough spot and my willingness to write slumped. My laptop also died and all of my files with it. This is all of the next chapter that I had saved in my google drive after my beta, radicalcat, edited it. There may not be another chapter for a while.)

Ezra threw his wrench at the wall. It pinged against the metal paneling and landed with a dull ring on the floor.

Karabast.

He hadn't been expecting miracle, but the results of the diagnostic as enough to crush his spirits. The fuel line was completely busted, the main line had been melted by internal shrapnel and the what was left in their tanks had been jettisoned into the vacuum of space. Now the Ghost as running off fumes.

The fuel line wasn't like shields; it wasn't something he could just reprogram or reroute. They would need time and supplies to make the repairs, both of which they couldn't afford.

Ezra sighed and slid down the wall, pushing his hair back from his face. His entire day had been a disaster, and he hadn't even had breakfast yet.

He wasn't even a little bit hungry though. He was too shocked and drained, emotionally and physically, to even think of doing anything but lying down to sleep.

Would he see his parents again if he did? The thought tugged at his heart, a feeling of guilt settling in his chest. He had abandoned them, he'd had no choice of course, but still...

"Ezra?" Kanan called his name, startling Ezra from his position, curled up on the floor.

Kanan sat down next to Ezra, folding his lanky frame down beside him. Ezra scooted away.

"Hey," Kanan said softly.

Ezra mumbled a vague reply. Kanan sighed, holding his hand over Ezra's shoulder, as if deciding whether to touch him or leave him be. He cleared his throat and let his hand fall to his lap. "Got something on your mind?"

Ezra shrugged. "The fuel line's busted, and I can't fix it."

Kanan chuckled. "I know you better than that." He studied Ezra for a moment. "It's not your fault, you know that, right?"

Ezra looked up. "What'daya mean?"

"You wanted to stay behind to rescue your parents. Now the Ghost needs repairs. Some would say it's fate."

Ezra took a moment to process it. What if he really had manipulated the Force into making the Ghost an easy target for the Empire? If they were captured, would it be coincidence, or would it be all his fault? "Oh."

"Maybe I shouldn't have brought that up," Kanan muttered.

"Yeah." Ezra bit at his lip, shell-shocked. "You really think that?"

Kanan huffed. "The Force has mysterious ways, Ezra, You can't change what happened.'

"You didn't have to make it that complicated, you know."

Kanan stood up, offering Ezra a hand. "Maybe I needed to hear it like that. Now let's see about the diagnosis."

Ezra let Kanan heave him up. He looked at the console, watching the red light blink where they had been hit. "Already checked. Just as ugly as we thought."

Kanan studied the diagram, stroking his chin. "I'll talk to Hera about a strategy. We'll need supplies. Maybe Phoenix squadron can help."

Sabine sat back, admiring her handiwork. It didn't look like much, a measly little round capsule.

It had been her pet project since Kanan was captured, once a grim idea turned into harsh reality. This could really be necessary in the worst-case.

There were a lot of worst-cases, and she'd need to duplicate more of these. She barely had time to pick up supplies that should be enough for five, just enough. She'd have to make something for Chopper too. They could get more information out of a droid than they could a human brain.

She just hoped she had it right. There was no way to test it, so she just had to hope it would serve its purpose, and hoped it was never needed.

The way things were looking right now, it could be.

Hera had to know. She would be the only one to understand its necessity, other than Sabine. Maybe Sato, but she could whip up a recipe for Hera to give him. Just in case.