#caleb dume

Locitawritings-blog1's Art Collection PT.4

Caleb Dume paused in front of a fruit stall, head tilting slightly.

He felt someone reaching with the force for his credits.

The invisible tug was clumsy and unfocused, more instinct than technique. His pouch slid an inch across his belt before the pressure vanished..

He didn't turn immediately. Instead he paid the vendor, thanked her, and wandered off as though he hadn't noticed.

Three rooftops away, a boy with messy blue hair peeked over the edge.

"Seriously?" the kid muttered. "That should've worked."

"It almost did."

The boy yelped.

Caleb was sitting beside him, somehow, legs dangling over the street.

"You always sneak up on people?"

"Only the ones trying to rob me."

"I wasn't robbing you."

"No?"

"I was..." The boy frowned. "...borrowing."

"For how long?"

"...Undecided."

Caleb laughed.

It wasn't the reaction Ezra expected.

"You aren't going to turn me in?"

"To who?"

"The Jedi."

"I am a Jedi."

Ezra snorted.

"Nice try."

Caleb unclipped the lightsaber from his belt.

The boy's grin disappeared.

"...Oh."

"I prefer introducing myself before igniting it."

"You carry one around openly?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

Ezra blinked.

Right.

The Clone Wars had ended years ago. The Republic still stood. Jedi walked openly through every major city.

He'd just...never actually met one.

Caleb watched him carefully.

The Force swirled around the kid like a dust storm trying to pretend it was a breeze.

Untaught.

Wild.

Bright.

"What's your name?"

"Ezra."

"No last name?"

A pause.

"Bridger."

Kanan recognized it immediately.

Mira and Ephraim Bridger. Journalists. Community organizers. Frequently annoying local governors by asking inconvenient questions.

Good people.

"You knew my parents?"

"I've met them."

Ezra's eyes widened.

"They're always traveling."

"I know."

"So..." Ezra rubbed the back of his neck. "You really felt me trying to steal your credits?"

"I felt you before I entered the market."

"Oh."

"You've been using the Force your whole life."

"I've been...using what?"

Caleb smiled.

"The reason you always catch things before they fall."

Ezra's expression changed.

"The reason you know when someone is lying."

Another flicker of recognition.

"The reason you survive impossible jumps."

Silence.

"I thought everyone did that."

"They don't."

Ezra looked down at his hands as though seeing them for the first time.

"So what's wrong with me?"

"Nothing."

Caleb stood, offering a hand.

"You're Force-sensitive."

"...Is that bad?"

"No."

"Complicated?"

Caleb considered.

"Sometimes."

Ezra accepted the offered hand.

"So what happens now?"

"That depends."

"On what?"

"Would you like to learn why the galaxy feels different to you?"

Ezra didn't answer right away.

Instead, he looked at the lightsaber.

Then at Caleb.

Then at the bustling streets below.

"Do I have to wear Jedi robes?"

Caleb laughed a bit

"Its optional optional."

"Meditate for like...eight hours?"

"Not eight hours, but we'll negotiate."

Ezra grinned.

"...Okay."

As they started toward the waiting shuttle, Caleb felt a familiar warmth ripple through the Force.

His former Master, Depa Billaba, had once told him that every Jedi met the student they needed and not the one they expected.

Looking at Ezra Bridger trying very hard not to trip over his own feet while pretending he wasn't excited, Caleb suspected she'd been right.

Again.

Ezra was already asking questions before they reached the ladder.

"So...do Jedi get homework?"

Caleb laughed.

Then he actually met her.

She's gorgeous and one of the best pilots in the galaxy.

She's confident without being arrogant, funny without trying too hard, and somehow manages to command everyone's respect while making them feel heard

You cannot convince me that a fully trained Jedi Caleb Dume wouldn't spend approximately five minutes in her company before thinking,

"Well... this is going to become a problem."

A Caleb who never experienced Order 66? He'd hear that voice, watch her fly exactly once, see the way she treats people, and be completely, hopelessly gone.

They first didn’t get together in canon because the Rebellion came first for Hera and the trauma Kanan had from the purge .

He wanted to catch Hera's hand and run.

He searched for a hidden door in the Force, some impossible path where he could stay and witness the future they had spent years bleeding for.

He wanted to see her smile without the shadow of the war behind it. He wanted to watch Ezra grow into the Jedi he was meant to become.

He wanted the mundane, heavy luxury of growing old.

Kanan Jarrus had spent decades running from the truth: a Jedi existed for what came after.

He had hidden behind a blaster and a stolen name, using sarcasm to patch the holes in his own confidence.

Caleb Dume had been a coward in a mask, a boy terrified that he would never be enough to carry the weight of a fallen Order.

But the Force is patient.

“It is good to see you recovering, Padawan. Perhaps you are well enough now to tell me how you managed to get here?”

Kanan fought back against the childish urge to huff. Sitting up properly with a strained groan, Kanan faced his long-dead master, marveling at her signature in the Force and the bond brimming between them. For the first time in a while, light tinted behind his closed eyelids. He ignored it and ran a burnt, bandaged hand up to feel the top of his burnt, crispy hair. Just like his skin, it was still a bit sticky from his time in bacta. The nauseating sweet smell overloaded his senses. 

“To be honest, I’m not really sure where here is,” Kanan said, voice still rough from the smoke inhalation.