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The first thing Ezra was aware of was pain. Dull, throbbing pain permeating through his shoulder, spreading down and across his back. Despite the pain, however, he remained in darkness, weighed down as if in thick, black tar. He struggled to piece his consciousness together. 

Where was he? On the Ghost , maybe? Seemed most likely, but he had no memory of falling asleep there. Or of falling asleep, at all. 

Why did his shoulder hurt? Did he get hurt on a mission? Or push too hard when training with Kanan? Either made sense, but neither he could remember. 

The heavy darkness surrounding him persisted in dragging him down. Something about it almost seemed tempting. He was tired, hurt. Why not give in to the siren song of the abyss? 

However, something seemed wrong to him. A little voice in the back of head was telling him to wake up . Obeying that voice, Ezra defiantly swam up through the darkness, pulling against its weight. As he struggled to resist being dragged down, something about the darkness seemed lighter, as if that tar was thinning out. He pressed his advantage, and mustered his strength for one big push against the darkness. 

And then he woke up. As he opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was that this was definitely not the Ghost . He weakly turned his head, and his blurred vision made out what seemed to be a medical clinic of some sorts. He tried to push himself up, but something stopped him. He craned his head to see his wrists tied down to the cot he was reclined on. Just then, the memory of how he got there came crashing back to him. 

Kriff. He was still on the Chimaera . He remembered the purrgil, going into hyperspace, but then…? Everything was fuzzy. Did he pass out? He racked his brain to piece together what happened next. Honestly, he was most surprised at the fact that not only he but apparently the ship were still mostly intact. Which was bittersweet news, since he liked being alive but had most definitely not planned anything past taking Thrawn’s fleet as far out into Wild Space as physically possible. A cold pit formed in his stomach as he began to process his circumstances.

“Ah, you’re awake.” 

Ezra jumped as a familiar purr jolted him out of his thoughts. The ice in his stomach grew colder when he looked up to see Grand Admiral Thrawn standing over him. The Chiss admiral had certainly looked better. His white coat had been abandoned for a brown tank top, and his usually impeccable white pants were wrinkled and stained. His blue skin was mottled with indigo bruises, and his arm was in a sling. Besides that however, he stood as tall and proud as always, as if he were addressing the Emperor himself. 

Ezra silently glared up at Thrawn, but less out of defiance and more out of not knowing what the hell to say. 

“How is your shoulder, Bridger?”

Ezra maintained his silent glare. What game was Thrawn playing at? 

“Your shoulder. The one my troopers shot. Is it in any pain?” Thrawn repeated, visibly growing impatient. 

“I mean, it got shot, so yeah.” Ezra huffed. “Why do you care?”

“The amount of pain you are in will inform the nature of your treatment,” Thrawn explained, as if to a toddler. 

“Treatment?” Ezra’s blood chilled. Any “treatment” the Empire offered would no doubt come with prescriptions for shock therapy and heavy doses of truth serum. He shouldn’t have been surprised. This was inevitable.

Thrawn’s eyes narrowed. “Would you prefer it go untreated? If so, I am certain we can find alternative accommodations for you, Bridger.”

Ezra remained silent at that. As creepy as this med bay was, he fully believed that Thrawn could find a way to make it worse. He slowly shook his head. 

Thrawn hummed in satisfaction. “I did not think so. From now on, you will cooperate with your treatment. Do I make myself clear?”

Ezra nodded in silence, not wanting to say anything that would agitate Thrawn more. 

“Good,” Thrawn replied. “That should make this go more smoothly .” 

Something about the way Thrawn said that last word made yet another chill go down Ezra’s spine. 

Just then, the door to the room opened, and in walked a young woman in an Imperial uniform Ezra was unfamiliar with. The woman gave Thrawn a curt nod before approaching Ezra. Ezra nervously looked this woman up and down. She couldn’t have been any older than Hera. Similar to Thrawn, the impact of the purgill was evident in her appearance, as well. Strands of light brown hair hung loose from her bun, and her uniform was visibly disheveled. 

“Sit up,” she ordered. Ezra tried to, but his wrist restraints still prevented him from doing so. The shoulder wasn’t exactly helping, either. Seeing this, she put her one hand on his shoulder and slipped the other under his back to steady him. Ezra jerked at being touched without warning, but he could see Thrawn glaring at him over the woman’s shoulder. So, he forced himself to relax and let her maneuver him to sitting up. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her readying a hypospray in one hand. Despite himself, he flinched, his heart suddenly in his throat. Unphased, she roughly gripped his shoulder to keep him still and injected his upper arm. Ezra squinted his eyes shut and hissed. When he opened his eyes, Thrawn was still staring him down, his glare sending a clear message of “ behave ”. 

As the medic prepared other equipment, Ezra hesitantly asked, “How far out are we?”

Thrawn’s expression remained unchanged. “Far enough,” he replied. “Further, I’m sure, than you could have possibly anticipated. We are deeper in Wild Space than even I have ever been. Or so we believe, based on what we’ve been able to gather from our…limited equipment.”

“I’m surprised the ship even made it,” Ezra noted. The medic was now taking disinfectant to his shoulder. Ezra hissed again as the alcohol burned his wound. 

“More than one in the fleet did not survive our journey. Nor did their crew. Valuable men and women,” Thrawn said, eyes narrowing once more. 

Ezra didn’t respond to that, instead shifting uncomfortably on the table. He wasn’t naive. He knew that stunt would get a lot of Imps killed. It wasn’t a fact he cherished. 

Thrawn continued, “And this ship did not arrive unscathed, mind you. This sector is mostly untouched, but you will soon see that others certainly were.” 

This piqued Ezra’s interest. Thrawn had made it seem like he was to be confined to this medbay, but now he was talking about taking Ezra to see the rest of the ship. What did Thrawn have in store?

The medic was now securing a bacta patch to Ezra’s shoulder. It was all he could do to not visibly relax when the soothing bacta met his wound. Then, she carefully but firmly pushed him down to a lying position once more. Ezra decided that he was not a fan of laying down, secured to a table, no less, with Thrawn in the room. 

“Rest well, Bridger. You will need your strength for the coming days.” Thrawn said, his expression now unreadable. At that, he turned on his heel and followed the medic out of the room. The door closed, leaving Ezra all alone, with only his swirling thoughts to keep him company.