Chapter Text
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Ezra and Umbra Bridger are twins born on Lothal – a quaint planet in the Outer Rim Territories – on the day the Galactic Empire came to power.
The planet, in a state of economic disrepair, enters into a formal relationship with the Empire, swayed by promises of prosperity and security.
There are no prizes for guessing how well that goes.
The Empire imposes martial law, surprising everyone with the exception of few Jedi sympathisers and a four-year-old girl.
Said four-year-old is not amused. At all
She is outright incensed however, when her parents begin broadcasting a pirate radio signal, outright contradicting Imperial propaganda. Yes, there are injustices and yes something needs to be done, but this is going to get them caught and made an example of.
Problem is, nobody really takes those kinds of points seriously when an infant is voicing them.
Mira and Ephraim smile and offer assurances. Pretty words like 'justice' and 'of course you're safe sweaty'.
Ezra eats it up. They've made a believer of him.
In the Republic.
In the Jedi.
Umbra hates them for that. Just a little bit. For not preparing him for the real world. For not teaching him that what is and what should be are two very different things. She promises herself that she'll look after him when the time comes. When it all comes to a head.
They're – exactly – seven when it does, on their way back from the market when they find their home ransacked. Parents taken – probably dead or worse.
Ezra's world crumbles as Umbra's comes into focus.
No guarantees. Good guys don't always win. Justice doesn't always prevail. Have to play it smart, be pragmatic.
Old skills come rushing back, like riding the world's most menacing bike. Walking like you belong, pickpocketing, how to fight stronger and bigger opponents. No jutsu – she's not, and never has been, that lucky – but every now and then, she feels stronger than she should – stronger than any seven year old girl should.
Something to watch out for.
Ezra learns, but slowly. Not for lack of talent but, well…
There are some things she simply can't teach him without raising uncomfortable questions of the 'how exactly did you learn how to do that?' variety.
They do well. Well enough to survive.
Well enough to draw attention.
A Xexto approaches Ezra when they're separated – he thinks.
He wasn't a bad tail. Far from it. But…
Well.
Ezra takes the bait – still too trusting – while Umbra tails them both to a pawn shop on the south side of the city.
The owner, or are they casing it?
Owner, as it turns out.
She bursts in before the trap has a chance to spring, only to find the man giving her brother tips on con-artistry.
What.
The Xexto looks more amused than surprised.
Ezra is mortified in that way pre-pubescent boys tend to be when they realise a girl thought they needed rescuing. Probably best to train that out of him early before she has another Shikamaru on her hands.
She feels a pang.
Dammit.
Ezra and the Xexto – Ferpil – are fast friends and 'business associates' by then end of the day, which isn't even remotely surprising. People like Ezra. He has that mix of innocence and roguish charm that reminds her of orange, blond hair and whisker marks.
Another pang.
Need to stop doing that.
Umbra on the other hand is usually deemed less … approachable. She's quiet and even with her blue-black hair tied back into a braid, the Baggy clothing she wears – the kind with lots of hidden pockets – gets her mistaken for a boy more often than not. She wouldn't go so far as to say she's trying to keep everybody she meets at a distance but… well… that's pretty much exactly what she's doing.
Ezra has – from the start – had absolutely no regard for this attitude, cheerfully closing any and all distance she tries to put between them.
The temerity.
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Ferpil is – in no uncertain terms – a blessing in disguise, teaching Ezra the kinds of things Umbra can't without at least few more years of experience for plausible deniability.
He's also charming and makes her laugh, which she needed more than she realised.
Maybe he'd realised.
There are times when Ezra and Ferpil will spend entire days trying to lift the other's credit chits without the other noticing. Umbra isn't allowed to play anymore because of reasons which rime with 'lore sosers'.
Those are the best days.
Work is good, Contacts are made and people are relieved of the troublesome burden of money.
Umbra maintains that it is pure coincidence that the Empire, more often than not, is the one getting fleeced.
Ezra will admit otherwise. With a smile.
They do well, for a while. Until they don't
The twins are fourteen when they find themselves staring down the barrel of an ISB issue blaster.
We did too well, too quickly, Umbra thinks. Not that it matters.
Ezra freezes up. A deer in the headlights. It's the first time he's been caught and its showing. Umbra's fault really. She covered for too many of his mistakes and now he feels invincible. Felt invincible, anyway.
The ISB officer – Jenkins or something – trains his weapon on Ferpil. "On your knees filth."
Ah.
Not an arrest then. An execution
We really pissed them off with that last run.
They've taken her blaster, which is good. She's not a threat in their eyes now. Just a scared little girl about to die.
What happens next happens fast.
One moment Jenkins is toying with his kill, revelling in his victim's slow, dawning comprehension that he's going to die today.
The next, he's staring down at the stump where his hand used to be.
Umbra flings the vibroblade, which just cut through a man's arm like a knife through butter, at the nearest Stormtrooper. He drops like a stone as the screaming starts.
Umbra's not sure exactly why a highly trained military operative is crying over the loss of a hand in a universe with prosthetics as advanced as they are, but it sure makes for one hell of a distraction.
It cauterised the wound too, so it's not like he's going to bleed to death or anything.
The remaining Stormtroopers are stumbling backwards, probably unused to any kind of effective resistance against them. Bullies, when it comes down to it.
Jenkins' blaster fells them both before they can get a shot off, all while the man himself still won't stop shrieking – is he faking hysteria? Calling for backup in a way I might not recognise as calling for backup?
It doesn't matter.
Another blaster shot and the room falls silent.
Right then, priorities.
"Ezra", she turns, watching as he processes what just happened "You hurt?"
His eyes snap to the blaster. "I–I'm fine" he mumbles, refusing to look her in the eye.
He's not afraid them anymore. He's afraid of me.
Umbra turns away. She can't deal with that right now.
Priorities.
We might not have long before someone misses these guys.
She turns to Ferpil, who meets her eyes in full, searching.
Not your first?
No, not even counting at this point.
He nods, concluding the silent exchange, as if she's just confirmed some longstanding theory of his. Maybe she has.
"You need to get off planet," Umbra realises.
"I do," he admits.
"Today", she points out.
"Next couple of hours, if I can." He turns to Ezra who's staring at one of the bodies, its arm twitching. "Kid! Are you gonna help me pack up or were you planning on sitting there for what's gonna be the rest of a very short life?"
That, it seems, gets him moving. A task. Something to distract him from his sister and the people she'd just murdered.
I barely even think about it anymore.
"Umbra. I want you on lookout. Second you see someone, we bolt." Ferpil grins. "I'll take as much as I can but I'm not dying for this garbage."
She smiles back, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "You got it."
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The fact that nobody comes to investigate screams and blaster shots, followed by the sudden and even more conspicuous cessation of screams and blaster shots, reminds Umbra of exactly the kind of neighbourhood this is.
There are a couple of guys from Broken Horn keeping their hands on their weapons a few streets away and more than a few windows and doors have been bolted shut, but that's par for the course around here. Still no Stormtroopers though. Was this op off the books?
[Kid?] Her radio askes, in garbled approximation of Ferpil's voice.
"All quiet" she answers. "Couple of Horns here and there, but I think they look more concerned about what happened here coming in their direction. Should leave us alone so long as we don't take the part their way."
[Good], the radio replies. Then again, more relieved.
[Good. We're done over here. Everything's loaded up. Even left a little something for you two rascals.]
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"Hey, I'm guessing that landspeeder out front belonged to Officer whathisface. If you want we could load your stuff onto–" was about as far as Umbra got before Ezra wrapped her into a crushing hug.
What?
"I'm sorry." The words are muffled with his head buried in her shoulder. "You had to do all that to save us when I froze up and I–I'm – I mean you probably had to do it before to save my stupid skin at some poi– and I didn't realise and then I didn't –" his voice breaks as he cries into her jacket.
"S'okay" is about the only response she can produce. Her eyes blur as she strokes his hair like she did when they were little – littler anyway. "I know that can't have been easy on you."
He still loves me. It's okay. I didn't ruin everything.
"S'not okay" he mumbles, like he can change what happened if he disagrees with it hard enough. Umbra smiles, fondness and worry mingling into a faint sense of dread. He didn't always show it, but Ezra never quite outgrew that kind of wide-eyed idealism. He'd just found a way to co-opt it into the life of a thief. She knows that its eventually going to hurt him, more than today ever could.
She'll be there to pick him back up when it does.
Ferpil stalks out from the backroom, four bags in his arms. His eyes dart between her and her brother before nodding with something akin to approval.
Words had been exchanged it seems.
"Save some of those tears dear children. You still have to say goodbye to me", he announces, his tone dripping faux dramatic. "And I want the full works, you hear? Wailing, desperate pleas to stay, the furious cries that I'll never find better thieves!"
Ezra snorts mid-cry. "Oh please, you know you'll never find anyone better. You want me to tell you what colour the sky is too?"
Ferpil barks out a laugh. "Cocky brat." He flings a bag at them which Umbra catches, breaking the hug. "Five thousand creds in there, plus whatever isn't nailed down.
Five thou-
Ezra makes a very high pitched squeaking noise that a lesser sibling might have teased their adolescent brother mercilessly about.
"A little something?" Umbra manages.
He shrugs. "I don't think either of you realise just how rich your business has made me. Or…" he pauses, "just how badly I've been ripping you off."
Umbra smiles. "Jerk"
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