DISCLARMER: This is a blanket disclaimer, I will NOT be repeating it! So please pay attention! I don't own anything of 'Star Wars Rebels.' Not the names, places, characters, concept, nothing! They belong to the creators/writer/authors/ect which does not include me, sadly.
(Sort of) Extended summary/explanation: This is a collection of one shots in which Ezra is so far beyond over protective and possessive it's almost creepy. My 'muse' kept sucker punching me with this idea and I finally caved and sent it to my editor who gave me the green light. So here it is, this is also sort of an apology for the late update to my other story.
Italicized words = memories, visions, Force speak, voices heard over the com, and general emphasis.
Underlined words = alien/non 'Basic' language
Line breaks indicate changes in perspective, time lapses, scene changes, and the like.
It's Perfectly Reasonable
Ezra had a secret he didn't want the rest of the crew to know. Well, actually he had quite a few, but this one was just plain embarrassing. He wasn't sure when it started or why, and he tried to justify. After all when everyone and everything that was even remotely precious to you was taken away, destroyed or – or killed it was only reasonable to be a bit possessive and protective of what you did have, right?
In the end it didn't matter how it happened or why, and he would never admit it, not even to himself, but Ezra Bridger was a mother hen. A extremely protective and possessive mother hen.
He tried to hide it and most of the time he succeeded, such as when he played off his need to watch over everyone as a childish cry for attention. But it wasn't easy, and they certainly didn't make it any easier.
He was protective, very protective. They were so important, so special; he couldn't bear to see them hurt.
Every fight, every brush with the Empire, every close call, even the day to day bumps and bruises had his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest with panic. He would often lie awake for hours, worry of what tomorrow would bring keeping him from sleep. When they did get injured it was all he could do not to stuff them all into giant, insulated and padded bubbles. Where he would get said bubbles never crossed his mind.
Chopper was probably the easiest for Ezra to handle seeing hurt simple because he didn't bleed and technically couldn't die as long they downloaded the droid's 'mind' regularly. Machinery was also so much easier to fix then say a limb or life.
Hera and Sabine, well, he managed his mother hen urges by putting on a 'I'm a guy and it's my job to protect you no matter what you think or that you're capable of protecting yourselves so deal with it' front.
Hera would play along and let him do as he wished. Unless he crossed some invisible line and then she would. . .Well, let's just say there's a reason she survived so long on her own before she met Kanan.
As for Sabine, she would say something smart and sarcastic, and more often than not he could pass off his protectiveness as him crushing on her. Why she put up with it he didn't know or care, as long as she let him keep her safe she could be as sarcastic as she wanted to be. It only made her more attractive.
Zeb and Kanan though, made him want to rip his hair out. Zeb with his tough guy attitude wouldn't let anyone tend to him if he was hurt, choosing to grumble and curse as he did it himself. Fortunately for Ezra's sanity they were roommates and he could, and did, wait until Zeb was asleep before fixing up the bandages and speeding up the healing with a little help from the Force. It was tricky business considering how light a sleeper Zeb was and more than once he'd almost been caught, by both him and Kanan who'd sensed Ezra using the Force, but he'd been able to persuade them he had just been meditating and 'oops, oh well no harm no foul' if something happened because of it.
Kanan was the absolute worst with his 'I can handle everything and anything the galaxy can throw at me, alone' mentality. He kept his injuries and his pain a secret from the rest of the crew. Why was anybody's guess, though Ezra suspected it was because Kanan didn't want them to worry about him, or maybe he just didn't want to lose face. Either way, it didn't work as far Ezra was concerned the man's aloofness just made him worry more, though the only way he ever knew for sure if his 'Master' was fine or not was to mediate and check through the Force. Ezra wasn't really good at meditating and when he did resort to it, it usually only confirmed what he already suspected: No, Kanan was not fine. Ezra was then forced to find a way to help without helping. A problem Ezra had found was best solved by acting as annoyingly childish as possible until Kanan was too distracted and angry to notice what he was really doing.
They were his. His annoying Lasat roommate, his irritating droid, his sassy Mandalorian bomb maker, his kind-hearted Twi'lek pilot, his secret Jedi Master. His crew, his f-family.
Twi'leks were a very attractive species and Hera was no exception. She turned heads every time she walked down a street, and her natural ability to draw out the best in people and sympathize with them drew others to her like moths to a flame. Ezra had long since lost count of the number of males, and a surprising number of females, he'd had to subtly, and not so subtly, threaten to stay away. He kept himself as close to her side as he could to make sure her attention didn't wonder. He needed to make sure it stayed safely on him (and the crew). His saving grace was that she spent most of her time on the Ghost and Kanan seemed just as annoyed as he was about the attention she garnered.
Sabine posed a very similar problem for Ezra, being as she was also extremely attractive, a fact Ezra was more than happy to remind her of. But at least Sabine exuded this air of "you can't handle this, so don't even try" that seemed to keep most people at bay. Those that didn't heed the warning. . .Well, she obviously needed to be protected from those people. Of course as soon as someone got her talking about art it was the complete opposite and Ezra hated it. Sabine, and her art, weren't meant to be seen by anyone else but him (and the crew). No one else would appreciate them as much as he (and the crew) would, so they didn't deserve to see them.
Zeb was his roommate. His. He might be prickly and surly and have a habit of getting a bit rough with him, but Zeb was still his roommate. Ezra had grown use to Zeb's presence and couldn't fall asleep until he heard the older man's quiet breathing fill the room. Zeb might be big and intimidating and more stubborn than a decade old bantha, but Ezra depended on that in a way. The why didn't matter, and Ezra honestly didn't want to study his relationship with the Lasat too closely. In the end only one thing really mattered: Zeb was his roommate.
Ezra hated the term 'master.' Things with masters were just that things. Objects, slaves, those things had masters. Ezra had come close to having a 'master' before and he never wanted one. . . And then he met Kanan. Kanan had had a master, and when he used the word it didn't seem so bad. Kanan wanted - No, offered to be Ezra's master, to be to Ezra what his teacher had been to him. Oddly, Ezra found himself liking the idea. The idea of Kanan as his master, of belonging in sense to Kanan. But. If Ezra was Kanan's, then Kanan was Ezra's. Ezra's Jedi instructor, Ezra's Master, and this weird thing they shared as Master and Padawan belonged to Ezra.
Well, there ya go. A way too possessive and overly protective mother hen Ezra.