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On Eriadu, they made their way to the Marauder in complete silence. Hunter was first, Omega cradled in his arms, and behind him, Echo was breathing heavily. After he’d woken up, Wrecker had run off to look for Tech. Echo had had to search for him in the dense fog and wrestle Wrecker back toward the ship, weathering his agonized shouts that there was still a chance. There had to be a chance.
Panic and worry gripped his heart as he glanced up at the veiled, faraway sky just before he entered the ship. Any moment now, those V-wings would find them. They had to move.
But Wrecker remained at the bottom of the ramp.
“We have to go,” Echo said, hating that he had to say it. Brothers never had enough time to grieve. Even now, after the war was over, it still held true.
He watched as Wrecker turned away from the ship, removing his helmet and bowing his head. “I love you, Tech,” he rumbled. “Part of me will always be here with you.”
A shiver ran down Echo’s spine. Tears welled up in his eyes as he thought of Fives and the death Rex had only revealed the details of on the way to Bracca. The day when he had left the Batch and remained on Coruscant with Rex, he had asked him to bring him to the nondescript warehouse where Fives had died. He had stood there, much like Wrecker now, and broken down as he hadn’t allowed himself to do since before he had been captured by the Techno Union.
He understood what Wrecker meant. Part of him had been left behind on Coruscant, too.
In the cockpit, it hit him all over again. The ship wasn’t ready for takeoff, because its pilot was gone. He would never again nag Echo about the way he flew it or did its repairs. He would never again argue with him about the best way to teach Omega, and would never again execute thrilling daredevil stunts that made them all shout at him.
Gonky honked at him as he simply stood there, frozen. Bowing his head, Echo laid his flesh hand on top of Gonky for a moment. He wondered if droids were capable of missing beings.
Pushing down the horrible, creeping sense of dread that was squeezing his lungs, Echo slid into the seat and began the preflight sequence. Hunter strapped the still unconscious Omega into one of the passenger seats and dropped into the copilot seat. Since the crash, he had seemed to be holding his breath.
When Echo looked back at Wrecker, who closed the ramp and joined them in the cockpit, he was standing at his full height, shoulders rigid, and his face was horribly blank. It was a terrible sight. Out of all of them, Wrecker had always been the liveliest, the most emotionally attuned. Echo had never seen him look so empty, as if all the life had been drained out of him.
After they jumped to hyperspace, Wrecker left the cockpit, and a moment later, they heard the sound of crying coming from the rackroom.
Echo thought back to all the times he’d taken over flying the Marauder so Tech could go catch a few hours of sleep with Wrecker; how sometimes when he got off his shift, he would catch them entwined together, and how he’d found it strangely comforting to fall asleep to the muffled sounds they made, which reminded him of his time in the 501st barracks, where privacy was rare and everyone had to make the best of their time with each other.
He thought, too, of all the times he’d watched brothers mourn. He recalled how unstable Fives had been after they left Rishi Station and how they’d both struggled to integrate with the battalion amid their overwhelming grief. And that had only been the beginning of the losses they would suffer.
“You should go talk to him,” Echo said to Hunter, who was staring out the viewport at the white streaks of the stars.
“There’s nothing I can say that’ll make him feel better.” Hunter’s voice was tight.
Echo frowned. “You don’t need to say anything. Just be there for him.”
“I have to watch Omega,” Hunter said, glancing behind him at where she was still unconscious. He crossed his arms tightly across his chest, as if his body would crumble if he let go. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”
Echo sighed. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m the one flying this ship.”
Hunter was quiet, and for a moment the only sounds they heard were the whirring of the hyperdrive and the sound of Wrecker’s anguished sobs.
“He’ll be okay,” Hunter said. “He’s stronger than you might think.”
Echo knew it was grief talking, but he couldn’t help the glare he shot at him. To Hunter, Wrecker’s crying must be ten times louder given his enhanced hearing. He knew Hunter wasn’t an unfeeling person—far from it—but his instinct to hide from his problems drove Echo up the wall sometimes. It reminded him of Cutup, who’d always covered up his feelings with jokes, even at the darkest of times.
“He just lost his husband, Hunter,” Echo snapped. “Nothing is ever going to make that okay. But he shouldn’t have to face this alone.”
“One thing at a time,” Hunter said. “Once we get to safety, we can talk.”
“I’m suddenly remembering why I left,” Echo said, and hurt flashed through Hunter’s face. “Not all of us can stand just running away from everything all the time, you know.” He stood up. “Make sure you don’t fly us into a nebula.”
He found Wrecker kneeling on the floor of the rackroom, his face pressed into the thin mattress of Tech’s rack. His face was stained with tears, and more kept sliding out of his non-cybernetic eye. He gasped for air between the sobs that rocked his body.
“Hey,” Echo said. His prosthetic limbs ached as he sat down next to Wrecker, just close enough to reach.
Wrecker glanced at him, his right eye rimmed with red, and he muffled his next sob with a fist against his mouth.
“It’s okay,” Echo soothed. “I’m here for you. Just get it out if you need to. And if you want to talk, I’ll listen.”
Wrecker immediately closed the distance between them and buried his head against Echo’s shoulder. Tenderly, Echo enfolded him in his arms. The sound of Wrecker’s excruciating sobs and the way he trembled in the embrace made twin streaks of tears run down Echo’s own face in sympathy.
They sat there for a long time, Echo holding on to Wrecker as he shattered. When his arms got numb, he got up to retrieve some hydration packs and two ration bars and set them within reach, then drew Wrecker back into his arms. He had stopped sobbing, but the corner of his eye was still leaking silent tears.
“It hurts so much,” Wrecker said, his voice hoarse and unusually quiet. “How did you watch so many of your brothers die all the time?”
“It never got easier, I’ll tell you that,” Echo said. “You just have to learn to carry on, and to believe that their deaths are meaningful and worthy of the cause you’re all fighting for.” He rubbed Wrecker’s shoulder. “I carry all the brothers I’ve lost in my heart every day, as a reminder that they sacrificed their lives so I could live to fight another day.”
“The thought of living another day feels so hard,” Wrecker said. “I wish I could unlive today. I wish he were here with me.”
“Me too,” Echo said.
“It kind of doesn’t feel real,” Wrecker continued. “I feel like I’ll walk out there and see him in the pilot seat, like always.”
“Yeah,” Echo breathed. “I know.”
“And if he’s not here, then I don’t want to be either,” Wrecker said, and Echo’s heart lurched.
He’d encountered this type of reaction countless times, too—brothers who couldn’t face the loss of their loved ones and were tempted to leave with them, with the assistance of the many weapons at their disposal.
“Don’t march away, Wrecker,” Echo said, squeezing him even tighter. “We need you. You understand? Hunter and Omega need you. I need you.”
He pressed his cheek to Wrecker’s shoulder. He thought about how since Crosshair had left them that night on Kamino, Echo had watched Hunter change, his playfulness and his gallant attitude seeping out of him and being replaced with a helpless terror that made him cling tightly to his brothers and his new sister, and shun everyone else. He knew Hunter had been chasing some kind of peace all this time in an effort to fill the void in his heart.
He didn’t think Hunter would survive losing Wrecker. Omega certainly wouldn’t. And Echo—Echo had already lost too many brothers in his brief lifetime.
They both looked up when the door slid open to reveal Hunter. He didn’t say anything, instead simply sitting down heavily on Wrecker’s other side. Wrecker sat up, untangling himself from Echo, who nodded at Hunter in gratitude for whatever battle he’d been fighting with himself while he and Wrecker had been talking.
“How do you two do it?” Wrecker asked glumly. “How do you lose your other halves and keep on going afterward?”
Echo exhaled. “There’s no right answer,” he said. “Everyone grieves in their own way. But me... I fight. Fives died trying to get the truth out, to stop what would become the Empire from forming—to protect all our brothers. I’ve taken on his mission, and I’ll keep on fighting till my dying breath. That’s how I honor him. That’s the only way I can bear to live without him.”
Wrecker nodded, sniffling. He glanced to his left. “What about you, Sarge?”
Hunter folded his elbows across his knees. He looked so tense, and Echo suddenly felt guilty for pushing him earlier. “What about me?”
Wrecker gave him an unimpressed look. “You haven’t said anything about Crosshair for nearly two years. I know he meant more to you than you’re pretending.”
Hunter averted his gaze. “What do you want me to say, Wrecker? He left us. He asked us to join the Empire. I wasn’t willing. I asked him to come back. He wasn’t willing.” He sighed. “For just one brief moment today, I decided to try one more time to get him back. And as a consequence, Tech is gone. I was right before: It’s too risky.”
Wrecker narrowed his eyes at him. “You...you mean we’re going to give up? Hunter, we can’t. The Empire killed Tech, and they’ve had Crosshair for who knows how long. We have to do something about it.”
Hunter’s head snapped up, and he met Wrecker’s glare without flinching. “Tech sacrificed himself to give us a way out, Wrecker.”
“Yeah, I got that!” Wrecker growled, getting in Hunter’s face. Echo had never seen his anger directed at Hunter before. “I may not be as smart as you all, but he was my husband! I understand what he did!” Fists clenched, he snarled, “Hunter, I watched him fall! I watched him die! He looked me in the eyes, and then he was gone.”
“Then you know he wouldn’t want you to waste what he died to give us,” Hunter said calmly. “We should go back to Pabu and settle down. Out there, we should be safe.”
“Kark that!” Wrecker retorted, and Echo’s eyes widened as he looked between them. Wrecker never swore, and certainly not at his brothers. “I’m not going to sit around doing normal stuff while there’s still a chance we can still rescue Crosshair. I’ll do it by myself if I have to. And if I make it out,” he continued forcefully, “I’m going with Echo. He and the regs are taking on the Empire, and I want to be there to blow it to pieces.”
For a moment, Hunter looked stricken, and then the neutral frown that was his habitual mask slammed back down. “You don’t owe them anything, Wrecker.”
Echo tried to hide his flinch. Fortunately, they were both too wrapped up in their argument to notice.
“Yeah, but I owe Tech,” Wrecker growled. “And the Empire will pay for what it’s done.”
Hunter shook his head. Placatingly, he said, “I know staying might be difficult, but is recklessly risking your life really the answer?”
Echo sighed. Hunter didn’t get it—or maybe he was just built differently. For most brothers who had lost a partner, or a husband, or a squad mate, there was no other answer. They had been built to fight, and whenever they faced loss, there was no shaking the impulse to burn the world down.
Accordingly, Wrecker said tersely, “I don’t see any other way.”
“Come on, Wrecker, don’t be foolish,” Hunter snapped. “The Empire will kill you, too.”
Wrecker slammed his fist into the floor, denting the durasteel in his ire. “I don’t care!” he roared. “What’s the point of anything if Tech isn’t here? What’s the point of me, Hunter?! I might as well try to do something.”
“You shouldn’t throw away your life like that,” Hunter protested, shaking his head. “Crosshair might not even make it out alive. He might not even want to come back with us. Have you considered that?”
“Why don’t we rescue him and then ask him instead of trying to guess what he wants?” Wrecker pointed out. He sat back up, staring across the room. “Why don’t you care that Crosshair is with that doctor? Tech cared. Tech wanted to go save him. But you’re the one Crosshair loved, and it seems like you don’t care at all.”
Hunter grabbed Wrecker’s cuirass, his careful composure finally cracking. “How can you think I don’t care about him?” he snarled. “Don’t you understand what I’ve sacrificed for this squad? Don’t you understand how much I wish he’d never left? But every choice I’ve made has been in the name of keeping the rest of you safe!”
Wrecker was crying again. He pushed Hunter away, knocking him over, and stood up. “There is no squad anymore,” he said bitterly.
“Wrecker!” Echo called after him, but he smacked the door shut in their faces. “Fighting isn’t going to accomplish anything,” he chided.
“Exactly my point,” Hunter muttered.
Echo sighed. “Hunter, talk to me. Don’t take it out on him.”
Hunter crossed his legs and picked up one of the gadgets lying at the end of the bed—one of Tech’s projects, which would now never be completed. Echo bit his lip so hard that it drew blood, copper spilling out onto his tongue.
“I failed,” Hunter whispered, fiddling with the gadget and its loose wires to avoid looking at him. “Tech is gone, Omega is injured, and who knows what’s happened with Crosshair? Maybe that doctor has already killed him. And now Wrecker is going to get himself killed, too.”
“It’s not your fault,” Echo said.
“Wrecker sure thinks it is,” Hunter replied hollowly.
“No, he doesn’t,” Echo assured him. “But he’s a soldier. He’s itching for action, for the opportunity to do something with his grief. To use it for something destructive. Fives was like that, too.” He closed his eyes. “And when soldiers are feeling that destructive, we have to direct them somewhere, at beings who deserve it. Because the alternative is that they’ll turn that wish for destruction on themselves.”
“I can’t lose him, too,” Hunter said in a low voice. “I can’t keep losing people.”
“Then you can’t stop Wrecker from doing what he believes is right for himself,” Echo replied. “It’s fine if you need to grieve in a different way. But you have to respect his feelings, too.”
Hunter groaned, pressing his fingers to his temple. “I can’t join your rebellion,” he said. “What would happen to Omega if I did? She deserves to have a normal childhood.”
Echo sighed. “She’s a clone, Hunter. Nothing about Omega’s childhood is ever going to be normal.” He fidgeted with his scomp. “Is this really about Omega?”
“What are you implying?” Hunter growled.
Echo bit down his retort. Putting Hunter on the defensive wouldn’t do either of them any good. “Maybe you’re right,” he said. “You and Omega should go back to Pabu. But I’m telling you now: If you force Wrecker to go with you, he’ll be miserable. And he’ll never look at you the same.”
“He wouldn’t be the first,” Hunter muttered. He lifted his head. “You’d really take him? To the clone resistance?”
Echo nodded. “Rex would be happy to have him. And we could really use an explosives expert like him. I know you all are wary of the regs, but everyone I work with would treat him well. And I think it’d be good for him to be in a new environment, make some new friends.”
Hunter was silent, a hard expression on his face. Echo recognized it as the one he made when he was trying to weigh an impossible decision.
Echo added gently, “You know, it could be good for you, too.”
Hunter sighed. “I’ll see what Omega thinks, once she wakes up.” He set the widget back on the bed, exactly where it had sat before, then got to his feet. “I should go check on the flight computer.”
Echo stood, too. “What about Crosshair?”
Hunter didn’t turn around. “What about him?”
“Will you be joining us? Or are you going to give up, like Wrecker said?”
Hunter was silent for a long time. Echo watched him clench and unclench his fists. “I’ll come,” he said finally. “But we have to convince Omega to stay with Cid.”
“Deal,” Echo said, and he followed Hunter out of the rackroom.
He found Wrecker sitting on the floor against the ladder that led up to Omega’s little room. He was holding a datapad Echo recognized as Tech’s. The ’pad’s holoprojector was playing a clip that Tech had recorded of Wrecker running down the golden sands on Pabu, the ocean’s gentle waves lapping at the shore beneath his boots. Tech ran after him, and in the clip, Wrecker laughed when he caught up to him, tackling him into a hug that lifted him off his feet, spinning him around while Tech complained. There was static, and then the recorder was on Tech, Wrecker presumably having stolen it to record him instead. He pulled Tech into an ostentatious kiss, dipping him low, and Tech squawked, arms wheeling, making Wrecker burst out laughing.
Heart clenching, Echo crouched down next to Wrecker. Despite the way he and Tech had constantly bickered, their warm, familiar affection and their staunch loyalty to each other had been obvious, and he had always thought they made each other whole. Echo could certainly relate to that. He was glad they’d been able to have small, sweet moments like the one featured in the clip, both during the war and afterward. They had deserved to have more of them.
The clip looped back, and Wrecker watched it again, eerily silent.
“Hunter said he would go with us to try rescuing Crosshair again,” Echo said two replays later.
Wrecker paused the clip, looking up at him. His voice was hoarse, but he’d washed his face of the tear stains. “Really? How’d you manage that?”
“We made a deal: Omega will stay on Ord Mantell.”
Wrecker nodded.
“Another thing: He agreed to you joining the clone resistance afterward—if that’s what you want.”
“Yeah?” Wrecker asked hopefully. “Would Rex really take me?”
“Definitely,” Echo said. “And even if he for some reason didn’t, I would bring you along anyway.”
Wrecker smiled, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Echo. For everything. You’re a good brother.”
He bent to flick at the datapad so the next clip would play. Quietly, Echo watched them with him. He knew the holovids were backed up on the ship’s computer, and he resolved to collect all the recordings Tech had made, so Wrecker could keep them with him. When he had first come back from Skako Minor, he would’ve killed for just a single holovid of Fives.
“Hey, Echo?” Wrecker said, some time later.
“What is it?”
“Can you teach me the...the thing you usually say before you sleep? For your lost brothers?”
“My remembrances?” Echo asked, suddenly feeling tears form in his eyes again. Ever since Echo had joined the Batch, Tech had been fascinated by the vod’e culture Echo referenced, and they had spent so much time talking about the language, the customs, and all the other granular details. He was going to miss sharing his memories with Tech and the way it always made him feel closer to both the Batch and the 501st.
“Yeah,” Wrecker said. “Remembrances.”
“Of course,” Echo said, touched. He thought of that past life, when he and Fives had frequently taught shinies how to pay homage to the brothers they lost. He thought of lying on his bedroll next to Rex’s in the Coruscant garage that served as their base and staying up to listen to the endless, heartbreaking drone of his remembrances, some of the names still a surprise after all this time.
“Repeat after me,” Echo said. He exhaled. “Though I’m still here...”
“Though I’m still here,” Wrecker said, voice cracking.
“You’ve already marched on.”
“Y-you’ve already marched on.”
“I remember you, so you are eternal,” Echo said. He reached over to take Wrecker’s hand with his flesh one.
Reverently, Wrecker repeated, “I remember you, so you are eternal.” He squeezed Echo’s hand so hard it hurt, but Echo didn’t mind. It wasn’t important.
“Tech, you are eternal,” he said.
“Tech, you are eternal,” Wrecker said, then heaved a wet sob. He choked out, “Tech, you are eternal.”
“And he is,” Echo said, hushed. “He will always live on within us.”
“Yeah,” Wrecker said. On the holoprojector of the datapad played a holovid from the perspective of the terminal Tech was holding, in which he watched Wrecker slumber in his lap instead of studying the screen. There was an unbearably fond expression on his face—his eyes crinkled through his goggles, his lips turned up.
Quaking, Wrecker clung to Echo as he stared down at the little blue holo figures. “Always,” he promised.