(no subject)

[munnin]

Title: Hugin Chronicles. Chapter 3: Lost is not the same as gone, or forgotten.
Fandom: Star Wars – Clone Wars.
Verse: Joe Hogan’s Red Mist Squad.
Disclaimer: No ownership, no profit and no offence meant. Everyone is of the age of consent in their country and period of history
Author’s notes: This ‘verse and its characters belong to the talented Joe Hogan. Individual characters were inspired by members of the Celebrations Rogues. The verse has been hijack by me with the consent of all involved.
Summary: Crispy deals with the aftermath of losing Hugin. As does the rest of the squad.


Losing Hugin was hard. Hard on all of them but on Crispy most of all. The assignment to Dathomir had helped keep the rest of the team focused, on point. But Crispy’s injuries had left him benched.

Had left him alone to mull over and over what happened.

And to blame himself.

Fordo could see it. As soon as they resumed the search on Kamino, helping where they could on the recovery effort.

They all knew there was very little hope they would ever find their fallen brother again. Mourning when you didn’t know for sure was always hard.

Hardest for the last man to be with him.

It felt like a mistake to have left Crispy alone to stew, but what else could have done? If he’d taken Crispy to Dathomir, injured as he was, they would be mourning two instead of one.

He watched his second in command cycle through grieving.

The refusal to give up, determined to dredge the Kamino oceans if it meant knowing for sure.

The certainty Hugin would turn up. That it was all a mistake. That he had to be alive and safe, somewhere.

The fury – at Fordo, at the team, at himself for losing Hugin, for giving up too soon. For not doing enough.

Fordo weathered it all, advising the others to do the same. It had to happen. Crispy needed to go through this.

And then the threats – to go alone, to leave Red Mist, to leave Republic service to search alone. That had gotten heated and Fordo had had to step in, to keep Wrathor from punching him, or Fezz from sedating him.

And then the sullen, hurt silence. Two missions and Crispy spoke only as much as the mission required. No more or less.

Fordo knew Crispy was almost ready to accept. To accept that Hugin was gone. That it was time to move on.

And then the riots on Malastare happened and everything came apart again.

A man, his skin tattooed with the markings of Hugin’s armour. In the middle of the stampede, protecting two red-headed women.

A brother clone with long hair and a trooper’s scars.

And no recognition in his eyes.

As the surge of the crowd separated them, the man headed away with his flame-haired charges in tow, Fordo forced Crispy back towards the ship.

Crispy was furious, and rightly so.

Whether that had been Hugin, or someone who could lead them to him, Fordo knew he’d made a mistake in giving up on a brother.