Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Matt’s leg hurt.

His heart was hurting worse.

He chose to focus on the former because otherwise he was going to completely break down and he could not afford to do that right now because these Galrans didn’t just hate weakness they despised it and if he showed them anymore they’d probably throw him right back into the arena he’d just been saved from.

And that would mean that Shiro’s sacrifice had been for nothing. 

Matt’s breath hitched in his chest.

Shiro.

Shiro had…

For him.

“This is my fight!”

To an outsider it looked like Shiro had just attacked him with no provocation, had gone mad. But Matt knew. Shiro knew.

They both knew that Matt would not have lived past a minute out there, not against the monster the Galrans had unleashed today. 

But…

But would Shiro?

God, was Shiro already dead? 

Had Matt just inadvertently killed his best friend?

His chest ached more.

Matt bit his lip and tried to focus back on his leg.

His leg that wasn’t quite gushing blood but it was definitely bleeding a lot; what the Galran called pants saturated and the material ripped from nearly his knee to his ankle where Shiro had struck him.

“I want blood!”

He’d sure got it. 

Matt pressed his hands more to the wound, pitifully trying to stop the blood flow that way as the guards here had done nothing except drag him back into the waiting room and throw him in one of the many cages where the competitors (re: prisoners) were to wait before their matches.

His hands made a disturbing squelching noise as he pushed down and Matt swallowed thickly as blood bubbled up between his fingers at the pressure and black spots danced in his vision.

He wondered if he passed out if they’d just…

Just shoot him and call it whatever loss their sick game system had.

It certainly wouldn’t be the first time they’d pulled a body instead of a person out of the cages. 

But, Matt comforted himself, the strike hadn’t hit any artery and his heart pulsed again at how quick Shiro had been — to sacrifice himself, to strike Matt in a way that it looked far worse than it was but would still be bad enough to be pulled out of this match as against Myzax because the crowd wanted to see a fight, not an immediate slaughter — but…

But if it meant Shiro was the one who was going to die instead…

Matt squeezed his eyes shut, as if that could hold the dark thought from escaping. 

Based on the fact that the main arena door into the waiting room hadn’t opened it meant Shiro was still alive and if he strained his ears he thought he could hear booing. But that was to be expected; Shiro would dodge and evade for at least a little while and he never let the crowd’s screams for blood rush him into acting sooner than he intended.

If…

If they had to kill, Shiro had swallowed and looked at Matt with heavy charcoal eyes, then they would make it quick. No one, no matter who they were, would suffer.

But Myzax… he was the monster of the arena, the coined ‘Galactic Gladiator,’ and he was not someone Shiro could beat as he was with a single cudgel-like blade. 

But…

But he had to.

He had to.

He—

A shadow fell across Matt’s cell and he was almost grateful for the interruption of the guard as he was doing an absolutely fucking terrible job of not thinking about the thing he told himself not to think about. 

He was less grateful for the blaster aimed at him and the low growl of, “Up.”

Matt bit back the immediate retort as he’d seen what happened when injured prisoners didn’t move quick enough for the guards and instead gave a short, curt nod.

He would not die here.

He could not die here.

So Matt moved blood covered hands to the sandy ground and pushed himself up, balancing all of his weight on his right leg and wobbled there, wincing as the permanent cuffs around his wrists gave a static-inducing zing to pull them together — and only sheer will kept him upright as he lost his already precarious balance — and an energy cord emerged from them to the guard’s glove.

And to Matt’s utter relief he was pulled out of his cage towards where he knew the on-site arena infirmary was rather than towards the arena doors, which would mean that Shiro had…

Walk, Matt scolded himself.

Focus on walking.

Walking that was very painful and harder than it looked as the Galran was moving far quicker than Matt was capable of doing but he didn’t dare fall. 

“Slave number twenty-six thousand and forty-seven,” the guard introduced Matt to the doctor — or at least Matt assumed given that she was wearing a coat and was standing behind the exam table.

“Also known as Matt,” Matt chimed in helpfully.

It was one of the first things he’d learned here: don’t show fear, don’t give them control. The Galra thrived on both.

But Matt had not learned how to deactivate the shock feature on their cuffs and he barely managed to swallow down the scream as the guard activated it without even a glance. 

“He hasn’t even been in the arena yet,” the doctor scowled, yellow eyes narrowed at Matt as though he was the reason that was so as he hunched over, panting and trembling and still trying very hard not to fall over.

Although Matt supposed he was.

“The other human went beserk,” the guard said, shaking his head, and Matt bit his tongue against both the retort for if the Galra knew it had been mercy that had brought Shiro to attack him they would just kill him here because there was no room in their world for things like compassion and kindness and to listen.

This was information.

Information was critical.

“Wanted to fight Myzax himself,” the guard continued.

He sounded…

Impressed?

Matt filed it away. 

The doctor snorted, the opposite. “Foolish. No one can take down the Galactic Gladiator. But,” and Matt saw her lip curl. “At least the broad shouldered peach—"and is that how they described them as humans? What was Matt then, skinny stick peach? He was offended, “— will put up a fight. This one,” and Matt felt her glare back on him as much as he felt her hands clamping down on his shoulders and he was easily lifted onto the table, “wouldn’t last a minute.”

“It’d be at least two minutes,” Matt inputted, trying to put as much affront into his tone as possible. 

He bit his tongue as the shock ran through his body, hunching over on the table and maybe, maybe, he should stop talking now.

“What’s this one’s kill count?” the doctor asked as she grabbed a knife and Matt’s heart momentarily stopped before she shoved it under the tear in his pants and while that fucking hurt she wasn’t ampuating his leg and he could breathe again.

“Twelve,” the guard clucked his tongue, “over nearly two deca-phoebs. Not the worst, but nothing for the leaderboards either.”

Matt hid his wince.

Twelve people dead by his hand was still twelve people. Most had been fellow slaves, given the same orders of kill or be killed. Two had been beasts. He’d never gone up against a disgraced Galran although he knew Shiro had, once. 

They didn’t talk about their matches. There was nothing they could say to make it better. Matt was just grateful that all this time he and Shiro had been kept in the same cell group, could sit there in shared, pained silence and lean on one another, sometimes more literally than figuratively as while neither had (miraculously) yet to be seriously injured they had bumps and bruises and cuts. They talked about home, about their families, about favorite movies or television shows and vacations they wanted to take and where they’d go and anything that reminded them there was a world outside of the blood and violence.

That…

That no matter what color blood stained their hands they weren’t murderers. They weren’t killers.

They hadn’t wanted this.

They reminded each other of what, of who, they were fighting for. 

And now… because Matt had panicked, had let his fear take hold when he’d promised, he’d promised, himself he would be strong so Shiro wouldn’t have to be strong enough for both of them, he’d failed.

He’d failed Shiro.

God.

God, was Shiro…?

Matt came back to a horrible stinging over his leg and he choked on the yelp as the doctor upended what had to be space version of hydrogen peroxide — in a terrifying shade of green — all over his leg.

“— not much of a fan favorite,” the guard was still talking and Matt forced himself to listen to him, to get out of his own head. “The other human wasn’t much either but I bet this beserk version is something to see.”

“I’ll have to check the video recordings later,” the doctor said. “Otherwise XV-C7 always broadcasts the highlight matches and—”

Matt’s brain froze.

What?

What?

The arena matches were broadcast? Like, like sports? What, did they have fucking concessions up there too?

(He bet they did. And leaderboards implied gambling and this was just one big sport to them, wasn’t it? To watch them kill each other?)

Jesus fucking christ.

The arena was just the gift that apparently kept on getting shittier and shittier. 

More sharp pain was a welcome reprieve from this newest horror (and seriously, what did that say about him?) and Matt couldn’t entirely hold back the whimper that time as the doctor lifted his leg up, claws digging into already abused flesh, elevating it on a block.

Matt got his first unobstructed view of the wound, which was as non-lethal as he’d assumed but damn, it was a long wound.

Shiro couldn’t have lifted the blade up just a hair sooner?

Matt internally smacked himself for even thinking that.

“He’ll live,” she confirmed, reaching for a roll of bandages. “Not worth the effort of the Druids though to heal it so he’ll be pretty lame out there.” Her fangs pulled back in a smile. “In more ways than one.”

Matt disagreed with half of that statement but bit his tongue to hold it back because he was in enough pain for the moment and with his leg like that he’d probably topple right off the table and with his current luck give himself a concussion.

But she was right. If he went out there now, limping around, he’d die.

And Shiro would never, ever, forgive himself (even if he was doing so beyond the grave and God God God why could he not stop his brain from going that route?).

“Arena’s got enough fodder,” the guard said, so, so carelessly, as though the slaves wanted to be there and put up for slaughter, “I’ll check with the books but no one is going to miss this one.”

Matt’s eyes widened.

Wait.

Wait, what did that mean?

His eyes flicked to the bandages the doctor was holding, to the guard next to him and down to his bound wrists.

Logic said they wouldn’t treat a prisoner to then kill him.

But logic also said the guard’s words were a threat.

And logic further said that even if Matt were to get the guard’s blaster (which he unfortunately knew how to use at this point) he still had the shock cuffs to contend with, plus the doctor (and like almost all the Galrans he’d met she dwarfed him by an easy foot and no doubt had the strength to match) and then assuming he neutralized both of them he still had to exit back through the waiting room where there were more guards, a locked door, and…

And he wasn’t getting out.

Holts didn’t believe in impossibles but they were also more than capable of acknowledging improbables.

And Matt knew resisting now would turn the situation immediately fatal for him whereas if he did nothing…

He might live.

And that had been the whole point of this.

For him to live. 

(Live for what? It’s not like he’d ever see his family again.)

Matt squashed the thought as surely as he did his fingers into his lap as the doctor abandoned the roll of bandages and instead went to the far counter, opened a cooler, and removed a vial, shooting a far too flippant, “If you’re sure,” to the guard.

A vial she attached to a syringe.

Matt tensed.

Euthanization?

Or…

Or something else?

“Should keep him under for about fifteen varga,” the doctor said and Matt untensed the barest bit.

A sedative.

They were keeping him alive.

They were taking him out of the arena.

Where? 

It’s not like he had much of a choice. 

He had less of one as the doctor came back and even though instinct told Matt to pull back, to stop her, he made himself stay still as she roughly grabbed his bound arms, rotated his right up and depressed the syringe. 

And…

And nothing happened.

No pain (or lack of it, his leg still felt ached), no sudden wooziness or dizziness (moreso than the shocks had done).

Just…

Nothing.

“Are you sure you gave him the correct dose?” the guard asked and Matt felt a jolt of ice in his stomach at that, at the fact this nothing response wasn’t normal.

The doctor hadn’t even weighed him, hadn’t asked about his biology and had just injected him with something that Matt had no idea what it was and what if it was toxic to humans?

“Give it a moment,” the doctor said although even her eyes were narrowed. “It’s possible that—”

Matt didn’t hear the rest.

He passed out.

Because apparently yes, the dose had been just fine.

Matt knew though what awaited him absolutely wasn’t. 

Chapter Text

Matt wasn’t aware any part of him could hurt more than his leg but his head was giving it a damn good try.

He moaned, pressing his face into the crook of his arm as loud voices and clanking sounds echoed above him and he tried to get his bearings because this sounded different from the cell and he hurt more than usual and he didn’t feel Shiro’s presence near him and—

Shiro!

Matt sat bolted upright and immediately tipped right back over as his vision grayed on the edges and vertigo told him sitting right now was a giant nope. 

But in that glimpse Matt had seen one thing.

He was definitely not at the arena any more. 

He was in a hangar.

He had a half second that maybe, maybe he could get up and try to somehow pilot a ship when a purple face with yellow eyes loomed above him and lips pulled back to reveal a fanged smile.

It was most definitely not a nice smile. 

And the claws were even less nice and Matt gasped as hands landed on his shoulders and he was pulled to sitting and…

And he realized he was in a box.

A literal box.

They’d… they’d shipped him. Like a package. 

He felt like he should be offended.

He decided he was and decided to let this new Galran know such.

And he became aware then of another new thing.

There was something over his mouth. 

Matt’s first thought was the guard from the arena had done so because he was an ass and had never liked it when Matt mouthed off at him but it didn’t feel like a gag and as he glanced around the Galran he saw two more people being pulled out of shipping containers with clear, bubble-like protrusions over their mouths.

They hadn’t just been shipped like cargo.

They were cargo, in no doubt a section of a ship that hadn’t had air. 

Thinking on it anymore was put to the wayside as the Galran’s grip tightened — and ow, Matt was pretty sure those claws were piercing his skin now — and Matt found himself being lifted out of the box and set on his feet.

His left leg immediately buckled beneath him and his yelp of both pain and surprise as his face met the floor was swallowed by the air mask and his vision went white.

When it cleared he was hanging upside down over the Galran’s shoulder and he quickly shut his eyes at the dizzying view as acid bile tickled his tongue.

No puking. Not because he didn’t relish vomiting all over this Galran but because it had nowhere to go.

Major gross.

But he did find his eyes flying open as the dull metal clanging of Galra bases and hangars gave way to a duller thump and heat and a light so bright it burned. 

He was outside. 

Matt didn’t know when he’d last been outside.

His eyes stung in a way that had nothing to do with the pain and he craned his head up, trying to catch a glimpse of the sky, of this planet.

This very dry, rocky looking planet.

It…

It looked like Arizona.

It felt like Arizona, with the dry heat and a barely there breeze.

Matt bit his lip to keep in the whimper and hurriedly blinked to clear away the tears.

The orange colored sky definitely wasn’t normal — but they had absolutely gorgeous sunsets out in the deserts and it was almost like that — and the three suns definitely weren’t but… but…

But God.

It was like home. 

Matt gave a subtle shake of his head.

No.

Now was not the time to be thinking about that.

He couldn’t think about home because then he would think of Mom and Katie and then of Dad and then of Shiro and the fact Shiro had—

No!

And so as much as Matt wanted to soak in the sun — although an icy pit in his stomach told him that maybe, maybe he shouldn’t get too excited about that — he was relieved when they entered into a building with its Galra purple lights and clanging halls.

And…

A front receptionist counter?

Was this…

An office? 

Matt was dumped unceremoniously on the floor and he let out a muffled oomph, at least this time getting his hands out in front of him to protect his head although now he was more than aware of how much his leg hurt as it took the brunt of it. 

“You’re bringing me another injured one?” the Galran behind the counter loudly sighed, peering down over it. “It’ll last as long as the one the arena sent last movement.”

“Do ya want it or not?” the other Galran grumbled, toeing Matt and he was both trying not to take offense to being called an ‘it,’ not moan as his head was pounding and his leg was on fire and try to come up with a suitable remark in the event he had the chance to use it but his brain felt like mush.  “Otherwise I’ll bring it to Vodka and you know she’ll—”

“No! Leave it here! Group seven is already down three slaves and needs any body it can get. Even one as pathetic looking as this,” he trailed off in a mutter and wow, okay, everyone was just going to be very offensive and overly mean today. “Bring him to check-in for a cursory.”

And as Matt found out a moment later that meant an exam. 

A full body exam because apparently the records that had come over with him from the arena doing one themselves upon his initial capture wasn’t good enough.

Fortunately (unfortunately?) at this point Matt wasn’t embarrassed by the state of undress given how many times he’d been forced to strip alongside the other slaves if he wanted a shower (re: hosing and it was awful and actually sort of painful but being coated in blood and guts was infinitely worse) and he had to hand it to the Galra, at least they kept things clinical.

Besides, Matt had learned early on that showing any weakness — even something like embarrassment — only fueled them. So to Shiro’s chagrin (but Matt liked to think amusement and he hoped it helped Shiro too) Matt would parade around inside the shower container because if they wanted to see the full glory that was Matthew Holt then they would get it. 

Still though, there was something different about being strapped down on an exam table and feeling hands that were not his own pressing and pinching and going places they had no business being.

They’d also left the air-mask-turned-probably-on-purpose-gag on his face so Matt couldn’t even try to add commentary that while often resulting in being shocked or even hit and shoved it made him feel like he had a little bit of control.

At least this doctor was treating his leg with more than a roll of bandages and maybe having the mask-gag wasn’t a bad thing as Matt definitely let out more than a whimper when this Galran also upended the space version of hydrogen peroxide and he bit his lip as best he could after that to keep the sounds locked inside. 

After that came actual butterfly (or, well, the Galra version because they were purple) bandages that were rather heavy duty before wrapping the entire limb back in a fresh set of bandages. 

He was released from the table and with a harsh pop the mask was pulled from his face and the doctor gestured for Matt to sit up and plopped his same uniform on the exam table next to him. “Get dressed,” came the tired sounding order but it was at least one Matt liked and so he offered no protest. 

“So,” he said quietly, trying to keep his voice friendly as he awkwardly maneuvered into the pants, which would suction to his fit once he’d pulled them to his waist, “where am I exactly?”

Not that alien coordinates or planet names meant anything really but information was still information and maybe he’d get a clue as to what they expected from him here as given the fact the one Galran had said they were down three and needed bodies… well, it didn’t sound like he’d be needlepointing.

“Vizion,” the Galran answered, to Matt’s surprise. 

He said nothing else but Matt was far from deterred.

“And what am I going to do on Vizion?” he asked.

“Work until you die,” came the answer, delivered in the same tired tone.

Oh.

Well then.

“Sounds like fun,” Matt said, and finally the Galran looked at him with something other than apathy.

Surprise.

Matt supposed the doctor probably didn’t get a lot of peppy conversation from his patients. He probably didn’t tend to get conversation at all unless perhaps being cursed at. 

He could fix that.

Matt offered up a beaming smile, injecting as much enthusiasm as he could into it.

“So am I like what, moving rocks from one pile to another? Something a little more productive, maybe? Oh! Do I get to sort things? I love color coding and—”

Matt cut off with a short yelp as his wrists buzzed — cuffs were still happily attached and apparently the remotes worked for all Galrans — but it was more out of surprise than actual pain as the shock ended within a second.

“Quiet,” the doctor snapped and while there wasn’t quite anger the surprise and apathy had been replaced by something even scarier.

Calculation. 

And Matt absolutely did not want to present himself as anything special. Standing out was not a good thing, would only draw extra eyes as he tried to plot out an escape and the welcome wagon had officially called it quits.

The doctor glanced from Matt to his datapad, frowning.

“Your species is called human,” he said, not quite a question but Matt nodded regardless. No sense in denying the obvious.

“You are all like… this?” the Galran gave a small wave in Matt’s direction.

“No,” Matt answered honestly. “We’re like Galrans. All shapes and sizes.”

It was something that still surprised Matt. It’s not like he saw a lot of the same species at the Arena, as prisoners seemed to be from all over, but the sheer number of differences that made up Galrans — not just size and build and shades of purple but some had human-like features, some reptilian, others even sort of beast-like — and while most eyes were yellow some had pupils, some of them actually glowed, and it was just… staggering. Next to them humans were practically identical, even though Matt was nearly the opposite of Shiro’s body ty—

Matt tried to stop the thought but it was too late.

He could already see it.

Shiro’s body drenched in blood, in pieces.

Shiro dead. 

Because of Matt.

He bit his lip and looked down.

It seemed to break whatever had spurred the doctor to ask and a hand landed tight about Matt’s upper arm, jerking him forward, and he barely caught his balance as his leg twinged beneath him, towards the door to the hallway.

“He’s ready,” the doctor announced to the jerk who had brought Matt there in the first place and at least someone here was not calling him an it.

“Its leg?”

And that was over quickly.

“Manageable. But you tell Varian that if they push him too hard he’ll be down another one for group seven.”

The Galran waved a hand almost flippantly and Matt was transferred into his grip and it was very obvious which Galran had been holding his arm more gently even with claws.

Ouch.

“You know,” Matt spoke up. “I am capable of walki—”

The cuffs lit up.

He really should have expected that.

And he really should have expected it to be far more than the doctor’s split second.

By the time it ended Matt found himself on the floor, heart thundering in his ears and breath coming in heavy pants and his leg aching anew from where he’s fallen on it.

“Owwww,” he moaned.

The shocks came again.

Matt almost welcomed them because at least if he was busy being in pain he couldn’t think about Shiro being in pain.

Shiro who was so so so much braver than Matt.

Shiro who was too brave.

Matt had made it a point to taunt the guards, to show them by his words that they didn’t scare him (and, if he did it enough, then maybe he really wouldn’t be). That when they shocked him or beat him he wasn’t afraid, that they would get as little of a reaction as his body would let him. He knew Shiro hated that he did it, but it was the only way Matt could help Shiro. Shiro, who would take the world on his shoulders if he was given the chance, to bear every burden, every grievance, every hurt, and Matt could see, day by day, how what they were being forced to do was weighing on Shiro more and more. 

And as stupid as it sounded, he liked to think it helped where after the Galra had hurt him Shiro had someone — with no mortal wound — to both comfort and gently chide because it was a sense of normalcy, a reminder that no matter what nothing could stop Matt Holt from voicing his opinion and being his (most definitely) adorable, snarky self. 

Shiro had given his life to save Matt.

Now Matt had to make sure that he gave himself the best opportunity to actually live that life.

So when the shocks stopped again Matt kept his lips pressed together. He’d made his point now, showed them that he wasn’t scared or intimidated and hopefully (really, really hopefully) they remembered that, remembered that he wasn’t a target to intimidate or get a reaction out of and here on out Matt avoided being shocked or further hurt, which would be detrimental to his yet to be concocted escape plans.

He was yanked by his hair, neck straining painfully, to look up into the sneering purple face.

Matt said nothing.

The sneer widened. “That’s better.”

The hand tightened and Matt bit back the groan as he was pulled up, all of his weight dangling from his hair until he could get his feet beneath him and then painfully shift to keep pressure off his left leg, but at least the Galran didn’t shake him like he’d experienced before and actually let go of his hair before the hand clamped painfully on his shoulder.

Matt said and did nothing that time.

The Galran gave him a shove to push Matt in front of him and then readjusted his hold from behind, as though Matt was going to try to escape.

Later, he promised silently, because he refused to die here.

Shiro’s life was worth far more than that.

“Walk, scum,” came the command, the hand tightening. “It’s time for you to see your new home.”

Chapter Text

Matt was going to be completely honest: he was not a big fan of said new home.

It was very much lacking in the way of windows, furniture, carpeting and, well, honestly everything except for some very uncomfortable metal looking slabs that were each adorned with a single blanket and a small partitioned off wall that overlooked a hole that was too small to wriggle through but plenty large enough for a toilet. 

That was it. 

Oh, and a single purple light scone above the door that had sealed behind Matt as he was shoved in, because of course everything had to be purple here.

There were ten slab-beds total and Matt had gingerly sat down on the nearest one, hoping its occupant didn’t mind as his leg was throbbing and it had taken all he had to not collapse on it as he’d been led across the compound.

He’d gotten a good glimpse of the area moreso than his initial view and it had unfortunately confirmed one thing for him.

He was likely digging and hauling rocks because that’s what this planet was. Rocks. It did not bode well for long term lifespan as between the high heat, the suns, and the fact he had a feeling the Galra really didn’t do breaks for their slaves.

His escape was going to have to be sooner than later. 

He’d mentally mapped the “town” part of the planet (for lack of a better term) which consisted of the large hangar he’d woken up in, three identical flat-roofed buildings that seemed to be strange front office/doctor office type and Matt was guessing might also be where the Galrans slept, and then a total of ten small, square buildings, one of which he was now standing in and that would be the slaves’ quarters.

Which, assuming every team had ten slaves to it based on the number of beds that was one hundred slaves. They hadn’t even bothered to give Matt a number for him to figure out where he stood in that number count or in the sheer amount that had come through here, and it was actually a bit unsettling.

Like they didn’t expect anyone to last long enough to need one.

Despite the heat and no cool air in the slaves’ quarters Matt felt a shiver go down his spine.

There was nothing to be done for now though so he pulled himself fully onto the slab-bed and lied down, pillowing his head on his arms, and tried to sleep because he could feel exhaustion — even though he knew he’d been unconscious for who knows how long it didn’t feel restful — pulling on him and he didn’t know when he’d next be able to sleep. 

That, and if he was asleep he couldn’t think about anything and he very badly needed his brain to stop. Dreams were dreams; figments of the imagination even if they were based on real things. Thoughts though were real and his kept circling back and he couldn’t keep doing this because he could not afford to break down here.

So Matt buried his nose into his shoulder, sucked in a breath, held the inhale, and willed himself to sleep.

xxx

“That’s mine!”

Matt’s sleep-addled mind had only a second to process the shout before hands were on his shoulder and he was being pulled forward and it was followed immediately by the horrible disorienting sensation of falling.

Matt hit the ground hard with a choked shout, arms already raising into fists that had been ingrained in him in the few months he’d been in the Arena, but there was no retaliatory strike from a bored guard or, even less pleasing, no gentle hand landing on his back to guide him to sitting.

Instead the alien — large alien, Matt amended — that looked sort of like a rhinoceros was stepping over where Matt was on the floor and clambering onto the bed, grabbing the blanket and turning to face the wall.

And that’s what everyone seemed to be doing.

There were seven of them, all different species, and each was heading for one of the beds without a word.

It was a little eerie, but…

Different species or not Matt could see what their silence said: they were exhausted. They were trudging, dragging feet and tails across the echoing metal ground, heads down, shoulders curled, and none even spared him a second glance save for the one whose bed he had apparently taken.

Well.

He took that back.

One alien — probably about Matt’s height with human features although she had huge bat-like ears and nubs peeking out from within dirt-crusted hair and had skin in a mottled pattern of blues and browns — was looking at him with nearly glowing green eyes and Matt awkwardly lifted a hand in a hello. 

She jerked her head to the right to where an empty bed next to her own was and Matt painfully picked himself up — his leg was a giant, stiff, aching mess — and limped over.

But not to the bed.

To her.

He held out his hand. “Hi, I’m—”

“A slave like the rest of us who will likely be dead within the deca-phoeb,” she interrupted him, but not unkindly. Her voice gentled. “I’m sorry, but names mean nothing to me anymore.”

Matt wasn’t put off by the less than genial answer.

“I’m Matt,” he said before she could interrupt again, and her eyes widened slightly, “and I’m not ready to give up just yet.”

“Give up?” rumbled a voice to the left and Matt turned to see a small, rabbit-like alien whose voice was far deeper than their size should indicate. “You think we wanted to give up?” He let out a harsh bark of laughter that was anything but funny. “Spend a day in the quarry, boy, spend a movement, survive a deca-phoeb, and then tell me why you bother.” His voice lowered. “Tell me why I bother.”

He turned on his side, conversation over.

Matt’s heart ached at the despair.

At the hopelessness.

These aliens… 

“Mali.”

The word was so unexpected it took Matt a moment to realize it was the alien who had beckoned him over.

Her name.

“Mali,” Matt repeated. 

“We are tired, Matt,” she said quietly. “This is the only reprieve we receive and we will be awoken in six varga for the next shift.”

Matt’s stomach clenched.

Worked all day, given barely a passing amount of time to sleep, and then back to work. Exhaustion didn’t begin to describe it. And, and if this was his new schedule…

When did he have time to plot an escape?

“Food?” he asked instead.

“One meal before shift,” she answered and that drew a huff of laughter from across the room from a light orange-furred alien with feline features, whose orange eyes were staring at Matt with an almost unnerving intensity and he had the strange feeling of being judged.

He said nothing though to his laugh and Matt could only infer that ‘meal’ was either a very generous term or it was practically inedible. Still, food was food and he’d long learned from the arena not to be picky.

“I understand,” Matt said as no one else said anything. “Um, good night.”

Mali’s eyes widened again and…

And were those tears? 

She gave a short nod and turned to face the wall.

Matt made his way to his own bed and pulled himself up, although he wasn’t tired enough to sleep right now and between, he winced at the heavy snoring from the far end of the room, and his grumbling stomach and aching leg it might be hard to do so. 

Still, he had to try. 

He fell into a restless sleep.

He felt a pair of piercing orange eyes on him the entire time.

xxx

“Faster!”

The command was accompanied by a sharp shock of a taser being jammed into Matt’s shoulder and he bit his tongue to keep the yelp and the swear locked inside.

It didn’t hurt.

Not a bit.

This was nothing. 

Although, if they could maybe stop shocking him in the exact same place that would be very helpful. He was pretty sure there was a burn mark through the (very durable, all things considered) prison uniform on his shoulder. 

Each time (four now, good God) the Galran shocked him Matt didn’t allow himself to rise to the strike. No back talk, no excessive reaction, because he really couldn’t afford to take any more than they were already dishing out.

It had only been about three hours by Matt’s count and he was already starting to feel it. His leg, a sort of dull throb to start the morning, was now a more stabbing ache as he put his weight on it and given the fact he was carting a giant crate of rocks he had no choice but to do so unless he wanted to fall over.

And, well…

He’d thought he’d been used to violence thanks to the arena but these guards, who had no one except slaves to take their boredom and penchant for violence out on, were beyond cruel. He’d seen one slave stumble already and fall, scattering rocks every which way and the Galrans…

His stomach turned over at how they had descended, tasers and booted feet flying and the alien’s yells had turned to choked whimpers and then to silence.

They’d literally beaten someone to death for dropping rocks. 

Matt wasn’t feeling too confident about his chances and he couldn’t escape if he was dead so…

So he just had to keep moving. To keep their attention off him while his mind desperately tried to calculate some plan.

It was coming up rather empty.

He’d been roused from bed by a banging on the door and the other slaves had lined up in a row and Matt had taken his place at the very end and he’d winced as all of their cuffs activated at the same time, a single energy cord snaking down the line to connect them all together.

A space version of a chain gang.

They’d been walked to a grouping of tables set up in the middle of the compound where they’d each been spaced to a bowl of as Matt had predicted unappetizing looking food but he’d choked it down and more gratefully drank the cup of water, although he’d nearly spat it back up at the chalky taste and there were a number of aliens who seemed to be having the same trouble. 

Then they’d been loaded onto a hovercraft — crammed in with two other groups — and deposited at a quarry where they’d been untethered but the sheer amount of Galrans and sentries, stationed at the only entrance point out of the quarry, put an immediate kibosh on making a break for it.

A bucket had been shoved into Matt’s arms and he’d been told he’d be ferrying, which apparently meant carting a full bucket  — made so by slaves digging into the quarry and piling it with rocks —  to a table where other slaves were stationed, weighing and sorting the rocks.

Why, Matt still didn’t know all these hours later.

They looked like rocks. They tasted like rocks (and yes, he’d licked one, it was science, okay?) and he’d lobbed one when he didn’t feel any yellow eyes on him and it skittered around the ground like a rock. There had to be something to them but it wasn’t obvious to Matt and he doubted the Galrans would be so kind as to fill him in.

An ear-splitting whistle had him nearly dropping his bucket in favor of clapping his hands over his ears but he resisted that urge. It was clearly a signal and Matt, after a quick look around and seeing other ferrying slaves putting their buckets on the ground, followed suit and then followed the group towards wherever they were going.

And oh.

Water break.

Matt approved of this. He approved of this very much.  

It was as chalky as the water earlier but it still felt like heaven going down his throat after all the exertion and the sun. And almost as good was the fact they seemed to be allowed to sit or stand without punishment and Matt gratefully sank down on top of a slight outcropping, pushing his injured leg out in front of him and wondering if he’d be getting new bandages for it or if this was it.

This was probably it.

If he could he’d have to try to inspect it tonight with the cover of his blanket because Galrans had apparently never heard of underwear and their clothes form-fit when applied so Matt couldn’t just roll up the pants leg. He had to admit, he’d liked having a blanket, even in this heat. There was just something comforting about it.

And not even ten minutes later — with not a single alien speaking save for the Galrans to each other or barking at a prisoner — the whistle was blowing again and Matt made his way back to his bucket of rocks.

And again. 

And again.

And once more.

Matt was about ready to collapse, only sheer grit and Holt pride keeping him upright, when the fifth whistle went off, a longer blast than the previous, and that semed to be the signal to end for the day and after watching for a few seconds and seeing Mali and the rabbit-alien grouping together he stumbled towards them and ultimately into a forming line for his cabin.

Cabin.

Like they were at summer camp.

Matt let out a barely audible snort that was maybe a bit more teary than he’d like.

He understood now, as twenty minutes later they were trooping into essentially their cell and the energy cord disbanding, why everyone had gone straight to bed. He wanted nothing more than to sleep too.

And that was terrifying.

One day, one fucking day, and already he was falling into their routine, into this forced exhaustion. He needed to stay awake, to look at his leg, to go over the data he’d collected when not worried about tripping and being beaten to death — not that there was much if any at all that he could use for his escape as the Galra were taking excellent measures to prevent escape and Matt hated them all the more for it — to try to think of something to aid him in an escape because Shiro had not given his life for Matt to die here, but…

But God, he was so fucking tired. Everything hurt. He could barely feel his fingers from gripping the bucket, he could feel his arms and shoulders and back too much where muscles were screaming from the weight and the walking and not to mention the shocks, and his head was aching and his stomach was grumbling and God, this…

This might be worse than the arena. 

Because no matter bad things got at the arena, no matter how scared he was….

He’d had Shiro. He’d had his best friend. 

Here…

Here he really didn’t have anyone.

He looked over to Mali’s bed but she was already curled up and facing the wall. 

But he could feel someone’s eyes on him and he turned his head slightly, even that motion hurting, and was not surprised to see the cat-alien’s orange eyes upon him. 

Matt blinked.

The alien continued to stare. 

Matt lifted a hand in a half wave, wincing at how it trembled in the air before him. 

God, he was so tired. 

The cat-alien said nothing but a blink later his eyes were closed and they did not reopen. Matt slowly closed his.

He was asleep before he could even pull his blanket up.

xxx

He was going to die here.

It was a horrific thought, it was one Matt had never allowed himself to ponder at the Arena.

But here it was all he could think of.

He was going to die here.

He was going on four days now and he was pretty sure he was only alive because the last two they’d had him sorting and weighing the rocks rather than carrying them, but today he was mining and it was only two hours in and he was already feeling faint.

But more than that…

He was feeling hopeless.

It was not a good feeling. Holts didn’t do hopeless, they weren’t quitters. They did answers and solutions but Matt was too tired and in too much pain to think of some abstract plot and simple was not the best strategy here. 

And with no escape plan, with his strength waning by the day…

He was going to die here.

He was going to die here after condemning Shiro to being murdered to spare Matt that fate and God, God he should have just faced Myzax. He’d be dead, absolutely dead, but Shiro would be alive and at least that was one of them. 

Now they would both be dead and neither of them would ever see their family again.

Matt looked up at the cloudless sky, wondering if Shiro was looking down, was seeing him.

He’d apologize for fucking this all up so bad but his lips were so chapped and his throat so dry from all of the rock dust that it hurt to speak and talking at all here just invited tasers and fists and Matt had the feeling if he fell down…

He might not be able to get back up.

He understood now, too, why names didn’t mean anything here. Three of the original aliens in his group were gone now, including the rabbit-alien, and it made his stomach clench unrelated to the meager food offering. Two more had been brought in to replace them and it was no wonder the Galra could work them as hard as they wanted when they had a steady stream to replace them. 

It was disgusting, their complete lack of regard for life.

That disregard carried over even to death. There were no burials here, no respect for a body. They were instead piled onto a pallet, all together, and while Matt hadn’t seen it there had been no mistaking the smell or seeing the black smoke rising on the third day from a structure at the top of the quarry.

An incinerator. 

They seemed to let the bodies pile up for a few days and then burned them all at once.

They’d never find his body. No one would ever know what happened to him. He’d be just a nameless face, another pile of ash scattered to the wind. Unless… 

Matt’s hands tightened on the axe they’d given him.

Unless he did something now. One thing had been made clear to him; things were not going to get better. His leg — he’d made himself look the other night and to his shock and relief it wasn’t infected with the butterfly bandages still holding tight, but it was definitely scarring and it still ached and he had trouble putting weight on it and he kept making it worse — was not really improving, his exhaustion was growing, his always sharp mind was starting to dull and all it would take was one misstep, one turned ankle and…

And it would be over.

Matt didn’t know what he hoped to accomplish going after a soldier with the pick axe. It’d ultimately do nothing. He’d be shocked by his cuffs before he could get close and there were so many of them and the sentries too and all the craft were at the top rip of the quarry and…

And….

Tears Matt couldn’t afford stung his eyes and he hurriedly blinked them back and then just as quickly hit the rock in front of him with the axe, relieved his moment of inactivity hadn’t summoned a guard, although to be honest they all seemed a bit distracted today, a small cluster of them talking in a circle and Matt knew he should take advantage of that but it would ultimately go nowhere except a beating that would ninety-eight percent result in his death.

He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know how to find the answers.

He didn’t know if there were any. 

He dug the axe back into the cliff face with a dull clunk, echoes of it sounding around him and broken up only by the Galrans’ conversation, words every now and then floating above them.

“—unbelievable.”

“—gonna call and place my bet on champion—” 

“—no way he’s going to—-”

Matt stiffened.

They…

They were talking about the Arena. About the matches. He could feel it. 

Shiro’s face swam to the front of his mind and that sharp pang of loss and regret and guilt that Matt had been trying to bury for now hit with a new pain. 

Matt didn’t have time to get lost in the memory though as two of the guards were now walking towards him and Matt felt ice go down his spine.

They’d seen him not working.

They were going to…

Should… 

Should he strike first?

“You!” and the address was so unexpected Matt felt his hands loosen on the handle. What? Were… were they talking to him?

“Yes?” Matt asked carefully, even if it was more a rasp than a word and he swallowed, trying to moisten his lips and well aware that several fellow slaves were turning in his direction, including a familiar pair of sharp orange eyes.

Those ones didn’t surprise Matt as he often felt them upon him, but the others’? 

Normally at the violence they turned away.

Another mark for this wasn’t normal and Matt wasn’t sure if that was bad or good.

“What are you?” 

Matt Holt was many things, thank you very much, but he had a feeling they were only looking for a single answer and he couldn’t afford for it to be the wrong one.

“I’m a human.”

“I told you!” the one Galran whirled to the other. “I told you! He’s the same as champion!”

“Impossible,” came the scoff. “Look at him. He wouldn’t last a match.”

“Well yeah, he’s a lot scrawnier looking but he’s got that peachy skin and he has hair and—”

Matt felt faint.

They were talking about…

God, they, they had to be talking about Shiro.

Shiro was alive. 

Matt would have fallen down out of a mixture of relief and exhaustion but the Galran had impeccable timing and a clawed hand darted out to grab him by the front of his purple shirt and pull him up, nearly onto his toes and hot breath wafted on Matt’s face.

“He doesn’t look like much,” the Galran said, yellow eyes boring into Matt’s.

And Matt saw it then.

This was his chance.

His only chance for something different to happen. Would it be better, he didn’t know. But staying here for another day was going to be a death sentence (and so would be impaling this idiot with his pick ax because Matt would go nowhere but damn was it a tempting thought).

“Humans,” Matt licked his lips, “are like Galrans. All shapes and sizes and strengths. My strength is here,” he brought a definitely not shaking hand up to point at his head.

“His strength is inside his head?” the other Galran said, clearly confused, and Matt almost wished he could face palm.

Seriously?

“His brain, idiot,” the scoffing one holding him said before turning back to Matt. “So what, you’re saying you’re smart?”

“Very,” Matt replied simply.

Smarter than both of them, but he held that part in. Because that would be stupid. 

The Galran’s eyes narrowed.

Judging. 

Calculating. 

This was a smart guard.

Matt held that gaze, not allowing himself to look away and that was why he could see the second the Galran had come to a decision.

Moment of truth. 

Either they went for the bait to amuse their own boredom to compare Matt to Champion — and God, Shiro was alive —  or Matt died out here, a nameless slave.

The Galran’s lips pulled back to reveal fangs and a smirk.

“Then let’s find out.”

Chapter Text

Positives: Matt was no longer outside, he’d been given a drink of water, and he was lying down so his leg while not feeling better wasn’t hurting quite so much.

Negatives: he was lying down because he was strapped to a table (and not in a doctor’s office, some sort of work room), he’d been stripped of his shirt, and not only were there two Galrans — the same guards that had approached him — but there was a very scary looking masked person that sent immediate warning bells of in Matt’s head.

The words coming from their mouth weren’t very reassuring either, although at least he wasn’t the one being scolded by the very raspy voice.

“—you think to bother my research with such a matter? This thing,” they gestured at Matt and okay, ouch, thing?, “holds no interest to me. It is a quarry slave—”

“But it’s a human,” the smarter of the two Galrans interrupted. “The same species as the Arena’s Champion.”

“I do not follow such trivial matters as Arena broadcasts,” the masked alien scoffed, “nor do I specialize in biology and this is a waste of my time. Remove it,” they gestured again at Matt where the Galran had restrained him, “and get out of my sight.”

And Matt would admit to being a little impressed that the Galran did no such thing. Instead he pulled out a datapad and a moment later the too familiar screaming crowds of the Arena emitted.

“Look,” the Galran insisted and Matt wished he could because that had to be Shiro and God, God, what was he doing, what had happened, how was he a champion how had he defeated Myzax?, shoving the pad at the masked alien. “Look who is viewing the human’s match in the box.”

The masked alien’s head tipped down.

And then they sharply inhaled.

“Lady Haggar?” they whispered.

And while Matt had no idea who that was or their importance he felt a shiver go down his spine as yellow eyes peering out of the mask turned in his direction with renewed interest. 

“He said champion’s,” and Matt supposed he should start capitalizing that in his head but that was wrong, all of this was wrong, “strength was his physical ability but his was his intellect,” the Galran continued, sensing an opening, “and if he is as smart as he claims then perhaps there might be a better use for him than the quarry.”

Both music and nails on the chalkboard to Matt’s ears. 

“It will be a simple enough matter to tell,” the masked alien said. “Any sentient being’s brain displays hallmarks when exposed to my magic,” and holy shit their hands were glowing purple and magic was real? “and should this human be far above average intelligence I will know. If it lied…” the threat hung. “But,” and what followed as the scariest chuckle Matt had ever heard, “if it tells the truth… it may very well wish it had remained a quarry slave.”

Matt was starting to think that too. 

But no.

The quarry was a death sentence. No, no matter what happened here he had a chance to not just live but Shiro was alive and somehow, some way, he was going to save hi—

Purple wreathed hands touched Matt’s head.

And he screamed. 

It was the only thing he could do as pain like nothing he had ever felt, nothing the shocks could even come close to, erupted inside of his head, burrowing deeper and deeper and deeper.

Matt’s hands spasmed at his sides, his feet kicked out at nothing, he could feel his back arching off the table and screams turned into choked gasps as he smashed his throat against a restraint and still it didn’t stop.

It was getting worse. 

It was fire and lava and explosions and digging digging digging and holy shit make it stop make it stop make it st—

And it stopped, all of the pain disappearing in an instant and leaving Matt panting and trembling on the table and what the fuck was that?

A pale hand, no longer wreathed in light, landed alongside Matt’s face, stroking over his cheek. “I think,” they said quietly, “you may yet be of use to me.”

“So he’s smart?” one of the Galrans asked and Matt was actually grateful for the question as the hand and the piercing eyes left his face and he tried to suck in a steadier breath.

“It’s mind is not like many I have seen,” the alien said. “Parts of its processing ability is less sentient and almost more… machine.”

Well that was kind of rude.

But, also kind of true. Matt learned and spoke languages — computer and human and maybe someday alien, if someone could ever explain how they all already seemed to speak English — and processed information at a pace that really wasn’t human. Things just clicked in his head, but his skill was nothing on Katie’s, as while Matt knew he was smart his sister was a genius. But yes, by normal measurement standards he was a genius too and even to the aliens magic — and seriously, magic? He could accept aliens and all but magic? — he appeared as such.

Whether that was worse or better than dying in the quarry was still yet to be determined. 

“It is indeed,” and those eyes turned back to Matt, “intelligent. And therefore useful to me. Once, that is,” and even though the alien was wearing a mask Matt got the distinct impression they were smiling, “I bend it to my will.”

And that didn’t sound very pleasant.

It actually sounded rather terrifying but as was his new mantra since being taken prisoner; no fear.

“I’ll,” Matt’s voice was barely a croak, “pass. Thanks though.”

The alien let out another chuckle. “As though you have any say in such a matter.” Their hand glowed purple again. “Do not fear,” they said, as though that was supposed to be comforting. “Once your mind belongs to me you will feel no pain ever again.”

And glowing hands descended.

The pain was like before, but this time…

This time Matt refused to lose.

He didn’t know what it was capable of, didn’t know what he could do to stop it, but this was a classic case of mind over matter and something told him if he lost his will, lost this fight…

He’d lose everything. 

This alien wanted to break his mind?

Let them fucking try.

Matt’s scream was not so much one of pain but a battle cry, a roar of defiance, that he did not escape one death to only exchange it for another version.

No.

Fuck no.

This was his mind, his brain, and no one was going to take it from him because then he wouldn’t be Matt Holt anymore, wouldn’t be able to still plan an escape, to rescue Shiro, to see his family, and he may as well have died in the quarry where at least the only way he’d helped the Galra was hauling rocks and not whatever this alien wanted to use him for.

The pain grew.

Matt’s scream grew louder.

His nails dug into his palms and he welcomed that pain, that stinging bite, and he concentrated on that.

He was left gasping and shaking— seconds? minutes? hours? — later as alien’s hand lifted away, but more importantly than the pain vanishing was the fact Matt was still very aware of everything.

He was still in control.

“Interesting,” came the rasp. “Its mind is stronger than I anticipated.”

Damn right.

A cool hand touched Matt’s face, almost gentle and he fought not to tense.

No fear.

Don’t give them control.

“And as such I do not wish to irreparably harm it by force. There is no need to continue to suffer, human. Cease resisting and you will not feel further pain.”

“N-nope,” Matt swallowed, fighting to speak past the raw ache in his throat.

“Then again.”

Again turned into another.

And another.

And another.

Matt could feel blood dripping inside his palms, the taste was bitter in his mouth where he’d bitten his tongue.

His screams were near silent, voice gone. 

His body would not stop shaking now even after the hands pulled away and Matt was given a reprieve before it began again.

But his mind was untouched.

It was his. 

And no matter what this alien tried, Matt would not so easily just hand it over. 

The hand came back but it did not press down with magic and it did not stroke his cheek. Instead it tightened in his hair and Matt’s eyes flew open as he felt hot breath ghost across his face.

The alien’s mask was off.

They — or rather, she, at least Matt thought — was definitely not a Galran, although she still had purple toned skin. But the tattoos in strange, swirling patterns were definitely new and he had yet to see any Galrans with hair other than in shades of purple to black but this was definitely silver and Matt didn’t think she looked that old. 

And this close, without the mask, the yellow eyes were even more piercing.

They seemed to be staring through him, trying to bore into his head from just a glance.

Matt grit his teeth and stared back.

No fear.

No matter how much pain he’d been in, ultimately, the only injury done to him was self-inflicted upon his poor tongue and his hands. He was physically okay, his mind was okay, and that meant he was okay.

“You are a very stubborn species,” the alien murmured, “and very strong. I see that it will take more than such simple measures to bring you under control. I would tell you not to fear but,” she let out a laugh that made Matt’s hair raise, “then I fear I would be lying.”

Her hand tightened in his hair. “Let us begin.”

Chapter Text

Matt took it back.

He was no longer physically okay.

But no matter what the alien — Druid, he’d learned, hearing the Galrans whisper it and he’d thought Druids were tree-loving nature fantasy spirits but hey, space had proven to be a giant disappointment already so why not continue the trend? — did to him, allowed the Galrans to do to him…

His mind was still his.

He was not under anyone’s control.

He still refused.

It didn’t matter that they’d ripped the bandages off his leg, re-opened the healing wound, sent blood running in rivulets down his limb.

Didn’t matter that they’d shocked him so many times it made the quarry guards’ use of a taser look like child’s play and he had so many burns on his chest and arms he may as well be considered half-baked.

Didn’t matter that his feet were missing all their toe nails, that his left hand’s fingers were all broken at each knuckle. 

None of that mattered because he was alive, he wasn’t broken, and his mind was his own.

Except that…

Except that he was scared. A little. Not of death; he’d been forced to come to terms of that multiple times over and he still hated that a moment of weakness had led to all of this, but of what happened when he lost this mental battle.

And he hated that maybe…

Maybe it would have been better if he’d stayed in the quarry.

He’d thought he was going to die there within the day. He didn’t know when he would die here — would he ever? Would they give him that escape? — and that unknown end was more terrifying because contrary to Matt’s hopes that getting out of the quarry would yield some more answers and information to plan an escape…

He was even more trapped. 

He wasn’t just weighed down by exhaustion and aches and a never-relenting guard. 

He was now injured — badly, and he was trying very badly not to look at his hand and as the constant stabbing pain told him enough after the Druid had turned him over to the Galrans for “punishment” when he failed to yield his mind to her — and while the room he was in had lots of interesting things around it he was unable to access any of it.

So Matt had saved himself from death in the quarry.

But he might have just condemned himself to a lifetime of pain.

His chin raised the barest bit, his right hand curling into a fist.

He didn’t care.

At least it had been his decision. He had taken back as much control as he could.

And he would rather die and be tortured a thousand times over before he helped the Galra in any way. 

That didn’t mean though that right now, in this exact moment, he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a ball, hide his face, and cry. 

Everything hurt. 

He was in so much pain. 

And that awful feeling of hopelessness was stronger than ever before. 

He didn’t even have the comfort of his metal slab and blanket, of knowing the people around him at least would not hurt him, and there was a sad sense of camaraderie of knowing they all suffered the same each day.

Not here.

He was  strapped down on the table — switching between it and a chair throughout the day — with the feeling of warm, congealing blood to act as his blanket and his company was a series of sentry bots stationed in front of the door with glowing eyes trained on him in the darkness.

The only kindness had been a needle jammed into his right hand and some sort of IV attached that while not doing anything for the dryness of his throat was replenishing his body’s lost fluids and he wasn’t feeling as lightheaded and dizzy as before.

He should sleep.

He needed to sleep. 

He was as mentally as he was physically exhausted and he needed to stay strong if he wanted to keep the Druid at bay, if he wanted to try to think of some brilliant plan to escape. 

If he ever escaped.

Matt let out a shushing hiss at himself.

No.

He couldn’t think like that.

All of this had to have happened for a reason. It had to mean something. 

It had to mean something.

And if he kept telling himself that…

Maybe it would be true.

xxx

He was being burned alive from the inside out even though Matt knew, logically, blood could not boil without killing him.

Logic could take a fucking hike. 

That’s what it felt like.

He could feel each exploding bubble beneath his skin, gargling in his throat, leaking out of his eyes and sending trails of lava down his cheeks.

Three days in and apparently the Druid was done playing nice.  At least that’s what she’d told him and Matt had summoned enough voice to rasp out that she needed to consult a dictionary as she clearly didn’t know the meaning of that word.

The resulting ripping off of his right hand’s fingernails had almost been worth it.

Almost.

They’d added to their repertoire of torture techniques — because Matt was so bored of having his mind fucked with and his body broken — some sort of injection that seemed to be liquid fire. Matt had been worried about the long term effects of a very clearly not safe drug being constantly put into him, but at this point he supposed it really didn’t matter.

Unless some miracle happened, an act of God himself…

He wasn’t getting out of this.

It was a horrifying, sobering, far too depressing thought but Matt had run the numbers and it was coming up a big fat zero for escaping. He was never left unguarded, always strapped down to either a chair or a table, and while his body felt like it was in pieces he could confirm based on how much it hurt that all limbs were indeed accounted for.

And he was scared of the part of his brain, of the screams of his body, that maybe…

Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad for it all to stop. The Druid promised that. No more pain. No more painful thoughts.

And oh, she’d near purred, brushing a hand too tenderly across a sweat-soaked forehead, his thoughts. She could feel his anguish, his guilt. Wouldn’t he want to be free of that? 

And Matt did. He hated feeling like this, hated this hopelessness.

But her words were honey dipped poison and no matter what she promised it would not be an escape.

It would be a prison. An eternal one.

He’d rather be dead.

But his big mouth had gotten him here instead and he somehow needed to figure a way out; whatever exactly that meant and it might be scarier but Matt was having a lot of trouble stringing thoughts together.

There was one though that he knew, that he made himself remember no matter how much pain he was in, no matter how muddled his brain got.

He could not let her take control.

He could not break.

He would show them the strength of humans, of Matthew Holt. He had been weak once, had thought he’d condemned his best friend to death.

He would never lose again. 

He was strong.

But…

But eventually, if enough force was applied…

Even strong things could break.

And Matt could feel the cracks now; little fractures that only grew day by day as he could feel his body failing. They still gave him fluids and, to his surprise and horror, the Druid was capable of healing him in a way that made the liquid fire injections seem like a balm as she forced bones back together, regrew fingernails and sealed up flesh, so they could break and rip him apart all over again.

There was no end.

It would never end. 

Not until he gave them what they wanted.

And, and Matt didn’t know how long he could hold on for but…

But just another second.

Another minute.

Another hour.

Another day.

Just one more. 

He could do it for one more.

Just one more.

xxx

The table beneath Matt shook.

No.

Not just the table.

The room was shaking.

That wasn’t normal.

Matt might have thought it was some new trick as Holt pride and stubbornness was still holding him together, even if it felt like barely by a thread, but the Druid had looked away from where she was standing above him towards the door and her hands were glowing not with the purple magic that she liked to light up his skin with but a sparking black and purple sphere.

An attack?

Were…

Were they under attack?

And something very dangerous, very cruel, pushed to the forefront of Matt’s mind.

Hope.

Hope, he’d found, was not safe around the Druid. Hope could be twisted and manipulated and his very thoughts skewed to her hopes, her desires. So he’d been forced to abandon it to the dark recesses of his mind and instead focused on the more foreign emotion of anger and hate — because Matt didn’t hate anything except cauliflower and the Galra — and despite her attempts there was no way to change his opinion on that, to try to convince him that the Galra were her enemy and she his ally, and it made him feel sick and twisted and wrong but at the end of the day he still felt that way and it was his decision and so he was grateful.

But this…

As scary as it was, this flutter of hope felt right. 

“Could have been a landslide,” one of the Galrans muttered, but he set down the pliers he’d just picked up to pull of Matt’s newly returned right hand’s fingernails and touched his blaster instead. 

“I’ll go check with command,” said the other Galran, moving towards the door and the sentries stationed on either side of it falling in behind him. “I’m sure it’s noth—”

The imploding door cut off both his words and his head. 

Before the body even collapsed bright colored beams of light — and not purple, Matt noted — were peppering into the room and he flinched as one passed not even an inch above his head, heat searing over his nose. 

But somehow none hit him.

The other Galran wasn’t so lucky, riddled with laser beam holes, the sentries a mess of sparks and the Druid…

Well, she was still alive, behind some sort of shimmering purple shield.

And very, very angry. 

For once though those piercing eyes weren’t on Matt but, as he turned his head back towards the door, the strangely masked people coming into the room, clearly part of some organization as besides the masks they had similar styled garb with brown cloaks and muted orange, gray and brown pants and shirts. 

And…

And the cat alien with the orange eyes.

The cat hissed out something Matt, for one of the first times since coming to space, in a language he didn’t know and his paws glowed bright yellow.

Magic. 

The Druid’s own attack arced in the air above Matt and he definitely did not give a silent yelp as the two colored light balls erupted above him, shooting sparks.

There was another burst of light, a scream, and then a concussive boom as one of the masked aliens fired a gun and while Matt didn’t see it he felt the Druid’s blood splatter all over his face.

He jerked his head back in her direction, only to see her collapsing, hole blown completely through her chest and disbelief frozen on her face.

Matt felt the same, although thankfully it wasn’t the last expression he’d ever make.

He…

He was being rescued. 

“Get him up,” one of the masked aliens said, voice gruff. 

“Who?” Matt tried as they deactivated the energy cords holding him down to the table, sliced off the shock cuffs on his wrists, the word more a croak than anything. “Who are you?”

No one answered him.

“Clothes,” said the other masked alien, voice distinctly femine but just as serious, and Matt found himself being pulled to sitting by her, his body loudly protesting and his back popping off the table with a squelch where congealed blood had nearly glued him down, and a bundle came flying towards them from the cat alien.

A prisoner’s uniform.

Why?

While Matt knew he was practically naked — his pants were basically shorts at this point — clothing him would take time and it would be far easier just to take him as was, but his lack of dress seemed to big issue for these aliens as despite the wounds he found the black shirt being yanked over his head and black spots filled his vision as hands pressed against open injuries.

“I am sorry,” the alien said, voice barely a breath against his ear.

She did not stop her ministrations, moving onto a pair of pants over the remains of his own while the cat alien tugged on shoes and the third one stood guard, twitching impatiently and even with the mask Matt could feel judging eyes upon him.

He didn’t really know what this alien was looking for and he was too exhausted, in too much pain, and too grateful to care.

“You need to walk,” the female alien said, her hand tightening on his shoulder.

Walk?

Seriously?

“If he can’t walk we leave him,” said the gruff alien. “This is already too big of a risk.”

“A calculated risk,” the cat responded, and okay, he did speak English (or whatever the heck they all were speaking). 

Calculated risk?

Him? 

What the hell was going on? 

Who were these people? 

Why were they so insistent on the slave clothes? 

His brain was too tired to come up with answers and they weren’t going to provide them. But no matter who they were they were a thousand times better than the Galrans and Matt would gladly go with them. 

If he could just figure out the whole walking thing.

He twitched his right foot where he knew his toenails were all still missing and holy fuck that hurt and his left, full of broken toes, was no better.

He grit his teeth and forced himself to move.

He’d have collapsed upon standing if it wasn’t for the female alien’s quick actions, her arms sliding around his waist and catching him before pulling one of his arms about her shoulders. 

And they ran.

Or, really, she ran, Matt tried, and he was considering it good enough he wasn’t passing out at every footfall. The alien only tightened her arms in response and bore more of his weight and Matt decided she was his new favorite person.

And because she was half carrying him it gave Matt the ability to look around.

And the Galra base…

Was in chaos.

It was dusk, right when weary slaves were coming back from the quarry but if Matt hadn’t seen the location of the suns he wouldn’t know that what with the way they were screaming and clashing with Galrans and sentries in the open courtyard, blaster fire and rocks and all sorts of things streaked through the air. 

And bodies.

A lot of bodies; slaves and Galrans alike.

And was that…

Was that Mali?

Matt’s step faltered.

He was practically yanked off his feet then and Matt made himself look away, look only forward, towards where three small ships that had seen far better days were waiting, several more masked aliens outside of them, kneeling down behind wheels and shooting out sentries and Galrans, but upon seeing their approaching group they shouldered their guns and raced for ramps.

Matt was dragged up one such ramp.

The female alien disentangled her arm from him, a short bark of “stay here!” as she raced for the cockpit.

Unfortunately without her support Matt had no balance left to stand.

His right shoulder — flayed open and not yet healed — took the brunt of the impact.

A silent scream lodged in his throat.

He saw black spots.

White lights. 

Orange eyes.

And then he saw and felt nothing at all.

Chapter Text

Matt awoke to the sound of humming. 

It was quiet, likely not meant to be overheard, but it was soothing none the less and for a moment Matt almost thought he was at home, Mom was checking on him because he felt awful and must be sick and she’d smoothe his hair back and press a kiss on top his head and...

But no.

He wasn’t at home.

He wasn’t even on Earth.

He…

He didn’t know where he was.

Matt’s eyes flew open.

The room was small and dim, more shadows than light, but the light there was belonged to a single orb in yellow.

Not purple.

Not Galra.

And the humming…

Matt slowly turned his head — and yes, that was a pillow, he thought, beneath it— and picked out an alien sitting cross-legged on the ground next to him. 

It was the alien from the rescue.

He hadn’t seen her face, but the ears — large, feathered, and in shades of teal with dusty pink insides — were the same as the ones that he’d seen and that had brushed against his face. She had somewhat human facial features, although there were little nubbed horns (or more ears?) emerging from her cheekbones and her skin was a combination of pale cream and teal with dark burgundy colored patches for eyebrows. 

She seemed to feel his eyes upon her as hers opened — white sclera and it had been so long since Matt had seen that — while the humming stopped her thin lips pulled up into a smile.

“Do not move,” she said quietly, before Matt could attempt to do just that. “Your wounds are quite grievous.”

And at the mention of them Matt was reminded of yes, he was quite badly injured.

But the pain felt…

Hazy.

He felt hazy.

He didn’t like it. 

“Gavon placed a spell upon you,” she continued and Matt stiffened.

Spell?

More magic?

The cat alien?

“To help with the pain,” she continued, “for given the concoction the Druid,” her voice hardened, “injected you with and no known knowledge of your species we dared not attempt a drug of our own. But movement shall disrupt it so it is in your best interest to lie still.”

And well, when she put it like that...

“...kay,” Matt rasped out, wincing and then swallowing painfully.

Ow.

The alien turned to the side and when she came back into Matt’s sightline there was honestly what looked like a juice pouch from when he was a kid, complete with a straw.

“Drink,” she murmured. “It is water.”

Matt offered no protest to that as she guided it to his mouth and he took a tentative sip and once he was sure he wasn’t going to choke took another and drained the pouch, throat both aching at the action and wishing for more.

He…

He really didn’t feel good, even with the spell.

Here, now, without trying to keep the Druid out, he was more than aware of how exhausted he felt.

How sick.

He pressed his lips together as his stomach gave an uncomfortable twinge because he really, really did not want to puke right now.

“My name is Te-osh,” the alien said into the silence, “of the rebels.”

Rebels?

Matt’s eyes widened.

Rebels like in Star Wars?

These were the good guys then? 

“I know you have questions,” she said, holding up a hand. “And all will be answered in due time. But right now there is a more pressing matter. Gavon made the call to extract you, but given your time with the Druid we must take our own precautions. Now that you are awake he will need to examine you to determine if you pose a threat to us.

She didn’t say what would happen if they decided he was.

Matt chose not to think about it because he most definitely was not on the Galran’s side and they would see that and gave a small nod.

“I shall fetch him. Continue to lie still. Once you have been evaluated as no threat we shall do what we can to treat your wounds.”

Smart. Cruel, in a way, but smart. Matt had proven to them he was not moving on his own accord and on top of that he’d fainted so at the moment he wasn’t capable of much and it was better to keep him in such a state until they’d made their determination. 

It didn’t mean he really liked it, but he’d lasted… well, at least a few days, he thought, under the Druid and the Galrans’ attention, he could last a little longer.

Matt watched as she left, pressing a button on a wall and a door slid open and he caught only a glimpse of a darkened hallway before it closed behind her.

He wanted to close his eyes same as the door, just for a minute, but no matter how nice Te-osh might seem he didn’t know her, didn’t know what the rebels wanted of him, and it would be the definition of stupid to lax his guard now.

So he turned his attention to the room he was in, but it was as simple as first glance had shown. It was barely the size of a closet and he wondered if that’s what it normally was. He could feel the pillow beneath his cheek and a twitch of his foot indicated the texture of cloth, possibly lying on a blanket or sheet on the floor.

Wait.

Bare toes?

Matt carefully angled his head from where he was lying stomach down  and yup, his shoulder was bare and now that he was looking for it he was becoming aware that he could feel the sheet pulled up over him very, very well on not just his back but lower.

His cheeks heated as somehow it felt quite a bit different to be naked here than it did as a prisoner, not to mention that someone had stripped him while he’d been unconscious. But they had given him a sheet for both modesty and, he gave a tiny shiver, the cold air, and water too and dulled his pain.

Besides, they were called the rebels. That had to make them good guys and good guys were nice people. 

He was well aware that logic was a bit childish but thinking was still more difficult than it should be as while the pain was dulled it was still there and the heavy press of exhaustion even more.

But as tired as he was and as stupid as his mind felt, it was still racing in circles and his pulse was giving it’s best shot to match it. 

What if the Druid had done something to him?

What did the rebels want with him?

Why had they rescued him out of all the other slaves there?

Why had…

Why had Mali…?

Matt squeezed his eyes shut.

He hadn’t known her, not really. It was just like the Arena prisoners he never saw again, but to know that freedom had been so close, that she’d held on for so long to fall at the end… it hurt.

His chest ached.

Everything ached.

Matt’s eyes fluttered closed not entirely with permission but it was too much effort to keep them open and they were stinging now with hot tears that he’d prefer not to shed. 

He didn’t even know why he was going to cry.

Outside of his body’s reflexive actions at the torture he hadn’t let himself do so but right now…

Right now it was taking every effort not to break into noisy sobs and just keep going and never stop.

He…

He really wanted his mom. 

Matt let out a whimper and squeezed his eyes shut tighter.

He wanted to be five years old again where the scariest thing in the world was both the monster under the bed and the Diophantine Equation and they could be solved with Mom’s hugs and hair petting and Dad’s wisdom and patience and God, he just wanted to go home. 

To both his relief and distress the door whooshed open a moment later and Matt forced leaden eyes open to see Te-osh and the cat alien — now clothed in similarly to Te-osh which must be the rebels’ uniform — enter, orange eyes just as piercing as before if somehow not even more so.

Matt shivered, the cat alien — Gavon, Te-osh had said — blinked and the intensity was broken.

“I will not waste time,” Gavon said, voice firm but not cruel. “I am going to inspect your thoughts and determine if you are a threat to us. You are welcome to oppose such but you will be removed from this base immediately. Do I have your permission?”

Well, that really wasn’t much of a choice. 

Matt rasped out a yes. 

He still hated how he flinched as Gavon knelt down and placed a paw atop his head, agony a far too familiar consequence of a similar action.

“I cannot say it will not hurt,” Gavon said, “as the mind is a delicate thing and yours has been… brutalized,” he finally settled on and Matt winced again because yes, yes it had, “but the fact you are cognizant of what I am saying now… it gives me great hope indeed. I will be as careful as possible.”

And saying so a heat — too hot but not as hot as the Druid’s fire — pressed down on Matt’s head and flowed down and through the rest of his body and he bit his tongue to hold in the whimper.

He startled as a hand — not a paw — gently landed atop one of his own folded in front of him and gave a calming stroke.

Te-osh.

She was…

Matt squeezed his eyes shut as treacherous tears of pain and longing and homesickness tried to escape.

A minute later it was over, the heat receding along with Gavon’s paw, although Te-osh’s remained.

“Your mind is like few I have seen,” Gavon said, but the words lacked the possessiveness of the Druid’s same observation. “I can see why the Empire wished to use it. But while they did not underestimate the pathways of your mind they did underestimate a far more important thing.” A furred paw landed lightly on his shoulder. “Your heart.”

His…

Heart?

“My abilities — magic from my Mackan half and telepathy from my Shvoi’i half — allow me to read you, Matthew Holt of Earth,” Gavon said and Matt’s eyes widened.

What?

No one, no one, knew his full name, knew where he was from. He and Shiro had kept that quiet, between themselves, as if they ever turned the Galrans’ eyes on home…

“Do not be alarmed,” Gavon said, as though Matt could be anything but. “These are truths to your very being that you could never have hoped to hide from one such as me. I did not seek further than that for your memories of such things are your own, but I saw enough in what you did project, both here and in our quarters.”

Matt’s eyes somehow widened even more.

So, so all those times he’d felt the alien staring at him… he hadn’t just been staring.

He’d been mind reading. 

He’d obviously been there for a purpose — and Matt had wondered, once, what was so special about the rocks they were mining and what better way to find out then to get a guy on the inside who could read minds and gather information from the guards — and somehow, for some reason, Matt had drawn his interest. 

“Your mind is strong, Matthew Holt,” Gavon pulled him back to the present. “Your heart is moreso. And should you choose it, the rebels would value your alliance in our fight against the Empire.”

Him.

They wanted him to help them.

But…

But Matt wanted to go home. He wanted to save Shiro. He wanted to find Dad. 

The rebels could have resources. Or they could try to yolk him, to use him for their own gains.

But if he didn’t agree, then…

“You are troubled,” Gavon said softly. “I understand.”

And Matt knew he did and his stomach gave a lurch that he had held up so well against the Druid but he had no defense here.

“And you are in pain and exhausted,” Gavon continued. “You are also not a threat and not an ally of the Empire. Rest, think. We will care for you in the meantime, no matter your decision. If you wish to leave, we will not stop you and escort you to the nearest habitable planet. But for now,” and Gavon’s expression softened, “you are safe. Rest. Heal. We will speak later. Te-osh?”

“Sir,” she inclined her head.

“Matthew Holt will remain in your care. Our resources are limited, but use whatever you need. You and Tjiboal are the only ones who know he is at this outpost. Keep it that way.”

“Sir.”

Gavon rose to his feet, eyes meeting Matt’s once more.

“Until we meet again.”

And then he was gone.

Te-osh’s hand lightly squeezed Matt’s and he dragged his gaze back to her.

“Rest, Matthew Ho—”

“Matt,” Matt cut her off.

Matthew was what his parents called him when he was in trouble. Matt was more familiar, more friendly, more…

More of what he needed right now.

Her lips pulled into a soft smile. “Matt,” she repeated. “Rest, Matt. I shall take care of you.”

Thank you didn’t seem to be enough for what they’d just done for him, but…

But it was all Matt could offer right now.

“Thanks,” he whispered.

He fell asleep to the gentle stroke of her hand on his and he could almost, almost pretend it was his mom’s. 

Chapter Text

Matt wasn’t aware it was possible to feel worse than he had on the Druid’s torture table but apparently he was wrong.

He heaved again, nothing but the last remains of ropy stomach bile spattering into the bowl he was slumped over, stomach cramping and fire flooding his veins.

Withdrawal symptoms from the fire drug. 

The gift that seemed to just keep on giving.

And with every heave his wounds — bandaged as best as Te-osh could with a numbing salve that had more than worn off at this point — seemed to flare back to life and his throat was raw from vomiting and all of the previous screaming and it hurt.

God, it fucking hurt.

There was no point in Gavon re-applying his magical hazy numbing ability because one; Matt kept moving with each stomach cramp and two; it made his brain feel even fuzzier and he didn’t like it.

He needed to be able to think. 

Granted, right now he couldn’t focus on anything other than how much pain he was in and how sick he felt so it all seemed a little moot.

His stomach twisted again and Matt moaned, pushing the bowl aside in favor of curling up, arms wrapping around himself in a pathetic version of a hug in the small nest of sheets Te-osh had procured for him in this small room (that yes, was a closet, but apparently the outpost they were on was very, very small and this was the only room they had been able to repurpose for Matt and beggars couldn’t be choosers) and pressed his face into the thin pillow and pleaded for his stomach to settle, for the fire racing beneath his skin to subside, for his back to stop hurting so much because he hated being on his stomach but the tatters the Galrans had left his back in left him no other choice.

It would likely get worse before it got better, Te-osh had murmured, apology clear in her voice. His body had been through trauma and the drug was only compounding upon all of it and there really wasn’t much they could do besides bandage him and try to keep him hydrated and comfortable. 

Matt shivered in direct contrast to how hot he felt and burrowed his face further into the pillow. 

Te-osh had asked him some basic questions for his species and when he’d mumbled out that his temperature should be around ninety-nine fahrenheit (or thirty-seven celsius) Te-osh had promptly removed the heavier blanket she’d brought in and instead replaced it with ice packs beneath his knees and wrapped one around his neck and she’d given him one for, well, down there but uh, no thank you, and Matt had instead pilfered it to press to his stomach.

Despite Te-osh’s insistence he be cooled down she had helped him — and he tried not to flush too much at the memory of needing to be dressed like a child — pull on a pair of very loose pants that she’d rolled up and pinned on each leg to his knees. But still, at least he wasn’t naked anymore. 

Another cramp attacked his stomach and Matt didn’t muffle that groan as well, hot tears springing to his eyes at how much it hurt. 

Sleep, Te-osh had told him before she’d left, saying she would return in a couple varga.

He wanted to. So, so badly.

But he was so tired he couldn’t sleep.

He couldn’t lie here and do anything but be miserable and sick and God, he wanted to go home.

He wanted to go home.

xxx

Everything was on fire.

Matt spat out what felt like flames as they ravaged his throat, as his lungs seized and his body shook and he couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t breathe.

He coughed and hacked and desperately tried to suck in air past the burning but he couldn’t he couldn’t he couldn’t he—

White hot pain flashed across his vision as something slammed into his back but there was air and Matt nearly choked on it. 

There were voices above him, barely audible over his wheezing and roaring pulse.

“—getting worse. His body can barely—”

Mom?

“— keep him cool,” said a second, deeper voice, worry clear.

Dad?

Was he at home?

When did he get home?

Why did it matter?

A hand — Mom, Matt sighed, Mom was here and he didn’t care that it didn’t make sense because she was here — smoothed through his bangs and he leaned into the cool touch with a whimper. 

The hand stilled.

Matt whined in the back of his throat and the stroking picked back up.

“Matt?” Mom murmured, and she sounded a little different but her touch was the same. “Are you awake?”

“Mom,” Matt whispered.

Mom’s hand jerked back and a curse Matt didn’t recognize from their extensive Holt family vocabulary fell from her lips.

Matt flinched at it, at the strange feeling of hurt taking root in his chest.

Had he said something wrong?

What had he done wrong?

Why was Mom upset?

But a second later her hand came back. “Sleep, Matt,” she whispered, brushing aside sweaty bangs. “Sleep.”

And Matt did.

xxx

Matt’s stomach woke him; a twisting, writhing fiery mass.

“Mom,” he choked out. “M-mom.”

He needed her.

She’d make it better.

A hand — no, not quite, but it felt nice, soft, and far too large to be Mom’s — landed on his cheek, stroking. 

Bae Bae?

“Sleep, Matthew,” came Dad’s voice, distorted and sounding as though from far, far away. 

Something pressed down on his head — but not, not really, it felt strange but like the hand it felt nice too — and Matt did.

xxx

When Matt awoke next his tongue was too big for his mouth and it tasted funny — stale and cotton-y and sort of like old vomit too — and he swallowed thickly, wincing at the action.

His eyes felt like they were glued shut but he forced them open, squinting even into the dim light of his room.

No.

Not his room.

This wasn’t his room.

This was…

His brain felt like molasses and it took far, far too long to come up with the answer as it went through every option.

Galra. Cells. Arena. Slave quarters.

Rebels.

This was the rebel base.

But…

But hadn’t he…

Hadn’t he been at home? Mom had been there and Dad and even Bae Bae. He’d heard them. He’d felt them.

Or…

Or he thought he had.

He felt his cheeks heat at the realization. 

There had indeed been someone there, but it hadn’t been his parents.

He must have mistaken Te-osh and Gavon and oh God, what else had he said? What had he done? It was embarrassing under any circumstances, but considering the fact they had chosen to rescue him for his brain and then he’d…

God.

God, let him go back to the delirium. At least he wouldn’t remember making a fool of himself there.

But…

But at least he could remember it now, even if it was in bits and pieces. At least he could think right now. Things made sense (even if he wasn’t sure his cheeks would ever not be pink at this point). 

And he remembered how badly injured he was and Matt carefully turned his head — still lying on his stomach, ugh — to look over his shoulder at his back.

It was still covered in bandages but it didn’t hurt as badly as he shifted position and his leg felt as stiff and painful as it had in the quarry and not the pulsing version the Druid and Galrans had turned it into as the ripped it open again and again. A twitch of his feet revealed a slightly sharper pain and he was remembering now he was missing all of his toe nails but they’d been bandaged too. 

And his hand…

Matt gingerly looked at where they were lying at his sides. Right hand fully intact, left was wrapped in bandages and small splints to hold broken bones together.

He hoped it healed all right. He was right handed but he used his left just as much for typing and, well…

He was going to need to do that if he joined the rebels.

Did…

Did he want to join the rebels?

He owed them his life. They could have easily retrieved Gavon and left, leaving Matt to the Druid’s mercy. They didn’t need to come for him.

A calculated risk, Matt remembered Gavon saying.

Now the question was… had he been worth the risk? 

He needed more information, Matt decided. He needed to know who the rebels were, what they wanted to accomplish and what they wanted him for. Next to Gavon, a magical telepath who went toe to toe with the Druid and her magic, Matt looked pretty lame.

And yet…

Yet they’d wanted him.

It all circled back to why and Matt wasn’t going to get answers lying here.

He grit his teeth, pushed his hands down to lever himself up, and while it took far longer than it should and the room was sort of spinning in a lazy circle, he managed to get into a sit.

Standing was a bit more daunting.

He’d just convinced himself to plant his hands again, to push his feet in front of him, when the door slid open and Te-osh entered, and she clearly hadn’t been expecting him to be awake let alone trying to get up based on her widening eyes. 

But she did not try to stop him, remaining in the doorway.

Matt’s arms wobbled as he pushed up.

And then he was falling sideways, vertigo shot, when a pair of hands — and there were only four fingers, he was realizing now — caught him about his shoulders.

“You are impossible,” Te-osh muttered but it was almost fond and she gently guided him back down to the ground to once more lie on his stomach. “You have been sick for over four quintants and immediately upon waking you attempt to rise. I do not know if it is foolish or admirable.”

“Let’s,” Matt swallowed, the word thick but it was finally a word, “let’s go with admirable.”

Te-osh let out a sound that might have been a laugh. 

“I trust you are feeling better?” she said, a water pouch accompanying her words and Matt couldn’t even be embarrassed as she popped the straw in and held it up to his mouth.

He nodded around sucking the pouch dry, the water going easily down his throat this time and helping clear away some of the stale taste. 

“I am glad,” she said, voice softer.

Matt felt his cheeks heat at that.

“I’m,” he swallowed again that had nothing to do with the water or gummy feeling, “I’m sorry if, if I…”

Thought she was his mom.

Had made her feel uncomfortable because of that.

“You do not need to apologize,” she said, still quiet. “But,” she met his gaze, “and I hope this is not too forward… you are young for your species, aren’t you?”

Matt gave the question pause as there were so many ways that could go. Twenty-four was not a child by any means, was considered an adult, but…

But in the grand scheme of things?

“I’m younger,” he settled on, feeling a ghost of a smile at Dad’s regular argument that he was older not old, and he’d just gone gray early. 

God, what had happened to Dad?

Shiro?

Was he even still alive? Te-osh had said four quintants and that was approximately four days here, plus all the time in the Druid’s care on top of the quarry and… and it had to have been almost two weeks.

Death could be decided in a minute.

“What is it?” Te-osh asked and Matt realized his face had settled into a frown.

And wasn’t that just the question?

“I have a friend,” Matt said.

A best friend.

Practically his brother.

Who he thought he’d condemned to death but maybe…

Maybe he’d done something even worse.

Because Shiro was a gentle soul. The Arena had been hard on both of them but it had been really hard on Shiro who was a protector, not a killer. And for him to be thrown into the spotlight as their champion, as Champion, like that?

Assuming he was still alive (and God please, please let him still be alive), he’d have to be carrying on that image he’d painted when he’d attacked Matt as some bloodthirsty killer.

How…

How much of Shiro would be Shiro by the end?

“He saved my life,” Matt continued after a pause in which Te-osh waited patiently. “In the Arena. He took my place. And…”

“Matt,” Te-osh’s voice was firm if still gentle. “You know, even moreso than I, the fate of those in the Galran’s bloodbath arena. Your friend—”

“No!” Matt was surprised by how hot his voice was.

Because no.

Shiro wasn’t dead.

“He’s alive,” Matt continued quickly. “He’s their new champion.”

Te-osh’s eyes widened, her mouth dropping.

But then her expression saddened and Matt felt a different sort of pit in his stomach than the nausea and pain.

“I am sorry,” she murmured. “The Arena is an area we cannot infiltrate. Even a nameless prisoner there would be impossible for us to retrieve, one of such a nature that you describe… it is beyond that.”

“But—”

“I am sorry,” she cut him off. “But it is not possible. Not,” her gaze bored into his, “as we are.”

There was something unspoken there.

Something that could not be said aloud, that could not be promised.

But…

But if he helped them, then maybe...

Matt gave a slow nod of understanding. 

“Do not make a hasty decision,” Te-osh said. “You do not strike me as the rash sort or Gavon would not have made the last minute addition to take you with us. Think this through. And for you to do so,” her lips quirked up, “you have questions of me.”

“A lot,” Matt admitted. 

“I will do my best to answer them,” Te-osh inclined her head. “Begin when you are ready.”

Really?

Just like that?

Her lips pulled into a wider, almost teasing smile. “You have passed Gavon’s probe,” she said, “which is more than enough to appease any member of the rebels. But more than that,” her hand, still resting on his shoulder, gave a small squeeze, “I have grown rather fond of you.”

Matt felt his cheeks heat ever so at the declaration, no doubt arisen from caring for him and him mistaking her for his mom.

But…

But he’d known the moment she’d helped him on the exam table and then shouldered his weight that she was a kind person.

And kindness was something very, very hard to find these days.

“Ask your questions,” Te-osh nodded at him. “And let us see if you will become a rebel yet.”

Chapter Text

Matt ran a hand down the tunic in rebel orange and gray, only wincing slightly as he pressed on a still healing wound on his side.

He’d get armor later, Te-osh had told him, as right now wearing it would be too aggravating, especially on his back. 

But Matt was wearing an actual shirt, real pants, although…

He glanced down at the bandages wrapped all up both legs even though it was his left one that truly needed them as while the wound was mostly healed, held together now with more butterfly bandages that no one would rip off, it was still tender and was most definitely going to scar.

Badly.

It was stiffer too than the rest of him, even his back that was healing too but he knew the marks the Galran’s had cut into him would scar, and he was going to have a limp for the rest of his life. 

But if that was the worst thing he walked away from Galra captivity with…

He could work with that.

His left hand would heal fully, everything still splinted and his arm was in a sling to prevent him from accidentally trying to use it (because for as smart as he was apparently instinct was harder to fight and he’d bumped it three times now into keypads and once into a doorframe and he was pretty sure his shout had echoed to the Empire). 

His toenails were finally coming back, but his feet were still incredibly sensitive so while he’d been given a pair of boots for now Matt was wearing a pair of thick socks around the cold floors of the rebel outpost. 

But even without the armor, with some uniform modifications…

He was a rebel.

Rebel Matt Holt.

It had a nice ring to it.

But better yet…

It gave him an opportunity to save Shiro. 

Not right away. Not for a while. The rebels had zip, zap, zilch information on the Arena, other than that they stayed far, far away from it. It was an evil, Te-osh had told him quietly, one of the most horrifically conceived places in the entire universe, but it was not one the rebels could take on. 

They were not that large of a group, all things considered even though they spanned quite a ways across the universe. Resources were hard to come by as the Galra controlled nearly all planets and those they did not were very adamant about remaining neutral and not invoking the Galran’s wrath. But while the rebels were small they were fierce.

Their main mission was to attack Galran bases and outposts, Te-osh explained, and to take back smaller planets from Galra rule. She, Te-osh had smiled, was a fighter pilot and she spent most of her time picking off sentry powered ships during such missions.

But in the last ten deca-phoebs, they had been trying to do more. 

They had to do more.

So they had begun infiltration missions, trying to find the links between the dead planets the Galrans sometimes left behind, the resources they mined, and how the Druids were involved with the Galrans. Druids, Te-osh said, were foul creatures who obeyed a head Druid named Haggar, who served directly below Zarkon. 

Haggar.

Matt had frozen on the name.

He’d heard that name before.

Lady Haggar, the Druid who tortured him had said. She’d been watching Shiro’s matches. 

What did someone like that want with someone like Shiro?

Matt was afraid to find out and was almost glad he didn’t have the current resources to do so. 

Te-osh had said one such mission had led Gavon to being “captured” to inspect the quarry Matt had been taken to as they’d been finding large shipments of the rocks in their attacks on Galran transports and they knew it had to have a purpose.

And it did.

The rocks, Gavon had uncovered, had a quality that was used to make containers to store an energy called quintessence, which the Druids used to magnify their powers. Matt had been spotted by a stroke of luck, Gavon taking interest in Matt’s introduction his first night there and skimming his mind throughout. And that interest had grown when Matt had been taken away by the Galrans and, skimming their thoughts, brought to the Druid. His mind was unique, Gavon had thought, connecting data and making observations at a rate that was difficult to comprehend.

Having a mind like that to help process the rebels’ findings, to organize their teams, to run their communications…

It could be a game changer for them.

For this one-sided war.

And, well, here he was.

A rebel. 

And now he had a chance to do something. To not just save Shiro, to find Dad, but to help defeat the Galra Empire. For all his genius Matt had never expected much of himself, had always thought being chosen for Kerberos would be the highest honor of his lifetime.

He’d been wrong.

This was why he’d come up here, why everything had happened. He knew science didn’t really believe in coincidences, but all of it had to mean something. It had to mean something that he and Shiro had survived for so long, that Shiro had somehow become the Arena’s new champion and favored as much as one could be. 

It had to mean something that Matt had wound up at that quarry, in that grouping, that those Galrans had taken interest in the fact he was human, that he’d resisted the Druid for so long, that the rebels had rescued him.

That he’d survived.

It had to mean something. 

And if it didn’t yet…

Then Matt would make it.

A knock sounded on the door — the living quarters had just two bunks and Matt had already taken the one Gavon had vacated that morning and once he was settled and healed a little more Te-osh would leave too — and Matt called out a ‘come in.’

As expected (and it had better be her because otherwise Matt would be really freaked out) Te-osh appeared in the doorway. 

“So?” Matt carefully held his arms out, doing a slow spin, “what do you think?”

A loaded question.

“It looks good on you,” she said with a soft smile. “How does it feel?”

Two apparently could play this game of unspoken words because promises were hard to keep in war.

“... Roomy,” Matt settled on, giving a small pluck of how the pants ballooned by his knees. “But comfortable. Something to grow into.”

“I am glad to hear it. And,” her gaze drifted down to his left leg.

“Stiff,” Matt answered honestly, weight already entirely back on his right after his turn. “Sore.”

“Then you should be sitting,” Te-osh said. “Perhaps for a bite of dinner?”

“Oh God, yes.”

Te-osh let out out a light chuckle, shaking her head even as she turned to make her way to the small kitchen on base, steps slower than he knew they needed to be but even then he had trouble keeping up.

It would take time, he knew, to build his leg back up, for his back to heal, and it was frustrating to be moving so slow but the fact he was moving at all, that he still had a leg and wasn’t trying to figure out whatever prosthetics were up here was good enough for him. 

She gestured for Matt to take a seat at the single chair and he gratefully sank into it, breathing more labored than he’d like and feeling sweat dotting at his hairline. Dinner was nothing fancy — some weird bread that grew when water was added to it and what tasted sort of like jerky — but it was still tasty and after what he’d eaten before it was practically gourmet.

Best yet it didn’t involve anything in the way of really cooking because while Matt was nowhere near the walking kitchen disaster Shiro was his skills were nothing to write home about either and for the safety of all adding water to freeze-dried items was a brilliant workaround.

Especially because soon Matt would be here all alone.

It was for his own safety, Gavon had told him before he’d left. Right now, thanks to… factors (factors being Shiro and his rising fame in the Arena that had even hit rebel news sources) that were putting the human species in the spotlight it was best that Matt laid low. They’d done their best on Vizion to cover their tracks — and that had been why the’d forced Matt to get dressed and move like any other slave and not carried out — but Gavon was under no pretense that some camera hadn’t caught them, that Matt’s prisoner number wasn’t floating in some way in a Galran database and when — not if, when — the Galra Empire became aware of a Druid’s interest in Matt he would become a target. 

And Matt would do no one any good if he was dead. 

Solitude was not something that Matt really enjoyed, but he would be able to communicate regularly over transmissions and comms with various rebel members and Te-osh had said she would try to visit a couple times every deca-phoeb. 

It would have to be enough.

And it just meant that in the quiet Matt could spend his time trying to hack into the Arena, into finding a way to save Shiro, and also trying to track Dad because Matt refused to believe that he was dead. All of his family was alive and they were all going to go home together.

“Matt?” Te-osh’s voice pulled him from his thoughts and he realized he hadn’t eaten anything in front of him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Matt pulled up a smile. 

Her eyes narrowed. 

“I’m all right,” Matt said quietly, holding her gaze. “Really. Just… thinking.”

They both knew what about.

She reached a hand across the table and set it atop his left, covering the bandages. 

“You will find them,” she murmured.

Matt’s eyes widened.

What?

“What?” he croaked.

“I said you will find the bread to your liking. Please, eat. You need to regain your strength.”

Matt’s eyes stung and he blinked hurriedly to contain them while Te-osh gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Thanks, Te-osh,” he whispered. 

And he would.

He would find his family, he would stop the Galra and he would make them forever regret what they’d done. 

Matthew Holt was a man on a mission.

And nothing in the universe was going to stop him.