Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Shiro couldn’t breathe. He was in the arena, facing off against a monster of an opponent. Some gladiators were put in the ring against their will, but this one’s battle lust was tangible. It wanted blood, and blood it had gotten. Razor-like spikes adorning long appendages had sliced their way across Shiro’s ribs; rows of sharp teeth had torn into his arm.

 The huge creature was powerful, but Shiro was faster, and he managed to get some hits in. Eventually, he was able to pierce clean through its heart, the organ pulsating visibly beneath its skin. But after Shiro let his guard down, head swimming from the thunderous cheers of the audience and dizzy from blood loss, the creature rose from the dead and slashed deep into his back. It struck him in the chest with its heavy tail, knocking the air from his lungs and immobilizing him. Its dozens of eyes all locked onto him and gleamed, its spiked appendage raised, ready to end him.

“Shiro? Shiro, look out!”

The enormous creature’s spiky limb smashed into the Black Lion, knocking it from the air. The jolt brought Shiro out of his flashback and back to the present as his body slammed into the control panel. The beast had been enhanced, but it was the same on the inside. Two hearts. They had to take out both of the monster’s hearts. They couldn’t let their guard down. But he was still in panic mode, and before he could catch his breath to form words, another appendage came crashing down, smashing the Black Lion into the ground. Pain exploded behind Shiro's eyes, and then everything went dark. 

When Shiro woke, he was surrounded. His heart started racing for a moment before realizing that the faces around him were familiar. Friends. Pidge, Hunk, Lance, Allura, and Coran had all rushed to his side the moment the healing pod had opened. He moaned, disoriented and exhausted, pressing a hand to his head. “What… what happened?”

 “I’d like to ask you the same question,” Allura said, slipping an arm under his to support him. Her words were direct, but her tone was gentle.

 “I…” He paused as he glanced again at the people surrounding him. Someone was missing. “Keith? Where’s-“ he stopped as he saw a figure inside the healing pod next to the one he’d just come out of. Blood seeped through the white uniform. The colour drained from Shiro’s face.

 “Don’t worry. Keith will be alright,” Allura assured him.

 “What-“

 “The monster,” Hunk explained, “It- it was down. Like, down. After you were hit, Keith burned a hole straight through its heart. But then, when he got out of his Lion to go get you…”

 “It pulled a Lazarus,” Lance finished.

 “Keith managed to get the Black Lion to lower its shield to let him in, but before he could get inside, the monster attacked him,” Pidge said. “We thought the battle was over. None of us expected it to get back up after its heart had been blown out.”

 Shiro felt sick to his stomach. Had Allura not been supporting him, he was sure his knees would have given out. “Are you alright, Shiro? Would you like to sit down?” she asked. He managed to nod. 

Allura guided him to the couch, keeping her arm around him even after they sat down. Pidge sat on his other side, a little closer than usual, making just enough physical contact to keep her presence known. The others joined, leaning in close.

Shiro took in a shaky breath. “I could have prevented this."

“And how’s that?" Allura asked. "What happened out there, Shiro?” 

 “I… I had a flashback,” he said, “fighting that monster. I’d fought it before, back in the arena. I remembered that it had two hearts. That after taking it down, it would wait until your guard was down to attack again. I knew that. I should have warned you all, but when I get these- these flashbacks I just… freeze…” He looked down. “If- if I hadn’t frozen, if I’d remembered sooner…”

“Shiro,” Allura interrupted, gripping his shoulder tighter. “It’s alright. Keith is going to be fine. He’ll be out soon enough.”

 “You should get some rest in the meantime, man,” Lance said. “Healing in those pods takes a lot out of a guy. You look beat.”

 Shiro looked over at Keith again. The wounds under the suit were no longer bleeding; the expression on his face seemed peaceful enough. There was nothing Shiro could do for him right now. “Okay,” he relented, voice quiet.

He didn’t need Allura’s assistance walking back to his room, but she kept at his side, accompanying him.  

“Shiro,” she said tentatively when they reached his door. “I’ve been thinking... There may be a way that we can help you to regain your memories faster. It could potentially help in combat situations, and… it might be a way of confronting the trauma you’ve experienced,” she said, careful with her words.

 “I’m listening,” he said. She had his full attention.

 “I’ve been hesitant to suggest it, since it would be extremely difficult on you, not to mention invasive. But it sounds as if not being able to remember things and then having these flashbacks in the heat of battle is... problematic, to say the least. Do you recall the technology aboard the Castle that was used to store my father’s memories and extract Sendak’s?”

 “Of course,” he nodded. There was no way he could forget.

 “Well, theoretically, we could extract your memories using the same technology. Your memories, even if you can’t access them all yet, they’re written in here somewhere,” she said, touching her fingertips to his temples. “So we could record them, and then you – we, if you wish – could look through them. They could be replayed in the room my father’s AI was held in.”

 He swallowed. Quite frankly, the thought of confronting his memories terrified him. His mind had kept them locked away for a reason, and even snippets of them left him trembling. But this could be helpful. If he had remembered sooner, Keith wouldn’t be in a healing pod right now. That and he really did need to deal with this trauma. He didn’t like the label, ‘trauma’, didn’t like how broken it made him feel, but that was what it was. If he was going to address it, he needed to accept what had happened, and to accept what had happened, he needed to remember.

 “Okay,” he breathed. “Let’s try it.”

 She nodded. “Alright. First get some rest. Then just let me know whenever you’re ready, whether that’s tomorrow or days from now. In your own time. And know that it is entirely understandable if you decide not to do this after all.”

 “Alright,” he nodded. “Thank you, Princess.”

 “Sleep well, Shiro,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders and giving him a kind smile before walking away.

 He opened the door to his room and lay down in his bed. He turned the idea over and over in his mind before finally finding sleep.

 Shiro jolted awake, gasping for breath and in a cold sweat. Another nightmare. The details were hazy, he couldn’t recall what exactly had happened in his dream, but he could still feel residual emotions - pain and loss and fear. He tried to focus on his breathing to calm himself down, but he knew there was no going back to sleep.

The nightmares were getting worse and more frequent, and as the days went by, he was sleeping less and less. He couldn’t go on like this, not while maintaining his duties. He got out of bed and went to find Allura.

He found her in the common area conversing with Coran, with whom she had no doubt discussed her idea. “Allura? ...I’m ready.”

She studied him, taking in his appearance. “You’ve barely rested.”

“I tried,” he said, sure she could guess what had followed. The way his shirt was clinging to him, soaked with sweat, was probably a good clue.

 “…Are you certain you want to do this right now?”

 He nodded. “I can’t sleep. I’m as ready as I’ll ever be, and I need to do this.”

 She and Coran exchanged a glance before speaking.

“Alright then,” Coran said. “This way, Paladin.”

 Anxiety crept up on him as he entered the pod. The pod reminded him of Sendak, and he couldn’t help but think of how this experience would be one more thing he and Sendak had in common. It also stirred up other unpleasant memories, hazy as they were - he couldn't remember very well, but he knew some of the experiments that the druids had conducted on him had involved pods like this one. His heart lurched as the door shut, trapping him in the glass.

Shiro was sick of feeling panic. He felt it most days now, nearly every night. He was so tired of not being able to breathe, of the dizzy sensation of his heart racing, of the feeling of cold sweat on his skin. Fear had become so familiar to him, but it never got easier to swallow.

 “Shiro, are you alright?” Allura asked, her voice muffled from outside the glass.

 “F-fine,” he stammered. “I’m fine. Keep going.”

 “Just try to relax,” Coran said. Shiro tried hard to focus on slowing his breath, on releasing the tension in his muscles that had gone rigid. “That’s it,” Coran coaxed. “Now you’re going to be knocked out for a bit while we extract your memories and record them. Try to keep your mind open. Don’t resist now, just let go.”

 “A-alright,” Shiro said, trying to concentrate on his breathing. In. And out.

 “We’ll be right here,” Allura said. “You can do this. You’ll be fine.” And then her voice started to fade and his heavy eyelids closed. He let her words echo in his head as he was put under.

 Shiro stumbled out of the glass pod, limbs heavy and head foggy, but someone was there to catch him. The other paladins surrounded him, having joined Allura and Coran. The arms steadying him were familiar, and he realized the one who had caught him was Keith.

 Shiro righted himself but he didn’t let go. He breathed, relieved. “Keith. I’m so glad you’re alright.”

Keith gave him a small smile. “It’s good to see you’re okay too. You weren’t responding in your Lion back there; you had us all worried.”

“I’m so sorry." Shiro bowed his head. “You were hurt because of me. I should have-“

“It’s okay, Shiro," Keith said, cutting him off. "It's not your fault, and really. I’m okay. Everything turned out fine." His voice left no room for argument. He turned to the glass tube Pidge was pressed up against, enthralled. In it floated the micro-storage strands Shiro's memories had been written on. Keith gestured to it. “So, uh, this…”

 Shiro nodded, catching the attention of the rest of the paladins. “Listen up, everyone. As you can see, Allura and Coran have been working to extract my memories. For the next little while, I’m going to be looking through them to see if I can find any useful information. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but it could be a few days, maybe more. In the meantime, I want you to keep up with your training. Keith, you’re in charge.”

 The other paladins let out a collective groan as Keith smirked. “You can’t be serious!” Lance whined.

 Pidge grumbled with the others, but then a thoughtful frown crossed her face. “Shiro, are you sure you want to be looking through your memories?”

 “Hm? I thought you of all people would want me to, Pidge,” Shiro said. “There might be something in my memories that could give us a clue as to the whereabouts of your family.”

 “Well, yeah, I do want that, but… you’re like my family too,” Pidge said, shyly. “And I need to be sure you’re going to be okay.”

 “I’ll be fine, Pidge. Promise,” he said, giving her a small smile. He turned to Allura and Coran. “Is it ready to use?”

 “Yes, the room’s been set up,” Coran nodded.

 “Then let’s go,” he said, jaw set. He glanced at the rest of the paladins. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

 “Shiro?” It was Keith. He shifted with discomfort when all eyes turned to him, but he continued anyway. “Um, just… we’re here for you. If you need us.”

 “And even if you don’t,” Hunk added.

 Shiro couldn’t help but smile. “Thanks, guys.”

Shiro stepped into a prison cell, where a hologram of himself was huddled in the corner. Everything in the room looked and sounded and felt so real. All that was missing was the scent of blood. His heart was pounding already.

Coran explained the controls. “You can speed things up with this button here, and you can skip through memories entirely with this one. This one will shut it down, and this one'll start it back up again." 

“Thank you, Coran.”

 “Just holler if you need anything,” Coran said, and with a curt nod, he left the room.

Allura turned to him. “Shiro, would you like me to stay?” she asked.

 “That’s alright. But thank you, Princess,” he said.

She nodded and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t push yourself too hard. Stop when you need to,” she told him kindly but firmly. And then he was left alone in the room.

 Shiro closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and braced himself.

Chapter Text

Minutes moved like hours, and although he’d only scraped the surface of his memories, Shiro was already a shaking wreck.

 It was an odd sensation, watching himself in this room; he was like a ghost, disconnected from his body. But even though he wasn’t physically reliving the experience, he was acutely attuned to what he had been feeling at the time. When he was in despair in his memories, he could feel his heart aching. When he watched his past self physically get hurt, he could feel the pain it in the present too. The sensations weren’t as strong as they had been at the time, but they were enough.

He started it from the beginning, bringing him to the moment of the abduction. Commander Holt and Matt were in the room with him – he could see them, hear them, even touch them if he wanted to. It was unnerving how real they seemed, and it hurt knowing that they weren’t actually there, knowing that he might never see them again.

 He could remember the abduction, though, so he skipped forward until he found the first part of what wasn’t readily accessible in his mind: the interrogation with the druids.

 ‘Interrogation’ was a euphemism for ‘torture’, and ‘druid’ was synonymous with ‘sadist’.

 Shiro tried to go through it as quickly as he could, fast-forwarding through torture sessions that had lasted for days, weeks. He wasn’t reliving it, the pain wasn't as physically excruciating as it had back then, but he could still feel it as the memories came back. 

 Sensory deprivation. Hallucinogens. Starvation. Dehydration. Beating. Lashing. Poison. Burning. Freezing. Electrocution. Drowning.

 Shiro watched until the memories flooded and consumed him entirely, and still he kept going. 

When Allura walked in, he was in the midst of a particularly nasty memory in which he was strapped to a metal table, being pumped full of some sort of chemical that set fire to his veins. The room was empty save for a cloaked figure that hovered over him, adjusting the controls and gradually turning the settings higher. His screams echoed in the room.

 “Shiro,” Allura gasped, sprinting to the controls and shutting it down. Only then, when the sensations began to dissipate, did Shiro realize where he was: curled up on the floor in a pool of his own sweat, hyperventilating and shaking like mad.

She ran over to where he was and sat down on the floor next to him. “Oh, Shiro. What part of ‘don’t push yourself too hard’ was unclear?” she chastised gently, wrapping her arms around him.

He couldn’t think of any words, but she wasn’t expecting an answer. Allura held him close as he shook and tried to catch his breath. Her skin was cool against his. “Can you feel my heartbeat?” she asked, voice steady and soothing. He nodded. He could. “Focus on that. You’re safe now. You’re here, with me.”

 They stayed like that for a while, his heart rate slowing to match hers. As his muscles became less rigid, he slumped against her. His fight-or-flight response faded and he was left utterly drained.

 “Come. Let’s get you to bed,” she said eventually. “It’s 4 AM Castle Time, which I believe is either very late or very early. The others are all asleep.” He couldn’t argue, so he let her help him up. He leaned into her as they walked to his room.

 He collapsed onto his bed. Allura sat down beside him and dimmed the lights, the open door casting a sliver of light upon her. “Go to sleep,” she said gently and stroked his hair. Like a good soldier, he obeyed.

 Shiro bolted awake from a nightmare, panicked and struggling to breathe. Again. Unsurprisingly, in his dreams he had re-experienced the torture he’d watched earlier. The events in his nightmare had been clearer this time, much more vivid than on other nights. He still felt like he was drowning.

 But unlike on other nights, Allura was here with him. She had stayed, and now she held his human hand. He tried to concentrate on the feeling of her hand on his. “You’re alright,” she said softly. “It’s over now.”

“You stayed,” he managed to say.

 “Of course I did. I wasn’t going to leave you. Now go back to sleep,” she said, squeezing his hand. It was reassuring, and after a few ticks, he did. 

Shiro woke twice more throughout the night, and each time, Allura lulled him back to sleep. When he woke for the third time, she had dozed off, but he woke with her fingers intertwined in his.

 When he finally got out of bed, he wasn’t well rested, but he was feeling more stable. He was ready – or ready as he could be – to continue looking through his memories.

He took a shower first, the hot water feeling good on his skin as he washed away a layer of sweat. He had to give credit to Allura for touching him at all last night. Thankfully, he managed to avoid running into any of the others as he had a light breakfast – they would undoubtedly ask him how the session went, and he didn’t feel like lying this morning.

 When he finished eating, he headed to the AI room and picked back up from where he’d stopped the night before.

 The next several hours were horrible, to be sure, but not quite as unbearable as before. He kept Allura’s soothing voice in his head and the feeling of her hand holding his at the forefront of his mind as he proceeded through his memories of being tortured by the druids. He’d never want her to have to see this – the Princess had seen enough atrocities in her lifetime – and he’d never even consider letting any of the other paladins in the room, but just the thought of someone at his side was a small comfort.

The memories became unbearable again, however, when the druids switched tactics and Matt and Commander Holt were brought into the room. Hearing their screams was agonizing on a whole new level. 

He was almost relieved when he needed to take a bathroom break, having an excuse to stop watching for a moment. The relief faded when he ran into Pidge.

Pidge bore an unsettling resemblance to Matt. Matt was older than Pidge, taller and his face a little more angular, but they were so similar they could be confused for one another – had been, by the other paladins, when they’d first seen Pidge’s photo of the two of them.

When Shiro had first met Pidge, he’d seen the resemblance to Matt, but he thought he’d just been seeing things. He might have recognized that she was Matt’s sister if she hadn’t been dressed as a boy, if he hadn’t heard all about Katie on the long journey to Kerberos and how she was lucky not to need glasses and loved her long hair.

But Pidge wasn’t just dressed like a boy; Pidge was dressed like Matt. She even shared some of the same mannerisms. When she spoke, it took Shiro all he had to hold it together.

“Hey, Shiro,” she greeted. “How's sorting through the memories going?”

 “Fine,” he lied through his teeth. I’ve been watching your brother and father be tortured because I couldn’t produce the information the druids wanted.

 She studied him, concern flitting across her face. “You… you don’t look so good.”

 “I’ll be fine,” he replied. They might not be.

 “Well, you’ll be happy to know that in training with the Lions this morning…” Pidge launched into a story, but he couldn’t pay attention to what she was saying. He was distracted by the way some of the words and phrases she used were the same, her features were the same, even the way her mouth moved was the same.

 He realized that she was looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He forced himself to give a small smile and nod, and he managed some sort of response about keeping up the good work. It seemed to satisfy her.

“Well, I’ve got to hurry back to training, or else Keith’ll kill me.” She paused after taking a few steps and looked back. “You’ll tell me if you find anything out about my brother or father, right?” 

 “Of course,” he managed.

 Pidge considered him for a moment before doubling back and throwing her arms around his waist. “This must be so hard on you. Thanks for doing this, Shiro." 

Shiro held onto her tightly, protectively, until she let go. He watched her as she took off down the hall.

 Shiro headed into the bathroom, splashing water on his face in the sink and taking a few deep breaths before going back. Maybe he’d find something that would lead them to where the Holts were now. He had to keep thinking they were still alive (though a small part of him couldn’t help but think it might be more merciful if they weren’t). If not for him, and if not for them, then for Pidge. He had to keep going.

 The second phase of the interrogation was shorter than the first, but it was much harder to watch. Shiro watched himself and his companions cry and scream for what felt like an eternity, even though he skipped through as much as possible. In between torture sessions, Commander Holt was virtually unresponsive, and Matt was left sobbing, inconsolable. Shiro’s heart was rent in pieces.

After watching hours of his and his comrades’ suffering, Shiro reached the end of the interrogation. The druids must have grown bored of them. Commander Holt was sent to a labour camp, though he didn’t get a name or any clue as to where it was. Shiro was separated from Matt and locked in a dark, frigid cell that kept him shivering.

He skipped through days of solitary confinement, the cold and loneliness and hopelessness a constant. He slowed down the few times he could overhear snippets of conversation, but he didn’t find anything useful. He skipped through up until his routine changed: the day he was summoned and forced into the ring for the first time.

 He was rounded up with the other prisoners scheduled to fight that day and waited in the wings, watching as others before him fell. As the time drew nearer, Shiro could feel himself quaking on the sidelines. The fights were all brutal, sometimes lethal. Though it didn’t always get to that point, most prisoners fought to kill, whether out of self-preservation or bloodlust. He’d never seen so many alien forms, many far outmatching his human physiology, huge and spiked and plated with wings and claws and fangs. Shiro had never even been in a real fight before.

As he watched, Shiro took note of especially strong combatants in the ring, their weaknesses and strengths. The interrogation had been more conducive to fast-forwarding through - there hadn't been much tactical information to be gleaned from that. He needed to watch more carefully now. 

A few fights in, he was pushed into the ring. His first opponent wasn’t particularly notable in any way. Their form was humanoid, fairly evenly matched to his. Shiro could tell from their stance and the way they held their sword that they weren’t a particularly seasoned fighter, but they had more experience than Shiro did at the time. They didn’t speak much and they weren’t particularly vicious compared to some of the others, but they were fighting to kill - that much was clear from the start.

 Shiro stood facing his opponent, armed with a sword. His grip was poor; his stance was all wrong. As he watched himself, he wondered how he could possibly still be alive.

 The answer was luck. He started out just trying to defend himself, blocking shots with his sword, but as it became evident that his opponent intended to kill him, he went on the offensive. His swings were wild and poorly controlled, but one of his strikes got lucky and knocked the sword from his opponent’s hands.

Not wanting to use a sword against an unarmed opponent, Shiro kicked his opponent’s weapon away, then threw his own off to the side. His opponent lunged at him, and a clumsy fistfight ensued. He threw uncoordinated punches and was just barely managing to dodge. He landed a few blows, took a few more.

In the end, his opponent neglected to block a hit to the right side of their ribcage, a serendipitous liver shot that left them incapacitated. The crowd cheered. Shiro had won.

 As Shiro watched, he could feel the ghosts of bruises from the fight, the adrenaline rush, and the residual fear. He could remember the sinking revelation that this was his life now. He would never see Earth again. This would be how he died.

Many months later, Shiro would escape, but it was still true that, in all likelihood, he would die young and he would go down fighting.

Shiro paused the program. It was nearing 9 PM Castle Time, and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He wasn’t hungry, not after watching the interrogation, but he knew he should get some food and water into his system; he was starting to feel weak.

 When he reached the dining hall, he found Hunk and Lance at the table.

 “Shiro! Just in time for second dinner,” Hunk said. He set out a third plate.

 “Yeah, you missed first dinner. And lunch. And wow, you look awful,” Lance said.

 “Rude, Lance. But, uh, he has a point,” Hunk agreed. “You do look pretty awful. Is there anything we can do?”

 Shiro tried his best to smile. “Second dinner sounds great.”

 Shiro stayed quiet throughout the meal, and Hunk and Lance let him. They talked about little things and upped their banter, filling silence so Shiro wouldn’t feel the need to say anything. It was obvious what they were doing, but Shiro appreciated it.

 It was calming, listening to Lance and Hunk chatter away, even if a large component of their conversation consisted of them complaining about Keith’s strict training regimen. Keith had run them into the ground today, and they were pretty sure he was part demon. They wondered, if he were actually part demon, what that would entail. Did demons need to sleep? Did they eat? And if they did, did they consume blood (no, Hunk, that was vampires), or human flesh (what about alien flesh?), or would they settle for food goo? They debated whether goo was best eaten with a spoon or with a fork, settling on a spork, but demons probably didn’t use utensils. The conversation then shifted into a discussion about the merits of sporks vs. knorks vs. spives, and chopforks vs. forkchops. And then from forkchops came pork chops – Hunk missed pork chops, along with a lot of other things. Lance missed garlic knots (man, did he miss those garlic knots), and there were strong feelings about why garlic knots were superior to garlic bread. The topics got bigger, moving from bread to Earth to stars and space, but the conversation stayed grounded, anchored by quips and small grins.

Shiro didn’t finish the plate Hunk had prepared for him, but Hunk took no offense. Lance wanted to be helpful too and offered to clear the dishes.

Thanks for this, Hunk, Lance,” Shiro said as he stood. He gave them a small smile. “I’m feeling a little less awful now.” It wasn’t a lie.

As he left the room, he heard a smacking sound as they high-fived. His lips twitched. He had good friends.

Armed with their warmth and support, Shiro made for the AI room again. He was exhausted, but he could get through a little more before bed, and maybe his nightmares would take material from this session and not from earlier. Reliving gladiatorial fights would be better than reliving the torture he had watched earlier.

Keeping his friends close in his mind, he inhaled, exhaled, and then started it back up.

Chapter Text

Shiro watched himself fall into a routine. He fought, won by the skin of his teeth, then was tossed back into his cell, bloody and bruised, until the next match. The walls and floor of his cell became increasingly stained, smeared with copper. 

Some of the fights he witnessed while he waited with the other prisoners on the sidelines were violent and gory, and they made his stomach turn. The next few opponents Shiro faced were challenging – he was just barely winning – but there was nothing particularly remarkable about them. They all seemed to have been prisoners for quite some time and were used to these fights, some just going through the motions, some maybe enjoying the break in routine. 

And then he watched himself face off against a child. His appearance was almost human, with russet skin and irises the same shade of amber as Matt’s. He looked years younger than Matt, though, and twice as scared. His voice came out as a high whimper.

The match started and the boy stood still, knees locked. Shiro wanted to comfort him, reassure him he’d be okay, but instead he said, “Fight me.” He didn’t want to hurt him, but if neither of them fought, the Galra wouldn’t hesitate to kill them both.

The child was still frozen in place, unwilling or unable to make a move. He would die once he was pitted against an opponent who had less mercy than Shiro did.

Shiro grabbed the mace he’d been equipped with and circled in like a predator. He ignored the terrified look on his face. He drew his weapon back and smashed into the boy’s shin with the shaft of the mace. There was a sickening, ear-splitting crack, followed by the child’s screams as he crumpled to the ground.

Shiro felt ill as he watched. Now that the kid’s leg was broken, he wouldn’t be able to fight in the arena, and maybe he’d be sent to a work camp instead. He hadn’t killed him. But his leg might never heal properly, and the pain he was in would be excruciating. He had looked at him with terror in his eyes, pleading with him to stop, and yet Shiro had kept going. He was a monster. When this child had nightmares, it would be Shiro’s face he saw. 

Shiro watched several more fights. He was injured over and over and had collected a litany of scars, but he was getting stronger. He was a quick learner. Some of his fights were against powerful, ruthless opponents; some were against weak, scared prisoners who didn’t stand a chance. Shiro took them all down.

Though some of the fights were gruesome, he tried to stay rational, endeavouring to take notes and strategize rather than pay mind to the awful feeling in his gut. But when he saw his next opponent walk into the ring, his stomach dropped like a stone. He knew that this memory was a bad one.

She was humanoid, slight and young looking. Her features were anthropomorphic, save for the greenish grey tinge to her skin and her large, dark eyes reminiscent of a fawn's. She trembled with fear as she stood before him. 

Shiro took a fighting stance.

The match started and she lashed out at him like a frightened animal. She swung at him wildly with her sword; he parried. He knew he had to do more than just deflect her hits so he took a few swings at her, ones she should have been able to block.

She didn’t, though. She twisted wrong and one of his hits landed, cutting her in her side just below her ribs. It was a shallow cut, but despite how human-like she was in appearance, her physiology was not the same.

She shrieked in pain, curling up on the ground as far too much blood poured from the wound. Tears flowed from her wide eyes as she screamed and screamed. The pool of blood expanded beneath her, flooding the ring, splashing the soles of his boots. There was nothing he could do but stand there in her blood and watch as she cried, writhing on the ground. 

Eventually, her screams tapered out. She cast him one last glance, eyes wide and accusatory, and then her eyes rolled back into her skull. She stopped breathing.

The crowd roared.

Guilt and panic tore through Shiro. Nausea overcame him and he couldn’t watch anymore. He shut the program down and headed for the nearest bathroom.

He sank to his knees in front of the toilet and heaved, emptying the contents of his stomach. He was left gasping for breath, shaking and in a cold sweat.

He tried to calm himself down, tried to breathe, but he couldn’t. The memory of her screaming in agony, struggling on the ground as she bled out, his weapon coated in her blood, it was too much. He vomited bile until there was nothing left. 

Faintly, he recognized the feeling of hands on his shoulders, gripping with a soft but solid pressure. He heard his name over the blood pounding in his head, and the hands on his shoulders guided him to rest against the wall. The hands disappeared for a moment; he heard the toilet flush, then running water, and then the hands were back, pressing a glass of water into his own hands. He was trembling too much to hold the glass steady, so the glass was lifted to his lips for him.

 “C’mon. Small sips. That’s it.”

 He drank, the glass was taken away, and then the hands were holding his. They were calloused but gentle, warm and strong. Dark eyes watched him closely, concern written all over them.

“Keith,” Shiro croaked.

 “Yeah. I’m here.”

 Shiro shivered. Keith leaned against him, pressing softly into his side.

Shiro’s breaths were shaky and uneven. He tried to focus on Keith’s ribcage expanding and contracting, steady inhales and steady exhales; he tried to remember how to breathe.

 They sat there like that for a while. Keith wasn’t really one for words, but he was a sturdy presence, silently reassuring him. He wasn’t going anywhere. He kept his body pressed firmly against his and wrapped an arm around him tightly when Shiro’s shaking didn’t stop.

 “Are you cold?” Keith asked after some time had passed. He was. The perspiration slick on his skin and soaking his shirt was cool, only adding to his shivering. “Here. Have a bit more water, and then let’s get you to bed, okay?”

 He nodded and did as he was told. Keith guided him back to his room, keeping his arm wrapped tightly around his. “Just hold on a few seconds. I’ll be right back,” Keith said as he left him for a moment, walking to his closet and coming back with a t-shirt and some pants for sleeping in. Keith looked away, giving him a bit of privacy as he peeled away his sweat-drenched clothing and changed.

Shiro took a seat and sank into his bed. Keith joined him. “C’mon. Lie down. It’s late; you should get some sleep.” Keith gently pulled him down to the bed. He pulled the sheets over him and then lay down next to him, sidling up against him. His body was warm.

He was quiet for a few beats. Keith didn’t ask him about what he’d remembered, didn’t ask how he was feeling. His body language told him that he would listen if he wanted to talk but it was okay if he didn’t, and for that, Shiro was grateful. 

“Are you gonna be okay?” Keith asked softly. The earnestness in his voice conveyed that it was okay for him to say no.

“I will,” Shiro answered, voice hoarse. He would be. He let his body settle against him, feeling his steady presence. “…Thanks, Keith.”

“Always.”

The nightmares were bad, filled with blood and screaming, but each time Shiro's eyes flew open, panicked and afraid, he wasn’t alone. Just as Allura had the night before, Keith stayed with him, calming him down. He didn’t use words, but he held him tightly, rubbing soft circles into his skin until he fell asleep again.

When morning came (or the Castle equivalent of morning), Keith was nestled against him, breathing softly. Shiro didn’t want to move just yet and so he didn’t, lying still as Keith’s chest rose and fell against him, a steady rhythm.

Eventually, Keith stirred, and as his eyes fluttered open, he flushed a little, meeting Shiro’s gaze. He was a bit self-conscious about his body pressed against Shiro’s, but he stayed where he was. “Hey. How’re you feeling?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep but his eyes alert.

 “Better now,” he replied. He brought a hand to Keith’s shoulder. “Thank you."  

 “Any time,” Keith said, voice sincere and steady. “I’m always here for you.”

 Shiro smiled softly. “I know.”

 Shiro didn’t want to eat. His stomach still felt unsettled, thoughts and feelings from yesterday still twisting his gut. But his body was weak after throwing up what little food he’d eaten yesterday, so he went to the kitchen anyway and grabbed a small bowl of breakfast goo.

 He could hear the others on their way to the dining hall, chatting and clattering in the hallway, so he took his bowl instead to the deck, settling down in front of the stars as he tried to choke down some of the goo. The odd colour and slimy texture weren’t helping his appetite.

 Staring at the window, he caught his reflection in the glass. He looked unwell. He tried to focus on the expanse of stars beyond instead. It all looked the same, unfamiliar and empty.

 He heard the door open behind him. “Shiro. Mind if I join you?” Coran’s voice came.

 “Yeah. Sure,” he said, trying to be polite but coming up flat. It didn’t seem to bother Coran.

 The older man sat down beside him, quiet for a few moments. “It must be hard to watch,” he said at last.

 Shiro drew his shins in closer to his body, wrapping his arms around his knees. He didn’t feel the need to put up a front around Coran, didn’t feel the need to pretend to be the fearless leader he was expected to be. “Yeah,” he admitted, voice shaky. “It is.”

 They sat in companionable silence for a while. “I know you’ve seen and been through horrible things,” Coran said quietly. “Nobody would begrudge you if you stopped.”

Shiro shook his head. “I have to keep going. I’m learning things that could help us. …And besides. Everything in there, it’s already happened. Burying my head in the sand won’t change any of it.” 

“That’s all true. Although I’m not really sure what putting your head in sand has to do with anything." Coran touched Shiro’s shoulder, his voice turning more serious. “You’re very brave, you know.”

 Shiro looked away. “It sure doesn’t feel that way. ...I’m terrified. I can’t sleep. I can’t stop shaking,” he said, voice wavering.

“Perhaps. But bravery isn’t fearlessness. Bravery is having fears, and facing them anyway,” Coran said. “Or so my great-great-grandfather used to say.” He paused. “Or was it my great-great-great-grandfather? …Or maybe my great-great-great-uncle?”

Shiro’s lips tugged a little.

“Anyway. I’ll leave you to finish your breakfast.” Coran gave his shoulder a squeeze before rising. “Take care, Paladin, and good luck.” 

 The fights seemed endless. He faced opponent after opponent. As the fights went on, as he kept on winning, he felt as his fear began to lessen, though his self-revulsion grew.

 Eventually, he reached the memory where he saw Matt for the last time and faced off against Myzax. He remembered that event clearly now, so he skipped forward until he was thrown back into his cell and the witch appeared before him. Haggar.

 He was the Champion; he’d caught Zarkon’s attention. He was worthy of an upgrade, if he could survive the process.

 Now Haggar would have her fun.

 The experiments were worse than the interrogation. He was put through pain, so much pain, but this time, they wouldn’t stop before he was on the brink of death. He didn’t know what they would do to him, what he would become - if he didn’t die first. He had never been more scared in his life.

 They cut him up over and over and over again. All sorts of substances were injected into him and pumped through his veins, often volatile and causing violent reactions. The druids used spells and magic, testing the limits of his body. He underwent an untold number of experiments, each more invasive and more excruciating than the last.

The memories were fragmented, cutting out as he passed out from the pain, back in and then out again. It was a small mercy. When he was conscious, he screamed until his voice gave out. Tears streamed unrelentingly down his face. There were times when he begged, pleading with them to stop, knowing it wouldn't work but desperate enough to try anyway. He was completely stripped of dignity, a mess in every sense of the word, writhing in his own blood and sweat and vomit and urine. 

 Days passed before they began the final procedure: amputating and replacing his arm. He was strapped to a table, wide-awake as they peeled back his skin and muscle and cut through bone. The pain was agonizing. His flesh burned as it was fused with metal, more pain shooting through him as each nerve ending was reconnected. At some point, his heart gave out. His memories started again when he was jolted back to life with a shock like a bomb going off in his chest.

Even when Shiro reached the point in his memories where the experimentation had stopped, his heart was still pounding in real time; his chest hurt. Vaguely, he noted he was having a panic attack. His whole body shook, cold and sweating. He was choking, unable to catch his breath. The room was spinning, and he thought he might throw up. All the while, Haggar’s grin was seared into his mind. 

All Shiro wanted in that moment was for someone to come in, find him, and hold him. He wasn’t thinking clearly, but at that point, he didn’t care what they saw. He just didn’t want to be alone. 

Chapter Text

Eventually, someone did find him.

The others might have been too afraid of intruding to enter, but Allura was dauntless. This was her room, her castle, and Shiro was one of her paladins. She walked in and, finding him curled in on himself on the floor, was at his side in an instant.

 He gasped for breath and clung to her as if he could borrow her fortitude if only he held on tightly enough. He realized distantly that he was probably squeezing too hard, that his metal arm was digging into her back and shoulder blades, but she didn’t seem to mind.

 Just like before, she was calming him down with her voice. His panic was too acute to fully comprehend what she was saying, but the dulcet tone of her voice and its constant reminder of her presence soothed him nonetheless. Breathing got a little easier; his chest hurt a little less.

 She held him until, gradually, his panic attack subsided. His vice-like grip on her slowly loosened and he sank into her arms, exhausted.

 “I should have come sooner,” she said after a while, brushing his matted bangs from his face. “You were in here for far too long.”

 “I… I’m glad you came when you did,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Princess.”

 “I should have been here from the start.”

 He shook his head slightly, eyes distant. “It’s better that you weren’t.”

 "Shiro,” she said. She tilted his chin up with her fingertips, catching his gaze with her crystal blue eyes. “I understand if there are things you don’t want me or the others to see. But if you insist on taking this on all on your own, you must take care of yourself. You need to take breaks, pace yourself. I want you to stop before it gets this bad again, understand?”

 He nodded. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that,” he said quietly, breaking away. “Again.”

 She rested her hand on his arm – his Galra arm. He tried not to flinch. “It hurts me to see you suffering, Shiro, of course it does. But what’s so much worse is finding you suffering like this alone. If this happens again, I want you to call for one of us. We’re here to support you.”

 “…Okay,” he breathed.

 She stood and reached for his hand. “Come. You’re done for the day," she said, tone shifting from soothing to commanding. “You should eat something, and then I suggest you go outside. We’ve landed on Vespra. I think some fresh air would do you good.” 

Now that the panic had lessened, he realized he hadn’t moved for many, many hours and his body was sending him strong signals to eat, drink, and use the toilet. He needed to stretch – his muscles were stiff from not moving and strained from all the tension - and fresh air would be nice. He let her help him up.

 Allura walked with him down the hall, giving his hand a squeeze before parting ways. She was off to meet with the Vespran Queen. “I’ll see you soon, alright?” she said, touching his cheek. She waited until he nodded, and then she left.

Shiro slipped into the bathroom, catching his reflection in the mirror as he washed his hands and scrubbed his face. His eyes were rimmed with red and there were dark, dark circles underneath. His face was ghastly pale, highlighting the pink scar that ran across the bridge of his nose. He looked like death warmed over, but at least he was breathing.

He made his way to the kitchen. He still felt queasy and wondered faintly if his stomach would ever settle, but the pang of hunger was persistent. Besides, Allura had told him to eat, so he had to at least try for her. He braced himself for food goo, but when he got there, he found a bowl and a glass set out on the counter. There was a note beside it: “For Shiro,” then scrawled underneath in brackets, “Don’t even think about touching it, Lance.”

Hunk. He’d have to thank him later. The water was much needed, his throat parched. The contents of the bowl were still alien, filled with colours he wasn’t quite used to, but it looked much more appetizing than the standard fare. As he ate, he realized it had a pleasant taste and palatable texture, and despite the residual nausea, it was easy enough to eat. It was far easier to down than his breakfast had been this morning, and he was even able to finish the bowl. Small victories.

While he was putting away the dishes, as if on cue, Lance strode in.

 “Oh hey, Shiro,” he greeted, an easy smile on his face. The smile faltered for a brief moment as he surveyed Shiro, taking in his haggard appearance, but it was back in half a tick. “D’you have a moment?”

“Of course,” Shiro said, voice rougher than he would have liked. He tried for a smile and settled for a not-frown.

Lance smiled wide enough for both of them. He walked over to him, wrapping a lanky arm around his stiff shoulders. “Awesome. Come with me.” He steered him to the door, through the hallway, and out of the castle.

Shiro blinked a few times as he stepped out, unused to the warm, natural light that emanated from the sun. The yellow dwarf lay low on the horizon, and a brilliant mix of pinks and purples and oranges spilled across the sky. Lance flashed him a grin. “C’mon. The view’s even better from up here.”

Lance kept his arm around Shiro’s shoulders and walked with him until they reached the top of a cliff. Keith was already there and Lance pulled Shiro towards him, sitting him down so that Shiro was sandwiched between the two of them. 

Keith shifted his gaze from the setting sun towards Shiro and, without saying a word, scooted closer until he was leaning against him. Shiro stiffened as Keith made contact with his Galra arm, but Keith’s touch was warm and insistent, deliberately relaxed. Lance moved in closer too, not to be outdone by Keith, and kept a hand on his shoulder. Slowly, the tension in his body began to dissipate. 

Tangerine clouds with violet shadows streaked across the magenta sky in high contrast, reflected perfectly in a body of water that stretched out as far as they could see. Smooth mountains with soft peaks were bathed in golden light, as were expanses of dense forest on either side of the water, bright leaves shimmering in the soft breeze.

 The hues of the landscape were more vibrant than those usually found on Earth, but the fresh air smelled the same, tinged with hints of saltwater and pine. Shiro’s breath came easier here. Maybe it was the composition of the Vespran atmosphere, maybe it was the pressure system, or maybe it was the paladins on either side of him, red and blue, like the arteries and veins that carried oxygen throughout his body. 

The memories and thoughts from earlier were pushed away from the forefront of his mind and he was here, in the present. He focused on the colours of the sun, the sea, and the sky; the scent of the air and forest; the sound as the breeze swept through; and the feeling of the two warm, solid bodies on his left and right. They stayed like that until the sun went down.

Night fell, an inky violet-black gradually sweeping across the landscape. Two and a half moons hung brightly above them, pleasingly symmetrical in size. Just a handful of stars studded the sky, most of the starlight bounced away by clouds and atmosphere, and Shiro found comfort in their absence - sometimes the endless starscape of space was overwhelming.

Lance had nodded off against his left shoulder. Keith rested his head against his other shoulder, but he was awake and vigilant, as if he was taking watch.

“You can sleep,” Keith said quietly as Shiro’s eyelids began to fight to stay open. And as his eyes flickered to Lance and then Keith, before he could open his mouth to protest, Keith added, “Don’t worry. If it gets bad, I’ll wake you before you can hurt anyone.” 

Shiro cast him an appreciative glance before leaning back. His eyes were closed before he hit the ground and he drifted off.

He was shackled to the metal table, restraints not giving no matter how hard he fought. He was pleading with them. “No, don’t… please, don’t…”

 “Shiro?”

 He screamed as they cut through his arm, flesh and then bone. He was sobbing. It hurt, everything hurt.

 “Shiro!”

 He woke, choking on a scream. Abject fear, pounding heart, cold sweat, short breaths. Again and again and again, he always woke the same way.

 His eyes came into focus and found two sets of eyes fixed on him, midnight and sapphire, illuminated by stark moonlight and brimming with concern. Keith and Lance were using all of their weight to pin each of his wrists down. He must have been thrashing in his sleep. He could feel tear tracks wet on his face and he knew that they could see them.

 “Shiro,” Keith murmured as they helped him to sit up. “What did those monsters do to you?” Thankfully, he wasn’t actually expecting an answer. Shiro was still trying to find his breath, clutching his upper arm where flesh met metal.

 “Can we do anything to help?” Lance asked, voice tentative.

 “Just- just go back to sleep. I’ll be fine,” he stammered. He tried to give them a reassuring smile. “Sorry if I woke you.”

 Keith frowned slightly. “What? No, you-“

 “Please,” he interrupted, trying not to beg. “Please, just go back to sleep. I-I’ll try to sleep too,” he lied.

 Keith and Lance exchanged a glance before conceding. “Okay,” Keith said quietly. “Lie down.”

Shiro forced himself to loosen his grip on his arm and did as he was told. Keith lay down beside him and pressed into his side, and Lance soon followed suit. They would be able to feel that he was still trembling, that his breaths were still uneven, but much as he wished they hadn’t, they had already heard the tremor in his voice, had already seen him crying, had already heard him screaming in his sleep. A few more moments of weakness wouldn’t change anything, he noted with shame.

He wasn’t supposed to be this way, especially not in front of them. He was supposed to be strong, their leader, the composed and rational head of Voltron. It was bad enough that Keith had seen him the way he was last night, having to calm him down. He should be there to support them, not the other way around.

But Keith’s words echoed in Shiro’s head – he’d meant it when he said, “We’re here for you.” And Allura, she’d told him the same. They were here, and they were helping him, and maybe this was okay. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to lean on them for the support he so needed.

He focused on his breathing and counting the stars. He focused on Keith and Lance beside him, feeling their subtle movements as they breathed in and out, and even though he wouldn’t sleep, he felt safe.

 Shiro’s fear lessened after that. He had gotten through his memories of the druids’ experiments; the most frightening time of his ordeal was over. The ensuing fights, now equipped with his new weapon, weren’t easy to watch, but at least the debilitating panic he’d felt before had somewhat subsided.

 He was unsteady on his feet, thrown back into the arena too soon, and looked a far cry from any sort of Champion. He was still recovering, still weak and in pain from the procedure. The metal prosthesis had him off-balance, and he didn’t know how to use it. He hadn’t even known the arm was a weapon, not until it had gone through the opponent he’d been trying to fend off.

 He could feel things with the prosthesis, and he felt every sensation as his hand went through the flesh and internal organs of a living being. Shiro made his way to the nearest bathroom and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

 Hunk found Shiro on his knees retching, and he steadied him with sturdy arms as he heaved. Hunk knew just what to do, gently rubbing his back and sitting with him as his stomach calmed. He fetched him water and some sort-of-mint-like leaves to chew on, giving him extras to keep on hand, “just, y’know, in case.” Hunk was late for training, though, so after asking more than once if there was anything else Shiro needed and after giving him a long hug, he left, and Shiro went back to the AI room.

 Several fights in and Shiro still couldn’t control his arm - couldn’t deactivate it when he wanted to, couldn’t resist his instinct to throw his arm forward to protect himself when an opponent came at him, couldn’t fight back without killing. The fights were all kinds of gory. The gore plus the guilt plus the nauseating pain left him grateful for the leaves, throwing up twice more that morning and again in the afternoon.

Eventually, though, the nausea abated. There was still phantom pain, and he still faced injuries in the arena, but the residual pain and weakness from the experiments and amputation faded. And over time, the fights became less gruesome. As he fought more and more, he began to learn how to use his arm and was slowly able to gain control over it. There were still deaths - they were unavoidable – but they became relatively few and far between. He didn’t kill unless he had to.

And gradually, guilt gave way to numbness. Apart from the constant loneliness, he didn’t feel much of anything. It was disconcerting that he’d grown so used to suffering and death, but his memories were far easier to watch from here on out.

 He paid attention to the physiology of different species, able to draw connections over time and predict their strengths and weak points. He memorized how different weapons worked and what would be effective against them. He picked up strategies from other fighters, moves he could emulate that he’d never thought of before.

 And at some point, he heard the first whisper of Voltron, and for the first time in months he had felt a glimmer of hope.

 Pidge was waiting for him outside the AI room that evening, greeting him by wrapping her arms around his waist – not too tightly, probably having heard about how he’d spent his morning, but solidly nonetheless. She stayed with him while he ate – Hunk had kindly prepared some sort of soup that was easy on his stomach – and later asked if she could stay with him that night. She made up some kind of half-hearted excuse - something about how tonight for some strange reason she just happened to miss her family to an unusual extent, and even though she was usually fine being on her own she really didn’t want to be alone tonight, and Shiro would do that for her, wouldn’t he? It was obvious what she was doing, but he went along with it anyway and said yes.

 Keith faithfully came to check on him that night, and though he made to leave when he saw Pidge already there on Shiro duty, Pidge told him he should stay. After all, Pidge was only there because she missed her family, and she had more than one family member, so that was a logical reason he should stay. Right? Keith looked a little confused, but he was happy to have a reason not to leave. He wanted to be there for Shiro when the nightmares came, and Shiro was glad he was there too.

 Shiro slept nestled between the two, and though he woke the way he always did, he only woke once during the night, and he didn’t wake up screaming.

“Better,” Keith whispered in the morning, holding onto his arm, Pidge still fast asleep with her arms where they belonged around his waist.

 “Better,” Shiro nodded, a slight smile on his face.

 The following days passed by with relative ease. He was back in his routine – fight, win, recover – and he was able to fully focus on gleaning information from his memories, unencumbered by overwhelming panic or guilt or pain. He still felt anxious when faced with a seemingly unbeatable opponent, but his fear was manageable and, with a level head and clear mind, he always found a way to win.

 Sometimes he’d overhear snippets of conversations about Voltron and his heart would leap, not with panic but with hope.

 He still had nightmares, but Keith was there every night, and sometimes Allura or one of the other paladins would join. Shiro was hesitant to let Keith stay every night – he needed to get a good night’s sleep and he couldn’t do that when Shiro kept waking throughout the night – but Keith argued that he was getting better, and it was true. There had even been a night when he had slept through until morning.

 And after several long days, he reached the last of his memories of captivity. He escaped from the Galra and it was over. He was done.

 Shiro stepped out of the AI room feeling lighter. The memories were hard to bear, but he felt more in control, less at their mercy. More than ever, he felt like he was free.

 The Castle had landed on another planet, and Coran directed him outside to find the others. The paladins hadn’t gone far, sitting together at the edge of a plateau, overlooking a giant waterfall that sparkled as it cascaded over a steep, rocky surface. The water was clear, the sky was blue, and green flora lined the edges of dark mountains. It almost looked like Earth.

 They sensed he was there and quickly pulled him in to join them. Keith took his place on his right, familiar and close, and Pidge leaned into his left side, tucked under his arm. Hunk and Lance were in front of him, leaning against his knees. And eventually, Allura joined them, settling against his back. They were here for him, protecting him as he sat at the heart of Voltron.

 He was no longer a prisoner. He was here. He was home.

 The giant robeast had been mutated, enhanced, but he recognized it from before. He remembered those tentacles, the way they’d broken his ribs; he remembered that mouth, how it smiled as it had spit acid that left horrible burns on his chest.

But that was in the past, and Shiro was in the present. He had won that fight, and they’d win this one too. 

“Don’t get in range of its tentacles, and don’t get anywhere near its mouth,” Shiro commanded. “It has a narrow field of vision. Get behind it and aim for the back of its neck.” Various affirmative words and phrases came from over the comm unit, and the paladins followed his lead.

Their movements were precise and coordinated. Keith’s strict training regimen appeared to have paid off, and their unwavering faith in Shiro was evident. Shiro could rely on them, and they worked together, as a team.

They took the monster down within minutes.

Relief flooded him as he re-entered the Castle into the waiting arms of Allura and the other paladins. They were unharmed. They were safe. His heart was even, his hands were steady, and Shiro felt like he could finally breathe.