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.