Work Text:
Part of Shiro was concerned and appalled that his little brother had been living in a desert hovel for the better part of -- god, a year? Had it really been a whole year? But a larger, louder part of him was stuck in a loop of: safe? Am I safe? Earth gravity home wind not THERE anymore safe? Am I safe?
He was...a little overwhelmed. Keyed up and hyper-aware of everything but also so bone-achingly exhausted he wasn’t sure how he was upright. His brain wasn’t quite working at full capacity and everything was just, experiences. Nouns. Earth humans brother home safe?
He had not questioned it when Keith shoved the bundle of clothing at him and pointed towards the back of the barely-two-room shack, stuck on the amazing concept of hot running water. He couldn’t remember the last time he had a real honest-to-god shower, between eight months on a space shuttle and the past … however long in alien captivity. He couldn’t remember much at all of the past year, just some fuzzy flashes of memory that didn’t make any sense and an ever-present anxiety that had settled under his skin and itched constantly. Judging by the state of his body, he’d been through absolute hell. Looking at himself in Keith’s dirty mirror gave him a sick, cold dread. And then there was the arm … he didn’t want to think about it.
He spent a couple of seconds worrying about electrocuting himself with the thing before saying fuck it and stepping into the spray (he was fine -- waterproof, fully articulated, mysterious metal arm what happened to me??). And it didn’t matter that the pipes rattled and it was barely lukewarm, it was heaven. He had to shut his eyes and clap his hands over his mouth to keep from making any noise at all. He must not make noise. He had to be quiet. The walls were thin and there were four teenagers in the house... And something, some instinct was telling him that making noise was bad. Very bad. It lived with the itchiness and the memory flashes and the don’t think about it not THERE anymore don’t think about it.
Being clean felt strange. The clothing felt stranger. It was very unsettling.
Keith passed out granola bars and apologized for not having anything better, as if Shiro could actually care about that right now. The other kids grumbled a little, and he was barely coherent enough now to wonder what a bunch of cadets were doing out here. Shiro was grateful for their help in getting him free of whatever horrors those Garrison scientists had planned for him (dark sick pain not my arm DON’T think about it), but he was confused. He should probably ask about how they were here. Why they were here. He should probably be at least trying to be responsible and figure out where these random teenagers came from, but he was currently distracted because he could not at all remember the last time he ate anything. It was another slightly-terrifying blank in his mind. There had surely been freeze-dried whatever on Kerberos but had the aliens fed him? Was he starving? He didn’t look starving, and he didn’t think he felt hungry. But what if his body didn’t even know how to feel hunger anymore?
It turned out he could only manage a few bites of granola before he felt his stomach start to protest. That was probably bad, but he would deal with it later. There were little chunks of chocolate in the bars, and that was so amazing he couldn’t think past it. He picked a couple bits out of the bar and set them on his tongue and just closed his eyes and let it melt, reveling in the sweetness. He had never tasted something so heavenly in his life. He almost felt a little sick from it, but it was so worth it... until he caught Keith staring at him oddly. Then he stopped, wrapped the bar up and pocketed the remains. For later, maybe. He didn’t want to worry the kid.
Later, he went outside to watch the sunset and marvel at the clouds. It had been so long since he’d seen clouds, seen the sky, stood on a planet with atmosphere and looked up. As the sun dipped low it splashed the clouds with so many colors, red and orange and pink and it was so beautiful. There was a breeze. He closed his eyes and felt the wind on his face -- real wind, not recycled starship air. It moved and swirled and carried scents from the sand and warm air and desert flowers. He could breathe deeply and freely and there was no hint here of the ever-present coppery stench of --
No. Don’t think about it. Don’t go there. You’re not there anymore.
He was grateful that Keith thought to make noise as he approached. Shiro wasn’t really sure about his reflexes right now, and he didn’t want to scare his brother any more than he already had. Or hurt him… he couldn’t even stand the thought of hurting Keith. He couldn’t -- don’t think about it.
Keith put a hand on his shoulder (that felt strange, touch felt strange) and said, “It’s good to have you back.” He looked worried, and a little sad, and Shiro had no idea what he’d been through or how he’d ended up living in the desert all alone, or if he was okay or--
Tomorrow. He’d ask tomorrow. He brought up a smile that felt strange and foreign on his face. “It’s good to be back.”