i had so many feelings over s6. some of them good, some of them bad. largely based off of canon, kind of angst with a happy ending. i wrote this in 2-3 hours with nobody to read it over for me so :/ lets see how this goes. also there are no pairings
thank you for reading, review me up.
Allura's hands are warm, even through her suit, and she is gentle as she places them on his temples and forehead. Like she's scared that holding him too tightly will shatter him.
He's not afraid.
It had been something he'd been suspecting for a long time, laying awake when everybody else was long asleep, fighting shallow breaths and icy claws that wrapped themselves around his face and neck, hyperaware of the incessant click-clicking of his metal arm.
That didn't make it easier when the first attack came, sending him to his knees as, somewhere in his skull, a star exploded.
A common misconception about pain is that pain is sharp, bringing the world to clarity as it burns through every nerve. In reality – or at least, his reality – it is something that consumes every sense, distorting sound and light and even thoughts until they feel like they're trapped behind a carnival mirror.
Someone is sitting down next to him. Someone is placing their hand on his shoulder, gently, carefully, like they're scared that he'll break under their touch. But he can't feel any of that.
"Give in."
No. Because he knows what will happen if he does. Glimpses of harsh lights and reckless red arcs cutting through sand. A raw-throated war chant crying out for blood in the monstrous roar of a hundred thousand voices.
"You cannot resist."
It's more forceful this time, and he can feel himself slipping away like the cool metal pressed into his flesh hand has fallen away to reveal the gaping maw of a black hole. But he can hold on for a little while longer, at least until his friends, his family, have enough time to get away.
"You are mine now," the voice of the witch growls, clear as an azure sky, resonating through every fiber of his body.
She's not wrong. He hasn't been free of her since the day she and her druids pushed him down onto an icy cool table and peeled away his right arm, replacing muscle and bone with something that burns white-hot at his mind.
It feels like watching a tsunami rise above your head, blotting out the sun.
"Give in."
He doesn't have a choice.
Slowly, the feeling of Allura's hands resting on his head slips away, and with it, other sensations disappear as well. Something is different. Not wrong, because he still feels at peace. And he's not so tired anymore.
He lays there for what seems like a moment and an eternity folded into one.
He catches his reflection in the elevator as it goes down, flashing rhythmically with every floor indicator he passes. The metal is smooth and doesn't distort his image in the slightest, so he can see every line his paladin uniform makes in the half dark. The windows come at where his head should be, so he can't see that, but he can see the sickly purple glow spilling from his face every time the elevator goes dark.
It's a reminder, he thinks.
Then the elevator lurches to a stop and he doesn't think anymore, because he came here to the place he was made with a plan, a purpose.
He came here to die.
The space around him is flat. Just one pure, unbroken horizon going as far as the eye can see. Above him is what looks almost like a starry sky, but painted a deep, ethereal violet. He's only heard of this place before, but he knows what it is immediately, and the knowledge sits at his throat like he's being choked.
There's a soft glow behind him, brilliant in the way it defines his shadow and then fades away. He doesn't want to turn around.
The Red Paladin – he refuses to think of the name – follows him soon after that. He's holding the luxite knife in one hand, no doubt so tightly his knuckles have gone bone-white under the armor. And every line of him is tense.
He's determined too, because even when he stares at the barrel of what is obviously a massive weapon, he doesn't falter for a fraction of a second. He just moves on.
The Red Paladin has learned the art of silence during his time with the Galra traitors, because even with the armor, each hurried step he takes is almost muffled in the eerie silence of the lab. But the shock-red of his helmet and the blue light shining from his suit is a beacon in the muted gray and purple tones of Galran architecture.
Eventually he makes it to the heart of the lab, suspended thousands of feet above the silvery glow of this strange planet's core. He slows his half-run and stops in front of one of the pods.
He reaches out to touch it, and it lights up, revealing the creature inside.
They are mirror images of each other. They have the same brown eyes, the same black hair, the same scar. There are only slight changes, really. The one standing across from him has an undercut, and eyes that make him look older than he really is.
With a sinking feeling, he realizes that it is him who is unnatural. The distorted reflection trapped in a carnival mirror, so to speak. A shadow of the original, containing all the right DNA but not the quintessential parts of what had made Takashi Shirogane the human being that he was.
And he had the audacity to wear his face and put his friends in danger.
Before the crystalline-pain reality of what he had done can get the chance to sink in, the original speaks. And he is so, so careful. Gentler than he has any right to be. "Thank you," he says. "For taking care of them."
There are so many things he could say to that.
"I knew what you were from the beginning, and I was furious."
For a flash of time, he can feel it in himself too. Desperate anger, boiling through every vein in his body. But behind it is something that he can only describe as resolve. It's the same impersonal, iron presence as when he first stepped into the Black Lion.
The original smiles tiredly, and it's something that softens his entire face. "I was going to lock you out forever," he admits, "but when the team was in danger, I felt that with you."
They fall quiet, remembering the way panic had clawed its way up their throats like a tsunami, acrid and burning worse than any druid magic. He had been close to tears at that point, sitting in the cockpit, begging the lion to accept him again. To trust him again. "You let me in," he realizes quietly.
"You're not me," the original says. "I knew it was only a matter of time before Haggar took back the reins and you turned on the team. But in that moment, I knew you cared about them just as much as I did."
"Thank you."
"Shiro," the Red Paladin chokes out. "It's gonna be OK."
This time, now that he knows it's coming, it's easier to shrug off. Adrenaline rushes through his entire body. His hands are still. The witch's voice still sings through his entire being. Exploit the weakness.
"Yes," he says, "I know."
"We just have to get back to the Castle."
The paladin says that, but his eyes are wide and he's tenser than ever. They both know how this is going to end.
They're not going anywhere.
It's easy to lose himself in the fighting. He'd found this early on, in the arenas. Except those memories aren't his – but they're there, blisteringly real. Something about the exchange between opponents, although he has the advantage in every aspect. He's stronger, he's faster, he has more experience than the Red Paladin, and he's not conflicted about this fight. It's suicide to challenge a robeast alone, without a lion.
He knows how this will end. It would be nice if the paladin could see it too.
The thrill leaves soon after the mutation comes, when he's wading through searing pain and struggling to see the end. The change makes his arm ten times heavier than it already was, and the crackling plasma coming off it burns like hellfire.
It's almost over.
He follows the Red Paladin down onto the final platform, swaying with it as the suspension cords creak under their sudden impact. He's laying on the floor, only inches away from his knife. Too tired, too hurt to continue.
He forces his metal arm to relax before summoning the sword, rearing up to bring it down on the paladin's exposed head.
Before he can, the paladin scrambles for his knife like a madman and somehow manages to raise it up on time. He grits his teeth and pushes back, but it's not easy to do that when running on fumes and pushed back onto the ground by someone who already weighs so much more. "Shiro, please," he says, and his voice wavers.
Exploit the weakness.
"You're my brother."
Exploit the weakness.
"I love you."
It becomes too much, too fast, and he's tempted to stumble away. Instead, he just presses in harder, because he knows what he came here for. "You don't have to fight anymore. By now, the team's already gone." The thought, too, almost makes him falter. They were depending on him. They trusted him. "I saw to it myself."
They had trusted him, and he betrayed them. Underneath him, a flash of light makes him flinch back. A simple, stupid mistake.
That's his last coherent thought before half his arm is cut off and reality can come back, bringing him from floating in the ice cold of space to gravity, suspended thousands of feet up in pale light.
He looks up, dazed. Allows himself a lapse in judgement, a moment of weakness. Because that presence is no longer pressing behind his eyes, which he knows are now the color they've always been. The only light comes softly from below. She's not watching anymore.
And then they fall.
"We don't have much time," he says. Because he can feel his hold on even this reality slipping. It doesn't hurt. He's not afraid.
The original might be, because his eyes are wide.
"Will you tell them I'm sorry?" he asks, and immediately wishes he hadn't because there is no way an apology could make up for what he'd done. The things that he'd did. The things that he'd said.
But he just nods.
And all of a sudden, a flood of words comes pushing forward, threatening to spill out from behind his teeth. There's so much more to say and no time to say them.
Don't forget me. Don't hate me. Don't leave me behind.
A light blossoms over the endless horizon, erasing every distant star and painting the deep purple galaxy hanging over their heads a brilliant gold. They turn and face it together.
Allura's hands are careful. They're gentle. They're made to hold peace. And even when she pulls away, they leave their warmth.
He's tired, and radiating from the place where his prosthetic connects to his collarbone is a dull pain that throbs rhythmically, in perfect synchronization as his heartbeat. It's not the clarity of a supernova, and it's not the all-consuming murkiness of a black hole either. It just feels human.
Opening his eyes is harder than he'd thought it would be, and it takes a moment for him to adjust to gentle sunlight illuminating a barren landscape and achingly familiar silhouettes. He pushes himself off the ground with as much force he can muster as a cough claws its way from his chest until it spills out of him.
That took the last of his energy, because he tips over until he's being supported by someone else's weight – Keith, wearing his paladin armor. A tiny stab of guilt, foreign and familiar all at once rears its head and he could almost smile.
The lions come to life, roaring as one into the face of the alien sun.
"You found me," he says, and it's warmer than the rays that caress his face. Warmer than the traces of Allura's touch on his face, and Keith's body heat pressing up against his own.
"We're glad you're back, Shiro."
"Rest."
He's home.
yee so once again thx for reading, lemme know what u think xx