Not a Beast, Nor A Monster (Muzzled)

Rating: T [Content Warnings for blood/gore content, minor-mild torture, AKA lots and lots of angst-ey hurt-ey crap this fandom apparently seems to thrive off. Oh. Wait. That's every fandom]

Genres: Angst/Hurt/Comfort.

Set: Post S3 AU.

One-Shot.

Prompt: Theory; the scar across Shiro's nose came from a Galra muzzle.

Shout-Out/Dedication: I would like to quickly give thanks, and dedicate this to a fellow V:LD author here on FFN, rainbowrider1290, who discussed this theory with me, and even beta-read this! Thank you! ^_^

Not A Beast, Nor A Monster (Muzzled)

Glowing, leering yellow eyes glared down spitefully at him. The warden clutched the bleeding stump of his once-finger, expression beyond furious. He didn't turn to his guards, instead spitting the words right in front of the Earthling's face.

"Put a muzzle on it."

Snarls and howls tore from his throat, which felt constricted and raw, yet clogged and wet from incidentally swallowed blood- his breathing was ragged and erratic, uncoordinated with his racing heartbeat and wild actions. His eyes phased from guard to guard, tormentor to teaser and torturer. He felt it, something cold and distinctly metallic and awful compressing his tongue, preventing him from screaming and roaring in his wrath. Thin cords on the top corners of the metallic plate shoved into his mouth were tugged backwards, held by a guard somewhere behind his head, so the wires sliced into the corners of his lips, pungent, warm crimson blood of his own further polluting his taste buds.

For two mere wiry threads, they certainly had a lot of strength, rendering his struggles useless as freezing, rougher panels closed over the lower half of his head.

Suddenly, he could feel the rude intrusion of a serrated, razor-sharp edge cutting the skin of his nose, blood welling up and smearing under close-fitted material. A blinding, sharply acute agony overtook his thoughts, fuelling him with panic. He tried blinking it away, one two and three, and it was increasing, tears in his eyes, the pain intensifying until his head was aching a fierce storm, his nose numb in a burning way… There'd be some sort of chemical spread on the bladed edge, of course…

Shiro was suddenly aware, all and overwhelmingly at once, that they weren't done.

He was still in a position that was typically degrading, demeaning- almost lowly and savage. But maybe that's what it was, maybe I've become the monster they want me to be. For all his turmoil, his muffled curses and hysterical shrieks, his thoughts ran almost smoothly, despite it all; his senses complied to blocking out the noises of the handlers, who yanked and pulled on chains wrapped around his waist, his arms and ankles and neck- the latter only released to be replaced by the harsh, grating material of the muzzle's collar a few moments later. His head was awkwardly turned on an angle, held firmly in place by those infuriating cords, screams clawing at the walls and dying in his throat.

It was useless to resist.

There was nothing he could do but watch, listening while unfamiliar straps dug and sliced into his neck and face, tightly pressing on the skin, and suffocating him with icy, sharp pains prickling throughout his body. When he heard the condemning clicks, sharp and final, he felt more like a beast, a monster, more than ever.

The Warden hissed, grinning malevolently. "You're just a weak, savage little beast, aren't you, Champion…"

The guards, task fulfilled, jeered, and smirked and carelessly released their holds on the chains, not bothering to restrain the snickers and chuckles escaping them. Shiro refused to make any sound beyond a muted snarl, nausea and pain and fury, humiliation, bearing down on him and clouding the mind…

"And beasts should be muzzled, before they go out of control."

"Don't... Touch... Him..."

Keith stared on in mutant horror. With increasing trepidation, he saw with unblinking, wide eyes, how the heaving, growling figure shakily rose to its limbs, dark, barely-red-black gore trailed in fine-to-thick threads dripping, stretching between the stomach and limbs, falling with echoing splashes on the grey-stone floor.

The Galra Commander snarled. His eyes, lit by the flames igniting the battlefield, regarded them- two fallen Paladins, both bruised and bleeding, only one barely upright. Shiro was unbelievably menacing in this madly protective ferocity, Keith thought wholly, but their enemy didn't seem to agree.

"You're finished," He sneered, extending his foot to strike Shiro in the flank- and shrieked in pained fury.

Keith stared in shocked, morbid delight.

"DON'T... Touch. Him." Shiro rumbled, even as he spat out gunky droplets of greyed blue-ish purple Galra blood, staining the spandex-like fabric he'd just torn from the enemy's- wasn't his name Tyzorg?- well, then Tyzorg's shin. He'd snapped, shot forward like a lunging viper, and bitten him, seizing his leg for a moment, shaking it roughly and then releasing it in the momentum, sending Tyzorg staggering backwards. Keith wasn't fully sure Shiro's apparently lethal teeth would be enough to hold their enemy off for much longer, though.

Where was Pidge? They kind-of needed her round about now...

Tyzorg snarled again, this time being tentative with the way he stomped his left foot. The injured left foot.

A small smirk outlined the Black Paladin's face, his muscles rigid and tense as he moved, slowly and calculatingly- his knees not quite touching the ground, arms pulled and placed far apart and neck and head turned- he looked quite animalistic here, wild- protective, Keith suddenly concluded, like a lion. But not a savage creature- a proud, mighty creature worthy of respect. NOT… A Beast.

It was also quite disorientating, what Keith was seeing, and steadily the level of this was climbing. Vision dark and fuzzy-lined, and Shiro's voice was quiet, although he looked to be snarling and shouting with every word and syllable. His shoulders were high, jutting out along with his broken, sparking jetpack.

His head was slightly lowered... Growling... Threats... "...it. He's MINE..." With vague, detached and numb fear, Keith realised- heartbeat rapidly spiking in tempo- that he was beginning to black out. NO- not now- he had to... Help... "...Won't be hard. You're the ones doomed..."

And the last thing he saw was the Galra soldier lifting his weapon, shouting something in a malicious, biting tone- and then the roar of a lion broke from Shiro's throat, and the two launched at each other- the last thing he heard, however, after his vision was down for the count and his mind drifting into blissful, yet terrifying unconsciousness, was the mixed screams of someone in the distance, seemingly a vast distance away, unreachable, and the sound of crackling, jumpy static in his ear, and then he knew no more.

It was, unsurprisingly, the Black Lion who located and ultimately rescued her captured Paladin, Shiro. And, mercifully, for perspective it didn't take that long, but only a few days could feel like a lifetime of painstaking, drawn out torture- and quiznak, even the word made Keith cringe, wanting to curl in on himself.

Torture.

"We're gonna get him back," He quietly said, aware that the Black Lion didn't want to listen. The only thing she'd done at all since Shiro's capture was what had been the source of action all day, which was also the exact location of the Base their leader was currently being held at, only four days after his capture. But a lot could happen in that admittedly short measurement of time. They had to act now.

That base wasn't far away. In less than a varga- close to an hour- maybe less- they'd be charging into the facility, and fully intended not to leave until they had Shiro back.

God. Keith didn't bother restraining the loud, broken, scraping noise that emerged from him- something fixed between a humourless snort of laughter and a grief-stricken sob. That made it sound like Shiro was only a possession; a ball dribbled between players during a soccer match, a set of cutlery handed around the dining table.

But maybe- he hated to think this way- but maybe Shiro did sometimes feel that way, himself. It was true- both sides of this war found him fairly valuable, and understandably so. He was the most skilled Paladin, a Champion in the Galran Arena, a practically undefeated fighter, also reasonably intelligent and knowledgeable, and (he shrunk even more into his own skin, suddenly very uncomfortable) also... quite attractive, to put it simply.

And the Galra had him. Keith had never felt so guilty, burdened- he'd been there. Laid there, useless, while Shiro bared his teeth, stood defensive and still standing over him, fought and suffered to try and keep him safe- but when it had come down to it, all Keith had ended up with was a broken hipbone the Cryo-pods had fixed swiftly, but regardless it had immobilised him on that battlefield, so even if he'd been awake, there was nothing he could have done, aside from watch as Shiro was captured and taken away.

Pidge and the Green Lion, as fast as they had hurried, hadn't been able to come to them in time. The Commander and Shiro had been long gone.

Gone.

It was a word he was associating with Shiro far too much lately.

Behind them stood the Black Lion, maw already extended and touching the ground. She'd given them the lift into the wreckage of the base, as she had seen fit it would be nothing but ash when she was done, but first, they had to rescue her Paladin- and something about her growls indicated they wouldn't be allowed access back in without that Paladin.

It didn't take long to reach their desired destination.

Their eyes locked; both were enraptured with vivid emotions of fear, relief, unspoken apologies- but one was brighter, burning with unshed tears, glinting like shifts of light through the underwater, and the other was dull, like glass murky and blurred by steam.

It was a pleading gaze of agony; considering the very dead and gruesome corpses adding the finishing touches to the background, that made sense.

They had found him.

And it wasn't a welcoming picture. The sight of a captive Shiro alone warranted promise of dread to the stomach; provided the result they'd gotten, and the reality was even worse than the expectation. The wild nature of his state, the blood and gore, and then the restraints, the chains, the muzzle...

Shiro looked terrifying.

None of them could deny it. They were stood in a near semi-circle, shocked, nothing but silence and thick tension in the air, only occasionally broken by unstable, crackling growls failing in their finally-found leader's throat. Keith almost wanted to hide his face, to avoid looking at this horrific image, but he couldn't tear his eyes from this injustice even if he desired so. How could one do this? Who could be so heartless?

"Shiro...?"

Hunk was always the first, most comforting, and even right now his voice, for the most part, was steady and pleasant to the ears. Good. Keith's instincts told him that keeping his gaze on one part of Shiro- the eyes- would be less startling, but he couldn't help it. His brain screamed at him again; DON'T STARTLE HIM.

"He's not a goddamn animal."

Maybe it was his emotions overriding him, when he said that. His mouth summing up all the sheer wrongness of this. The words he wanted to yell at the Galra while murdering them in simple, fulfilling revenge. And realistically, all humans were animals- aliens were, too, but humans simply had a divide between intelligent and sentient beings, and a much lesser respect towards the ones who were not.

But it was a word, basic enough, something that summarised it. No other word could explain it. Shiro didn't deserve to be treated like this, end off.

He didn't realise the number of eyes on him- all eight of his team members, including Shiro's.

Keith had his attention, and he had to use that. This would be... indescribably important. It wasn't even important, to say the truth- nothing in the universe mattered like this...

"You're... not… an animal." He slowly sunk lower, eyes taking in every detail of his friends' battered body- the ghostly, sickly pallor skin between the crimson and purple bloodstains, the lifeless, dull metallic grey of his eyes standing out between their sore state, yet still bright with emotions- the way most of the restraints were clawed and burned and torn, only broken enough to let him loose. And that muzzle was simply there, and everything about it made Keith's blood boil, especially how thin lines of glistening blood lined the top edge of it, cutting barbarically into Shiro's nose, reopening scars he'd never questioned- he hadn't even considered where that nose scar had come from, but now...

"You're not a monster," He whispered, and in Shiro's eyesight, setting down his Bayard, gently touching the Black Paladin's forehead.

Both of them shuddered- Shiro's eyes briefly surveyed the others, carefully moving in as one group just behind Keith, so he could see them all. Red Paladin to Black Paladin; Keith cringed, but otherwise ignored how Shiro whimpered, slightly growling in the depths of his rib-showing chest, as his fingers brushed over and just under the jawline, eventually grazing over the cold, unforgiving material, like metallic leather, that the muzzle was made of, extending around the back of the head and descending to a strap down the spine in the neck, connecting to a collar of the metal-leather around the base, just above the collarbone- but the clasp holding it there was at the back of the skull, and that meant out of the Black Paladin's sight line.

"I won't hurt you," He promised, voice quivering slightly. Shiro didn't- couldn't- say anything, but something changed in his eyes, more focused, less berserk, and uncontrolled. "You're gonna be fine. We're... Yours, Shiro. You're Shiro, remember?"

The slightest... But even a tiny nod, which the Black Paladin gave him, meant the world.

"You're not a monster." Keith whispered, repeating himself.

When Shiro relaxed, bristled neck muscles loosening under his hand, Keith's fingers slid between the clasp and the straps, and he unlocked it with an audible click, freeing him of the muzzle… Keith clutched it tightly, touch lingering on his friend's quivering neck, and he slowly rested the bloodied object on the ground, and kicked it away. Seeing Shiro here, now, unsmiling but enlightened, returning life to a place within the depths of Shiro's soul, lurking in the depths of his gaze, the piece of him they'd been missing for the last four days without the Black Paladin- suddenly that wait didn't seem as bad as it had been.

Slowly, steady and safe, eight pairs of arms wrapped themselves gently around Shiro, who slumped in their embrace.

"You're not a beast needing to be muzzled, Shiro."