They were all staring at him. Chanting. Yelling. Betting. All of them. And Matt shivered.
The air surrounding him pricked his skin and goosebumps covered the flesh underneath his shirt as he gripped the knife in his hand tightly. The metal cage across the arena rose slowly, groaning as the metal bars paused momentarily as the announcer went over the rules. The 23-year-old tuned them out. He'd been over them countless times, he had been here countless times, so there was no need to listen to something that could be easily broken. Besides, the outcome was always the same, it was either them or him.
A loud sound echoed around him as the cage rose some more and Matt darted to his left. Something sliced through his right shoulder and he grit his teeth, slamming his head against the rock formation that was able to disappear in a few ticks as pain enveloped his right side. He glanced down. Blood oozed out of the wound, burn marks seared into the ugly brown shirt as something fired past him, nearly missing his head.
The ground shook slightly, and the young man peered around the rock, swallowing as his eyes connected with some type of purple monstrosity. This was new. It had always been a person, well an alien of some sort… or sometimes, another human. But this? What the fuck was this?
The creature roared, the dirt-covered floor of the arena shook and the crowd filling the stadium cheered. Matt swallowed again, feeling his stomach drop as nervous anxiety clouded his mind, and he froze. This was it then? This was the plan? He couldn't be killed by his previous opponents, so now it was time to see if he could die at the hands of… whatever.
The weapon in his hand shook slightly, falling from his fingers as his mind flashed to Shiro. He paled, gulping down the sick taste in the back of his throat as he tried to think of something, anything else besides that day. Besides what he had done.
The cold metal knife slipped, bringing the young man back from his thoughts as he clutched it tightly between his fingers. Something fired past him again and the rock he was leaning against began to soften. It wouldn't be long before it disappeared completely. If he was going to make it out of this alive, it was time to move.
Matt clenched his teeth and pushed away from his hiding spot as the monster charged for him…
The 23-year-old bolted upright, sweat rolling down his face, soaking his clothes as memories washed through him. He shivered, glancing down at his hands as he noticed his fingers shaking, trembling, the feeling in them almost numbing, and he blinked several times, swearing he saw dark red staining his nails. This is you. This is your fault. You're just a kid… a scientist, but now…
Saliva filled his mouth, drowning out the faint taste of blood staining the back of his throat, and Matt swallowed. He took a slow breath, choking back the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, mashing his hands against his blue bedsheets roughly as he tried to keep them steady. He glanced around.
Cool metal walls surrounded him with a hardening unfamiliarity and it took the young man several minutes to realize he wasn't in his childhood bedroom. Panic crossed his mind, the memories momentarily forgotten as a bang sounded outside the gray metal door. Matt flinched, swinging his shaking legs over the edge of the bed, reaching for the knife hidden in the drawer of the nightstand.
He pushed his body up, swaying slightly as thoughts raced through his tired mind, flashing to the dirty crowded arena. The muscles in his body tensed and he made a move, his bare feet scrapping across the chilly metal floor as the lights flicked on automatically. Light filled the room, the knife dropped from his fingers, clattering against the ground loudly, and Matt jumped back, falling against the bed, his pulse racing as he remembered exactly where he was.
He was on Altean, in a place that Allura and Lance referred to as the Castle. He was in a room- his own room… with his sister, Shiro, and some other people he had come to known over the past few weeks. He had forgotten. Fuck, he had thought he was still there, still back with the Galra, forcing to fight to survive. You're safe. You're safe. You're-
The 23-year-old glanced down at the old knife laying on the ground and ran his fingers through his hair slowly, pressing his palms against his ears as tears threatened to fill his eyes. He could have hurt someone. He could have killed someone. The lines between the past and present were blurring, and the guilt was fucking killing him. The nightmarish memories of everything haunting his sleep… if he could sleep. And, Matt wasn't really sure how much more "normal" he could hang onto.
…Shiro pushed him, forcing his body down against the ground harshly and Matt sucked in a ragged breath as all the air left his lungs. Shock painted his features as he tried to concentrate on what was happening. Shiro smiled softly before rage masked his face, "Take care of your father."
What! The Galra pulled Shiro off him, forcing him forward and Matt was ripped from the ground. He fought against the hands holding him back, weakly, as the guards pushed Shiro towards the arena. Matt fought harder, yelling, "No!"
Before the gate closed, the 21-year-old could have sworn he saw Shiro wink…
Matt pressed his hands harder against his ears, forcing out a breath as his stomach twisted, clenching tightly. He felt his fingernails digging into the flesh behind his ears and he bit his lip, squeezing his eyes tighter together as he willed the memories to stop. Nausea bubbled in his stomach, grounding him to reality as something smacked against the door and Matt turned slightly, eyeing the blinking intercom next to the door, waiting for someone to speak, waiting for someone, anyone to come in.
He let out shaky breath, dropping his hands from his head, swallowing the blood in his mouth as he mentally ran over the contents of the periodic table, willing himself to relax. He glanced down at the blue shirt he had borrowed from Lance, smirking at the blue buttons hanging off the soft material. It had been a while since he wore something that wasn't tattered, old, ripped, or bloody. It was nice.
The 23-year-old bent down and picked up the knife on the floor, gliding his fingers over the sharp blade loosely, sighing softly. He opened the top drawer in the nightstand and threw the weapon in, covering it with one of the Engineering books he had stolen from his sister. You're safe… Everyone is safe.
Matt coughed, pressing a hand against his stomach lightly as the sick feeling from earlier returned, sitting heavily. He cracked his neck, realizing a dull pain was beginning to form behind his eyes and stood slowly. A shiver ran down his spine as he looked once more around the tiny room.
Despite living on Earth for more than 21 years, this small room felt more familiar, more at home than his own childhood bedroom. Dread crossed his mind as he wondered whether or not he would ever feel normal again, whether he would ever be able to fit in, to live with what he'd done. He couldn't tell the others this- not even Shiro. And even though he seemed almost normal around them, Matt's biggest fear was them finding out, of being too comfortable, of losing everything. Or worse, them losing him.
Matt's stomach lurched violently, and he swallowed thickly, his hands trembling as the thought crossed his mind. He coughed again, walking towards the metal door and pressing his hand against the padlock, forcing the metal slab open with his shoulder as his stomach clenched again.
The hallway was dark and barren, which wasn't surprising given that everyone had gone to bed nearly 4 hours ago, but the eerie abandonment made the 23-year-old feel even more alone. He pressed a shaky hand against the wall, letting the cold steel soothe the trembling fire pulsing through his body as he continued to walk towards the direction of the nearest bathroom. Truthfully, he was still trying to find his way around this place given that it was a Pandoras Castle of endless mazes. But, he remembered a bathroom being near his room.
Something moved in front of him and Matt froze, gulping at the bile building in his throat. His eyes narrowed, and he scanned the corridor, searching for the thing that had moved, searching for more movement… but nothing. He waited, crouching down slowly, his thought moving back to the knife safely hidden back in his room. Maybe he should have brought it.
Ever since he was taken captive by the Galra Empire, and after spending time as Zarkon's prisoner, Matt had become more aggressive, more adapt to surroundings, but this led to the bleeding of past and present. He wasn't really the witty, sarcastic goofball he used to be, and if anything, he had homed in a more militaristic attitude combining with skilled fighting techniques. Trying to remember who he used to be, trying to remember how he used to act, trying to remember to be normal, was something he struggled with… being comfortable around people he should feel at home with… was difficult. He should have never left Earth.
Something moved again, pulling the young man back to reality and he held back a cough. He stayed low, scaling along the wall towards the movement, hoping the automatic lights stayed off as he crossed into the open kitchen door. Something was off, wrong, and sweat was beginning to coat his face, dripping from the back of his neck.
He panted slightly, feeling his breathing coming slower as he scanned the empty room, heat bleeding through his cotton pajamas. The 23-year-old wiped at the sweat across his face before standing straighter. The room was cold and dark, but with where Matt was standing, he felt like he was burning. Or he was going to burn.
Movement to his right and something smacked against the ground followed by a soft curse. Matt jumped, standing his ground, listening for more movement. Something touched his arm and Matt lunged, gripping the person's arm, pulling it around their back as the perpetrator let out a small cry before kicking at his legs. He fell, releasing his grip around the culprit's arm, dropping to his knees and reaching blindly forward. His mind rushed to the arena and for a moment, a solid moment, the dark room morphed into that hellhole, the purple monstrosity a few feet away, his right shoulder searing as blood soaked through his shirt.
Light filled the room and Matt gulped, pain stabbing his eyes as he glanced up towards Hunk, standing a few feet away, rubbing at his left arm. Matt swallowed thickly, looking back down at the metal floor, feeling his arms and body trembling, his vision even more so. He felt sick. He could have seriously injured the teenager… or worse.
The 23-year-old made a move to stand but he felt glued to the floor, unable to move his shaking form as sweat fell from his pale face, splattering against the ground. He heard Hunk move slowly and glanced up, his tired eyes meeting the teenager's worried ones. Hunk knelt down cautiously, raising an eyebrow, "Hey, man. I-I didn't hurt you, did I?"
Matt bit his lip, looking down at the ground again, squeezing his eyes shut as he noticed crimson covering his hands, scrapping up his wrists and arms. He shook his head slowly, feeling his stomach jolt. Hunk sighed, "Okay, good. It's just, you scared the quiznak out of me, dude. Hey, you- you alright? You don't look that great."
Matt swallowed, willing his immobile body to move, hoping it would but his fucking hands were glued to the stupid floor, his muscles tensing, threatening to pull him down. The 23-year-old made an attempt to apologize, to say something, anything, but the second he opened his mouth, his stomach lurched, vomit forcing up his throat and spewing past his lips harshly. Hunk yelped, pulling away, swallowing loudly as his own stomach threatened to rebel.
The teenager stood as Matt retched again, and Hunk swallowed once more. Despite being the one on the team who got sick the most, he wasn't good with vomit. He never was. He made a move to try and comfort the older boy, but his stomach twisted, and Matt recoiled. The teenager gulped, "Hey, Matt. I-I'm gunna go get someone, okay? Just wait here, okay? I'll be right back."
Matt groaned inwardly as he heard Hunk leave. Part of him was grateful that the younger boy had left because it was embarrassing enough to be sick in front of someone, but the other part wished he would stay… or at least someone would stay. To not be the reason someone left. Your fault. Your fault. Your-
The young man winced, trying his best to swallow down the stomach acid climbing his throat. Trying his best to ignore the sticky wet feeling covering his hands, the smell hitting his nostrils, the drenched feeling of his clothes as sweat trailed down his neck, across his chest. Despite being 23, in this moment, he missed his mom the most. That was the one thing he could say about Earth, he missed his mom.
Foul tasting stomach acid flooded his mouth, dripping past his lips, and Matt dared to open his eyes. He coughed several times, his arms seizing harshly as he struggled to hold up his unsteady aching body. His shoulder jerked, and he slammed against the floor, wincing as his head smacked against the hard ground and he found himself staring up at the ugly gray metal ceiling. Everything in this fucking place was metal. Everything.
He coughed again, sucking in air that harshly made it past his lips, his chest burning fiercely, and Matt blinked slowly. He felt dizzy. Disoriented… dead. The room around him shifted, morphing into the stadium, cheers echoing around him, filling his ears and building alongside the pain swallowing his head.
He blinked several times, squinting down at the bloody knife laying in his left hand. It felt like a weight in his fingers, holding them down, and Matt felt the ground shaking. The lights from the arena burned against his skin, eating away at the overheating sweaty flesh painfully, and the young man groaned, trying to lift his body up as the ground shook again. Something moved in front of him, knocking down the rock formation a few feet away and Matt cried, sucking it a harsh breath as dust mixed with air and rock connected with his right leg.
Dirt covered his face, raining down on him like snow, mixing with blood and sweaty tears as it trailed in his mouth, and the 23-year-old was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. His chest burned, dirty air filling his lungs, the cloud of dust clearing slightly. A dark figure looming over him, and Matt felt something pierce his left shoulder, and he screamed.
Pain surrounded his shoulder and he glanced over, blood soaking through his shirt, spewing past the month-old clothing, dripping down the open wound. The weapon was raised again, the figure moving again, and Matt tried moving, but his fucking leg was trapped under the rock. If he wanted to move, he would have to wait for it to disappear.
The monster roared again, and the young man looked forward, seeing the stupid blob of whatever he was fighting a few feet away, standing there, flaring it's nostrils but otherwise ceasing to charge. What the hell was it doing!
The figure looming over him laughed, saying something in a language he didn't recognize, and Matt could feel the rock soften. He sucked in a ragged breath, gritting his teeth as he forced his leg from the formation, stopping momentarily to watch it disappear. This wasn't happening. There couldn't be two- that was against the rules. This wasn't-
He scrambled up, despite his body trying to force him down, and ran forward, pressing his sweaty back against the wall as the figure paused, turning back towards him. The monster charged, the stadium shaking, the audience cheering loudly, and something fired past Matt's head. He ducked, pressing his back harder against the wall, running a trembling hand through his hair and over his dirt-covered bloody face. He needed to stop. He was tired. And this couldn't be happening. There was never two. Never.
Something exploded to his left and Matt winced as metal fragments sliced past him in a cloud of dust, covering the whole stadium in a dense fog of smoke. Matt squinted, breathing fast and heavy in rough uneven waves, forcing down dirty oxygen into lungs that didn't want to work properly. He saw a sword pierce through the cloud, nearly missing him by a few inches and he jumped, lunging forward. His body collided into the figure roughly, shoving them to the ground, and the 23-year-old pressed his opponent's arm down, forcing them to drop the sword.
Matt kicked at their knees, and the figure dropped, it's hood falling further over their face. The crowd booed, and the young man glanced up as the ground trembled, feeling the perpetrator wiggling under his grasp. The air around him thinned and Matt coughed, his stomach twisting again as he stood, letting his opponent go as he looked around, trying to figure out which direction the giant monster was coming.
Something trickled down his wrist and Matt glanced down, seeing blood covering his hands, embedded under his fingernails. His knees trembled, and he stepped forward weakly, swallowing loudly. Something cracked under his foot and he jumped, glancing down, moving his foot slowly and Matt felt tears fill his eyes as he met the crushed frames of his old glasses. The ones he wore before his eye surgery. The ones his little sister always wore. The ones…
Matt stepped forward again, his knees rebelling as the dust cleared and his eyes met the crumpled form of Katie. Blood covered her body, soaking through her green shirt, her eyes open, lifeless, cold… gone. Matt fell, his knees smacking painfully against the ground as he let out a loud sob, reaching for her hand, blood flowing from her body towards his knees. More smoky dust cleared, and Matt flinched, his eyes seeing the battered, bruised, lifeless bodies of those he had come to know as friends over the past few weeks. Hunk, Lance, Keith, Allura, Coran, hell even the fucking mice. All dead. All bloodied.
His stomach twisted, and Matt turned, retching violently as his heart pounded against his chest and he let out another loud sob, clutching for his sister's hand. Blood covered his hands, smeared across his arms, chest, forming a dark puddle under his knees, and the 23-year-old cried again, his fingers ghosting over Katie's cold cheek, tracing the youth on her face. She was just a kid… this can't be happening. This is your fault. You used to be a kid, a scientist… but now…
Something kicked at his chest and Matt fell backwards, the adrenaline that had possessed his body, gone, everything gone. He glanced up at the shadowy figure looming over him again, it's dark hood covering their face. Matt blinked, heat surrounded his body, climbing up his throat in uncomfortable waves, sucking the oxygen from his lungs and making it hard to breathe.
The figure straightened, bringing a hand to it's hood slowly before letting the dark fabric fall. Matt swallowed, turning back towards his sister laying a few feet away. He should have known. He should have known who he was fighting. It only made sense.
Matt felt his body tense, trying to find the energy to move, to stand, to get away but he laid there. There wasn't a point… there wasn't anything left in this world to live for. The figure kicked him slightly, and the 23-year-old knew he was waiting for him to get up… but he wasn't going to. He didn't want to.
Matt's eyes trailed up the dark robe slowly as dust moved past his face until his eyes connected with Shiro. He really should have known. The younger man coughed roughly, letting tears fill his eyes again, trailing down his dirty face, trailing past the blood painting his pale cheeks. He really didn't have it in him to fight. Not anymore. And not Shiro.
"This is your fault," Shiro said, pointing the sword towards his friends, "This is all your fault. My arm, the Castle, them… and now I'm going to do what I should have done that first time in the arena."
The younger man wheezed, sucking in a slow breath before turning back towards his sister. He moved his hand slightly, reaching bloody fingers towards her lifeless ones laying a few feet away. This is your fault. Your fault.
Pain pierced his chest and Matt screamed loudly before biting his bottom lip, letting blood ooze past the pierced flesh. Tears streamed down his face as he tried to hang onto anything he could, anything at all, to keep himself conscious. He didn't want to die… but if he had done this, if he had done something to hurt them, to hurt his little sister, to hurt Katie… then maybe he deserved it.
Something grasped his hand tightly, and Matt flinched, his vision wavering slightly as pain seared through his chest. The dusty arena disappeared, distorting into those stupid metal walls, and Matt felt someone pressing him against something strong, warm, safe. He blinked several times, tears running down his face, and he clutched at the black fabric next to him, biting back another scream as guilt raced through his mind, crushing him down.
The 23-year-old took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of stale sweat and mint, and his eyes connected with Shiro's worried face staring down at him. Matt clutched again at the black fabric, fisting it tightly in his hand as he tried to stop himself from flinching, from crying out again. A seriousness masked Shiro's features, mixing with alarm that, if honestly, would have concerned the younger man if he had been even slightly coherent. Matt glanced to his right, eyeing his sister still lying a few feet away, blood coating the metal floor, her vision still fixed on him.
Matt's grip loosened on Shiro's shirt as his fingers trembled, sliding down the older man's chest as a dizzying blackness began to settle over his aching body. He turned inward, pressing his forehead against Shiro's chest before his tired eyes met Shiro's. He squinted slightly, trying to make out the words settling on the other man's lips, but his mind was a foggy mush and communication was slow. Besides, this would be over soon.
"Don't worry, Matt. You're gunna be just fine," Shiro whispered, trailing his hand through the younger man's hair comfortingly as he pulled the boy closer towards him. A goofy sad smirk crossed Matt's face as his body grew numb and an empty darkness began to swallow him. He panted softly, "It's okay, Shiro. I'm not worth saving."
Matt's fingers fell from Shiro's shirt as his body went limp. The 23-year-old's muggy mind coming to a slow halt as his chest stopped burning and breathing no longer became a chore. He had hurt them. He wasn't the same person he used to be, and because of that, he had hurt them. He really never should have left Earth. Or, maybe Voltron should have just forgot about him and let him die. Because maybe then, just maybe, they would still be alive. Maybe his dad would still be alive. Your fault. This is all- You used to be a kid, a scientist… but now… now you're a fucking monster. The Galra changed you. This is all your fault.
….
He had been dreaming about home. Well, maybe not home exactly with the four walls, picket fence and a dog… but grass, water, his days at the Garrison, the smell of his mom's cooking, his little sister's socked feet smacking against the ground, the touch of soft fabric, his first kiss, his first fight, his first rejection, graduation… Earth. He had been dreaming about Earth. About life. But now…
The 23-year-old opened his eyes slowly, shivering slightly as cold air met his naked chest and he coughed. He blinked several times, momentarily forgetting he no longer needed his glasses, and stared up at the ugly gray metal ceiling. A frown settled across his lips.
"…And, Matt, I just- I don't know what to do anymore. I feel like I'm leading these kids to their deaths. I mean, I know their tough, but if they get hurt, if they die- that's, that's on me, and I don't know how to live with that. I don't think I can. I mean, I can't even protect you. And you know that. I found the knife…"
Something moved to his left and Matt turned slightly as the light flicked on, and Shiro leaned forward, scooting his chair closer as the younger man winced. He forced his body up, groaning as a dull ache resonated through his chest, across his shoulders, up his neck, and he glanced down at his chest, noticing the nice blue fabric that he'd been wearing, no longer covered him. He felt his face heat up.
You could see them. You could see every last one of them, etched into his flesh in a horrifically reminding pattern as if he was born with them. Born with the scars. Painting his body, some in small cuts, others in longer, broader strokes, and one, one in particular- the 5-inch line indented over his chest from his last fight in the arena. Matt flinched as he ran his fingers over it, pressing his hand against the old wound as he glanced back towards Shiro, a mere foot from him now.
The older man's eyes traced over the old injuries slowly. He bit his bottom lip, mulling over the millions of questions racing through his mind, knowing the answers to the important ones… but still wanting to ask. He ran a hand through his hair as he leaned forward again, feeling his back muscles tense. He hadn't meant for him to get hurt. When he sacrificed himself, he hadn't meant for Matt to get hurt. And yet…
"You talk a lot, you know that?" Matt said, reaching over and pulling the blue comforter across him as he shivered. He glanced down at the floor, letting his toes trace over the lines, pressing his feet painfully against the cold ground as he waited for Shiro to speak. He knew he'd say something, he'd ask, he'd want to know why Matt never told him he was sick… and if what he just mentioned was true, then he'd want to know about the knife. Matt wasn't really sure if he wanted to talk about that.
Shiro sighed loudly, leaning back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest after running a hand over his tired face. He was exhausted to say the least… they all were. And he should have known something was off with the kid the other night when he began distancing himself from them after person-to-person combat. Matt had spiked a fever of a 105 seemingly overnight, and apparently hidden an illness from the whole team. Shiro had woken when he heard screaming, followed by Hunk bursting through his door at 4am. By the time they had reached the 23-year-old, Matt was so far gone, screaming, crying, yelling for his little sister, sick out of his mind. But that wasn't what had concerned the older man the most…
When Shiro had fought in Matt's place, he had done it to protect him… because out of all of them, if anyone was going to make it out alive, it was going to be the kid. He knew Matt was strong, he always was… but Pidge was right, her brother had changed. He wasn't dorky like he used to be, he was more on edge despite everything, and he had definitely developed an impressive fighting skillset. But the scars… Shiro had scars, ones not even the team had seen, but Matt's- Matt's were different. They looked wrong on his skinny frame, alien, and it made Shiro feel sick looking at them, because in some sense, he knew he'd caused them.
He hadn't thought about the consequences of him escaping the Galra, of crashing down on Earth. He hadn't made it a priority to get the kid out of the Empire when they formed Voltron because he assumed they wouldn't force Matt into the arena again, not sense he'd hurt the kid's leg… but he should have known. Everything made sense now; Matt's fighting skills, his aggression towards the enemy among other things, his self-sacrificing attitude- all hidden underneath his flirtatious, proud of his little sister, nerdy demeanor. But it was all a lie. The kid was still just as hurt and scared as the rest of them, convinced that he wasn't worth saving because he had changed, all of this caused by the Galra.
Shiro couldn't save him. He couldn't save anyone no matter how hard he tried, his past experiences should have been evidence of that. And yet, they all relied on him, they all looked up to him, and in the end, he was probably going to let them down.
The older man bit his bottom lip, running his prosthetic through his hair slowly. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know where to start. There was so much, so much he wanted to say, to get off his chest, to tell him, but he didn't want to work the kid up. His fever had only just broken a few hours ago despite being unconscious for a good two days. Matt was still sick. His body was still weak.
"It's not your fault," Matt whispered, glancing down at the floor again. The room had been quiet for several long minutes and the 23-year-old felt like he should say something. He felt like he should apologize, to speak, and the only thing that came to mind was the fact that Shiro was staring at him. He had known the older man for as long as he could remember, so trying to figure out what he was thinking had come as second nature to him and still remained that way despite being apart for about a year. Shiro sighed again, leaning forward, "Matt-"
"Shut up," The younger man said, glancing back towards Shiro, tears threatening to fill his eyes, "I'm not done… I know you know I've changed, grown or whatever. Everyone knows it, especially Katie, but it wasn't you. You didn't do this… Shiro, I was weak. When we were captured, I was just a kid, scared out of my mind, and I should have- I should've-"
Matt cut off, glancing towards the door, swallowing thickly as tear fell past his lashes, and he wiped at them harshly. He took several deep breathes, trying his best to calm down. He didn't want to talk about this, any of it, but he needed to tell Shiro, he needed to apologize because what happened to him was his fault. It would always be his fault and it really should have been Matt who had taken the hit, who had lost the arm, who had taken the damage. Your fault. Your-
The 23-year-old glanced back towards Shiro, shivering slightly as confusion crossed the older man's face, "Shiro, I should have gotten in that arena. It should have been me, not you. And for that, I am so sorry. I can't change that. But what happened to me, what I went through, that wasn't you. Truth is, I did something stupid, and it cost me the arena. It cost me my separation from my dad. And now, I have no idea if he's alive, or, or, dead. This is my fault."
Shiro bit his bottom lip, letting out a heavy breath, shaking his head slowly. The kid couldn't seriously think that this, that everything was his fault. The guilt would eat a person alive, but yet, Shiro understood what he meant, he knew what if felt like to have the weight of the world on his shoulders. Because that's how he felt most of the time.
The older man glanced up. Matt was right, he had changed. He wasn't the same kid who had gone on their first mission, he wasn't the same kid who had a panic attack about being forced into an arena, and he definitely wasn't the same kid from the Garrison. And part of that, broke Shiro's heart. Because he missed that kid. He missed the innocence… the innocence the whole team once had. Shiro swallowed, "Matt, I sacrificed myself because I knew you had a better shot at living than I did. You and your dad, you were and are smart enough to survive this. And with your sister- you will rule the whole quiznaking galaxy, if given the chance. You told me that what happened to you wasn't my fault, well now, it's my turn, Matthew."
Matt glanced up, flinching slightly as his full name left Shiro's lips. No one had called him by Matthew for at least a few years, not since he had graduated. The older man continued, "What happened to me, including the first time in the arena, wasn't you. It wasn't your fault, and it will never be. I made that decision. It was mine, and mine alone. And you know what? If I had to do it all over again, even if you were the person that you are now, I would do the same thing. I would do the same thing for anyone on this team, in this family."
The 23-year-old met his eyeline, gulping slightly at the mention of the word 'family.' Is that what they were? Pidge, Lance and even hunk had used this word to describe them too… but with Matt here, is that really what they were? Matt shook his head, "I don't know if I belong here, Shiro. I've done things... Hurt people, killed people. I've watched them die, just as scared as I was that first time… and I, Shiro, I can't get that out of my mine. Every time I close my eyes, every time I'm alone, I see them. Hear them. I panic, and I don't know how to live with that. I mean, how does someone who's done so much damage, who's ended others lives, who's hurt people he's cared about, and put those he's loved in danger- how do you live with that?"
"Any way you can," Shiro whispered, watching the emotion painted over Matt's face. He looked so young, so lost, and hurt, like the last time he saw him. Despite everything, Shiro still had to remind himself that Matt was still just a kid… they were all just kids. He cleared his throat, "You live with it any way you can. I would know. I flashback to the arena every night, choke during high intense situations, and put those I love in danger every day, and it kills me, every day. Like I said, Matt, if any of you died… I don't think I could live with that. I wouldn't know how. But, right now, we have to live with it any way we can, one day at a time, for the team. For family. What happened in the arena, you did what you had to do in order to survive. It's okay."
Matt nodded slowly, wiping at the tears falling from his chin. He was having a hard time trying to forget the past, trying to forget the arena, dad, Zarkon, Earth, almost dying and killing innocents, everything. It felt like too much, and he couldn't tell the others that. He couldn't confide in them, not even his sister because he feared they wouldn't understand… or maybe he was scared they would.
"You are still the same person where it counts. You are still you. The Galra can't take that from you. Zarkon can't take that from you. They will never be able to take that from you. You are worth so much more than you think- you are worth saving. Everyone is worth saving. No matter what. You are not lost, or broken, or gone. You are here, alive, and stronger. And I am so proud of you. So proud of how far all of you have come. And how far you are willing to go. But understand me when I say, Matthew Holt, you are worth saving."
Matt nodded again, pulling the blanket closer. He glanced down at the floor again, feeling his chest tighten slightly as he sucked in a slow breath, feeling water splatter against his shaking hands. He wasn't a little kid anymore, so he didn't need to hear that someone was proud of him, but it still took his breath away. Everything Shiro had just said, felt like a punch, a blow to his emotions, and he found himself crying, something he hadn't done if a few years.
"But if you every hide an illness, or wound, or whatever from me or the team again," Shiro continued lightly, "I will have Keith kick your ass."
Matt laughed softly, wiping his nose with the edge of the blanket as he glanced up towards Shiro, smiling slightly. The older man looked somewhat amused, his eyes monitoring Matt's movements, expressions, actions, waiting for something, anything to appear off, wrong. But nothing. If anything, the kid looked more like himself than he had since they rescued him. It was nice to see… but it still hurt. It hurt to know that he had endured so much, had forgotten himself somewhere along the lines, and that now, right now, was the first time Shiro had seen him like this since before they left Earth. And it wouldn't last. It never did.
"Thanks, man," The 23-year-old cleared his throat, pressing his back against the cold wall behind him, drawing that blanket all the way over his chest, hoping the scars weren't visible. He mentally wondered just who had seen him like this because his sister didn't know about the scars. She hadn't seen them, seen him, and Matt didn't want her to. He didn't want to burden her with his past, with everything. She was still far too young. She was still a kid. And he wanted her to stay that way, if even just for a little bit longer.
Matt swallowed. Shiro looked tired, exhausted, mentally and physically drained. And it couldn't be easy being the leader, couldn't be easy to go through what he went through, what he was going through. The younger man licked his lips, "Hey, Shiro? I-I'm sorry about what happened with Adam."
Shiro tensed momentarily before nodding and leaning forward, "Uh. Thanks. It's okay."
He stood slowly, glancing over Matt again before pushing the chair to the corner of the room, before walking towards the door. He stood there for several minutes, his mind flashing to Adam, the first time they met, their first date, their first kiss, everything; a sad smile crossed his face. Since he died, Matt was the first person to mention him, the first person to apologize. It wasn't his fault, but it still felt nice to hear his name. Shiro hadn't thought about him in a few weeks, hadn't said his name since they broke up, and he'd forgotten that there was another person on this ship who knew he was gay. It was kind of nice. It wasn't a secret, it just never came up, and Shiro was always so focused on trying to keep everyone alive, that he had never had a conversation with his team that didn't involve battle strategies or Zarkon.
Shiro pressed his hand in his pocket, grasping the knife he had found in Matt's nightstand when the boy had tried to convince him, in his fevered state, that Shiro needed to protect himself against the enemy. Shiro sighed before turning back towards the 23-year-old, extending his hand with the old weapon, "Here. I found this in the nightstand. Needless to say, you were pretty sick, and convinced that we were still being held prisoner."
Matt glanced at the weapon, grabbing it cautiously before meeting Shiro's eyes, red flushing across his face, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," Shiro shook his head, "I understand. I just thought you might want it back. Maybe put it somewhere else besides the nightstand. Keith keeps his under his pillow. But, Matt… trust us sometime. I'm not going to let the Galra take you again; I'm not going to let them take any of you. Ever."
Matt nodded slowly, "The same for you."
Shiro smiled, snorting softly before shoving his hand back in his pocket and turning back towards the door. Matt cleared his throat, "Oh, and Shiro?"
The older man paused at the door, opening it with his shoulder, shivering slightly as the cold air rushed in. He smiled again, hearing Pidge and Lance talking a few feet away, no doubt waiting for Shiro to tell them they could go in. He turned towards Matt, "Yeah?"
"I do trust you. All of you. More than you know… that's what scares me," Matt said, his eyes leveling with Shiro's for a moment before he glanced back at the knife. Shiro was quiet for a second before saying, "Good. Because we trust you too, even if you don't trust yourself. Hang onto that, let it ground you, hold you down when you feel like you're slipping. When you feel like doing something stupid. Because we'll be here, waiting for you to come back to us. Always…"
Matt let out a soft breath he hadn't known he was holding. He ran a hand over the back of his neck, feeling exhaustion washing over his body, and lifted the corner of the mattress up slightly, putting the knife under it. He paused and turned back to Shiro, who pretended to look away when the younger man glanced over. Matt rolled his eyes and readjusted himself, so he was leaning against the wall once more, his lanky legs sprawled in front of him, pulling the blanket all the way over his chest. Shiro glanced back over, laughing softly as Pidge peered into the small room, "I'll let your sister in before she tackles me through the door."