This story was an experimentation in messing with time as a element of a story. The first half of each chapter is set in the past. The second half of each chapter is set in the present. This story was written before Season 3. This is also a rewrite. I've wanted to complete this story for a long time, but the original chapters were written before I figured out what the hell I was doing, so I'm going back and fixing things.
Enjoy!
It's not Keith. He needs to remember. The thing with the sick smiles and lust for pain can't be Keith. For his own sanity, he has to believe that. Keith would never do something like this to him.
Sharp pain tears his thoughts. Muscles seizing, as electricity arcs through his side. Ripping a cry from his throat, before it's gone. Shiro collapses against the tight ropes binding his chest. Panting, as the aftershocks continue to dance through him.
A rough hand in his hair yanks his head up, beautiful purple irises greeting him. He could see galaxies in them if he only tried hard enough. No, no, these eyes don't belong to this man. This isn't Keith. A cruel smirk stretches across the imposter's lips. More proof it's not him, he'd never look at Shiro this way, "You were drifting," Not-Keith says, running the cold tip of the electric prod across his cheek. What, what would that even do to him? A shock so close to his brain. Would he bite off his own tongue, or just wish he did? "Tell me, what were you thinking?" The voice is lilting, mocking, nothing like Keith's.
The tip of the prod caresses his jaw before slipping under his chin. Hard point jabbing against the soft flesh, forcing his head further back. He can't hide the fear the touch invokes. Can't hide the way his breath hitches. How he has to swallow before he can speak. He's highlighting his weaknesses, telling his torturer exactly where to push, "Who are you?" Shiro's voice is rough, but at least it's still steady. Not one of surrender just yet.
The thing blinks at him, then chokes on a giggle before full on laughing. The prod falls away and there are hands cupping his face. Keith is smiling at him, that happy twitching lips as he tries to stifle the last of his chuckles smile. He always gets it when Shiro tells a bad pun and he's pretending he's not hopelessly charmed by Shiro's dorkiness. Shiro's sick to his stomach to see that look on the doppleganger's face, "You already know who I am." Not-Keith says meaningfully, but Shiro doesn't. He knows who he isn't, but who would want to do this is a mystery.
His torturer frowns, resting his forehead against Shiro's. Another's softness overtaking his expression, "You know me, Takashi," He whispers, barely a breath, a secret just between the two of them…it's the same…Same as the sleepy murmurs from a partner not quiet ready to leave the warmth of their bed. Same as the soft teasing, tempting him to risk everything in deserted corridors. Same as the quiet declarations of love, said over and over until they were etched into the very fabric of his being. Someone has waltzed into his deepest most private memories and torn them out to be used in a twisted display for their own sick devices.
Shiro's lungs want to stop breathing, his head wants to scream, but he forces himself to stop at a clenched fists. That name in the fake's mouth hurts him more than he can ever let them know. If they understand what they are doing to him, they'll destroy his memory. Hurt him again and again, until Keith's softness and pain are so intertwined he'll never separate them. After all he's lost, he can't lose this last little bit of comfort and safety too.
His torturer leans back. Smirking, knowing, Shiro's already shown too much, "What do you want?" Shiro says too quickly. Half honest plea, half desperate attempt to gain some control of the situation. Redirect things away from his too obvious weakness.
Not-Keith looks down on him. Imitations of warmth draining away as he calculates, letting Shiro stew in his helplessness while he plans his next move. His torturer unfolds his arms, slowly runs the prod over his clothed shoulder. He doesn't watch. No point, his eyes won't stop the electricity from spiking through his system, and he need not confirm how much this scares him. Even when the prod traces down to the seam where the flesh of his right arm meets metal. That place has always been sensitive. The druids could keep his body from rotting away at the unnatural connection, but they didn't bother to make it painless. Electrical abuse would be agony.
"Don't worry about that," Not-Keith says, tapping the prod less Shiro get distracted from his impending torment, "When it comes time, you will give it to me willingly," Electricity sears through him.
"Shiro! Shiro! No, please no," Keith's voice is panicked. Hands surprisingly gentle on his abused body. He must be worried he'd broken his favorite toy again. Shiro'd laugh, but he'd hurt himself more than he'd annoy his captor.
"Lance, get the healing pod ready! Hunk, help me move him!" Hunk? Lance? Why is Keith giving them orders? They aren't here. No one is here, yet the Blue and Yellow paladin's answers are unmistakable. Darkness is comforting, promising safety if he only lets it drag him under once again, but confusion lures his eyes open. High arching ceilings, pale grey walls, and undertones of light blue. He blinks, but the mirage doesn't evaporate. Shiro is in the Castle of the Lions.
I have 7 chapters already rewritten. I will be posting a new one each day.