SPOILERS FOR SEASON 5.
This is a missing scene set between Episodes 5 ("Save the Cat") and 6, inspired by noticing that Catra's hair got even shorter after their escape from Horde Prime's ship.
She wouldn't scream, Catra told herself, standing above a swirling abyss of vile green liquid. Stripped down and forced into a smaller version of the same white uniform worn by every clone. Prodded to the edge of a pool where the last vestiges of Hordak's humanity had been stripped away—viciously, mercilessly, agonizingly.
She wouldn't scream.
The liquid burned her skin like acid, but she could bear that, wading deeper into the pool as dread crept along her spine.
She'd done the right thing. For once in her life, she'd done the right thing. Adora would be safe.
Whatever happened now didn't matter.
She didn't matter.
When the pool reached her shoulders, a bolt of energy shot through her. Green electricity crackled across her skin and set every nerve aflame; seized her muscles, burned out her eyes.
The last thing she comprehended was the vicious curl of Horde Prime's smile, and the echo of her own scream.
Another broken promise.
—
Catra bolted upright in bed, throat raw as she heaved in desperate gulps of air. Her gaze cast wildly about the room—deep purple and blue, not the white and green of Horde Prime's vessel—before fragments of memory returned.
She remembered watching herself like a puppet on strings, fighting Adora. Failing. Falling.
Dying.
She remembered a vague awareness that the shallow, shuddering breath she'd drawn would be her last. Drifting in darkness. Then a golden light suffusing her body, mending skin, knitting together shattered bone.
She remembered clinging to Adora before exhaustion overwhelmed her, and the last thing she felt was arms looping behind her back and under her knees as her body was once again lifted in the air.
A low hum made her ear twitch, and she realized they were still in space. She must not have slept long—enough for the nightmares to return, but not enough to alleviate the bone-deep exhaustion that pulled at her aching limbs.
A scream echoed in her mind, and the taste of blood and bile lingered on her tongue.
She rose from the bed and staggered to a small sink wedged in the corner of the room, gripping the edges until reasonably certain she wouldn't fall. The tap ran clear and cool. She rinsed the vile taste from her mouth, then splashed water across her face with trembling fingers until unfamiliar strands of hair stuck to her damp face. She reached up to smooth them back.
Her own hair felt wrong under her touch. So short that her fingertips could feel the warmth of her scalp. Her light head turned too quickly now, and cool air raised goosebumps across the exposed expanse of her neck.
She hated it.
A wave of exhaustion hit and she swayed, one hand dropping forward to steady herself against the edge of the sink as she brought up the other to rest on the back of her neck. Something cool and metallic lay there—the chip. Her breath seized and her fingers tightened unconsciously, claws digging painfully into the skin around the device as though to rip it from her skin.
White walls. Green light. A cruel smile.
She shook her head violently, ignoring the way it intensified the pounding ache in her head and made the room tilt and spin. She could still feel Horde Prime's touch in her mind, coaxing, twisting, prodding. Her heartbeat pounded in her skull.
Get out. Get out get out get out.
The flashes receded, and she spent several seconds hunched over the sink, breathing heavily.
When she finally looked up and into the small mirror above the sink, it wasn't her staring back—it was a white uniform, slicked back hair, and eyes that glowed green in the dark.
Little sister.
She cried out, reeling back from the mirror and landing hard on the floor, both hands clutched in the strands of her too-short hair. Too short, but at the same time too long. It looked like—it looked like him. Like every other one of his clones. She remembered the pride she'd felt when the clones had cut away her mane, leaving just enough to be styled in the same simple way as every other member of Prime's flock. It was a relief, an honor, a privilege to be made after the image of Horde Prime.
The memory revolted her now.
Hot tears slipped from her eyes as she pulled at her own hair in desperate rage. Her claws were a poor tool for it, designed to puncture and tear instead of cut, and the strands of hair that began to litter the floor were half cut, half torn from her scalp.
Then light spilled into the room, there was a distant, terrified call of her name, and a hand pressed down on her shoulder. She jumped up and swung her claws toward the intruder, but her wrist was caught before the strike could land.
She hissed, tugging weakly against the strong grip. The swirling image of the room coalesced into a familiar red jacket, blonde hair, worried blue eyes. Her mouth was moving. It took too long for Catra to process the words.
"Catra? Catra it's me, please… can you hear me?"
"...Adora?"
Her trembling body chose that moment to give out and she collapsed forward, Adora catching her in a hug that supported nearly all her weight. Her head came to rest heavily on Adora's shoulder as they sank to the floor together. A gentle hand brushed her forehead, running through her short hair.
"What were you doing?" the question was quiet, on the verge of breaking.
Catra took a shaking breath, trying not to let her voice crack. "I can't… I look like…"
There was a pause, followed by a short inhale of realization. For maybe the first time, Adora understood without being told.
Adora pulled back from the hug, leaning Catra against the bed and giving her shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I'll be right back."
Catra blinked heavily, sagging back against the support of the bed.
She blinked again, and Adora was kneeling in front of her, this time holding a small mirror and a pair of scissors. The handle looked… familiar.
Entrapta…
Catra shook her head, trying to clear both her vision and her memories. Adora was talking, holding the scissors loosely, palm upturned.
"Do you want to do it, or…?"
Catra took a deep breath, willing her eyes to focus and her hand to stop shaking. She pushed herself upright, snatched the scissors from Adora's grasp, pulled the long strands of hair in front of her face and hacked viciously until they came away in her fist. She scattered the hair to the floor, the remainder falling in a short, unkempt curtain across her forehead. The small mirror caught her eye, and she risked looking.
Her reflection stared back. It still didn't quite look like her, but… at least it didn't look like him.
The weight pressing against her lungs receded, some, and she gave a small sigh of relief.
Still looked like crap, though.
She brought the scissors back up to try to even out the cut, but her hands had started shaking so badly that even she could tell that holding pointy metal so close to her eyes might not be the best of ideas. A warm hand covered hers, stilling the trembling.
"Can I?"
Catra sagged, exhausted, and nodded. The scissors slipped from her grasp. In a moment, she felt gentle fingers comb through her hair, the soft snip of scissors as a fresh, small clumps of hair began to litter the floor. She stared at them.
"I've been having flashes," Catra mumbled, if only to fill the silence. "Like nightmares, but... memories. From his ship." She swallowed. "It… it was…" Awful. Horrible. Agonizing, a horrifying irony of watching myself try to kill you... when after all this time all I wanted was to keep you safe.
The words didn't come. The sound of her hair being cut stopped, and the warm weight of a hand rested on her shoulder.
"I'm sorry," Adora said, voice thick.
Catra managed a scoff. "Not your fault." Then, quieter, so quiet she hoped the other girl didn't hear: "None of it was."
There was no response for a moment, then the hand squeezed her shoulder and the clipping sounds resumed.
The soft snip of the scissors and the gentle feeling of fingers combing through her hair was starting to lull her to sleep. "Hope this doesn't end up like the time you tried to cut your own bangs," Catra quipped, words starting to slur with exhaustion.
That earned a quiet snort of laughter. "Not like I can make it any worse." Adora's words were accompanied by a gentle, teasing tap on the head. A smile tugged at the corner of Catra's mouth.
Her eyes slipped closed. Everything ached, and she was so, so tired.
Something jostled her shoulder, and she blinked blearily.
"Catra?"
Slowly, she registered the lack of touch against her head, realised Adora was holding the small mirror before her. "How's it look?"
Her reflection swam into focus. Not… terrible. Her hair was shorter all around, now, and somewhat even. It was a little unruly on the top, and she focused on that with a vague feeling of satisfaction. No clone would ever look so unkempt.
The image blurred again as her eyes lost focus, trying slip closed.
"Mmgh," she said, eloquently.
Adora laughed softly. "Let's get you back to bed."
An arm looped behind her back, pulling her to her feet and guiding her uncoordinated limbs onto the plush mattress. She sank into it, feeling herself give in to the pull of sleep, but managed to catch Adora's wrist as she pulled away.
"Thanks," she mumbled.
Adora's face was fuzzy, but Catra thought she smiled.
"Of course."
She might have dreamed the gentle brush of Adora's thumb across her hand as she guided her arm back down to the mattress.
This time, sleep was peaceful.