Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter One

Everyone had their moments. Even Hunk.

It stood to reason. After all, they’d been yanked away from everything they knew, thrust into a high-stakes, life-or-death situation, given impossible tasks on an almost daily basis, and at the end of the day, they were only human. They were bound to get on each other’s nerves from time-to-time. Keith and Lance sniped back and forth with the least provocation, Pidge made sharp, biting comments whenever she was overtired. Even Shiro could lose his temper when the others rubbed him the wrong way.

But Hunk?

Hunk was even-keeled. If he felt flashes of annoyance, he was quick to rationalize the other person’s behavior so that the feeling slipped away before it had time to fester. With one exception: morning food goo.

The thing was, no one had ever told Hunk he had to cook. He did it because he wanted to. Dinner? No problem. He’d happily fallen into the pattern of cooking their evening meal as often as the universe allowed them to eat it. Snacks and desserts? Check and check. Lunch? It was understood that this was an individual affair. Everyone was left to their own devices. But breakfast? That was murky territory.

Most of the time, Hunk got up and cooked simply because he wanted to make something for himself, and if he was going to whip up a batch of space pancakes, well, then it wasn’t that much harder to triple his recipe and feed everyone else.

But it wasn’t his job.

Breakfast was something he cooked when he felt like it, and if the others benefitted from his personal cravings, he didn’t mind. Sometimes though, Hunk wanted to sleep in. He’d never been a morning person. Sure, he wasn’t as bad as Lance, who couldn’t seem to roll out of bed before 9 AM castle time unless Shiro threatened him with extra laps. And he wasn’t a barely coherent, head-nodder like Pidge, but he was quietly grumpy until he’d put something in his stomach. So when he didn’t cook and the others complained about eating food goo for breakfast, Hunk had zero patience for their whining.

After a handful of occasions when he’d snapped at someone’s ill-timed grumbling, they’d learned to keep their mouths shut.

“In the morning, you’re like a grizzly bear coming out of hibernation,” Pidge had observed. “Awake, growling, and single-minded until you’ve found your food.”

Yup. That about summed it up.

The only person who still reacted with distaste to morning food goo was Shiro, which was a surprise because he was usually the best at masking his emotions. Maybe that was partly why it drove Hunk up the freakin’ wall. The man could betray no emotion when negotiating with a pack of reeking Tryboars, but he couldn’t hide his feelings about a bowl of goo?

Got under Hunk’s skin.

Still, he couldn’t very well say anything. Being angry at Shiro was the equivalent of kicking a wounded puppy. The man would literally lay down his life for every single one of them and he was constantly fighting demons that were bigger than he was, so how could anyone – least of all Hunk – fail to be patient with him? Patience was supposed to be Hunk’s specialty. Other than cooking, wasn’t that kind of his role on the team? Hunk, the solid, stalwart, unflappable leg, holding everyone else up?

But no matter how much he berated himself when it came to Shiro and the food goo, he was as flappable as anyone. When Shiro stared at his bowl and then frowned and pushed it away without taking a single bite, it hit Hunk where he lived. Guilt and grumpiness collided, creating a supernova.

Well, okay. Hunk didn’t really do supernovas. Those were more of Keith’s style. But it did create a sonic boom. A small, mostly unnoticed sonic boom.

Hunk sighed. Why couldn’t Shiro just complain? If the man actually said that he was disappointed that Hunk hadn’t made breakfast, then Hunk would be justified in losing his temper and pointing out all of the very valid reasons why breakfast wasn’t his responsibility. But Shiro never complained. Not verbally.

The paladins did poorly at training? Disappointed stare.

Very poorly? Heavy sigh.

Someone made an inappropriate comment? Raised eyebrow.

Food goo for breakfast? First, a long stare, then an attempt at a bite, and finally the bowl was shoved away and Shiro would make up some lame excuse to depart, leaving Hunk to manage the toxic mixture of self-reproach and anger that made his stomach feel sour.

# # #

The situation came to a head after a long string of battles that had left all of the paladins weary and short-tempered. Almost every day that week there had been something to deal with, and last night they’d been up late fighting off a never-ending Galra fleet. When they’d finally finished, they’d barely had the will to stumble out of their lions and disperse to their bedrooms. There had been no dinner that night. Coran had handed out energy bars and they’d shuffled off to bed.

“I know we’re saving the universe and all,” Lance had muttered, “but couldn’t the bad guys have the courtesy to attack between 9 AM and 5 PM Earth time?”

“Agreed,” Keith had murmured, and the lack of an argument had spoken volumes about his level of fatigue.

“We’ll push training back an hour tomorrow,” Shiro had said, “but we need to keep as much consistency to our schedules as possible. So, breakfast will be at nine. Training room at ten.”

He’d been met with a chorus of groans, but honestly, Shiro had looked worse than the rest of them, so no one pushed it. Not even Lance.

That night Hunk tossed and turned, finding it hard to settle down after the adrenaline of the fight. He’d probably gotten five to six hours of sleep once his body had finally given in, but that wasn’t enough. Hunk was an eight to nine-hour guy. Hell, he was a ten to eleven-hour guy when he could manage it. So, he’d woken up pissed-off at the sound of his alarm.

Why couldn’t they sleep in? There was a reason, and it had made sense the night before, but now Hunk couldn’t recall what it had been.

He’d slogged through the process of getting dressed and then trudged to the kitchen, but he was still the first one there. His forehead scrunched. I am not cooking for everyone this morning. It is not my job and I’m freakin’ tired, and no one better say a word about it. Hunk poured himself a cup of space coffee and a bowl of goo. One by one, the others trickled in, eyes half shut as they dispensed their breakfast and found their spot at the table.

Coran stopped by long enough to tell them that he and Allura had already had their breakfast and would be going over star charts on the bridge. He got only sleepy grunts in return. For once, Shiro hadn’t been up at the crack of dawn, working out for hours while the others slept. Instead, he arrived just after Pidge, his hair disheveled and the dark circles under his eyes standing out more than usual. He poured himself a mug of space coffee, got a bowl of goo, and sat down at the table.

And then he stared.

Hunk could feel the irritation growing inside of him. He tried to force his eyes away, but they kept drifting back.

Just eat it, man. Eat the damn goo.

Shiro took a deep breath as if he were psyching himself up to eat his breakfast. He picked up his spoon and held it tight.

Eat the goo, Shiro, Hunk mentally pleaded. Come on.

Somewhere underneath his conscious line of thought, another voice nagged at Hunk, this one directed at himself.

You should’ve just cooked. How hard would it have been to whip up some space eggs and then Shiro wouldn’t have to work himself up to eating breakfast? Breakfast may not be your job, but the team’s diet is your responsibility and you’re failing!

Hunk’s grip on his own spoon tightened until his knuckles turned white. He stared at Shiro who stared at his goo. Then Shiro pushed the untouched bowl away with one harsh thrust.

And Hunk lost it.

He slammed down his spoon. “If you’re upset that I didn’t make breakfast, why don’t you just say so?”

Shiro jolted. “What?” He looked around the table as if he was trying to figure out which one of the paladins Hunk was addressing. Who had said or done something while Shiro wasn’t paying attention? And that just made it worse, because Shiro was clearly ready to come to Hunk’s defense as soon as he figured out who Hunk was yelling at.

“I’m talking to you,” Hunk continued, gentler now. “You’re clearly disappointed when I don’t cook breakfast, so why don’t you just say as much and then assign it as one of my jobs instead of doing this passive-aggressive thing where you stare at your food goo and then end up throwing it all out? I mean, if it was my job I’d adjust to it, but otherwise, I’m just as tired as all of you, so sue me if I don’t always want to cook breakfast!”

Shiro’s jaw had dropped and for a moment he looked as if Hunk had punched him. Oh boy. This was bad. This was why Hunk didn’t do confrontations. The moment he released his anger, he immediately started to see the other person’s point of view, and then he felt like shit. Obviously, Shiro had no clue he’d been reacting to the food goo in a way that made Hunk feel bad. So, that meant Hunk was overreacting and that was, in turn, making Shiro feel bad.

“Uh … no one said you needed to cook breakfast,” Shiro said, sounding stunned. “You shouldn’t have to. I don’t mind the food goo. It’s fine.”

Hunk shook his head. Part of him wanted to let the whole thing go, but another part knew that he’d never get his chance to say anything again. It was now or never. “No. It isn’t. If it was fine for breakfast, you’d eat it, just like you do for lunch but instead, there’s this whole drama where you act like you might eat it, but then you just can’t … and the whole time I sit here feeling guilty because I didn’t just cook.”

Shiro’s brows knitted together. He opened his mouth as if he was about to say something, then closed it again and pulled his bowl closer as if he might eat the food goo after all, just to prove how fine he was with it.

“Uh uh. No.” Hunk snagged the bowl and pulled it away. “Nope. You do not get to tell me you’re fine and then force down something you obviously don’t want to eat instead of just admitting whatever the problem is.”

Across from him, Lance’s eyes were huge. “Wow. I’ve never seen you this riled up, Hunk. Damn.”

“Don’t mess with Papa Bear,” Pidge muttered.

Even Keith looked impressed.

Shiro swallowed hard. “It … I … it isn’t about you not cooking.”

“Then what’s it about?” Hunk pressed. “How am I not supposed to feel guilty when you look like you might vomit because I failed to cook?”

“Hunk …” Shiro rubbed his human hand over his face. He was silent for a long time, and he looked as if he was weighing out every word very carefully, which apparently, pissed-off Keith.

“Why don’t you just tell us the truth?” Keith’s voice was quiet, but intense, and Shiro flinched, but Keith didn’t let up.

“The mornings when you don’t eat the food goo are the mornings when you’ve had a nightmare the night before, right?”

“Keith …” Shiro’s tone was sharp and his body coiled tight.

“What? I’m right, aren’t I? Give us some credit, Shiro. We’re not stupid. We can put two and two together. You stumble in here looking nauseated before you’ve even sat down, but then you try to act as if nothing’s wrong. Just a normal morning. You’re fine. Except you’re not.”

Shit. Hunk ought to feel good that someone was on his side, except Keith was wrong. He hadn’t put two and two together. Not until right this moment. That was why Shiro didn’t eat the food goo?

Shiro shook his head. “But I am fine. By the time I get here, the nightmare is over. I’m awake. Functioning. If there’s a lingering … emotion … I shake it off by the time we start training. What else do you want from me?”

“We want you to talk to us,” Pidge said. “Keith’s right. We all pretend not to see how little you sleep or the times when you’re affected by your memories, but we’re not blind. So why don’t you tell us about what’s bothering you instead of trying to hide it?”

Lance nodded. “We’re good listeners. Even if what you tell us isn’t pretty.”

Were they good listeners? Right now Hunk felt like a crappy listener. He’d launched into his complaint because he’d wanted the annoyance off his chest, but had he even bothered to listen to Shiro’s response?

“You want me to tell you about my nightmares?” Shiro said, voice flat. He shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

There was an immediate swell of protest, but Lance led the charge.

“Dude, why not? They’re nightmares. If you can handle having them, then I think we can handle hearing about them.”

“And maybe if we knew what they were about,” Pidge added, “then we could make adjustments to the way we do things so you wouldn’t have to suffer.”

The feeling in Hunk’s belly was pure, hot shame. This was not where he’d intended this conversation to go. He’d been tired and grumpy, and he’d lashed out. That should have been it. A momentary lapse. But now the others had taken up his cause, as if Hunk’s motivation had been noble all along. He wanted to take it all back. The whole stupid argument. Of course Shiro’s reluctance to eat the food goo had nothing to do with Hunk’s failure to cook and everything to do with his own trauma. It should have been obvious. After all, the stuff looked like … insect guts. (Did Shiro dream about insect guts?)

Hunk needed to end this – now – before it spiraled out of control. “Guys … forget I brought this up. It’s not a big deal. Let’s just --”

“No.” Keith set down his spoon. He stared at Shiro with that intense look he got when he’d dug his teeth into something and had no intention of letting go. “Shiro, do you think we can’t handle the truth? What do you think would happen if you talked to us? We’re not breakable. Talking about your nightmares could help you to --”

“Enough.” Shiro’s Galra arm slammed down causing everyone’s silverware to clatter. A fine sheen of sweat covered his brow and his human hand trembled. “You have no idea what you’re asking.” His voice was a low growl. “No idea,” he repeated. “I will not be telling you about my nightmares. Don’t ask me again.”

And then he got up and left. No more discussion. None of his usual leaderly concern for wrapping up an argument in a way that left all parties satisfied. No apologies or explanations. Just a flat-out no way in hell.

Hunk stared at Shiro’s abandoned bowl of food goo. He couldn’t decide if he felt guilty, pissed-off, offended, or just plain exhausted.

Maybe that was the whole problem? They were all stretched too thin, and no one was at their best when they were homesick, scared, and miserable. Not even Shiro.

With a sigh, Hunk stood up and took Shiro’s bowl into the kitchen. He scraped the food goo into the waste disposal and put the bowl in the cleaner. No one had said a word since Shiro left and Hunk wondered if they were all thinking the same exact thing.

Could they please go back to bed and start the morning over again?

This time, Hunk swore he’d ignore the food goo.

Chapter Text

Chapter Two

On the surface, the Great Food Goo argument had been resolved. Later that day, Shiro had apologized to Hunk, and then he’d apologized to the team, making it very clear that cooking breakfast was not Hunk’s responsibility. Shiro didn’t see it that way -- never had -- and if anyone didn’t feel up to eating, Hunk shouldn’t take it personally.

Hunk had also apologized. He’d admitted that he was exhausted and grumpy and he’d lashed out. They’d all joked about Hunk being human after all, and in the end Pidge had come up with a fantastic compromise where Hunk made breakfast bars once a week that could be stored in the chiller so that there was always an alternative to food goo and Hunk could sleep in without guilt.

There. Done. Problem solved.

Except, it wasn’t. The surface had been wiped clean, but the deeper part of the problem – the part where Shiro refused to talk about his nightmares – lingered like a greasy film.

Didn’t he trust them?

Why couldn’t he see that talking it out was the healthy option?

Shiro said that he didn’t remember his time in captivity, but he did remember his nightmares and those could provide clues about his past, about the Galra, and Pidge’s family. He needed to share them.

“We could handle whatever he told us,” Keith said, propping his feet up on the couch in the lounge one afternoon not long after the Food Goo Incident. “We’re not kids. I mean, yeah, maybe technically Pidge is still a kid, but I think that once you’ve participated in an inter-galactic war, the usual definitions don’t apply.”

“Preach it,” Pidge said, but the flat delivery combined with her nose being buried in the broken replicator she was repairing gave the words a muted effect.

“We could totally handle it,” Lance agreed. “It’s not like we’re still cadets. We’ve fought actual battles. A lot of them.”

Hunk stayed quiet. This had become a familiar conversation in the past week. Eventually, the griping would sputter out, but it always came up again. Usually, it resurfaced whenever it was obvious that Shiro hadn’t slept much the night before. Sometimes Hunk tried to put his finger on why they were all so driven to know the truth. Was it curiosity masquerading as a desire to help? Pride pretending to be kindness? Deep down, were they impatient with Shiro’s inability to just remember?

“We ought to have access to his emotions and experiences through the bond,” Pidge said. “He must work really hard to keep us out.”

This too was familiar. As was the tiniest twinge of bitterness to Pidge’s voice.

The conversation might have kept going, but Princess Allura and Coran came in. “Paladins,” Allura scolded, “why are none of you ready for tonight’s mission? You’ll be leaving in half a varga.”
Lance leaped off the couch. “Yesss! Outdoor movie night!”

They were all looking forward to an evening away from the castle, in the fresh air, under the stars. In truth, only two paladins were needed for this mission, but they all wanted to go, and there wasn’t any reason not to allow them this much needed break. Still, a small frown twisted at the corner of Allura’s mouth.

“While this is an opportunity for you to attend a broadcasted event at an outdoor venue, please remember that the primary purpose of the mission is to meet up with our contact, not to see whatever entertainment they have planned.”

The castle was currently hidden within an asteroid belt just outside the Norizen System. Technically, the Nori were neutral, but culturally they were very similar to the Galra and much of their population had a thirst for violence and cruelty that made them closer to favoring Galran rule over an alliance with Voltron. Only their fierce independence had kept them from being assimilated, which meant that while this wasn’t a high risk mission, it wasn’t a no-risk mission either.

“Tonight’s event is a rally of sorts for the freedom fighters,” Coran said. “But even so, you’ll want to disguise your appearances. At some point during the production, your contact will take the empty seat beside you and deliver the flash drive with the stolen information. He or she will then depart and when the rally is finished, you can return in the shuttle.”

“What?” Lance said. “You mean we can’t hit the town afterwards? Chat up some ladies?”

Allura quirked a brow. “The Norizen society is matriarchal and the ruling women are known for crushing the testicles of the men who offend them, but if you’re willing to take your chances …”

Lance crossed his legs tightly and Pidge snorted.

“Where’s Shiro?” Keith asked.

“Ahh,” Coran said. “As the most recognizable of you lot, we decided it would be best for him to alter his appearance a bit more than simply draping himself with a cloak. The most important part of completing this mission successfully is to make sure that you don’t attract any notice. So long as you manage to remain inconspicuous, you should all have a delightful evening.”

“So, what is --”

That’s when Shiro came in. He was wearing an outfit made entirely of something that looked like brown leather, with knee high boots, but most strikingly, his hair had been dyed. And his scar had been covered with a thin layer of … makeup? Some sort of plastic?

“Wow,” Hunk breathed. “You look so …” Young. The absence of the scar changed the whole look of Shiro’s face.

“Ridiculous?” Shiro shrugged bashfully. “I’m not crazy about these boots.”

“You look distinguished,” Allura chided.

“That would be another word for ridiculous.”

“Well, Number One, you could always take my suggestion to add a full, beautifully coifed mustache to your disguise. That would take at least ten years off your appearance.”

Shiro winced. “That’s … uh … I’m sure that’s not really necessary, Coran.”

“I’d take a beautifully coifed mustache,” Lance said. “How come no one told me there could be disguises?”

“Maybe because no one knows what the rest of us look like?”

“Someday they will,” Lance pouted.

Hunk patted him on the shoulder. “I’m sure someday everyone will recognize your face.”

Keith snorted. “Yeah. From their nightmares.”

That might have started an argument, but Coran cut them off.

“Until then, you’ll each be gifted with an authentic Nori garment and a gorgeous faux-Guret-fur cloak. They’re the height of Nori fashion.” He paused. “At least, they were ten thousand years ago. Now shoo. Time to get dressed. Don’t want to be late for your fun night out!”

Hunk watched the others leave. Shiro smiled at Allura. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us, princess? You’ve been working really hard, too. An evening off might do you some good.”
“It’s not too late to synthesize an outfit for you,” Coran added, “and we could cover your Altean markings in the same way that we covered Shiro’s scar.”

Allura sighed. “Tempting,” she admitted, “but honestly, I’m looking forward to a quiet night in. Plus, I think this will be a nice bonding excursion for the paladins. I’ve noticed some tension recently, and I think it will do them some good to see a different side of you, Shiro. Relax and have fun for a change.”

He grinned. “Right. I’m pretty sure I remember the meaning of those words. Fun … hmmm. Something to do with brooding and skulking in dark corners? Oh no. Wait. Throwing my body in front of potentially fatal blows? Was that it?”

This time Allura’s laugh peeled through the lounge and Coran’s low chuckle echoed her laughter. Shiro’s smile stretched wider than Hunk could remember seeing it, and for a moment he just stood there, soaking in the sight of these three people who were carrying the burden of an entire universe on their shoulders. Hunk wanted to pull them all into a huge bear hug.

He almost did it, but at the last second he chickened out.

Later, when everything had gone bad, he’d wish that he’d followed his gut.

Chapter Text

Chapter Three

“Excuse me.”

“Coming through.”

“Pardon me.”

The row leading to their seats was packed with angry looking, furry behemoths. Actually, there were plenty of different species represented, but the majority of the beings Hunk saw were huge and glowering.

Great. Just great.

“I can’t believe how packed this place is,” Lance grumbled. “Was anyone else picturing something more like a drive-in movie? This is like … a football stadium.”

“So. Many. Aliens,” Pidge breathed. Then she turned, her attention caught. “Oooh! Look at that massive projector. I think they’re going to project the movie in 3-D without a screen. That’ll be incredible!”

“Are those our seats?” Hunk asked. “I hope those are our seats.” They were still far away from the nearest empty spots. Why did their mysterious contact have to get them seats in the exact middle of a row that was in the exact middle of the stadium?

“Maybe if someone hadn’t insisted on getting popcorn and drinks,” Lance said, “we would have gotten here sooner.”

“Excuse me? Which one of us spent forever getting dressed and doing his hair only to have it all covered by the hood of a cloak?” Hunk argued. “And I don’t think this qualifies as popcorn.” It was yellow, but that was where the similarities ended.

“I’m with Hunk,” Keith said. “We should have gotten here before the crowd settled in. We’ve already missed the opening announcements.”

“Hhhsssss. The entertainment is about to begin.” A long, thin snake-like alien hushed them as one-by-one they tripped over its single appendage.

“Pardon us,” Shiro said. “Sorry.”

Was the alien glaring? It was really hard to tell when a creature only had one eye, but Hunk was willing to bet … yeah. That was a glare. Half the yellow flakes fell out of his container onto the alien’s lap.

“Oops, sorry,” Hunk said.

That’s when the stage lights came up, casting a ring of multi-colored beams into the air. Music started to play and the crowd surged to its feet. Or tails. At least that made it easier for them to finally reach their seats. The rows stretched out forever in each direction. Hunk had never seen a stadium this large.

Shiro sat on one side with Hunk next to him, and then Lance, Pidge, and finally, Keith. Both Shiro and Keith were studying the creatures seated by them, looking for their contact. Finally, the one beside Shiro – a creature with dark black fur, a mohawk, and fangs – shoved a wad of papers in his direction.

“Want my program? I’ve decided not to stay. This crowd is too rowdy for my taste.”

“Thanks,” Shiro said. “We’d appreciate that.”

He took the program the guy handed him and a moment later Hunk saw him slip the flash drive from between the pages. Shiro leaned down as if he were scratching an itch and the flash drive disappeared inside his boot. The alien headed out in the opposite direction from which they’d come.

That’s it? Hunk wanted to say. Really? Had a mission actually just gone off without a hitch?

That never happened.

It was too good to be true.

Chapter Text

Chapter Four

It was too good to be true.

Of course it was.

Hunk knew things were about to go bad the moment the 3D projection materialized and it was an arena -- a giant replication of a Galra arena. The projection was so vivid, so real, Hunk felt as if he could walk down the aisle and eventually he’d be able to lean on the arena’s railing and peer down to the sand below. He could even smell the stink of so many bodies and the leftover metallic scent of blood. How had the projectors accomplished this level of realism? To make matters worse, the arena’s holographic crowd was as full as the real crowd, adding to the sense that the paladins were trapped within a sea of aliens. Hunk wasn’t claustrophobic, but his skin crawled.

“This can’t be good,” Hunk murmured. He caught Lance’s eye and he too, looked worried.

Was this the same arena that Shiro had fought in? For the first time Hunk wondered why they’d never searched for footage of Shiro’s fights. Videos had to be out there. Wouldn’t it be helpful if they knew what might trigger him? Except they’d all known that Shiro would be horrified if they ever saw him as the Champion, so they’d never pushed things. Now, Shiro’s body was stiff, not a single muscle moving.

“Are you okay?” Hunk asked, pitching his voice low so no one around them would hear. The other paladins looked over as well, eyes questioning, waiting for Shiro’s answer. Shiro gave a tight nod, but he didn’t say anything. His jaw was clenched and his eyes looked … strange.

In the holographic projection, a gate opened at the far end of the arena. At first, nothing happened, but then with a surge of noise and a flurry of motion, a giant space worm lunged out. The crowd surrounding them gasped as the thing flung its huge head, snapping its massive jaws. The space worm had to be at least twenty feet tall, and it dragged five handlers into the ring along with it, each one holding onto a chain and prodding the creature with electric shocks.

Beside Hunk, Lance sucked in a sharp breath. “Damn, that thing is half dragon and half inch worm on steroids.”

Keith and Pidge shifted nervously, exchanging glances of their own. Their eyes shot to Shiro and then to the creature. Lance was right. It was hard to say whether the animal more accurately resembled a worm or a dragon. It didn’t have wings, but it did have massive green scales and a snout that stuck out with large, sharp teeth protruding from the lips. There were no limbs that Hunk could see, but its tail thrashed back and forth as if it were a separate appendage. The creature roared and hissed in fury as the handlers poked, prodded, and dragged it into the center of the arena.

“Uh, guys,” Pidge muttered. “I don’t think this is a good idea. Maybe we should go.” She paused. “Shiro?”

“Yup,” Hunk agreed. “I’m with Pidge. We should definitely go.”

But Shiro didn’t answer. He stared intently at the hologram, but his eyes were unfocused, as if he were seeing more than the rest of them. Or maybe nothing at all.

“Shiro?” Keith nudged, leaning in. Still no answer. Had he checked out? What did Shiro know that they didn’t?

In the projection, several smaller gates opened around the base of the arena and a variety of aliens were led out of them. There were two Galra, three species Hunk had never seen before, one tiny humanoid girl with blue skin and tufted antenna, a creature that closely resembled an ogre, two beings that looked almost like werewolves, two vicious looking tall reedy aliens with long claws on all six of their appendages, and …

Oh. God. Hunk’s stomach lurched. He clasped his hand over his mouth, but bile stung the back of his throat, hot and acrid. Pidge squeaked in alarm. Lance gasped, and Keith swore. Shiro didn’t react as he stared at himself on the screen.

The Shiro in the hologram had two human arms and his hair wasn’t yet streaked with white, but it was clearly him. Their Shiro, looking young and terrified, but determined. All twelve gladiators were pushed into place by their Galra handlers, forming a ring around the thrashing space worm. For the first time, the camera zoomed in far enough that Hunk could see a ring of weapons surrounding the worm. There were seven bows of various types, three long swords, and two small daggers. Clearly, this was meant to be a race to get the long-range weaponry which would keep the gladiators out of range of the space worm’s jaws. Each gladiator wore a device of some kind that allowed their handlers to control their movements until the official start of the match. For some it was a wrist or ankle band, for others it was a belt. For Shiro, it was a collar around his neck. His Galra handler used it liberally. Every time Shiro tried to move out of place, his body jerked with an electric shock.

“Oh god, oh god, oh god.” Hunk did not want to see this. That was Shiro standing just outside the reach of the space worm, shifting from leg to leg and rolling his shoulders. Cracking his neck. That was Shiro getting ready to fight.

“Let’s go,” Keith said. “We need to get out of here before the fight starts.”

The others agreed, and Lance stood up, but Shiro didn’t move. He didn’t even acknowledge that Keith had spoken.

“Shiro?” Lance prompted. “Hey man, let’s ditch this joint. You don’t really want to see this, right?”

No response. Shiro’s skin looked clammy, though, covered in a sheen of sweat. His eyes were vacant. Unhinged from reality. In the projection, there was a shrill whistle, and for the first time Shiro reacted. His back arched and his muscles tightened, and Hunk was sure that he was going to have a flashback right there in the center of the stadium. Coran’s one directive had been not to attract any attention, but how could anyone miss a hyperventilating human who might light up the mechanical arm that was hiding just below his gloves and who happened to look a lot (even with the disguise) like one of the gladiators … hell. What kind of damage might a panic-stricken Shiro do in a crowd like this?

Hunk could tell that the other paladins were having the same thoughts. The aliens seemed to press in around them, even though none of their fellow spectators had moved. Shiro looked pained. He closed his eyes and shook his head as if he were trying to shake free from an insect buzzing around his face, and then he took a deep breath. His lips were moving, repeating something over and over again, but Hunk couldn’t make out what he was saying, so he searched for an exit strategy instead.

Could they get Shiro out of here without his cooperation? Should Hunk just … pick him up or something?

At the sound of the whistle, the gladiators in the projection were set loose from their handlers. They dove for the bow and arrows, scrambling for the premium weapons. A hand-to-hand fight broke out between one of the werewolf creatures and one of the tall willowy beings. The fighting was vicious and ended with the willowy creature gutted by the werewolf who held up his bow in victory. The crowd roared its approval. The holographic Shiro, on the other hand, had grabbed the nearest dagger and was now running in the opposite direction from the weapons. What was he doing? Slowly, it became clear. Shiro was headed for the small alien – the one who resembled a little girl. For all Hunk knew, she might be ancient when judged by the standards of her own species. Maybe she wasn’t female. But to Hunk she looked like a child. A terrified child, frozen in place.

“Shit.” Keith swore as gladiator Shiro picked up the girl and ran with her to one side of the arena where there was a bulwark of giant boulders. He placed the girl in between the two biggest stones and pressed the dagger into her tiny hands. He said something to her, and then he kissed the top of her head.

Pidge burst into tears. Hunk bit his lip until he tasted blood. He forced himself to slow down his breathing. Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

Keith stood up, pressed past them through the narrow aisle, and pulled on Shiro’s sleeve. Hard. “Come on, Shiro. We’re going. Right now.”

But Shiro’s eyes were glazed. There was no reaction to Keith’s movements. Hell, Hunk didn’t think Shiro was even aware of them at this point. He was gone, someplace else. Someplace … not good.

Keith patted Shiro’s cheeks just hard enough that it should have gotten him to react without pushing him over the edge into panic. Still nothing. He looked at Hunk. “Fuck. What do we do?”

Hunk wished he had an answer. What could they do? If Shiro wasn’t moving, they couldn’t exactly drag him through the crowd. Maybe Hunk could pick him up in a fireman’s carry? But what if that sent him into a panic attack? And wouldn’t that attract a huge amount of attention?

“Shiro,” Keith begged. “Look at me. Please.”

Nothing.

“Maybe he’s not seeing this?” Lance suggested. “Shiro?”

They all took turns trying to evoke a response, but Shiro was stone still. Gone. His expression reminded Hunk of his psychology class back at the Garrison. Dissociation? Was that what was happening? Why hadn’t he listened better during that lecture? Was there something they were supposed to do right now?

In the hologram, the gladiators shot a barrage of arrows at the space worm and each other. There seemed to be a strategy of taking out the strongest competitors first and tackling the worm later. Shiro had left the alien girl in her hiding place, and now he’d run back to the ring, dodging arrows to reach the one remaining dagger. He scooped it out of the dirt and ran straight for the worm who roared its displeasure, spitting out a sizzling green acid that burned straight through the hide of the ogre-like gladiator who had the bad luck to be in front of its jaws. The giant screamed in agony, crumping to the ground. One of the other competitors pried the bow out of its twitching hands.

Once again, a stench filled the air and Hunk wished the species on this planet weren’t quite so committed to realism in their entertainment. The people around them hollered in approval of the kill. Down below, gladiator Shiro raced towards the space worm, which seemed like a crazy thing to do. It was the exact opposite strategy from every other gladiator. He dodged out of range of the dragon-worm’s swishing, barbed tail, then leapt onto the creature’s back. An arrow hit him in the calf, but he barely reacted. Then another struck his shoulder. Shiro flinched but still didn’t slow his pace. He raced up behind the worm’s head and used his dagger to saw off one of the giant scales. The process seemed to take forever, and while he worked he was hit with another arrow, but this one came in at an angle and bounced away. The scale was almost loose and now Hunk could see what Shiro intended. The worm’s scale was almost as big as he was and would make an ideal shield, plus it would open up a vulnerable target on the worm’s neck. Another arrow hit gladiator Shiro in the back and this time he screamed, nearly losing his grip on his dagger. The dragon-worm reared back and Shiro had to hold on tight to the scale’s edge to avoid being thrown. His hands were bloody from the effort and his face contorted. The camera zoomed in on his agonized expression.

Two more of the gladiators below had died and Hunk hadn’t even noticed. The worm spit another round of hissing acid at its tormentors and one of the Galra gladiators howled in pain, clutching at her eyes, clearly blinded. The other Galra wasted no time turning on his comrade, stabbing her through the chest and stealing her bow.

Lance’s hand clutched at Hunk’s and he forced his eyes away from the hologram. Beside Lance, Pidge clung desperately to both Lance and Keith. Hunk picked up Shiro’s hand, but it was limp and cold. He held it anyway.

Gladiator Shiro had finally managed to get the scale off the worm. He held it up, deflecting a torrent of arrows, and with his opposite hand he plunged his dagger into the worm. Over and over, Shiro struck, and the worm’s insides spilled out like green … Oh hell.

Food goo.

Hunk would never, ever eat food goo again.

He would never, ever allow Shiro to eat food goo again.

The worm thrashed wildly, bucking to dislodge the irritant on its back, and Shiro went flying, his body striking hard against the wall of the arena. The wind had been knocked out of him, and instantly the remaining werewolf gladiator was upon him. The alien had a long sword and Shiro’s weapon had been thrown out of his hands, but Shiro managed to kick the creature’s legs out from under him, using its momentum to redirect his opponent. They grappled, Shiro trying to force the sword out of the alien’s hands and the wolfman trying to raise it high enough to make a killing strike. Shiro grabbed a handful of dirt and threw it in the creature’s face. It reared back, then dove in again blindly with jaws snapping, but Shiro had rolled away and picked up his dagger. He threw it, and the blade hit the creature in the stomach, but apparently that wasn’t a vulnerable area for these beings. The wolfman grinned a toothy grin and thrust its sword at Shiro’s belly. He barely dodged the blow and the sword tore through his side.

In the stadium surrounding Hunk, the crowd surged to its feet. “Champion! Champion!” They raised fists and tails in encouragement.

For the first time, Hunk realized that this was the reason the rebel aliens were broadcasting this event. Shiro was the reason. They were cheering for the Champion. Their hero. The gladiator who had defied the Galra empire. The one who escaped. What would they think if they knew he was among them right now, staring with glazed eyes, haunted by nightmares of what he’d been forced to do?

“Do you think we should … try to act more … natural?” Lance sniffed. His cheeks were wet. They were the only spectators who were sitting still, but Hunk didn’t have it in him to pretend to cheer.

In the hologram, Gladiator Shiro lay in the dirt clutching his wound as blood gushed over his fingers. The wolf-man grinned, raising the sword high over his head, readying for a second strike and …

… the jaws of the space worm snapped the wolfman in half. The top half of him flailed in the worm’s mouth while the bottom half fell on top of Shiro, splattering him with entrails.

The Shiro on screen retched, but the Shiro beside them tilted his head and frowned just a tiny bit. It was the first time he’d reacted since the fight started. Hunk threw up into his popcorn bag.

“This is hell,” he said. “We’ve died and gone to hell.”

Keith sniffled and Hunk wondered if he’d been crying, too.

“Please, Shiro,” Pidge pleaded. “Please snap out of it. We need to leave before ...”

Before what? Could it get worse than this?

There were now only three gladiators left besides Shiro and the girl. The three that remained seemed committed to taking out the space worm together. Clearly, the time for eliminating competitors had ended since no one would be able to take down the dragon-worm on their own. Shiro’s earlier dagger attack had done nothing to slow the creature down. The remaining willowy gladiator ran up to the worm just as Shiro had done and worked away at removing a scale on the worm’s chest. The gladiator hung on as the worm writhed, and finally the scale fell loose. It cost the gladiator its life. The worm snatched the creature and ate it.

Two left now. Two gladiators, plus Shiro and the girl he’d hidden.

At some point Gladiator Shiro had stripped off his shirt and torn it to make a bandage for his wound. He’d found one of the abandoned bows and now he fired shots at the spot where the scale had come off. The worm roared, hissed, and lunged, so the gladiators that were left had to keep moving. They were a constant blur of motion until the worm managed to snag one of them. A female, by the looks of it. Crunch. That sound would haunt Hunk’s nightmares for years to come.

The noise of the crowd, the stomping of feet, the pounding of fists, the stench of the arena … all of it assailed Hunk from every direction. Every last fiber of his being wanted this to end. Please end. Please, please … come to a stop. He felt too hot, sweaty and dizzy from his pulse racing too fast.

Finally … after what felt like eons … the worm reared back one last time and then dropped its massive head to the ground. Defeated. Both Shiro and the other gladiator fell to their knees in the arena dirt, panting, exhausted from their battle. Then their eyes met, and Hunk could tell that neither of them desired to kill the other, but this was obviously a fight that would continue until only one gladiator was left standing. The other gladiator was also humanoid, but it was smaller and thinner than Shiro. Still, it had fought well and unlike Shiro this alien wasn’t injured. The being walked over to where Shiro was still hunched in the dirt. The alien spoke something that sounded like a fluid version of Olkari, and then it glanced at the girl’s hiding place.

Shiro stumbled to his feet. “Let her live,” he pleaded. The creature scowled. It spat something in its own language that the hologram didn’t bother to translate. “Let her live,” Shiro repeated. “She’s a child.”

This time, the creature’s gesture needed no translation. It lunged at Shiro, sword raised, and Shiro twisted his body, striking it with a roundhouse kick to the head. The alien staggered back, obviously not expecting the move. Hunk had always known that Shiro was a great fighter. But this was something different. This …was combat. Shiro moved like silk, smooth, deadly, and focused. At times, they’d all tried to get Shiro to admit he was holding back during training. They’d wanted to know … how good was he, really? But Shiro always laughed, deflecting the question. Now, they watched as he fought his opponent: no holds barred.

At first it appeared as if they were evenly matched, each gladiator striking blows that should have broken the other. Shiro was in a fighting stance, fists up to guard his head, his feet in constant motion. He deflected a punch, then landed a side kick. His hands were a blur, blocking, striking, falling forward only to spin back out of reach. Shiro was fast. So much faster than he ever let on in training. Keith had said that Shiro grew up doing martial arts. His father was a general in Japan, so Shiro had begun studying Judo when he was barely old enough to walk, and then he’d added Kendo and Aikido to his repertoire. He’d taught an advanced martial arts class at the Garrison, and Lance had sworn they were going to sign up as soon as they were eligible. Watching Shiro in full combat, Hunk suspected he and Lance would never have been eligible.

Even with the wound in his side, Shiro was a menace, advancing on his opponent with combinations of moves that kept the alien off kilter. This was what the crowd had been waiting for – the Champion in action. They screamed their approval, cheering on the match below as Shiro herded the other fighter into a corner. Uppercut, roundhouse, a high punch followed by a dip down … back kick, flying side kick, a low block, followed by a shot to the knee. Shiro was vicious. He gave no quarter and as the match progressed his opponent slowed, obviously fatigued, limping from the various hits.

“Fuck me,” Lance breathed. Even Keith looked shocked. No wonder Shiro had been the Champion. Hunk could almost have enjoyed the fight. If it wasn’t a death match. If Shiro hadn’t been covered in blood and werewolf guts. If the Galra in the holographic stands weren’t chanting “kill, kill, kill”. If present-day Shiro weren’t sitting beside him … vacant.

And then gladiator Shiro landed a kick to his opponent’s temple. The alien fell, Shiro moved in, grabbed the creature in a head lock … and snapped its neck.

Holy. Shit.

Hunk forced himself to breathe. It was a fight to the death. He’d known that was the case. What had he thought would happen? That somehow Shiro would avoid killing anyone? That he’d miraculously managed to keep his title without a single death on his conscience? But to see Shiro kill so efficiently, using the same techniques that Shiro had showed them in close combat training … to see him take a life without any reaction … No, there was a reaction, at least from the Shiro in the hologram. He was exhausted, panting for breath, grimacing at his wound, and he shuddered once before turning and staggering away.

Hunk couldn’t hold back any longer. A sob escaped from his chest, making his whole body lurch. He turned to look at their Shiro. Anything?

Shiro was the only one in the whole audience who was calm, and that was somehow so much worse than if he’d been freaking out. Never before had Hunk wanted to get back to the castle so badly. His chest quivered as he tried to breathe. Pidge and Lance were crying and Keith’s eyes were red-rimmed.

In the hologram, gladiator Shiro limped slowly to where he’d hidden the girl. He seemed resigned to his fate. Steady. Deliberate. Determined. The girl was curled up with her eyes closed, face buried in her knees. When he moved to pick her up she flinched at the sight of him, covered in blood, filth, and gore. But then she seemed to recognize that it was him – Champion – and she reached out her arms and let him pick her up. He smiled at her and smoothed her hair back from her face. There were tears in Shiro’s eyes as he held her, holding her tight and burying his face in her shoulder. Then he set her down and knelt before her, handing her the dagger with its blade facing towards him. He gestured towards his jugular vein, baring his throat to the girl, and nodded encouragingly.

“No,” she said, but he shook his head. Each time they spoke, the holographic screen posted their words in translation.

“Yes.” Gladiator Shiro nodded. “You can do this. It’s okay. You’re not taking my life, I’m giving it to you.”

Shiro was pleading, but the girl kept shaking her head. She closed her eyes tight, but Shiro wouldn’t let her drop the dagger. Only one of them could win this fight and he intended it to be her.

“It’s okay, Talia. You’re giving me a gift. You can do this.”

The Galra crowd in the hologram stomped and hollered, yelling obscenities. “Cheater!” “Coward!” “Kill the coward!”

Lance choked on a sob. “Fuck. This is … so … fuck.”

Gladiator Shiro ignored them. He wrapped his fingers around the girl’s hand and pulled the blade back, clearly intending to slit his own throat with her hand, but then the girl’s body jerked. Her eyes went wide. And she fell. The Shiro in the hologram froze in shock. He remained kneeling for a long moment, his eyes wide and disbelieving. His mouth opened and closed. He shook his head and blinked. A Galra guard had shot the girl in the back.

And then something awful came over gladiator Shiro’s expression. It was a look that defied description. Rage, Hunk thought. Burning, awful rage.

The crowd – the one in the stadium surrounding them -- had fallen silent and Hunk remembered what Coran had said about this species. They were akin to the Galra, and took delight in deadly combat, but apparently they had their limits. And the treacherous murder of a child was one of them. In the projection, Gladiator Shiro stood. Slowly. Deliberately. His eyes burning with rage. He picked up the girl and held her small body cradled in his arms. He checked for her heartbeat and when he didn’t find it, he turned, scanning the audience until he found what he was looking for. He strode forward, eyes locked on his targets. Zarkon and Haggar. Shiro marched towards them, limping at first, and then moving steadily. Finally, he broke into a run as the first of the guards came at him.

“No!” Shiro clutched the girl, refusing to let her go until he was standing beneath Zarkon and Haggar’s booth, and then he thrust her body towards them. He laid the girl on the dirt below their feet. “Cowards!” Shiro screamed, his eyes fixed on Zarkon and Haggar. “Murderers!”

The guards surged forward, and now there was a new kind of combat because Shiro refused to be taken. He dodged and spun, sprinted across the arena. His rage seemed to make him blind to any injuries they inflicted. He leapt and ducked with abandon. When the first of the guards finally tackled him, he fought like a wild animal. Bit them so hard he drew blood and scratched at their eyes. A second and third guard joined the first, but Shiro killed them before they could collar him. New guards surged out of the gates, raising their weapons to shoot, but it was Haggar who stopped them.

“Do what you’d like to punish his arrogance, but do not kill him. This one will be mine.”

Those words sent a chill down Hunk’s spine. Beside him Shiro might have been carved from marble. Did he even know where he was? What if he stayed like this forever?

One of the guards in the hologram had a weapon similar to Pidge’s bayard, and he shot it, circling Shiro’s ankle with the glowing hook. The guard pulled Shiro across the arena by the leg. Gladiator Shiro clutched at the dirt with his bloody fingers, but it was no use. As soon as he was in reach, the guards swarmed him.

Hunk closed his eyes and prayed.

Chapter Text

Chapter Five

Hunk pressed his eyes shut. He couldn’t bear to watch as the guards on screen beat Gladiator Shiro senseless.

Suddenly, Keith was in front of him. “We’re getting out of here.” He took a handful of liquid out of Lance’s cup and threw it at Shiro’s face.

At first Hunk feared that this would be the moment that finally pushed Shiro into a panic attack. He’d snap and surge into action. Hunk held his breath, readying himself to try and hold Shiro back. Shiro blinked, but he didn’t attack.

“Thank god,” Hunk breathed.

“Shiro,” Keith said, “we need to leave. Now.”

Shiro blinked again. He looked confused. Shook his head.

“It’s time to go,” Keith pleaded. “You need to focus. Please.”

“What?” Shiro’s voice sounded rusty.

“Shiro,” Lance said, “Pidge is sick. She needs to get back to the castle, and we need your help to get there.”

Sometimes Lance was a frickin’ genius. Why hadn’t they thought of this earlier? If anything could break through Shiro’s haze it was one of the paladins needing his help. Hunk could see Shiro fighting to gather himself. His eyes were still unhinged, his skin still clammy, but now he was finally trying to come back to them.

“Pidge’s … sick?” Shiro repeated.

“Yes,” Keith said. “We need to get her back to the castle, so we need you to leave with us. Right. Now. Coran said we should all stay together, right?”

“Sit down!” One of the aliens behind Shiro hollered at Keith, straining to see around him. The horrific sound of Gladiator Shiro’s screaming filled the arena, but Hunk refused to look. None of the others were looking either.

“Shut. Up.” Keith glared right back at the alien.

Shiro shook his head, but it wasn’t a denial. The movement seemed more like an attempt to shake himself back into reality. “Is the movie over?”

It wasn’t.

Hunk sucked in a sharp breath. “Yeah, Shiro. The movie’s over.”

“We’re going to help you stand up,” Keith said. “Me and Hunk. Is that okay?”

Shiro looked at them quizzically. “Hmm?”

“Outta the way! Sit down!”

Now more aliens joined the chorus. They needed to hurry. Keith snaked an arm under Shiro, helping him stand. Hunk did the same on the other side. It was as if Shiro were drunk. His body reacted, but every movement was slow. Disconnected.

“Just walk with us,” Keith said. “We’ll be fine if you help us a bit.”

Shiro nodded. “Pidge?”

“Lance has her,” Hunk said. At least now no one was yelling at them. The crowd had surged to its feet, screaming out their displeasure at the Galra for the way they were treating the Champion. What were they doing on screen? Hunk refused to look back as Gladiator Shiro’s screams took on a shrill, watery quality.

Part of Hunk could understand why the resistance had chosen to broadcast this fight. His own nature was peaceful, but right now he wanted nothing more than to destroy the Galra. He’d fight hard to avenge that child and the gladiator who’d tried to save her. He’d fight as hard as the Champion.

“Excuse us.”

“Coming through.”

“Sorry. Our friend had too much to drink.”

Keith made their excuses as they tripped over alien appendages, spilled people’s beverages and snack buckets, stepped on alien toes … Twice, Hunk feared they were in for a fight, but both times it was Lance who intervened, soothing the drunken aliens with his charm. Hunk shivered again. If a fight broke out, how would Shiro react? Would he snap into a flashback? How much damage could he do before they’d be able to stop him? Or would he fall back into that catatonic state? He prodded Keith to move faster. They were almost to the end of their row, but Shiro’s feet dragged, too slow to match their pace.

Finally … they were free.

If Hunk hadn’t been shouldering part of Shiro’s weight he would have dropped to his knees and kissed the dirt. They were in an open clearing now, and their shuttle was docked not far from the stadium grounds. They trudged forward in silence. What was there to say? If Hunk could scour his mind clean, he would, but that would never be possible. He’d see the face of that little girl until he grew old. He hadn’t even known her, hadn’t cradled her in his arms … but her memory was unbearable.

Now, he understood. They’d wanted to know about Shiro’s nightmares – why he didn’t share them.

Well, now they knew.