#butteredonions

Shiro sighs in exasperation. They still have no idea why Slav appears to have gotten so tiny, or so much younger. Coran says Slav certainly looks like a young bytor, and not just an adult that was shrunk. Based on his behavior he acts a lot younger, too.

But nobody knows how it happened. The Olkari reported heading for Slav’s lab to check in on the status of a project, only to find the engineer much, much smaller, and cowering away in the corner. He’d howled whenever any of the Olkari came near him, and the paladins—more specifically, Shiro—had been called in to fish him out.

The Olkari are working with Coran, Hunk and Pidge to try and reverse-engineer the instruments in Slav’s lab to figure out what happened. But in the meantime, they—more specifically Shiro, once again—are stuck with a much younger Slav until the situation can be remedied.

And if Slav was a handful as an adult, he’s nearly impossible as a child.

Shiro sighs. “What were you doing to make it fall?” he clarifies, as he pokes his head into the room. It’s one of the project rooms, where Pidge and Hunk frequently fiddle around in their spare time for useful enhancements, or just for fun. Some sort of device is now tipped over on its side on the floor, and parts are scattered everywhere. He winces despite himself. They aren’t going to be happy about that.

Slav hesitates. Shiro can feel him trembling, just slightly, against his neck. “I just wanted to see how it worked,” he whines, after a moment. “I could improve it. I bet it’s not efficient.”

That’s the problem with a younger Slav, really. Even young as he is, it’s clear his intelligence is still through the roof, and his vocabulary and basic understanding of science are exceptional. Unlike his adult counterpart, he’s still got the wildly curious nature of a child, and an inherent desire to get into and take apart absolutely everything—only to inevitably scare himself when it goes wrong.

“That’s not for you to take apart,” Shiro scolds. “You need to ask, first.”

“I could make it better, though,” Slav insists, stubbornly.

“Well, we’re not going to do that without asking,” Shiro says. “But you can talk to Pidge and Hunk later about your, uh…improvements. Maybe they’ll listen.”

He steps forward to at least clean up the mess and put the device upright again. But the moment he does, little Slav screeches directly in his ear, and digs all four sets of tiny hands into Shiro’s neck. He’s never been so grateful for his undercut, or he’s sure Slav would be pulling at fistfuls of hair. “No! Don’t go near it! It’s dangerous!”

“Ow! Stop that!” Shiro reaches around by feel and manages to find the scruff of Slav’s neck, plucking him—carefully, with his left hand—from his shoulder. Little Slav almost automatically curls like a pillbug, stubby little tail twirling into his multiple arms. “We talked about that. That’s not nice.”

Little Slav only looks the tiniest bit contrite. Most of him seems more concerned with checking how close to the device they are. “It fell! It tried to kill me! That means it’s dangerous. There’s a chance that it could still be dangerous!”

Little Slav hasn’t quite graduated to estimating by percentages exactly what the danger level is, nor has he rambled about realities—those must be things that he’ll develop later—but he is still a nervous little thing, when his excitement and curiosity don’t get the better of him. Shiro sighs. “Okay. Fine. We’ll leave it for now. But you ask first, next time, got it?”

Slav nods.

Shiro doesn’t expect much to come of it. The next time a distraction comes up, this will happen all over again. They haven’t even had Slav for a full quintent yet and he’s already gotten into more trouble than Shiro thought possible.

He’s already completely disassembled one of Coran’s handheld monitors, a holopad, the spare controller for the Mercury Gameflux II, and the food goo machine. The last had resulted in a complete mess in the kitchen, but when Slav had learned a bath was involved—in water—he’d fled into the Castle’s ventilation system. Then he’d gotten stuck, and squealed until even the mice had complained, and Pidge had been forced to crawl into the ducts to find him and haul him out. Figuring out how to clean the dust and the food goo off of him without submerging him in a tub (or, at his size, a big bowl) of water had been a veritable nightmare, and even cleaning him up with a wet facecloth had resulted in him screeching about everyone trying to drown him for the duration.

Keeping him still would be ideal, but activities that would keep most children occupied for hours don’t seem to interest him. Lance’s idea of hide and seek had turned out to be terrible—Slav had squeezed himself into a cabinet of tools, gotten stuck, and screamed bloody murder until Allura had found the codes to let him out.

“At least he was easy to find?” Lance offers sheepishly. But while not wrong, he’s banned from further babysitting. Which is a pity, because in any other situation, it would be easy to foist off most kids on Lance.

Movies don’t work either. Slav is indifferent to most cartoons, having little interest in animated animals from a planet he doesn’t know anything about, and bored with the songs characters burst into every twenty minutes. When they try other classics, he complains.

“The science is fundamentally unsound,” he squeaks, in the middle of Star Wars. “That doesn’t make sense. Hover technology doesn’t work that way!” He whines and complains through all of it, fidgeting incessantly, until Shiro finally gives up on that route—mostly to save Slav before somebody murders him for insulting a classic.

Coloring works, sort of. They find crayon equivalents in the Castle of Lions, and settle Slav down at a table to play. The crayons are half as big as he is, and take three sets of arms for him to use, but he draws happily, for a little while at least. Until Shiro eventually realizes it’s not a drawing of his favorite animals or people he likes or anything else kids normally draw. Instead it’s a surprisingly technical document detailing the schematics of some sort of machine, measured and labeled in meticulously precise detail.

“I think it would actually work,” Hunk says, bemused, when he sees the drawing. “Although I…don’t actually know what it does.”

“Should we put it on the refrigerator?” Lance asks, scratching his head.

But not even drawing keeps little Slav’s attention for long, and eventually he gets antsy. And starts disappearing on them, when his curiosity gets the better of him—only to come running shortly thereafter, when he realizes whatever he found is actually pretty scary. And considering how tiny he is compared to everything on the Castle of Lions, most things turn out to be pretty scary.

At least Shiro can sort of keep track of him. He’s not sure Slav actually remembers him from Beta Traz, but he does seem to trust Shiro over the others. More importantly, Shiro is the tallest person there. And when Slav gets scared, he climbs the tallest thing, where he’s safe. Which, most of the time, is Shiro, so he’s fairly easy to keep track of.

(A few times it’s not Shiro. It’s shelves, or crates, or on one occasion, one of the Lions. Once he gets up, he can’t get down, not unlike a kitten, and he wails until someone comes to get him down. Shiro’s almost glad it’s him most of the time; it saves everyone the hassle).

Like now. With a sigh, Shiro settles Slav back down on his shoulder, where the little engineer immediately sidles up to his neck again and curls around it as much he’s able. Adult Slav is long enough to curl over Shiro’s shoulders and around his torso like a python, but little Slav can’t even wrap fully around his neck from tip to tail. He’s still shaking a little, which guarantees he’ll stick with Shiro for at least ten doboshes or so. Until he forgets why he was scared and gets distracted, anyway.

Shiro needs to figure out something to keep him from getting distracted. Slav’s so small—annoying as he is, quite a few things on the ship could hurt him, and at some point he’s going to get himself into real trouble. “What do you want to do instead of that?” he asks, as he leaves the project room and closes the door behind him.

(A closed door won’t do all that much, unfortunately, not if Slav really wants to get in. He can squeeze into far too many place for his own good. But Shiro needs to at least make an effort).

“Experiments,” Slav says promptly.

Shiro blinks. “Experiments?”

“For science,” Slav says, and his high pitched little voice seems to get higher with excitement. “You can do all kinds of things with science. But you have to experiment to figure out how to do them.”

“What kind of experiments?” Shiro asks, cautiously.

“Building things!” Slav says. He slithers across to Shiro’s other shoulder in excitement. “Like a machine that can make you invisible. Or like your robot arm!”

Shiro rolls his eyes. Slav’s fascination with his arm has continued even as a child, although Shiro has to admit it probably is pretty cool from a kid’s perspective…provided they aren’t trying to pull it apart to see how it works. Which little Slav had already tried. Twice.

But this could be something he could work with. “Or the thing you drew earlier? What would you need to build things like that?”

“Yes!” Slav rattles off a number of tools and parts excitedly. It doesn’t sound terribly complex, and it might keep him occupied for a little while. Shiro considers, but eventually detours to a different project room. Slav seems curious and seriously ready to clamber down off of Shiro’s shoulders to explore, until a machine in the far corner makes a loud bang, and he presses close to Shiro’s neck again with a screech of surprise.

“It’s okay,” Shiro promises. “And we won’t stay. Just getting your, uh, supplies for your experiment, and then we can go back to the lounge. How does that sound?”

“Acceptable,” little Slav says. “But hurry. There’s a high chance that things get more scary the more we’re here.”

Shiro doesn’t waste any time, mostly because Slav is apt to forget why he’s scared if they stick around long enough for him to get used to the noise, and then Shiro will have to find him again. He grabs a hover tray and a box, and fills it full of tools, screws, interlocking metal pieces, and other bits and bobs when Slav points and says, “That, too!” Once he’s done, he takes the whole mess and pulls it back to the lounge, where he dumps it carefully over a table.

“There,” Shiro says. “Is that enough?”

“Yes!” Slav says. He sounds positively delighted, and swarms down Shiro’s arm like an excitable ferret, diving into the mess of parts. Shiro’s never seen his adult counterpart seem so enthusiastic. Even building the things he’s known for, like his gravity generator, seemed to bring  a sense of accomplishment, but never this level of outright wonder. It’s almost endearing—if one can forget Slav’s numerous eccentricities and bad habits.

Shiro is surprised to find his last-ditch effort actually works. Slav seems enormously content working on…whatever it is he’s working on…screwing things together, dragging things around, measuring and reorganizing. On occasion he’ll demand Shiro’s assistance with a wrench that’s too big for him, or instruct Shiro to weld two pieces together with his ‘robot arm,’ which mostly consists of pinching two bits of metal together and lighting up for a few seconds. He’s a bossy little taskmaster, but it’s still infinitely preferable to him disappearing, or getting himself stuck somewhere and screeching until somebody gives him attention.

In the end, two and a half vargas later, he’s built a…a something. Shiro’s not really sure what it is. It resembles the thing Slav had drawn, but like Hunk said, it doesn’t appear to have any practical purpose. It has a few moving parts that click and hum in a not unpleasant way, and it’s maybe as long as Shiro’s forearm, but that’s about all that can be said for it.

Slav seems pleased with his work, though. He preens as he crawls all over it, and gives Shiro a superior look. “It’s complete!” he says excitedly. “My experiment is a success.”

“It’s…very nice,” Shiro says, for lack of anything else to say.

“Because I made it,” Slav says, with his usual lack of tact, only amplified by his much younger age. Then he yawns. Apparently having worn himself out with all his science…ing…he scuttles over to Shiro’s Galra hand on the table, pushes it over so that it faces upward, and curls up in the palm.

“Wait,” Shiro says, “that’s not—“

But it’s useless. Little Slav, worn out by his very exciting day, is already fast asleep in Shiro’s hand.

“That can’t even be comfortable,” Shiro says, mildly exasperated. His hand is metal. Surely Slav would be more comfortable on something softer.

But little Slav seems content enough where he is. Two sets of hands are wrapped around Shiro’s metal thumb, not unlike a child hugging a stuffed animal close. The rest of his little hands curl close to his body. He’s just slightly too big for Shiro’s hand, and his tail and back legs flop awkwardly between Shiro’s other fingers.

It doesn’t look comfortable, but Slav is already snoring, and Shiro doesn’t want to risk waking him now. Little Slav is a terror by himself. A cranky little Slav would be infinitely worse. He supposes Slav can stay put, for now.

…Although that means Shiro is also stuck where he is. If he moves, Slav will surely wake.

“You’re up late,” Poe said. Shiro blinked, head snapping up in surprise. His shock quickly melted into a blank smile, fingers clenched in the blanket. Poe frowned.

Shiro cleared his throat, his tone stiff and formal. “I didn’t realize anyone else would be up. Are the rooms not to your liking?”

“They’re fine, kid. It’s not often I get such an amazing view of the stars, is all.” Poe gestured. “Come on in, pull up some floor. Do you know the constellations here?”

Shiro hesitated. The sweats he wore were too long, nearly covering his toes. His sleep shirt was too small. The metal fingers of his right hand twisted heavily in the blanket he’d wrapped protectively around his shoulders. Poe raised a brow. Shiro’s jaw shifted. He stepped inside and the door slid shut behind him, cutting off the light from the hall and bathing everything in a soft blue glow. Poe wiggled to the side, patting the floor beside him, and Shiro tentatively folded down beside him.

“So, constellations? You know ‘em?”

Shiro shook his head, adjusting the blanket around his knees. “Not in this quadrant. I knew the ones before, though. What are the stars like in your reality?”

“Slightly different.” Poe cradled his cheek in his palm, gaze bouncing over Shiro’s haggard expression. Circles under his eyes, sallow skin, hollow cheeks. Poe clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “You don’t look so hot.”

Scrubbing at his nose, at his scar, Shiro tilted his chin down. The stars caught on the metal of his wrist. “I’m fine.”

Poe snorted. “Mhm. I know a nightmare face when I see one, kid. Nighttime can be a load of bantha shit if you let it. This your coping mechanism?”

Blinking, Shiro furrowed his brow. He remained quiet. Watching. Weighing options. Poe waited, tapping a finger against his cheek, holding Shiro’s gaze. For a moment, he dropped the facade of a carefree and battle hungry pilot, allowed Shiro a peek behind the curtain.

Circles under his eyes courtesy of Kylo Ren and his fucking control issues.

A tick in his jaw he couldn’t quite contain.

Rippling shivers in the fine bones of his wrists, burned into his bones from the manacles he would never be free of.

A moment. An understanding. Shiro’s mouth dropped open. Poe quirked a brow. “Now you’re getting there.”

Swallowing, Shiro clicked his teeth together. Exhaled. Tucked himself deeper into the blanket. “How long have you had them?”

“The current ones I’ve only had for a few months.” Poe glanced out the window at a lazy comet spiralling between starlight. “The others are oldies but goodies from my glory days before the Resistance. Different horrors thrown together to make sleeping a right dick.”

Quiet stretched between them, as delicate as the spidersilk light of a fading star. Poe bounced his gaze from constellation to constellation, never straying into the darkness between, remaining stubbornly within the light. His thoughts were sharp but his body was fuzzy. The nightmares lurked, petulant.

“I’m -” Shiro started, stopped, started again, “I don’t remember the dreams. Just the feelings. Sometimes I catch glimpses but it’s just smears of colour. The feelings though. Those hurt.”

Stars, this was a mess. Falling into this reality had been disorienting, but war was the same across the board: a bundle of exhaustion and fear, of close calls and near misses, of not so lucky moments and screaming grief. The kid was young. Scarred in a way Poe couldn’t quite comprehend, more than the horror carved into his skin. Unfair, that. War was unfair. How it had hooked its claws into Shiro was even more so.

Sighing, Poe scrubbed his hands through his hair. “What helps?”

“Not talking about it,” Shiro said, quirking a smile when Poe laughed.

“See, I keep trying that and it does squat. Let’s try one of mine instead.” Straightening his spine, Poe lifted a hand and tilted his palm, spreading his fingers wide until each fingertip touched a star. “We don’t know the constellations here, but we can play around with that. Come up with some fancy names for stars we see and claim them as our own.”

Shiro laughed, a gut punch sound that rattled wrong. Poe nudged their shoulders together. “Come on, kid. If I’m doing your coping mechanism, it’s only fair you do mine.”

“What’s the hand thing?” Shiro asked, mimicking the wide spread of Poe’s fingers. His eyes narrowed and he adjusted the angle. Most pilots got it on the first try. Poe hid a smile. Finn never understood this exercise, but every single pilot Poe had coached had picked it up damn near immediately. Shiro was no exception.  

Tilting his head, Poe explained, “Helps you pick your stars. Each fingertip represents the beginning of a different constellation. Let’s see if we can’t come up with something to wow the others, huh?”

They spent the next hour or so locating and mapping the stars with their fingers. Shiro’s posture relaxed the further into the game they got, until a proper laugh escaped him when Poe explained exactly what an Ewok was and why the constellation beginning on his middle finger was the spitting image of one. The tense line of Shiro’s jaw eased; his shoulders dropped and his gaze went bright with mischief and excitement. A proper response to a game. The kid deserved a bit of nonsense considering the position he was in. A single night where the nightmares were secondary to a bit of silly fun.

By the time the lights started to mimic dawn in the observation deck, Shiro had laughed himself hoarse and tired, snickering as Poe recounted the story of Luke Skywalker and the Tauntaun. Poe picked out a last constellation, quietly naming it Bey before dropping his hands into his lap. The last prickles of darkness at the edge of his thoughts drifted away into starlight. Shiro exhaled shakily. Poe waited.

“Thanks for this,” Shiro whispered.

Poe shrugged. “Honestly, it helped me too. Talking is great and all, but sometimes just chasing the nightmares away with the light is more satisfying.” Poe quirked his lips. “Also, Finn doesn’t get it. He always ends up calling me a cheater.”

Shiro laughed, proper and worn. “How do you cheat at star naming?”

“That’s what I said!”

The lights grew brighter. Shiro broke their conversation with a truly incredible yawn. Poe pushed to his feet, groaning at the pop of his hip and the numb tingle of his thighs. Shiro followed him up, yawning again, blanket hunched up around his ears. They burned most of the night away playing chase with the stars. Hopefully, that was enough.

Poe clapped a hand to Shiro’s shoulder. Shiro blinked blearily at him. “Get some sleep, kid. I’ll keep everyone in line until you can join us again.”

“I’m okay.”

“Nope, none of that, we’re not doing that again.” Even though Shiro was taller, Poe marched Shiro to the door and nudged him back toward the Paladin quarters. “I didn’t share a top secret coping mechanism only to have you pass out in your breakfast. Now, go.”

Cracking a smile, Shiro staggered his way down the hall, yawning wide again as he disappeared around a corner. Stifling his own yawn, Poe picked his way back to the guest quarters, to where Rey would be fighting with Finn over the covers and the both of them would quietly ask if Poe wanted to talk. Strange new reality, strange constellations, but same concepts.