#familiar verse

Shiro shifted in the cuffs, trying to get some kind of vantage point to slice the things open. It wouldn’t be hard, but he couldn’t get his wrist to twist in the right way. The only thing he’d achieve by activating his arm would be burning himself, and maybe getting Lance hurt worse after the explosion for his supposed insubordination. Sure, he was a bit bitter. It was hard not to be, really.

He hated feeling powerless, out of control, with no way to do anything that could help them. Lance was still out of it from the explosion, and he felt no better than he had in the arena at the thought that he couldn’t do anything to help them. He didn’t want to fight, but he’d never been given a choice.

Shiro pressed himself closer to the wall, trying to make himself a smaller target. Maybe they would just… ignore him. He didn’t want to fight, he couldn’t kill an innocent prisoner. Why were they forced to participate in these sick games? Did it seriously bring enjoyment to the Galra, or was it just another way to dispose of prisoners? If all they wanted to do was kill them, they should’ve just shoved them out of an airlock. Shiro would’ve taken that over this.

His opponent had no such reservation, the glint in their horizontally slitted pupil bordering on insanity. They must’ve been there for a long time. Shiro never knew how many kills they had to their name. They looked vaguely feminine, but Shiro had learned that it didn’t necessarily mean they were female, especially when it came to the stranger-looking ones. His opponent looked vaguely human, though they had light pink skin, pinched features, a long tail, and an extra set of arms. On top of their head sat some type of headdress—a diadem, maybe?—and Shiro wondered just who this person had been on their home planet.

There had been an announcement earlier, declaring the fight between “Champion” and “Quiron.” Shiro almost laughed now; it was more like a fight between “Champion” and “Shiro.” It had never been a test of fighting ability, Shiro would’ve won that front easily. No, this was a battle of wills. If he wasn’t careful… he rolled to the side to avoid a strike, studying his opponent half-heartedly. He didn’t want to fight them, he couldn’t. He ducked to avoid another pass, scrambling to his feet despite how horribly his hands shook and the unbearable chill of thousands of eyes watching him.

The blade of the curved sword trembled visibly, moving along with Shiro as fear threatened to overtake him. What was Shiro supposed to do? He didn’t have any kind of plan or strategy in place. Quiron charged, their eyes alit with desperation as they swung the long blade towards Shiro’s neck. He ducked, the blade sailing over his head in a wide arc as he tried to put more distance between the two of them.

The arena was completely different from anything Shiro was used to. He could fight beasts, he could kill them without hesitation knowing that they’d caused several deaths of innocent people. But these prisoners… they were forced to fight, just like he was. They’d killed only to protect themselves, not out of the joy of it.

Shiro took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He had to do this. Otherwise, he’d never have a chance at getting home. The next time Quiron charged, Shiro sidestepped and swung the sword. He felt the slight resistance as the blade dragged through, and he nearly gagged. He’d made a deep cut across Quiron’s back, striking after their momentum carried them past Shiro.

Shiro never found out how many kills he had to his own name. He’d stopped counting after he hit triple digits, a sickening realization that left him expelling what little food he was given. He spent the rest of that day in a numb state, even when they brought him to the arena again for his next fight. He’d lost his arm in that fight, only for it to be carelessly replaced with a metal prosthetic.

After that, the rest of the year passed in a blur of sounds and dull colors.

Shiro opened his eyes, his surroundings slightly blurred. That didn’t look right, but he was more focused on what he could see. Lance, just a few feet in front of him, laid motionless. His eyes held a faraway gaze, as if he wasn’t quite there.

“Lance?” he asked softly, not wanting to alert Sendak.

Lance’s eyes seemed to clear as he came back to the present, sighing. “Shiro,” he said. “Okay?”

Shiro grimaced, shifting in the restraints. He wasn’t okay, but it was kind of obvious. No point in hiding it. He stretched his stiff muscles before shaking his head, trying to clear it. When he looked at Lance again, the faint blur had faded. Everything ached, and moving just intensified it. “I should be asking you that,” he said instead. Are you—”

“Fine,” Lance responded, shrugging. Shiro didn’t miss the wince that crossed his face, even if only for a second.

Shiro tipped his head up to look at Sendak, pacing back and forth at the control panel. He didn’t even bother looking back at them. Shiro didn’t know whether to be relieved or worried. He glanced back over at Lance, shifting closer so their shoulders touched.

“Everything hurts,” Lance said after a moment, his voice small. Shiro vaguely remembered Sendak’s words, but he’d been out before Lance started screaming. Still, he wanted to make Sendak feel what he’d made Lance feel.

Was Lance okay? He didn’t deserve this kind of pain, he was still so young. If only Shiro hadn’t gotten them hurt… he caused this. “I’m sorry,” he said after a moment’s pause.

Lance just shook his head. “Not your fault,” he said. Shiro started to protest, then thought better of it, deciding to just let it go. Lance shut his eyes, and Shiro felt a light cool breeze drift past his face lazily.

A few minutes passed, and Lance was completely unresponsive. Sendak looked over, a cruel smile twisting his features. It drove a spike of—fear? hate? both?—deep into Shiro’s chest. Sendak stepped off of the raised platform and approached them, the oversized prosthetic at his side arcing dangerously with excess power. Whether it was some form of electricity, quintessence, or both, Shiro had no idea.

Sendak loomed over them. Normally, he was easily at least a foot taller than Shiro. On his knees, he was absolutely dwarfed by the Galra, a feeling that was sickeningly familiar in the back of his mind. Forced into a submissive position, to kneel as if Sendak were someone he worshipped. He hated it. He hated it, but he couldn’t do anything to stop it. He wouldn’t just be putting himself at risk, Lance would get hurt and it’d be his fault.

Lance’s eyes had a faint haze to them, indicating that he wasn’t quite present, but Shiro only got a moment to look before Sendak kicked Lance’s side hard. Shiro yelled wordlessly, whether it was a warning or a cry to stop even he didn’t know.

Lance let out a sound that stole the air from Shiro’s lungs. He couldn’t watch this, couldn’t watch his teammates get hurt. “Lance!” he cried, despite knowing that it wouldn’t stop Sendak—if anything, it might egg him on more, knowing it got a rise out of him.

“Pathetic,” Sendak scoffed, lightly scuffing his boot on the floor as if he was bored. Shiro glared, and Sendak kicked Lance again just as hard. Lance grunted, curling up slightly.

Shiro had to say something, get Sendak’s attention back on him so Lance could have a moment to rest after the explosion. He spit out the first thing that came to mind: “Let him go, Sendak.”

Sendak just laughed. “Or you’ll what, little Champion? There’s nothing you can do.” He turned back to Lance as if Shiro had never spoken at all, kneeling in front of Lance and forcing him to sit up. Shiro watched with a poorly disguised glare as Sendak seemed to size Lance up, passing him over with the cybernetic eye. “…Lance, isn’t it? The Blue Paladin… Zarkon will be interested in you, though I fail to see your value. If it was up to me, you’d be dead, little paladin.” Shiro was starting to get annoyed with the whole ‘little’ thing. As if it made any difference in their situation.

Lance seemed to take a moment before he spat directly in Sendak’s face. Shiro almost laughed, forcing it down before he could make their situation worse. As amusing and satisfying as it had been, even to watch, he knew they were about to be in deep trouble. Sendak took a moment, kneeling in stunned silence, before he reached up and wiped the spit off of his face. Shiro watched as the commander’s eyes narrowed, features twisted in anger. “You’ll pay for that, you insolent thing.” He backhanded Lance across his face, splitting the skin there from the force of the hit.

“Lance!” Shiro cried again, trying to look around for something, anything he could do to get them out of this situation. Sendak didn’t stop there, of course, hitting him again and again. “Stop it! Stop!” Lance’s face was dark red with blood in places, a cut on his cheek and one above his eye beginning trails down his face.

Sendak scoffed, his focus still on Lance. “To think that a creature like you could be a paladin.”

Lance looked dazed, lost, confused. “No… please.” Shiro’s breath caught in his throat. He never wanted to hear Lance like this again. Ever. Sendak seemed to be taking pleasure from it, watching Lance intently.

A name graced Lance’s lips, nearly too soft for Shiro to make out. “Am’lei.” Lance’s fingers stretched as if reaching for something, even though the restraints prevented him from doing much else. “Anam,” he said, louder. “Am’lei…”

Who was Am’lei? How did Lance know her? Who were they to Lance, to have this kind of reaction?

“Lance,” Sendak drawled, as if testing the name. “Am’lei… I haven’t heard that name in a long time.” He lunged forward, grabbing Lance’s face in his large prosthetic arm. Shiro watched in horror as the claws dug into Lance’s skin, and Sendak forced their eyes to meet. “What secrets are you hiding behind those pretty—”

Shiro stopped listening, actively trying to tune out whatever Sendak was saying to Lance. He knew he should listen, he should know, but he couldn’t keep hearing this.

“No—”

Sendak’s nail hovered below Lance’s eye, and Shiro froze for a moment. What was Sendak going to do to Lance? He needed to get his attention. He wasn’t even sure what he was yelling, only that he was yelling, screaming, trying to get Sendak to focus on him rather than Lance.

“Here,” Sendak said, completely ignoring Shiro. His nail dug into Lance’s skin slightly beneath the eye, where an Altean marking might be. He leaned in closer, speaking quietly. Shiro had to strain his ears to hear it. “We all know the stories, you know, so we will never be as weak as you are… Talin.”

Talin? Who was Talin? Shiro was stuck between confusion, fear, and anger, all fighting for dominance. “Lance?” he asked, hoping for some kind of explanation.

Sendak finally turned his attention to Shiro, though somehow Shiro still felt like he was being disregarded. He still addressed Lance when he spoke. “Your friends don’t know?” Shiro watched Lance carefully, taking note of the tears glistening on Lance’s face as they caught in the harsh purple lighting.

“What the hell are you talking about?” he demanded, glaring at Sendak with hatred. “Leave Lance alone!”

A look of what could be considered amusement flashed across Sendak’s face, gone in the next moment. “Champion,” he drawled, sweeping an arm out towards Lance, “may I introduce you to Talin Forsune, the Blue Paladin.” He chuckled to himself, as if he found it funny. “Emperor Zarkon will be pleased when I bring you to him.”

Everything after that was a blur. Pidge told Sendak Haxus was dead, Sendak’s prosthetic hand descended on him and pain shot through him, arcing as the electricity ran its course through him. Lance (Talin? Who was Talin?) went through the same thing, then passed out. He was on his feet, charging at Sendak despite still being restrained. Keith fought Sendak, Pidge got caught, and Lance shot Sendak in the back. Keith forced Sendak into a forcefield barrier. A new crystal was put into the ship.

Shiro came back to awareness as the handcuffs fell off of his wrists, glancing around. Sendak was still trapped inside of the particle barrier surrounding the Castle’s controls, his cybernetic arm removed entirely. Lance was barely conscious, weakly gripping onto Keith’s hand. He said something Shiro didn’t catch, then passed out again. Keith picked up Lance in a princess carry since it was the easiest on Lance, carrying him to the pods.

“Are you okay?” Pidge asked Shiro.

“Yeah,” Shiro murmured, rubbing his left wrist idly to try and relax the muscles there. “I’m fine, thank you.”

She didn’t quite look like she believed him, but she nodded. “If you say so.”

Shiro and Coran had to peel the damaged blue armor off of Lance, piece by piece, before he could be put into the pod. However, even with the armor off and the pod ready to go, Coran suggested to wait a few doboshes—whatever those were—before they put Lance inside, in case the Galra crystal’s influence hadn’t yet been removed from the system.

Lance closed his eyes, and Shiro decided he should say something. “Lance… what Sendak said…”

Lance turned to face him, catching his wrist. “I’m sorry—” he began, but Shiro held up a hand to stop him. He hated what he saw back on the bridge, hated how he’d had to see Lance hurting and in pain, but he was just glad Lance was okay.

“We can talk later, Lance,” Shiro told him, relaxing a bit, “when you’re healed.”

He glanced over at Coran, who nodded at him. “Should be ready,” he said, his tone light but his expression grim. Together, Shiro and Coran carefully lifted Lance and set him into the healing pod. “Heal, Lance,” Shiro distantly heard Coran say. “We’ll be here when you wake.”

Lance’s eyes closed behind the semi-transparent surface, drifting off to let the healing pods work. Shiro sighed. He wanted to stay and watch the pod carefully, but he knew that other things needed to be done. Still, he refused to break Coran’s promise.