#gentron week

“Definitely not,” Lance agrees, sticking his tongue halfway out of his mouth and holding his controller to one side as his ship on the screen executes some kind of quick maneuver around Pidge’s. 

“I don’t think it’s a terrible idea,” Shiro says mildly from a couch across the way. He’s still looking down at whatever he’s been reading on his tablet. Keith isn’t sure if it’s the tone in Shiro’s voice that gives him away or if he’s just remembering all the times he heard Shiro talk about getting a dog back at the Garrison, but it sure seems like he thinks it’s a better idea than just not terrible. 

“You planning on raising this puppy yourself?” Pidge asks skeptically. 

“I’m planning on all of us raising this puppy together,” Lance says decisively, and apparently he’s equally decisive in-game, because there’s a trilling victory sound from the screen in front of them and Pidge’s shoulders drop before she hits a few buttons on her controller. 

“Rematch,” she says, and Lance nods. 

“I don’t know, raising a puppy is a lot of work,” says Hunk thoughtfully. It’s clear his mind is only half on this conversation, though, since he hasn’t looked away from the small white devices in front of him that he’s been working on for the better part of an hour. 

“Seems like you should talk to Coran,” says Shiro mildly. “Seems like he’d be best equipped to handle the situation.” 

“You don’t think I can handle one puppy?” Lance asks sharply, looking up from the screen for half a second just to direct a glare at Shiro. 

“Oh, handling the puppy won’t be the problem.” Shiro grins, and Keith huffs a small laugh to himself. 

“Of course it won’t,” says Lance irritably, this time still zipping his little ship around the screen, tongue out to one side again in concentration. “I can handle a puppy in my sleep -- I could handle puppies, plural, in my sleep.” Keith snorts at that, remembering a foster he had who raised a new puppy while he lived there.

“I’m pretty sure sleep loss is part of the deal,” he says before he can stop himself. Not that he would want to -- Lance can’t just be spouting inaccuracies when they’re talking about bringing in a whole-ass animal they’ll be responsible for. 

“It’s a figure of speech, pal.” He would probably be more irritated if he weren’t mid-game, but Pidge seems to be gaining the upper hand and all his focus is on that. Shiro clears his throat before continuing. 

“What I was saying is that Coran would know where we could go about finding a puppy out here -- in case you haven’t noticed, we’re not exactly in a position to visit the humane society or research a local breeder or anything. Coran could probably figure out where to go and give us some idea of what kind of, uh, dog we could really even hope of finding.” 

“That’s fair,” offers Hunk. “We don’t want to end up with some weird alien puppy without even any guidance from someone who’s, like, familiar with at least a reasonable variety of weird alien puppies.” 

“You got me there,” says Lance, and Keith is puzzled by the irritation in his tone until he realizes Lance is talking about his match with Pidge, who has dropped her controller and leaned back on her hands swinging her knees a little side to side and looking very pleased with herself. 

“I sure did,” she says, grinning. “Best two of three?” 

“Definitely.” Lance hasn’t even put his controller down, and waits for her to pick hers up again before apparently starting a rematch. “Anyway -- that makes sense, but as you all can see, I’m occupied, and can’t go ask him, so…?” He trails off, raising his eyebrows, even though he’s still looking determinedly at the screen instead of around at any of them. Keith snorts. 

“You expect someone to go running off to talk to him right now?” he asks derisively. Sometimes, it sure does seem like Lance thinks he runs the world. 

“Uh, I think someone is,” says Hunk, nodding toward the doorway, where Shiro is standing midstep, looking back at the rest of them with his eyebrows raised, as if he paused only when Keith spoke up. 

“Yeah, I’ve got this, guys,” he says. “It seems like I’m the best person to talk to him anyway, considering I’m the --” 

“-- fearless leader, space dad, you speak for the trees, et cetera, et cetera,” says Hunk, nodding as he turns back to his work. 

“Pretty sure I speak for the trees at this point,” Pidge puts in, fingers still moving quickly over her controls, eyes on the screen.

“I was going to say I’m the responsible adult, but fair enough,” Shiro says, shrugging, and turns back to walk out into the hall, presumably to find Coran. 

“Well, okay then,” Keith says softly, and lies down again, since apparently that’s settled. 

--

As they walk into the main hall of the recollection center, Keith has the creeping feeling he’s been here before. It takes him a moment to place it. The decor is different, for one thing: all sleek white couches and light blue accents. But as Coran leads them past several doors with large windows on either side and large signs written in glowing Altean script, it hits him that this place reminds him of the space mall where they found the replacement scaltrite lenses. 

“...it’s changed a bit, of course,” Coran is saying as they make their way down the corridor, navigating around small groups of various humanoid and non-humanoid creatures. Most of them are aliens Keith can’t identify, but he does see a few olkari families, and at one point someone who’s clearly a member of Slav’s species. “But the general principles are the same -- I got in touch with my Unilu contacts and they redirected me to the Venri contingent -- ever since the recollection center split off from the original swap moon, they’ve been in charge of running it here -- and they sent the new coordinates.” 

“So, what is this place exactly? Where are the dogs?” Lance asks, looking around as if puppies might start spilling out of the doorways around them at any moment. 

“It’s not just full of dogs, Lance,” Keith says, shaking his head. “Weren’t you listening when Coran went over all of this? Recollection as in they collect everything living that isn’t where it’s supposed to be and offer it up for trade, like -- like that space mall, apparently, but for things that are like...alive.” 

“Essentially, yes!” Coran says enthusiastically, gesturing around them at the whole of the space as they make their way toward the end of the row of storefronts. “Plants and fungi and animals of all sorts, from various corners of the universe, all collected here for redistribution! Apparently as the swap moon became more commercialized, they needed a space like this, one where some more...specialized shopkeepers could maintain living things. They also seem to have kept its location -- and its mere existence -- under wraps, which is especially good for us. We don’t exactly want to advertise to the empire that we’re active in any area they’re in.”

“If they’re trying to keep organisms alive from all sorts of different environments, they’ll need a lot of energy,” Shiro says. Keith glances over at him to see he’s stopped walking, frowning off into the middle distance. “And yet they’re keeping the place a secret? They must have a quintessence supply that’s off the charts.” 

“Oh, yes,” says Coran, his own step faltering as he turns to reply. “There’s a whole board of managers whose job it is to keep quintessence coming in and keep everything secret.” 

“It’s not that secret, though, if we found out where it is.” 

“I -- well, not everyone has the contacts I have!” Coran finishes with a smile, though Keith thinks there’s definitely something forced in his tone. “Besides, that’s why we’ve got the others back at the castle monitoring things from their end. We should be fine.” Shiro nods slowly, still frowning, and they start making their way toward the end of the corridor again. 

“Should be,” Keith mutters, following at the back of the group. The whole place feels a bit shiftier than it did before. 

--

“How exactly are we supposed to be setting up some kind of animal nursery when we don’t have any idea what kind of thing they’re going to be bringing back?” Hunk’s question echoes through the open air of the room Allura’s led them into. It’s bare, for the most part, easily the size of a small warehouse, with a ceiling just as high. Katie frowns -- that concern echoes the thoughts she’s been having ever since Coran suggested they prepare for the new arrival. Arrival of what? 

“Oh, well, there are things we’ll need no matter what!” Allura says brightly. “And if nothing else, we can start worrying about the basics -- they’ll need light, well, unless they end up with a cave-dweller, and food...unless it’s something that photosynthesizes, in which case we’re back at the light…” She trails off, frowning. “Well, we can start with decor, at least! Pick a color scheme!” Hunk is looking at her blankly, and Katie blinks, realizing she’s doing the same. Shakes it off. 

“We can work on putting together a system with adjustable outputs,” she offers, grinning at a relieved Allura. “It’ll be fun,” she continues, bumping against Hunk’s elbow with her shoulder. “Try to figure out what kind of nutrient combinations we can manage in different states of matter -- Allura, do you have any idea of what kind of thing they’re most likely to bring back? If we have a starting point, we could probably actually manage a number of contingencies for different energy sources, feeding behaviors, oxygenation needs…” Allura nods quickly. 

“I can get you a list, absolutely. I’m sure there are only four or five species Coran would be comfortable with, although there’s no accounting for the others, and of course we don’t know what the center will have --” 

“-- just get us those four or five,” Katie says, looking around the room and trying to imagine how they’ll divide the space. “Hunk, we’re gonna need to start talking construction.” 

--

“As you can see, we have a wide variety of domestic creatures available at the moment, though not many specimens of each.” The Venri staff member leading them through the facility glides across the floor on six neatly-swishing tentacles. She speaks in clean clipped tones, which Keith appreciates for their clarity if nothing else. He’s a bit impressed she can project as loudly as she can considering she barely comes up to his waist, but apparently Venri are small but have mighty lung capacity, or something. In any case, the others seem to be more interested in the fenced-off runs they’re surrounded by, each containing a different sort of creature. 

Some of the enclosures have small ponds, or are small ponds, as in the case of one containing some kind of aquatic animal that looks a lot like a bat, or like a bat would if it were scaled instead of furred, with enormous fins instead of wings. Others of the cages look a lot more like ordinary dog runs -- and, to be fair, others of the creatures look a lot more like ordinary dogs. There’s one like a whippy all-black german shepherd in the corner whose eyes keep emitting some kind of pink smoke in little bursts. In one of the stacked cages for smaller creatures that they pass, right at Keith’s eye level, is a group of labrador retrievers in perfect miniature, so small he could hold three of them in the palm of his hand, emitting little play growls as they wrestle with their fellows. He watches them for a while, wondering what it would be like to have a pocket-sized pup, until he realizes the others are halfway across the row of runs, the Venri indicating various creatures as she continues her pitch. He half-jogs over to rejoin them. 

“Now, did you all have a particular species in mind? If you’d like, you’re welcome to tell me about your living situation -- whatever it may be -- and I can recommend one for you.” She looks around at the four of them expectantly. Keith looks from Coran to Shiro and back again. It’s definitely not his place to take the lead here. But it’s Lance who jumps in. 

“Oh, we’ve got quite a bit of space,” he says airily. “That’s certainly not an issue. We’re hoping to get a puppy who will get along with our cow, maybe give her some companionship, cultivate that interspecies friendship and all that.” The Venri's eyes grow wider and wider as Lance continues. “After all, what’s the point of a dairy cow without a puppy, you know?” 

“A...did you say a dairy cow? Where did you say you’re from again?” 

“We didn’t,” says Shiro, taking a well-placed step so he’s standing between the Venri and Lance. 

“We’re looking for something in the canine category,” says Coran brightly, gesturing toward the row of runs that includes the shadowy german shepherd, now crouching near the front of its run and emitting glittery aqua smoke from its mouth as it looks at them silently with solid black eyes. 

“Do you have a particular biome in mind?” The Venri looks up at him expectantly, holding one thin hand over her tablet, ready to type. 

“Oh, I rather think --” Coran cuts off suddenly, eyes wide and fixed on one of the runs. Keith follows his eyeline and sees a small furry brown shape curled up in the corner, covered in little white speckles. Whatever the creature is, it’s tucked itself firmly against the wall of its enclosure, so he can’t really discern anything about its shape, nor why it seems to have grabbed Coran’s attention so strongly. 

“Coran?” Shiro asks, frowning. Lance, meanwhile, is darting his eyes back and forth between the brown lump and Coran, eyebrows lowered sharply. Keith sees him open his mouth to say something -- probably a strong objection to anyone else getting to pick their puppy -- and knocks into him with his shoulder, muttering a “shush” under his breath. Lance huffs once at him, but shuts his mouth. 

“Is that a white-spotted hyrassie?” Coran breathes quietly after what feels like an eternity of silence.

He’d been back for almost a phoeb now, thanks to the combined efforts of Jiro, his Team, and his Lion. And after he got back there was a bit of a scramble trying to sort out immediate things like Lion bonds, then of course the much more mundane ones as well. Like sleeping arrangements. Clothes. Who owned what with the small stockpile of belongings after months-to-years in space between them and the lines already blurred.

When they first rescued Shiro from the Void of Black Lion’s inner quintessence field, there hadn’t been time to figure these things out beyond who flew with Black and their Team. And after that what time hadn’t been spent fleeing Haggar’s repeated assaults was spent running repeated tests over both Jiro and Shiro for any lasting “presents” left by the witch, or any lasting damage from his time spent suspended at the subatomic level for so long. Then remedial drills as well as he reintegrated back into the Team and they had to relearn how to form Voltron...again.

But after they exhausted every drill, and after they could confidently form yet a third version of Voltron with their current Team (Shiro was disheartened to learn about Keith defecting to the Blades after his stint as Voltron’s leader. He still hoped to reach his friend, to let him know he was still alive, that the Team and Shiro both wanted him to return home), and after Allura and Coran were finally confident that both Shiroganes had a clean bill of health (and NO nasty spells and implants leftover) ...they could finaly rest.

Only, they still hadn’t sorted through who owned what. Or who even had bigger claim to Shiro’s old room. 

But like with his bond with the Black Lion, Jiro practically shoved Jiro into his old room, only pausing long enough to grab himself a fresh set of bedclothes, with Lance insisting Jiro crash with him. (Shiro was pretty sure that the tank and sleep pants he himself had ended up wearing actually belonged to Jiro. Not him.) But sleeping alone in a dark, quiet room proved unbearable. It was too easy for Shiro to return to that listless floating he experienced while suspended in the Void, body free from all the aches and pains he’d long since reconciled as his “normal” but only his mind kept intact. 

Well, mostly.

Only...

Soft, steady snores competed with his own gulped and held shallow panting. His right side felt lopsided and pinned down by a weight that wasn’t from his now-absent Galran prosthetic. And for all the Black Lion’s efforts to make him comfortable while he was stored as atoms within the Lion’s quintessence, he’d never felt warm. Or felt anything at all, really. And the Lion’s quintessence certainly hadn’t smelled like laundry detergent. Come to think of it, Shiro didn’t quite remember making it back to his bunk.

Slowly his eyes adjusted to the Castle’s night cycle gloom. Soft green light cast shadows against his sleeping clone’s pale skin, ragged scar, and inky black hair. Shiro felt his eyes flutter closed as they were dragged down by tiny, but dense, dense weights. Like mini neutron stars. Shiro felt himself lulled back to sleep, drifting not in Voltron’s Void, but the innocence of stars that space once held for him.

In the morning, neither spoke about the previous night. But to his bemusement the room had somehow converted into holding two stacked bunks where there was only one previously overnight.

.

Jiro wrenched himself awake with a silent scream. His sheets stuck to his skin thanks to a dripping sheen of cold sweat as well as lay tangled around his legs and feet. As did the image still vivid behind his mind’s eye

He scrubbed his face furiously and sniffed reflexively, glaring at his ruined bedding. Even if the could get back to sleep again, no way was he going to be able to sleep in that. With measured movements in an attempt to not shake the shared alcove and wake his brother in the upper bunk, Jiro softly set his bare feet down against the frigid floor. He then cautiously groped his single hand in the dark until he finally felt a bed corner, then tugged. The mattress rose about half an inch before slamming back down. Jiro barely bit back a curse.

The sheets, however, stayed firmly tucked for all his trouble. Naturally. Yet another reminder about Why He Needed His Own Prosthetic. Or at least his own bayard. He’d prefer not borrowing Shiro’s.

The sheets above him rustled as he heard Shiro stifling a yawn. “Jiro, what are you doing.”

Jiro winced. “N-nothing,” he murmured as he fought to keep his voice steady. “Go back to sleep.”

“Ry.”

Jiro knew that tone. That sympathetic I’m the Black Paladin and Leader and Your Big Brother so you better tell me And Deal With It tone.He’d used it himself against Shiro more than once. He hated being on the receiving end. Especially when Shiro felt the need to switch to using some form of “Ryou” to further his point. “Just remaking my bed,” Jiro hedged.

“At 2:30 in the morning?” Takashi pressed.

Jiro remained silent. The bunk shifted as Shiro’s feet scraped against the rungs. Shiro gently nudged his brother to scoot over with his right shoulder. Jiro obliged. He heaved an exasperated sigh when Shiro immediately started untucking the sheets and gathering them into the center of the mattress as one, wadded bundle.

Of course Shiro could. Shiro had a bayard that could double as an arm while they both waited for new prosthetics.

“Nightmare or memory,” Shiro asked abruptly.

Jiro squeezed his eyes shut. “Vision,” he finally choked out in a strained whisper. “I’ll just...” Jiro cleared his throat thickly as he grabbed the damp bundle of sweaty bedding. 

“Ry,” Shiro called again. “We can deal with that tomorrow.”

“But--” 

Shiro tossed a fresh set of bed clothes at him, forcing Jiro to drop the bundle as he reflexively tried to catch the set thrown at him with his non-dominant hand. Jiro shot Shiro a baleful glare. Shiro toothily grinned.

“Fine,” Jiro mumbled through a faceful of pantleg, then stalked out of the room and into the bathroom to change. He flipped the light on, immediately wincing at the sudden, harsh light, then glanced down at the set Shiro tossed at him. It wasn’t a fresh tank and sweatpants, oh no. It was that quiznacking Black Lion Onesie, with the right sleeve already zipped off.

When Jiro returned, he found Shiro sitting crosslegged atop a newly remade bed with fresh sheets, face illuminated by the glow of a datapad resting in Shiro’s lap while he rested his chin in his left hand. The bayard sat deactivated on top of the bed next to him.

“You’re gonna kill your eyesight that way,” Jiro snarked.

Shiro glanced up and shrugged nonplussed. “It’ll get fixed again by the next pod visit.”

Jiro balled up his discarded pajamas and chucked them at Shiro. They struck Shiro’s face with a wet-sounding smack before landing in his brother’s lap.

“Okay, first of all, gross,” Shiro drawled dryly. “Second, is that the thanks I get for remaking your bed, brother dearest?”

“You earned that and you know it,” Jiro dead panned.

“Fair.”

Shiro wadded up the sweaty clothes, then tossed them at the heap of used bedding already shoved into a corner. However, he still didn’t budge from Jiro’s bunk.

Jiro sighed in exasperation. “Look...I appreciate you putting my bed back together, but are you gonna move or not.”

“Not just yet, Ry,” Shiro said seriously.

Jiro swallowed. “Ryou” again. That didn’t bode well. “Alright...” he said apprehensively. “But no way can I sleep between the sheets in this thing. It’s way too stuffy.”

Shiro chuckled softly with a small smile. “You don’t get it, do you.”

“Apparently not, unless you tell me,” Jiro huffed impatiently.

“You’re right, that thing is way too hot to sleep in--”

“Think you do need your eyes checked, afterall,” Jiro interjected sardonically.

“Hush,” Shiro scolded lightly with a playful swat to the back of Jiro’s head. Jiro continued to glare balefully, but without any real heat to it.

“--but that’s not exactly the point,” Shiro continued. “The Team made that for me when they threw an impromptu surprise slumber party.”

“...And think you need a reminder of the definitions of ‘impromptu’ and ‘surprise’,” Jiro remarked. “And yes, I do remember.” He tapped his temple. “So what’s your point.”

Shiro rolled his eyes. “It’s the Team’s reminder that I’m not alone to sort things. that they--and the Black Lion--are always gonna be there if they can. And I’m reminding you that that extends to you, too.”

Jiro’s eyes squeezed shut as he tensed around the way his breathing tried to hitch. The vision, which already left him raw, flashed resh into his mind’s eye once again. As did the loss of his Lion Bond--or rather, how he never had one, not really--although technically he knew that wasn’t Shiro’s intention. Shiro wasn’t that cruel. His hand clenched around the fabric pocket of the onesie until his knuckles turned white.

“Hey,” Shiro called again urgently. “You still with me?”

Jiro nodded stiffly. He gulped down more air as he tried to stuff down the impending sob that threatened to erupt out. A hitched hiccup escaped instead for his trouble.

Gently Shiro unwound Jiro’s hand from his death grip against the fabric until he could hold Jiro’s hand in his own, shifting so that his good arm and shoulder could support his brother. “I’m sorry. That didn’t help, did it,” Shiro murmured apologetically.

Jiro shook his head furiously. A few traitorous tears leaked out to trail down his cheeks and nose and stinging the ragged scar across his face, before splattering against the tacky thing. Jiro felt Shiro hug him tighter, promptint the violent sob to finally escape. Shiro simply held him closer, but thankfully one-armed. Jiro didn’t know how he’d react if the bayard shifted into Shiro’s prosthetic and rubbed it in even further.

“Which one was it?” Shiro asked softly.

“They chose you,” Jiro finally bit out around his sobbing. “She...the witch. She tu-turn-ned me against them. I wasn’t...I wasn’t strong enough to stop her! A-and they chose you!”

Shiro’s eyes closed. Of course it was that vision, which happened to be his own worst nightmare. Of course, despite his best intentions, lending the silly onesie only made things worse. But, secretly Shiro was glad that Ryou was processing things this way, instead of...

Jiro’s tears gradually slowed into steady, shallow hiccups as they finally spent. For now. Snot and saline still continued to flow from his eyes and nose. Jiro’s face wrinkled in disgust and embarrassment. Shiro wordlessly passed him a box of tissues from the alcove’s shelf. Jiro accepted it and sniffed.

“But how have things happened in this Reality?” Shiro finally said softly.

“They...the Team found you,” Jiro answered hesitantly with a sniff. “I didn’t have to die.”

Shiro hummed his confirmation. “And you were the one to find me. The Black Lion placed the bracelet Princess Allura made me around that prosthetic,” Shiro reminded him. “And you never hurt anyone. Our Team found another way to...” Shiro faltered, then swallowed thickly. “...to bring me home.”

Shiro felt Ryou nod against him. Good. Maybe his words were reaching his twin.

“And even if that did happen, it wouldn’t be your fault. Not now. Not ever.”

A spike of anger shot through Jiro’s chest as a memory of a different vision shoved its way forward. Shiro’s voice through his lips. Lance not contradicting him. No one contradicting him. But he swallowed that resentment back down. Shiro didn’t need to know. He’d sort that one out on his own, or take it to the grave.

Jiro felt Shiro staring at him in bemusement, but thankfully his brother didn’t push it.

“Besides,” Shiro continued. “Is Allura responsible for what Empress Allura has done?”

“No,” Jiro ground out vehemently.

“Then neither is our Team. This Team would never do that. And if for what ever reason they did try it, I’m eating my arm. Then kicking their butts no-handed.”

Despite himself Jiro laughed. And silently he supposed that Shiro’s logic applied to Shiro and That Other Shiro as well (the Shiro that wasn’t him...quiznack this was complicated.) Somehow they had avoided That Reality, although Jiro desperately wished that he wasn’t the one dealing with all the aftershocks as space and time realigned and knitted itself back together. Not that he’d with that on anyone... (the witch included. Especially the witch. He shuddered to think about what she could do with that knowledge.)

“...okay,” Jiro finally whispered tightly. “Although then you really would have two robot arms.”

Shiro barked out a laugh then reached over and tapped Jiro’s right stump. “Technically I already did. Or will.”

Jiro chuckled again, then yawned. Exhaustion dragged at every joint and limb. The vision and his outburst left him feeling emotionally wrung out and spent, but he was still suspicious if sleep would come. Or what it would hold this time.

Shiro released him, then laid down on this side, scooting until his back was flush against the alcove wall and left Jiro with most of the room on the narrow mattress. Jiro rolled his eyes and huffed in exasperation. He placed the tissue box, abandoned datapad, and Shiro’s bayard back onto the alcove shelf above them, passed the folded throw blanket at the foot of the bed to his belligerent brother--really, that should’ve been the first thing to clue him in as to Shiro’s intentions--and settled in on Shiro’s other side. Shiro poked Jiro’s left shoulder and grinned.

Jiro huffed a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

Shiro merely grinned harder. “You know you love me, Roo,” Shiro teased in sing-song.

Jiro rolled his eyes then shoved Shiro’s shin with his foot. “Keep telling yourself that, Kashi.”

“Hey!” Takashi squawked indignantly. “No kicking allowed!”

 “Technically this was your idea,” Ryou snorted. “You should’ve know better, older brother dearest,” he added sweetly.

“I’d say I should ask the witch for a new twin, but I’d rather not know how many more models she made,” Takashi grumbled.

Jiro scooted closer to Shiro. Shiro gently nudged him back to make more room. Jiro obliged, then rested his head under Shiro’s right stump.

“We’ll get her back for that...right?” Ryou asked tentatively.

“Definitely,” Takashi growled. “And I’d pay good GAC to see Allura saiyan blast that witch at least once when we do.”

“Think I could get Hunk to make a popcorn basket to hold over that?” Ryou quipped.

“Dork,” Takashi laughed.

“Technically you’re calling yourself that, Shiro.”

“Mmm. And who recently actually took tactical advice from Return of the Jedi?”

“...I’m glad you’ve forgiven me for that,” Jiro said softly.

Shiro nudged him gently with his shoulder. “I’m still not happy about that, no,” he admitted. “But...I understand. I’m not sure what I would’ve done instead if in your shoes, honestly.”

“Well, thanks for that, anyway,” Jiro mumbled.

“Hey. It all worked out. And regardless as to why or how, I’m glad that you’re my brother.”

“I’m guessing that you’re meaning--?”

“Both, yeah.”

Jiro grinned inwardly. He opened his mouth to reply, but Shiro’s breathing had already slowed to soft, steady snores.

He’d have preferred having his own thoughts and own memories and own identity from the start, he mused. And he’d definitely have preferred being born Shiro’s real twin instead of subbing as a replacement for a stillborn one. But...at least this way he could understand Shiro a bit better. In a sense the two had shared a soul for a time, albeit not quite as literaly as in That Other Reality. And besides: what better way to use Haggar’s “gift” than to better protect and support his brother?