Archive of Our Own ^beta

He woke to white walls and a pounding headache. Neither were a good sign. Champion stood, slowly easing himself up and off the white cot and onto the porcelain white tiles. The floor felt cold and smooth and uncommonly clean. The only clean places he’d ever been were in Galra laboratories, but he had always been tied down, and they were never such a blinding shade of white. But if this wasn't the Galra, then where was he?

The last thing Champion remembered was that fight. No, that wasn't right. There had been that strange doctor and… he escaped. In all Champion’s life, he had never thought it possible. Yet, here he was. Free. Or, at least, free from the Galra.

Whoever his new captors were certainly didn't seem as threatening. He couldn't hear the soft clinking of sentries marching by or the muffled screams of nearby torture sessions. The two were a given in Galra prisons, especially the screaming. After Champion’s first streak of winnings in the Arena, they had moved his cell directly next to the interrogation rooms. “To show you your place” they had said.

Champion sat there, thoroughly enjoying the silence. It gave him a chance to think. If he was with Galra allies, then he would have been tied down. He would have been bound and drugged and had at least fifty guards (not sentries, but real, living, guards) on him at all times. He was Haggar’s prized Champion after all. His bounty would most definitely be high. Could these people… be the rebels Ulaz had told him about?

No. No they couldn't be. Champion remembered his pod being damaged in the escape. He remembered crashing, nowhere near the rendezvous point, and hitting his head on… something and then waking up to alarms blaring and sounds of screaming and people in strange yellow suits with their guns drawn and… this unknown sense of familiarity. He knew this place. He knew these people. He had been there before, yet he couldn’t, for the life of him, remember when. They had said something to him. He couldn't tell what but the words held that same familiar tone. He remembered their guns lowering and… that was it. He passed out.

Champion stood and started pacing around the room. He felt a bit lighter than normal. The gravity here must have been different than that of the Galra’s. Still, it felt natural. Different, yet normal, like how the air he breathed was free from the stench of iron and death, yet wasn't filled with those sickeningly clean chemicals either. It was so simple, so nice and warm and welcoming. There was a word for a place like this. He knew there was, but he couldn't quite fit the sounds together. It had been too long.

Suddenly, a voice came over the intercom. Champion jumped, but stayed mostly still. If they wanted to hurt him, they would. It had been the same with the Galra. He leaned against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor. The voice kept droning on. Champion closed his eyes and listened, trying to pick out sounds and phrases that he knew he recognized, but couldn't quite grasp. Didn't they realize that? He was starting to wonder if maybe he had been wrong. Maybe they weren't speaking to him. Maybe this was just because he hit his head when…

“... —Shirogane— … ”

Champion’s eyes flicked open. “Wh-What did you say?” He asked, standing.

The voice paused. Maybe they didn't realize after all. The intercoms came back on, but a new voice spoke this time. It sounded… familiar.

“Shiro! Shiro, … … … Shiro?”

“I-I can't understand you. You… You said something. It… Why does it feel important? Who are you people?” He asked.

More voices joined in, but the sounds were still meaningless. They held rhythm, and shape and texture, but lacked any real weight to them. They had to be enemies then. The rebels would have given him the decency of a translator. At least, he assumed they would. Champion growled. This whole ordeal was giving him a headache.

The voices kept on droning on, but they started talking over one another, sounding harsher, more heated, like some sort of argument. He wished they would stop. It was obvious that they weren't getting anywhere, and the silence had been so, so nice while it lasted. Oh well. He learned to ignore the daily torture screams, he’d have no problem ignoring this, too.

Champion sat down on his bed, but jumped back up as he started sinking. Beds weren't supposed to do that… were they? But, then again, this might not be a bed. The only beds Champion had ever slept on were thin strips of worn down fabric lying on the floor, and the only structure build off the ground like this were the operation tables. Those were higher though, and were always made of cold, hard metal. They didn't have blankets or… whatever it was they put under his head. Champion crouched down, testing the spring of the mattress with his hand. He didn't even know they could make mattresses this thick.

A crash sounded from somewhere outside his cell. He heard shouting and feet pounding on the ground. He didn’t realize it until now, but the intercom had shut off amid the ruckus. It kind of sounded like a prison break. For all he knew, it was. Oh well, it’s not like it bothered him. Whoever that was would learn about discipline soon enough, and if they did somehow miraculously escape, then, hey, good for them.

Champion sat down again, but this time let himself sink. Once he got used to it, it wasn’t actually that bad. He lay back, enjoying this new, strange sensation. Maybe these people were friendly afterall. He glanced back up. The shouting from earlier was getting closer. That probably should have felt concerning, but he was too caught up in the mysteries of this place. The cells were clearly built to keep people in, but they were comfortable, as if to make them feel more welcoming. They had an operation table, but no equipment, and everything was so blindingly white it almost hurt.

The shouting outside got even worse, but Champion didn’t care. He wasn’t involved. He could ignore them. He’d be fine. Well, as long as they didn’t—

They opened the door.

Champion leapt to his feet, or tried to anyway. His legs got caught and twisted in the sheets, slamming him face first into the floor. Maybe that was their purpose all along. He scrambled to get back up, to stand, to not be so darn defenseless, but it was too late. One of the aliens in yellow from before walked in. Champion stood, slowly, cautiously. So he was still on the planet he crashed on. That was useful, but what was with all the shouting and the crash?

He took a step back growling. It probably wasn’t a good idea to antagonize his current captors, but habit was habit, and right now he was too confused to act on anything else. The alien put his hands out, showing his palms. This gesture meant nothing. For all Champion knew, it could be a declaration of war to these people, but whoever this was seemed hesitant, slow, so it was probably something less sinister. Still, if he wanted a fight, Champion would win. He a step back, growling again. The figure took another step forward, clearly missing the signs.

Champion hissed, his hand just itching to be turned on. He crouched into a more defensive stance. The figure said something in that oddly familiar language. His voice sounded… familiar. Almost like one of the voices from before. Wait, no, scratch that. This was one of the voices from before. The familiarity felt deeper than that though, like he heard it before the intercom, before he came here, even before… before the Galra? Why before the Galra? How? There was nothing before their Empire, only darkness. The figure reached up slowly, deliberately and pulled off its yellow hood.

Champion stood there for who knows how long, just staring. The figure… was him. It wasn't perfectly identical. They had slight differences like the structure of their jaws or the shape of their noses or even the color of their eyes. Champion was taller and more built while this kid in front of him was scrawny and short. They both had differently lengthed and colored hair too, but even with all of the innumerable differences, it was still him. It had to be. There was no alien in all of space who looked this similar. They both had two similarly shaped eyes with white and a ring of color and a circle of black. They both had hair coming from just the tops of their heads and small, round ears. They walked on two feet and could grab things with two arms (whether the other him had a Galra parasite or not was still to be determined) and shared that same, unique shade of creamy beige skin. The last person who looked this similar was dragged away screaming. Champion hoped that, whoever this was, he did not meet the same fate.

The other him opened his mouth, asking a question in a different language than the others had been using. This one sounded so distant that he almost didn't recognize it, yet so familiar that to forget would be impossible. “Do you… not recognize me, Shiro?”

Was that… Japanese? Suddenly the face and the voice clicked into place. A single word rested on his tongue. He whispered it, almost too faint to hear, “Keith.”

And that was all it took. Months and years and a whole half-decade of torture and Galra conditioning came crashing down. Champion fell forward, almost collapsing to the ground if Keith hadn't been there to catch him.

“I-I know you. How do I know you?” He asked, silent tears streaming down his scarred face. They had to be silent. Noise attracted attention, and attention meant pain. The Galra had driven the noise from his tears Deca-phoebes ago.

“Hey, hey, calm down, it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re alright. I’ve got you. You’re home now.”

“...home?” He knew the words, the definition, but the concept itself felt… strange. Foreign. The whole term was unnecessary. No one had a ‘home’ in the Empire, especially not prisoners. They switched his cell around so often that the closest thing he had to a permanent dwelling was the laboratory. And that dredged up all sorts of awful memories. Like his organ transplants, or his multiple vivisections or… the arm. The arm they sawed off slowly, painfully, purposefully, while he was still conscious and aware and could feel every spin of the blade and every pump of chemicals coursing through his blood, forcing him awake, forcing him to process every agonizing moment in stronger detail than normal. He could almost feel it now. The pull of the blade on flesh. The sound of metal cutting through bone. The smell of—

“Shiro!” Keith grabbed Champion’s flesh hand. Champion hadn't even realized this until now, but he had been scratching cuts into where the metal met flesh of his other one. Keith glanced up at him, worry and concern etched onto his face. Champion felt like he should say something.

“Which… which prison unit were you from?”

Keith’s face fell even further, “Prison unit? Shiro, it’s me. It’s Keith. Don't you remember? We’re—” his voice cracked “Shiro, we’re brothers.”

Brothers. Another strange word. Champion didn't know he had a brother. Come to think of it, he didn't even know he had a mother. “No. You must be mistaken. I… I recognize you, but you have to be from a prison. I’ve never lived anywhere else.”

Keith looked absolutely heart broken. “Do you not… remember Earth? Or the Garrison? Or… or even me?”

“Remember you.” Champion said, leaning his head against Keith’s shoulder. He felt drained, “But not ‘Earth’ or ‘Garrison’. Who are they?”

“They’re not… Shiro, Earth’s your home.”

“Nng.” Champion didn't know why, but he was feeling absolutely exhausted. Keith had started running his fingers through his hair, which felt nice (soft and calming in a way he didn't even know was possible), but didn't help. He was just feeling so, so tired. “Prison is home. Galra lab is home. Don't… Don't like home. Home’s bad.”

Two more yellow suits walked through the door. They started yelling something. Keith yelled back, clutching Champion tighter. Eventually the figures left, shutting the door behind them.

“Who are the yellow suits? What… What did they want?”

“Don't mind them. Montgomery’s just mad that I breached quarantine, that’s all.”

“Quarantine? Like-Like isolation quarantine?” Champion stood, scrambling to his feet.

“H-Hey! Hey, calm down.” Keith said, trying to pull him back down, “It’s alright. You’re fine. Just—”

“N-No. no you don't understand. I can't go back. I said I’d never go back. I can't take her darkness again. I-It’s too much. I-I can't—”

“Shiro, slow down! I can't understand you. Please, speak Japanese.”

“Can't…” his heart sped up. He could feel it pounding against his chest, just like it did back then. Back there. “Can't go back. Isolation cell is… to much. Don't let them take me back. Please, please don't. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll… I’ll kill this time. I-I will, I swear. Anything just don't—” his voice cracked.

“We’re not… God, Shiro, what did they do to you? Of course we’re not like that. You’re not going anywhere. It’s too late anyway. I’ve already taken my suit off, so they’ll have to quarantine me too. They’ll let me stay in here. They’ll have to.” He chuckled, pulling Shiro back down and resting his head back onto his shoulder, “I already outrank most of them anyway.”

Champion sighed. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this warm. “Name’s… Champion.” The exhaustion was starting to settle again.

“Champion? Is that… is that what they called you? When you were out there?”

Champion grunted. He felt warm, cozy almost, and… safe? No. No it couldn’t be. Nowhere was safe. The word was nothing but a lie. Even so, it felt right. He wanted to stay here, clutching this familiar stranger until the end of time. It felt so natural, so foreign, like a memory long forgotten. It almost reminded him of… He leapt back, shoving Keith forward as he activated his hand.

“This isn’t real.” he growled.

“Sh-Shiro! What… What are you doing?”

Champion crouched into a fighting stance, “This is for escaping, isn’t it? You’ll build me up just to break me down, won’t you. Won’t you!”

“I… Shiro, I can’t understand you. What… What language even is that?”

“You can drop the act, Witch. I know it’s you.”

“Shiro, I—”

“That’s not my name! You of all people should know that.”

“…Okay. Okay. Just calm down. There’s no need to panic. You’re safe. I—”

“Lies!” Champion snarled. “Nowhere is safe. The Galra are everywhere, everything. I was a fool for trusting Ulaz. I was a fool for thinking I could escape. Even if I did find the rebels I’d wind up dead anyway. You should know that more than anyone. You’re the one who’s always telling me how pointless rebellion is. You’ve never… wait… you’re not… th-this isn’t… or maybe…” he looked up, the bags under his eyes looking all the more prominent in his desperation, “What’s… What’s happening? Where am I?”

The intercom came back on. The voice was shouting, yelling something. Keith yelled back. “Look, Shiro, you’re on Earth right now. You technically landed on Mars, but the Garrison thought you’d have an easier time readjusting if they brought you here. I can explain more later, but they’re kind of getting concerned for my safety in here. You need to turn the weapon in your arm off or they’re going to sedate you. Can you do that for me?”

“I…” The question threw him off. Haggar never asked questions. She gave demands. The glowing in his arm dwindled and faded as he leaned against the wall. “I’m not… I-I don't…”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re confused. You’ve been gone for over five years. Of course you’ll have a hard time adjusting. Just… Just take it easy, okay? You’ll only be in here for a couple more days and then you’ll be out.”

“I’ll… be out? They’re… just letting me go?”

“Yeah, of course. You’re only in here so they can check for diseases. Once you’ve been cleared, you can leave. The world will probably freak once they hear you’re alive, but the Garrison are looking at giving me a house here on an isolated base to help you recover. It should keep out the public. Remember though, the walls are there to keep them out, not you in. If you want to move, we’ll move.”

He slid down the wall, the exhaustion starting to creep up again. Champion closed his eyes as Keith once again pulled his head to his shoulder. “Why?”

“Because, Shiro, this is Earth. That prison or laboratory or wherever you were wasn't your home, this is. And we’re going to make sure as hell that it feels that way.”