Chapter Text
Adora has a lot of scars. Thin little lines of silver criss-crossing her body from Catra forgetting to sheath her claws, and the fresher ones she tries not to think about. Ever since the portal incident she’s finally managed to stop blaming herself for Catra’s actions, but that doesn’t mean Adora doesn’t think about how close they used to be. What they used to be. From what she can gather from Glimmer and Bow the term that would best describe her and Catra’s old relationship would be “girlfriends”. But it doesn’t feel quite right on Adora’s tongue. It doesn’t feel like it captures fleeing from Shadow Weaver together and stealing ration bars together and hiding in the vents together and doing everything else together as long as Adora can remember.
There’s splotches of pink from fire and run-ins with Hordak’s bots. Those she can handle without too much emotion. Machinery isn’t as personal as hand to hand combat with people who used to be her friends and people who she grew up with. Adora has scars, pink and faint and zigzagging across her skin from Lonnie using the Horde sanctioned taser on her. From Catra using the stun gun on her at Thaymore.
Then there’s the two columns of angry red claw marks on her back. Adora doesn’t like to think about those either. Though when she dropped the sword they were already healed over, they still ached. Glimmer said it’s a placebo effect (she had to explain to Adora that she meant that Adora thought they’d hurt, so they did), and Bow says it’s from guilt.
“Guilt?” Adora had asked at the time, which wasn’t that long after the Battle of Brightmoon, trying to shrug off the accusation. It didn’t seem like a good idea for the former Horde soldier to appear to still be attached to her old family.
“Don’t tell me that you feel absolutely nothing when you think about leaving the Horde and Catra. I mean, you obviously made the right choice leaving an abusive dictatorship, but that doesn’t mean that it’s wrong for you to miss them,” Bow paused for a second, looking at Adora’s stiff posture and aversion of eye contact before continuing, "You do know that, right?”
Adora nods after a moment of hesitation, rubbing one of her arms awkwardly and still not meeting Bow’s eyes. They may be warm brown, but she doesn’t like how intensely they can stare into her soul. Adora knows all too well that Bow is wise beyond his years when it comes to reading people, and it frightens her. I shouldn’t be afraid of Bow, she tells herself all to often before admitting, But it is rational to fear my lingering feelings from being known, right?
She’s She-Ra, after all. Nobody wants their best weapon to be conflicted, or afraid, or depressed. But Adora is all of those things, along with being She-Ra. After the Battle of Brightmoon she opened up to Glimmer and Bow, but it never left the Best Friends Squad’s sleepovers or private conversations.
And then Shadow Weaver showed up. God, Adora had been terrified when Shadow Weaver had first arrived. Horrific memories of her former “mother figure” using the Black Garnet to charge before shocking Catra so much she cried herself to sleep in Adora’s arms, with reasons provided by Shadow Weaver ranging from skipping practice to swiping an extra ration bar had flooded back to Adora. The most Adora could do then was try not to cry. After all, Shadow Weaver had conditioned all of the cadets early on that emotion was weakness.
The portal fiasco had soon followed, which was not good for Adora’s mental health. Just another person to mark on the “Lives Adora Has Wrecked” list, she had told herself the first night of Angella’s absence. The only other thing that had rung in Adora’s head that night was Angella’s last words.
Take care of each other. Adora was going to try to take care of her friends if it was the last thing she was going to do.
With Glimmer having to take the throne and all of the stress that accompanied it, a strain had been put on their relationship. Bow still did his best, but it wasn’t the same. And Adora found herself back to the same place as she had been when she had first joined the Rebellion. No more Catra, though now she knew it was probably for the best. That didn’t stop her from still missing Catra in the hours sleep eluded her grasp. And she didn’t want to burden Bow or Glimmer or anyone else with problems that solely existed within the confines of her mind.
Tensions had been high between Glimmer and her. The frontline soldier and the queen. Arguments and misunderstandings had been steadily driving cracks their friendship. The internal conflict had been killing Adora. On one hand, she knew that Glimmer was the queen and her friend and meant well, but on the other she knew that her tactics could be improved or tweaked and Glimmer wasn’t fond of her constructive criticism. On top of that everyone turning towards Adora because she knew the Horde better than anyone, or was a part-time mythological warrior, or knew Catra well, or simply because she was tall didn’t help matters.
Well, she knew that Bow was there for her. They both regularly met, on Bow’s request, to discuss what was bothering them. He always said that talking helped, and she supposed he was right. But she didn’t want to burden him with her constantly growing list of mental ailments. Anxiety, depression, insomnia, even an eating disorder had recently made an appearance. Nothing tasted good to her anymore. Her world, as much as she hated to admit it, was bland without Catra by her side. Adora’s forgotten to eat on more occasions than she liked to admit.
“Adora, it’s not good to keep everything to yourself. Believe me, I know,” Bow would say oh so often, firmly placing his hands on her shoulders and looking her in the eye every time. Desperately trying to get through to Adora. Because, while she won’t admit that she’s not okay, Bow knew that Adora was struggling to do so much as keep going. He could see it in the bags of snacks that she took to her room and didn’t eat. The dark circles beneath her eyes from sitting on the roof of the castle, looking at the moons and thinking about how to end the war instead of sleeping. The scabbed-over wounds on her arms that didn’t seem to heal and the constant presence of blood beneath her nails.
And Adora would tell him that she’s fine, or that Glimmer had called her to the war room, or ask him how he was holding up. Because, yeah, she may have finally came to terms with Catra’s actions not being one-hundred percent her fault, but she had so many other things nagging at her now that she didn’t want Bow to have to struggle with.
The Heart of Etheria has left its mark. Glimmer is gone. Catra is gone. Hordak is nowhere to be found, the Fright Zone in ruins. Etheria is out of Despondos. Horde Prime’s ships dot the skies. The Sword of Protection is shattered, and with it Adora’s spirit. She feels no guilt at admitting to herself that without Glimmer the world had started to lose its color as well. All the guilt, all regrets, and all the things that she can’t control are like the vines on Beast Island. Wrapping around her ankles and neck, dragging her further and further underwater. Choking her out and suffocating her and drowning her all at once. Whispering in her ears Angella’s gone because of you.
Catra and Glimmer are stranded on Horde Prime’s ship because you couldn’t stop Catra from setting that portal off in time.
Glimmer’s gone because you weren’t there to stop her from activating the Heart of Etheria.
Goddammit, Adora. Everything is your fault.
Just like that, within less than a month, all of her efforts to kick that nasty habit of hers are back at square one. Blaming herself was a trait that surfaced early on in Adora’s life. The first instance that comes to her mind is back when she was around five. Catra and her had just gotten out of a lesson on hand to hand combat technique, which was just a very long power point that made them restless. Now they were running rampant through the hallway to the locker room.
“Bet you can’t catch me!” Catra had called, knocking Kyle to the ground and sprinting ahead.
“Oh, really?” Adora shouted back, jumping clear over Kyle and picking up her pace. The speed made her muscles burn, and she knew that running in the hallway wasn’t allowed, but she had liked the thrill of it anyway.
Catra turned her head to look back at Adora, laughing with her bangs falling in her face and giving Adora a toothy grin despite that at the time she was missing her right canine.
Then Octavia came out of the conference room.
Catra ran right into the tentacled woman, and Adora’s heart stopped. Little Adora had quite literally thrown herself between Octavia and Catra, tripping as she desperately threw up her hands to protect Catra.
“Please-- don’t-- hurt-- her,” Adora managed to huff out, "My-- idea.”
Octavia had knelt down and placed at tentacle on her shoulder, "You don’t have to lie, I know it was the flea-ridden little bastard.”
Catra was cowering behind Adora and Adora could hear her choking down a whimper. Something in Adora snapped. She was young, but knew that everyone treated Catra so much worse than they treated Adora. And she didn’t understand it but it made her mad.
“Why do you treat Catra so bad!?” she yelled at Octavia, balling her little fists and standing on her tippy-toes. A strand of her blonde hair fell out of her ponytail and into her face, but she didn’t move.
“You do know the only reason we keep her around is because you like her?” A cruel thing to tell a child, but Octavia showed no sign of remorse at what she had just hissed at a five year old. The tentacled woman dusted herself off, glared at Catra, and walked away down the dusty green hallway.
Adora turned to look at Catra, who was now curled up on the floor crying. Adora teared up at the sight of her friend reduced to a sniffling mound of fluff, and knelt in front of her.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Adora said, gently grabbing Catra’s hands away from wiping away her tears and helping her to her feet, "Don't worry about Octavia.”
“Why?” Catra squeaked out, burying her head in Adora’s shoulder and wrapping her arms around Adora’s neck.
“You don’t remember?” Adora had asked, trying her best to sound surprised.
“What? That she’s a dumb-face?” Catra choked out, starting to giggle despite her tears.
“I knew you’d figure it out!” Adora laughed, tightly hugging Catra who started giggling even harder. She took off her tiny red jacket and draped it over Catra’s shoulders, wiping away the last of her tears before taking her hand.
“One day we’re going to be the ones in charge, and we can just order somebody to kick Octavia out of a window or something,” Adora said, still laughing.
“You really think so?” Catra asked softly, her mismatched eyes wide and her eyebrows scrunched together.
“I don’t think so,” Adora replied, waiting to see Catra’s expression drop before cheerfully saying, “I know so!”
Catra laughed again, hugging Adora’s jacket tightly around her. When her laughter died down, Adora blurted out, "I'm sorry.”
“What for?” Catra had asked, flattening her ears, "You know, not everything is your fault, Adora.”
“What do you mean?” Adora had been so confused when Catra had pulled this on her at such a young age. Nobody else up until that point had mentioned that Adora had always been willing to take the blame for anything when an adult got mad, regardless of rather or not she had actually done anything wrong.
“You take the blame for, like, anything?” Catra had retorted before dragging Adora down the hall towards the locker room,”Let’s get going before we’re late again.”
The Horde had only made her little habit of blaming herself for anything and everything that went wrong that involved her friends worse. It was never explicitly stated, but they made it clear that everything is your fault. Never Shadow Weaver’s abuse, or Hordak’s conditioning, or the older cadets’ who had grown up in the Fright Zone, which was in no way an environment for children.
Adora has mental scars from years of the Horde and the war and First Ones and killer robots. But she’s never had scars like what the Heart of Etheria left winding up her arms and legs and neck and even the side of her face. First Ones writing that probably reads something along the lines of “PROTOCOL” that’s so faint that Adora sometimes just thinks that she’s seeing things. Her internal trauma manifesting in what she sees as physical reminders. What Glimmer called the aches of the healed claw marks on her back. A placebo effect. But Bow assures her that they’re still there. Faint and barely discernible but there. Scorpia, Frosta, Perfuma, and Mermista all have no physical scarring like Adora, but they all tell her that the scars are there when she asks. That they probably stayed with her because She-Ra was the princess who had to channel the blunt of the Heart of Etheria.
Sometimes Adora is thankful for having so many cuts and scrapes and bruises because in this world of magical swords and elemental princesses and intergalactic imperialists they anchor her.
Adora’s gotten a lot closer to Scorpia since she defected. They both stay up late, talking about Catra and the Horde and the lies they were raised on.
“I used to hate you,” Scorpia laughs one night, resting one of her claws nervously on the back of her head and the other on the balcony railing, "But honestly, it’s just nice to have somebody else to talk to that wasn’t always… here.”
“I know how you feel,” Adora smiles sadly in reply, "You never know how bad it was until you get out. And it feels like the rest of the princesses just don’t get that it doesn’t seem like it’s terrible if you’re raised there.”
“Yeah. If it’s all you’ve ever known…” Scorpia trails off.
She turns her platinum blonde head, illuminated eerily similar to First Ones holograms in the pale starlight, towards the sky. The sky has stars in it now, which will take Adora a while to get used to, along with Horde Prime’s ships, which Adora will never get used to.
“How do you think they’re doing up there?” Scorpia sighs, leaning against one of her claws.
“I don’t know, but I hope they’re okay.”
The next day Double Trouble shows up on the front doorstep of Brightmoon Castle. Bow answers, because Adora is still wrapped in her sheets on her maroon cot next to what is supposed to be her bed.
“I need to talk to Adora,” they say matter-of-factly, leaning against the doorframe.
“She’s not in the best state to talk to,” Bow replies, hesitating for a second before continuing, "But if it’s important, you can wait in the castle for her.”
“Gladly,” they answer, flashing a sharp-toothed grin before navigating the castle with unsettling confidence and sashaying over to lounge on a futon in the spare room.
“You’ve really jazzed up the place since this was my prison,” Double Trouble remarks, glancing in a bored manner at their spring green fingers, "Even opened a few drapes.”
“Thanks for noticing,” Bow says through gritted teeth, "I'll tell Adora to meet you here when she wakes up.”
“It’s the middle of the afternoon, is she alright?” they return, kicking up their heels on the futon smugly.
“Perfectly fine,” Bow confirms, leaving the room before Double Trouble can make him any more irritated.
“What could they possibly want to tell me?” Adora asks Bow, pacing the floor of her room draped in her favorite comforter; a fuzzy, heavy red blanket with gold accents. She hasn’t put her hair up since her sword shattered, and her long bangs fall into her eyes.
“I don’t know, but it’s worth a shot. Adora, we’re desperate,” he answers, burying his face in his hands, "I don’t know what I’m doing, you don’t know what you’re doing, none of the other princesses have any sense of direction. And I’m sor--”
“Shut up!” she yells cutting him off, feeling lightheaded and stopping dead in her tracks with tears in her eyes, "You have nothing to be sorry for. This is all my fault.
“I left the Horde! I took the sword! My sword set off the first portal! The same sword powered the second portal! Glimmer’s gone because I wasn’t fucking there for her! I tried so hard to get Catra to come with me and sh--” Adora collapses to the ground draped in her blanket, tears flowing freely from her eyes as the world feels like it’s spinning. Bland and lacking color and spinning.
“Oh my God, Adora!” Bow yells as he runs to her side, kneels down and takes her hand before asking, "When's the last time you ate?!”
“Yesterday morning,” Adora groans, "I had a banana and forgot to eat the rest of the day.”
“How long has this been going on?” Bow asks softly, now more concerned than shocked.
“Ever since the Crimson Waste,” she answers after nearly a minute of silence, hugging her blanket around herself tightly because she’s ashamed. She doesn’t know why, but she is. She’s relieved that Bow didn’t mention how she used to have such an affinity for food when she first joined the Rebellion.
“Adora, why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Bow asks, tears forming in the corner of those warm brown eyes that can see through Adora’s exterior all too easily.
“It’s… a stupid reason really,” she says, because she doesn’t want to tell him about her dumb insecurities and trust issues that won’t go away no matter how hard she tries.
“Adora, please. You can’t keep hiding everything that ails you. I know you think it will be a burden on me, but it’s killing you,” Bow pleads.
She tucks part of her bangs that have fallen in her face behind her ear, sighs, and then finally tells Bow the truth.
“Growing up in the Horde, it didn’t just brainwash you,” she starts, "It rewired your sense of self-worth. I know that you’re my friend, and that you’re here for me, but that doesn’t stop my brain from telling me that you just like me because I’m She-Ra or because you’re nice or that I have no real connection with you. And I know it’s dumb, but my brain nags me with all these doubts whenever you ask me how I’m doing.”
Bow just sits next to her on the floor, listening intently and not giving words of support that just feel empty to Adora. Because he knows what she needs is somebody to listen.
“If I’m being completely honest with you, I have a list of things that drag me down day after day. Anxiety, depression, trust issues, insomnia, my eating disorder, I don’t know if picking at my wounds and preventing them from healing to anchor me is a form of self-harm, but I do it. And I feel like almost everything is my fault,” Adora finally chokes out, tears pouring out of her eyes and burning her cheeks, ”All the time. I was starting to get better with that last one after I confronted Catra in that warped reality and refused to let her tell me that I’m responsible for everything that’s happened to Etheria, but after the Heart of Etheria it’s started to resurface even worse. I don’t feel guilty about Catra anymore, because I asked her to come with me again and again but she just became more self-destructive. I’m one to talk, I guess.”
“Speaking of Catra…” Double Trouble says as they stroll into Adora’s room, "Have I got news for you.”
“You’re telling us that you broke Catra’s spirit, that all she ever wanted was to be worth something, and that she…”
“Still harbors many a feeling for you?” Double Trouble finishes Adora’s sentence,” That is correct.”
“I’m… not surprised, actually?” she comments, "I knew she never was a bad person, but her actions hurt too many people.”
“And yours haven’t? You know better than anyone that there’s people, subjected to propaganda their entire life, in those helmets.” they retort, just to get a rise out of Adora. But Adora doesn’t comply.
“Two sides of the same coin, I suppose,” she answers with a bitter laugh instead, wrapping her blanket tightly around herself and burying her face in her knees.
“So, where do you stand with the Etheria vs. Horde Prime situation?” Bow interjects, taking Double Trouble’s attention away from Adora huddled on the floor within her blanket.
“As much as I do like a good conflict, I don’t like being forced to conform to society, or military states where I can’t be above the law, so it’s looking like I’m going to have to side with the rest of the planet,” they remark, sounding downright exasperated.
“Well, alright. The spare room’s yours, then,” Bow decides quickly, just trying to get Adora the space she needs at the moment.
“Superb, I do love a good futon,” they say, and then they’re gone.
Bow helps Adora to her feet, and guides her back to her cot, before running to grab her something to make her feel better.
“Hey, are you ok?” he asks, returning from the adjacent kitchen in an impressive amount of time. He hands her a mug of hot chocolate before sitting next to her on her cot.
Adora pauses, then looks up from her hot chocolate with a melancholic smile.
”No, "she admits. And she feels a little better saying it out loud.