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Shiro breathes.
One breath in, the same breath out. Over and over, the repetitive motion so essential to keeping him alive. He’d forgotten what it meant to breathe, what it meant for air to fill his lungs and hold it there.
He blinks. He breathes.
It’s been so long since he had to do any of those things. He’d almost forgotten how to do them, almost let himself fade into the stars and let himself rest.
He was glad he hadn’t, even as he stared out at the Garrison grounds in front of him and forced himself to breathe.
Time in the astral plane was strange. It stretched on forever, and at the same time, it felt like a single instance. Shiro had aged more than he ever would in there, and he felt like he’d barely entered. He didn’t know where he stood sometimes, closing his eyes only to see haunting emptiness and stars looking down at him impassively.
Shiro didn’t sleep much these days, not that he could boast much sleep before he’d died either.
But none of that mattered right then. It couldn’t matter, not when Shiro was on Earth again, breathing in half-familiar air and feeling the dread and fear curling in his stomach as he took in what the Galra had done to his home.
Shiro had been one of the first humans to experience how cruel Zarkon’s empire could be. How cruel loyal Empire soldiers could be. How much pain they could inflict onto the human soul, how badly they could break him, and then continue breaking him until he didn’t recognize himself.
He’d woken up every night, the same four words on his lips, a question he was scared to ask himself. An answer he never would be able to face. A reality that was his, no matter how badly he never wanted it to be.
What have you become?
Shiro didn’t know. He barely knew his own name, the day Ulaz helped him escape from the experimentation room. All he knew was pain and suffering . He’d remembered himself - had picked up the broken pieces of himself and tried his best to slot them into place on his way to Earth.
He’d done decent enough of a job, he thought. Enough that Keith could still recognize him, still love him, still look at him with that childish admiration and need for guidance that Shiro had always seen in his brother’s face.
Still. The question remained in Shiro, on the edge of his lips, waiting to be asked.
Shiro hadn’t had the courage to answer himself before he died. He’d been too scared, unable to meet his own eyes in a mirror without seeing sickly yellow overtaking them, seeing a wicked smile on his face, seeing Matt’s blood on his hands and knowing that he was the reason Matt had bled in the first place .
Attacking Matt had been a move to save his life. And yet, that was another tally in Shiro’s list, another hurt inflicted onto someone innocent that kept Shiro awake at night, unable to dream under the crushing weight of everything he’d done to survive. Of everyone he’d killed to survive. Of the blood that painted his hands, the whispers that followed him in the cell, the fear in the eyes of the other prisoners, where there had once been sympathy. Where there had once been understanding.
Who was Shiro, now that even the people he’d been trapped with feared him?
What had he become?
Shiro didn’t have an answer then. He still didn’t have one, standing on familiar soil years after he’d left it. He’d been so sure he’d die out in space. At first, he thought it would be his illness - that it would catch up to him, and the only days he’d have left back on Earth were his worst ones, the ones he wanted to spare Adam from, the ones he never wanted Keith to see him in. Later, it had been in the rings, with blood on his hands, adrenaline in his veins, and bloodlust in his eyes as he roared and fought.
But it hadn’t been either of those things to kill him. Shiro had died, and for the longest time, he hadn’t even known that he died. No one else did either. Someone else had stepped into his life, taken it over entirely, and no one noticed Shiro, trapped and screaming. No one noticed Shiro, fading away far out of sight, in the way he always dreamed he would.
But Lance had seen him, even briefly. And Keith had found him. And Allura had brought him back, even if it was in a body that wasn’t his own. A body that had held his place, held a consciousness he could feel stirring at the back of his mind.
And wasn’t that something? Shiro could feel nothing but guilt and fear and sorrow from that corner of his mind. Wasn’t that something in it’s own, that Shiro was in the body of someone that had taken his place, in a body that had never been his. Was never going to be his.
Those were the kind of thoughts Shiro liked to avoid, though. They joined the nightmares that plagued him at night, flying through empty space with Keith and Krolia for company, ones that he carefully folded away until he was alone.
Keith didn’t need to know how much he remembered being dead. He had enough to deal with.
And god, if Shiro didn’t have a million different emotions when he looked at his kid brother. He was so unbearably proud of the man Keith had grown into. Of the role Keith had grown into. He was so guilty , seeing the weight on Keith’s shoulders and the distance in his eyes. There were some things he couldn’t fix, some pains he couldn’t take back from Keith. Shiro knew that, as well as he knew his own burdens and pains.
Keith was Atlas, holding the world on his shoulders.
And Shiro was Icarus, falling through the skies and desperately trying to grasp onto the feathers floating through his grasp, close enough to grab but not enough to save him.
Could Shiro even be saved anymore?
What have you become?
Shiro watched quietly as Pidge jumped out of the speeder, his hand gentle where it rested on Keith’s shoulder. He watched Lance collapse into his family’s arms, sobs and apologies and laughter leaving him as he was swarmed by a group of people that adored him.
He kept a hand on Keith’s shoulder, and very carefully did not look for warm brown eyes, half-hidden by dark brown hair. He very carefully kept his gaze forward, ready to support Keith and Allura as Iverson and Sanda approached. He very carefully avoided listening for any mention of General Wadekar, words spoken eons ago still echoing in his ears as if they’d been said to his face moments ago.
If you go, don’t expect me to be waiting when you come back .
Despite them, Adam had been what got Shiro through the arena. The memory of Adam’s face, of the warmth of his eyes, of the gentleness in his hands, of the crinkles in his face. It had been what kept Shiro alive, what kept him tethered to himself, to his humanity. Shiro would’ve lost himself long ago if it hadn’t been for the memories Adam had left him with. If not for the engagement ring that Shiro wore as a necklace.
Somehow, that necklace and that ring had survived everything Shiro had lived and died through. He’d left it in the Castle in that final stand against Zarkon, all those years ago. Lance had been the one to grab it when the Castle collapsed. Somehow, it had made its way back to Shiro, back home to be nestled against Shiro’s pulse in his throat, his whole heart held in one place, forcefully by the sting of the metal of the necklace against his neck.
Shiro knew he didn’t have claim to it anymore. But Adam had once given Shiro the ring, had once been willing to spend the rest of their lives together. And when Shiro lost himself, he still had Adam. He kept Adam from Haggar, before he escaped. He couldn’t bear for her to have him too - not when she had every other part of Shiro, not when Shiro still had that Y-shaped scar down his chest that told him that she’d seen every other part of him. He’d kept Adam safe.
Even if he wasn’t Adam’s anymore, Adam would always be Shiro’s. In some deep, unbreakable bond, Adam would always be Shiro’s.
Shiro didn’t know what he’d become. But he knew what he had once been.
He knew what he wasn’t anymore.
He kept his gaze carefully forward, focused on what was in front of him. He forced himself to not look around. He forced himself to not listen, to not get his hopes up.
Maybe that was why he couldn’t help the desperate gasp that escaped him when soft hands cupped his face. When his face was gently forced up, when his eyes automatically raised to meet warm brown. When gentle hands held Shiro close, when a familiar face swam into view. When he felt a familiar touch of skin, a forehead against his own in a position that had once been so familiar. In a touch that was so foreign to him, and yet so familiar.
Shiro had never expected Adam to wait for him. He hadn’t expected to see Adam again, in their entire journey to Earth. He’d spent it telling himself to not get his hopes up, berating himself when he felt hope anyway.
He didn’t think he’d ever have the privilege to be Adam’s again. He didn’t deserve to. Not when he left, not when he died, not when he took someone else’s place. Not when he had blood on his hands, and memories in his head, and sometimes, not an ounce of regret in his veins.
Shiro had been unmoored years ago, didn’t know who he was or where he belonged. He came back to Earth, knowing that his home was something he lost years ago, the moment he decided to go on the Kerberos mission.
He hadn’t expected his home to come find him, to come hold him in his arms as if he’d never left.
He’d never expected to hear a soft gasp of his name in his ears as he drawn against a familiar chest.
He’d never expected to see Adam again, even as he hoped and prayed and cried and screamed.
And yet, here Adam was.
Here were Adam’s hands, still holding Shiro’s face so carefully, as if Shiro was still breakable, as if Shiro hadn’t been broken apart in every way possible and was only holding himself together by the loosest strings. Here were Adam’s eyes, so familiar despite the years, overfilling with tears and the emotions so strong it was overwhelming. Here was relief, and joy, and heartbreak, and grief, all at once, staring him in the eyes.
Here was the feeling of Adam’s forehead against his own, the gasp of his own name against his lips, the distance so close and so far that it was entirely unbearable. Here was the cold touch of a metal ring against his cheek, a ring that Shiro had bought so many years ago, a ring that had been left on his nightstand to collect dust the night he left.
Here Adam was.
And here Shiro was, in Adam’s arms. With Keith’s warm violet eyes meeting his own grey, with Keith giving him a beaming smile and privacy.
Here Shiro was.
Home again, when he hadn’t been home in years. When all he wanted was to come back home.
Here Adam was, bringing Shiro’s eyes back to his own.
Here were Adam’s lips, coming up to gently brush against Shiro’s - and then firmly press against them, holding Shiro closer as Adam stole the very breath from his lungs and breathed his own air back.
Here Shiro was, remembering to breathe again, because Adam was there.
Because Adam was holding him, and for a moment, nothing else mattered. No one else mattered. Not when Adam was here, looking at him with so much relief and awe, with the beginnings of a lecture on Adam’s lips and the love Shiro could see etched into his face.
What have you become?
Shiro hadn’t become anything. Shiro had become everything.
But at the end of the day?
Shiro was home, in Adam’s arms, on Earth, Keith nearby. Shiro was finally breathing, the air familiar to his lungs as if he’d never breathed any other kind of air.
What have you become?
Shiro had become Adam’s, once more.
And nothing else mattered.