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Shiro woke to the sensation that something was… off.
Well, more off than usual.
His Galran arm felt tight, the skin at the joining between the prosthetic pinched and warmer to the touch than he was comfortable with. However, it didn’t even cross his mind that it was out of the norm. Some days were simply harder to cope with than others. Old injuries flared up, the prosthetic ached.
He roused himself, early as always- he was usually the first to begin wandering the Castle of Lions, the next awake usually Keith or Coran a couple of hours later. He had been an early riser on Earth, before the Kerberos mission, but now, he was even earlier to rise.
When was the last time he’d truly slept?
He frowned, running a hand- his flesh hand- through his white forelock and back, pushing it back into his dark hair. Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t really remember.
Shiro’s feet took him to the training deck, nervous energy rousing itself within him as he fiddled with the settings on the keypad to adjust the gladiator to the correct level.
“Begin simulation.”
*
He definitely was certain he had overdone it on the training. His entire body was crawling with uncomfortable heat now, his bad arm really beginning to ache. Sweat was beading along his brow and, he thought as he sprinted down to the hangar, he felt a bit chilled.
Okay, more than a little, but it wasn’t too bad. He’d lay down after they took care of the Galra that had showed up on a nearby planet and get some rest.
*
Forming Voltron felt like a thousand bees were crawling underneath his skin and burrowing into his mind.
Shiro grit his teeth, pushing everything that hurt and ached to the back of his mind and completely throwing himself into the task of holding Voltron together, pulling five drastically different personalities together to defend the universe.
“Hunk, hold your weight down- we’ll use you to pivot.” Shiro ordered, ignoring the way his voice strained at the words, blinking sweat out of his eyes. “Keith, we need our sword.”
Focus on breathing.
He sunk into the welcoming mental embrace from the Black Lion, his instincts merging with theirs to become a single entity as they had been doing more and more frequently in recent clashes with the Galran forces. It was less of a he-it and more of they-them. They were both in control, they were the one moving reflexively to block the ion cannon beams and the fighter ships, seamlessly reaching out to touch the other Paladins and their minds and their lions. It was a place of dark and warm and safety, of disconnect yet connection.
The battle dragged on, far longer than any of them had anticipated. Shiro felt his bond with Black waver and thin like the ebb and flow of the tide.
-iro?
-ou there?
-ou okay, man?
Shiro?
“Shiro!”
He shivered as he surfaced into the present, the link between himself and the Black Lion snapping like a rubber band. And then he realized that he was really, really shaking, his hands locked onto the controls of his lion even as sweat practically ran down his face, blinking hard as the world rocked in and out of focus.
“’M fine. Just a little tired.” He nearly grunted, shifting his weight in his armor. It felt heavier than usual, like it was made of bricks instead of whatever material this was. “I uh… may need some help though. This one really took it out of me.”
He had only just realized that they were back in the castle, Black’s soothing rumble surrounding him even as they sent concern down their bond that something might be wrong.
“I’m coming up.” Hunk said over their headsets.
Shiro let out a noise of relief, leaning back against his seat. Exhaustion was moving through his veins, turning everything sluggish in his mind.
“Hey, Shiro.”
“Hey Hunk.”
He managed a warm smile, grunting as the larger man gently managed to extract him from his seat and pull him into something of a bridal hold.
“You’re feeling warm- are you alright?”
“Yeah. I think I just managed to overheat from everything.” He nodded. “Plus we stayed a lot longer in Voltron than usual, and I think Black and I melded more than usual.”
Hunk nodded, accepting that answer. After all, he was sweating too. Though Shiro was almost certain that that was more due to his stress in battle than anything else.
“Shiro?”
“Keith, I’m fine. Just tired.” Shiro rolled his eyes in exasperated affection. “I’m going to go lay down and I’ll be back to normal tomorrow.”
He nodded, looking relieved, and Hunk helped him get to bed. He still insisted on peeling himself out of his armor, though. There were some things that he couldn’t get himself to give up- being that vulnerable in front of the other paladins was still a work in progress.
*
He was not back to normal the next morning.
No, Shiro felt like absolute shit the next morning.
He had definitely overdone it, but he still hadn’t clued in that perhaps the cause of his situation was not because he had overdone it, but for another reason entirely.
It didn’t feel like he’d slept in, but Shiro knew he had because everyone else was just finishing breakfast when he staggered into the kitchen, half-mummified by the thickest blanket he could drag along with him and still looking half-asleep.
Coran, bless his soul, had the generosity to hand him a mug of the Altean equivalent of coffee as he zombie walked over to the table and sat down, a look of understanding on his features as Keith went into his concerned-over-Shiro mode.
“You shouldn’t have pushed yourself yesterday.” He scolded, leaning against his shoulder for a moment before going to grab a bowl of food goo.
Shiro made a noise that may or may not have been an agreement, feeling at any moment that his head was going to explode or he was going to suddenly catch on fire. He recognized the signs of a fever when he saw them- or rather, felt them- and he was really beginning to regret pretty much everything he’d done in the last twenty-four hours. Including, but not limited to- breathing and existing.
He sipped at the drink Coran had given him, feeling his nose wrinkle as a sudden wave of nausea washed through him.
Alright, evidently the Altean coffee was a no-go.
Keith returned, a bowl of something that he claimed was similar to oatmeal in his hands as he set it down in front of him. It wasn’t bad, but the consistency really was not sitting well with Shiro’s stomach, and he only made it halfway through the bowl before he had to concede defeat.
“Sorry, I guess I’m still feeling a bit off from yesterday.” He smiled faintly at Keith, pulling the blanket around him a little tighter. “I think I’m going to go see Black for a sec to check if she’s okay and then go back to bed.”
“Alright.” Hunk nodded, sharing a look with Keith. “Feel better soon, alright?”
“We don’t need you for today- focus on resting.” Allura agreed.
“I’ll bring you something to eat later.” Keith chimed in, seeing the defiant look on Shiro’s face. “And as you’re so fond of telling me, take a break and relax. You’ll feel better tomorrow.”
Shiro scowled at Keith, even as the younger male seemed to waver in his sight.
“Fine.” He sighed finally. “I guess I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
There was a chorus of affirmations and ‘sleep well’ as he stood, bundling himself up even tighter as he shuffled back out into the hall.
He was halfway down to Black’s hangar when the corridor blurred and flickered dangerously and his legs decided to finally give out on him, sending him crashing downward like a puppet with its strings cut. His head cracked painfully against the hard metal wall, stars exploding behind his eyes as pain momentarily took over.
He felt weak.
An ache settled into his bones as he lay there, shivering as he curled up in an attempt to conserve heat as his very fevered mind began splicing reality and memory together. It wasn’t much to go on- a flash of violet out of the corner of his eye, the sound of Galra drones marching a hallway over.
Time passed by, agonizingly slow even as it was slipping by as sand between fingers. Quite honestly, Shiro didn’t know how long he lay there, wishing that he could just close his eyes and pass out. How was it even possible for one’s own body to betray itself like this? He couldn’t recall ever really being sick when he was younger- he seemed to have a startlingly good immune system back then- but he was positive that it had never felt like he was dying.
Was this even how it felt to die?
He pondered that thought with a strange thoroughness, unable to recall if his time with the Galra had ever felt like this, before another bout of shivers wracked him. His head pounded- partly due to the fever, but he was now beginning to think he may have concussed himself.
It sounded like something that would happen to him.
He closed his eyes, inhaling shakily and trying to ignore the nausea roiling in his stomach as he made a valiant attempt at meditating. Sometimes it helped, and he could escape just enough that he could only focus on his breathing, but it seemed as though the universe was against him.
He thought he could hear the sound of distant footsteps, but he’d been reliving Galra soldiers marching for the last however long he had been all but laying there, so he paid it no mind at first.
A cold hand- too cold, too much against his fevered skin, touched his forehead. He recoiled, a broken whine wringing its way out of his raw throat, his neck jerking before he cried out at the pain behind his eyes. His eyes were closed- the light hurt, everything hurt.
“Shit, Shiro, you’re burning up- is that blood?”
Shiro made a small, wounded noise as something jostled him- cold hands cradling his cheeks as they moved his head slightly.
“Not good. Hunk, Shiro’s down and I need help.”
That sounded a lot like Keith.
He tried to shift, but found himself gently pushed back down.
“Don’t move.”
Definitely Keith- only he had managed to master that simultaneous use of worry and irritation.
He stilled the best he was able, still shivering every so often. He may have drifted off at some point- the next thing he knew, large warm arms were scooping him up and holding him against a solid chest.
He made a pained noise as his skull decided that it really did not like the sudden motion.
“Sorry, sorry.” Hunk’s familiar rumble said quietly as he was carefully readjusted. “Just hold on a little longer, Shiro.”
Shiro would have loved to tell Hunk that he was trying, but he had no energy to spare the gentle giant of their team. Actually, now that he had been situated in Hunk’s arms, he was feeling a little more drowsy than before, and his eyes slipped closed-
“No.”
A sharp pain ran through his arm, and he whined deeply in his throat. Had he been more coherent, he would have noticed the wince that the noise brought out of both teens, the guilty expression that Keith was wearing.
Things kind of faded in and out after that, Shiro finally giving up trying to make sense of his surroundings. He thought they might have been in the lounge, but that definitely wasn’t right. He distantly registered more cold hands touching, poking and prodding, and flinched when their gentle touches turned into purple claws and gleaming amber eyes.
There was more fading, followed by the sensation of small hands carding through his hair before he finally surrendered to sleep.
*
Shiro came back to reality- or the fevered equivalent of it- to a warm presence pressed up against him.
Blinking, feeling exhaustion to the bone and a heavy ache behind his eyes, he shifted to glance down, and was greeted to the sight of Pidge curled into his side, glasses askew on her nose and a hand clutching onto his shirt. She looked far too young asleep, he thought to himself before a sudden acidic taste burned at the back of his throat and he very nearly threw himself off of the bed that he was on to forcibly reject everything that he had eaten recently. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized that there was a bucket of some kind on the floor, rather conveniently located in the line of fire, but couldn’t focus on anything other than the sensation of his own body attempting to kill itself.
It felt like it, anyway.
When he was finally able to suck in a weak lungful of air, he registered small hands rubbing circles in between his shoulder blades, soft murmurs of comfort filling the air.
“Breathe.” Pidge reminded as he coughed again, trying to fill his lungs even as the rest of his body was screaming in exhaustion. “C’mon Shiro, it’s okay.”
He’d be a lot better if the world would just stop spinning for a minute, but he didn’t have the energy to say as much. Instead he went limp, lying on the edge of the bed and feeling like he wasn’t quite sure if he was going to have a repeat performance.
There was a small mutter before Pidge’s hand appeared, resting on his forehead a moment before retreating.
“You’re still pretty feverish.” She hummed from behind him before she hopped off the bed. “Don’t go anywhere and try to breathe. I’m going to go get Coran.”
Shiro didn’t think he was physically capable of going anywhere even if he wanted to.
It was about then he realized that Pidge wasn’t the only one who had been present- there was a number of elbows, knees and toes poking and prodding him as the rest of the paladins roused themselves, varying levels of concern on their features as Pidge exited the room.
His room, now that he realized it, though it certainly had changed since he had been present last. There was what appeared to be a pillow fort built above and around the large bed, small twinkling lights strung above them and a mass of pillows and blankets tucked in every open space.
“What…?” he rasped as Keith pushed himself upright and all but threw his arms around him, burying his face in the small of Shiro’s back.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” Keith all but hissed, the words affirmed by Lance and Hunk as they managed to untangle themselves. “You should have told us you were sick.”
“I-“ he started.
“And dude, please never concuss yourself again, because that was terrifying.” Lance added.
“Blood everywhere.” Hunk clarified, looking a little nauseous at the thought.
“You never showed for dinner, and I went looking for you and you weren’t anywhere.” Keith said in a small voice, his initial venom subsiding. “You weren’t moving, and you were bleeding-“
Faint tremors ran through the younger paladin, and Shiro could only feel guilty.
“I… didn’t know that was what it was.” He admitted quietly, hating how hoarse and tired he sounded. “I thought I had just run myself too hard and was tired.”
“You ran yourself too hard, alright.” Pidge growled as she stalked back in, Coran close behind her. “You ran yourself right into a case of what is apparently a form of the space flu and then proceeded to concuss yourself when you fell. But because the healing pods can’t heal viruses and all that junk, we had to make sure you stayed awake.”
“Hence the pillow fort.” Lance gestured vaguely.
“I’m sorry. I never meant to worry you guys.” Shiro said quietly, rolling himself so that he could better see the group.
“Is it so hard just to tell us that you’re feeling under the weather? Like, more than just feeling tired?” Lance scolded. “We all care about you, Shiro.”
“Just let us take care of you, for once.” Hunk implored, his features borderline heartbroken.
“This is also non-negotiable.” Pidge warned as he opened his mouth, an echoing sentiment from Keith following close behind.
“Alright.” He agreed tiredly. “I promise that I’ll let you guys know if I’m feeling under the weather more in the future. But please, can I try and shower? I feel like I got run over by a tank.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea- if you kept it cooler it could continue to bring down the fever.” Coran hummed.
Immediately, the group was in agreement, voices rising and falling as they bickered over who was going to help with what. Shiro let it wash over him, the initial thought of even getting up quickly leaving him as his eyes closed once again, surrounded by his team.
It was nice, hearing that they cared about him.