Work Text:
Princess Allura draws the short straw. Not literally, they don’t have straws, but her dexterity, speed, and focus, are key to the success of this endeavour. They’re tired, they’ve been at it for what feels like a varga but is significantly less, and none of them can afford to let Zarkon win.
With a sigh, she takes her place at the controls. Wiping the sweat from her hands, she begins.
“Watch it,” murmurs Shiro, he and Matt have her back. They crowd in behind, possibly ready to step in, but only if she asks and only if it starts to turn pear-shaped. Matt actually says it out loud so of course Allura asks.
"What is a pear?"
"An Earth fruit."
"Well what shape is it?"
He sketches it with his hands and she raises an eyebrow at him. "And why is turning pear-shaped a bad thing?"
Shiro tries and Allura nods like she understands but he's pretty sure she thinks it's weird, and agrees just to end that particular line of conversation.
Her tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth just a little as she concentrates. It’s adorable. He shakes it off, it's not the time. “Almost got it,” she whispers. “Almost. Got. It.”
It slips before their eyes, a tiny amount. She frowns at it, as if that will stop it moving.
“Oh no. You’re losing it,” says Matt, scrubbing his hands down his face and covering his eyes. “I can’t watch.”
“I am not losing anything, Matthew,” she growls, adjusting her grip but it slips out of their grasp.
Lance screams somewhere close, Keith and Hunk shout, Pidge wails.
Shiro observes Allura’s touch on the controls tremble for a moment and he places his hands over hers, letting go when they still. “Take your time and try again, Princess, shut out all distractions. You can do this.” Shiro’s breath hitches. “It's slippery though, so maybe go faster?” He’s content to lean over her shoulder. He doesn’t offer to take her place, she has it under control and she’s gotten the closest since they started.
“Shut out distractions,” Allura repeats... and activates the claw. It moves into position, drops, and tugs at the tiny Black Lion plushy, caught tightly in a cluster of Zarkon action figures. Shiro and Matt collectively hold their breath as Zarkon refuses to release their prize. Allura's mice burst from underneath, punching away all the Zarkons with fierce chitters. “Yes! Thank you, my friends.” The tiny Black Lion is free and the claw retracts and releases it into the chute. All four mice ride it down.
They do a three person high-five, then he and Matt spend five doboshes explaining high-fives to Allura. In the end, she verbally chalks it up to Earth and it's accumulated oddities. Like pears. Shiro isn't offended, humans are weird or as weird as every other species they’ve met.
Allura reaches down to collect their prize and turns to him. “Happy birth-quintant, Shiro!” She shoves the Lion into his hands before he can refuse. He has a small but growing collection of prizes waiting back at their table that the paladins have won for him. “What shall we do now?" she asks. "Another game?"
They turn to look across the arcade area. Lance is still screaming at the pod racer game he is losing to Keith. He's barely losing but it's enough to get his blood up and that get's Keith going.
"Not that one though," says Shiro with a grin.
It’s an experience, celebrating his birthday at an alien version family restaurant modelled after Chuck e Cheese, tucked away in a distant corner of the space mall.
Somehow the date has escaped him. The last two years, he’s been otherwise occupied. He doesn’t waste time thinking about how because that's in the past and is a rabbit hole he has no intention of going down consciously. His friends, his family, want to celebrate another year alive. Despite everything they've suffered. And they’ve been spectacularly cunning.
He truly had no clue this was coming.
The day begins with a comment from Coran at breakfast.
Keith is sitting next to Shiro, he arrived alone a varga ago, and he's eating the purple pancakes on his plate with little enthusiasm. They never have pancakes, this is a treat. Shiro likes the piquant taste that is like citrus on the tongue but has the rich sweetness of pineapple if it was full of mint. He sticks his spork in Keith’s stack and removes half when Keith turns away to answer a question from Lance. If he notices, Keith doesn’t say anything, but he stares at Shiro for a few long ticks as his friend chokes them down fast, gulping milk and thumping his chest to dislodge the sudden pancake blockage. Keith's mouth quirks and he silently moves the rest of the pancakes to Shiro's plate and gets himself some goo.
“We're heading to the Unilu swap moon. There are some very specific items I ordered and they’re finally ready to collect. Today. In a couple of vargas.” Coran looks at four of the six faces around him with what appears to be paternal disappointment. “Things would’ve gone so much faster if some of us hadn’t lost our valuable disguises on the last visit.”
Lance pipes up immediately. “That’s not a problem, Coran, the real problem is finding convincing space pirate disguises for Shiro and Allura.”
Shiro silently admits that, yes, the two of them do tend to stand out everywhere they go. He’s touched that they still want him to go with them, despite that.
“I will handle the disguises, leave it to me,” says Coran quickly, before Lance can offer.
He gets a frown in return. “But I--”
“I. Insist.” Coran spears Lance with a look and the younger man swallows hard. The other paladins shuffle in their seats nervously. Shiro sporks another pancake into his mouth and watches with interest. It's better than a soap opera some days.
Lance concedes a tick later, finger guns at the ready. “Gotcha, you’re on disguises. About how long do you think you’ll need to do that?”
“You will have no more than a varga before we leave.”
The other paladins all nod sharply at Coran.
The number of times there has been no Altean or paladin on the Castle is zero. This is a first. “Is it wise for all of us to leave the castle?” asks Shiro with concern. He will stay behind if necessary, it will boost everyone’s morale to go to the swap moon again. They came back so excited and happy last time. "I can stay...."
"NO!" The shout comes from all of them and his eyes widen in response.
“It’s fine, Shiro. Leader is incoming with a handful of Blades. He’s going to defend the castle while we are away.” Keith avoids looking Shiro in the eye, looks everywhere but.
Shiro's bullshit sense goes off. Something is definitely up.
He's going to reply but Coran is already on his feet and Shiro barely gets the last pancake into his mouth before he is dragged down to a floor he’s never been on, to a room that wouldn’t be out of place in Barbie’s dream closet of former careers. The next varga turns into something similar to a teen movie makeover montage with mirrors circling a seating area, and aisles upon aisles of really strange clothes.
Allura lets out a high pitched squeal of delight next to him, clapping her hands together rapidly in excitement. It’s endearing how happy she is. He imagines wearing a single dress for ten thousand years and change would get a little old.
He’s also not above the occasional movie makeover montage.
Coran disappears for a time and returns with several “looks” each worse than the last. He can’t find it in himself to complain for the sheer joy it’s giving the Princess. Allura and the mice try on so many outfits that Shiro falls asleep waiting for his turn.
He wakes with a snort when Coran drops a piles of clothes in his lap. The older Altean is already dressed to go.
Allura has settled on a look that wouldn’t be out of place in a vintage b-grade post apocalyptic action movie. She slings a practical gun belt around her waist and the mice climb up to hide in pouches hanging off it.
“The mice are coming?” Shiro asks, surprised. The mice haven’t left the ship ever.
Coran and Allura stare at him like he’s talking gibberish. The mice look at him like he’s wounded them to the core by suggesting they should stay behind.
“Of course the mice are coming! Now, it's your turn to get dressed,” says Allura briskly.
Kolivan has a sneezing fit when he sees them all, ready to file onto the transport and leave for the swap moon. “Be careful,” he chokes out as he records it. “For the historical record,” he adds with another sneeze.
Shiro ditches his overwrought space pirate outfit as soon as they walk into the mall, switching it out for a simple oversized hoodie from the first clothing outlet they come across. He doesn’t know the band but the colour and fit are perfect, the hood covering his trademark white bangs with help from a hair clip that Allura procures for him. Matt appears unexpectedly with a pair of sunglasses that cover his scar and a bright pink trucker cap for Allura. Princess is bedazzled along the rim and she somehow scrapes all her hair up into it.
Now they are in disguise.
Too bad it isn't working and everyone keeps looking at them.
Coran and the paladins chastise him for leaving them behind and at least one of them sheds a tear over the change of outfit.
He thinks nothing more of any of it until they escort him into the restaurant, past excited children and their families, and the birthday party for a forever six year old is revealed in all it’s garish glory in the larger child section.
Shiro freezes. "Oh no!" He does a quick mental calculation. "You didn't...."
“Where is your hatchling nestling offspring?” asks the tiny host assigned to their party. Their name badge is a series of symbols that refuse to translate.
Coran grandly gestures to Shiro who blushes and pulls his hood further over his face. “ Guys…” he moans.
“Shiro is six!” says Princess Allura brightly.
She knows that’s not accurate, he’s already explained it to her. In detail.
“So large for its age!” the host exclaims, looking up at his face. “You must be proud!”
“Oh yes,” says Allura, with a dazzling smile, she wraps an arm around his shoulders and hugs him to her. “Very proud.”
Which unleashes a storm of sniggers from the other paladins. It takes every ounce of willpower that Shiro has not to flee the scene and fling himself out of an airlock as the staff sing him a hatch-quintant song as soon as they sit down. Lance joins in on the second chorus and by the end, all of them are singing at Shiro, who has become one with his hoodie, pulling the laces tight, and refuses to speak to anyone.
“So shy,” murmurs the host, as if this is the cutest thing they’ve ever seen.
Shiro will remember this moment, it already burns in his memory, and quietly and stealthily records the song that will make an appearance at every hatch-quintant henceforth unto eternity.
But they have mac’n’cheese on the menu, so there’s that. Some things truly are universal.
Matt rattles their cup of pooled tokens. “We’ll need more if we want to play any other games.” He picks up a giant fluffy plushy clearly modelled on Pidge’s trash buddies but on a much grander scale. Pidge is already carrying one and it's twice the size of Matt's. It’s even larger than her but that hasn’t stopped Pidge taking it everywhere.
Shiro looks up, he’s still holding the Black Lion toy, his expression thoughtful. “Food then?”
“I could eat,” replies Allura abruptly. The two men look at her like she’s sprouted wings. “What?”
“Lance?” asks Matt, his face a picture of wonder.
She shakes her head and grins. “Hunk.” They look to where the Yellow Paladin is currently shouting in excitement. He and Lance are crowding around a strange version of whack-a-mole, Coran is currently doing all the whacking and winning from the look of it. Keith and Pidge have vanished but the rule in the restaurant is no one goes to the bathroom alone so that’s possibly where they are.
Matt orders a couple of platters of mixed snacks, enough for everyone, and they head for their table. Shiro doesn’t notice the curtained box until he’s dragged flailing into it. Styled after an old Earth photo booth, Pidge and Keith have been waiting to ambush him.
“Smile for the camera, Shiro!” she growls, her mouth rictus stretched as she waits for the photo.
Keith chuckles softly, his arms are slung around Pidge and Shiro's shoulders. “Having fun?”
Shiro smiles, it’s the best he’s felt since before he left Earth. “Yeah, thanks.”
One by one, everyone else joins him for a photo set then they take a group selfie at the table after eating, shouting, “Happy Hatch-day, Shiro!”
He knows it’s selfish but he doesn’t want it to end. He also wants a puppy and the war to be over. None of these things will happen today. Well, maybe the puppy. There was a cute little yupper in the window of a personal livestock store on the entry level. He’s been promised cake back at the castle though. Good cake, not goo cake.
Kolivan is waiting in the hangar when they return, arms crossed, face huffy. “You’re late. I was mentally putting together a rescue party.” A Marmora ship is close, engines warm, a handful of Blades already on board. Not so mentally then.
Allura counters that with, “Yes, well. We ran into a problem on the way out.”
In the vestibule. Varkon. He's holding something that Shiro can’t quite make out. Could be a weapon. Could be anything. He feels his Galra arm respond to the unknown threat.
Varkon stares at them. Then at Shiro's glowing Galra arm. They stare back. No one speaks. It's a classic standoff. In reality, they could mob Varkon and be gone but no one moves. It lasts five doboshes that feel like an eternity. No one breathes. Customers walk around them, in and out of the mall, irritated to have to circle the mob blocking the way. Then Varkon moves. He raises his hand slowly. As one, they tense for a fight. This could still be a trap. A security team might be waiting in the wings to take them down.
No one expects, “Can you sign my limited edition variant Black Paladin action figure?”
Shiro releases a breath he doesn’t realise he’s been holding and his prosthetic arm-- disarms. He sighs and passes his prizes to Allura and smiles, albeit reluctantly, at Varkon. "Of course." If it will get them all out of the mall safely, he'll sign any doll. Varkon hands it to him quickly, the Galra appears convinced Shiro will change his mind any tick.
“Can you make it out to Varkon with a V?” the security guard asks politely, hands squeezing his own face in excitement. He dances from foot to foot as Shiro looks at the doll closely, first out of curiously, then in disbelief. The expression he gives Coran is made of pure disappointment.
It’s a tiny Champion dressed for the arena with light up arm and a sword in a Voltron brand box. There’s a second human arm that can be switched out with the prosthetic and Shiro grinds his teeth. Allura looks down at it and gasps, and fixes Coran with a glare that should’ve stabbed the other Altean to death a hundred times over in a single tick. It’s obscene to design and manufacture something like this and then market it. To children no less. Varkon is squeaking with excitement. Of all ages. Shiro and Coran? They are friends, comrades-in-arms. Coran is better than this.
Usually.
It's bad enough that the rarest edition comes with a very tight shirt and super hot "guns out" action. Not Shiro's words. It's actual text from the packaging.
“I cannot apologise enough, Shiro. The design aspect occurred when I was under the influence, I was really not my best self. So to speak,” Coran blurts out, his voice cracking repeatedly. “I would never do you harm otherwise, physical or emotional. Your friendship is a gift.” He sniffles.
Coran steps back when Matt hisses in his direction. Shiro likens it to having an angry cobra at his back. Only Allura and Matt can actually make out the details on the toy, the other paladins are still tense and they know something is up, and this is not the day for it.
It’s too much to process, Shiro compartmentalises and decides he'll deal with it later.
He turns back to Varkon who is confused by the exchange. “Do you have a pen?” This is taking too long. They’re going to be discovered.
Varkon checks his pockets, locating one and almost flinging it at Shiro. When Shiro returns the doll and pen, the guard turns aside to let them leave, clasping his prize to his chest. “And don’t come back!” he says loudly. Then in a whisper, “Come back anytime!”
Kolivan relents with a reluctant sigh. “We will stay for the gifting and baked dessert ceremony that Keith describes as very important.” The emphasis is there even if the hooked fingers aren’t. It becomes obvious that the only one who didn’t know that it was his birthday is Shiro.
“I heard the humans set fire to the baked dessert and chant around it,” whispers one Blade to another. Another nods in agreement.
The cake is a multi-layer beauty lavishly frosted, his name written in flourishes of white, and with enough candles for the number of years he has actually lived on the top. They light up automatically when Shiro enters the dining hall. The two Blades gasp audibly behind them. They've probably seen things people wouldn't believe, attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion or C-beams glittering in the dark near the Tannhauser gate, and self-igniting candles on a birthday cake delight them.
A small pile of gifts await him at the end of the table and a banner has been hung from the ceiling. He is overwhelmed and sits heavily to take it all in. The day alone is enough to sustain him for the rest of his life, this is almost too much.
“Make a wish, Shiro.” Keith and Hunk move the cake closer and he draws a breath to blow the candles out when they douse themselves with no intervention. He exhales sharply in surprise. Hunk shrugs and begins cutting the cake, putting a slice in his hands. It’s delicious. He can’t pick a single flavour that he recognises but it’s the best cake he’s ever had.
“Me first!” Pidge pushes a card at him when he puts down the cake. It has the closest analogy to a puppy that she could find on the front, a baby yupper. The writing translates into something he can read. “Yup! It really is another birth quintant.” Inside, Pidge has scrawled something.
Shiro presses his fingers into his eyes and breathes hard.
“Shiro? Are you alright?” Allura’s hand touches his shoulder lightly.
“Yup,” he manages, chuckling at the awkwardness. It’s just the first of many yupper cards in what appears to be a planned cuteness attack on his emotions. Each message is deeply personal, expounding on his value as a friend, and he struggles to maintain his composure. The Galra shuffle and eat cake, not sure what to make of it all he surmises.
Allura is watching him carefully and Matt has moved to sit beside him.
“Alright, gifts!” Lance moves a box close. It’s elegantly wrapped and makes hushed soft sounds when he picks it up.
Inside, a set of pyjamas, black with gold binding, and silky against his skin when he holds it to his cheek. They’re pure luxury. Beneath, at the bottom of the box is a hand crafted gift card for a spa day with Lance. “They're great, Lance.”
He puts his sunglasses back on and swipes at his eyes. Allura slips her Princess cap over his head. “Your disguise is complete,” she says with a gentle smile.
Hunk’s gift is more practical, a large bag of sour space candy and cleaning polish for his arm, but he and Pidge have worked together on an emergency repair kit for his prosthetic arm that they designed to be used by a single hand.
Pidge has laser printed thin metal decals from an old Earth show that he can stick to the door of his room and very small decals for his arm. They're not really appropriate for his age and station but who's going to see except the other paladins?
“For the six year old we all know you really are,” she murmurs, sliding them over to him.
"You're such a brat," he replies under his breath.
The gift box from Keith is full of socks. It's a big box. It's a lot of socks. He really needed more socks, he could just cry.
Matt gives him a laser cut sculpture of the Black Lion with wings spread, caught in crystal. It's exquisite. Matt shoves his shoulder up against Shiro's. "Okay?" he asks.
Shiro nods. He's going to need more furniture in his room to hold all this stuff.
Kolivan and the Blades offer him a knife with pomp and ceremony. It's a jet black hunting blade with perfect balance that conforms to fit both of his hands perfectly as he switches grips. He's speechless. “There are no others left in the universe like it,” says Kolivan pointedly. It’s kind of an heirloom. It contains luxite, just enough for it to bond to the wielder but not a true blade. A precursor though. He learns that later from Keith. It's a relic from before Daibazaal was destroyed and Altea fell. It's also too much, too valuable, too precious, a treasure, and he says as much but the leader of the Blades gives him a 'no backsies' kind of scowl. "It is yours now. It has readjusted to your custody."
Shiro slides the blade back into its decorative scabbard. "It is an honour to accept care of it."
Kolivan scowl reduces in intensity and he inclines his head.
“The mice have a gift also,” says Allura and she guides his attention to a tiny theatrical production beginning at the end of the table. It's a dramatic re-telling of the second formation of Voltron, the lions, and the new paladins. Platt is dressed as a hybrid of the Black Lion and the Black Paladin. It’s both amusing and moving. The Blades watch intently from the periphery and applaud loudly when it's over.
Princess Allura and Coran approach him last, with a long flat box. The wrapping paper shifts alarmingly around it and hisses.
“Is that--” Shiro gestures at the wrapping that raises a fold to look at him…. He didn't know gift wrap had eyes.
“Alive? Absolutely!” says Coran, his smile is nervous and toothy.
Great! Shiro wishes for a puppy and receives sentient gift wrap. It unravels from the box and slides over the table towards him. He holds his ground and it rubs itself along his hand and purrs, wrapping lightly around his arm.
“Omigod!” whispers Hunk, hovering over it. “That is so cute!”
Shiro opens the box and finds a swathe of black fabric that reveals itself as a sleeved cape with purple lining. It's extravagant and not entirely his style. At all. He attempts to make appropriate noises of approval but it's hit or miss.
“It’s a bogwaggle cape!” bursts from Princess Allura's mouth, she can barely contain herself. "It took forever to find one, they're vintage now. You must try it on!”
He asks Coran to show him. Mostly so Coran knows Shiro doesn’t hold it against him that he thoughtlessly created a toy that celebrates the worst part of his life and another that objectifies his body. Well, maybe he holds it against Coran a little bit. He imagines he’ll get over it. One day.
“Shiwo the hewo!” declares the cape as it flares dramatically across Shiro broad shoulders. It’s kind of cool even if it got his name wrong. Some of the Blades even make appreciative noises.
“I need one!” announces Lance, crossing his arms and pouting. “Like I need air to breathe, I need one of those!”
"Not before me," says Pidge, as she touches the fabric. "Green comes before Blue."
There are other gifts, from planets they have freed, from new friends he has made on those worlds. Shiro could never have expected this, and still cannot find it in himself to think the day is real because it’s more like a beautiful dream. He absently wonders if he’s still a prisoner of Haggar and this is just another form of torture inflicted by the druid but he could never have imagined a day like this though, so how could she?
“Yep, this calls for more cake,” says Matt, already cutting it up. He passes Shiro a slice and winks. "For the birthday hewo."
No. No dream has ever seen his friends so relaxed.
“This has certainly been an experience,” says Kolivan diplomatically, accepting more cake from Matt. “We are grateful to have been included in this cultural exchange.”
That's definitely one way of putting it.
Later, when everything winds down, the Blades slip away quietly, Keith among them, and they all begin to go their separate ways for the night, Shiro returns to his room. On the door are two Transformers decals. Red on the left, purple on the right. He snorts. Inside, the many prizes and gifts he’s received throughout the day decorate the formerly stark and minimalist corners of his room. His cape hangs majestically from the hook beside the door with the pink princess cap. On the bed, the plush Black Lion lies near his pillow.
He dresses in his birthday pyjamas, sighing softly as the cool fabric embraces his body. His prosthetic arm shines after a demonstration of the polish and new kit from Hunk and Pidge.
And he is wearing new socks.
The door opens a crack, and the mice run through the gap and onto his bed. They’re with him tonight it seems. One last gift. He settles in and they rest on and around him, falling asleep quickly with tiny snores. It’s been a big day. For all of them. He drowses, his eyes heavy, body relaxing by the tick as sleep overtakes him. Across the room he hears the gift wrap rustle and purr.
“Shiwo the hewo,” sings the bogwaggle cape in a soft sleepy tone.