2019 Voltron Whumptober Collection

15 Scars

Word Count: 1,225

They were everywhere.

They were just- everywhere.

Even in the dim light of his room, he could see the small scars littering his chest, crisscrossing across his arms, making some sick collage of pale flesh.

A particularly large one traced down his left leg.

A thinner one ran across his neck.

Dammit, why couldn't he remember?

The first thing he remembered was when he'd tumbled out of a pod- thing, head fuzzy, startling as hands ran through his hair when he'd fallen into a warm body, and he'd pushed them away, backing up on shaky legs, startled breaths leaving his mouth as he took in the figures in front of him with wide, scared eyes.

One was small.

One was large.

Another one was tall and thin.

Two of them had weird marks under their eyes.

And there was another one, holding a hand out to him, metal fingers so- so unnatural to him as it tried calling his name.

His- name?

What was his name?

He couldn't remember.

He'd ran then, the door to the room he was in with all those people opening up for him without anyone there to do it, and he'd stumbled in surprise for only a moment.

What the fuck?

Where- where was he?

What was this place?

He let his feet take him after that, arms pumping, breath heaving as the sounds of feet pounded behind him, the voice chanting one name over and over and over again mixed into different sentences and he didn't know what to do.

He'd tried losing them then, and after a few minutes, he was running alone, coming to a sudden stop as his feet halted in front of another door, this one sliding open to reveal a much darker room, a feeling of safe, enveloping him as he stepped inside, his fingers almost immediately going for some mechanism embedded in the wall without his consent, and pressing some unfamiliar symbol as the heavy sound of a lock snapping into place sounded in the door.

A- a lock.

He was safe.

They- they wouldn't be able to reach him in here.

His eyes had adjusted fairly fast to the room then, a bed sat in one corner, the sheets rumpled and unmade, a red, yellow and white jacket hung on a wall next to the door, a thin layer of dust coating the fabric.

Was that his jacket?

He wasn't sure.

He'd reached out to touch the fabric before a faint glimmer of light had caught his attention, and he hesitantly walked towards a doorway nearly hidden in the far corner of the room, surprised to find it opened up into a small bathroom, a pretty large tup sitting against the far wall, while a mirror and sink greeted him as he walked inside.

Wait.

A mirror?

He'd turned to look at himself then, taking in the pale skin and dark hair of the stranger that stared back at him, his limps were lanky, too thin, thin enough to see every joint that stuck out of him as skin stretched across bones. His eyes were dull, he looked like he hadn't eaten in days.