The Pawladins of Voltron

by indigo_inkpot (StarboundVoyager)

Summary:

This is exactly what you think it is. 100% shameless "the paladins are cats now" AU fic.

Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe is a master of many things, but not-adopting cats is not on that list.

Chapter 1: The Adoption of Voltron (Prologue)

All adventures, and indeed all stories of the non-adventurous kind too, start with a beginning. But this story just happens to begin with an ending; that is, the end of Altea Animal Sanctuary. A lack of funding, a shortage of staff and the empty space left by the passing of the rescue's manager meant that many of the current residents were being transferred to other rescues or adopted out in their current adoption drive.

There aren't many animals left now, a few hamsters and budgies that were waiting on travel cages to be moved, an elderly dog who was due to be collected by a family tomorrow...and then there were The Boys.

They were referred to as The Boys, although nobody had been able to get close enough to the little one to actually sex them. Lance, Hunk and Pidge, the most peculiar trio of cats you'd ever meet. Athletic, vocal Lance; a pedigree Bengal if Coran had ever seen one, despite his lack of paperwork and history as a stray. He was affectionate and slippery, having snuck out of his bed on multiple occasions to snuggle with Hunk in the night. Eventually, he'd been moved into a larger bed with the gentle giant Maine Coon, shortly joined by fiercely intelligent Pidge. Nobody knew quite what Pidge was...nobody had been able to get close. The tiny, skinny kitten would climb under the fluffy belly of the larger of the other cats, and was not above putting a claw in anyone who tried to fish them out.

So, two co-dependent, high maintenance juvenile cats and their asshole shadow. Not prime adoption material. Attempts to foster them out separately had resulted in Lance being branded as "crazy", a young woman tearfully declaring Hunk was terrified of her, and Pidge...well, Pidge hadn't actually gone anywhere, in spite of their best attempts.

Which made the man in front of Coran ever so slightly suspicious. Well dressed and groomed, he did not fit the typical image of a cat lover unfazed by the prospect of a triple-adoption. Alarm bells continue to ring when Hunk, sweet, docile, loving Hunk, bares his teeth and tucks Pidge under his bulk, hissing furiously. This is...not good. And Allura is out for the afternoon; her uncanny knack for assessing personalities would have come in handy here. With no backup and all the certainty in the world that this man will not leave here with any of their wards, Coran employs his greatest skill; his ability to be incredibly annoying.

Halfway through a detailed anecdote of the fascinating processes involved in descaling the ear of a bunny with a particularly virulent ear infection, the man makes his excuses and leaves, looking irritated and vaguely disgusted. Coran allows himself a moment to breathe a sigh of relief, before he herds The Boys back into their day-pen. Then he heads into the office, opens the cabinet where the paperwork is kept, and dusts off the untouched binder labelled "Staff Adoption Forms" in Alfor's neat script.

By the end of the day, Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe is officially the "cat-grandad" (Allura's phrasing) of three young cats. And that, is how the adventures of the Pawladins of Voltron begin.

Chapter 2: From Pastures Far, Far Away

Summary:

Worldbuilding, worldbuilding, kittens and more worldbuilding!
I got a Steve McQueen reference in this chapter, I'm sure my high school history teacher would be proud.

Notes:

No beta, no proofreading, we die like men. Spellchecker can kiss my ass.

Oriande was the stereotypical definition of an animal lovers' paradise. Nestled in the wilderness a comfortable distance from civilisation; a chocolate-box cottage with a lovingly maintained garden and a collection of outbuildings that has been raised and dismantled by generations of family members.

And Alfor had left it to him, of all people. Coran was a good friend of the family, and indeed after her mother's passing, he had become a surrogate parent for Allura when she needed it. But to leave him his family home? It was too much, but Allura had agreed with her father's will when he tried to refuse the far too generous gift. 

"I'm far to busy to become the custodian of Oriande, and you always loved it just as much as my father," She had smiled, though her fingers were trembling as she began the task of dismantling Alfor's keychain. Front door, thick and rusted, mostly for decoration; back door, fresh and barely used (because who needed to lock their door in the countryside?); tool shed; gate; barn, the list went on. 

Oh. Well, if Alfor truly believed he was the best choice to inherit the keys to Oriande, then who was he to argue?

It had seemed odd at first, to enter the mudroom of the farmhouse and not immediately be assaulted by animals. To walk the rooms of the cottage and not hear the scritch of excited claws or curious snuffling from around a corner. After all, Alfor had been famous for taking his work home with him, and his menagerie of animals were always eager to greet visitors. The number of animals had dwindled over the years as Alfor himself began to slow down, until there was only Black, a sweet, regal Bombay, who had remained until his final days. Allura had been heartbroken to come home from the funeral and discover Black's torn collar hanging from the splintered sill of an open window, but attempts to find the cat had proven near impossible. Wherever Black was, they weren't going to find her if she didn't want to be found. She was a force unto her own, always had been, but Coran had faith that if she intended to return, she would. And now, there would be someone waiting for her.

Well, maybe more that one 'someone'. It turned out that moving into a new home and simultaneously attempting to bond with three new pets sufficiently so that you could pop out to get the washing in without it turning into a reenactment of The Great Escape wherein Pidge is Steve McQueen (sans motorbike) was a lot harder than Coran had ever imagined. He'd discovered that it was much easier to trust the laundry would land on a dry patch of grass and simply aim to trap Pidge under the basket. It was by no means a sustainable solution; he highly doubted they would be able to build a good relationship if their daily interactions involved him leaping onto the tiny kitten with a plastic bucket, but for the time being, Coran had no other choice.

At least Hunk was normal, as far as cats went. He ate his food without complaints, slept in the bed he was given, bathed in sunbeams and was generally a sweet kitty to have around, if a little hefty when he decided to flop down on Coran's stomach for an afternoon nap. Lance did everything Hunk did, but it was done with double the energy and triple the anxiety. Dinnertime required herding the flighty cat back to his dish several times (and on a few occasions, pushing Hunk's curious nose out of the way...Coran made a note to watch for that wandering snout in future) and even in his sleep, Lance was both a kicker and a squeaker. But they balanced each other out remarkably well; for every terrifying escape attempt of Pidge's, there was a sweet moment of playtime with Lance, and a peaceful nap to share with Hunk. 

Slowly, but surely, life at Oriande returned to the way it always had been. Coran attended to the gardens, watching Hunk nibble at the leaves of his marigolds, laughing as a dopey Lance belly-flopped into his first patch of Nepeta, and Pidge's escape attempts gradually ceased as he found ways to engage the startlingly intelligent kitten in safer methods of play. The walls of the snug were adorned with shelves and running boards, to allow Lance his moments of high energy somewhere Coran wouldn't trip over him. Hunk gradually used his bulk to flatten every cushion in the house into a (slightly furry) napping spot. And that blasted window was replaced, fitted with a lock that was definitely Pidge-proof.

As quickly as they had come together, Coran and his little family settled in to their new home. 

---

 

One of the misconceptions Coran had of moving into the middle of effectively nowhere, was that he would not be bothered. That, however, was not the case. While Oriande may have been out of the way for most humans, it was not a human who woke Coran up at 6am on a Sunday in April.

It was a rather portly, rather sleepy looking cow. 

Now, anyone can be forgiven for looking sleepy at 6am on a Sunday in April. You wouldn't need to forgive the cow for being portly, as cows are built to eat, and this is clearly just a sign that said cow is good at their job. However what Coran would need to forgive this cow for, and it may well take him some time to do so, was the hole in his fence, the broken deck chair and the considerable chomp taken out of his hard-grown cabbages. 

Two phone calls later, an embarrassed young woman Coran vaguely recognised is standing on his front step, wringing a rope halter sheepishly in her hands.

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Coran!" Romelle - yes, Romelle, that was her name! Sweet girl, if a little nervous, did an internship at the rescue centre during her summer holiday - blurts out, tugging nervously on the end of one braid, "Kaltenecker she - well I - I'm no good with cows!"

This was not the first time Coran had been stood at his front door, in his pyjamas and dressing gown, with a young woman wailing about her problems at him. This was, however, the first time said young woman had been responsible for unleashing a cow upon his poor, unsuspecting vegetable patch.

Romelle quickly explained that her parents had left she and her brother alone for a week, to see if they were cut out for the farming life. What they hadn't planned on was Bandor coming down with a mild flu which, while not an emergency in itself, had left the inexperienced Romelle to handle her brother's share of the chores, including putting the cattle out to pasture. Apparently Kaltenecker, being retired and somewhat ornery in the way retired cows often were, occasionally needed gentle persuasion to leave the warmth of her stall. But when Romelle had approached her with the rope, Kaltenecker had sensed her nerves and taken advantage. 

It was impressive really; Romelle and Bandor lived easily several miles from here - Romelle had driven over in her haste to check on Kaltenecker - and for the elderly cow to get this far away in such little time means she must have kept up quite a pace. However it seemed that Kaltenecker would not be convinced to return quite so easily.

Several hours of cajoling and some clever bribery with yet more of Coran's vegetables saw the cow out of the garden and into the large field at the back of the farmhouse, but once out in the open, Kaltenecker seemed more focused on grazing and enjoying the sunshine than returning home.

"Our parents are going to kill me," Romelle whined, "and they said this was the last straw anyways, if Kaltenecker made any more trouble then she wasn't worth the hassle anymore." Oh dear, now the poor girl was tearing up. Coran could understand the position that their parents were in; on a working farm, each animal had to pay its way, earn its keep. And if Kaltenecker were to cause more trouble than she provided recompense...

Wait a minute. Oriande was not a working farm. And Coran had been at a loss as to what he could possibly do with that field.

"You know, the one thing Alfor always hated about this place was the amount of effort it took to keep this field in check." Coran sighed, leaning back against the fence and twirling his moustache. Kaltenecker chewed away happily, occasionally sliding one eye over to the two humans standing in what was now quite clearly her field to ensure they didn't make any more silly attempts to catch her. Romelle turns to him sharply.

"I will require some help, after all, I have no idea what kind of care a cow could possible need. So I'll make you a deal; once a week, one of you comes down to groom her and give her a checkup, and when that brother of yours is back on his feet - properly, mind you, I won't have any half-feverish teenagers running around - you both help me turn one of the outbuildings into suitable accommodation for her. In exchange, Kaltenecker will become Oriande's official grass-cutter-slash-guard-cow. What do you say?" Romelle grasps his outstretched hand, shaking it so hard Coran swears he can hear his elbow protesting. Kaltenecker lets out a loud moo from across the field, before returning to her new duties. 

"Mr. Coran, you won't regret this I promise! I'm gonna text Bandor right now - he should be awake, I set his alarm, he's supposed to eat something while I'm gone - thanks Mr. Coran!"

And there she goes, in a flash of blonde braids and jingle of car keys. The energy that girl has, it's no wonder her brother is already faking the flu to get some peace. 

Coran turns back to his field - and his cow, goodness gracious. Suddenly, his memories of Alfor's house full of animals begins to make sense. He sighs; if he's destined to follow in the footsteps of Oriande's previous resident, it's certainly too late to back out now.

One thing it's certainly not too late for, though, is breakfast, and while Kaltenecker may be satisfied, Coran is vaguely certain he has three hungry kittens tearing up his house while he stands around admiring this rather pleasant Sunday morning in April.

Do kittens like leftover cabbage for breakfast?

Notes:

Coran has a cow now!
I need to slow down with the animals and start on the story or else Coran is going to have a freakin zoo and the story still won't have gone anywhere.

Updates will not be every day, but I got my first ever comment today and was so happy that I cried and then wrung this chapter out of my overemotional brain in under two hours.

The story won't be perfectly linear, there may be extra stories that I throw into a series, but expect there to be some gaps in chapters. I don't want this to be a day-by-day thing because that will get long and boring so fast (like, you don't need to know that Coran is feeding the cats every day, okay, he's doing it, he's gardening, that's how most of his days go).

Also, PSA: don't catch animals with laundry baskets, okay, my dad's friend did it once with a honey buzzard - do not recommend (tbh don't go anywhere near honey buzzards full stop, but definitely don't try catching animals with baskets or buckets) this is fanfiction of an anime so reality only loosely applies *insert shrug emoji here*

Chapter 3: Kittens of the Universe

Notes:

Eyyyy, guess who realised they spelled Kaltenecker wrong in the first two chapters? "Spellchecker can kiss my ass" indeed. It's fine, at least I noticed it while hindsight proofreading isn't a soulsucking time-pit!

*pretends like it hasn't been three weeks since the last update*

"I'm not turning into Alfor."

"Yeah, you definitely are," Allura laughed, stirring her coffee and allowing Lance to bat at the foamy spoon when she was finished with it. Coffee foam dripped from the end, dropping amongst the already cappuccino-coloured fur on his face. The Bengal sneezed once, before attempting to latch onto the spoon. Coran rescued it, tossing the spoon into the farmhouse sink where it landed with a soft plop and a cloud of bubbles in the dishwater. Pidge, who was perched on the edge of the sink, batting at the floating contents of the sink, got a face full of soap for their trouble. Coran chuckled, scooping up the damp kitten and reaching for a paper towel.

Okay, maybe he was taking on a few of the mannerisms of his old friend. Purely coincidence of living in his home, of course. Not that Allura needed to know that, goodness knows the lass was far too aware of how uncanny her perception was; she didn't need him to tell her. 

"I assure you, my dear, I have no intention of amassing quite the menagerie your father had. These rascals - and Kaltenecker - are more than enough for me." Coran turns back to the sink, so he doesn't have to see Allura's knowing smirk. He hears the soft thunk and slide that has become synonymous with Hunk landing on the kitchen table, and when he looks, the bulky kitten is sprawled across the table, basking in the glory of belly rubs. 

He's definitely not thinking about the space in this house. Nope, definitely not. This is it, he's not getting any more pets. Nope.

Definitely not.

---

He lasts about a month.

In that time, the last residents of the rescue centre have found homes elsewhere - either with new families, or transferred to other rescues. Allura moves on from her residency out of town and takes up her old room at Oriande, promising it's just until she can find a more permanent placement, but Coran hardly minds. With her, come her four mice, Plachu, Chulatt, Platt and Chuchule. They have a few close calls in the early days, when a curious Lance tries to play a little too roughly with them and Hunk nearly sits on Chulatt a couple of times, but eventually they fall into a routine.

Allura is gone most days, setting off early in the morning for her commute to a local veterinary hospital, but her bedroom is up in one of the corners of the house and of little interest to the kittens, so the mice are quite safe as far as Coran is concerned. On a smallholding full of exciting sounds and smells, the mice quickly lose their appeal. Pidge begins to (finally) put on weight, and suddenly Lance has competition in his games. The boisterous kitten is still a little bigger, and there are some occasions where Coran has to step in, but over time those become rarer as Pidge learned to outsmart Lance when they couldn't meet him on equal footing. 

They spend each day together, Coran, the kittens and Kaltenecker. With Bandor and Romelle's help, one of the smaller outbuildings at the bottom of the field becomes a home for Kaltenecker, complete with a rather slapdash but usable feed store, which Coran won't need to fill for a few months, but is worth having in advance. Romelle even paints the shed, admittedly going slightly over the top given how much prior interest the...client had shown in home renovations, but she's sweet, and neither Coran nor her brother have the heart to say she's wasting her time. Even Kaltenecker's placid moo sounds like she's at least attempting to be enthusiastic when a paint-splattered and sweaty teenager suddenly wraps herself around her neck. 

There's always some little (or not so little) change for Allura to remark on when she comes home. Sometimes she comments on the fields, but more often than not she's helped herself to the contents of the garden on her way in, and is more than ready to provide Coran with feedback on their experiments (he may be retired, but Coran comes from a long line of academics and horticulturists, and he enjoys a little casual practise in the field of plant genetics from time to time).

Allura's job is difficult, Coran knows this. He knew this when Alfor had to explain to Allura why her first pet rabbit was going to the animal hospital. He knew this when he went with Allura to her first open day and she made a beeline for the Life Sciences building, and the display of student work seemed like an insurmountable demand to place on such young people. He knew this when he and Alfor drove out to her first apartment the day her first official patient died. But Allura was like her father, headstrong and relentless in chasing her ambitions. 

Yet it never stopped surprising him when she came home from work after a bad day. Instead of bursting through the door with a handful of barely-ripe berries, talking about their potential for crossbreeding, or spotting her car skidding into it's designated spot by Kaltenecker's field, Coran doesn't even know she's home until he arrives in the kitchen, kittens in tow, to begin preparing dinner, and she's sitting at the table playing obsessively with her keychain. Even when Allura is upset, she's methodical, logical, and the way she fidgets is the same. She plays with her keys in order, passing over her key fob for work, her car key, her locker at the leisure centre in the city, her bike lock, finally flipping Oriande's ornate front door key over the loop for a second before working her way back down the line, all while staring into space somewhere at the other end of the table. 

Coran is able to clean himself up, sort his harvest for the day and prepare two mugs of hot chocolate before Allura seems ready to talk to him. By that time, Hunk (who has continued to grow at a rate that suits his name, and is now a more than ample lapful, despite being a baby still) has made himself comfortable curled up against Allura's stomach, and as Coran puts a steaming, generous mug in front of her, she bundles the massive kitten up into her arms and presses her cheek to the back of his head. Hunk just purrs, happy to take whatever love she gives him, and offering comforting vibrations in return. She sniffles a bit, then laughs wetly as Lance and Coran get into a standoff over the whipped cream. 

"We had a criminal case come in today," she offers, before leaning over to offer Lance a fingertip's worth of her cream. He pounces on her whole hand, licking her finger raw until he's certain there's nothing left. She still isn't meeting Coran's gaze. "It was... some of them were kittens, Coran, but the things we were asked to treat..." she obviously needs a moment, so Coran scoops Lance out of the way and lets her take a sip of chocolate, "They had me on the bathing station all day, once the police were done taking photos, and there were these two- they reminded me so much of Lance and Hunk when they first arrived at Altea, you know? The big one is just scared of everything, didn't even know what soap was, and the little one wouldn't leave him alone. Apparently they had to take their evidence photos together because they couldn't separate them." There's an attempt at a smile, but the tears make it bittersweet. Coran moves his chair, tucking Allura and Hunk under his arm. 

"They want all the case animals fostered out as soon as possible, something about assessing for trauma in a home environment, but if this rescue is anything like Altea, those two might never leave- or if they do, they're gonna be separated and god, that might be the end of it for the bigger one to be honest, I don't think he'd cope. Not that he'd be able to go to a normal home anyways, it looks like whoever takes him on is going to need to be an experienced cat owner, but I just wish there was a way to make this part easy for them at least..." she trails off, sniffling and leaning heavily on Coran's shoulder. It seems like she's done for the night, so Coran sends her off to bed shortly after and leaves food in the range cooker for her in case she regains her appetite later. 

The next morning, when Coran comes in from letting Kaltenecker out to graze, Allura is sheepishly pulling last night's dinner out of the fridge in tupperware, clearly intending to take it to work for her lunch. She's done it plenty of times and he maintains he doesn't mind, but still always gets that guilty look when she eats his food any less than fresh and piping hot. Her eyes widen when Coran dusts off his trousers and reaches for the old riding jacket hanging by the door (it had been shared between himself and Alfor so often nobody could ever remember who owned it first). He pulls her work address off the pinboard above the kittens' basket, dislodging an old magazine coupon that Pidge immediately sets about shredding.

"Coran, what are you..?"

"I'm not quite sure when visiting hours are for this establishment of yours, but if they need a foster home, what's a few more bodies around here?" He smiles, tucking the paper into his breast pocket and fishing around in the coat's many, many...many other pockets for his car keys. He turns around, mouth open to ask, and Allura digs them out of the large dish sitting in an alcove in the wall. She's smiling.

"You can't exactly blame Lance for this." She laughs.

"Maybe I can't, but I can definitely blame Pidge!"

Notes:

So I love Allura and Coran's relationship. He is a perfect Dad™ Character and she deserves to be supported and loved. (I love Allura okay)

Definitely not implying something between Coran and Alfor. Nope, no siree. (lies)

Also I'm willing to bet you can tell who the two mystery kittens are. GET READY FOR THE WHUMP.

So yes the next chapters are going to have potential warnings attached, jsyk.

Chapter 4: The Black Pawladins

Notes:

For the record, I have no idea where this story is going, I just want to write about kitties

I'm gonna try and get this story wrapped up before Life bites me in the ass at the end of next month, so the weeks of radio silence won't be a regular thing

Coran pulls into the parking space next to Allura outside the clinic, and he's just about to get out of his seat when the gravity of the situation hits him. It's one thing to take on a tiny clan of well-adjusted, and (for the most part) well-behaved young cats, but from what Allura had told him, the animals she had seen yesterday were abused, neglected and probably traumatised. A completely different issue, and a whole new level of needs and responsibilities. He has to be sure. This decision won't just affect him or the cats he meets today, but it'll affect Allura, Lance, Hunk and Pidge too. 

He has to be sure.

---

He's sure from the moment Allura leads him into the residential unit. The walls are lined with perspex-doored cabinets full of blankets, and each one has a name plate attached to it. Except for the one halfway down the left wall, which has a second name tag stuck underneath the first, and the transparent door is filled by scrawls of dry-wipe marker. Names of medication, times of dosage and nurses' comments in two separate colours, presumably for the two residents of the pen.

Not that you could tell there were two residents; both cats were curled so tightly together they looked like a mass of mottled grey and black fluff. As they moved closer, a pair of bright amber eyes flicker open and a low, rumbling hiss began to drown out the slow breathing of the other occupant.

"Easy Keith," Allura sings, humming as she reaches for the oven mitts hanging down beside the door, "He's not the most welcoming guy in the world, and he's super protective over his buddy here." She bravely reaches past the now-spitting ball of black fury, protected from his claws and teeth by her sleeves and mitts, and scoops up the larger cat. He hangs limply in her hold, whining softly.

"Oh, oh oh, Shiro, it's alright," Before Coran knows what's going on, he has an armful - well, two armfuls - of kitten. Shiro seems to have a body type similar to Lance, although it's partially obscured by a cloud of fur like Hunk's, but where Hunk has a silky coat of dappled brown and gold, Shiro's is coarse and patchy, coming out in wisps as Coran strokes him. Allura takes off a glove for a second to rub gently under his chin. Shiro peels open big, mismatched eyes to follow her hand warily, still whining. 

"He had to be sedated last night, I don't think it's worn off quite yet." They're distracted by frantic scrabbling, as a furious Keith attempts to claw his way through the door. When Allura opens it again, Keith pounces, clawing his way over her shoulder and into Coran's arms too. He wedges himself between Coran's chest and Shiro, purring aggressively. Shiro responds, a squeaky rumble that's not quite a purr, but seems to be the best he can manage. Looking down at the two of them, skinny, scared and still a little dirty.

He's sure about this.

---

Coran has never seen an animal with such complex needs as Shiro. It turns out, the kitten's mottled grey coat is the result of a nasty skin infection, possibly a side effect of malnutrition, and while they're not sure how old he or Keith is, it's clear they're both half starved and probably weren't weaned correctly. Allura gets a little pale when the words "baiting" and "fighting" are thrown around by the other vet technicians. Shiro is apparently covered in scars under his brittle coat, and Keith probably only escaped that fate by being too small. He leaves with a carrier stuffed with blankets and kittens, a huge bag of medications to help with infections, vitamin deficiencies, suppressed immune systems, the list goes on. By the time he gets home - via the nearest pet shop to collect bedding that Lance hadn't had the opportunity to scent mark - he's got a plan beginning to formulate.

He leaves Keith and Shiro asleep in the back seat of the car while he goes in to set up a safe space for them. The Boys rarely go into his room, choosing to sleep in the cosy den or their basket in the kitchen, so he begins the task of converting most of his bedroom in a Keith-and-Shiro-only space. He sets out a series of different beds; some covered, some open, and even tucks a blanket into the crevice under his nightstand, although he doubts Shiro would be able to manoeuvre himself into such an obscure space. It's relatively easy to cat-proof the room; he doesn't have much in the way of technology, so he moves his reading lamp to a socket where the cable will be less easy to chew on. 

Getting the cat carrier from the car to his bedroom without catching the attention of his current troublemakers-in-residence is something he never wants to repeat. In the end, he throws a blanket and his coat over the carrier, and pretends not to notice the three kittens playing in the kitchen. Pidge follows him as far as the hall, head cocked curiously as if they're trying to work out what he's doing, but they're quickly drawn back into the game as Lance pounces on their tail before diving away. There's a skidding of claws across the tile, followed by a thud and what Allura had dubbed Lance's "kitten who cried wolf" yowl, so it seems like Coran got away with it. Eventually he'll have to introduce these two groups, but for now what Shiro especially needs is space and time to recover.

---

Coran tries not to feel downhearted when neither cat makes an appearance that night, or when he wakes up in the morning and discovers only a small morsel of the special food he put out has been touched. The water is all gone though, and that at least is a good sign. Even if only one of them drank it, that's at least something.

By the end of the first week, Coran has only caught glimpses of the two kittens. More food is disappearing, but after a traumatic first attempt, he hasn't been able to get Shiro to take any of his medication. He and Allura agreed that in the beginning it was more important that he feel safe than take every pill he's been prescribed, but that is quickly becoming an unsustainable solution. Shiro's medications are important, and while Keith is probably tough enough to fight off a potential bug, it would be dangerous if he passed it on.

Allura finally suggests they remove the cat carrier, if only to stop them getting too comfortable with their current situation. If Coran thought their initial attempts at making Shiro take his meds were heartbreaking, the moment when he tips both cats out of their carrier and lifts it out of reach is soul-destroying. Keith is furious, hissing and spitting violently, although all this behaviour is starting to lose it's impact on Coran. Keith has been batting at him with his claws retracted since the third day, and hasn't made good on any threatening nips he manages to get in. Shiro goes completely still, pressed low to the ground and shaking. Coran immediately regrets their decision, but they can't go back now. He takes the blankets from the carrier and deposits them in the beds around the room, so each one will at least smell somewhat familiar. It's clear though, that Shiro is going nowhere while he's still in the room, so Coran takes the carrier and leaves, getting a swat across the legs from Keith as he passes too close.

When he comes back later that afternoon, Shiro has retreated to the covered basket in the corner of the room nearest the radiator, as indicated by the angry looking Keith perched on top of the bed, glaring steadily at him. Coran can faintly see the outline of two battered grey ears inside the bed twitching softly, so he assumes Shiro is sleeping. By the time he turns in for the night, Keith has moved from standing guard to curled in a perfect donut at the entrance of the bed.

Notes:

I didn't want to make this sad. This story is not supposed to be sad.

It will get much better in the next chapter, we're going for a majority of fluff and comfort here.

I have a tumblr with some of my old work on it, and I'm gonna start throwing out quick doodles of the cats once I get the hang of my new drawing software. So come scream at me about the kittens or yell at me for not posting when I say I'm gonna. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Chapter 5: Some Assembly Required

Summary:

In a household of two curious kitten-clans, Coran and Allura are rushed off their feet. But there's something not quite right with Shiro.

It seems Coran is destined to never have a restful Sunday morning ever again.

He's awoken by Allura laying down the first round of breakfast, along with the chaos which ensues from that; clattering of metal dishes, the whimpering as Lance tries his luck for a taste of Pidge's breakfast - and earns himself a lot of hissing and swiping for his trouble - followed by the startled yelp when he realises Hunk has done exactly the same to Lance's dish while his back was turned.

Allura had to trade shifts with a colleague at the last minute, so her night shift was unplanned and by the sounds of things, she was really feeling the lack of sleep she'd had the past few days. She'd probably go to bed and crash for the rest of the day, it was best to not get between her and her pillow right now. Or at least, that was what Coran tried to tell himself as he debated the merits of getting up and waking the other two kittens or burrowing back down for another hour and praying Keith hadn't caught whiff of the cat food Allura had dished up. In the end, he made the decision to lie back and see if Keith kicked up a fuss before he made a move. 

Over the past week, Keith had come further out of his aggressive, defensive shell. What Coran had signed himself up for turned out to be a needy, moody and slightly greedy kitten, although he could hardly complain. Seeing Keith play-hunting and stalking around his bedroom was a welcome change from the behaviour he had shown upon arriving. If this was what he was like when he was comfortable, by the time he got used to living at Oriande Lance would definitely have some competition for most boisterous kitten. He was also incredibly smart; he definitely knew his name, Shiro's and understood the implications behind words like "dinner" or "bath", so Coran and Allura had needed to get creative to outsmart him. Nicknames, references and code words were becoming a common facet of communication around the kittens.

Shiro was a concern, though. Logically, it made sense that an animal with his history would be timid around strangers, but something seemed...off. The fluffy cat was a sweetheart, quietly affectionate when Coran approached his nest. He wasn't the type to lash out when Coran manhandled him, and he was even content to lick the cheese off Allura's fingers once he'd taken all of his painkillers. But he didn't seem to interact with anything; Coran hadn't seen him come out to eat, only sure that he was because his bowl was regularly empty and he was still putting on weight. 

As Coran allowed his thoughts to drift, he became aware of a quiet snuffling near his shoulder. That was new. Keith was a territorial little mite, but he seemed to understand where his boundaries were; he guarded his and Shiro's section of the room ferociously, but had offered Coran's bed the same respect he demanded for his own. So why choose now to investigate the bed? While Coran was in it, and most likely to defend it.

Turning his head to the side, fully expecting a good moustache-chewing for his curiosity-

"Oh...Hello there, Number One." He reached out slowly, and Shiro purred - that same broken, squeaky purr - when his fingers rubbed gently under his chin. The fur was still dry and brittle, shedding excessively, but it was slowly getting better as Shiro's skin began to improve, looking more white than dirty grey. It wasn't always the nicest thing to touch, but it was so important to get Shiro all the contact he needed to acclimatise to being a pet. This was the first time Shiro had actively sought affection, instead of just taking it as a reward for enduring something unpleasant.

Actually, this was also the first time Coran had seen him leave his nest to explore, too. Damn cat seemed to just teleport to wherever he deemed was warmest and most secluded in the room and settle while Coran's back was turned. The bed was just about the most exposed place Shiro could have chosen, which astounded Coran. 

Shiro tipped his head back further, inviting Coran to rub down his neck and give his chest a gentle scritch too. As he did, Coran noticed something. Shiro was sitting the way most of the kittens did, in what Romelle had reliably informed him was called a "catloaf", but instead of tucking in his front feet, one was splayed awkwardly in front of him and beneath the matted mess of Shiro's front paws, he was sure he could see something...metal? Maintaining a gentle back-and-forth motion was his fingers, Coran used his thumb to peel back some of the tangled hair; sure enough, running down the length of Shiro's right leg was an ugly metal plate, fusing his paw straight at the wrist. 

"You poor lad, what did they do there?" Coran kept his tone gentle, fighting back tears of anger. This beautiful little soul, who liked chin rubs and gooey cheese, was walking around on such a crude attempt at a prosthesis?

"Looks like I'll be making some phone calls later."

---

 

Shiro's vet was one of Allura's supervisors at the veterinary hospital in the city. In the interests of keeping Shiro calm (and not sedating him), he came out to Oriande on Sunday afternoon to do an initial examination in a more casual setting. 

Which is how Coran ended up sitting on his bedroom floor, hands full of individually wrapped triangles of cheese, bribing Shiro into all sorts of odd positions so Lotor could see how the 'prosthetic' attached to his body. 

"If I'd known this was all it would take," Lotor smirked, "I would've prescribed him a heavy dairy diet from the beginning."

Coran chuckled as Shiro waved his paw wildly, trying to find a place to put the fused foot so he could brace more weight against Coran's collarbone. He was focused entirely on the slightly melted cheese triangle Coran held above his head, and had already made one attempt to clamber up Coran's back to get to it.

They'd started off by clipping away at the fur on Shiro's legs, so now they could clearly see that most of his leg was actually metal, as if someone had tried to integrate non-organic material by removing as little flesh as possible. It hadn't worked, because instead of using the leg to climb properly like a normal paw, Shiro would simply hook the leg over something (like Coran's forearm or shoulder, or the frame of the bed) and attempt to lever himself up, bearing his still-growing body weight on his delicate shoulder joint. 

It wasn't sustainable, and it was probably excruciating, which explained why Shiro had been reluctant to move around. Although now, doped up on his painkillers and with the regular reward of cheese, Shiro was willing to show off the full limits of the limb, as long as Lotor didn't touch him. The vet sat back, tucking his long hair behind one ear.

"Yes, I think you're right, Coran. We definitely can't leave this like it is," Lotor sighed, "but he's not a viable candidate for traumatic surgery, he's still too underweight and the risk to his immune system is too great right now. I would say, give it another few weeks, get him comfortable in the house and with your other kittens. Cats are social creatures, he'll probably benefit from it. Keith too," Lotor laughed, indicating towards the black kitten, who was furiously attacking Lotor's shoes, "the sooner you get him socialised and start working on his territorial aggression, the safer everyone's footwear will be."

---

 

They start the next day. Nesting material from the bedroom is moved to the den, and vice versa. Lance takes one of the blankets and tries to shred it at first, Hunk rolls in Shiro's old bedding and gives it a liberal coat of blonde and brown on top of the grey. Pidge is vaguely disgusted at first, mostly at the concept of somebody else's used bedding ending up in their bed, but quickly gets used to the new smells once they've been heavily coated in a layer of 'Hunk'.

Keith is positively offended by the new smells, hissing and spitting at the bundle on the floor. Shiro apparently couldn't care less, because Coran walks in the next morning to find him rolling in the bedding, kneading biscuits into the fabric and rubbing his face all over the blankets. He seems to be thoroughly enjoying himself, and after the shortest standoff in history, Keith dives into the nest to curl around Shiro's back and begins furiously grooming him.

Coran isn't honestly sure how long to keep this up, or if he should, so a week after the first exchange, he bites the bullet. When he leaves the bedroom to start his day, he leaves the door open. Lance, Hunk and Pidge have had long enough to get used to the idea of the bedroom being off-limits that they ignore it at first, but curiosity gets the better of Lance, as it always does. About an hour after breakfast, when Coran is reading in the study, he hears the furious wail of a provoked Keith, and then the crying he's come to learn is Lance's version of crocodile tears. However, the confrontation is enough to get the other two cats interested, and by the time Coran reaches the bedroom, there's a standoff between Lance and Keith going on; Lance on Coran's bed and Keith stalking angrily back and forth along the perimeter.

Hunk and Pidge managed to sneak in despite the chaos; Pidge is drinking the water in the bowl beside Coran's dresser and Hunk appears to be trying to fit into the same tiny nook as Shiro. Much to the surprise of Coran (and probably Shiro, judging by the way he stiffens) Hunk manages to fit his massive fluffy bulk alongside Shiro's, purring furiously.

Coran is briefly aware of how dangerous this situation could be; he has two potentially-aggressive rescues going toe-to-toe and cheek-to-cheek (literally) with two hand-reared kittens who have no sense of self preservation or personal space. If the proverbial shit hits the metaphorical fan, he's going to have to choose between separating Keith and Lance or splitting up Hunk and Shiro.

Just as he's weighing up his options and debating if gentle giant Hunk would hold his ground longer than crybaby Lance, the situation seems to...diffuse. Pidge bats at a stray ball, which goes spinning into Keith's back leg, distracting him from Lance, who takes the opportunity to abscond up the bed and begin attacking Coran's pillow. Shiro seems to deem Hunk nonthreatening, and even lowers his head between them, consenting to a bath from the fluffier cat. And just like that, Coran can breathe.

Then it hits him.

He has five cats. And a cow. Two stray teenagers who drop in unannounced to paint his outbuildings. An adoptive niece with a clan of rats.

Oriande didn't stay quiet for very long.

Notes:

Without going into it too much, I had to lose a pet who had been with me for the best part of a decade shortly before I planned to release this chapter. It was traumatic and hit me hard enough that, long story short, there exists in my head a draft of this where the story ends badly for Shiro, and other drafts where it gets worse, which was not the intention of this fic, and I didn't feel right posting anything at all while I could still picture that storyline as a feasible option.

So this fic got shelved until I could promise myself I'd give you guys the story that has a happy ending, because that's what these character deserve in every universe, even the ones where they're cats. I'm still not sure how we'll meander to that happy ending, but we will.

Also my experience of cats is limited to living in a cat household during my toddler years, friends with cats and a lot of time in cat cafes. (This fic will not be realistic, heads up, in case you hadn't noticed.) I also watch a lot of the show Supervet, so I'm doing most of my research in tv binges.