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Chapter Text

                  Keith groans and the first thing he registers is the cold— so sharp and metallic that it strikes through to his bones, his skull, like a bolt of lightning. It collides with a shattering pain, which scatters through his head, and when he opens his eyes, a dull purple room dipped and spun in waves. Where-? A crumpled figure catches his eyes and he blanches. “Shiro!” Scrambling to his feet, he stumbles over to him and reaches out to wake him up, but he stops and his hands hover over Shiro when he remembers the glowing wound across his abdomen (now hidden under dark, tattered cloth not even thick enough to keep out the cold). “Hey, Shiro. Wake up. Shiro!” When Shiro doesn’t answer, a sense of urgency energizes him and gently he grabs a hold of Shiro. He tries not to jostle the other, but even still his grip is tight, shaking and desperate, and he’s afraid he might be doing so anyways. This is all done in a trailing silence, and the possibility that Shiro wouldn’t wake up reverberates in that silence and his ears ring with the thought.

                  But then Shiro stirs, even if barely, and his eyebrows pull together as he reaches out a hand, seeking for something (someone?) to hold onto. “Keith… Keith I’m here.”

                  Keith grabs onto that outstretched hand, and this time the icy cold is not unwelcome as he intertwines his fingers with robotic ones. Using his other hand, he caresses Shiro’s cheek and cradles his head in his lap, gently. As if Shiro--no, this reality, the fact that Shiro was alive, would shatter into a billion pieces and leave him with nothing to hold onto. “Shiro,” he breathes out. “Shiro… How are you?”

                  “Aside from the gaping wound? Alright,” he smiles softly, as if there was nothing wrong. As if he wasn’t mortally injured. As if this was just another day on Earth, lounging around, enjoying each other’s company. This sends a pang of homesickness through Keith’s heart, along with the bittersweet feeling of gratitude that Shiro still worried for him, despite being the one in danger of dying. “Really, I’m fine.” He reiterates again, and Keith wonders if maybe all of that had crossed over his face. “It’s not that bad.” His eyes soften and he reaches up with his other arm, towards the back of Keith’s head. “What about you? I saw you got hit earlier, and you’re bleeding right now.”

                  “I’m fine,” he says, maybe a little too quickly? “I’m more worried about you.” His voice wobbles, and he clears his throat, “We’ll get out of here. Then we’ll get you help.”

                  Shiro frowns a little, and the dropping of his hand is so sudden that Keith doesn’t have time to register what had caused the sudden shift in emotion.

                  “Shiro?”

                  “I’m fine. I’m fine. Just, if we don’t make it out of here—no. If I don’t make it out of here…”

                  Shiro starts to push himself up now and Keith panics, gripping tightly onto him and trying to assist. “Wait, Shiro, don’t—”

                  He collapses back down, groaning and curling up with an arm over his wound, out of Keith’s grip. “Fine. I’m fine.” He repeats again, and uncurls from his position. “I’m okay.”

                  Every word spoken weighed down in Keith’s heart and he wasn’t sure on what to do with it. For the first time since he had gotten Shiro back, he didn’t know what to do, fear paralyzing him. Shiro needed help, but what help would they get here, assuming it was a Galran ship? (Of course it had to be a Galran ship. Except there was a possibility that it wasn’t, but even if it wasn’t Galran then did it really matter? They were captured, thrown in a cell with a disregard to his boyfriend’s mortal wound. Their captors had been all but friendly so far, regardless of their race.) “I’ll get you out of here.” He says. It’s an automatic response, robotic in every sense of the word. He wanted to know what Shiro had been going to say earlier, but he couldn’t force himself to ask. Just to comfort. “I have to get you out of here.” Shiro couldn’t die on him. That was unacceptable. “I have to.” His hands curl and shake. He’s so numb that he’s unsure on if he’s bleeding or not.

                  “Keith…”

                  “Touching. But ultimately that’s a fruitless plan, don’t you think? If you could even call that a plan.”

                  Shiro pales, more than he already had, and Keith’s head whips up at the menacing, but familiar, tone. “Sendak,” he says with venom. “You were ejected into space.”

                  “Technically, so were both of you. And yet you ended up here too. It’s a small universe, isn’t it?”

                  “What… do you want?” Shiro tries and, this time, manages to prop himself up against the cell wall.

                  “To finish what I started, and to hand deliver you two both to Zarkon. Don’t worry about your Lions; they’re being taken care of.”

                  Keith stands then and reaches behind him for a weapon, either his Bayard or his knife. But his reach comes up empty and his bravery drops into the pit of his stomach like a stone. Right. They would have taken both. Anxiety prickles at him but he stills his hands from moving by crossing his arms. “And they’ll be delivered to Zarkon too?”

                  “Already on their way, but don’t get any funny ideas now; they’re on a different ship.”

Keith glares, and he spits out a retort despite knowing the heavy consequences that lay within Sendak’s words. "Like that'll do much."

                  "Oh?" The Galran steps closer, "I was under the impression that you weren't one to make foolish threats, paladin."

                  Keith doesn't back down, meeting his challenge with faux confidence. "I don't." And he didn’t, but even so, he didn’t really have a plan yet. But at this rate, they had no other choice but to somehow escape and recapture their Lions, right?

                  Sendak quirks an eyebrow (if one could call it that), and he turns on his heel with a dismissive hand wave, "Right. If you say so."

                  "He does. If Keith thinks we'll get back our Lions and get out of here, then we will. You can count on it."

                  No answer aside from Sendak looking back with a glint in his yellow eyes. He lingers and regards them once more before he snarls, "We'll see," and departing from the cell entrance. Once his oppressive presence vanished, Keith uncurls his arms and heads back over to where Shiro lay. He felt ill, kneeling down beside him and taking his hand again. Without missing a beat, he continues the conversation from earlier. "You're not fine. But I won't let you die either, you know. What I said? It was true. We'll get out of here, get back our Lions, and find the princess and everyone else." Somehow, someway. It was the only thing they could do. "Until then, let's find a way to treat your wound."

                  "You know Keith, as much as I'd like that, I'm not too sure the Galra are going to be very keen on wasting medical supplies on a prisoner."

                  Keith swallows back a gut-wrenching thought and tightens his grip on Shiro's hand. "Did they not...treat you after your Gladiator matches?" He should have realized that.

                  "They did, but barely." Shiro closes his eyes, and Keith's sure he's thinking back. "Just enough so that we wouldn't die immediately, but not enough to ensure that wounds wouldn't get infected or wouldn't scar. And it depended on rank. The Champion got the best medical care, but even then it was..."

                  With a grimace, Keith lets go of his hand, a little queasy. He had seen Shiro's scars before, during the times he had snuck into his room so that they could sleep together, but he had never asked. There had never been any need too, for Keith knew where Shiro had gotten them, at least on the surface. But, somehow, he felt a little guilty, not having asked him. Maybe Shiro used to prefer it, Keith not asking, but it was obvious to him now that maybe that conversation was one of importance, and one they should have had regardless. He didn't know, but thinking on the past was...he hated it, because you couldn't change it, because all you could do was deal with the consequences, so maybe now was not the time to do so. So he lies down next to Shiro instead, hugging him lightly as to provide some sort of comfort, the comfort he may have failed to given him before. "I get it—” Keith brushes one hand against Shiro’s white tuft of hair, “—but you will get treatment once another Galra circles through. I'll make sure of it." This was one consequence he would not deal with; it was too high of a risk otherwise. Shiro's life was not something to gamble.

                  Shiro smiles softly and turns to embrace him, one hand on Keith's head and fingers interweaving with his black locks. "Thanks, Keith." He says, seemingly with no care or acknowledgement for Keith's earlier silence. Keith was more than a little grateful for it.

                  Keith continues that silence and doesn't reply, but there is no need. It's comfortable, soothing, fluffed with the endeared words that both could sense despite never being spoken. From there they drift off, and the cold that had bothered Keith earlier melted away in the warmth of Shiro's arms.

---

                  Slow, steady; Keith scales down a cliff edge, careful, mindful, of the abandoned rope he had found not too long ago. A strange rope made of a black material he did not recognize, harsh on his palms and grating to his senses and yet he could not let go of it now, no matter how much he desired it. It was strange, like the ragged valley he was ascending down into, humming with a power that buzzed even through the rope and into his fingertips. Something was wrong here, but he couldn’t let it intimidate him. After being separated from the Castle, he and Shiro had landed here--thankfully not too far away from each other, and yet far enough that it had posed an issue with reuniting. But they were together now, their Lions next to each other as well, and he was tasked with finding some supplies, as Shiro couldn't with his wound. (It was really terrifying, that wound, because he couldn't tell if it was bleeding or not, and how badly. Shiro wouldn't let him take a good enough look, and it was glowing, blinding him from how severe it was regardless. He could be bleeding out and Keith wouldn't know, but somehow the thought that there was no blood at all was intimately worse. He knew how to apply pressure, how to stop bleeding and to dress a wound if necessary, but if it wasn't bleeding at all, then he didn't know what was causing that. Was it magic? How did he deal with magic? ...Could he deal with magic? It wasn't the unknown that scared him, but the consequences that unknown could bring that did.)

                  Keith grunts as his hands burn as his grip loosens and he slips, body tingling annoyingly in response. It was over-stimulating, but he had to continue. If he wanted himself and Shiro to survive, it was paramount that he continued on.

                  His grip slips again and he adjusts, but his gloves were soaked with sweat and he could feel his fingers weakening. Just a little bit more, then he'd be on the ground, safe.

                  As if it was that easy. As if the universe cared enough to see him through this unscathed. As if it weren’t impartial and uncaring and cruel and never gave a damn about him or Shiro or any of the other Paladins. As if, for once, things could actually go smoothly, and no one is killed.

                  As if.

                  For a third and final time, his grip fails, and he plummets down, hitting the ground and his head whipping back sharply into black.

---

                  “Keith?”

                  Shiro’s voice is soft under the sharp sound of a high-pitched tone, like a wail perhaps, piercing through his ears and he’s unsure as to where he is now or where the other’s voice was coming from. He coughs and bolts upright, but opening his eyes doesn’t offer any meaningful clues as his vision doubles, spins and blurs, and somehow everything is way too bright. It’s blinding, and the only thing he can see is the maybe-purple walls that confined them, and the floor, which was unbelievably cold (did it matter anyways? He was dying right now, wasn’t he?) His chest burns and he coughs again, harsh and deep, enough so that it rattles his lungs and squeezes his chest, so much so that he’s afraid his lungs might rip out of his chest. He does so for several long moments—he can’t tell time, there was no point of reference and, really, everything felt endless—and it’s like it’s been several years before that harsh coughing shifts into retching. The pit of his stomach burns and he’s unsure if anything is spilling out aside from bile and maybe blood (hadn’t it been awhile since he had last eaten?) but regardless it sears his throat and he can’t breathe properly. Maybe his throat closed off, thick, and he grabs at his neck as he sputters. Shiro’s voice is muffled as he calls out again—though really, is it Shiro that is calling to him? —But Keith’s unable to make out what he is saying this time. His focus is nonexistent at this point, and he can’t stop retching. Something or someone touches his back—he suspects it’s Shiro but he really can’t tell now, when his world is in chaos and he even doubts the fact that they’re still prisoners—but the touch prickles like sharp needles, (or maybe it was more like static) and he hisses and chokes instead. The extra input was overwhelming and if this wasn’t a meltdown, it would surely send him into one as he failed to cope in this world of pain.

“Sh-i…ro?” Somehow he manages to stutter out his boyfriend’s name, even if a little clumsily, but it only furthers to burn his throat. At least the retching was starting to finally subside, and he’s able to get his bearings somewhat as the room dims a little. His world still spun and wobbled, and the light was still a little too bright, but it was enough that he could see the bile that had dribbled down onto the floor, and his hands and the room looked familiar enough that he was certain that, perhaps, they hadn’t moved at all. Somehow it was a relief and a huge disappointment all at once. “Shiro, where are you?” His chest clamps down and he could feel himself shaking from the energy spent on the earlier chaos. Though perhaps he was scared that Shiro had been taken away, too… “Shiro?” He swings his head around, but in doing so a pressure builds up against his head, and it’s enough to feel like it was going to crack open his skull, so he winces and stops. He wants too, but in the end he doesn’t dare touch his head, in case that static would come back and the retching would return as a consequence. Or that he’d be lost once more in that world of helplessness and disorientation. But then two hands are grabbing onto his wrist, but gently enough that it’s not like they’re even there at all, and he’s steadied so that his panic abates. The spinning slows enough that the room is no longer swimming and he’s able to finally focus in on Shiro as he peered into his face. He didn’t miss it, the naked terror in those searching eyes, the terror that he’s only been allowed to see on a few occasions when the nightmares are too much or a flashback rips them away from a calm evening, and it breaks his heart and scares him a little too. “Shiro? What’s with that look?” He tries to say it with a smile, but he can tell by the way Shiro doesn’t relax that it was only half-hearted, even if it was filled with softness that he could never rid himself of when looking at him.

                  Keith could see the pain within Shiro’s eyes—was it for his own wound, or for Keith’s? —And he wants to hold him, even though he’s certain that that would be a bad idea on his own part. “Are you okay? You were confused earlier, and you didn’t answer me when I called you. Not to mention…. everything else.”

                  The words don’t process right at first and there’s a long delay between Shiro’s mouth as it formed the words, and the actual sound of his voice hitting his ears. He stares at him for what must be a solid minute or longer, and it’s certainly awkward to him, but he doesn’t betray that feeling. “I don’t know.” Admittedly, that thought is a little terrifying, but there’s little anything else he could say. He was hurt, technically, but had it been bad enough to warrant all of what had transpired? Or was it something else? His meltdowns, as rare as they are, were similar in that he could process nothing, and sometimes he couldn’t breathe during them, but the retching was not a component from what he could piece together. Maybe it wasn’t as terrifying, though, in comparison to the idea of Shiro’s wound getting worse. “Better off than you.” That he was certain of at the very least.

                  “Keith, you know it’s not a competition. Nor is it comparable.”

                  “I know.” Again, he’s slower to respond than usual, and he’s annoyed by it. “That doesn’t mean you’re not a priority.” Then again, Shiro was always a priority.

                  “You need medical attention as well Keith. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t want you to neglect yourself either. Especially when it’s just for my own benefit.”

                  There are a million replies floating in his head, but it’s too foggy to sort them through, so he settles for a frown and a safe option for the moment. “Well, before either of us can get any help, we need a soldier to come in here.”

                  Shiro seems to notice his slight shift in topic and frowns, but otherwise doesn’t push the subject. “Right, a soldier.”

                  Keith doesn’t miss how Shiro is still worried at this, how he seems even a little hurt, and he wants to say something more, but his head was still so fuzzy and the world was still too bright. He couldn’t deal with a heated discussion at the moment. He’d either go into a shutdown, or he’d yell at Shiro. In a situation such as theirs, neither consequence was acceptable. “Do they check on prisoners often?”

                  “No, not really. Not often anyways. They’re usually posted outside, or they’re going through their routine.” His eyes flick over to peer at the door, and Keith follows suit. There’s no hint of footsteps, no hint that, maybe, a guard was about to enter into their holding cell.

                  “But they do check on prisoners?”

                  “Yeah, yeah they do.”

                  The silence is heavy and he feels sick again. At least they’d come in eventually, but would it be on time? Maybe not. Maybe not… He didn’t know the time frame, especially for Shiro. Shiro whose wound is… “Good. You’ll get help then,” he says, with forced hope. Would Shiro notice? Would he care?

                  “Yeah, I know. Thanks Keith. But I don’t think we should wait— ” he gestures to Keith’s head “—with your wound and all.”

                  “How do you propose we lure the guards over then?” Somehow he felt like they wouldn’t come if they yelled for help.

                  “I don’t know. But we’ll think of something. We have too, right?”

                  Keith pauses, thinks, and nods. “Right.”

---

                  “Do you think the others are okay?” Pidge sits on the ground with her legs crossed, holding onto her feet and frowning. It had only been a few hours since she had been rescued herself, and now they were searching for the rest of the paladins. But it was difficult. It entirely depended on if they were close enough, or if the Lions were working in order to grasp their location, and there was just no guarantee that either of those would hold true for everyone. What if they couldn’t fix their Lion? Or they weren’t close enough for them to find them? Not to mention there were Galra everywhere. The chances of them landing on a free planet were slim, very slim. Statistically improbable, even. “What if we can’t find them? Or they’re captured?”

                  “It’s okay Pidge, we’ll find them.” Allura smiles at her from her position at the navigation panel. She had the same doubts as Pidge, but she had to be brave here. She was the leader, the head of this operation. It was hard, but ultimately it was what was needed. “We will. Eventually.”

Chapter Text

                  Shiro’s burning up and Keith could do nothing to stop it. At least, that’s true now.

Before he had already tried everything he could do, demanding help through a metal door but he went unanswered for hours. He yelled through that door until his voice was hoarse and his head felt like it would explode and he was worried he would faint from the exertion. So now all he could do was fiddle and fidget, tending to Shiro and trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Wipe away some sweat, try to keep him cool… He couldn’t tell if it was working; there were only so many layers of clothing he could take off and on, much less Shiro, and taking off Shiro’s shirt seemed to do nothing. And though he was willing to drape his tattered shirt over Shiro--would that really achieve anything, he wondered--he was certain it was doing just as much as before. Nothing.

And so hours passed like this, and Keith continued in this monotonous, but worrying, routine of futile care.

                  At some point, and really there was no way to tell how long had passed, they were given a little water and some sort of food. Keith took some because he knew he would be useless starving himself, but he gave Shiro as much as he could. That turned out to be very little with the food (after a few mouthfuls, Shiro had turned away with a mutter that was indecipherable to Keith). The water was a bit better.

After, he was forced, again, to resume that routine, but as he sat and waited for an actual Galra to enter instead of just drop a tray and leave (he had tried to ask before they left, God did he try, but in the end he had been ignored and he doubts they had cared enough to have gotten a healer), the food churned in his stomach nauseatingly and he was afraid he might throw up again. That wasn’t an option, as that could possibly send him into a shutdown or meltdown. Was it because of the concussion he surely had, or because the food might not be as fresh as it should be? If only he could tell. Shiro, in his muddled state, didn’t seem sick because of it, but then again he had gotten less food than Keith had.

                  He coughs, and it’s scary because there’s a real threat that it would turn into heaving again, but he somehow settles down quickly, and though he’s spent, at least he’s not feeling as bad as before. Or as bad as Shiro, whom he now peered at with furrowed brows and lips pursed deep in worried. “I’ll get you out of here,” Keith mutters while slicking back Shiro’s white hair from his sweaty forehead. “I’ll get you out of here.” How long had he been promising that? Has it been hours, or days, since Sendak had visited them? Time was meaningless here; a construct that didn’t exist before the infinite expanse of darkness and weariness. “I’ll get you out of here.” It was not just a mantra now, but also a lifeline for both of them, even if Shiro was unaware of it.

                  For quite some time he uttered that phrase, and each utterance, each word that fell past his tongue tasted like ash and seemed to dissolve before it even had a chance to echo. His lungs trembled and yet felt like they were doused in hot liquid, and his hands shook, even if ever so slightly, as he tried to keep himself centered. The longer he sat here, the more the restless anxiety built up. Though even that felt like an understatement. Because anxiety didn’t really fit. Because this anxiety was more than restlessness. Because it felt as if he were standing on glass, and that glass was the only thing that kept him from plummeting deep, deep below into nothingness. Glass that was currently cracking. Glass that was--

                  “Keith. Keith!”

                  He freezes, and that glass shatters, because Shiro shouldn’t be awake right now, because how could he be awake right now? But Shiro’s voice is shaking and pitched and it hurts to hear, more so than his head or the throbbing pain in his stomach, or the fear as he plummets into the abyss, and he desperately cups Shiro’s cheek and threads his fingers through Shiro’s. His hand is still warm. It’s still warm… “Shiro, Shiro I’m here. I’m here. What is it?” He leans in a little close, and searches his boyfriend’s eyes.

                  They’re wide, but glassy, and he’s not even staring at Keith despite calling his name. “Keith, Keith we have to get out of here.”

                  “I know, I know. Shiro-- Takashi, Takashi look at me. Look at me,” he stares into his eyes, and doesn’t break contact, because he didn’t know what was at the bottom of this abyss, and he wasn’t sure if they’d both break before they can even find out. “I’ll get us out of here, okay? I will.” How many times has he said that? “I will. You’ve got to trust me.”

                  “No, no--” Shiro pushes himself up, against Keith’s weight and onto a shaking arm, “--no we have to go now. There’s something here. We have to get out.”

                  “Takashi, Takashi listen to me, please.” He tries to smile, he tries so hard, but he didn’t have the proper energy to stop his lips from trembling, and a tear dripped down onto Shiro’s leg, soaking the fabric. “There’s nothing here, okay? There’s nothing here. It’s just us in this room. It’s just us. Alright? It’s just us.” He couldn’t say they were safe. They could never be safe here. How could they be? But Shiro was panicking and seeing that hurt. “We’re okay.”

                  Focused on Keith now, Shiro reaches up and wipes away a tear with one thumb. He feels like laughing, and yet also feels like breaking down completely, because Shiro was still trying to comfort him despite his own pain, but he keeps himself together (it’s one of the things Keith knows how to do best; bottle up his emotions and hide them away for no one to see, even when they’re both spiraling down) and watches Shiro as he waits for him to say something.

                  But as sudden as the lucidity came, it passed, and he collapses back down onto the floor where Keith barely manages to stop his head from banging against the hard ground.

                  His heart flutters and panic boils in his chest, a breathless feeling, and suddenly everything is all too much as they both shatter. Keith stands and paces, rubbing a hand through his hair while the other reaches instinctively for a dagger that’s just not there. Then, he laughs. Because of course, of course they would break before even hitting the ground, before the Galra could do what they wanted to them. That’s just how it is for them. Ever since Kerberos, that’s how it’s been.

Dizziness and erratic breathing is accompanied by an energy that just wouldn’t dissipate, and the room is just another blur of purple with no shape or definition. He needs to focus, but there’s nothing to focus on. He’s a pile of shards in nothingness and he’s numb to everything but the pressure bearing down on top of him.

---

                  Haggar shows up as an unwelcomed guest in an unwelcomed situation just a few hours after Keith manages to put the pieces back together. Some are still missing and some are in the wrong place, but a patchwork job is the best he can do when he feels like a patchwork doll.

                  Under her cloak and the shadow casted by it, Haggar doesn’t seem to care about whether or not he’s still put together or if he’s just barely sewn shut. She just stares at him with her yellow eyes and an expression he couldn’t comprehend then, and with words that threaten to rip his work apart as she spoke. “It seems we might be in luck; death should soon claim you both.”

                  “It won’t,” Keith puts forwards. The bravado is forced, of course, because he already knew that Shiro was already close to death, but there’s nothing else to do. There’s nothing else that he can think of to try.

                  “You’re a fool if you truly believe that, but I don’t think you do. Do you?” She smiles and waves a hand. Dismissive. Magma hot anger boils in his chest. “It’s a shame, though. What would have been our greatest weapon is about to perish here. If only he came back to us.”

                  “‘Greatest weapon’?” The magma cools into a heavy weight and there’s something about her tone that puts him on edge. Shiro never mentioned it, and yet she was now. Something was up but he couldn’t figure out what, and he didn’t understand what exactly she meant either. Was she referring to Shiro? It didn’t make much sense. “What are you talking about?”

                  “Isn’t it obvious boy? A weapon greater than Voltron.”

                  A weapon greater than Voltron.

                  Keith stims by twisting a piece of his tattered clothing in his hands-- even though he normally wouldn’t in front of people, because normally people would stare and judge and make him conform when he was comfortable as himself. But the idea, the thought, and the reality that Shiro would have been a weapon if he hadn’t escaped, and one (presumably) powerful enough to destroy Voltron, is too much right now. It whips and tears through him like a tornado and this is his only way of coping with it.

                  He feels Haggar’s eyes on him as he paces, stimming still, and there’s something eerie about it. She’s dissecting him for some reason, like a lab rat, and he has the distinct feeling that, somehow, she might be playing him. “And… what if I volunteered to become this...weapon, in exchange that you save his life?” He was definitely walking into a trap here. But what was a trap to two dying men who otherwise could do nothing? If only that weren’t literal.

                  “Oh? And what would you have that he does not in this regard? Why should I try and make you my newest weapon when I had failed with him, when he himself is stronger than you, and has more combat experience?”

                  “Because, without a new weapon, you have no hope in defeating Voltron. I am the fastest and most skilled pilot, I’m agile, and without me they are a pilot down, not to mention without Shiro. Making me a weapon would be a significant blow, enough to cripple Voltron completely.” Of course he’d never let any of this come to pass, he’d get them to escape before that, but this was all he could do. He didn’t know how long they had been here, but he was desperate. Shiro couldn’t die here; not only would the universe be doomed, but he himself as well. “And in saving his life, you’ll have Shiro too.” The words are acid on his tongue.

                  “And you are okay with this deal?”

                  “Yes.” He bites back a retort, that he has no choice, but that could get them killed and that’s exactly what he’s fighting against.

                  “Alright. I will take you up on this offer, Paladin. But you best understand that any suspicious activity will not be tolerated.” And then, swiftly, she exits without so much as attempting to heal Shiro, and Keith wonders if he made the right call at all.

---

                  He’s tied down to a table. Metal bites into his skin and the only thing he’s aware of are the Druids as they tower over him and their shadows swallow him whole.

                  Keith doesn’t try to escape, even if, deep down, there’s a primal need to do just that. But his hands twitch in a mock-stim and he watches carefully as different Druids move about the room. They haven’t started yet and it’s been hours and he’s afraid for what that means. Or maybe they have already started, and this is just part of it. Were they trying to break him with silence? He doesn’t know what to do, but he can’t breathe and there’s only so much he can take. But he can’t fall apart here, because what would that mean when physical torture is on the line? What will it mean when they experiment with him and do God knows what?

                  All he does is close his eyes and wait.

---

                  There is only pain, searing hot and burning and yet sharp and cruel and he doesn’t know where he is or what to do or what is happening. He’s been obliterated a million times until he’s nothing but dust floating in the empty expanse of space and then he’s sucked back up and forced into a shell that isn’t him. He’s molten hot lava cooling into a jagged husk of himself and he’s only filled with a meaningless gooiness that was once something but is nothing. All he knows is that he’s Keith, a paladin, and that Shiro is here somewhere but even those threaten to slip away from him. But he desperately holds on, because what else is he to do?

                  He’s everything and nothing, a speck of existence: ultimately meaningless, and yet somehow intricately meaning something. A life, a being of substance even if he were empty. A being with the name ‘Keith’ but not quite grasping it.

                  And now he’s somewhere. A room, dark, but he can’t register it, register anything, and he doesn’t even have the energy to stim here. Wherever ‘here’ was.

                  Pain wraps around him again, but it’s hesitant, but even hesitancy doesn’t stop thousand needles from piercing you, or stop the blood from pooling on the floor. He’s certain he’s doing...something. Maybe crying. Maybe screaming. Maybe a little of both? Or maybe he’s silent, because there is no way to express what he has become.

---

                  When he’s finally conscious and aware, he’s in Shiro’s arms, on the cold floor, spooned into each other like they used to sleep. He turns and takes in all the little details that had slipped away; long lashes formed under monolids, strong nose and strong jaw, but subtle softness to him that was so easy to miss. Roundness to the curve of his jaw and cheeks and he notices, now, how the color seemed to have returned to his face and how he seems to be in less pain.

                  Keith can’t help but smile at this, this rare moment of calm, and at the start of Shiro’s recovery. His hand brushes against Shiro’s cheek, and he’s relieved to find that it’s no longer hot from fever, and so he closes his eyes and contents himself. Contents himself with a moment that he wagers he’ll never get back again.

Chapter Text

Awhile after they awoke and neither brought up what had happened last night, Keith finds his knife under a tray of food that had been there since the night before. He stares at it, marvels at the fact that it somehow made it back to him, and thumbs it. But it’s real, and he has nowhere to hide it.

                  “Keith, what are you holding?” Shiro asks, and Keith hesitates, because this was always private, this was his and no one was supposed to find out about it. Because he doesn’t even know what he’s holding either, what significance it holds, just that it belongs to him.

                  “My blade,” he finally admits, and turns around to show Shiro. “I’ve had it ever since I can remember.”

                  Shiro seems skeptical of this, and this hurts, it hurts more than anything because it’s true, and yet he doesn’t believe him on it.

                  “Don’t give me that look,” he says, sharply, and then he stops. Because where had that come from? That wasn’t him. He’d never snap at Shiro like that. “I... I know I haven’t shown you, but it’s not because I’m lying. It was something private. I don’t know who gave it to me; maybe my father?” His voice is softer, and he hopes that it conveys that he didn’t mean to snap at him.

                  “I’m sorry,” Shiro says, and he makes to stand, but Keith shakes his head and drops down next to him instead. He’s still bandaged, and even though the wound has long since faded, there was a possibility still that he could start bleeding out now that the magic was nearly gone. “But that knife doesn’t look like it was made on earth.”

                  “I know,” he mutters. Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? “But I can’t give it up. It’s all I have.”

                  Shiro doesn’t say anything this time, just hugs him, and they sit like that in silence until a guard comes in to give them their morning meal.

---

                  “Where are they?” Pidge watches as Allura continues to search on her monitor, but there’s nothing, and there’s been nothing, just like before. It was like the situation with her brother and her father all over again.

                  “Don’t worry Pidge; we’ll find them,” Lance says, and this rubs her the wrong way even if it shouldn’t. Maybe it’s the way he’s careful with his tone, or the way he’s fidgeting despite trying to keep an air of calm. It’s all fake.

                  “We don’t know that! It’s been months and we haven’t even found my family yet! It could take years before we find them!”

                  “Hey don’t yell at me! I’m just trying to help!”

                  “And what kind of help is that?! If you want to help, then find them!”

                  “Whoa, whoa.” Hunk pushes between them, “Guys this isn’t helping either. Why don’t we all go and sit down and have a break?”

                  “But--”

                  “Pidge. I know. I know you miss your family; I do too, so does Lance. And we’ll find them. We’ll find them, and Shiro and Keith, and they’ll all be okay. But we can’t find them if we’re fighting each other.”

                  “Hunk’s right.” Allura approaches them, “We won’t find them if we’re all acting like…. this.” She spreads out her arms, and both Lance and Pidge look sheepish, if still a bit angry.

                  “Well since I’m apparently just making everything worse, you guys can try and find them. I’ll be in my room.” And he storms off.

                  “Lance. Lance wait!” Hunk soon goes to follow.

                  Pidge says nothing as she heads over and sinks into her chair.

                  Allura’s eyes fill with emotion and she approaches her, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, I know you’re worried. But we will find them.”

                  “That’s what Lance said,” she says, bunching her legs up and burying her head in her knees.

                  “Well, it’s true. We will find them, even if it takes a longer than we want.”

                  “But what if we don’t? Or we do, but it’s too late.” She sinks down in her chair, and all Allura can see is a scared girl. A scared girl who was just a child not too long ago. A girl like her, who was forced to grow up too soon and too fast, in a position she’s not too sure she can lead properly. And it breaks her heart because this is what they should be doing. They shouldn’t have to worry if their friends are dead. They shouldn’t have to fight in an intergalactic war. They should all be home, with their families, playing games and smiling together. Not...this.

                  “I know… I know it’s scary, I know it’s hard. I know we shouldn’t be here and I know your family and Keith and Shiro should all be home, having fun. And I know this war shouldn’t be taking place.” She takes a deep breath, “But it is. It’s happening, and we’re here now. And we can’t afford to think like that. We have to be brave, because if we let fear paralyze us then we’ll never be able to save anyone. We’ll never get them back.”

                  Pidge looks up then, tears glistening and glasses smudged, and smiles just a little, just enough to show that her words got through. And then they’re hugging, desperately, crying and shaking but stronger than before. Because there’s nothing weak about crying, and for all of the strong words that now take root in their hearts, there’s only so much room left for fear before it bubbles over.

---

                  Hunk enters into Lance’s room with two large bowls of intergalactic pudding, as he likes to call it, piled high with what resembles nuts and a cherry. He sets it in front of Lance, who's on the floor against his bed, eyes closed with his head against the mattress while his spindly limbs are sprawled out against the ground. He then plops himself down next to him, legs crossed, with his dish in hand. But he doesn’t make to eat it, just wraps one arm around Lance’s shoulder instead. There’s no words needed here as Lance readjust himself, one leg maneuvering over his pudding as he makes to bury his head in Hunk’s strong shoulder. Hunk wraps his now useless arm over his back to pull him in a pseudo-hug.

                  They’ve done this so many times when Lance was feeling down, doubting himself and hurt by the words of the instructors who would only compare him to Keith; the Garrison’s Golden Boy. The Number One Pilot and flying prodigy, the boy a year older than him, who beat him out for the position of Fighter Pilot, and then dropped out because he didn’t know what he had. The boy who was called a man and the boy whose scraps he was given after he left and the boy who now still seems to beat him, even if things were a little more even now. The boy who was no longer here and might be with the Galra, trapped and helpless and maybe even scared. The boy he desperately wanted to save now, as much as he wanted to go home. The boy who’s companion he admired more than his own career, and desperately wanted to be acknowledged by, but was so far away and lost and broken in ways that he knew he wouldn’t show them, but could hear at night when he’d pass by his door when he couldn’t sleep, or saw when he froze during training or during their fights against the Galra. His companion that he oh so desperately wanted to save as well.

                  Hunk seems to sense the chaos going on in his boyfriend’s head, so he holds onto him tighter and sets his own food down to run a hand through Lance’s short hair.

                  The food goes untouched, and unnoticed by Lance, but that’s okay. Because sometimes food isn’t the answer, and sometimes it’s the gesture, and not the thing itself, that means the most.

Chapter Text

Keith stares at the blood on his blade as Shiro works to clean him up.

            There’s something wrong, because he should feel something as he does, but nothing but blackness fills his head where words should be and it’s like a dense, heavy poison that oozes into his mind. He’s not sure what to do, because it’s been like that for days, and this ooze has leaked it’s way into reality, coloring his world darker than it would normally be, and he’s afraid that he’ll poison Shiro if he speaks of it.

            Sometimes, if he’s not too careful, he’ll find himself drowning in it, choking in on all of it, and he’s afraid of what that means. He loses time, but he’s terrified to ask Shiro about it, but watching him just as he reemerges is almost worse, because there’s relief in everything Shiro does and also a watchfulness that would never had been there before.

            Even now, as he stares at his blade, he’s barely able to stay on the surface, and there’s something there now grabbing at his feet, threatening to pull him under. Where had he been? Vaguely, he remembers that he had been set up to go into the ring today, but he doesn’t recall stepping foot in it, or even being escorted there. But he had to have gone, if the blood is any indication. Had he won? Or lost? No, he had to have won. The bruises smart and the lacerations cut deep into him with pain he’s familiar with, but if he were the loser he would be worse off. Broken, even, if he had to guess.

            “Keith, what is this?”

            He straightens and cranes, even if it hurts, to look at a large bruise that painted his right hip. Except it was a deeper violet than the rest, instead of a dark blue and black, and his stomach lurches because that can’t be a bruise, but the alternative is something unacceptable. “A bruise.”

            “Keith.” Shiro’s voice is stern and he hates that, because he knows he’s right. He knows Shiro can sense that there’s more to it than that, and he knows that Shiro is on to him, but he can’t let him.

            “I don’t know.” And then it’s too much and he’s barely holding himself together, “I can’t even remember the fight.”

            And now Shiro’s hugging him, and he feels bad, because even though he’s falling apart as well, barely holding himself together, Shiro’s comforting him and he’s probably getting blood on him, or he’s scared to death, and yet he continues to try and be strong, for both of them.

---

            Keith’s in the ring and he’s fighting an alien bigger than him and it’s terrifying.

            Somehow he’s managing to hold his own fine but that itself is equally as terrifying, because something’s wrong. He’s quick, and good fighter, and his instincts are almost always true, but he’s ruthless now. Merciless as he hacks away, and even when he gets the upperhand he doesn’t let up.

            Except he’s reckless, and the clawed creature grabs him by the leg, and he’s thrown off to the side. Dust kicks up and the crowd cheers and Shiro is physically restrained by guards as he tries to make a run into the ring. Keith is dazed when the dust settles, except his eyes are clear and Shiro’s forced to watch as panic settles in. But as quickly as it comes, it disappears, and he’s dodging with a roll as the alien swipes at him again.

---

            “You got thrown in the fight, so maybe it is a bruise and I’m worrying too much. We’ve just got to be cautious, okay?” Keith neither nods or says anything in reply, but Shiro can tell by the way Keith’s fingers dig deeper in the back of his shirt, or how he’s taking a deep, shaky breath, that whatever emotion he’s feeling hasn’t abated, but still found comfort in Shiro’s arms. “You know, you’re lucky they decided to heal your concussion. I’m not sure what we’d do if you had to go out there like that.”

            And now Keith is pulling away, so sudden that Shiro has to take a moment to remind himself to breath. Keith stims with his knife, staining his fingertips red as he flips it around and tests the edges of the blade on the pads of his fingers, staring down at it while trying to disappear from the conversation. “Yeah. Lucky.” He has the sense to know that Keith is hiding something, but he’s not sure what and he’s not sure if he should push him on it. But what could he be hiding here that was any good?

            “Keith, what is it?” He pushes gently, because it’s the only thing he can do right now.

            “Nothing. It’s nothing.” And then he’s pulling away again, to a corner in their cell with his blade and everything it symbolized.

            “It’s not. We both know it’s not.” Shiro sighs, and stands, being mindful of his still healing wound (how long would it take? Months?) and heads over to the corner as well. “You can tell me.”

            “No.” Keith stands, again, and this time starts to pace. “I can’t.”

            “Keith.” He stands again as well, and grabs his arm.

            “I said no, Shiro,” and then he pulls it away. He’s battling with something, clutching onto the hilt of his blade so tight his knuckles were white, and he can’t even meet Shiro’s eyes. “We don’t… do these things, Shiro. We don’t push.”

            “I know, but we have to here. And y’know? Maybe we should have before, maybe we should have been pushing each other more to open up when there’s something wrong. But if we’re going to start, we have to start now.”

            “...Promise me, then, that you won’t get mad?”

Keith’s eyes flicker up to meet his, and he frowns a bit, but nods all the same. Because if he didn’t promise this, then Keith might never tell him.

“Well… I had to make a deal, to get you help.”

“A deal.”

Keith flinches, “Yeah. In order to save you, I had said I’d take your place as their ‘Greatest Weapon’.”

The floor drops from under him, and Shiro is plummeting down into the abyss. “Keith, you--” It takes all of his energy to breathe, and he finds himself being eased down onto the floor with Keith’s help.

“I had to Shiro. I’m not going to let them succeed, I’ll get us out of here before then, but I needed time. If I didn’t get you help, you would have…”

Keith doesn’t finish that thought, and he doesn’t have to. Shiro knows perfectly well what he is talking about, and yet it doesn’t really matter. He’s frozen and shaky and there’s something around his wrists now, except there’s only one. And he’s struggling, struggling to get free but he can’t. A figure looms over him with a sharp bone-saw, and he doesn’t want to look at it but his head is forced in place and there’s blood on it, dripping, dripping, dripping--

“Shiro!”

He startles, and suddenly Keith is on the floor a foot away from him. “K-Keith, I--” But he can’t do anything but wrap his arms around his chest and breathe, because he wasn’t now.

“I-It’s fine, Shiro. I shouldn’t have--” But he stops, because Shiro is shaking his head, and he’s not sure what to say now.

Shiro wishes, God did he wish, that Keith meant both touching him during his flashback and panic attack, and the fact that he had offered himself up. But he knows, he knows that he didn’t, and it hurts because Keith values himself, but not when it comes to him, and sometimes it casts doubt on that.

And so they sit in silence, because it’s the only thing they can do until Shiro is calmer and able to speak properly again.

“Is...that why you’ve been acting so strange lately?”

            Keith’s breath hitches, and Shiro feels bad, because he knows what it’s like. “...Yeah. I don’t remember well, but I think it’s-- it’s from that.” The reply is carefully constructed, so Shiro feels like Keith isn’t telling him everything. But right now, this is fine. This he wouldn’t push on. He couldn’t. So he just takes his hand, and squeezes it. Keith looks over at him, and smiles, and leans against his shoulder. “I love you,” he breathes out.

            “I love you too.”

            Later, Shiro dreams of Keith and soldiers and the alien that he had been fighting. He dreams of Keith standing over it, just staring, and an unease settles in Shiro’s stomach as Keith looks back and his eyes are glowing yellow.

---

            It’s like a dream. Shiro stands, clutching at his old wound, and feels wetness under his hand. Keith is fighting, blade countered by another, and then kicked back. It’s all foggy, he’s not sure how he got here. His weapon is foreign, a piece of metal in his hand, bent and broken and useless. Above him looms a creature, fur matted and greasy and stained, with two large teeth protruding out of it’s jaw. Glistening and sharp and very much used. He backs up, weapon held out and tenses. A blade swipes at him and he dodges low enough and just in time for it to cut some hair from his tuft.

            He rolls to the side, and hits the inside of their knee with what’s left of his blade. It crumples, howling, and then he’s on top of it, hitting it once with the butt of his blade and hard enough that it stops moving, but is otherwise alive.

            Just in time to watch as Keith is on top of the smaller alien, one more humanoid, with pointed ears and yellow eyes and grey skin. Keith’s eyes are dark and he’s posed to drive the blade through the alien’s neck, tip just barely on top of the skin. But then they clear and his eyes widen slightly, just enough that Shiro is able to catch it. Keith closes his eyes as the alien says something to him, but everything is murky and Shiro’s unable to hear, and then hits his head with the butt of his blade as well. Shiro does catch the apology on Keith’s lips as he stands, and they’re declared winners. Champions. Lovers steeped in violence.

            “What was that all about?” He asks, but even his own voice is so far away, as if he were watching a movie submerged in water: muted. “Why were we in the ring together?”

            “He wanted me to take his life, but I couldn’t.” Keith says, “And Zarkon wanted us too. Haggar told me when… Well, they made this just for us anyways.”

            Shiro can say nothing to that, because he’s been there, he remembers the prisoners he’s fought, the aliens he’s gone against. He knows. The only thing he can’t remember is if he went through with it or not, and either way it makes him sick, because both are cruel.

            They’re swept up by guards as an alarm sounds, and a crowd is formed. If he were alone he would have frozen, but the mass pushes him forwards and he has no choice and Keith! He turns, looks desperately for him, and sees him a foot away, arm stretched out for his hand and calling his name. He calls back, stretches out his own, fights against the crowd, but he’s overwhelmed and they’re going to be separated and that’s not something that can happen here. But he can’t fight it and they’re being swept away by the crowd and Shiro’s being swallowed whole by the water he’s been fighting the whole time.

Chapter Text

They detect an issue in the Castle's warping mechanism not too long after Lance and Pidge's fight. Coran, a bit slippery and a little gross, show them the room and the cracked crystals, and there's not much they can do. Pidge asks if they can fix them, and Coran tells her no, that there's nothing they can really do but buy some more, but they're rare so it might prove to be an issue in the long run.

Lance shrugs, and offhandedly makes a comment about a mall, because that's usually where he'd go to buy things, but also the idea of a "Space Mall" is hilarious to him for some reason, and a little cool. Maybe it's the inherent idea that there's just a mall, floating in space somewhere that does it for him. But instead of reacting negatively or confused, Coran just brightens up at this suggestion, and they're all quickly ushered to the main room of the castle.

And that's how they ended up here, in the very place Lance joked about, in ridiculous costumes that looked like they were made for comedic play. They weren't given any money, but were told to head off and look around and find what they were looking for.

Of course this just spells trouble, because they can never enjoy a normal day in their life now.

Hunk, having skipped lunch because his stomach had been in a knot of worry--how could it not be, when no warping meant no way of finding their friends?-- is drawn to a food court. It's a little pitiful, with only alien advertising food; a larger Galran with a plate of what looked like to be the space version of meatballs.

Lance and Pidge wander together, at least for a time, not really for any particular reason other than that they're familiar to each other. They find a small store, with familiar items and oh my God there are actually earth items here?? How did they get them??? Homesickness stirs inside them and Lance feels like he might cry, but he can't here in public, and Pidge is wringing her hands. But then she spots a gaming console in the window, an old one, and she instantly wants it. Because it's been so long since she's played video games with Matt, and there's got to be a way to hook it up in the castle and how cool would it be to play with Allura and Coran, or even Keith and Shiro when they return??? She turns to Lance, who also seems somewhat excited, but frowns at the price, and is slightly deterred from attempting to buy it. They don't have money, they don't even know what a Gak is, let alone how much they want for it. And there's no way to hook it up in the castle that he knew of. But Pidge is grabbing onto his sleeve and looking up at him, begging, and he's reminded of another little girl, one only around 7 years of age, who'd beg and cry for him to help her whenever she wanted to get a cookie off of the forbidden top shelf, or the little boy who wanted to play football all the time, but had no one to play with but Lance since everyone else was busy or too old outside of his sister. So he agrees, because it would be nice to play a video game and get away for a while, but also he always did like caring for his niece and nephew, and Pidge, though older than them by about 9 or 10 years, was no different. So he says yes, and she's so ecstatic that it's endearing.

They sprint away to find some money, and they manage to pass Hunk, whose stuck in a kitchen, and not quite willingly this time.

How was he supposed to know that they weren't free samples? Who stands out there holding a tray of food in a food court anyways?? And it's not like those meatball things were any good; they were dry and tasted funny and fell apart in his mouth. He wouldn't mind being stuck in a kitchen cleaning dishes if the food he accidentally stole was even remotely good, but apparently with his luck he doesn't even get that.

He takes a step back, to assess all of his work, and slips on some water, and into the machine that had been cooking the whole time. Who has a robot cook your food anyways? It's not like they could put any love into it. And then he's yelled at again, by Sal who seems to be at the end of his rope with unhappy customers who, quite frankly, hate the food too. Maybe there's some divine karma to be found in this. Some sort of humor that he can laugh at as he's stuck with a Galran who won't let him leave and dishes grimy and piled high in a sink of a restaurant that is the opposite of successful.

But it's kind of sad, this state of affairs, and he can't really stand the idea of bad food being served at such an expensive price, so he offers to help. Cooking is more than a hobby for him, it's a passion and a comfort he could bring to the home of his family, and now he could bring it here. Sal seems to just grumble, and he goes right in, because there's nothing else to do, and even if he's Galran, he didn't want to leave the man stranded.

---

On her search for some money, Pidge finds herself needing to use one desperately, and makes a dash for them. But when she gets there the symbols are strange, and despite being pink and blue, she hopes that the aliens don't follow the same gender roles as earth. (Really now, it would be hard, it was already hard, dressing up as a gender she just wasn't, but was assigned at birth, and now that her hair is short and she's still in the clothes she used to pretend, and it hurts. Ever since then her gender dysphoria has been bad, and she can't stand the idea of using the bathroom marked for the gender she just wasn't, but if aliens had gender roles, she was afraid of potential transphobia, so she stands, waiting, waiting. But there's no sign on which one she should enter.) Eventually she just gives up, and heads to the one marked with pink, and hopes there are private stalls and aliens whose sexes don't resemble those with earth's.

---

While Pidge is gone, Lance finds a fountain and aliens flipping money into the water. At least, somehow, that tradition was intergalactic, or they'd never find the money needed for the game system. He rolls up his pant legs and gets to work, rummaging through the water and feeling for whatever coins were there. The soles of his feet ached from stepping on the bumpy floor (money isn't soft, after all) but he just uses this as a quick way to find what he needs, and in no time he's up to 100 Gaks but still short a good many.

But that's fine, because there was still some time left until Coran would come back to fetch them, and there's still dozens of more left in the fountain.

---

Business is booming when Sal returns, and all he has to thank is Hunk, whom continues to cook and serve without complaint. There's some good to be had from this, and everything is fine, so he teaches him how to cook everything, because he'll have to leave soon, and it would be a shame to leave him with no ability to keep up with his new demands.

Maybe Galrans weren't all bad, here.

---

Pidge watches Lance in amazement as he manages to catch the final coin in his mouth. A little gross, but amazing, and she can't help but admire him for his aim and new and strange ability to suddenly turn into a dolphin when needed. She jokes with him about it, nudges him with her elbow, and they head off back to the store.

---

It's not long after that Hunk is collected by Coran, whom had looked everywhere for him, and still couldn't find the other's. Hunk bids Sal a farewell, and follows Coran to the front of the store again, where Lance and Pidge are waiting for them with a game system and...a cow. Somehow. But he doesn't mind the cow too much, even if it smells, because it reminds him of home, and they're off back to the ship.

Chapter Text

Keith paces, and there's anxiety creeping in through cracks he thought he had filled as he thumbs his blade again and turns it in his hands. He was back on the ship, that was...good. Except it wasn't. Because Shiro wasn't there, and what's the point without Shiro or the Black Lion? They can't even form Voltron, and they don't have a leader, someone second-in-command to Allura, and someone they can bounce ideas and plans off of and look to guidance when all else fails.

Pain burns in his back as his pacing increases. Shiro's not here, he's not here. He's gone. He's still trapped on the ship. He's probably being tortured or killed or worse and he's not there to help him and they won't let him leave. His hands bounce up and down now and he can't do anything but try and stuff the emotions back inside, bury them deep so that they don't burst over and overflow and drown him. But Shiro was special, and without him his emotions reared their ugly head like a snake, biting into him and poisoning him and he can't breathe. Everyone and everything's gone and he can't breathe. It had stolen his oxygen, and he can't deal with it, can't deal with anything, can't deal with the artificial lights, so bright now that they hurt his eyes, or the room as it closes in on him, and the need to run away somehow, to curl up and hide and do nothing because what is the point without Shiro??? What is the point of anything now without Shiro??? But Shiro had to be alive, right? Or was that worse? Was that--

"Keith."

The voice is gentle, and startles him out of his thoughts, because it had sounded like Shiro, but when he looks it's just Allura, and he collapses down on the bed, drained and useless. The pain in his back recedes, and he's left hollow. "Yeah?"

"How...are you holding up?" She asks, quietly, and it's almost as if she's afraid of him for some reason, and that thought stings a bit. He wants to yell and scream that he's not dangerous, but he quells the irrational thought.

"Fine."

"Keith...you know, you can talk to us. You've been in here ever since you got back. Do you know how many days it's been?"

"...No," he admits. But there's no point in keeping track, just like there was no point in keeping track in prison. "It doesn't matter. I'll find Shiro before it's too late."

"Keith, that's not...what I..." She trails off when he sees him clench his hands against his legs, and she knows her wording is off. "No, that's not what I--... It's just that, I'm talking about you, Keith. I'm worried for Shiro too, but this isn't...healthy."

"Damn what's healthy, Allura! I'm going to find him." He stands, paces, runs a hand through his hair again, and twirls around to face her. "The Galra that helped us, one of them gave me coordinates. One called Ulaz. We have to go there."

"No. Absolutely not! I am not following some quiznacking Galran to an unknown location to- to get ambushed and killed. No!"

Keith takes a deep breath, but his hands are shaking and all he wants to do is punch the nearest object. He pushes that urge down under again, in the dark murkiness of his mind. "He helped us, Allura."

"And that doesn't mean anything when it comes to the Galra! We don't know what he wants. He could be tricking us, for all we know. And I will not doom the entire universe because there's a false hope that Shiro might--"

"I wouldn't have to hold onto that 'false hope' if you had let me rescue him back there!"

Allura sighs, and tousles her bangs, "I didn't make you do anything back there, and if you had gone back, you would have been captured again."

"So? That doesn't matter when Shiro could be tortured, dead, or dying back there and I'm not there to help him. So even if it means I'm on my own, I'll go to those coordinates no matter what you say or do and you can't stop me."

"Fine. We'll all go. I'm not going to risk you when we have no paladins to spare." Her eyes soften then, and she approaches where he is standing, so closed off that it's nearly impossible for her to even do so. "I don't want you hurt, not after all that. We were worried, you know, and still are. At least let us get you into one of the pods before we go, there's a bruise on the back of your neck and I'm worried about any other injuries you might still have..."

Keith freezes at this, puts a hand on his neck, but nods and complies. There's not much else he can do, and a fear that had been rooted in him since some of his first days of captivity blossoms again in the pit of his stomach. "Alright. But let me change into the healing pod clothes on my own."

"Okay." And she exits, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

All he can do is lay down on the bed and try to beckon the hollowness that had plagued him to return.

---

When Keith stumbles out, he doesn't pay attention to the group that had gathered around, and passes them for a mirror in the nearest bathroom. Footsteps echo behind his and he ignores them, closing the bathroom door behind him, and looking at his reflection.

The pod can't heal the weight he's lost or the muscle he's been forced to gain, but when he strips down he sees that the cut on his leg that had been refused so long to do so has been healed, and the marks on the front of his neck are gone (bruises, he had been careful to cover up from both the others and Shiro, when they were still together). But this isn't what matters: he knew these would be healed, and he knew the machine wasn't a miracle worker. But when he twists around, he doesn't expect the bright violet marks to have receded, and his breath catches because how. How had they? They weren't bruises, far from it, and they weren't things to be healed, and yet it's as if the machine thought they were, or otherwise knew what they were, but didn't want that for him. It's a little scary. Was this not natural then? Had Haggar's taunt just been a part of some sort of torture? He laughs, and it's pitched and hysteric and he's not sure if he can deal with this now. He's still that Frankenstein of a person, a mishmash of shattered parts, put back together in a way that makes no sense. But now a vital piece of him that he thought could have very well been true is starting to slip away before his eyes, and it punctures doubt into everything he knows and says and does. But there's a bit relief there, a bit of horrid, horrid relief that he's not what he thought he was at all. And he's not sure if he hates that relief or not. He's not sure if he should hate it or not. He's not sure what he should do.

"Shiro," he begs into the mirror that shows him nothing but the shell of himself. "I need you..." It's only been a few days, and it's killing him. Like all those years ago, after Kerberos had disappeared. Except it's a little different this time. He's a bit broken now, but somehow, he's stronger and maybe he can get through this. Maybe it'll be okay.

---

The coordinates end up leading to the Theldacon system, to a band of zenthorium crystals in the middle of an empty stretch of space.

"And you're sure there's no signs of life?" Keith asks, because this is the only chance he has left, and if there's nothing, then what will he do?

"That's right, and we can't bring the castle any closer lest we set one of those crystals off."

"I say we should leave: it's obviously a trap, and I'm not going to jeopardize the safety of this castle just for one Galra." Allura says.

Keith narrows his eyes and manages to keep the emotions bubbling in him in check. "We have no choice. This is our only real shot at saving Shiro."

"Then what do you suggest we do?" Pidge asks.

"I don't know. But there's something strange here, and I can't imagine we've been led here all for a trap. Not after everything he has done." He brings up the image of the area on his com, zooms in and out on areas that look strange, but maybe it's desperate and futile and hopeless. Maybe there really was nothing, but he had to hang onto something. He couldn't--

The screen flashes red and an alarm sounds while Coran shouts about an intruder. Allura says something (maybe a complaint), but he can't hear her, rather he bolts. "Keith!" Someone shouts, but their voice slips away from him and he's running through level after level. Bright walls dull with each footstep and there's a hollow echo to his running and something’s not right here but he can't stop and think about it.

He doesn't flick out his bayard, it doesn't feel right, hasn't felt right since he has come back, even if the only way he feels safe is with it by his side. Foreign and heavy and too cold to touch in his hands even with gloves and the only thing comfortable now is his blade, a little withered and cracked from use. Like him.

Keith slows when he sees a shadow oozing out from one of the halls, but he hears no footsteps and he can't tell if he's imagining it. But there's no time for hesitancy in the ring, and this is no different, because who knew what this intruder wanted. So he launches himself, one hand on the corner, and barely manages to catch them by the legs.

Wind is knocked out of him with a blow to his chest, but he doesn't let go until the third one, and he's on the ground, coughing and gasping and holding onto his neck because this sensation is intimately familiar, too familiar, and he's back there. He's back at the ring and there's a hand around his neck and he can't breathe, can't even think.

But the moment passes and he's back on his feet again, chasing after them, and somehow he's catching up despite their taller stature and longer legs and maybe he can do this.

A blast as Lance slides in from the hall perpendicular to their's, and the figure gives some hesitance. It's just enough for Keith to grab him and lay his blade on their throat.

"You are good," they say through the mask, and it's tinny and distorted but Keith recognizes the voice, enough to lower his knife a little. And then he's being elbowed in the stomach and flying back onto the ground, hard enough that he hits his head with a crack and it smarts a bit. When everything comes back into focus, the intruder and their blade is on him, on his throat, and he knows, now, that he has lost. "But you lack the cruelty you had within the ring."

"I know," he says, and the blade is lowered, and Keith barely manages to catch a familiar sigil on it's hilt, before they lower their hood and the mask fades from existence. "Ulaz."

---

Ulaz is forced into cuffs by Allura, except it's not completely forced (even if he doesn't want to, he does so somewhat willingly as an act of good faith), and he's shuffled to the main hub of the ship. He sits on a ledge, staring down on the floor, while Allura glares, and everyone but Keith stares. Keith himself remains separate, leaning against a wall not too far away from Ulaz, trying to fend off a headache that had started to push against his temples.

"This isn't necessary, Princess." Keith says.

"I don't care if it's necessary or not. I will not have some Quiznacking Galra soldier free to roam the ship as he pleases."

"If I had wanted you dead, you would be so already," Ulaz says back, and Keith looks away, frowns, because it's true. He knows it's true. Keith holds onto his chest, thinking back on Shiro, on how he'll free him if he couldn't even compete with one Galra on his own.

But Allura doesn't see this, or even entertain such a thought process, and he's surprised that she hasn't found some way to murder Ulaz with just her glare. "Is that a threat? You will not win our trust, Galran, with words like that."

"I am not trying to win your trust. I am trying to win a war." Keith feels Ulaz's gaze on him, and he wishes he could disappear, because how could they win this war without Shiro? "But it seems like our gamble hasn't paid off as planned. The one I saved originally, your black paladin, he is still missing?"

"Don't ask me, you were the one who said your buddies would help save him and look where that got us! Not only is he not here, but he's still stuck on that ship, and we can't even go back for him with no way to form Voltron." There's a red hot liquid in his chest, burning, burning, and the steam is bursting through his mouth and he can't stop it.

"Then it really has failed. Only you were saved, and the other one is still lost, and the companions that I had said would save him have not returned. But there still is some hope."

"And what is that?"

"There are still others; I'm part of a rebel group called the Blade of Marmora, and with their help there's still a possibility that we can take him back and win this war."

"Uh," Hunk interjects, and Keith and Ulaz are reminded of the others' presence. "There are more of you? Are they here, on this ship, right now?"

"C'mon Hunk! Don't act so scared around the prisoner! You're making us look lame."

Lance and Hunk's antics grate against Keith's nerves (and his headache, which intensifies just a bit), and he has to clench his hands to stop from stimming in front of the others.

"No, I am the only one here on this base."

"Base? What base." Allura demands, and Keith's patience stretches thinner. "All there is here is a wasteland."

"The base is hidden. I had to make sure it was Keith--" he leaves out Shiro, and Keith bites his tongue to stop from saying anything-- "that had come, but now that I know, you are all welcome to our outpost. It is just ahead, hidden in a pocket in front of the crystals."

"A pocket? In front of the crystals?" Pidge asks.

"Yes, a pocket of space time."

"Coran!" Allura shouts, up into the PA system. "Are you hearing this?"

~"Yes, my Princess. I'm picking up some anomaly on the screen. I suppose it could be a cloaked base."~

"Just fly straight into the center of the zanthorium cluster, you will see."

"If you think I'm going to destroy my ship, just because you tell me too--"

"Look." Keith finally speaks again, and everyone freezes besides Ulaz. They seem to do this now, and he's never sure why, and he hates it. It's like they're waiting for him to blow up, do something stupid, maybe bite their head off. "I get it, you don't trust him. But none of his actions have contradicted his words, and I don't think we should just leave without getting some answers. He has saved both Shiro and I once, and he had spared me back there." His hand goes to his neck, and he looks down at the ground. "I know, with absolute certainty, if he had been an enemy Galra soldier, that I would not be here right now. So let's at least try and trust him a little."

"I'm not sure about this Mullet," Lance says.

"I'm not sure either; like I have a real bad feeling about this." Pidge says.

"Well, maybe he's a good..." Hunk shrinks down a bit when everyone turns and stares at him, "Galra. I mean, saving Keith has got to count for something."

"Allura, please."

She frowns, sighs, and closes her eyes. "Fine. Coran, take it slow."

~"...Yes, Princess."~

The air is heavy as the ship starts to drift forwards and Coran counts down to an imminent collision.

~"Five."~

Keith looks over at Ulaz, stares him straight in the eyes, searching for any sign of treachery, but finding nothing but a strong gaze that meets his.

~"Four."~

No one moves and no one speaks and it's like they're all collectively holding their breath.

~"Three."~

Hunk shuffles over to Lance and grabs his hand and squeezes, and though there's no words exchanged verbally, Keith can see it pass through their gaze. His chest aches as he watches, and he wishes Shiro were here now, to do the same with.

~"Two."~

Pidge heads over to Allura, hugs her waist while Allura rests a hand on her head and Keith can only wonder when they had gotten so close.

~"One."~

The inevitable never comes.

Coran shouts and Allura asks what happened but though no one else can, Keith can feel the space warp around him-- he's so attuned to these things now, maybe it's hyper-vigilance, maybe it's his sensory processing kicked into hyperdrive after several meltdowns in hell. But when Coran puts the image on the screen, he knows what had to have happened and he's relieved, relieved in that it had worked out.

"Amazing. They're folding space."

"It's like a space taco, or a space calzone!" Hunk comments, and Lance wonders if he skipped lunch again because of nerves. "Or a space-time soup dumpling and we're the soup. Hey is there a cafeteria on this thing?"

Keith approaches the screen, and it feels like he's been thrown a life line.

When they finally make it past the brilliant display of gold and purple and black, they're left in a pocket where the space around them wobbles and the stars are so far away and the only thing close is a small base.

"Welcome to the Blade of Marmora Communications Base: Thaldecon." Ulaz stands, and all but Keith tear their gazes away from the screen. "Now, if you'll free me, I need to send a message to the leader ship that I have come in contact of what is left of Voltron."

Hunk, Pidge, and Keith volunteer to follow, while Lance, Allura and Coran stay behind. Pidge climbs on Hunk's shoulders and they follow and some ugly part of Keith, deep within himself that might not even be him at all, wants to yell at them, scream at them that this is not a field trip. But he knows it's not him, that it's not fair for him to do so, so he hangs back and forces that part of him deep deep down within himself once more. Somehow. It's getting harder and harder to do so, but he refuses to let that murky ooze to consume him again, like it had back in the prison.

They take Red, who sends a continuous string of comforting images and thoughts and feelings that Keith thanks her for, and as they fly, Ulaz explains the mechanisms, how the base stays hidden, and who had created it. Once inside, he explains there are sleeper agents, members in Zarkon's rank of command that are a part of the Blade. But Keith knew this, so he doesn't pay full attention, just waits quietly until he stops explaining.

"Keith. That blade of yours, we had given it back to you during your capture, but I believe that it does not belong to you. It bears our sigil."

"I didn't steal it. I've had it all my life." He remarks, and holds it close. "This blade is mine."

"Well, whether it belongs to you or not, it would be in your best interest not to show them. They would not appreciate a non-member holding the blade of a fallen or lost member."

"...Do you know who had once held this blade?"

"No," Ulaz says. "And the only reason we have returned it to you, and why I am not taking it now, is because you had needed it, and I have the sense not to anger a much needed ally."

“Before, you said that there were agents that had infiltrated Zarkon’s command. Is...it possible that you or the Blade know where my family went? And where Shiro is right now?”

Ulaz looks down at her, and his gaze is a little thoughtful, “I knew there were other beings from earth, but I never saw them. However I do have some prison records here, and I can see if the main hub has more. As for Shiro--”

The room flashes red and there’s an alarm but it all fades and Keith’s falling, falling, falling into and drowning in the ooze. He should be happy. He should be ecstatic. He should be relieved.

But he’s not as he stares at the screen and sees the Black Lion approach.

Shiro.

Chapter Text

            “Shiro! Shiro! Respond, please! Shiro!” Keith yells, begging, into his com, as he pilots Red in the most haphazard way.

            He doesn’t remember when he jumped in, and he doesn’t remember when everyone had gotten back to their own lions. But they’re dodging and spinning away from lasers and swipes from Shiro’s lion and there’s only static from his end.

            ~“Keith, it’s not working! We have to come up with a plan!”~ Lance’s voice crackles in from his con, and he knows it’s true but there’s not much he can do right now.

            “I know! Don’t you think I know that?” He pulls up on his controls and Red barrels out of the way as he’s pounced on by Black. “I...I think I know what’s wrong with him.”

            ~“Then what is it? I’m getting hammered over here!”~ Pidge yells.

            “When we were captured, they were experimenting on us, and there were moments when…” His ears ring, and he curls up, holding onto his head with one hand. He knows what this is now. This headache that has been plaguing him. And he’s sick to his stomach thinking about it. “There were moments when we blacked out. I...I think they might be influencing Shiro, and that might be how they found us here.” There’s a band of metal around his chest and he can’t push against it to breathe. He splutters and coughs but it won’t lift and he claws at his chest, claws at that band, but he can’t pry it off because it’s not really there, but he still can’t breathe and he’s afraid he’s going to pass out.

            ~“Wait, are you serious? So it’s like some freaky mind control stuff???”~

He barely recognizes Hunk’s voice right now, and it’s so hard to concentrate on anything other than trying to stay alive. “I...I guess? I don’t know, it seems likely.” He gulps in more air, but he splutters again and everything wobbles.

~“Well how are we going to fix that?! It’s not like there’s a jellyfish on his head messing with his brain!”~

Their voices slip in and out as they start to squabble, and Keith’s faintly aware that Red is piloting herself right now, probably to keep him safe. But that’s not what he wants. he wants Shiro. Wants him to be okay. Wants him to be himself. Wants--

~“Keith! You and Shiro are close, right?”~

Pidge’s voice startles him out of his head, and he nods before realizing that that’s useless, and hoarsely says, “Yeah.”

~“Well, maybe if you’re able to board Black, you can get him to snap out of it!”~

“That’s great, and all. But how am I supposed to do that if he’s constantly moving?” Not to mention the crystals, the crystal they are flying dangerously close to.

~“We’ll stun him, put Black offline for a bit. But it’s the best plan we got, isn’t it??”~

He agrees, because she has a point, and he does desperately want to see Shiro again, so he works on just being able to breathe properly again while they lure Shiro away and to a place where they can stun him.

Hunk flies boldly, expertly, and crashes into Shiro, once, and then dodges as he’s shot at by Black. And then he’s trying again, a second, and a third time, and then by the fourth Black stutters and halts and the lights dim.

Red hovers over Keith as he flies over, onto the top, and pries open the door. Once inside, everything is dark and he’s nervous because he can hear breathing, but Shiro doesn’t show any signs of stirring and he’s not sure what that means.

He quietly creeps forwards, and rests a hand on top of his chair.

Shiro is unconscious, but unhurt, and the softness of his face reminds him of when they were captured together, laying in each other’s arms and trying to find comfort in hopelessness. Keith drops down, onto his lap, and gently runs his hands on each side of Shiro’s face, foreheads touching, and tears are leaking out of his eyes, soaking his pant leg, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, because he has Shiro. He’s here. “Come back to me,” he begs, and his voice breaks and it takes everything he has to not breakdown. “Takeshi, please. Don’t leave me again.”

“Keith?”

Shiro’s eyes flutter open and oh God he’s okay, he’s alive and himself and here. “Shiro…” He grabs onto him, holds him close and he was never letting him go. Their lips meet, warm and wet and desperate, the passion of two lovers who had been separated for too long. “I’ve missed you,” he breathes out, when they’ve pulled apart.

“And I, you, Keith.” He says, and wipes away a tear from Keith’s cheek with his thumb. And for once, peace finally envelopes them.

            An alarm blares, flashing red, red, crimson and someone is shouting for him and the Princess is yelling something about Ulaz and there’s a blackness consuming him and no no no no his world is ending

            It’s ending and Shiro his pushing him away and out and