Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

s02e01
"Across the Universe"

The sound of tough hide scraping over rough stone dragged Shiro from his uneasy sleep. His vision was blurry with pain and exhaustion, but something large and purple was moving closer. Black's massive body was in his line of sight and her presence in his mind remained calm and soothing, so it couldn't be one of the strange creatures that had attacked him earlier. He blinked to try and clear the haze and noticed the bright red underneath it, the figure solidifying into Keith's familiar form. The tusked lizard was draped over his back, head lolling over his shoulder and heavy rear legs and tail dragging in the dirt. He dropped the body with a muffled thud a few yards away, pulling out a knife. His outline vanished under the bulk of the beast, the wet sound of thick hide ripping open and entrails spilling to the dirt drowning out the gentle crackling of the fire.

"...—eith?"

Keith's head popped up from the carcass, thick blue blood smeared over his visor. The sight was both comical and somewhat nausea-inducing. He went to wipe away some of the gore but only streaked more of it across his helmet from his hands. There was a grunt of frustration from him before he lifted his hand and stuck the blade into the beast's shoulder, getting to his feet and stepping quietly over to him. His armor was more blue than white now, the gooey blood dripping off of him in thick rivulets. For once he was thankful his sense of smell was deadened from the blow he'd gotten to his face in the arena; he was sure the creature and its offal were giving off an impressive stench.

"Hey Shiro, how are you feeling?" Keith's voice was soft as he plopped down next to him, prying off his helmet with a disgusted noise. Sweat was running down his face, cheeks painted a blotchy red from exertion.

"... did you drag that all the way over here? Why?" Black's tail had smacked it nearly half a mile away when Keith came to his rescue, and the thought of him having traveled that far alone while the rest of the pack was lurking somewhere made him nervous.

"Hmm? Oh, yeah. It wasn't that far, but the others were too heavy to carry back," Keith said nonchalantly, as if he hadn't just dragged a four-hundred-pound alien half a mile in the scorching sun, "and I figured we might be here a while. I haven't seen anything else alive here, and there's a lot of meat on them. Smells awful and the color's pretty nasty, but I don't think we can be all that picky."

Shiro's stomach soured. He looked over at the carcass again, able to see now where its rib cage, or whatever equivalent it had, was staved in from Black's tail. It was twisted up unnaturally, back likely shattered, with a puddle of the dark blood pooling around the boxy skull. The thought of eating what nearly ate him wasn't sitting easy in his gut.

"... the blood's blue, think it's copper based? Might be toxic." Shiro supplied, knowing that copper toxicity was not something they were equipped to deal with while stranded out here.

"Maybe. It did taste like copper when I tried a bit of the meat an hour ago but I haven't felt sick. I think if we're careful we'll be fine," Keith replied, shrugging, "and its not like we have a lot of choice out here for food."

"You ate some?" Shiro deadpanned, "Keith, that could have poisoned you. If you got sick or worse out here, what would we do? I can't protect you, not now." Keith's eyes shifted, head tilting back slightly to show a flash of his pale throat. It was something he did when he was truly sorry and apologetic, but Shiro had no idea how he could deduce that from such a foreign gesture.

"I'm sorry, but I needed to know. We could be stuck out here for... a while. We don't have water, but food will give us better odds than nothing." Keith didn't meet his eyes, instead shuffling closer to inspect his side. The wound was still glowing a sickly violet, but he could feel now where it had crept up his ribs during his sleep, threatening to reach his lungs. Keith's rough fingers pressed softly at his marred skin, as if by tracing the ragged edges of his wound he could seal it and expel Haggar's foul magic.

Shiro sucked in a sharp breath as the pad of his fingers touched a tender patch of flesh, Keith instantly freezing and jerking his hand back. He looked up apologetically, mouth pressed into a thin line; he was looking worse, he surmised. Shiro tried to give him a reassuring smile but he was sure it looked forced, reaching up with his prosthetic arm to brush some of Keith's unruly hair out of his eyes and tuck it behind his ear.

"Don't worry about me, alright? I'll be fine." He kept his voice even but a wheeze had worked its way into his breathing. Keith's breathing faltered like he was going to speak up but he didn't, instead just nodding stiffly. He leaned into Shiro's hand like a cat, nuzzling his face to the metal palm. He'd always loved physical affection, something Shiro was more than happy to provide. It'd struck him as odd when he'd first brought him to the Garrison, how much he sought out and thrived under affection, much more than anyone else he'd known.

"Get some rest," Keith spoke up, pulling away to stand, "I'll cook some of the meat and see how that turns out. The Black Lion and I will keep watch."

Shiro nodded, trying to let the tension bleed out of his muscles. It was hard to do when his side was a burning mass of pain but he squeezed his eyes shut and focused on anything else in the hope it'd drown away. The discomfort wormed its way into the forefront of his awareness no matter what he tried to distract himself; It seemed futile, so he settled for staring at the fire and trying to lose himself in the dancing flames and the steady white noise of the dry wood crackling and splitting in the heat.

The squelching sounds of Keith butchering the lizard started up again and he chanced a look. He'd flayed the skin over the belly and flank and peeled it away, exposing the glittering blue-black flesh and pearly bones. Every few minutes he would step away and clean his knife, using the sand to scrub away the blood and turquoise fat that clung to the blade until it clumped and fell from the metal. He'd used a severed flap of the flabby skin as a makeshift cloth, setting thick chunks of meat he'd sliced free on it to keep the sand off of it. He'd been right, there was a lot of meat on the creature even though it'd appeared lean to him.

It was easy to watch him work, how efficient and methodical he went about breaking down the carcass. Before long the gleaming, pale bones of the cracked and splintered ribs were revealed, and a sizeable pile of meat sat neatly next to the fire. Keith cleaned off the blood from his armor with more sand before he continued working, flensing the oily fat from the flesh where it sat thick over the spine and padded the shoulders. Keith chewed on a strip of it as he worked, like macabre bubble gum, some of the blue blood smeared across his cheeks and nose from where he'd wiped away his sweat. It was almost endearing, in a strange, gory way.

Keith walked back to the fire and toed some flat stones he'd collected earlier closer to the flames, dragging the raw meat closer as he crouched down to put more wood into the fire. Watching him made him realize that Keith's survival in the desert was hardly an accident; he moved with a practiced ease as he set some of the thick slabs of lizard meat on the stones, which hissed and sizzled at the contact. Keith's eyes flicked over to him and blinked when he caught him watching, grinning shyly around the strap of fat, before he went back to watching the fire. It was the last thing Shiro remembered before he finally drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

 Distantly, he realized he was now awake. Something hot was pressed to his lips, a muffled voice speaking but he couldn't make any of the words out. He felt awful, much worse than he had when he'd dozed off. He could feel the wound having spread around his torso, tightening around him like thorny roots, choking the life out of him. His breath rattled in his chest, blood hot with fever and pain, his stomach twisting with nausea and hunger. He couldn't open his eyes. Sweat trickled down underneath his armor and he could just barely feel a rough palm pressed to his forehead, cool against his overheated skin.

"Shiro."

His eyes opened a crack, only able to make out Keith's form as a black silhouette backlit from the fire. The sky was dark and starless, the atmosphere too thick to let in any of the diffused celestial light. Keith's eyes reflected, cat-like, the little light that reached his face from the fire; they shimmered with a violet, gemstone intensity. He was pressed up against his injured side, covering it with his body as if attempting to hide it from the world itself; with so many predators about, it was probably wise.

"Shiro."

Keith withdrew his hand, pressing impossibly closer. The air was cold, he realized, his sweat-soaked skin chilling under the persistent wind. He wanted to curl into it but he couldn't move. Panic bolted through him like lightning—hell, was he paralyzed?—but Keith nosed up under his chin, against his throat, a gentle purring sound rumbling somewhere in his chest. Shiro tried to focus on it instead of on his own ailing body, too exhausted to question how he was making such a sound. He let his labored breathing ease enough to slow the horrific pain in his chest, clearly what Keith had been aiming for as he rubbed his nose along gently under his chin.

"Shiro, you need to try and eat something."

Eating was the last thing he wanted to do, even if his stomach damn near roared at the scent of the cooked meat. He hadn't eaten since before the castle's AI had gone rogue and it was catching up to him. They could be stuck here for days, weeks even, and he was just going to continue to deteriorate unless he had some energy to try and heal, or at least slow the progression of, the poisoned quintessence in his side.

"I don't—" his voice croaked, licking his lips with a tongue thick from dehydration, "—don't think I can."

Keith pulled away slightly to meet his eyes, expression unreadable. Instead of replying he turned away, ducking out of sight towards the fire. Shiro let his eyes slide shut, focusing on his breathing to distract himself from the pain in his belly. He'd only just been woken up but already his consciousness was fraying at the edges, sleeping encroaching further and further into his awareness. Falling back asleep was dangerous, especially in his state.

Armor shuffled closer, the heat of Keith's fire-warmed armor soothing against his cramping muscles even if it made him feel like the fever was worse. He tried to lean into it and Keith instantly pressed himself close against his side again, chin resting near his shoulder. There was a wet tearing noise by his ear, muffling into chewing.

"I know you're not gonna like this," Keith started, speaking around something in his mouth, "but you need to eat or you'll just get worse."

Shiro cracked open his eyes, opened his mouth to ask what he meant but didn't get a chance, for as soon as he did Keith surged up, mouth crashing into his own. It startled him so much that Keith was able to push the meat he had chewed past his lips and forced Shiro's head back before he could fully understand what had happened. When he tried to squirm away Keith's fingers went to his throat, rubbing gently until he swallowed on reflex. Shiro felt like he could vomit, the bitter, metallic aftertaste of the meat unpleasant and pervasive. As soon as Keith's rough fingers left his throat he gasped for air, but it was too late for him to spit it out.

"I'm sorry," Keith's voice was quiet, regretful, as he pulled away a bit to let Shiro orient himself, "but if you can't eat for yourself, I'll do it for you. You're not going to die out here. I won't let that happen."

He bit into the strip of meat again, tearing off a piece with his teeth. He chewed it and swallowed before ripping off another piece. Shiro tried to stop himself from gagging at the thought of eating any more of the foul meat, knowing that Keith was right and he needed to eat it or he'd die. He'd rather Keith save the meat for himself, he had a much better shot at surviving until they were found, and the more supplies he had the better off he'd be. But he didn't. Keith would cuff him if he said that out loud and it'd probably only make him more persistent.

"I know it tastes awful, but its got moisture and protein. I haven't been able to find any water nearby," Keith added, almost apologetically, as though not finding water was a personal failing and not just the nature of this inhospitable planet, "there was some back closer to Red, but I don't think I can make it back." The 'and I don't want to leave you by yourself' remained unspoken, but Shiro understood it nonetheless. "I've been chewing on the thing's fat which, yeah, gross, but its full of moisture like those geckos back home. I don't think you'd like that though, and I don't recommend the taste." He made a face, and Shiro felt a small laugh build in his throat before it turned into a weak cough.

Shiro tried to talk but his lungs refused to work, his attempts leaving him breathless and wheezing. Something wet tickled under his rib cage; he recognized internal bleeding when he felt it, and his chances were plummeting by the minute. Fingers worked at the clasps of his chest plate and it came free with a pop, the pressure against his torso diminishing. Without the armor, though, the toxic glow of Haggar's touch stood out against his skin like a brand, even through the black flight-suit. It was nearly to his neck now.

"Oh no." Keith's voice was small, fragile, and Shiro could practically see the thin kid he'd recruited years ago. Some part of him wanted to pull away, to hide his wounds and reassure Keith not to worry, but it was too late for that; he knew. There wasn't any going back. It didn't help that the crash landing had likely broken several of his ribs, or worse, ruptured an organ. He didn't want to die here, he really didn't, but the thought of him wasting his resources on him and then Keith dying himself was too much to bear.

"Keith, please. Don't waste—"

"No!" Keith snarled, fingers tangling in his torn flight suit, "don't you—don't even say it. I am not going to let you die here after I—" he swallowed, voice cracking slightly, "—I just got you back, Takashi. You're all I have left." His voice was soft but his eyes were wild with panic, as if seeing the wounds had really driven home just how badly injured he was. Something inside of Shiro twisted up, and he watched as Keith tore off another piece of the meat to chew it angrily.

"Keith—mmph?!"

By the time he realized Keith's chapped lips were on his own it was too late to shut his mouth. The meat was past his teeth and his head had been shoved back too quickly for him to stop it from slipping down his throat. He almost choked but Keith's fingers worked at his throat like before, easing it down before he had a chance to panic and make it worse. He panted as soon as Keith's hand left his chin, trying to keep his stomach from rejecting the food outright.

"I'm sorry," Keith said suddenly, all the anger having drained from his features, "I—I shouldn't have sprung that on you. I didn't think about how it..." Keith shied away from his eyes, as if suddenly self-conscious of what this probably looked like or perhaps to give him a bit of privacy with his own thoughts, but the determined set of his jaw never wavered.

Shiro remained silent, knowing that if he tried to speak again it would probably set off his lungs. He wanted to reassure him that he was surprised, confused even, but not angry. Keith was only trying to help him, even if it was a very... unorthodox way to help. Instead he mimicked the gesture Keith had used earlier, tilting his head back to flash his throat, and watched the instant reaction.

Keith blinked, eyes wide, and Shiro hoped that he had made the right call. There was a moment of pause before Keith tore another piece free with his teeth, chewing it thoroughly. Some of the blue juices in it smeared his lips like innocent jam, and Shiro couldn't keep the little half smile off of his face. He chewed a few more times before drawing close again, giving Shiro a chance to do it willingly now that he knew what exactly he was trying to do. There was a long moment where Shiro considered keeping his mouth firmly shut, but Keith waited and rested against his shoulder, giving him time to mull it over, eyes patient and completely absent of any sort of judgement.

Shiro appreciated the thoughtfulness, even if his stomach was equal parts growling for the meat and revolting against the mere possibility of eating anything more. Keith seemed to sense it and just remained leaning against him, that soft rumbling starting up in his chest again. It was barely audible over the fire but he could feel it more than hear it, the vibrations soothing against his burning muscles.

He sighed quietly, letting his head fall back against the rock at his back, and opened his mouth for him.

Chapter Text

Pt. I
Pre-Kerberos

The first time it happened, Shiro was still teaching flight classes and Keith was just a first year cadet. He'd been walking out of the simulator room's observation deck when his phone began to vibrate wildly in his pocket, the pattern of it specific to Adam's number. He almost didn't look, assuming it was something innocuous that could wait until he got back to their shared dorm, but he quickly realized the buzzing wasn't stopping. Adam didn't normally send more than a few texts at a time, so that was unusual enough to get him to pull his phone from his pocket.

[15:02] Your stray picked the lock to our dorm
[15:04] I think he's still here
[15:17] Maybe not can't find him
[15:20] Still here found his shoes
[15:32] You should come here
[15:32] He's sick
[15:33] Takashi you need to be here

Shiro smiled first at Adam's favorite nickname for Keith before he read the rest of the texts, brows crinkling as his expression grew tighter. That was definitely uncharacteristic for Keith; he'd visited their dorm plenty of times, but he'd never picked the lock or hidden from Adam before. On top of that, Adam never called him by his full first name in texts unless it was serious. He quickly excused himself from the few students lingering around the simulators and headed towards the staff wing. Luckily it was his last group for the day.

The hallways were empty with it still being midday, and he didn't run into any other cadets. Adam's head was poking out of the door to their dorm, and as soon as he spotted him did he gesture inside urgently. That did little to soothe his tensions. He followed him inside quickly and tossed his pack onto the couch, already scanning the main room for Keith.

"Bedroom, hon," Adam said gently, "he's got all the blankets and sheets out of the closet and on the bed for... some reason." That was definitely unusual, but he was used to Keith being anything but typical.

"Okay. You said he was sick?"

"Yeah, he felt warm when I checked his temperature but he, uh, growled? At me. So I didn't bother him much after that," Adam shrugged, "also he threw up on the duvet. Its in the wash now." Shiro frowned and poked his head into the bedroom and, sure enough, there was an out-of-place lump of mismatched fabric bundled up by the head of the bed. "Check on him, I've got some of the broth from the other night warming up for him."

Shiro thanked him quietly before he slipped into the bedroom proper, closing the door partly behind him. There was still a bit of a sour smell to the air and he felt his throat tighten sympathetically. "Keith?" he started quietly, "everything alright? Adam said you got sick?"

"... yeah," Keith's voice was muffled under the sheets and sounded completely miserable, and he watched the bundle wiggle a bit before going still, "don't feel so good." Shiro sat down lightly on the edge of the bed, reaching over tugging at some of the blankets to try and get a look at him. He heard Keith make an unhappy noise at him, but it sounded about as threatening as a kitten. Keith had wrapped himself up so well that it took Shiro several minutes to untangle the blankets enough to find him, and Keith just whined uncomfortably the whole time.

"You're alright, I just want to see how bad your fever is, Keith." Shiro pressed his hand to Keith's forehead and frowned; he was definitely running a fever but it didn't feel high enough for him to call medical. He sighed quietly and smoothed down his sweat-damp hair, earning a quiet, content hum from him.

"Feels good," Keith mumbled, nuzzling up into Shiro's hand. Shiro just chuckled quietly and ran his fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp with his blunt nails. For a long moment it sounded like Keith was actually purring, but he knew that was impossible. Still, it was endearing as hell.

"Why didn't you go to medical? They probably have medicine that'll help."

"No, don't like doctors," Keith responded immediately, brows creasing, "pop always took care of everything whenever I got sick." Shiro's expression fell and his hand stilled. A little point of warmth in his chest swelled at the realization that Keith trusted him and Adam enough to help him when he was sick. Keith's father had been a fireman, at least he thought he remembered that correctly, so it made sense in a way. He'd have had training in first aid and basic field medicine. Shiro had been in and out of so many different hospitals to know a thing or two, but he knew he was no nurse and neither was Adam.

"Alright. Alright, we'll see if we can't get you feeling better. Do you think you can keep some broth down right now?" He started petting through Keith's hair again, smiling a bit at how the tension leaked out of his features.

"... think so." Keith mumbled, rubbing at his nose and yawning, "I tried milk earlier but I threw it up." Shiro grimaced at that.

"Definitely don't want to try drinking any milk, that was probably too hard on your stomach." He hoped it was just a bug of some sort, and luckily he and Adam were both pretty resilient to that kind of thing. Shiro lifted his head when he heard the door push open, Adam standing at the threshold with a metal water bottle full of broth. He motioned for him to come in and Adam quickly crossed the room, offering it to Keith.

"How's your stray doing, Takashi?" Adam teased, grinning when Keith flipped him off from inside his cocoon of blankets, "really though, had us both worried, kid. This should make you feel better." Adam said more softly, thumbing up the nozzle of the bottle so Keith wouldn't have to do it himself. Keith sniffed and took the bottle, taking a small sip before deciding that he liked it and tipping the bottle up. Both Shiro and Adam pulled the thermos away within seconds, and Keith made a disgruntled squawk. "Small sips, Keith, or you'll get sick again," Adam chided when Keith looked at them both with an annoyed expression, "if you drink it too fast you'll throw it up."

"Fine," Keith huffed, taking the bottle back and making a show of only taking a few small sips this time. Adam smiled and patted the top of his head.

"Good. Its Friday and you don't have any drills tomorrow, right?" Keith shook his head no, and Adam continued, "Alright then, good. You can stay the night if you'd like. I'm sure Takashi and I can make room." Keith blinked and his expression smoothed, losing some of the guarded edge that he always carried. It made Shiro's chest warm. Keith looked like he was about to argue but Shiro spoke up before he could.

"It's alright, Keith. It isn't a big deal. And I'd rather you stay than go back to your dorm and get sick by yourself, but the choice is up to you." Shiro added, and Keith remained quiet for a few moments before he sighed loudly and slumped back into his nest.

"... 'kay." He replied, burying himself with blankets again, "... sorry about the mess. I just—I feel better if I hide when I'm sick." Shiro patted his shoulder through the bundle, earning another of his happy purring noises in return.

"Don't worry about it, Keith. Besides, you and Takashi are taking some of the hoverbikes out tomorrow, yeah? This way you won't have to walk all the way over from the cadet dorms." Adam added, "I'll let your floor head know that you won't be back to your dorm tonight so you don't get written up." Keith hummed a quiet affirmative, before suddenly poking his head up through the blankets.

"Wait, won't you get in trouble? I'm not—I'm not family or anything."

"Don't worry about it, Keith," Shiro assured, "hardly the first time we've done this. Ever wonder how Matt's little sister keeps showing up on the base to surprise him and Professor Holt?"

"Yeah, its no big deal," Adam tacked on, grinning at them both wildly, "and tomorrow I'll head out to the desert with you guys, show you the real fun stuff you can do on those bikes." Keith's eyes went wide and he leaned closer, but Shiro gasped dramatically and made a show of pretending to cover Keith's ears.

"Adam! Iverson will have our heads if Keith starts doing advanced combat maneuvers in the simulator!" Shiro's serious expression broke and he snickered, feeling Keith wriggling and trying to pry his hands away so he can hear. Once Keith got himself free did he look up at Adam again, eyes nearly glittering.

"You know cooler stuff than the cliff dive that Shiro does?" Keith asked quickly, his sour stomach seemingly forgotten when faced with forbidden knowledge. Adam's grin just grew and he leaned down for dramatic effect, pushing his glasses further up his nose. Shiro rolled his eyes and kept himself from laughing, not wanting to break the moment for them.

"You know it, kid. Takashi and I are the best pilots on this base for a reason."

 Pt. II
Nondescript Time
Post-s01e02
"Some Assembly Required"

Someone was knocking at the door. Shiro squeezed his eyes tightly shut and hissed a breath through his teeth, trying to will himself to get up. That wasn't happening. He groaned and sank back into the mattress, his muscles spasming painfully at the slightest movements. The armor helped to keep his limbs stable during the day and the nomex vest kept his back straight, but he couldn't sleep in those. He swallowed thickly and managed to push an arm under his chest and lift himself up, just as the door slid open with a soft puff of air.

"Shiro?"

Ah, Keith.

Shiro let himself fall back to the mattress, breath hitching at the crawling sensation of the muscles at his spine misfiring. He didn't have his stimulator, hadn't for over a year, but even with the combat and the training he could feel his muscles starting to atrophy and waste away. The stress couldn't be helping; he'd had a few good years to look forward to before Kerberos, now he was sure he'd be lucky to last the next six months in this condition. If the disease didn't kill him, a misstep brought on by it in combat surely would.

Keith's hands were all over him within seconds, his palm pressed to his back where the hurt was worst. Shiro inhaled and held his breath, the gentle touch sending shock waves through his nervous system. He could feel his own muscles quivering and jolting under Keith's hand; it must have looked horrifying to an outsider, as though there were worms under his skin. Keith had seen it all before, though. If Shiro could have controlled it, he'd seen far too much of it.

"Shiro, do you want me to get Allura?"

"N-no. Just," he gasped for breath, trying to will his body to stop tearing itself apart, "I'll be alright." It was a lie, a poor one at that, but Keith didn't press it.

"... okay." Keith's voice was soft and he could practically hear the unhappy expression on his face. They'd gone through the same conversation about seven times in the past month alone, but Shiro was tired. He'd been poked, prodded, cut open and tested by the Galra so many times that he wasn't sure he'd be able to sit through even a gentle exam from either Allura or Coran to see if they could help. Just thinking about it threatened to raise bile in his throat, even though he trusted them fully.

Keith's hand at his back faded from white-hot agony to a warm discomfort, the pressure against his muscles helping to keep them from moving too much. That hurt him the worst, when his muscles tore themselves from his bones with the force of the spasms. His hand kept them from doing that, and the warmth dulled the edge of it. He wished Keith had never found out about this, that he wasn't burdened with the weight of his own disintegration, that he wouldn't worry about him when he should have been focusing on himself.

"I still can't read the clocks, but I think its early still," Keith started, trying to distract him with talk, "the others were wondering where you were at dinner. I just told them you were going over some strategies or some other boring leader stuff." Shiro snorted a halfhearted laugh into his pillow, trying not to arch up into Keith's palm. He didn't want to admit how much the contact soothed him, lest Keith make it his duty. The last thing he wanted was for Keith to think he had to do more for him than he already was.

Shiro tried to thank him but the words died on his lips, curling up into a ball as a violent shudder jolted through his body. Keith's hand pulled away and Shiro wished he could just disappear; he didn't want to look so broken, so fragile, in front of Keith, or anyone for that matter. Adam had known and had been there from the beginning, but even if he lived long enough to somehow make it back to Earth, he knew Adam wouldn't have waited for him. A part of him was glad, hoping that he found someone new to share his life with, one that didn't have an expiration date.

The bed suddenly dipped and Shiro, completely unprepared, nearly jumped. He heard Keith yelp out a startled 'sorry' before dropping into the empty space between Shiro and the wall, dragging something with him. He opened his eyes and looked over to where Keith was unceremoniously sprawled, several blankets covering his long limbs.

"... did you steal those?" Shiro asked, forcing down a wince at how wrecked his voice sounded. Keith frowned and made a dismissive noise, turning up his nose.

"No. I borrowed them, there's a difference." Keith was moving again, gathering up the knot of blankets and working at it, much too quickly for Shiro to keep up with in his delirium.

"You should be in bed," Shiro had to whisper, the muscles in his chest starting to itch with the beginnings of another attack, "m'not going anywhere until tomorrow. You won't be able to sleep." A part of him wanted to plead with him to go back to his room, to not bear witness to his falling apart, but another, quieter piece of him wanted him close for jealous reasons, so he wouldn't have to face his failing mortality alone in the dark.

"Shiro, don't start," Keith's voice was dark, and the glare he leveled at him was sharp, "I know I can't help you, but let me try. You don't have to suffer alone like this just because you think you should." Shiro swallowed and sighed softly, knowing Keith had his number. When he didn't offer an argument Keith went back to his work, disentangling the blankets and building something with them. It took Shiro a long moment for him to finally realize just what, exactly, Keith was doing.

"... you're building a nest," he stated, flatly, and Keith just shot him a shy grin.

"Always made me feel better. Hoping its universal." Keith shrugged and wrapped a few blankets around himself and Shiro, building up a cocoon around the both of them. Shiro smiled back, a bit weakly, his eyes unfocused and distant as the pain got worse. It hadn't been this bad for a long time, and he couldn't help but think that maybe his time was running out far sooner than he'd expected.

He didn't get to dwell on that particular thought, however, as Keith suddenly curled up into him, nuzzling his way under Shiro's chin. His body was warm and solid against his own, his heat leeching into his own mutinous muscles. Keith pulled the last blanket over their heads and shut out the remaining light, burrowing closer. Shiro let his eyes close and nosed into Keith's hair, grounding himself with it. This was hardly the first time they'd shared a bed, but it was the first time since Kerberos and the soothing familiarity of it was almost too much. Keith's scent, the way his body fit against his own, it was as if the last year had never happened. He tried to keep his body from trembling but there was only so much he could do; it had to be extremely uncomfortable for Keith.

Keith hummed quietly as if sensing his thoughts, leaning hard into Shiro's body, rolling them both a bit before pinning him to the mattress on his back. His warm weight eased the worst of the cramps, pressed down on his rib cage and hip and forced his back to straighten out. Shiro choked on a shout of pain but it quickly faded, his muscles stretched out and unable to snap back; a temporary solution, but he could have cried at the relief. Keith let himself relax then, going pliant and sinking into the contact, rooting for a moment before he nosed along Shiro's ear and sighed.

"Better?"

"... much. Thank you, Keith." Shiro could feel that his muscles were still taunt as a bowstring but Keith's weight prevented it from snapping, and his warmth loosened where they had knotted up. Keith had always run warm but he felt even warmer now, and that soft purring noise he made was thrumming against his chest and right up by his ear. With his hearing muffled by Keith's purrs and the blankets it was easy to imagine that they weren't in space, fighting a war with little hope of winning. It was easier to imagine they were back at the Garrison, or the desert, or anywhere else. Keith's weight on top of him made him focus on his breathing, letting him focus on the simple in and out instead of the burning along his back and shoulders.

The year in the desert had leaned and sharpened Keith's edges, but it hardly mattered to Shiro. The pointy elbows, the way his fingers twitched in half-sleep against his chest like a kneading cat, it was part of what made him so endearing. Keith's breathing was even and relaxed in his ear, a slow and sleepy metronome, and even with the lingering pain he found himself drifting off to sleep before he knew it.

Chapter Text

Pt. I
Nondescript Time
Post-s01e08
"Rebirth"

"Keith? Keith, can you hear me?"

"—ngh?"

"... okay that'll have to do." Shiro tugged Keith to his feet, hand resting gently at the back of his neck to keep him steady. Keith's eyes were unfocused and motionless, staring ahead blankly, a violent purple bruise already setting in across his cheek. Shiro kept his hand at his nape as he worked at the helmet's latch with his human fingers, some of the tension leaving his shoulders when it finally popped loose and came away. Shattered composite glass showered down the front of Keith's armor, some of it clumped together with clotting blood.

He was going to talk to Coran about strengthening the face-plates.

The gladiator lay crumpled at Shiro's feet but he'd shut it down too late, and now Keith's blood painted the end of its bo staff and left a wide arc across the pristine floor; if Keith hadn't been wearing his helmet the blow would have probably killed him, or left him irreparably maimed. He idly wondered if there was some sort of fail-safe they could activate to prevent this from happening again, because he wasn't going to let any of the other paladins set foot in the training deck until he knew this couldn't happen again.

Keith could barely stand, his sense of balance completely shot along with a good portion of his consciousness. Shiro didn't remove his steadying hold from Keith's nape and his flesh hand grabbed at his upper arm to keep him from falling. He jerked away suddenly when Keith hissed and something sharp slashed into the meat of his palm; the glass shards, he realized, seeing them glimmer in the soft joints of Keith's armor. He shook his hand and heard a few tink across the floor but he felt more of them still stuck in his skin. He'd deal with it later.

"Okay Keith, we're going to walk over there," Shiro inclined his head towards the nearest wall, "just follow my lead, okay?" His hand flattened against the back of his neck to help him steer Keith into following him and after a moment he obeyed, albeit sluggishly. He blinked slowly but his eyes remained steadfast-focused on Shiro's face, even as Shiro turned his head every few steps to make sure he didn't back into something and trip them both.

When they were safely past the lines that designated the active training area did Shiro allow himself to relax a bit. Now even if there was somehow a malfunction or something triggered another simulation they were well out of sensing range. Keith followed him easily until the last few feet when he suddenly stopped short and rooted himself to the spot. It caught Shiro so off-guard that he nearly snapped Keith's neck forward when his body ceased moving. That definitely wouldn't have helped his concussion any.

"Keith, are you alright?" Shiro questioned, looking him over again to make sure he hadn't missed anything. Keith swallowed hard and tilted his head back, eyes still focused on his own, as if he was making sure Shiro watched him do so. For a moment Shiro thought he was going to be sick but Keith repeated the motion, slower, and it finally clicked.

Keith was baring his throat.

He remembered how he'd done that a scattered few times before, especially when he'd been stressed. Why he felt the need to do it now, though, he had no idea. Shiro hesitated, letting his hand slide away from Keith's nape to settle on his shoulder. That seemed to be what he'd been waiting for as he almost instantly dropped to his knees with a clatter of his armor, startling Shiro in the process.

"Hey, hey. You okay?" Shiro asked again, more softly, dropping into a crouch in front of him. Keith, for the first time since he'd been struck, didn't hold his gaze. He curled in on himself and made a low, miserable sound in his throat, keeping the bloodied side of his face turned away from Shiro. Running through the last few minutes gave Shiro precious little to go off of as to why Keith was suddenly having a change of heart in his behavior, but he was reasonably convinced that this was some sort of instinctual or basal response brought out by the concussion. Riding it out until Keith got his wits back, however, would be a whole other ball game, especially if he didn't snap out of it and he needed the cryo-pod.

Keith started to pull and claw at the armor still strapped to him, his motions almost desperate. Shiro quickly leaned forward and tried to steady him, shushing him gently as he undid the straps to his gauntlets first. They fell away from the black under-suit with a glittering trail of pulverized glass and Keith remained frozen in place, as if terrified that something would happen if he moved. None of his behavior made sense to Shiro but he didn't focus on it, instead unclasping the breast plate and popping it free. Once that was loose Keith seemed to soften a bit, his hands instead going back to the tears at his arm and the embedded shards of glass.

Shiro watched, horrified and transfixed, as Keith ripped the largest piece of glass from his arm using his teeth, spitting it out without an afterthought and going for the next shard. It was like he didn't even feel it. By the third shard Shiro's brain finally caught up enough for him to actually respond.

"Keith, stop!" he grabbed his elbow with his prosthetic, the flat of his left arm pressing up to Keith's throat to block him from biting at himself again, "Stop! You're going to make it worse!"

Keith snarled at him, vicious and feral like an animal, and bit into Shiro's forearm hard enough to crack straight through the wrist guard of his armor. For a sickening moment Shiro thought one of Keith's teeth had broken, but then he felt the sharp sting of canines in his flesh as Keith bit down hard. Shiro grunted in pain but didn't pull back, knowing somewhere in his hind brain that he'd make it worse if he tried; Keith remained stubbornly locked to his arm like a bulldog, both of his hands digging mercilessly into the base of the prosthetic where it met his upper arm as if trying to tear it away. It was painful enough to make his eyes water but he didn't flag, stayed rooted to the spot, pushing back against Keith with as much force as the other exerted on him, refusing to budge. His mind was already spiraling into escape routes and subduing techniques; something was catastrophically wrong with Keith and he couldn't let him hurt anyone else, or himself, in this state.

With his left arm in Keith's jaws and his right nearly immobilized he knew he didn't have a lot of options. Keith growled and shoved suddenly, forcefully, and Shiro's elbow gave with a painful pop, sending his arm, and Keith, crashing into his chest. His startled cry was cut short as his back slammed to the floor, Keith's full weight on top of him in seconds; even with his still helmet on the blow left his vision swimming. In the tangle his prosthetic lost its grip on Keith's elbow and he realized, suddenly, eyes widening at a red flash of light at Keith's hip, that both of Keith's hands were free and he had his Bayard.

Shiro, in his panic, did the only thing he could think of; he stopped struggling, went limp, and flashed his unprotected throat.

Almost instantaneously Keith froze, the frenzied glint in his eyes fading as though a candle had been snuffed out in his brain. He went to lean back and stopped, mouth working as if he was only now realizing he'd been latched onto Shiro's arm. Shiro cringed but kept silent when he felt Keith's strangely-sharp teeth chew at him almost thoughtfully, only letting himself breathe when he finally let him go, his arm dropping limply to his chest. Keith's mouth was smeared with blood, a mix of both of theirs, and instead of going back to tearing at his arm he leaned over Shiro, looking down at his face in what looked like confusion. The Bayard, thankfully, fizzled back out of existence in a muted red flash.

Shiro kept still, tilted his head back further to expose more of his throat, and waited for Keith to make the next move. Several long seconds passed where Keith remained absolutely still until he leaned down, picking up Shiro's wrist and turning it over in his hands. He looked at the glass embedded there thoughtfully for a moment and, without any hesitation, brought his hand to his mouth and tore free the largest shard. Shiro cringed but bit his tongue, not wanting to provoke Keith again now that he was back to being somewhat docile. He tossed it away with a snap of his neck and tugged the remaining pieces free with his teeth one by one, crimson blood flowing from the wounds freely, dribbling down onto the white of Shiro's chest plate.

Keith dropped his hand when the last bit of glass was removed, looking oddly pleased with himself, before immediately turning his attention back to his own wounded arm as if Shiro no longer existed. Shiro focused on his breathing for a few seconds to steel himself before he chanced lifting his head enough to look at Keith, prepared to try and scramble away if he made another move to pin him. He was back to removing the glass from his arm, and when he'd spat out the last bit he started to lick at the wounds there; the sound was oddly reminiscent of a cat cleaning its fur.

While Keith was preoccupied Shiro took the chance to undo the latch of his cracked gauntlet, peeling it away to see how much damage Keith had done. He swallowed thickly when he saw the ragged wound, but thankfully it seemed mostly superficial. Keith would likely need a stay in a cryo-pod after this, but he might be able to avoid it. He opened a channel on his helmet's HUD and sent a silent message to Allura to prep a pod, not wanting to risk speaking and drawing Keith's eye.

The message translated from English to Altean before sending, and he added an addendum to not let anyone into the training room until he said so. He knew that'd probably make Allura worried but he also didn't want to have to pry Keith off of someone if he felt threatened, or whatever had gotten him so wound up. When the display beeped at him cheerfully to let him know the message was successfully sent did he try to push himself up into a proper sitting position, wincing at the sharp pain that lanced up his arm when he put his weight on it. His elbow was probably dislocated, and he was already dreading having to pop it back in.

Keith suddenly crowded into his space, his violet eyes focused and sharp as he damn near crawled into his lap to get closer. Shiro threw his hands up and tried to make himself as small as possible so to not appear like a threat. Keith's expression creased and his dark hair fell into his face, eyes tracking downward to Shiro's bloodied arm and palm. The gears in his head seemed to be back to at least some manner of functioning as he hummed a soft, gentle sound at the injury and grasped at his arm, turning it this way and that as if inspecting the wounds. His elbow ground together sharply but he swallowed the pained noise building in his throat, focusing instead on watching how the strands of Keith's hair fluttered when he breathed. Keith's free hand snaked around his shoulder and pressed to his nape, a perfect mirror of how Shiro himself had supported him earlier.

For a second it seemed like Keith was just going to stare at him, but then that hopeful thought quickly fell to pieces. Instead, Keith brought Shiro's hand to his mouth and licked him, his tongue rough and hot against the wounded flesh of his palm. He laved at the bleeding lacerations as if it was the most natural thing in the world, even if it made Shiro want to crawl out of his own skin. It hurt and felt uncomfortable and strange, especially with how rough and prickly Keith's tongue felt. There had to be something wrong for it to feel like that; maybe glass grit, or broken shards of his own armor caught in the wound. There was no way it was like that naturally.

The deep, rumbling sound he'd started to associate with purring started somewhere in Keith's chest as he worked, swiping away the thickened blood until his skin was pristine. He spit out the mess he'd collected in his mouth and rotated his hand, as if inspecting his work. Shiro didn't have long to think the strange behavior over, however, as Keith suddenly tensed and his eyes went wide, throat working for a moment before he dropped Shiro's arm and leaned away. He placed one hand on Shiro's knee to brace himself, wobbling a bit and staring pointedly at the floor with a distant expression.

"Keith? Are you alright?" Keith made a wrecked sound and hiccupped wetly, right before he vomited onto the floor and promptly passed out in Shiro's lap.

Ah, right. Concussion.

Pt. II
Nondescript Time
Post-s02e03
"Shiro's Escape"

"Shiro."

"I know, but I don't think we can do anything else right now."

"No, Shiro you're—"

"What?"

"You're bleeding."

Shiro blinked and came to a stop, looking over his shoulder to where Keith was standing by the darkened control panels. Keith's eyes were focused on his left arm and when Shiro put his prosthetic hand against it experimentally he cringed at the sudden sting and jerked away. He didn't need to look at his fingers to know that they were covered in blood. He'd been so focused on getting the team back to the Lion that he hadn't even registered being hit. Now that he was aware of it, though, the burn was bright in the forefront of his mind and set his teeth on edge.

Great, just great.

"I'll be alright, Keith." Shiro waved him off before deflecting, "how's Pidge? How're you? Did you get hit?" He watched Keith set his shoulders, as if preparing for a fight, before the tension leaked out of him in one long, weary sigh.

"Pidge is awake, but she's a bit—" Keith twirled his finger by his ear, whistling, "I don't think there'll be any lasting harm but the sooner Coran picks us up the better." This whole mission had been a mess from the get-go. It'd been a response mission, trailing a distress call across a half-bombed backwater planet right into an ambush. It didn't help that they'd only brought the Red Lion, thinking they'd be in and out and that speed would be the most useful. Pidge had tagged along to keep communications up; the planet had been giving off strange magnetic readings and Shiro didn't want to take any chances getting cut off. Now he wished he'd instead gone with his gut and brought the whole team from the start. Now Pidge likely had a concussion, he'd been shot, and they were stranded in one Lion on a Galra-controlled planet waiting for rescue.

"Did you manage to find more medical supplies?" Shiro turned to look at him properly, and immediately saw how his expression shifted from open concern to schooled passiveness.

"Yeah. I took care of it. She's good."

"Keith."

Shiro knew that Keith wouldn't lie about the condition of a teammate—other than himself—so the sudden caginess caught him off-guard, especially about Pidge. Shiro had known Pidge since she was almost a baby, and Keith knew her well enough through the time he'd spent at the Holt household with himself before the Kerberos mission. They'd been like siblings for a long time, even before becoming Paladins.

"She's fine. I got her patched up." Keith reiterated, but his chin ticked back the slightest bit as he spoke. Shiro knew that tell anywhere.

Shiro spun on his heel and opened the door to the cargo bay, descending down before Keith could stop him. The dim red lighting made it feel that much darker but Pidge's white and green armor stood out starkly from where she was curled up on one of the cots that folded down from the wall. She lifted her head when she heard him step down into the hold, giving him a shaky thumbs-up before groaning and letting her head hang over the bucket she was perched above.

Like Keith had said her wounds were cleaned and there wasn't a hint of blood or grit clinging to her skin, but he also didn't see any discarded or dirtied medical supplies. He shot a look back at Keith when he heard him come up behind him and Keith ducked his head, avoiding his eyes and staring intently at some nondescript patch of the floor. Okay. Clearly Pidge was fine but Keith was still being weird. One thing at a time.

"Hey Pidge, you're looking better," Shiro said softly, crouching down in front of the cot, "how're you feeling?"

"Ugh," was Pidge's response, letting her body sag against the lip of the big cleaning bucket that took up more space on the cot than she did, "feel like I got dropped out of orbit."

"Well you kinda did," Keith replied and Pidge just groaned again, louder. Smacking the Red Lion through the volcanic crust had seemed like a great idea to lose their pursuers at the time; it'd worked out great in the end, but not so much for the passengers without a harness. It didn't help that they'd plowed through crust that ended up being twice as thick as they'd originally thought.

"Don't remind me. I think my stomach is somewhere up by my lungs." She whined dramatically, making Shiro smile a bit. She felt well enough to tease and joke, all good signs.

"Think you can hold it together a little longer?" Shiro reached out and tucked the hair that framed her face behind her ears, not wanting any of the mess to get in it if she got sick, and grinned wider when she leaned into his touch like a cat.

"If I have to," she sighed loudly, hiccupping, before her eyes glinted and zeroed in on something beyond Shiro. Her head jerked up and her brow creased, gaze snapping up to Shiro's own.

"What?"

"You're bleeding." She hissed, offended, "you're checking up on me but you're hurt too!" she reached over and shoved Shiro's uninjured shoulder, giving him a stern, disproving look. "You let Keith clean you up right now. You don't get to fuss until you're better off than me, got it?" Shiro put his hands up submissively and leaned away, letting his head hang in mock-shame.

"Alright alright, I'll let Keith take care of it."

"Good." Pidge replied smugly before leveling her eyes on Keith, "don't let him weasel his way out of it. I'll sit on him if he squirms too much."

"I think I can hold my own but I'll call for backup if I need it," Keith snorted, and Pidge gave the two of them a shaky, sarcastic salute before she went back to staring miserably into her bucket.

Shiro got to his feet and glanced over at Keith, an eyebrow raised in question. Keith shrugged weakly and tilted his head towards the other cot, a silent invitation. He took it. As soon as he sat down he felt the flimsy mattress dip under Keith's weight, his smaller frame tucking up under his injured arm without waiting for him to say anything. They'd grown so comfortable inhabiting each other's space in the past few years that they'd completely discarded any sense of formality around one another.

"So," Shiro started, keeping his voice quiet so not to disturb Pidge, "mind explaining what's got you so tense?" He felt Keith still where he'd been undoing the latches of his armor with quick fingers, hold his breath for a moment, then exhale loudly and go back to his work.

"Only if you keep it between us," Keith replied, before he heard Pidge cough loudly and deliberately across the cargo hold, "... okay, keep it between us and Pidge." That piqued Shiro's curiosity. He nodded slowly and leaned away a bit, giving Keith more room to settle against his ribs. He tugged the armor free of Shiro's arm a moment later, letting it fall to the floor. His fingers probed gently around the wounds, the plasma burns standing out vividly against Shiro's skin. The bleeding had slowed somewhat, only oozing sluggishly unlike the free-flowing gush that Pidge's split scalp had been.

Keith continued to inspect the wounds for another minute and Shiro got the impression he was stalling. He didn't press it, though, and let him move at his own pace. It wasn't like they were in a hurry after all, since it'd likely take a while for the Castle to pick up on their location through the magnetic disturbances and the volcanic ash. With all the geologic activity it'd be difficult for the Castle to pick up on the Lion using thermals, but at the same time it'd make it that much harder for the Galra to find them.

That train of thought easily distracted Shiro enough for him to lose track of what Keith was doing, at least until he felt the first rough drag of his tongue over the wound. He jolted at the touch, sucking in a hard breath at the abrasive pain of it, accidentally pinning Keith back against his side on reflex. Keith's grip on his arm tightened and he heard him squawk out a startled "sorry!" in response, wiggling until Shiro realized what he was doing and let go of him. Keith scrambled to the other side of the mattress, putting distance between the two of them.

"Did—did you just lick me?" Shiro was absolutely not expecting for Keith's cheeks to flush the slightest bit at his words, or for him to snap his gaze away from him and puff up his chest and shoulders into a pout. It was adorable, really, even if the whole situation was strange as hell. He wasn't used to Keith being shy about something, at least not around him. Not anymore.

"... if you want to be technical about it... y-yeah?" Keith's words were deliberate and painfully shy. It reminded Shiro all too much of Keith's first few weeks around Adam and Matt, how skittish he'd been about letting himself be close to him around his friend and fiancé. "I, uh, I do it to my own cuts and stuff all the time, especially when I was in the desert and—and I've never had any problems with it? So when I couldn't find anything clean enough to wipe off Pidge's cut I just—" his rambling trailed off, making a noncommittal gesture with his arms before letting them fall loudly back to his lap.

"You licked Pidge."

"I licked Pidge."

"He absolutely did lick me."

"Thank you, Pidge." Keith sighed, exasperated, letting himself slump down enough to shove his face into the mattress. Pidge grinned back at them innocently, leaning out from the little alcove her cot was nestled in before she disappeared from sight, probably back to wallow over her pail until the nausea lifted. Shiro stared down at Keith, torn between laughing at how absurd the entire situation was, or trying to be earnest and comfort him. Instead of either, he decided to just be honest.

"Keith."

Keith tilted his head enough to look up at him with one eye. He blinked and then sat up properly when he realized Shiro was holding out his arm, an invitation to continue. It was... strange, sure, but he knew the intent behind it was entirely benign. Keith had no memory of the accident in the training deck but Shiro hadn't forgotten; he never brought it up to him, not wanting to possibly embarrass Keith by telling him how he'd reacted. That didn't change the fact that the cuts he'd licked had healed cleanly and far more quickly than the other scrapes he'd gotten.

"It's alright, it just... startled me." Shiro let the corner of his mouth tick upwards, not quite a smile but not dismissive, either. Keith just stared at him for several long moments before he moved closer, pressing himself back up against his side like he'd been at the beginning, pulling his arm close. This time, when Keith's tongue swiped across the broken skin, Shiro didn't even flinch. It must have been what Keith had been hoping for as the tension dropped out of his muscles, leaning back easily against Shiro's ribs and letting himself relax. It still hurt but now that he knew it was coming it wasn't so bad, definitely not as bad as it had been the first time.

Keith's tongue was still rough, though.

Pt. III
Nondescript Time
Post-s02e06
"The Ark of Taujeer"

His ears rang, painful and piercing, only the muffled clunk of debris bouncing off of his helmet cutting through it as he regained consciousness. Shiro blinked slowly to try and focus his blurry vision, the features surrounding him too dark and indistinct to give him any indication as to what had happened. Now that his hearing was slowly returning he heard nothing but the clatter of masonry and stone settling, the swirling around him revealing itself as dust. He grunted and went to push himself up but gasped in pain, falling back to the rubble with a desperate cry. His entire body was in agony; he twisted himself just enough to try and see how bad he was injured and froze, breath going solid in his lungs.

The left side and front of his armor was cracked to pieces, crimson with blood and riddled with shrapnel. His brain frantically sifted through the last few minutes, trying to remember what had happened. He remembered entering a building looking for civilians, Keith at his side. He remembered turning a corner and spotting something that glittered oddly against the hewn stone wall. He remembered throwing himself out of the doorway and in front of Keith, then an explosion, then nothing. A... bomb? It must have been a bomb, or misplaced ordnance. But then where was—

The rubble beneath him shifted, and for the first time he realized it wasn't actually rubble, but soot-covered white armor. Keith. Shiro could have cried at the relief. He held his breath and forced himself up onto his hands and knees, choking on the scream that threatened to tear itself out of his throat. A hot, electric pain in his side gave way with a metallic clang, a piece of the shrapnel that'd embedded itself into his chest falling free. He gasped for air and forced his lungs to fill. The crackling agony remained, threading through his torso and bringing tears to his eyes. He couldn't tell where one hurt ended and another began; if he didn't die in the next few minutes from the sheer pain alone he'd count that as a victory.

His hand shakily brushed at Keith's armor, coming away slippery with blood and powdered rock. The adrenaline that spiked through him was an almost physical blow until he realized the blood wasn't coming from Keith; it was coming from him, dripping down onto his armor from where he was hovering above him. He let his weight rest fully on his prosthetic arm and reached out again, dusting away the grit and grime that coated Keith's helmet. Thankfully it seemed that the blood was all on the outside and at the touch he could see Keith's eyes flutter faintly behind the visor.

"Keith."

His eyes snapped open at his voice, the violet of his irises contrasting violently with the dark, almost black dust-choked blood that smeared his armor. Shiro smiled a bit despite himself, thankful that his quick thinking seemed to have protected him from the brunt of the blast, but it disappeared when he saw Keith's panicked, horrified expression.

"Shiro! Shiro, you—" his voice shook as his hands came up to cradle Shiro's helmet, eyes wet behind the cracked face plate. Shiro could only focus on how glad he was that Coran had strengthened them after that mishap in training. He didn't realize he was shivering until his prosthetic whined in protest and gave out; Keith's hands went to his shoulders instantly and physically held him up, preventing him from collapsing down on top of him. Good. He was glad. He didn't want to accidentally hurt Keith by falling on him.

Keith's voice was frantic in his ear through the sputtering com-link but he couldn't quite make out what he was saying. His head felt like it was full of cotton and everything seemed to grow strangely distant, as if it was happening to someone else and he was just privy to a front row seat. He didn't even realize that Keith had squirmed out from under his body until he was being gently lowered down to the ground on his uninjured side. His breathing hitched painfully when Keith's hands flew to his sides, prying away the loose bits of armor with strength that didn't seem possible but, in his state, was beyond his ability to question. Something on his HUD flashed red.

Warning: Blood Oxygen Levels Critical, Air Filtration Subsystem Failing.

"Shiro, you idiot," Keith hissed as he tugged the ruined helmet off, Shiro gasping and wheezing at the dust he inhaled, chest throbbing with the need for oxygen he just couldn't get fast enough, "why did you do that? You had your shield! Why didn't you just use your sh—" his voiced choked out, eyes screwed shut as hot tears crept down his cheeks, leaving a darkened trail.

No time, he wanted to say, it wouldn't have covered either of us enough, he tried to soothe, better to know you're safe than both of us die, but the words just didn't form. He could feel the warmth of his blood pooling against his skin behind the armor, feel the awful itch of it filling his chest cavity. Part of him wanted to close his eyes and give in to the overbearing urge to sleep but he knew he wouldn't wake up from it. His eyes threatened to close against his will, his vision blurring and swimming no matter how hard he tried to breathe and focus and stay.

"No, no no Shiro! Don't close your eyes—" gentling fingers pressed to his throat seeking a pulse, cupped the back of his neck to tilt his head up, "stay awake! Please!" He wanted to, he desperately wanted to, but he could feel himself slipping. Keith seemed to sense it, terrified and silent, eyes scanning over the ruined mess of his chest. The hand at his throat vanished, giving him only a split second of warning before an embedded piece of stone was wrenched out of his flesh.

Shiro howled. He kicked and shrank away from Keith but there was nowhere to hide with him right there, hand still steady at his nape. His lungs burned with exertion but he kept breathing hard, riding the edge of the pain and adrenaline as far as it could go to keep himself aware. Keith tore at his own helmet, smearing blood across the already red plating, the air-lock popping free with a soft hiss. Before Shiro could protest him exposing himself to the dust-choked air he'd already slotted it over his head, the visor flickering down to complete the seal.

A dozen different error messages flashed across the inside of the face-plate as the helmet ran diagnostics, what few systems still worked in his armor linking up to the undamaged processor. Almost immediately clean, cooled air flooded his lungs, almost dizzying in the purity of it. His chest heaved painfully with each breath but he was finally getting oxygen, dulling the bleeding edge of the hurt just the slightest bit. He could have cried. A minute passed, then two, and the darkened edge to his vision slowly faded out as his body finally started to process the scrubbed oxygen.

"Sorry, Shiro," Keith's voice was soft, fingers curled gently against the bleeding laceration where the debris had been, "but I needed to make sure you stayed awake long enough for me to sync my helmet to your armor's systems. I already sent our location to the team, they'll be here to get you soon." Shiro nodded weakly, licking his lips as he became uncomfortably aware of just how awful he felt. It was a miracle he hadn't broken his back or his neck outright, and for once he wasn't going to complain when they took him to the cryo-pods.

Keith's hand roamed over his chest, tracing the breaks in the armor and around the shrapnel still lodged in his flesh. Most of the pieces were small, sunken in to the hilt, and the dirt had the small mercy of clotting the blood enough to prevent him from bleeding out. The burns, however, were what now demanded his attention. He hadn't even noticed them when he first woke up, but now, unable to focus on anything else, the pain was clawing at him like a starved beast.

His flight suit had protected most of him as intended but where the armor had cracked open and the shrapnel had torn, his skin had been fully exposed to the blast. He could feel it on his neck and across his side, while his left arm and shoulder was a solid, throbbing mass of agony. The only solace he could take from the situation was that Keith seemed relatively unharmed despite the violence of the explosion.

"Shiro," Keith spoke up suddenly, his thumb brushing gently against the side of his neck where he still cradled his head, "the burns are... really bad. Do you... do you want me to try and clean them? That way we can get you in a pod faster." the question didn't fully register in Shiro's mind for a second before it clicked into place and the memories played; his hand in the training room, and then his arm in the Red Lion. It'd hurt then at first, when he'd cleaned him, but then the pain had eased and the wounds had healed all the better for it. The prospect of his pain lessening by any amount was almost intoxicating at that moment; he patted Keith's thigh where he'd pressed himself close in answer and let his eyes focus on the hole in the ceiling above them.

So, that's where they'd ended up, blasted straight through the floor and into the basement. No wonder he felt like death.

Keith's thumb continued to rub soothing circles into his neck as he tugged away the half-melted flight suit, exposing the burns on his left shoulder. Shiro didn't dare look, knowing it'd only fuel a panic and they couldn't afford that in his state; either he'd injure himself worse or attract the attention of a sentry. Keith's breath fanned over his agonized skin and he swallowed hard, studying every dent and scratch to the red armor in front of him to tamp down his apprehension. The first cautious swipe seemed to lack the worst of the prickliness he'd come to expect, leaving little more than a cool, soothing sensation after the sting of initial contact. The stress in his body relaxed at that and Keith seemed encouraged, leaning closer and letting a shy purr build in his chest.

Shiro let his eyes close, breathing as deeply as he could for as long as possible now that he had something for his body and mind to both focus on. The rasp of Keith's tongue as it laved over his raw flesh made some ancient prey instinct in his hind brain flare up fearfully, but the pleasant numbness left behind was reward enough to drown it out. It sounded more painful than it actually felt but with the helmet on he could easily tune it out or pretend it was just the rubble settling around them. It was rhythmic and careful, and with his senses dulled by shock it wasn't hard for him to call it comforting.

He sighed gently and reached up, threading his fingers through Keith's hair to ground himself. It was a mess, tangled and knotted from being in his helmet so long as he stroked through it, but Keith purred louder in response to it anyway. He moved closer and licked hesitantly at his neck, waiting, and Shiro tilted his chin back, baring it to him. The pain was already fading into a more manageable ache, time blurring without any light to orient himself. It was almost peaceful, being in the darkened silence with Keith tucked against him; it reminded him of the countless nights they'd spent out in the desert, stargazing and mapping constellations by firelight. He was almost halfway to dozing when he felt the Black Lion nudge across his mind, bright and glittering, before the collapsed structure around them heaved beneath her massive paws.

She'd found them.

Chapter Text

IV. Touch

Pt. I
s02e03
"Shiro’s Escape"

"Keith, you holding up alright?" Shiro asked quietly, tilting his head to the side slightly as Keith turned away from the window to face him. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet since they'd boarded the base and had kept his distance, all signs that he was troubled. He watched Keith worry his lip and square his shoulders, thinking loudly enough that Shiro could practically see him trying to work something out.

"You said... you're sure this is the same Galra who freed you?" He eventually asked, eyes darting away to the tall Galra—Ulaz—standing at the controls, surrounded by the other Paladins, "he took us out so easily, even Sendak couldn't do that. How much do you remember about him?"

"... not much, I admit—but I'm sure this is him. I never saw him away from the arena or the lab or anything, he oversaw the fights, or rather oversaw me after them. I saw him mostly after I... after Haggar had enough fun and sent me to him before going back to my cell—" Shiro saw the moment the switch flipped in Keith's brain and quickly reached out, putting his hand on the nape of his neck and squeezing before he could properly turn to bolt, "—no, Keith. No. He didn't hurt me, he patched me up afterwards. I promise you, I wouldn't lie about something like this."

Keith's whole body was tense and coiled, his muscles strung tight under his hand, but he remained firmly rooted to the spot. Shiro pressed his nails into his skin gently for emphasis, against the bundle of nerves he knew from experience was there, and felt more than saw the aggression drain out of his frame. Keith exhaled and leaned against his hand, head tilted back just enough for his hair to tickle across Shiro's skin. He held his gaze, letting him see his throat, before turning his head away.

Ever since coming to space, since becoming Paladins, he'd been growing more aware of Keith's little tells and habits that he'd merely taken for granted before. Shiro had been an only child and Keith and Pidge had been his only exposure to kids and young teenagers outside of cadets at the Garrison, so to him very little about Keith's behavior had seemed outwardly strange for years. Now, however, around Lance and Hunk, he was starting to realize that Keith's body language and non-verbal cues were... unique.

He didn't know what to make of it, if it meant anything at all.

"... okay," Keith conceded softly, brushing his cheek against Shiro's wrist, expression reminiscent of a scolded cat, "you know I trust you. I just don't want anything to happen to you." Shiro's lips ticked up into a guarded smile, rubbing at Keith's nape before letting his hand drop to settle on his shoulder. Almost instantly Keith's posture was back to its alert, ready state, as if Shiro's hand had weighed him down enough in body and mind to keep him grounded. Keith's eyes flicked over his shoulder suddenly and he could almost hear the click of his teeth biting together before he even registered Ulaz's presence behind him.

"Shiro, I believe you might want to see this." Ulaz's voice was calm and steady, and even though Shiro couldn't remember much of him other than his escape, his subconscious recognized his voice as easily as if he'd heard it his whole life. He nodded and let his hand fall from Keith's shoulder, turning to follow the Galra to the large computer in the center of the room. He felt, rather than saw, Keith follow him, his body heat strong against his side where he was pressing his body as close as he possibly could without actually touching him, placing himself between Ulaz and himself like a shield. It was endearing, really, even if it made walking a chore so to not step all over Keith's feet.

Ulaz brushed his hand across a holographic display and several images glittered into being, written in the swirling characters of the Galran alphabet. Shiro heard Pidge make an absolutely delighted noise but he was distracted when he felt Keith lean hard into his left shoulder, glaring at the tall Galra who was now patiently answering every rapid-fire question Pidge could throw at him. Keith was making that low, guttural growling sound that he made when uncomfortable or threatened, the force of it nearly setting Shiro’s teeth rattling.

It seemed Ulaz was able to hear it as well, his ear flicking over in Keith’s direction at a few of his particularly loud sounds, but his eyes never left Pidge. Shiro let his elbow bump into Keith’s ribs and immediately the noise dropped off in volume, but he could still feel it where they made physical contact. Keith remained quiet and still for all of four seconds before he bristled in response to Ulaz addressing the two of them, although Shiro had been so focused on Keith he didn’t even catch what had been said to him.

“I didn’t hear, wha—” and then Keith anchored himself to his left arm, fingers digging into his muscles like possessive claws, making a noise so low it made Shiro’s vision buzz. Ulaz’s ears flicked backwards in a way that reminded Shiro of a contemplative dog. He went to pry Keith from his arm but he wouldn’t budge, instead taking to rubbing his cheek as aggressively as he could against Shiro’s armored shoulder and pauldrons.

Ulaz’s passive expression flashed into something between astonishment and amusement before regaining his patient, polite default, his long hands folding together in front of him in a way that made it seem as though he wanted the both of them to see that his claws were sheathed. Shiro couldn’t quite place why, but he felt as though he had reason to be very, very embarrassed for what had just transpired.

“Keith, man… are you alright?” Hunk looked at them both as though they’d changed colors.

“I’m fine.”

He very much so did not sound fine.

“Shiro, if you would permit it,” Ulaz started, repeating what he’d lost to Keith’s distractions, “I’d like to transfer some data on prisoner logs that the Green Paladin has expressed an interest in.”

“Oh, oh—of course,” Shiro went to place his hand against one of the glowing computer displays but Keith refused to budge, still damn near wrapped around his arm and eyes locked with Ulaz. It would have been hilarious if he wasn’t trying to get important Paladin diplomatic duties accomplished. He finally managed to angle himself enough that his right hand could reach the panel, the prosthetic lighting up with a soft violet glow as it initiated the transfer. Normally he’d have just suggested sending them directly to the Castle, but he’d already unsettled and upset Allura enough for the day that he didn’t voice the option.

“Thank you, Shiro,” Ulaz’s voice hadn’t changed tone since the tensions on the Castle had diffused; it should have set his nerves on edge but instead he found it soothing. He was starting to think that the gaps in his memory from his year in captivity were bigger than he’d expected, as he doubted an individual he’d only seen a few times would have left such a bone-deep impression on him. They must have interacted quite a lot, at least enough for his subconscious to remember and react to him so strongly.

Ulaz turned to Pidge with his hand extended, placing it on her shoulder so lightly her stance didn’t even shift. He said something softly to her, likely something about Matt and Sam, if the way her eyes suddenly went glossy and unfocused was any indication. She quickly pulled off her glasses and rubbed her arm across her face, but Shiro lost the rest of the conversation when he sensed Keith’s body tense up.

He barely had time to put himself between him and Ulaz before Keith barreled into him bodily, left arm pinned between them and nearly knocking the wind out of Shiro’s lungs. Keith seemed startled to have hit something and Shiro was startled in general, not having expected Keith to suddenly lunge like that. Smacking into something solid seemed to jar Keith out of whatever crazed train of thought was possessing him, and he thankfully didn’t try to bolt around him or do anything else reckless.

“Keith,” his hands went to his shoulders and Keith stilled instantly, “what’s gotten into you?” Keith’s eyes were wide and the pupils constricted oddly, giving them an almost cat-like quality, but he tried to focus not on that but on what in the hell had gotten into Keith to make him act so volatile.

“I—” Keith stopped, licking his lips distractedly, “—don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t feel so good.”

Shiro frowned and tilted Keith’s chin up with his right hand, gently turning his head this way and that to get a better look at his face. His eyes were still strange and his cheeks were dusted with a faint, blotchy blush, as though he’d been exerting himself. His lips twitched, jaw working uncomfortably at something in his mouth. Even more worryingly was that Keith damn near melted into him the second he’d touched his chin, like all the strength had gone out of his limbs. He’d been jittery since they’d boarded the base but this seemed like something other than simple nerves.

“What feels off?” Shiro didn’t let go of him, and instead tested Keith’s reaction by bringing his left hand to his nape. Instantaneously Keith’s entire body went lax and he would have fallen if he hadn’t collided with Shiro’s chest. Instead of answering Keith exhaled heavily, sagging against him bonelessly. Okay. Apparently Keith had an off button. He’d file that away for later. It would have been adorable if he didn’t feel everyone else’s eyes on his back; he wasn’t looking forward to trying to explain what had happened when he was sure Keith was just as clueless as he was.

“Shiro,” Ulaz tried again, his voice pitched quieter, bringing Shiro back to the present, “a word, please?”

Shiro nodded to him before turning back to Keith, still leaning against him, but now rigid and focused again. He sighed loudly and held Keith out at arm’s length, hands on his shoulders, meeting his eyes. His pupils had gone back to normal and the flush had left his cheeks, but he didn’t want to make eye contact. He expected that; Keith knew he was being ‘scolded’. Shiro hummed and Keith made a short, loud huff and finally glanced up to him, ticking his chin back before looking away.

Good enough for him. He clapped Keith’s shoulder gently before stepping away, making sure he was able to stand on his own two feet, then followed Ulaz to a more secluded corner of the bridge. He heard rather than saw Pidge crowd into Keith’s space, asking about a dozen questions in her ‘I’m being quiet’ but still loud enough to hear across the room voice. Good. Talking with Pidge would probably help clear his head a bit.

They didn’t leave the Paladins’ line of sight—Shiro knew Keith would have instantly chased if that’d been the case—but were far enough way that it was more private; being isolated with a Galra that had several inches of height and far more strength than him should have been unnerving, but Shiro still felt as calm as ever. Ulaz’s ears flicked forward attentively, his lips quirking up for a half-second in an expression he had no name for. He’d seen it exchanged between soldiers and strangers alike in his captivity, but had no human equivalent. The only thing he could even begin to compare it to was the way a cat’s muzzle twitched forward to smooth out and reset their whiskers, although Ulaz and many of the Galra he’d seen hadn’t sported them or anything similar.

“It’s good to see you in good health, Shiro,” Ulaz suddenly spoke, “and in good company. You not only found the Earth’s Lion but all of the Voltron Lions, and powerful allies in the Alteans. You’ve achieved more than we could have dared to hope.” Shiro felt himself flush slightly at the praise, gaze ducking down to his prosthetic. He flexed his fingers a few times, listening to the servos whirl gently, letting a little of the violet light glow under the surface of his palm.

“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you. None of this would have happened without you, and I’m glad I have a chance to thank you for it.” Shiro wasn’t used to being so open with a stranger; he must have known Ulaz well during his captivity to endear himself enough for him to risk death by freeing him, but the amnesia had robbed him of the memories. Ulaz lifted his chin slightly and his ears pressed back, a contented and relaxed gesture that seemed familiar in a vague way.

“I must apologize for the unease I have caused your team, Shiro,” Ulaz’s ears flattened almost dejectedly, and Shiro was able to tell his gaze shifted to the team some distance at his back even with the lack of visible pupils, “especially to the Red Paladin. Had I known, I would have been more considering of his territory.”

“Territory?” Ulaz’s expression shifted to one of confusion.

“The Red Paladin, is he not—” The proximity alarms blared as something entered the system, Galra in origin. The following fight, and the aftermath, would leave a stinging wound in Shiro that would persist for phoebes.

He never did find out what Ulaz had been about to say, in the end.

Pt. II
Pre-Kerberos

“—kashi?”

Shiro felt his vision snap back into focus, the strange buzzing encroaching at the edge of his hearing fizzling out momentarily. Matt was looking at him oddly from where he sat across the table, a plastic spoon held tightly in his hand. He tried to make a face at him but only managed to narrow his eyes slightly. Matt responded by throwing the spoon at him, which bounced harmlessly off of his uniformed shoulder and clattered to the table with the other scattered cutlery. The spoon wasn’t the first thrown, it seemed.

“How—how long was I out?”

“Thirty seconds, give or take. I couldn’t tell at first if you were having a moment or if I’d just lost you with all the riveting details of light wave amplitudes and gravity well signatures.” Matt replied, gesturing dramatically with his hands, “Seriously though, do you need me to take you to medical?”

“I think I’m alright. I was a little late taking my medication this morning s’all,” Shiro sighed loudly, scrubbing at his face with his hand, “was up late submitting the last bit of paperwork to Admiral Sanda for Kerberos. If she finds out I went to medical so soon after your dad vouched for me, she’d just use it to pull me off the mission.”

“Hm, true, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” Matt reached over and retrieved the thrown spoon, blowing it clean before scooping up some of his ice cream, “I could call your little duckling if you’d rather avoid the doctors. Between the two of us I think we could probably keep you breathing.” He shoved the spoonful into his mouth.

“Thanks Matt, what would I ever do without your genius?”

Matt quickly sucked the ice cream off of the spoon and raised his eyebrows, humming affirmingly and whipping the spoon out to point at him dramatically. Shiro laughed softly and pulled out his phone, texting to Keith to meet them at Matt’s dorm. He figured he should be finished with classes by now, and if he did have another flare he wanted both of them with him. Matt had been his friend for nearly as long as Adam had been, and after their tumultuous split he found himself leaning on him quite hard. And Keith, well, Keith would tear down the sky itself for him if he’d let him. He wasn’t sure how to respond to such devotion and faith but that didn’t mean he didn’t appreciate it, especially now.

“You ought to bring your duckling next time you come to the house, I’m sure he and Katie would get along like a house on fire,” Matt started before suddenly going quiet, “hm, second thought, the house might actually end up on fire.” Shiro snorted loudly and brought his coffee mug to his lips, managing a small sip. His nerves still felt as though they were wound too tight, a usual precursor to one of his flares but they weren’t a sure sign. It could just be exhaustion, which is what he was hoping for.

The coffee rippled wildly from his shaking hand and, frustrated, Shiro let it slam heavily back to the table. He brought his hands to his face and groaned, wishing his body could just get it together enough to let him drink a simple cup of coffee, but it seemed even that was too much to ask of it. Matt made a soft sound and pushed back in his chair, getting up and walking over to the closet.

“I just—” Shiro stopped, feeling Matt drape a blanket over his shoulders, “—I just want to have a normal day. Just one.” He leaned to the side and let his head thump against Matt’s ribs, exhaling loudly. Matt’s hand landed on his shoulder, squeezing assuringly, letting Shiro’s weight rest against him.

“C’mon Takashi, let’s lie down on the couch for a bit, at least until Keith gets here. You said you were up late last night, yeah? You probably need a bit more than those five minute naps you call a good night’s sleep. I’ve still got to do some TA work and I can do that on my pad. Then you two can go on one of those suicidal hover-bike races you guys call ‘practice’ while I scream and try not to puke all over your back, deal?”

Shiro knew Matt was right but the stubborn part of him wanted to tough it out to prove he could. At the same time… he also knew he didn’t have to prove anything right now. He was tired and the long hours were putting undue stress on his nerves, staying awake through it would just make him more uncomfortable and prove nothing to no one. He inhaled deeply and let it out slowly, letting some of the tension go with it.

“… alright. A quick rest, and then Keith and I can rub it in that piloting is more fun than research.” Shiro smiled slightly at the scandalized gasp Matt aimed at him and let himself be led over to the couch.

Shiro didn’t remember falling asleep or even dozing off, but he woke up instantly as though he’d never actually fallen off. He blinked to clear his vision and realized he was staring at the ceiling. Or, rather, part of the ceiling; Matt’s face obscured most of it. He could feel Matt’s thigh under his head like a pillow—it was hardly the first time they’d napped or shared a bed, but usually he remembered the lead-up to it—and judging from the rich, warm colors of the sun coming through the windows, he’d been out for a while. Shiro squinted and Matt’s dorky grin just grew wider, and he knew something had to be going on if he was making a face like that.

“… do I even want to ask?”

“It’s nothing, Shiro. You two are just adorable.”

Two? All at once Shiro finally registered that there was a weight on top of him, something warm under the blankets Matt had covered him with. He lifted the edge of the blanket and was met by Keith, sleeping soundly against his chest, hands bunched into the fabric of his uniform. He was still in his cadet fatigues, but at least he had taken his shoes off before hand as he couldn’t feel those digging into his legs.

“Shiro I’m gonna be real with you, this is fucking precious.”

“How long has he been asleep?” he tried to keep his voice down so he wouldn’t wake him up; he knew Keith had just as much of a love-hate relationship with sleep as he did.

“Since about thirty seconds after he got here. He mentioned something about you needing something on you to sleep otherwise your muscles would cramp up?”

“My compression blanket,” Shiro replied, blinking, “I usually sleep with a compression blanket.”

“Makes sense.” Matt replied before he turned his attention back to his data-pad. Shiro looked down at Keith again, still deep in sleep. This was hardly the first time they’d napped together, especially after he and Adam had broken up, but it was the first time Keith had done around Matt. He hoped this was a good sign; Keith was always so shy and distant around his friends, this was a big improvement over his normal aloofness.

When he lifted his hand and ruffled Keith’s hair he was glad to hear the tiny rumbling noise he’d come to associate with a purr, grinning a bit when he saw how he leaned into the touch even in his sleep. Keith ran warm and it was almost too hot under both him and the blanket, but he wasn’t about to risk waking him by shoving it off.

“I think I take it back—he’s not a duckling, he’s a kitten,” Matt said suddenly, prompting Shiro to lean his head back to look up at him, “he was kneading on your chest earlier and making that cute purring noise. I mean, not that I can blame him. Who wouldn’t want to knead on your—”

“Matt if you finish that sentence I will hit you in the dick.”

“—duly noted.”

Pt. III
s01e05
"Tears of the Balmera"

“M’fine, Keith.” Shiro slurred more than he’d hoped, internally wincing at how wrecked his voice sounded. It didn’t help that he couldn’t even walk straight and had leaned on him the entire way back to their rooms. He’d managed to fend off Allura from putting him in a pod, but Keith was much harder to trick. It was like he could smell his wounds like a shark in the water.

“Shiro if you say that one more time I will drop you.” Shiro knew it was a bluff, but he went quiet all the same. He didn’t want to put any more stress on Keith after the hell that was the day. He hadn’t even thought at the time that Keith could hear Sendak torturing him through the coms of his nearby helmet, but by the savagery of Keith’s fight when he’d gotten through the barrier, he’d put two and two together.

The door to Keith’s room slid open and he led him inside, carefully lowering him enough for him to sit on the edge of the cot. His whole body was stiff and sore from the electrical shocks and the fight prior; he didn’t want to think about how bad the night would be if he had a flare brought on by all the trauma. Keith sat next to him instantly, still holding him up, his body hot and tense beside him. If he didn’t know better he’d have thought Keith was spoiling for a fight, but the rage he could sense rolling off of him was from an entirely different source.

He’d gotten Shiro out of his armor before they’d even left the bridge. Mercifully he’d waited until the others had left to hurry Lance off to a pod, or else his dignity might not have survived. He was still in the black undersuit, but the top half was tattered and charred from Sendak’s prosthetic claws. He was still self-conscious of the knotted, scarred flesh that covered him from the arena, but he couldn’t bring himself to fully hide from Keith. He’d seen them all that first night back in the desert, even though it was hard for Shiro to do so.

Keith ran his hand along Shiro’s collarbone, his thumb gently tracing one of the larger gashes in the kevlar-like material. The skin below was an angry, blistered red, but his touch was so light that it brought him no pain. His whole body was shaking from the aftershocks of the torture, muscles trembling beyond his control, so Keith pressed himself closer to bear his weight. Keith seemed preoccupied with checking him for wounds, and finding none more substantial than the ones he was already aware of, did he let some of the nervous energy leak out of his frame.

“I thought he killed you,” Keith said suddenly, softly, “I thought I was going to charge through that door and see your body.” Shiro felt a piece of him shatter, and when he lifted his arm Keith instantly burrowed into him, pressing his face into his neck and fingers knotting themselves into the undersuit. He could feel his breathing hitching as he struggled to keep himself level. Shiro hushed him softly and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him closer. He could feel his grip tightening and loosening as he tried to calm himself down, almost kneading at him, but the contact and being held seemed to curb most of the anxiety tangled up inside of him.

“I’m still here, Keith. You and Pidge saved me. I promise I’m not going anywhere.” Shiro whispered as he felt Keith rubbing his cheek against his neck, catlike and gentle, “I’m sorry that you had to go through that again.” He let his hands drift up, the prosthetic resting against his nape, and almost instantaneously he felt the rumbling start of his purr somewhere deep in his chest. Keith nosed up under his chin and exhaled loudly, his lungs staggered and wheezing, his posture finally loosening into something more relaxed than fight-ready.

Keith had always calmed down quickly when he touched his neck, and now was no exception. It didn’t matter if it was Shiro pressing into his nape or if Keith was buried in Shiro’s throat, they both soothed him in equal measures. He had no idea why but it didn’t really matter to him. It worked, and not just for Keith. Being able to feel Keith’s heartbeat, his breathing, the warmth of his body was a balm to Shiro’s own anxieties, even if he was sure it looked far too intimate to someone who didn’t understand their bond.

They sat like that for a long while, letting the adrenaline and the fear ease away out of the both of them. Shiro knew he didn’t need to ask to stay in the room with him for the night and was thankful for it; he didn’t think he could muster the courage to ask for it verbally. When Keith pulled away without warning it confused Shiro for a minute, at least until he realized Keith was just shucking off his armor that he’d neglected to remove from the start.

Part of Shiro wanted to do the same with his battered undersuit but he didn’t have anything to change into; he and Keith might have been close, but that was a barrier they’d yet to cross, and Shiro was far too hurt and tired to field that one responsibly at the moment. Keith seemed to have the same idea as he stopped at his own undersuit before crawling back onto the bed. He was keyed up with a different sort of energy now, one Shiro had seen a handful of times in the past but rarely this blatantly.

“I’d’ve killed him for what he did if I’d had the chance,” Keith nearly growled out, his eyes strangely reflective in the low light, “I won’t let the Galra touch you again.” He said it with such conviction and finality that it should have alarmed him, but Shiro just tilted his head back in invitation for Keith to come closer. He responded by doing so instantly, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and easing them both down onto the mattress, careful not to lean on any of the burns that crisscrossed his chest. It felt intimate in a way he couldn’t explain, as though he’d crossed some invisible line in the sand by baring his throat to him in response to his declaration.

Keith pulled the blanket up over the both of them, effectively hiding them from the rest of the room, and Shiro swore he saw Keith’s eyes flash with a silver reflection in the dark; he knew that was ridiculous, and wondered if he’d hit his head harder than he’d thought in the fight. Keith’s hands traced the new wounds he’d gotten earlier in the day, his movements feeling almost possessive; it probably should have alarmed Shiro but instead he felt only comforted.

Keith would protect him, and he would protect him in turn.

Chapter Text

V. Survival

Pt. I
s01e01
"The Rise of Voltron"

His surroundings came back to him in fits and starts, a whisper of sound here, a ghost of a touch there, nothing concrete. The sedative had been too concentrated or he was in worse condition than he thought; both of which were equally valid options at that point. The last thing he remembered was Iverson and one of the techs injecting him, but he thought there had been the beginnings of a scuffle somewhere outside of the room. He strained his ears and realized he couldn’t hear any of the telltale chirps or beeps of medical equipment, just the soft sound of wind and sleepy breathing, both his own and—

Shiro’s eyes shot open and his body tensed to strike, realizing he wasn’t alone. The room was almost black, the only light diffused through dust-marred windows at his back, glinting off a handful of metallic flourishes on the scant furnishings. Radio equipment, glass bottles filled with water, a dirty, cracked vacuum tube monitor; he recognized where he was after a moment of groggy realization. He made a soft noise of confusion and in response he saw something move in his periphery.

“… Shiro?” the voice was rough from dry wind and sand, but he’d know it anywhere, and he found tears filling his vision barely a heartbeat later as the familiar shape leaned into his space.

“K-Keith? Is that—is it really—?”

His words vanished into a soft grunt as Keith sprang forward, arms wrapping around his chest and his face slotting against his neck as if they’d never been apart. The sedative made him feel sluggish and foggy but he managed to sling his prosthetic over his back to pull him in closer; Keith didn’t even react to the feeling of the unnatural metal against his back. Some far away part of him wondered if this was a dream, a hallucination brought on by pain or starvation, but that couldn’t be, Keith felt too real in his arms. His too-tight grip, the warmth of his body, the sharp scent of exhaust and oil that clung to his skin; even the witch hadn’t clawed that deep into his mind to pry out the messy details that made up Keith.

“I knew they were wrong. I knew.” Keith’s voice was barely audible, a hoarse, raw whisper for his ears only, “They tried to tell me it was pilot error—” he scoffed, voice bitter and full of disgust, “—but I knew it was a lie. I never gave up on you.”

The words pierced Shiro’s chest like an arrow and he pulled Keith closer, who followed without hesitation, tugged down to drape over Shiro’s body on the too-small, ratty couch. His eyes stung with yet unshed tears and as the weak moonlight crossed Keith’s face he saw the wet trails down his cheeks, darkened by grit and dust, framing his face with bold graphite strokes. He wiped his face on his sleeve and reached over the back of the couch, pulling a thick wool blanket down to cover them both. Shiro didn’t object, shifting so he was laying flat on his back, Keith settling on top of him like he had so many times before.

“… how long—” Shiro swallowed at the dry rasp of his voice, “—was I gone?”

“A year and three months.”

Christ.

Keith hummed and rested his chin on Shiro’s chest, his hand reaching out towards his prosthetic, eyes questioning. Shiro nodded. His fingers registered as a faint pressure against the metal casing, the synthetic nerves firing and itching up along his spine. He couldn’t feel Keith’s calloused skin, the gentle scrape of his nails along the joints, not even the lingering warmth left behind. The strange disconnect caused by the vague sensations compared to the visual made him feel nauseous, especially with the sedative still sitting heavy in his veins.

Instead he focused on Keith. He was in a loose black shirt, and the bright red jacket that was draped over his chest was likely his. Now that his eyes were adjusting to the low light he noticed just how much Keith had changed. His hair was longer, rough-cropped as though with a knife. He’d lost weight but his muscles were more defined, lean and solid, accentuating his lanky build. Faint, silvered scars covered his bare arms, crisscrossing over sun-tanned skin in wild, random patterns. He reached out with his left hand and traced a particularly large one from where it began near his wrist and twisted up like a gnarled root and vanished under his sleeve.

“From a cougar,” Keith mumbled, eyes still roaming the prosthetic with keen interest, “I was bleeding a deer I caught and it jumped me. Dropped my knife.” Shiro’s thoughts nearly crashed to a halt, fingers freezing at the worn edges of Keith’s sleeve.

“Did—did you say a cougar?”

Keith smiled somewhat sheepishly, and Shiro frowned.

“Hey its not like I went looking to fistfight a cougar, it just happened.”

“That… doesn’t make it much better,” Shiro sighed loudly, “but, you were bleeding a deer?” Keith hummed at him, lazily miming a cutting motion in the air with his right hand.

“I couldn’t find enough water that month and I could only go so long on lizard and snake fat. Its gross but my dad taught me blood can keep you going for a little while if there aren’t any other options. Well, he said he learned it from mom but…” Keith trailed off, his expression shuttering for a moment before he inhaled sharply, “… I guess it just picked up the scent and thought I was injured.”

“—and you fought it off?”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to kill it but it just kind of happened when I finally got to my knife,” Keith stopped, making a face, “don’t believe me? I’ve got the pelt drying out back.” Shiro rolled his eyes at the bait. He wouldn’t say it out loud, but the joking helped to ease the rampant anxiety scratching at the back of his thoughts.

“… what time is it?”

“Hm? Oh, probably about three in the morning. You should try to sleep a little bit.” Keith moved to push himself up and off of him but Shiro made a soft, unhappy sound and it stopped him instantly. He met his eyes and when Shiro nodded at him he let himself settle back on top of him. Shiro’s hand absently found its way into Keith’s hair, brushing through it gently. It was longer than he remembered it being at the launch, dry and crinkly from the heat of the sun. Dust and sand came loose against his fingers when he scratched at Keith’s scalp and he could feel how he went pliant against him, nearly purring at the touch. It was easy to fall into a light doze but something prodded at his consciousness, poking through the thinning haze of the sedative.

“… I was gone for over a year, and you said you were hunting…” Shiro’s voice trailed and brows creased, mouth turning downward into a tight frown, “… were you—were you out here all by yourself?”

He watched Keith school his expression and knew instantly that it was true. A hundred different questions flitted through his mind—who allowed this, why wasn’t he at the Garrison, why didn’t Adam help him—but he couldn’t bring any of them to voice. It must have shown on his face as Keith instantly flattened his hand against his chest, grounding him with the pressure.

“It was my choice, Shiro, I—” he inhaled, steadying himself, “—Commander Iverson called me into his office and when I got there and saw Adam and Mrs. Holt I just. I knew. I knew something had happened and,” his voice wavered and he paused, swallowing, “when Iverson told me I didn’t… I didn’t take it well. I didn’t even stop to get our photo from the launch Shiro I just. Ran. Adam came looking for me for the first month or two but I didn’t let him find me. I knew they were wrong and I couldn’t just accept that you were dead.”

Shiro was silent for several seconds, contemplative, mulling over the new information in his head. Keith’s expression tightened and his eyes darted away, shoulders slumping somewhat. It was as if speaking it into existence had drained the energy from him.

“Keith… Keith you could have—you could have died out here and no one would have known—” Keith’s eyes snapped to him and the words crumbled in his throat, mouth closing as Shiro waited.

“I would have let Adam find me, eventually—” he explained, voice soft, “—if I hadn’t sensed something in the desert. It drew me out to the canyons and… it lead me back to you, Shiro. If I’d gone back before then or if I hadn’t left then I wouldn’t have known to come find you tonight.”

Shiro made a questioning noise but Keith shushed him gently. “We’ll talk about it more in the morning, okay? It’s… a lot to explain. You need to rest. I’ll keep watch.”

Pt. II
s02e01
"Across the Universe"

Shiro woke to warmth, heavy and soothing, draped across his body. The crackle of the fire was muffled and far away, half-hidden under a gentle whoosh of air near his ear. In, and out. In, and out. The firelight flickered and cast shadows over his eyelids; it was still night, then, or very early morning. His side burned where the wound sat, and although it’d spread over a large portion of his body the initial injury itself was magnitudes more painful than the sprawl. At this rate if help didn’t arrive within the next few days he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to last, despite Keith’s efforts.

As if sensing his thoughts, Keith exhaled loudly and tucked himself more firmly against him, his nose nestling into the hollow of his throat and throwing his arm protectively across Shiro’s chest. At that Shiro finally let his eyes open, vision blurry with sleep and dehydration, gazing up into the hazy, starless sky. The body of the alien was nearly picked clean, its shimmering, opalescent ribs yawning up at the heavens as though enraged at its own demise. Keith had made quick work of its skin, flensing and drying it with sand and the chalky rock that made up most of the landscape, and despite how disgusting it was Shiro had to admit the flabby, padded hide made a much more comfortable bed than bare sand.

The sky shimmered oddly, seconds before he heard the unmistakable sound of a ship breaking atmosphere. Keith jolted awake in seconds, gaze snapped up and Bayard at hand, already reaching for where he’d set his helmet by the fire. Shiro couldn’t track any emissions or trails from where he’d seen the flash, and it was a tense minute before they both recognized what they were seeing.

“It’s Pidge!”

The absolute delight in Keith’s voice wasn’t something he got to hear often, but he was in too much pain to enjoy it properly. Keith already had his helmet on and was up waving to the Green Lion, and Shiro could feel the gentle tug from Black towards her sister, eager to be reunited. As soon as the lion landed he could feel Black’s bond turn inward and away from him, leaving him quietly alone to speak with Keith and Katie without her pressing on his already-frayed concentration. Pidge dismounted quickly and practically sprinted over to them, ripping her helmet off in the process as she started shouting in a too-fast voice about how glad she was to see them. There was also something about being stuck in a giant junk pile, but Shiro wasn’t sure if he caught that fully.

Pidge tackled Keith, sending them both tumbling into the dirt. Her screech of laughter was muffled when Keith got her into a headlock, and had Shiro not been wounded he absolutely would’ve joined in.

“Okay, okay—I give!” she yelped and Keith grinned, letting her scramble to her feet. She ripped off her glasses and blew the dust from the lenses, pushing them back on and blinking. “Keith…? What have you been up to?” her eyes cut to the picked-over carcass of the alien lizard, and the cooked meat sitting near the fire.

“We’ve been here for a few days, we couldn’t find anything else to eat,” Keith shrugged easily even while Pidge blanched, “tastes gross but now we’re not hungry, though.”

“Wait—you and Shiro ate that stuff? That’s disgusting.” Keith rose his eyebrow at her.

“Would you like to try some?”

“Ew, no. You’re part coyote so I’m not that surprised but Shiro? How did you talk Shiro into eating that?”

“Well I fed it to Shiro so he didn’t exactly have a choice in the matter.” Keith’s grin suddenly widened into something mischievous, “would you like me to feed you, Pidge?”

“Absolutely not!” Pidge shrieked, scuttling away from him, “Shiro help, control your—”

Pidge looked over to Shiro for help and froze, eyes widening upon seeing the gleaming wound spreading from his side. He cursed inwardly, having completely forgotten to cover it. Her eyes cut up to his own, her joyous expression shattered into concern and fear; seeing it made him feel sick with guilt for having put it there.

“Oh, Shiro—” her voice was small as she dropped down next to him on her knees, hands fidgeting with the scanner on her gauntlet, “hold still, just let me…” her voice trailed as the scanner lit up, sweeping it up and down Shiro’s torso. Her frown deepened and her expression grew tighter; Shiro didn’t need to guess that the results weren’t good. He looked up to see Keith leaning over her shoulder, horror written on his features.

“We need to get him out of here, now—” Keith’s mouth was pressed into a thin line, his Bayard flashing into his hand, “can you contact Allura to open another wormhole?”

“Its not that simple, the Castle is still rebooting from the wormhole collapse. Black and Red were easy to find and we were close enough for a short jump with Green. It could take a few vargas before the Castle itself can wormhole here or handle three Lions coming back.” Keith’s expression grew darker the longer Pidge talked, his fingers twitching against the grip of the Bayard. He was nervous, incredibly so.

“Pidge, stay with Shiro. I’m going to go find his helmet.” Keith’s hand clapped on Pidge’s shoulder before he was off, jet pack propelling him a good few hundred meters towards the canyon. Shiro watched him go and sighed quietly. Keith was feeling helpless and needed to stay occupied. Even something as trivial as his missing helmet would work for him. Pidge watched him go too before turning back to Shiro, scooting closer to him. Shiro raised his right arm and she practically lunged for him, wrapping her arms around his torso and burrowing into his side, avoiding the wound.

“Hey, Pidge,” Shiro said softly, hiding his face in her hair and slinging his prosthetic across her back, “I’ll be okay, promise.” He felt her grip tighten, mumbling something into his armor that he didn’t catch. He brought his hand up to run through her hair, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. At that Pidge pulled away, looking up at him with watery eyes and a forcefully-annoyed expression.

“M’not a baby anymore, Shiro. Gross.” She grumbled wetly, making a show of wiping her hair. Shiro just grinned at her.

“I seem to remember a tinier you refusing to let me leave without giving you a goodbye kiss whenever I visited the house,” he teased gently, “you used to hang on to my leg so I couldn’t escape. What’d you used to call me, back then?”

Pidge sniffled and wiped at her eyes again. “… ‘kashi.” Shiro smiled and thumbed away a stray tear that had found its way down her cheek. He was about to start onto where she’d been tossed by the wormhole when a reflection in her glasses caught his eye. A shadow out of place, a whisper of movement on the top of the small cluster of boulders they were tucked against. A cold rush of adrenaline flooded through his blood on sheer gut-instinct; his body was moving before he fully recognized what it was.

The snarling jaws of a tusk-lizard snapped shut an inch from Pidge’s face as Shiro shoved her away, one of its heavy paws planting square on his shoulder and slamming him into the ground on his back. Pidge’s scream was almost drowned out by its furious roar, its claws digging into his damaged chest plate with a sickening crunch of the Altean composite. It lunged down and Shiro only just managed to get his hands on its tusks, holding its snapping maw away from his throat. Its vile, frothing saliva splattered over his armor as it howled.

A flash of green slammed into its side, the beast lurching with a scream of pain as Pidge activated her Bayard. It whipped its head around and grabbed the tether, snapping its neck and throwing her in a wide arc; when it released its grip the momentum tore the chevron from its flank, and he could hear Pidge yelp as she collided with the ground. The beast jerked its neck back, serpentine and unnaturally flexible, yanking Shiro’s hands from its tusks. He didn’t even stop to think before he activated his prosthetic and jammed it into the creature’s chest.

An unearthly scream ripped from the reptile’s maw that sent shivers down Shiro’s spine. It flew back off of him to get out of his range, instead curling its spine to send its heavy tail slamming into his prone body, spikes down. The armor shattered and he was sent skidding across the ground, limp and gasping uselessly for breath. His ribs had given with a sickening crunch; he couldn’t breathe—he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t…

The sky went dark as it crowded over him, its paw—big enough to encircle his chest—swatting down to keep him still. He couldn’t even fill his lungs enough to scream. Pidge shouted something behind him, a rock pinging off of the beast’s brow, making it snap in her direction and snarl. The claws sank in and Shiro could only think, hysterically, that he couldn’t die like this; he’d survived the arena, the witch, a hundred other fights, and a damn lizard was going to be the end—

A primal snarl—not from the beast—filled the air and the creature was knocked off of him. Glowing blue pulsed gently above him, taking the familiar shape of a shield. Blue blood dripped down onto his sullied armor from where it ran, greasy and thick, off the edge of the red Bayard. Keith. He tried to speak but the words refused to form, escaping as a wet croak and shuddering gasp. Keith’s body was taunt and when the beast turned to challenge him he didn’t hesitate, charged for it like a lion after its prey. Shiro could only watch as Keith landed on its back and drove the blade down with all of his weight, a sickening rip drowning out the creature’s howl as he sliced through muscle and bone. It bucked him off but Keith landed on his feet, leapt back and slashed at its flank.

Shiro’s vision was swimming, the pair little more than glittering swathes of color, as Keith and the lizard fought like wild things, feral and furious. There was a heavy, wet thud and the creature’s cry cut off, everything going painfully silent. Someone pressed their hands to his throat and called his name, filling his vision, a vague green and white shape above him before he felt himself slipping. Someone else was there, arms hooking under his own and lifting him up from the ground. The movement jostled his ribs and the pain was great enough to knock the air out of his lungs, send his consciousness spiraling down into the dark before he could even try to stop it.

When he woke later, in the cryo-replenisher, to Keith and Pidge—and the others—crowding him with relieved, joyful faces, he let himself exhale. Keith and Pidge caught him when his knees buckled, holding him up, one under each arm. Pidge’s cheeks were still dusty and tear-stained, and Keith’s eyes were rimmed red. He knew he should comfort them, assure them that he’d healed, but the alien anesthetic filled his brain with cotton and his mouth was moving before he’d fully registered his thought.

“Was that space lizard harder or easier to fight? Than the cougar?” He watched Keith’s expression blow past guarded concern to blatant, albeit relieved, annoyance in three seconds flat.

“Shiro’s going to be fine, if he’s up to being a smartass.”

 Pt. III
Nondescript Time
Pre-s02e07
"Space Mall"

It had taken eight days. Eight days of endless scanning to narrow down the search area to a hundred mile square area of the planet’s surface. The captured Galran commander refused to talk about there whereabouts of the compound holding Keith and the Red Lion, and the planet’s own perpetual blizzard choked their scanners with ice-borne chaff and methane snow.

“Release me or your Paladin will die. There aren’t any supplies on that base, not even water.”

Shiro’s collected diligence began to morph into frantic terror by the end of the fifth day. The base is staffed by sentries alone and your species is weak, he’s probably already dead. The statement, spoken so wickedly calm, had torn through Shiro’s hopes and belief in Keith’s ability to survive to send him crashing into fear and panic. The temperatures at the surface were cold enough to fracture steel, and if the commander was to be believed then the sentries had likely shut down all power to the base to hide from their scans. Unless the base was underground or insulated properly, Keith would have frozen to death within hours, let alone survived long afterward with no water or food or medical supplies.

In the end it didn’t matter. Shiro was going to find him regardless of the outcome. Normally he would have waited, or at least alerted Allura, that he was going to go off solo, but the scanner had beeped cheerfully well after the night cycle and most everyone else was worn and exhausted from earlier fights. Fights that Shiro couldn’t partake in, due to the newfound connection between Zarkon and the Black Lion. She had to remain behind, but an Altean pod was small enough to hopefully slip past any radar still functioning around the base.

The facility was small, nestled between two jagged peaks on the spine of a shattered mountain chain, and had he not felt the pull from the Red Lion’s distress he could have missed it. The atmosphere was toxic and cold enough to sear through his lungs easy as acid but that didn’t even slow him down, his armor screaming a half-dozen warnings as he jumped into the blinding storm and kicked down the door to the outpost. The wind howled as it poured into the building, whipping through the broken remains of two sentries like a frenzied vulture. The power was on but barely, the violet glow that haunted his nightmares barely visible through his visor.

A small alarm whistled a belated warning and slammed shut the blast doors behind him, sealing out the storm and restoring the pressurized atmosphere. Even through the armor he could feel the cold and dread settled into his gut that he was too late. His arm flickered to life, ripping through the control panel of the inner doors, shredding his way into the protected inner corridors. Keith would’ve been kept in the cells, and memories of his own tortured days as a captive threatened to raise bile into his throat.

“Keith? Keith, can you hear me?” his voice echoed, bouncing back and softening into a unrecognizable garble of sound. He couldn’t hear anything through the com-link and Keith’s armor wasn’t registering on his HUD, twisting the knife of fear in his belly. He couldn’t hear anything other than his own footsteps now, his breathing picking up as he came across more destroyed sentries. That had to be a good sign… right? Shiro shouldered open the door to the back of the compound, knowing from experience the cells would be there, worked half to a panic by the continued silence.

“Keith?”

Something metallic clattered to the floor at the end of the hall, startling him to nearly activate his arm. The discarded piece of metal rolled towards him from where it had bounced out of the innermost cell, revealing itself as an empty vial of concentrated quintessence, the kind used to power sentries like the mutilated ones littering the floor. He completely ignored his own instincts and safety to run to the cell.

“Keith!”

His eyes caught on a flash of pale skin and he cut through the door without a second thought. Keith was crumpled in the far corner of the tiny cell, surrounded by bits of metal and scraps of random fabric. It was a nest. He kicked away the scavenged body of a sentry to get to him, hand reaching out to touch his cheek. He was cold, but not the cold of a long-dead body; he was the cold of someone surviving, someone alive but barely. His skin was dry and rough against his gloves, hair brittle and straw-splayed over the black of his under-suit.

“Keith, Keith, look at me? Can you hear me?” he watched a tremor run through his body, his eyes opening to stare blankly ahead. He was curled up tightly and beyond even shivering, something that sent off alarms in Shiro’s hind brain. He was dehydrated and hypothermic, and without the armor he knew he couldn’t get him back to the shuttle. There wasn’t any water or supplies, he knew that much, but if he didn’t get fluids into Keith soon he’d—

Shiro grabbed a piece of metal, an unidentifiable part of a sentry, and slashed it across the palm of his left hand. He hissed out a breath at the pain but it was insubstantial compared to his fear. With his right hand he carefully guided Keith up into a sitting position, pulling him to his chest; he knew the armor wouldn’t be much warmer than the ground but it wouldn’t leech what little heat Keith had left like the metal would. Keith whined and squirmed, mumbling incoherently, and Shiro was terrified at how easy it was to restrain him.

“You’re okay, its just me,” Shiro said softly, running the knuckles of his prosthetic gently down Keith’s ribs, “I found you, its okay, I’m just trying to help.” When he closed his left hand over Keith’s mouth he expected the sudden jolt of panic from him, the weak kick to his knee and the feeble attempt to shove his arm away, and even though it shattered something inside of him he didn’t let go. “Please, Keith. Please…”

He felt Keith’s mouth open against his slashed palm, a small, wounded sound his only response. Shiro flexed his hand to speed up the bleeding, hoping that Keith was too delirious to question his actions. Keith’s body went rigid and Shiro winced at the first dry swipe of his tongue over the open wound, and at the second, the third, the fourth—

Keith’s hands went from trying to shove Shiro’s arm away to holding it closer, his thirst strong enough to override the fear he had just moments prior. Shiro sighed quietly into his shoulder, his prosthetic splaying out over Keith’s chest to keep him supported and upright. He focused on his arm and ignored the uncomfortable feeling of Keith lapping and suckling at the would until he could feel the familiar itch of the Galran tech siphoning his quintessence. His hand flickered to life, casting a dim violet glow across the cell, the alien composite warming quickly against Keith’s cold form.

The shudder that ran through his smaller body at first scared Shiro into thinking he’d burned him; he jerked his hand away and Keith growled into his palm, curling up tighter to pin the hand to his chest. Oh. “S’alright, Keith. I’m not going anywhere. Take what you need.” Shiro kept his voice soft, his breath causing Keith’s hair to tickle against his cheek. He only hoped that he didn’t make him sick with this; deer blood in the desert was one thing, this was quite another.

He fell into silence after, concentration split between keeping his prosthetic from burning Keith and trying to keep as much of his body as possible covered with his own. The smartest thing, he knew, was to strip out of his armor to warm him with his own body, skin to skin, but he needed the suit’s water recycler; even lowering the face-plate would let the moisture of his breath go to waste in the parched air.

An involuntary shiver ran down his spine when Keith’s teeth scraped against his wound, sharp and demanding when the flow of blood began to trickle. Something dark and primal bubbled up in the back of his mind, the frantic instinct to flee warring with his bone-deep need to protect. His body wanted to escape from the thing hurting him while his mind drove him to stubbornly grip at him tighter, flattening his palm until one of Keith’s teeth sank in, fresh blood welling up for him to eagerly lap away.

It was such an alien feeling, entirely unlike how it felt when Keith licked his wounds clean. Shiro pulled Keith back tighter against his chest, shifting his legs to better accommodate his weight. Even with the storm he knew it wouldn’t take the others long to find them; he’d left the emergency beacon on before he’d entered, and he could already feel Black reaching for him through their bond, and Red reaching towards her using him as a conduit. It made his skin prickle, feeling two lions in his head, like he was being watched and judged.

He was jolted out of his thoughts by Keith freezing against him, tongue pressed flat to his palm and hands going tight around his wrist. Shiro opened his mouth to speak but Keith was already in motion, shoving his arm away and spitting as though his blood had been poison. He wheezed out a thin cough and shuddered as if he was about to heave and Shiro squeezed him tighter, humming quietly into his ear to try and distract him.

“Shiro—wh… what—?” his voice was little more than a croak, fine tremors that quickly grew into violent shakes overtaking his body as he twisted frantically to face him. His eyes were wild and terrified, mouth and cheeks smeared rust-red with dried blood. He looked impossibly small in that moment and Shiro had to swallow around the lump in his throat.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispered, sliding his injured hand to rest at the back of Keith’s neck, “… I’m okay,” he added, realizing that was what he was really asking. Keith’s eyes were glazed still but marginally clearer; his throat worked around the shape of words and his breath whistled out through his nose in irritation when he couldn’t speak. “The desert—remember when you found me? You said you drank deer blood when you ran out of water and I—I couldn’t think of anything else.” The pouches he’d brought from the castle had swelled and burst, the cabin of the shuttle having been too utilitarian to adjust to the wild pressure changes that fed the storms in the planet’s upper atmosphere. Keith’s shoulders slumped and he fell forward, melting into Shiro’s chest with a shaky sigh.

“… thanks,” he mumbled into Shiro’s neck as he pressed himself close, as if suddenly realizing he was still cold and Shiro was right there and very, very warm. Shiro wrapped his arms around him, letting his prosthetic activate against his back to feed him warmth. He cradled him there for hours, watching the time pass and the recycler's reservoir fill tick by tick. Keith had slipped into sleep but he was slowly beginning to warm, the faintest hint of color returning to his skin. He toed an empty canister by his foot, setting it rattling off across the floor. All of the quintessence was gone, and Shiro realized that Keith must have used it to keep himself alive. Under pressure, he would've only gotten a fraction of it before it vaporized and dissipated into the air, but he'd managed to ration it enough to keep from freezing to death.

Shiro didn't let himself sleep, not knowing if there were more sentries in the base and afraid that Keith's condition could deteriorate if he let himself drift off. Instead, he struggled to think of a way to broach the subject of sharing the little water his suit had collected with Keith. They'd done it before, but Keith had initiated it and this would involve significantly more contact.

Keith began to stir before he could think of anything. He inhaled sharply and decided to just get it over with.

“I know that objectively this isn’t as gross as letting you drink my blood, but its still gross and—” Keith huffed out a sleepy, long-suffering sigh and Shiro dropped his nervous chatter, “—there isn’t much, but there’s water in my suit’s recycler.” He waited for the words to register and for Keith to piece together what he was insinuating, and he was able to tell the moment he did for Keith’s hand flexed against his side in nervous habit.

“You would…” he trailed, looking up at him with an expression somewhere between awe and something Shiro couldn’t place, “… okay. Okay, we—okay.” Color dusted his cheeks and Shiro smiled sympathetically, gentle. He activated the subsystem and cool water filled his mouth; it wasn’t nearly what Keith needed, but he hoped it would tide him over until the team came for them.

Keith looked away when the face-plate glittered away into light, refused to meet Shiro’s eyes when his bloody hand cupped his cheek. Shiro waited until Keith sighed and turned to him, eyes closed and jaw slack. He let his thumb brush down the side of his face in assurance before he leaned forward and brought their lips together. Keith’s mouth parted and he let the water pass between them, only pulling back once he felt Keith swallow and breathe against him, shy.

"Feel better?"

"Y-yeah," Keith exhaled, barely loud enough for Shiro to hear, rubbing at his mouth with the back of his hand. Dried blood flaked from his skin, sticking to his under-suit like snowflakes. "Thank you." Shiro smiled, replied by scratching at his scalp, letting Keith snake his arms up and around his neck to pull himself closer. He'd do it a hundred times more, let Keith drain him dry if it would help. He knew Keith would do the same for him, had done the same for him. It felt like a lifetime ago that they'd been stranded on that barren moon, with only Keith's stubborn refusal to give up keeping Shiro alive; it felt familiar in a strange, inverted sort of way. Now he was the one providing for Keith. It made something warm spark in his chest, fond and gentle, and something else entirely, a little bubble of exhaled breath that almost passed as a snort.

“Could be worse, could be chewed up lizard meat.” He couldn’t help the grin that formed when he heard Keith groan, felt his head thud dramatically against his shoulder, or the laughter when his hand came up to shove his face away.