Shiro had yet to speak a single word since falling unconscious after Allura's resurrection. His eyes had fluttered open and he'd given them a reassuring whisper-just enough to show his spirit was back.
Keith wanted to be relieved, but ugly fingers of worry were still clawing into his subconscious. Something didn't feel right. He'd forced himself to smile and urge his friend and brother to rest. He wanted Shiro to know he could trust them to protect him. He didn't have to stay awake and fight any longer.
Keith turned in the cockpit and stared at the still limp figure tucked away on the bedding pallet Krolia had fashioned in the back of Black. Several blankets encased him snuggly, trapping his arms and legs securely inside the cocoon.
It seemed far too warm inside Black for so many blankets, but Keith still had the unnerving memories of Shiro's shivering body firmly rooted in his brain. He'd been trembling to violently when they'd carried him inside. Keith was more than willing to pile as many blankets on him as possible if it meant Shiro didn't feel like he was freezing to death. Briefly, Keith had considered whether the unnatural coldness was a side-effect of the astral plan. He'd felt the same soul-stealing chill of the empty void; he hadn't been trapped with it like Shiro had, though. That degree of freezing wasn't something that just went away.
"You should rest. You've been flying for nearly a full cycle."
The gentle voice was still firm enough to leave no room for discussion or argument. Krolia was offering him a familiar warning smile—a common enough sight now. Wordlessly, he rose from the pilot chair and watched his mother fluidly sink down and take his place, her hands already solid and confident on the controls.
"Rest. You will not be strong enough to care for him if you don't."
"I... it won't be me. Ryner and Ulaz will be there."
Krolia turned just enough that the full-force of her glare was still partially hidden. Keith was thankful for the small mercy.
"You may not be the one providing medical intervention, but you will be caring for him in some degree. He will not stand for anyone else."
Krolia turned back and left Keith with her grim prophecy. He had no response so he turned, instead, and began searching for a spare blanket and pillow.
Krolia was humming softly when he finally settled his makeshift bed beside Shiro's pallet and laid down. Keith allowed himself the pleasure of the familiar lullaby he heard his mother offer. She'd started humming to him that first night they'd spent stranded aboard the cosmic whale or whatever the creature really was. Neither verbally acknowledged the nightly tradition, but Keith knew his mother loved the comforting hums just as much as he did.
He stared over at Shiro's blank face, his skin still unnatural pale as if all of his blood had been drained. The only thing whiter was his hair. Shiro had been leeched of all color. It was fitting, Keith thought humorlessly. Ghosts are white.
"Keith, I can hear your fretting. Settle Kit."
Keith let his eyes fall shut, but not before reaching out and letting his fingers idle in the delicate hallow beneath Shiro's jaw. He kept them there until he felt the soft, steady tapping of life beneath the skin. He suspected he'd never be able to stop reassuring himself that Shiro was actually alive. Not when his existence felt so fragile.
Dark.
Cold.
Quiet.
Soft.
His fingers twitched against the coolness of the material beneath him. He listened to the steady thrumming surrounding him.
Growling. Danger. Monster. He was inside a monster's belly.
He tried to shift away from the throbbing tension radiating from deep within his back, but the softness kept him trapped, his arms useless at his sides.
He fought. He always had to fight.
The prison around him wouldn't give way.
He yelled, his voice too dry and scratching to make much sound. He wanted help.
If help was there. There had been no one for so long. Why should this time be any different?
A voice rose above the monster's growling, cracking with fear. The words didn't make sense. They hit his ears in a jumble of letters he was too exhausted to untangle.
"Sh'ro..."
He recognized that one, he thought.
"G...n... e...'kay! 'alm...n."
Shiro's eyes were open but the darkness was too thick to see through. He thrashed in the grip of the softness around him and prayed the voice would find a way to save him.
"Sh'ro!"
He knew The Voice.
"Why won't he calm down?"
Keith watched Shiro thrash and squirm, desperate to free himself from whatever prison he felt trapped in. It was like watching a monster shake him like a broken toy. Keith wanted to grab him, hold him. Do something to reassure him that he wasn't alone anymore and that he was safe. He couldn't though. He felt frozen, a spectator with no other choice but to watch.
"Keith, watch his head," Krolia called. She abandoned the pilot seat and knelt beside her son to watch. Silently, she removed the pillow from beneath Shiro's head and placed it against Black's wall to prevent a skull-jarring collision. Shiro squirmed harder when he felt her touch. He cried out, a visceral, broken sob that churned Keith's savagely.
"Shiro! It's going to be okay! Calm down."
Shiro didn't seem to hear Keith's voice. If he did, than Keith's reassurances must not have matter much.
"Shiro!" Keith repeated, ignoring the threatening crackle of his voice.
Krolia's hand rested hotly on Keith's shoulder.
It felt like hours, but it was probably only minutes. Shiro's desperate fighting slowly waned, probably more out of exhaustion than anything else. His body sagged limply against the pallet, his chest heaving and his moans wet. It was only when his body finally went completely still did Keith allow himself to release the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"Nightmare?" he wondered aloud.
"Death terror," Krolia answered. "I've seen it in Blades who've come close to death but returned. The fear never truly leaves them. They relive their death."
"How are we supposed to help him?" Keith choked.
"We remind him that he is still alive."