Keith's nightmare is similar to most nightmares he has dreamt in the past. It's theme is based on loneliness and pointlessness. Hopelessness surrounds him in the dream.

The first thing he can remember is being in his red paladin armor. The familiar undersuit tight against his sensitive skin, the weight of the armor on top. It was comforting and not at all restrictive. It did nothing to comfort him when he opened his eyes. In front of him, he had no idea where to look. He was free-floating, legs and arms extended in the gravity-less space.

The darkness felt suffocating despite the blinding light of the too-close sun. And it was hot. It was way too hot. The sticky, slick sweat had nowhere to go under his armor. It only made him more anxious. He rapidly looked around, pieces of rock and scrap metal, from what he couldn't see, floated through the space. A terrible thing must've happened here.

After what seemed like an eternity of floating, a shout tore through his intercom. It was so loud and painful, Keith wanted to rip the helmet off his head from the scare. From a ship, the sight might be been peaceful, the sun glowing almost orange, reflecting off of every single surface in sight.

Keith, however, only felt dread.

The scream was unmistakably Shiro's, followed by sounds of the team shouting for him. Cold, uneasy chills shook his spine. He wanted to throw up. The sound was something he never wanted to hear again. Keith could feel his chest heavily faster and faster, his vision blurring as he looked around for the team. He was still stranded, floating.

Something tugged at his brain, a want, no a need to let himself float away into Oblivion. Some part of him believed he wouldn't be missed. The screams of his friends shook another tremor threw his bones. With rapid breaths and a lack of oxygen, he activated his suit's thrusters.

For a moment, he felt like he was moving, but when he looked at the debris around him, he hadn't moved at all. He cried out, wanting to swear but incapable of making any words at all. He wanted to respond to his friends. He clenched his jaw so tightly he felt it would crack. With the sun now behind him, it dawned on him that the heat must have rendered his thrusters useless.

This time, when he shouted, the agony in his voice was unmistakably a cry of loss. He didn't want to give up, but he felt stupid. How could he let himself end up here? Where was red? Why did he abandon the others when they needed help? He repeatedly tried to engage the thrusters, anger coursing through him until he felt like he was on fire.

Maybe he was. Maybe the sun had already swallowed him whole and all of this was just an illusion. Maybe he was already dead. He felt cold tears drip from his eyes and a drop of saliva on the corner of his lips.

And then he was falling.

. . . * . . .

Keith awoke with a panic, his hands suddenly coming down to grip the blue, thin sheets of his bed. Sweat drenched his back, his shirt sticking uncomfortably to his skin. For a moment, he could still feel the armor. He was still blinded by the light and unable to breath from the panic in his chest. He trembled violently, hands rushing back up to shake through his dark raven hair. Tangles caught his fingers on their way down the back of his head, so his hands remained where they were.

His breathing sounded abnormal and even frightened himself. It took him a full three minutes until he could actually see his room. It was dark, but the familiar emptiness almost had the ability to calm him for once. The floor was barren, but clean. It was almost surreal, looking around.

It all felt wrong. The walls looked too tall, too close and the wrong color. The red jacket hanging on the door no longer felt like his, but a strangers. His hands finally let go of his hair, aching and he realized how tightly he had been holding on. His scalp burned along with the remaining fear in his chest. He looked back down at the shape of his legs under the covers. The muscle was clear, but the outline still looked wrong.

He felt sick when the guilt hit him. He choked out a whine, his bare, pale arms wrapping around his stomach as he curled in on himself. Keith didn't breathe for a few seconds until he took in a shuddering breath. He felt disgusting and worthless. The dream might not have been real, but he should have been there for them. He felt... Useless to the team.

Something about the hazy dream convinced him he was in the wrong place. He thought of Shiro, the great leader. Hunk, the lovable boy who always cheered everyone up. Pidge, the genius and mind. Lance, the soul and…

He cried silently. It felt like something was gripping his heart and lungs, choking him until he faded back into the dream world. Keith rocked quietly, shaking for a time he couldn't name.

They didn't need him here, he didn't contribute anything but anger and put people's lives in danger when he messed up. He had to be better. He had to be better in order to save them. Still trembling, he slowly pulled back the blanket and stood up. He felt faint, as if he had a fever. His vision wasn't well focused either, but he stumbled to the door anyway.

He hesitated at the handle, a sense of loneliness again coming over him just like the beginning of the dream. He let out another unsteady breath and opened the door carefully.

Keith peered into the hallway. The castle was really creepy at night. Well, in space there was never a night or day, but the feeling of knowing everyone was asleep made him feel uneasy. It was easier this way, and made him feel more comfortable walking around. He always felt unwelcome with the others.

With no one in sight, he stepped into the hallway. He walked as if he was on autopilot and took the same direction towards the same place as he does every single day. He was walking towards the training room. The only place that accepted him and challenged him in a way that did not hurt anyone. It was nothing but him and the sound of his feet walking down the empty hallway.

A frightening feeling edged it's way into his mind and he walked a little faster. He had to get there. Keith felt as if someone or something was watching him. The training room was where he felt safe because he knew he was doing a good thing. He was becoming a better person there. He almost walked right past the room in his daze, but the big doors seemed to calm his insecurities. It was just another night like any other.

. . . * . . .

If Lance was entirely honest with himself about what his recurring dreams were about, then he'd break. That was the last thing anyone wanted. The last thing anyone needed. They had enough to deal with asthe fricking protectorsof thewhole fricking galaxy-no one had time to deal with an impatient, assholish Cuban teenager and his insecurities. Or at least, that was what he kept telling himself. He didn't matter in the whole scheme of things. He was just... A little... Insignificant... Speck.

Hell, people would probably try to tell him that he was a part of the Legendary Defender Voltron- but was he really? What did he provide for the team except for problems they had to fix? He was dumb enough that he had let agirlmess with his heart andstealhis lion. And then he couldn't even escape to go get it back himself. The others had to get it. Because Nyma had chained him to a tree. Because... he was just plain stupid.

Lance liked to say things to attempt to make himself feel a little more important, but it was always shut down as swiftly as it was put up. A cool ninja sharpshooter? Nope, a silly, soft-hearted goofball. Okay, that was great and everything, buthow does that help defeat Zarkon and reclaim thefucking galaxy from a horrible destruction? It didn't. That was the point. If Lance was truly what people told him, he did absolutely nothing for the good of the universe.

And that was what he would say his dream was about. If anyone asked. Which no one did. He'd say,"I dreamt I was entirely useless,"and someone would just laugh and say, "Well, you're not dreaming, Lance. It's true."

And Lance would just smile because they probably meant it as a "tease" or a "joke" and they'd never know exactly how much he believed it because he was supposed to be the silly soft-hearted goofball they told him he was.

And hell yeah, it hurt, but nobody would know because they shouldn't have yet another problem of Lance's to solve. So he'd proceed to the training room late in the middle of the night, when no one would know, and fight the Guardian. Coran had always told him to avoid fighting it without someone watching, just in case he got seriously hurt- but he didn't care. At least he'd be feeling something else.

So that was what Lance was doing that night. He was aiming his bayard at the fierce robot, who he had set to some ridiculous level. He had been able to beat it all the way up to that level- not that he bragged about it to anyone, because then they'd be confused as to when Lance was up and doing it. His breath was heavy and he had a slash across his cheek. It'd probably be hard to hide, but Lance was decently skilled with concealing things, so he'd manage.

But then the training room's doors slid open and he froze in place for only a moment. A moment of thinking,Ah shit ass fuck-and then sprinting to the nearby Guardian shut down button, which he slammed with a slightly trembling hand. His forehead was slick with sweat, little spikes of his mahogany hair sticking to his skin and making him feel even warmer than he was.

Keith could have dove through the doors as they slid open. The familiarity of the tall, white walls and reflective floor was the closest place to home that he knew. His chest felt like it was collapsing into himself as he stuck a hand out on the wall neighboring the automatic doors. He heaved, the sick feeling still clinging to his stomach. He stared down at his own bare feet. They looked so out of place on the pristine floor. Something in his head made him want to tear his hair out, it hurt so damn much.

With another soft, choked cry, he slammed his other hand into the wall. His knuckles burned and stung from the impact, but something about it appealed to the pain in his chest. Something sickly. An angered groan forced itself from his mouth. The overwhelming fear from before was starting to anger him.God, why was he so fucking useless?!He closed his aching eyes and let his head drop onto his arms. He wanted to go home, but he didn't know where his home was.

Lance was staring on in pure disbelief.What was Keith doing here? He understood that Keith was a little insane when it came to combat, yeah, but wouldn't it be clear to him he didn't have to come in here this late at night because he was already good? He glanced nervously over a shoulder at least until he heard Keith make a sort of broken sound, and suddenly all of Lance's motivation for being in this training room was focused on something else entirely.

He started to walk closer in worried silence, licking his lips nervously before gently reaching out to put a soft, slender hand on the red paladin's shoulder. "Keith… Are you-?"

Keith violently turned over his shoulder. He launched himself away so quickly he stumbled on his feet, falling flat with his hands ready to catch his fall. Everything happened so quickly, it was hard to see him turn back to face Lance until he was searching by his side for his Bayard. He swore loudly when his weapon didn't appear. In his dazed state, he forgot to bring any weapon to actually train with.

His eyes were full of fear. The kind of fear you would see in one's eyes before they disappeared from the living. He frantically looked around, searching the figure in front of him without actually looking. To him, Lance was a stranger. He didn't see the friendly face he normally saw, but he saw death. He could feel the tears forming in his eyes. It felt like he was being ripped open from the panic. His pupils were dilated and uncoordinated. He whined and held up his arms, covering his face with his forearms.

Lance immediately knelt, putting himself on Keith's level and his hands in the air. "Ohjeez-Keith hey it's okay you're alright, I'm not gonna hurt you. Hey, hey." He didn't touch him. He had been around people that had panic attacks before, and knew that the last thing he should do is touch them without their permission. He probably shouldn't have in the first place- but he didn't know what was going on with Keith in that moment. Guilt crawled up in his throat but he shoved it away. He couldn't deal with that right now. Keith needed him.

"It's okay. Look at me, Keith. It's just me. You're alright," he murmured softly, putting his hands on the floor as he settled a little bit, blue eyes as gentle as could be in this moment. "You're safe."

Keith slowly moved his arms at the sound of Lance's voice. His teary eyes looked lost, but found their way to meet the other paladin's. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion, observing Lance's outfit and concerned expression. "L-Lance? Lance why are you here? What's…"

His head jerked to the side, taking in his surroundings with a clearer mind. He didn't remember coming into the training room.God, his head hurts.He groaned and rubbed his head with a gloveless hand. His hair felt gross under his palm, tangled and drenched in sweat. He suddenly felt guilt and embarrassment. Nightmares were a common occurrence, so he regularly went to the training room at night. He wasn't sure why Lance was here this time, but he didn't want the paladin to see him in this state. He didn't want the others to see him as weak when he already knew how little he actually helped Voltron's cause. He shuddered. "I'm sorry." He spat out, voice quiet.

"Don't worry about it. I uh, was just uh, working out a little. Couldn't sleep." The blue paladin swept a hand in a dismissive gesture before moving a little closer. "Are you okay? What's up?" he asked, his expression softer than Keith had possibly ever seen. His dark brows furrowed as he took in the sight of Keith-reallytook in the sight of Keith- his messy hair and the way his deep violet eyes looked genuinely worried him. He had always viewed him as strong and up for any challenge, and to see him like this- well, it hurt Lance's heart.

Keith wanted to yell at him, to shout at him to go away. He wanted to scream at him that he was fine, that nothing was ever wrong with him. He knew he couldn't when he saw the emotion swirling in Lance's eyes.

Somehow, the tension in him released and he fell back against the wall. He suddenly felt weak and sluggish. His eyes fluttered tiredly. "I don't know." He muttered. His gloveless hands scratches against the flat, beautiful floor underneath him. He couldn't bring himself to look back up at Lance.

Lance's blue eyes grew a little sadder, a little gentler. He reached a tan hand out hesitantly, pausing for a moment before asking, "Why don't you come with me for a sec? We'll get you something to drink… maybe something to eat. And you can tell me what's going on in your own time. Okay?" He gave a reassuring smile, or the best one that he could, given the circumstances. "We'll figure it out together."