The nightmares start the second Keith closed his eyes for the first time since his fight with Shiro.
And Keith knows they're bad, because he wakes up all shaky and out of breath, and he can feel the fangs in his mouth, and he can see those unfamiliar yellow eyes staring back at him in his reflection, his pupils dilated and narrowed into slits. Then by the time he manages to calm himself down, even the thought of closing his eyes again is enough to send him back into a panic.
He's barely getting any sleep.
He doesn't want to tell anyone about it, mostly because he knows they would just worry. The team already has enough to deal with anyway, now that the Castle of Lions is gone, destroyed in their final desperate act to save the universe from the aftermath of their battle against Lotor. They have a long journey ahead of them, and Shiro is still resting, healing—Shiro.
The mere sight of him sends a gut-wrenching jolt of guilt through Keith's nerves. He hates himself for the way he flinches now at Shiro's slightest movement, the way he finds himself avoiding one-on-one contact, the way he can't even bring himself to look into his older brother's eyes anymore. He's too afraid of what he'll see. Pain? Hurt? Disappointment? Keith tries to tell himself that his reactions are natural. It'll take time for them to pass, and things will return to normal eventually.
But will they?
Sometimes, Keith thinks, he would rather not know the answer to that question. He just feels so guilty... it's not Shiro's fault. He knows that. He knows the thing that attacked him in that cloning facility, the thing that had beat him into the ground with his fists and venomous words, the thing that was responsible for the raw, itching scar now burned into the flesh of Keith's cheek—that thing was not Shiro. That thing was not his older brother. Keith knows that.
But his brain doesn't seem to take that knowledge into account every night, when the light has faded and he's alone with his thoughts. Nightmares don't follow the rules of reality.
Keith knows that if Shiro had any idea that their fight was the reason Keith can't sleep at night, the reason that he jumps at the smallest noise or slightest touch, the reason that he's barely eating anything because he's not sure he'll be able to keep it down—no, Shiro can't know. He'd only blame himself.
The team manages to get the lions to Olkarion in one piece with the intention of resting for a few days before setting a course for Earth. After waking the first night in a cold sweat, Keith decides that he doesn't even want to try to sleep anymore. The nightmares only make the memories more vivid, more painful. During the next few days, Keith spends most of his time busying himself with anything the Olkari will task him with. It helps him forget how tired he is, and gives him something other to do than worry about the imminent threat of Sendak's Galra fleet and Haggar's undiscovered plans and the inevitable obstacles on their trip home and the concerned glances shared between the other team members when they think he isn't looking.
It's probably obvious that he's not getting enough sleep, Keith figures. His interactions with the others are short, insignificant, not one of them initiated of his own accord. He responds to their questions with brief, often one-word answers, generally avoiding eye contact and snapping when the encounter starts to drag on for too long.
Every night, once everyone has settled into their rooms to sleep, Keith sneaks out of his room and sits outside under the stars, making up constellations and imagining everything he wants to do when they reach Earth to pass the time. It's better than cowering in the darkness of his room, wishing for rest that will never come.
Keith lies on his back, one arm behind his head, and traces an invisible line through the sky with his finger. There seemed to be more stars out tonight than usual, as if the universe were trying to compensate for the lack of light in Keith's aching heart. He drops his head to his stomach with a sigh and closes his eyes, thinking of home. He was going to pig out on all the fast-food he wanted when they got back. He could try to teach Kosmo a few tricks. Maybe he and Krolia would visit his dad's grave together. Maybe—
He's so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn't hear the quiet footsteps approaching from behind.
"Keith?"
Keith almost jumps an entire foot off the ground, slapping a hand to his mouth in an attempt to stifle the involuntary shriek in his throat. He turns quickly, looking up with a mix of embarrassment and annoyance, but that quickly fades when he sees who it is. "Lance?"
Lance blinks down at him, his blue eyes wide. "Sorry man, I didn't mean to scare you."
"You didn't scare me," Keith grumbles, tugging his jacket tighter around his shoulders defensively. "What are you doing out here?"
Lance hesitates, wrapping his arms around himself for comfort. "I couldn't sleep." He fixes his gaze decidedly on a point in the distance, and Keith frowns.
All their time together in space, what with fighting aliens and defending the universe and all, had made it that much easier for Keith to pick up on the telltale signs that something was bothering Lance. He gets this perpetual crease in his brow, his jaw sets, and his overall posture becomes uncharacteristically closed off. The opposite of the everything Keith knows him to be. All of this currently applies to Lance.
Keith scoots over to make room for Lance on the ledge he's sitting on, rolling his eyes at Lance's look of surprise. "If you're gonna be out here, at least sit down. You're making me nervous."
A grin starts to creep across Lance's face. "I make you nervous, huh?" Keith starts to move back. "Hey, wait, okay, okay! Jeez, so sensitive."
Keith watches out of the corner of his eye as Lance slowly sits down about an arm's length away and gets settled, resting his chin on his knees and tucking them into his chest. His teasing, joking demeanor has already disappeared, replaced by a ruminating expression. Already his gaze is distant, faraway, not quite focused on anything. Keith leans back on his hands and focuses on a particularly bright star just at the edge of the horizon, unable to stop frowning.
He doesn't like this version of Lance. Keith is supposed to be the silent, brooding type—not Lance. Lance is supposed to be the cheery, happy-go-lucky one out of the group, cracking jokes at inappropriate times and annoying everyone with his constant finger guns and dramatic poses. And in a way, Keith had been counting on that to keep him sane. He needs something familiar, something to remind him that not everything in his world has been turned upside-down and inside-out.
Lance takes a deep breath, jerking Keith out of his thoughts. "I've been meaning to talk to you, actually."
Oh. A sudden burst of anger pulses through Keith's body. Figures. Nothing's wrong at all. He's just about to become the victim of the classic 'we're worried about you, we're here for you, everything's going to be okay' speech. Lance is just the messenger, sent by the rest of the team who's been undoubtedly talking about him when he isn't around.
"I just..."
Keith closes his eyes and sighs through his nose. Here it comes.
"I wanted to say that I'm sorry."
Keith's eyes snap open at the tremor in Lance's voice and his head whips around to face him. This isn't what he was expecting. "Sorry for what?" It comes out harsher than he means for it to, and Lance winces.
"That I couldn't—that I didn't help Shiro. That I wasn't able to—" he squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head miserably. "He tried to talk to me. You weren't here, but we were fighting this monster, and Allura did some of her Altean magic mumbo-jumbo, and we were all in the astral plane. Shiro was trying to tell me something, but I didn't—I couldn't hear him, and—" Tears fill his eyes and he drops his head to his knees, taking a shaky breath. His next words came out muffled. "I feel like everything that happened was my fault."
All Keith can do is stare at him."What are you talking about?"
"I know how close you are to Shiro," Lance says quietly, staring down at his shoes and clicking his toes together. He wipes his eyes with his jacket sleeve and sniffs. "I just wonder if I had tried harder, then, I don't know. Maybe I could've done something. I could've warned everyone—"
"Lance..." Keith's brain catches up to the conversation and he finds himself shaking his head. Does Lance really think that this entire ordeal was his fault? How long has he been carrying this around, beating himself up over missing something he never could have seen coming? Something that no one had seen coming? And to think that all the while Keith's been wallowing in self-pity, isolating himself from the team and getting stuck in his own head because he doesn't want to face his problems.
"And I never should have trusted Lotor. I never should have—"
"Lance." Keith interrupts him, speaking firmly. "No. Don't do this to yourself."
"The entire universe was almost destroyed because I let Shiro down!" Lance bursts. Keith stares at him in a stunned silence, his eyes wide. The quiet is somehow louder than anything else he's ever heard, the words ringing in his ears like they carried the weight of the world. Lance blinks, as if he's just as surprised as Keith is, then drops his gaze. "I let the whole team down," he whispers, and it's so broken, so defeated, so empty and yet so full of pain that Keith's heart clenches.
He hates listening to Lance talk like this. It's not fair. It's not even true. Of all the stupid, idiotic things that Lance has ever said (which, in Keith's completely objective and unbiased opinion, is a lot), this has to be at the top of the list. The thought makes Keith laugh, earning him an incredulous look from Lance. "Don't give yourself so much credit."
"Wha—you—what do you—"
"Like you, of all people, could single-handedly destroy the universe."
Lance can't seem to decide if he should be offended or relieved. "That's not even what I—"
"Stop. It wasn't your fault. No, listen to me, Lance. You didn't know. None of us did. You can't blame yourself." Lance opens his mouth to argue and Keith sighs. "Okay, you can, but you shouldn't."
"Yeah? Give me one good reason," Lance mumbles, plopping his chin back onto his knees and staring out into the dark. Keith realizes that he's not expecting an answer, because he's convinced that there isn't one. Fine. He'll add this to the list of times he's proved Lance wrong. He closes the gap between them and puts a hand on Lance's shoulder, who looks back up in surprise.
"I'll give you more than just one. You've never let us down. Any of us. If anything, you're the one who's been holding us up all this time. You're the glue that keeps this team together." Lance peers up uncertainly, his eyes narrowed but curious. "Think about it. There wouldn't even be a team if it weren't for you. The day that we found the Blue Lion—it chose you, Lance. You were always meant to be a paladin. And whether or not you realize it, this team depends on you. You're always the one to keep a level head when things get heated. Not to mention the one to keep us going when we're ready to give up. And I know I haven't been the greatest leader, but..." Keith hesitates, forcing Lance to meet his gaze. "You've always stuck by my side, even when I didn't deserve it. You're my right hand. I need you."
Lance stares at him with wide eyes. Keith can't help but notice how blue his eyes are, even in the dark, reflecting the light of every single star in the sky above them. "Jeez, mullet. I didn't realize you were such a softie."
That snaps Keith out of his sudden daze. "I'm not!" he scowls, withdrawing his hand and crossing his arms as Lance giggles.
"You definitely are."
"Shut up." But the corners of Keith's mouth are twitching up into a smile, because now Lance is genuinely laughing. Part of him revels in the fact that he was the one to brighten Lance's mood.
When he brings himself back under control, Lance bumps his shoulder against Keith's, smiling softly. "Thanks, Keith."
"Yeah, don't mention it," Keith mumbles.
The two of them sit for another moment in silence, side-by-side, staring up at the vast expanse of stars above them. Keith enjoys the company. He feels accomplished somehow, like if there's one thing he has learned from his two years on a space whale with his mom and a cosmic wolf, it's how to encourage Lance, the way he hadn't been able to when Lance had come into his room all that time ago, worried that there wasn't a place for him on the team. He wishes he could go back to that day and have a do-over, so he could tell Lance all the things about him that made him important, now that he had the words to say it.
Lance gives Keith a sidelong glance. "You never told me what you were doing out here so late."
"You never asked," Keith replies, digging his fingers into his arms. His own response catches him off guard, because for the briefest moment he doesn't even remember why he's outside, and why his immediate reaction to Lance's question was to be so defensive. Lance blinks at him, and then he suddenly remembers everything he's been worrying about for the past week. Sleep. Shiro. Nightmares. He sighs, forcing himself to relax but avoiding eye contact. "Sorry, I don't mean to snap. I just, haven't been sleeping well lately. I guess. There's been a lot on my mind."
Lance frowns in concern and Keith tries not to squirm under his gaze. For a terrifying moment, he's afraid that Lance is going to pry, and he really doesn't trust himself to hold out against those blue eyes. But then he just nods and looks back up at the sky, as if he'd heard Keith's thoughts. "Yeah. I think we've all been pretty restless lately." He pauses, then adds softly, "I just can't wait to get home."
Well, Keith thinks weakly, studying the scuffed-up toe of his left boot, I just hope we make it home.
A cool gust of wind blows across the ledge, ruffling the boys' hair, and Keith wonders vaguely if that was the universe's way of offering some kind of comfort. Either that, or a bad omen. Lance shivers beside him, his arm brushing slightly against Keith's before he gets to his feet. Keith decides on the latter.
"I think I'm gonna head in for the night. You coming?"
Keith hesitates, dropping his eyes to Lance's shoes. The idea of even trying to go to sleep gives him a sick, uneasy feeling in his stomach. He isn't sure he has the courage to try—he can hardly close his eyes without seeing Shiro's glowing eyes, rows upon rows of his brother's clones, a pink beam of energy slicing through the darkness, destroying anything and everything in its path... he feels a shiver go up his spine, suddenly thankful for the sudden chill in the air to blame it on. Nope. He'll probably stay out here for a while longer.
Part of him wants to beg Lance to stay. Now that he's here, Keith doesn't want him to leave. He appreciates the other boy's company more than he'd like to admit—he always has. He just feels more comfortable when he's around Lance. More relaxed, not so uptight. More like himself. And he's never been one to push Keith to open up when he clearly isn't ready like the others sometimes do, good intentions or not.
Maybe, he should tell Lance about the nightmares. About everything. Keith knows he'll listen.
Lance shivers again and Keith's resolve crumbles. "Uh, you go ahead. I'm right behind you."
"Okay." Keith turns away, wondering if he's only imagining the reluctance in Lance's voice. "Night, Keith." He inhales through his nose as he listens to Lance's receding footsteps. They sound more and more like a missed opportunity with every step.
Keith is alone again, but this time is different. Now he feels it, like a gaping hole in his chest that he didn't know was there until there had been someone to fill it. Now it was just back to an empty cavity in his heart. And it hurt. It hurt so bad.
He hangs his head back and lets out a low growl of frustration. How long can he keep up like this, anyway? He can't stay awake forever. He can't avoid Shiro forever, either. And he certainly can't lead the team in this condition, especially not in battle, when he runs the risk of being overcome by fatigue and collapsing on the spot. Just thinking about it sends a wave of exhaustion flooding over him. His entire body is screaming in protest, his eyes aching from the lack of rest. If it weren't for the constant, nagging thought of the recurring nightmares, he'd fall asleep right now.
It's the fear that keeps him awake. The fear of reliving what was, undoubtedly, the worst fight of his life, of having to listen over and over to the one person who's ever told him otherwise, that he's broken. Worthless. Meaningless. Undeserving of the team, of the people he's grown to call his family. Even worse, the fear of those words actually being true.
Keith's eyelids flutter closed as another breeze drifts across the ledge. If he would just... talk to Shiro. Maybe that's all it would take to dispel the nightmares, to put his mind at rest. But at what cost to Shiro? That's what Keith keeps coming back to. If he has to endure another few weeks, months, years of nightmares to spare Shiro's conscience, fine. He's already been through enough as it is.
Then again, if he dies from lack of sleep he won't exactly be doing Shiro any favors. Keith groans, dropping his head into his hands. Okay. He has to try to sleep.
A thought tickles the back of his brain, like a whisper lost in the breeze. Maybe you'd sleep better if you weren't alone. He peeks through the cracks in his fingers and stares at the ground, hard. "Screw it," he murmurs.
Keith scrambles to his feet and follows Lance inside before he can change his mind.
Lance flops down on his bed with a sigh, curling his fingers into the soft sheets. Ryner had really gone above and beyond with these rooms. The beds are huge, with silky smooth sheets and squishy pillows and the kind of mattress that seems to envelop your body while you sleep to make you more comfortable. He makes a mental note to thank her later.
His conversation with Keith is fresh in his mind. There wouldn't even be a team if it weren't for you. He can't believe that Keith Kogane, the cool half-Galra alien hybrid pilot black paladin of Voltron, had just told him, Lance McClain, a simple boy from Cuba, that Team Voltron would not even exist were it not for him. High praise, he thinks.
When he'd walked outside and seen Keith sitting there, he was sure that the universe was taunting him. He'd been putting off talking to Keith about Shiro for as long as he could, letting the guilt inside him fester and boil until he thought he was going to burst from the pressure. And yet, in the moment he decided that if he didn't say anything now, he never would. He would have lost his nerve again if it hadn't been for Keith making room for him to sit down, as if he had known all along that the conversation was coming.
Lance's eyes drift closed. He should feel better. He does feel better. Mostly. He just can't seem to get Keith's face out of his head, the way that he'd reacted when asked such a simple, innocent question, the far-off look in his eye when he said he just had 'a lot on his mind.' Seems like a cop-out answer. Sure, Keith has always been relatively defensive, and pretty closed-off, at times. But Lance knows for a fact that he's not the only person who's noticed how isolated Keith has been lately. Not to mention the bags under his eyes that have only become darker as time has passed, the empty, robotic tone of his voice the few times that he speaks, the frequent unfocused gaze into nothing that Lance catches more times than he can count.
I should've said something, Lance thinks a bit guiltily. He listened to me. I would listen to him if he'd let me.
He's just starting to give in to sleep, his body heavy with exhaustion, when there's a sharp knock on the door. His eyes snap open and he turns his head sharply to the door, listening. He's about to decide that he'd only dreamed the noise when he hears shuffling noises outside. Is there seriously someone outside his door in the middle of the night—wait, could it be Keith? Or maybe it's Shiro or Allura—something could be wrong.
Disoriented, he slides out of bed and crosses the room to the door, which slides open to reveal a flushed, slightly out of breath, and very uncomfortable-looking Keith. He looks caught, his head turned as if he had started to leave before Lance opened the door. His cheeks are pink from the cool night air, his hair swept every which way like he'd just been running. Lance blinks, his eyes darting up and down as Keith stood frozen in place. "Hey?"
Keith blushes, opening and closing his mouth several times as he tries to form a complete sentence. Lance raises an eyebrow. "I—uh."
"Are you okay?"
Keith shuts his mouth, looking momentarily panicked, then takes a deep breath. "Could I... sleep in here tonight?"
Whatever Lance was expecting, it wasn't this. His eyebrows fly up and his mouth drops open slightly. Keith... wants to sleep... in here? With Lance? "Oh," he squeaks.
Keith looks mortified. He takes a step back, clearly embarrassed. "Uh, never mind," he stammers. "Forget it. It's stupid. Sorry, I shouldn't have—I just thought—"
"Wait, nonono." Maybe it's because he's tired, or just the mere bizarreness of this entire situation, but Lance finds himself giggling at the horrified expression on Keith's now pale face. "I'm sorry—" He claps his hands to his mouth, unable to stop laughing at this point. He's definitely tired. Keith's shoulder slump slightly, a look of annoyance that Lance finds endearingly familiar momentarily crossing his face.
"Whatever, Lance. I wouldn't have asked if I'd known you were just going to make fun of me—"
"Shut up. I just—" Lance lets out one last snort before he manages to get himself under control. He reaches out and grabs Keith's arm, absent-mindedly noting the way that he flinches, and tugs him forward expectantly. "Of course you can come in. You just surprised me, is all."
The annoyance in Keith's eyes disappears, replaced with a look of relief as Lance steps aside and gestures into his room with a flourish. He cautiously steps inside, the hint of a smile on his lips as he does so. Lance lets the door slide closed, eyeing Keith as he walks past and climbs back into bed, sliding over to the far side to make room.
Keith stands awkwardly by the door, his posture unsure as he looks around the room in a sort of confused daze, as if it doesn't look exactly the same as his own room just a few doors down the hallway. Lance just watches him for a minute, studying him, drinking in every detail that he hadn't had the time to fully appreciate.
He really has changed since he came back from the space whale, Lance thinks. He's taller, that's for sure. Leaner, a bit more muscular but also kind of bony, like he hadn't had enough to eat there. His hair was longer, falling into his eyes and brushing over his shoulders. His face was sharper, more defined. Lance's gaze falls on the fuzzy outline of the scar decorating Keith's right cheek. He can only barely make it out in the starlight filtering through the one tiny window on the far wall, but his eyes trace it the best he can, from Keith's jawline up to his cheekbone.
No one's sure where it came from, and no one's exactly eager to find out, either. The fact that Keith hasn't mentioned it to anyone kind of implies that he doesn't want to talk about it. And so, no one knows how he got it. They only know that he flew alone through that wormhole without it, then came back with an unconscious Shiro and a raw, burning scar on his face.
After another minute, Lance leans back onto his elbows. "Relax, mullet. I'm not gonna kill you in your sleep."
Keith's head snaps in his direction and he opens his mouth to say something back, but Lance drops his head back and groans. "Keeeith. Just. Do you want to sleep or not?"
He rolls his eyes, but finally concedes. Lance lies down with his head propped up on his hands, his elbows fanned out as he watches Keith kick his boots off. He reaches for the covers and gingerly slips underneath, rolling over so his back is to Lance. The bed is so big, they could easily and comfortably fit at least two other people between them. Lance pulls the sheets up to his chin and settles his head into the pillows, shooting one last look at the back of Keith's head, his dark hair falling like shadows against the silky covers.
This is... weird. And not even like that, just like... Keith. Is in his room. Three feet away. Sleeping in his bed. Because he asked to. Yes, something is definitely wrong. But he's not sure now is the right time to bring up—whatever it is, because Lance isn't particularly keen on getting sliced by the luxite blade he knows Keith has on his person at all times. He frowns, suppressing a sigh. He knows Keith well enough to know that he'll open up when he's ready, so it's better not to push it.
His eyelids droop, and he lets them fall closed.
"Thanks," he hears Keith mumble.
Lance smiles.
Keith is falling.
He's falling, and then all of a sudden he isn't. He can feel solid ground underneath him, but everywhere around him is just darkness.
His heartbeat quickens as he tries to fight down the rising panic in his throat. He's too scared to move. No matter which way he looks, he can't see anything. Where is he? What's going on?
A bright light flashes directly in front of him and he turns his head, squeezing his eyes shut. It's so bright he can still see it behind his eyelids. It makes his head ache. Finally, the light fades substantially and the pain subsides. He opens his eyes cautiously, still squinting slightly as his vision clears and comes back into focus. At which point, he finds himself face-to-face with Shiro.
He shrieks and stumbles backward, his arms raised defensively. When nothing happens, he peeks over his fists and realizes he's standing in front of some sort of pod, bathed in a harsh magenta-colored glow. Shiro stands inside, his eyes closed, his face neutral. He almost looks peaceful. Keith's pulse pounds in his ears as he stares, trying his best to take deep, calming breaths. He steps forward slowly, carefully reaching out and pressing a hand to the glass. It's cool to the touch, the only think he can really feel other than the ground under his feet and his heart beating in his chest. "Shiro," he murmurs.
As if on cue, Shiro's eyes snap open, and Keith gasps, trying to take a step backward only to find himself frozen in place. That's not Shiro. His eyes bore into Keith's like lasers, as black as the surrounding space, devoid of any kind of light. Keith isn't even in control of his body, stuck in place like there are lead weights in his feet, holding him down. A cruel grin crosses Shiro's face before the glass between them disappears. "Hello, Keith." He lunges forward and his hands close around Keith's neck.
Keith is falling again, tumbling and pitching in the empty space, scrambling desperately for something, anything to hold onto. It's getting hard to breathe, air whooshing in his ears, his face stinging from the hair whipping around in his face. Then, just as quickly, he's standing again, panting and out of breath.
He can see this time. Now he's surrounded by pods, rows and rows of clones, of Shiro—there's another flash of light, and yet one more Shiro is standing on the platform across from him, twenty feet away, his gaze dark, disinterested. The scene is familiar, but not the kind that makes him feel all warm and fuzzy inside. It's the kind of familiar that fills his entire body with dread, like he just found out he only has a few days to live. Keith can hear himself speaking, unaware of actually doing so, like he's watching a movie from first-person. "Shiro! It's gonna be okay."
He starts toward Keith, slowly, menacingly. "Yes, I know."
"We just have to get back to the Castle."
"We," Shiro spits, "are not going anywhere!"
And suddenly he's running straight toward him, and Keith needs to move, but he can't move, why can't he move—
He blinks, and suddenly everything's changed again. His head is spinning, disoriented by all the abrupt transitions. He looks down at his hands, curled up into tiny fists. They're bruised, scratched up, like he's been in a fight. The blank white walls are screaming at him, burning into the backs of his eyes until he realizes—this is a memory. He can hear muffled voices coming from somewhere behind him, until a door opens. He's vaguely aware of someone passing by, the whoosh sound of the door closing, then someone new stepping in front of him. "Hey."
It's Shiro. He remembers now. He's at the Garrison, sitting outside the offices because he got into a fight with another cadet, and Shiro was fighting to keep him here. He knows how this goes. Once again, he hears himself talking without ever actually willing his mouth to open. "Look, I know I messed up. You should just send me back to the home already. This place isn't for me."
"Keith..."
He practically finds himself leaning forward, desperate for the words he knows are going to come next. He needs the encouragement, the assurance that he's still worth fighting for.
"You're right."
Keith's eyes widen and his head snaps up. No, this isn't how this is supposed to go. That's not what Shiro is supposed to say. He didn't—he wouldn't say that. "What?" He says weakly.
Shiro's eyes are glowing—literally glowing, clear pinpricks of searing light in the middle of his dark, black eyes— "I should've abandoned you just like your parents did."
The scene suddenly shifts around him, twisting and swirling and and churning until he's standing with his back against a railing, his entire body aching with pain and exhaustion. Shiro stands above him at the edge of the debris, a cruel grin twisted onto his face. The words echo through his mind before they're even spoken, bouncing around the insides of his skull until he feels like it'll crack. "You're broken. Worthless." It's these words that literally cause Keith's world to crumble as everything around them comes crashing down, the ground shaking underneath his feet.
"No," Keith's voice comes out as a whisper. "Shiro, please—"
Something slams into him from the side, sending him flying across the platform, rolling over and over and over and over until he's on his back, gasping for the air that was knocked out of him. And then Shiro is standing over him, his lips twisted into a snarl. He raises his arm, there's a flash of light and spots dance in Keith's eyes as a glowing sword forms.
Keith realizes then that everything about this scene is very, very wrong. Instead of Shiro's clone, gleaming black armor, a puff of white hair, and a metal arm, it's Shiro. It's Shiro, the Shiro who took Keith in, told Keith to believe in himself, helped Keith understand who he was. It's Shiro, familiar Garrison uniform, dark hair, arm fully intact. Only there's the sword, where his hand should be.
He can't bring himself to move, to speak, to do anything. He can only watch in horror as Shiro plunges downward and buries the sword in Keith's gut, twisting until the pain is so intense that his vision blurs. Shiro leans in closer, his eyes glowing with animosity, his breath hot on Keith's face. "Just let go, Keith. You don't have to fight anymore."
Keith wakes with a start, gasping for air and clutching a hand to his stomach. He can feel the sweat dripping down his forehead and the back of his neck, making his hair to his face and his damp skin. Gulping down air like water, he feels around on his stomach, making sure he's still whole. Just a nightmare, just a nightmare, he begins repeating to himself, but even as he realizes that none of it was real, he's alive, he's safe, he's whole, he still feels himself slipping into a panic. His heart won't stop pounding, so hard and so fast he can feel it in his toes and he swears it's going to burst out of his chest. For a second, he thinks he might be sick. All he can hear is the blood roaring in his ears. Where is he? This isn't even his bed. What's going on? Who—
"Keith?"
The sound of Lance's voice brings the memories of the last few hours flooding back into Keith's mind. Right. He's fine. He's just in Lance's room. Wait—why did he think this was a good idea? What possessed him to ask to sleep in Lance's room—
Lance sits up sleepily, rubbing his eyes as the covers slip off his shoulders. When his eyes meet Keith's, he sits up abruptly, inhaling sharply. Keith frowns, wondering if he should offended. What's his problem? He opens his mouth to snap at Lance about how rude he's being, it's not his fault he gets really awful bedhead and his hair sticks up everywhere and no he doesn't drool—and that's when he suddenly remembers what happens every time he has a nightmare. He's suddenly painfully aware of the fangs pressing against the inside of his cheeks.
He hears himself gasp as he frantically covers his face with his hands, looking away and blinking rapidly. There was nothing nearby for him to check his reflection in, but he didn't have to, to know that his eyes had been in full Galra mode and his fangs were sticking out of his mouth like he was an actual vampire. "Agh, you... weren't supposed to see that." He shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to imagine what he'd see if he looked back at Lance. He hadn't moved away, so Keith guesses that was a good sign, at least. But that didn't mean he wouldn't look at Keith like he was a freak, a mutant, a monster.
He still didn't even know how it worked. The Galra thing. It had never happened before, not until his fight with Shiro. The best he can figure is that it's some kind of natural defense, or reflex, when he's under an immense amount of pressure, and he's practically overcome with emotion. Maybe that's why the nightmares won't go away, Keith thinks miserably. Because I'm scared of... feeling.
The sheets shift slightly around his legs, and he feels Lance moving beside him. Keith drops his hands into his lap, clenching his fists. Figures. Lance has just gotten over the initial shock, now he's probably ready to bolt, planning on making a break for the door. But then Lance starts to talk, his voice soft and gentle, and closer, surprising Keith. Okay, then. Lance always seems to be surprising him these days.
"Okay, I don't know what that was, but—" Keith doesn't even realize he's started to cry until he feels the first tear slip down his cheek. He quickly wipes it away as Lance pauses, scooting even closer. "Hey... everything alright?"
Nope. No, everything is not alright. Everything is falling apart and he has no idea how he's supposed to fix it. Everything is the opposite of alright. "Yeah, I'm okay Lance," he says instead, pressing a palm to his eye and forcing back another tear that was threatening to escape. "I'm just..." He falters, not trusting his voice to hold.
When he feels Lance's arms snaking around his shoulders, he stiffens. His immediate reaction is to pull away, but then Lance pulls him closer and rests his head on Keith's, as if he knows exactly what Keith is thinking.
Keith sits very still. He can't seem to form any coherent thoughts, because he can't get past the fact that Lance is... here. Why? That's the word that echoes through his mind now. He's done nothing but push the team away since—well, since forever. He's isolated himself from the beginning. He's always been too afraid to get too close, too attached, he didn't want anyone to have the chance to reject him, because deep down he's believed this entire time that he is worthless, that he doesn't have anything to offer, he's just an empty vessel waiting to be filled, but he doesn't know with what—that's what he's afraid of. Of staying that way forever, of never knowing what it feels like to be heard, to be appreciated, to be loved, to be needed.
And Lance is sitting here with his arms around him, warm and steady and sure, silently assuring him that he's all of those things and more. Keith stares down at his hands, his vision blurring from the tears welling in his eyes. "Lance..." he closes his eyes, willing himself to keep the tears at bay. This is stupid. He doesn't want to cry. Not here, not in front of Lance.
Lance doesn't give in. If anything, he squeezes Keith tighter, like he's trying to encourage him to just give in, because that's probably the best thing for him to do right now. Lance has always known what's best for him. Everything's fuzzy and misshapen through the water in his eyes, and that brings him back to the end of his nightmare, and he can practically feel the sword twisting in his gut, a phantom pain throbbing in the nonexistent wound as he clenches his stomach, thinking about those last words: Just let go, Keith. You don't have to fight anymore.
He breaks. Once the first tear spills over, leaving a hot sticky trail down his cheek, he knows there's no going back. Fine, he thinks. You want to see me let go? Well, this is me letting go. He lets himself melt into Lance's embrace, leaning into him as his shoulders begin to shake.
"It's okay," Lance soothes, holding Keith even tighter. "It's okay, Keith. You're okay."
The tears literally won't stop flowing. Keith clings desperately to Lance's shirt, sobbing into his chest, letting the hot streaks on his face soak into the soft fabric as water drips down his nose, his cheeks, his chin. So maybe he's never been empty—it's just the opposite. He's always been filled to the brim, his heart cracking and ready to burst, waiting, waiting, waiting for him to release all the fear, the pain, the doubt, the regret, the uncertainty, all the emotions that he's kept bottled up for so long, even before they found the Blue Lion and flew through that first godforsaken wormhole and found themselves on the other side of the universe, away from home, away from everything they ever knew and loved.
Keith has never felt so vulnerable. But in this moment, Lance's arms around him, his head on Lance's shoulder, he feels safe. He feels home.
He didn't know that home could be a feeling up until now.
Lance doesn't say much else as Keith cries, which he appreciates. He doesn't try to ask him what's wrong, or tell him to stop, or complain about the wet spots forming on his shirt. He just sits there with his arms around Keith and lets him cry, not once making any sort of movement indicating that he had any thought of letting him go. That was a gesture within itself. It meant everything to Keith.
He tries to control his breathing, but he's crying too hard to do much of anything. His entire body is quivering, his hands are shaking, and his breath keeps coming in short, ragged gasps before another round of sobs overtakes him. Lance brushes the hair out Keith's face, gently combing his fingers through and smoothing it away so it doesn't stick to the tears leaking out of his eyes.
Okay, so maybe there was some truth to the words that Shiro—no, not Shiro, Haggar's clone—had said to him that day. To the broken part, at least. Because Keith's heart had broken a long time ago, but he'd never had the strength to pick up the pieces just to have it broken all over again. Shiro had helped him start that journey when he took him under his wing, teaching him slowly, piece by piece, how to give himself the benefit of the doubt, at least the chance, to fix those parts of himself that needed fixing, because he was worth that struggle, that fight, that battle. And when Shiro disappeared on the Kerberos mission, presumed dead, everything he'd worked so hard to build up crumbled into pieces again, shattering any thought he'd entertained of ever being whole again. During his time with the team, he'd slowly started to put himself back together. One more try, he'd thought. Maybe this time will be different. But the attempt was passive, half-hearted at best, the tiny fragments heart stuck together with frayed thread and strips of barely adhesive Scotch tape, too fragile, stacked together like a house of cards, reading to come tumbling down with the smallest breath.
Sitting in this room, in the dark, with only the light of the stars outside shining through the window, in the embrace of someone he truly cares about—who he likes to think cares about him, too—Okay, Keith thinks, blinking through yet another fresh batch of tears. Maybe just one more time. He can feel his heart mending already.
A long time passes before Keith is able to breathe again. A tiny part of him wishes he could keep crying if it meant he could stay like this for a little while longer, his head tucked underneath Lance's chin, the warmth of his body seeping into Keith's skin and through his very bones. But the well in his chest has finally run out, so he couldn't cry any more even if he wanted to. Anyway, it turns out that it didn't matter. Lance seems to hear Keith's wish, to understand his unspoken thoughts. He doesn't let go.
Lance keeps running his fingers through Keith's hair. He thinks that if he just closed his eyes, he might actually be able to fall asleep, free of nightmares. He wonders if Lance has done this before, soothing his younger siblings during particularly bad thunderstorm or after they've fallen and scraped their knees or even their own scary nightmare. Either way, he's good at this. Lance is good at this.
"I'm sorry," Keith says after a while, mumbling into Lance's shoulder.
Lance hums, his cheek brushing against the top of Keith's head. "Sorry for what?"
Keith laughs weakly. "For asking to sleep in your room just to wake you in the middle of the night so you could witness me have a breakdown and cry all over your shirt."
Lance shrugs, briefly tickling Keith's ear with his chin. "That was part of my plan all along. There's a secret camera hidden in the corner over there. Classic case of blackmail. Now you have to do whatever I say or I'll broadcast that video to the entire team on our way to Earth and everyone will know what a crybaby you are."
"Shut up," Keith says, but he's smiling into Lance's shirt.
It's Keith who finally pulls away, not because he wants to, but mostly because he's worried that Lance is too nice to be the first to move away. Lance watches curiously as Keith ducks his head, wiping at his eyes. "Hey."
Keith raises his head and blinks in surprise as Lance reaches toward him to cup his face in his hands. He's startled by how blue Lance's eyes are even in the dark, reflecting every tiny sliver of starlight that manages to slip through the glass window. And it's hard not to give in and let his eyes flutter closed at Lance's touch. His hands are rough, calloused, yet somehow soft and smooth all at the same time. Ironically, it kind of reminds him of himself. Tough and indifferent on the outside, mushy and sensitive on the inside. One of these days, someone will poke him in just the right spot and all of him will come oozing out, like tonight.
He bets Lance will be the one to do that.
Lance's gaze drifts slightly, his brow creased, and Keith has no idea what he's doing until he's brushing his thumb gently across his cheek and he reaches the scar—Keith flinches, furious with himself for doing so when Lance immediately withdraws, dropping his hands into his lap and sitting back on his feet. "Sorry," he whispers.
The look in his eyes is concerned, but also curious, questioning. Keith knows he's wondering about the scar, where it came from and how he got it. Everyone's been wondering, they just either haven't had the guts to ask about it or have the decency not to. He bites his bottom lip to keep it from trembling, looking away. He's not ready to talk about it. Not yet. But... soon. Maybe.
"Keith?"
He looks up again, this time avoiding direct eye contact. He still doesn't trust himself to hold out against those eyes.
"Are you okay?"
Keith presses his lips together. How is it that the hardest things to say and the hardest questions to answer always have just three words? A silence settles throughout the room as he repeats the question over and over in his head. Lance waits patiently, like he's perfectly aware that he's asked such a loaded question and wants to let Keith gather his thoughts. It makes Keith's heart ache, the way Lance is looking at him, like he genuinely wants to know how he feels, like as of right now, his mission is to make sure that he's okay. He takes a deep breath, exhales. "I don't know," he finally decides. Not knowing is the only thing he's sure of.
He can feel Lance's eyes on him as he starts picking at a loose thread in the sheets. The back of his neck tingles, like he can actually feel Lance's gaze on his skin. It's an odd feeling, having someone study him so intently, as if he's important enough to be worthy of such attention. Lance's next question takes him by surprise, only because he isn't expecting it. "You're having nightmares, aren't you?"
Keith freezes. He's not sure why, but hearing someone else say the words out loud makes him want to crawl back under the covers and hide forever. It's not fair, the power that words have over people. The power they have over a person to encourage, build up, assure, console, soothe, and yet just as easily (if not more easily) break down, crush, damage, hurt, destroy. It's obvious to him that this is why the nightmares are still so vivid, haunting him day and night, because of the words that he always finds echoing in his mind, both spoken and unspoken. Lance picks up on his hesitation, taking it as a confirmation and readjusting so that he can sit criss-cross next to him.
"C'mon, man." He's speaking softly, but firmly, like he's already decided for Keith that he isn't allowed to completely close himself off, especially not after what just happened. "You just had a borderline panic attack. Talk to me."
Keith forces himself to meet Lance's eyes and almost caves in immediately. He nearly tells him everything. About the fight, the scar, the nightmares. About the way he couldn't see Shiro without having terrifying flashbacks, without imagining the look on his face as he stood over him, ready to end him with a final blow. About how scared he was of going to sleep every night, staying up for as long as he could, fighting off sleep until he has to give in and then wakes up minutes later in a sweat, unable to find the strength to close his eyes again. The words are all stuck in his throat, on the tip of his tongue, begging to be let out, but some invisible force is blocking them from escape. Tell him, his brain is screaming. Do it. Say it. Let him in. He can help you. He deserves to know. Tell him tell him tell him tell him—
He swallows, and the words tumble back down into his stomach. "Lance, I—I'm just not ready."
Lance starts to reach for Keith again, then seems to think better of it and drops his hand onto a pillow. Keith wishes he hadn't thought better of it. "Okay. Okay, yeah. That's okay." He offers a small smile, and in that moment Keith swears he would steal every single star in the entire universe for him. "But just in case it's not already clear, when you are ready... you know where to find me. Okay?"
Keith's heart jumps. "Okay," he breathes.
Lance squints slightly, looking at Keith for one more long moment, until it seems to stretch out for a little too long, and Keith doesn't see the pillow flying toward his face until it's too late. He gets a face-full of squish and fluff, his head jerking back from the impact.
"Lance!" he splutters, snatching the pillow from where it fell into his lap and flinging it back. It smacks Lance square in the nose, but he's already laughing too hard to really care. He cackles as he reaches for another pillow, and Keith barely has enough time to grab his own to deflect another hit. Before long, they're each on opposite ends of the bed, chucking pillows across the room in miserable attempts to hit one another, giggling like twelve-year-olds.
This is stupid, Keith thinks, but he's grinning just as stupidly, so he decides he can't say much.
Lance launches a particularly large pillow into Keith's face and he nearly topples over the edge of the bed before returning fire. Lance does topple over the edge. Keith bursts into laughter, and Lance's head pokes up from where he's fallen, a finger to his lips as he giggles wildly, shushing Keith because dude, you're gonna wake up the entire planet, but it only makes Keith laugh harder, and he has to roll over and smush his face into another pillow to muffle the sound. His stomach hurts from laughing too hard, because now that he's started he can't seem to stop. Half of it probably has to do with the fact that he's majorly sleep-deprived, kind of loopy, way too easily amused. Lance's constant shushing and giggling isn't helping much, either.
Once they've finally settled down, they fall into a comfortable silence, occasionally interrupted when one of them sneaks a look at the other and starts giggling, sending both of them into another fit of giggles. Keith rolls over and stares up at the ceiling. His face hurts from smiling. Is this what that feels like? Smiling so long and so hard it makes your muscles ache? He wishes he could feel like this every day.
"Hey, Keith," Lance stage-whispers. Keith glances over, already smiling again even though it makes his cheeks burn.
"Yeah?"
A pause. "Think you can get back to sleep?"
The smile disappears from his face and his chest tightens. Their impromptu pillow fight had made him forget all about... everything, if only temporarily. "Oh." Lance wiggles underneath the covers and pats the space next to him, looking at Keith expectantly. Keith stares. "What are you—"
"C'mere," Lance interrupts, his voice muffled by the sheets.
"What—Lance, no, I'm not a teddy bear—"
"C'meeeeere," Lance drags it out this time, tossing one more pillow at him for good measure.
Keith rolls his eyes, but it's not like he ever had a chance at winning this fight. Also, okay, maybe he wouldn't mind this so much. He scoots closer to Lance and slips under the sheets, turning so they're face-to-face.
Lance smiles. "Hi."
"Dork." He tries to hide his smile when Lance giggles again. "You really know how to make a smooth transition, you know that?"
"I was just trying to lighten the mood." Lance tugs on a strand of Keith's hair. "It worked, didn't it?"
Like a charm. "I guess."
Lance's smile falls a little and Keith has to resist the urge to reach over and push his cheeks up to put it back the way it was. He feels Lance's eyes searching his—for what, he doesn't know. "Are you scared?" He asks softly.
Jeez, again with the sudden transition. But he's transfixed by Lance's gaze, and he can't find it in him to be annoyed. Instead he finds himself answering the question instantly, his voice barely a whisper. "Yeah." It's amazing, the confessions that Lance is able to pull out of him just by giving him a single look.
Lance finds his hand under the sheets and gives it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I'm here." Two simple words. They speak volumes.
Keith squeezes back. "I know."
He doesn't argue when Lance squirms closer, snuggling up to him and tucking his arm underneath Keith's head so he can rest it on Lance's chest. His shirt is dry now, just warm and soft, leaving no trace of Keith's earlier tears. He places a hand on Lance's stomach, tentative at first, then relaxes when he feels Lance smiling into his hair.
Keith listens to Lance's heartbeat thumping in his ear. It's strong, sure, steady, soothing. It's so... Lance. He closes his eyes and sighs, settling into the crook of the other boy's arm. This is one of the moments he wants to remember forever, to keep tucked away for himself when he feels like he's alone, like everything is closing in around him. When everything feels unstable and uncertain. Because this? This, he can count on. Lance, he can count on. Lance, one of the few things in his life that grounds him, keeps him centered. He thinks he's always known that. It's just taken him a while to finally realize that.
Lance's breath tickles the back of his neck when he speaks. "So, you've got a Galra mode now, huh?"
Keith groans. "I don't want to talk about it."
"Is it, like, a reflex?"
"I don't know? I guess?"
"Can you control it?"
"I don't—no."
"Does it just happen when you're stressed out, or—"
"Laaaance."
"Okay, okay," he mumbles, patting the top of Keith's head. "Relax. Sorry."
They're quiet for another moment. Keith is content just to listen to the beating of Lance's heart, reminding him that he's real, he's here, he's present. Lance's breathing is steady, his chest rising and falling in a gentle rhythm. Every time his mind begins to wander, toward the dark, the fear, the nightmares, he focuses on Lance to bring himself back. His warmth, his smell, his touch. The curve of his arm around his back, the awareness of his chin tucked against his head, the cluster of freckles on his collarbone that could make their own constellation.
"Hey Lance."
Lance's response comes readily, like he had been waiting for Keith to say something. "Yeah?"
"D'you ever have nightmares?" He's not sure why he asks, other than to dispel the nagging fear that maybe he was just going insane. That, and he knows that Lance will give him an honest answer. And he kind of just wants to hear Lance's voice again.
He doesn't answer as quickly this time. Keith waits, tracing his fingertips along a fold in Lance's shirt, smoothing it out and moving on to the next one. "I used to have nightmares about home."
Keith frowns, his hand hovering over Lance's chest. "Home?"
"Yeah. Like, that I'd never get to go back. Or that I'd go back and find out the Galra had destroyed Earth, or something. Or I'd go back, but I'd be super old and all of my family would be long gone by the time I get there." Keith is perfectly still, listening intently. "They started pretty soon after we'd found all the lions and stuff. I just, really missed home. I still do."
"We'll be there soon."
"I know. Doesn't mean I can't still miss it."
Keith is quiet, thinking about all the times he's heard Lance talk about home, and his family, and all the things he loved and had to leave behind at a moment's notice. "What do you miss the most?"
Lance hums, and Keith can feel the vibration through his own chest. "I miss Cuba. Varadero Beach. Swimming. My family, obviously. My mom's hugs, especially." He pauses. "What about you?"
"Oh." Keith wasn't really expecting to be asked the question in return. And while he's spent the last half dozen nights outside, imagining all the things he'd do when they got back to Earth, he's never really thought about what he's missed. "Um... I don't know. I didn't exactly have much to leave behind. But I guess I miss my bike. The house. Pigging out on fast-food."
Lance snorts. "You gonna take your alien mom to a Taco Bell when we get back?"
The thought of a restaurant employee's face when Krolia pulls up in the drive through makes Keith giggle. "I don't see why not."
"They'll go away eventually, by the way."
"Hm?"
"The nightmares." Lance brushes some hair away from Keith's forehead with his thumb. His voice is sleepy. "Sometimes it feels like they'll always be there, messing with your head, and stuff. But they'll go away. Just give it a little time. And... talking about it helps too."
Keith curls his fingers into Lance's shirt, tugs him closer. He knows that Lance isn't pushing him to say anything more, just offering him an invitation. One he intends to accept, when he's ready. Because he knows that no matter what he does, where he goes, Lance will still be there when he comes back. That's just who he is. "You'll wait for me?" he asks quietly.
"Always."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Satisfied, Keith closes his eyes and nestles into Lance's side. So maybe it'll be a while before the nightmares go away. All the hugs and tears and 'okays' in the world won't be enough to get rid of them fast enough. But maybe it would be the nights like these that would make all the difference. Opening up like this, letting himself be accepted, experiencing his emotions the way they're meant to be experienced—these are the first steps. And Lance will be by his side every step of the way, whether he likes it or not. I do like it, Keith thinks lazily, letting himself drift toward sleep.
Judging by the steady rise and fall of Lance's chest, Keith figures he's already fallen asleep. "G'night, Lance," he murmurs anyway.
"Night, mullet," comes the soft reply.
Keith smiles.