A/N: This piece takes place between seasons 7 and 8.

Day 6 - The Past
Keith chases ghosts.

A heavy hand lands on his shoulder, grip ruthless, claws digging in. One chilling touch and he can feel his heart driving up his throat, Keith choking on the sudden surge of fear. It's nothing but pure instinct as he drops his weight, twisting out of that grip just as he sends an elbow shoving back into a firm chest, sending the figure stumbling back.

"What the hell, dude!" That shrill, winded voice smashed through the haze, that image of violet eyes shattering. Keith jerks up straight, reality coming back into focus. It's Lance. Just Lance. Lance, bracing himself back against the wall, cradling his stomach. The man's mouth twisted into a grimace, his friend and ally glowering at him.

Keith's mouth opened and shut, gaping like a fish, words lodged in his throat. Because Lance was right.

What the hell.

It's a cold splash of reality as he realizes his hand froze, poised halfway to the small of his back, reaching for a blade that never left his side. Keith slowly straightened up, lips pressing together into a grimace, dropping his hand to his side.

He can see Lance's eyes following the gesture, something clicking into place in the other man's gaze.

"Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah," Keith ventured, the lie too familiar on his tongue. "You just surprised me." Surprised him. With claws and a metal arm and eyes that burned an unnatural violet. Little by little, he pulled old walls back into place, shuttering himself, hiding away behind frustration and anger. "You shouldn't sneak up on people like that," he grumbled, crossing his arms.

Lance rose to the bait and as the pair fell into their familiar bickering, Keith pushed the incident aside.

It was nothing.

It was nothing at all. Nothing at all as he tugged a bit at the collar of his cadet uniform, trying to get some air flowing. He hated this thing. Hated it back then. Still hated it now. The young man scowled down at his tray of food, pushing a pile of green beans around on the plate. The others sat around him in the mess hall, Allura on his right and Pidge on his left. Pidge had just finished telling them about the alien scanner tech she and Keith had found in the marketplace. Now it was Hunk standing at the head of the table, retelling some old Galaxy Garrison story, thrusting pointedly with a spoon. Keith's eyes drifted up, past Shiro's quiet amusement, Pidge's scoffing and rolling eyes, and Lance's eager additions.

He froze. Keith's breath caught in his throat as a figure turned away, catching barely a glimpse of a profile vanishing through the double doors. Thick plumes of smoke trailed in his wake, the acrid smell of something burning filled Keith's nose. His grip was white-knuckled around his fork.

"Keith." A voice raspy from smoke inhalation.

"Keith." Softer this time, and he jerked back, blinking as he came back to himself. His gaze dropped down to his arm to find Allura's hand touching his arm, before snapping back up to her face. Crystalline eyes were wide with concern, the woman's brow furrowed. Keith yanked his arm away, as if burned.

"Keith, are you okay?"

The table had grown silent, everybody looking towards him. Keith felt himself bristle, pulling back, withdrawing.

"I'm fine. Just tired," he hedged, his stomach roiling after that meager meal of next to nothing. Keith ignored the looks, shoulders square, and stood abruptly, taking his tray with him. "Gonna go crash," he uttered, leaving them no room for objections or concerns. Keith dropped off his tray, that open doorway dragging his eyes over with its gaping emptiness. No smoke. No hauntingly familiar man. There was only the occasional officer or cadet that came in search of food.

Behind him, he could hear Lance begin to tell the others of their run-in earlier. Keith only straightened his shoulders, ignoring the feel of Shiro's eyes on him as he left.

He was halfway to the dorms when Shiro caught up with him. Keith didn't look up, and Shiro didn't try to stop him with a hand on the shoulder or his arm. The man merely fell into step beside his counterpart. Keith could feel the tension slipping from his shoulders, and he instinctively slowed his pace just a touch.

"Keith, you don't look so good." Shiro's eyes were drawn, sympathetic and Keith let out a breath, slowing to a stop.

"I swear, Shiro, I'm just tired. It's just…been a lot. Being back."

Shiro nodded; he could understand that. They all could. They'd all left behind so much when they left Earth. Keith? Keith had left his ghosts.

The older man hesitated a moment before lifting his hand, the flesh and blood one, pressing the back lightly up against Keith's forehead. "Well, you don't feel warm, at least."

Keith watched him steadily from beneath that hand. Then why did his cheeks feel so warm?

"But I still think you should get checked out at the infirmary." The man's voice was firm, and Keith knew that was less of a suggestion than Shiro had made it sound. But the paladin merely shook his head, turning away from his friend.

"I'm gonna get some sleep. I promise, if I still feel weird in the morning, I'll get checked out." It was a compromise, at least. Shiro didn't look satisfied, but he nodded. His hand drifted up, ruffling Keith's hair playfully.

"Rest up. And call me if you need anything."

He could feel those eyes lingering on him as he turned away, tossing a half-hearted wave to Shiro over his shoulder. Sleep. Just had to sleep, and maybe that would clear away the cobwebs mucking up his head.

It was a haze he couldn't quite shake. One that lingered and clung, the young man raking fingers through his hair. Next he was dragging them down his face, as if that could somehow draw the exhaustion right out of them. Or, at the very least, this strange heady feeling, as if he was walking through a fog. Every movement was sluggish, and that heat only pressed in.

Keith's fingers fumbled with the laces of his boots, clumsy and uncoordinated, until he was finally yanking them loose. Uniform boots tumbled to the floor a moment later, along with his socks. His cadet jacket and its hideous orange fabric was flung over the back of a chair and he didn't even bother with his pants. Keith just collapsed onto his bed, a plain white t-shirt clinging to his form. His thoughts were a muddled mess, dripping slow and syrupy, beyond mere exhaustion.

Shiro's warm eyes, crinkled at the edges with worry, drifted through his mind. Something within him twisted in regret, Keith's fingers furling into the sheets. Maybe he should have taken the man's offer for an escort to the infirmary. But the thought was a mere wisp of smoke, gone before he could latch onto it, carried off into the fog that settled over him, thick as any blanket. The young man shuddered beneath that suffocating stillness, skin prickling as a chill settled into his bones. He gazed sightlessly at the unadorned wall by his bed. Down in the corner, Cosmo was dozing, curled in on himself.

For all of that sleepless exhaustion, his eyes must have drifted shut at some point, because they were closed and something was tugging at his arm, jostling him from his restless sleep.

"Keith."

Keith wrinkled his nose, turning his face deeper into the mattress.

"Keith, I need to go."

Go. Leaving. Leaving him alone. That chill flooded up his spine, wrapping him in its familiar embrace, and the young man pushed himself up on shaky arms. Keith's mind was still sleep-addled, eyes drifting down to his arm, not comprehending the cold emptiness there where there had just been a warm hand.

Gone. It was a needle through his heart.

"No," he mumbled, stumbling from his bed, the floor cold against his bare feet. A shadow moved past the door, and Keith could taste the ash on his tongue. Keith pulled the door open and tumbled out into a hallway with peeling wallpaper, flower petals faded with age. It was a sight drawn from distant memories of a home in the middle of the desert. And right there, at the end of the hall, a figure in a fireman's uniform just barely turned the corner, his face hazy, out of sight. The same face that stared out from family photos; a man and his boy and an empty space where Keith's mother should have been.

"No." A soft denial. Not this. Not again. He was six-years old, clutching a stuffed hippo to his chest, cursed with a child's small legs that would never overtake his father.

But he tried, just a boy stumbling down the corridor, chasing after his father's ghost. With every step, the hallway fell away behind him, fading into nothingness. Ahead, Shiro turned towards him, smile bright, excitement brimming as he lifted his hand to wave. Behind him the rockets launched and he was ripped away into the quiet solitude of space, taking Keith's breath with him.

It didn't sit right with him, leaving Keith alone like that. Simply exhaustion, the young man had told him. And if it was only that, then an early night could do him some good. But the explanation felt wrong, though Shiro could not place a finger on exactly why. Those lingering doubts trailed after him, clinging always at the edge of his mind, tugging his attention away from the Atlas damage reports he was supposed to be pouring over.

Shiro scrubbed a hand over the back of his head, a heavy breath escaping as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes drifted up to the ceiling, the younger man's drawn face swimming into his mind's eye. Had his eyes looked too bright and shiny beneath the artificial lights?

There was no other choice really. He couldn't shake the thought, couldn't shake the concern and Shiro shoved his chair back as he rose to his feet. He paused only to grab his uniform jacket from the back of his chair, before heading out the door. Keith's dorm wasn't far, and Shiro would just check in on him, make sure he was sleeping soundly or otherwise face the younger man's wrath at being coddled.

He'd been prepared for Keith's annoyance, his frustration, the walls that Shiro had managed to pull back little by little over the years. But what he wasn't ready for was that feeling of dread curling suddenly in his stomach. Keith's door was swung wide open, light from the hallway spilling into the small space, cutting a path directly to an empty bed. The blankets were rumpled, but not pulled back. Shiro's hand pressed against the door, processing each piece of evidence that Keith hadn't merely stepped out to use the bathroom.

Boots and socks on the floor, when he knew Keith would never have left barefoot. Jacket pooled on the floor beside his desk chair, when he would have neatly folded it at least. Those few years he'd spent as a cadet at the Garrison had drilled some basic regulation into him, after all.

Kosmo was curled up on the floor in the corner of the room, head tucked into his fur, fast asleep.

Shiro spun around, renewed urgency in his steps as he went looking for Keith.

"Come on, Keith. Your mom's waiting."

There should have been something off about that statement, coming from his father's lips. But Keith couldn't focus; couldn't grasp that simple truth that his mother was off-planet, and his father was dead, and the warm sunlight was too comfortable on his skin. There was laughter somewhere in the distance, ringing out clear as a bell, and Keith's heart filled with warmth. He could just make out the shadows of a playground in the distance, standing out against the bright sky. And in front of it all, his father stood there, arms held out, beckoning.

It was a childhood he never got to have. One with the promise of a mother and father together, to love and cherish him and hold him.

And beyond that childhood, he glimpsed another man standing tall, silhouetted against the setting sun. Waiting.

They were all waiting.

Keith pushed himself onward, walking barefoot out of the base's front gate, the soldier on duty too busy chatting up a friend to give him more than a cursory glance beneath the starlit sky. They had never been concerned with people leaving the base, after all.

The road curved eastward, but Keith only kept walking straight, until concrete fell away to rough stone and dirt. For so many years, he'd had nothing but the stars to watch over him as he wandered, lost. They watched him again now, silent and cold, as he drifted out into the desert.

It hadn't taken Shiro long to recruit the other Paladins and Coran into their search. And though Lance grumbled out a complaint - "It's Keith. He's probably just off brooding somewhere." - none missed the worry in the young man's eyes, all their thoughts turned towards their missing friend. They quickly split up search of the base between them, Shiro assigning everybody an area - divide and conquer, so to speak.

And of course Keith had to go missing on a night when the Garrison base was so quiet. Several open-air bars had popped up in the tent city and markets that were bringing life back to the ruined city, and promise of alcohol and good company was more than enough to draw out off-duty soldiers.

It was Coran who brought Shiro their first solid lead. His voice burst up through the communicator Shiro had insisted they all carry, frantic.

"Shiro, he's not on the base. It took a fair bit of cajoling to refresh his memory, but a guard at the gate says he saw Keith heading out about 20 doboshes ago."

Nearly half an hour. Shiro pushed the panic down, focusing only on the facts.

"Did he stay on the road?" he asked, already expecting the worst. Shiro didn't wait for an answer as he strode out into the open air, heading directly towards the garage. The Lions were at the far end of the base. It would take too long to send the others to them, and Shiro needed to be out there now.

"This fellow really needs to be trained in better attentiveness," Coran pointed out. Shiro resisted the urge to tell the man to get to the point. "He didn't see Keith on the road when he looked back after, so... I'm afraid he's likely in the desert." Coran's words were clipped, tense. Shiro looked out in the cold, seeing the first flakes of a light snowfall drifting down.

"He couldn't have gotten far on foot. Thanks, Coran. Send the others to their lions just in case, but I'm taking a hoverbike out now."

They'd worry about what had happened to Keith later. For now, his top priority was finding the man and bringing him back.

From a distance, the playground had seemed bright and colorful, his father's arms beckoning him closer. But Keith couldn't shake the chill, the lingering disappointment as he found only coppery rust eating away at a childhood he could barely remember. One that had never been meant for him. His father stood there, face haggard, arms falling away. Keith leapt forward for him, fingers reaching desperately but something snagged at him, dragged him back.

"No! Dad, wait-!"

But the man only turned away, shaking his head. "Sorry kiddo. Just not enough time. I've gotta work." He left footprints of ash in his wake, and hands pulled at Keith, catching his arm, yanking him back.

Gone. He was gone. Voices whispered to him, telling him he was alone, forgotten, abandoned. Nobody stepped forward to claim him - no grandparents or aunts or uncles or cousins. That deep, bone-chilling loneliness that drew the heat from his skin, Keith shivering as he yanked himself away from clawing fingers.

He stumbled forward, leaving bloodied footprints from soles scraped raw against the unforgiving stone. But he couldn't stop. Didn't see. Couldn't feel anything but that desperation to finally catch his father. He'd spent far too long chasing his shadow, wishing for the impossible. That he would come back one day, tell everyone it was all a big mistake, collect Keith and take him home.

There was nobody to watch him as one lone man dragged himself forward, fingers grasping blindly for something only he could see. It was a chilling, empty world, with a thin layer of snow trapping his footprints, marred red. A scraggly bush jutted up from the landscape, a scrap of Keith's sleeve fluttering in its grasping branches.

"You should have tried harder."

Keith's eyes shot up, too bright in the darkness, filled with a pain he couldn't hold back any longer. Shiro was there. Shiro stood tall, one hand held out to him. But as Keith reached out, that hand dropped away and Shiro stepped back.

"Why didn't you try harder? I put so much time into you, tried to show you what you could be. But turns out, you were nothing."

Nothing. Useless. A waste of time, of space. Things he'd been told again and again, through words and deeds. But Keith froze, eyes wide and hurting as he shook his head, stepping forward. Not from him. Never from him. Keith lurched forward, unsteady, eyes swimming with moisture as Shiro took another step back, and then another.

Twin beams of light lit up the desert, snow and dirt kicked up in his wake as Shiro urged the hoverbike onward. Goggles were tugged low over his eyes, his winter jacket zipped up tight. He ignored the bite of chill to his ears, the tip of his nose. He scanned the horizon frantically, searching for any sign of a figure wandering out in the desert in the light December snowfall.

As dangerous as a snowy desert night could be, it was the blanket of white that gave him his first real lead. Shiro pressed down on the brake, slowing his glide over the terrain, headlights washing over a patch of red in the snow. He stiffened his jaw, fingers gripping the handles tightly. Another patch of red, and then another beyond that, bloodied footprints pressed into the snow.

"Keith." A quiet prayer, a promise, as he revved the engine and pushed onward.

He knew the area. How many days and evenings had he spent ripping through the desert? Later, Keith had been right there at his side, keeping pace, until he eventually surpassed him entirely - the pair of them cutting paths through the craggy landscape. The direction those footprints were heading in? Shiro knew what was ahead.

He gunned it, and the glider took off once more.

Only a few minutes more and his lights lit up a figure stumbling forward drunkenly, words shouted into the emptiness beyond. Emptiness. That sheer drop and Shiro's heart was in his throat, blind panic pushing him forward. "Keith!" he shouted over the whir of his engines, but the paladin didn't respond. Didn't look back.

One foot and then another, and he was right there, teetering on the edge.

He couldn't process that grasping hand, the words falling from Keith's lips. Only that he was there and he was about to be gone. There was no time to stop. No time to call for help. Shiro swung threw his weight to the side, sending the wing dragging into the snow and dirt. The bike swung sharply around, metal straining, that sudden drag cutting away at its speed. The bike went tumbling and Shiro pushed his legs down, throwing himself off the bike. He hit the ground rolling, legs scrambling, hands struggling to push himself up.

"Keith!" He ignored the sharp pain in his shoulder, the wrenched muscles as he threw himself forward, willing his hover arm to push past its boundaries, reaching desperately for the one man who had looked out for him above all else.

The world fell away, the stars standing out harshly, the only witness to Keith's fate. Shiro's eyes flickered with a toxic purple as the man turned away. Just as his father had turned from him. Just as so many adults or children; parental figures, friends, had taken one look at him and saw him as hopeless, dangerous, or broken.

Worthless.

"Shiro, wait, please!"

But the man didn't look back. Didn't look back as his arm started to rust and fall away, crumbling with time and inevitability just as his childhood had. Keith pushed himself forward, reaching desperately, hands grasping for the man. So close, but so far.

"Don't, not again! Don't leave me again!" He couldn't do it. Not again. And he was so close. So close. Keith lept for the man, and suddenly his foot dropped. It dropped just as his stomach plummeted, the ground falling away beneath him. Brilliant stars in every direction, Shiro just a shadow against them, fading away.

But hands pulled at him, wrapped around his arm in a painful grip, wrenching his shoulder as it pulled him back. And even as his legs kicked out over the ledge, another arm followed, wrapping around his chest, pulling him harshly back. "Let go! I have to find him! You can't stop me! Let me go!"

And he was sobbing, shaking, fighting, fingers raking.

Shiro withstood it all, ignoring the bloody scratches Keith's panicked fingers etched into his face as he pulled him around. The boy's eyes were wide, wild with fear and pain. He was shivering violently, kicking, fighting as he shook his head, trying to pull himself away and back towards the cliffside.

"Don't leave me alone-" he gasped out, twisting towards that drop.

"Keith, Keith." He bundled the man up in his arms, crushing him to his chest, the pair of them dropping down to their knees. "You're not alone. You'll never be alone again." Fingers dragged through his hair, pressing the man close and Keith couldn't stop the tears from washing down his face. The struggles died away, and he wasn't scratching or punching or fighting. He only clung to Shiro, arms wrapped around him, hands fisted in the back of the man's jacket.

Shiro shushed him, rocking the man against his chest, hands rubbing warm circles up and down his back. He pulled away only once to struggle out of his own jacket and wrap it around Keith, trying to work some warmth back into him.

Above them, the green lion circled.

Two days later, Keith was sitting up in bed in the infirmary, staring dubiously at the hospital food on the tray settled over his lap. The jell-o wobbled, the mac & cheese looked mushy, and the pile of greens was the most unappetizing thing he'd ever set his eyes on. And yet his stomach gurgled, and he, reluctantly, stuck a green bean in his mouth.

"I think Hunk is gonna sneak you in something better later," Shiro said, lips quirked as he took a seat in the chair by Keith's bedside. That chair had held a variety of concerned friends, and Krolia would add concerned family to that mix when she arrived tomorrow. But it was Shiro who could make him slowly put his fork down, eyes falling away.

It was all a blur, really. A mess of images and sounds, with only that desperate, lonely ache playing in sharp relief. Pain killers numbed the ache in his feet, still bandaged from his barefoot wanderings out in the desert. He could see the remnants of two scratches running down Shiro's cheek, still healing. He looked away, embarrassed.

Shiro wasn't put off.

He only leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped thoughtfully together. "It was that alien tech you and Pidge picked up in the market a couple days ago. It was coated in some kind of dust that, it turns out, is toxic to Galra." Even half-Galra. Keith glanced over at the man, brow furrowed. "We had to keep you sedated until we were sure it was out of your system."

Keith settled back against the pillows, eyes slipping shut a moment. "I think I was having some kind of nightmare." He'd never wanted Shiro to see him like that.

"Yeah, Kolivan said it acts as a sort of hallucinogen, but it plays on hopes and fears and twists them."

The younger man snorted and picked up his fork again, poking idly at the jell-o. "Great, so I pretty much had a bad trip."

Shiro said nothing for a moment, fingers clasped together. Keith stabbed into the jell-o, eyes darting towards Shiro and then away again. "I don't really remember too much of it, but..." He trailed off with a frustrated sigh, not even sure what he wanted to say.

"I think...it sounded like you were afraid of being alone." Being abandoned. Shiro spoke delicately, eyes steady on Keith's face. "But I meant what I said out there."

Keith's hand shook. "Remind me?"

Shiro didn't need to be told twice. He reached a hand out and settled it over Keith's own, fork and all, stilling that tremble. "You're not alone, Keith. Not anymore and never again."

Keith's eyes slipped shut, tension slipping from his shoulders. He released a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

Just like that, Keith could breathe again.