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Chapter Text

Keith's breath hissed between his teeth as he sucked in minimal air from behind the muzzle he had been forced to wear since his first day as a captive to the Galra Empire. It was going on a week and Keith hated to admit that he was getting somewhat used to not being able to see and barely being able to breathe. The helmet that was connected to the muzzle came down over his eyes and completely blacked out his vision. There was no discernible latch anywhere on the muzzle and try as he might, Keith just couldn't get the contraption off.

Back on day three, Keith had been pulled from his room and dragged somewhere and he was sure he was about to be interrogated or sent to the Arena or tortured. But instead, he had two guards restraining by the arms as he stood in what he assumed was the middle of the room, and he scowled as he heard some kind of spell being spoken. Immediately, he had felt a tingle wash over his body.

Confusion kept him from struggling against the large hands wrapped around his biceps or attempting to attack the spell-caster. It wasn't some kind of pain spell, since the worst he felt was a bone-deep rattling that was more uncomfortable than anything else. But then he was marched back to his cell and tossed in without a word.

He thought the tingling would fade, but it continued. For the next two days, he was left alone with nothing but the pins-and-needles sensation to keep him company. In the darkness, he couldn't see what was happening. But he every so often rubbed his arms to keep the tingling at bay. He wore the long-sleeve prisoner shirt though, so he couldn't feel his own skin. But underneath the shirt, he noticed as time went on, sensation kept fading and fading from his arms. He would have to rub harder to feel anything, and when the tingling finally started to fade on day three, he tried rubbing at his legs, with the same results. He could feel the pressure just fine, but the actual touch was far away.

But what he did notice was that his other senses were heightened to almost annoying levels. His sense of hearing had amplified so much, he could hear guards talking all the way down the hall from his cell, where before he could only hear muffled voices when they were right outside his door. His sense of smell was heightened as well, and as guards would pass by, he would sometimes crinkle his nose involuntarily at the stench they carried. Some were better than others, but some really needed to learn personal hygiene.

He was sure his taste was amplified too, but they hadn't given him anything to eat since he had arrived. At the beginning they gave him water once a day, but after the day the spell was put on him, he hadn't seen or heard from anyone since. He was only able to keep track of the days because of the guards' schedules. He had learned to distinguish guards by their smell or the way they spoke, and when he recognized someone from the day before, he assumed it had been a full day.

Keith's stomach rumbled to remind him that he hadn't eaten anything in almost a week, and he had to curl over himself to ease the cramp. After a moment, it faded and he was able to stretch out on the bed, if it could even be called that. It was more like a stiff cot, raised off the ground only by about a foot, and had a single blanket on it. It was as hard as the floor and Keith often found himself just curling up on the floor with the blanket during the day.

He would be the first to admit it; he was bored. There was nothing really to do but wait for someone to find him. He had tried escaping plenty of times, but being blindfolded and weaponless gave him a mighty disadvantage. That, and no one had even come by his cell in days, so there was no way to catch someone off-guard and make a break for it. He had paced the length of the cell plenty of times. It was around six feet by ten feet, give or take, and absolutely no weaknesses in the walls or door he could utilize. He had no idea how tall the ceiling was, and since the walls were smooth, he couldn't climb up even if he wanted to. The room didn't echo very much, so he assumed it was just out of reach. Maybe nine or ten feet high, as he couldn't reach it even when he jumped up from the bed.

That had all been in the beginning of his time here. As days went on, he ran out of more and more things to do, and resorted himself to sitting on the ground or doing a few push-up reps to keep himself busy. Sooner or later, someone would come get him, whether it was Voltron or the Blade of Marmora. Someone had to recognize him here, right? Maybe they were planning their rescue mission. He just had to be patient and keep his strength up for when the time came.

But damn if it wasn't lonely.

He found himself daydreaming so often, he would start to hallucinate. Seeing shapes in the darkness or hearing voices right next to him. He couldn't really tell the difference when he was asleep or awake, and pinching his arm hadn't yielded results since he couldn't feel the pinch what with the sensation of touch being faded already, on top of trying to pinch through the shirt he wore. Pinching his neck or his cheek became habit then, to test if he was awake. He sometimes couldn't tell, and would pinch so hard, his fingertips would come back tacky. He guessed his fingernails had grown more than he realized, but didn't think much about it. He couldn't really do anything about it anyway since his teeth were clenched shut.

One of the guards, the one with the worst smell and the heaviest footfalls, eventually left his post at the end of the hall and approached Keith's cell door somewhere around day seven. Or was it day eight? He banged on it three times, making Keith flinch with the resounding BANG that followed each one. "Halfbreed scum, how are you feeling in there?" He taunted.

Keith didn't answer. Even if he wasn't muzzled, he wouldn't have given him the satisfaction of a reply. "Might be getting pretty hungry, are we?" Keith's vicious scowl immediately fell away. Food? Was the guard offering food? His scowl pulled at his lips again. What was the catch? "We have some fresh meat coming in very soon for you. Weak with battle, all you have to do is finish it off and you will be allowed to eat to your heart's content."

Wait, he would be given a live animal? And he was supposed to kill it if he wanted to eat? Not ideal, but Keith had killed animals before to eat, especially when he was living in the desert, but also a few times when his foster parents would send him to bed without giving him a meal all day. When that would happen, he would sneak out to feed himself. Killing to survive was nothing new to him. His stomach gave another weak strain, and Keith grimaced. There must have been a window on the cell door because the Galran chuckled at Keith's pain. "Looks like you're game. It will be here within a varga." And then the footsteps retreated and Keith was alone again.

He would have to finish it off. The guard said it would be weak though, so hopefully Keith wouldn't have to exert much force to catch it. He wasn't sure how much energy he had. Another thought crossed his mind and he suddenly felt sick. How was he supposed to cook it? A few times, he tried eating raw meat and every time, he ended up with food poisoning. He's lucky he wasn't killed that time he ate a garden rat. He was a cadet still and had only been at the Garrison for less than a month. He had gotten in trouble so the supervising commander dismissed him from class without allowing him to the mess hall. Keith had wandered to the courtyard instead of going to his quarters. While he was looking up at the stars — a pastime he couldn't seem to shake — he saw a rat from the corner of his eye. His stomach had rumbled back then, not nearly as bad as now, and he had unsheathed his mother's knife. Within twenty minutes, he had caught, killed, and skinned the rat. He wanted to cook it, but couldn't afford to make a fire and get in more trouble. So he just started eating it raw.

Big mistake.

Not half an hour later, he was in his dorm’s bathroom vomiting up blood. His head throbbed incessantly, like his knife was being drilled into his skull. From the bathroom he had the mind to call Shiro since the older pilot insisted it was okay that Keith contact him. So he did, with shaking fingers and blurry, watery eyes. Shiro rushed him to the hospital and it was three weeks before Keith was well enough to go back to class. After that, instructors never restricted Keith's access to food and found other ways to reprimand him, like limiting his time in simulators, or making him stay a few extra hours in class.

Later, Keith had only ever gotten mild food poisoning from eating raw rattlesnakes in the desert after Shiro's disappearance and his own expulsion from the Garrison.

All these thoughts ran through Keith's mind as he sat in the darkness, listening to voices chatting as they passed the hall where his cell was. He wondered how he was supposed to eat if his jaw was forced shut. And if they took the muzzle off for him to eat but then immediately put it back on, what was he supposed to do if he got sick from the raw meat? Swallow his own sick?

Keith almost gagged at just the thought.

Footsteps distracted him from his thoughts. Footsteps and the sound of something being dragged. Something large. Keith swallowed. How big was this animal he was supposed to be killing? He imagined something rabbit-sized. What they were bringing sounded more like dog- or even mini-horse-sized. He stood up when he heard the latch on his door disengage with a beep, and then a whoosh as the door slid open. There was a grunt and something toppled into his cell, collapsing into a heap.

Then the door was sliding shut, the guards snickering to themselves. Keith didn't hear them walk away, so he assumed they were standing outside his cell, watching what he'd do. Apparently Keith would not be allowed to have the muzzle removed until he killed the creature. He bared his clenched teeth in a snarl at them even though he knew they couldn't see it, before turning his attention to the creature gasping for breath at his feet.

It was making a wet, wheezing sound. It was in pain. Keith had put animals out of their misery before. It was better than letting them suffer. Keith carefully knelt on the ground, reaching a hand out to try to feel how big this thing was. He figured if he could find its neck, he could either snap it quickly, or he could suffocate it with the blanket or something. But first he had to know what he was dealing with.

The backs of his fingers brushed fabric and he realized the 'animal' was wearing clothes. His brow furrowed in confusion and he pinched the fabric between his fingers. It felt familiar. In a moment, it clicked. It was a Galra prisoner uniform. Keith made a choked, distressed noise in the back of his throat and threw himself backward.

This wasn't an animal. It was another prisoner. Beaten and hurt, likely from torture or rounds in the Arena. And they wanted Keith to finish them off and eat them while the guards huddled at the door and watched.

It was one thing to kill animals to survive. But another...sentient being? He had no idea what type of alien they gave him, but the fact that they were wearing a prisoner uniform had to mean something. Keith shook his head. No. No way was he going to do this.

But then again... They were in pain. And they were a prisoner to the Galra. Maybe killing them and putting them out of their misery would be a kind of mercy. And then Keith could have something to eat. A win-win, he thought bitterly.

So with a deep breath, Keith crawled on all fours back toward the creature. Their breathing had evened out somewhat now that they were lying down. Keith settled on his haunches near the creature's head. He reached out again and was somewhat surprised when he touched something very soft and fleshy.

"Uh?" The creature grunted and Keith could only imagine they were cracking their eyes open to see who was poking their face. Keith’s mouth pressed into a firm line. He had no idea how he looked, but he was sure he looked weird with the helmet-slash-muzzle on his head and covering his face. The creature seemed to think so too, because after a moment of silence, Keith heard them huff. It was a very human sound, a bit of bitter humor and resignation combined in the sound. "What now?"

Keith felt all the blood drain from his body.

That was a very human voice. A very familiar human voice.

Instantly, Keith's hands were back on the person under him, trying his hardest to get an idea of what they looked like. A small nose, high cheekbones, short hair atop the head, and he couldn't even feel guilty when he stuck a finger into their mouth to feel their pristinely-straight teeth.

The human had tolerated everything up until then. When Keith's finger pushed into their mouth, they shook their head to dislodge him. "Gross, man. Buy me dinner first."

Keith wanted to be sick. This wasn't an animal. Wasn't even a creature or an alien. It was a human. More importantly...

It was Lance.

Lance, his sworn rival. Lance, from the Garrison. Lance, the blue paladin. Lance, the sharpshooter of Voltron. Lance.

Keith fell back and leaned to the side as he gagged weakly into his mouth. Nothing came up, not even a bit of acid. He dry heaved a couple more times. What kind of sick game were the Galra playing at? Did they think Keith would kill him without realizing it was his teammate?

Apparently so, because when it became obvious that Keith wasn't going to put on a macabre show, he heard the other guards dispersing with grumbles of dissatisfaction. Keith cursed bitterly to himself and stumbled to his feet to bang on the door. He couldn't hear anyone outside, everyone apparently having gotten bored and left.

A weak groan sounded and there was the sound of fabric rustling as Lance attempted to move. Keith was on his knees by his side immediately and was gently pushing his shoulders back down. He was still injured, after all. Pretty badly, if the rattling in his chest was anything to go by.

"Mh-stop," Lance argued, trying to swat at Keith. Keith wanted to argue back. To tell him that he was injured and that he needed to relax. But he couldn't talk to Lance. Couldn't even open his jaw to try to mouth words to him.

Quite suddenly, the absence of food became infinitely much more prominent. Startled, Keith could feel himself fading. The promise of food had given him a small shot of energy, but now that he wasn't going to be eating, his body lost the burst of adrenaline he had been using up until now. And he was suddenly incredibly tired and more than a little dizzy. The lack of vision wasn't helping the dizziness either.

He felt the ground tilt under him and he had to brace himself on all fours to get the room to stop spinning. His stomach cramped up painfully and Keith wheezed as the air was pushed from his lungs. This cramp was the longest one yet, and he was doubled over for almost five minutes. He could vaguely hear Lance saying something, but couldn't distinguish the words over his own heartbeat rushing in his ears.

He thought he was going to pass out when he felt himself become both too hot and miserably cold, cotton stuffing itself into his ears, but he clung to consciousness like his life depended on it. And who knows, maybe it did.

Finally, it abated. Keith let himself fall to the side, curled up as shivers wracked his starved body. He was exhausted but stubbornly forced himself to stay awake. For Lance.

The words began to trickle into his awareness. "-wrong? Are you sick? If you are, please don't hurk on me. I can't exactly move to get out of the way." And Keith had never been happier to hear Lance's rambling. Because it meant he was aware enough to understand at least a little of what was going on.

Keith rolled himself onto his stomach and up onto his elbows, and reached a hand out. He was in pain and scared and even though he wished neither of them were in this mess, at least he had Lance with him. After so long without human contact, it was so nice to have someone he knew to keep him company. He didn’t realize how much he missed it until now. His hand landed on Lance's shoulder, and he gave a weak squeeze to tell him everything was okay.

But Lance pulled away in a jerky, quick movement. "Aha yeah, just because we're prisoners together doesn't mean we can get all buddy-buddy." Keith's heart sank. Of course Lance wouldn't want to interact with Keith. They were rivals, after all. Keith has assumed 'the enemy of my enemy is my friend' would apply here, but apparently not. But then Lance continued, and Keith frowned. "Besides, I don't know what you had to do to get the Galra to turn against you, and I don't think I want to find out."

What was he talking about? He tried to make a confused noise in the back of his throat, but his mouth and tongue and throat were so tacky with dehydration, he couldn't make a sound other than a dry rasp. His brow furrowed but Lance couldn't see it, apparently. The visor must have been solid so not only could Keith not see out, but no one else could see in. "Let me guess, you bit someone? That's why you have to wear that thing?" Keith shook his head sadly. "Huh, you can understand me?" Lance seemed surprised. An odd emotion, considering he and Keith were from the same planet. From the same team, at that. "Guess that makes sense," Lance went on, unaware of Keith's confusion. "Most Galra can speak English. Dunno why I thought you didn't." His voice was getting lighter, like he was falling asleep. "Maybe cuz you're so small." And then Lance let out a quiet sigh and Keith just knew he had slipped into unconsciousness.

Keith was confused. Beyond confused. What was Lance talking about? Sure, he had the helmet on his head, but he shouldn't be that unrecognizable, right? He still looked human.

...right?

Suddenly, a lot of things clicked into place. The heightened senses. The strange tingling all over his body. Keith quickly pulled up his sleeve and rubbed at his arm. Now that he had an idea of what he was feeling for, he could feel it. Fur. A thick — likely purple — fur covered his arms. That was why he couldn't feel his own touch before. The fur prevented it. And his fingers were sharper than they should be. He gently dragged what could only be described as claws down his neck where the fur was thinner, down to his collarbone. He vaguely realized he was hyperventilating, but couldn't seem to stop.

He then attempted to feel his mouth. Were his teeth sharpened too? But all he succeeded in doing was smashing his fingers into the muzzle piece covering his mouth. His heart was racing and he tried to feel his ears. Had they changed too? But he was met with resistance as the helmet covered his whole head, hair and everything. No wonder Lance didn't recognize him. He didn't look human, and Lance couldn't see his hair to recognize his so-called 'mullet'. And both of them were wearing the prisoner uniforms rather than an identifying piece of clothing.

On top of that, Keith had no way of telling Lance who he was.

Panic settled in, raw and piercing. Keith kicked himself backward until his back was pressed to a wall. No no no, this couldn't be happening! Was this reversible? Or would he look like a Galra for the rest of his life? Would his team ever accept him back? He knew Allura had her phase where she had to get used to Keith's heritage. But he hadn't looked Galran back then. Would she kick him out of team Voltron? Force him to go back to Earth? Abandon him on a planet where the residents hunted Galra for sport?

Keith felt his face heat up and his eyes stung but he had no tears to cry. He sobbed silently, mourning the loss of everything he had. His lion, his team, his family. He hiccuped as he hugged himself. Hoping beyond everything that there was some way to get him back to normal. But to do that, he needed to get out of here. And to do that, he had to work with Lance.

Keith took a deep breath and slowly unfolded himself, squashing the panic into a faint thrumming in his chest rather than a vice. He made his way to Lance, who was breathing shallowly as he laid on the ground. First things first, he had to make sure Lance's injuries weren't life-threatening. Good thing Lance was unconscious, otherwise Keith would have had to restrain him somehow to check him over.

Starting at the top of Lance's head, Keith allowed his fingers to try to find what his eyes couldn't tell him. A bump, a scratch, maybe something tackier than it should be. He felt a small lump on the side of Lance's head and figured that was how Lance was taken captive. It seemed like an old injury, since Lance didn't make any movement to indicate he felt anything. Maybe a day or two old. Keith continued his search. Lance's face didn't feel broken at all; his nose was intact and his jaw seemed like it wasn't dislocated or anything. Keith couldn't tell if there were any bruises, but at this point he just wanted to make sure any serious injuries were dealt with. Bruises weren't serious, at least not right now.

Continuing down, there were no breaks in Lance's collarbone and his shoulders felt intact. But as he moved his fingers down Lance's arms, he felt an uncomfortable lump under the skin in Lance's right arm. He double-checked the other arm and didn't feel a similar lump. So he used both hands to inspect the injury. The bone in his forearm felt like it was snapped. Or, one of them was. The other half was intact, so the arm wasn't flopping around uselessly. But Keith could definitely feel a small ridge in the bone that could only be a displaced break. Luckily Keith didn't feel anything poking out of the skin so at least everything was still covered. He made a mental note to get back to that. He didn't want to set the bone and have Lance wake up from the pain, only to prevent Keith from inspecting the other wounds. He had to know everything they were dealing with.

So as much as it pained him, he laid Lance's arm back down and let his fingers move back to Lance's torso. He felt a few loose ribs, but none of them seemed completely broken. Just strained or slightly broken. Nothing that Keith could do anything about since none of them needed to be set. But painful, he reasoned, nonetheless. It would explain the raspy, quick breaths Lance had been taking.

When he got to Lance's abdomen, he had to pause for a moment. His fingers touched something freshly wet and he was suddenly very aware of the thick smell of coppery blood in the air. Fantastic, okay. An open wound. Keith cursed to himself and had to think. He needed to know what was going on, but he didn't want to give Lance an infection by touching his wound with contaminated hands. But frankly, he had no choice. There was no water to wash his hands off with, so he whispered a silent apology and let his fingers tenderly feel what was going on. Lance's prisoner uniform was ripped, revealing a large, still-bleeding gash in Lance's left side. Keith grimaced and tried to figure out how big it was under the gore. He desperately hoped his claws weren’t causing more damage, because Lance’s breathing had hitched a few times now and Keith could hear Lance’s heart beating faster. Keith came to be conclusion that it was around three inches long, and fairly deep. He estimated maybe half an inch deep in the middle, since he couldn't feel any organs actively bulging out. But it was bleeding. A lot. Keith really wanted to get continue his search of what else the Galra had done to Lance, but he couldn’t in good conscience leave the injury untreated.

He rose onto his knees and felt his way to the bed, pulling the blanket off and using his sharp claws to tear it into wide strips. He folded one up and pressed it to Lance’s side like an absorbent pad, pressing down hard.

The pain roused Lance and he groaned. Keith felt him sleepily slapping at his wrists but stubbornly didn’t let up the pressure.

The groaning pitched into a keen and then a whimper and Lance was squirming weakly. But he didn’t appear to get more lucid as time went on. Keith gritted his already-gritted teeth harder. “N-No, st-stop! Please! Oh god please, p-please stop!”

Then Lance was crying and begging and Keith's heart broke. He had to pull away just for a moment. He couldn’t reassure him that he was trying to help. For all Lance knew, Keith could be some Galra trying to torture him. He raised his hands placatingly, waiting for Lance to calm down.

Lance shifted, likely curling on his side, and took a few shaky breaths. Keith sat back, waiting.

Finally Lance’s heartbeat slowed down some, and Keith risked reaching a hand out toward him. Lance gasped raggedly and jerked away.

Keith wanted to scream. He was just trying to help!

He held up the bloody pad in his hand, hoping Lance was looking at him, and motioned toward Lance, then at Keith's own stomach, then mimed placing the pad on his own side. With his other hand he gave a thumbs up and held out the pad for Lance to take.

There was a moment where nothing happened and Keith thought Lance either didn’t see him or didn’t understand. But then the pad was being tugged from his fingers and Lance’s wispy voice floated at him. “Wh...Wait, you were helping me?” Keith nodded fervently, leaning forward ever so slightly. “Why?” Keith wanted to tell him that he cared about Lance. That he never liked their rivalry and he thought they actually made a pretty good team. That he knew how important Lance was to the team and to the other Paladins. That he admired his spunk and how he was able to see a silver lining in anything. That he was so good with people and could light up a room with one of those brilliant smiles. That he always felt a little jealous of his family and how sweet he was with his siblings. That even though he was always being pushed into Keith’s shadow, he still made a name for himself and he was just as important to the team in his own special way. And that Keith would never forgive himself if anything happened to Lance and they didn’t both get to walk out of here alive.

But there was no way to mime all of that, so he just shrugged lamely. Lance didn’t seem bothered by that and just hissed softly when he pressed the pad back to the wound. “Man those guards do not play nice,” Lance groaned and Keith snorted quietly.

Keith moved a little closer and lifted up his arm, pointing at his own forearm, then pointing to Lance.

“Your arm? Oh, my arm? Ah yeah, I had my shield up and some guy smashed a mace or something onto it. I’m pretty sure it broke my arm,” Lance explained, voice slightly strained with pain. Keith nodded and raised both hands, mimed a twisting movement with his hands, and held out his hand tentatively for Lance to give him his arm. “You want to fix it?” He interpreted, and Keith nodded. There was room for Lance to say no if he wanted. And it seemed like he wanted to for a moment, but then he gave a deep sigh. “Better than letting it heal wrong, I guess,” he said to himself, voice tight. And then there was a weight in Keith’s hand as Lance let his arm rest in Keith’s palm.

Keith re-familiarized himself with the injury, trying to visualize it as best he could and how would be the best way to set it. Once he was sure he had a good angle, he snatched an extra strip of the blanket and made a biting movement with his hand, sticking the fabric between his fingers. “Good idea,” Lance wheezed and took it with his good hand. Keith waited a moment for him to get it settled between his teeth, then held up a hand, holding up three fingers. Lance sucked in a sharp breath around his gag.

Three...two...one. In a single movement, Keith grasped both sides of the break and gave a slight twist as he pushed them to line up properly. Lance immediately wrenched himself backward but Keith held on tight. The sound of the grinding bone was drowned out as Lance’s muffled scream echoed around the small room. He quickly quieted himself as soon as the worst was over, groaning into the gag and trembling. Keith wasn’t completely sure what to do but he felt like comfort was okay. So he finally released Lance’s arm so he could cradle it to himself, and started rubbing circles on Lance’s back, between his shoulder blades.

“Ohhh quiznack that hurt,” Lance ground out when he was capable of words. Keith just kept rubbing circles. Lance suddenly rolled fully onto his back and grasped Keith’s outstretched hand gently. “Thanks, that would have been so much worse if my team had to re-break it before healing me.” Keith shrugged again. Lance rambled on tiredly, “Speaking of my team, they should be here soon to get me. I was on a mission to save my friend.” Keith’s breath caught in his throat. Friend? Lance made a non-humorous chuckle. “Some mission. Went and got myself captured. Now not only do they have to save me, we still have to find him.” His voice grew sad. “It’s been over a week. No sign of him. We thought the Galra would have taunted us, bargained him for the black lion, sent us a ransom video to get us to cooperate. But there was nothing.”

Keith didn’t know what to say. He weakly tried pointing to himself and nodding encouragingly. “You’ve got a team too?” Keith nodded more vigorously and pointed to Lance. “Is it something like the Blade of Marmora?” Keith paused for a moment, then could almost feel his brain rattle with how hard he nodded. Lance chuckled softly. “Figures. I’m surprised the guards didn’t kill you right away. Usually so-called 'Galra traitors' aren’t kept alive for very long…" Keith froze. Lance was right, but that was a little blunt, even for Lance. Keith chalked it up to the adrenaline of being in pain. "I’m uh… I’m glad you’re here though,” Lance recovered when he realized he had soured the mood.

There was some silence for a while, then Lance was talking again, voice a bit more strained than before. “My team works with the Blade. Maybe when my team comes for me, we can contact them and get you back where you belong too,” Lance suggested hopefully. Keith just shrugged. “Have you heard of us? My team is Voltron, I don’t know if all the Blade members know about our alliance. But I’m the Blue Paladin.” Keith smiled to himself. Duh, he thought. But externally he just nodded. “You have? Great! Did you know that our Red Paladin is a Blade too? That’s how we got our alliance. He’s half-Galran. And he’s actually the one I was on the mission to rescue.” Keith had been nodding along and then enthusiastically pointed at himself, trying to say 'Yeah, that's me!' But it didn't click for Lance. “Were you trying to rescue someone too?” He misinterpreted. Keith shook his head and tried to motion to go back. Back to the previous sentence, but Lance’s voice grew weaker and he didn’t seem to understand. “Oh, before you got captured, you were rescuing someone too?” Keith shook his head again, frustration settling into his gut, but Lance just sighed out a tired “oh” and let the topic die, much to Keith’s dismay.

After a few more minutes of silence, Lance murmured, “M’sorry, I’m really tired. I just need a quick nap, okay?” And before Keith could attempt to reply, Lance’s breathing softened into sleep.

Keith was frustrated, but there was nothing really to do about it. Lance wasn't a mind reader and Keith's throat was too dry to even try to voice anything into his mouth.

At the reminder, his throat ached and he had to stifle a cough. His lungs burned as he sucked in dry air through his dry nose and down his dry throat. If he could have bit his own tongue to give himself some blood to wet his throat, he would have done it. But he had no use of his teeth. And that reminded him just how hungry he was too. Lightheadedness drove Keith to lay down, pressing his helmeted forehead into his forearm to try to slow the dizziness swirling around him.

Next thing he knew, the door was sliding open. Lance was talking. Had Keith fallen asleep? He tried to push himself up but his arms were completely useless and laid folded under his head. He couldn't even raise his head. What was happening? He tried to tune in to what Lance was saying.

"-uite a few varga now. Pretty much a quintant, no? How have you guys not brought anything yet? We need water! And my buddy needs food, I can see his ribs! You know nothing about hospitalit-." There was a slap and Lance's tirade was abruptly cut short. Keith felt someone grab him by the scruff of the neck but couldn't make his limbs cooperate.

"He is choosing not to eat," the guard hissed in Keith's ear and Lance piped up again, although more quietly.

"How is he choosing if there's nothing to eat at all? I've been in here for a while and he hasn't even been offered food, let alone refused it." There was silence for a beat. The guard was likely giving Lance a sick smile, because a moment later, Lance swallowed thickly and Keith could hear his heartbeat start to race. "Wait...you mean you threw me in here..." he trailed off. "He-"

"Disgusting creature can eat if he wants to." Keith was shaken by his neck and his brow furrowed in agitation but he couldn't do anything else to express his discomfort. "However, it is against our orders to let him die, and it can only be him who kills you, as much as I would love to be the one to deliver a killing blow." The hand released him and Keith collapsed to the ground face-first. Then Keith startled when there was a knee on his lower back and sharp prick in his neck.

"Whoa whoa whoa, what are you doing? What is that?" Lance was a lot closer now.

The guard snorted. "Why do you care?" Lance fumbled for words for a moment, but couldn't seem to come up with a reason why, so he fell quiet. Keith felt the needle empty whatever it was into his neck and then the guard pulled away. "These are hydration injections. When either of you becomes too dehydrated, you will receive one injection. They last for a single quintant." Keith heard the guard smile. "So we will only offer them every two." And then the door was opening and the footsteps disappeared, the door slamming shut behind him.

Lance growled as he pulled himself closer to Keith. "Hey, how you feeling?" He asked startlingly gently.

Surprisingly, Keith's limbs felt less like lead and when he inhaled, it didn't burn. He was able to push himself up onto his elbows, then onto his palms to lever himself into a seated position. He took a quick stock of his body and was able to genuinely offer a thumbs-up. Lance sighed in relief.

"Oh thank goodness. I was afraid for a second." Lance hesitated, like he didn't want to go on, but reluctantly continued, "I couldn't tell the guard, but..." he sighed, "you're a pretty cool guy. When I first got here, all they wanted to do was watch me suffer. It was a nice change when you didn't immediately hurt me. And to find out that they put me in here just for you to kill me, and yet you didn't? I just..." Keith jumped when he felt a hand grasp his and give a small squeeze. "Thank you," Lance's voice was tight and Keith didn't know what to do. Apparently Lance didn't expect him to do anything, because he pulled away after a few seconds and Keith was almost sad at the loss.

Lance shifted a bit and groaned quietly. Keith was on all fours again, making his way toward Lance. He reached out blindly and was still startled when Lance's fingers wrapped around his wrist and guided him down to where he was lying. "Not doing so good, buddy," he rasped. "Moving around a whole lot when that ass of a guard came in didn't help any, unh-" He cut himself off with a low groan when Keith's fingers found their way back down to Lance's side. Luckily it didn't feel like it was bleeding anymore, but Lance's uniform was stiff with blood and Keith wondered just how much he had lost.

Lance was quiet as Keith inspected him and didn't even make a noise of protest when Keith ventured his fingers lower. His breathing was shallow, so Keith wasn't completely sure if he was awake or not, but he wasn't going to question it. He quickly checked both of Lance's hips and determined that neither were dislocated, and traveled lower to his knees. They seemed okay. One felt a little warmer than the other, but it wasn't bad. But when he reached Lance's ankles, Lance let out a tiny shriek and Keith felt him kick lightly, trying to squirm away from the pain.

Keith's stomach dropped. He tenderly felt down one of Lance's shins and was able to feel exactly where the swelling started. And judging by how bad the pain was and how hot and swollen both of Lance's ankles were, Keith realized with a sickening scowl that Lance's ankles had been broken. No, more than broken. They were shattered. Because when Keith pushed a little bit on the swelling and sent a silent apology to Lance as he shouted hoarsely, he felt a loose bone shift inside.

Damn it. Damn it, damn it! Keith slammed a fist onto the ground next to Lance. There went his plans of getting Lance to help them escape. Lance wasn't walking anywhere anytime soon, and Keith was in no position to be carrying him. They were sitting ducks until the other paladins rescued both of them. And now they were not one, but two paladins down.

Keith swallowed as their chances of survival dwindled. He still stubbornly held onto the hope that somehow, against all odds, they would make it out.

But for now, they had nothing and Lance was in a lot of pain. Keith felt around the cell, trying to find the last of the strips that was left of the blanket. It took longer than Keith would have liked, but eventually he got them and crawled back to Lance. His sense of direction was still sharp as ever, though, as he didn't need to search for Lance. It helped that he was a lot larger than a few small strips of fabric. He patted Lance's leg to get his attention, and a small hum greeted him. He wasn't sure if Lance was lucid, but he decided to try to tell him what he planned.

He held up the fabric and pointed to Lance's ankles and made a spinning movement with his hands, like he was wrapping something. Lance hummed again and Keith took that as a 'go ahead' so he carefully picked up Lance's leg, balancing his calf on Keith's thigh, and ever so carefully wrapped the strip around it. Lance tensed and made small, throaty noises but other than that, made no movement to pull away. So Keith finished wrapping it as tightly as Lance's pain tolerance would allow, then did the same with the other.

"Yuhr ghud a'that," Lance slurred sleepily. Keith snorted quietly and reached up, finding Lance with his head raised and probably looking at Keith's handiwork. Keith gently pushed his forehead so he was lying down again, and patted his shoulder in what he hoped was a reassuring, comforting manner. "Mmkay, wake me if sumthin' hap'ns." Keith nodded and Lance was gone again. He felt like he should be concerned with how tired Lance was, but he really couldn't blame him. Keith was exhausted too.

But dutifully, he stayed awake. Just in case something happened, he felt safer with at least one of them keeping 'watch' as it were.

It was going on two hours of Lance's restless nap and Keith considered waking him so the small noises of pain would end. But he couldn't bring himself to disrupt his sleep. So he waited.

After three hours, Keith had had enough of the whimpers and the hitched breathing. So he reached out and pressed a hand to Lance's shoulder. Instantly, the noises stopped. Keith tried shaking Lance slightly, trying to rouse him. But Lance was still lost in slumber. He hummed and made an unhappy noise, and in his sleep, he scooted closer to Keith, pressing his good side against Keith's leg. Keith froze when he felt the warmth against his leg. It didn't necessarily feel good, since Keith was never that fond of touching, but he could admit that it was comforting.

So with a dramatic sigh, Keith curled his hand behind Lance's neck to lift his head up, and slid his leg underneath, acting like a pillow. When he let go, Lance adjusted himself and snuggled — straight-up snuggled — against Keith. After that, there were no more noises of pain. And Keith was happy to let Lance sleep on him. For now, anyway.

When he opened his eyes, Keith was surprised to be able to see. He looked down and saw Lance still sleeping on his lap. There was a bang on the door and Keith's head shot up to see who it was. In the window, he saw Shiro. He opened his mouth to shout, but no noise came out. He could open his mouth though, just his voice was gone. He pressed a hand to his throat and felt a short chain shackling his wrists to the wall behind him. He turned to see what was going on, since this was new, and by the time he looked back, Shiro was in the room, the door wide open with Hunk keeping the door clear while Pidge was still kneeling on the ground where she had hacked into their cell.

Lance was sitting up and talking to Shiro, but Keith couldn't hear them. It sounded muffled. He shook his head to try to clear it, and when he blinked back up, all four of the other paladins were standing above him, all wearing their Paladin armor. Even Lance. Keith looked down at himself, still wearing the Galra prisoner uniform, and back up at them, questions burning in his eyes. Shiro was the one to kneel down and place a hand on Keith's shoulder. "Sorry Keith, we can't take you with us." Keith gaped at him.

"Yeah, sorry buddy." Lance added. "But if you want, we can call the Blade of Marmora! They'll be sure to take you, now that you look like one of them! Or you can let the Galra here kill you, since that's what they do with Galra traitors like you." He smiled, a sinister thing. "It's your choice, buddy." Keith felt tears welling in his eyes and he shook his head frantically, trying to shout to them, but no noise passed his lips. Lance knelt down and squeezed his shoulder. "Buddy. Come on, buddy." Keith continued to shake his head, face hot as tears threatened to spill over his cheeks. This was the worst thing that could have happened. His team found them. They were saved! But since Keith looked Galra, they were leaving him behind. He felt himself breathing a little too hard, verging on hyperventilating. “Hey!” Lance’s voice shouted at him again.

"Buddy!" Keith sucked in a ragged gasp, both surprised and not when he couldn't open his mouth. He heaved in air, feeling it burn his nose and throat, and could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He reached up and grasped at his chest, trying to calm himself down.

He slowly became aware that everything was black and that he couldn’t see, and it dawned on him that he must have been dreaming. A hand squeezed his shoulder and Keith startled, making to look at it but realizing halfway that he couldn't see it anyway. Lance's low voice reached him. "Hey there, you okay? That was a hell of a nightmare." Lance pulled Keith forward just a bit so he could wrap his arms around him in a loose hug. "You're okay, it wasn't real." He paused. "Unless it was real, and you were having a flashback. In that case, it's not real anymore."

Keith was too relieved to care that Lance was rambling. He found his arms and quickly threw them around Lance, hugging tightly. Lance made a small 'eep!' at the movement, but didn't pull away.

They held each other for a while. Keith couldn't bring himself to pull away, and Lance didn't seem like he was in a place where he could be sitting up on his own, so eventually he was just leaning against Keith while Keith kept his arms wrapped around him.

"Y'know, I don't think I introduced myself," Lance hummed. "I'm Lance. The sharpshooter Blue Paladin and right leg of Voltron." Lance sounded so proud as he said it, and Keith realized just how much the titles meant to him. For once, he wasn't in Keith's shadow. He was his own person, he made a name for himself, and he was proud of that. Keith couldn't help but feel proud of him too. "I would ask you your name, but I don't think that will help much," Lance continued. "Do you mind if I give you a nickname until you get your helmet off?"

Keith smiled underneath the muzzle and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. He waved his hand in a 'go ahead' motion. What kind of nonsense would Lance come up with?

"Well, there's this really popular song artist on earth, my planet, and he goes by 'Buckethead' because he always wears some kind of bucket...on his head." Lance chuckled. "Can I call you that? Maybe even just 'Bucket' for short?" Keith laughed quietly and nodded. Sure, he could be 'Bucket' for now. Why not? Lance cheered. "Great! Nice to officially meet you, Bucket!" And Keith felt Lance take his hand and shake it. It was awkward because of their position, but Lance somehow made it work.

They settled into a nice silence, Keith's nightmare having faded from Lance's antics, and Lance being a warm weight cuddling against him. It felt safe and comfortable, despite everything. Before long, Lance's breathing evened out into some kind of half-asleep rhythm. Keith soon followed. They were resting, definitely, but Keith was still aware of their surroundings in case something were to happen.

Because they were like this, Keith was able to easily feel Lance's heartbeat and hear his breathing, so when, a couple hours later, his heartbeat started pounding a little harder and his breaths were more labored on Keith's neck, Keith was able to detect it immediately. He reached up to cup the back of Lance's head to guide him to lie down, but as soon as he tried to shift him, Lance groaned lowly, stiffening immediately and tightening his fingers in Keith's shirt like his was in pain.

This made Keith's concern skyrocket, and he practically pried Lance off his shoulder and guided him to lie in his lap again so he could check him over. Once he was somewhat settled, Keith gently rested his hand on Lance's forehead. It felt cold. Or, colder than it should, at least. Was Lance too cold in here? Keith had a new layer of fur that was likely keeping him warm, but Lance didn't have that luxury.

Convinced that Lance was probably cold, Keith carried him to the cot and settled both Lance and himself onto it. They were pressed very close together, but Keith for once didn't mind. Lance seemed miserable and buried his face into Keith's chest, groaning quietly.

As the day went on, Lance got worse and worse. Keith kept him company as his body started to rebel against him, making Lance delirious and sick. He threw up a few times, mostly dry heaves, but it sounded painful. He would always crawl back to Keith right away, huddling with him for comfort and reassurance.

It was a rough night with Lance continuously waking up to dry heave and Keith there to rub his back until he was done. By the time the regular morning guards were trickling in, Lance had collapsed and was unresponsive.

Keith tried shaking him, patting his face, even said a silent apology as he gripped one of Lance's broken ankles and squeezed. Nothing elicited a response. Keith panicked and jumped to his feet, ignoring how it made him dizzy, and stumbled to the cell door. He pounded his hands into it and made enough noise for attention, but the guards quickly dismissed him. When he realized they weren't coming to help, he started slamming his helmet against the bars, making a loud bang with each one and subsequently making himself more and more dizzy as well.

"Whoa, whoa! Stop!" One of the guards, a younger one, came rushing over. "The quiznack is your issue?" He snarled, poking Keith with the end of his baton to push him away from the bars.

Keith collapsed back and pointed to Lance frantically, gathering him off the cot and into his lap.

"Did you...kill him?"

He shook his head and mimed a cup to Lance's face. Water. Lance needed water!

"Oh! Uh, I'll be right back." The guard left quickly, likely to ask a superior what to do. Keith held Lance tighter and pressed his fingers under his jaw. He felt a weak pulse fluttering against his fingertips, but it didn't have any discernible pattern.

The door squeaked as it opened and then Keith was aware of someone else moving around inside their cell. He felt Lance being pulled from him and he instinctively pulled him closer, but a low growl and a sharp tug on Lance's arm made Keith calm down.

"Weak human, didn't even last half the time a Galran would have lasted..." It was the older guard, the one who had brought Lance in to begin with. After a moment, Keith felt Lance being deposited back into his arms, and the footsteps retreated to the door. "Two quintants until the next one." And then the cell was closed.

Keith waited for Lance to perk up, to feel better and start talking again. But after half an hour passed and Lance was still unresponsive, Keith was seriously starting to doubt that would happen.

It must have been Keith's Galra blood and his new Galra appearance, but he was able to thrive on the hydration injections. It wasn't comfortable by any means, but when he'd get the shot, his body would get a strong boost of energy that would last a few hours and hold him over until he got another, two days later. Lance, on the other hand, seemed barely able to process even one.

Lance's consciousness returned slowly. First, Keith listened as his heartbeat evened out. Then his breathing came easier. But he wasn't actually lucid for another couple hours. And even then, he wasn't chatty at all. Keith had a hard time knowing if Lance was even awake or not

At one point, Lance shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable, and Keith waited until he settled before returning his hands to Lance's back, rubbing soothingly. "You didn't leave me," Keith's ministrations paused and he tilted his head in confusion at Lance's soft, awestruck tone. It was a minute before Lance elaborated quietly, "You didn't have to stay here with me. I know it's probably scary seeing me sick, you probably don't know what to do. I mean, I wouldn't know what to do if you got sick. But you didn't just leave me and go sit on the other side of the room. And I just…" Lance's voice crew choked up, "I just wanna say thanks, man." Keith felt himself choking up as well and could only manage a small nod.

It meant so much to him that he was able to gain Lance's trust not because of the title of 'paladin' or 'teammate', where they were required to rely on each other, but because he was putting in the effort and Lance was meeting him halfway. No stupid rivalries, no arguing, just two prisoners looking out for each other. And while it sucked to be prisoners, Keith just knew that once they were rescued, his and Lance's bond would be a hundred times stronger.

Chapter Text

The next day, Keith could feel the effects of dehydration settling in again. He and Lance were on opposite injection days, it would seem, because Lance was alert and talking — not chatting or rambling on and on, but he was at least communicating with Keith — again. But Keith was struggling just to open his eyes, as — even when he was lying down — he was extremely dizzy. His throat was beyond dry and his limbs felt like lead. Lance picked up on his lethargy immediately, and dragged himself to the bars to call out for a guard.

But unlike before, Keith heard the guards snap at Lance to "Quiet down!" and no one came. Fear settled into Keith's stomach. Was this it? Were they going to let him die of dehydration?

A few hours passed and Keith remained in a half-awake state, unmoving. Lance had settled next to him, running his hands over his shoulders and back. Keith welcomed the comfort, but he wished he could get the injection. In the distance, he could hear the guards arguing over something. In the far distance, he could just barely make out the sound of an alarm blaring.

Something was happening that was taking the guards' attention from their prisoners to something else on the ship. But Keith couldn't think too hard on it because his head was starting to split with a piercing headache.

Time swam around him and he had no idea how long it had been. But at some point, the guards returned.

Had they left? It had been unusually quiet...

Footsteps approached their cell and then it was unlocked. Lance startled at the noise and held Keith harder. "What do you want?" Lance snarled.

"Quiet," was all the guard said, and then Keith was being grabbed by the back of his neck and was being tugged from the comfort of Lance's arms. Lance reluctantly let him go and Keith expected to feel the sharp prick of the hydration injection. But instead, the guard continued to drag him.

"Hey, what are you doing? Where are you going?" Lance's voice followed Keith, even as Keith heard the door slam shut, and he was still being dragged somewhere. Lance's cries, now muffled, grew to a panicked pitch, and then a hoarse shout. "Where are you taking him?! NO!! BRING HIM BACK! COME BACK!"

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Keith felt alarms going off. They hadn't taken him out of his cell in...a long time. What was going on? But his headache prevented him from doing anything but lying limp as the guard dragged him through the ship.

They reached their destination and Keith was dropped to lie in a heap on the floor. There were multiple footsteps around him and the smell of something sickly sweet in the air, and then suddenly, a creak from inside his helmet. It made a click and became loose. Keith's fingers twitched as he tried to reach up to pull it off. But a twitch was all the movement he was able to do. A guard stepped closer and Keith rasped a pained yelp as the helmet and muzzle was none too gently ripped from his head, the muzzle catching on his chin and scratching his cheek from chin to just under his eye.

He blinked his eyes open and LIGHT was the only thing his brain was able to process at first, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut as pain seared through his skull. The guards weren't going to be patient, and they roughly dragged Keith to his knees, one holding him still while another pricked him in the neck with the ever-familiar hydration solution. And then another prick in almost the same spot. Two hydration shots?

Keith wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, as he almost immediately started feeling better. His dizziness faded and his headache dulled to a small throbbing that he could easily ignore. He stretched his jaw, feeling it crack as he opened his mouth wide. He was able to open his eyes and really look around, and he realized they were in a small room with a circular pool of pinkish-purple liquid in the ground. That must have been what the sweet smell was coming from.

He opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but a guard shoved him to all fours again and Keith finally saw his own hands. Purple, like he expected, with thick and pointed claws coming out of his fingertips in place of fingernails. He traced his eyes up his arm and then down at his chest. Everything seemed normal, size-wise. He wasn't suddenly seven feet tall or anything. His body still had the same proportions.

Keith leaned back and tried to examine himself further, but was roughly backhanded by another guard. He growled, glaring up at them.

"Oh hush, mutt." The guard — a well-dressed female Galran — paced around Keith, circling him like prey. "If you know what's best for you, you will obey me." Keith's eyes narrowed as he took in the medals she wore at her lapel. She seemed like a sergeant rather than a guard. She held too much pride in her spine. Raised her head a little too high to be just a guard. She leaned down to Keith's level and smiled sinisterly. "But I'm sure it won't be that easy to tame you." Keith spat dryly at her and she chuckled. "I didn't think so." She straightened and turned away, motioning to an actual guard. "I think fifty ticks will be enough for that little display of hostility." She flashed Keith a smile over her shoulder. "After all, we don't want him dying too soon now, do we?"

Keith felt the beginnings of fear start to settle inside him. But he squashed it down and glared at the guard who approached him. He was about to start fighting, to try to escape and get away. After all, he had had two hydration injections in his system and he was feeling better than he had in days. But a two-pronged taser jabbed into his side and Keith's muscles went taut, a shout building in his throat. He refused to let it out. Refused to show he was in pain.

The guard dragged Keith to the pool and threw him in without event. Keith never considered himself a strong swimmer, but he was able to push himself to the surface. The pool was much deeper than he thought it was. Maybe ten or so feet. And it was only five feet across. So he started paddling to the edge, to try to have something to hold onto. But the sergeant peered over the edge and into the pool, looked up and nodded to someone Keith couldn't see, and then there was some kind of energy field that formed a dome over the pool before flattening down into the liquid — pushing Keith down with it — to settle just below the surface. Startled, Keith hadn't been able to get a breath beforehand. He reached up, squinting through the purple liquid and pushed on the energy field. It held strong.

Panic overtook him. His legs were already tiring from treading water and his lungs ached from not enough air. He raised both hands and pounded on the underside of the field. The sergeant just stared down at him, expressionless.

Keith kicked toward the side of the pool. There had to be some kind of way to get out, right?! He dug his claws into the smooth material that lined the pool, but it held strong. Not even a scratch. Bubbles escaped Keith's mouth and he pressed his lips tighter together.

There was an alarm and the energy field disappeared. Keith found a burst of energy and swam to the surface, clinging to the edge and panting hard. Some of the sweet liquid spilled into his mouth and it made Keith feel nauseous.

"Hm, disappointing," the sergeant mused. She turned to one of her guards. "Say, how long are Galra kits able to hold their breath, on average?" She asked casually.

"Just under half a varga, ma'am," the guard replied.

"And our mutt can barely hold it for fifty ticks? That's very disappointing." She straightened her jacket and shrugged. "This might be over sooner than anticipated, boys." She met Keith's watery gaze. "But let's try to make it last. How about we try doubling it? One hundred ticks."

This time, Keith was able to take a deep breath before the energy field shoved him under once more. He tried doing the math in his head. Was fifty ticks the same as one minute? Ticks were a little slower, right? So a hundred was two minutes? He could hold his breath for two minutes. He could.

He kept telling himself that he could hold his breath for just a little longer. Mind over body. Patience yields focus.

He let his eyes open and he realized with a start that he had somehow drifted down to the bottom of the pool. He craned his head up and saw the surface far above, still covered with the glowing shield. He gritted his teeth. Just a little longer. Just a little longer.

The alarm sounded and Keith kicked off the bottom and shot to the surface, gasping in great mouthfuls of air. His legs burned. He gripped the edge and tried hauling himself out of the pool. But that earned him another stab with the electrified prong and he fell back into the liquid with a yelp.

"Ah-ah," the sergeant chastised like he was a child. "You aren't done until I say you are. And besides, this is a punishment." Keith's eyes narrowed but before he could ask, she waved her hand dismissively. "Don't worry, it's nothing you did. We had an...incident...earlier this quintant and our captain thought you should pay the price."

"Wh-" Keith was interrupted by the energy field pressing him under once more. He glared up at the sergeant, who spoke to one of her guards.

"Start the agitation," She said, and Keith was surprised he could hear it from under the surface as clearly as he did. Must be his Galra hearing. That, and this liquid stuff seemed thinner than water, somehow. But then the sides of the pool started to rotate and Keith realized this wasn't just a pool. It was a vat. A tank of some kind, for experiments. And they were punishing him, yes, but they were running experiments while they did so. Testing how long he could hold his breath, apparently. Not for information, but just because they could.

Somehow that made this so much worse. It wasn't a real torture session, he told himself. They weren't interrogating him, so it couldn't be torture. It was an...experiment at Keith's expense. And he had no doubts that he would actually drown before he would be allowed to go back to his cell. That was it. No holding back info or proving his loyalty. Nothing.

They just wanted to see him suffer.

As the tank spun faster and Keith felt the liquid starting to spin as well, he found it harder to hold his breath with how dizzy he was becoming. Without warning, the tank abruptly started spinning in the opposite direction, causing the liquid to slosh and pull Keith in every which direction. A current gripped him and threw him into the side, where all his air was knocked from him in a large bubble that danced to the surface. Keith watched it go, eyes wide, as he sunk to the bottom.

Spots prickled his vision and he clamped his hands over his mouth and nose to keep from inhaling the liquid. The alarm blared and he tried kicking up to the surface, but without any air to buoy him, he kept sinking back down like a rock. The tank had stopped spinning, but the liquid was still sloshing around and the agitation made it so he struggled to even see the surface.

This was it. He felt sick and ashamed that he couldn't last longer, but the surface was just so far away and his body was so exhausted.

His body desperately sucked against his hands in a last-ditch effort to survive, but Keith kept them firmly sealed over his face. He would not be inhaling this stuff.

Cotton filled Keith's ears and black swarmed over his vision and he knew no more.

That is, until he jerked awake lying on his side, chest aching and head throbbing. He groaned and blinked against the liquid streaming into his eyes. He rolled forward onto his elbows and coughed harshly before inhaling deeply. Wonderful, amazing oxygen. He laid there and panted for a moment. Once he caught his breath, he flopped onto his back and squinted up at the bright lights.

"Not bad," the voice of the sergeant grated into his ears and he sent a snarl in her direction. She ignored him. "You have three minutes to recover, then we will try again." Keith's chest tightened for a whole other reason. Again? He had to do that again?

He tossed his head from side to side, feeling his breathing hitch. He knew he had to calm down but he just couldn't. He had to do that again. They were going to drown him again.

"After all," the sergeant continued, either unaware of Keith's panic or indifferent to it, "for a proper experiment, we need to run the trial three times."

Three…?

He had anticipated drowning once, not three times.

"Trial one result," she announced to her guard, "two hundred sixteen ticks." She glanced at a timer. "Begin trial two." And before Keith could fight, he was roughly grabbed by the ankle and tossed back into the pool.

Panic choked him and he frantically scrabbled at the edge, trying to pull himself free even as he was stabbed by the electric prong. "P-Ple-!" Keith's beg was interrupted by the energy field forming and lowering. He tried to get a good breath. He really did. But with the vice of panic around his chest, he only successfully got a tiny gulp. He also couldn't coordinate his hands to suffocate himself again, since they were busy clawing and pounding and punching at the barrier.

His energy depleted very quickly and before he could stop himself, he sucked in a huge breath of the liquid, feeling it burn his sinuses and fill his throat before blissful unconsciousness enveloped him.

This time, waking up was a painful endeavor. He coughed and choked as liquid sprayed from his lungs with every cough. Just as his lungs were clearing, he coughed so hard, his body turned it into a retch. And then another. On the third gag, he felt his stomach clench and push up a startling amount of water. If he could have, he would have pushed himself onto his elbows again, but he didn't have the strength. So he just laid with his cheek in his own stomach acid and that vile purple liquid.

He retched a few more times, throwing up just a little more liquid he had swallowed. Thankfully, due to how thin the liquid was, he was able to throw it up relatively easily, but it still made his throat feel like he had gargled knives and his sinuses felt burned.

The sergeant spoke, but Keith didn't have the energy to look at her or even to open his eyes. "Trial two inconclusive. Subject succumbed due to panic after only fourteen ticks."

She patted Keith's shoulder like she was being nice. "You are much weaker than anticipated. I will give you a more than generous ten minutes to recover. Then we will redo trial two."

Keith sobbed.

It had been almost a full day since Bucket was taken away, and Lance was starting to fear the worst. He hadn't heard anything from the guards, but he never really heard anything from them before anyway, so that wasn't new. Bucket was the one who always able to hear them coming long before Lance could.

Lance's heart gave a small squeeze. He missed his friend. He hoped beyond everything that he was okay. Or at least that he was still alive. Maybe when Voltron came for him, they could rescue Bucket and nurse him back to health. He just had to hold on until then.

Lance was able to tell time based on how dizzy he felt. He knew it had to have been a day because the dehydration was setting in hard and he could barely sit up. Thankfully, before he got this bad, he was able to pull himself onto the cot and had been resting on it. He blinked unfocused eyes open and looked at the rough material of the cot.

When he grew tired of staring at nothing, he allowed himself to close his eyes and his brain swam into a restless sleep.

Time didn't matter here. With Bucket gone, all Lance could do was worry about him. And he couldn't afford to rile himself up, so he forced himself not to think about what was happening with Bucket. Instead, he thought about his team.

Were they looking for him? How long had it really been? He tried counting how many times he had gotten the injection. Was it three? And at every two days, that was...his brain faded and he couldn't think of the number of days he had been here. He knew he had been brought to this cell immediately upon being captured and separated from his team. The guards roughed him up on the way here, sure, but he was grateful they didn't make him do any Arena tournaments.

He wondered if Bucket had been to the Arena.

...And here he was thinking about Bucket again.

He hoped Hunk was making sure everyone was still eating. He always made the best meals. Hoped Shiro was keeping everyone on their schedules so they wouldn't fall into a depression. Allura was likely pressuring them to continue training despite being two paladins down. He wondered if they were still looking for Keith, or if he was their number one priority. Maybe they were still looking for Keith since he had been captured longer and would need more help. Pidge had been working tirelessly to find Keith, so Lance winced when he realized she must be working twice as hard now. Then again, Lance was freshly captured and could therefore last a little longer.

Because of this...were they even looking for him?

Lance choked on a quiet whimper. Maybe they weren't even looking for him. He had to stick it out until they found Keith, and then they would come back for him. That had to be the case. Why else would it be taking so long for him to get rescued? After all, he had been here for...how long? And Bucket was here even longer.

Bucket. Lance frowned and curled up tighter on the cot. He missed his cellmate. Usually when one of them was due for their injection, the other would alert the guards. And until then, they would comfort the sick one. But the guards seemed uninterested in giving Lance his injection without some kind of reminder.

So Lance reluctantly dragged himself from his cot and smothered a cry when his left ankle hit the ground harder than he meant to. He waited until the piercing pain dulled to a throb, then he pulled himself with his elbow across the floor, right arm tucked against him to protect his broken forearm.

He slapped the door weakly. "Hey!" He called, but it was more like a rasp. He coughed and tried again. "Hey, please! Can anyone hear me? I really need another of those hydration injection thingies." He broke down coughing, but thankfully he could hear a guard approach his cell.

The door opened and Lance tried giving the guard a smile. The guard ignored him and roughly shoved his head down to the floor and stuck the needle into the back of Lance's neck. He winced, but he knew it would kick in after a few more hours. So he whispered a thanks and pillowed his head on his left arm, listening as the guard scoffed and slammed the door.

Lance laid in a stupor, everything aching inside him — including his heart — and tried not to think about anything that would upset him.

It was harder than he thought. Every couple of minutes his brain drifted to Bucket or his team. His lion. His family. Everything hurt for a different reason and he wished he had some tears to cry.

As it were, he could only lay there and sob dryly into the crook of his good arm.

As he expected, after a few hours, Lance found himself breathing easier. His headache wasn't as bad and he could open his eyes and not cringe from the lights. He was still incredibly dizzy and remained on the floor by the door for a little longer.

It felt like another couple hours, and Lance wasn't sure if he had fallen asleep or not, but the dizziness had faded too and he was able to scoot himself closer to the cot. He couldn't pull himself onto it, but he pressed his back to it, feeling much safer just by having his back touching something. Like nothing could sneak up on him, as silly as that was.

Lance was relishing the ability to breathe and not feel his lungs wheeze, when footsteps arrived at his door. He struggled to push himself up onto his left elbow, nervous about what the guards wanted now.

But the door opened and Bucket, in all his bucket-headed glory, was dropped inside.

Lance's heart felt like it stopped. "B-Bucket?" He whispered as the guard closed the door, and crawled on his knees to his cellmate. Lance touched his shoulder but pulled away when he felt how wet his clothes were. He frowned and, as gently as he could, rolled him onto his back. Bucket didn't respond at all and Lance realized he must have been unconscious.

"Oh god Bucket, what happened to you?" He asked gently, taking his limp hand. It was wet too and Lance felt sick. He had been doused with something. Either that, or submerged in something. It smelled sweet, like fruit, and it dried very quickly off of Lance's skin. But due to Bucket's fur, the liquid stuck to him longer. Lance tugged off his own shirt and started patting Bucket's arms dry.

It worked to some degree, but Lance winced when he felt just how wet Bucket's shirt was. It was completely soaked and would not be drying any time soon. It was also likely going to be uncomfortable when Bucket woke up. Lance tugged at it and it peeled away from Bucket's body with a sickening squelch. He lifted it up and off Bucket's body and tossed it aside before toweling his torso dry. They both wore black under suits that Lance wasn't comfortable with removing, but it dried easily enough when Lance patted at it with his purple overshirt.

It took a while, but Lance was able to get Bucket relatively dry. It wasn't great by any means, but he at least wasn't dripping anymore. Lance had also somehow dragged them both back to the cot. Not onto it, but curled up next to it, leaving the puddle of fruity liquid near the door

There wasn't much more Lance could do for Bucket, so he hugged him close and hoped Bucket wouldn't catch hypothermia. As it were, it sounded like he was at risk for pneumonia since Lance could hear how wet his breaths were and how his lungs rasped with every tiny, shaky breath he took.

They weren't going to make it much longer. Understanding dawned on Lance slowly and he buried his face into Bucket's chest to hide his face as his bitter cries lulled him to sleep.

Time was weird when there was no light or darkness. And without food to indicate mealtimes and injections only being given when asked for, Lance was seriously unaware of how much time passed. He blinked his eyes open at one point and did notice that the liquid had evaporated from the floor and Bucket was mostly completely dry in his arms now. But he still seemed to be unconscious. So Lance didn't see a reason to be conscious either.

The door unlatched rather suddenly and Lance startled fully awake, holding Bucket closer. He hadn't even heard the guards approaching. But he readied a fight on his tongue, feeling his muscles tense in preparation of a fight. They needed to rest, Lance wasn't going to let anything happen to either of them today. Bucket was still limp in his arms and Lance had no idea how long it had been. A day? Lance plastered a snarl on his face and would have gotten into a crouch over Bucket if he could have, but due to his ankles, that wasn't an option.

When the door opened and they stepped into his cell, all fight bled from Lance and he barked out a cry that morphed into a sob.

It was Shiro and Hunk.

Lance stumbled to his knees and crawled toward them, both of them snapping from their shock and falling to their knees next to him. "Lance!" they both cried, Hunk gathering him into his arms and burying his face into his friend's shoulder. Lance hugged them both, one arm around each one, and murmured his thanks over and over. Pidge peeked into the room and immediately joined the hug pile.

"Lance, oh my god! I can't believe it took so long to find you! I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay Pidgey, don't worry. My friend here and I took care of each other," he motioned to his still-unconscious cellmate. "I call him Buckethead, but just 'Bucket' for short." Pidge eyed the Galran and detached herself from the hug, creeping closer to him.

"What's wrong with him?" She asked.

"Dunno, he can't speak. And he can't see either, with all that stuff on his head. I figure he had to piss off someone really important to get this level of...restraint." Lance paused, biting his lip. "He came back a few hours ago, the guards just tossed him in. He was wet and unconscious and he hasn't woken up since."

Pidge stepped over him to get a look at the back of the helmet. "I think I can get this off, I just need my tools at the castle."

"Great, maybe then we can properly introduce ourselves!" Lance said with a smile. Then he, with Hunk and Shiro's help, stumbled to his feet. Shiro made an unsure noise.

"I don't know, if we free him what if he attacks us? I won't let any of you get hurt." Lance opened his mouth to argue, but Shiro shook his head. "I'm just saying we don't know how he's going to respond to being in a new area, and it might be good to restrain him until we know how stable he is."

Lance scowled. "He's been protecting me."

"I understand. And rescuing him will be his reward for that. But we can't let someone we don't know have free reign of the castle. Not when you're going to be recovering and we'll be on missions to find Keith."

Eventually Lance sagged in Shiro's hold. They still hadn't found Keith, then. "I guess," he said quietly. "But I'm not leaving his side."

"Fine," Shiro agreed. Hunk took over supporting Lance and ended up pulling him onto his back for a piggyback ride when Lance's knees kept buckling and he realized just how much pain Lance was in, while Shiro reluctantly gathered the unconscious Galran into a fireman's hold. From there, Pidge quickly pulled up an escape route and started down the hall, leading the way to their freedom.

Chapter Text

The first thing Keith was aware of was a rhythmic, jostling movement. His chest was pressed up against something hard and what felt like arms were wrapped around him, one hooked through his elbow and one under one of his knees. Confusion filtered into his brain. He was being carried? Was it Lance? He felt really strong, especially for having one broken arm…

He blinked his eyes open but was greeted with the darkness he had learned to appreciate. He much preferred it to drowning, at least.

At the thought, he gave an involuntary shudder as memories flooded him like the liquid did. The helplessness, the burning deep in his nose that was still somewhat there, the intense desire to go back to his cell returned as though he were in the pool again, and his body jerked. Whoever was holding him tightened their grip and it clicked vaguely that it was not Lance who was carrying him. But Keith couldn't care. His back went ramrod straight and he threw his arms to the side, one only swishing air and the other nearly sliding free of the person's hold. He kicked out wildly and a garbled noise trickled from his throat.

He couldn't breathe. He could. Not. BREATHE.

He threw his head back, heaving for breaths through his teeth and raw sinuses, and he felt himself slowly falling backward. Then he was gently settled on the ground.

Solid ground. Right, he wasn't drowning. He's okay. He laid flat and let his hands splay on the floor, making sure it was really solid, and he tried to relax. Slowly, voices became clear.

"-okay?"

"-think he -anic attack."

"Bucket?"

Lance. The others were somewhat familiar. But then Lance's voice cut through the haze. Immediately, Keith reached up, searching for Lance. There was a moment of shuffling, then Keith's hand was grabbed and held tightly. "Hey buddy," Lance said gently. "It's good to see you awake. But right now we're escaping. Can you believe it? We're getting out of here! My team came, and they're getting both of us out of here. Just relax, okay? Voltron's here."

Relief washed over Keith and he immediately went slack, still holding onto Lance's hand. He squeezed gently and then Lance was pulling away. "We have to hurry. Our Black Paladin is going to carry you, okay? But I'm right here."

Shiro?

Shiro was here? He was going to be carrying him?

The same strong arms scooped under Keith's back and knees and lifted him into a cradle carry this time, and Keith couldn't help the sob that ripped from his throat. He was being rescued! Shiro wasn't leaving him behind!

Keith found the strength to wrap his arms around Shiro's neck. And of course it was Shiro, who else could it have been? He knew these arms. He knew his brother's smell. Keith wished he could see, more than ever before. As it were, he let his clunky helmet rest on Shiro's shoulder while his arms hung on tight.

But as soon as Keith started hugging him, Shiro stiffened. A low voice met his ears, "Let go of me, Galra." It was too quiet for the others to hear, and Keith's stomach dropped. His grip loosened and fell away and Shiro continued quietly, "We're only rescuing you because our Blue Paladin insisted. So don't get too comfortable."

Keith felt like he had been punched in the gut. He knew, logically, that Shiro didn't know who he was. And that as soon as he did, he would be apologetic and do anything to make it up. But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. Keith took a deep breath even though it made his lungs ache and forgave Shiro silently. He'd have to play the role of 'rescued Galra' and follow their rules for him until they could get his muzzle off and he could tell them who he was.

So for now, he settled his hands on his stomach as Shiro quickened the pace. They arrived at the black lion within minutes — with minimal resistance that Pidge was able to take care of — and all five of them boarded quickly. Keith was placed none too gently on a cot and Lance was carefully settled next to him. Lance must have noticed how uncomfortable Keith was, because he sighed and leaned into Keith's side, resting his head on his shoulder.

"We're rescued," Lance murmured quietly.

"You sure are," Hunk said and it sounded like he was beaming. "We planned this so much and it went perfectly this time!" His voice grew sad. "I'm just so sorry it took so long."

Pidge hummed in agreement and passed something to Lance. "We tried two days ago but it didn't go as smoothly." Keith swallowed. That...must have been what he was being 'punished' for. "But this time it worked!" Keith felt Lance jostle as Pidge no doubt barreled into him for a hug. "I'm so happy you're okay. Drink up, we'll set up an intravenous solution when we get to the infirmary."

"Bucket helped me a lot. I don't know what I would have done without him," Lance said fondly between sips of whatever Pidge had given him, and wrapped an arm around Keith in a side hug.

"Oh! Speaking of, I can get that off your head once we get back to our base. It's a giant castle-ship, I think you'll really like it," Pidge said and nudged Keith's shoulder to tell him she was talking to him. Then she scooted closer and gave Keith the smallest of hugs. "Thanks for keeping my big brother safe," she whispered softly, just to Keith. A soft fluttering began in his stomach and Keith nodded minutely and gently placed his hand on her back in a small hug of his own. For Pidge, it didn't matter that he was a Galran stranger. The fact that he took care of Lance was enough for her.

She pulled away and Hunk let his hand drop onto Keith's shoulder. Keith startled so bad, he nearly threw himself off the cot. "Whoa, careful!" Lance chided, rubbing Keith's shoulder to soothe him. "It's just my friend. He's the Yellow Paladin." Keith nodded and settled back on the cot. It's just Hunk.

"I'm so sorry, I completely forgot you couldn't see anything," Hunk sounded genuinely regretful. Thankfully he didn't try to touch Keith again even as he continued, "I agree with Pidge, it's so good to have our friend back. So thank you. Thank you very, very much." Keith just bowed his head to indicate he heard him, but he was incredibly uncomfortable with the praise and wasn't sure how to respond.

"We're almost back," Shiro announced and everyone started talking at once. About how excited Allura and Coran would be to see Lance again. About how there was a pod already ready for Lance. About how Pidge's tools had been brought to the infirmary so they could work on removing 'Bucket's' helmet. About how happy Lance was to finally sleep in his own bed again.

Keith wished he could do the same, chat about how happy he was and tell them the first thing he wanted to do with his freedom. But even if he were 'Keith' and not 'Bucket', he would still feel that sense of distance from the others and would likely just sit quietly. He felt that distance even moreso now that he was a stranger — a Galran stranger, at that — to them.

Soon enough they touched down and the door was opening and chaos ensued as Allura insisted on taking Lance — who joked, "Someone's eager. Missed me that much?" — leaving Coran to gather Keith. Everyone was talking over one another, giving greetings, trying to explain what happened, asking medical questions. It was all too much for Keith's heightened hearing after being in relative silence for weeks and he growled lowly, letting his hands press over his helmet as he tried to cover his ears. It did nothing to mute the sounds and he growled again, louder. Please make them stop talking...

Coran's steps faltered and suddenly Shiro's voice was close.

"This is what I was afraid of. You put straps on the bed for him, right? Last thing I want is Pidge getting attacked as soon as the helmet's off. It could be too overwhelming and he could lash out."

Coran sighed deeply. "Yes, there are restraints."

Keith understood. Deep down, he really did understand. And Shiro was right, he could lash out. The only time he had been un-blindfolded was when he had been…

He shook himself from the thought. He couldn't afford to lose himself in a memory again. Maybe restraints were for the better. It would give him a chance to acclimate to seeing again and would keep him from hurting anyone accidentally.

He heard a door swish open and then the sterile smell of the infirmary hit his nose. He scrunched up his face, resisting the urge to gag as it burned all the way down to his lungs. It was just so strong.

No one else seemed bothered and Coran placed him on a soft bed. Instantly, Keith let his head fall into the squishy pillow and he sighed deeply. His fingers dug into the mattress, enjoying the softness, and Coran — ever-patient — waited until Keith had relaxed on the bed before he gently took his wrist and clicked an energy cuff around it. The same ones they had used when they all first arrived at the castle and Allura wanted them to bond.

The whole time, Coran was murmuring to Keith to keep him calm. "This isn't permanent, you'll be okay, just relax…" Keith allowed him to shackle both wrists, and then both ankles. They didn't seem activated, and Keith could sit up if he wanted. But he was sure anyone could turn them on and cinch them tight if he made any threatening movement.

Then a soft hand was touching Keith's and he couldn't help pulling away. "It's just me, buddy." Lance's quiet voice murmured and Keith let himself relax. "Our best engineers are going to work on getting your helmet off, okay? But first, they're going to give us both fluids via a small tube injected into a vein in our hands. It's called an IV on my planet. Afterward, they're going to do a couple scans on me to see if they need to re-set any bones before I go into the healing pod. After they take off your helmet, they'll do the same for you." His fingers tightened around Keith's. "First things first, is the IV. I'll be right here. You'll just feel a small pinch."

Keith was eternally grateful for Lance keeping him company and explaining everything. It did more to keep him calm than someone just telling him to 'relax'. He appreciated knowing what was happening. And he appreciated Lance.

Sure enough, he felt gentle hands start to poke and touch his free hand, and after a small prick, he felt whoever it was taping the IV to his hand to keep it in. He heard a similar tape being applied to Lance, and he squeezed Lance's hand gently.

"You're all done!" Lance replied. "I got my IV too. Okay, now I have to go so they can do some scans. Meanwhile, Pidge and Hunk, our engineers, will work on your helmet. Can you sit up at all?"

Keith gathered as much strength as he could muster and struggled to push himself up. It took longer than he'd like to admit, but the bed was so soft and Keith's body was reluctant to leave it, even just to sit up. Once he was slumped over himself, Lance patted his hand. "You're doing great! Alright, I'll be on the other side of the room. Just do as they say, and you'll be out of that nasty thing, okay?"

Keith nodded, and then Lance pulled away. For a moment Keith was lost, then he felt Hunk's large hand rest on his upper back and it grounded him. "Hey there. My buddy Pidge and I are going to see about getting this off. Just hold still for now."

Pidge jumped up onto the bed behind Keith and started examining the helmet, grasping Keith's head and turning it this way and that. Checking out the various hidden latches and locks that held the helmet to the muzzle. She hummed and started talking to Hunk in some tech-y words, who replied with equally tech-y words. Keith tried to follow along, but was distracted when he heard Shiro's voice.

"Pidge, please be careful."

"I know what I'm doing Shiro. I've defused bombs before, so this is nothing."

"That's not what I meant," Shiro said. "Once you unlatch it, I want both you and Hunk to back up. I'll take it off him so if he attacks, I can block him. Hunk, I want you ready at the button to tighten his restraints, okay?"

There was a grumble from both Hunk and Pidge as they agreed, then Pidge was wrestling Keith's head around to see better. "I think if I just push this piece in, it should detach. Hunk, hand me my small screwdriver. I can't reach with my fingers." There was a clink, then Keith heard a scrape echo inside his helmet. Pidge twisted and he heard a click.

Then there was freedom, of a sort. The muzzle piece covering his mouth dropped a few inches and Keith was able to open his mouth. The tight clamp against his temples was loosened too and Keith wanted so badly to rip it upward and throw it off. But he obediently sat there, hands clenched at his sides, waiting for Shiro to do it for him.

"I think I got it!" Pidge exclaimed, poking at the hanging jaw piece. "Alright Shiro, you're up."

She hopped off the bed and Keith felt Shiro step closer. "Hunk, you ready?" He asked and the silence indicated that Hunk had simply nodded. Then Shiro was touching the helmet, lifting it slowly with both hands. Keith helped where he could, tilting his head and pulling back as Shiro lifted. At the last second, the muzzle caught on his chin, and Keith — not wanting another scratch going up his cheek — raised his own hands to push the muzzle piece out of the way so Shiro could slide it off. But the promise of immediate freedom made Keith eager and he roughly shoved the helmet off and away himself. It clattered to the floor, Shiro apparently too focused on Keith to catch it.

Keith had kept his eyes clenched shut since he knew the lights in the infirmary would be bright, so when he felt a sudden heat on his face and cracked his eyes open just to see Shiro's bright purple hand aimed directly at his throat, he gasped and jerked back and instinctively reached up to block what he thought was an attack. He heard a thump and suddenly his hands and feet were yanked down to the mattress, locking him in a prone position on the bed. Hunk had pushed the button. Traitor.

With his hands secured in place at either side of his head, Keith took a moment to calm himself down. He closed his eyes tighter and just breathed, sucking air greedily down his raw throat. He was about to open his eyes again when he heard Lance.

"Oh, hey! You guys got it off!" Keith cracked his eyes open and peered at him from the edge of his vision. Lance pushed Shiro aside and came to sit right next to Keith. He was in a hover chair and he did not look good. It was the first time Keith had actually seen Lance since the capture, and he looked much worse than Keith thought. Lance's cheeks were hollow, his body gaunt. His eyes were sunken and almost bruised. His lips were cracked and bleeding in a couple places. He had an unnatural hunch but Keith was sure that was because of the bruised ribs. He let his eyes travel down to see Lance's arm secured in a sling, and both legs were splinted below the knee. Probably to hold everything still until he could go into the pod. The IV bag hung just above his head on a pole, feeding into his hand.

Keith's face fell. All that praise he had received...for bringing Lance home like this? He looked absolutely awful. Lance was alive, but it seemed like he was ready to keel over any minute.

Lance wheeled himself even closer to Keith, "Hey buddy." He sat up in his chair even though it made him wince for just a second, then he beamed down at Keith. "It's me, L-" his face fell and he leaned back a bit in what appeared to be shock.

Keith stared up at him. He wasn't even sure if he could speak, what with his throat still feeling so raw. He had never felt as exposed as he did with Lance staring down at him like that, looking him over and taking in every detail of his face. He wondered if he looked as bad as Lance did.

Then Lance reached out and — ignoring Shiro's warning that "He might bite." — let his fingers slide up behind Keith's ear. He combed gently through his greasy hair, then retreated his hand, bringing a few locks forward to curl at Keith's shoulder. "Mullet," Lance murmured, and Keith was shocked to see tears fill Lance's eyes even as his own widened at the familiar nickname. The other paladins stepped forward, asking Lance to repeat what he had said.

"Keith," Lance said so the others could hear, letting his hand rest on Keith's shoulder as he stared deep into his eyes.

There was a ruckus of noise. Pidge and Hunk immediately denied it and demanded to see, pushing forward and examining Keith's face. Allura's hands flew to her mouth. Coran immediately deactivated the restraints, apologizing profusely, but Keith still didn't move. And Shiro...Shiro just stood there behind everyone, eyes wide, as he watched everything unfold.

But Keith just stared at Lance, ignoring everyone else. Lance met his gaze solidly. His hand slid from Keith's shoulder to his hand, and he laced their fingers together. Keith's mouth twitched in a tiny smile and he returned the squeeze, being wary of his claws. He swallowed a few times and rasped, "Lance," through his aching throat. His first real word in weeks.

Lance raised his eyes to Pidge. "Can you get him some water please? And, um, I guess a blanket?" Pidge nodded and scurried off. "Food! He needs food. Or, I guess, both of us do." This time, Hunk nodded and disappeared as well. "What else, uh..." Lance trailed off and met Keith's eyes once more, a sad smile pulling at his lips for just a moment. "God, Keith. We missed you so much." And even though it hurt terribly, Lance pushed himself up using the side of the bed and the armrest of his chair, and let himself half-lay on top of Keith. Keith made a noise like he was going to protest, but Lance ignored him. He hugged Keith tightly, nuzzling his face against the side of Keith's head. And Keith didn't miss a beat. He immediately — almost instinctively — wrapped his arms around Lance as well.

"You saved me," Lance whispered, his grip tightening. Keith's eyes burned with tears that spilled down his temples and he sniffled, hugging Lance close.

"You saved me too, so it's only fair," he choked out.

Lance leaned back to meet Keith's eyes. "When did you know it was me?"

Keith snorted. "Right away. I'd recognize your voice anywhere."

"Of course you would," Lance said, but unlike their old dynamic, there was not even a hint of teasing or sarcasm. Just pure admiration and awe.

"And you recognized me by my hair," Keith cracked a smile. Lance smiled back, but just for a moment.

"You lost a lot of weight. And what did they do to you?" Lance motioned vaguely down at Keith's body. "Do you know? Is it reversible?"

Keith shrugged lamely. "No idea."

Pidge returned with a large pitcher of water and two glasses with straws. Over her shoulder she also had a variety of blankets, ranging in thickness. Lance maneuvered back into his chair, but kept as close to Keith as he could. Pidge poured the two cups and handed one to Lance, who took it gratefully and sipped, and one to Keith — whose grip was a bit shakier — who also took it and sipped. He choked on the first few gulps, but was able to make himself swallow the next few.

Pidge showed the blankets to Keith and was letting him pick which he wanted, meanwhile Lance noticed Shiro still standing to the side, frozen. "Shiro," Lance called. "Can you believe it? It's Keith! Come say hi!"

Shiro didn't say hi, and instead of responding at all, he just glanced at Keith for a moment, their eyes met, and then Shiro tore his gaze away and was striding from the room, the door hissing closed behind him. Lance and Pidge exchanged looks. But neither went after him. Keith was more important right now.

Pidge got Keith settled so he was more comfortable and his water cup was always full. But Keith was taking such tiny sips, it was almost like he wasn't drinking at all. But it was okay. Both he and Lance had to wait until both of their IV fluids were drained, and then they could go into the pods. So either way, he would get hydrated, but his throat had to be dry. "Keith, please drink a little more," Pidge said gently, pressing the cup into his hand again.

"I'm okay," Keith answered vaguely, but winced when he heard how raspy his voice was. Lance gave him a concerned look, but he pointedly ignored it. He could feel his resolve shattering with every moment that passed and anxiety was threatening to eat him alive.

Shiro had left him after all.

Coran approached Keith's bed with a handheld scanner and two healing pod jumpsuits. "Lance, we're about ready for you to go into the pod." He handed Lance one of the beige suits and Lance took it but didn't leave. His hand tightened around Keith's. Coran seemed to understand and held up the scanner in his other hand. "This can check compatibility with Keith's new anatomy and test whether or not he can go into the pod with the current settings we have, or if we need to adjust it."

Keith was staring off at nothing, in the direction of the med bay doors, and didn't respond to Coran. Lance patted Keith's shoulder and he reluctantly tore his gaze away and over to Coran, who was holding up the device. His eyes flicked between the device and the healing suits and he understood what was happening. "Oh, okay," he said quietly. Lance squeezed his hand and then let his fingers slide free.

"Hunk, could you and Allura set up the pod and help Lance into it while Pidge and I work on this?" Hunk nodded and guided Lance to the pod. Keith watched them go warily. It felt like a dark cloud had descended upon him and he couldn't respond properly to anything. Like his brain had just gone to sleep. He tried to understand what Coran was saying as he raised the device and a light spilled over Keith's body, but he couldn't focus on the words at all. There was some talking and Coran sounded concerned. Pidge was saying something too. Offering advice, maybe. But Keith stared straight ahead.

From the corner of his eye, Keith saw Lance get loaded into the pod and saw Lance wave at him, but Keith couldn't look at him fully, let alone respond. The pod slid shut. Then Hunk and Allura were crowding around Keith and he felt his breathing constrict. He felt surrounded, too exposed.

Drowning.

He was drowning again.

Faces staring down at him, the indifference allowing him to drown over and over without so much as a gentle word.

He couldn't breathe.

His fingers dug into something and he kicked out wildly.

"-date him! Someone hold him!"

Then darkness.

When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Galran cell. He sat up and held a hand to his head as he looked around. He was in his bedroom. Slowly, he slid to the edge of the bed and padded to the door. It slid open silently. He peered around the corner. The castle was completely dark, save for the pale blue ambient lighting. Maybe it was really late? He walked down the hall and to the main room, where his heart stopped.

On the ground, surrounded by blood, was Pidge. She had deep slash marks across her back. And Keith couldn't see her breathing. He rushed over to her and pressed a hand to her shoulder. Only then did he notice that his hands were still Galran hands. Clawed, sharp. Dangerous.

And they were covered in blood.

Pidge's blood.

His hand matched the claw marks perfectly and Keith felt sick. He stumbled back to his feet and looked around, wanting to get help. He opened his mouth to cry for help, but he was silenced again. No noise passed his lips.

He rushed to the infirmary to get help. To sound the alarm. To do something! But when he reached the door, he felt like he knew what he would find.

Knowing it didn't make it any easier.

The door opened to a massacre. Blood was everywhere. On the walls, coating the floor, all over the pods and the beds they kept in there. Keith knelt by Hunk's lifeless form and balled his hands into fists.

He did this.

He did this. Maybe it would have been better if they hadn't brought him home. Maybe if they had left him in that cell, they would still be alive. Maybe...

A hissing sound distracted Keith.

He looked up with tears spilling down his cheeks and his heart jumped into his throat as Lance leaned over him. Keith closed his eyes and waited for Lance to see the destruction and attack him. He wouldn't fight back. If Lance killed him, he wouldn't hold it against him.

But instead, a gentle hand touched Keith's back and he flinched, looking up warily into Lance's soft expression. "Hey buddy," he said quietly and Keith would have sobbed if he could. Lance had no right looking at him like that, not after what he had done. "What's the matter?" He asked and Keith scoffed silently. He motioned around the the mess of death and blood around them and Lance just glanced around like he didn't see it. "What?"

"I killed them." Keith was surprised when the words passed his lips without meaning to.

"Who?" Lance asked, rubbing circles between his shoulder blades.

"Everyone." This time, he did break down into sobs, curling himself into a tiny ball over his knees and trying hard not to throw up. Lance stayed by his side and continued rubbing rhythmically until Keith's sobs quieted down.

Once he had calmed down, Lance shifted and pulled Keith into a tight hug. Keith stiffened and tried to push him away. "N-No, I can't hurt you too," he argued miserably. But Lance just held on.

"You won't hurt me," Lance said firmly and Keith wanted so badly to believe him. But he didn't remember hurting Pidge or Hunk, and yet there they wer- "You didn't hurt Pidge or Hunk." Keith's brain skidded to a halt. He opened his eyes and pried himself away from Lance's shoulder to look him in the eyes. Lance met his gaze. "You didn't hurt anyone," he said firmly. "I was already in the pod so I wasn't part of it, but apparently you panicked and Coran had to put some kind of tranquilizer into your IV. Then they did a few more scans and decided that your anatomy was close enough, that you should be okay going into the pod under 'human' settings." Lance gave him a sad smile. "I guess there were some side effects to that, huh?"

Keith was completely lost. "Wh-?" Lance waited for him to get his thoughts together. He was so patient, it was almost infuriating. "But what about the blood? Pidge and Hunk?"

Lance shook his head. "They're just fine. I made Pidge go to bed about an hour ago, and Hunk is passed out in the living room. Coran wanted me to go to bed too, but I wanted to stay here in case you came out of your pod and panicked. Good thing too, because I can only imagine that having everyone here right now would do more harm than good." Keith nodded dumbly. "I did tell Coran that I'd alert him when you woke up though. Do you mind if I call him, or do you want to wait a little longer?"

Panic seized Keith. He couldn't be looked at with such a clinical detachment. Not again. So he shook his head a little too quickly. Lance nodded understandingly and just settled himself against the wall, holding Keith.

Now that he was more awake, Keith saw his surroundings as they really were. They were in the infirmary, yes, but there was no blood. The lights were on but dimmed. And it was just him and Lance. He trusted that outside the door, like Lance had promised, it was not Pidge who was lying dead on the ground, but Hunk who was sleeping peacefully on the couch. Keith let his head drop onto Lance's shoulder and he glanced down at himself. He still had purple splotches on his hands, but his fingers had dulled back to fingernails. He was wearing the pod suit and he could feel the remnants of the healing pod making him sluggish and tired. Usually he didn't dream when he was in a pod. And he hadn't had a dream that vivid since...

"What about Shiro?" Keith asked so quietly, he hoped Lance hadn't heard him. But of course he did, if the way he stiffened was any indicator.

"Shiro is...not doing very good. He locked himself in the training room and won't speak to anyone." Lance said reluctantly and...bitterly? Keith deflated and tears stung his eyes.

"I'm a monster," Keith grumbled.

Lance immediately sat up and gripped Keith's shoulders, making Keith look at him. "You are not a monster," he said firmly. Keith tore his gaze away guiltily. "Hey." Lance grabbed Keith's jaw and turned both their heads to look at their reflection in Keith's healing pod. "Look at you. You know what I see?" Keith didn't respond, but he looked at himself. He had purple spots on his face too, and the whites of his eyes glowed a light yellow even though his irises were a normal purple. He tried to look away but Lance held him firmly. "I see a guy who's gone through a hell of an experience. A literal hell that I can't even begin to empathize with even though I was right there with him for a week. I see someone who's strong, both physically and mentally. Someone who cares so much about his friends and adopted family that his worst fear is hurting them." Lance let go of his face and wrapped his arms around him, still looking at their reflection. "I see someone who's more than worthy to be a paladin, someone who deserves love and affection. Deserves a family. It doesn't matter what you look like. Because you're still you, Keith. You'll always be you. And you deserve to be happy."

The air was heavy for a while as Keith soaked in his words. He didn't think they would affect him as much as they did. But even after Lance released him from the hug and pulled them both to their feet, he was still running the words around in his head. He deserved to be happy? Deserved a family? Why did that mean so much to him? Was that all he really wanted? To belong?

"C'mon, we both need to sleep," Lance said quietly and took his hand, leading him to one of the beds in the infirmary. As Keith got settled under the blankets, Lance pushed another bed right next to it and crawled in, offering his hand for Keith to hold. He took it without thinking and held on. Instantly, exhaustion pulled him into a deep sleep, Lance's words still ringing in his ears.

Chapter Text

The next few days went about as Keith expected. Lance was stuck to his side at all times, Coran wanted to run some tests to make sure both of them were okay to be training again, Pidge and Hunk wanted to see if they could get his purple splotches to disappear completely, Allura kept them on a strict training schedule — which Keith was grateful for; he appreciated that she wasn't coddling him — and even though Shiro had eventually come out of the training room, he refused to look at Keith.

"Alright paladins," Allura said during one of the training sessions nearly two weeks later. "Let's see if you can form Voltron." She had passed out the mind-link headbands and all of them were sitting in a circle on the floor of the training room, eyes closed as they concentrated. One by one, their mental lions appeared. Keith watched in the mindscape as Lance appeared at the same time as he did, and Pidge and Hunk were already there waiting for them, smiling encouragingly. Keith looked around. Where was Shiro?

He opened his real eyes and peered at his brother, whose eyes were open too, and he was staring down at the ground. Keith's lion disappeared from in front of him. Lance's eyes popped open. "What happened?" He asked, turning to Keith. Hunk glanced at Shiro, then down at the ground. Everyone stayed quiet as the exercise came to an abrupt end.

Pidge looked between Shiro and Keith, then groaned loudly, catching the attention of everyone in the room. "This is just training. What's the big deal? We've done this dozens of times already in battle, why is it any different now?" She demanded, glaring at Shiro, who kept his gaze down. She waited but when she got no response, she ripped off her headband and stalked from the room. Lance gritted his teeth.

"Shiro, what's going on?" He asked while unconsciously scooting closer to Keith. Shiro gave him the smallest of glances, then he too stood and slunk from the room, letting his headband clatter to the ground at the door. Lance's jaw fell open. "I don't believe this. What's the matter with him?"

Hunk shrugged helplessly. "I'm just as lost as you are." Keith felt tears burning behind his eyes but he refused to let them show. He kept his head down, letting his bangs obscure his eyes from the others. Lance scoffed.

"Yeah well he needs to get his shit together. This is unacceptable."

Hunk nodded in agreement. Lance huffed in frustration and tightened his fingers around Keith's limp hand as it rested on his knee. Only then did he realize that Keith was trembling. "Whoa, hey," he said gently, swiveling to sit in front of him. "Hey Keith, look at me," Lance said sternly. Keith reluctantly raised his eyes to his, hurt shining deep inside them. "Hey, this isn't your problem. Something's wrong with Shiro, this isn't your fault. Don't you dare blame yourself." Keith nodded but his heart wasn't in it.

Hunk crawled closer and raised his arms in a hug offer. Lance smiled and nodded and then both he and Keith were wrapped in the warmest, most comforting embrace. Keith shuddered and melted into the touch, his breath escaping him in a rough exhale.

They stayed like that for a while. Until Keith's breaths were back to normal. "I'm gonna go to bed, if that's okay," Keith said quietly, pulling away and getting to his feet. Lance and Hunk watched him go reluctantly. After the door was closed, Lance's gentle expression turned angry. Hunk's eyebrows jumped in surprise.

"Whoa Lance, what's up?"

"I'm going to talk to Shiro. Find out what's really going on."

"Want me to come with?"

"Maybe," Lance admitted, running a hand through his hair. "Maybe just stay outside the room and if I need you, I'll call?" Hunk nodded and then they too were getting to their feet and Lance stalked through the rooms, hunting for Shiro.

When he found him in the star map room, he was ready to cuss him out for making Keith cry. But as he stepped closer, some choice words hot on his tongue, he realized that Shiro was curled up, hugging his knees to his chest, staring at the holographic stars above him. Lance's immediate anger faded and he stepped closer, brow furrowed. He hadn't seen Shiro in such a...vulnerable position before.

"What was that?" He snapped, crossing his arms and glaring down at Shiro's back. Shiro turned his head slightly but didn't look fully at Lance.

"I messed up, Lance."

Lance scoffed. He couldn't help it. "No duh. And space is really big. While we're exchanging facts, how about the fact that Keith has cried every day since our rescue? The fact that he can't sleep alone? He tries to. Every night he tries to. But he always comes to my room and falls asleep on the edge of my bed. If he wakes me up, he apologizes profusely, like he's afraid I'm going to kick him out."

Shiro's back stiffened while Lance was talking but he still didn't turn around.

"And I have to keep soothing him after he has a nightmare. He does the same for me, but his are so much worse. He wakes up sobbing, Shiro. Keith. Sobbing. I didn't know he was capable of such a strong emotion." Lance prowled around to Shiro's front and lunged forward, latching his hands onto Shiro's shoulders and shoving him back. "And yet do you care?" Lance snarled, straightening over him even as Shiro laid on his back. "No. You don't. You don't care what happened to him, you don't care that he can't take a shower; can't be around water. You don't care! You lock yourself away and pretend like everything's just fine! Maybe that's what you do when people get hurt. You push them away and forget about them." Shiro shook his head slightly, brow furrowing as he looked to the side. "That's not what Keith did. When you were captured, he worked tirelessly in that nasty cabin of his to try to find you. He never gave up. And when you came back with a metal arm — with damage from your capture — he never judged you. But he comes back damaged from his capture, and you throw him away like tr-"

In an instant, Shiro was on his feet and Lance's cheek was burning from the slap of a furious backhand. He stumbled back a few steps and glared at Shiro, holding a hand to his face. "Struck a nerve? Good, finally you acknowledge something! You're like a zombie now! I can't believe I ever looked up-" This time Shiro growled and his hand activated. A warning that Lance acknowledged, falling quiet.

Shiro took a few moments to breathe and calm himself down. Lance waited impatiently.

"I do still care about him-" Shiro said dangerously lowly.

"You have a funny way of showing it."

"-but he'll never forgive me." This time, Lance's anger morphed into confusion.

"What are you talking about? You've been an ass, but I'm sure he'll forgive you."

Shiro shook his head. "I don't think so."

Lance waited. But Shiro didn't seem like he was going to expand on it, and Lance scoffed, shoulder-checking him as he left. "The longer you wait, the more true that will become," Lance said darkly and then the door closed with a finality that made Shiro wince.

Lance heaved a deep breath and glanced at one of the reflective windows as he made his way back to his room. He looked beyond angry, especially with how deep the bags under his eyes had become. He sighed and pushed a smile onto his face. For Keith, he told himself. Keep it together for Keith. Hunk approached him and Lance shook his head.

Hunk deflated a little. "He won't talk to you?" Lance shook his head again.

"All he said was that he doesn't think Keith will forgive him." Hunk nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, there's always tomorrow to try to get him to talk. Maybe if all of us take turns, we can get it out of him?" Lance shrugged, suddenly very tired. Hunk picked up on it. "We have a few hours before dinner, why don't you take a nap and I'll call you when it's ready?"

Lance nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. Thanks, Hunk." He pulled his best friend into a tight hug and Hunk returned it in the way only Hunk could.

When he got to his room, Lance wasn't surprised to see Keith burrowed under the covers, face buried in the pillow he brought from his room. Lance's heart softened and a genuine smile crept onto his face. He made his way to the bed and sat on the edge, resting his hand on Keith's back, between his shoulders. Keith mumbled a bit, still half-asleep, and went still. Lance kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his jacket, draping it over Keith's blankets. Then he went to go take a shower.

He always thought best when he was in the shower. This was no different. Shiro's actions when they were rescuing him and Keith hadn't gone unnoticed, but he thought Shiro would have overcome it by now. Shiro was acting like Keith was still 'Bucket'. Still a stranger. It made no sense. But Shiro refused to talk. Refused to let them into his head, even with the headbands.

Still mulling it over, Lance was distracted as he got dressed and emerged from the bathroom. Keith was still sleeping but he had one hand fisted in Lance's jacket and had somehow pulled it halfway under the covers with him. Lance smirked softly. He had noticed that Keith's sense of smell was a lot stronger than before, and purposefully made sure not to use too much product on his skin because otherwise, Keith's nose would crinkle and he would stay a little farther away from Lance. He toweled his hair so it was only a little damp, then slid himself into bed next to Keith.

He was almost immediately asleep. A little while later, he startled when he heard the door open, but relaxed when he saw Hunk peering in. Lance just shook his head and waved Hunk away. Hunk gave a thumbs-up and let them go back to sleep.

~ ~ ~

It smelled like the ocean. Like sunshine and sweet suntan lotion and it comforted him the way the sound of waves comforted people. Keith tightened his arms around the warmth and he could hear a heartbeat. His eyes opened, not really expecting to see anything, so when he was greeted with the dim outline of his arm draped over Lance's sleeping form, Keith's mind was immediately put at ease.

He sat up and rubbed at his eyes, releasing a huge yawn. Lance stayed dead asleep and Keith wondered what time it was. They had missed dinner, for sure. But that was alright. Keith needed the rest.

Keith slid from the bed and debated taking a shower. He had taken only one since their rescue and that had been a mistake, he remembered with a shudder.

He knew he was starting to stink; he could smell himself and that couldn't be good. But despite that, he turned away from the bathroom and headed outside Lance's room. He wanted to get a drink and maybe a snack. Besides, he loved being able to see and allowed to walk freely again.

As he passed the main room, he noticed that the door to the training deck was closed, and there was a light on inside.

Frowning in curiosity, he crept toward it and opened it quietly. He froze.

Shiro was inside, hacking away at three training bots with just his Galran hand. They each had a different weapon and Shiro was drenched in sweat and panting hard. He had been going at it for a while, apparently.

Keith stepped back into the shadows of the doorway, about to leave. But Lance's words came back to him. It doesn't matter what you look like. You're still you. You'll always be you.

He bit his lip and forced himself to step forward into the room, this time sliding into Shiro's peripheral vision. Shiro stumbled at the distraction and nearly got a nasty slash for it, had he not recovered and tumbled out of the way.

Keith watched as Shiro sparred between two of the bots, when the third one ran at Shiro from behind. Keith reacted before he could think. He dashed into the center of the room, unsheathing his mother's Blade from where it was tucked into his waistband — because he never knew when he might need it, don't judge him — and transformed it into the sword. He threw himself back-to-back with Shiro and countered the bot's attack.

Shiro glanced at him and Keith glanced back, but then they were distracted with their enemies.

This felt...good. Felt normal. Keith was never really good with words. He always tended to let his fists do the talking. It was the only way to keep from being bullied. And now, defending and protecting his adopted brother while he did the same for Keith...it was comforting. They fell into a rhythm, turning and moving and dancing together. It was the most normal thing Keith could remember doing with Shiro in a long time. Just the two of them, like back in the Garrison.

Slash, parry, dodge. Shiro would finish it off. Feint, stab, kick. Keith finished it off.

But all good things came to an end. And soon enough the training sequence finished and Shiro collapsed onto a bench, drinking great mouthfuls of water. Keith tentatively came and sat next to him. It was time to talk.

Keith waited for Shiro to start. But after ten minutes of silence, he realized he wasn't going to. Keith cleared his throat softly.

"So uh, great training."

Shiro just nodded, staring off into nothing.

Keith fidgeted. "You know, it's almost three in the morning. Why are you up so late?"

Silence.

Keith's anxiety started to thrum a little louder. "I think Allura said something about training in our lions tomorrow, are you looking forward to that?"

Still silence.

"Can you at least look at me?" No response, and anger burst in Keith's chest. "Shiro. Brother. Look at me, damn it!"

That sparked a response, and Shiro's gaze snapped to him, eyebrows raised. Keith felt heat building in his face and he knew he was going to cry. He had been doing that a lot lately. He took a breath.

"Look, I know you hate me because I look Galra, but I promise you I'm still the same person I was before I got captured." His voice grew soft. "You told me you'd be by my side while I was in the Garrison. You said you were my family since I didn't have any. And the only thing that's changed is that now I have purple marks." His hard voice faded to a light whisper and his eyes dropped in shame. "But I'm still me."

Shiro Met Keith's eyes the whole time, sadness building in his expression. "I know," he said just as quietly and Keith looked up. "Of course you're still you, I never doubted that for a moment." Shiro took a deep breath. "But the way I treated you when we first found you," he shook his head. "That's unacceptable. I treated you like an enemy. I pushed you away from everyone, put distance between you and the team. Words can never express just how sorry I am. I just couldn't afford to lose another teammate. First you, then Lance… I was so scared I would lose all of you. I was trying to keep everyone safe, and to do that I pushed you away from everyone. I didn't know it was you. But I should have."

Keith shook his head. "You couldn't have known."

Shiro looked at him with exhausted, miserable eyes, then looked down at his feet and continued, "It should have been me who recognized you. But I was so set on the idea that you were a stranger, someone I had to protect everyone against, I couldn't see past that. And what kind of a leader am I, that I can't recognize a teammate, let alone someone I call my brother?"

Shiro's eyes squeezed shut. "I'm not worthy enough to be called your brother, Keith. I've given us space. So you can tell me as such without harming me. All I want is for you to do what's best for you. If seeing me hurts you because of what I've done, then I don't want to be here. After what I did to you, I completely underst-!"

Keith cut him off by standing and throwing himself at Shiro, wrapping his arms around him and pushing them both off the bench to lie tangled together on the ground.

Shiro grunted as the wind was knocked from him, and blinked in surprise down at the top of Keith's head, pressed against his chest.

"I forgave you before we even got into Black," Keith murmured. "You were protecting the team, like you said. And I can't be upset with you for that. You were bringing a stranger into the castle. Someone who looked like the enemy, no less. It's impossible for you to have known it was me, and I would have done the same thing. I was never upset with you, Shiro. Never."

At this point, both of them had salty tears spilling over their cheeks and Shiro finally wrapped his arms around Keith in a tight hug. Keith melted into it right away.

"I love you, brother," Keith whispered.

Shiro smiled and closed his eyes in contentment. "I love you too, brother."