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Chapter Text

The few seconds between sleep and conscious are the seconds where wild fantasy and grim reality bleed into each other.

Shiro had always been something of a realist, but that made him no less a dreamer. When he opened his eyes to deep space it was a mix of hyper-familiarity, nostalgia, and delayed panic. Child Takashi would have thought he'd hit the jackpot; grown Takashi was wondering how much oxygen was left in his life support system. But where was the fun in that?

Right away he turned his attention to the weightlessness in his arms and legs-- or rather the weight. A gentle downward push, a backwards gravity. The tips of his fingers dragging along, leaving little dents in the darkness as he slipped by.

Which begged the question: what in the hell was he doing floating around in space? Where was everyone? Keith, Lance, Pidge-- Zarkon?!

As any other space excursion he was fully suited, which meant one of two things: that whatever ship he was in had been destroyed, or Black ejected him into space. Again. Regardless, he didn't doubt for an iota of a second that his team was looking for him. Co-dependency demanded it.

"G-guys?" he called out, listening for a break in the starved silence in his helmet. "Keith, Allura..."

'Your quintessence is weak. There's none to do here but rest.'

The words were like small pockets of light, soap bubbles of greens and pinks and blues and yellows. In small little bursts they tore open in the dark above him, bleeding and spreading and reaching out in long sweeping tendrils. Shiro's breath caught in his throat; he was watching the birth of a nebula. Millions of years of chemical reactions and Great Design unfolded right before his eyes.

God was it something else.

'You came out here to see the universe; to taste its enormity."

Sprinkling down from its canvas, flecks of blue and yellow and pink rained over him, dusting across the visor of his helmet, ghosting over the armour of his suit and seeping into the little cracks and nooks in his given arm. Blue like the sky in Arus, yellow like the putrid acid sun burning the eyes of his lion... Zarkon's eyes.

No. Yellow like the soft fabric of Hunk's favourite T-shirt. The Yellow Lion. Earth's sun.

Well, technically the sun wasn't yellow. It was a mixture of--nevermind.

Tears he hadn't realized he harboured spilled over his cheeks; even now they didn't feel like real tears. Soft and dry, feathers on his skin. "My friends..."

'Will be safe,' assured the disembodied voice. A voice child Takashi would call a ghost, but one Shiro would attest to being his dearest heart. His very essence vocalized. 'You will be safe.'

Shiro's heart swelled, filling with pink and white hot starlight until he was bursting at the seams. It weighed him down further, pushing him deeper into the encompassing blackness.

The universe took his helmet, his armour, his suit, stripping him down to nothing but his nakedness and his name; the two things righted to him by virtue of his birth. And then it took his name. His birth.

Unborn he descended anew, not by gravity but providence, into the arms of the Mother. Against his scars her touch warm and soft, the cradle of her arms pillars to protect him from the ravages of universal law and order. There there's no past, present, or future; just the moment of suspended now.

Though this moment would stretch on eternally, there would never be another quite like it, he knew it had to be cherished and hold it as delicately as She held him. 'There is so much left to do yet. I've so much to show you, it's a shame your kind can only fathom so much.'

Tilting his head back he gazed up at her, entwining his fingers in the long fur tickling his chest.

Nebulas and supernovas and black holes couldn't hold a sun to Her blazing golden eye, bracketed in fur so dark one could mistake Her for a trick of the shadows, a concept that only existed in the space between stars. Nothingness.

His hand found the bridge of Her feline nose, holding her tenderly as their quintessence yielded to each other; he baring all to Her ferocity, and She lending him the strength to withstand this everlasting moment of non-time. For now they were the only ones in the universe... and he couldn't for the life of him remember anything but this moment; the moment She leaned in to lathe lovingly at the flop of white hair atop his head.

'My paladin.'

________________________________________________

It was human nature to question everything and Keith was especially inclined to follow his human instincts. Not once did he shy away from asking why and not once but many times did he find that he didn't always want the answer. But lo his inclinations got him kicked out of flight school, lead him to an Earth-bound robot lion, and rushing out to a UFO crash site in the middle of the night.

But now he was facing a mess of new questions. Questions like 'How?' and 'Where?' and 'What the fuck?!'

Questions he didn't know how to get the answers to.

Pidge was the first to try; she was the one who suggested they follow the homing beacon on Shiro's suit which lead to the armory. They tore through the doors expecting, well, Shiro but found the answer they didn't want.

Turns out Pidge didn't handle what couldn't be explained by science with any grace. That being said, even Keith was reeling when, at the other end of the room, Shiro's suit was mounted, polished, and sealed in its rack. He had to brace himself against the bayard display case to keep upright. Pidge had crumpled at Hunk's side, screaming.

With a stiff back Lance crept up to the chamber. "M...maybe he changed."

Yeah... if Shiro suddenly decided he wanted to go streaking through the castle-- if Shiro suddenly decided he didn't neurotically despise the feeling of open air on his scars. And even if that were the case they would most definitely have noticed a bulky, naked Japanese man wandering around. He wasn't easy to miss. "Could be," Keith murmured instead.

Behind them Hunk had kept his distance, his attention darting between consoling Pidge and blessing himself with the sign of the cross. As if God would ignore a bunch of starving children to come out here and mess around with a couple teenagers. "I-I'll go check his room," he offered, "Come on, Pidge."

Her sobbing got louder as Hunk steadied her, but she walked easily with him out of the armory. Good call.

There was a strangled noise as Lance stepped up to the tube and placed a shaking hand on the glass. "He's not here."

"No."

"I just don't..." his lips pressed into a fine line, swallowing back a sob just barely so it still shook his body. It wasn't like Lance to bottle his emotions, but this wasn't about Lance and Keith appreciated his bid at holding it together. Because if Lance broke down then what hope did Keith have? "Why would he leave us--?"

"Shut up!" It was easy to find his feet now and they brought him toe-to-toe with a wide-eyed Lance, slamming him back into the glass, his fingers buried in padded shoulders. Teeth clenched so hard they groaned and ached, locked so Keith had no choice but to grind out his words. "Don't you ever say shit like that! Shiro was there with us 'til the end-- then man lived and breathed for Voltron and every damn one of us. He wouldn't abandon his men!"

Lance's sobs came in earnest, tears pouring down his face in big fat globs; his eyes, wide and blown open, watched him with no small amount of fear. And even, maybe, a bit of hope. Like Keith's anger was proof. "Wh-what do we do, Keith?"

Keith did what he'd normally do when faced with a question he didn't know: he looked to Shiro. In the gleaming glass he only saw Shiro's shell and his blanched, barbed glare. No, Shiro wasn't there to guide him, but his suit was more than enough to bludgeon him with the weight of the real Shiro's disapproval.

Shiro. If I don't make it out of here, I want you to lead Voltron.

Lance was looking for guidance. Soon Hunk and Pidge would too. They assumed that living glued to Shiro's side would bestow him with some sense of leadership. Emulating your hero came with a price: you became the automatic substitute. Tragic.

Like with every other problem there was a way around this, there was also a way through this, but they wouldn't find it today. Right now, to move forward, they had to come to the same conclusion as Keith: Shiro was taken from them. Again.

"You go make sure that Pidge and Hunk are okay. I'm going to see if Coran and Allura have any ideas. Maybe this has happened before."

Lance nodded sheepishly, dropping his head as he sidestepped from Keith's grasp.

One. Keith would take only one last look at Shiro's suit. One last look before he'd lock up the armory. For the next time he would see it, it'll be on Shiro's body. And he'll be using it to run for his life because Keith was going to kick his ass for worrying him so much.

Coran and Allura were together on the deck; Allura fixated on a wall of surveillance feeds. "We'd thought he might've brought himself to the infirmary, but look at this."

Together they watched the feeds and Keith let Allura take strength in holding his hand. At first he was seeing the empty armory and the Black Lion's empty hangar. "What am I--"

"Just watch," she urged gently. Eventually the feeds showed Keith and Pidge towing in the Black Lion. Allura pointed to the feed on the armory. For a split second the feeds went dark, and Keith had to bite back a scream as Shiro's suit just... appeared out of nowhere.

Seconds later the Black Lion had touched down in her hangar.

There was a scary second where he thought he was going to throw up. "It makes no sense how it could..." Allura sniveled. Beyond the screens Coran held his back stiff to them, working the controls in abject silence. "I just don't know, Keith!"

"Lock the armory doors," he instructed instead. Numbed. "I don't want the others going in there."

Keith left Allura then, he left Coran too. A small part of him felt bad, but he wasn't Shiro; he couldn't-- no, he wouldn't sacrifice himself to share the burden of their pain. Because then they would want to shoulder his pain too, that would be expected, and he refused to let anyone know just how much Shiro's disappearance hurt him.

Last time he did he ended up alone anyway.

_____

Lying in your bed and mulling over the memory of breakfast grows old pretty fast, but he couldn't move past it. Keith was fixated on Shiro's sleepy smile and the jerky movements of his given arm as the nerves warmed up for the day. He was grinning at Lance's jokes, listening to Hunk's dreams, encouraging Pidge to eat her breakfast; he was content to see his friends and eat his goo.

He was happy.

"Then where are you?"

Legs flailing he toppled out of his bed and crawled into his suit. Full paladin gear to take the edge off the feeling of raw vulnerability. 'Where' was his question and damnit he was going to find some answers.

And he knew just where to get them.

By the time he reached Black's hangar he was steaming from the ears and grinding his teeth. Keith never planned on being angry-- he didn't like the full-body itch or the thoughts of violence-- he just *was*.

But now there was a good reason to be angry. No one knew what had happened to Shiro. No one except the Black Lion.

She lay on her side where they had left her, Red sitting at the ready nearby, standing guard. It was almost like how it was between their paladins, except Shiro never rested. He just became quiet.

Keith approached, pulling in deep breaths and mindfully unlocking his jaw. "Patience. Yields..." breath left him in a vacuum. He shook the nagging feeling from his mind. "Where's Shiro? Where is your paladin?"

Dark and soulless eyes stared past him-- through him. Blank. So he stepped up and placed his hand on her chin; she was going to listen and he was going to make her: "Where. Is. Shiro?"

Nothing.

Beside them Red sat silent, silent like Black. In solidarity. Lions versus paladin. Sure he may have been antagonizing, but he wasn't threatening and they were too cold and ancient to recognize the pain he felt. "TELL ME WHERE HE IS!" His fists were flying in a blur-- he was punching a robot lion in the face. "I KNOW YOU KNOW! I just..." his hits weakened, hitting the dull metal with soft thumps as he slumped to his knees. The visor of his helmet hit with a hard thud.

Thing about quick-trigger anger was that it was just as quick to leave. It purged out of him, clawing out of him with a wretched sob; "I need him back. Please, I can't lose him again!"

His answer came in a steady thrum, a steady dum-dum-dum like the castle's engines in the middle of the night, or Pidge's fidgeting when she's trying to crack code.

A bright pink and very ‘Galra’ light spotlighted him, though it was faded and blurred. It throbbed in time to the sound; it was twisting and was starting to sound more and more familiar.

"The emperor lives still," came a decrepit and horrible voice. "Our mission mustn't fail now."

What was... that sound was a heartbeat. Zarkon's heartbeat. But how could he have survived?! Keith saw with his own eyes-- Zarkon was a floating pile of trash. The low growl of a lion warbled the sounds and drowned out the sickening drum of a still beating heart. "How?!" he asked her.

"N-No. Please!" A glacier drifted down his spine, freezing him in place. Shiro. "I'll do whatever you want just-- N-AAHH!" Shiro's screams broke off into frantic, horrific sobs-- sounds Keith didn't know a human could even make. Animal. Base. Mindless.

How badly he wanted to turn around, to see the pain Shiro had managed to hide from them all but shared openly with his lion and not with Keith. A pain so embedded not even the nosiest of paladins would find it in a trip into his head-hole.

Shiro's sobs again morphed into screams and Keith echoed it with his own, straight from the gore of his bleeding heart.

A third voice chimed in. A lion's roar with more pain and despair and helplessness than any human could bear.

"STOP IT!"

Silence clapped around him, so loud and full it made his ears ring. When he opened his eyes he was back in Black's hangar, his head pressed to her chin. Faint yellow light rested on his shoulders, and for a second he contemplated going back to his room to spend the next three days curled up under his bed.

Instead he shakily rose to his feet and tried to slow his shallow breaths. He didn't know what he saw, and he almost didn't care; Zarkon was alive and Shiro was lost to him. "He doesn't get to survive this."

Black purred, pleased to find him settled on the same page, and she opened up eagerly to her new pilot.

Chapter Text

Piloting the Black Lion was like sleeping in a used coffin. Not hours ago Shiro had been sitting here, in this seat, adjusting these controls. It was a hollowing kind of creepy Keith just couldn't shake, but he was determined not to fail this mission.

He was going to end Zarkon's life. A black paladin for a black paladin seemed a fair trade, and Shiro had always said that those who were able to, were obligated to implement justice.

That was a direct order.

A couple hours had passed since they left the ship and Keith had no flight plan; just went along for the ride as Black carried him out through galaxies. His muscles permanently tensed with the promise of a fight and retribution. No, killing Zarkon wouldn't bring Shiro back, but Shiro was lost to them and the only closure they'd find would be in the fall of the Galra empire.

An alarm startled him from his thoughts, a small panel on the front screen flashing red. The second he pushed it he regretted it:

"Keith! Keith, where are you?!"

"Look man, whatever you're going to do just... God, just think for once--"

"Lance you're not helping! Keith, please come back to the castle."

"Zarkon's still alive!" Keith announced. "He's still alive and Shiro... I have to finish this."

There was a buzzing silence on the other end, but he figured they were in their lions and on their way to try and stop him. But he had hours on them and he only needed a couple seconds to drive his sword through Zarkon's beating heart. "Alone?!" Lance asked, a hard chastising edge to his voice that Keith did not need right now.

"Alone." Another alarm went off, gentle but insisted: The Black Lion had been pinged. "That wasn't an invitation!"

"Who cares?" It was Hunk this time. "Dude you are not okay and you're in a giant indestructible warship. We're worried."

"Well stop! Just leave me--" The line cut out with a wash of static. Black's cockpit flickered twice before powering down entirely. Since when could they shut down the lions remotely?

Keith pumped the controls. Nothing. "Wh-what the-- NO!"

"You're so strong to carry this all on your own."

A breeze passes over the back of his neck, lifting the hairs and sending a sickening chill down his spine. The cabin was quiet. "Am I strong?" Keith countered after a moment, hands reaching up to yank the controls once again. "You've not been gone a day and I'm literally lost. How's that for strong?"

Behind his seat the air shifted-- and he knew for a fact that the air filtration had been turned off since the vents too had gone terrifyingly quiet. Behind him the distinct sounds of muted footsteps drew close. The way ghosts worked, he knew, was that if you turned to look at them straight-on they disappeared... but did hallucinations work the same way?

Something big and dark hovered over the back of his chair and Keith trembled as he clung to the seat of his chair. Soft, weightless lips pressed to the crown of his head and he nearly choked. "You're strong because you're going to keep fighting with all this weight on your shoulders."

When Keith opened his mouth to speak only small strangled squeaks came out. Sweeping airy tendrils carded through his hair, right over his ears just the way he'd always liked. "A-are you dead?"

"Keep fighting, Keith, but don't fight alone. The others are strong too; let yourselves be strong together."

"You know you sound like Dumbledore talking like that?" Keith cracked weakly. But Shiro didn't laugh. Immediately he panicked, reaching up to touch the phantom weight on his head. "Wait-- don't go!"

His response came in the blinding snap of the cockpit lighting back up. Engines whirred and even the vents started blowing again. The comms clicked back on after a couple moments.

"Keith! Answer me damnit!" It was Hunk, screaming through the comms with a genuine fear that gouged him. Hunk was his friend. He and the others were hurting just like Keith and now he'd burdened him with the prospect of losing another partner.

Keith reached our and opened a video connection to the Yellow Lion, completely bulldozed by the sight of thick tears rolling down Hunk's face, eyes brimming and blinking hard. Hell, the guy was still in his PJs.

For a long moment they sat there staring at each other. Lance's panicked chatter faint in the background. A private channel. Keith could taste his tears as they trickled down his face. "I..." he choked out, "I want to come back to the castle now."

Hunk, to his surprise, laughed, but there was no humour. Just relief as he slapped away his tears. "Okay. Alright, pal, we're coming to get you."

"And is Hoshi ready for the plane ride?"

"Hoshi's a fish, Jiji, he doesn't like planes." Kicking his feet gently, Takashi nibbled on his umaibo, planted on a sticky airport bench. All around him people buzzed and hurried to get to their planes, but they were waiting. Waiting for Baba while she and his mother hugged by the big windows, completely unawares to the giant planes rolling behind them. But Takashi noticed.

Tucking Hoshi under his arm he leaned over to tug at Jiji's pant leg as he paced by. "Does it take long to get to America?"

Jiji fixed him with a warm smile, petting his hair. "It's quite the journey. Fifteen hours."

"Fifteen hours?! That's going to take all day!"

"We'll be in America before you know it," Jiji laughed, tossing a glance back at his daughter and wife. It drew Takashi's attention too when a low sound drifted across the hallway. They were still talking quietly-- Baba likes to talk a lot-- but they seemed sad, hugging extra tight. Almost like the way Takashi did when his mother soothed him after a nightmare. "Mama and Baba are crying."

"They will miss each other very much."

Takashi shoved the last of his snack in his mouth and chewed happily, rubbing the dust on his pants before toying with Hoshi's bright orange and red fins. "But Mama's coming to America, so she doesn't need to be so sad." To that Jiji sighed and turned back to reading the flight board.

After a few moments Takashi's mother rushed over and kneeled at Takashi's height while Baba and Jiji began gathering their luggage. Gently he reached up and smoothed out a wrinkled in her dark blue headscarf. That was his job and he did it with pride. "Takashi, listen to me. i'm going to need you to look after Baba and Jiji until I come to meet you in America."

"But I don't have any money," he said simply.

She treated him with a chuckle and a smile that barely made it to her dark, sunken eyes. Long thin fingers buttoned up his sweater and fussed over his hair, which she'd forgotten to trim that morning before they left the apartment. "No, but they do things differently there. You have to use that big brain of yours to learn quickly and help Baba-- you will make sure he keeps speaking Japanese?"

That was directed at his grandparents over her shoulder, and he glanced up at them quizzically. "Of course," Baba snapped, brushing her off. "Quickly now, we have to check in."

"Listen Takashi, my sweet son. I won't see you for a while yet, but until I do…" Turning she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small locket with a character etched onto the front. It glinted handsomely in the airport lights. When she opened it he was surprised to find a little picture of them. They were colouring pictures for her hospital room back when Mama still had hair. "Can you hold onto this for me?"

He nodded soberly; that lockett was safe and sound with him. "What's this say?" he asked, turning the locket over in his stubby fingers.

"It says 'forever' because you'll forever be my little koi." Takashi giggled when she reached out and tapped his nose. "You're always in my heart, Takashi."

"You're always in my dreams, Mama," he recited back. His mother pulled him in for another crushing hug. Long and tight until he began to squirm and she released him with a kiss on the cheek. Oh and one for Hoshi too. "I'll miss you."

The morning after Shiro's disappearance had been long, quiet, and heavy with the empty seat at the table. Hunk didn't bother talking about his dreams, Pidge barely ate, and Lance stared blankly at his bowl. "I could try to make us something different for lunch," Hunk offered, swirling his spoon around his bowl with the wrong end of his spork.

"That'd be cool," Lance agreed robotically, Pidge made a quiet sound.

Wow. Not a day into it and Keith was already failing. If Shiro had stormed up to the dining table, kicked everyone's ass, and Gordon Ramsay'd down their necks for ten minutes straight he'd still be doing better than Keith.

Allura hadn't eaten with them, but she did join them at the table halfway through breakfast. "Paladins, I know this is a sensitive time, but there are changes that have to be made."

Keith sucked a spoonful of goo through his teeth and made a low sound in the back of his throat; "Now's not the time, Allura."

"Not now, not ever," she agreed, moving right along, "With or without Shiro Voltron has to keep moving forward. He would want us to--"

Lance finally looked up from his bowl, fixing his gaze now on the far wall in front of him; "Shiro would want us to take the time to mourn."

Pidge slammed her spork on the table. "Don't say it like that! Like he's dead."

"The guy's out in space somewhere without his space suit. I'm pretty sure even he can't come back from that," Lance muttered bitterly.

It was Allura's turn to strike the tabletop, this time garnering all of their attention as she loomed over them at the head of the table. But even she couldn't overshadow Shiro's empty place setting. "Stop it, all of you!" Silence rang through the dining room, but it's charging with a growing tension between princess and paladin.

Being new leader meant being new whipping boy; so it was Keith who had to try and bridge the gap Allura was feverishly digging. Hopefully he'd passively learned something from Shiro; "Allura we understand that you want to move on, and we do too, but humans need time to cope and come to terms after losing someone."

"You think I'm not mourning Shiro's loss?" she growled through clenched teeth. Nope, he hadn't learned a damn thing. "As if I'd be out skipping in fields and eating bonbons--"

Hunk stood so fast his chair topped, startling Lance beside him. "Hey, that's not--"

"I think," Keith cut back in, pinning Allura with a seething glare, "that humans and Alteans mourn in their own ways. Ours just happens to be slower. It hasn't even been a day, give us time."

As if stricken she jerked back from the table, glancing between the four until she whirled around and stalked to the room’s far door. "Earthlings."

She did, however, stop at the door though she didn't bother turning around. "Coran will fly the Red Lion while Keith pilots the Black Lion. That's what Shiro wanted."

The four remaining paladins glared her out of the room. Once the door shut behind her Lance tossed his spork into his bowl with a loud clang. "Quiznak."

"TAKASHI-CHAN!"

He had been in the backyard feeling his koi when he heard his grandmother's panicked screams from the front of the house. Slipping on the dewy grass he sprinted to the front yard where he found Baba standing by the sidewalk, yelling and waving her arms frantically at one of their neighbours. The neighbour-- a taller, sturdy man with a red face and little hair on his head-- bristled as her shrill Japanese ramblings. A dog yipped at his ankles.

Takashi ran over, grabbing his grandmother's arm. "Baba, what's wrong?"

"This white man let his dog shit in my garden and won't pick it up! I want him to pick up after his mess!"

He turned to the man, who stared him down with an anger he'd never seen before. Americans did tend to be very... demonstrative. At 7 years old he stood just shy of 4 feet tall, so a grown man twice his height won very easily at intimidation. "Sh-she wants you to clean up after your dog, sir."

"My dog didn't do shit," the man snapped, glaring at Baba. Takashi translated for her, telling her in fewer words that the dog hadn't done anything.

Big mistake. "LIAR!" she screeched, "Tell him I saw that rat-dog, Takashi-chan, he went right in my garden here and I almost kicked it across the road! You tell him."

Reluctant, he turned back to the man. "She saw your dog go in our garden. She's very upset."

"Ya don't say."

"Yes, sir, I did," he mumbled quietly, eyes fixed on the scrawny little yipping monster. It was hideous, he wanted to kick it too.

"Look, I'm not gonna pick up after someone else's dog. So you can tell your old lady here she's got another thing comin' if she thinks she's gonna scare me into picking up shit."

He turned to Baba, then back to the man. "I...I don't understand what that means."

The man turned a deep, very unhealthy shade of red. Almost purple. When he opened his mouth out fell a jumble of words he didn't know, spoken too quickly for him to catch, and much too loud for him to keep from taking a step back towards the house. Baba wrapped a protective arm around his shoulders. "What's he saying?"

"I don't know. He said you were old and he's not cleaning up."

With the nerve Takashi would only see again in the eyes of 20 Galra soldiers, his grandmother leaned over, picked up the poo in her gloved hand, and slapped it into the man's flailing outstretched palm. "Get in the house," she ordered.

Without missing a beat he spun on his heel and darted for the front door. "Jiji! Baba's fighting a white man!"

About a week after the dog poo incident, Takashi was out at his Saanvi's house; she wanted to show him the rollerblades she'd gotten for her birthday, and he happily pulled her around on his bike. They were fitting Saanvi's rollerblades onto Takashi's feet when her mother came out; "Your grandmother wants you home, Takashi."

When he found Jiji home early he knew it was bad. Still in his crisp uniform he sat in his recliner with a bottle of sochu on the coffee table. Drinking at 1 in the afternoon? Baba would have his head "Jiji, you're home early..."

"Sit Takashi, we have much to talk about." Slowly he toed off his shoes at the door and wandered over to the sofa to sit on the edge of the cushion.

They sat for a long while and he watched Jiji sip at his drink and staring at the package on the table. Upon closer inspection he found it was a neat little black box with beautiful fish designs. It was very pretty and Takashi wondered what was inside. "...Where's Baba?"

"She's in her room."

After another long moment he motioned to the box. Takashi nodded and gave it an admiring look. "It's very pretty. What's it for?"

"It's an urn, Takashi."

He pondered that a moment, giving the box another more thorough look. "What's that?"

Jiji took a long-suffering breath. "When people die sometimes we put their bodies in urns so we can keep them close to our hearts."

That had Takashi paling, gaze snapping back to the box with an uncertain look. "Is... is there a person in that box?"

Another sip. "Takashi, when we moved to America your mother was very sick..."

"No," came the whimpered plea. He had caught on, and he'd understood too quickly. "Mama's not in the box!"

"She couldn't take care of you for much longer," Jiji says by means of explanation, eyes soft and so very very sorry. "So we brought you here to America while she tried to get better. But she was too sick and the doctors couldn't help her."

"Jiji..." It was his last chance, to plead his case against the inevitable the way that only children could. Or bothered to. "She was supposed to come to America-- she *promised*!"

"Your mother tried very hard to join us here; she loved you very much and wanted nothing more than to be here with you."

Takashi's collar began to soak through from the tears pouring down his face, head shaking. Still disbelieving. When Jiji sat up and held his arms out he wasted no time and threw himself into his grandpa's lap and grabbed the front of his uniform like his life depended on it. "W-we... we were gonna--" he broke off into miserable sobs, straight from the very depths of his little body. Cried in the way grown men forgot how to.

"It's alright," he shushed, petting a mop of inky hair. "Do you know what happens to those who die?"

Takashi wailed despondently; "They get put into boxes!"

"No no. They become stars. When a baby is born there's a little star that grows right here," he poked a finger over his grandson's heart, tapping it gently. "That star is your soul, Takashi. It makes you who you are and everything you do makes that star brighter. When we die our souls become stars in the sky, and we keep their bodies close to remember the beautiful stars we had in our lives."

That sounded nice. Peaceful. But it still meant he could never see his mother again. Never have her arms wrapped around him.

Movement caught his eye from the corner of the room and he jerked up in his grandfather's lap to see. The living room had grown dark for early afternoon, and it only grew darker the longer they rocked. Eventually his eyes grew droopy and everything started to bleed into shadows. From the box on the table to his grandmother's sewing machine to the low buzz of lawnmowers outside.

Everything faded and all that was left was him in Jiji's arms. Rocking away the pain. "I never really got to know my mother; I was too young to remember most of our time together."

'Your mother would be very proud of what you've become, paladin.'

"I just wish I could have given her a proper goodbye."

The arms around him shifted, tightening, the rocking had stopped; the hand that had been petting his hair wasn't Jiji's calloused fingers-- and they were definitely not Baba's spindly ones. These ones were frail and soft, the ghost of a touch long-forgotten.

When he looked up the healed scar of his mother's loss had split open wide. With short stubbly little 5-year-old arms he viced around her neck, burying his face in her dark hair that smelled of cherry blossom and orange. "Mama," he snivelled, holding onto her tight with all the strength his little arms could muster.

Her face he remembered mostly from pictures of when she was young and him just a baby: before she got sick and lost all of her hair. Her features were soft and plump and her eyes endless and bright with her star. Giggling softly she tapped him on the nose and dropped a kiss to his temple. 'Takashi. My little koi.’

Chapter Text

"Right then. Are we all set?"

Slumping to the floor Keith fiddled with the sharp prongs of his mind melding crown. The circle had changed for this team-building exercise, with Coran perched between Lance and Hunk. It was like a slap in the face, to have replaced Shiro so quickly, especially when his presence still hadn't really left yet. He had to give Coran credit: it was hard being that enthusiastic when you were the unwanted stand-in like a brand new step-parent trying to take you out for ice cream on the way home from the funeral.

He had to admit that he'd much rather Coran's overindulgent chatter to the heavy silence that usually fell between the remaining four paladins in the days since Shiro's disappearance.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Hunk looking subdued and especially tired. Drained. Keith would have to remember to check on him later.

"We're ready, Coran." Pidge affirmed, closing her eyes with a heavy sigh. Probably the closest to sleep she's gotten.

Usually mind melding was... therapeutic, with each paladin reaching out and connecting in ways they never really could with words or hand-feeding each other. There was something comforting about knowing there were four other people who weren't afraid to look in your head hole and see all the fucked up shit that went on inside.

But Keith wasn't feeling up to having visitors. Didn't want them to root around where they weren't supposed to be. Recoiled at the thought of letting the others see the horrible flesh-eating disease that was his grief. Coping wasn't in Keith's vocabulary.

This way there was no hiding the uglies from being seen, though he had no qualms about facing the monsters in Lance's head— which always looked like clowns— or Hunk's near constant anxious chatter. He supposed that was another way Shiro had been grooming him: he couldn't show his hand but had to be willing to deal with the others'.

Shiro knew that if Keith saw their monsters, saw the other paladins for who they really were, then he'd have no choice but to care.

Keith would slit the throat of any clown within a 10km radius to keep Lance happy and safe.

Shoring himself up he reached out to the others. I'm here.

When the fog lifted he wasn't staring at arbitrary shapes of bonds and consciousness and head-holes, but at them. As they were. Standing in the same spots he'd left them on the training deck.

"Well," chirped Coran, glancing around with a cocked brow. They stood in the overwhelming expanse of black. A deep, suffocating black that made your brain melt. Like the space between stars. "It looks like we've passed over into the astral plane! Had the lions taught you how?"

Hunk was the first to break the circle and took a couple steps forward, closer to the others. "This... this is definitely new. H-how do we get back?" Keith remembered a time when he'd pegged Hunk a coward, Shiro had diagnosed it an undecided strength: Hunk had it in him, he just had to be called to bravery.

Shiro did it and so could he: "Hunk, keep an eye on Coran in case—”

"Oh hey!" Lance, sorely lacking Hunk's apprehensiveness, had taken more than a few steps away from the circle. He was waving, frantic, out at something in the darkness. "Guys, it's seriously the Blue Lion!"

"What! Where?" Hunk jumped over to peer out from behind Lance's shoulder. Whatever Lance saw, Hunk had seen too because not a moment later he was running back to his post, looking out. "A-and there's Yellow!"

"That's right," Coran thought aloud, turning to peer over his shoulder. "Each lion, like its paladin, has its own stake on the astral plane. At your five, number 5."

Beside Keith, Pidge whirled around and stumbled back into his side with a yelp. For there, sitting right behind her with absolutely no sense for personal space, was the Green Lion. But she wasn't the lion he was used to seeing parked in Pidge's lab; she had fur and muscle and bright tracking eyes. "It's like... she's real!"

"Well, lions are sentient beings. Though they don't move around on their own much, they have enough quintessence for a claim on the astral plane."

The Yellow Lion had stepped into view, or at least Keith's view, and Hunk happily greeted her with a pat on the nose. "Cool." Lance was already cuddled up to Blue at the circle's edge, letting her lovingly lick his hair until is stuck up in every direction.

Before he could wonder, a familiar pur drifted over from the other side of the circle. "Red?"

She was there, but she was distant and cold behind Coran's post. The Altean didn't seem to mind not being approached by his lion— Keith's lion. But it broke his heart to see her in her purest and most tangible and not be able to touch her. Keith minded very much.

But that meant...

Behind him was just a wall of nothingness. Like everything else on this plane. There was nothing for him to see. Maybe because he wasn't meant to be the true Black Paladin; Black wasn't his lion.

"Where is she, Keith?" Hunk asked over Lance's sudden surprised scream; his head had been lost to the Blue Lion's mouth with a playful growl and a thrashing tail. He was probably fine.

"I... don't know." Behind him he felt nothing but an unrecognizable threat. For the first time in his life he felt unwanted in a way he was totally fine with and more than ready to embrace. Why was he even here?

Because of Shiro. That bastard. "I'm gonna go look for her." If he squinted hard enough going into the devouring void could look like an alright decision, at the very least it beat shoving your head inside the mouth of a giant drooling cat. So it wasn't matter of 'could' but 'should', and while maybe he shouldn't go looking for the Black Lion, taking risks was kind of his shtick.

"Don't wander too far now. We're supposed to be bonding as a team," called Coran from too far away. A glance over his shoulder found the others had faded away, lions and all.

Since being in space the word 'otherworldly' wasn't allowed. It was too cliche and Hunk had already beat the word to death. Like the word 'awesome'.

But what he'd stepped into was definitely otherworldly and awesome in a living breathing kind of way that didn't settle right with the barren look about it. It didn't just look barren; it was.

He stood upon an endless slab of brilliant black marble, domed by a dazzling galaxy. Nothing existed here but the hard unforgiving ground and the universe. It left him feeling uncomfortably exposed and watched. "Hey!" he called out finally, "Black?"

'...My paladin.'

He whirled around to face the sound that snuck up from behind, where he'd left the others, and it was there that he saw her: the Black Lion. Resting regally on the glassy ground with a deep scowl that didn't belong on a lion. She was easily three times bigger than the others, but that didn't surprise Keith in the least. What was surprising was the warning curl of her lips over hard shiny teeth, her arms and paws curled protectively around her chest.

With nothing else on this plane to look at, Keith was pretty interested to see what she'd been hiding. He even drew up on his toes to try and peek.

A shiny white arm reached out to gently palm her nose, sending a shockwave of rippling purs rolling over the blacktop. "Sh-Shiro?" The sound of his boots hitting the marble echoed around him, his body slamming forwards. "Shiro! God— Shiro I'm here!"

A roar, unfamiliar and crazed, froze him stiff. A warning— no, a threat. "Black it's me, Keith. You know me, you let me pilot you. I..."

Deep in the black marble a flash of light drew his gaze down to his feet. A patch of white, a glimpse of purple... the glow of two bright yellow eyes...

Panic acted quickly to draw his blade, and fear kept his eyes trained on the ground as the eyes drew closer. The ground was still like glass and calm water, but something was definitely breaking through. And Keith already knew he wasn't going to like it.

From the glass a hand burst out, human, sleeved in black and purple. "What the..." A tuft of white hair. Eyes like two blinding suns rising from the broiling pitch. It was unmistakable: it was Shiro reaching for him with a wild malice just short of feral. This was Shiro, twisted and shaded with a putrid hate that made Keith's stomach roll. This was Shiro... but it wasn't his Shiro.

Without a moment's hesitation in its step it lunged for Keith, Galra hand blazing and slicing through the hair with a searing hiss. Keith reared back to swing his blade but not-Shiro dodged it by a hair's breadth. Not-Shiro hopped up for another attack, this one catching him across the chin with a white-hot flash.

He screamed and moved to shield his face, turning on a heel and booking it into the void. Even sane and weighed down in paladin armour Shiro was someone Keith would be reluctant to piss off; he'd seen him in combat, knew how easy it was for him to shut down someone twice his size. So a retreat was called-for.

Hot breath blasted down the back of his neck, always a step behind him. 'Stay away!'

Like the quick snap of a rubber band Keith jerked back, the dim twilight of the astral plane flicking to a blinding white as his back hit the training deck. Ugly yellow dots spotted his vision for a sick second before Lance's face melted into view, hovering above him with a too-serious look. "Whoa, Keith—"

"Zarkon's got Shiro!"

**************************

It had been a hot day. The kind of hot that melts your shoes to the asphalt at recess. The kind of hot that drives people crazy. But that hadn't stopped Takashi Shirogane from running Ethan Robbins' face into the dirt at recess. The fact that Ethan had it coming didn't stop the principal from calling Jiji at work.

Takashi knew he was in deep when Mr. Garth marched into the office.

Now the name Mr. Garth wasn't all that intimidating, but if there was any one person who could have Takashi waking up in a cold sweat it was him. Mr. Garth and his 6'4 hulking one-eyed glory. Jiji had told him that the man was shot in the eye overseas. He got shot in the eye. And didn't die. Terrifying.

Even so, it wasn't Mr. Garth, beloved family friend and peach cobbler connoisseur, that picked him up from school that day. "Shirogane."

"Commander Iverson," Takashi mumbled, shrugging on his backpack. "Where's my grandfather?"

"In a meeting." Under the weight of his full military garb he nodded his discomfiture to Ethan's parents. "Move out!"

Through the school he marched at Iverson's heel, fuming all the way to his military-issued jeep. "Backseat, cadet."

"Yeah."

"Military school?!"

Commander Iverson had left shortly after Jiji pulled into the driveway, only meant to escort him home and eat his after-school leftover katsudon from the night before. It was a long hour of Baba fussing over Mr. Garth and his handsome green coat while Takashi watched from the other side of the kitchen table.

Jiji replaced Mr. Garth and brought with him a mess of dark pamphlets. He looked miserable, which meant it was most likely Iverson's idea. "It's got some wonderful programs you can get advanced credits for when you graduate; you can have a career by the time you're 25."

"I'm 13, Jiji, that's double my lifetime away!" Takashi groaned, reaching into the cupboard for the peanut butter with a peevish look over his shoulder.

"You know your father was in the Japanese military—"

"Well my father's not here and we're not in Japan."

A small defeated sigh pricked at the hairs on his neck. It was wounding but not enough to cow Takashi, who fished out the jam and hastily slathered it onto the bread. "Your Baba's worried about you."

"Baba's worried about cats digging up her watermelon seeds. I'm fine." The sandwich wouldn't sustain, but Takashi gave it another glob of jelly before licking the knife clean and tossing it in the sink. "But she should be worried about some American man telling her husband how to raise their grandson."

"You've been fighting at school, your grades are slipping! Commander Iverson is trying to help."

"By shipping me off to military school? Sending me away is helping?!"

"You're a bright boy, Takashi, but you have trouble controlling your temper." He buried his gaze in the grain of the cutting board, his grandfather groaning as he stood from his place at the table. How old was he now? Almost 65 if he remembered correctly. The man should have been retiring and most definitely should have been done raising children. Yet here he was. A warm hand steadies between his shoulder blades. "I believe you can become a great man someday, but to do that you need to be led by great men."

"You mean like Garth?" Takashi scoffs with a clap of his sandwich. It flopped to the cutting board, not too keen on eating it anymore.

"Like Commander Iverson."

"But Jiji, you're a great man!"

"A man can only raise his son to his own worth," Jiji explained, his hand coming up to clasp his shoulder. "Takashi I brought you here to America so that you could have the best—”

"I NEVER ASKED TO COME HERE!" Takashi screamed, grabbing his sandwich from the cutting board and whipping it against the far wall. Jiji stared him down, hard and weathered. Like he's too tired to give him the discipline they both know he deserves, not that his grandfather was ever a heavy-handed man.

Jiji looked out the window over the sink, watching his wife prune her roses in the backyard. She loved that garden so much; catered to it like a child. Making up for lost time with her daughter by planting devastatingly beautiful flowers. When he steps outside it's like Makiko is still with them.

Looking back, Takashi had levelled his gaze at a splatter on the wall, lost in his anger to a place Jiji had left behind long ago with a younger man; a man whose sickly daughter had given birth to a healthy son and there was no more time to be angry. Just barely enough time for love. "Why do you have so much anger, child?"

Takashi's eyes turned up, stale and spent. A pot that boils over is soon empty. Come to replace his anger is shame, guilt, defeat. "The kids at school... they do things."

"What kind of things?"

"Just things, Jiji. And they won't stop. So I make them."

His grandfather left him then, walked away to the other room, leaving him alone to pick up after himself with a wounded pride. Okay, maybe he could admit that he had a bit of a temper. But that was normal. Teenagers get angry and hormonal and fight. Why expect him to be any different— "Oh."

And then he saw why.

For the first time since his fight with Ethan he was able to get a good look at himself; to see that the tenderness from being punched in the face was blooming black eye. A dark splatter accentuated with a couple of busted blood vessels in his eye.

No one seemed bothered by it. Not Baba, not Jiji. Did he really get in that many fights at school?

In the reflection of the mirror Jiji held up one of the pamphlets; a handsome stone building with lush climbing ivy sat prim and neat on the front. "Martial arts training, tailored curriculums, and even a pre-flight program."

Now he was open to suggestions, resigned to the fact that his life wasn't his own just yet. That he was going to this school whether he liked it or not. He stared at the neat lineup of students marching across the header. "Hoff Academy. Do we have the money for this?"

"There are scholarships." That was a no. "And if you do well here there'll be a spot waiting for you at Galaxy Garrison."

Takashi blanched, catching his grandfather's eyes in the mirror. Galaxy Garrison. Only his dream ever since Jiji brought him in to see the new flight simulators for 'take your kid to work' day. His bedroom wall was buried under any and every poster that had a picture of a plane or spaceship on it. On his desk he had a picture of him and Jiji with their heads poking out of the astronaut cut-outs at the space museum. It was his 11th birthday.

There was no doubt in his mind that this would change his life. "I'd come get you for weekends."

**************************

"...A-and he was wearing that jumpsuit— the one he was wearing when he crashed on Earth. But he wasn't right. It wasn't really Shiro."

"So, what?" Lance chimed in, an edge to his voice that bordered caution. Like he expected Keith of all people to try and sell him some crazy conspiracy theory. His hesitation may have been valid. "You think it's some kind of... of Shiro impersonator?"

While Keith hadn't expected anyone to jump on the idea of Shiro being under Galra control, he wasn't expecting such a hard push-back. The man was taken by aliens once, was there really that slim of a chance of it happening again? All the same it was Keith who didn't make sense in the face of absurdity; worse yet he was starting to doubt himself now too. "I don't know. Maybe? It looked so wrong."

"It's just hard to believe that Zarkon would be... he perished in the fight. And you said that Shiro attacked you?" Allura asked slowly, the first time she'd really spoken since the others had stormed the bridge. "Perhaps you too had left on bad terms?"

Keith balked a moment, unguarded; "N-no we were fine. We've always been fine."

He hadn't expected her to look so worried... or was that disappointment? "Beings in the astral plane are sentient and reasonable creatures— well, as much as they usually are in their own dimension. It's not like Shiro to attack unprovoked—”

"It wasn't Shiro," Keith reiterated.

In that annoying way that princesses do, Allura took a too-easy breath. It was like he'd just asked for her PIN number and she was about to lecture him on how PIN already has the word 'number' in it. Not that their friend, Keith's best friend, had vanished out of thin air and could very well have been dead. "That's what I'm saying. If the Shiro you saw isn't the Shiro you know, it might not even be something that exists in this universe."

"You mean like when Slav talks about alternate dimensions?" Hunk tried.

"We won't really know until we find out for ourselves."

"What if," Pidge pipes in from the far side of the table. "Shiro's being controlled? Maybe wherever he is, or whoever has him, doesn't want us to find him? Is chasing us away."

Seemingly oblivious to Keith having said the exact same thing (though in a much more offensive way) Allura turned to Coran. By how unbelievably surprised he looked, it had been well over 10,000 years since he'd been at a loss for words. "Erm...well, entering the astral plane requires focus and intention. It would be difficult enough for Shiro to do alone, and someone under that much control wouldn't have the mind to make it across."

"But Shiro's been brought there against his will before. Zarkon brought him there through their connection with the Black Lion." Five pairs of wide, unblinking eyes pierced him, pinning him fast to his chair. That's right, Shiro had only mentioned it to Keith, only confided his fears and trials with his right-hand man. Even then Keith only got scraps: bits and pieces. A concern here, the tail end of a nightmare there, a shard of a lost memory. "I-it was a long time ago and his connection with the Black Lion was weaker then."

He looked to Allura again and there is was: that same disappointed look. As if it was some huge surprise that someone like Shiro— strong and brave and battered and cracked— wouldn't just spill his soul to her after only a few months of knowing her. Keith had known Shiro for years so if there was anyone who deserved his confidence it was Keith and Keith alone.

She stood and the room fell silent with bated breath. "I suppose there's only one way to find out. Come."

Chapter Text

If Shiro never marked another paper he would go into a gratitude coma. Rounding on 36 hours without sleep and pushing through his fourth coffee in… how long had it been? Ah well. “Hold the door!” Just over a stack of papers Shiro spotted a student coming from the opposite direction. Satchel banging against his hip he trotted over to the propped open door.

The first row of the Google image search for ’zombies thriller M jackson’ walked into the classroom, late and choosing to ignore that the student who’d held the door was sporting untucked pants and a wrinkled collar. If he were the professor he would have to correct it, but he wasn’t getting paid a professor’s salary and was already living too high above his means to go above and beyond the call of duty.

At the door the dishevelled student gave him a sloppy salute. He’d let it pass. This time. “Thanks.”

“Morning cadets. I’m your TA lieutenant Shirogane,” he chuffed. Not even a grunted hello back. At this time in the semester most of these students would rather be napping in an oak box six feet under than be in class listening to him ramble. Good, so the room was in agreement.

More than a few students had recognized him from under all the dark bags hanging under his eyes, but the excitement died quickly; “Professor Montgomery had to leave for a family emergency yesterday and won’t be back until next week. No, the midterm will not be pushed back so you do have class. He’s left me with the lecture notes…” He pulled a binder out of his satchel and tried to look like he wasn’t trying to read Hebrew. Maybe that’s why Montgomery had the most intensive TAs; no one could read a damn thing he dropped on paper. That’s probably why they usually only lasted a semester or two.

The title he could make out just barely: Atmospheric composition and angles of trajectory. Not shabby; being a couple years ahead and in the right field, he wasn’t too intimidated. “You’re pretty young to be a lieutenant.”

He glanced up and saw the student that had held the door open for him in the closest seat by the door. All the students sitting around him seemed appropriately uncomfortable. Shiro shrugged off the satchel and dropped it in the desk chair. “I focused on my training and did what I could to move through the ranks.”

“Is it true you piloted the Emerrett mission that retrieved the sick crew from the space station?” asked another student, closer to the back.

“That’s classified,” he clipped. Shooting a glance at the black-haired dishevelled student by the door. A small part of him recognized a fellow member of Iverson’s shitlist— that same part of him recognized that the boy had enough piss and vinegar in him to buy a couple extra strikes; it would give Iverson enough time to crack him into a reasonable cadet. Make him into an officer.

Though he hoped the kid kept the mischievous glint in his eye and that bratty under-the-frock glare.

Shiro pulled the text from under the graded papers and tested its weight. Huh, thick paper. “Turn your texts to page 396.”

He turned to the chalkboard and wrote out the equation for atmospheric drag when the classroom faded to a dim afterimage, the sounds fading to a low rumbling purr. ‘That was the first time you saw the red paladin.’

Shiro turned and found Keith in his desk, slouched over with his chin propped on his hand, an empty notepad and no pen in front of him. Looking back it was a miracle he did so well in that course; Keith never ceased to amaze him. “He was the most beautiful person I’d ever seen. I remember he would always say how lucky he was to have me but…”

‘He was very important to you.’

“I started sitting through Montgomery’s class just so I could see him again. I’d never looked better than when I was on my way to that class.”

Bright yellow eyes faded in behind Keith, watching them fondly. Shiro dropped his book and it fell into the nothingness as he crossed the classroom to stand at the edge of Keith’s desk. Reaching out his fingertips brushed along the swell of the boy’s cheekbone and he came to life under Shiro’s touch, deep blue eyes drifting up to watch Shiro’s expression as he pressed a kiss to his very human hand.

Shiro could remember the smell of cheap Garrison soap, smelled it like he was still there when he buried his face in the front of Keith’s uniform, dropping to his knees. “My biggest mistake was never telling you how much you meant to me. I thought… that I could just show you and you’d understand. Now it’s too late.” Keith came to life even more and wrapped his thin arms around Shiro’s shoulders to hold him, to indulge him. “I’m not who you fell in love with, Keith.”

‘This isn’t what you wanted to show me,’ She states matter of factly from behind them.

A phone rang.

When Shiro looked up he was back at the blackboard; over his shoulder Keith had taken the seat up front and centre. Right, they had been in the middle of a three hour lecture with Shiro balancing the textbook on his arm. The phone…

Shiro’s stomach dropped.

The PA system rang on and the students had started to watch him expectantly. With a small huff he walked over and picked up the receiver; “Shirogane,” he greets, clipped and curt and to the point.

“Lieutenant, your presence has been requested by Captain—“

“I’m in the middle of teaching a lesson at the moment by order of Commander Provost,” he stated, glancing up at the clock. 14:39. “I would need higher command, I’m sorry.”

Back to the lesson. ‘Did you regret not taking the call?’

The phone rang again, just once this time before falling silent. “It wouldn’t have change anything. In here, teaching, I could’ve made a difference.”

A knock at the door drew his attention up, and he already knew who it was. Matt Holt, the other section’s TA, and Commander Iverson. “Lieutenant would you mind stepping into the hall?”

Commander Iverson’s voice was enough to have a whole platoon of trained soldiers quiver in their boots; the students startled and lept out of their seats to stand and salute. Even Shiro clacked his heels. “Sir.”

No. No, he knew what was coming next— he didn’t need the whole scene replayed over again, to have the wound sliced back open. It already happened before, he already knew!

“I’m not good at giving bad news,” Iverson began, his time-weathered face too soft and vulnerable. The shadows in the hall around them veiled his sorrow rather poetically; the calloused soldier whom no one thought could feel was mourning. If he wasn’t about to give Shiro the worst news of his life it would have been almost romantic. “Your grandfather’s been in an accident.”

“Is he dead?”

Garth shook his head; “He’s in the hospital out in Thanesville. Last I heard he was being rushed into surgery…” The rest Shiro could recite. They had been granted leave and Garth was to accompany him to the airport. Shiro promised to call the moment Jiji was out of surgery. He swore to take care of his grandmother. Take as much time as he needed.

Back then he hadn’t known, but his clock had already started ticking down.

*********

“Before the mind melding helmets were designed it was harder for the paladins of old to interact more… organically with their lions. So they would come down here and create a scape.”

The room was huge, taking up an entire lower floor of the castle. Strangely enough it hadn’t shown up on any directories even the map on the bridge left the floor as unmarked. As far as anyone knew the place was empty, and for the most part it was.

Keith followed Allura closely, peering into the unlit corners and committing the shapes of the room to memory: a slope here, a risen platform there, a… “What’s that?”

On the far side of the room, behind a rounded half-wall and littered with broken glass, a shattered pillar stood forgotten. It looked like one of the canisters the Galra used to store quintessence. Allura hardly gave it a glance; “That was where my father’s memories were stored.”

“So what exactly is a ‘scape’?” asked Pidge at Keith’s elbow. It had only vaguely occurred to him that the green paladin hung a little closer than usual. So did Hunk and, my extension, Lance. Damn. Keith had become the centre of the group, had been sucked into the vacuum that Shiro left behind.

“It’s a small extended pocket of the astral plane. But, unlike the planes you had visited earlier, this one we can all see and manipulate.”

“So how are we going to get evil Shiro in this pocket?” Hunk asked, “Are we going to use Keith as bait?”

“Hey!”

“Not quite. We have this…” Pinched between her fingers was the collar of one of Shiro’s long-sleeved shirts. “Even after death the things we own and touch often carry residual quintessence. A shirt or a piece of armour or even an entire room can cling to one’s likeness.”

“So… we’re going to—“

“No,” Allura interrupted, “the vibrations from the leftover quintessence in the shirt will align us with the same vibrations on the astral plane.”

“Shiro’s vibrations,” Lance figured. “But how come we’ve never heard of this before?”

“There was no need with the mind melding helmets,” she replied and dropped Shiro’s shirt on a small pedestal. After a moment the pedestal gave off a soft glow, humming with the current of electricity. “I encourage you not to run off lest we have to peel you off the wall.”

The lights of the castle dimmed… but didn’t rise again. “Is it broken?”

“Oh my god,” Lance groaned, stomping a foot against the changed tile. “We’re in the Garrison.”

“How do you know?” asked Pidge.

“Because it smells like industrial cleaner and tears.”

Allura glanced around, visibly unimpressed with the Garrison her paladins never seemed to shut up about. It’s dark and windowless, tight and stuffy, and full of nothing but straight lines. The walls a dirty off-white distantly related to the gleaming white of her beloved castle. Hunk wandered over, peering down one hall to the left and then to the right. “Shiro!” he called out.

No answer. “I thought you said—“

“Wait! Quiet,” Hunk shushed, holding up a finger to Pidge’s mouth. “Do you hear that?”

“No,” she deadpanned.

Hunk lead the search, following a whisper of a sound that got louder the further they wandered around. The off-white walls fading to a sad blue. A blue you paint rooms you don’t want people lingering in for too long. The yellow paladin stopped and Keith and Pidge knocked into his back, both tumbling to the ground as a snickering Lance danced out of the way.

That’s when Keith heard it: crying. Soft and muted, muffled. He and Pidge banged heads trying to get a view around Hunk’s legs

It’s Shiro, crouched against the wall in his officer’s uniform, crying into his hands. Low and heartsick; the sound alone made Keith want to scream. Called to duty, Hunk took the first step forward. “Shiro!”

Not hearing them at first Shiro didn’t notice his company until Hunk was within range to touch him. Shadows shivered and receded. A low rumble— just a tremble of the air in the hallway— had him glancing up with a gasp. He was young, hair dark and skin smooth across his face. He stumbled back afraid but there’s a mournful twist to it. Hunk and his goodness stepped in, arms opened and movements slow. “Hey, little guy, it’s okay.”

“‘Little guy’? He’s not a kid.”

“At least I’m trying, Pidge.”

A frosty wind rushed up from the receded shadows, the void at the end of the hall shifting to reveal new hallways and doors. ‘Run!’

Boots squeaked across the linoleum as Shiro scrambled to his feet and took off down the hall. “No, wait. Shiro come back!”

Before anyone could think to stop him Keith broke away from the group, pumping down the hall as fast as his legs could carry. He followed tight around corners until he met a dark and achingly empty corridor. Keith thought to be angry with the impossibility of it before reminding himself that the whole point of the astral plane was that it wasn’t the same boring reality that had invented the laws of physics.

In his preoccupation he nearly missed the dark figure standing at the end of the hall, in front of a fire-bright desert sky. A dark silhouette looming with blazing yellow eyes. The not-Shiro. “I know you’re scared, but it’s gonna be okay, Shiro,” Keith rasped, inching forward to reach for his friend. “We’re all here to help you, but you’ve got to let us.”

‘You let him ruin me,’ the silhouette spat, tinny and wretched but still in Shiro’s voice. Keith shivered, a sick feeling dropping low in his stomach. ‘You knew what he wanted, what he made me do when no one was looking, and you turned your back like I couldn’t think— couldn’t feel.’

“No,” Keith breathed, “I didn’t know—“

“We did what we thought was right,” came a voice from behind, loud and painfully crisp with bureaucracy. He whirled around to find Allura standing behind him. “If my father had known what he’d planned on doing he’d have locked you away sooner; he regretted not protecting you more.”

‘We all have regrets, princess, but some of us can’t put those regrets to rest. We can’t sleep through the consequences. I can’t sleep; I can’t die.’

“This has nothing to do with Shiro. He’s done you no wrong.” The scorn is heavy in Allura’s words, her face set and knitted tight like the paladins had never seen before. It was the disapproval of a queen, not the petulant displeasure of a princess.

‘He raped me!’ the figure screeched in that not-Shiro way. Pain shocked up through the soles of Keith’s feet making him flinch and choke on thick stale air. ‘And you locked me up and ripped us apart—‘

“Enough!” Allura shouted.

Not to be outdone the dark featureless figure bent over, letting loose a furious scream that tore him clean in two on the inside and threatened to leave Keith with a wet patch in the front of his pants. You could still piss yourself in the astral plane, don’t be fooled. “Go, Keith!”

Spinning on his heel he took off back the way they came, stumbling around the corners and scrambling up endless halls past countless doors. Up ahead he spotted Pidge darting from another hallway. “Pidge!” he shouted, “Pidge run!”

‘LEAVE US ALONE!’

********

“Next time I come back to a hospital I’m leaving in a box.”

Shiro chuckled at his reflection in the window; he’d been keeping vigil over the hospital’s courtyard, missing the mornings when the window looked over the flight simulators. On the other side students gasped and pointed when they saw him, here he smiled pitifully at the sickly children and the elderly. The stench of the disinfectant made his eyes sting. “The food isn’t that bad.”

“Your grandfather wouldn’t have wanted this.”

“Not many people do.”

“He won’t be able to work.”

Smiles came easily here and he spared one for Baba: an old habit resurrected despite knowing how sick and wrong it was. To say he hadn’t thought about what would become of his family should anything happen to Jiji would be a lie. Traditionally care would fall to the children, but since that was off the table the tab fell to the next best thing: Shiro. His life was just starting and he’d soon have to put it on hold. “The doctor said it might not be permanent.”

“Doctors say that to give you hope,” Baba grumbled with her fingers fishing through her purse for nothing in particular. “They get praise for saving a life but no one cares when they ruin one.”

“Many people live a good life without their legs.”

“Would you be happy to live without yours?”

“Would you be happy if Jiji had died instead?”

Low, he knew, and very unfair, but his grandmother wore self-pity like a furry purple poncho. Self-pity did not suit her and Shiro never had much patience to see good fortune go thankless. Baba turned away with a sniff and he tried to ignore the wobble of her bottom lip.

Through the talks with the doctors, made longer with Shiro having to jump between asking questions, translating them, getting answers, translating those, asking and figuring and considering this and that option… his head was spinning something fierce. Right now they all had more questions than answers, and through it all Baba stayed strong and stony-faced. An impenetrable wall. He could forgive her this once for losing her cool.

Behind them the door to Jiji’s room opened to a pair of nurses sneaking out into the hall. “He’s awake now, you can go see him.”

“Thank you,” he nodded, then to Baba: “He’s awake. Go to him.”

In all her life it was this moment she didn’t protest, didn’t argue or scowl or question. With all the dignity that could fit into a five-foot-tall Japanese granny she wiped her eyes and marched into the room. The door shut softly behind her.

Shiro again turned his attention back to the courtyard. An old man tugged an IV along behind him as he circled the stagnating fountain. God. What was he going to do now? Luckily the military would help cover the cost of hospital bills, but there was the question of at-home care, seeing a physiotherapist, medications and painkillers. The military was generous but not that generous; a lot would have to come out-of-pocket and Shiro didn’t have any kind of benefits to fall back on yet either. His position as a TA was supposed to give him enough money to put towards school and small luxuries. Pay off loans. Pay off his grandparents’ loans. Pay pay pay.

And then pay some more.

Baba’s voice was usually rough around the edges, but when she sang it was smooth and light like fresh running water. She was singing Jiji an old Japanese lullaby; it was Shiro’s favourite and it was stained into her from years of ‘one last time!’

He listened to the lullaby and quietly inched down the wall to crouch lower to the ground, whispering along. “I wish Mama was there to take care of them. I wish they had someone to be there. All they have is the money from the mission and my death benefit.”

‘They know you loved them. That will never leave them.’

“I just… I want to see them one last time. To let them know that I’m alive— that I’m here. I don’t want to just disappear.”

‘We have to move on from our grief, paladin, lest our sorrows outweigh our true enemies.’

“Move on where?!” Shiro sobbed, slapping his hands to his face and curling into a bony ball on the ground. In the other room Baba’s voice grew louder to drown out his pitying sobs. “There’s nothing after this.”

‘You don’t believe that,’ She says patiently.

“I just want to go home. I’m not meant to be a paladin of Voltron— a soldier. I’m just a pilot.”

‘You’re my pilot, Takashi.’

“I don’t want to be.”

“…Shiro?”

With a start he wrenched up toppling onto his rear, eyes wide as they searched the hallway. Where had… it sounded so close, like it was right in front of him but—

A hand reached out from the middle of an empty hallway. Reaching for him. ‘RUN!’

And he did. For the second time in his life he turned from his family and he ran until he couldn’t run anymore. Until he was too far gone to turn back.