Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I have to say I’m very disappointed.”

“You didn’t have to say it, you could have just thought it,” Keith grumbled, staring at the mess of parts in front of him. After weeks of hyping up his new bike to Shiro, Keith had dismantled the thing at the very last minute before Shiro was supposed to see it. He hadn’t been allowed in their shared garage for weeks, having to park his car on the street for the past month. He thought back to that one week where it felt like it was never going to stop raining and couldn’t help but think that he had gotten soaked 7 days in a row for this. Shiro had walked in on Keith angrily dismantling the mufflers, tossing them aside like worthless pieces of junk. The sight had made Shiro sigh but it wasn’t all that unexpected. This was how Keith operated; something would supposedly be going really well until all of a sudden it was complete garbage and a waste of time. Luckily, Shiro had been able to pull Keith away before he went to town his next target: the beautiful ruby red engine tank.

“What happened? You said it was going really well.” Keith shrugged, arms crossed and back slouched. He was pouting and Shiro rolled his eyes; sometimes it was hard to believe Keith could be in college and wasn't the five-year-old his parents had adopted so long ago. Keith was always going to be a kid to him, his little brother that got into fights and was sent to the principal’s office more times than any of the other kids in his class. Their parents were sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in the school office more often than not, waiting to be seen by the assistant principal to discuss Keith’s “erratic and disruptive behavior.”

Keith huffed, throwing his hands into the air. “It was! Then this morning I noticed the handlebars weren’t aligned properly and that meant everything had to be readjusted and soon it was just easier to take the whole thing apart and start again.” The anger was there, bubbling in his words but it couldn’t mask Keith’s frustration. Hands tore through black hair, feet tapped impatiently against the concrete garage floor. Slowly, so Keith would know what he was going, Shiro rested a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing it once. A large breath flew from his lips and the muscles under Shiro’s hand relaxed slightly. “I’m sorry.” Clipped but genuine. That was Keith. Blunt and completely honest. Sometimes, too honest.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. Would you mind if I took a look? You should be getting to work anyway right?” A look at his watch sent a series of swears tumbling from Keith’s lips.

“Yeah, that’d be great. Thanks. I’ll see you later.” Keith tore from the garage, leaving his brother staring after his back, a small and amused smile tugging at his lips.

He smelled clean enough, so Keith settled for washing the grease and dirt off of his hands and face before tugging on a clean-ish pair of jeans and an actually clean black shirt. Calling out a quick goodbye to Shiro, Keith grabbed his keys and ran out of the front door. He didn’t worry about locking the door; Shiro would be home for a while. As he swung a lung over the bike standing in the driveway, Keith saw Shiro standing through the small windows at the top of the garage door, staring down at the bike with a familiar face. It was a face that Keith saw when they would do puzzles together as a kid or when Keith had brought home an intense calculus problem even he couldn’t solve. A problem-solving face.

Keith had never been one for a problem-solving face, he threw himself into problems and solved them as complications threw themselves at him. Instead of planning for any complications in advance, he took them in stride, adapting to each new situation as it developed. It had bitten him in the ass before, this method, but most of the time it worked out alright. Keith was pretty sure this was the main reason Coran had hired him. Baking required a lot more quick thinking than Keith could have ever anticipated.

Keith sped through green light after green light, only having to stop at the one light which always turned red right when Keith was pulling up. That one light was out to get him, he knew it. By the time he was pulling into his unofficial official parking spot behind the bakery, he was getting over the bike debacle of Saturday morning. Saturday’s were his late days, letting him come in at 11 instead of 7, so he had had the time to work on- break apart- his newest project. He had found the frame at a junkyard a couple hours outside of Arus, paying $107 for it and borrowing Shiro’s pick up to bring the frame back home. As always, Shiro had let him take over the garage to have a place to work.

He was going to get this bike working. He had just hit a mental block.

Walking into the bakery always made Keith feel really warm but in the best way possible. He was warm all the way down to his bones, and the heat from them ovens warmed up his fingers in a way his circulation never could. He slipped in through the back door they used for deliveries and dropped his stuff in the small break room immediately to the right. It had once been a storage closet but Coran insisted that his employees needed a place to rest and relax after a stressful shift. While Keith only used the room as a dumping ground for his phone and occasionally his backpack, the thought was appreciated.

Hunk was kneading a dough- their cinnamon burst bread by the looks and smell- against the wooden half of the long table in the middle of the kitchen. His dark skin was coated in fine white powder and some of the bread flour had made its way to his cheeks and forehead. “Hey, Keith!” The grin Hunk gave him only added to the warmth of the room. One of the things Keith had quickly picked up on was that Hunk’s smile and laugh were infectious. Once he started laughing, you couldn’t help but to at least chuckle along or grin. Hunk was warm and inviting, willing to take on other people’s problems even when he was stressed or nervous.

“Hey, Hunk. How’s it been today?” Part of Keith always felt bad for coming in late on Saturdays but Coran had insisted that he take at least some part of the weekend for himself. Keith was stubborn though and managed to talk Coran into letting Keith make up the time throughout the week.

Hunk shrugged, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. A new stripe of flour clung to the sweat beading there but Keith didn’t have the heart to tell him as the chances were good that Hunk already knew. “It’s been okay. We had a big rush at 8 but since then it’s been chill. Coran’s been managing alright.”

Keith nodded, not surprised. It took a lot for Coran to become overwhelmed. If Coran wasn’t wearing his roller skates during business hours, then Keith knew shit was getting real. Keith had asked Hunk about the roller skates as they were closing up on his first night. Hunk had stopped mid-swipe, thought for a second, then shrugged and said “That’s Coran for ya,” and continued on like an almost 50-year-old man in a pair of purple and blue roller skates weren’t at all confusing or abnormal. But, no matter how hard he pressed, Hunk wouldn’t say anything more about them so Keith reluctantly dropped the subject. Yet every time he saw those damn skates, the need for answers burned in the back of his mind.

Keith pulled his apron off the hook. Coran had embroidered Keith’s name on the top left corner, right where a name tag would go, in a bright red thread. It had been presented to him with musical accompaniment courtesy of YouTube and a dramatic flourish. “What do you need from me?” He asked, turning to Hunk.

With a final thwack! against the countertop, Hunk took a step back and surveyed the kitchen. Keith could practically see Hunk running through his mental list of tasks, deciding which ones he knew Keith wouldn’t bungle. Ever since an accident his second week of work, Hunk had been hesitant to let Keith anywhere near the more intricate pastries and loaves of bread. Slowly, Keith was gaining back Hunk’s trust but it was a slow process and was putting Keith’s very limited patience to the test. “Can you start prepping the batter for the blueberry muffins?” Keith nodded, heading to the fridge to pull ingredients. “Oh, Keith?”

“Yea?”

“Please try to not get blueberry guts all over my kitchen again.”

Keith grimaced, nodding. It had been an innocent experiment involving a tray of blueberries, a bike pump he had found on the side of the road, and scientific curiosity. Apparently, Hunk didn’t count the name of science as a valid excuse.

Finding out that he was a good baker had been one of the biggest shocks of his life. He had always been good with his hands so it probably shouldn’t have been as much as a surprise as it was but Keith had always found baking to be something soft and delicate and no one had ever described Keith Kogane as delicate. All his life, he had operated at full speed, running off of his anger at the world and pure adrenaline. There was always something to be angry at and he could only seem to chase the feeling away with the rush of stupid stunts and exercise. When he was younger, he did karate and taekwondo but only karate stuck. Then when even karate wasn’t enough to curb him, his dad introduced him to motorcycles and Keith fell in love.

Racing through empty desert roads and zigzagging through cars on the highway made him feel so alive, there wasn’t any room for the anger. The wind whipped too fast, his tires were too loud against the asphalt for there to be anything but the ride. He chased that rush, itching for his next ride the moment the last one ended.

Then he had gotten this job, completely by accident truthfully, and Keith found another way to quell the anger. There was no rush only control, careful concentration as he stirred the batter exactly 31 times by hand counterclockwise with a wooden spoon, not a metal one because yes, there was a difference. The rhythm of pouring batter into trays, ready to be put in the oven as soon as a different batch needed to be taken out. Keith would have never thought it before, but there was a dance to the workings of a kitchen and Keith found he could lose himself in it.

Hours ticked by in muffins and loaves of bread, measuring cups and gallons of milk. The playlist Keith and Hunk had spent an embarrassing amount of time carefully crafting to suit both their tastes played quietly in the background, filling the silences as they came. Unconsciously, Keith would find himself stirring to the beat in the song or swaying while he measured batter to put in the cupcake tins. Coran had needed to approve the playlist as whenever the doors swung open from the kitchen to the bakery’s front, their music would spill out. After making a few suggestions such as adding “Africa” by Toto and “Toxic” by Britney Spears, he had given them a wide smile and two thumbs up. Both Hunk and Keith had been hesitant to add the songs but since Coran was in charge, they had no choice but to include them. However, the two of them had both been culprits of vocalizing with Britney or belting out the words to Toto’s hit. Could you really blame them though? They were iconic songs for a reason.

Coran skated into the kitchen, pushing open the door with his shoulder. As if they had practiced it- which they may have- Hunk swung out an arm and Coran spun around it, slowing to a stop. Keith looked up from his cinnamon roll. Coran was standing with his hands on his hips and a serious look in his eyes. Glancing down, Keith confirmed that the roller skates were still on so it couldn’t have been something super drastic. “Keith, my boy. Would you mind giving Hunk and I the room?” There was no hint of Coran’s normal amusement or liveliness in his voice. Keith nodded, abandoning his piping back on the counter.

Getting excused from the kitchen wasn’t a common occurrence but it also wasn’t rare. He had been here a couple of months and Coran and Hunk had had these private meetings about 7 times. They were random and every time, Coran had that same no-nonsense look that made Keith feel uneasy. All 7 times, Keith had busied himself with sweeping the floor or checking his phone in the break room but this time, Keith hung back by the door. It was opened just a crack, the door caught on an old egg carton Keith had forgotten to throw out. Funny, he thought he had left the carton by the trash can that was on the opposite side of the kitchen but maybe he had misremembered. From his position on the floor, Keith could hear the majority of their conversation.

“-is down a member since Pink. We need to fill her spot.” That was Coran. Keith would know that accent anywhere.

“I know, I know. But who can we use? Who can we trust? Why aren’t the others here for this?” Hunk asked, the familiar nervousness creeping in at the edge of his words. Others? Other employees? Hunk and Keith were the only ones in the kitchen and Coran would occasionally work the front with a girl named Plaxum. To his knowledge, there wasn’t anyone else.

“I’ve spoken with each of them individually. Green is still out on assignment and... “ Coran’s voice drifted off and Keith could hear Hunk’s gulp clear as day. Who the hell was Green? What kind of a name was Green”

“Still no word from him?” Keith had to strain to hear him. Hunk had never sounded so broken, his words sounding like they had been ripped from him: raw and vulnerable.

“We’ll find Blue. Don’t worry. He would never let himself get killed.”

“He’s too pretty to die,” they said in unison. Hunk chuckled, a thick and wet sound like they were sharing an old inside joke. They probably were. There was a beat of silence. “Have you ever considered him?” Him who? Probably not the same guy they were just talking about. Keith needed names damn it! Not that they would really help, it would just be easier to keep things straight in his brain.

Coran’s heavy sigh drifted out of the crack in the door. “I hate to admit this but yes. However, his brother is adamantly against him joining. He views him as too much of a risk and I have to agree. Hot-headed, impulsive, angry.” Damn, this brother must have hated this new guy. If even Coran was seeing the worst in someone, then this guy had some serious issues.

Hunk heaved a sigh of his own and Keith could imagine the slouch in his shoulders, his hands braced against the table. “I understand that but he’s more than that. He’s a hard worker, a quick learner, and he's tough. Also, we know him. Do you really think it’s best to bring in someone from the outside?”

“You and I know him but the others do not.”

“Black does.”

“Black is biased against him. To overrule his vote as the leader, we would need to get all members on board with letting him fill Pink’s spot.” Coran sounded exhausted, any of his usual pep gone. Keith hated the sound; he had grown so used to the constant stream of excitement and zest. Sure it was exhausting sometimes, how happy he was all the time, but Keith wouldn’t have this job without him.

“Then we’ll get everyone else on board. If anyone could do it, you could. Everyone loves you, Coran.”

“Thank you Hunk. But I’m still not entirely convinced he should be on the team. You know his parentage.”

“Are we really going to judge someone because of their parents? Is that what we are? Besides, he doesn’t even know! You made sure he didn’t. How is he supposed to act on something he doesn’t know?”

The faint sound of drumming rattled around, fingers on metal. Coran sounded like he was nodding, “You’re right. I suppose we could have everyone meet him and see what they think. Green comes back from the assignment in two days. I figure we could have a group meeting in a week and put it to a vote?”

“What about Blue?” It was a weighted question, Keith could tell. Whoever this Blue person was, they must have been important- or at least, important to Hunk.

“Even without Blue, should everyone agree, Black will be outnumbered.”

“So, you want us to vote without him? He won’t like it.”

“There’s nothing else we can do. We must fill this spot and fast. Without a full team, we are at constant risk and I fear even a week may be too long. If Blue does not return within a week, the vote will happen without him.”

Hunk huffed and a silence stretched for so long, Keith was worried he was going to be found out. Then Hunk grunted out a “Fine,” and Keith took that as his cue to go; he knew the end of a conversation when he heard one. He dipped into the back hallway and into the break room, quickly grabbing his phone a mere two seconds before Coran rolled into the room. Keith’s heart was racing and his phone was still very much locked but he angled it so Coran couldn’t see.

“Sorry about that!” The pep was back but Keith could see strain pulling at the corners of his eyes.

Keith shrugged, tossing the phone on top of his stuff. “It’s all good. Everything okay?”

Coran nodded, flapping a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. I’m sorry about having to kick you out. I simply needed to discuss with Hunk some, uh, private information regarding his employment.” Coran skated back out with Keith hot on his heels.

“Oh?” Keith asked, raising an eyebrow. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh yes. You needn’t concern yourself with anything.” Keith stepped into the doorway of the kitchen and Coran skated past, waving a hand in mock salute. Keith returned it before slipping into the kitchen. Hunk was busy icing their new cupcakes to welcome spring with pink roses and unrealistically green leaves. He glanced up for a moment, smiling at Keith, before returning to his work. Keith couldn’t help but notice how forced that smile was and how Hunk’s hands shook around the bag of icing.

While people had never described Keith as delicate, they often described him as stubborn. Once had his mind set on something, he wasn’t one to give up quickly. And figuring out what the hell was going on with Hunk and Coran was something Keith had to do. Keith had so many questions and he knew that the only way he was going to get answers was to find them himself.

Chapter Text

Keith had hit Coran with his motorcycle.

That was how he had gotten this job. He had his boss with his motorcycle because he was being a dumbass and not watching where he was going.

Luckily, Keith hadn’t been going full speed because the light had just turned green. Coran was walking in the crosswalk and didn’t seem to have any care in the world about the flashing countdown. 3… 2… 1…

He had been fuming about something his dad had said earlier that morning, about him needing to get over his mom. “It’s been almost 12 years Keith. When are you going to let yourself move on?” Keith didn’t need to move on from anything. He was allowed to be mad at the woman who abandoned him when he was 8. He had been a kid who thought his mom was going to the grocery store to get him some Rice Krispies. Hours passed and then a day passed and then it had been a week before his dad finally sat him down and had to choke out an explanation that would make sense to a little boy. Mommy wasn’t going to come back. Mommy was gone. She wasn't dead. She just wasn’t here.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone…

Part of Keith wanted to move on just like she had. Even though he knew she was never going to see him again, Keith wanted to prove to her that he didn’t need that woman in his life. That stubbornness in him though refused to let it go. His claws had sunk deep into the pain and betrayal and wouldn’t release its grip no matter how many screaming matches he got into with his dad or disappointed lectures Shiro gave him. They would yell, they could shake their heads, they could send him to therapy. They could do whatever they thought best but this anger had woven its way into Keith’s very being and trying to separate it would require something stronger than any shrink or I’m-your-brother-and-I’m-concerned-about-you look.

So, when the light turned green, Keith was ready to zip off down the street. Instead, however, he hit a man with a very orange mustache and a very blue suit.

It wasn’t a hard hit, if anything it was an aggressive tap but still, the man went down and Keith was throwing out every swear word he knew. He threw the kickstand down and was by the man’s side in an instant, pulling out his phone to call 911. In his mind, Keith was screaming that this wasn’t his fault, that the man should have been watching where he was going and that if he had paid attention to the countdown none of this would be happening. However, Keith knew that none of those arguments would hold up in a court of law. So he forced himself to say, “Are you alright? I’m sorry.”

He was sorry. Mostly.

The man’s nod was stiff and jerky but a nod nonetheless. He reached up a hand and pushed Keith’s phone away, his face tight with a pain he wasn’t trying to show. “No need for that. I shall be fine. I have someone to call.”

“What? No, I have to call 911. You could be really hurt!” Why was this guy being so difficult about this?

The man shook his head, a smile forming on his face. “I assure you I have been more banged up than this. My ribs and hip bone is merely bruised. I shall be fine in a week. If you could help me up so I may reach my phone, however, that would be much appreciated.” He reached out and Keith found himself helping the man up to his feet. This whole situation was strange but no one else seemed to think so. Cars passed them by on either side, swerving around Keith’s bike when they had too. A couple of passersby had stopped to see what was going on but when they saw the man get up, they too moved on.

“I really feel like I should be doing something for you,” Keith said, completely unsure of what to do with himself. He had never hit anyone before but he had seen enough tv and had heard enough from Shiro that you were supposed to call 911. What were you supposed to do when the person you hit tells you not to call and basically diagnoses themselves?

The man hummed, considering this. He snapped his fingers excitedly then winced at the strain on his ribs. “I am going to need recovery time. What you can do for me is come work at my bakery for a week to allow me to heal.”

Keith stared at him, confusion clear on his face. “You want me to work for you?”

The man nodded carefully, hands lightly pressed over his injuries. His fingers poked and prodded and it looked to Keith like he was examining just how badly he was hurt. “Yes, at Altea Bakery on Washington Avenue. I assure you it is a real place and is by no means a scam.” A car raced by them, slamming on the horn. Keith jumped, calves running into the tailpipe on his bike.

“Alright fine. I’ll come work for you.” He was in between jobs at the moment and could really use the money. He also did just hit this man with a motorcycle. How hard could work in a bakery be?

“Excellent. Look us up on the internet and give us a call so I may explain everything in detail. When can you start?”

“Tomorrow.” Keith was in between jobs right now and Shiro would be proud of him for actually getting out of the house and doing something with his time beyond binge watching Buzzfeed Unsolved and working on his bike.

A spark glinted in the man’s eye but Keith was fairly certain it was the sun or the traffic light reflecting in his eyes. “Terrific. I will see you tomorrow at 7 am.” Then the man turned on one confident heel and darted between the break in cars like he hadn’t just slammed into the asphalt. In the blink of an eye, Keith lost the man to the crowd. Dazed and confused, Keith hopped back on his bike and ignored the strange looks other people were giving him. He was just as confused as they were, probably more so. He couldn’t remember starting his bike or driving to Washington Avenue but soon enough, his feet were resting against the ground in front of Altea Bakery.

It was a small shop with the standard green awning flapping out front and a large sign centered above it. The name was written again on the large windows, giving a clear view of the chairs and tables and the cash register if Keith turned his head just right. The times were written on the front door. Their day started at 7:30 a.m. and ended at 8 p.m. Would Keith be expected to work a 12 ½ hour shift? He would but his feet and back ached at the thought. He would have to call and find out. Keith would have just knocked on the door but it seemed closed despite the time that said they should be open. The man he had just hit was the owner though and if the owner wasn’t there, why would they be open?

He glanced over the white and blue exterior one more time, noting the fragrant plants growing in coordinating pots underneath the windows. Then, he was hopping on his bike and heading home. Hopefully, by now, Shiro had gotten his dad to leave and would only have to deal with Shiro’s finely tuned look of worry. Keith had gotten used to it, though he couldn’t help but feel like a dick every time Shiro had to use that look on him. His brother had so much to deal with, he shouldn’t have to deal with Keith’s shit either.

Luckily, Keith managed to sneak up to his room without running into Shiro though he was bound to sooner or later. Keith found the bakery’s number online and hit dial, realizing too late that no one was going to be there. He had almost hung up when the line clicked and a heavily accented voice was saying hello on the other end.

By 7 a.m. Keith had learned that the man he had hit had a name. Coran Smythe. He had owned this bakery for 3 years and it had been his dream for 30 years. Altea was the brainchild who had a passion for baking and hated the 9-5 workday. Keith learned he could park around back and let himself in; the door would be unlocked.

By 7:30 a.m. Keith had learned that he had been very wrong before and that working in this kitchen was hell.

“We’re expecting a large delivery today. Coran said to have you get everything off the truck and help me organize it in our pantry,” Hunk explained, resting against the back wall of the shop. Keith stood awkwardly, hands shoved deep in his pockets. Hunk had been working at the bakery since it opened. His culinary program invited employers from all over the area to let them sample dishes the students made. Coran had been there and had apparently fallen in love with Hunk’s red, white, and blue scones and had offered him a job on the spot. Obviously, as a broke college student with aggressive debt, Hunk had accepted on the spot.

A loud beeping signaled the truck as it was backing up to the store. One of the doors swung open and then the other, revealing a tall lanky man in grey. He jumped down from the truck, clipboard in hands. Hunk moved off to the side, the delivery man moving with him. They talked in low voices and Keith moved on, standing in front of the open truck. Another smaller delivery man pulled down the slats and started sliding boxes off the truck. This guy kept his head tucked low and moved quickly. Keith struggled to keep up, stacking boxes and bags off to the side. Soon, the delivery was finished and both men were hopping up into the truck. The lanky man had a sad look on his face and his shoulders were hunched. A quick glance let Keith see that Hunk had a similar look on his face. Something was going on. Maybe there was a problem with the delivery?

As the truck was pulling away, Keith hefted the first box into his arms, stumbling under its weight. It was so much heavier than he expected. “Is everything okay?” Keith asked as Hunk followed him with his own box. Hunk carried it like it weighed nothing and showed no signs of the strain Keith was feeling.

Hunk jumped, clearly not expecting Keith to say anything. “Oh, um, yeah. Everything’s fine.” Everything was clearly not fine but honestly, Keith didn’t care enough to push farther. He was only going to be here for a week and after that, the chances of him ever seeing these people again were slim to none.

Oh, how wrong he was.

One week turned into two and two weeks turned into two months. Leaving once that first week was up hadn’t seemed like an option. Coran had never talked to him about leaving so Keith had kind of just… kept showing up and so far, no one had kicked him out and he kept getting paid so Keith wasn’t going to question anything. Well, anything in that regard. There were other things Keith was going to figure out. It had been two days since The Conversation and it had kept Keith awake for the past two nights.

The colors were obviously code names. Keith had quickly dismissed the theory that Coran and Hunk were apart of the Power Rangers. Red was the Power Rangers leader, not Black. Duh.

Maybe Hunk and Coran were members of the mafia. That was always what happened in the movies. But roller skates and flour-smeared cheeks didn’t exactly fit the mafia image… Which is exactly why they’d be in the mafia.

They clearly weren’t superheroes. Superheroes didn’t exist. Maybe it was a secret organization of vigilantes like the Arrow. He was a human guy in truly… amazing…. shape but still fought crime and had a code name. He was even the Green Arrow! It fit!

“...eith. Keith!” He jumped, accidentally flinging a lump of dough into the air. Keith shot out a hand to catch it before it smacked back down, his breathing evening out. Beside him, Hunk had his arms crossed and a concerned expression on his face. He whistled, “Those are some quick reflexes man. Are you alright? You’re jumpy.”

“I’m always jumpy.”

Hunk considered this then nodded. “Yea, you’re right. Anyway, Coran wanted me to tell you that we’re closing early tonight.”

“Really? Why?” Coran hardly ever closed early and if he did, Keith got at least 2 emails and 4 texts to remind him.

Hunk rubbed the back of his neck, eyes glancing around the room. They seemed unable to rest fully on Keith and that only made him more suspicious. “Oh, there was an emergency.” At Keith’s wide eyes, he threw out his hands adding, “Not a bad emergency! Just like… an emergency… ?”

“Like an emergency?” He parroted as his eyebrow crept up high on his forehead. Part of him wanted to push it back down but it wasn’t out of character for him to question Hunk, especially when he was being particularly sketchy. “What’s going on? Is Coran okay?”

At the rate he was nodding, Keith was worried Hunk’s head was going to fly off. “Yep, yep, yep. Everything’s all good, he just has to close up early to take care of some stuff.”

“Some stuff.” Even if he hadn’t overheard that conversation, this weird interaction would have clued Keith into the fact that there was something much larger going on right now. “Alright then. Thanks for letting me know.”

“No problem man.” Then Keith watched Hunk back himself out of the kitchen, almost tripping over himself and falling flat on his ass in the process. Keith sighed, leaning against the counter. Hunk was so awkwardly tight-lipped and Coran was surprisingly secretive for a man that could ramble about literally anything. If he hadn’t told Keith why he wore roller skates all the time, why would he tell him about the secrets he was keeping with Hunk.

No, if Keith wanted any sort of information he was going to have to do something completely out of character: slow down and make a plan. And to make a plan, he would have to talk to someone that lived their life with careful precision. Shiro.

On his watch, the hours ticked by until 6, Altea’s early closing time. Shiro would be down at the station until 9 or 10, depending on when the night shift rolled in. Keith would ask him about an interrogation or how to ask someone a difficult question. It’d be a subtle but perfect question and then tomorrow, he’d confront Coran. Not confront, just question.

At 6 on the dot, Hunk heaved a sigh and flung his towel over his shoulder. Keith waved goodbye, slipping out of the kitchen door. Grabbing his stuff, Keith pulled out his phone to check his texts. There was only one from Shiro telling him that he was going to be home late tonight and that Keith shouldn’t wait up. Fuck, he thought. That was going to delay things but honestly, what’s one day compared to however long Hunk and Coran have been hiding their Crayola posse. So, his plans were going slower than expected. He could handle this. Right?

Keith opened the back door, eyes glued to his phone. Suddenly, his shoulder collided with a hard object, sending him stumbling back. A sharp gasp came from the hard object and when Keith caught himself on the brick wall, he managed to look up at the object. A tall woman was standing there, adjusting the sleeve of her shirt. Bright silver hair was catching the light, bathing the woman in a faint glow. Had Keith not heard her gasp, Keith would have thought he had never run into her at all. She was standing so straight-backed and confident on her white heels and the slight upturn of her nose made her seem regal and uptight. The impeccable makeup and carefully coordinated makeup made Keith feel more intimidated by a person than he had ever felt before. “Oh! I am so sorry! I didn’t see you there!” Fuck, she was British. That was even worse.

“It’s fine. I ran into you,” Keith muttered pushing himself off the brick wall. She pushed her sunglasses up into her long, silver hair and flicked her eyes over Keith like she was assessing him. Those shocking blue eyes carefully picked apart each and every part of Keith and he had never felt more exposed. She ripped into the black v-neck he wore every day and he felt very self-conscious about the self-made holes in his black jeans. “Are you headed into the bakery?” Keith asked, trying to pull her gaze up from his ratty sneakers.

The woman nodded, meeting his eyes. “Yes,” she said, her voice clipped and cold. Keith’s anger flared up inside; he had never meshed well with people who acted like they were better than everyone else. “My uncle owns it.”

“Oh, you know Coran?”

Perfectly shaped eyebrows raised high on her forehead. “Do you?”

“I work there,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. Keith didn’t have any reason to defend himself to this perfect stranger but he couldn’t help the flare of it that sprung up in his chest. Who does this woman think she is?

“You must be Keith then. Coran has told me much about you.” Keith managed to squash down the groan that rumbled up from his chest. He could only imagine how bad the stories Coran told must be and while he didn’t care what other people thought of him- especially pretentious Brits- he did care that Coran was probably telling the story of how Keith dropped a bag of flour on the floor after he tripped on his shoe laces, coating himself and the floor completely in white flour. Hunk and Coran had called him Casper for three days straight.

“Ah. Well, Coran has never mentioned you. Who are you?”

“I must be going now. I can’t keep my uncle waiting.” Keith didn’t miss how she dodged his question. Any normal person would have told him their name. Was she one of those mysterious colors they were talking about? Allura was dressed in a blue top and white shorts though, she probably wasn’t dressed in her color all the time like a character in a shitty anime. When the woman flipped her hair over her shoulder, Keith caught sight of a tiny tattoo on the inside of her wrist. It looked like a stretched out V and Keith could have sworn the tattoo had been filled in with pink ink.

Her eyes raked over Keith once more, a chill running down his spine, and then she was turning on a strappy white heel and striding to the bakery’s back door. Words scrambled from his brain to his lips but before Keith could call out to the woman, she was gone, the bakery door slamming shut behind her.

Who was that? She must be connected to the “emergency” and if she was connected, then she would have information on Hunk and Coran’s secret. Keith stowed this woman away into the mental file he was quickly building, the weight of another lead wrapping around him. Things were getting larger and more complicated but the problem before him made his blood pump and heart race. Solving problems, that’s why he was hired. Keith was going to turn that around on Coran so fast, the ginger man wouldn’t see what hit him.

   He hoped Coran wouldn’t be too mad though. He actually liked this job.

Chapter Text

Shiro was standing at the kitchen counter, Keith’s unsuspecting prey. He slid into the kitchen, empty coffee mug clutched between his hands. It was 7 am and both men were already dressed for work: Shiro in his button-up shirt, red tie, detective’s badge hanging around his neck Keith in a red baseball style tee with ratty denim jeans. Two pictures of professionalism. Now was the perfect time to ask his questions. Shiro was still wandering around in a sleep fueled haze and was only on his first cup of coffee.

“Hey Shiro,” Keith started, voice hopefully casual. Shiro looked up from his coffee, blinking his eyes rapidly.

“Yeah? What’s up Keith?” Keith passed him his mug and Shiro put it underneath the Keurig. Shiro fumbled the old pod out and new pod in as Keith watched in wonder, thinking that this is the man that is out there protecting the streets of Arus. The coffee began to stream out of the machine, the churning sound filling the small kitchen.

“So, I’ve been watching Brooklyn 99,” he had and it was one of his new favorite shows, “and I was wondering how police work actually worked. Like how do interrogations work, how is evidence stored? It all just seems a little made up.” When Shiro turned to him with raised eyebrows, Keith thought he was being too obvious.

“You’ve never asked about my work before?” Shiro mused, hands wrapping tighter around the mug.

Shit. “Well, uh, you know, this show made me realize that I have a brother who does exactly what Jake Peralta does and he makes it look so interesting. So that made me think that my brother might actually be kind of interesting.” Ah yes, making fun of his brother. This was completely normal behavior.

At that, Shiro rolled his eyes and took a sip of his coffee. “I’m so glad a TV show is what inspired you to ask me about my job.” And Keith was in. Shiro didn’t suspect anything. “Well, um, let’s see. You asked about interrogations, right?”

Keith shrugged, hopefully nonchalantly. “Yea, sure. Something like that.” Exactly that.

Shiro hummed, the wheels in his head clearly turning. “Well, interrogations are a case by case thing really. Every criminal, every person, is different and that means you have to adjust your strategy to fit the person sitting in front of you. Some people respond to anger and yelling and will break down under the pressure. Others are more tight-lipped and harder to crack.” At that, Keith perked up. His criminals were tight-lipped. “With those, you have to get under their skin, get inside their heads.”

“How do you do that?”

“Sometimes you have to plant the idea to confess. A lot of criminals do what they do because they love the feeling of being in control and holding the life of someone in their hands. If it’s their choice to confess, to them, it’s like their gloating. Other times you start asking them rapid-fire questions to try and get them caught up in their lies.”

“Reverse psychology,” Keith offered. Shiro nodded, snapping his fingers in Keith’s direction.

“That’s exactly right.” Just then, Shiro’s phone started ringing and there was no surprise that it was the standard Marimba ringtone.

“Old man,” Keith said, smirking over his coffee cup. Shiro flipped him off and left the kitchen, already answering his phone. By the time he came back, hanging up with an “I’m sorry, it was work,” Keith was already gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Knuckles against wood, Keith was leaning in the doorframe of Coran’s office. It was a tiny space as Coran insisted that as much space as possible went towards the bakery itself. A desk was shoved into the far corner and Coran sat in a squishy desk chair facing it so Keith saw the clear profile of his face. Photo frames littered the desk, leaves of various plants poking through the gaps in between. Hanging just above Coran’s desktop were the original plans for the bakery, hand drawn with short, quick strokes and scribbled in measurements.

At his knock, Coran turned to face him, the familiar wide smile on his face. “Hello, Keith! What a pleasant surprise!”

Keith couldn’t help but smile, this infectious energy rolling off Coran in tidal waves. “Hey, Coran.”

“What can I do for you?” The way Coran turned to close out of whatever tab he had pulled up didn’t slip past Keith; he wouldn’t be dumb enough though to have whatever secrets pulled up on a computer where anyone could, in theory, see them. An empty chair by Coran’s desk called for him but Keith remained firmly rooted where he stood. If he sat down, Coran would suck him into whatever positive energy vortex Coran lived in.

“I wanted to ask you about coming in for a full shift on Saturday.” At that Coran sat up straighter, a puzzled look forming between his eyebrows. “Yea, uh, my dad has been talking about pulling his share of the house’s mortgage and Shiro and I are trying to pick up extra money where we can just in case.” That was true. As his dad was aging, his dad was becoming more paranoid, angrier. He was keeping cash under his mattress and had moved to a property with well water and installed a camera system. That was how Shiro and Keith got their childhood house.

When his dad moved about three years ago, he signed the deed over to Shiro on the condition that both of his sons lived there. His dad hated the idea of Keith living in a shitty apartment on the edge of town and Shiro living in a nice cushy condo all alone. They were a family and needed to stay that way. However, neither of them could put up all of the money needed to maintain the mortgage on the house so, their dad was willing to pay what they couldn't. For years, the brothers have relied on that money influx but now, the money was becoming less and less every month and Shiro was starting to get worried. He would never say anything to Keith about it but Keith could see it in the late nights Shiro would spend at the kitchen table, a monthly budget broken down seven different ways on a legal pad.

Coran’s eyebrows were two ginger stripes across his forehead. “Oh my, that’s terrible. But,” he sighed, a hand running over his face, “I don’t think I can pay you for Saturday’s. And besides, don’t you want to sleep in on the weekend? You’re here almost every day Keith, you need to take some time for yourself.”

Keith chuckled, knocking his head against the wooden doorframe. He let his fingers fall against the drywall, drumming the beat to a song he had heard on the ride to work. “You’re one to talk about taking time for myself. When was the last time you had a day off, Coran? You’re going to work yourself to death at this rate.” Coran huffed, shaking his head. He had an amused smile on his face as he nodded, leaning his head against the arm he had propped up on the table by his elbow.

“You may be right about that Keith but, there is nothing I can do. I have a business to run.” Coran gestured to the drawing tacked on the wall. “Right now, I can’t afford to take a day off. But, I can afford to let my hard-working employees take one morning a week for themselves.” He looked pointedly at Keith.

This wasn’t going to plan. Something was up with the Saturday mornings that Coran forced him to take off. He had asked Hunk if Coran made him take off a morning as well and Hunk had shrugged. “Sometimes I won’t be feeling well so I’ll call in from work but no, I don’t take off the way you do.”

That had piqued his interest. Why wouldn’t Hunk take off a morning as well? “Well, why does Coran make me take it off? I need the money.”

Hunk merely sighed, looking up from his phone. The two of them had been in the break room before morning shift. “I don’t know what to tell you, dude. Coran works in mysterious ways.”

It had been a completely unsatisfactory answer so now, Keith was trying to get some answers directly from the source. Keyword: trying. “Ok, then would you ever let me take a different morning off? Sometimes it’d be better to take off like a Tuesday and make it up on a Saturday.” Who needed a Tuesday morning off? Certainly not Keith but, he was desperate.

“I don’t understand why you’re fighting this so much.” Coran’s voice had taken on an unfamiliarly serious tone. Had he not been so dead set on getting any kind of information out of him, that voice would have made him call this whole thing off.

“I don’t understand why you’re so dead set on Saturday’s. I’m asking to do more work. What kind of an employer says no to that?”

“I am not talking about this anymore Keith. I suggest you let this go.” Steely and cold, Coran’s voice told Keith that he truly was done talking about it and that Keith really should not push the subject. But Keith had never followed the rules. He pushed and pushed and pushed even when he shouldn’t- especially when he shouldn’t. So Keith kept going.

“I don’t want to let this go. Why should I?” He could see the turmoil clear on Coran’s face. Anger and frustration but also, contemplation and sadness. His face had always been hard to read but right now, it couldn’t have been any more confusing. Emotion after emotion flickered through his face and Keith could feel his stubbornness waning. It was slight but it was there- this desire to back off for now just so Coran wouldn’t have to look so pained. Keith took a deep breath, preparing to give up when a different voice spoke up before he could.

“Uh yeah, I just wanted to let you know that I fixed that uh… thing.” Behind him stood a short figure in a green hoodie and jeans. Their hair was golden and fluffy, peeking out from under a blue baseball cap that covered their eyes from Keith.

It was quick, but Keith didn’t miss the look of relief that washed over Coran’s face at the figure’s sudden appearance. Coran grinned, running his mustache through his fingers. “Excellent! Your services are much appreciated!” He reached into a drawer, pulling out a checkbook. Keith turned to face the figure, regarding them with a skeptical eye.

“I didn’t know something was broken. What was wrong?”

The figure straightened up, face turning up to meet Keith’s eyes. Their eyes were a bright amber, glinting with mischief. “One of the dryers. It wasn’t tumbling quite right. Coran is very specific about his tumbling.”

Keith nodded. There had been a couple times where Coran had almost lost his cool with Keith because he hadn’t appropriately tumbled the towels. “Oh, trust me, I’m aware.” Keith reached out a hand. “Hey, I’m Keith.”

They gripped his hands, their handshake surprisingly strong. “Nice to meet you. I’m Pidge.”

“Pidge?”

“My real name is Katie but call me that and your bank account will suddenly be empty. Though from the looks of those jeans, it wasn’t all that full, to begin with.” Keith’s eyebrows shot up his forehead in surprise. Who was this kid?

“Alright, fine. I won’t say the K-word. How come I’ve never seen you before?”

Pidge shrugged, hands shoved in the pocket of her hoodie. “The dryer doesn’t break that often. It’s industrial strength for a reason.”

Keith scanned the girl. She was pretty short, coming up to Keith’s shoulder and the baggy clothes made her seem even younger. “You’re a mechanic?”

Pidge shrugged saying, “I’m a jack of all trades when it comes to tech. If it runs on power, chances are good I can figure out how it works.”

“Yes, this is true! I often call for Pidge when the internet is down or when an oven is malfunctioning though Hunk can solve most of our problems should Pidge not be available,” Coran said. He stood from his chair and joined the duo by the door. “Now, Keith, if you’ll excuse me, I need to talk to Pidge for a moment about her payment.” The sentence was essentially a door slamming in Keith’s face. There was no way he was going to be able to talk about this with Coran again. At least, not today. But he would try again and again, as many times as it took.

He nodded, stepping out of the way so Pidge could slip by him. Keith started to walk away when his feet came to a sudden halt. That morning, Keith had forgotten to leave his phone in the break room with the rest of his stuff and now, he could feel it burning in his back pocket. Now, he took it out and opened the voice memos app. His battery was on 78% and hopefully it would last until he could pick the phone back up again. Keith hit record and squatted down, abandoning the phone by the door. By his foot was an abandoned Burger King wrapper and Keith quickly pulled that over the phone. Then, Keith went on his way to the kitchen.

Hours ticked by in anticipation. Bread was kneaded, scones were shaped, one tray of snickerdoodle cookies were dropped on the floor. “Keith, my man, are you okay?” Hunk asked at one point, concern laced through his words. Keith jumped, thoughts far away. Not that far really, down a hallway off the back entrance to the front of the store.

“Yep. I’m great,” Keith said, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. Keith felt the adrenaline pumping in his blood. The air around him was hot and thick and Keith felt a familiar constricting feeling in his chest. Excitement buzzed around him and he hoped Hunk didn’t feel it too.

When he first got it into his head to figure out what was going on, he didn’t think it would ever become so exciting. He thought it would be a simple investigation ending with a reasonable explanation like an award-winning pie-making team that had a thing for code names. But now, Keith knew he was in over his head. He knew he was stepping out of the shallow end of the pool and into the deep end and recording Coran’s conversations was the final step he had to take to be barely keeping his head above water.

Part of him wanted there to be a simple explanation. The Shiro in him wanted to end this whole thing with him getting reprimanded for snooping into Coran and Hunk’s World of Warcraft team strategy. He wanted Hunk to explain that Coran and he were working on a surprise for Keith and they were ready to present him with his own color.

Except, he wasn’t Shiro. He was Keith and Keith lived for excitement. He lived for true crime mysteries and heart-pounding adrenaline. His whole life, he had grown up with the mystery of his mother and so whenever one presented itself to him, Keith felt this deep instinctual urge to solve it, to get to the end. Coran and Hunk presented one to him on a silver platter and Keith was bursting with the desire to figure out just what the hell was going on.

In the storefront, Keith was sweeping up around the feet of a couple that were splitting a chocolate chip muffin. The two girls were giggling and exchanging shy glances and Keith felt his heart squeeze. They couldn’t have been more than 17- two teenagers on a first date, just starting to step into the whirlpool that is dating and romance. It had been a long time since Keith had had his first date, had been on a first date. Looking at those two girls made him want that experience. The nerves, the excitement, the potential for more. When he pushed the broom under their white table, one of the girls gave him a beaming grin and a “Thanks!” as the girl across from her shook her head fondly.

As he was dumping the contents of his dustpan into the trashcan when Pidge came out of the back entrance, the Employees Only sign swinging slowly. She smiled at Keith, giving him a 2 finger salute before crossing quickly to the front door. Pidge opened the door and propped it open with her shoulder while a hand reached up to pull her ball cap down lower onto her head. Then Pidge disappeared out the front door, the bell Hunk attached to the door chiming in her wake. He watched her go and Keith felt a deep feeling in his gut to linger by the trash can. A minute later, Coran walked through the same door Pidge had and began chatting with the two girls. It was one of the reasons they had 4.3 stars on Yelp. Coran managed to make each and every customer feel special and welcome.

Now was the time. Keith slipped through the door as inconspicuous as possible. Slipping down the hallway, Keith reached Coran’s office and leaned against the wall. The wrapper was by his foot and with the toe of his shoe, Keith nudged it out of the way.

Underneath the bright yellow paper was… Nothing.

Keith’s phone was missing.

He had been made.

“My boy, are you looking for this?” Coran’s voice cut through the hallway and Keith felt his blood run cold. He had never been very good with words and Keith figured it was going to take some expertly crafted sentences to get him out of this mess.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Keith had always been reckless. Impulsive, some would say. Whenever there would be repercussions for his actions, he’d take the consequences and Shiro’s disapproving look in stride. They would roll off his back and Keith would move on with relatively little impact to his person.

Now though, Keith didn’t think that he would fare nearly as well once this was all over.

He pushed himself off the wall to face Coran. Keith’s boss was standing with one hand by his side, the other holding Keith’s phone up in the air. Without a word, Coran pressed a single button on Keith’s phone. A tinny version of Coran’s voice echoed throughout the hallway. “Thank you for the intervention.”

Pidge’s voice responded, “Any time. That’s why you keep me around.”

“No, I keep you around for your unwavering wit Number 5.” Coran shut off the recording and tossing Keith’s phone back to him. He snatched it out of the air, tucking it safely into his pocket. Coran’s words lingered in the hallway like a phantom pain. Keith wanted to say something but he didn’t know what. The urge to speak, to say anything at all, was pushing at him but there were no words. Keith didn’t even know where to begin.

“Keith, I highly suggest you stop whatever it is you’re doing. If you’re playing detective, leave it to the cops. You are getting into something you do not understand,” Coran said, hands folded behind himself.

“I know something is going on with you, with Hunk, with Pidge, and probably with that woman that went into the bakery through the back door the other day,” Keith forced out, teeth gritted.

At that, Coran’s eyebrows pulled together. “What woman? What are you talking about?”

Keith forced a laugh. “What am I talking about? What are you talking about? You’re telling me to not get involved in something that I don’t even know about. I have no idea what I’m supposed to stay away from and if you think I’m going to give up trying to figure it out, you don’t know me at all.”

Coran walked forward, the picture of calm until he was almost nose to nose with Keith. Coran had never really seemed tall until this moment. “I am not going to explain this to you. Drop these shenanigans or we are going to have to figure something else out regarding your employment.” Keith’s eyes flew wide. Coran was talking about firing Keith. Holy shit, Coran was going to fire him.

Then, his eyes narrowed. “I don’t respond well to people telling me what to do.”

“And I take no enjoyment in saying this to you Keith. You are a good person. Do not keep forward on this path because it will not end well for you.” Coran’s voice was significantly lighter but that threat was still there, an underlying current to any compassion Coran may have been conveying.

“Whatever may happen at the end of this, at least I’ll know. I need to know.” That was it really. An insatiable curiosity would eat Keith alive. It didn’t respond to threats, it only responded to finally getting the answer. “I have until Sunday.”

“Sunday?”

“That’s when your deadline is and that’s when mine is. If I don’t figure out what exactly is going on here by then, I’ll drop this whole thing. I promise.” Keith didn’t break his promises and Coran knew it. Coran nodded and held out his hand. The two men shook hands, never breaking eye contact.

Whether he wanted to or not, Keith had just given himself a rapidly approaching deadline. Three days. That’s how long he had to figure out what secrets were trapped within the Altean bakery walls. No matter the consequences, no matter the repercussions, Keith was going to find out the answer. And that was a promise.

Chapter Text

Coran was very good at acting like things were normal. He regarded Keith with the same enthusiasm and joy as he did before but the lingering looks didn’t slip past Keith. Often out of the corner of his eye, Keith would see Coran looking at him with a narrowed eye. He felt like a specimen under a microscope: under constant observation, his every move tracked.

After their conversation yesterday, Coran had let Keith go home early under the guise of the shop being particularly slow that day. Keith walked back into the bakery with his head ducked low, phone tucked safely into his back pocket. They had bypassed each other all day, giving one another respectful nods and carefully placed smiles. But as the day went on, Keith felt the tension in his shoulders relaxing and he began to feel as at ease as he normally does within these walls. Coran lightened up as well and soon they weren’t dancing around each other.

If Hunk noticed anything about the weird dynamic between Coran and Keith, he didn’t say anything. He kept going on about his business as normal, all warmth and sunshine and smiles. When Hunk placed a large hand on Keith’s shoulder, he thought that maybe Hunk was picking up on the tension in the air but it was simply to reassure him that the mess he had made earlier wasn’t a big deal and that they had cleaning spray and paper towels for a reason. “Yea, that’s true,” Keith said, nodding profusely. Hunk smiled one more time then moved on to the refrigerator. Taking a deep breath, Keith moved his current pastry tray aside and exited the kitchen. It was 7:45. Only 15 more minutes until Keith could go home and he hadn’t learned anything more.

Any information that could have been found had been hidden. There was no strange woman or Pidge for Keith to run into. Coran’s office door had remained firmly shut all day and whenever the man left it, he locked it behind him. Friday had passed by in a blur and took with it an opportunity for Keith to play detective as Coran had so affectionately called it. Maybe he just wasn’t cut out to figure this out.

Suddenly, a bang echoed throughout the hallway, making Keith jump. His hand reached out to brace himself against the wall, his breath rushing back into his lungs. “What the hell?” He muttered, turning to look for the source of the bang. At the end of the hallway, the bakery’s back door was hanging open, revealing the grey sky of the stormy weather outside. It had been raining on and off again all day, the humidity thick and choking in the summer heat. When he had woken up that morning, the rain had been beating steadily against the roof. He had laid in bed, letting the alarm that was beeping incessantly beside him be drowned out by the consistent plink plink plink of the rain.

It had matched his mood, this dreary morning, and he rode in the passenger seat of Shiro’s car- Shiro had refused to let Keith ride in this weather even though he’s done it a hundred times before- fingertips tracing the path of racing raindrops. His thoughts were as clouded as the sky above him and the agitation rumbled across his features like the distant thunder. His mind seemed to hold a million thoughts and questions and plans and it wouldn’t be long until they were falling like the rain.

Leaning against the door was a hunched over figure. Outside, puddles grew in the potholes found in the back parking lot and inside, one puddle was growing underneath the figure. Fighting inside him was Keith’s fight or flight response though there was no real reason for it as, like always, his body chose to fight. Shiro would have a million stranger danger lectures prepared for him but Keith pushed them aside and raced toward the figure. “Hey! You can’t be back here!” He called out, steps slowing as he came to stand a few feet from the person. It was a man, hair dark with rain and clothes seeming to peel away from his limbs. Despite the poorly lit hallway, Keith could seem the tremors in his hands as he braced himself against the door with one hand. “Woah… Are you okay?” A stupid question because he clearly wasn’t but what else was Keith supposed to ask?

As if in answer to his question, the man collapsed further, dropping to his knees. His shoulders collapsed almost protectively on top of him and the door swung, ramming into the man’s hunched over body. He didn’t even react to the impact. “Oh my god. Dude, who are you? Wait, no, not important right now. I’m going to call 911. You need help.” That seemed to get a response as the man’s head jerked up. Dull blue eyes were wide and the man’s head shook weakly before resting against the green metal door.

“No… Don’t call.” It was only three words but they seemed to take any remaining energy the man had. He fell forward, landing face first against the tile flooring.

“Oh shit!” Keith scrambled forward, dropping to his knees. Quickly, Keith pulled the man’s legs inside the bakery, letting the door slam shut. Without the sound of the rain, the hallway was scarily quiet with only the man’s ragged breathing breaking up the quiet. As gently as he could, Keith flipped the man onto his back to try and help him breathe. Pulling his hand away, Keith saw it was coated in a deep red. His stomach clenched and for the first time, he noticed that the man had his hand clutched protectively over his shoulder. His fingers had gone slack against it and he only offered a weak groan when Keith moved his hand away.

The dark shirt the man was wearing had bunched up against his skin but the ragged hole tearing not only through his shirt but through the man’s shoulder was impossible to miss. For a split second, Keith felt his heart stop. Was that a bullet wound? Holy shit. Holy shit! This man had been shot! Someone had shot this guy and now here he was, bleeding out in front of Keith. What the fuck?

As if someone was controlling his limbs, Keith tore off the flannel that he had tied around his waist early that morning in a gay-induced fashion crisis. Thank God he was the physical embodiment of the flannel-wearing gay stereotype because now Keith had his shirt pressed against the hole in his shoulder. “Coran! Hunk!” Keith’s voice was a distant echo. Maybe someone else had called out for them. Any sound was swimming in his ears as he stared down at the man currently struggling to breathe on a completely unsanitary bakery floor. His face was pale and Keith could only imagine the normally golden color his tanned skin normally held. Those dull and lifeless blue eyes stared at Keith every time he blinked even though the man had his eyes screwed shut. “It’s going to be okay.” Those words rushed back to Keith in perfect clarity. His voice was surprisingly calm though it didn’t sound all that reassuring. He had never been a particularly comforting person.

“H-Hu-Hunk,” the man choked out. He coughed once, red splattering against his chin. With the free sleeve of his flannel, Keith wiped the man’s chin. He smiled once before screwing up his face against the pain again. Like a distant memory, footsteps rang out in the hallway.

“Do you know Hunk?” Keith asked, surprised. He had assumed that stumbling into the bakery had been a random choice, that this had been the first door that was unlocked. But that didn’t make any sense because the door locked once it was closed and the only way to get inside was with a key.

In a rush, Keith remembered the woman he had run into a few days ago. She must have had a key too. At the time, Keith had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even stopped to consider just how that woman had entered the building. To confirm his theory, Keith scanned the man’s person for a key. The hand of his wounded arm, his right one and most likely his dominant one, was folded into a lazy fist and Keith wasn’t surprised to find a shiny silver key resting in his palm that looked exactly like the one Coran had given him on his first day of work. So, this man knew Coran as well. Coran and Hunk were wrapped in some shit that had people getting shot and stumbling through the rain. The mob theory came wandering back into Keith’s brain and it didn’t seem that crazy at all.

A large shadow fell across the man’s face and Keith jerked away from it. Hunk was crouching down, a mix of emotions fighting for dominance over his face. Anger, sadness, concern, and strangely enough relief. “Hunk, what’s going on? Who is this guy?” Keith’s words caused surprise to take over Hunk’s face as if he hadn’t realized Keith was there. With one strong, calloused hand Hunk shoved Keith away from the man, catching him off guard and sending him sprawling on his ass. Keith watched, stunned, as Hunk gingerly shifted the man into his arms and hefted him off the ground. “Woah! What are you doing? This guy needs to go to the hospital!” Keith said, voice rising.

Suddenly, a hand rested on Keith’s shoulder and he didn’t have to turn to see that it was Coran. “I assure you that won’t be necessary.”

He was on his feet in an instant. Keith whirled around to face Coran, heat rising in his neck. It burned underneath his skin and he used it to fuel his anger. “What the fuck is going on Coran? What kind of shit are you and Hunk and Pidge and that woman in?” At that, Coran cocked his head with knitted eyebrows.

“What woman?”

Keith scoffed. That was what Coran was focusing on right now? “The woman that was here the other day! The day you had your so-called emergency! She had silver hair and wore really fucking tall heels.” Recognition fell across Coran’s face as he nodded. “So you do know her!”

“Of course I do. She’s my niece.” Coran looked over Keith’s shoulder to Hunk. “Take him below. Get him set up and alert the others.” Hunk nodded as if that made any fucking sense and turned into the break room with quick but careful steps. Keith made to follow Hunk but Coran attached his hand to Keith’s shoulder with a vice-like grip.

“Let go of me!” Keith spat, wrenching his shoulder free. Coran looked impossibly sad. His shoulders were sagging and it looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I told you not to get involved, Keith.” There was so much regret in his voice that Keith, for a moment, truly regretted digging into this. But one look back at the break room sent his anger flowing through him again.

“Then a guy with a fucking bullet wound in his shoulder shouldn’t have had a key to the bakery! You shouldn’t be having fake emergencies and secret conversations and you definitely shouldn’t be stealing my phone!” Keith’s voice was ringing throughout the hallway, filling the space. Tension raced through his arms and up into his shoulders, veins popping out from his forearms. His nails dug crescent moons into his palms and he forced a deep breath out of his nose. Coran’s face was the picture of disappointment and would have put Shiro to shame. “What did you expect from me, Coran? You know me. I wasn’t just going to let this go.”

Coran sighed, nodding his head. “You are correct Keith. I should have known that my normal methods were going to be ineffective. It doesn’t hurt to try. This might though.”

“What?” Keith huffed, shaking his head. The red that had filled his vision only a moment earlier had started to clear, confusion dampening its effects. In one moment though, the red was gone completely only to be replaced by a deep blackness. The pain followed like an afterthought as it bloomed against his jaw and then slammed into the back of his head. He heard a quiet, “I’m sorry,” the crackling of fluorescent lights up above, the lack of rollerskates on Coran’s feet, and then… nothing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Flashes of images swam in and out. Fluffy hair and snippets of kelly green. A shock of silver and bubblegum pink faded into his sight with a grainy quality. For an instant, Keith felt his eyes open on the static that accompanied old televisions when someone hadn’t tuned to the channel correctly. As quickly as it had come, the static was gone and Keith was swimming in the black nothingness behind his eyes.

Snippets of unintelligible voices found their way into his ears but they all mixed together into one blob of sound. Each inflection or rise in volume would make his head pound and any grasp on consciousness Keith had would slip through his fingers.

“You should have listened to me. None of this would be happening if you had just listened to me.”

Keith made out these words with perfect clarity and he could’ve cried in relief. He had been slipping in and out of reality for so long now, hearing sound but not being able to understand, that he was sure he was going to go insane. Now though, a voice Keith had heard but couldn’t quite place was very close to his ear and he could understand everything. He tried to move his mouth to speak but pain shot up the right side of his jaw and a groan tumbled from his lips instead. “Oh! He’s awake.”

His vision came next, his sight developing in front of him like a polaroid. A short figure was standing on his left while someone much taller was on his right. The fluffy hair from before came next and a shock of ginger followed soon after. Coran’s mustache came into view in perfect resolution and a pair of round glasses sat on the bridge of Pidge’s nose. =

“You’re wearing glasses,” Keith muttered, tongue heavy in his mouth. It was unbelievably dry and that just made him wonder how long he had been out. As if she could read his mind, Pidge was pushing a glass of water into his hands. Cautiously, so as not to trigger a pounding headache in his temples, Keith sat up. He drank the glass of water slowly, giving his brain some time to process and catch up to his surroundings. Coran and Pidge stood on either side of a low cot that someone had put Keith on. A white curtain had been drawn around the trio but through a small crack where the curtain didn’t quite touch the wall, Keith could see at least three more cots set up in a straight line against a tall black wall. Cement blocks supported Keith’s head as he rested back against it, setting his glass down on a small table beside him. Someone had thrown a thin blanket over his legs and a pillow was underneath the small of his back.

White light cast over Coran and Pidge’s faces, washing them out. A distinct smell cut into Keith’s nose. It was a hospital smell: disinfectant. Quiet beeps came from Keith’s right side and he saw that a few recognizable machines had been set up beside him. There was no way in hell he could name them but he recognized them from Grey’s Anatomy. None of them seemed to be hooked up to Keith and for that, he was grateful as that would have made it all that much harder to get the hell out of… wherever the hell he was.

“I’m glad your eyes are working,” Pidge said, adjusting the thin frames on her face. “Yeah, I wear glasses. Contacts can be such a bitch.” Keith shrugged. He had never needed contacts or glasses. The world was looking out for him enough to not let him have shitty vision.

Coran had been unusually quiet and looking over at him caused a swell of anger to rise in Keith. His fingers brushed lightly over his jaw as his eyes narrowed into angry slits. “You punched me!” Keith accused. He would never admit it but he was really impressed. No one would ever be able to tell by looking at him but the man could throw one hell of a punch. Normally, Keith could put up one hell of a fight before being knocked out but Coran had gotten him in one go. His pride said that Coran only knocked him out because he had caught Keith off guard but the aching in his jaw said otherwise.

“You left me with no other choice. I assure you though, that had there been another way I would have taken it. I don’t often resort to violence,” Coran explained with regret clear in his voice. Keith sighed, kicking the blanket off of his legs.

“Where the hell am I?” He asked, his gaze flicking between the two people by his bed. They exchanged hesitant glances and Keith could see an entire conversation pass between them through tiny shrugs and bitten lips. In the end, it looked as if Pidge had won as she had a bright smile on her face as she turned to face Keith. One hand was shoved deep into her jeans and the other was used to gesture to Keith to follow her as Pidge slipped out between the curtain.

Confused, Keith turned to Coran for an explanation. He only sighed, throwing a hand in the direction Pidge had gone. “It’d be best for you to follow her. She’ll explain on the way.” Then, Coran was leaving as well and Keith had no other option except to follow them. Well, he could have refused to follow and demanded an explanation but if this week was anything to go off when he knew that Pidge and Coran weren’t going to tell him anything. He knew that following this stranger was the only way he was going to get the answers he had been searching for. Cold flooring met his bare feet sending shivers up his legs. At the base of his bed were his shoes and he slipped them on quickly before leaving the small room.

Luckily, Pidge and Coran were waiting just outside of the curtain. “Could you be any slower?” Pidge deadpanned as she bounced on the balls of her feet.

“That only makes me want to go as slow as physically possible,” Keith retorted and Pidge grinned, tongue peeking out between her teeth.

She turned to Coran, pointing a finger back at Keith. “I like him. We should keep him.” Keep me? Pidge spread her hands, gesturing to the room around her. “So this is the med bay. Pretty self-explanatory, I think. This is kind of Allura’s domain-”

“Allura?” Coran looked like he wanted to interject but Pidge shut down his question with a look. Either Pidge had a lot of power here or Coran knew how to pick and choose his battles.

Pidge sighed as if Keith’s question was the biggest inconvenience she had ever encountered. “Coran’s niece.”

“That woman I met.”

Pidge nodded. “Now you’re catching up. Yeah, she’s our resident surgeon in case anyone’s gotten themselves into something nasty that they can’t patch up themselves.” Pidge pointed across the room to where a curtain had been drawn around another bed. “We’re waiting on Allura now to come to see how bad the damage is on Lance.”

“Lance?” That must have been the man in the hallway with Keith. Pidge sighed again and Keith was pretty sure he was going to strangle the girl on the spot if she did it one more time. “Look, you can’t get annoyed with me for asking questions because I have no fucking clue what’s going on or where I am.” That seemed to shut Pidge up, if only for a second. She nodded and seemed to be rolling the words around in her head.

“I know this is all really confusing,” Pidge said with a softness he hadn’t heard from her before. Granted, he didn’t really know Pidge but so far she had been all sarcasm and smartass comments. “It was really confusing for me too but give us a chance and everything will make a little bit more sense.” Pidge’s words were laced with a genuine understanding and Keith found himself agreeing. When Pidge smiled it wasn’t a smirk or shark-grin, it was soft and friendly.

Coran spoke up, placing a hand on Pidge’s shoulder. “Maybe it would be best if I explained the basics.”

Pidge nodded, gesturing wide with a hand. “Be my guest. This is your operation.” What did that mean? Was Coran running whatever this place was?

“I thought Black was the leader? That’s what you told Hunk.”

The fact that Keith had overheard that conversation didn’t seem to faze Coran in the slightest. “I will get to that. Why don’t we sit?” By a desk that was tucked into the corner of the room were a group of chairs. The three of them took a seat, Keith across from Coran and Pidge by Coran’s side. “Around you, as our dear Pidge said, is the med bay. What she did not have a chance to explain is that it is the med bay for the Voltron Coalition.”

“The what?” What the hell is a Voltron? A Voltron Coalition?

Coran held out a placating hand. “If you can, please hold questions until the end. I’m sure I will answer your questions in due time.” Keith felt like a child as he agreed, questions racing through his veins. He felt it again: the buzz. Except it wasn’t from the possibility of knowing, it was from finally being able to hold the answers he had been searching for in his hands. “Twenty years ago, the city of Arus was being brought to its knees from the ground up- or more specifically, the underground. A gang, the Galra, was trying to take over the entire city for the territory and the money. Years before that, they had conquered the city of Daibaazal and that only encouraged them and boosted their insatiable egos,”

And so, Coran painted a picture of a city fraught with dangers and imposed curfews and police stationed on every corner. In a city where parents would once let their kids play in front yards and wander about without a second thought, it was a complete culture shock to have to keep kids indoors and walk them to and from the bus stop every day. Fear raced through the city and it wrapped through the chests of everyone, making them afraid to breathe. The police were no help; their ranks were riddled with dirty cops manipulated by the Galra. “Seeing the danger around him, around his daughter, a man by the name of Alfor Leon decided to take action. When he was in the military, he had been a part of an Ops team that went by the name Voltron. That team had been disassembled for years but with the rise of the Galra, he decided it was time for them to reassemble. Outside of the military of course. Alfor knew they would have to take… less than legal routes to take care of this problem that the military wouldn’t approve of.” Keith nodded, making it clear he was invested. He could feel his heart racing and beat heavily in his chest.

“So, Voltron was started here, in an abandoned basement below a foreclosed shop. With the emergence of Voltron, fighting back the Galra forces at night, the crime rate began to drop. Insignificantly at first, of course, there were only four of them after all, but over the years, the Galra have been beaten back enough to stay hidden in their sleazy clubs and back alleys. And in that same amount of time, the Voltron base grew and changed and renovated until it was an almost pristine space with medical services, beds for its members and those affected by the Galra, training spaces, and many other necessities.” Coran looked all around him, an almost satisfied look on his face.

“I don’t understand. If you’re doing good for the city, why do you have to hide?” That was the first question that raced out of his mouth. Keith forced himself to keep cool though and hold back, getting each answer as Coran and Pidge offered it.

Pidge answered his question, leaning forward onto her knees. “We’re doing a hell of a lot of good for this city, more than the police anyway, but it’s like Coran said, our methods are less than desirable. To do 100 good things, we have to do 10 bad things. Being 90% good isn’t so bad in my book.”

Keith crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. “What kinds of bad things?” That mischievous grin returned to Pidge’s face as she turned to Coran, an eyebrow raised in a silent question. Coran nodded, a small smile on his face. Keith didn’t know how much he had missed seeing that smile, a genuine one, directed at him. It made him feel warm and fuzzy and just… weird. Mushy. “Come with me and I’ll show you.” Pidge stood and Keith took that as his cue.

“I’ll leave you to it. I have some business to attend to elsewhere. Keith, my boy, you are in more than capable hands.” Coran nodded his head to Keith, who only beamed brighter under his praise. Something was twisted up inside Keith’s chest and it only constricted tighter around his chest when he looked at Coran. But, he didn’t know what it was. And like he did with most problems, Keith pushed it aside and nodded politely towards Coran. Soon, that deep dark feeling would come back to haunt him but for this moment in time, he had a whole lot of other things to focus on.

“Come on! Let’s go. There’s so much to show you,” Pidge said, that same energy racing through her. Pidge seemed to be brimming with excitement and Keith only wished he could ever be that excited about something or have that much energy, to begin with. The pair left the med bay and Coran behind as they let a thick metal door swing shut behind them. They had stepped into a long hallway, the crackling lights hanging high above them casting a white glare over the black hallway. It was a short hallway that opened up onto a large open space. Keith could see other hallways branching off from it but this seemed to be the main hub. “So, we just left the med bay,” Pidge said, pausing just outside the door. “To your right is a storage closet,” she reached over and tapped its door, “and to your left is a,” she drum rolled against her thighs, “is another storage closet! We have lots of things to store,” she added on at Keith’s odd look. Pidge walked forward into the large space, leaning against a sofa. Mix and matched couches and chairs were scattered throughout the space with coffee tables placed amongst them. There were only a couple people lounging on the chairs and they both regarded Pidge with a tired wave. One of them, a woman, turned to Keith with a surprised look on her face.

“Plaxum?” He asked, vaguely remembering the cashier Coran had brought in a while ago. At the sound of her name, she shot up from her chair and dragged her friend along with her as she disappeared down a hallway.

“Oh, do you know her?”

“Kind of,” Keith said hesitantly.

“Plax is great. A quick thinker and a good member of the Coalition,” Pidge said as she plopped down onto the couch. She patted the couch beside her, gesturing for Keith to sit. He did so warily, perched on the edge. Pidge seemed to sense his hesitation and smiled sympathetically. “Dude, relax. I know this is all hella overwhelming but that’s why I’m here to explain things to you.” She ran a hand through her hair, it’s true bounce revealed as it wasn’t squashed by a hat anymore. Keith sighed, sitting back farther on the sofa.

He spread his hands. “Well? Explain things to me.”

“Alright well, right now we’re in what we call ‘The Hub.’ There isn’t much to it but it’s the room you first get to when you come in through either entrance so it’s the inevitable meet up spot for everyone.”

“You keep saying ‘we’ and ‘everyone.’ Who else is there?”

“That’s a good question. Voltron is still Voltron like it was back in the day: a group of 5 people whose only intention is to protect this city from the very real threat that is the Galra. However, we learned that we weren’t going to stop them completely without some help, hence the Coalition. Coran started the Coalition by reaching out to other, smaller groups that had the same idea as us or were working to protect their own cities in case the Galra threat ever spread. Agents from all over the country will come here to work with us to strategize and carry out missions and collaborate and such. Plaxum is one of those agents.” Truthfully, Keith never would have been able to guess that Plaxum, shy and slightly irrelevant Plaxum, was a secret agent or gang member.

“Are you guys a gang?”

Pidge moved her hand back and forth, a so-so kind of gesture. “I mean in the eyes of the law technically, but we’re nothing compared to the Galra. I consider us more secret organization of vigilantes than gang members.” Keith snorted.

“Are vigilantes and gang members that different?” Pidge wheeled on him in an instant, fire burning in her bright amber eyes.

“Yes. Vigilantes do good and those pieces of shit do nothing but hurt people and ruin lives.” Keith could feel the heat and venom radiating from Pidge, her words hissed and spat rather than said. Keith threw his hands up, leaning away from Pidge’s face that had gotten insanely close to his. In that moment, Pidge seemed to collect herself and moved away, perching herself on the far end of the couch. “Sorry,” she muttered then cleared her throat. Pidge clearly had some personal shit invested in this but Keith wasn’t going to ask about it. He didn’t want people to ask about his shit, why would he ask other people about theirs?

“Alright, well uh, moving on… “ Apparently, everything was connected to this central location through a vast network of hallways and tunnels.

“Like ants?” Keith interjected.

Pidge laughed, shaking her head. “Yeah, I guess. Ants. God, Keith, you’re funny.” Since when? Shiro never laughed at his jokes, something them about them being “crude” and “inappropriate for a 21 year old to make.” Then she was off again, explaining how and where everything connected. Should he have been paying attention? Yes, probably. But was he? Hell no. Words and sentences flew right over his head because there was no room in his head for any more information. If he tried to shove any more sudden revelations into his brain, Keith was probably going to explode.

None of this should be making any sense. But here he was, believing it all. He remembered lectures from Shiro and from his dad to not go into the seedier parts of town alone, to be extra careful at night, that if anyone tried to talk to him that he didn’t know he needed to run in the other direction. He remembered protesting that, saying that he knew how to handle himself. That was apparently, the problem. His dad called him impulsive and reckless. Keith had bristled at that but, he knew it was true. It was how he lived his life and that wasn’t going to change just because his dad and brother were worried about him. Were those lectures because of the Galra? But, if an entire city didn’t seem to know about the Galra then how did his dad? How did Shiro?

Heavy thudded echoed throughout the room. He felt, rather than saw, Pidge stiffen beside him. She got to her feet, turning to face the sound behind them. There was a sharp pain in his arm and Pidge pulled her elbow back into her side. Apparently, Keith was supposed to stand. Part of him didn’t want to but in the end, he stood, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he turned around as well. Whoever was there was apparently powerful enough to get Pidge to shut up.

“Keith?” Today seemed to be the day of answers because standing right in front of him, in all his glory, was Shiro. And he looked pissed.