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Another day, another mission and another planet that had been freed of Zarkon. The team was taking a well deserved break. Just a few hours and just enough to recharge until they received a distress signal or were again, attacked by a Galra fleet. Hunk was in the kitchen trying to see what would happen if he flambéed the space goo. Lance was having a spa day, Pidge had been stuck under a monitor the last time Shiro had checked and Allura and Coran were being entertained by the mice. Keith was... well Shiro wasn't exactly sure where he was, he simply hoped he'd be done soon and would come to Shiro's room. Shiro ran a tired hand down his face. The last time he had slept had been 58 hours ago and he'd already done a few mistakes on their mission that he shouldn't have. He wasn't about to compromise the safety of his team. So, Shiro was going to try and take a nap. He missed Keith's warm, protective presence. It wasn't that Shiro needed Keith to be able to sleep. It just made the process of falling asleep a whole lot easier when he had Keith wrapped around his body.
But Shiro couldn't always expect Keith to drop everything and help him sleep. He was the leader of the paladins of Voltron. He should be dependable and strong and unbroken.
He sighed and pulled his thin blanket over his robot arm. For some reason Shiro could never sleep if the thing was in sight. He caught a flash of it in the periphery of his vision. He grunted against the memories that assaulted him. He tried smother the flashes of memories from the year he'd spent in the arena as they came back to him and tortured him. He squeezed his eyes shut against the memories, trying to force them away.
Flashes of red.
Streaks of purple.
The smell of burning flesh.
Of metal.
Of blood.
Of death.
Cold sweat broke out on Shiro's forehead. He grit his teeth against the phantom pain that seemed to radiate from his robot arm, right where his shoulder met the metal.
Yellow eyes.
Cruel eyes.
They glare at him.
Sharp teeth and vicious mouths sneer at him.
He cries out. He wants to break free, he wants to stop this, wants to stop reliving the nightmare to finally move on with his life. Move on with Keith.
He feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing him, shaking him. Shiro screams. His eyes snap open and he gasps.
Keith.
Blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes, wide with concern and worry and love and Shiro can finally breathe again. He takes in sharp lungfuls of oxygen, realising with consternation that Keith is wiping tears from his face. When had he started crying? And was he whimpering? He tried to clamp down on the sounds, embarrassed by this show of weakness. But Keith didn't seem to mind, didn't look at him with disgust the way the Galra had. He was running a soft slow hand through Shiro's hair, smoothing the sweat matted locks off his forehead. Shiro sighed, breath rattling out of him.
Slowly, surely, painfully the nightmares receded, the smell of dying and pain faded back into his memory and he became aware of the soft leather and soap smell that was so distinctly Keith he could have burst into tears again.
Keith was shushing him, soft voice muttering to him that he was alright, that everything would be okay, that Shiro was okay. And in that moment, floating through space, fisting an uncomfortably thin blanket and being able to only feel see and hear Keith, Shiro believed him, let himself believe that he would be okay. Keith leaned down, kissed the corners of Shiro's eyelids softly and whispered over and over "I'm here. You're okay. I'm here. I love you."
Shiro couldn't help the soft whimper that tore from his lips.
Keith kissed his cheeks, soft and barely there brushes of his lips grazed Shiro's nose.
Shiro tried to shy away, suddenly, overly, dramatically, conscious of the scar marring his face.
"Don't," Keith whispered, a hand cupping his cheek and forcing Shiro to look up at him.
Shiro blinked when Keith kissed his scar, letting his perfect and soft lips touch the ugly, broken redness of it. He relaxed into the touch. When Keith looked at him like that. When Keith looked at him like there was no man like Shiro in the entire universe, when he looked at him like Shiro was his universe, Shiro almost believed him. He almost believed he was worthy of Keith. He closed his eyes and breathed softly. Gentle fingers drew gentle motions into his skin.
And suddenly Keith's touch was gone and Shiro gasped from the sense of loss he felt. Agony crawled up his throat as he remembered the loneliness of his cell, the pain of being utterly alone.
He gasped for air and struggled to breathe.
Before Shiro had a chance to break he felt Keith's body slide against his. Strong, lithe, warm arms coming around him, holding him, keeping him safe, keeping him close. Keith slung a leg over him, his thigh resting heavy and warm and good against his side and Shiro felt the pressure recede from his chest.
Keith was humming against his ear, warm breath fanning against his neck and holding him probably a little too tightly. But Shiro finally felt calm, finally felt able to sleep.
"Get some rest, I'll keep you safe. I promise," Keith said.
And Shiro finally, finally let himself relax and melted against Keith.
Finally, finally he was safe.
Finally, finally he was home.