Archive of Our Own

Out of consideration, he didn't bother knocking. The floor was deserted at this hour, except for the nurse on duty a few doors away.

He entered the room as quietly as he could. The soft hum of his new arm seemed heightened by the ambient silence and Shiro bit down on his cheeks in contrition.

The hovering forearm had been surprisingly easy to maneuver and the whole thing felt like the real deal. There was an unsettling feature he didn't account for and it wasn't the blue gleam. Every time he bent his unexistent elbow or flexed missing muscles, one could hear the slightest hiss, an airy sound somewhere between flute and viola, if they were paying enough attention.

Pidge found the phenomenon fascinating and Matt too had already great jam sessions planned for him. The compressed air and Altean techno-magic wavelengths did make for an unexpected glass harp. Maybe he'd give it a go once he mastered all the subtleties and wasn't so busy. At least, he had the certainty it wouldn't interfere with the medical equipment.

They had taken out the chairs to make room for the devices. Not all of them were currently in use and most were just for monitoring vitals but the sight wasn't less upsetting.
He made a mental note, to bring flowers or trinkets to put on the table in the corner. Tucked under the thick covers, Keith appeared much smaller than he had grown to be and visions from years ago were overlapping in Shiro's mind.

Trapped in the astral plane, reality only came to him in fuzzy glimpses.
He had missed so much and was still missing bits and pieces of his warped mind. The vicious acts, the cruel words, they weren't his own but it was all the same.
Returning to the tangible world was the best thing that could have happened, a second chance at a life he wasn't sure he deserved. He knew he'd never be able to thank Allura enough. Part of him wanted to curl up in a corner and waste away, but he would never allow himself the luxury of self-pity. Not when he had so much to make up for. Lance's tears, Hunk's worry, Coran's concern.

As miraculous as a soul transplant could be, the process was devastating, inside and out. Still, he'd take the exhaustion over the numbness anytime. He was sick of being helpless.

Without even thinking, Shiro's titanium fingers found Keith's side. The touch was feather-light and the younger man didn't even twitch. “Well, he is pumped full of painkillers”, his brain supplied. Due to the high dosing regimen, they had switched his medication from oxycodone to AT-121. It allowed them to keep Keith under intravenous without his half-Galran fast metabolism burning through it like Alteans chugging on vanilla shakes.

Dislocated shoulder, cracked ribs from Griffin's overzealous but highly efficient CPR, and a collapsed lung, the Black Paladin had been bleeding out gallons from a punctured femoral artery when the MFE recovery team finally reached the crash site... Shiro had read the report over and over.
They had to put him in an induced coma. It had been necessary. It had been the longest week of Shiro's life but the risk of cerebral contusion couldn't have been overlooked. Keith was past the critical period now but the 16 stitches “superficial” gash hidden in his dark hair had yet to heal. He could see the deep purple bruises peeking out from the Garrison low-cut hospital gown.
Even those, given time and proper care, will fade away.
The one on his cheek though... Shiro realized that once again, he had been spared the aftermath.

The scar was a clean-cut patch of skin, all sharp edges cupping Keith's face. Now a dusky brown, it reminded him of dust storms and hazardous races in the dunes at sundown.
He knew though, that before settling into this state, the burn must have blistered and peeled. He'd seen horror in neon flashes and the sickeningly sweet smell of heated metal tin was still embedded in his nostrils. The void of space smelled like that and now and forever, it would be associated with Keith's tender skin against his laser beam.
The tail of the scar came so close to Keith's eye and the thought of worse sent shivers down his spine.

He had never felt weak with Keith.
The teen had seen him as this figure larger than life; stronger, smarter, a way better man than he could ever be. Still, the genuine relationship had been empowering.
In his company, Shiro wasn't terminal. He wasn't subjugated to an unfair degenerative disease which, sooner or later, would have stolen everything from him.
He was just Shiro. And maybe a little more, although Keith never explicitly said anything.
His face spoke volumes. It would have been a lie to deny how he had basked in the younger boy's affection.

The time spent together before Kerberos, benefited the both of them, whatever other people saw, whatever they said. Keith had never been either a charity case or a pet project. Their outings were brief reprieves he came to crave. It has breathed new life into his prospects, Keith's ability to see but the best in him... His eyes weren't constantly checking the tagging bracelet anymore, dreading the numbers, but instead were fixed on the horizon and what lay beyond.
Adam had been his anchor and the loss still aches. Keith...was a distant star, brilliant beyond his years.

Keith had met the twisted, ugliest side of him —because it was still him, the feral one without inhibitions and barriers— in a scary close call. Still, he had held onto it, in ways his family, Adam, the Garrison and even himself never could.

From the beginning, Keith never made him feel like anything but the best version of himself. It didn't make sense that, right now, standing so close, he felt on the verge of collapsing.

*

Keith's nape was sticky with sweat but he didn't mind. Shiro rearranged the pillow swiftly.

— Thank you.

Shiro jolted. Dark eyes were staring back at him.

— Krolia. And Kolivan, they told me you woke up. Earlier?

— S'good.

— Water?

Keith nodded and winced. He fetched him a glass, considering for a second to help him but Keith took the cup with his bandaged arm just fine. Once he finished, Shiro put it back on the table.

— Sit.

There was nowhere to.

— Keith... I'm not gonna steal your bed. You need to rest.

—You're not stealing if we're sharing, he hissed. Plus, a nap won't hurt you.

Keith caught his sleeve, not quite strong enough to pull him over.
The Atlas' captain caved.
He sat on the very edge of the bed. Keith didn't seem impressed by his attempt to take the least amount of room possible. He waited for him to adjust properly by his side and against the pillows.
Shiro used to enjoy the quiet.

There were many voices in his head and some were louder than the others. It was a battlefield taking over scorched ground. He was never meant to get through unscathed. To think he tried to harm what he meant to protect at all costs...

— I've said terrible things.
Unforgivable ones.

— You remember?

There wasn't a hint of fear or reproach. If anything, Keith leaned closer. He didn't add anything else, his arm resting on Shiro's knee like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Shiro felt the urge to fill in the silence.

— It's coming back, little by little. Very randomly though. Sometimes it's hard to sort out the timeline.

He could feel Keith's gaze on him.

“You're my best friend”, he blurted out.
My best everything.

“I wish I could say I'll never hurt you. But I did. If I lose control again-”

Keith's hand squeezed him gently. Shiro looked at him and there was something he couldn't comprehend in these eyes. Something akin to redemption.

— You're going to be fine. We're fine.

His voice was croaky and low, but he spoke with a calm certainty that melted the icy blade of fear away.

He already failed so many times but Keith allowed him to try again.

How Keith made everything unconditional, so casually, filled him with hope and dread. Words were failing him.
Warm fingers grazed the space in between his eyebrows.

— Someone's gonna get early wrinkles.

He grabbed Keith's hand.

— You don't understand, Keith. He was me. With all the memories, the same history. We felt the same but he was...More honest? Inside my head, it had been all messed up since a long time ago.
The only thing Haggar did was nudge me in one direction and all hell broke loose. I'm a wreck.

A monster.

He choked on the acceptance. A part of him was gone and what was left would rust and rot.

— You've been through so much and you still believe it's your duty to take it for the team. Please, don't carry it all on your shoulders, don't push me away. I'm- no, we're all here for you too.

It barely came out as a gritty whisper and Keith was growing visibly frustrated. Shiro opened his mouth but fiery eyes shut him up.

“This body...It's your vessel. You're the captain in charge now but you're not alone in this. We won't give up on you. Most importantly, you can't give up on yourself out of fear. I won't allow it. That's what you taught me.”

He felt faint from Keith's sheer faith and strength.

— What if, despite everything, I never get myself back?

Betraying Keith, even in insanity was an open wound he could never recover from.
The younger man pushed his fingers past the medals on his chest. The heat radiating from his open palm burned through the thick woolen fabric. A forlorn hope. A forgotten heartbeat.

— Then I'll never stop looking for you.

Just like that, Shiro was made whole again.

*

— Stay a bit? Keith requested in a murmur.

It sounded shy, nothing like the deep-seated conviction he instilled in Shiro, moments ago.

— Of course.

— You're the best.

— You are.

Shiro ended up taking his shoes off, letting Keith rest against him.

In a dazed sleep, Keith was drooling a bit and Shiro wiped off the mess with his thumb. Feeling bold, he let his knuckles trace the curve of the flat scar. The healed skin felt soft. Chapped lips formed the tiniest, most contented smile, and Shiro couldn't help but mirror it.

— 'Night Shiro.

With the curtains drawn and the room pitch-black except for the glow of his arm and Keith's electrocardiograph on display, he didn't bother correcting him. The early board meeting could wait.

— Sleep tight, Keith.

Mellowed by fondness, this last word sounded like an “if.”. If only he were brave enough to put a name on these feelings.
Their breath synched in a matter of minutes. The weight of Keith's compact body was sending pins-and-needles tingles up his legs.
The numbness never felt so right.