Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Keith’s eyelids were heavy. 

He tried to reach out, grasp some semblance of consciousness, but found it just out of reach, out of grasp. 

His head hurt. Voices - very loud voices - echoed around him. He couldn’t make out the words. They were panicked, scared. 

Why were they so scared? 

There was a shift underneath him (was he being moved?) and then something blinding, sharp and precise. 

Pain. 

Keith let out a quiet groan, trying to move his body away. There was a gasp, a pause of blissful, motionless silence and then-

“He’s alive.” 

The voices returned tenfold. Louder still, someone shouting orders, his body being moved again. He couldn’t struggle, though. He barely had the strength to make noise, much less even open his eyes. He was placed on something, something soft that cushioned his aching body for a few wonderful seconds. 

He was moved, warm liquid dripping down…everywhere it felt. Keith couldn’t pinpoint exactly where he hurt so much, since there were different points all over his entire body that seemed to ache the most. 

His head was moved. Something was strapped over his nose and mouth. There was a rush of oxygen and then he faded away again. 

Dying was a lot less peaceful than what Keith was bargaining for. 

For one, dying was loud. It seemingly had a long droning beeeeeep noise that repeated every few seconds. Slow, steady, and annoying as hell. If dying meant he had to listen to this for the rest of eternity, Keith would have gladly forced himself back into the waking world. 

Ready to confront with the noise, maybe even find a way to turn it off, Keith peeled his tired eyes open. 

Above him, he realized, was not the whiteness of oblivion that he was expecting. Instead, there were tiles. Blurry tiles with no real originality to them. He could probably count them if he wanted to. 

He turned his head weakly, drinking in his surroundings. He was in a hospital. Why death had hospitals was beyond him, but he was too sluggish to really think about the ‘why’ at the moment. He turned a tired gaze up to see the thing making that horrible, blaring noise was actually a heart monitor. He stared at it, listening to the noise, counting every beat. 

It took him almost a full two minutes to realize it was his heart. 

He was alive. 

He was alive. 

How the fuck…? 

Keith angled his head to look down but found out very quickly that it was an awful idea. His skin pulled and stretched, fire spreading up and down his abdomen. He hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Why on Earth was he in a hospital? 

How had he survived? 

And, most importantly, what happened to him? 

Everything before waking up in the hospital was suspiciously blank. Like his memories were a film that was missing the most important part. He remembered being in his apartment, going to the cheap electronics store a few blocks away to fix his broken laptop and then…

Nothing. 

It was blank. He had walked into the air-conditioned store and remembered smelling something that kind of resembled an overused circuit board and then everything drew a blank. But whatever happened after everything went dark… Keith was sure it had something to do with how he ended up in a hospital. 

He let out a quiet moan and tried to use his elbows to prop himself up on the pillows a bit more comfortably, but fell back with a pained cry. His left elbow was fine, easily holding himself up despite the layers of bandages wrapped snugly around his forearm, but his right… 

It just collapsed. 

Unable to hold anything, it buckled under Keith’s weight. While the landing back on the bed was at least reasonably comfortable, the pain had seared itself into Keith’s head. His elbow was throbbing like it had a heartbeat. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to will the agony away, but it only became worse. Keith gasped in pain at the same time the door opened. 

A doctor entered, holding a clipboard and a pen. His wire-frame glasses were a bit lopsided and his graying auburn hair was smoothed back neatly. He had a goatee and the nametag on his chest read ‘Holt’. 

Keith watched him warily through his labored, pain-ridden breathing. 

“Mr. Kogane,” the doctor said. He gave Keith a patient smile. A concerned smile. “It’s good to see you’re awake. My name is Doctor Holt. How are you feeling?” 

Like shit, Keith wanted to respond but he bit it back. The pain in his elbow was still all-consuming. 

“Not…good,” he said instead. 

“That’s to be expected,” Doctor Holt peeled back the first page on his clipboard. “Multiple lacerations all over your body, a torn tendon in your right elbow, a stab wound in your abdomen… it’s a wonder you’re alive.” He gave Keith another tiny smile. It was probably supposed to help him feel better. 

“Oh,” he said weakly. 

Doctor Holt cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Mr. Kogane, if it’s alright with you, once you’re feeling…more-able, a detective would like to speak with you.” 

“A…detective?”

“Of course,” Doctor Holt gave Keith a bemused look. “You were nearly murdered after all.” 

Murdered? 

That was certainly news to Keith. 

Someone had tried to kill him. Who? And why? 

Some of his confusion must have shown on his face because Doctor Holt gave Keith a strange look. “You…do remember getting attacked, right?” 

Keith shook his head mutely. He tried to remember that night, but all that came back to him was entering the electronics store and then…

Nothing. 

Nothing at all. 

Doctor Holt pursed his lips and when he spoke, his voice was nonchalant, like he was trying to ease his own nerves rather than Keith’s. “Well, that’s all right. It was a traumatic event, after all. I wouldn’t be surprised if you blocked out the memory of your own subconscious will.” 

Keith didn’t say anything back to that. He couldn’t. What was there to say? He had nearly been murdered and couldn’t remember any of it, much less who did it. 

The silence that stretched between him and Doctor Holt suddenly felt a lot more tense. 

The detective was a lot taller than Keith was imagining he would be. 

He wore the standard-issue police uniform, his shiny badge glinting on his chest. A pistol hung from a holster on his belt, forgotten and untouched. The fringe of his black hair hung in his eyes and there was a scar bridging his nose. He was smiling at Keith like they’d known each other for ages but they’d literally just met not even forty-five seconds ago. 

The detective drew up a chair and sat down in it. He leaned forward to where Keith was propped up on what felt like fifty lumpy pillows and stuck out his hand. 

“Detective Takashi Shirogane of the Altea County Police Department,” he said calmly, professionally. “Keith Kogane, right?” 

“Yeah,” Keith’s throat felt dry. He reached over with his remaining good arm - his left one - and grasped Shirogane’s hand. His grip was firm, calluses crisscrossing throughout his palm. Shirogane shook Keith’s hand once and then let go, putting both hands in his lap. His fingers interlaced and he leaned forward, gray eyes sparkling with interest. 

“So, Keith,” he said. “Doctor Holt tells me that you don’t remember anything of the night you were attacked?” 

“That’s right,” Keith agreed. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d strained his memory over the past three days, trying to grasp at the events that were just out of reach. 

Shirogane hummed, interested. “Well, do you mind if I tell you what we know?” 

Keith shook his head. Hearing the events from an outsider’s perspective, from the person clearly investigating the attempted murder, might help jog something in his memory. 

“Please,” he said weakly. 

“All right,” Shirogane leaned back in the stiff-wooden chair. It creaked and Keith was mildly afraid it would fall to pieces if Shirogane moved wrong. “November 15th, we got a call at around 9:30 pm from a very distressed woman. She said she found a body in an alley between two bars. Our forensics team was on the scene by 9:40. Paramedics were already there, swarmed around an unmoving body. You know who that was, right?” 

“Me,” Keith breathed. 

Shirogane nodded grimly. “Exactly. You weren’t moving, you weren't breathing either. Paramedics were ready to pronounce you dead at the scene when you moved. You made a noise. You were rushed to the hospital and remained there in critical condition for five days. In the meantime, we’ve discovered some… interesting facts about your case that mirror a lot of others recently.” 

“There are more like me?” Keith felt faint. 

“Yes,” Shirogane agreed. “But…out of all the previous cases, you’re the only one who survived.” 

Keith blanched. “What?” 

“You’ve heard of the recent string of murders, right?” Shirogane raised an eyebrow. “Some of the most brutal murders to date, actually. People on the internet are calling the killer the ‘Butcher of Altea County’.”

Keith paused, knitting his eyebrows. The name did sound familiar from the few times Keith had turned on his TV just to have a little background noise while he cooked dinner in his tiny apartment. He never paid them much mind, assuming that the murderer would turn themselves in or get caught in due time. Besides, he lived too far away from the murder sites to be really concerned about his safety. 

Now, he was a victim of the same killer he was so unconcerned about. 

“The murders are always particularly brutal,” Shirogane was watching Keith carefully. Like one wrong word and Keith would fall apart. “But the one thing that remains consistent between all of these is the mutilation of the abdomen. The killer practically rips open the stomach and… I don’t think I need to really describe what happens next.” 

Keith’s fingers were drifting over to his healing stab wound. He tried to imagine the killer - cold, emotionless eyes and an excited grin as he rummaged around in their victim’s stomach, pulling out intestines and-

Keith shook the image away before it could make him throw up. 

“Looks like in your case though, they were interrupted,” Shirogane continued. “It might be the reason you survived.” 

The reason I survived. 

Keith’s stomach was churning. His mind reeled, all the new information making him feel dizzy. The back of his mind tingled, memories just underneath the surface. He knew they were there, they had to be there. There was no way they weren’t. 

So…why didn’t he remember anything? 

Shirogane reached over to place his hand on Keith’s shoulder. “Take it easy. I know this is a lot to take in.” 

“Y-You think?” Keith managed to say. He hadn’t meant to sound so rude, but it was the only thing he could think to say that didn’t make his head pound even more. Shirogane smiled a little. 

“Keith, once you’re discharged from the hospital, I need you to come to the station,” he said suddenly. 

Keith gaped at him. “I’m sorry, what?” 

“You’re the only person to have survived the Butcher,” he said seriously. “You’re an important piece of evidence. If we can get your memories back, then we can unmask the killer. I’m sure of it.” 

Keith leaned his head back into one of his many pillows. He had seen the killer. They’d probably been inches from his face, stabbing a knife into him and twisting it deep in his gut. 

He felt sick. 

He had seen the killer. 

And he couldn’t even remember their face. 

Keith hissed in pain. 

Doctor Holt stepped back, pursing his lips as he looked down at Keith’s right arm. An unoccupied sling hung around his neck, Keith’s injured arm resting in his lap. The elbow was curved like Keith was bending his arm. It’d likely remain that way for the rest of his life. 

While most of the other wounds had healed up reasonably during his stay in the hospital, the elbow was the one thing that refused to heal. It made sense - Keith’s tendon had been cut after all. There was no way to regrow it and Keith couldn’t afford the surgery after all the expenses of his stay in the hospital. He’d have to live with a crippled right arm for the rest of his life. For the first time, Keith was grateful he was ambidextrous. 

Doctor Holt sighed. His gaze flicked up to meet Keith’s. “And are you sure you’re alright with this?” 

Keith looked down at his now useless elbow. It would take some getting used to, but he could do it. Things would just be…different. He’d have an eternal reminder of the time he was almost murdered in an alleyway. He could do this. 

He looked up at Doctor Holt and nodded once. 

“All right,” he didn’t look very convinced but motioned for Keith to stand. “Let’s get you checked out. Detective Shirogane is waiting in the lobby to drive you to the police station.” 

It dawned on Keith that he probably wouldn’t be able to drive as well as he could anymore. The thought definitely put a damper on his already foul mood. 

He tucked his arm carefully back into the sling and let it hang there. His elbow throbbed with pain, which was just something else he’d have to learn to live with. This would be a lot more difficult than he was originally anticipating. 

Going down the stairs was slow-going. While the lacerations on his legs weren’t as deep as they were, they made walking uncomfortable. The bandages helped some but putting all of his weight on scabbed-over wounds was far from what could be considered ‘nice.’ 

Detective Shirogane was sitting in the waiting room, thumbing through a magazine. A celebrity Keith forgot the name of was emblazoned on the front cover, some kind of ridiculous headline in bright pink letters stamped across the front. Shirogane looked up as they approached and smiled a bit sheepishly, putting the magazine aside. His gaze flickered to Keith’s arm for a moment, but he didn’t question. For that, Keith was grateful. 

“We’re going to finalize a few things and then you two can get out of here,” Doctor Holt said. “Mr. Kogane, in a few days you’ll have to visit a pharmacy to get the medication for your elbow.” Keith nodded and Doctor Holt gave them both patient smiles. “I hope you find who did it, you know,” he added. 

“You and me both, Doctor Holt,” Shirogane said. “Thank you for all your help. I’ll tell Pidge you say hi.” 

“Remind her to visit, too,” Doctor Holt added. 

“Will do,” Shirogane smiled. Doctor Holt returned it, clearly grateful, and headed toward the stairs once more. Keith turned to walk to the front desk, Shirogane trailing silently behind him. 

Unable to stop his curiosity, Keith spoke. “Who’s Pidge?” 

“Doctor Holt’s daughter,” Shirogane said. “She’s the technical analyst at the station. You’ll be meeting her today.” He fell silent, watching as Keith signed himself out. His signature was less refined with his left hand, but it was at least legible. His movements were fluid and sure, too. “Ambidextrous?” He guessed suddenly. 

Keith’s head snapped to look at Shirogane, blinking in surprise. “Yeah. How did you…?” 

“I’m a detective,” Shirogane’s cheeks were a light shade of pink. He hadn’t meant to say that. “It’s my job to pick up on stuff like that.” He watched as Keith handed the clipboard back to the receptionist, who wished Keith a good day. He smiled at her a bit hesitantly and followed Shirogane outside. “It’s odd though,” Shirogane continued. “Your file said you were right-handed.” 

“I’m more comfortable with my right,” Keith said. “And I rarely use my left. Guess I gotta get used to it now.” He waved his arm for emphasis, the sling bouncing against his still-healing chest. He winced.

Shirogane hummed, fishing a pair of car keys out of his pocket. The two of them crossed the parking lot together, headed for the police cruiser parked on the far side of the lot. 

Keith turned his gaze up to the hospital that had been his home for the past three weeks. He’d had all the time in the world to recover from his gruesome injuries and to try to regain the memories he’d lost but, try as he might, Keith couldn’t find them. No matter how deep he dug into every single detail of that day, the most important ones eluded him. 

He wondered if he’d ever be able to regain them. 

No.  

It wasn’t a matter of if. It was a matter of when. 

He had to get those memories back. They were the one thing that could help not only the police but himself reach closure about what had truly happened that night. He’d help catch a murderer - a serial killer - and prevent what had happened to him from happening to anyone else.

Shirogane unlocked the car with the keys as they approached. They piled into the car - Keith in shotgun and Shirogane taking the wheel - and wheeled their way out of the parking lot. 

Keith was very amused to find that Shirogane followed the speed limit to a T. Keith himself was a speed demon, going at least ten over at every given opportunity, but Shirogane gave every car a chance to go before him, barely went one over, and waited until he was absolutely sure it was safe to turn. Because of his careful driving, it took them almost fifteen minutes longer to get to the Altea County Police Department than it should have. 

The precinct smelled like week-old coffee and was bustling with activity. The waiting room was packed with people looking to report something, a pair of glass doors serving as a window to the inside of the precinct itself. Shirogane took a keycard from his belt and scanned it at the doors and with a quiet beep, they unlocked. He held the door open for Keith, who walked inside, slightly overwhelmed at the pure activity. 

He watched police officers interact, hand off papers, and discuss topics over the rims of coffee cups. Two of them were engaged in a heated argument until one slammed a pile of papers on the other’s desk and stormed away. Shirogane winced as he watched them, and put his hand on the small of Keith’s back. He steered him away from the main hustle of the office and headed instead towards an office in the back, clearly labeled with ‘Unit Chief’ in black, bold letters. 

They didn’t make it to the door. 

Someone had stepped in front of it and was picking their way towards the two of them. He was taller than Keith, wearing a bright yellow sweater and a pair of faded jeans. He had an orange bandanna tied around his forehead, the long strings dangling behind him. In his arms were piles of papers, some of them falling out of the enormous folder they were tucked in and trailing behind him. Behind him, a boy in a wrinkled police uniform with a crooked smile and dark brown hair was picking up all the fallen papers. 

“Good news!” The boy waved his arm. More papers went flying. Keith raised an eyebrow. “We got clearance to the security footage! And the owners of the bars have offered to come in to give alibis for the night. One of them just finished giving his. Also-” He stopped dead, his gaze fixing on Keith. 

Keith fought down the instinctual flight-or-fight response whenever he was the direct subject of focus. Instead, he stared back, fixing his gaze on the orange bandanna tied around his forehead. The two regarded each other as Shirogane placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder. It took all of his willpower not to flinch away. 

“Hunk,” he said. His gaze flickered to the other boy currently scooping up papers. “Lance. This is Keith. The…victim we discussed last week.” 

Keith shifted awkwardly. The word ‘victim’ being used to talk about him felt… wrong. It was something he’d never associate with himself before all this. He was a fighter. If he started things, he finished them. Becoming a part of something he hadn’t personally involved himself in…it was almost unheard for him. 

Unless he had involved himself. There was still so much missing from this case, after all. 

Keith looked up. The brown-haired boy - Lance, Keith remembered Shirogane calling him - was all but glaring at him. Keith almost flinched back until he realized it wasn’t him Lance was glaring at, but his hair. 

Keith lifted his chin, returning Lance’s glare full-force. If he had something to say, Lance had better say it straight to his face rather than glaring and silently judging his hairstyle. 

Hunk cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, tucking the unruly papers back into his manilla folder. “You’d better tell Allura about him.” 

Him. 

They were talking about Keith like he wasn’t even in the room. Like he wasn’t standing a foot away, inches away from brushing Shirogane’s arm. Like he really had died that night in the alleyway.

Keith tried not to feel hurt by it. 

“We were just about to,” Shirogane said with a smile. He gestured towards the ‘unit chief’ door and Hunk shook his head. 

“She’s not in there right now,” he said. “She’s with Pidge, confirming one of the bar owner’s alibis with security footage.” 

“They’re in the A/V Room,” Lance spoke up for the first time. He hadn’t stopped looking at Keith (or rather, Keith’s hair) and he realized that there were traces of an accent upon his tongue. Spanish, perhaps? 

“Great, thanks,” Shirogane turned to Keith with another one of his smiles that made Keith feel like he’d known him for years. “Let’s go talk to our unit chief. We’ll get our next actions sorted out easier that way.” 

Keith nodded silently. Lance took a step forward, handing the stack of fallen papers to Hunk. 

“I’ll come with you,” he said. “There’s something I have to ask Pidge, anyways.” Shirogane didn’t argue, and Lance fell into step next to Keith. The two exchanged looks out of the corners of their eyes and Keith watched Lance’s gaze drift to his hair once again. 

“What?” Keith snapped, a bit harsher than he meant to. 

Lance sighed, looking away. “Okay, I’m gonna ask you something - and don’t blow me off because I’m being serious - but… have you ever… been to a barber?” 

“Excuse me?” Keith’s jaw dropped. 

“Lance,” Shirogane said, exasperated. 

“It’s an honest question!” Lance said defensively. “Mullets haven’t been popular since like the seventies.” 

“I cut my hair myself,” Keith said stiffly. He tried to cross his arms over his chest but his elbow twinged with pain when he moved it. “And last I checked, I didn’t have a degree in cosmetology, so sorry my hair-cutting skills aren’t up to your standards.” 

“You have a degree?” 

Keith’s face flushed with anger. 

“Lance,” Shirogane said again, his tone more warning. “Don’t antagonize him. He’s been through a lot.” 

“It’s a legitimate question!” Lance cried. 

Keith scoffed and Lance turned a glare onto him. Before an argument could spark, Shirogane pulled Keith gently down a hallway by his good arm. Lance jogged along behind them. 

There was only one door at the end of this corridor, labeled ‘A/V Room’ in the same font the unit chief's was. Shirogane pushed the door open with a soft creak. 

The room was surprisingly dark, illuminated only by a computer in the corner. Rows upon rows of different desks with keyboards and high-tech monitors reached into the far back where Keith could distantly make out a whiteboard of sorts. 

But why in God’s name was it so dark? 

Shirogane sighed exasperatedly. “Pidge, keep the lights on while you’re in here. You’ll ruin your eyes.” 

“I keep trying to tell her the same thing,” a voice called from over in the corner. It, like Lance, also had an accent entwining itself in their words, but was distinctly British. 

Shirogane reached over and flipped a switch, flooding the room with light. There was a hiss from the corner where the computer was, and a girl flung herself away from a desk on a rolling chair. She peered around the woman still looking at the screen, turning an angry honey gaze to Shirogane. 

Her hair was short and messy like she’d rolled out of bed and hadn’t glanced in the mirror before she left. Keith didn’t doubt that it was true, especially since she looked like she’d slept in her wrinkled green-and-white hoodie. Her glasses were slipping off the bridge of her nose as she glowered over at them. Keith spotted the resemblance between her and Doctor Holt almost instantly.

“Your eyesight is already bad enough as it is, Pidge,” Shirogane said calmly. He wasn’t even fazed by the death stare this girl was giving him. “Don’t make it worse.” 

“We were on to something, Shiro!” The girl - evidently named Pidge - threw her hands into the air. 

“Yeah, well, this is kind of more important,” Lance spoke up. He gestured none-too-subtly to Keith, who tried to make himself seem as small as possible. Pidge’s gaze fell upon him and her mouth opened into a silent ‘o’. Her gaze shifted; first to his face, then to his arm in the sling, and she scrambled to her feet, dusting herself off. A few crumbs fell from where they had been tucked in the creases of her hoodie. 

“You must be Keith-” she was tripping over her words in her…excitement? Awe? Keith couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but let himself feel pleased that she at least recognized him like Hunk and Lance failed to do. “I’m Katie, but just call me Pidge. Katie is reserved for family members and when Shiro is really, really pissed off at me.” 

She bounced up to him and stuck her hand out and then quickly backpedaled when she realized she’d held out the wrong hand for him to shake. Keith took her tiny hand in his own and shook it once before retracting. 

“Shiro?” He repeated, looking up at the detective next to him. 

“My nickname,” Shirogane didn’t seem ashamed of it in the slightest. “Everyone calls me it. You can too if you’d like.” 

“Oh…kay?” Keith said hesitantly. The other woman drew herself away from the computer to place herself in between Pidge and Keith, sticking out her own hand as well. 

“A pleasure to meet you, Keith,” her accent flowed effortlessly through her words. She wasn’t at all hard to understand. “My name is Allura. I’m the Unit Chief of the Altea County Police Department.” 

Allura was a striking woman with a presence that seemed to fill the room. Her dark skin was accented by white hair (he couldn’t figure out if it was natural or not) that tumbled down her back in waves and gave off the appearance of a large fluffy cloud. Her eyes were a mix of colors, blue and purple being the most prominent ones. 

“Y-Yeah,” Keith forced his jaw to work. “Nice to meet you.” 

“I’ve got officers working all across the district on this case,” Allura proceeded with business. Keith got the sense that she was a no-nonsense woman right from the get-go. “And you are the only one who has ever survived the Butcher. I want you to tell me everything.” 

She gestured for him to sit while Lance and Pidge went off back to Pidge’s computer, speaking in low voices. Keith sat down uncomfortably in one of the chairs, squeaking in alarm as it rolled back. Allura lowered herself effortlessly into the one opposite from him, ever the picture of regality. It was no wonder she was the unit chief; her very presence practically commanded respect. 

“Start from the beginning,” Allura said. “I need all the details you can remember. Times, addresses, people. Tell me it all.” 

“Uh…” Keith licked his lips carefully. He was going to disappoint her with his lack of information - he knew that. He turned a distressed gaze to Shiro, who shrugged his shoulders and gave him an apologetic look. 

“Go on,” Allura prompted, but it gave Keith the impression that he was being swept along rather than pushed. 

“So…” Keith swallowed. “At around seven-thirty that night, my laptop kind of short-circuited and wouldn’t turn on anymore. I was writing a resume, too, so I needed it fixed as soon as possible. I looked up the nearest electronic store to see if they could fix it and headed off at about…eight-ish? I think?” 

“So there was a thirty-minute interval in which you took the time to find this place and get ready, correct?” 

“Yeah.” 

Allura pursed her lips. “Do you remember the name of this shop?” 

Keith looked down. Another item to add to the ‘List of Things Keith Doesn’t Remember’, he thought bitterly. “No.” 

“I see,” Keith could practically taste Allura’s disappointment. “And, if your laptop was broken, how did you manage to look up this shop?” 

“My phone,” Keith said. He felt more like he was being interrogated than giving helpful information. “I-I left it at home, though.” 

“Why?” 

“I didn’t think I needed it,” Keith shrugged. “I don’t exactly have anyone who’s willing to talk to me.” Allura raised an eyebrow at that and Keith felt color creeping up his neck again. He looked away, messing with the fabric of his sling. 

“I see,” Allura said finally, looking like she was taking a very long mental note. “And after you left the house?” 

“I walked to the electronics shop. And after that…” Keith furrowed his eyebrows. He’d been dreading this part. Allura was looking for answers - the whole damn precinct was looking for answers - but Keith could not give them. 

“After that?” Allura prompted. She was sitting up a little straighter in her chair. 

“I don’t know,” Keith said honestly, deciding to rip the band-aid off before he lost his courage. “I don’t remember.” 

“You don’t…remember?” 

There it was. 

The disappointment. 

Keith sighed softly. He had been disappointing people his entire life. Why should that have stopped now? 

Allura looked up at Shiro, who looked a little more than guilty. 

“Sorry,” he scratched the back of his head. “You were busy all week, so I never had the chance to talk to you about his...uh…condition. I was hoping Pidge or Lance or Hunk would talk to you.” 

“You put your hopes in the wrong people!” Pidge shouted from her corner. 

“Clearly,” Shiro muttered. 

Allura stood. “Well, it’s not an issue.” She said briskly. Keith’s jaw almost dropped. He was pretty sure that it  was an issue and the fact that Allura seemed so unconcerned about it was a little more than alarming. “The memories will come back in due time.” There was an unspoken implication left hanging off her words. Foreboding and wrong. 

I hope. 

This was all a game of chance. Allura had thrown down her cards, had decided to believe in Keith and his missing memories and was willing to pay the price. Keith couldn’t understand that. He probably never would be able to. 

“Keith,” Allura said. “Do you mind revisiting the scene of the crime?” 

Keith’s mind drew a blank. “What?” 

“Going back to where it happened might jog something in your memories,” Allura said. “I know this is monumentous to ask of you and remembering will be traumatic. But we need this information if we are to solve this case and bring the killer to justice.” 

Keith swallowed down the apprehension as he stood. He braced his good arm against the desk, trying not to feel the rising panic. He knew that as soon as he remembered what happened, he’d have those memories forever. He’d go to sleep knowing that there had been a killer inches from his face, breathing hot air over his face and stabbing him. 

He had to do this. 

He had to. 

He looked up at Allura, steeling his determination before it could slip away. “Okay.” 

Allura’s smile was nothing less than brilliant. “Wonderful. Coran will drive you. Lance, do you mind coming along? There’s always a chance that there’s something new in a crime scene. Shiro can you-” 

“I’ll go too,” Shiro finished her unspoken words effortlessly. “Pidge?” 

“I’m staying,” Pidge said. “Somebody-” She gave a pointed look to Shiro, “-interrupted me when I was on to something.” 

Shiro raised his hands in surrender. “Okay. I take it Hunk won’t come either?” 

“He’s getting an alibi from the other bar owner,” Lance confirmed. 

“All right,” Shiro said. “Let’s get going.” 

“I’ll go get Coran,” Allura said cheerfully and left the room. Everyone followed her out, leaving Pidge and her computer alone. 

Keith learned two things about Coran in the ten minutes it had been since he had met him. 

First off, Coran - as it turned out - was the most eccentric man alive. 

His hair was bright orange (“All natural, I assure you,” Coran told Keith) with a magnificent mustache of the same color. He listened to old Katy Perry music that he and Lance sang to at the top of their lungs while Shiro and Keith crammed themselves in the backseat of the police cruiser. 

Secondarily, Coran drove like a madman. 

He swerved, he sped, he didn’t use his turning signal, but god damn if his driving wasn’t spectacular. Keith counted no less than three accidents Coran had avoided just by quick thinking and ‘Firework’ at full volume. 

“Is he usually like this?” Keith muttered to Shiro as another swerve forced Shiro to practically pin Keith up against the window with his shoulder. Keith hissed in pain as Shiro accidentally put pressure on his bad elbow.

“Yup,” Shiro grumbled. 

“Brilliant.” 

Lance and Coran were now belching out the lyrics as loud as they possibly could. Keith wondered if they were trying to be this annoying on purpose. 

The scenery they were passing was growing familiar. Something tugged at Keith from the back of his mind. He’d walked this same road on his way to fix his laptop. The electronics shop was just a few buildings away from the alleyway Keith had been found. 

How did I get from the electronics store to an alleyway? Keith found himself wondering. His elbow throbbed with a forgotten memory of pain. 

Coran turned the wheel much harder than necessary, miraculously managed to not flip the car, and parallel parked perfectly next to one of the bars. Lance cheered. Keith’s head spun. 

Shiro unlocked the door and nearly tumbled out, coughing. Keith followed suit, the world spinning wildly. He threw out both hands to rest them against the cruiser but found himself awkwardly flinging his sling out in front of him, the other one gripping the door. 

Lance came around the front of the car and leaned down to grin at Coran through the window. “Stellar driving, as always.” 

Coran looked endlessly pleased. “Thank you, my boy! I’ll wait here while you all do your investigating.” Something sparked in his eyes. “Oh, yes! And before I forget-” He leaned over, the rest of his sentence muffled as he reached into the glovebox. He withdrew a pair of gloves and several empty evidence bags. He handed them out to Lance through the window. “In case you find something!” He beamed. 

“Thanks, Coran,” Lance said with a huge grin. 

“Are…you even qualified to pick up evidence?” Keith found himself asking in-between heaving breaths. Lance looked insulted. 

“Uh, excuse you, Mullet,” he said. Keith bristled at the nickname. “I graduated from Garrison State with a ph-fucking-D in forensic science.” 

Keith couldn’t even keep his head from spinning long enough to form a witty comeback. “Right. Got it. And you’re not coming because?” He looked up at Coran, who gave him another absolutely beaming smile. 

“Got an injury in my younger days, lad!” He said cheerfully. “Broke my knee, never healed right! Now I just go around and raise awareness in the high schools and the like, letting them know that the Altea Police Department is always on their side!” He thumped a fist on his chest proudly. 

“...right,” Keith said. The world had finally stopped violently spinning. Shiro was now picking himself off of his hands and knees on the sidewalk. 

“See you later!” Lance called. 

“I’ll be here!” Coran called. He propped his feet up on the dashboard and pulled out a crossword. 

Lance led the way into the alleyway and Keith followed him in with Shiro bringing up the rear. Keith took a deep breath, steeled himself for what he was possibly about to see in there. What kind of memories it could awaken. 

He sucked in a deep breath and smelled metal. 

Copper, to be specific. 

Blood. 

Keith peered around Lance’s lanky form to see that half of the alley had been quarantined, police tape cautioning people not to enter. Lance lifted the ribbon above his head and held it up for both Shiro and Keith to crouch through after him. 

Keith finally got his first good look at the crime scene. 

Where he had been found. 

Where he should have died. 

There was so much blood. It was dried, almost rust-colored, but the stench of it still hung the air. Thick and enough to make Keith gag on it. 

It hit him a moment later that it was all his. 

All this blood, dried and coppery, it was his own. He’d bled this much. Enough to splatter red on the walls, enough for it to sink in between cobblestones. 

He’d bled and he’d lived. 

Keith didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until Shiro set his hand on his shoulder. 

“Keith?” He said. “You okay? We don’t have to do this, you know.” 

Keith swallowed back the tightness in his throat and shut his eyes tightly. Shiro was wrong. Keith had to do this. It was what he owed not only the police department but the entire town. He was the only person who had ever survived an attack by this serial killer. He had to solve this. 

And that started with facing where it all began. 

“No,” he said, his voice stronger than he felt. “N-No, I’m good. I can do this.” He paused. “I have to do this.” 

Shiro didn’t look convinced. He’d opened his mouth to respond, but Keith didn’t give him the time. He stepped towards the dried, rust-colored blood and steeled his rebelling stomach. 

“Hey, dude,” Lance, who was squatting over the blood, completely unfazed, looked up. “Are you okay? Dios, you look like you just saw a ghost.” 

“I’m fine,” Keith said firmly. “I can do this.” 

He stepped around Lance to get a better look at the crime scene. He could immediately pinpoint where he had been found, a thick circle of dried rust, larger than the rest in the center of the scene. He could imagine his own broken, bleeding body lying there. 

He swallowed the apprehension and moved a bit closer. 

“Keith,” Shiro called out. Keith didn’t hear him. 

Because he wasn’t there anymore. 

He was pinned to the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs. Hot breath was washing over his skin. A knife was lifted above his eyes, covered in blood. His blood. 

Voices, intermingling and overlapping each other. 

His hands flailed, latching onto something and pulling. Something smooth, soft to the touch. The hem of a shirt. 

There was a rrriiiiipp noise as Keith tugged, bucking back with a horrible scream and something fluttered out of his hand. 

Keith stumbled backward. His back hit the wall as the crime scene gradually came into focus around him. The walls were sharp, jagged. There was a wound shaped exactly like them on Keith’s back. 

“Oh god,” Keith whispered. He thought he might be sick. 

“Keith?” Shiro was stepping gingerly towards him. Lance was hovering over his shoulder, forehead creased in concern. “Keith, what’s wrong?” 

“I…” Keith wrapped his arm around his middle. His stomach was churning. He felt gross. Tainted. “I think I know…how it happened.” 

“So you remembered?” Lance breathed. “Who did it?” 

“I-I don’t know,” Keith shook his head, trembling. “God I just…” He clapped his hand to his mouth, shutting his eyes tightly. 

“Hey,” Shiro took a few steps forward. “You don’t have to talk about it-” 

“No, no I do!” Keith forced himself to look up, to ignore the writhing in his stomach, all to meet Shiro’s gaze. He didn’t understand - no one did. Keith had to do this. “I do I…” 

“Whoa, take it easy there, amigo,” Lance said, raising his hands as if Keith were about to topple over any minute and Lance was going to catch him. Honestly, Keith would not be surprised if he did. “Don’t push yourself. We can wait for the answer.” 

“No, he-” Keith shook his head. He pressed his back firmly against the stone wall. The jagged edges bit at his skin underneath his shirt, against the wounds they’d made there several weeks earlier. “The killer he...cornered me in here, I think. I-I remember thinking something strange was going on and then…” He shook his head. “He pushed me against the wall right here and started attacking me.” 

Shiro took several steps forward. “Keith, you don’t have to-” 

“Yes, I do!” Keith squeezed his eyes shut. He forced himself to continue, ignoring the way his stomach protested. Ignoring the way it caused the headache pulsing at the back of his eyelids to pound. “I fell, I think because he tried to stab me in the legs and I moved out of the way. B-But I slipped and fell and he held me down and kept just…slashing and cutting me.” 

Lance was starting to look green in the face, but unlike Shiro, he wasn’t trying to get Keith to stop. 

“Keith-” 

“I grabbed something,” Keith continued, almost breathlessly. “The killer’s shirt, I-I think. I ripped it. It’s somewhere around here.” 

Shiro tried to grab Keith’s wrist. “I think we should go.” 

Keith didn’t offer him a response this time, staggering around the thick splotches of muted crimson. He tried to remember where he was, but all he had been aware of at the time was blinding pain. Maybe he’d thrown it, maybe the killer had, he really wasn’t sure. 

There was a green foul-smelling dumpster nearby. It jogged something in the depths of Keith’s fuzzy memory. Had he bashed his head against the dumpster? Or had the killer thrown him against it? Was that what caused the injury to his elbow? 

Keith knelt down, tucking his sling up against his stomach while using his left arm to prop himself up to look underneath it. 

There, underneath the dumpster, was a scrap of purple fabric. 

Keith, forgetting his right arm was completely out of commission, reached out to grab it. As he did so, his cheek smashed into the ground landing him in one of the most undignified positions he’d ever been in. Now supporting the appearance of someone who’d just run face-first into a window, he used his good arm to reach underneath the dumpster. He ignored how undignified he looked, instead choosing to tap desperately under the dumpster before his fingers closed in around the cloth.  

He straightened up and held the cloth close to him. It was a pretty large strip, about the size of his entire palm. It was crinkled, too, dried blood that looked horribly like fingers imprinted over it. 

“Holy shit,” he whispered. The same profanity was echoed by Lance a moment later, who pulled on the gloves Coran had given him and plucked the scrap of fabric out of Keith’s hand. He muttered something to himself in Spanish, unzipping one of the plastic evidence bags as he went. 

Keith staggered to his feet, using his hand to brace himself against the dumpster’s edge. The awful smell coming from it made his head spin, but he couldn’t focus on it at the moment. All he could see was that purple scrap of fabric. 

Shiro hovered over Lance’s shoulder, looking between the fabric and Keith, his lips pursed. Lance, meanwhile, had gotten so excited he was forgetting to speak English as he handed the evidence off to another member of the forensics team. He turned to Keith, peeling the gloves off of his hands with an enormous grin.

“This is great, Mullet. We’ve got some real hard evidence out of this case that isn’t you! I’m going to take that back to the lab for DNA testing. Hopefully, we’ll get something from it. We might even find the killer!” 

Keith nodded. His throat was dry, his head pounding ferociously. 

“You should…get home,” Shiro said, setting a hand down carefully on Keith’s shoulder. “Rest after today. You can come back to the precinct tomorrow and we can keep looking.” 

Keith nodded numbly, holding himself tightly with his good arm. “Okay.” 

“I’ll walk you home,” Shiro said. “Lance, you head back and test that fabric scrap.” 

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Lance did a mock salute. Shiro gave him a grateful smile, steering Keith back towards the tape. 

The walk to Keith’s apartment building a few blocks away felt shorter than it probably was. Keith unconsciously led Shiro as he’d taken the route dozens of times before. Hell, he’d been to one of the bars next to the alleyway more times then he could count. He wondered if he’d ever be able to go back after what had happened. 

Somehow, he doubted it. 

Keith was still reeling from what he had remembered. He could still feel the hot breath of the killer ghosting over his skin. Those garbled, overlapping voices. There was something much deeper about this case. Something that only Keith knew, but he just couldn’t remember what it was. 

Keith’s feet carried him towards the apartment building. It was rundown and shitty, but all Keith could afford on his meager paycheck. Shiro followed him up the stairs and the two of them paused in front of Keith’s front door. Shiro observed Keith, his amethyst eyes wide and unseeing. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked as Keith fumbled with the keys. “I can stay for a little while if you want-” 

“No,” Keith said. He shook his head so fast he almost got whiplash. “I can do this. I…need to be alone. Right now. If that’s okay.” 

“O-Of course,” Shiro narrowed his eyes but didn’t press. He watched silently as Keith opened the front door to his apartment and stepped inside. The interior was dark. Keith turned around to wish Shiro well when he held out his hand. “Give me your phone.” 

“What?” Keith blanched. “Why?” 

“I’m giving you my number,” Shiro pursed his lips. “Just in case. As your detective, it would be better if I had direct contact with you anyway.” He smiled through his teeth. 

Keith adhered to Shiro’s wishes without thinking too much about it. Shiro tapped in a few numbers and handed it back to him. Keith gripped the phone tightly in his hand; so tight he was worried he might break it. 

“Take it easy, Keith,” Shiro murmured. He stepped away from the door. 

“I will,” Keith nodded numbly. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. “Thanks, Shiro.” 

Shiro paused, looking a bit surprised. Keith wondered if he hadn’t been expecting to be thanked or was shocked that Keith had used his nickname. Either way, his expression softened, lips curving up into a smile. 

“You’re welcome,” he said. “Stay safe, Keith. Lock the doors.” 

Without waiting for a response, Shiro turned and walked away. Keith turned his attention down to the phone in his hand and by the time he thought to look back up at Shiro, he was already halfway down the staircase. 

Keith’s apartment was anything but clean.

Spare pizza boxes littered the area around the trash can, his clothes were tossed everywhere over the futon, and his dishes were piling up. 

But Keith couldn’t think about how he really needed to vacuum. How he hadn’t taken the trash out. All he could focus on was the overwhelming feeling that he was being watched. Followed. He felt like someone’s eyes were burning into the back of his head but every time he turned to look there was no one there.

Keith locked the door tightly behind him, his breathing labored. Just for good measure, he used the chain lock too and then practically sprinted across the room to make sure the screen door couldn’t be opened either. 

He hadn’t been home since the accident. Since he was almost murdered. 

Did the killer know where he lived? Was he lurking outside, waiting for Keith to leave so he could make a move? Maybe he was inside the apartment, lying in wait for Keith to crawl into bed so he could finish the job he’d started.

Keith could hardly think straight as he stood outside his bedroom door. He felt like an outsider looking in. Nothing looked different but the fact remained that everything was different. He'd had left this place seeking to get his laptop fixed so he could finally quit his job at the diner. He’d come back as the biggest piece of evidence in a serial killer case and a right elbow that would never heal. 

Keith’s breaths were shallow and quick. He thought of the memory he’d awakened earlier, of the hot breath and growling words tried to hug himself as best he could. His elbow ached of a wound Keith could not remember. 

The walls closed in. A shadow flicked in and out of Keith’s vision behind him. He whipped his head around, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Nothing was in the room, nothing had changed. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t alone. That the apartment wasn’t as empty as it appeared. 

Keith took two enormous steps into his bedroom and slammed his door shut. The pictures on the walls rattled with the force of it. 

Keith pressed his back to the door and slid down it. His sling was pressed in between his chest and his legs, elbow twinging with pain. He buried his face in the arm he’d draped across his knees, trembling violently. 

The killer was coming back for him, wasn’t he? Keith was going to wake up with a knife inches from his throat. He’d see the unforgiving gaze of his would-be killer and then everything would go dark. He’d be gone, swallowed by the cold embrace of death. 

Maybe Keith really was destined to be another casualty in the deadly game the killer was playing. 

Chapter Text

The precinct was just as busy as it was the day before. 

Keith walked in, his elbow throbbing, and was let in by a kindly receptionist as soon as he mentioned his name. He craned his neck to see if he could find Shiro (or at the very least Lance) but both of them were nowhere in sight. Keith could see the same pair of officers from yesterday engaged in another heated argument and Keith had to wonder if that was just a regular occurrence since everyone else seemed so unconcerned. 

Then, Keith caught a glimpse of brown hair and an orange bandanna and his spirits soared. No longer would he have to hover awkwardly just inside the precinct doors - he had Hunk to save him. 

Hunk, who was currently reasoning with another detective and looking very stressed. 

Keith’s stomach plummeted. Hunk was clearly busy. He was talking very animatedly, waving his arms and whacking a stack of papers he had in hand with the back of his fingers. The officer he was with looked like she was hanging onto his every word, tripping over herself to keep up with Hunk’s fast stride. Then, with an air of great finality, Hunk pressed the papers into her chest and pointed off somewhere in the precinct. The officer nodded and scurried away. 

Keith frowned. Hunk was very busy indeed and it’d be best not to bother him. Keith better look elsewhere for a familiar face. Maybe he’d find Allura or maybe even Coran doing a crossword at a desk. When it became all too apparent that anyone remotely like that wasn’t even there, Keith resigned himself to a stressed Hunk and headed toward the break room, where he saw Hunk disappear into. 

Pushing the door open carefully with his left hand, Keith spotted Hunk standing by the coffee machine, tapping his foot. He reminded Keith of an anxious rabbit, the quiet taptaptaps echoing throughout the empty break room. 

Keith cleared his throat awkwardly, dearly hoping Hunk wasn’t in as a foul mood as he appeared to be. “Uh… Hunk?” 

Hunk turned around almost instantly. For a split second he looked incredibly annoyed, but as soon as he saw Keith the expression melted away and he threw his arms open wide. 

“Keith!” he said, dragging out the name. In two strides he’d enveloped Keith into his arms, squashing Keith’s injured elbow into his gut. Keith let out a squawk - half of surprise, half of pain - as Hunk embraced him. As good of hugs as Hunk clearly gave, Keith was never one for a lot of physical contact if he could help it. 

“Hey,” Keith said awkwardly. He ducked out from underneath Hunk who beamed at him. “You seemed like you were pretty annoyed, so if you want me to go I will-” 

“No, not at all!” Hunk said brightly. “I thought you were Romelle for a minute. She’s been annoying me all morning. She wants in on your case and since she’s related to Allura, she keeps pulling the ‘I’ll tell my cousin to put me on the case whether you like it or not!’ card and I’m all like, no, this is really super dangerous and you could get hurt.” He sighed. “I love Romelle, I really do, but sometimes she’s just a bit too much, y’know?” 

“Yeah,” Keith had no idea who Hunk was talking about, but had an inkling it had to do with the officer he was giving an earful to earlier. “Yeah, I get it.” 

“Anyways, what do you need?” Hunk asked, turning back to the machine as it poured out a cup of steaming coffee into a pot. And, before Keith could even open his mouth to reply, Hunk was speaking again. “Want some coffee? And you’d better answer now rather than later because trust me, you do not want the coffee at the bottom of the pot.” he made a ‘eugh’ noise, lifting it up by the handle and glaring at the underside. 

“I think I’m good for now,” Keith said. 

“Your funeral,” Hunk said, pouring himself a cup. “I make a mean pot of coffee.” 

“That’s okay,” Keith said. “I’m not really much of a coffee-drinker, honestly…” 

“You say that now, but as soon as you enter a working force like this?” Hunk snorted. “Woo boy, this stuff becomes your lifeblood. Anyways,” it was the second time he’d said it since Keith had started talking to him. “What do you need?” 

“Shiro told me to come down today,” Keith said carefully. 

“Oh yeah,” Hunk’s expression softened. Sympathy, Keith realized, but for once he wasn’t annoyed by it. Hunk gave off the impression that he felt bad for Keith, but wasn’t going to pity him or treat him any different because of what had happened. “You remembered some stuff, right?” 

“Yeah,” Keith tried not to think about the knife covered in his blood and the garbled voices. “I did. I was hoping to talk to Shiro about it a little more… see if I can remember something else.” 

“Actually, Shiro’s in a meeting with Allura for the next like-” Hunk glanced at the clock “-hour and a half but I’m sure you could find something else to do.” 

“Like what?” 

Hunk pursed his lips. “Well, if you want to know what I would do next, personally, it would be to review what had happened that night.” 

“Huh?” Keith blinked. 

“Pidge got the security tapes for that night,” Hunk said. He was in the process of drowning his coffee in a mixture of creamer and sugar, moving like a practiced coffee consessiour. 

“You did?” Keith asked. 

“Yup,” Hunk popped the ‘p’. “Everything and anything that happened that night outside and inside those bars we have on tape. Pidge is in the A/V Room, if you want to review them with her. Maybe those will help jog your memory, too.” 

Keith glanced around the wall of offices and down the featureless corridor he knew the A/V Room was located. “Sounds good. Thanks, Hunk.” 

“No problem, Keith,” Hunk gave him a tender smile. “If you need anything, come hunt me down. I’m the desk right smack in the middle of the room there with all the yellow. It’s my favorite color. And, just in case,” he raised the coffee pot once more. “I’ll make sure some of the good stuff is left for you, okay?” 

“Okay. Thanks, Hunk,” Keith repeated. It felt odd, to be thanking the same person so many times, but Hunk seemed positively delighted. He patted Keith on the shoulder and began steering him to the door. 

“See you later, Keith,” he chirped. 

Keith waved over his shoulder and the break room doors shut behind him. He steeled his nerves and headed toward the A/V Room, ignoring the stares he was attracting. His elbow seared with pain. He rubbed it with his good hand, wincing as he opened the door to the A/V Room with his foot. 

It was a less than ceremonious entrance. The door smacked against the wall from the force, causing a tiny shriek from the corner. Pidge whipped around, pulling her headphones off to let them dangle around her neck and stared at him like he’d grown a third arm. 

“Jesus Christ!” she said, wincing as Keith flicked on the light. “Have you ever heard of knocking?” 

“Sorry,” Keith said. He headed towards her, still massaging his elbow tenderly. It throbbed. Pidge looked him up and down and her expression softened a little. Keith tried for a smile. “Hunk told me you got the tapes from that night?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Pidge scooted aside and motioned for Keith to take the seat next to her’s. He decided to stand, figuring sitting would move his aching elbow more than he needed. “I figured you’d be showing up sooner or later to see them.” she hesitated, glancing at Keith. “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Keith wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed or relieved someone (probably Lance) had seemingly told everyone on his case what had happened yesterday. “I’m good. I…want to see the security tapes.” 

Pidge nodded and turned back to her computer. She clicked around for a moment before coming up with a folder filled with hundreds of video files. They were all color-coded and organized by date followed by the times every single hour. Pidge selected a file at seemingly random and pressed play. 

“This one’s pretty weird,” she said. “Maybe you’ll know what’s going on.” 

Keith leaned forward. He put his good hand on the back of Pidge’s chair, watching the tape. It played silently, eventlessly. Cars came and went, patrons going in and out of the two bars. Keith didn't understand what Pidge had meant by ‘weird’. At least, at first. Then, before Keith’s eyes, a metallic silver mustang with a blue stripe over the hood pulled up to the bar on the right. Keith’s breath hitched. 

He knew that car. 

He didn’t know why, or how, but he knew that car. 

The car turned off and the driver stepped out. Keith couldn’t make out any distinguishable traits about them other than the fact that he somehow knew their car. The driver pocketed the keys and then seemingly began talking to someone just on the other side of the camera’s view. It was a heated argument and by the end of it, the driver was dragged away by his wrist. Where, Keith had no idea. 

He blinked slowly. He recognized that entire scene somehow, like he’d watched it play out in real-time before his very eyes. Perhaps he had. Keith thought of the garbled, overlapping voices. Maybe one of them had been the driver of that mustang. 

The tape had returned back to the routine it had. The car Keith recognized remained there, unmoving. 

Pidge paused the video and glanced up at him. “Keith?” 

His name started Keith out of his thoughts and he looked down at Pidge. He took the time to realize her glasses magnified her honey brown eyes just the slightest. He used that to ground him, pull him back into the real world. 

“Yeah?” he croaked. 

Pidge studied him. “Recognize anything?” 

Keith looked back up at the video. He stared at the car, thought about the shadowed face of the driver and nodded slowly. “Yes.” 

“What is it?” Pidge said in little more than a breathless whisper. Keith raised a single, trembling finger, and pressed it on the screen. His finger smudged it, but he got his point across.

“That,” he said hoarsely, pointing at the car. His voice was raspier than normal, his head pounding with a headache. Forgotten memories were trying to claw their way to the surface, he was sure but there was a barrier. Something keeping him from remembering that night to its fullest. Perhaps he really was suppressing them of his own subconscious will like Doctor Holt had suggested. It wouldn’t surprise him in the least. 

“The car?” Pidge leaned in a lot closer than she needed to, practically pressing her nose against the screen. “What about it?” 

“I don’t know,” Keith said. The words felt like they were burning his mouth. He was tired of not knowing. He wished he could give any kind of definite answer but all of them eluded him. “I just…recognize it from that night.” He narrowed his eyes. He forced himself to try to remember, to dig at the memories that were right there but his only answer was an increasingly horrible headache. He hissed and rubbed his temples with his good hand. 

“I’ll run the license plate through our database,” Pidge said. “This coupled with the fabric scrap you and Lance found at the scene yesterday might give us a huge lead on the killer.” She was speaking rapidly, almost too rapidly for Keith to follow. She was excited, her fingers a blur across the keyboard. Keith wondered how much of her life she spent in front of computers in order to memorize the keys like that. 

“Yeah,” Keith said, unable to think of a better response. Pidge turned to look at him, her expression softening as she saw his face. Keith tried to imagine how exhausted he must have looked. He certainly felt like it, the headache pounding against his eyelids every time he blinked. 

“You okay?” Pidge asked. 

“Could be better,” Keith murmured. Pidge lifted her hand to press it against Keith’s forehead and didn’t look surprised in the least when he flinched away. 

“You’re not running a fever,” she said. “You just look…” she paused, weighing her words. “Tired.” 

“No kidding,” Keith pressed his own hands to his forehead. He was kind of surprised he couldn’t feel the headache pulsing there. “My head is killing me…” 

“Don’t push yourself so hard,” Pidge said in a slightly scolding tone. She turned back to face the computer. “Go get some air. Talk to Shiro or Hunk. They’d be willing to listen to whatever you want to talk about.” 

While Keith didn’t know Shiro or Hunk well enough to really talk about all the raging thoughts swirling like a maelstrom in Keith’s head, fresh air sounded like a godsend at the moment. He nodded. 

“Sounds great,” he said. “Thanks, Pidge.” 

“No problem,” Pidge waved her hand. “Go on. I’ll call if I find a match.” 

Keith nodded and slipped out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him. 

The hustle and bustle of the precinct seemed fifty times louder to Keith as he staggered his way towards the door. The headache seemed to intensify the pain in Keith’s elbow. He felt sick. Like at any given moment he’d keel over and vomit wherever he was standing. 

The more Keith tried to think about his memories the worse the headache became. The thin barrier was the only thing keeping the events of that night out of reach. It felt like Keith should have been able to punch through and tell the police all they needed to catch the killer but-

He couldn’t. 

The memories were still gone. 

“Keith?” 

Large hands gripped his shoulders, steadying them. Keith stumbled a little, the world spinning violently. He looked up to meet a pair of concerned charcoal eyes. 

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked. Keith blinked once. Then twice. Shiro’s image was blurry and irritatingly out of focus, but it was definitely him. Standing just over his shoulder was a figure wearing yellow. Hunk. 

“Air,” was all Keith managed to say. Shiro and Hunk exchanged looks before steering Keith out toward the back doors of the precinct. Keith sucked in deep gulps of air, gradually clearing his fuzzy thoughts. He stared out across the sky, his head pounding viciously. 

He thought of the car again. That mysterious thing that was somehow so pivotal to his case but he couldn’t remember why. Had the killer driven it? If that were the case, why were they dragged away, out of view of the cameras? 

There were so many questions but no answers. The worst part of it all was that Keith knew all of the answers. He knew them but just couldn’t remember. 

He sucked in another deep breath. 

He had to get this headache under control. He had to remember if not for his own sake, then the sake of all future victims of the killer. This wasn’t a matter of ‘when he was ready’. He had to do it now. 

“Hey,” Hunk popped in the corner of Keith’s field of vision. Keith turned his head sluggishly to face him. “Shiro and I are about to take our lunch break. You wanna come?” 

Keith took his time to consider the offer through his raging headache. Food sounded good. Something to help keep his strength up, maybe keep his thoughts at bay. And Keith was not going to say ‘no’ to free food, either. 

“Sure,” he said finally. He looked fully at Shiro and Hunk next to him. They were no longer blurry, just concerned. It was written in the creases of Shiro’s forehead; in the cross of Hunk’s arms. Both of them smiled a little at his response. 

“We know this great cafe just down the street,” Hunk said. “‘Paladin’s Coffee’. You heard of it?” 

Keith shook his head. 

“Oh, their sandwiches?” Hunk kissed his fingertips and let them blossom outward like a flower. “To die for.” Keith almost snorted in amusement. Shiro certainly cracked a smile. 

“I’ll take your word for it,” he said. 

Hunk grinned. “Hope you don’t mind walking.” 

December had definitely started to settle in. 

Keith burrowed himself tighter in his jacket, the cold air biting at his skin. While it hadn’t bothered him when he was standing just outside the precinct, it was certainly causing issues now. Not only was Keith starting to feel like he was going to freeze, the weather was not doing any favors for his elbow. It was starting to hurt like hell - Keith had to grit his teeth against the pain every time he moved his sling. 

Hunk led Keith and Shiro expertly through the suburban streets, heading out into the main hustle and bustle of the county. Keith walked by several landmarks he knew by heart - the grocery store, the gas station, even a little pizza place he frequented after work - and stopped outside of a little coffee shop. Keith’s breath hung in the frigid air as he looked up at the sign above them. ‘Paladin’s Coffee Shop’ stared back at him in casual lettering. 

Hunk smiled fondly. “This is it,” he said. 

“Hunk’s not kidding about their sandwiches,” Shiro said wisely as he held open the door. Keith stumbled in, cradling his throbbing elbow close to his chest. “They really are fantastic.” He noticed Keith’s expression and his gaze darted to the sling bunched up around Keith’s jacket as he held his arm. “Is your elbow hurting?” 

“Just a bit,” Keith said through gritted teeth. He prayed it would pass or at least the pain would lessen slightly. He knew, though, that the latter option would be more likely. He knew Doctor Holt was getting medicine prepared for the pain, but he hoped it wouldn’t take too much longer. He was seriously starting to reconsider that surgery. 

“Give it a bit to warm up,” Shiro pursed his lips. He glanced around the shop before turning back to Keith with one of his warm smiles. “Hey, how about Hunk and I order for you while you go sit down?” 

Keith thought that was a splendid idea and decided to trust Hunk and Shiro enough to get him something he’d like. Shiro smiled at him and patted Keith’s shoulder and joined Hunk at the counter, who was marveling at all the little snacks on display through the glass. Keith smiled and turned his attention elsewhere. 

Paladin’s was a quaint little place, where all the usual stiff-chairs at restaurants had all been replaced by couches and bean bags. The tables were scattered throughout the room at seemingly random, and the coffee shop had a wide selection of books for people to skim through while they enjoyed their coffee and pastries. It was quiet and peaceful, which did wonders for both Keith’s headache and high strung nerves. 

Keith crossed the room and all but collapsed into a couch next to the window. Snow had begun to fall outside. Keith closed his eyes, letting the warm atmosphere of the cafe envelop him. He let his thoughts fade into background noise. He pretended like none of this had ever happened and he was just enjoying a day off at a cafe. But his elbow seared with pain and the moment was gone. 

Keith hissed, holding his sling tightly to him. He could hardly believe any of this had happened. That he’d been found near-dead in an alleyway. That he’d survived against all odds and was now leading the charge against the serial killer terrorizing their community. It seemed so surreal. Keith had never imagined he’d be caught up in something bigger than himself. He’d always been labeled as a problem child, in and out of foster homes since he was seven. He had been told and had assumed he’d never do anything with his life that was in any way remotely important. 

And yet…here he was. 

Keith sighed. 

Hunk made his way in between chairs and beanbags to plop himself on the couch across from Keith. He was holding a plastic number in his hand, held up by a thin metal pole. He placed it with a quiet thunk on the table while Shiro weaved his way over to them, holding two cups in hand. He sat down next to Keith and placed one in front of him. 

“Tea,” Shiro explained in response to Keith’s questioning stare. “Hunk told me you said you didn’t like coffee, so we got you tea instead. Hope you don’t mind chai.” 

Keith shook his head and awkwardly lifted the hot cup in his hand. Normally he’d like to hold it in both hands and blow on the tea until it was nice enough to sip, but he couldn’t do that anymore. His elbow twinged again as if to remind him. 

“Also got you a sandwich,” Hunk said. “We didn’t know what you’d like or wouldn’t like, so we’ll let you pull out all the tomatoes and onions or whatever. Promise we won’t judge.” He smiled. Keith took a careful sip of the tea, wincing as it scalded his tongue. 

It was silent for a moment between them. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. Rather, Keith quite liked the silence. He knew he looked out of place, surrounded by two men with police badges emblazoned on their chests, but Keith didn’t feel too odd after he watched a man in goggles and a labcoat step out of the bathroom. It was like the cafe just attracted the weird and out of place. He liked it. 

“How’s your elbow?” Shiro asked after a moment. Keith took another one-handed sip of tea and glanced down at his sling. 

“Fine,” he said, even though pain still tingled up and down his arm every few minutes. “Better now that it’s warmed up a bit.” 

“You’re not getting medication for it?” Hunk asked, narrowing his eyes at Keith over his cup. Out of instinct, Keith shrunk back. He wasn’t used to getting so much attention. 

“I am,” he said. “Just isn’t ready yet. Doctor Holt said that he would call me when I had to pick it up.” 

Hunk hummed softly. A waiter came by holding three plates precariously on a tray and spun them expertly on the table. Keith looked down at the sandwich he had been given and opened it, immediately starting to pull out the tomatoes. Shiro watched him, an amused smile spreading across his face. 

Hunk took an enormous bite and swallowed less than a second later. He leaned across the table to point his sandwich at Keith who startled backward. Lettuce was falling out the sides. 

“So, how did checking the surveillance tapes with Pidge go?” He asked. 

Keith was reminded of the car he recognized for some reason and was struck by his fading headache again. He frowned. 

“I saw something,” he said. Shiro and Hunk both leaned toward him, interest piqued. “But I don’t remember why it’s important. I just know it was.” 

“What was it?” Shiro pressed. Keith pursed his lips. 

“A car,” he answered. “A silver mustang with like this...metallic blue stripe over the hood. I recognized it but I’m not sure why. It’s important, though.” 

“Think it might belong to the killer?” Hunk asked. Keith furrowed his brow, finishing his hunt for tomatoes and putting his sandwich back together as best he could with one hand. 

“Maybe,” he said, not sure why the words felt so wrong on his tongue. He took a bite of the sandwich and reeled back at the symphony of flavors that assaulted his mouth. He let out a surprised noise and stared down at the sandwich as if it had just shown him God. 

“Told you,” Hunk grinned. Keith awkwardly shifted the sandwich in his hand, dearly wishing he could hold it with both hands and bit down again. Somehow, the second bite was even better than the first. 

Shiro chuckled. Keith sighed in appreciation for his sandwich, thoroughly glad he had decided to join Hunk and Shiro on their lunch break. 

“A silver mustang…” Shiro murmured under his breath. He was digging into his own sandwich, looking thoughtful. “I’ve never seen a car like that.” 

“Apparently I have,” Keith hissed, putting down his sandwich so he could rest his forehead in his hand. His headache had returned tenfold. Hunk and Shiro exchanged looks across the table. 

“Let’s…talk about something else,” Hunk suggested. “Uh… oh! Did I tell you all what Lance did the other day?” Keith looked up, eyebrow raised. Hunk grinned devilishly. “So, the two of us are headed home because we live in the same apartment complex, right? Lance is talking about his cat as usual and…” Hunk’s babbling faded off into background noise. 

Keith breathed out slowly through his nose. His headache had started to fade as quickly as it had come. The migraines only seemed to come whenever he was trying to recall something about that night. As annoying as it was, Keith would have to learn how to deal with it. He couldn’t let a few headaches keep him - keep the whole town - from the truth. 

And, as he smiled and nodded along with Hunk’s story, Keith made a silent promise to himself. 

He’d figure out the truth of what happened that night. He’d find the killer and bring them to justice. 

Whatever it took.

Chapter Text

Keith was woken in the early hours by an incessant buzzing. 

At first, he buried his head in his pillow and willed the buzzing to stop. If he waited long enough and ignored it, whoever it was would leave a message and stop calling him. It came in bursts - four loud buzzes and then a pause. Then it’d happen again. And again. And again. After every ignored call, the cycle would just repeat. 

Keith was through the tenth iteration of the buzzing when it finally went silent. Hope swelled in his chest that whoever it was had realized Keith was not answering his phone, not at this ungodly hour, when it came again, somehow even louder. 

Keith groaned, reaching over to find his phone on his bedside table. He blinked back at the terrible number staring him in the face - 3:34 AM - and let out a quiet groan. He hardly spared a glance at the caller ID before answering and bringing it to his ear. 

“What,” he said through gritted teeth. Whoever was on the other end, be it coworker, wrong number, or random salesman, would know how pissed off he was right now. “Do you want?” 

“Keith,” a faded Spanish accent. Lance. “I need you to come down the precinct. Like, now.” 

“At this hour?” Keith grumbled. “You’re making it way too tempting to hang up on you and go back to sleep.” 

“I’ll go over to your apartment and ring the buzzer until you get up,” Lance threatened. “Shiro told me where you live. I’ll do it.” 

Keith gritted his teeth. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

“Try me.” 

Keith did not give Lance the dignity of a response. Instead, he burrowed deeper into his blankets, relishing in the warmth. He was dozing off again when an ear-splitting song at full volume blasted through the speakers. Keith yelped in alarm, pulling the phone away from his ear. He could still hear the music perfectly. 

After a few painful seconds, the song stopped. Keith hesitantly put the phone back up to his ear. 

“Are you going back to sleep?” Lance asked. His voice was almost smug. Keith was immediately even more pissed off by it, but knew Lance would only do it again if he didn’t answer accordingly. So, he groaned into the phone as obnoxiously as he could and tried to make his injured arm more comfortable on his stomach. 

“No,” Keith acquiesced grudgingly. 

“Good,” said Lance. “Be at the precinct as soon as possible.” He didn’t offer any kind of explanation before he hung up, leaving Keith tired, confused, and very irritated. 

He managed to pull himself out of bed, flipping on the lamp at his bedside table. He squinted through it, trying to adjust to the sudden light as he stumbled over to his closet. He swiped a hand over his tired face, digging out a thick jacket and jeans that he hadn’t washed yet. He kept his elbow tucked up tight against his stomach, ignoring the way it throbbed with pain. He’d deal with that later - after he got to the precinct and punched Lance in the face for waking him up. 

Changing quickly, Keith awkwardly maneuvered his sling over his head and carefully let his arm hang inside of it. He shrugged on his jacket, flipped off the lights, and left his apartment without any breakfast. 

The cold winter air was a wake-up call enough if Lance’s bass-boosted music wasn’t. It bit at Keith’s face and he burrowed himself deeper into his jacket. Snow was falling around him, blanketing the ground. It was an oddly ethereal sight, Keith decided as he looked out over a park illuminated by the yellow streetlights. It was empty, the snow untouched and covering the swingset. If he weren’t so tired, Keith might have taken the chance to enjoy the quiet, how the streets were empty and he was the only one out here-

Keith’s spine stiffened. The hairs on the back of his neck began to rise. 

He was the only one out here. 

Holding his bad arm close to him, he stole anxious glances around himself. If the killer really had been following Keith these past two days then now would be the perfect time to exact vengeance. There was no one else around. The streets were quiet. Cars only drove by occasionally, sending gray slush cascading over the sidewalk. It would be no problem for the killer to sneak up on Keith, drag him into another alleyway, and finish the job he’d started. 

Keith did not like that mental image. 

He sped up his pace, the snow crunching underneath his sneakers. He probably should have worn boots, but it was too late to go back now. Keith hardly felt safe turning around and coming back. He imagined the killer lurking just behind him, a knife glinting in the lights from one of the streetlamps-

Okay, nope. Keith broke into a brisk jog. The cold winter air seemed to get worse by doing that and his elbow didn’t like the weather either, but Keith didn’t care about either of them right now. He couldn’t shake that unbearable feeling of being watched and followed. Of being prey. 

Keith broke into a full-on sprint. His heart pounded in his ears. He slipped more than a few times, jostling his arm in its sling. He kept turning around, expecting to see a figure chasing after him, but every time there was no one there. Every time, that feeling of someone’s gaze pressing in on his back grew.

Keith was all too relieved when he saw the police department building rise out of the darkness. Its lights were on, the sign lit up in fluorescent colors. It looked warm, inviting, and best of all, safe. Keith dashed across the road without looking for cars, his nose pink with the cold. He angled his body so his left shoulder would crash into the door to push them open, and open they did. Keith slid across the polished floors, tracking snow and dirty water in his wake. 

The front office was lit up but entirely empty. Keith - who was used to seeing it bustling with activity - was a little surprised by the change. 

Shiro was waiting by the glass doors. He was holding two mugs in hand, one of which he was drinking from. Dark bags were worming their way under his eyes, but he gave Keith a gentle smile and extended the other cup towards him. 

“I know you don’t like coffee,” Shiro’s voice felt like a godsend. It relaxed Keith’s high-strung nerves and the last feeling of being followed faded away. “But trust me, you’re gonna need it.” 

Keith was suddenly wrestling with an inexplicable urge to hug Shiro as he approached him. He managed to quell it, shooting Shiro a tired smile and taking the cup. He inspected the coffee, frowning down at it. 

“Don’t worry, Hunk made it,” Shiro said. 

Keith raised an eyebrow. “How is that supposed to help?” he asked, surprised at just how tired he sounded. Maybe he looked that way too, he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t bothered to look in the mirror before he left. 

“Hunk worked at Starbucks for almost five years while he was getting his masters,” Shiro explained. He took a deep swig from his mug. “He knows how to make a killer cup of coffee.” 

Keith, deciding he was too tired to really be cautious about what he should and should not drink tonight, took a careful sip. The coffee burned his tongue, but to his surprise, it was actually really, really good. He’d have to thank Hunk later. 

“So, mind explaining why Lance had me come here at-” Keith checked his phone “-almost four in the morning?” Shiro sighed, suddenly looking like he’d aged ten years at the question. He motioned to Keith, opening the glass doors. 

“It’s better if you see,” he muttered, more to himself than Keith. 

They entered the precinct. It was empty, papers scattered across the desks and all of the officers gone for the night. The only light source (aside from the front office) came from underneath a door in a hallway Keith hadn’t gone down yet. Shiro led him towards it, the distant hum of voices coming from inside the room. 

Shiro opened the door and let Keith in first. He was suddenly crammed into a very small room that was bare of any furniture aside from a clean window and a desk pressed up against the glass. Pidge, Lance, and Hunk were all sitting in stiff-backed chairs in various states of exhaustion. There had been one left for Keith on the other side of Hunk. 

On the other side of the glass was a featureless room, the walls bare and almost boring. There was a single table in the middle of the room, both sides with two chairs. A wide array of files were spread out across the surface, some of them opened and some of them closed. It took Keith a moment to realize the table was occupied. 

On one side sat Allura. Her cloud hair seemed a bit deflated and she looked exhausted. A cup of coffee sat next to a manilla folder she had placed her hands on top of. And at the other side of the table...

Keith’s breath hitched. His headache flared up again. 

It was a man with high cheekbones, an unblemished face, and tumbling white hair. A single strand hung in front of his eyes. His wrists were handcuffed in front of him, placed silently on the table. Neither he nor Allura had spoken a word. 

Keith staggered. Shiro placed his hand on the small of Keith’s back to steady him. He knew that face - he remembered it above him. Horror-stricken. 

Why was it horror-stricken? 

“Who is that?” Keith heard himself ask as Shiro steered him towards the desk. 

“Lotor,” Lance answered. His lip was curled, arms crossed over his wrinkled uniform. 

“Do you recognize him?” Pidge asked. Keith nodded once, numbly. His eyes were trained firmly on the man sitting across from Allura. 

What the hell…

“Why is he here?” Keith asked. 

“Remember that fabric scrap you found?” Lance pursed his lips. Keith nodded. “Well, I finished testing it for forensic evidence. Found remnants of sweat on the parts that weren’t stained with your bloody fingers. We put the DNA into our criminal database to see if we had a match. We did.”

“It was him?” Keith all but collapsed into the chair. “That’s the killer?” 

“Yup,” Lance popped the ‘p’. 

“We think,” Shiro said, stressing the word. He took Keith’s coffee mug out of his hand and placed it in front of him. “He hasn’t confessed to anything.” 

“Yet,” Pidge said. 

“I don’t see why he doesn’t just talk already,” Lance unfolded one of his arms and flung it in Lotor’s general direction. “Everyone here already knows it was him.” 

Keith didn’t feel as sure as Lance did about that. 

In fact, something was writhing in the pit of his stomach. Something that screamed wrongwrongwrong, insisting that there was something deeper to this case then what anyone realized. Something only Keith knew.

But the evidence - all of it - pointed to Lotor. His sweat was on the fabric scrap stained with Keith’s blood. He had been at the scene of the crime. 

So why did it all feel so…wrong? 

“I’m going to head back in,” Shiro said as Allura narrowed her eyes at Lotor. How long had she been waiting for Lotor to speak? “Allura might need backup. And she’d like to know Keith’s here.” He added as an afterthought, giving them all a tired smile. He headed to the door next to the window and opened it vanishing inside a small room, barely bigger than a broom closet. The door shut and locked and in the next moment, Shiro was walking into the interrogation room. 

“He was already in your criminal database?” Keith found himself asking. 

“Yeah,” Hunk was frowning. “What was it for again? Drugs and theft charges?” 

“Second-degree theft and possession of drug paraphernalia,” Pidge said. She glanced at Keith, who looked thoroughly confused. “Basically this guy stole a car and had materials to make drugs on him when he was arrested.” 

“But, he was acquitted of all charges,” Lance scowled. “Something about some mysterious evidence showing up that proved he wasn’t the one who stole the car, even though the one he had was the same model and type of the stolen one. So, he was let off with a slap on the wrist for the drug thing, because it was his first-ever offense. Scumbag.” He spat, narrowing his eyes in a glare. 

“Doesn’t help a lot of the evidence against him in court just went missing,” Hunk added. “They had like, security footage or something of the theft, but it was stolen and couldn’t be shown in court. The jury dismissed the evidence as fake since it never showed up.” 

“But you still had to put him in your criminal database, right?” Keith asked. “That’s why he’s here?” 

“Yup,” Pidge said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Part of his punishment for having drug-making materials on him. The other half was six months parole, which got terminated early because of his ‘good behavior’.” her fingers stretched quotation marks around the words. 

“Good behavior my ass,” Lance muttered. He gestured wildly to Lotor with one arm again. “Look at him! His whole schtick screams serial killer and…Pantene commercial.” 

Keith looked back at Lotor. Wrong, wrong, wrong, his brain chanted but he couldn’t figure out why. 

Shiro leaned down to whisper something in Allura’s ear. She nodded and he pulled out the chair next to her and sank into it heavily. Lotor’s eyes flickered to Shiro and then back to Allura. His expression was guarded. 

“Lotor,” Allura’s voice was clear and commanding despite her exhaustion. “The person you tried to murder is in the other room right now. I suggest you start telling the absolute truth or he will know you’re lying.” A bluff, but it was all they had. Keith didn’t remember shit. The only thing about Lotor that was familiar was the same face looming over him, horror-stricken. 

Then, Lotor opened his mouth and everything Keith was thinking flew out the window. 

“I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” Lotor said and Keith felt his breath catch in his throat. He thought about the garbled voices.  

One of them… it couldn’t be... 

Allura sighed exasperatedly. “We’ve been over this, Lotor. The reason you’ve been detained is not because of your past offenses. It’s because your DNA was found on a fabric scrap at the scene of the attempted murder of Keith Kogane. You’re being accused of murder right now, do you understand that? I suggest you stop with the games and tell me what I need to hear.” 

Lotor hummed idly. Keith’s heart skipped a beat. “I think what you need to hear is not what you want to hear,” he said.

Allura bristled but still somehow managed to keep her composure. Shiro slid the folder out from under her hands and began to flip through it. Keith caught flashes of the images - a bloodstain, a crumpled body - and was glad he wasn’t able to observe the pictures more. He had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he’d see. 

Shiro selected a picture and slid it across the table to Lotor. “Does this look familiar to you?” 

Lotor looked down at the picture. His face was kept carefully blank. “Yes.” 

“It’s your shirt, isn’t it?” 

“Yes.” 

“It was found at the crime scene,” Shiro said. “By the victim. Why was it there?” Lotor tilted his head. He was silent, contemplating. He looked between the picture in front of him and Allura and Shiro waiting for an answer. Then- 

“It’s a coincidence,” he said plainly. 

“A coincidence?” Allura repeated, sounding just as incredulous as Keith. There was nothing coincidental about that shirt piece. Keith remembered tearing it off himself in a frenzy of pain and screaming. There was no mistaking that the shirt was absolutely one that belonged to the murderer. 

Or at the very least… Keith thought with narrowed eyes. That wrong feeling in his gut grew. Someone who was with the murderer. 

Lotor looked up to see Allura’s steely gaze. “Yes,” he said easily. “A coincidence.” He did not elaborate but Keith got the impression that he wasn’t exactly talking about the fabric scrap but something else. Something only Keith knew. Lotor’s gaze darted sideways - to the glass - and whether he knew it or not, made brief, electrifying eye-contact with Keith. It was only a second, but Keith saw everything he needed. 

Something wasn’t right about this case. 

Because Keith had seen something in Lotor’s eyes that had unnerved him. Something deep and painful - a man hiding his scars. 

Everything about his attempted murder had another layer to it. Something they hadn’t dug into. 

If only Keith could just remember what it was. 

His elbow throbbed. 

Shiro slid another photo across the table. Lotor’s calm expression flickered then. Something flew across his face that broke his calm facade. Keith had no doubt Allura and Shiro had noticed it too. 

“This is the state we found the victim in,” Allura said calm and composed. Keith tried not to feel the other’s eyes on him. His stomach rolled as he unwillingly imagined the photo sitting across from Lotor. A lumpy, gory mess with a chunk missing out of his elbow. “Do you recognize any of the injuries? Do you recognize Mr. Kogane?” 

Lotor looked up. The picture had definitely rattled him - his face was pale. Keith leaned forward. Surely this was it, surely this was the moment Lotor gave in his confession, solved the mysteries of his case-

“I plead the fifth.” 

Lotor pursed his lips and said no more. Allura and Shiro exchanged looks. Lance threw his hands into the air. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

“What does that mean?” Keith demanded. He’d heard it being said in crime television shows, but never before had he heard it in real life. 

“It means he doesn’t have to answer if it means it’ll incriminate him,” Hunk muttered. 

“Whatever, it’s as good as a confession,” Pidge shrugged. 

“It’s not, but that’s okay.” Hunk sighed. 

In the interrogation room, Allura and Shiro exchanged exasperated looks. Shiro reached for the picture and placed it safely back into the manilla folder. Lotor watched silently, something almost like interest sparked in his gaze. 

“Until you are willing to talk, we have no choice but to keep you imprisoned here,” Allura said. 

Lotor nodded shortly. “I understand.” 

She stood up and moved across the table. Shiro pulled out a pair of handcuffs from his belt as Allura began unfastening the ones around Lotor’s wrists. Deftly, she lifted Lotor to his feet with a surprising display of strength and spun him around, pulling his hands behind his back. Shiro began cuffing his wrists together, while Lotor stared up at the ceiling, almost disinterested. 

“We’ll try to make your stay as accommodating as possible,” Allura told Lotor. Lotor did not appear to care. 

With her palm placed squarely on Lotor’s back, Allura escorted him out of the room with Shiro at her heels. When they came out of the tiny broom closet of a room in between the interrogation room and the observation room, Keith couldn’t help but lift his gaze to see Lotor. Now that there wasn’t a wall of glass separating them, Keith could now clearly see Lotor. 

He could see the hidden pain deep in the blue pools of his eyes. 

Keith watched him, reading him as he watched Lotor. Something was pressing in against the back of his mind. A murky memory, lost to a tide of pain and repressed trauma. Something there that was the answer to all of this, to every single mystery, but Keith didn’t understand any of it. 

The car, the garbled voices, the shirt scrap… all of it had to connect in one way or another. 

If only Keith could remember. 

It wasn’t until the door closed over his face that Keith realized that Lotor was staring back. 

It was 8:00 by the time Shiro and Allura got out their meeting and by then, Keith was starting to understand why coffee had become Hunk’s lifeblood. 

He’d downed nearly five cups in the past four hours, sitting with a seething Lance and a brooding Pidge while Hunk churned out cup after cup of coffee from the machine. Keith was sure he saw Hunk sit down maybe twice since they’d all trooped out of the observation room. He’d sink down in the seat next to Lance and then spring up a moment later to pace and make more coffee. 

Keith stared down into his mug. He knew he looked awful; they all did. The dark circles under Pidge’s eyes were more pronounced and Lance’s hands were shaking. He didn’t see much of Hunk since he was making rounds from the table back to the coffee machine, but Keith did catch a glimpse at how pale and sickly he was looking. 

Keith still had no idea what he looked like, but he thought it’d be much like them. Bags so dark they were like bruises under his eyes, with trembling hands, and a pale face. It wasn’t too hard to imagine. 

Unconsciously, Keith massaged his elbow with his good hand. The pain had been worse recently. Keith had a suspicion it had something to do with the weather. Cold and nearly-severed joints did not go hand-in-hand, Keith thought. 

Lance took an angry swig of coffee and all but slammed his mug down on the table with a loud clang! “He totally did it.” 

Pidge, who had hardly flinched at the noise, nodded in agreement. “There’s no other possibility. Keith recognized him, hell his car even matched.” 

Keith’s heart skipped a beat. Someone had neglected to tell him something. “His car matched?” 

Pidge’s gaze flickered up. She opened her mouth to respond as the break room door began to open. A poor officer was suddenly caught in the crossfire of four different glares (even Hunk) and they backed out as quickly as they had walked in. Pidge pinched the bridge of her nose. 

“When we went to go arrest Lotor, he had a mustang in his garage,” she explained, closing her eyes. She looked exhausted. “It was-” 

“Silver...with a metallic blue stripe over the hood,” Keith suddenly didn’t feel very tired anymore. Pidge nodded, peering at him through her glasses. The lenses flashed. 

“License plate matched up and everything,” she grunted. “If anything, that’s more confirmation that he’s the one.” 

Keith’s headache began to pound at the back of his eyelids again. Wrong, wrong, wrong his brain chanted once more. 

“I…don’t know,” he said slowly. He chose his words carefully, especially with an enraged Lance staring daggers into his mug. “I don’t think that’s it.” 

“Why not?” Hunk asked from across the room. He was pouring himself another mug with trembling hands. The cup was only half-filled before he downed it in one go and then started pouring again. 

“I don’t know,” Keith repeated. He was getting very tired of that sentence. “I just have this...feeling is all. That there’s something more to this that we’re not thinking of.” 

“Well, no offense,” from Lance’s tone, Keith knew he was going to take offense to it. “But all of your memories are gone from that night and in case you haven’t realized, we’re the police . We work off of evidence, not feelings.” 

Keith knew that Lance was just tired and stressed (not to mention pissed off) so he tried not to take the words to heart. They stung nonetheless. 

“I’m serious,” Keith persisted, leaning in a little. His sling swung uselessly. “There’s something more to this case. I think we should consider all the possibilities before we incriminate Lotor and call it case closed.” 

Pidge lifted her cup in both hands and took a long drink. She was silent, contemplating, but whatever she was thinking Keith never got to know. The door pushed open and Shiro stepped in, undeterred by the four glares shot his way. 

“Lotor’s in his cell,” he said. He crossed the room to take the mug Hunk had offered him without even looking. “Allura thinks it’s him but wants me to confirm with the rest of you.” 

“I’m with Allura,” Lance spat. “No t-shirt has Keith’s blood on it and it’s just a coincidence.” 

Keith thought back to the feeling he’d had during the interrogation. Like Lotor hadn’t entirely meant the shirt - that he was implying something bigger. Maybe the entire situation; his way of confessing, however cryptic it was. 

“Hear, hear,” said Pidge and Hunk. Shiro nodded and turned to Keith. His expression softened. 

“Keith?” 

For the first time since he’d met Shiro, Keith found himself hesitating to talk to him. His emotions bubbled just under the surface, practically begging to be said, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it. He nibbled on his lower lip, rubbing circles into his ruined elbow with his thumb. 

“Keith thinks Lotor might be innocent,” Pidge said, deciding to speak for him. Keith turned his head toward her so fast he thought he was going to get whiplash. 

“I didn’t say that!” 

“Yeah,” Pidge drank deeply from her mug and put it back down with an empty click. “But that’s what you’re implying, right?” 

Keith recoiled. He wasn’t sure how to refute the statement, especially since it was almost entirely true. He knew Lotor had a part in the murder - his messy memories and his car basically proved that - but he was almost convinced Lotor was not the serial killer. 

Lotor was not the Butcher terrorizing Altea County. 

“Kind of,” he muttered. “I just...don’t think the killer is him, is all.” 

“And why’s that?” Shiro asked, looking interested. Lance threw his hands into the air. 

“Because feelings!” 

Shiro, unlike Lance, looked deeply perturbed by this revelation. “Feelings?” 

Keith nodded, pressing forward despite his better judgment. “My gut is telling me there’s more to this case. I don’t think we should charge Lotor with all those murders and call it quits. There’s something else about what happened that night. I just...can’t remember what it is.” 

Shiro was silent for a moment. He pressed his lips together, tapping his finger around his coffee mug. Hunk watched him, leaning against the counter with his elbows propped up, taking his weight. Keith held his breath, waiting. 

“My grandfather once told me that feelings are just memories of the past trying to tell you something,” he said. “If you think there’s something more to this case, Keith, then I believe you. I just hope you’re right.” 

“I am right,” Keith had never been more certain about something in his entire life. “And I’ll prove it. Somehow.” 

He looked down at his half-drunk coffee. He’d prove it. He’d prove Lotor wasn’t the killer, he’d prove that there was more to this case than anyone bargained for. He’d do it, or he’d die trying. 

With that grim thought in mind, Keith’s phone began to ring. 

It was a grating noise on Keith’s already tired subconscious and he fished it out of his jacket pocket to make the noise stop as soon as possible. He held the phone to his ear. 

“Hello?” 

“Mr. Kogane? This is Doctor Holt.” 

Keith leaned back in his stiff metal chair. His sling rested against his stomach. “Oh, hey Doctor Holt. What do you need?” 

Pidge perked up at the mention of her father, tilting her head. 

“I just called to let you know that your medication for your elbow is ready,” Doctor Holt said. He sounded distracted, the muffled rustling of papers in the background. “It should be ready for pickup at the pharmacy in the nearby drugstore. Olkari Grocer; you should find it pretty easily.” 

“Okay,” Keith said. “Thanks, Doctor Holt.” 

“Of course,” the doctor on the other end paused and Keith to lift his phone away from his ear to hang up when a tired, worn voice began to speak. “Keith.” 

Keith paused. Doctor Holt had never called him fully by his name, he had always used honorifics. Keith felt compelled to listen now. 

“Yeah?” He said carefully. 

“How are your memories?” Doctor Holt asked. “Have any of them...come back?” 

Keith thought about the voices and the pain and his own hoarse screaming and shivered. “Yeah,” he said again, quietly. “A few.” He looked own at his sling. 

“That’s...good,” Doctor Holt sighed heavily. “Remember to take care of yourself as time progresses. While I know uncovering what happened that night is important, I need you to remember that your mental health matters as well. This will be taxing for you - emotionally and physically.” 

Keith pressed his lips into a thin line. He knew what Doctor Holt was saying was completely true, but…

He had to keep going, to keep pushing himself. While he remembered some things about that night, the most important details eluded him. And he’d never get there by stopping to take a breather. He had to get there now. Before there was another victim. Before there was another him. 

“I know,” Keith said quietly. He spoke his words spoke louder than they were. As if they portrayed Keith’s emotions through the phone. “Thanks, Doctor Holt.” 

“Of course Keith,” he said. A pause and then- “Good luck.” 

Keith’s lips twitched into a smile. “I’ll do my best.” 

“And that is all we ask,” Doctor Holt said. There was a click and then a droning noise. The call had been disconnected. 

Keith dropped his phone in his lap (it got caught in between his sling and his stomach) and rubbed his eyes with his good hand. 

“So?” Pidge said eagerly. “What did Dad want?” 

“Nothing too important,” Keith decided to keep the details of the last half of the conversation to himself. Something about it felt more private than what he was willing to divulge. “Just stuff about my medication for my elbow being ready.” 

“You gonna go get it?” Shiro asked. 

“I don’t see why I wouldn’t,” Keith winced, holding his elbow. “It’ll stop this thing from hurting so I might as well go.” 

“Where did he say it would be?” 

“Olkari Grocer,” Keith said slowly. He’d never heard of that place before in his life. “You guys know it?” 

“I do,” Lance stretched. “It’s a pretty obscure place, so I bet you don’t. I’ll come with you to show you where it is. I don’t have anything better to do.” He shot a dark look in the direction of the holding cells. Keith wondered if Lotor could feel Lance’s malice even from several rooms away. 

“Be safe, you two,” Shiro said. “Head back to the precinct when you’re done. Allura will want to talk to you.” He nodded at Keith. 

“Okay,” Keith said, rising to his feet. Lance did the same. 

“We’ll be careful,” Lance promised. “See you soon, Shiro.” 

Shiro nodded, but his gaze was on Keith. Keith gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile and followed Lance out the door. 

The brisk morning air bit at Keith’s skin. Somewhere in his exhaustion-muddled mind, Keith enjoyed it, but mostly it just served for making his arm twinge with phantom pain. He could not wait to get to the pharmacy and down half the pain medication as soon as he was given the bottle. 

Lance led him silently through the streets, weaving in-between crowds all the while hardly sparing a glance at Keith. He was clearly still sour about the events of the night and if Keith knew Lance like he thought he did, some of that anger would definitely translate through this visit to the pharmacy. 

Lance paused just outside a tiny little store. A small image of a smiling lettuce was emblazoned next to the fluorescent lighting of ‘Olkari Grocer’. The ‘o’ in ‘grocer’ was flickering. Lance practically shoulder-checked the glass doors open and had the grace to at least hold it open for Keith, too. 

The inside of the store was graciously warm. Keith shivered as he walked inside, massaging his elbow and sighing in relief. It didn’t do much to help lessen the pain, but it at least was an escape from the snowstorm brewing outside. 

He picked out the pharmacy pretty quickly and made his way in between the aisles to get to it. Lance followed behind him, hands in his pockets and glaring up at the ceiling. 

The girl at the counter looked a bit concerned at the policeman and tired kid with a sling approaching the pharmacy, but she smiled nonetheless. She was plump, with rosy red cheeks and brown hair pulled into a ponytail. Her name-tag read ‘Shay’. 

“Hello!” she spoke, her tone cheerful. She glanced between Keith and Lance, looking a bit nervous. “How can I help you?” 

“Uh… I’m here to pick up a prescription?” Keith was painfully aware of how awkward he sounded. Lance snorted behind him. 

“Oh, of course!” Shay gave him a gentle smile. “May I get a name?” 

“Uh…” Keith wet his lips. “Keith. Keith Kogane…? Doctor Holt from the hospital should have called it in…” 

Shay nodded. “Give me just a second to find it, okay?” she hurried off in between the rows of paper bags labeled with various names. 

“Wow,” Lance bumped Keith with his hip. “It’s almost like you’ve never interacted with a clerk before.” He paused. “You’re one of those people who just doesn’t speak to the cashier when you go grocery shopping, huh?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Keith said defensively. “I don’t want to tell them about stuff going on in my life, they don’t care anyway!” 

Lance snorted. “As someone who worked in retail for like five years? Can confirm, we do not give a shit.” 

“Exactly!” 

“But in all honesty, customers are dicks,” Lance muttered. “Hunk, Pidge, and I have enough customer stories between us to make an entire book.” Keith winced. He worked at a diner. He understood how demanding and taxing customers could be sometimes. 

“I know that feeling,” he murmured, wondering if he had been fired from his job. It had been nearly a month since he’d shown up for a shift, after all. He paused and turned to Lance, frowning. “Doesn’t Shiro have any retail stories?” 

“Nope,” Lance shook his head. “He was given a full-ride to Garrison State, including living expenses because they were so desperate to get him there. He majored in literature, if you can believe it, and decided to go into the academy after he encountered a few officers on campus. The rest is history.” 

Keith hummed. It felt odd to be learning about Shiro from an outside perspective. He glanced at Lance out of the corner of his eye as Shay sprinted to the other side of the pharmacy, muttering something about ‘looking in the wrong section again’. 

“What about you?” he asked. 

“What about me?” Lance echoed, raising an eyebrow. 

“How’d you get with the department?” Keith asked. He picked at a bit of lint hanging off of his sling and glared at it between his fingers. 

“Are you asking for my life story, Mullet?” Lance leaned forward so Keith could fully see the shit-eating grin plastered over his face. Keith shrugged. 

“If you’re willing to tell it.” 

Lance laughed and leaned against the counter. “It’s kind of boring, honestly. I was born a middle child of the McClain family in Varadero, Cuba. We moved to the States when I was just about eight years old and knew about as much English as you’d expect.” He snorted. “When I graduated high school, I was accepted into Garrison State but my parents didn’t have enough money to support me so I just ended up working odd jobs and applying for scholarships. I still have a few student loans to pay off, but I’ll get it covered.” He shrugged, settling his chin in his hand. “I found out, for some reason, I was kind of obsessed with forensics. I just liked the idea of using science to solve crimes and I’ve always been really good at science. So I did that for literal years, and graduated with my PhD a little before your…” he paused, searching for the right words. “ Accident. Altea Police Department took me in and here we are today.” He smiled a little lazily at Keith, looking much more relaxed than he’d been just a few minutes earlier. Keith could only pray Lotor was now just a distant thought at the back of his mind. 

“Not gonna lie,” Keith hummed, tapping his fingers idly against the counter. The unbearable ache in his elbow had turned into a dull throb. “I still can’t believe you have a PhD.” 

“Yeah, well, I worked hard to get it,” Lance said. “Didn’t take any gap years, hardly slept. You know how Hunk worked at Starbucks, right? Well, he was my literal lifesaver. Gave me free coffees even though he wasn’t allowed to.” 

“You two sound close,” Keith remarked. He couldn’t help feeling jealous - he’d never had a friend like Hunk. He was fairly sure he’d never had any friends, at least not any real ones. 

“Yeah,” Lance said. “Childhood best friends. Kind of funny we also ended up as coworkers.” he sighed, turning his head. “Your turn, Mullet.” 

Keith, still annoyed by the nickname, frowned at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I told you my life story, you tell me yours.” 

Keith’s fingers stilled on the countertop. He sincerely regretted asking Lance such a personal question - it was an open door into his own experiences. What was he even supposed to say? He couldn’t exactly confess that he was a foster kid that had bounced in and out of homes since his dad died and ran away the moment he graduated high school to make a life for himself. He doubted it’d look very good on Lance’s already tarnished vision of him. 

Luckily, Keith was saved from answering by the blessed visage of Shay, coming back with a tiny white paper-bag in her hand. 

“Sorry for the wait,” she apologized. “Pain medication, right?” 

“Yeah,” Keith pulled out his wallet awkwardly with one hand and flipped through it to find his debit card and paid for it. “Thanks.” 

“Of course,” Shay smiled as he paid and took the package with his remaining hand. “Have a good day.” Keith nodded and smiled, stepping away from the counter. 

“You too!” Lance drawled, waving over his shoulder. He jogged to catch up with Keith, who was weaving in-between the aisles again. “Hey, Mullet! You didn’t answer me!” 

And I don’t want to, either, Keith thought, eyeing Lance out of the corner of his eye. 

But, Lance was ever so persistent as Keith made a beeline for the water fountain and pinned the paper bag in between his hip at the stainless steel of the fountain. He tore it open and pulled out the bottle, frowning as he debated on how on Earth he was going to get it open. Lance huffed next to him, taking the bottle and popping it open. He poured a few pills into his palm and dropped them into Keith’s. 

“Tell me,” he pressed as Keith downed the pills with a shock of cold fountain water. 

“It’s not a happy story,” Keith warned. 

Lance shrugged. “Neither are a lot of our stories but at least they’re still interesting.” Keith snorted. He wondered how long it would take for the medication to kick in as he shoved the orange pill bottle into his jacket pocket and began heading for the door. 

Keith pursed his lips. He’d keep it short and simple - the way he liked it. “My dad died when I was a kid, my mom left before I knew her. Was bounced around in foster homes until I was old enough to leave on my own. Flash forward a few years, I’m attacked by a serial killer and found half-dead in an alleyway.” 

Lance frowned. “Wow, Keith, I-”

“Don’t,” Keith scowled. He was all too familiar with the pity he was about to receive. He’d gotten it far too much after his dad had died and then everyone stopped caring as soon as he was thrown into his first home. 

Graciously, Lance didn’t press as they exited the store. The morning bustle had luckily died down and the streets were less crowded. Keith’s eyelids were starting to hurt, reminding him of how much he wanted to return home to take the nap and get the sleep he was denied. He scowled. 

Remembering correctly, it was Lance who had woken him and threatened to come to bother him at his apartment. Keith glared at him. Lance was quick to notice. 

“What?” 

“I still haven’t forgotten.” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Lance arched an eyebrow. 

“This morning,” Keith said. “You woke me up.” 

“With good reason!” 

“You blasted music into my ear!”

“How else was I supposed to get you up?!” Lance threw his hands into the air. 

“Literally any other way!” Keith scowled. Lance pinched the bridge of his nose, somehow managing to squeeze his way in between a couple making for a coffee shop. 

“Okay, look, man, I’ve been up all night,” he said. “Don’t even start with the ‘I’m tired and it’s your fault’ bullshit, I’ve been awake for like seven hours longer than you have.” 

“And what have you been doing those hours?” Keith asked. “Because if I remember correctly, all you’ve done is complain about Lotor.” 

“I’ll have you know I went with everyone to arrest him and it was not easy,” Lance said. “Guy had a security system from hell!” 

Keith snorted. “Excuses.” 

Lance rolled his eyes. “Y’know, for the victim of attempted murder, you’re a real pain in the ass.” 

Keith turned his head away. He was still sour about earlier in the morning, but some of the prominent tension between the two had finally faded. It was easier walking beside Lance now that it had been cleared away. The silence that now stretched between them was comfortable rather than suffocating. It was - dare he say it - pleasant. 

Lance turned the corner, the precinct looming in the distance. It looked far less inviting now that it wasn’t the middle of the night and Keith didn’t feel like he was being chased. 

A shudder danced up Keith’s spine and out of pure paranoia, he looked behind him. The only thing staring back at him were the people bustling along behind them and the retreating backs of pedestrians. No malicious murderers intent on revenge. 

Who would try to commit a murder in broad daylight, anyways? 

Lance sighed. His breath came out in a wispy cloud in the frigid December air. “...do you really think he didn’t do it?” 

Keith didn’t answer. He knew how it looked from Lance’s perspective. The car, the fabric strip, all of it lined up to Lotor being the infamous Butcher of Altea County. There were no other leads, so it had to be him. 

But…

There was still that lingering feeling of doubt. That wrongwrongwrong pull in Keith’s gut every time it was brought up. There was more to this case - of that, Keith had never been more certain in his entire life. 

“Yes,” he said confidently. Even though the odds were stacked against him, Keith knew he was right. Lotor had been there, yes, but he was not the culprit. He was a spectator to the crime - someone who knew all the answers but wasn’t willing to divulge them. Such a predictable continuation to this mystery. 

A coincidence, Lotor hummed in the back of his head. 

Keith was starting to think that he was telling the truth. 

Allura and Shiro were waiting when Lance and Keith entered the precinct. Allura motioned to Keith as he entered and Lance bade him farewell before going to join Hunk and Pidge, who were still holed up inside the break room. Keith, meanwhile, approached Shiro and Allura who both looked far more composed then they had this morning. 

Shiro gave Keith a tired smile. “Get the medication?” 

“Yeah,” Keith patted his pocket. “I took some while we were there.”

“How’s your elbow?” Shiro asked. Keith tilted his head, realizing with a start he couldn’t feel the pain anymore. The medication had dulled it, practically turning it nonexistent. It was a welcome change from the ache it had been the past few weeks. 

“Better,” he said with a smile. “Still can’t use it, but it doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

Shiro looked genuinely relieved. “Good.” 

Allura cleared her throat awkwardly and took a step toward Keith. Her hands were clasped neatly in front of her. “Keith, may I speak to you in my office?” 

“Uh…” Keith glanced at Shiro, who gave him a reassuring nod. “Sure.” 

Allura smiled and turned briskly on her heel to head towards the office at the back of the precinct. Her heels clicked with every step. It occurred to Keith as he followed her that he’d never been inside her office. Shiro had tried to on his first day at department, but Allura had been with Pidge. What kind of personal effects would Allura have in there? She seemed like the type to have photos of her family and friends, along with several scented candles lit to give the whole room a pleasing aroma. 

Lost in thought, Keith hadn’t even realized he’d been escorted into Allura’s office until he smelled lavender and almost recoiled. 

The office was barer than he was expecting. Sure, there was a bookshelf nestled behind a large mahogany desk that looked like it had seen better days, but most of the books looked like they’d been left untouched for months, maybe even years. There were only two personal items of note - a picture of Allura’s graduating class from the Police Academy hung on the wall behind her desk and a second smaller picture frame tilted toward her computer. Keith had a savage urge to take it and see what it was but he restrained himself. 

He sank down into one of two seats with uncomfortable cushions across from Allura’s desk. Shiro sat next to him while Allura sank down into an enormous black office chair. It hilariously dwarfed her in size and Keith bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. She lost a lot of her picture-perfect visage sitting in a chair that she looked so small in. 

Allura placed her hands down on her desk. Her expression was serious. “Keith, I want you to be sure of something before we start. We have the right man. There is no doubt in my mind that Lotor is the culprit we’ve been looking for.” 

A crease divoted Keith’s forehead. Allura, too? Was he the only one in the precinct that believed in Lotor’s innocence? Or, at the very least, his partial innocence? 

“With all due respect,” Keith said. He sat up a little straighter, curling his hand into a fist. “I don’t think it’s him.” 

Allura’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “You don’t?” 

“No,” Keith said. “I just… there’s something else we’re missing. I’m almost confident that there’s so much more to this. But it is just a feeling and Lance has kind of made it clear how you guys feel about stuff like that.” 

Allura leaned back, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyebrows knitted in thought and Keith wondered if that was just a normal look for her when she was considering something. 

“Shiro?” Allura spoke and Shiro sat up a little straighter in his chair. “What do you think?” 

Shiro worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “I can’t say. I don’t have evidence to conclude Lotor isn’t the culprit but...I want to believe in Keith.” 

Keith’s heart swelled with an emotion he couldn’t quite describe. 

Shiro wanted to believe in him. Nobody had ever done that for him before. It was something new, something that made Keith feel warm and fuzzy. Shiro believed in him. He believed in those lost memories, in the feeling that made Keith ever so certain Lotor was not the one to blame. Keith was more determined than ever to restore every memory of that night - that way he didn’t let Shiro down. 

“I see,” Allura sighed wearily. “Although, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t convinced. There’s a lot of evidence - almost too much - that points to Lotor. His car, his DNA, that scrap of fabric…” she sighed. “It is no mere coincidence as he is trying to lead us to believe.” 

Keith throat suddenly felt very dry. “What if...Lotor wasn’t talking about the fabric scrap when he called it a coincidence?” Both Shiro and Allura looked at him in disbelief. It was the most ludicrous thing he’d suggested since Lotor had been detained, but it was a feeling Keith was not able to banish entirely. 

“What do you mean?” Shiro asked. 

“It’s...another feeling,” Keith admitted. He looked up to the ceiling, drumming his fingers on his sling. “And I know this sounds dumb, but I just…I don’t think Lotor was entirely talking about the shirt.” 

“What else could he have been talking about?” Allura said. “It was an answer to a question, one that was hard to dodge.” 

“I-I know,” Keith said quickly. “But I got this feeling that maybe he wasn’t talking about his shirt being there but rather him being there. Like at the scene that day.” 

Shiro’s expression dawned with comprehension. “Oh.” 

Keith nodded once. “What if he was talking about the attack? That him being there in the alleyway with me and the killer...it was all a coincidence?” 

Allura’s lips tilted into a frown. “I hadn’t considered that.” 

“Me neither,” Shiro agreed. 

“There’s another thing,” Keith said. “Wh-When I saw Lotor, I recognized him. Which is just another thing to help prove that he’s the killer, but the memory I got he...he didn’t look angry or psychotic or anything. He looked scared.” 

There was no mistaking that memory now. That open-mouthed horror of Lotor’s face staring down at him. The memory was still blurry and fractured, but the face staring down at him was absolutely Lotor. 

If Lotor truly was the killer, why would he look so stricken at the thought of his own victim in agony? Unless he was doing the act unconsciously (which Keith found unlikely) there was no reason for him to look so genuinely disturbed by the scene taking place in front of his very eyes. 

“Scared?” Allura’s eyebrows were climbing into her hair. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive,” Keith said firmly. “It doesn’t make sense, right?” 

“No, it doesn’t,” Allura mused. “Perhaps he was coerced into it? Someone else could have been forcing him to...attack you.” 

“In that case, that still shows that Lotor is just another victim in this,” Keith pressed. “Like me.” 

Allura smiled wryly. “I think you and Lotor are a little different circumstance-wise here. And besides, if he were forced into this, then that doesn’t mean he is completely blameless.” 

“But that settles it, right?” Keith was now sitting on the edge of his uncomfortable seat. “The killer...the Butcher can’t be Lotor, right?” 

He was almost desperate to have Allura agree with him. This was monumentous, a breakthrough in the case that, despite putting them back to square one, eliminated a prime suspect. 

“Yes, that does...appear to be the case,” Allura sighed. 

“Then that means that Lotor knows more than what he’s letting on,” Shiro folded his arms. He looked annoyed. “Which we figured from the beginning. This means we’ll have to interrogate him again and be more forceful this time.” 

“I don’t think that’ll work,” Keith said. “Lotor he… something tells me he won’t cave so easily. He pled the fifth, after all, so he has to know something that might put him behind bars.” 

Allura pulled her cloud hair over her shoulder and ran her fingers through it. She looked distant, lost in a thought that was clearly troubling her. She opened her mouth to speak once more when the door burst open. 

Hunk leaped in, his expression wild and panicked. Ice flooded Keith’s veins. 

Oh no. 

“So sorry!” Hunk gasped for air. “But we got something. Something new--something huge-” 

“What is it?” Shiro was quick to stand. 

“A-An anonymous call was just made to the station,” Hunk said. He glanced between Keith and Shiro almost nervously. “They gave us a tip. A huge tip.” 

Allura had risen from her seat now, too. Keith followed suit. 

“What did they say?” Keith asked. He wasn’t sure why he was afraid to know the answer. Hunk wet his lips, weighing his words before he finally spoke.

“Someone saw you the night you were attacked,” he said. Almost instantly, a headache began to pound at the back of Keith’s eyelids. “Y-You were with two people and were trying to stop something between them. The caller didn’t get a good look at either of the culprit’s faces, but recognized yours after she saw you on the news.” 

“Where did I go with these people?” Keith’s temples were throbbing. Another memory was clawing at him, a distant hum of two distinct voices that he could hardly recognize. Familiar and yet so unfamiliar at the same time. One was angry. The other seemed to be pleading. A feeling of being uncomfortable, standing amidst a conversation he wasn’t supposed to hear. Then fear and then-

Nothing. 

Hunk wrung his trembling hands. “You followed them into that alleyway between those two bars. A few hours later, you were found there half-dead.” 

Keith’s throat tightened. He felt like vomiting and crying all at the same time. He didn’t understand. Why had he followed two clearly suspicious men into a clearly suspicious alleyway? Had he trusted them? Had he been assured of their legitimacy to help him before they turned and stabbed him in the back, both literally and metaphorically? 

The headache worsened. His vision was starting to grow blurry. He was so close to remembering. 

Why couldn’t he just know all the secrets already? 

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice sounded far away, but Keith managed to latch onto it. He used the soothing tones to ground himself before he succumbed to the incoming panic squeezing his chest. 

Hunk was now snapping both fingers in response to Keith’s distress. “I-It might be fake though, we get stuff like that all the time. People claiming to see stuff or even saying they’re the serial killer for a bit of media attention. This might be the same thing-” 

“No,” Keith’s voice sounded oddly thick. “No, it’s true. It has to be. I-It just...it explains the voices.” 

“The voices?” 

“I-I remembered two garbled voices from that night, both before and during the attack,” Keith said. “I don’t know either of them, but one of them was furious. The other one was too, but it sounded more scared than angry. I’m pretty sure that second voice was Lotor.” 

Allura hummed. She tucked her thumb under her chin, finger curling over the swell of her jaw. “A coincidence indeed,” she murmured. 

“God, I-” Keith stumbled. He threw out his sling awkwardly to catch him and ended up spinning gracelessly to use his remaining good arm to steady himself against Allura’s desk. He felt nauseous. 

“Hey, whoa,” Shiro caught Keith as he began to tilt over sideways. “You should head home, Keith. It’s been a long day and you’ve been up for a while.” 

Somewhere in the far reaches of his mind that was still functioning over the pounding of his head agreed. Perhaps the headache was only amplified due to a lack of sleep and the caffeine rush finally fading from his system. 

He needed a nap - and a long one at that - to process all of today. 

“Okay,” he managed to say. The world spun violently around him as he stepped away from Shiro and tried to move toward the door. Hunk stepped aside to give him more room. Keith nearly toppled over again, but Shiro was there once more to brace Keith against his chest. Keith shut his eyes, his throat tightened. He stood there, leaning heavily against Shiro until the world finally stopped spinning. Until the pastel browns and blues solidified into the colors of Allura’s office. 

“I’ll walk him home,” Shiro murmured. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes or so.” 

“Sounds good,” Allura said. “Make sure he makes it to bed alright.” 

“I will.”

“And leave him pain medication and stuff,” Hunk added anxiously. “And some water too to maybe help. And-” 

“I’ll take care of him, Hunk,” Shiro promised. Hunk smiled thinly. Shiro began helping Keith out of the office, trying his best to ignore the stares and murmurs he was attracting from the other officers.

Keith left the precinct stumbling.

Chapter Text

Returning to his regular life was surreal. 

For one, walking into the diner on Monday morning only to find out he hadn’t been fired and his coworkers had all be very concerned for him was a bit of a surprise. His manager had pulled him aside the moment he’d walked into the door and demanded to know if he was fit to be working. Keith, who’d downed three pills this morning from his medication to stop the awful pain in his elbow, shrugged and didn’t really have an answer for her. No one at the precinct had called him and Lance had graciously let him sleep through the last few nights, so he had assumed he could return to his daily life and go in when needed. 

His manager pursed her lips, glanced at Keith’s elbow, and gave him dishes duty. It was a drastic change from what Keith was used to (normally he gave out kid’s menus to fourteen-year-olds whose parents were trying to pass them off as ten) but he wasn’t complaining. It was a bit awkward trying to wrestle plates into the dishwasher, but it didn’t require him to use both his hands. 

However away from his coworkers he was, he was still the talk of the entire diner. People buzzed about him, asking questions here and there but they never confronted him directly what had happened. They’d seen bits and pieces on the news (likely his face flashed over and exaggerated headline) and knew an arrest had been made but Keith knew he wasn’t allowed to say who it was. He avoided all the questions, told them he didn’t remember much about what had happened and that was that. Nothing about Lotor, the garbled memories, or his suspicions about Lotor’s true involvement in what transpired that night. 

Keith sighed heavily, leaning against the counter with his good hand. A mountain of dishes sat beside him, covered in smears of ketchup and grease. He felt exhausted. It was worse than normal, with a distant headache that pounded just under the surface of his eyelids. He was beginning to think it was a mistake to come in today, especially as a waiter came in with a pile of dishes and gave him a concerned look before returning to the job. 

He was so tired. 

Maybe it had something to do with how hard he’d been pushing himself. Or maybe it was the stress of everything finally catching up to him. Whatever it was, Keith was tempted to just take a nap on the filthy diner floor. But he’d come so far in such a short amount of time. He couldn’t stop halfway. He had to keep going, keep pushing before he lost those memories forever. Before the Butcher struck again. Before there was a second survivor who’d lost all their memories and was just as stuck as he was. No matter what, Keith couldn’t allow that to happen. 

He pushed himself away from the sink and out of the kitchen, wiping his hand on a dishtowel as he went. He approached his manager on the far side of the diner, intending to take his break when he saw the TV. It was a rerun of an earlier news broadcast, but the person on the screen was unmistakably Coran. Shiro and Allura flanked him on either side, looking as professional as ever. 

“Yes, an arrest has been made at this time,” Coran was saying uncomfortably. He drummed his fingers against his podium, a cluster of microphones all pointed at his face. “We have no bearing on whether or not they are the Butcher, but our...erm... witness has given us reason to believe so.” 

Keith could practically feel the gazes of his coworkers on him. He pursed his lips, ignoring them in favor of pretending like the television was the most interesting thing he’d seen all day. It wasn’t hard. 

It appeared Allura and Shiro had either asked Coran to keep Keith’s suspicions about Lotor silent or had kept their conversation to themselves. Keith suspected the former, as he had already confided with the rest of the detectives on the case of how he felt about their so-called suspect. Besides, it seemed Allura and Coran were close, so there was no way she’d keep him out of the loop of something so important. 

“Rumors have been circulating that the one arrested was a previous criminal who’d escaped charges on good behavior,” a reporter called. “Can you confirm or deny the validity of this statement?” 

“No further information about the suspect can be released at this time,” Coran said. Keith was surprised by his professionalism. Despite how nervous he looked, he handled the questions with ease. Were it him up there, Keith was sure he’d be unable to keep his cool. Coran must have been doing this for years. 

The overhead bell from the doors chimed behind them and the staff leapt back into action. They averted their gazes from Keith and tried to pretend like they all hadn’t been staring at him for the better part of five minutes. Keith looked down, cursing under his breath. He really shouldn’t have come in today. 

“-no, thank you, we’re here on official business.” 

Keith’s breath hitched. He knew that voice. 

Turning his head to the front Keith met Shiro’s gaze. Lance stood beside him, hands in his pockets and glancing curiously around the diner. 

“Oh, I see him,” Shiro smiled politely at the hostess. “Excuse me.” He made his way around her and started heading toward Keith. Lance followed behind him, the hostess gaping after them. 

“You went back to work,” Shiro said as he stopped in front of Keith and looked him up and down. 

“Yeah,” Keith thought that was pretty obvious. “Were you looking for me?” 

Shiro nodded. “Yeah. Lance and I dropped by your apartment, but you weren’t there. We figured you’d gone back to work and had to look up your file to see where it was.” 

“It took like an hour dude,” Lance chimed in. “Why does this dinky little place have to be so hard to find?” 

Keith thought the diner was not obscure (you could see it from the road) but decided not to say that. Instead, he picked at his sling and frowned at Shiro. 

“What do you need?” 

Shiro glanced around like someone was eavesdropping. Honestly, with how curious his coworkers were, Keith wouldn’t be surprised if they were. 

“It’s better if we talk outside,” Shiro said. “Coran’s got the engine running. Let’s hurry.” 

Keith made a face. He’d had no intentions of getting into a car with Coran ever again, but it looked like he wasn’t getting a choice in the matter. Wordlessly, he followed Lance and Shiro out to the parking lot, where Coran was sitting with his feet propped on the dashboard in a police cruiser. Keith stared at him for a moment. How was the cool, level-headed person he’d just seen in any way the eccentric police officer who was currently doing a word search? The two sides of him were so drastically different, Keith was hardly convinced they were the same person. 

Lance opened the passenger side door and plopped into the seat. Coran put his word search down with a smile as Shiro and Keith climbed in the back. 

“Hello, lad!” He said with a cheerful smile directed at Keith.  

“Uh, hi,” Keith wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I...uh…I saw the press conference.” 

“Did you now?” Coran seemed quite pleased. “I did put on a good show, there! There’s so much we can’t say to the public right now, especially when it comes who we arrested and your claim about him.” 

Keith paused. It seemed Coran did know about his feelings towards Lotor and had been asked to keep it a secret from the public. So much of this case was full of gray areas. Keith understood the frustration and curiosity of his coworkers somewhat. After all, he was the witness Coran had spoke of and he still had no idea what had happened that night in the alley. 

“Yeah,” Keith said. “I get what you mean. We’d cause panic if they knew that we’d probably arrested the wrong guy.” 

“Keyword, probably,” Lance snarked. Keith shot him a glare, already well aware of how Lance felt about this. Regardless of what Keith had said on the way back to the precinct, he’d failed to sway Lance’s stance on the matter. 

“Yeah,” Keith shot back. “Probably. And if there’s even a slim possibility that Lotor isn’t the right guy, we have to take that into account. We can’t afford to make mistakes.”

“Keith’s right,” Shiro agreed. “This is a serial killer case, after all. Anything and everything could go wrong at any time. We have to be thorough or risk letting the killer walk free.” 

Lance huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “You guys owe me like a hundred bucks if it turns out to be him.” 

“Seatbelt,” Coran reprimanded him as he cruised through the parking lot. Lance sighed and did as he was told. 

Keith, grateful for the absence of Katy Perry this time around, turned to Shiro. “So, what’s going on?” 

Shiro knitted his eyebrows. “It’s...a little weird. We want you to come with us to some kind of storage facility.” 

“A...storage facility?” 

“Yeah,” Lance turned around in his seat, planting his palm on the armrest. “Apparently it's used by a lot of companies in the area you were almost murdered. Specifically, there’s like an electronics shop that uses it. Allura wanted us to investigate since it’s probably connected to the shop you went to.” 

“Makes sense,” Keith said. “Is it nearby where...you know...” He didn’t want to say it out loud. Just thinking of the alleyway made him feel sick. 

“Yup,” Shiro said. “Suspiciously close, actually. It’s literally behind the two bars in that area with just a white fence gating it. Assuming our killer is as strong as we’ve been lead to believe, they could climb that fence with no problems.” 

“Wow,” Lance said loudly. “It’s almost like Lotor fits that profile perfectly or something.” 

Shiro sighed. “Lance.” 

Lance lifted his hands in surrender. “I’m just saying.” 

Coran wildly turned a corner. Keith glanced around at the buildings around him. The area was shabby and in wild need of repair. The road was winding, twisting off into the gated storage facility beyond. 

“Forensics already searched this place weeks ago,” Shiro said. “They quarantined the area and searched it but it didn’t turn up anything so they assumed it didn’t have anything to do with what happened. But after what happened at the actual site...Allura and I were hoping you would find something. Like last time.” 

Keith frowned. That made some kind of awful sense. He had, after all, made a breakthrough in the case with the memory of the ripping shirt. They’d managed to arrest a suspect who knew more about the attempted murder than he was letting on. 

Coran drove up to the checkpoint and the security guard regarded them with a dull expression. 

“ID and business please,” he said in a monotone drawl as Coran rolled down the window and rested his arm on the sill. 

“Ah, no need, actually,” he said with a tight smile. He flashed his badge with a quick roll of his wrist. “Altea Police Department. We need in for investigative purposes.” 

The guard’s expression shifted almost instantly. “Investigative purposes?” His gaze wandered into the car, fixing on Lance, Shiro, and finally Keith. Keith thought they must have looked very strange. Three guys in police uniforms and one wearing a black and white striped t-shirt that forever smelled of syrup, no matter how many times Keith tried to wash it. 

Investigative purposes indeed...

“We have reason to believe this place may hold critical evidence for a case,” Coran tilted his head. “If you refuse us entry, I will return with a warrant.” 

The guard fumbled to hit the button to release the gate. “O-Of course I’ll let you in.” He paused. “A-And it’s just policy but I’ll have to remind you to be out before five. We’re closed after that.” 

“Of course,” Coran said pleasantly. “Thank you and have an absolutely stellar day.” 

“Uh...thank you, sir,” the guard looked bemused as the gate slid open. Keith made eye contact with him as Coran drove inside. 

A low voice, deep eyes that held no remorse gazed upon him, heavy breathing ghosting over his skin-

Keith gasped loudly and keeled forward, threading the fingers of his good hand through his hair. Shiro looked considerably alarmed. 

“Keith!” 

Keith could not find the strength to reply. What had he just seen? Was it the moment of truth that night? When the killer leaned back with a knife pointed at his abdomen? Keith wasn’t sure. 

“’m okay,” he said through gritted teeth. He was not okay. The memory pulsed in the back of his head, incomplete and taunting. He forced himself to focus, to pull at the memory before it could escape him completely. He needed to know more - remember more. 

The eyes returned. The heavy breathing warming his blood-soaked face. 

“--too late...hide the knife…warehouse.” 

Keith sucked himself back into reality. He wished he’d brought painkillers with him to help cope with his raging headache. He tried to compare the pain to something - maybe someone with enormous hands taking his brain in-between their fists and squeezing. It was a pretty accurate comparison. 

“Mullet? Buddy?” Lance called. His voice was far too loud for Keith’s liking and his eyebrows were knitted in concern. “Keith?” 

Keith swallowed thickly. “I said I was fine,” he said even though knew how unconvincing and weak he sounded.

“We can turn around,” Shiro said. “Come back another day. It’s really not an issue-” 

“No,” Keith said firmly. Carefully, he released the death-grip he had on his hair and lifted his head.

Shiro drummed his fingers against his thigh. “Really, it’s no big deal-” 

“It is to me!” Keith hadn’t meant to snap at Shiro, but the constant headaches were starting to piss him off. He lowered his voice, averting his gaze from Shiro to stare holes into Lance’s headrest in front of him. “I... have to do this, Shiro. I have to find answers.” He paused to take a deep breath to soothe his headache. It didn’t work. “It’s fine. We’re in the right place.” 

Coran gave Keith a frown in the rearview mirror, but to his credit, he did not turn around. Instead, he began observing the warehouses they passed. 

“We’re looking for numbers twenty-five through thirty-five,” he said. “One of those belongs to the electronics shop nearby where Keith was found.” 

Keith nodded once and the ride settled into an uncomfortable silence. Keith pointedly tried to ignore the looks Shiro kept giving them, trying to keep track of the numbers that passed by. But, due to his raging headache, he saw the numbers but didn’t really engrain them into his memory to keep track of what row they were in. He saw numbers and that was kind of it. Luckily, though, Lance was already on it. 

“There,” he said. His nose was practically pressed to the window, a finger smudging the clear glass. His breath fogged it and Keith was painfully reminded of how cold it was outside. Coran hummed in acknowledgment and pulled over, right next to Warehouse 35. Keith stared up at the number for a full minute before finally comprehending what it meant. He reached for the door and fumbled, misjudging where the latch was. When he found it, he gripped it with far more strength than what was probably necessary. Gathering his wits, Keith took a deep breath and eased the door open. 

Lance was already out and in full forensics mode, snapping a pair of rubber gloves over his hands and awkwardly shimmying into a white full bodysuit Coran had fished from the trunk. Keith half wanted to laugh at the piece of stubborn brown hair that had plastered itself to Lance’s forehead but held it back after his head throbbed painfully. Behind him, Shiro’s closed his door. 

“This is the right place,” Keith said again. He looked at Shiro but didn’t quite meet his eyes. 

“Another memory?” Shiro guessed. His tone was melancholy. 

Keith nodded and did not respond. 

Coran tugged on his lip as he glanced around. “Number thirty-nine should be the warehouse in question,” he said. “That seems like a good place to start.” 

“If you find anything, don’t touch it,” Lance warned. “But the chances are pretty slim. I already went through this place pretty thoroughly. I don’t think we missed anything. But...if you think we’re in the right place…” he shrugged. “I’m not saying no to a second look.” 

Keith nodded and followed Coran down the sidewalk. He counted the warehouses as they passed, trying to force himself to focus. His head was absolutely killing him. He hadn’t even realized he’d walked right past the warehouse in question until Coran reached out to snatch his arm. 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” He asked, his voice low. 

Keith nodded shortly and his head spun. “I forced myself to remember something,” he said, voice low. “They wanted to hide the knife here...somewhere.” He didn’t elaborate any further and instead took a few unsteady steps to the right. He could see a stack of boxes from where he was standing, precariously perched in between two warehouses. Coran watched him, narrowing his eyes. 

“Well, if you so need we can come back later,” Coran said carefully but Keith shook his head. 

“I’ll be fine,” he said even as his head pulsed with another unbelievable ache. “Hey...have those boxes always been there?” He directed the question at Lance, who was making a show of inspecting the wall of the warehouse. He glanced up and followed Keith’s gaze to the boxes. 

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “They’re not anything important, though. Just some stuff for the bars. Probably full of beer glasses or something.” 

Keith knew that there wasn’t any value in investigating something that likely didn’t mean anything, but couldn’t help but feel compelled to look at the boxes anyways. This was his own murder he was talking about. Anything was worth looking into. 

He made his way to the boxes, his sneakers crunching in the snow. He sorely wished he’d had the forethought to bring his coat with him from the diner, but he had forgotten it on the coat rack. 

He brushed snow off of the first box. It was damp and caving in on itself and Keith could see a glitter of glass from inside. There wasn’t anything suspicious about it, and yet…

Keith ducked around the side. Two of the boxes immediately stood out to him. They looked oddly out of place, like they’d been moved recently. One box was leaning against the other, one on top balanced precariously on the edge. Keith reached up to grab one and then paused as his elbow twinged. He’d never be able to get these glasses down by himself. He’d probably drop them and cause hundreds of dollars in property damage. So, nope. Not happening. 

Craning his neck, Keith glanced behind him to see if one of the others could help. Shiro had vanished inside the warehouse for the electronics store and Coran was calling out objects of interest for him to look at. Lance was pretending to be very interested in the wall, running one of his rubber glove-clad fingers over the snow on the wall and letting it pile onto the ground. 

Keith had to resist rolling his eyes. “Hey, Lance.” 

At his call, Lance turned his head to look. “Hm?” 

“Can you help me with this?” 

“I’m busy, Mullet,” Lance gestured to the wall. “Can’t you see? 

“Uh-huh,” Keith didn’t have a PhD, nor did he know anything about forensics, but he was pretty sure Lance wasn’t doing anything of utmost importance. “Can you come help? I need to move these boxes.” 

“These?” Lance stepped away to stand next to Keith. “Can’t you just-” he looked at Keith’s sling and his mouth snapped shut. “Nevermind. Yeah, give me a second.” 

For being long and lanky, Lance was surprisingly strong. He began lifting the boxes one by one and slid them onto the snow carefully. The glass inside clinked together with every one lifted. 

Keith shuffled awkwardly, feeling out of place and useless as Lance worked. If his arm were working, he could have probably gotten this done before Lance, but it did have a chunk missing out of it. 

The fading headache decided to rear its ugly head again when Keith thought about his elbow. He hissed and pressed his hand to his temple. He tried fruitlessly to will the migraine away, but it seemed to come back with a vengeance. 

Lance set the last box down. “There. Done. Now-” he cut himself off very suddenly. “Holy shit.” 

Keith turned around, wondering what he had unearthed and went very still. 

Hidden by the boxes was a knife. Dried blood covered the surface, rust-colored and gross. 

It didn’t take long for Keith to figure out what it was. 

He stumbled backward, headache flaring anew. Suddenly he was watching that knife come down over and over, carve out his insides, blood was staining his skin and his clothes red-

He knocked into the wall with a loud clang. It managed to jar him enough out of the memory that his vision cleared. He kept his gaze fixed on the knife, his breathing quick. He wrapped his good arm around himself, desperate to wreathe some kind of comfort from it. 

He felt sick just looking at the knife. 

There was so much blood on the blade that it had splattered up on the handle in random long strips. They cut off at points and Keith could imagine where the killer had gripped the handle. How much of his blood had been on the Butcher’s hands that night? 

Keith turned his head and vomited. 

He retched until his stomach had nothing left to give. He was left awkwardly supporting himself on one elbow, staring dizzyingly down at the contents of his own stomach. His whole body was shivering, but it wasn’t from the cold. 

Lance had wisely picked up the knife with his back angled so Keith could no longer see. Coran was next to him and Shiro-

Shiro was squatting next to him, his hand on Keith’s back. He was rubbing, a soothing back and forth motion that Keith was a lot more grateful for then he’d ever admit. 

“That’s the murder weapon, alright,” he heard Lance say. “I’ll get that tested but...I’m pretty sure we all know what the results are gonna be.” His shoulders were drawn up to his neck. He was tense in a way that Keith had never seen before. “I can’t believe we missed this.” 

“It’s not your fault,” Shiro said. He began rubbing circles into Keith’s spine with his thumb. “We should head back. I’ll drop you guys off at the precinct and take Keith home.” 

Home. 

His bed sounded like a godsend at the moment. Keith wanted to collapse into his blankets and pillows and never come out. He’d known recovering his memories would be hard but-

Keith shivered as he thought about the ropes of his own blood staining a knife plunging into his flesh. He swallowed back another wave of bile. 

He never thought it would be this hard. 

They staggered back to the car. Coran drove them to the precinct and graciously, he avoided driving like a madman to spare Keith’s head and stomach. Lance had the knife in an evidence bag sitting in his lap, but he hadn’t spoken the whole ride there. He didn’t even turn around to ask a snarky question in an attempt to lift Keith’s spirits. Despite not knowing Lance well, Keith knew that was very irregular for him. 

Parking in the precinct lot, Coran got out and left the engine running for Shiro. Shiro gave him a grateful smile and slid into the front seat. Keith didn’t move from the backseat. He left his head pressed against the cold window, chilling his clammy forehead. He watched as Lance and Coran opened the doors and vanished inside. No words were exchanged. 

Shiro put the car in reverse and drove out of the parking lot. For a few glorious minutes, there was silence. Keith shut his eyes to relish in it, reminding himself to take aspirin as soon as he got home. He doubted it would help against his pounding head and rolling stomach, but he was willing to try anything at this point. 

Shiro awkwardly cleared his throat. Keith opened his eyes weakly to look at him. 

“You okay?” Shiro asked gently. 

Keith didn’t answer. He didn’t think he had to, as his current state was probably written all over his face. He wasn’t bothering to hide it. 

Shiro drummed his fingers against the steering wheel as they stopped at a stoplight. Keith watched him, using his good hand to clutch at his churning stomach. He tried to distract himself by thinking about Shiro. Shiro and his neverending kindness as he helped Keith time and time again. There was no reason for him to be so friendly. Up until recently, they hadn’t known each other even existed. And now Shiro was offering to drive him home, making sure he was okay…

It didn’t add up. 

Shiro pulled into Keith’s apartment complex and parked the cruiser. Keith practically tumbled out when he pulled the release latch, the world spinning. Shiro rushed over to let Keith lean against him, pulling one of his arms over his shoulders. Keith stared up at him. 

“Why?” He found himself asking. Shiro looked down at him as they stumbled, feet crunching in the snow. 

“Why what?” He echoed. 

“Why are you helping me so much?” Keith asked. He laughed bitterly. He could taste vomit at the back of his throat. “I don’t think it’s common for detectives to be driving their clients home.” 

Shiro laughed. “True.” 

“So...why?” 

Shiro was silent as he nudged open the door to the lobby. The wiry old man at the front desk gave them an odd look. Shiro smiled at him as they lumbered toward the elevator. He punched the call button with his thumb and stared up at the number above them, pursing his lips. 

“Shiro…?” Keith tried again. 

“Sorry, it’s just...you remind me of someone,” Shiro said finally. His eyes were distant like he was looking somewhere else. Some other time. 

Keith didn’t want to pry so he didn’t. He let his mouth shut as Shiro helped him into the, thankfully, empty elevator. He braced himself against the railing as Shiro went to go put in the floor number, staring at the floor. It was the one thing that wasn’t spinning. 

It was silent for a little while longer as the elevator rose. It chimed with every floor passed. Shiro leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. 

“You remind me of my little brother,” he said finally. 

“Your little brother?” Keith couldn’t help but ask. 

“Yeah…” Shiro’s tone was reminiscent. The memories he was probably reliving weren’t happy. “Have...have you ever heard of the Kerberos Murders?” 

Keith frowned. The name rung a bell in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t recall it fully. It was probably something else he had seen on the TV and hadn’t cared about or an event from when he was too small to recall.

“It sounds familiar,” he opted to say. 

Shiro pursed his lips. “The specifics of it are kind of complicated so I’ll try to simplify it. Basically, two years ago there was another serial killer that popped up in Altea County. All of his murders originated around the Kerberos area, so we just started calling them the Kerberos Murders.” Shiro paused. “I met the murderer, once.” 

Keith’s breath hitched. “What?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro said. He sighed. “I was in my third year of college at the time. Got a full-ride to Garrison State after they badgered me for years to apply. I was walking with my little brother back home during a school break and we went through a shortcut through the Kerberos area. We ran into the killer there.” 

Keith held his breath, too spellbound by Shiro’s story to ask any questions. He had a funny feeling he knew where it was going. His stomach seized at the thought. 

“He...killed my brother,” Shiro said softly. “Right in front of me. I...still have nightmares. The killer he thought he’d gotten me too, but I lived. Same as you.” He tapped the bridge of his nose - where the scar that bisected his face lay - and smiled weakly. “They caught the guy because of my testimony. That’s why I ended up dropping my literature major and going into the Police Academy instead.” He laughed but it was without humor. “I told the others I just met some police officers on campus and they encouraged me to join the force. The truth is...I just wanted to solve murders. Help people get the same kind of conclusion I did so they don’t have to wait their whole lives for a solution that’ll never come.” 

“Shiro…” Keith whispered, unable to say anything else. 

“Yeah so…” Shiro looked up at him with a smile. His eyes looked a bit wet. “You remind me of me, but that only extends situation-wise. In truth, you remind me of Ryou. Both of you were - are - stubborn beyond belief.” 

Keith shuffled awkwardly, unsure of what he should say. Shiro had basically just laid his soul bare for him. Shouldn’t he return the favor too or something? 

“I lost someone too,” he blurted. Shiro turned his head to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “M-My dad. I was seven. Everyone told him not to run back inside that house but-” he laughed bitterly. “He never listened to anyone.” 

“Sounds like someone I know,” Shiro’s voice was teasing. He stepped over to help Keith walk as the elevator dinged. They opened and the two of them awkwardly shuffled down the corridor. They made their way to Keith’s apartment and Keith rummaged in his work pants pocket for his keys. He handed them to Shiro, unable to move with his only usable arm over his shoulder, and Shiro opened the door. 

Keith stumbled inside, leaning against the wall. Shiro followed him in for a few steps, glancing shamelessly around the messy floor. Keith winced. He wished he’d at least cleaned up a little before he left for work this morning. But, he wasn’t planning on finding his own murder weapon and throwing up. He could excuse the mess for now. 

“You gonna be okay?” Shiro asked softly. 

Keith nodded, already rummaging in his cupboards for an aspirin. “I’ll be fine. Probably wrap myself in blankets and watch some TV for a bit.” 

“Okay,” Shiro said softly. “You have my number, so call if you need anything. I’d better head back to the precinct.” 

“Yeah,” Keith didn’t know why, but he didn’t want Shiro to go. “That’s a good idea. They probably need you.” He turned with the aspirin bottle in hand and was met with a face-full of Shiro’s blue shirt. He was suddenly caught in one of the best hugs he’d ever had in his entire life. 

Letting the tension in his shoulders release, Keith wrapped his own arms around Shiro. He let his eyes shut. He hadn’t felt like this in a long time - warm and full with the feeling of family and belonging. Maybe in another life, another time, Keith would have really liked Shiro as a brother. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Shiro promised. 

“Okay,” Keith said and believed him. Shiro stepped away and with a wave, left the apartment. The door snapped shut behind him. 

Keith downed the pills dry and made a face, rubbing at his throat. His head was still pounding, but it felt better now. It wasn’t all-encompassing and loud anymore, just dull and mildly annoying. He made his way to the couch and fished his phone out of his pocket. In the search bar, he couldn’t stop himself from typing ‘Kerberos Murders’. Hundreds of results instantly popped up and Keith scrolled until one caught his eye. 

‘Kerberos Victim’s Brother Finally Speaks Out’. 

Keith tapped on it and the first thing he could see was a younger version of Shiro, beaming. His arm was thrown around what could have been his clone. A younger version of him, with a large grin and a full, round face. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen. He could see, in the picture alone, how much Shiro cared for the kid. 

And somehow, Keith could see himself in the smiling face of Ryou Shirogane.

Chapter Text

A few days went by sluggishly. Keith didn’t make the same mistake of going back to his job so soon and instead holed himself up in his apartment. Shiro had come and gone, bringing stories from the precinct, but no new information. 

At least, until, Keith got another call from Lance. 

After the fiasco where Lance had rudely awoken him at three in the morning, Keith had taken the liberty to put his number as ‘Dick’ in his phone. So, when he got a call from said ‘Dick’, he’d almost hesitated to answer it until he remembered that it was Lance. Reluctantly, he answered the call. 

“Hello?” He turned down the volume of the mindless television show he was watching. 

“Hey, Mullet!” Lance said. He sounded much better than he did the day they’d discovered the knife. Keith shivered in remembrance. “Mind coming down to the precinct? We gotta talk to you.” 

Keith glanced at the clock above his television. It was half-past five, nearly closing time. Whatever they wanted, it was bound to be important. 

“Okay,” he said, rising and reaching for his coat. He tucked his phone under his shoulder as he stuck one arm through the sleeve and left the rest of his coat to blanket his sling. “Is everything okay?” 

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. I think,” Lance said. Keith’s nerves did not edge away at Lance’s hesitation. “I got the results back from that knife and uh...yeah. That’s your blood on it.” 

Keith swallowed back the thickness in his throat. “Oh.” 

“There are also fingerprints on the handle,” Lance said as Keith left his apartment, locking the door behind him. His voice could only be described as smug. “I’ll let you guess whose before I drop the ‘I told you so’ bomb.” 

“Lotor?” Keith said dryly, simply to humor Lance. 

“Bingo,” Lance said. “At this point, it’s almost enough evidence to incriminate him as the Butcher. But - and Allura and Shiro want you to know this - there’s one thing that doesn’t add up.” 

“And that is?” The crisp air found the holes in Keith’s clothes and made him shiver the moment he stepped out the complex doors. 

“Lotor’s fingerprints aren’t the only ones on the handle,” Lance muttered. He was clearly not very happy about this set of news. “There’s another pair, and they’re not in the database.” 

Keith knit his eyebrows. “Isn’t everyone in the database?” 

“Only if they’ve got a criminal record,” Lance said. “Which Lotor does. This other person doesn’t. Weird, right?” He sounded so nonchalant it was a little disturbing. Keith kicked snow as he walked. 

“I guess.” 

“Hey, listen, I gotta go, but you’re on your way, right?” Lance asked. 

“Yeah.” 

“Okie doke, uh…” his voice got quieter like he was leaning away from his phone. “I’ll see you when you get here. Bye, Mullet!” He didn’t wait for Keith to return with a farewell of his own before he hung up. Keith resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Lance was - as ever - insufferable in his own endearing way. 

Keith stuffed his good hand under his armpit as he walked to warm it. The snow crunched beneath his boots, sparkling under the waning sunlight. The streets were bustling today, so the odds of getting snuck up on (Keith’s head whipped around as if he was going to catch a glimpse of someone darting into an alleyway to hide from his searching gaze) were relatively low. 

His elbow twinged dully as Keith rocked back and forth in front of the crosswalk. The precinct was in sight by this point, and he was eager to get inside to warm up his frozen fingers. Given how late it was starting to get, the weather was only going to get worse. 

He used his shoulder to open the doors and rubbed his boots on the welcome mat to clear them of snow. Others were less courteous - there was a long and obvious trail of water and mud leading straight to the front desk. Keith winced in sympathy for the janitors. 

“Keith!” 

He looked up to see Pidge popping her head out of the glass doors. She gestured for him and Keith awkwardly stepped around the line to jog toward her. She seized him by his good arm and began to drag him toward Allura’s office. Keith glanced around at the stressed officers and detectives (the same two were arguing again) and wondered just how busy things had been today. 

Pidge pushed open the door to Allura’s office and pushed him inside before closing the door behind them with a firm click. The room was fuller than Keith had remembered (it didn’t make it feel any less bare, however), with Lance lounging in one of the stiff chairs and Hunk bouncing his leg in the other. Allura and Shiro were standing side by side, discussing the contents of a paper Shiro was holding. It was alive with activity and all of it stopped the moment Pidge shut the door. 

“Found him,” she said, but Keith thought that was pretty obvious. 

“Good,” Allura said. She stepped away from Shiro who put the paper down to observe the two of them with a tight-lipped smile. “I understand Lance had updated you on the current situation?” 

“Yeah,” Keith felt dizzy thinking about the knife again. 

“So you know that Lotor’s fingerprints are on the weapon,” Allura said. “Now, I would like to indict Lotor here and now as the Butcher, however, I am also aware of your feelings on the matter. I would like to continue to trust in that and see if we can track down the owner of the other pair of fingerprints.” 

“Okay,” Keith swallowed. “Where do we start?” 

“By following up on the anonymous tip,” said Hunk. “Pidge and I were gonna head to the electronics store right next to where you were found.” 

“You haven’t investigated it yet?” Keith asked. 

“Hunk and I did, just after your body was found,” Shiro reassured him. “But after the warehouses, we decided to search it again just in case there’s something we missed.” He hesitated. “They were gonna bring you, too. Just in case there’s something...you remember.” 

Keith glanced at Hunk and Pidge who were avoiding his gaze. The thought of remembering anything else about the attack made his eyelids pound and his stomach roll. Every time he remembered anything remotely related to the case he’d only just been overwhelmed with panic. But even still…

“We wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t important,” Allura said gently. “But if you think you’re not up to it, then just say so. You do not have to go if you do not feel able.” 

There was something in Shiro’s gaze that was imploring Keith to refuse. To go home and continue watching TV most likely, but that wouldn’t help anything. Keith was going to find the Butcher, headaches or no. And if traumatizing memories was the price to pay for keeping the county safe, Keith would do it. A thousand times over. Just to make sure there was not another victim, another him. 

“No,” Keith decided. “I’ll go. I can do this.” 

Shiro bit his lip and looked away. Allura nodded stiffly while Hunk rose from his chair. 

“We’ll take the cruiser,” Hunk said. “Coran is busy today, so I’ll be driving.” 

“Aw!” Pidge whined. “Why not me?” 

“Because you’re so short you can hardly see over the dashboard and the last time you drove a police cruiser, you sped so much the Garrison County Department pulled us over?” Lance asked sarcastically. 

“That was one time!” Pidge protested. 

“One time was enough,” Hunk retorted. “I’m driving.” 

“Coran has the keys,” Allura said. “Stay safe, you three. Here’s to hoping we uncover something.” 

Lance stood up, patting down imaginary lint from his pants. “I’m going to keep running through prints. Maybe it’s just like Lotor’s foot or something.” 

“You more than anyone knows that’s not how that works,” Pidge told him, reaching for the doorknob. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance griped. “A man can dream, can’t he?” 

Allura bid them farewell. As Keith followed Hunk through the door, he could feel Shiro’s gaze on his back. He wondered if he was disappointed or angry in Keith’s decision. But he didn’t understand Keith’s position. He didn’t have a choice in the matter. Memories or no memories, the Butcher had to be caught. No matter what. 

Coran happily handed the keys to a cruiser over to them. His office was far more cluttered than Allura’s, covered wall-to-wall in photographs and his desk a mess of papers. He was in the middle of getting through a stack and looked all too pleased with the distraction. He said goodbye and happy hunting and sent them on their way. 

Pidge claimed shotgun (much to Keith’s charigin - now that he was starting to feel better he was missing sitting in the front seat) forcing Keith to awkwardly sit in the middle seat and lean forward so he could talk to the two of them. 

The drive was silent aside from the low hum of the radio in the background. Pidge somehow seemed to know every song that came on word-for-word and kept mouthing the lyrics to herself. 

They pulled into a dinky looking parking lot next to a building that had seen better days. The walls were purple, the paint peeling in places. One of the ‘a’s in ‘Galra Electronics’ was lopsided and flickering weakly. In the waning sunlight, the building looked horribly out of place next to the two bars (Keith tried not to think about them too much) and the well-maintained restaurants lining the streets. 

“Galra, huh?” Pidge tilted her head, stepping out of the cruiser. She slammed the door with far too much force as she looked up at the building. Hunk shot her a reproachful look. “They must get a lot of shit for that name.” 

Keith frowned. He - like anyone - was familiar with the animosity held toward the name ‘Galra’ in Altea County. Apparently, the Galra had used to be a race of murderers that had terrorized the world before order was established. Then, one by one, the Galra were picked off until they were reduced to just a bloodline that a lot of people didn’t like to mention - Keith included. 

“That doesn’t matter right now,” Hunk said. “We should get in, see if we can find anything, and leave. This place gives me the creeps at night.” 

Keith couldn’t help but agree. Before all this, he’d liked the tranquility that descended on the city at night. Now, he was terrified of it. Anyone could be lurking around the corner. Just for good measure, Keith glanced over his shoulder as they headed towards the doors. There was no one there. He was just being paranoid again. 

“Okay, so nobody has asked so far, but we can’t let anyone know who Keith is,” Hunk warned as they approached. “The fact that he’s our informant is supposed to be a secret. So when the owner asks - and he’ll ask - Keith is just a detective in training.” 

The doors were automatic, but they rattled and squeaked open as Hunk, Pidge, and Keith approached. They had to stand there for nearly a full minute as the door tried to figure out that it was, indeed, a door and had to function as such before entering. 

Keith was hit in the face by a blast of air conditioning. He hissed and bundled a little more into his coat. These people were crazy to have the AC going in the dead of winter. Hunk and Pidge seemed to be on the same page as Pidge cursed under her breath and Hunk began buttoning up his coat. 

“Hello,” a man standing by a register stared at them. His nametag read ‘Thace’. “Can I help you?” 

“A-Altea Police Department,” Pidge said between her chattering teeth. She tugged on the badge pinned to her shirt (Keith realized she’d actually worn her uniform today) and raised an eyebrow at Thace. “We need to talk to the owner.” 

“Just a second,” Thace said. He shot them a sideways glance as he vanished behind rickety rows stacked messily with boxes. Hunk squinted around him, spinning a stand with the ‘hi, my name is’ keychains organized on it. 

“Weird place,” he muttered. 

“Yeah,” Pidge shivered. “Who turns on the AC in winter? They must be those weirdos who refuse to use it in the summer because it costs less.” Keith looked around and wondered if a part of that had something to do with the disrepair of this place. 

And yet, the dilapidated mess that he was standing in was vaguely familiar. Like he’d seen it once somewhere. In a dream. Or maybe, in a forgotten memory. 

Keith shivered but it had nothing to do with the temperature. He’d been here. The night he’d been murdered, this was the electronics store he’d wandered into to get his laptop fixed. This was the place he’d been to before he had been murdered. 

He tried not to stagger into the display stand Hunk was way too interested in. Pidge glanced up at him for a moment and opened her mouth, but whatever she wanted to ask Keith didn’t get to know. Thace was coming out from in between the white shelves with a beast of a man following behind him. 

The man was tall - easily reaching six feet - and had arms like tree trunks. His hair was thick and black, slicked back on his head with an absurd amount of gel. A grisly scar marred the side of his face, over one of his eyes (which had been carved shut from the injury) and curving around his jaw. He, at least, seemed to have some sense and was wearing a white zip-up jacket over his work uniform. 

“Detectives?” His voice was deep and made Keith unnerved for reasons he couldn’t fathom. “What do you want with my store again?” 

“Sorry, new leads came up,” Hunk said. He took the initiative, striding forward to shake the man’s enormous hand. “It’s good to see you again, Zarkon.” 

Zarkon smiled but it was wrong and Keith swallowed thickly. “Likewise.” He went and offered his hand to Pidge, whose tiny hand was practically crushed in his enormous grip. He turned it to Keith and Keith looked up, heart pounding. He expected to see something in the gaze that stared down at him, some semblance of hatred or malice, but there was none. Just a smile that didn’t feel right and eyes - no eye - that looked a bit too empty for it to be normal. 

Keith forced himself to smile and reach out with his good hand to shake Zarkon’s. The grip was just as firm as Keith had been fearing and he pulled away, resisting the urge to wring out his hand. He was a little afraid a few of his bones had been shattered in the handshake. 

“He wasn’t here last time,” Zarkon said, turning to Hunk. “Neither was the small one.” 

“Yeah, Shiro wasn’t able to make it this time,” Hunk said. He was smiling warmly, but it wasn’t the same one he gave every day. “I brought Pidge instead.” 

“And the other boy?” 

“Not important,” Hunk dismissed with a wave of his hand. “He’s a...detective in training.” 

“With an injury?” Zarkon lifted an eyebrow. Hunk glanced at Keith, silently imploring him with his eyes. Keith caught the hint and swallowed to moisten his dry throat. 

“Broke my arm while chasing a suspect,” he said, a little too quickly. He had to force himself to hold his ground as Zarkon turned that unnerving stare upon him again. “It was dumb of me.” 

“Damn right it was,” Pidge was wearing a shit-eating grin. “You’re still a newbie, newbie. No more breaking protocol to go chasing after shadows down alleyways.” 

Keith forced himself to laugh, mentally willing Pidge to contract hypothermia from the ungodly temperature of the store. “Understood.” 

Zarkon, thankfully, seemed to buy the story. He turned back to Hunk. “So, to what do I owe the pleasure? I’d say you were thorough last time.” 

“New stuff has come up,” Hunk said flippantly. 

“The ‘witness’ you keep speaking of in your broadcasts?” 

“Yeah,” Hunk said. “Mind if we investigate your shop again? Just to be thorough, you know.” Zarkon smiled again and it was wrong. Everything about him - from his mangled eye to his whole demeanor - screamed wrong. Keith didn’t like it or the atmosphere of the shop at all. 

Hunk pulled out a notebook from his pocket and flipped it open. From his breast pocket, he clicked open and closed a pen, pressing it to the paper. 

“Mind if I ask a few questions?” Hunk smiled that strange smile again. Zarkon shook his head and made a show of leaning his massive hip against one of the counters. 

“Shoot,” he said casually. Keith didn’t miss the way his eyes darted to his face and then the sling, eyes narrowing slightly. 

“What were you doing the night of the murder?” Hunk asked first. Zarkon crossed his arms over his massive chest. 

“Cleaning up,” he said. “We were running low on some computer parts so I was trying to restock the shelves with Thace-” he nodded over to the cashier. “-and Sendak.” 

“Did you ever go off on your own?” 

“Once,” Zarkon said. “Went outside for some air.” 

Hunk paused. “What time was this?” 

“A little after seven,” Zarkon said easily. Too easily. Like he’d rehearsed it. Keith shook off the feeling creeping up on the back of his neck. He was just being paranoid. 

Pidge glanced at Hunk over Zarkon’s shoulder. “How long were you out?” 

“Just ten minutes,” Zarkon shrugged. “Right?” He called over to Thace who was popping open a box of Icebreakers. He popped one in his mouth and grunted noncommittally. “See?” Zarkon said like it explained everything. 

“Sir, we’re going to need a verbal response,” Hunk told Thace. 

There was an audible crunch as Thace bit down on his Icebreaker. He made a face, looking down at the box, and then tossed it on the counter. 

“Yeah,” he said. Whether he meant to or not, he met Keith’s gaze. Keith narrowed his eyes, trying to find any indication that Thace was lying, though he wasn’t sure why. “Couldn’t have been longer than ten minutes. Helped with a few customers and then we closed up at ten.” 

Hunk scribbled and flipped to another page. He nodded slowly. “Matches up with what you said last time.” 

“Nothing has changed since last time,” Zarkon laughed good-naturedly. It sent a chill down Keith’s spine that had nothing to do with the temperature. “Though, gotta admit-” he turned around and took several steps towards Keith. He leaned down, now far too into Keith’s personal bubble for his liking. “You look kinda familiar. You been here before, son?” 

Keith swallowed to moisten his suddenly dry throat. It did nothing to change the fact that his mouth had become the human equivalent of the Sahara Desert. Zarkon stared at him, waiting for an answer. Keith scrambled for one. 

“Uh-” he shoved his free hand into his sling to hide how badly it was shaking. “Nope. Don’t think so.” 

“Are you sure?” Zarkon’s single eye was an unnerving shade of gold. Keith tried to ignore the way it felt like his soul was being laid bare and nodded stiffly. 

“Yeah. Pretty sure.” 

Hunk and Pidge were staring at Keith when Zarkon finally ( graciously) took himself out of Keith’s personal bubble. He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief and caught the way that Pidge bit down on her lower lip. Hunk cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“This place looks like it’s seen better days,” he said, glancing around. Keith followed his gaze to the off-white walls and found the bright orange stain Hunk had been looking at. 

“Yeah, well,” Zarkon laughed. “The missus used to help out around here a lot. Made sure the place was up to the standard we keep ourselves to.” 

“Used to?” Keith echoed before he could stop himself. Zarkon turned to face him and Keith flinched like he was expecting to get hit. Zarkon’s expression was impassive though. A carefully blank mask. 

“Yeah,” he said gruffly. “Used to.” 

Pidge shot Keith a look. “Looks like you guys got some quality parts though. Do you mind if I look around while Hunk finishes the interview with you? I’ve been looking for a new video card for my desktop at home.” 

Zarkon was silent for a full thirty seconds. Keith squirmed nervously the entire time. Zarkon hadn’t taken that single golden eye off him. Then, finally, finally, he looked at Pidge. 

“Not at all,” he said with one of his terrible smiles. “Go right ahead.” 

“Thanks!” Pidge chirped. She grabbed Keith by his good arm, yanking it out of his sling. “C’mon Keith! Let’s go!” 

“Me?” Keith blinked at her. 

“Yes you!” Pidge said cheerfully. The glare of light off her glasses hid the look she was giving Keith from Zarkon. “You were talking about helping me find a new video card ages ago!” Her grip tightened on his arm. “ Weren’t you?” 

Keith, who had gotten the message and then some by now, nodded. “Oh yeah!” He cringed almost instantly. He’d said that far too loud. Good to know his acting hadn’t improved any since high school. “I--uh--I totally forgot! Let’s go. Do that. Yes.” 

Pidge rolled her eyes. Hunk bit his lip hard to hide an amused grin. 

“You’re a weird kid,” she said and started dragging him to the nearest aisle. Keith could feel Zarkon’s eye burning into his back as they walked. Pidge kept talking loudly about computers and their parts, tugging gently on Keith’s good arm to steer him. It was an impressive act, even if half the words that came out of her mouth was pure nonsense to Keith. 

They turned the corner and were hidden by the aisle. Instantly, Pidge stopped talking and switched into a completely different mood. Her expression went straight and terse and she went instantly for the employee’s only door in the back. 

“What are you doing?” Keith hissed at her. He glanced behind him, afraid Zarkon had followed them or something and when he found the coast to be clear, he jogged after her. “I went along with your stupid act, what’s going on?!” 

“Just shut up and trust me,” Pidge told him. Keith’s mouth snapped shut as Pidge put her hand on the employee’s only door and tested it. It swung with an ominously loud creak. Keith winced and craned his neck to look over his shoulder. He didn’t see Zarkon but it didn’t make him feel any better. 

“What’s going on?” He asked again. 

“We can’t search the place again without a warrant,” Pidge told him. “I was gonna ask Allura for one - I forgot, sorry - so I’m just gonna take you to the employee’s only section without Zarkon finding out. See if we can find something that’ll jog your memory. It’s not exactly legal but...” Pidge winced. “It’ll have to do. Desperate times call for desperate measures and all that.” 

“I’ve been here before, though,” Keith said in a hurried whisper. He did not like the idea of going into the employee’s only section of a store owned by a man who looked like he ate nails for breakfast. It made something horrible take roost in his gut. 

Pidge paused with her hand still on the door. “You have?” 

“This is the place I went to get my laptop fixed,” Keith said. 

“And after?” 

“Uh…” Keith tried, but his mind drew a blank. The memories were - as always - frustratingly just out of reach. 

“Exactly,” Pidge said. “Look, I don’t like this either, okay? But your memories are so important to this case. We have to get you to remember them. Even if you don’t like what we have to do to get them back.” 

Keith sucked in a deep breath through his nose and held it. Pidge was right. He’d resolved to solve this case and get his memories back no matter what the cost was. This was just a part of that. 

“Fine,” Keith said. He put his hand on the doorknob next to Pidge’s. “Let’s do this.” Before he could convince himself otherwise, he shoved the door open. Ignoring the way it creaked, he ducked inside with Pidge right behind him. 

The first thing he saw was the boxes. Stacked on top of each other and sitting precariously on metal shelves. Keith craned his neck to see the top and found it several heads above him. Pidge whistled lowly. 

“Any of this look familiar?” She asked. Keith shook his head. He glanced around for any other employees but found it mercifully empty. They must have caught the store just as it was closing up and all the workers had gone home for the night. 

Robotically, Keith moved deeper into the section. Every box looked the same: featureless and deceptively innocent. Pidge opened a few only to find they were full of computer parts. She whistled lowly at the sight of a few but seemed largely unimpressed and disappointed. They continued looking, but their search yielded nothing. Nothing about this place was even remotely similar to Keith and his headache had died down. He doubted they would find anything here. 

Keith turned a corner and found himself staring at a heavy-looking green door on the far side of the room. The nameplate on it read ‘Zarkon’. 

Pidge popped up next to him. “Think that’s his office?” 

“Can’t think of what else it could be,” Keith murmured. “Let’s check it out.” 

“Wait,” Pidge said quietly. Keith looked at her. “I-I don’t know. We could get caught.” 

“We’re already in the employee’s only section,” Keith pointed out. 

“Yeah, but I can give excuses for that,” Pidge said. “This--I don’t know. It feels wrong. Like someone could walk in on us at any second. I can’t bullshit our way out of that.” 

Keith swallowed thickly. Pidge had a horribly valid point. The door was imposing, even though it hadn’t done anything. Inside was something terribly personal. Besides, Hunk could only keep Zarkon distracted for so long. Maybe it was best to just head back, call it quits-

Keith was moving to the door before he knew what he was doing. 

“Keith!” Pidge hissed at him but he was no longer listening. Consequences be damned, Zarkon made Keith uneasy and he was going to figure out why. Getting to the bottom of this case was what mattered. Not getting caught and facing petty consequences. Pidge called his name again, grabbing his arm and pulling him to a stop. “What the hell?!” 

“It’ll be fine,” Keith said. Nervousness was twisting in his chest but he ignored it. “I just want to take a quick look. In and out as soon as possible. Trust me.” 

Pidge made a face but nodded slowly and followed Keith as he made his way over to the door. He tried the knob and pulled. The door swung open silently. Almost ominously. Keith shuddered and stepped inside. 

The room - unlike the rest of the store - was carpeted. It was blue and prickly and Keith was reminded strongly of the carpets in his high school classrooms. He stepped around the stiff wooden chairs that looked like they were about to collapse if they took any weight and looked around. The room was a lot like Allura’s office. Bare and unoriginal. But somehow, this office exceeded Allura’s ‘boring but practical’ and ascended straight into ‘Principal’s Office’ levels of unoriginality. Keith ducked down to look at the drawers of the grand mahogany desk and found most - if not all of them - were locked. 

Pidge took out a hairpin from her tangle of amber locks and pushed him aside to set to work on the desk. Keith chose not to ask her where she learned how to lockpick and instead set his sights on the top of the desk. The computer sitting there was surprisingly bland. Keith expected that the owner of an electronics shop would have a grand desktop that glowed and spewed confetti when he touched it, but it was boring. The console itself looked quite old with a small door that swung open to reveal the USB ports and power buttons. Keith shut it with a quiet click, deciding that searching Zarkon’s computer was a task for another day and a more ambitious version of him. 

“I don’t like this,” Pidge muttered over the tiny clicking of her hairpin in the lock. “I really don’t like this…” She glanced nervously at the door, swallowing, and then turned her attention back to the lock. Keith wished he had the words to comfort her, but he felt like he’d forgotten how to speak. Instead, he continued looking at the desk. 

A stack of papers sat in a neat pile on the corner. Keith picked through them, but it was mostly meaningless paperwork and orders for new parts. Half of it was gibberish to Keith so he set it aside. 

It was then that he saw the picture. 

He reached out towards it and lifted it. He could clearly see Zarkon in it - with both his eyes intact. He was smiling, but it wasn’t wrong. It wasn’t strange. It was genuine and bright, full of laughter. There was a woman beside him with long white hair and high cheekbones. She was smiling too, looking up at Zarkon with an expression that just oozed adoration. Keith felt his heart twist in his chest and he wasn’t sure why. Especially when he saw the baby the couple held between them. 

For a reason he couldn’t fathom, Keith found himself carefully prying the back off of the photo frame. Pidge paused in her work to gape at him. 

“Keith, what are you-?” the rest of her sentence was lost as Keith carefully pulled the old photo out. Written on the back of it in a messy, untidy scrawl were two words: 

Never Forget. 

Keith flipped over the picture to stare at the couple again. He found his gaze drifting toward the baby. It looked familiar. 

Pidge jumped practically a mile high as the phone in her pocket buzzed. Keith looked at her as she checked it. Her face went white as a sheet. 

“Hunk’s ran out of questions,” she said in a scared, rushed tone. “We have to go. Now.” 

“Hang on-” Keith scrambled to grab his phone out of his pocket. His heart was beating out of his chest. “I have to do something.” 

“No, no hang on,” Pidge hissed as Keith opened the camera. “We don’t have time! We’re going to get caught!” 

Keith ignored her as he snapped several photos of the words on the back and the picture of the couple. Then, as quickly as he dared, he put the photograph back together with his good hand and put it back on Zarkon’s desk just as he found it. Or, as close as he could manage to that. He followed Pidge as she practically tore out of the room. He shut Zarkon’s office door behind them and took off at a sprint after Pidge. His sling bumped awkwardly against his gut as he ran. 

The employees only door was so close. Keith prayed desperately that Zarkon was not there waiting for them when it opened. He wasn’t sure he could handle that glaring golden gaze again. Especially after seeing the picture of him full of light and love. 

Keith burst out into the shop after Pidge did and tried to act natural as he saw her skid to her knees and pretend to be looking at something on the bottom shelf. It was not a moment too soon as Zarkon rounded the corner. 

“Hey, Keith,” Pidge said. The panic in her expression betrayed how calm her voice was. “Mind grabbing something from the top shelf for me? I wanna compare these two.” She held up a box she’d grabbed at random and Keith glanced up at the shelf above him. 

“I don’t know if I can reach,” he said, trying to laugh but it came out strangled. 

“Here-” Zarkon’s deep voice echoed from behind Keith and he couldn’t help the way he stiffened. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. “I’ve got it.” 

Easily, Zarkon swiped the box Pidge wanted and held it out for her. She practically snatched it from his hand and put the two boxes together. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. 

“Nope,” she sighed. “Also not what I’m looking for.” 

“Unfortunate,” Zarkon said. He stepped past Keith, his arm brushing Keith’s sling for a moment. He froze. “What are you looking for? We may have it in stock.” 

Keith could clearly see the way Pidge panicked for a random computer part. She was already too frazzled. Between almost getting caught in the employee’s only section and forcing herself to act calm after what just happened, she was clearly at the end of her wits. She opened and closed her mouth, trying to think, but Keith knew that could only work for so long. 

Thankfully, the blessed visage of Hunk appeared at the opposite side of the aisle. He made his way down towards them, hands in his pockets, as he glanced at all of the wares set up. 

“There you guys are,” Hunk said cheerfully. “Was wondering where you two ran off to. Find what you were looking for, Pidge?” 

Pidge shook her head. Keith could see she was trembling. Hunk - wonderful, gracious, attentive Hunk - understood instantly. 

“That sucks,” he lamented. “Probably for the best though. Allura and Shiro want us back down at the station as soon as possible.” 

Keith, sensing Pidge was not up for speaking, did it for her. “Did they get a lead?” 

“I sure hope so,” Hunk sighed, running a hand through his hair. He looked over to smile at Zarkon. “Sorry to have wasted your time. Thanks for doing that for us again.” 

“No problem,” Zarkon waved his hand dismissively. He turned to Pidge. “If you ever find out what you’re looking for, feel free to come back. I’m sure we’ll have something for you.” 

A little bit of the color began to return to Pidge’s cheeks as she nodded. “T-Thanks.” 

Zarkon waved as Hunk herded them out of the shop. As the doors rattled open before them, Keith let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. His breath rose as mist in the frigid air. He felt so much better now that he wasn’t inside the store.

“It’s freezing,” Hunk blew on his hands and rubbed them together. “Let’s get back into the car so I can feel my toes before Spring.” He motioned to the other two and they crunched across the snow to the cruiser parked in the near-empty lot. Keith graciously climbed into the back and sighed in relief when Hunk turned it over and a rush of warm air hit his face. 

Pidge slumped over in her seat. She dragged a hand down her pink face. “Well that was a dud,” she grumbled. 

“Feeling better?” Keith asked her. 

Pidge nodded. “Thought I was gonna pass out there.” 

Hunk put the car in reverse. “So you guys didn’t find anything?” 

“Nope,” Pidge sighed. She straightened up to put her seatbelt on and then warm her hands in front of the car vents. “We found his office but his locks on the desk were crazy complicated. Couldn’t get them open in time.” 

Keith opened his mouth to tell Hunk about the picture, but he shut it almost immediately. He couldn’t bring himself to mention it. It wasn’t relevant to the case, after all. It was just some picture of the past that Zarkon could never have again. 

But even so, why did it bother him so much? 

“What about you?” Pidge asked. “Find anything?” 

Hunk shook his head. “Nothing changed from his last testimony. Guy’s got a pretty solid alibi aside from the ten minutes he took to himself at seven. But that was before Keith says he even left his apartment, so I don’t think it matters.” 

“He could be lying,” Keith suggested. His good hand curled into a fist. He wasn’t sure why, but something about Zarkon made his stomach churn. 

“I don’t think so,” Hunk shook his head. “If he was, parts of his alibi this time wouldn’t match up with last time. I checked and everything was the same.” 

“He could just have his cover story straight,” Keith tried again. 

Hunk pursed his lips. “Look, Keith, I get the weirdness around Zarkon. He’s a Galra and his whole shop just feels weird and he feels weird. But I don’t think he was lying.” 

Keith’s mind had only stuck onto one part of Hunk’s statement. “I don’t care that he’s Galra!”

Hunk looked up at the rearview mirror at him. “I never said you did.” 

“Yeah but-” Keith sighed exasperatedly. “Look, I don’t like him or that place, okay?” 

Hunk sighed. “This is something better discussed with everyone else at the precinct. We’ll talk more then. Okay?” 

Keith grunted and turned his head to stare out the window. He found himself thinking about the picture again and thumbed his phone in his pocket. He remembered the smile on Zarkon’s face and how true and genuine it seemed. Why did it change? 

Keith shifted uncomfortably, pulling his hand out of his pocket to rub at his elbow. 

It was starting to ache again. 

The others were still at the precinct when Hunk, Pidge, and Keith returned. Lance looked annoyed and exhausted, while Shiro and Allura just looked exhausted. Hunk and Pidge relayed what had happened at the shop to the others as they all stood around in Allura’s office. Keith found himself wanting to step in halfway through the stories to announce just how much he didn’t trust Zarkon, but he forced himself to stay quiet. 

When they were finished, Allura was silent, lacing her hands as she sat in her huge leather chair. She pressed her fingers to her lip, frowning down at her desk. Shiro set his hand down on her shoulder. 

“Allura?” he asked quietly. 

She looked up not to meet Shiro’s gaze but Keith’s. “And your thoughts?” 

Despite spending the past ten minutes wanting to shout about how much he hated Zarkon, Keith found himself drawing a blank. “Huh?” 

“What do you think about that shop?” Allura clarified. “About Zarkon?” 

“I…” Keith avoided Pidge and Hunk’s gazes. “I don’t trust it.” 

“And why not?” Allura asked. 

“More feelings?” Lance chimed in. Keith glared at him. 

“Yes,” he said, half out of spite and half out of the need to tell the truth. “Well, partly. I don’t like the feel of that place. Something’s wrong there and I don’t know what it is. Also…” he took in a deep breath in a vain attempt to ward the headache already starting behind his eyes. “I was there. The night it happened, that’s the shop I went to.” 

“To get your laptop fixed?” Shiro asked. 

Keith nodded. “Yeah.” 

“Why there?” Lance wondered. “There are like... hundreds of electronic repair stores in the city, right? Why that one?” 

Keith found his cheeks coloring. His good hand fisted in his jeans. “It...it offered me a discount.” 

“A discount?” 

“Yeah…” Keith did not like laying this part of him bare, but these people were trying to solve the mystery behind his attempted murder. And that meant sometimes having to do things that he wasn’t comfortable with. Besides, Shiro was here. And Shiro was safe. He wouldn’t judge him. “I...uh...I work at a diner so my paycheck’s...not the best. But this place gives you a discount if you’re of Galra descent...so…” he winced and waited for the reaction. For a long, agonizing moment there was silence. Then, not to his surprise, Lance was the first to speak. 

“You’re Galra?” He said. He didn’t sound hostile - just surprised. That was good, right? 

“Yeah,” Keith was shaking. “O-Only half though.” 

“I see,” Allura’s voice was carefully controlled. Keith lifted his head to peek through his bangs at her. Her expression did not change but she smiled a little at him when she noticed he was seeking her approval. “Well, that clears that up.”

“Yeah,” Hunk agreed. He bit his lip. “Sorry for the...y’know. The comment in the car.” 

Keith knew what he was talking about. “No, it’s fine. I get it. You didn’t know. Not a big deal.” 

Allura, Lance, and Shiro exchanged looks but didn’t question. Pidge hopped up to take a good long look at Keith. 

“You don’t even look Galra,” she said. “Do you know what side of the family the gene’s in?” 

“My mom’s,” Keith said quietly. 

“So did you figure it out or did your dad tell-” Pidge started. 

“Guys,” Shiro cut across her. “Enough. This isn’t what matters right now. Though, thank you for opening up to us, Keith.” He was smiling. Keith let the tension in his shoulders fade. This was good, right? This wasn’t bad. He sucked in a breath and let it out, letting his nerves relax. They knew. And they were okay with it. They weren’t like his foster families. 

“Shiro is right,” Allura said. “Let’s get on topic. Now, Keith, if you really don’t like the feel of that shop we can put it under surveillance.” 

“You can?” Keith’s head shot up. 

Shiro nodded. “We can get a team on it tomorrow.” 

“What about his fingerprints?” Keith asked. “Can we get those too? Y’know, to test with the knife?” Lance gave him a sideways look as Allura splayed her hands against her desk. 

“I can try, but I will promise nothing,” Allura said. “Getting someone’s fingerprint is a matter of consent and it’s awfully suspicious to ask for them outright for them. But, if it’ll make you feel better, I will do all I can.” 

Keith let himself smile. He really didn’t deserve all this kindness, but he was getting it anyway. When did the world decide he got to meet such wonderful people? 

“You should head home,” Shiro advised. “It’s getting late and the rest of us need some rest too.” He gave a meaningful look to everyone gathered. “Got that? We’re all going home tonight. No buts, no last-minute projects.” 

“But-” Pidge started in a whine. 

“Nope,” Shiro said. “Your brother’s probably worried sick about you. Let’s all go home and come back tomorrow with a fresh head. Okay?” 

There was a grumbling chorus of consent. Lance and Allura rose from their chairs and Hunk was about to open the door when it burst open. Coran came tumbling in, his face white as a sheet. Keith felt his stomach drop.

Oh no. 

“Coran?” Allura’s voice had turned sharp and alarmed. “What is it? What’s wrong?” 

“We just got an emergency 911 call,” Coran said between gasps. Shiro stepped forward, looking as unnerved as Keith felt. 

“And? What was it about?” 

“Someone-” Coran grabbed a fistful of his shirt, right above his chest. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to regulate his harsh breathing before blurting out: “someone found a body!” 

Keith felt like he’d taken an ice bath. “A body?” 

“Yes,” Coran swallowed. “I got a brief description of the injuries. There’s no doubt.” He looked Keith dead in the eye. “This is the work of the Butcher.”

Chapter Text

The sirens were loud. 

Keith winced as he stepped outside of the cruiser to a flurry of noise and movement, near blinded by the flashing lights. Lance stepped out next to him and vanished into the crowd as Keith took a moment to recollect himself. 

It was a pity. The park was gorgeous, with a huge frozen lake and trees heavy with icicles. Most of the attention was centered around the pavilion and through all the bodies, Keith could make out a horrible lump sitting face-down at one of the picnic tables. 

Shiro and Allura breezed past him, both their expressions set. Keith trailed awkwardly behind them, trying to ignore the writhing in his stomach or how his breathing sounded too loud to his own ears. He watched as several officers surrounded that mysterious lump and lifted it gently off the table to lay limp on the ground. 

The sirens were far too reminiscent of the day he’d been found. Where all he’d known was pain and paramedics were ready to pronounce him dead at the scene. 

Was this person another victim? Another him? 

For their sake, Keith hoped not.

He paused at the police tape surrounding the entire pavilion. The flashing lights illuminated horrible dark stains under the picnic table. Something was dripping from between the diamond-shaped holes. 

“Excuse me, sir-” a policewoman said, gently catching Keith at the chest with her hand. “This is off-limits to civilians.” 

“Let him through, Romelle,” Allura called over her shoulder. She was standing at the pavilion with her face encased in shadow. Keith was half-glad he couldn’t see what kind of expression she was making. “He needs to confirm something for me.” 

Shiro appeared to lift the tape for Keith, who stooped to get under it. The policewoman shot a suspicious look at him but didn’t protest as Shiro gently put his hand on Keith’s back. He was leaning forward right into Keith’s line of sight. Probably hiding the lump Keith had already seen at Allura’s feet. 

“This is going to be hard for you,” Shiro murmured. “If this really is the Butcher it could cause some... bad effects. Are you sure you want to see it?” 

Keith wanted to say no. He wanted to run away and pretend like this case had nothing to do with him. But the facts remained. He was the only survivor of a brutal murderer who was clearly not done with his work. He had everything to do with this case, whether he liked it or not. He didn’t have a choice whether he wanted to see the body or not. 

He had to. 

He looked up at Shiro, fully aware of how pale he must have been, and nodded shortly. Shiro’s expression was unreadable in the flashing, dim lights but he probably wasn’t pleased. Nonetheless, he moved aside so Keith could get a better look at the lump. 

Keith couldn’t see much, but he knew instantly it was a woman. Her long brown hair fell around her shoulders and haloed around her head. Her eyes were open, wide with fear. She wasn’t breathing. 

Keith hadn’t looked down to see the injuries. He could already smell the overpowering blood. It burnt his nose and when he tried to suck in a deep breath to steady himself, he could taste copper on his tongue. 

“Okay people!” Lance came jogging by, wearing his full-white bodysuit and snapping gloves over his hands. “Move aside!” He was followed by Hunk and Pidge, who were awkwardly toting two enormous floodlights between them. They were chased by an obnoxiously orange extension cord, plugged into the outdoor plug beside the bathroom. 

Hunk and Pidge flicked on the floodlights, bathing the pavilion in light. Keith blinked, finally able to see something other than flashing blue and red and hugged his sling tightly to try and mentally prepare himself for what he was about to see. From the way Allura stiffened and Pidge gasped, he knew it wasn’t good. Shiro’s arm drew up to grab Keith around the shoulders and pull him protectively into his side. Hunk fumbled with the nearest trash can and threw up in it. 

Keith finally looked down at the body. 

And felt his fingers squeezing his elbow tightly. What he was seeing wasn’t real, right? Surely someone couldn’t bleed that much, right? There was enough to make it seep into the cracks and run off to stain the snow around them. Enough to flood the area around the entire body in a grisly pool so dark with blood it looked black. That shouldn’t have been possible...right?

The woman had been practically mauled. Her stomach had been ripped open, revealing the walls of muscles and organs within. Both of her legs had thin holes in them, surrounded by dark red stains. Her palms had thin slices cut all the way through and Keith tried not to gag when he could see bits of concrete in between the strings of blood.

Hunk threw up again behind him. Keith was considering joining him. 

“Holy shit,” Pidge whispered. 

“This matches the Butcher’s M.O.,” Lance murmured as several other members of the forensics team went about analyzing the wounds and collecting samples. “The abdomen’s been completely sliced open.” He pointed at her legs and palms. “I can’t perform a full autopsy here but it doesn’t take a genius to know these are definitely knife-wounds.” 

“And the cause of death?” Allura asked, her arms folded. Her voice and posture were calm and controlled, but Keith could see how tightly she was gripping her forearms. 

“Unclear,” Lance replied. “I can’t tell if it’s from blood-loss or if she was just knifed to death. Hell, I wouldn’t rule out blunt-force trauma by this point.” He gently lifted the woman’s head up with one hand to point at the back of her head. It had been split open, sticky blood fusing strands of brown hair together. 

“God damn,” Pidge said under her breath. She was biting the nail of her thumb. “Look at those wounds...that’s not usual serial killer behavior, that’s pure anger.” 

“Anger…?” Keith echoed. 

Shiro’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “Normally the Butcher just slices open the stomach and stabs down into the organs and intestines. After that, they just bleed out and die. Other than that, there’s no external injuries. But this…”

“It’s inhumane,” Allura said. 

“But,” Keith swallowed down the rapidly rising bile. “I had external injuries other than the stab-wound to my stomach, right?” He waved his sling awkwardly for emphasis and let it fall back against his stomach. “So does that mean...they were angry when they attacked me?” 

Shiro bit his lip and did not answer. No one did. Keith knew they didn’t have to. Their silence was answer enough. His head spun. He could have been just like this girl had the attempt on his life not gone awry. They were two peas of the same pod, if the pod was the same horrible, bloodstained one. Whichever god was presiding over their lives had a sick sense of humor. 

Keith hugged his bad arm tighter. 

“If this guy was angry, it’s probably because they saw you,” Pidge remarked. “They took it out on this poor girl.” She shuddered as she glanced at the body again. “Which is good, in a manner of speaking. That means the killer’s starting to act more on emotion then concrete plans. They’re starting to slip up. It’s good.” 

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Shiro reprimanded her. “There’s still too much we don’t know.” He glanced at Keith. “Do you want to go home? This can’t be easy for you…” 

“No,” Keith said suddenly, surprised by the sudden conviction in his voice. “No, I--I want to stay. I have to stay. The Butcher attacked someone else. I can’t just stand by in case there’s another. I refuse to.” 

Shiro sighed. “I admire your courage Keith - I really do - but don’t push yourself like this, okay? If you need a break you can just say so and we’ll back off for a few weeks. Or months. However long you need.” 

Keith looked at Shiro. As comforting as the words were, Keith knew as well as he did that they didn’t have months. The longer they waited, the more victims the Butcher would claim. Keith could not allow that. He shook his head.

“I’ll be fine.” 

Shiro did not look convinced.

“Well, if there’s one thing I can conclude from this, it is that Lotor has nothing to do with this particular murder,” Allura murmured, cutting across the conversation. “He’s in custody, after all. There’s no possible way he could have escaped to commit a murder and then returned to his cell.” 

“So I was right then,” Keith said. He was trying very hard to look anywhere but the body. “Lotor isn’t the Butcher.” 

“It doesn’t discount the possibility he is,” Allura corrected him quickly. 

“Then...what about a copy-cat killer?” Hunk asked. He lifted his head from his trash can, wiping his mouth with a trembling hand. 

“A copycat?” Lance looked up from the body. His gloves were smeared with blood and he was looking a bit pale. 

“Yeah,” Hunk nodded. “It’s happened before. Someone sees what a serial killer is doing and instead of doing their own thing copies it with their own flair. Could that be possible here?” 

“No,” Keith said suddenly. He looked back at the body and instantly regretted it, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the woman’s terrified gray eyes. “No, it’s not a copycat.” 

“How can you tell?” Allura asked. 

“The wounds,” Keith said. “Lance said it matched the Butcher’s M.O., right? That and her injuries...are like mine.” 

“Thought a bit more fatal,” Pidge muttered under her breath. 

“Yeah,” Keith whispered. “And the brutality of it...it’s just too much like my case. And the cases that came before. This is definitely the Butcher.” 

“If you say so…” Hunk said. He decided he was well enough to keep the rest of his stomach down and stepped gingerly away from the trash can. Allura stepped over the body to squat next to Lance. Gently, she reached out to close the woman’s eyes. She sighed softly, murmuring something soft to the woman and rising again. 

“What are you going to do about Lotor?” Keith asked. He fully realized that he’d effectively burrowed himself into Shiro’s side, feeling secure in the brotherly embrace. Allura pursed her lips. 

“I can’t release him,” she said. “There’s still mountains of evidence stacked against him. The fabric, fingerprints, and his car all have yet to be disproven. So I’ll keep him in custody while we investigate this matter further.” 

“Okay,” Keith whispered. He glanced over as several forensics members came over to talk to Lance. They exchanged a few words before the woman’s body was outlined in white tape, wrapped and moved onto a stretcher. 

“I’m going to head out with them,” Lance said. “We’ll perform a thorough autopsy and get back to you guys on the cause of death.”

“Thank you,” Allura smiled at him. “The rest of us have our hands tied until we find the cause of death so do try to hurry.” 

“Of course,” Lance tried for a wink, but the cockiness of it fell short in wake of all the blood that surrounded them. He waved and jogged after his team, hopping in the back of a van with the stretcher. 

“The rest of you should head home,” Allura said. “It has been a very long day and we’ll need our rest for tomorrow. It will surely be a very busy day. I’ll see you at the office.” 

“You’re staying?” Pidge asked though she didn’t seem at all surprised. 

“Of course,” Allura nodded. “Call if anything comes up.” 

There was a general murmur of consent as the team all headed back for the police tape. Shiro lifted it all for them so they could head back to the cruisers. Keith glanced behind him at the floodlights still illuminating the entire crime scene. He could still see the blood in a dense pool on the concrete, flooding into the trampled snow and turning it scarlet. 

He shuddered and let Shiro set his hand on his shoulder to steer him into the car. 

The warm blast of air was much appreciated as Shiro took the driver’s seat and drove carefully out of the parking lot. The car was deathly silent as Shiro drove, with Hunk and Pidge both lost in their own heads. Keith pressed his forehead against the cold window, trying hard not to think about the body and compare their injuries for the umpteenth time. Instead, he stared hard out the window and wrapped his good arm around his bad one. 

It was starting to snow again. 

After reassuring Shiro after what felt like a hundred times he didn’t need help getting back up to his apartment, Keith watched the cruiser drive off in a flurry of slush. He turned to the rickety old complex and headed for the door. The old man at the front desk watched him come in and as soon as Keith walked inside, he tossed his newspaper onto the counter. 

“Evenin’, Keith,” he said. 

Keith stared at him, surprised the landlord even knew his name. He wondered what he wanted. “Hi.” 

The old man nodded towards the mailboxes. The motion was stiff and awkward. “Mail came for ’ya. Musta been thirty minutes ago someone came in with a letter with your name on it.” 

“This late?” Keith murmured. He felt a chill run down his spine. He hoped it was a very belated package, but honestly, when was the last time he’d ordered anything online? With a terrible feeling in his gut, Keith turned to make a beeline for the boxes. He awkwardly fished his mail key out of his pocket and opened the door with an ungodly loud creak. 

His mailbox was practically stuffed full by this point. He hadn’t gone to get it regularly since his accident, after all. But there was a certain letter in there that caught his attention. 

A neat-looking purple envelope sat undisturbed, squashed between the stack at the top of the tiny mailbox. Keith pried it out as delicately as he could. It had no return address. No indicator of who might have sent it. All it had his name printed in huge hand-written capital letters in the middle. 

The foreboding feeling in his gut grew. 

Keith shut the door on the rest of the envelopes, absently thanking the landlord as he locked the mailbox again. He made his way to the elevator and stepped inside, leaning against the railing to examine the envelope further. He turned his wrist to see the back of it. It was sealed and remarkably plain, almost on purpose. If his name weren’t printed on the front, Keith would have thought this was a letter someone sent him by mistake. Maybe it was and there was conveniently someone else named Keith who lived in this building.

The thought did nothing to ease the unease in his gut. 

The elevator doors dinged and Keith got off on his floor to make his way to his apartment. Unlocking the door, he stepped inside and flicked on the lights. He made a beeline for the heater when he realized just how cold he was and then sat down on his futon to stare down at the letter in his hand. 

He was afraid to open it, he realized. A letter from an unknown sender in a purple envelope was a lot scarier than it should have been. He half-wanted to toss it and forget it about it entirely, but he was too curious by this point. 

Taking one of the pocket knives he’d left on the coffee table, Keith flicked it open and tucked the letter between his legs. Carefully, he used his good hand to cut open the top of the envelope and then put the knife away. Inside was a piece of blank paper, expertly folded and deceptively innocent. Keith swallowed to moisten his dry throat and pulled it out with two fingers. 

It was awkward, unfolding the paper with one hand, but as soon as he did and read the contents of the page, an alarmed gasp tore itself from his throat. He flung both envelope and paper away from him and they fluttered to the floor. 

Keith stared down at the letter, unease creeping up the back of his neck. Seven words - bolded and typed out to be as big as possible - stared back at him. 

NEXT TIME, YOU WON’T BE SO LUCKY

Keith stood up to put as much distance as he possibly could between him and the letter. In his haste, he tripped on the upturned rug and crashed to the floor with a loud thump. His breathing was quick and shallow, panic creeping around the edges of his vision. 

Was the Butcher here? In his apartment? Were they watching him?

Keith swung his head around to look. Nothing seemed amiss. Everything was in its rightful place and nothing had been ransacked. But if they knew his apartment complex, they had to know his apartment number, right? They had to know where he lived. 

Oh, God-

Keith swallowed but it wasn’t helping. His thoughts were running at a mile a minute. 

Were they here, were they watching him, were they going to come into his apartment and finish the job that they started, were they-

Keith was sprinting out the front door before he could stop himself. 

The door slammed shut behind him as Keith fled down the corridor, desperate to put as much space between him and the door as possible. He made it to the end of the hallway before he collapsed, breaking into terrified sobs that tore at his throat. He pressed his back to the cold window overlooking the parking lot and buried his face in his good hand. His fingers threaded through his hair as he rocked back and forth, whining and breathing heavily. 

He was so terrified. 

He wasn’t safe anymore. Not outside, not in his own apartment. He had to get out, had to run, run, run before they caught him had to-

A vibrating in his pocket made Keith throw himself forward bodily, the sudden motion against his leg startling him. He curled in on himself as the vibrating in his pocket continued and Keith pressed his back to the corner. It took him a full minute to realize the buzzing was his phone. His alarm, to be more precise. A reminder to take the medication for his elbow. 

Keith ignored it, bowing his head forward. He was too scared to go inside anymore. Medication be damned, someone could be inside his home. He rocked himself back and forth, trying to use the repetitive buzzing against his thigh to help mediate his thoughts and after a while, it started to work. 

Keith lifted his head to stare at the hallway, his gaze blurry from tears and then realized something. 

The hallway was empty. Horribly, dreadfully empty. 

Keith sucked in a sharp breath. 

The panic was creeping in on him again. All he was aware of was how much he didn’t want to be alone right now. Alone was bad. Alone was how he got caught. 

Keith fumbled for his phone. He turned off the alarm and went straight for his contacts, searching desperately for someone to call. He would take anyone by this point, be it coworkers who only talked to him if they needed him to cover their shift or a stranger he hadn’t seen in years. 

He froze when he got to Shiro’s name. 

He swallowed thickly. Shiro had said he’d be there if Keith needed him, right? And Keith honestly couldn’t think of a time he needed Shiro more than this second. 

Without thinking, Keith hit the call button. 

It rang once. Then twice. Then three times. On the fourth ring, Shiro picked up. 

“Keith? Hello?” 

“Sh-Shiro,” Keith rasped. He tucked his head in-between his legs, pressing his forehead to his knees. 

“Keith?” There was a shift on Shiro’s end. “Is everything okay?” 

“No,” under normal circumstances, the whimper that just left Keith’s mouth would have left him blushing and furiously denying that it happened. But right now, Keith could care less. “No, everything’s not okay--I’m scared and alone and-” he sucked in a sharp, painful breath. Tears were still pricking hotly at his eyes. “I don’t want to be alone right now, Shiro.” 

“I’ll be there in five,” Shiro said. “Do you want me to stay on the call?” 

“Yes-” Keith had shut his eyes so tightly they were starting to hurt. “ Yes.” 

“Okay,” Shiro said. “Okay. I’m here. I won’t leave, okay? Just tell me what happened.” 

Something that sounded horribly like a sob left Keith’s lips. “I got a letter.” 

“A letter?” Shiro said. His voice grew quiet as if he were leaning away from the phone, then got loud again. “What did it say?” 

“I-” Keith thought about the bolded letters and shook his head. “Bad things.” 

“What kind of bad things?” 

“A threat,” Keith whispered. “From--from-” he couldn’t finish the sentence. A shuddering breath escaped him. 

“I’ll be there in two minutes,” Shiro’s voice had gone cold and concerned. Despite Keith being unable to elaborate, he had understood. Keith had never been more grateful to know someone who was as good at observing people as Shiro was. 

“Okay,” Keith whispered. 

“I’m bringing the others with me,” Shiro said. A distant car door slammed, followed by several others. “Is that okay?” 

“Mhm,” Keith nodded. He had never been one for a lot of people, but the thought of going into his apartment - or anywhere - right now, sent his hair on end and a feeling of unease squeezing his gut. He hated it. “It’s fine just--please hurry.” 

“I am,” Shiro said. “I am, Keith. I promise.” 

Keith didn’t reply and instead listened to the activity on the other end of the phone. He could hear other voices - it sounded like the entire crew was there, sans Allura and Coran - and they were all murmuring to each other. The sound was grounding. If Keith didn’t think about the cold window on his back, he could almost imagine being there himself. 

He let out a shaky breath and instantly drew it back in again. The moment he’d tried to let himself relax he’d terrified himself again. Carefully, he stole a glance down the hallway. Nothing had changed and he saw no one heading towards him. He wasn’t sure whether or not to be relieved by this. 

“We’re pulling into the parking lot now,” Shiro said suddenly. “I’m going to let you go, but I promise I’ll be there soon. Are you going to be okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Keith whispered honestly. He shuddered. Shiro released a long, slow breath. 

“Alright,” he said. “That’s okay. We’ll be there in a second. I’m going to let you go now. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Keith whispered. 

“See you soon,” Shiro promised and the line went dead. Almost instantly, Keith felt the fear creep back up the back of his neck. He trapped his phone between his sling and his legs and tried to ignore it. Tried to ignore the feeling of someone stalking down the corridor towards him, but every time he lifted his head there was no one there. 

Keith didn’t know how long he sat there, listening to nothing and trying to calm down. Eventually, the elevator door chimed pleasantly and the doors creaked open. He could hear footsteps headed his way and finally, he lifted his head. 

Shiro was practically charging towards him from the elevator. He dropped to one knee next to Keith, setting his hand carefully down on the smaller boy’s shoulder. He looked him over, presumably for injuries, and sighed in relief when he didn’t find any. Then, carefully, he pulled Keith into a gentle hug. 

“You’re okay,” he whispered, rocking them back and forth. Keith shut his eyes. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

Slowly, the terrible feeling in Keith’s gut began to fade. He breathed out slowly and was relieved to see that he felt immensely better. He no longer felt terribly afraid. 

“Is...he okay?” A careful voice from a few feet away spoke. Pidge. Keith lifted his head to look at her and smile reassuringly. 

Hunk and Lance were there, too. Keith wasn’t too surprised by the former, but the latter was a shock. He’d seemed incredibly busy, especially with the body they’d discovered earlier that day. He wet his lips before speaking.  

“Shouldn’t you be performing an autopsy or something?” He asked. 

“What, do you think I’m like the only forensic scientist at the precinct or something?” Lance snorted, clearly trying to lighten the mood. The concern in his expression told it all, though. “It’s fine, man. There’s a whole team of people. They’re not as good as me, but they do a pretty decent job.” 

Keith snorted. More tension bled from his shoulders. 

“What even...happened?” Pidge asked. Keith remembered the letter and burrowed himself deeper into Shiro’s chest. 

“I-” Keith sucked in a deep, shuddering breath. “I got a letter. I think it’s from the Butcher. I didn’t know if he was in my apartment or not so I freaked out and had to get out.” 

“Jesus,” Pidge looked anxious. 

“Do you want us to check the apartment for you?” Hunk asked. “If there’s anyone inside we’ll arrest them no questions asked.” 

Keith nodded and with Shiro’s assistance, slowly rose to his feet. He was beginning to regret ignoring his alarm for his medicine. His elbow was throbbing. 

Together they headed back down the hall to Keith’s apartment, with Keith and Shiro leading the way. As they walked, Keith ducked his head, trying to ignore the way his cheeks were darkening with shame and embarrassment. 

He had to say something. Shiro had dropped a relaxing night at home for this. For him. A ‘thank you’ would have been the least he could do. It may not have even been enough, either. Keith was probably overreacting about there being someone in his apartment and had nothing to worry about whatsoever. 

“Thank you,” he said finally, wrestling the words out. “For this. Even though you didn’t have to.” 

“You’re like my little brother, Keith,” Shiro huffed out a laugh. “Of course I’m going to help you.” 

Keith felt a smile tug at his lips. 

Hunk was first in through the apartment door. He held his hand up in an impression of a gun, taking careful steps around the overflowing trash pile next to the door. Pidge was next in, looking wary but far less concerned, and Lance just entered with the air of someone who had far better things to do then look for serial killers in someone’s apartment. 

Keith and Shiro followed them in. Keith swallowed thickly. The air in the apartment was stifling. Especially since there could be an intruder lying in wait for one of them to make a wrong move. Keith swallowed thickly as Hunk inspected under every loose article of clothing, under every blanket lying on the futon. Then, he opened the door to Keith’s room and got down on all fours to check under the bed. It would have been laughable if the Butcher was there, lying in wait like some real-life monster under the bed, but it was empty aside from a few dead spiders. Hunk finished his inspection of the room by throwing Keith’s closet doors open wide that revealed nothing except his growing pile of laundry and hangers that were missing their clothes. 

Lance popped his head out onto the balcony to check for anyone lurking there but found it empty. With difficulty, he shoved Keith’s dilapidated sliding glass door closed and turned the lock. 

“All clear,” he said. With a surprising amount of grace, he tipped over backward onto Keith’s futon. One of the pillows went bouncing off under the coffee table. 

Pidge was holding a horrendously familiar purple envelope in her hand. She was scowling down at the letter in her other. 

“Mind if I take this in as evidence?” She asked innocently. “I’ll burn it personally after we catch the Butcher.” 

“Yeah,” Keith was just glad he didn’t have to look at it anymore. “Go ahead.” 

“Nice,” Pidge put the letter back into the envelope and tucked it into her pocket. “Now I don’t know about you, but I was promised a relaxing night. And if I can’t have it at my place…” she shrugged. “I’ll just have it at your’s.” 

“Ditto!” Lance raised his arm to point at the ceiling and then draped it dramatically over his face. 

“Okay,” Keith said. Under normal circumstances, he would have been annoyed at so many people trying to share his cramped apartment. But right now, he couldn’t have been more relieved. “I’ll order us some pizza or something.” 

“Got any movies?” Hunk asked, stooping to pick up some fallen laundry and put it with the rest in the closet. 

“A few,” Keith nodded to his bedroom. “They’re in a box in the closet.” 

Hunk nodded and vanished back into Keith’s room. Lance finally sat up to scowl around him. 

“More importantly,” Lance fixed Keith with a sharp glare. “Do you even clean?” 

Keith was so surprised by the accusation he failed to think up a witty comeback in time. Instead, he found himself blinking dumbly at Lance. “...what?” 

“I asked if you even cleaned,” Lance snorted. “I’m hardly home because of work at the precinct but even I keep my apartment as clean as possible.” 

“No offense, but cleaning is the last thing that’s been on my mind recently,” Keith shot back. 

Lance snorted and stood. He put his hands on his hips and clicked his tongue. “Before we watch a movie, we’re getting this place clean.” 

“Fine by me,” Keith said wearily. Another painful twinge from his elbow reminded him it was in dire need of medication. “Just don’t destroy the place.” 

Lance put a hand over his chest, acting like he’d just been shot. “You wound me, Mullet!” 

“Alright, you two,” Shiro was clearly trying to act stern, but the amused grin on his face spoke volumes. “Can it for now. We’ve got work to do.” 

“I’m going to take the medication for my elbow,” Keith rubbed at it through his sling. “You guys can start without me. I’ll help when I’m done.” 

“Don’t push yourself,” Shiro reminded him gently. Keith nodded and stepped around him to go get his medication from his bedside table. 

Cleaning the apartment took an hour. It turned an already late night into an even later one as by the time everything had been cleaned and miscellaneous items had been put back in their proper place, the clock was well past midnight. Nobody seemed to care, either, as they all wrapped themselves up in blankets as Hunk popped “The Emperor’s New Groove” into the CD player and everyone got ready to watch it. 

Keith curled on his futon with his sling tucked comfortably up against his stomach. It looked like nobody had any intention of leaving and he was perfectly content with that. He found himself drifting as he lay with his head resting against the back of the cushions with Shiro sprawled out next to him. 

It was only after Hunk’s breathing evened out and Pidge and Lance were thoroughly distracted by the movie that Shiro motioned Keith to the kitchen. He wanted to talk to him. Alone. Despite knowing he could trust Shiro, Keith couldn’t help the jolt of anxiety that festered in his gut. Nothing ever good came when someone wanted to have a private chat with him. 

Regardless, he stood up to follow Shiro into the kitchen. Shiro was quiet for a moment, getting a glass from the cupboard and filling it up with tap water. He took a sip, making a face and staring down at the water, and then looked back at Keith. 

“So,” he said. “How are you doing? Better?” 

Keith leaned against the counter. “Better,” he agreed, his lips curling into a smile. “Thank you for coming over so quickly. It...really means a lot to me.” 

“You’re like a brother to me now, Keith,” Shiro said. He set his glass down with a soft clink upon the counter. “I’ll always be there for you.” It was the second time Shiro had said something to that effect, but it never failed to bring a warm feeling to Keith’s chest. He hadn’t felt so loved - like he belonged - in forever. Not since his father had passed. 

“Thank you,” he said again. 

“Of course,” Shiro said. “But Keith...can you promise me something?” 

Keith looked up so sharply his neck hurt. “Promise you what?” 

“When it comes to your memories of that night…” Shiro pursed his lips. “Promise me you’ll stop pushing yourself to get them back. Please.” 

Keith’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. He’d already known that Shiro disapproved greatly of his drive to get his memories back no matter the cost. He’d constantly been pushing for Keith to take breaks, to take things slow and easy, one step at a time. And Keith had known that he didn’t have that much time, tonight more than ever. The Butcher was still at large and it was only a matter of time before a second victim - just like that woman tonight - surfaced. 

Keith bit down hard on his lip. “Shiro, I-” 

“I know that you want to get them back,” Shiro said quickly. “I know that it matters to you. But you matter to me. And seeing you the way you are when you remember something it… it hurts, Keith. You’re pushing yourself too far. And I want it to stop. So please.” 

“I-” Keith shifted. “I’m sorry, Shiro…” 

“No need to apologize,” Shiro whispered. “Go on.” 

“I want to promise you that, I really do, but…” Keith trapped his lower lip between his teeth and chewed it. “I can’t. I have to do this. Before there’s someone else put in my position. I have to catch this guy before that can happen.” 

Shiro’s face fell. “I see.” 

“I’m sorry,” Keith said again. Then, very quickly, to stave off Shiro’s disappointment, he continued. “But if it’ll help you feel better, I’ll stop...y’know. Intentionally trying to make myself remember.” 

Shiro’s lips turned up. “Promise?” 

“Promise.” 

Shiro took another sip from his water glass and gave it the same disgusted look. “Speaking of your memories and forcing them...that woman tonight. Did it...remind you of anything?” 

Keith thought back to the rivulets of blood that turned the concrete dark. The terrified look in the woman’s eyes as she stared, unseeing, up at the pavilion. Other than the injuries, there was nothing that particularly stood out to him. He frowned, knowing there was something important pressing against the irritating wall that separated his memories from his consciousness. He tried to grasp it, but as always, the answers were frustratingly just out of reach. 

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I feel like there should be something there, but-” he inhaled very sharply. His head flared with a sudden and painful headache. He stumbled, threading his fingers through his hair. 

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice sounded like it was coming through ten layers of interference. “Keith, are you okay?” 

Keith could not muster the strength to respond. His head pounded so hard he felt like he was about to pass out. There was so much agony, he could hear his own screams, echoing like a horrible symphony in his head. And there, deep in his subconscious, a form - a face - was starting to take shape. 

It was blurry. Like Keith was looking at it through a pool of water. Then, it gained form. Thick black hair. A single golden eye that penetrated through Keith’s soul. A grisly scar, marring half of their face. 

Keith felt like he’d been doused with ice water. He crashed to the floor, clutching his head in both hands as best he could. Shiro knelt next to him, calling out to him. The killer lifted a knife above Keith’s head, the surface dripping with crimson. 

Then, all at once the memory faded. Outliving its usefulness, it banished itself to the back of Keith’s mind as a constant, brooding reminder of what he’d been through. Of who had done this to him. 

Keith felt like he was about to be sick. 

“Keith!” Shiro called out again. The others had crowded into the kitchen, looking half-asleep and worried. Shiro was clearly torn between reaching out and comforting him and keeping his hands to himself. Keith shut his eyes again. He had to tell them. He had to let them know what he’d just remembered. 

Panting, Keith lifted his head. “The killer. I saw the killer. I know who it is.” 

Shiro’s mouth gaped open. “You do? Who is it?” 

Keith licked his lips. His mouth was as dry as a desert. His hands - no - his whole body was trembling. 

“It was Zarkon,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Because there was no possible way he could have mistaken the face that leered down at him that night in the ally.

Chapter Text

They marched into the precinct the moment it opened the following morning. Shiro kept his hand on Keith’s shoulder as they made their way to Allura’s office and practically tumbled inside. Allura lifted an eyebrow at the sudden intrusion, but when she saw the looks on their faces, she seemed to forget they’d come in unannounced. 

Keith was first to come forward, using one hand to brace his whole body against the desk. He relayed everything to Allura; the killer’s identity to the knife coming down, ropes of blood splattering the steel surface. The more he talked the more shadowed Allura’s expression became until it was virtually unreadable. She laced her fingers together, pressing them against her lips, clearly deep in thought. It was silent after Keith finished. They stood there quietly long enough for a member of the forensics team to pull Lance aside to talk to him. When the door clicked shut behind him, Allura looked Keith full in the eye. 

“And you’re certain Zarkon is the identity of the Butcher?” she asked. Keith recalled the single golden eye leering at him from above and nodded. 

“Positive,” he said because there was no way he’d mistaken the person that had tried to kill him that night in the alleyway. “It was him.” 

Allura nodded slowly and lowered both her hands onto her desk. “I see. I will admit, him being the Butcher matches up with the murders. Particularly last night’s.” 

“How so?” Keith asked. 

“We put the store under surveillance, just as you asked,” Allura explained. “And nothing seems amiss. Customers are slow, but that is to be expected given the weather outside. They lock up at exactly ten o’clock and everyone appears to go home. The body was called in at eleven through a 911 call. Zarkon could certainly go to the park and murder someone within that time frame.” 

Keith’s heart pounded in his ears. “What about the fingerprints? Did you manage to get those?” 

Allura nodded. “I sent in a team to get the fingerprints of every worker in the store. Zarkon was...surprisingly compliant.” 

“We should test them,” Keith said. 

“I’ll ask Lance when he comes back in,” Hunk volunteered. He frowned, tapping his finger on his chin in thought. “Though, that does remind me of something. If Zarkon was angry when he killed that woman then he recognized Keith and knew he wasn’t a detective in training.” 

Keith inhaled sharply. He hadn’t thought of that, but now that he had it was making the back of his neck prickle uncomfortably. 

“That would explain why the Butcher was so angry when he attacked that woman,” Pidge whispered. “Assuming Zarkon didn’t know Keith survived, he’d definitely have found out yesterday and...well. We all saw the result.” 

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable glances. Keith’s stomach protested and he turned his head away to hide how pale his face had become. He hadn’t thought about that. And any reminder of that poor woman was a terrible one. 

The door creaked open. Lance returned, shutting the door behind him. He made a face upon seeing Pidge had taken his seat and instead decided to lean against the door with his arms folded and one leg tossed over the other. He sighed, dragging a hand down his face. 

“We got the autopsy results in,” he said through his fingers. 

“And?” Shiro asked with a frown. 

“The official cause of death is blood loss,” Lance said. “’parently she died before the killer was done torturing her. Lot of the wounds were inflicted post-mortem.” 

Pidge whistled lowly. “Damn…” 

"There's more," Lance said. "We were able to identify the woman. Her name was Narti - she worked with Lotor at some dead-end office job. But that's not the important part. It was her bloodline." He raised his tired head to look at Keith. "She was half-Galra. Just like you." 

Keith's throat suddenly felt so strangled he had to force himself to speak. "...what?!" 

"Then..." Hunk's face was rapidly going white. "Zarkon's targeting half-Galra?" 

"Do we know why?" Shiro asked. 

Allura laced her fingers. "The Galra is a proud bloodline. As much as most people don't like revealing it, there are just as many who are proud of it. Anything that dilutes that bloodline...they view as a stain upon their history. Something that must be erased, no matter the cost." 

"Then the discount..." Keith's blood ran cold. "It must be a way for Zarkon to lure in half-Galras and..." he trailed off, swallowing thickly. He couldn't find it in himself to finish the sentence. 

"Probably," Pidge whispered. "And since Galra can tell if someone's full-blooded or only half pretty easily, he'd have no problem discerning between who was and wasn't a target." 

“Man,” Lance’s shoulders slumped. “Zarkon’s one sick son of a bitch if he’s really the one who did it.” 

“About that,” Hunk tugged at the strings of his bandanna so it fit his head better. “You mind doing something for us?” Lance let his hand fall into his arms, crossing them over his chest as he regarded Hunk. He looked tired. Keith would almost feel bad for working Lance even harder if Hunk’s request wasn’t of utmost importance. “Would you mind running the fingerprints on the knife for us and matching them with Zarkon’s?” 

“Yeah, sure,” Lance’s shoulders slumped. “It might take a little bit, though.” 

“How long?” Keith pressed. 

“A day. At the shortest.” 

Keith swore under his breath. A day felt too long. He’d go stir-crazy if he had to go back to his apartment now and just sit on the identity of the Butcher for the rest of the day. He had to do something. He had to act. 

“Do you mind getting on that as soon as possible?” Allura asked. 

Lance nodded. “No problem.” 

“Then...do the rest of us want to hit up Paladins and strategize?” Pidge suggested. “Zarkon’s probably suspicious that we’re onto him. After all, it’s pretty obvious we put his shop under surveillance. If it turns out he’s the Butcher, he’s going to try and leave town. We have to stop that from happening.” 

There was a general murmur of consent. Keith nodded his head so fast he got several strange looks. Lance ran a tired hand through his hair and pointed at Hunk. 

“You better get me a large caramel latte with extra whipped cream or I am never forgiving you,” he threatened. Hunk huffed out half a laugh. 

“You got it, bud.” 

After an exchange of goodbyes, Keith followed the others out the door and onto the chilly street. The walk to Paladins was brisk and cold and the warmth of the interior of the coffee shop was more than welcome. Hunk and Shiro went to order while Pidge and Keith crammed themselves into the couches by the window and tried to warm their frigid fingers. 

Hunk and Shiro came by a few minutes later with their little table number and Pidge produced a notebook from her hoodie pocket. They all put their heads together and attempted to brainstorm, but after several hours of fruitless ideas, they had to call it quits. Pidge sighed and stuffed her notebook back in her pocket. It had been covered in scribbles, but none of them had any definitive plan of how to trap Zarkon. 

Hunk excused himself to go order Lance’s caramel latte as Keith scratched the back of his head. His hair felt greasy under his hand. It was probably long overdue for a shower and Keith mentally reminded himself to do so once he got home. 

Pidge groaned exaggeratedly, stretching out on the couch. She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and pouted. “No closer, huh? This sucks.” 

“There has to be something we can do,” Keith said desperately. 

“Anything we’ve come up with is either illegal or something Zarkon would see coming,” Pidge sighed. She stretched again. “Catching a serial killer is a lot harder then I thought it would be.” 

“It’s like the Kerberos Murders,” Shiro’s fingers twitched on the table as he mentioned them. Keith gave him a concerned look. “The killer, in that case, didn’t stop fighting until his back was against the wall.” 

Pidge knitted her eyebrows. “You think there’s some connection between the Kerberos Murders and the Butcher?” 

Shiro pursed his lips. “If there is, I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

Hunk trotted back over to the table, holding a plastic cup in his hand filled to the brim with beige-colored coffee. He gave them all a tired smile and jerked his head to the door. 

“Shall we go?” 

“Yeah,” Pidge stretched her arms. “I’m gonna see if there’s anything in the security footage I missed.” 

“I’ve still got my report to write about last night,” Hunk made a face. 

“I can help you,” Shiro offered. 

Hunk nodded with a huge, grateful smile. Keith fidgeted awkwardly, keeping his eyes pinned on his sneakers. 

“What...should I do?” He asked weakly. He hated sounding like a child looking for attention, but he could not stand still while Zarkon continued to threaten the livelihood of those around him. Sitting on that information and not doing anything about it sounded like torture. Keith had to act. 

But he could tell by the look on Shiro’s face that it wasn’t going to happen. 

“Why don’t you head home?” The words Keith was dreading so left Shiro’s mouth. He fought the urge to cringe. “I’ll call you if anything changes.” 

“But-” Keith bit his tongue when Shiro lifted an eyebrow. There was no way he was going to be able to win this argument. He huffed out a sigh and bit the inside of his cheek. “Fine.” 

“Thank you,” Shiro said with a smile. Keith could only grunt in response. 

Because Shiro had another thing coming entirely if he thought Keith was going to sit by idly until tomorrow morning. 

Keith hadn’t tried driving since his accident. He’d favored walking everywhere so he could ignore the painful reminder of his more-than-useless right arm. But that didn’t matter right now. He didn’t mind driving with one hand, especially not under these circumstances. 

Tossing an extra hoodie into the backseat in case he got colder than he already was, Keith backed out of his parking spot and shifted gears to ease his way out of the lot. 

The radio hummed in the background as he awkwardly drove with one hand. He’d spent far longer at Paladins then he’d thought - the sun was starting to sink in the horizon. The thought did little to comfort him. 

This time tomorrow, either Zarkon would be in custody or he would still be at large. Tomorrow decided everything. Keith had to be as prepared as he could possibly be. 

Which brought him to his current predicament. 

Awkwardly, Keith turned into the parking lot. He parked his car and turned it off, swallowing down any remaining traces of fear or apprehension. He glanced at the dilapidated building, the flickering ‘A’ in ‘Galra’ making his stomach twist into uncomfortable knots. 

He hated this building just as much as he had when he’d been here last. It still screamed wrong to him, knowing just how close he was to where he had been murdered. Merely two buildings away. That was all that separated him at the spot where his body had been discovered. 

A shudder chilled Keith’s spine and he burrowed himself tighter into his coat to ward it away. He was nervous - he realized with the pounding of his heart in his ears. He wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he was actually going to go in or talk to Zarkon. He was just here to watch the place for the night. Get some idea of Zarkon’s nightly schedule and use it to his advantage. There was nothing to be worried about. It was just a good old-fashioned stakeout. 

Keith burrowed tighter into his coat. He hissed as his elbow twinged with pain in the rapidly chilling car. He was suddenly very glad he’d brought an extra hoodie. 

The hours dwindled away. The desolate parking lot filled some and then emptied once more. The sun vanished behind the mountains and stars twinkled to life above the sleepy county. Keith grabbed his second hoodie from the backseat and pulled it over his head, squashing his sling against his gut. It warmed him slightly, but within ten minutes Keith was starting to wish he’d brought a third jacket to help keep warm. 

The stakeout had been dreadfully boring. Keith had wondered more than once if he had been better off ticking the hours away by lying around at his apartment. But even now, bored out of his mind, the idea left a bad feeling in Keith’s stomach. Sitting and doing nothing did not appeal to him. Especially not now. 

Movement from the front of the store to the parking lot caught Keith’s eye. He shot up, nearly smashing his head against the roof of the car. He recognized that hulking figure and white zip-up. 

Zarkon. 

He was slouched, hands in his pockets as he made his way silently over to the SUV sitting at the corner of the lot. He looked tired. Worn-out in a way that wasn’t normal. 

Keith was suddenly reminded of the photo sitting in Zarkon’s office. An odd feeling began stirring in his chest. As much as Keith hated Zarkon, as much as he was absolutely terrified of him, Keith still wanted to know why. Why Zarkon had tried to kill him. Was it really just something to do with his bloodline? What happened to the smiling man in the photograph and when the grouchy man with the grisly scar had replaced him? 

He had to know. 

So, without thinking, Keith was fumbling for the latch on his car door. It opened with a pop and Keith stepped out into the frigid air. Slamming the car door shut behind him, Keith started jogging over to Zarkon before he could lose his courage. The lights of his SUV flashed across the darkness as Zarkon unlocked it. Keith cursed under his breath and raised his arm. 

“Excuse me!” he called out, slipping on slush. Zarkon paused and turned to face him. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice was still just as deep and unnerving as it had been when Keith had visited last. He hated it just as much. “But the store is closed. If you need anything, it will have to wait for tomorrow.” 

Keith stopped in front of Zarkon and had to force himself to stay rooted in the spot so he wouldn’t cower away from the hulking man in front of him. Instead, he squared his shoulders and planted his feet as best as he could in the slick, black slush. 

“I’m not here about the store,” Keith said. He was surprised by how firm his voice sounded. Zarkon lifted an eyebrow, scanning Keith. A moment passed before recognition (and was that anger?) clouded his eye. 

“Ah, Detective,” Zarkon spit the title out like it was poisonous but Keith couldn’t help but preen at it. Detective Kogane. He liked the sound of that. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” 

Keith snapped himself back into reality. Mentally chiding himself for getting so caught up in something that could never come to pass, he forced himself to smile. Underneath his hoodie, the hand cradled in his sling curled into a fist. 

“I wanted to ask you something,” Keith said. “Something that’s been bothering me since I came here last.” 

Zarkon scowled and Keith swallowed down a terrified whimper at the way it pulled and stretched the older man’s face. 

“I’m not interested in answering any more questions,” Zarkon said coolly. “I’m a busy man, after all. And...I was thinking of visiting my son.” 

“Your son?” Keith blinked. 

“Yes,” Zarkon said. There was a coldness in his voice that made Keith acutely aware of just who he was standing with. He took several steps back but found solace in the fact that the streets were still mildly busy. Zarkon wouldn’t try to hurt him in with so many people around. 

Would he? 

Keith resisted the shudder that ran up his spine and shoved his free hand into his hoodie pocket. He had to get control over himself. He could do this. 

But Zarkon’s next words had him reeling all over again. 

“I believe your precinct arrested him,” Zarkon said and Keith couldn’t help his jaw from dropping. His thoughts jumped to the baby in Zarkon’s photograph and then to the man sitting opposite Shiro and Allura in the interrogation room. 

Lotor...was Zarkon’s son? 

“Oh,” Keith breathed. He hoped he didn’t sound as strangled as he felt. 

“I’ve been too busy to visit him as of late,” Zarkon continued as if he hadn’t noticed anything. Keith was sure that he had. “I thought today would be a prime time but...here we are.” 

Keith took another few steps back. He had to focus all of his willpower into not slipping on ice and keeping himself rooted to the spot. 

So many things were suddenly clicking into place all at once. The garbled voices. The shirt scrap. The fingerprints. Was it possible after all? That Keith’s hunch that Lotor had been forced into trying to kill him was actually correct? If it was, a lot of things would make sense. Lotor’s horrified expression in Keith’s dim memories. How scared he’d sounded. 

And…

“It’s a coincidence,” said Lotor’s silky voice in the back of his head. Keith gritted his teeth. He couldn’t believe he was right. Lotor really had been at the wrong place at the wrong time. 

But what set Zarkon off so badly? What happened between father and son that warranted the attempted murder of someone just trying to scrape by? Was it truly Keith's bloodline or something else? Something more? 

That part, Keith couldn’t figure out. But he knew he was close. The answer to everything was at the tips of his fingers, he knew it.  

“How…” Zarkon forced Keith to remember where he was. Standing in a practically empty parking lot with the number of people passing by dwindling slowly with the man that had tried to murder him. Keith swallowed. This had been a really bad idea. “How is he?” Zarkon finally finished. There was an odd tenderness to his voice that made Keith shiver as if Zarkon had just run his nails across a chalkboard. 

“I don’t know,” Keith said honestly. “I haven’t seen him since he was interrogated. But-” he added at the look that was spreading across Zarkon’s face. His heart pounded in his ears. This had been a really stupid idea. “I’m sure he’s fine. Allura would have mentioned it if he wasn’t.” 

Zarkon’s expression did not clear. “I wonder why they arrested him, to begin with. The report I was sent was...vague at best.” 

Keith set his lips into a thin line. “I can’t tell you that.” 

“Of course not,” Zarkon said smoothly. 

Then, with a sudden rush of courage, Keith lifted his chin to stare directly into Zarkon’s unblinking golden eye. He ignored the fearful jolt he got from staring into the gaze of the man who’d tried to murder him and clung onto the fleeting courage desperately. 

“But it is incriminating,” Keith said coldly. 

“Incriminating,” Zarkon repeated. It wasn’t a question. “I see.” 

Keith snapped his mouth shut. He felt like he’d said too much. It wasn’t a good feeling. The last bit of the courage he’d managed to summon grew wings and flew away. He was becoming increasingly aware of just how easily Zarkon could snap his neck with his bare hands. He swallowed. 

“I’d better go. Thank you for your time, sir,” he said. 

“Yes,” Zarkon hummed. “Goodnight, Detective.” 

Keith nodded in acknowledgment and turned on his heel. He tried not to make it look like he ran back to his car, but he knew he wouldn’t feel safe until he had his back pressed to the fraying fabric seats. As soon as he unlocked the door and tumbled in, he turned in his seat to watch Zarkon’s SUV roar to life. It turned onto the main road and vanished in a wave of slush. 

Keith stayed there long after Zarkon had left, trying to chase away the cold chill on the back of his neck. 

It didn’t go away. 

Come to the precinct. Now, Lance’s message read.

Keith blinked blearily at his phone, trying to shake off the last bits of sleep that still clung to his consciousness. He read Lance’s message a few more times (getting confused at the contact name yet again) and then rolled out of bed. He shook his head to wake himself up and hurried over to his closet to pull out a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. 

He knew what the text was about. There was no possible way it could be about anything other than the fingerprints on the knife. This would confirm whether or not Keith’s memories held true. Whether or not that single golden eye that leered at him truly belonged to Zarkon. Keith had no doubt that it was, but it didn’t stop the apprehension from lingering in his gut. He swallowed thickly, shrugging on his coat and leaving his sling hanging out of it. 

Locking his door behind him, Keith jogged down the stairs and out into the cold morning air. It bit at his exposed skin and Keith hissed in discomfort, hoping a cup of Hunk’s wonderful coffee (the taste was really starting to grow on him) was waiting for him at the precinct. He set off at a brisk jog, weaving in between the morning crowds and reached the police department in record time. 

Pidge was waiting for him outside of the glass doors this time. As soon as she saw Keith, she steered him into the room and around the desks to Allura’s office. The others were already gathered there, looking different degrees of grim. Lance especially looked tired, with dark bags under his eyes and his elbows resting on his knees. He clenched his fists to rest them against his forehead and slouched. Keith wondered how much sleep Lance had gotten the night before. He was guessing it wasn’t much. 

There were several papers sitting in front of Lance, all covered in a mixture of typing and a messy scrawl. It had been stapled several times over and when Keith leaned over to try and read the contents, a lot of it was just forensic mumbo jumbo that made absolutely no sense to him. He turned to Lance, waiting for the explanation that he knew was coming. 

“What is that?” he asked in an attempt to start the conversation. 

Lance opened his eyes and lifted his head. His clasped hands fell to dangle between his legs. 

“The results of the fingerprint test,” Lance said. He sounded even worse than he looked. 

“And?” 

“You were right,” Lance said wearily. “Those are Zarkon’s fingerprints for sure. He’s the Butcher.” 

Keith couldn’t help the way he inhaled sharply. A strange myriad of emotions welled up inside of him. Euphoria, for one, because he was finally going to get closure on this case. There was horror and fear there too, though, because he’d been practically alone with a serial killer last night and his son was currently in custody. 

“We should arrest him,” Keith said, licking his lips nervously. Allura nodded in agreement at her desk. 

“We will, now that you are here and the team has been briefed,” she said. She picked up a piece of paper from one of her neat stacks and handed it to Shiro. “Here’s the warrant. I’m entrusting you with the actual arrest.” 

“Leave it to me,” Shiro nodded. Determination colored his gaze and made his dark eyes seem harder than usual. Keith couldn’t help but be impressed with how fearless he seemed. 

Together, they all scrambled out into the parking lot. They had to take several cars, as a few other officers within Allura’s inner circle had accompanied them. Keith sat in the middle of one seat, crammed between Lance and Hunk as Shiro drove and Pidge bit her nails in the front. A sick knot of apprehension was curling in his gut. These coming moments would shape the outcome of the case. Whether or not their hard work went to waste. 

Shiro kept pace with the other patrol officers as they charged through the snowy city. Keith tried to focus on the crowds passing them by but it did little to shift the weight that had sat on his chest. He wondered how long it had been since he’d been this nervous. Ages, probably. 

The horrifyingly familiar building came into view again. Keith felt a jolt run up his spine, a headache tease at the back of his eyes. He inhaled sharply, pressing his fingers to his temples and earning himself concerned looks from both Hunk and Lance. Keith paid them no mind as the headache began to get worse. 

There was still more? More to remember about that night? Keith knew the identity of the Butcher, there was nothing left for him to try and remember. 

His headache - and more importantly, the rest of his memories - said otherwise. 

The cold air stung Keith’s face as Hunk and Lance both opened their doors. He hadn’t even realized they’d parked. Keith stumbled out of the car, squinting in the morning sun that made the little bits of untouched snow sparkle. It would have been a beautiful sight, had Keith’s nerves not been so high-strung. 

He followed after Shiro and the rest of the officers. A few of them had their pistols out but Allura motioned for them to stand aside as Shiro approached the automatic glass doors. A few of them had uneasy looks on their face. Keith did not understand why until he saw the front doors. He inhaled sharply. 

The front doors had been shattered entirely. One of them was leaning precariously towards them, like it could drop at any second. Glass shards littered the tiled interior and the snow outside. It crunched underneath Keith’s shabby sneakers as he moved forward unconsciously. He put his hand on the door and ducked to keep the jagged shards from taking his head off. 

The headache pounded harder the moment he straightened up in the darkened shop. Around him, police officers murmured to each other as they stepped inside to search the place. The store looked like it had been ransacked, with cash registers thrown halfway across the room and several shelves tipped over to lie uselessly on their sides. Computer parts - some intact but most of them broken - spilled out all over the floor. 

“What happened?” he heard himself breathing. He hissed again, pressing his palm to his forehead as his headache worsened with a vengeance. 

“Was the place robbed?” Hunk wondered out loud next to him. Keith had to resist the urge to lean against him to balance out the way the world was suddenly blurring and spinning around him. 

“No,” Allura’s voice was tight and crisp. She had her arms folded tightly. “Zarkon knew we were coming. He did this.” 

“Then-” Pidge swallowed. “He robbed his own store?” 

“He’s probably trying to leave town,” Shiro realized. “We have to stop him.” 

“I’ll release an arrest warrant as soon as possible,” Allura promised. “That should delay him a bit.” 

Keith heard Lance murmur a reply but he was no longer listening. He had both hands pressed to the sides of his head, trying to ignore the way it pounded in his ears. The metaphorical wall that had been holding his memories back was bulging, about to burst like a dam. He could feel it. Forgotten emotions and feelings bubbled up from inside him. 

(Agony, fear, a distinct feeling of being unwelcome-)

A distinct thought-

(Was he going to hurt him?)

A snap, a scream, the flash of the blade of a knife-

(I am going to die. I am going to die.) 

And then-

Keith stumbled backward. His back hit the remains of the door and the extra weight forced it to topple over with a loud crash of shattering glass. Keith - miraculously - managed to keep his balance despite everything that had been unleashed upon him at once. He felt a hand drop down on his shoulder as he stumbled, trying hard not to throw up. 

“Keith?” Shiro asked. 

Keith lifted his head. Shiro’s face was blurry and swimming in and out of focus. Keith wondered if it was because of the last of the headache fading away or the tears of horror swimming in his eyes. 

He remembered everything. 

He knew what happened to him. Every event of that fateful night in that alleyway. From the moment he stepped into the odd-smelling store to the moment he lost consciousness, covered in his own blood and ready to embrace what came behind that elusive veil of life and death. 

He felt sick. 

But he also felt somehow relieved. 

He knew these memories would haunt him for the rest of his life, but that was much preferable to spending the rest of his life wondering what truly transpired that cold November night. 

But the repercussions of that didn’t matter right now. There was only one thing that did. 

“Shiro, can I have the car keys?” He asked. 

“What? Why?” Shiro put his hand in his pocket anyway. 

“I have to talk to someone,” something in Keith’s expression must have told Shiro just how important this was to him. Without hesitating, Shiro dropped the keys to the police cruiser into his outstretched palm. Keith thanked him and turned on his heel, marching out back to the parking lot with his head held high. 

He barely heard Shiro’s reminder to be careful as he walked. Now that Keith understood everything - remembered every last detail of what had really happened - he had to talk to a certain someone. 

Because it was high time Keith and Lotor had a chat. 

Lotor’s cell was tucked in the back of the precinct. Keith stood in front of the blank, white door with the keys to the cell in his hand. He’d feel bad about snooping in Allura’s desk later. Right now, Lotor was all that mattered. 

Keith stuck the key into the lock and turned it. It clicked open and Keith opened the door. It swung open without so much as a creak and the doorknob lightly knocked against the other wall. 

Lotor turned his head to look at who’d come. Dark bags hung under his eyes like he’d hardly gotten sleep. Keith didn’t doubt that he had, especially given that Lotor hadn’t been released since he’d been charged with attempted manslaughter. His prison garb was wrinkled and with his hands folded under his head, Lotor looked almost relaxed on the dingy prison bed. 

Keith couldn’t help how powerful he felt, standing above the man who’d almost been forced to kill him. He took a step into the room and shut the door behind him, locking it silently. He wasn’t afraid. There was nothing to be scared of when it came to Lotor. 

Recognition dawned in Lotor’s eyes. “Mr. Kogane.” 

Keith shook his head. “Keith. It’s just...Keith.” 

“I see,” Lotor sat up. His long hair tumbled around his shoulders in unkempt waves. “Keith, then. Are you well?” 

“I am, thanks.” The question was surprisingly civil despite the circumstances for which Keith had come. He curled his good hand into a fist around the key, which warmed under his skin. He took several steps farther into the cell and Lotor lifted an eyebrow. 

“So, to what do I owe this honor?” 

Keith sucked in a deep, fluttering breath. He let his eyes fall closed, gathering his resolve, and then opened them again. 

“I know,” he said. Lotor’s eyebrow climbed higher. “I know what happened that night. I know what you almost did to me. What you were almost forced to do.” 

Lotor looked down. His expression was unreadable. “So you didn’t remember anything of that night before now...just as I’d suspected,” he sighed heavily. Long tresses of white hair tumbled over his shoulders. “Then you must also know what my family is. Who my family is.” 

“I do,” Keith said breathlessly. He fumbled for his phone in his pocket and unlocked it. He found the pictures he’d snapped of Zarkon’s photograph and turned it for Lotor to see. “This is you, isn’t it? You’re the baby in this picture.” 

Lotor looked at the picture for a moment too long. He sighed, his broad shoulders slumping with the weight of it. 

“I am.” 

“And this woman - it’s your mother. Zarkon’s wife.” 

“It is.” 

Lotor clasped his hands and let them fall limp between his legs. He looked so tired. Sad in a way that Keith couldn’t help but empathize with him. Lotor’s whole body slouched forward with a weight of a burden only he had. 

Never Forget,  Keith thought again. The words made far too much sense now that he knew who the others were in the photograph. 

“What happened to her?” Keith asked before he could stop himself. Lotor released a heavy sigh and slumped over a little bit more. 

“She was murdered,” said Lotor. 

“What?” Keith froze. 

“Have you ever heard of the Kerberos Murders?” Lotor asked in a murmur. The name made Keith stiffen. If he hadn’t met Shiro then they would have been meaningless to him. Another blip from the world he barely interacted with to begin with. But now that he knew Shiro’s involvement with it, he couldn’t help the horrible jolt dancing up his spine that made his blood run cold. 

He nodded shortly. “I have.” 

“My grandfather was the perpetrator,” Lotor said. “Just as his father was a murderer before him, and his father before him. My father attempted to break a cycle. He met my mother and was in love. He vowed to break the tradition. My grandfather couldn’t let that happen so he…” 

“He killed her,” Keith breathed, horrified. 

Lotor nodded and tapped his face. “Gouged out my father’s eye while he was at it. He tried to protect her. It didn’t go well.” 

Keith’s next breath was a shuddering one. He couldn’t find the will to respond. In some horribly morbid way, he felt sorry for Zarkon. In attempting to break a brutal cycle, he’d lost his family and only had his son as a reminder for what he’d once had.  But the facts still remained. Zarkon was a serial killer. His son had almost gone down that same dark path. And Keith had a job to do to protect everyone in Altea County. 

Keith held his breath briefly and released it. He made sure Lotor was looking directly at him when he spoke. 

“Zarkon’s fled,” he said. “He knows that we know he’s the Butcher. We’re issuing an arrest warrant.” 

“And I assume that means my freedom is still long off?” Lotor asked wearily. 

Keith nodded. As much as he sympathized with Lotor (because in some morbid way, he was a victim too), there was no changing what happened that night. He wasn’t entirely innocent. Keith would bring both of them to justice. 

“I’ll find your father,” Keith promised. “And I’ll bring him to justice. That much I can promise you.” 

A tiny smile quirked at the edges of Lotor’s lips. “I would have it no other way, Mr. Kogane.” 

Keith didn’t even bother correcting him. He just turned on his heel and squared his shoulders. He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, ignoring the way they chilled painfully. It was time for this to finally end. Zarkon would be found and Keith would bring him to justice personally. It was the least he could do. 

He would succeed. Whatever it cost. 

Lotor’s cell door clicked shut behind him.

Chapter Text

Keeping his laptop tucked in close to his chest, Keith stared up at the shop in front of him. He couldn’t believe this was happening. First his laptop shut down in the middle of working on a resume and wouldn’t turn on and now he had to fully admit to himself his heritage just so he could get a job somewhere that wasn’t a syrup-smelling diner in the middle of the city. 

Sucking in a deep breath, Keith pushed the door open. He was blasted in the face by a wave of air conditioning and hissed, tightening his grip around his laptop. It was late November, what kind of psychopath kept the AC on?!

Ignoring the cold, Keith stepped awkwardly into the shop. A smell resembling an overused circuit board hung in the air. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of hit and made his way awkwardly over to the cashier who stared at him, chewing an Icebreaker. 

“Hi, um…” Keith waved his laptop. “My laptop is broken and I really need it fixed… can you guys help?” 

The cashier didn’t reply. Keith got the sense that he wasn’t one for conversation and winced. Awkwardly, he shifted with the cashier’s eyes upon him as he languidly chewed on his icebreaker. Keith opened his mouth to ask for help again when a deep voice from behind him made him jump. 

“What’s this about a broken laptop?” 

Keith pivoted on his heel and had to take a step back so he wouldn’t be looking straight up to meet the giant of a man’s eyes. He was wearing a black hoodie and jeans, with enormous arms that could probably crush him in an instant. Keith swallowed, his gaze darting from the man’s grisly scar back to his single golden eye that leered at him. 

‘Zarkon’, his nametag read. 

Keith swallowed with difficulty. “My laptop shut down and I’m not sure why. Do you think you could figure out what’s wrong for me…?” He hadn’t meant to sound so meek but the man in front of him had stolen all of his confidence from him. Zarkon took one look at the laptop cradled in Keith’s arms and nodded once. 

“You here for the discount?” He asked. Keith nodded sheepishly. Zarkon smiled, but it was wrong and sent chills up Keith’s spine. “Follow me,” he said. “I’ll get that thing appraised and let’s see what we can do.” 

He led Keith to a corner of the store where some impromptu repair section had been set up. A curved counter took up much of the corner and there were several shelves stacked with boxes and computer parts behind the counter. Keith relinquished his laptop to Zarkon who pulled up a rolling chair and sat down, pulling out a toolkit to pry the back off. 

“How long have you had this?” Zarkon asked without looking up. Keith looked around anxiously, realizing that from where he and Zarkon were, they had a perfect view of the street from out the front window. The bars a few buildings away had finally stopped bustling. The evening crowd had come and gone now that the sun had lowered behind the horizon. 

“About three years,” Keith said, snapping his head back to Zarkon once he realized the older (and much larger) man was waiting for an answer. 

“No problems before this?” 

“Recently the display kind of...flickered for no reason but other than that, no,” Keith shook his head. “Nothing.” 

Zarkon hummed but didn’t say anything else. With a pop, the back of the laptop came free. Zarkon delicately set it aside and went about inspecting the interior of the laptop. It was a mess of meaningless wires to Keith, but judging by Zarkon’s muttering and prodding with his fingers, he probably didn’t like what he was seeing. Despite never doing anything to his laptop, Keith couldn’t help but wince and feel like he’d done something wrong. 

“There’s an issue with your battery,” Zarkon said. “You’ll also need a new display, since it looks like the wires connecting the display and the keyboard look a bit frayed.” 

Keith only smiled and nodded along because he hardly understood anything that was coming out Zarkon’s mouth. “Okay.” 

“Let me grab a few things to help fix it,” Zarkon stood up, lifting his gaze from Keith’s old laptop.  “Wait right-” very suddenly, Zarkon cut himself off. He was no longer looking at Keith, he was looking outside through the front window. Keith turned to follow his gaze and found what had caught Zarkon’s interest. 

An expensive-looking mustang had just parked in front of one of the bars. It was a flattering shade of silver that reflected the light from the moon outside spectacularly. A metallic blue stripe was painted neatly over the hood. Keith was immediately jealous. 

He turned his head to see if Zarkon was alright, but he had gone rigid, enormous hands curling into tight fists. His golden eye flashed. Keith felt a chill chase up his spine. 

“Wait here,” Zarkon said again. He made his way out from behind the counter and made a beeline straight for the front door. Unease crept up Keith’s spine and he carefully made his way a little closer to the window to keep an eye on the situation. 

Zarkon left the store just as a man got out of the mustang. He was insufferably handsome, with high cheekbones and long white hair that tumbled to his mid-back. A single strand hung between his eyes and he exuded an aura of confidence as he shrugged on a black leather jacket. 

Zarkon went straight for this man. 

Keith bit his lip nervously, watching as the man’s expression contorted into disgust upon seeing Zarkon. He watched the two argue, clearly upset with the other. Zarkon was making large exaggerated movements while the man had folded his arms so tightly he looked like a pretzel. 

Then, Zarkon raised his hand threateningly. Lotor flinched. Keith’s breath hitched. 

Was he going to hurt him? 

Keith was moving before he had time to tell himself to stop and think this through. He burst out of the shop, hurrying over to Zarkon, rolling up his sleeves as he went. He’d spent his whole life being hurt by garbage adults. There was no way he was going to stand by and let it happen to someone else, too. 

Reaching forward, Keith caught Zarkon’s wrist before it could come in contact with the man’s face. The man, who had shut his eyes and braced himself for the incoming slap, gaped at Keith. 

“Cut it out,” he snarled. 

Zarkon wrenched his wrist from Keith’s grasp as Keith glowered at him. 

“You see?” Zarkon snarled at the man. “ This is what happens when you don’t adhere to my rules and decide to drink and party instead!” 

The man bared his teeth at Zarkon. “You don’t control me anymore. I refuse to abide by what you were too cowardly to stop!” 

Keith was in the middle of feeling very uncomfortable (because he’d clearly walked in on something he wasn’t supposed to) when Zarkon’s huge hand closed painfully around his wrist. He gasped, reacting instantly and trying to tug it away. Zarkon’s grip held firm. 

“It’s high time you take over the family business, Lotor,” Zarkon reached out with his other hand and gripped the man’s arm firmly. “We’ll begin tonight.” He turned on his heel and began dragging both of them into the alleyway between the two bars.

Lotor’s eyes widened with terror. Keith tugged on his wrist harder, not understanding the sudden fear that flooded him, but he knew it wasn’t good. Especially given the way Lotor was looking frantically between Keith and Zarkon with his eyes blown wide. 

Keith had never been so upset at the fact that the cold had chased everyone inside.

Once Zarkon deemed it far enough into the alleyway, he released Lotor and swung Keith heavily into the wall. He let out a gasp as the sharp edges of the wall bit into his skin. Acting on instinct, Keith threw his hands into Zarkon’s chest, forcing him backward. Keith sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the way his back ached and spent a few precious seconds wondering how he was going to escape. 

His thoughts stuttered to a halt as soon as Zarkon straightened up. 

Because out of his pocket he was distinctly pulling a knife out of his pocket. The moon glinted off the sharp edges. He advanced toward Keith, swiping the knife while Lotor watched, horrified. 

Keith’s brain kicked into flight or fight mode. He made an exaggerated leap to avoid the swipe that came at his abdomen and turned on his heel to sprint for the mouth of the alleyway. He turned in time to see Zarkon swipe at his legs and Keith let out an alarmed cry as he tried to dance around it. He lost his footing and crashed painfully to the ground beside a foul-smelling green dumpster. 

Zarkon was on top of him instantly, lifting his knife. Without hesitating, he drove it into Keith’s legs, splitting apart the fabric of his pants and going deep enough to draw blood and make it mildly harder for Keith to run. Keith choked on his spit, wriggling fruitlessly and pushing against Zarkon without doing anything. 

The full realization of his situation fully dawned on Keith. Zarkon was trying to hurt him on purpose. Zarkon was trying to kill him. 

Keith choked on his terrified cry. 

“It appears he’s realized just what’s going to happen to him,” Zarkon sneered. “Good. He will make a fine first target for you, Lotor.” He turned away to face Lotor, who was curled up and staring horrified at the scene before him. Wordlessly, Zarkon extended the knife to Lotor but he didn’t take it. Zarkon’s expression contorted with anger and he grabbed Lotor’s wrist and dragged him to kneel above Keith’s body. 

Lotor stared at Keith, his eyes horrified. Keith tried to plead with him, desperately thrashing under Zarkon to escape. Lotor didn’t move. Keith was no closer to freeing himself. 

Zarkon forced Lotor to grab the knife, curling his fingers around it and keeping his hand over Lotor’s to ensure it would stay there. He raised the knife above Keith’s head and he eyed it, terrified as blood rolled off the surface. 

“Allow me to help you understand what it is you must do,” Zarkon hissed lowly. Lotor’s eyes went wider. 

“What, no-” Lotor tried to pull his hand away, tried to release the knife, but both attempts ended in failure. The blade flashed and Keith let out a sharp cry as the knife dug into his arm. Lotor shrieked. “ Stop!” 

Zarkon ignored him and continued. Keith’s cries gradually grew in pitch and volume the more the knife split his skin open. The more blood flowed from fresh wounds. He smashed his head hard into the ground, hoping it would knock him out before he would die, but it only made stars burst to life in his vision. 

“Stop it!” Lotor pleaded. 

“This is the way of our family, Lotor!” Zarkon roared back. “You must accept it!” 

The knife came down over Keith’s collarbone, digging in deep and splitting it open. Keith tried in vain to tilt his body away from the knife but he only succeeded in letting the knife dig deeper into his skin. He shut his eyes tightly, gasping in pain. His head felt fuzzy with agony as his many wounds pulsed and ached, his ripped clothes flapping in the cold breeze. 

Blood had splattered practically everywhere because of Keith’s struggling. He tried to escape, digging his nails into the cobblestones to pull himself out, but that had only earned him a particularly long slice from bicep to wrist that had him writhing. 

“Please-” Lotor gasped. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. “No more, please stop-” 

Zarkon lifted the knife. There was something new in his single golden eye. Something that made Keith somehow even more terrified than he already was in his pain-muddled mind. 

Bloodlust. 

“And now-” Zarkon took the knife from Lotor. Lotor stared down at Keith, horrified and his entire hand covered in blood. “For the finishing touch.”

Zarkon brought the knife down. Keith had time to wonder where it was going this time before he was screaming. White-hot fire arched up and down his entire body as the knife was buried up to its hilt in his abdomen. Keith arched his back, his voice growing hoarse as Zarkon kept driving the knife further into his skin. Blood spurted from around the knife, thick ropes of crimson splashing all over the ground. 

Keith couldn’t focus on anything else. All he could feel was the unbridled agony that turned everything inside of him to ash. He flailed again, desperately reaching out. He grabbed onto something and gripped it tightly. Lotor inhaled sharply above him. Keith wasn’t sure what he was holding onto, but he hoped desperately it was something to help him, something to make the pain go away-

Keith pulled hard. There was a noise that sounded like ripping fabric and Keith swung his arm wildly for Zarkon’s face. Zarkon moved wisely out of the way, releasing his grip on the knife buried deep in Keith’s stomach for a bit, but there was no need. Keith was already way off his mark. 

His arm collided with the corner of the dumpster. Then, Keith was suddenly screaming anew as agony raced up his arm from his elbow. He dropped his hand instantly, the fabric that he’d ripped falling from his fingers, sticky with his own blood. The bone had not broken, but it was damn well near it. 

Suddenly his arm was pinned down, splayed across the blood-soaked ground. Keith’s eyes snapped open and through the tears in his eyes he saw Zarkon seize the handle of the knife sticking through Keith’s abdomen. With a mighty yank and another cry of pain, the knife was wrenched from his skin and back in Zarkon’s bloodied fist. He twisted Keith’s arm on the ground and he shrieked, trying to get him to stop as the limb twisted in a way that made the agony all the worse. 

Zarkon raised the knife. Keith whined in weak protest and then a little more vehemently as he realized what Zarkon was going to do. 

“Father-” Lotor gasped. He’d become aware of Zarkon’s intentions at the same time Keith had. “Father, no. No, stop, please-” 

Zarkon’s knife came down. It lodged itself into Keith’s elbow, tearing the skin apart. Zarkon began rocking the knife back and forth, cutting into the elbow. It tore the skin apart, snapping the tendon in half bit by bit. The screaming started anew as Keith pulled on his arm, trying to free it, but in the process only causing himself more agony. He cried and pleaded for Zarkon to stop, begging him to let him go. 

“Father!” Lotor threw himself at Zarkon. “Father, that’s enough, I understand how, I understand-” 

“ Silence!” Zarkon roared over Lotor. He said nothing else and continued cutting, deeper and deeper. Keith was starting to think Zarkon was trying to cut his arm off. 

Keith squeezed his eyes shut, heart thudding in his ears. The agony was near unbearable and he knew he wouldn’t be able to withstand it for much longer. He choked on his own saliva on his next inhale. Everything hurt, he just wanted it to stop. He just wanted it to end. 

“Is someone down there?” 

Keith’s eyes shot open. Zarkon froze mid-rock and he looked up to stare at the mouth of the alleyway. Keith could hardly see through the tears in his eyes, but he could make out a shape at the mouth of the alleyway. Hesitant and scared. 

Keith sobbed in relief. 

“What’s going on?” The woman called out again. “I-I’ll call the police, you know-” 

“Father-” Lotor looked at Zarkon who cursed and lifted his knife from Keith’s skin. 

“It’s fine. She’ll be too late anyway. He’ll bleed out and die,” he said in a hushed whisper. “For now, we must hide the knife. At the warehouse.” 

Keith gurgled out a weak whimper. Blood ran down the side of his face and dripped off his ear. 

“I’ll call the police!” The woman said again. “I mean it, I will!” 

She was walking into the alleyway, but Zarkon was already moving. He grabbed Lotor by the scruff of the neck and went flying down the alleyway, leaving Keith alone. Desperately, he rolled onto his stomach and let his arm flop uselessly, reaching out with his other. 

He opened his mouth and rasped, “help.” 

The woman stepped in a little closer. She was using her flashlight on her phone, a terrified look in her eyes. As soon as she saw Keith, her eyes went wide and her phone fell from her hand and clattered to the ground noisily. A shriek left her lips, muffled by the hands she’d cupped over her nose and mouth. 

“Oh my God-” the woman took exactly two steps back before remembering her phone and stooping to pick it up. “Okay, hang on, l-let me call an ambulance for you-” she frantically tapped on her phone, but Keith could feel in his gut she was going to be too late. Darkness was creeping at the edges of his vision, slowly stealing it away. The pain was dulling to nothing more than a dull throb by this point. 

His eyelids fluttered. 

Am I dying? he thought. Is this what it’s like to die? 

It would make sense if it was. Everything was certainly clouding enough to feel like he was dying. His whole body fell limp as the agony, the fear, and the exhaustion all became far too much. He could hear the woman calling out to him desperately, trying to get him to open his eyes, but Keith was far too tired. 

He let a shuddering breath escape him 

Y’know… he thought. I never did get my laptop fixed. 

And he let the darkness claim him.

Chapter Text

“This is the dumbest idea we’ve ever had.” 

Keith glanced at Pidge over his shoulder as they ducked under the police tape and entered the darkened and desolate shop. He couldn’t stop the grin that curled his lips. 

“We’ve had a lot of dumb ideas,” he quipped. “And this one takes the cake?” 

Pidge shot him a glare. “You know what I mean. You also left Lance of all people in the car as an emergency getaway driver so...I’ve got a right to be a bit nervous.” She glanced anxiously behind her at the darkened and empty street and then hurried after Keith as he dug out a flashlight out of his coat pocket and flicked it on. He swept the beam over the length of the store and felt a shiver run up his spine. This place was twice as eerie now that Keith remembered what had happened to him and it was dark. The toppled shelves looked like tiny, ominous mountains in the long shadows cast by the light. 

Keith made his way in-between the shelves, trying to ignore the way his hair stood on end and how he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. At his side, Pidge bit at her nails and messed with the bobby pin she’d fished from her hair earlier. 

“What did you and Lotor talk about?” Pidge asked as Keith used his foot to push open the employee’s only door. He glanced at her, debating his response. He’d given both Lance and Pidge the rundown on the way over to the shop about what had happened to him and where he’d gone. The story was rushed and oversimplified, though, and Keith had left many details out for the sake of time, as they were coming up on the electronics shop fast and Keith was more interested in seeing what was in Zarkon’s locked drawers then going into the specifics. 

“I just told him that I knew what happened,” Keith said softly. “And he confirmed a few things for me. That’s all.” 

“Like?” Pidge pressed, clearly itching for more information. Keith swept his beam over the back room which - oddly enough - didn’t look as ransacked as the front. Only a few boxes had been overturned onto their sides. Maybe Zarkon didn’t deem the back room as important as the front? He honestly had no idea. 

“Remember that picture in Zarkon’s office?” Keith asked, stepping carefully around a pile of wires. 

“Mhm.” 

“The baby in it was Lotor,” Keith pursed his lips. “The woman was his mother. Zarkon’s wife.” 

“And?” The trepidation in Pidge’s voice was telling that she knew where this was going. “What happened?” 

“She was murdered,” Keith said softly. “By Zarkon’s father. He was the Kerberos Killer.” 

Pidge inhaled sharply. “God damn.” 

Keith could only nod in agreement. Far too many things about Zarkon were clicking into place now and he wasn’t sure if it was a good or a bad thing. Especially now that he knew that his attempted murder hadn’t been planned, (despite Zarkon's grudge on his lineage) it was purely spur of the moment. Keith had been at the wrong place at the wrong time but in a way, he didn’t regret what had happened. Zarkon had been set on hurting Lotor. Keith had prevented that. 

He tucked the flashlight awkwardly into his sling, as they approached Zarkon’s office. The door handle was cold under Keith’s palm as he turned it. Carefully, he opened it and allowed Pidge inside first before following her in. The door clicked shut ominously behind them. Keith took the flashlight out of his sling and passed the beam over the room. He winced. 

This room was by far the most ransacked of the entire store. The computer was completely missing from the top of the desk and papers were strewn all over the floor. One of the chairs that Keith had been afraid of falling apart had succumbed to the inevitable and was now in pieces on the floor. All of the desk drawers had been thrown wide open and were either emptied of all contents or filled with papers. 

Pidge whistled lowly, tucking her bobby pin back into her unruly amber hair and stepping around the desk to examine the desks. Keith followed her, placing the flashlight on the desk so the beam pointed up and bathed the whole room in dim light. 

“God damn,” Pidge whispered, picking up a paper and scanning it. From what Keith could see, it was just another order sheet for spare computer bits. Regardless, he felt goosebumps rising on his skin from just looking at it. 

“Look for anything identifying,” Keith said. “If we can find his address, we can find Zarkon. Probably.” 

“I’m going to reiterate to you, again,” Pidge looked Keith right in the eyes. “This is the dumbest idea you’ve ever had.” 

“And yet, you’re still going along with it,” Keith murmured, picking a stray paper from off the ground. Pidge snorted. 

“Touche.” 

Keith straightened up to get a better look at the desk. Gone were the neat, practical piles of paperwork and in its place were messy folders and files strewn all over the desk. Keith narrowed his eyes. It was almost like Zarkon was looking for something when he tore apart his own office. But what? 

A second thing caught Keith’s eye. There was something else missing from the desk besides the enormous desktop. His breath hitched. 

The picture. 

Keith looked, but no matter what he couldn’t find where Zarkon’s precious picture of his destroyed family had gone. Confused, he lifted up papers to see if it had been buried under the mess, but it was nowhere to be found. Zarkon had taken it with him. 

Keith took a step back, thinking hard. Was that picture what Zarkon was looking for? If so, why not just take the picture and the desktop and leave the rest of the desk alone? There really was no need for the senseless destruction of his room unless Zarkon was looking for something of the utmost importance.

Keith’s eyes lit up. 

Maybe…

Maybe whatever Zarkon was looking for was something damning. Irrefutable evidence beyond Keith’s memory that he was, in fact, the Butcher. 

He relayed this thought to Pidge as she sorted through papers on the floor and she hummed, narrowing her eyes in thought. 

“It’s possible and-” she gestured with the file in her hand at the ransacked room. “It makes sense. If I were a serial killer with damning evidence in my office and then lost it, I’d do anything to find it.” 

“But why his office, though?” Keith thought out loud. “Why’d he keep something damning here of all places.” 

“Maybe because nobody would find it?” Pidge said with a shrug. “Or maybe he’s just a dumbass, I dunno.” 

“No,” Keith thought hard. He remembered the knife Zarkon had pulled from seemingly nowhere the night he was attacked and slowly, the pieces began to fit together. “Oh… he must have kept knives on hand with him here.” 

“Knives? Like, murder weapon knives?” Pidge repeated. 

“Yeah,” Keith said. “The night I was attacked…” he swallowed thickly. “Zarkon pulled a knife out of his pocket. It makes sense that he’d keep a couple on hand in case he found someone he wanted to...y’know.” 

Pidge turned an unflattering shade of white. “Yeah.” 

Keith nodded in agreement. “Yeah.” 

Pidge fell silent at the same time he did. Neither one of them wanted to pursue the topic any longer. Keith knew he didn’t want to - the fact that Zarkon hid knives he used for murder in his own office was sickening enough. He stooped to pick up another paper and scan it in the dim light cast by the flashlight, but it ended up being as fruitless as the last few he’d looked at. 

It was silly, he realized, for Zarkon’s address to be on anything in his office. He was hoping maybe Zarkon brought his bills or letters from his mailbox to work, but that would be absurd. He felt his heart sink. 

In terms of possibility, finding Zarkon’s address in the office of his workplace was very low. 

But as always, the world had to prove him wrong. 

“Hey-” Pidge said in a hushed whisper. “I think I found it.” She lifted the envelope in her hand. It was addressed to Zarkon in large, loopy letters and had an address printed on it, front and center. 

Keith’s mouth went dry. 

“We found it,” he said. 

Pidge nodded in agreement, tucking the letter into her pocket. “We should get back to Lance and see where this address takes us.” 

Keith nodded in agreement and followed her back out of the room, grabbing the flashlight on the way out. He followed Pidge back through the store and into the cold air. Clouds thick with snow had covered the moon as they slipped and slid their way over to Lance’s car parked silently in the lot. Sliding into the warm car from the near-freezing temperatures of the outside was like a godsend. Keith rubbed his aching elbow to coax some warmth in it while Lance turned to Pidge in the passenger’s seat to complain about being left in the car. 

It went on for nearly five minutes as Lance lamented about how bored he was, how cruel Pidge and Keith were for leaving him, and how he - as the forensic scientist - would have been a far greater help inside rather than waiting out here. The scowl Pidge was giving him only deepened with every word. 

“Are you done?” She asked dryly once Lance fell silent. 

“Yup,” Lance said. He turned in his seat to look at Keith. “Find anything?” 

Pidge took the envelope out of her pocket and waved it under Lance’s note. “You bet your ass we did. Mind plugging this into the GPS?” 

Lance took the envelope and flicked the mirror light of his car on to look at it. He scanned the address once, his eyebrows climbing higher and higher into his hair. Keith scooted forward on his seat to see what was so wrong about it. 

“Can we not make it?” He asked upon seeing the look on Lance’s face. 

“No, we can,” Lance said. “It’s just… the address says Altea Heights. Are we sure that’s correct?” 

“Why wouldn’t it be?” 

“No reason just-” Lance bit his tongue. “It’s not exactly a cheap area of town. A lot of rich people live there. I just wanted to make sure that this was Zarkon’s address we were talking about. I can’t imagine the owner of a second-hand electronic shop makes all that much.” 

“Maybe he got some huge sum of inheritance from his father,” Pidge suggested. 

“Maybe,” Lance muttered under his breath. “I dunno. It doesn’t matter. Let’s go bag us a serial killer.” 

He reached for the GPS resting on the dashboard and punched the address in. The robotic voice hummed softly before routing their destination. Lance put the car in reverse and they started off, making their way through the silent city. Gradually, the rundown apartment complexes and restaurants started shifting. Keith instead found himself staring out at lavish hotels and houses that probably would cost more than his surgery to repair his elbow. 

He heard Pidge whistle at the sight of the extravagant houses as Lance continued driving up and up the side of a hill. The farther they went, the more expensive the houses began to look. All of them had high-vaulted windows and lavish driveways that were lined with snow-covered shrubbery. 

Finally, Lance pulled up as discreetly as possible next to what might have been the most impressive house of all. It wasn’t gated - to Keith’s relief - but it did have a long driveway circling up to an enormous garage and an even bigger house. Columns of white marble held up the front porch and the doors were made of oak and looked extremely heavy. The entire house was made of pristine white wood and every enormous window was dark. There were no signs of life from the inside. 

“Wow,” Keith said softly. 

“Yeah, no kidding,” Pidge leaned around Lance to get a look at the house a little better. “ This is where Zarkon lives? Is this even the same guy who runs an electronics shop?” 

Lance licked his lips. “Do you guys...wanna check it out?” 

Pidge stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “Are you crazy?!” 

“One of the windows is cracked open,” Keith said unhelpfully from the backseat. Pidge swiveled around in her seat to stare incredulously at him. 

“You aren’t seriously considering breaking and entering are you?” 

Keith shrugged. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t. I’m not a cop, after all, so if I go in it won’t reflect badly on the two of you. And it’ll offer us evidence that we wouldn’t be able to get otherwise.” 

“There are a million better ways to go about this,” Pidge protested. “Like, by getting a search warrant or something.” 

“That’d take too long,” Keith pointed out. “By the time we get one, Zarkon might be long gone. Besides, I’m just going to go in for a quick peek.” He turned and pulled the car door latch and pushed it open. 

“Keith-” Pidge grabbed for the back of his coat and missed horribly as Keith was already one foot out the door. The frigid air bit at his skin but he ignored it, scanning the house, his eyes fixing on the window that was open just a crack. The door beside him popped open and Lance rose next to him, pulling at the hem of his shirt to straighten out the wrinkles. 

Keith glanced at him and watched as Lance immediately ducked back into the car and grabbed the flashlight Keith had left in the backseat. He flipped it in his hand and gave Pidge a lopsided grin. 

“You can stay behind if you want,” he said. “Mullet and I will go in and check things out.” 

“Call me ‘mullet’ one more time and I will make you eat that flashlight,” Keith threatened. Lance only laughed and gave him another crooked grin. Pidge sighed heavily and stepped out of the car to join them in staring down the house. 

“Fine,” she hissed. “But if we get caught I will not hesitate to leave the two of you for dead.” 

“Valid,” Lance shrugged. Without another word, they hiked up the driveway to the house. They took care to step in the car tires, just to make sure their footprints couldn’t be seen. The closer they got to the house and the open window on the side, Keith took the charge, awkwardly moving around the side of the house to make as little tracks as possible. 

They reached the window and Lance hooked his fingers underneath it and pushed it up slowly. It squeaked loudly and they froze, ducking down and waiting with bated breath for Zarkon to come barging in. After several minutes passed in which nothing happened, Lance decided to press his luck and pulled the window up higher. 

When it was up high enough, Lance swung soundlessly into the room. Pidge was after him with Keith bringing up the rear with considerably less grace due to his arm. The three of them remained crouched in the room, holding their breath and waiting to hear any signs of life from within the house. There were none, so Lance clicked on the flashlight and swept it across the room. It appeared to be some kind of storage room, stacked with packed boxes full of dishes. In all, it looked deceptively innocent. Keith hated it. 

“All clear, I guess?” Lance whispered after several agonizing seconds of silence. “Let’s keep going.” He stood carefully and made his way over to the door and opened it. The hallway was just as silent as the rest of the house. It was horribly unnerving.

Keith followed the others out into the corridor. They stood there for a moment, listening for any signs of life in the house, but there were none. It made Keith’s hair stand on end. He shut the door behind him and went straight for the door opposite the one they’d just exited. 

Lance carefully shunted Keith aside to shine the flashlight in the room. It looked like a laundry room; a blue basket sat on top of a dryer, stacked high with dirty clothes. Keith could see a familiar white zip-up jacket in the pile that made him feel sick. He and Lance mutually agreed without speaking that there was nothing to be found in here, either. 

Carefully, Keith snapped the door shut and followed after Pidge and Lance as they headed into the main foyer. 

“Damn,” Pidge said quietly. Keith agreed silently. 

The foyer was just as magnificent as the exterior of the house. A grand staircase led to the second floor and Keith craned his neck to see the high arched ceiling above them. The floors were made of marble which made their feet echo ominously as they turned slowly on the spot, taking in the incredible house. 

Keith turned on the spot slowly, trying to find something to investigate when a door by the stairs caught his eye. He made his way toward it with Lance and Pidge at his heels. 

The moment he opened the door, Keith wished he hadn’t. 

Because he’d never be able to scrape the image away from him. 

The room was dull and windowless, clearly meant to be used as a storage room. But inside plastered wall-to-wall were pictures. Keith hadn’t even gone inside yet and he could already see the blood pooling around most of the people depicted in them. He knew instantly what he was looking at. 

Lance was first into the room. He swung the flashlight around, looking pale and sickly. Pidge followed suit moving to examine one of the photographs on the wall. She gagged a moment later. 

“These are all...his victims,” she whispered. “He took pictures of his victims!” Her voice rose as she spoke, horror and incredulity dripping off her every word. 

“That’s sick,” Lance said. “That’s sick and disgusting. I performed autopsies on some of these people.” He moved closer to the wall, his expression morphing into something very close to absolute disgust. “ God.” 

Keith took two steps into the room and instantly hated the feeling that crept up his back. He wanted to turn heel, crawl back out the window they’d come in from and call it a day. Instead, he swallowed down the bile rising in his throat and turned to look at the nearest picture. 

He recognized it, he realized. He knew that dark brown hair and the scared, wide gray eyes. He’d seen them himself. He’d watched Allura close them while dark blood pooled around her body. 

“Even her?” He found himself whispering. His breath hitched suddenly as a thought occurred to him. His head swiveled around the room. 

Was he in here? Somewhere in this sea of pictures of the fallen, was his half-dead body also printed and immortalized in this faceless room? 

Part of him wanted to know the answer. The other wanted to forget this room even existed. 

He brushed his fingers over a photograph of a man lying sprawled on blood-soaked grass and tried to ease his nerves. His picture couldn’t have been in here. There was no time for Zarkon to take a picture of him lying prone on the ground. Besides, Lotor would have commented on it. 

It was okay. 

Everything was okay. 

“Can we go?” Pidge asked weakly, motioning to the door. She looked like she was going to be sick. 

“Yeah,” Lance agreed. He swallowed thickly. “You ready?” 

Keith tore his gaze away from the body of a man slumped over some railing. “Yeah. Let’s go.” He followed Lance and Pidge out of the room and let the door click shut behind him. He tried to banish the memory of it immediately. He wanted to forget that such a horrid room existed at all to begin with. 

Without speaking, Lance started heading for the stairs. Unable to do much else, Keith followed him up and into the second floor. 

Together, they explored the entirety of it, opening and closing doors, but it was largely unremarkable. The only noteworthy thing was finding a bedroom Keith had guessed was Lotor’s from the number of posters lining the walls and the bedsheets that didn’t match the purple satin that every other guest room seemed to have. 

It was only as they came upon the last door of the second floor that things started to go wrong. 

The front door opened. 

Instantly, Keith stiffened, dread crawling up his spine. Heavy footfalls began approaching the staircase. Instantly, Lance reacted, dragging Pidge and Keith into the nearest closet that had a surprising amount of room. Lance slapped his hand over the flashlight’s beam and sucked in a deep breath, holding it. Together they stood there, panting heavily and listening as Zarkon grumbled under his breath and made his way towards them. 

A bathroom door shut. The water began to run. 

Through the slivers of light seeping through Lance’s fingers, Pidge gave them a wide-eyed look. 

“We need to leave,” she whispered. “ Now.” 

“Agreed,” Lance said. 

“Wait,” Keith said. Something was tugging at his subconscious, begging him not to leave yet. There was still one more thing - aside from that awful, awful room - that Keith had to find. “I want to know what’s in that last room.” 

“What?” Lance gaped at him. “Are you crazy?” 

“Probably,” Keith agreed. “Look, you guys get to the car. I’ll be right behind you after I check out that room.” 

“Keith, no,” Pidge said. “What if you get caught?!” 

“I won’t,” Keith promised. He reached blindly for the doorknob and tried to give them what he hoped was a reassuring smile. His heart thundered in his ears. “Don’t wait up.” 

Carefully, he turned the knob and opened the closet door. He tumbled out, glad to be free of the stuffy room and hurried over to the last door. He watched Lance’s flashlight out of the corner of his eye as it bobbed with his and Pidge’s escape. At least they had heeded his words. 

Carefully, Keith opened the final door, listening to the running water of Zarkon’s shower. He had a limited time to do this before Zarkon inevitably came out. He had to find what he needed and get out. Hopefully that wouldn’t be too hard. 

Slipping inside, Keith shut the door silently behind him. He dug in his pocket for his phone and pulled it out, turning on the flashlight to see a little better. Almost instantly, he regretted not going with Pidge and Lance. 

Because this was unmistakably Zarkon’s bedroom. 

It was surprisingly clean, with a made bed with a thick purple quilt. One side of the bed was completely bare and empty of possessions. The other had a small bedside table covered with tiny pictures and-

Keith’s breath hitched. 

Purple envelopes. 

His head spun as he dimly remembered the threat he’d received in the mail. 

He’d been right. The Butcher had sent him the letter. And here was his proof. Zarkon had meant to scare him. Likely, the day he, Pidge, and Hunk had all gone into his shop, Zarkon had recognized him and flown into an angry rage where he’d killed that poor woman and sent Keith that letter. 

Oh god. 

Without thinking, Keith hurried over to the bedside table. He fumbled with the drawer of the bedside table and yanked it open. Inside, he saw, were dozens of knives. Exactly like the one in his memory. Exactly like the one he’d found at the warehouse. 

Keith was sure by now he was going to be sick. 

He slammed the drawer closed, his head spinning. He didn’t hear the water stop in Zarkon’s bathroom. He didn’t hear the bathroom door open. 

What he did hear, however, was the Zarkon’s deep, booming voice. 

“Who’s here?” 

Keith froze and turned to look at the closed door. With a jolt, he remembered the closet door. None of them had closed it when they left. It was still standing there, wide open. 

Oh no. 

Keith fumbled for the latch on the window, but his god-forsaken right arm was useless and the latch felt like it had been stuck in place. Zarkon’s footsteps grew closer. 

“I don’t tolerate intruders in my home,” Zarkon continued. “I will find you.” 

There was a loud clatter from downstairs. Zarkon stopped walking. Keith froze in place. 

Then, he remembered. 

Lance and Pidge. 

They must have not left the house yet. They were trying to provide a distraction. A distraction for him to get out. 

Keith’s heart swelled and he fiddled with the latch again. It seemed to be locked in place as Zarkon slowly began heading towards the stairs to investigate the noise. Keith backed away from the window, threading the fingers of his good hand into his hair and trying to think. 

He couldn’t allow Pidge and Lance to be caught. There was no telling what Zarkon would do to them. That and the latch of the window was stuck. Keith couldn’t get out that way. He looked around, desperately trying to find anything to make noise with or could help him force the window open. 

His attention fell upon Zarkon’s lamp. 

That’ll do, he thought grimly. 

Unplugging the lamp from the nearby outlet, Keith hefted it above his head and prayed that he wasn’t about to make the biggest mistake of his life. Then, with his heart pounding in his throat, he threw the lamp at the window. 

The glass of the lamp shattered on impact. The window splintered. Keith sucked in a deep breath. One more good hit and it would crumble to bits. 

Unfortunately, that was where Keith’s luck ended. 

Because Zarkon’s footsteps were now coming back towards him. 

But this time, he was running. 

Before Keith could react, the door swung open. It smashed against the opposite wall. The hallway light Zarkon had flicked on silhouetted his herculean form against the light. Keith swallowed thickly. 

“ You,” Zarkon snarled. 

Keith wished he could have responded with something snarky. But he didn’t. All the wind and courage left him with one undignified squeak as he backed up to the window. His sling pressed against it. He started thinking fast as Zarkon took two steps into the room. 

He was not going out like this. Not again. 

There was only one option. And it was going to hurt like hell. 

But, Keith thought, glancing at his sling. What else was new? 

The moment Zarkon hurtled towards Keith, he thrust his bad elbow back into the already cracked window. It shattered on impact and Keith let out a loud cry of pain. Agony flushed his mind, making it difficult to concentrate. He raised his head as Zarkon rounded the corner of the bed and gripped his elbow tighter in his hand. 

Then, he threw himself out the window. 

Zarkon’s hands reached wildly for him, but missed Keith by inches as plummeted, clutching his bad elbow tightly. Then, in a flurry of snow and agony, Keith hit the ground. He screamed. The snow had done little to cushion his fall. His whole body flared with pain anew, his elbow practically on fire. He gasped, tears of pain stinging his cheeks due to the frigid air. Around him, the clouds had opened up while they were in the house and sleet pelted his face. 

At the window, Zarkon seethed. He turned around and went running into the house. 

In his pain muddled mind, Keith suddenly became aware of hands grabbing at him. He flailed with a cry, afraid it was Zarkon already, but relaxed when he caught a glimpse of familiar honey-brown eyes. 

Pidge and Lance hauled him to his feet and, with Keith gripping his elbow with shards of glass sticking out of his skin, they all hobbled and slid back down the slope to the car. Lance unlocked it as they ran. Keith whipped his head around as they skidded on the snow to see Zarkon’s front door whip open. He stepped out, seething and his gaze fixed directly on the trio sprinting across his front lawn. 

“Go!” Pidge screamed, her own head turning from where it had been trained on Zarkon. “Go, go!” 

Lance slammed his full body weight up against the car door. He fumbled for a moment, his freezing fingers catching on the door handle. He glanced behind him for a split second and wrenched the car door open. Pidge did the same for her and Keith a moment later and they tumbled into the backseat in terror. 

“Lance!” Pidge screeched. “ Hurry!” 

Keith gasped and cried over his arm, rocking back and forth. He wasn’t sure when Lance had turned over the car, but suddenly they were moving, rocketing down Altea Heights and heading back toward town. 

Zarkon, standing on his front porch, roared after them. 

Keith gasped as a terrible jolt of pain shot through his elbow. He shut his eyes and gripped it tightly. He’d known it would hurt but certainly not to this extent. He felt like he’d snapped the bone clean in two. Though he knew that was not what had happened it was certainly hurting enough. 

His breath hitched, his fingers brushing up against a shard of glass embedded in his skin. He whimpered as Lance shot him a look through the rearview mirror, still trying to catch his breath.

It was only after the pain in his elbow had subsided and they were safely back in town, far away from Zarkon, that both Pidge and Lance breathed twin sighs of relief. 

Lance glanced at Keith, curled in the backseat, and then Pidge, who was tugging at her seatbelt. 

“I won’t tell Shiro and Allura if you won’t,” he said. 

Nobody had the energy to respond.

Chapter Text

Keith had never been so grateful for pain medication. 

After a few painful hours of picking glass shards out of his elbow (and awkwardly stretching out his arm, gritting his teeth against the pain) he downed his usual pain medication and tumbled into bed, trying hard not to think about what had happened earlier. Zarkon’s roar was still echoing ominously in his ears. 

It had been too close. He hated to think of what could have happened if Zarkon had actually managed to grab him. Something told him he wouldn’t have been so lucky as to escape with his life intact this time. 

He shuddered and gripped his elbow tighter. The bandages he’d wrapped messily around his injuries pressed against his palm. They felt loose, but he didn’t dare shift them for fear of the pain. 

Keith stared up at the ceiling, tracing all the strange bumps and divots with his eyes until his heart rate slowed back to a reasonable pace. He tried to push Zarkon to the back of his mind where he wouldn’t matter and focused on something else.

He found himself staring at what little he could see of his kitchen through his half-closed door. 

He needed to go shopping. 

There were times in which Keith dearly missed having both arms that worked reliably. 

Going up the elevator with bags of heavy groceries piled in the crook of his arm was one of those times. 

He hissed, awkwardly shifting his bag of canned goods to get a better grip on it. He’d tried to tuck a few over his sling but after that had ended in pain and failure, he’d disregarded the idea and fated his left arm to the daunting task of carrying groceries up to his apartment. 

“You okay?” The voice in his ear asked. 

Keith rolled his shoulder, trying to get his phone under his ear at a better angle. 

“Fine,” he told Shiro. “It’s just awkward.” 

Shiro’s voice was amused. “You could have asked me to drop by and help you.” 

“I’ve got it,” Keith said, rolling his eyes. “Getting groceries has always just been a pain in the ass. More importantly...” he paused, biting the inside of his cheek, “did you follow up on Lance’s tip?” 

“Again, I’m absolutely baffled as to how Lance got Zarkon’s address,” Shiro’s every word was dripping with sarcasm. “But yes. The house was empty by the time we got there, though. We didn’t find much, though. Everything looked like it had been cleared out and the only mildly important thing we found were envelopes matching the one you were sent. And a broken window in his bedroom. Any idea how that could have happened?” 

Keith’s mouth felt dry. He pressed his back to the wall of the elevator, trying to sound nonchalant. 

“Nope,” he said. 

“Uh-huh,” Keith could feel Shiro’s skepticism through the phone. “Well, it doesn’t matter. We’re in the home stretch now. Zarkon will be in custody before long and we’ll finally put an end to the Butcher’s killing.” There was a pause and then- “we should celebrate,” Shiro suggested. 

Keith paused. For once, the thought of hanging out with other people didn’t make him cringe. It actually made him smile, imagining squeezing into a restaurant booth with everyone he’d befriended at the police department. 

“What were you thinking?” he asked. “Paladins?” 

“We go there all the time,” Shiro said. There was a rustle of papers on his end. “Since this is special, we should go somewhere else. I know a pretty good pizza place, actually. I’ve got a friend who works there part-time and he owes me just about a million favors. I can probably score us a pretty good discount.” 

“With mediocre pizza?” Keith couldn’t help but tease. 

Shiro snorted. “Are you cool with that?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Keith said. “What day do you-” he cut himself off. His mouth hung open, words forgotten, at the sight of his front door. 

It was ajar. 

And Keith was more than certain that he’d closed and locked it on his way out. 

Something horrible began piling up in his gut. Fear, horror, and realization all at once because he’d forgotten something absolutely crucial. 

The Butcher - Zarkon - knew where he lived. He’d let Zarkon catch a glimpse at his face last night. 

Oh no. 

“Keith?” Shiro called but his voice felt distant. “What were you saying?” 

“Nothing-” Keith swallowed thickly. If Zarkon really was inside his apartment, could hear him coming? Was he listening to Keith’s conversation? He swallowed thickly. “Nothing, everything is fine.” 

“Keith?” Shiro’s voice turned suspicious. 

“I’m going to have to let you go, Shiro,” Keith spoke, desperately hoping his voice wasn’t as desperate as it sounded. “Um...just got to my apartment. Everything’s good.” 

He paused, waiting for Shiro’s response, wondering if he’d understood what Keith was desperately trying to tell him. He was hardly being subtle, but he knew that there was no way he could confront Zarkon for long on his own. But, at the very least, he could stall him until help arrived. 

“Keith?” said Shiro. “Are you sure everything’s good?”

“Mhm, totally, everything’s fine,” Keith’s voice was an octave higher than usual. Carefully, he approached his front door and set down the bags in front of it. His heart had jumped to pound in his throat. “All good.” 

“Do you want me to come over?” Shiro’s voice had gone cold and calculated. Keith felt relief crawl into his gut only to shrivel up and die at the prospect of what he was about to do. “I can be there in fifteen.” 

Keith swallowed the whimper that threatened to bubble up from his chest. The slightly-ajar door was making his hands tremble. “That’d be nice,” he said, trying desperately to keep his voice even. 

“Be there in fifteen,” a pause and then- “Keith, whatever it is, don’t do anything reckless.” 

Keith couldn’t reply to that. Part of him wanted to deliver a false promise, reassure Shiro that, no, he wasn’t about to confront the man who’d tried to kill him, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Instead, he lifted his phone from its awkward pinned position under his ear and ended the call with shaking hands. Then he lifted his head with a shuddering inhale. 

Fifteen minutes. 

He could do this. 

There were kitchen knives right next to the door in that terrible wooden block he’d gotten for fifteen bucks. He could use one for some kind of protection if things got violent.

No, Keith thought, swallowing back the fear rising in his throat. Not if. When.

There was absolutely no chance of this not becoming horrendously violent. Keith could only pray he’d get lucky a second time. 

He pushed the door open with his shoulder. For once, it did not creak, and it just made everything more ominous. He swept his gaze over the apartment, holding his breath and watching for anything out of place. 

He found it in the huge, hulking form sitting still on his futon. 

Keith swallowed back his scream. Zarkon was sitting comfortably, his back slouched and his fingers toying with something that had a glint in the sunlight coming through the sliding glass door - a knife. A horrible familiar knife. 

Reaching blindly for his left, Keith fumbled for the hilt of a steak knife sticking out of the block and held it close to him. The hilt - far too close to his face - was horribly reminiscent of the knife from that night so long ago. He swallowed thickly, tucking the knife into his pocket and releasing a shuddering breath. Zarkon already knew he was there. There was no sense in hiding and lying in wait for fifteen minutes. He would be found. 

Fifteen minutes. 

He could do this. 

Probably. 

Hopefully. 

Lifting his chin in what he hoped was a defiant manner, Keith stepped into his living room. “What are you doing here?” 

Zarkon froze, the pad of his thumb freezing in place against the steel blade. For a few heart-stopping moments he said nothing. He didn’t even turn to face Keith, he just continued stroking the sharp blade. Keith eyed it apprehensively, patting the weight of his own knife in his pocket. He prayed it would be enough to defend himself from the more serious injuries. 

“You are either very brave,” Zarkon spoke and shivers ran down Keith’s spine. “Or very foolish.” 

Keith wished he could say the silence that followed was one of defiance. Where he refused to answer Zarkon out of pure spite but the truth of the matter remained that Zarkon had simply terrified him into silence. His hands trembled, his elbow aching from the wounds it had sustained. It was just dawning on Keith how much of a stupid idea this had been. 

Fifteen minutes, he reminded himself. 

“How unfortunate,” Zarkon hummed. He pressed the pad of his thumb to the tip of his knife. A bead of blood blossomed from his skin. “You should have died that night.” 

“I know,” Keith said, voice strangled. 

“It is through pure luck that you stand before me,” Zarkon hums. “And luck on my side that I get the chance to kill you again. I do enjoy those that try to defy me.” For the first time, he turned his head and stared straight at the lump in Keith’s pocket. His breath hitched and his hand moved to cover the knife. Zarkon sneered. 

“Why?” Keith forced himself to speak. His good hand curled into a fist. “Why did you try to make Lotor continue the business that you hated yourself?” 

Zarkon turned that single golden eye upon him and Keith felt all of the courage he’d mustered wither and die. 

“So Lotor told, did he?” Zarkon hummed. He smeared the blood on his thumb across the knife, leaving a gross scarlet streak. “A pity. I was hoping I’d have to spare him.” 

“Spare... what?” Keith gawked. The full weight of Zarkon’s words hit him a moment later. “You’re going to…?” 

“Yes.” 

“He’s your son!” Keith practically exploded. All semblance of his personal safety fled from his mind and in its place was anger. 

In an instant, Zarkon moved. All Keith saw was the glint of a knife before it was pressed to his throat and his mouth snapped shut. He wished he hadn’t opened it at all as soon as he saw the look in Zarkon’s eye.

Because that was pure, unadulterated bloodlust. 

“My father showed me how family can be used against you,” Zarkon snarled. “I refuse to allow Lotor to be the same way.” 

“Like your wife?” Keith shot back with equal venom. He slid his hand into his pocket, knuckles going white around the handle of his kitchen knife. 

Zarkon snarled like a feral animal. Keith had clearly touched a nerve and he swallowed thickly as the knife against his throat was pressing harder. Blood wept from tiny cuts. His breath caught in his throat. 

The knife began to press harder and all Keith could think about was the rocking in his elbow that snapped his tendon apart and-

Without thinking, Keith whipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his steak knife. He sliced up - at Zarkon’s arm - and for a brief second, he saw surprise widen Zarkon’s eye. He leaped back just in time to avoid getting sliced and curled his lips into a snarl. It was the most terrifying thing Keith had ever seen. 

Sticky blood wept down his neck and matted into the collar of his shirt. Zarkon watched it, eye narrowing into a glare as he opened his mouth to speak. 

“ You should be dead,” he said again and made his move. He sliced directly at Keith’s sternum, but he rolled, rolling awkwardly onto his futon and scattering pillows everywhere. Breath heaving in his lungs, Keith desperately tried to summon up the self-defense skills he hadn’t had to use in years and dropped to his good elbow, trying to swipe Zarkon’s feet out from underneath him. Zarkon jumped with surprising litheness for someone so large and lowered his weight to pin Keith to the carpet. 

Reacting as quickly as he could manage, Keith braced one palm underneath him, tucking his sling and pushing upwards with both legs. His knees collided with Zarkon’s jaw as he rolled awkwardly out of the way. Zarkon’s teeth snapped together loudly. Keith scrambled to his feet, breathing heavily, desperately hoping Shiro was close or at the very least on his way. 

Zarkon let out a roar, a horrible mixture of agony and rage. He flung himself at Keith, lifting his knife. Keith had just enough time to jump aside, the knife missing his abdomen by inches. However, he misjudged Zarkon’s next attack as he flung his arm up and the knife dug into his shoulder, pressing so deep he may as well have been stepped. 

Backing away and pressing his good hand to the wound, maneuvering his fingers awkwardly around the hilt of his own knife, Keith hissed in pain. He kept moving away from Zarkon as he moved closer and closer. Keith’s back hit the wall. Panic flooded him and he ducked as Zarkon thrust his knife forward, embedding it into the drywall where Keith’s head had just been. Zarkon scoffed, reaching down and grabbing Keith by the throat, pinning him to the wall. Keith gasped, fumbling for Zarkon’s fingers. 

“You survived on pure luck last time,” Zarkon said coldly. “What makes you think it’ll be so similar this time?” His knee came upwards. There was a horrifying crack into his stomach and Keith dropped, agony numbing his thoughts. Positive that a rib had cracked, he stumbled to his feet, barely able to stand. 

“You..aren’t going to get your way,” he rasped. “Not this time.” 

He felt the adrenaline beginning to kick in, and threw his body weight forward, crashing into Zarkon. He fell, the coffee table cracking in half under their combined weight. Snarling, Zarkon jabbed his knife upwards. Keith barely managed to roll out of the way, climbing to his feet. It gave time for Zarkon to rise and he kicked him roughly in the stomach - right on the rib he’d cracked. Keith let out a hoarse cry, stumbling backward. The momentum forced him to crash into the sliding glass door, the blinds caving in around him. He grimaced in pain, gripping tightly onto one of the plastic sheets for support with his good hand. 

Zarkon stepped forward leisurely, twirling his knife in his hand. Keith glared at him, moving slowly away, his back pressed against the wall and hands gripping his injured abdomen. Zarkon moved closer until he was close enough to roughly knock Keith’s steak knife out of his hand. It skittered across the floor. 

Panicking instantly, Keith tossed himself onto the ground, keeping his sling tight up against his abdomen, trying to grab the knife. Zarkon rolled his eyes and grabbed Keith’s leg and dragged him backward across the scratchy carpet, his sling pressing painfully against the cuts on his elbow. Pivoting around at the last second, Keith spun, landing a kick directly into Zarkon’s chin and knocking his head backward. Zarkon dropped him and Keith gasped momentarily, adrenaline coursing through him. 

He sat up, kneeled on the ground, scooping his knife up, and spinning around. Zarkon was already moving to attack and at the last second, Keith dodged the strike that would have surely killed him. He rolled in between Zarkon’s legs, back towards the sliding glass door. Zarkon roared, seizing the nearest object, and threw it at Keith. He ducked underneath the small lamp, and it collided with the door. 

Glass shattered. The blinds fell to the ground like tiny ribbons and the room was flooded with light. Keith risked a look outside; he could see a familiar police cruiser whipping into a parking spot. He couldn’t help the grin that teased at his lips. 

Zarkon let out an angry roar and lunged at Keith. He pinned him to the door. Glass rained down onto the ground far below as the rest of the glass began to give way to Keith’s added weight. Glass dug into Keith’s skin. He heard someone cry out below. 

“Now…” Zarkon’s cruel smile widened. It was an inhuman expression, a look Keith had never seen before. It terrified him more than anything else had. “We end this.” Zarkon pushed his hand forward and slowly, ever so slowly, the knife pierced into the soft flesh of Keith’s stomach. 

With the knife buried up to the hilt in Keith's skin, Zarkon released it and dropped Keith. He sat in the ruins of his sliding glass door in a stunned dazed, blood flooding from the wound. Agony flooded him, just like that night in the alleyway. All he could think about was Lotor’s horrified expression above him as he gripped the knife sinking deeper and deeper into Keith’s stomach. It hurt so badly. Keith couldn’t even bring himself to scream, as he struggled to take in a breath. His body seemed to be refusing any command he gave it. 

The trembling fingers of his good hand gripped the slippery handle of the knife that was covered in blood. His blood. Blood that dripped off of Keith’s fingers and spread out all over the floor. For the second time in his life, Keith Kogane realized he was dying. Only this time, there was no out. There was no one waiting at his front door to call for help. Shiro hadn’t gotten the memo. 

He’d choke on his next inhale if he was capable of breathing. 

With half-lidded eyes, he watched Zarkon step around him and stoop underneath the final shards of glass still clinging desperately to the sliding door frame. He gazed out over the parking lot, resting his blood-soaked hands on the snow gathered on the railing. It turned red under his touch. 

“They’ll be too late,” he hummed at Keith as his vision flickered and his grip grew lax around the slippery handle of the knife. Blood wept between his fingers, seeping all down his front and pooling where he sat pathetically. “For you, and for their own lives. I’ll leave Altea County’s best police task force dead at my feet. My best work yet. The Butcher’s magnum opus.” Another grin twisted Zarkon’s lips. 

Keith’s eyes began to slip closed. His heartbeat drummed in his ears, slowly crawling to a stop. His one-handed grip loosened on the handle of the knife in his gut. 

Someone cried out his name from far, far below. A deep voice, full of concern and fear. 

Shiro. 

Feeling was jolted into Keith’s limbs. His eyes shot open to see Zarkon looking at him through the remains of the glass door. He turned away to reach into his pocket for another knife. 

A decision was reached in Keith’s mind. 

He was going to die. There was no avoiding that. But he was not going to let Shiro and the others - his family - reach the same fate. 

He mustered all of his willpower and forced his bad arm to move. It cried in protest, wounds ripping open anew, but he ignored it, reaching to grip the knife tightly in both hands. Agonizingly slowly, he began to force the knife out of his abdomen. It hurt even more than when it went in, it seemed. Keith’s senses were overloaded until all he could feel was agony. The blood coming from the wound only seemed to increase with each inch that came out of the knife. There was a river by the time Keith had the knife in his hand. He rose unsteadily to his feet, scarlet in every awkward step he took toward Zarkon. 

His body trembled. His fingers began to grow cold and numb. He was aware of his consciousness slipping away. He held onto it, refusing to die without ensuring his family’s safety. Without ensuring the safety of all of Altea County. 

Another half-step half-stumble forwards. Zarkon’s golden eye flashed towards him. His mouth fell open in shock as Keith stumbled towards him, bloody knife held in his hand. 

“How?!” He backed up but seemed to forget the railing behind him. His back collided with it. Keith, seeing his opportunity, charged colliding his weakened body with Zarkon’s, both hands on the bloody knife. He pressed the blade into Zarkon’s skin, easily slicing it into his stomach. 

“If I go…” Keith’s words were slurred and quiet. “You’re coming down with me.” And with one mighty push, he shoved Zarkon over the railing. Zarkon let out a roar as he fell, a knife in his gut. He hit the ground with a horrible snap that rang in Keith’s ears long after it faded. 

All the energy fled from Keith’s body a split second later. He slumped forward, reaching out desperately with both hands to find purchase against the railing. He didn’t find it, instead dislodging snow that fell to melt on Zarkon’s still body on the ground. Pathetically, Keith fell to the ground, falling first to his knees and then to his side. Blood pooled out of his exhausted body to the snow that had gathered on the balcony. Weakly, he fumbled to grip the injury, cupping his fingers over the stab wound, but he couldn’t find it in himself to grip it hard enough to keep the endless blood from seeping through his fingers. 

His eyelids fluttered. 

The door slammed open. 

Keith heard someone scream - maybe it was his name, maybe it was something else - and heard a chorus of loud footsteps. Someone’s arms came to wrap around him, propping him up on their forearm. 

“...ith!” 

Keith fought against the darkness creeping around the edges of his vision and blinked furiously. Shiro’s face swam into focus, Hunk and Lance hovering at his shoulders. Pidge was squatting next to Shiro, her tiny hands desperately moving Keith’s own out of the way to try and press themselves to his wound. 

“Shi...ro…” Keith’s eyes wandered to each individual person in the room. He could even dimly make out fluffy cloud hair and a ridiculous orange mustache over Lance’s shoulder. “Gu..ys…” 

“I told you not to do anything dumb!” Shiro said desperately. 

“’m sorry…” Keith let his forehead fall against Shiro’s bicep. “I’ll tell Ryou you miss ’im…” 

“No,” Shiro said harshly. “No, you’re going to be okay. Just stay with us, Keith, okay? Allura’s called an ambulance.” 

Pidge pressed her fingers to the wound tighter, squeezing her fingers together. Keith barely felt the pain. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” she parroted Shiro, blinking furiously behind her glasses. Lance squeezed between her and Shiro to press his hands on to of Pidge’s.

“I refuse to do an autopsy on you,” he said furiously. “So don’t you dare die on us, Mullet!” 

Keith didn’t even bother to reply to that, unable to gather enough energy to speak.  Blood still dripped off of his shirt, staining the snow around him crimson. It was all he could see. But somehow, it didn’t make him nauseous. The colors just blurred together into pastels until everything was blurry. 

Hunk (or at least, he was pretty sure that was Hunk) stepped around to help Shiro support Keith as his head lolled pathetically around Shiro’s elbow. He could dimly hear someone reminding him to breathe, but he couldn’t anymore. There was far too much blood, there was no way he was going to survive this. 

But at the very least, he was content dying here with his family surrounding him. 

His eyelids fluttered. 

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice sounded so far away. Like Keith was sinking through the ocean and Shiro was calling to him from the surface. “You’ll be fine, Keith. I’ll never give up on you. I promise you that, okay? You’ll be fine.” 

The pain was dulling to nothing but an aching throb. Keith could hear voices - so many voices - surrounding him, Allura was shouting something about an ambulance, but Keith just didn’t care anymore. 

Surrounded by his family, Keith let himself fade away.

Chapter Text

Before anything, Keith was aware of the noise. 

A repetitive, rhythmic beep that echoed in his ears and bounced around in his skull until he was annoyed and desperately trying to figure out a way to get it to stop. But he couldn’t seem to move - paralyzed by some unknown force. Unable to do much else, Keith resigned himself to his fate and allowed everything to fade again. 

When he was aware again, the beeping was stronger. It came in faster bursts, allowing Keith the count the seconds between each one. Finally, Keith realized just what he was hearing. 

His heartbeat. 

For the second time in his life Keith realized that, against all odds, he was alive. And that he was in a tremendous amount of pain. 

With a low groan that tore itself from his unused vocal cords (God, how long had he been unconscious for?) Keith peeled his tired eyes open. 

...and immediately closed them again. 

The lights from the ceiling were far too blinding for him to be dealing with at the moment. It felt like a thousand tiny razors biting into his eyes. After a few bracing moments, he tried again, blinking furiously to help him adjust to the bright light. 

A hospital room, Keith realized, glancing around. The scene was far too familiar. He was on a lumpy bed that rose and fell in uneven spots, he was piled onto three pillows that felt more like fifty, listening to the repetitive droning of his own heart in his ears. It was just like when he woke up after the Butcher attacked him that cold November night. But this time, at least, Keith had managed to retain his memories. And...there was something else that was different. 

Everyone else was here. Pidge was dozing, curled in a ball in the corner of the room. Hunk and Lance were in matching, uncomfortable chairs, leaning against one another for support as they slept. And at Keith’s bedside, head resting on his folded arms against the bed and a shock of black hair with the fringe messily splayed over his wrist, was Shiro. 

On the small table beside his bed was a surprising plethora of flowers and get well soon cards - six of which were from Allura and Coran. Keith was sure that if they could be there, they would be. 

Keith’s heart swelled with warmth. 

He was so lucky to have met these people. 

He looked down at himself, taking a mental catalog of the injuries and bandages he could see. He could feel the tight bandages pressing in on his stomach for the stab wound he’d suffered and his jaw and neck felt sore. There were an ungodly amount of IVs and wires pressing on his skin and arms, silently taking measure of his heartbeat and blood pressure. His arm was still wrapped in its sling, hanging awkwardly above him. In all, it wasn’t as bad as Keith had been expecting, but it wasn’t good, either. 

“Good morning, starshine,” the sudden voice startled Keith so badly, his neck popped uncomfortably as he turned to look at who had spoken. Lance was regarding him through a sleepy grin and half-lidded eyes. “The Earth says hello.” 

Keith couldn’t fight his grin. “Really? A Charlie and the Chocolate Factory reference?” 

“What else was I supposed to say?” The humor in Lance’s voice betrayed the relief evident in his body language. 

“I dunno. Just a regular ‘hi, good to see you’re not dead’ would have done fine,” Keith said hoarsely, his voice scratchy from disuse. “You didn’t even reference the classic one, it was the newer one that no one likes.” 

“Hey,” Lance said defensively, taking care to keep his voice quiet as to not wake everyone else. “I liked that movie. The old one gave me nightmares.” 

“I never saw the old one.” 

“Oh my God, we are changing that,” Lance said firmly and shifted a little, nudging Hunk with his elbow to get him to wake up. In the corner, Pidge groaned and rolled over, honey brown eyes blinking awake. She muttered blearily, staring at Keith like he wasn’t fully there. She reached out to her left, fumbling for her glasses and sitting up. Hunk, on the other hand, made several noises of protest before finally blinking furiously awake. 

“Mornin’,” he said through a huge yawn. “How’s Kei-- Keith!” 

Hunk’s shriek effectively woke Pidge up (who practically smashed her glasses onto her nose) and startled Shiro awake, whose chair tilted backward. He let out an undignified shriek that was unbecoming of the officer Keith knew and flailed to balance himself. Once his chair was safely back with all four legs on the ground, he turned to shoot a glare over at Hunk.

“A little warning next time?” he griped, wiping the sleep from his eyes. 

“Sorry-” Hunk was staring at Keith like he’d grown two extra arms and maybe a leg too for good measure. “It’s just, Keith...he’s-” 

“What’s wrong, did he-” Shiro’s head swiveled around to stare. Several emotions flickered across his face the moment he lay eyes on him. Surprise, relief, happiness - all there and gone before Keith could blink. “Keith!” 

“Morning,” Keith said with a small smile. 

“You’re awake!” Shiro said, eyes growing wide. 

“I am,” Keith affirmed, despite thinking that was a bit obvious. He glanced around, trying to look for an indication of the time or date or anything. He had to know how long he’d been unconscious for. 

“You can’t blame Shiro for that kind of reaction,” Lance said. A shit-eating grin was pulling at his lips. “We haven’t seen you awake and aware since last year.” 

Keith’s heart nearly stopped at the news. 

Last year? 

Had he really been unconscious for an entire year? How long had it been since he’d (stupidly) fought for his life against Zarkon? What was the day? He had to know. 

Keith fumbled for the sheets and the IV lines, tugging at his arm in the sling so he could get up and find something, anything, maybe a calendar or something, but a rush of agony surging up his spine. He gasped in pain, stopping in his tracks and realizing that turning his neck that far to the right hurt like someone had taken a fire poker to his face. 

“Hey, whoa, calm down,” Shiro reached out to brace his hand on Keith’s shoulder. Keith searched his face, trying to find any wrinkle lines, any white hairs that indicated Shiro had gotten any older. It was absurd to think that much time had passed, he knew subconsciously, but the panic was making it hard to think straight. “Don’t worry. It’s only been two weeks.” 

“Two...weeks?” Keith repeated. 

“Yeah, since everything went down at your apartment,” Pidge chimed in. She pushed her glasses up a little farther on her nose. “It’s January 1st. Lance is just...gracing us with his obligatory ‘I haven’t seen you since last year!’ jokes.” 

“It’s tradition! But, yeah,” Lance had the decency to look ashamed. “Sorry, man. Didn’t realize you’d have that bad of a reaction to it.” 

“It’s fine,” Keith murmured, panic ebbing from his chest. He relaxed, trying to rest his head against the lumpy pillows that pressed awkwardly against the back of his head. Two weeks. He’d missed Christmas (imagining the rush at the diner he’d probably have to deal with made him feel a little better that he’d been unconscious through it) and New Years. Though, if he was being honest, he was probably going to spend both holidays alone scowling down at a beer he couldn’t have because of his alcohol intolerance. 

He breathed out a sigh of relief he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Two weeks really wasn’t that bad. It was far better than he was expecting, actually. 

“Actually, all of those things on the table there are from us,” Hunk nodded to the pile of flowers and well-wishes that covered his table. “Christmas presents, New Year’s Eve cards...all of it. Most of it is from Coran - he kept finding books he’d thought you liked.” 

Keith couldn’t help but snort. He wanted to look through the pile, but moving that much sounded like a painful task for another day. 

He turned back to look at Shiro by his bedside who gave him a relieved smile. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, Keith,” he said quietly. 

“Me too,” Keith admitted, feeling warm and loved for the first time since his dad had passed. 

“You scared the shit out of us, though,” Pidge said from her corner. She’d tucked her feet under her legs and was regarding Keith through the thick lenses of her glasses. 

“Language,” Shiro reprimanded half-heartedly. 

“No, no, that’s actually the most accurate way we can put that,” Lance said. “Hunk bawled like a baby all the way to the hospital. The doctors said if we got you there even a minute later, you would have...well...y’know.” 

The word ‘died’ hung heavy in the air. Keith looked down at his good hand to realize it was trembling. He pressed it against his leg to get it to stop.

“The important thing is that you survived,” Shiro reached forward to place his hand on Keith’s forearm with a warm smile. “And that you’re awake now. Nothing else.” 

“Okay,” Keith said with a smile. 

"Though don't you ever do that again, you hear?" Shiro's expression darkened into a stern glare. "I don't ever want to be that scared for your life ever again." 

"'m sorry," Keith said with a bemused grin. 

"I agree," Pidge said. "Next time you want to do something dumb, at the very least let us in it so we don't end up worrying about you until you wake up two weeks later!" 

"Yeah!" Lance said. "We do dumb things together or not at all!" 

"I wasn't aware that was a thing we did even before we met Keith," Hunk said, blinking in surprise. 

"Well, it is now!" 

"Next time I tell you not to do anything reckless, please listen to me," Shiro grumbled, ignoring Lance. 

"Okay, okay, I will!" Keith rose his hands in mock surrender. "Jeez..." 

"Promise me, Keith," Shiro said, tightening his grip around Keith's forearm carefully. 

"I promise!" 

Shiro's expression softened to a smile. "Thank you." 

Keith grumbled under his breath, pretending to be upset. He couldn't hide his own smile though, and judging from Shiro's look, he knew he saw it as well. 

After a moment that Lance and Hunk were eager to fill with stories from the precinct since Keith had been unconscious, the door opened and Doctor Holt stepped in, shutting the door with a quiet snap. It was the most intense feeling of deja vu Keith had ever experienced as he watched him approach. 

“Good morning, Mr. Kogane,” he said. “How are you feeling?” 

“About as good as last time,” Keith grumbled, shifting into a more comfortable position. Fire shot up his spine. 

“Try not to move,” Doctor Holt said warningly. “You’ve got two broken ribs and a stab wound in your abdomen.” 

Keith dimly remembered Zarkon’s knee coming up to meet his ribs and the sickening crack that had followed. He shuddered and nodded. 

“That and keep moving to a minimum,” Doctor Holt said, reaching to tap at his arm. Keith mirrored the movement on his own end, fingers brushing against the bandages pressed against the wound on his shoulder. “We don’t want to dislodge the stitches there.” 

Keith nodded again. 

“I don’t want to keep you too long,” Doctor Holt said warmly. “Clearly, there’s a lot to be discussed here. But I’m glad to see you’re awake, Mr. Kogane. And, I hope this’ll be the last time you’re in urgent care for such extensive injuries.” He gave him a knowing smile, a twinkle in his eyes, and pushed his glasses up his nose in a remarkable impression of Pidge. “You’ll start physical therapy in two weeks, once your wounds are healed enough for it. And, we’ve taken the initiative to do the needed surgery for the tendon on your arm so...be delicate with it.” He nodded to the sling keeping Keith’s arm awkwardly elevated and he glanced at it, blinking in surprise. 

“But I can’t afford-” 

“Don’t worry about it,” Shiro said quickly. “We got it covered.” 

Keith gaped at him for a moment, love and surprised swelling in his chest like a balloon. “You guys didn’t…” 

“We did,” Pidge said. “Pitched together to cover all the expenses. And, don’t worry, none of us are worse off for it.” 

Keith choked on his gratefulness and let his head fall back against the pillows to stare up at the ceiling again. Again, he reflected on just how lucky he had been to meet all of these incredible people. 

“Thank you,” he managed to choke out. 

Shiro’s expression was softer than he’d ever seen it. “You’re welcome.” 

“I’ll leave you all to it, then,” said Doctor Holt. “Tell me if you need anything, Mr. Kogane.” 

Keith nodded, unable to trust his voice for it not to shake. He was still floored by the revelation. How could he have found so many people who loved and cared for him enough to do this? What did he do to deserve such wonderful people? 

“Okay, subject change,” Lance said quickly, eyeing Keith like he was liable to burst into grateful tears. Not that it would ever happen (Keith hated crying, especially in front of others) but he couldn’t completely rule out the possibility of bursting into incoherent ramblings where most of it was him thanking them. 

“Oh yeah, we gotta talk about what happened,” Hunk said, frowning. “With Zarkon, I mean.” 

A cold chill went through the room at the mention of his name. Keith’s mouth felt dry. 

“What...happened to him? Did he...really die?” Keith could hear the terrible snap that echoed through his ears as Zarkon hit the ground and shuddered. 

“A hundred percent, yeah,” Lance said. “I could show you the autopsy report, if you want.” 

Keith shuddered. The image of seeing the papers that indicated just what had been the final blow for the Butcher made him feel sick to his stomach. He shook his head. 

“No thanks.” 

“That’s fair,” Lance said with a hum. “But yeah. He’s dead.” 

“Good riddance,” Pidge snapped. 

“Then what about Lotor?” Keith wondered, thinking about the cold cell Lotor had been lounging in so long ago. 

“We got a court date set for him,” Hunk said. “Sometime next week, I think. He still needs to be tried, but prosecutors agreed to lessen the charge from second degree attempted murder to...what was it?” 

“Accessory to a crime and failure to report said crime,” Shiro said. “He’ll be facing a huge fine with a minimum of one year and six months jail time.” 

“Good,” Keith murmured. In a weird way, he still felt for Lotor as a victim of a crime he hadn’t wanted to commit. He deserved to be held accountable for what had happened, but in the same sense, he was a victim in all of this as well. Keith felt for him, as strange as it was. 

“Allura and Coran have been working themselves to the bone trying to control what gets out to the media about what happened,” Pidge sighed. “At least they all know the Butcher’s dead and Altea County is safe again! But we’ll still have to come forward about Lotor, you’ll have to testify in court, it’ll just be a real messy situation.” 

“I don’t mind telling the courts what happened,” Keith said, resisting the urge to shrug. 

“Then be prepared for a lot of questions,” Shiro advised him. 

“Oh yeah,” Hunk winced. “Dealing with the courts is annoying like that.” 

“I can handle it,” Keith said, feeling confident. At his side, Shiro reached out to press his hand against Keith’s shoulder. 

“I know,” he said and Keith smiled back at him, reminding himself once again just how lucky he was to have met all of these incredible people. Though they met through a twisted turn of events, he was more then happy to admit that they’d become the most important people in his life. 

And as the conversation shifted once more, Keith allowed himself to embrace the warm feeling in his chest. 

Everything was okay now. 

And once everyone had left to go on to their daily lives, Keith allowed himself to dig into his presents and pulled out one of the books Coran had so kindly given him. 

It was a book on police work. On undercover detective work, specifically. Coran had probably taken notice of his silent want to become an officer like the others and had taken it upon himself to indulge Keith. And, if these books were anything to go by, they were willing to give him a spot on the team. 

His grip tightened on the cover. Maybe he really could find something he wanted to do after all. 

"Do you know where you’re going to stay?” 

Keith glanced at Shiro, nibbling on a hospital biscuit, legs dangling over the side of his bed. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what on Earth Shiro could be talking about. 

“At my apartment?” he asked, thinking it was obvious. 

“You really want to go back there?” Shiro asked incredulously, eyebrow climbing into his fringe. 

“I don’t know where else I’d go,” Keith said, already thinking about how going back there would never be the same after what had happened. 

“How about with me?” 

Keith’s biscuit slipped from his fingers and fell onto the plate with a shower of crumbs. He stared at Shiro, mouth slowly falling open to gape at him. Shiro looked back, unable to stop the amused grin creeping across his lips at the sight. Keith watched him, waiting for him to rescind the offer and play it off as the world’s worst joke, but he didn’t. 

“Wait, you’re being serious?” Keith demanded. 

“Yeah,” Shiro said. He reached over and ruffled Keith’s hair. “I told you before, Keith, you’re family. And I don’t want my family going back to an apartment where they almost died. I’ve got room - my apartment’s a two-bedroom that I repurposed the other room into an office. With some maneuvering, that room could be yours. You could bring in your futon and everything from your old apartment and we’ll make it fit in ours. Somehow.” 

“You’re shitting me,” Keith said, trying to stamp out the hope that was rebelliously blossoming in his chest. “You have got to be.” 

“I’m not,” Shiro’s nose wrinkled at the profanity. “Seriously, Keith. Move in with me.”

“Don’t you like...live with anyone?” Keith said desperately. “Won’t they be annoyed? Or bothered?” 

“No one lives with me. I mean, my significant other - Adam - he comes and is constantly crashing at my place, but we don’t live together,” Shiro said with a shrug. “He’s a professor at Garrison State and when he does move in, he’s already said he’d be cool with you being there. I’ve talked about you so much he wants to meet you anyway.” 

Keith stared at Shiro, unable to believe what was happening. First, he finally was given an opportunity to join the police department (with a lot of work being put into it, of course) and now Shiro was offering for him to move out of his terrible apartment into a new one. To genuinely become a part of Shiro’s family. 

This was unreal. 

“Then, yeah,” Keith breathed out, hardly daring to believe his luck. “Yeah, I’d love to.” 

Shiro beamed. “Hope you don’t mind cats.” 

Keith froze, blinking owlishly. He loved cats. “You have cats?” 

“Yeah, two of them,” Shiro said fondly. “Black and Red. They’ll love you, I’m sure.” 

Keith snorted a grin spreading across his face. “Black and Red?” 

“I’m bad at names, okay!” Shiro lifted his hand in mock surrender, trying very hard to look offended. “I just named them their fur colors because I couldn’t think of anything else!” 

Keith burst out laughing. 

And judging from the soft smile that spread across Shiro’s face at the sight, he didn’t mind that it was at the expense of his terrible naming abilities in the least. 

“I got in.” 

Two months after Zarkon’s death, after the conclusion of Lotor’s trial, after everything, Keith stood in the apartment he now shared with Shiro, Red twining around his ankles and meowing for attention, with a letter held in his shaking fists. Shiro, who was lounging on Keith’s well-loved futon and pulling at his sleeves, glanced up. 

“Wait, what?” 

“The police academy,” a grin was spreading across Keith’s face. “I got in.” 

Shiro leaped to his feet with an excited whoop, crushing Keith against his chest in an enormous hug. “Adam!” he shouted at a level of noise that the neighbors would certainly be complaining about. “Adam, he got in!” 

The muffled cheer from the bathroom was his answer. Keith laughed and threw his letter into the air. Red and Black darted after it like it had personally offended them. 

“I got in!” 

Lance tilted his head back, taking shots of the terrible restaurant grape juice like it was actual alcohol and slammed the cup back down onto the table with a wild cheer. He was grinning, a wild look in his eye as Pidge edged away from him, holding her chocolate milk like Lance might pounce and take it away from her. 

“Congrats on graduation, Mullet!” Lance belched out and burst out laughing afterwards. Beside him, Allura shook her head with a wry smile. 

“Top of your class, too,” she said with a smile. “You really are shaping up to be Shiro’s sequel. People at the precinct are already talking about you.” 

Keith beamed. “Thanks, guys. I’m excited to finally start working with you.” 

“An undercover cop, huh?” Pidge said. “Man, I honestly can’t see you doing anything else. I hope your acting skills have gotten better.” She winked playfully and Keith had to stamp out the urge to throw one of his mozzarella balls at her. 

“Fuck off,” he settled for instead with a grin. She laughed. 

Shiro lifted his glass with a grin. “To Keith,” he said. “And all the bullshit he endured to get here.” 

Instead of toasting like everyone else, the table erupted into chaos. Pidge choked on her chocolate milk and stared at Shiro like he’d grown a third head while Lance burst into hysterical laughter. Hunk shook his head and exchanged an exasperated look with Allura. 

Shiro stared at them. “What?” 

Pidge slammed both hands on the table. “ I didn’t know you knew how to swear!” 

“Here you are, my boy,” Coran said brightly, lifting his arms a little. In both hands was a neatly-folded blue uniform, a badge resting on top. Keith stared at it, going over his new title in his head a few more times. 

Detective Kogane, he thought. It was just as catchy as a title as it had been the day he’d first heard it. 

Coran raised an eyebrow at Keith’s hesitance, lifting the clothes again to encourage him to take it. Keith hurried to grab them, the fabric soft under his fingers. 

“Thank you,” he said, marvelling at the uniform. 

“You are quite welcome,” Coran said, slinging an arm over Keith’s shoulder. “You’re one of us, now. Welcome to the family!”

Keith, who had already felt like a part of the family for years (particularly during his internship here during his days at the academy) felt himself preen. He turned to face the mirror to look at himself in it and couldn’t fight the grin as he hugged the uniform tight to his chest. His new badge pressed awkwardly against his skin. 

“It’s good to be here,” he said and meant it.

“Your first drug bust,” Shiro said, smirking over at Keith from the passenger’s seat. “My little brother’s growing up! I’m so proud.” He feigned a tear, brushing at his eyes dramatically with one hand. 

“Oh shut up,” Keith said, eagerly drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. As long ago as it had been, he was still grateful for the surgery that had given him function of his right arm again. Driving - and doing literally anything - was so much easier now. “Are you guys ready?” He glanced into the backseat where the others were crowded, Pidge squashed in the middle between Lance and Hunk. 

“Ready!” Hunk and Pidge chorused. 

“I’m always ready,” Lance shot back. “Question is, are you?” 

A smirk curled Keith’s lips. “I was born ready.” 

Without any hesitation, he put his foot down, flooring the gas. The car screeched off down the street after the rest with a cheer rising up from the occupants. 

And Keith knew, without a doubt, that this was exactly where he was meant to be.