Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Shut up!” Lance hissed, swatting at his friends. “Keith will hear us!”

“Not my fault Hunk’s feeling nauseous,” Pidge muttered beside him, their honey hair looking like burnt sugar in the sliver of moonlight. The larger shifter hugged his stomach tighter, light beads of sweat over his brow, dampening his golden band across his forehead. 

“Look, guys,” Hunk said, thickly swallowing, “I don’t feel right spying like this.”

“We aren’t spying,”  Lance defended, waving his hand as if brushing away his friend’s worry. “We’re just… we’re watching him from a distance…”

“In a bush,” Pidge added.

“With--Without him knowing,” Hunk hiccuped.

“I know this isn’t exactly okay ,” Lance admitted, fully knowing he’s crossing an extremely hair-thin line regarding Keith’s trust. “But he needs to get comfortable with the idea that he can openly practice with us.”

“This doesn’t really qualify as him practicing openly when we secretly followed him into the forest,” Pidge monotonously said. Which was a valid point that Lance chose to ignore. 

“Whatever,” Lance dismissed. 

Yesterday Keith had finally accepted that they were all friends. Between the messy face masks and the hugging, he had been happy… really happy; something Lance didn't see often, that none of them saw often. But though Keith laughed and smiled and joked with the others, Lance saw that little sliver of doubt behind those violet eyes, especially when Hunk and Pidge had begun asking questions. Surprisingly they hadn’t been too pestering until Pidge wanted to see his magick in action again.

He had clammed up.

Then Shiro had stepped in, clearly sensing, as Lance had, how tense Keith had become. 

It had been then that Lance became determined to make this transition easy for Keith: from loner to true friend. But it couldn’t begin until Keith wholeheartedly accepted they trusted him with his magick and until he trusted himself.

So the first step was to sate Hunk and Pidge’s curiosity while getting them acclimated to the side of Keith’s magick that wasn’t fear-driven. 

“This is mostly to get you guys comfortable with him performing so you don’t freak out the first time he invites you along,” Lance easily explained. “He won’t take it well if you react too strongly.”

“I’m not--I wouldn’t--” Hunk stuttered.

“You’re freaking out right now!” Lance hissed, then mindlessly said, “And Pidge already freaked out.”

Lance barely contained the yelp in the back of his throat when Pidge elbowed him. They turned on him, spitting out, “I already said sorry about that so just drop it.”

Violently snapping when feeling vulnerable; a trait both Pidge and Keith shared. 

Guilt slightly foamed in Lance’s gut at his ignorance concerning Pidge’s feelings. Keith had been his priority for days now, his mind utterly enthralled with taking care of Keith, of making sure Keith is okay, of changing bandages and washing his hair and feeling the heat of his skin…  

It was easy to forget that his other friends needed him too. And the notion that he could simply forget his friends and their feelings appalled him. Yet he couldn’t regret the time he had dedicated to Keith. 

“Yeah, you did,” Lance softly agreed, cradling his aching stomach. If he had thought, simply for a moment, about Pidge’s feelings before running his mouth, then he would’ve remembered how much guilt they carried with them, even after their apology to Keith. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” Pidge dismissed. Their glasses glinted as they lifted their head, lip slightly quirked. A huff escaped before they lightly said, “So we followed you out here, are we gonna watch or not?”

“We could not?” Hunk muttered as Lance’s eyes caught a flame in the moonlight, its light dancing across distant tree branches.

“He’s coming!” Lance violently shushed his friend. 

The three of them huddled close together, waiting for Keith’s approach.

At the break of dawn, the group had set out from camp, heading toward the Arusians. The entirety of the day had been spent trekking through the forest, foliage thickening and roots becoming footfalls as they journeyed; yet not one complaint from Keith had been uttered. But Lance had seen his small stumbles and the occasional grimace cracking his otherwise emotionless face. It had been perfectly clear his injuries bothered him, but he never once asked for a break, not even for a few moments. One royal Altean glaring into his back likely influenced his refusal for help. 

So Lance had made it his mission to whine and complain and force the group to take breaks. Everyone had wanted to strangle him, including Keith himself, but it was worth the near silent sighs of relief from the necromancer when he was able to lean against a tree for more than a few moments.

This spot had been where their last break occurred. 

Lance had seen Keith’s eyes light up in interest. This had been the clearest spot for miles--a relatively safer space to be throwing around some fire balls… or reanimating some forest critters. Since the incident with Pidge and Shiro, Keith hadn’t been practicing. And if Lance knew even an inkling of what traveled through his mind, he knew that Keith had been itching to release some pent up magick for the sake of safety.

Lance had mentally marked the spot. This was where Keith would train.

And he was right. 

After a few moments, Lance, Hunk and Pidge all peered over the low bush they huddled behind. 

Keith stood in the middle of a tight circle of trees, the forest too thick for a proper clearing. 

Lance rolled his lip nervously. Keith needed to be in perfect control of his fire in such a small setting, which Lance had no doubt he could accomplish, but one mistake meant he dragged two of his friends into a forest fire. 

Keith took an audible breath before snapping his fingers. A few flames burst to life, lighting the trees around him. His hair glinted in the light as he began. 

Keith closed his eyes, centering himself and his breath, flames licking at his lips, painting them red. Lance raptly watched as his skin glowed under the light, brightening his hair, his lashes, his brows under the moonlight--the witch was already entranced.

Deeply Keith breathed in and with a final huff, his fire moved forward, exploding in bright flashes of light. He took a step and the flames followed his movements, whipping around him in tight circles. Appearing wild and untamed, the flames moved to the outskirts of the small patch of grass, threatening the lithe trees, but Lance saw the concentration of Keith’s face, the sweat on his brow. His bandaged hands flicked in precise movements, controlled. 

With a whoosh the fire converged, a long lithe shape taking form as Keith mumbled under his breath. Small explosions reverberated through the fire, but Keith contained them, molding them to the flames; a head took form, then legs, a tail, and finally wings. Keith unabashedly laughed at the dragon slowly circling him, rubbing up close, nuzzling under his chin, alive under Keith’s command. 

Lance vaguely noticed Hunk’s jaw drop at the creature, but he could only focus on Keith’s reverberating chuckles, rough but free. They pattered off, but Lance’s ears wanted to drown in the sound so rarely heard. 

Lance leaned forward.

Then fell. 

His arm sunk into the bush in front of him. The rustle of leaves and the snap of a branch screamed into the silence of the night.

Keith froze unnaturally so, his violet eyes near black as they glared in Lance’s direction. The dragon silently roared, tangling his tail around Keith before the fire converged around him, blanketing him in flames like a flickering coat, before he took cautious steps forward. 

Keith couldn’t find them. He couldn’t .

Lance wouldn’t be able to properly explain why him, Hunk, and Pidge followed him through the forest without Keith jumping to conclusions. Lance had worked hard to gain Keith’s trust and in one stupid move he would lose it. In a matter of seconds. 

His fingers began to tremble as he willed Keith to stop , to turn around and continue training. But he didn’t stop. He crept closer and closer still until he was practically on top of them.

Lance jumped when a hand lightly connected with his back. Pidge pushed down before giving him a stern look. It only took a second for Lance to realize what they meant to do, but it was too late. 

Pidge shot up from behind the bush.

Keith defensively stepped back before gasping, “ Pidge .”

“Uh, hi,”  they greeted. Lance resisted the urge to slap his palm against his forehead and instead grabbed Hunk to pull him closer to the ground. They couldn’t be caught. 

Keith fumbled for a reply. From this  vantage on the ground, Lance couldn’t see Keith, but he could clearly imagine the emotions flitting across his face: shock, confusion, to realization and disappointment. All part of a cocktail to kill someone’s night. Or in this case, someone’s heart. 

Keith’s flames abetted, though continued to persist. They didn’t extinguish--a bad sign. He didn’t feel safe after discovering Pidge trailing him. The situation likely reminded him of the previous time they had seen him practicing. 

Lance’s gut clenched in guilt. This was such a stupid idea. 

Hunk blanketed him with an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

Finally Keith said, “You shouldn’t be…” He huffed, taking a step back. “What are you doing here? Where are the others?”

Lance clenched his eyes at the distress wavering his voice, the resistance. 

Stars, he could cry from hearing the hurt embedded in his tone. Of course, Keith’s mind supplied him with the worst possible scenario: this was a trap. Lance thought the face masks and the bonding yesterday would’ve expelled those thoughts from his head, but clearly Keith’s trust couldn’t be built in a day--Lance should know, he’s still earning it. 

“No one else is here,” Pidge said, the lie slipping cleanly off their tongue. “It’s only me.”

There was a pause, a chasm spanning the two. It only grew wider the longer Keith remained silent. Then the forest around them dimmed with the extinguishing of Keith’s flames. Only blacks and greys remained. A shadow flickering occasionally with the fire carried in Keith’s palm for light. 

“Why are you here, Pidge?” he asked. 

“I just wanted to see you practice,” they softly said. “You seemed hesitant when I asked yesterday and I got curious.”

“Never stopping without an answer,” Keith exasperatedly sighed, though Lance could hear the fondness behind his words. It brought a shaky smile to Lance’s face that quickly fell at Keith’s clipped tone. “That’s not an excuse. I could’ve--There’s a reason I don’t let others near me when I practice.”

“But you let Lance,” Pidge interjected, stepping forward and further out of Lance’s sight. And he wanted to tell them to leave it be; they were already caught and arguing would make everything worse. 

But then Keith defensively said, “Lance is different. ” 

And something odd zipped through Lance, cutting through the guilt and fear momentarily. 

He changed his mind. If Pidge wanted to keep pushing, by all means, as long as Lance heard an explanation for that --different. 

“Why?” Pidge scoffed. “Because he knew first?”

“No, he just is ,” Keith snapped, turning back to the measly clearing. “Drop it. And go back to camp I can’t practice with you here.”

“Why not?” they huffed, taking steps to follow him. Both were out of Lance’s vision and with great hesitance, one fueled by Hunk’s worried gestures, yet overwhelming curiosity he sat up to peer between the branches of the bush they hid behind. “Keith, why not?”

“Because--Because I could hurt you,” he argued, flame popping in his palm.

“We’ve been over this,” Pidge sighed. Lance understood her frustration. 

One of the greatest hurdles he had faced was simply convincing Keith to practice, let alone practice in front of him. Those few days after Lance discovered Keith’s necromancy had been flooded with vehement arguing that left Keith bursting at the seams and Lance emotionally despondent. Lance usually loved getting a rise out of Keith, anything to break that unemotional facade, but seeing him internally battle with Lance’s support and his own self-destruction had hurt Lance in ways he’d never thought possible. 

Then when Keith had pulled him into the forest with a wisp of a smile, Lance had thought some fae fruit was drastically twisting his reality. But his mind could never create the intricacies of Keith: the tremble of his shoulders, the brushes of his scars, the flecks of gold in his violet eyes. Despite the days of arguing, Keith had been practicing and felt comfortable enough in his own abilities to show Lance his control over his necromantic fire. 

In the moment, Lance hadn’t realized what a gift that had been. 

Keith talked to Shiro about necromancy. He never practiced in front of him.

The first person Keith freely practiced in front of was Lance.

The first person Keith felt safe with his necromancy was Lance. 

But Keith continued to have bad days. When doubts and insecurities crept into his mind. He would refuse Lance when he asked to join him for practice. And it hurt. But the pushback was manageable; Lance would deal with his own emotions as long as Keith felt comfortable with or without him there. 

After the incident with Pidge and Shiro, Lance knew those instances would become much more frequent. 

They’d lost progress. But recovery wasn’t linear and Lance wasn’t going anywhere. 

Neither were the others. Pidge was going to become one of Keith’s biggest supporters--Lance could feel it. They’ve had their own share of hardships dealing with familiar-witch discrimination and would be able to relate to Keith on a level Lance simply couldn’t. And the two of them had history, growing up in the Leo Coven together before Keith moved with Shiro.

It made Lance wonder what was so different about him. 

Rationally Pidge would be the safest option to confide in, excluding Shiro. They’re small, nonthreatening (on occasion), and have a history with Keith. 

Their only offense would be...

“It’s cause I outed you,” Pidge murmured, “isn’t?”

Keith remained silent for a second too long. 

“Pid--”

“I’m sorry, Keith. You know I’m sorry, right?” they begged, voice dripping with heavy repentance.

“Of course I know you’re sorry,” Keith softly said, wiping the flames from his hands before pulling Pidge into him. In the darkness of the night, his height engulfed their small frame, melting into the monochrome of the clearing. “You’re my friend and I don’t want you blaming yourself for how you reacted. I was upset and--and scared that… It doesn’t matter. The point is I don’t blame you for reacting the way you did.” He paused for a moment, contemplating his next words. “That was kinda the default for how I would expect anyone to react, less extreme even.”

“But I’m not just anyone . I’m your friend.” They sneered and lightly pounded on Keith’s chest, rather too desperately for it to simply be an act. Lance’s stomach dropped at the wrongness of the situation, his wrongness:  he didn’t belong listening to such a private conversation, one that obviously meant a lot to Pidge. “And I hurt you.”

“I mean, yeah, it hurt that you ran,” Keith murmured, pulling away from Pidge slightly, enough to see their face properly. “I hoped… It’s stupid , but I hoped because we were friends before that maybe you wouldn’t react as badly. So when you started screaming for the others because you were scared of me, it hurt more than it should’ve. I wasn’t being realistic.”

“But you were being realistic! I’m your friend and I’ve known you longer than anyone else, but I still ran even though you thought better of me. I shouldn’t have ran. I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to forgive. But if I can ask one thing?”

“Anything.”

“Please don’t follow me again,” Keith softly requested. “When I’m going to practice, I mean. I… It’s already hard to practice in front of others and I’m not comfortable practicing with you nearby. I know I keep saying this, but it is dangerous, especially because I’m still working on my control.”

“But I want to support you--”

“You already are by accepting me for me . You are supporting me in other ways,” he assured, smoothing his bandaged hand through their hair. “I’ll let you watch me practice one day, but not now. Okay?” Pidge solemnly agreed, nodding their head. “That means no more trailing me. You’re lucky I didn’t decide to set the bush on fire before you showed yourself.”

Pidge huffed. “Yeah, I’m very into self-preservation. And speaking of self-preservation--walk me back?”

Keith smirked. “Scared?”

“Something like that.” they shrugged, taking Keith’s arm and leading him the opposite direction of Lance and Hunk. A light flickered ahead of them, dissipating the shadows around them.

After a few silent moments, Hunk said, “I’m going to be sick.”

“That was close,” Lance sighed, tension releasing from his shoulders. He slouched against his best friend. “Too close.”

“Yeah, can we not do this again?”

Guilt once again bloomed in the wake of the stress and fear. 

“Never again.”

“Shiro!” Lance called. “I got our day’s travel.”

Lance released Coran’s hand before hastily drawing a makeshift map with headings and distinctive landmarks for the group to follow for the day. It was rudimentary, but it worked.

“That’s it, my boy?” Coran asked, looking over at the paper in Lance’s lap.

“Yup,” he popped as his hand scribbled in a rock that looked suspiciously like a troll, writing ‘WATCH FOR FLESH HUNTERS’ and underlining and circling the phrase multiple times, because being surprised by creatures with a taste for witch stew was not in Lance’s cards that day. He moved on to the next landmarker. “Simple as holding your hand and peering into my scrying bowl. Little extra work on my part to get the seer magick flowing, but as long as you have a pretty decent image or map in your head…”  He shrugged. “That’s it.”

It was definitely not as simple as that. 

There were technicalities that came to scrying. While it was relatively simple for Lance to project his own images onto the water, it’s manageably more difficult to project someone else’s, because they have to travel from the source through Lance and into the scrying bowl. Images can be distorted, especially if the source didn’t remember an image or a place correctly. 

Luckily Coran hadn’t been lying about the hours he’d spent pouring over maps with King Alfor: the advisor had near perfect memory of the entire Fae pocket. Lance was mildly disgruntled that he had spent months scrying with Allura instead of the man. 

What usually took the two an hour to accomplish Lance and Coran completed in ten minutes. 

Lance hated that it took Allura being discriminatory for him to ask Coran for his help. He didn’t feel comfortable being anywhere near Allura at the moment, the anger still fresh enough that he didn’t trust himself to be close to her. He was sure everyone felt the same, though Shiro was holding the group together. He supposed Coran was as well, though Lance maintained his wariness around the older Altean--he still hadn’t expressed an opinion of Keith yet. 

Shiro walked over to the pair sitting on the floor and grabbed the map when Lance was done. He took a couple minutes to look it over, chuckling a bit at Lance’s warning and assuring him that as long as it's daylight those trolls would stay stone. The man looked over the rest of the group, all of them loaded with packs with magickal slips in their pockets. Hunk, opting for his shifted form today, looked more like a pack dragon than a wolf. 

After doing a final headcount, Shiro called, “Okay, team. Let’s head out,” then began walking through the forest, taking the lead with the hand-drawn map. 

The first part of these day journeys were never really terrible. After a few months of traveling, the group had grown accustomed to these long treks; however, the further they traveled toward the Arusians, the more difficult and perilous the forest had become with moving trees, tempting fae fruits, and bothersome pixies. The wildness of fae magick flourished in this area. As Coran explained, the lack of civilized fae living in the territory had shifted the magick of the land. This ground belonged to the gwynllions, fachans, and the like; though the path Coran provided should lead them safely through this part of the forest. By dinner, they’d be through the worst of it, but until then, they should be vigilant.

Well, as vigilant as a group of teenagers could be.

Keith had fallen behind the group, though Lance couldn’t be certain if that was due to his healing injuries or the fact that Allura took up Shiro’s side. Lance slowed his gait until he was beside Keith and out of earshot of the group, the others foraging ahead. 

He had some digging to do concerning the night before. 

Last night hadn’t necessarily been illuminating, instead more ideas and questions formed in Lance’s mind. Keith’s insistence on practicing alone drew from his fear of hurting his friends, the argument he presented to Pidge yet again in addition to his feelings of confused betrayal over her reaction to his necromancy. Lance believed Keith carried this fear for years, possibly his entire life, yet he allowed Lance to often accompany him when he practices. 

It’s contradictory. 

Even more baffling, Lance thought of Keith’s relationship with Shiro and not for the first time wondered about Shiro’s involvement in Keith’s necromancy. In the two weeks he had been practicing with Keith, Shiro had not been there to support him, which was particularly alarming considering how supportive and protective he was over Keith. 

Lance would never be able to forget the burning fury in Shiro’s gunmetal eyes when he shoved himself between Keith and Lance during Keith’s first witnessed practice session. Obviously Shiro cared for his brother--Lance would never doubt that infallible fact. 

What then was different? 

“So I’ve just been thinking--”

“That’s dangerous,” Keith remarked, climbing over a rather large root ahead of Lance. 

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious,” Lance deadpanned. Keith held out his cloth-wrapped and leather-bound hand to help him over the root, an unneeded gesture but one Lance appreciated nonetheless, especially since the witch didn’t wince at the contact; the healing sessions had been doing their job. Lance looked ahead to their group, spying Shiro now by Pidge’s side, the two of them talking animatedly. “How come Shiro doesn’t watch you practice? He just has never been to any of the practice sessions and I was curious.”

Keith hesitated to answer, which Lance understood. The question appeared without any portent. He shook his head before ducking under a branch. “Shiro doesn’t need to be bothered with it.”

“But does he ask to join?” Lance questioned. 

“No.”

“Never?”

“Well, when I was younger,” Keith began, “he’d try to convince me to let him accompany me when I did, but I never let him… I was too scared. He eventually stopped asking.”

“But don’t you think it’s weird that he hasn’t started asking again after seeing you properly control your necromancy?” Lance asked while moving a few wisps of moss curtaining their path. After Shiro first stumbled upon Keith showing Lance his necromancy, there was no denying, even if the brothers didn’t talk specifically about Keith’s practice sessions, that he was attempting and controlling his magick. “You’ve made so much progress in so little time. He seems like the type of big brother who would be proud of your accomplishments.”

“He is proud. I think,” Keith stuttered then shook his head. “Why are you even asking? Look, it’s complicated.”

“It’s really not,” Lance replied. Because truly, it shouldn’t be. “He’s so supportive in every way, but this . I don’t know, I just thought he’d want to be more involved.”

Keith slowed his gait significantly. Lance stopped a few steps ahead, turning to watch the hesitance radiate from him. His teeth rolled his bottom lip and his fingers picked at the cloth around his wrist as he carefully made his way to Lance as if treading through a field of hidden curses instead of two measly meters of a forest floor.

Keith didn’t stop next to Lance, but continued ahead of him yet lingering enough for Lance to see the sweat drip from his brow and to smell the burnt musk of his skin. 

Keith parted his lips and murmured. 

“It’s… different for him.”

And that wording-- different --spun in Lance’s mind, building off the overheard conversation from the night before. The use of it stunned Lance momentarily, but he had to shake it off. Cowardly hiding behind a bush last night had to remain a secret, no matter Lance’s desire to comprehend Keith’s definition of different . Truly, the other witch likely didn’t realize he used the same wording with his conversation with Pidge, yet the coincidence rattled Lance.

“Different from me?” 

“ Yes ,” Keith vehemently said. A single word and Lance had to hold his breath or he’d choke on the bubbling emotions swirling within him. A single word and it told Lance everything yet nothing at all. The passion behind a simple ‘yes’ gave it such a distinctly vague power. 

Lance needed to know more.

But he had to be subtle. 

“Is Shiro different from… Pidge?”

“Yes… Wait, no. No.” Keith shook his head and almost ran into a trunk before Lance pulled him away, singeing his cool hands on Keith’s burning skin. Jerkily Keith shook him off, flustered with the questioning paired with Lance’s hands on him. “Why are you even asking? He’s my brother and he has accepted me. What’s more to it?”

Keith became defensive; Lance dug a little too far, but he couldn’t stop yet. Instead he cooled the conversation, pulling back. 

“Like I said, I’ve been thinking.”

“Thinking enough to get under my skin,” Keith accused. 

“It’s a gift, what can I say,” Lance goodnaturely shrugged before side-stepping in front of Keith, walking backwards until the other caught his eye. “But it bothers you--Shiro not being there.”

Keith huffed, peering around Lance. “I used to think you were clueless.”

“I take offense to that,” he lightly joked, pressing a hand to his chest. He continued walking backwards, his magick guiding his feet over footfalls and around trees. Keith’s eyes traced his feet, the curious knot in his brow telling Lance this was a good distraction from the conversation. 

“You’re more intuitive than I gave you credit for,” Keith admitted. Lance almost laughed at the double meaning of his words; Keith’s brows furrowed as Lance had yet to trip. “I’ve realized that about you since I revealed my necromancy. Makes your thinking dangerous.”

Lance smirked. “So--”

“How are you doing that?” Keith interrupted, which wasn’t where Lance wanted to steer the conversation, but he’d relent; it was his fault after all for showing off. 

“Ah, my seer magick. I mostly use my scrying bowl when I practice, but I can use it for many different things, including finding swift footing while walking,”  he explained then turned around to begin walking beside Keith, both of them facing the far-off group. “Think of it like my feet having eyes or like a half-second of premonition.”

“Having eyes? Really,” Keith monotonously said, one eyebrow unimpressively raised. 

“You have a better explanation, Sparky ,” Lance snarked. He chuckled before jumping from Keith’s swinging arms, a clear hit coming his way. Lance danced a few feet ahead. 

“Only Pidge is allowed to call me that,” Keith sneered, though Lance saw through his facade; his eyes glinted playfully and they slightly crinkled at their corners. 

“I don’t know,” Lance mused, tapping an innocent finger on his lips in faux thought. “It’s a pretty good nickname. Though I’m sure I can come up with a better one.”

“You already call me Mullet.”

“That one is pretty great.”

“It’s not even valid! I don’t have a mullet,” Keith argued, frustratedly pulling the pack’s straps across his chest. 

“Now that is simply untrue,” Lance lightly said before tugging at a stray strand at Keith’s nape--a rather risky endeavor, but Keith simply swatted his hand away. “I’ll come up with another one soon, just you wait.”

Keith’s raven hair swayed with his shaking head, a light smile on his face. “Patiently.”

They walked a few minutes more in silence. For all the warnings Coran graphically depicted before their departure, there was something quite beautiful about the wildness of this forest. The colors were bolder, saturated in vibrancy; the fruit more fragrant, their smells lingering like humidity, sticking to their skin and tastable on their breaths. The elution of life presented in creeping vines, wild flowers, and the singing noises echoing through the tree branches. Simple life radiated: creatures bound only to their survival.

In a way, the forest reminded Lance of Keith; ever the bold, yet wildly entrancing in his instinctually impulsiveness. A mystery without the intention of being so, one Lance could spend countless hours desiring to unwrap if only to glance a moment under the reserved facade he consistently wore. A danger, but only to those who weren’t intimately familiar with him. 

Though for all the life the forest held, it seemed lonely.

“Sorry if my questioning bothered you,” Lance apologized, which earned him a suspicious stare from Keith, eyebrow quirked up and a light frown gracing his lips. “It’s just--I worry, okay? I know he’s your brother and would never do anything to hurt you, but him not wanting to see your magick rubs me the wrong way and I  want to make sure you’re alright with him basically avoiding your practice sessions. And I know they aren’t open to everyone, but he’s been in your corner the longest and sometimes I question whether he or I should be all ‘hoorah!’ about your practicing--don’t get me wrong, I will always be there for you, but he’s your brother and--”

“Lance.” 

And he immediately clicked his jaw shut.

“Sorry, I know. Rambling.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Keith scoffed, a rosy tint to his cheeks betraying his emotions if only Lance could get his head out of his ass long enough to notice. “I’m… okay with you worrying about me. Not many people do.”

“Well, you have plenty of people now,” Lance assured him, gesturing widely to the group trekking ahead of them. “If only we could shake the Alteans.”

Keith hesitated before saying, “Actually, Coran talked with me last night.”

Lance’s face hardened. He hated expecting the worst of people, but after Allura’s reaction to Keith’s magick, he couldn’t risk trusting the intentions of others, especially the remaining Altean.

“Lance, cut it out.”

“What?”

“You have that look in your eye,” Keith stated, looking starkly away. “The murderous one.”

Lance scoffed, “I don’t have a murderous look.”

“Not one you use often,” Keith near whispered, slightly ducking his chin down. 

Lance stumbled over a root, tips of his slipper catching against the hard bark. He caught himself before Keith could. The witch had the decency to look worried.

The mental whiplash overwhelmed Lance. If he was so concerned about Keith, he wouldn’t have made that misstep: forgetting about that time a near three weeks ago when he almost murdered his friend. How could he not understand the concern flickering across Keith’s face before he made that comment? Obviously that precarious moment continued to hold significance for Keith as it did for Lance. And obviously Lance didn’t know all of Keith’s triggers associated with that moment. 

Idiot.

“Keith, I am so sorry!”

“Look, it’s fine,” Keith brushed off, though his popping knuckles were concerning. Lance wanted to protest that it wasn’t okay, but apologizing for emoting sounded idiotic, especially when he himself delights in drawing emotions from Keith. “What I was trying to say was that Coran talked with me last night and he’s okay with… me. I thought he’d be furious like Allura, but he was accepting.”

Lance released a breath. Coran had become family and to lose another member due to prejudice would be unbearable. 

“I’m glad we have another friend on our side.”

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. “And that includes Shiro.”

Stars, is that where Keith thought Lance was heading with this conversation?

“Keith, I hadn’t meant to imply that he wasn’t.” 

“I know… It’s just not the same, I guess.” Keith hesitated, rubbing at the cloth around his wrist. “Shiro’s been… different since returning from Fae.”

“After what he went through,” Lance said, “I wouldn’t expect him to be exactly who he was beforehand.”

“You’re right,” Keith confessed before a regretful look fell upon his face. “I shouldn’t be talking about him.”

“C’mon, don’t do that,” Lance sighed--not whined, definitely not a whine.

“Do what?” 

“Pull away! Whenever we talk and you begin to open up, you realize what you’re doing and shut me out again,” Lance said, a hint of anger storming his words. He liked talking with Keith; conversation flowed off his tongue when he was around, jokes and side comments came easily and Keith joined in on his banter. It made his chest light knowing that Keith felt comfortable enough to be emotionally vulnerable around him, but that lightness sinks when Keith pulled shit like this. “Just--you’re worried, right? And who do you talk to when you’re concerned about something?”

“Shiro.”

“But now you’re worried about him. And you can’t exactly rant about him to his own face when you need to sort your thoughts first.”

“I shouldn’t though,” Keith said reluctantly. “He’s never done that with me.”

“You don’t think Shiro has ever gone to--I don’t know--Matt or someone to figure out how to raise you or how to breach a sensitive topic, maybe even to complain about your grooming habits or that awful mullet of yours.”

“No,” Keith said, shaking his head. “No, he--I mean. It’s possible.”

“Wipe that look off your face! Don’t go feeling betrayed because Shiro went to friends for advice,” Lance huffed. “That’s a normal human behavior: a person gets worried about someone so they talk to someone else about that someone and they rant and rant, gather some advice, and sort their thoughts before helping the other person. That is exactly what we are gonna do right now. You’re worried about Shiro, so talk to me about him and we can both come up with a way to help him.”

“I guess…” Keith drew out, looking ahead to the group. His frown intensified before determination eclipsed his face. “A hydra’s stronger with more than one head, right?”

Lance giddily whooped, throwing his arms straight into the air manically. “Stars, yes, it is! Okay, so what’s up with Shiro? Generally.”

“Like I said, he’s different after being the Galra’s prisoner,” Keith began. Lance could still spy the reluctance on his face, but Keith pushed through it, believing Lance’s words. “Not overall, but smaller things have changed. He’s still my brother, but obviously he didn’t escape without some scars--physical and mental. He has nightmares, has episodes, gets lost in memories that he doesn’t remember . Triggers from his experience in captivity are also new and we’ve been figuring them out together.” Keith sighed before unconsciously beginning to pick at his wrappings; Lance resisted the urge to stop him--the witch needed the comfort. “The one I won’t call him out on is my necromancy.”

“What do you mean, Keith? Your necromancy sets him off?” Lance incredulously asked. “He seemed fine when I first saw his interaction with it.”

“It’s not a straightforward trigger,” Keith defended, pulling his wrists to his chest; Lance reminded himself to cool it. Keith being vulnerable and sharing his concerns meant Lance had to keep his emotions in check. Keith’s likely hyperaware of Lance’s reactions right now, so he needed to temper them. “Shiro has always been extremely supportive, but wary for my sake and for the sake of others because, no matter what you or the others believe, my magick is dangerous and uncontrolled. I’ve only really noticed his reactions recently. It’s like his body remembers something even if his mind doesn’t: he’ll stiffen at the mention of necromancy. It’s such a small tell that I thought I was crazy the first few times I noticed a couple months ago. He still pushes through it, likely unknowingly, and sometimes I don’t catch it at all. But after… the princess mentioned necromancers allied with the Galra, it made sense.” 

“Something happened in his captivity involving necromancy,” Lance contemplated. 

“And I remind him of it even though he doesn’t even realize.”

Lance turned wide eyes to the witch beside him. 

“Oh, Keith.”

“Stop,” he seethed, crossing his arms. “I don’t want your pity. You asked questions and you’re getting answers, so support me like you wanted.”

Lance had half a mind to retort, but thought better of it. He was after all getting exactly what he wanted and more, plus Keith was recognizing and asking for--no, demanding --his support, which was progress. 

“Shiro has been through something unimaginable and his reactions to what he went through are completely valid,” Keith continued. “Which makes my feelings worse--I… he barely reacts, but I know necromancy is a trigger and that means I am a trigger by default. The whole situation reminds me of when he discovered I was a necromancer.”

“You said it was worse than my reaction,” Lance solemnly remembered, “which is truly horrifying.”

Lance’s initial reaction had been to flee, but had shifted to taking on Keith head on, almost killing him in the process. According to Keith, Shiro hadn’t explicitly threatened his life, but the actions Shiro vowed to take would’ve eventually ended with Keith’s death.

“Everything was so amplified when Shiro found out. I was a kid,” Keith darkly chuckled. “Having the only person you trust threaten you because of what you are hurt more than anything imaginable. I had nightmares for months afterwards, still get them sometimes. My point is--”

“You don’t trust Shiro?”

“Of course I trust him!” Keith shouted. His eyes darted to the group ahead, realizing his volume. He quieted. “I’ve put that incident far, far behind me. But that doesn’t mean that Shiro’s reaction to necromancy isn’t terrifying to me. Someone hurt him and by extension me, but it’s wrong because I’m supposed to hurt because I sympathize with him, not because he’s unconsciously scared of what I could do to him. And then I went ahead and burned him--”

“Hey, hey, you didn’t hurt him,” Lance assured. Keith’s voice was wavering and his knuckles were popping more sporadically--he was becoming unhinged in the conversation, his emotions flooding his words. 

“Only because his arm isn’t even his arm!” He shouted under his breath, running a trembling hand through his unmanageable hair. “Is it bad that I’m glad it--no, I… God, I’m a disgusting person.”

“No, you aren’t! Will you stop with the self-deprecating bullshit for a minute!” Lance seethed. He thought Keith had been getting better with his support. And he was, but this was a new side of Keith’s trauma: usually he hyperfocused on how he could hurt other people with his magick, but this ran deeper, blaming himself for simply feeling . No wonder his default was unemotional and detached. “Keith, Shiro losing his arm is terrible. You know that and--I mean this in the best way possible--it’s pretty obvious you want to severely, severely maim whoever did it--please, don’t give me that look, it’s true and we would all back you up. And you being happy that you didn’t hurt your brother isn’t something to be ashamed of.”

Keith remained silent for a few moments before desperately whispering, “I don’t understand you. How do you--I mean… You’re so different from all the others.” 

“Different?”

Keith froze. As did Lance. 

They stood face to face. 

The other witch’s face angled downward, his eyes shadowed by his bangs. The sparks had ceased their popping around his knuckles, though Lance didn’t notice, his gaze locked on slightly parted lips. Lance took a step forward, intent on snapping Keith out of whatever thought ran rampantly enough to stall his reactions. His hand stretched out, halfway to Keith’s cheek. 

“Hey, dumbasses!” Pidge shouted from ahead, startling Lance. His hand dropped. The others in the group had all stopped and were relieving themselves of their packs and drinking from their water pouches. “Catch up! We’re taking a break!”

Lance turned back to Keith, intent on ignoring his friend’s shouts, but the other witch had closed up. His face blank, a slate scrubbed clean with Pidge’s intrusive shouting. 

Dammit .

They were getting somewhere. 

“Let’s go,” Keith said, stalking forward and past Lance. The monotone of his voice pierced Lance and he hated it, hated it, hated it. His arm shot out unconsciously, snagging Keith’s wrist and wrapping his lithe fingers around leather and cloth. Keith trembled under his hold. 

“Lance,” Keith warned. His face remained forward, facing the awaiting group, and Lance stared at his raven locks cascading down his nape and past his shoulders, wild and untamed and so unlike the facade Keith wore. 

“We are not finished talking,” Lance seethed, tightening his grip. His other hand latched onto Keith’s elbow, lightly pulling him back. “You cannot keep pushing your feelings down. That’s not healthy and it won’t make them go away.”

“I can try--”

“No, Keith. You can be vulnerable around me,” Lance begged. “I’m different .”

“Lance--”

A screech cut through the trees. 

Both boys jolted toward the noise.

The forest silenced. 

“Keith…?”

Laughter sounded, growing and growing. Voices joining in.

Keith’s flames sparked in his palms. Lance hesitantly drew his water up.

The giggles grew closer, echoing between the trunks.

A small creature appeared on a low branch, rough fur and pointed ears. Its eyes glinted in the sun. Lips curled up, framing pointed teeth. It chuckled as more of its kind filled the branches.

“Goblins,” Keith breathed.

They pounced.

Chapter Text

Shiro was worried. 

Surprise. 

The string of events that occurred in the past few days warranted it. It was justifiable, the pinch of dread present in the back of his mind, though utterly unwelcomed. Many concerns replayed day after day, minute after minute; the night with no distractions released the worst of them.

Shiro hadn’t been sleeping. Not like he used to. For a dreamwalker like himself, it was near debilitating. 

After Keith’s necromancy had been revealed and after the skin had been singed off from his glinting, metal arm, it was a damn near battle to even close his eyes. But the majority of the group accepted Keith--a worry no longer at the forefront of his mind--and Pidge regularly asked to see his arm so that they may make sense of what had happened to him. 

Shiro vaguely remembered. But he didn’t let himself dwell on the emerging memories. 

Rationally, he knew he was neglecting himself with his inconsistent sleep patterns, the stressful conversations with Allura, the pressure of leading a group of teenagers through the wildness of Fae. But once they were safe with the Arusians, he’d allow himself to recuperate, to let Pidge examine his arm, to receive a decent night’s rest. 

The night before trekking through a dangerous patch of forest, the bags under Shiro’s eyes hung heavily, skin deflated with exhaustion; he had contemplated taking a sleeping draught, but after seeing Keith return Pidge to camp past nightfall, he decided against it. He hadn’t even noticed they had left, which left a taste of bile on his tongue. No, he had to be vigilant until they reached the Arusians.

Another near sleepless night had gone on.

And now Shiro regretted his decision.

Frozen, he stood watching as goblins converged on Lance and Keith, the latter engulfing them both in a dome of fire to fend them off. Too long it had taken him to recognize the manic laughter, to search for the boys, to reach out for them--Allura already was halfway to their location, whip out and snapping in front of her. Pidge fumbled beside him, searching their pack frantically, until pulling out magick-infused human tech and joining Allura in the fray. Only once Hunk had brushed by him, packs removed and canines glinting in the sun, did he finally move, swirls of magick on his finger tips. 

The fire eventually extinguished, both boys gasping for air as it puttered off around them. Keith swayed on his feet, yet steadily held his knife, slashing and burning any goblin that ventured too close while placing himself in front of Lance to act as a barrier as the other boy streamed water around them, lashing at the creatures violently. A few goblins got close, leaving angry red scratches on their arms and tears in their packs.

Allura yelled as she charged, whip drawing screams from her targets, while Hunk snapped at the creatures, driving them away. Pidge remained on the outskirts of the fray, aiming and shooting hexes at the goblins, taking them down one by one. 

Amongst the chaos, Shiro only had eyes for the two boys, likely the only reason he noticed the unexpected stricken face of his brother. Keith took a trembling step back, tripping over Lance and allowing his knife to slip through his fingers. 

The object hit the floor and disappeared within an instant. 

Lance yelped before firmly grasping Keith’s shoulders and pushing him behind himself to continue their defense, water swirling and snapping in quicker instances without Keith’s flames present. The pyromancer slouched against a trunk, shoulders curved and tense and eyes darting to the creatures all while muttering to himself. 

Shiro quickly approached. Something wasn’t right. 

“Keith, I promise we’ll get it back,”  he heard Lance shout over Allura’s yells. “Just please, snap out of it!”

Lance’s water skillfully avoided Shiro as he joined Keith behind him. His brother shied away, head ducked down and face obscured by his dark fringe. His mouth continued to move, words and sentences running together; Shiro couldn’t make sense of them. From his glove, he withdrew a wand pre-set with a spell, one to cast a protective circle. With a flick of his wrist, it activated. A smooth glowing line surrounded them; though not foolproof, it would dissuade the goblins from approaching the pair. 

“Lance, what happened?” Shiro questioned, ignoring the continuing battle over his back. He trusted his team; they would defend them while he cared for his brother. “Did a gob--”

“No! No, they got close, but only landed a few scratches. I don’t know what happened!” Lance shouted. “But his knife. One of them took his knife when he froze.”

Shiro’s eyes widened. Keith couldn’t lose his knife. After the fire burned his desert house to ashes, the knife had been his only connection to his parents. To lose it would be devastating. 

Shiro straightened, watching as the goblins flowed with the battle, swiping at packs, then retreating, only to repeat the action. Goblins weren’t killers, but thieves; though by taking Keith’s knife, they were asking to be dealt with maliciously. One rested on a branch barely within the treeline, fending off its brethren from its prize: a glinting knife.

“Hunk!” Shiro yelled, catching the attention of the wolf. He pointed. “That one has Keith’s knife.”

Immediately Hunk understood and sprinted towards his target. The chase had begun, but Shiro couldn’t afford to watch. With the goblins beginning to retreat under Allura’s and Pidge’s attacks, Shiro turned back toward his brother. Lance now stood beside him, hands running up and down his arms. Keith had calmed, no longer spouting incomprehensible words, but still seemed affected by whatever plagued him. 

“Keith,” Lance muttered, tenderly swiping his bangs from his face; the intimate action had Shiro shying away before recollecting himself with a slight scold--he’s too old to become uncomfortable at the sight of affection, especially because their relationship, though important, didn’t take precedence to Keith’s condition.  “You’re safe, you’re with Shiro and I.”

Keith’s shining eyes met Lance’s before cutting to Shiro, vulnerability shining deep violet. They shuttered as Keith drew himself up, forcibly uncurling his shoulders; Shiro hated how he collected himself, all brute force and will. 

Keith had never been kind to his emotions. 

“I--I know,”  he stuttered, retreating from Lance a half-step and taking a moment to collect himself. He then said, “Sorry.”

“Hey, none of that,” Shiro assured, placing a grounding hand on his shoulder and pressing his digits into the tight muscle. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Are you okay?” Lance softly questioned drawing Keith’s immediate attention. Lance never removed his hands from his brother, soothing up and down his arms or fussing with the wrappings at his wrists. “You scared the starsforsaken shit out of me. I thought one of the goblins really hurt you.”

“Lance,” Keith breathed. “I’m fine. I… I  got startled.”

“That seemed a little more than startled,” Shiro said before retracting his hand and crossing his arms, a hint of authority tinging his voice unbidenly. Though not particularly fair to Keith, Shiro had to sort out what happened immediately because another similar incident could put someone’s life on the line. He needed to know if the team should be alerted to possibly losing Keith’s support mid-battle again or if what startled his brother was simply a fluke, a one time occurance. 

But most importantly, he needed to know what hurt his little brother. 

Keith opened his mouth to reply, but then shook his head, loosening his bangs from where Lance perched them. “Really. It won’t happen again.”

Frustration churned Shiro’s gut. He didn’t care that it happened. He cared about Keith .

“That’s not what--”

“The goblins have gone off,” Allura interrupted as she approached, whip wound around her fist. She stopped in front of them with a hand on her hip and without a sweat on her brow, Coran not trailing too far behind in the aftermath of the attack. 

Keith froze yet again, crumbling before leaning in toward Lance. The hydromancer gave Shiro a concerned look, eyebrow arched high, before cautiously pulling Keith into his chest, allowing him to bury himself, near clinging to him as he muttered something under his breath. Shiro couldn’t hear his words, but Lance tensed at them, securing both arms around Keith. 

“Allura,” Lance demanded. “You need to take a few steps back.”

The Altean eyed the pair, her calculating gaze startling Shiro. Tense moments such as these reminded him of the harsh beauty of the fae, the stark otherness of them. Silver tongues, deceptive eyes, ethereal beauty were by products of a life in court, anything less resulted in death or something akin to it. 

Allura had been raised royal. It showed. 

She tsked, “Oh, please.”

“Seriously, back off,” Lance sneered as the two locked eyes, holding each other’s gazes for heavy seconds. 

Shiro remembered Lance flirting with Allura, the overzealous compliments and the longing looks over the course of weeks. To even imagine the current situation had been impossible, the young man so at odds with his past crush and holding his possible future in his arms. 

Allura’s striking glare broke. Tossing her platinum hair and strutting past a confused Pidge, Allura seemed satisfied in her challenge. Her smugness only instilled a sense of discomfort within Shiro as he glanced over to Lance once again fretting over Keith. Whatever conclusion Allura came to within those few seconds satisfied her enough to retreat, a strategic move Shiro realized. 

“I apologize for the princess,” Coran softly said before following after his charge to where they left their packs, though his gaze wandered over his shoulder as he walked.

“Lance, what was that about?” Shiro asked. 

“Yeah,” Pidge added as she came to stand near Shiro. “What did she do this time?”

Lance’s eyes flicked to Shiro then Pidge before returning to Keith. He ran a hand through Keith’s hair again. Violet eyes peered at the hydromancer through his bangs, but his lips remained shut. Lance sighed before saying, “Allura’s… ferocity reminded Keith of, ya’know...”

Her attack. There was no sugarcoating what she had done. 

“Is that true Keith?”

The witch nodded, raven hair mussing against Lance’s shoulder. 

“Sorry,” he croaked. Lance shushed him. 

“No, there’s no need to apologize,” Shiro softly said. “It’s not your fault for reacting to a trigger, right? She hurt you--still is hurting you--and you’re suffering because of it. I should’ve realized earlier that it would be this severe.” 

Keith blankly stared, before extracting himself from Lance. “Won’t happen again.”

Shiro sighed. For all the knowledge and wisdom Keith accumulated by caring for him during flashbacks and episodes, he was rather dense. 

“You know you can’t promise that,” Shiro said. “And that’s okay. We don’t expect you to get over what happened overnight, especially me. It will take time to heal properly, which includes allowing yourself room to heal instead of ignoring the problem altogether.”

“But I can’t let it happen again,” Keith argued, drawing himself up yet remaining in Lance’s personal bubble. Over Keith’s shoulder, the hydromancer appeared distraught, brows knitted together and tight frown pulling at his face. “I froze , Shiro. We could be mid-battle and I could do it again and I wouldn’t be able to protect you guys.”

“That’s why we train,” Shiro assured, gesturing for him to calm down. “We are a team and when one of us needs back up, we are right there with them. If you expect to protect all of us, then you must know we will all protect you.”

“Yeah,” Lance said softly, coming around Keith to face him. “You don’t have to be Mr. Macho all the time. Let some of us bask in the glory.”

Keith looked as if to protest, but Pidge added, “Are we sure Allura should be traveling with us?” Everyone’s heads whipped toward them. They shrugged before crossing their arms, “Just saying.”

Shiro sighed and opened his mouth, but Keith interrupted, saying, “Yes, she should. Didn’t know I’d react like that. It won’t happen again.”

“Hey, we aren’t blaming you for what happened,” Lance said, unconsciously touching Keith’s arm. “Everyone was caught off guard and if you still want her in the group, we’ll work on it, alright?”

“But if Allura is a trigger for Keith’s distress, why not remove the variable?” Pidge urged. 

Shiro shook his head. “We talked about this. Allura needs to be the one to take the throne once the Galra are dealt with. And removing a trigger isn’t the same as dealing with the source of the problem.”

“I agree with Shiro,” Keith seconded. “We don’t want to incite another war by having no official heir. And like I said, I can deal with it.”

“With time,”  Lance encouraged, pulling at Keith’s arm. “It doesn’t have to be an immediate change, Keith. Please, don’t push yourself. It’s only been a few days…”

Keith visibile softened at Lance’s worried tone, his shoulders laxing and his eyes going dewy. After a moment he nodded--it was better than no confirmation at all.

Bushes rustled beside the group. Immediately they tensed.

Hunk popped out with his ears swivelling happily on his head and knife gripped in his maw. He sat directly in front of Keith, tail swishing from side to side, and deposited the knife into Keith’s open palm.

Keith hugged the knife to his chest, taking a breath.

“Thank you, Hunk.”

The wolf yipped before turning to stand next to Pidge, near dwarfing them. 

“C’mon,” Shiro said. “We should rest up for a bit before continuing.”

The team all nodded before following him to where they left their packs.

---

The goblin incident sobered everyone for the remainder of the journey. 

Especially Keith. Though that didn’t come as a surprise. 

From the front of the group, Shiro could hear Lance making one-sided conversation with his brother, a series of unenthused jokes and rhetorical questions--occasionally a concerned comment--that trailed off before picking up again awkwardly. 

The hydromancer seemed to be hanging on to any shred of normalcy and excitement the day had possessed, his voice buzzing among the silence of the group. 

Through Lance’s chatter, Shiro remained vigilant. This part of Fae was dangerous, yet he had let his guard down earlier, allowing the goblins to remain undetected. 

He wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.

At intervals of their journey, he sent out pulses of magick, detecting any non-visible threats, and when not using his magick, his eyes scanned the treeline. Though as the hours crept by, doing so became more difficult. The fight with the goblins and the subsequent scare with Keith drained most of the energy he had. Now all that kept him going was determination and the incessant need to protect the group. 

By nightfall, they reached the Arusians: these small fae with various snail shells attached to their heads. The fae greeted the group with caution; however, once Allura explained her status and that of the group, the Arusians received them with fanfare. The creatures performed dances around their fires and offered food and beds to the princess and her paladins. Many of the younger ones retreated to their beds early as Shiro encouraged, but he remained around the fire with Allura and Coran to showcase his thanks to the chief for his hospitality and to touch upon an alliance before any formal request. 

Though sleep sounded immaculate . 

Staring at the fire, Shiro could only focus on the heaviness of his lids, the way they drooped heavenly over his dried eyes. The flicking of the flames entranced his fatigued mind. Try as he might, Shiro couldn’t focus on the ramblings of the chief and thanked the gods he was seated furthest away from him. The two Alteans carried the conversation rather animatedly, reminding Shiro they didn’t require as much sleep as humans. 

The fanfare of celebrations didn’t last late into the night. The suddenness of their arrival ensured the festivities were hastily thrown together and therefore, short. After being dismissed by the chief, Shiro headed straight for his assigned home where a bed awaited him. 

He ducked beneath the doorframe and was startled by the figure waiting at his bedside.

Keith sat on the floor, face thrown up to look at Shiro. He had washed himself, the dirt from the day scrubbed away from his face and hands, though his hair remained dry, hastily put into a knot at the base of his neck. He should appear large, curled up beside the Arusian-sized bed, yet his hunched shoulders and bent legs shrunk him. 

Internally Shiro sighed. 

He loved his brother and would always make time for him, but currently his mind couldn’t handle another conversation, not that he expected Keith to talk at length about what happened earlier today--he rarely bothered with deep conversations, much less long ones. Unwillingly Shiro’s gaze wandered to the corner where a bed with clean sheets and pillows was tucked into the corner. 

“Shiro,” Keith softly greeted. 

“Hey, Keith,”  Shiro mumbled above him, slumping his shoulders, the weight of them a near impossible force. “Need something?”

“No… Well,”  he hesitated, wringing his hands. They were free of cloth and leather. Shiro blinked a couple times, unsure if his mind imagined them, but no, his scars were on display in the darkness of the room, barely visible yet there. Shiro’s chest twisted in guilty curiosity, wishing he could examine them himself to see their healing progress. “I guess I want to talk.”

Which shocked Shiro. His eyes jumped to Keith’s face, obscured by his dark bangs. 

“I’m sorry, what?”

Shiro knew he shouldn’t be surprised, because why else would Keith be in his little hut? But then again, usually he had to prod Keith for emotional conversations. This significant change couldn’t have come at a worse time: Shiro currently couldn’t deal with processing anything his brother had to say; as it is, he could barely stay upright, gently swaying back and forth in the doorway. 

“I… I wanted to talk,” Keith repeated, rather forceful yet hesitant. His voice commanded him to speak while his mind revolted at the words and even in his sleep-deprived haze, Shiro could feel the effort Keith put forth into admitting he needed to talk. Which was why Shiro’s heavy heart consumed him as he spoke his next words. 

“I don’t think now’s the right time.”

Keith’s eyes widened minutely before they crinkled in confusion. “But I… No, I’m sorry, you’re right.” He stood, straightening his clothing awkwardly. His voice shook, “I-I shouldn’t have assumed--”

“Keith, stop right there,” Shiro said, massaging his temple. He swayed slightly with the movement, but he refused to stumble, to fall. Keith needed an explanation. “I want to talk. Gods , I want you to talk. About today, about what’s happened over the past few days, everything. Okay?”

Keith tilts his head down in acknowledgement, though his eyes scrunch in confusion.

“But I haven’t had a proper night’s rest in days.”

Keith harshly blinked, lips puckered, before reprimanding his brother, “Shiro, you know you need your sleep!” He took a step toward Shiro and grasped his arm to lead him to the bed. Shiro followed, feet dragging despite their direction toward the bed.

“I know, I know,” Shiro muttered. “But it’s been an eventful few days…”

Keith remained silent and Shiro knew something was there in Keith’s posture--that nonverbal language he can usually read so well--but his fatigued mind could not decipher it. His eyes pricked with tears. He hadn’t meant for it to get this far; to be so deprived that he couldn’t help his own brother when he verbally asked for it. 

“I’m sorry,” Shiro slurred.

“You shouldn't be sorry,” Keith said, then huffed. “You haven’t done anything but look out for me. I should be the one apologizing.”

Shiro’s mouth opened, but no words flowed out. His mind stalled, attempting to process Keith’s words. The hidden meaning was lost yet again.

Instead he tried to reassure Keith, “Just one night of rest and I’ll be fine.”

“You need more than one,” Keith snapped, though not unkindly. He sat Shiro on the bed before ducking to remove his shoes. “Every night you should be sleeping.”

“I’ll try,” Shiro assured, raising his arms to allow Keith to remove his gloves, then his belt. “Baby steps.”

Keith rolled his eyes before removing the rest of Shiro’s gear, though remaining silent. He grabbed the washing bowl left for Shiro and began to wipe the dirt from his brother’s face and hands, being quick rather than thorough. When Keith finally pushed him down onto the pillow, sleep couldn’t come quick enough.

---

Shiro woke feeling heavy.

Crust littered his eyes and his limbs sunk into the bed. With the wisps of sleep leaving him, he felt whole upon the mattress, his body pulled together and his mind present. The physicality of sleep left him feeling utterly euphoric; his magick pulsed under his skin, singing with relief.

His eyes opened to the soft light of late morning streaming through the small windows of the Arusian house, but he remained motionless, soaking in the restfulness. 

Gods , it’s been too long. 

Slowly he gathered his senses, twitching his fingers and flexing his legs, before finally sitting up to begin the day.

Allura and Coran must have already met with the Arusian chief by now. They had always risen before anyone else and Shiro doubted anything would be different.

Shiro stretched one last time before stepping off the bed.

“ Gods! ”

His bare foot unexpectedly connected with something solid. He tumbled to the side, tripping. His shoulder connected against the wall with a resounding thud and he slid to the floor. His head whipped around to look at the place beside his bed, completely and utterly confused about what he could’ve stepped on.

“What the-- Keith? ”

His brother groaned on the floor, curled up on the rug with his arms wrapped around his torso. 

“ Why? ” Keith gasped in an overdramatized sibling tone, acting for all the world like Shiro cursed him. The theatrics almost flushed the worry from his system… Almost. 

Shiro shuffled over on his knees, hands hovering over him, before committing to rolling him over onto his back; a bleary face met his own. Shiro’s brows pinched in confusion before he incredulously asked, “What are you doing on the floor?”

“What are you doing stepping on me?” Keith countered. 

“I wasn’t expecting a body to be there!” 

“Next time open your eyes!”

Shiro sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a breath. 

It was neither of their faults for what happened--a simple accident. He shouldn’t be losing his temper so early in the morning, especially after such an immaculate sleep; Keith was the one who actually had a rather rude awakening. 

“Are you okay?” Shiro asked.

“Oh, yeah,” Keith sarcastically quipped, “getting stepped on by pure muscle has me feeling like Aphrodite.”

“I’m serious.”

Keith paused, looking up at Shiro, before sitting up against the bed and facing him with his legs outstretched. “I’m fine.” He lifted his arms above his head to stretch, wincing the slightest amount, before lowering them to paw at his torso. “Just tender.”

“Thank the gods,” Shiro blessed. He hadn’t put all his weight on Keith; however, he knew he wasn’t the scrawny Watcher he used to be. Too much weight and he could’ve broken Keith’s ribs.  

“They got nothing to do with it,” Keith lightly said. “If they did, I’d hope they wouldn’t have let this happen.”

“Thing about the gods is they’d likely laugh at your misfortune,” Shiro shrugged, “so no luck with them helping you.”

“Whatever,” Keith rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. You only worship like two of them anyway--quit acting like you know everything.”

Shiro didn’t have much to say to that--at least nothing Keith hadn’t heard before. He didn’t necessarily worship gods, rather the ideas they represented. Emulating a concept into a single deity simply aided him in focusing on his magick.

Keith didn’t worship anything. 

Shiro watched the scarred flesh of Keith’s hand ripple with movement. 

Keith grounded himself in his own reality; no matter how traumatic it might be.

“What were you doing on the floor?” Shiro asked. 

Keith looked to the side. “Nothing…”

“C’mon, Keith,” Shiro encouraged. “I was really out of it last night, but I remember you being here and helping me into bed. What happened after I fell asleep.”

Keith snorted, tilting his head back against the mattress. “Fell asleep? More like communed with the dead. If I hadn’t known any better, I’d think you were the necromancer.”

Shiro’s brows shot up in shock. And after a moment, Keith seemed to realize what he said, an embarrassed confusion settling over his face as his shoulders tensed. 

Keith never joked about his magick. Especially his necromantic magick. 

Shiro’s lips broke into a soft smile, despite the horror scarring Keith’s face. He nudged Keith’s leg with his own.

“Communing with the dead, huh?” Shiro teased with a light lit to his tone. “Doesn’t sound like a bad deal as long as I get to sleep. So I was out?”

Keith slid a shaky hand through his hair then nodded. “As soon as your head hit the pillow.”

“Then what?”

Keith shrugged. “I decided to stay.”

“The entire night?” Shiro gasped. 

“No, I crept back in here just to get stepped on,” he sarcastically replied before his face dropped. He took a breath, a slight hesitation to his lips. “Yeah, the entire night. I was worried; sleep deprivation is dangerous for you. Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Shiro’s heart warmed. Keith cared for him, he knew, but to have him verbally admit it always filled him with love. His brother stayed the entire night to be sure he’d get a proper night’s sleep at the expense of his own. A rug mark scored his brother’s face, lying underneath heavy eyes weighed down with dark bags--the floor obviously didn’t guarantee sleep. 

“Sorry, I stepped on you,” Shiro apologized. Perhaps if he had seen Keith, he would have spared him more sleep or moved him to the vacant bed. 

“Honestly, not the best wake up call… but also not the worst,” Keith solemnly said, twisting his fingers in his shirt. The fabric stretching under his fingertips. “I’m okay now. Doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

“Good.”

Keith continued to abuse his shirt as he pulled his legs to his chest. Shiro’s brain clicked at the familiar sight. Last night… 

“You wanted to talk.”

“Huh?”

“Last night,” Shiro reminded. “You waited up for me last night because you wanted to talk.”

Keith hesitantly nodded his head, yet didn’t say anything in response. 

“Do you still want to?” Shiro prompted. 

Keith threw his arms around his legs, his skin littered with scratches from the day before, most of them red with scabs. “Maybe… maybe later.”

“Okay,” Shiro softly replied, placing a hand on Keith’s ankle in reassurance. He wanted to push but restrained himself; last night he missed his opportunity with Keith and forcing him to talk now wouldn’t accomplish anything but driving him further away. He had to trust Keith would gather enough courage to approach him again. “I’m here whenever you want me to listen.”

“What about you?” Keith asked--near accused. His dark violet eyes bored into Shiro’s. “Do you need to talk?”

Shiro snatched his hand away, taken aback. “About what?”

“Don’t start with that shit,” Keith snapped, shaking his head. He roughly got to his feet, straightening his clothing with jerks of his arms and hands. He wet his lips, prepared to say more, but stopped. His eyes dropped to the glinting arm at Shiro’s side. With his anger stifled, his voice softened. “You know what I’m talking about.” 

Shiro swallowed around the lump in his throat.

No. Not yet.

He didn’t want to talk about it. How hypocritical of him. 

Yet there was something more than the closing of his throat and the sweat on his brow. His memories--the fragments of what remained--weren’t good . He’d rather them remain forgotten, no matter how hopeless that prayer was. Slowly they had been revealing themselves. And after his arm-- the arm--a flood of horrendous memories drowned him. He hadn’t thought of them since and he rather not for the formidable future, fighting to keep them on the edge of his conscious mind, vague and formless. 

“...Maybe later.”

“Okay,”  Keith replied, though disbelief coated his face. A twinge of guilt shot through Shiro. Keith cared, but Shiro couldn’t burden him with his trauma; his brother already dealt with too much of his own. 

Keith turned toward the exit, but stalled in the doorway.

In a small voice, he said, “We’ll be alright. Right?”

“Of course, we will.”

Keith nodded then left. 

Shiro felt as though he failed.