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Chapter Text

Keith had never known his mother. When he was little, it had just been him and his dad. His dad had been great. He would take Keith out on hoverbike rides, just the two of them, at weekends, and let Keith wear his mom’s helmet. Keith would lean back against his dad’s chest and yell in excitement as his dad gunned the accelerator, never once feeling scared because his dad was there; his arms were around him, protecting him. When his dad was around, Keith knew nothing could go wrong. Dad was safety.

As Keith got a little older, he became a little more curious. Everyone else had two parents, so why did he have just the one? “What happened to Mommy?” he’d asked once. “Where did she go?” Keith knew his mom wasn’t dead, she’d just gone away; that’s what his dad had told him, and Keith trusted his dad.

Texas Kogane’s eyes had grown darker, sadder. “I don’t know, Keith,” he said, and pulled his son into a tight, strong hug. Later, Keith remembered how upset his dad had looked, and decided not to ask questions about his mom again. It just made him sad.

Besides, for all his curiosity about her, Keith didn’t miss his mom. How could he miss someone he’d never known? He and his dad were all they needed.
Sometimes, on their hoverbike rides, they would stop at the ice-cream shop, and Texas would buy two enormous ice creams, chocolate sauce dripping down the cones and frozen cream beginning to melt in the afternoon’s warmth. He would pass one to his son, and they would start walking back, bike drifting alongside them. His father had always known exactly to cheer Keith up and put a smile on his face if he ever felt down (not that Keith had ever really had much to feel down about).

Other times, they would sit on the sofa together, Keith comfortably in his father’s lap, and watch cartoons. They could agree that the space ones were the best, and Keith had never needed to beg very much to get his dad to put on yet another episode of Defender Of The Universe.

Keith had been obsessed with space. Their little house wasn’t far from the Galaxy Garrison, and from time to time Keith was able to see a plume of fire as another rocket launched people into the upper atmosphere. He’d imagined himself on one of those ships, flying out into the great unknown to go where no one else had.

Whenever his dad had asked Keith what he wanted to be when he grew up (usually after the credits for Defender Of The Universe had rolled), the answer was always the same: “A pilot”. Texas would smile and, putting an arm around his son’s shoulders, guide him outside to look at the night sky. Keith would point to and name the constellations and planets and distant solar systems and his dad would grin and nod, pride evident on his face.

“Someday,” Keith would say, beaming in childish excitement, “I’m gonna visit the stars!”

His dad would smile differently when he heard that; a smile tinged with some other emotion, faint starlight reflected in his brown eyes as he looked at the sky. Sadness? Longing? Whatever it was, Texas had always looked deeply upwards, almost as if he was searching for something. “I know you will,” he’d say, and they’d sit thoughtfully together for another length of time.

“What the heck was that?!”

“You could’ve gotten us all killed!”

“Dammit, Keith, did you even think about what you were doing before you made us all do it?!”

Keith crossed his arms defensively. He’d just walked into the lounge, only to be met with this fresh burst of complaints and accusations. Everyone else was there, waiting for him, unanimous in their disapproval. He didn’t like the way they were glaring at him, but he knew he was in the wrong. He’d screwed up. Taking a deep breath, he said, “I know, and I’m sorry.”

The volume in the room dropped. “I didn’t think,” Keith continued. “I… I just charged in because I thought we had a chance at stopping Lotor and ending this war. But I was wrong, and that’s no excuse. I risked the safety of the universe and put the team in jeopardy. I’m sorry.”

Pidge and Hunk blinked, the irritated wind out of their metaphorical sails. Allura and Coran exchanged glances.

Lance’s eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open slightly. On seeing Keith looking at him he quickly shut it. “Well,” he muttered, “if you’re not the Red Paladin anymore, is it my job to be the hothead now?”

The hothead. Was that all they thought Keith was? That was what he felt himself tending towards in his behaviour, but there was more to him than that.

“I didn’t keep you safe,” he said, putting the hothead comment out of his mind for now. “I’m sorry– that was all my fault.” It hurt to say it, but he would take responsibility for his mistakes. He did have a sense of guilt for the way he’d messed up today, and while apologising was nowhere near enough to atone or ease his regret, it was the right thing to do.

Still, it was at times like this, when everyone was looking to him to lead, to be responsible, to have the right thing to say, that Keith found himself floundering. How was he supposed to comfort and inspire them? That had always been Shiro’s thing.

He eventually settled for saying, “We’re all tired now and we need rest. We’re out of imminent danger now and Lotor’s long gone. Let’s all try and get some sleep.” It sounded (maybe?) like the kind of thing Shiro would say. Was it the correct thing? Keith had absolutely no idea.

Quiznak, how the hell was he supposed to lead them the way Shiro had? He hurriedly excused himself, muttering something about bed, and power-walked away from the situation. Shiro wouldn’t have messed up like he had today- he’d never gotten angry with his team like Keith had. Shiro was the perfect leader, patient and insightful and in control and all those things Keith wasn’t, and Keith’s heart twisted with the knowledge that he was failing, that Shiro would be so disappointed if he could see him now.

‘If anything happens to me, I want you to lead Voltron.’

If anything happens to me… Shiro’s prediction had come true, despite Keith’s insistence that nothing was going to happen to him. Shiro was gone, and Keith was struggling, like he had after Shiro had disappeared during the Kerberos mission, except this time there was so much more than him at stake. He had to pull it together, get his head on straight like Shiro had told him to so he could lead, but it wasn’t happening.

Despair and desperation flooded him and though he was tired too he knew that there was no way he would manage to sleep, so he changed direction. Maybe he could use those emotions for something useful, maybe he could drown them out if he just tried.

Keith tossed his jacket onto a bench at the side of the training room and rolled his shoulders in preparation. “Commence training sequence, level three.”

Keith was used to being alone.

He had been six when his dad had died, and after that he’d avoided people, and been avoided in return.

He could still remember the day it had happened. After school, his dad hadn’t been there to take him home. The teachers were unwilling to let a six-year-old walk the streets alone, so he’d sat in what was effectively detention with a book (it was about space) for a couple of hours. He remembered the anxious looks the teachers had shot each other as time passed- he’d been vaguely aware of their presence- and how the principal had come through the door of the classroom. Keith had glanced up as he heard the mechanism swish, childish confusion turning to uneasiness as he saw the grim expression on the man’s face. The principal had spoken softly to his teacher- so quietly that Keith couldn’t catch the words- and she’d left the room with him, door shutting behind them with another unobtrusive swish. The other teacher had glanced again at him and he’d cast his gaze back on the book. Quasars… supermassive black holes… anomalies… Keith couldn’t shake the strange sense that something was wrong, but he ignored it. Everything was fine. His dad was just late. Looking back, he had thought that death was something that only happened to other people, to characters in films and on TV, not to him. His dad wouldn’t have died, couldn’t have died, because his dad was always gonna be there for him.

A few minutes later and the principal had re-entered the room, followed by his noticeably paler teacher and a woman Keith had never seen before. He put the book down. The woman introduced herself as Jael, a social worker. She pulled up a chair opposite Keith. His teacher sat down at the desk next to him. The principal and the other teacher looked like they wanted to hover and listen, but Jael glanced at them and they slipped out.
“How are you, Keith?” Jael asked. She smiled at him.

“I’m good, thanks,” replied Keith, smiling back, trusting her instinctively, without question.

“I see you’re reading a book.”

“Yeah!” Keith smiled wider. “It’s about space.”

“Do you like space, then?”

“Yeah! It’s awesome- when I grow up, I wanna be an astronaut!”

Jael smiled. “That’s nice.”

Maybe there was something weird about how she said it, or maybe her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes anymore, but Keith was hit again by that uneasiness. It was getting darker outside, and all the adults were acting strangely. Something was wrong. “Where’s Dad?”

Jael had stopped smiling. “Keith…” she began carefully. His teacher pulled her chair a little closer to Keith’s shoulder. Something was wrong, but Keith’s six-year-old mind couldn’t imagine what. He couldn’t translate the feeling in his gut into an actual worry, because what on earth could happen to him? Or to his dad?

The now-Keith of the Black Lion wasn’t sure whether he pitied or hated or envied his kid self for being so damn oblivious.

Still, Keith didn’t have to interpret his uneasiness, because then Jael had explained what had happened, in clear, simple, sympathetic terms.

“...He died a hero, Keith,” she finally finished.

Keith was still.

He couldn’t believe what Jael had told him about his dad. That he was dead. That he’d died saving someone from a burning building. Keith didn’t want to believe that. His dad was strong, invincible, as all fathers were. A burning building couldn’t kill his dad, because he’d promised, he’d promised Keith that he would always be there for him. His dad was Keith’s whole world, his safety, and he couldn’t be gone. Keith didn’t want to believe he was. He didn’t want to. He didn’t.

And yet…

He did. Jael’s words rang true, matched perfectly with that weird uneasiness he’d felt, made sense. He believed her. Something in his gut told him that this nightmare story was real. This wasn’t a prank or a mistake. His dad really was dead. As he realised he knew, deep down, that his dad was gone, his heart stuttered, stopped.

With Texas Kogane went Keith’s entire world, whole life.

Keith was alone. Shock and horror and anger and fear and sorrow filled him up and he couldn’t speak, felt like he was drowning, because he was smart for a six-year-old and his dad was dead, he was an orphan, his dad was dead, had left him, had broken his promise, he was an orphan and he was alone and-

“Keith?” An arm around his shoulders. Keith took a breath and it was filled with the cherry-blossom perfume of his teacher.

He realised he was crying, fat tears that slid down his cheeks and heaving sobs that made it hard to suck in each breath. His teacher wrapped him in her arms and he clung tightly to her, trying to make things okay, because when his dad hugged him everything was all right in the world, but of course his dad would never hug him again and try as he might to feel safe in his teacher’s arms, it wasn’t the same.

He cried. He was alone.

Somehow, he’d eventually calmed down enough to listen to Jael as she’d explained how, since he didn’t have any family, he’d be in the care of the state; maybe he’d eventually be adopted, but for now he’d be staying with a foster family, who’d take him to school and look after him. Everything would turn out okay, she’d assured him.

It hadn’t turned out okay.

Maybe it was Keith’s fault, maybe it wasn’t, but none of the foster families had wanted to keep him for more than a few months. Keith had to keep being moved around from town to town like an unwanted puppy; never staying too long in one place, never making any friends. Well, the ‘not making friends’ part- that was most likely on him, because losing his dad had torn something inside of him and the weeks and months and years following it did little to mend it; it hurt so much, and Keith was determined to never get hurt like that again. He became reserved, less trusting, and guarded, especially after more and more foster parents gave up on him, until it became less of a conscious choice and more of a habit. An instinct. He wouldn’t be vulnerable.

As he built up his defences to protect his painful heart, he spent more and more time alone, being left alone. It became a defence mechanism for Keith; more than that, it became a habit, a necessity. So it made sense that in the end, when things were getting rough, his first instinct was to flee.

The safety of his dad was gone forever. Keith found safety in solitude instead.

Chapter Text

Level seven, and Keith was dangerously close to collapsing.

His movements, usually so fluid and graceful, were becoming jerky and clumsy. His bayard drooped at his side. His shirt was soaked in sweat, and his breath was coming raggedly. At this stage, he was less actively fighting the gladiator, more backing away and parrying.

Training after a long day like this was never a good idea, but for some masochistic reason Keith was drawn to it. To the pounding rhythm of his heartbeat in his ears, to the ache and stiffness in his arms, to the repetitive grind of sword on staff. The suffering made him stronger.

Keith did enjoy the fighting in and of itself too. There was something incredibly soothing about the rhythm of forwards-backwards, attack-defend, in-out. He couldn’t explain it, but the passage of time seemed looser, somehow, during a fight; at times slower, calmer, or rendered in slow motion when actually fast, and at others an exciting rush of movement and imminent pain with nothing but his earned skill and his wits to prevent it.

That was why Keith spent so much time training. Especially since, at a particularly ungodly hour like this (he was unsure how long had passed but it had been pretty late when he’d started), no one bothered him. They let him be, training until his body burned him, and the hours he spent here were precious to him so he was grateful for the peace. Shiro used to come in, sometimes, so late that it was early, and found Keith sparring here. He’d never been happy to see the younger paladin up still and had usually ended the simulation, telling Keith in a tone that brooked no disagreement to go to bed. Those were the nights when Keith actually made it to his room.

It almost scared Keith how easily, how frequently, he trained to exhaustion. If Shiro didn’t interrupt, it wasn’t unusual for him to crash either in the training room or in one of the hallways. And he knew there was something scary about that, something inherently wrong about the fact that he didn’t seem to be able to stop himself from overdoing it, to the point where he literally collapsed.

He knew that was messed up.

It was also pretty messed up that the person who kept him from going over the edge, who acted as his self-control, was not Keith himself but Shiro. He guessed it figured, since Shiro was the epitome of self-control, but Shiro had his own stuff to deal with; he shouldn’t have to deal with Keith’s screwed-up habits. That was messed up. Had been messed up.

Yes, because now Shiro was gone, and while that had implications for Voltron as a whole, it had bigger ones for Keith. Shiro had been the leader of the whole team, reassuring and wise, but he’d been so much more to Keith. The others had admitted that their own friendships with Shiro were nowhere near as close, as precious, as the one Keith had shared with him.

And now that was broken. It hurt so much. Yet again, Keith found himself not wanting to believe it was true. Shiro was so brave, so smart, so considered- strong in every way- he couldn’t be dead? Couldn’t have vanished without a trace?

He raised his bayard tiredly, just in time to block another swing, and the blade gleamed mockingly. Black. The leader’s bayard. Shiro’s bayard.

“End… training sequence,” he gasped, and his opponent vanished.

That was the proof. The bayard— the press of a lion on his consciousness; not warm, familiar Red, but strong, distant Black- the position of leader, even— all his. Shiro’s, Shiro’s by right, but now forced on him. Now called his. Because Shiro was gone.

Shiro was undeniably gone, and Keith couldn’t run from that fact.

It hurt, just like before.

Shiro was gone, and Keith was alone again.

The kids were crowding around the pilot simulator.

It was a bright, sunny day, with faint clouds flying overhead in the azure skies: a day for dreaming, a day for laughs and hopes and happiness. It was also the day that Officer Shirogane had come to recruit cadets to go into space.

Keith should have been excited. His classmates certainly were- standing together, cheering with every level the person currently flying the sim passed, all hoping to be spotted, to be chosen. Because all of them- every single one - had dreamed of going into space. And here, finally, was their chance. They were feverishly, childishly excited, trying desperately to be the best, to impress Officer Shirogane.

Keith himself was still, somehow, in love with the idea of going to space, even after all these years. Even after everything that had happened. It was still his dream.
But Keith wasn’t excited, not like everyone else. He didn’t let himself hope like them, because he knew his dream was just that: a dream. Dreams didn’t come true, and even if they did, even if someone’s dream was going to come true, he knew that sure as hell it wouldn’t be his. A lucky break like that was the kind of thing that happened to other people, not Keith.

So he wasn’t letting himself get excited. He knew it would just lead to disappointment. It had been almost an hour now since they’d come outside, and nearly everyone had had a go.

Keith was deliberately distancing himself from the sim, looking down and out across the dusty plains. He wasn’t going to ask for a turn, because he knew what the answer would be. Who in their right mind would let the discipline case hope to become an astronaut, after all? The simulator beeped again as the last kid failed on level 3. It was a faintly reluctant whine, like the sim wanted everyone who flew it to succeed. Everyone groaned in sadness.

“Well,” the officer said from behind Keith, “we’ve had some great tries, but nobody’s made it past the third level yet.” His voice held a note of finality, and despite himself something in Keith felt a pang of disappointment, but of course he wasn’t going to get a turn. A kid like him, who just made trouble for everyone, didn’t deserve one.

“Looks like you’re the only one who’s left.”

Keith’s head shot up, because it sounded like the officer was talking to him. No, he couldn’t be, but he glanced over his shoulder and no freaking way, Shirogane was looking directly at him. More than that, he was… smiling? “Think you’ve got what it takes?”

Keith couldn’t believe it. He stared at the officer, the officer smiled back. Patient. Keith was pretty sure he was sincere- he was offering Keith an opportunity, and while that might only be because he didn’t know what Keith was… Try as he might to stifle it, he felt a glimmer of hope. What if…?

That hope shone even brighter as Keith began to fly the simulator. He was vaguely aware of his classmates all crowding excitedly round, vaguely aware of the officer and his teacher watching from right at the back, but the moment the virtual reality began to move, his focus narrowed. His fingers twitched the controls, deftly avoiding obstacles, and he began to anticipate each manoeuvre before it was actually needed.

The sim was designed for actual pilot cadets, so it felt arrogant to call it ‘easy’, but Keith made it to level 3 with little effort. It just felt… natural. And while Shirogane had described it as a ‘videogame’, Keith had no experience with videogames (no one had trusted him not to break them), so it was kind of ironic that he was beating some of the most experienced gamers in his class. But the sim was easy. It felt like second nature.

Level 5 was a bit of a challenge. Keith decided to take it a little slower, be a little more cautious. The excitement of his classmates was reaching fever pitch- it had mounted with each level he’d cleared. He didn’t know any of them very well- he’d only transferred a few months ago- but they seemed genuinely surprised and thrilled by how well he was doing.

He even felt himself becoming a little exhilarated, hope burning like a flame as he realised that he could have been born for this, born for his dream, and now maybe it would come true! “Emo kid’s doing it!” exclaimed one of his classmates, a little too close to his ear, and Keith glared, irritated by the nickname. He slammed the thrusters, accelerating, and quickly made it to the end of the level, resentment fading with the chirpy fanfare the sim played. A cheer went up as the words “Level 5 Complete” flashed across the screen, and Keith’s hope burned even brighter. With an officer from the Garrison watching this… maybe, just maybe, he could become a pilot.

“No way! Keith made it past level 5? This thing’s gotta be broken!” James Griffin, a popular kid who everyone seemed to find funny, was glowering at the screen alongside Keith. Keith frowned sideways at him, and while no one agreed with James- they were too excited to do that- no one defended Keith either. Because no one ever did. He only had himself to rely on, he reminded himself, and it was like a bucket of cold water dousing his mood. His silly, hopeful bubble deflated.

“I’ve compiled a list of students who I think would make the best candidates for the Garrison.” Keith heard his teacher’s voice speaking to Officer Shirogane even as he started level 6.

A pause, during which Keith easily dodged five meteors. Then he heard Shirogane reply: “Is this guy on there? Looks like he’s just about ready to fly the real thing.”

Keith’s heart leapt. The Takashi Shirogane thought he’d be a good pilot! His hope flared up again: maybe the officer would vouch for him, maybe Keith could get in, maybe he’d even go to space! His carefully constructed hesitance dissolved entirely as his longing overrode his rationality- maybe his dream could, against all odds, come true!

“Keith?” His teacher sounded incredulous. Keith focused harder on the conversation, which meant his flying got a bit sloppier. “He’s a bit of a discipline case.” The words were laden with scorn and venomous contempt– like most teachers, this one had never liked Keith– and they felt like a slap in the face. Keith scowled, face darkening as he heard her finish, “I don’t think he’d necessarily fit in with the Garrison culture.” Her meaning was all too clear: Keith was a loose cannon, a lost cause.

So that was it. Keith’s only chance: gone. Because despite his skills and talents, he was just a troubled kid. Just an orphan with no family. Just a discipline case. The kid who none of the homes wanted to keep. The kid with no friends. The kid everyone gave up on. Officer Shirogane would give up on him, too; Keith was sure of it.
Keith felt a rising wave of anger inside. Not at the other kids. Not at Officer Shirogane. Not even at his teacher (because he was pretty sure she was right). His anger burned against himself.

Of course this was going to happen. Dreams came true, but only for other people. Keith couldn’t believe he’d let himself believe he could actually have had a chance, couldn’t believe he’d fallen for Officer Shirogane’s sympathetic act, couldn’t believe he’d dared to imagine he could reach for the stars. The whole thing had been too damn good to be true. How had Keith not seen that?

It was time to come back to the real world, the world where Keith was just another troubled kid everyone would write off. This stupid fantasy where someone would actually give him a chance had to end. It had to end, so Keith could avoid getting sucked in further, so he could avoid letting hope grow where it would eventually die, so he could protect himself from getting hurt.

If a ‘discipline case’ was all he was…

Keith slammed the controls, sending the sim on a collision course with an asteroid, and slipped out of the seat. No one paid any attention to him as he left the boxy container– they were too focused on the ‘FAIL’ on the screen– and opened the door to Officer Shirogane’s car.

If this was gonna end, it was gonna end in the way Keith chose.

Chapter Text

It had been a damn stupid thing to do. 

Stealing an army officer’s car, in full view of said officer, when he was the obvious culprit there had been no way Keith wouldn’t get caught. (It later turned out that the car had an internal tracker and they’d known where he was the whole time.) 

Keith didn’t care. He didn’t care about the— admittedly tiny— amount of time he’d just spent in juvie, and he didn’t care about having a criminal record. He didn’t care about the way it had crushed his space cadet dreams, because those had never stood a chance anyway. He didn’t care. 

That was what he’d told himself. 

But Officer Shirogane had come after him. He’d convinced the higher-ups to let Keith out, and now they were walking out into the sunshine. Why? Keith had literally stolen his car! He’d tried to burn that bridge! Why would anyone still be interested in a ‘discipline case’ who’d done that? 

Keith looked at Shirogane’s face. It was calm, not angry, and he hadn’t said anything to Keith- not even to tell him off. “I don’t get it,” he burst out finally, crossing his arms. “I steal your car and you respond by helping me out?” 

It didn’t make sense. Whenever Keith messed up- accidentally or on purpose- it always ended in the same thing. 

People were always ready to believe that Keith was what they assumed he was- troubled kid, discipline case, emo- and once they’d seen confirmation of their suspicions, that was it for them and him. No one, absolutely no one, had given him a second chance; and it wasn’t like he deserved one, anyway.

Keith was one hundred percent sure that he was in the wrong here. He’d literally stolen this guy’s car. So why wasn’t he giving up on Keith? 

“Yeah,” said Shirogane  in response to Keith’s question, a glimpse of a smile over his lips. “So you owe me one.” He got into his car, the one Keith had stolen, and yep, he was definitely smiling.

That confused Keith.

“Be at this address tomorrow at oh-eight-hundred hours.” He offered Keith a white and orange card. Garrison colours.

What? 

Keith reached out, despite himself, and took it. He inspected it closely; the address was definitely somewhere in the Garrison complex.

What?

He looked up at Shirogane, sitting behind the car’s wheel. Something told him he was being sincere. 

“You’re getting a second chance.” 

Shirogane smiled, then the windshield of his car closed and he drove off, leaving Keith standing alone, staring at the card. 

A second chance… 

“What the hell?” 

People didn’t give Keith second chances. 

But Takashi Shirogane just had.

“Good morning, paladins!” Coran beamed brightly at Pidge, Lance and Keith as they came through the dining room door. “Are you all ready for the mission today?”

Predictably, there was little response to his cheeriness. None of them were morning people; Pidge in particular needed at least two cups of the coffee-substitute Hunk had invented before she could function, and so the only sound was a grunt from Lance (who’d been dragged out of his morning facial routine by Hunk’s “breakfast in five” three minutes earlier). 

Coran had the self-confidence of a peacock and, upon seeing the distinct lack of enthusiasm in them, he continued unabashed. “Ah, not to worry! A few bowls of whatever Hunk’s made and you’ll be fresher than yalmors!”

Keith swallowed back a yawn as he took his seat. In spite of the fact that he’d known about the mission today for almost a week, he’d trained last night. The few hours of sleep he had snatched were fitful, filled with Shiro crying out to him and his father vanishing and other familiar monsters of his dreams. He’d woken in a cold sweat, feeling more exhausted than he had when he’d gotten into bed, and had stumbled to the bathroom. Ten minutes of trying to make himself look (and feel) less like a trashcan later he’d admitted defeat and come to the dining room.

Everything was sore still; his arms were stiff from the battering they’d taken and his eyes were heavy with tiredness. The mission today was a full-scale liberation of a Galra occupied planet, and it was sure to be difficult. He reflected again that overtraining until he could barely walk had not been his most stellar idea ever even as he took the cup of coffee-substitute that Coran offered him.

The door opened again. “Good morning, everyone,” Allura said without a trace of fatigue, and slipped elegantly into her seat at the head of the table. “I trust you all slept well?”

Pidge snorted uncouthly, but Lance seemed to perk up at the sight of the princess. Or maybe that was the effect of his own cup of drink. “Yeah,” he replied, flashing her what he probably assumed was a charming smile. “What about you, Allura?”

“I slept excellently, thank you,” she replied. Keith didn’t think he’d imagined the exasperated glance she exchanged with Coran before she smoothly launched into more small talk.

Keith sat quietly drinking from his mug next to Pidge as Lance chatted/flirted with Allura.

A few minutes later, Hunk swept through the door which led to the kitchen and announced, “Breakfast is served!” With a proud smile he deposited four steaming bowls of delicious-looking food in the centre of the table.

“Your knack for cooking is uncanny, Hunk,” Allura declared as she spooned another helping of beans onto her plate. 

“Indeed!” Coran agreed. “This is almost as good as an authentic paladin lunch!”

Hunk beamed but Keith noticed he shuddered slightly at the mention of that… excuse for a meal. They’d all rather forget the slimy, insectoid dish Coran had served them that first week in the Castle.

Lance had no manners and he didn’t wait to swallow before saying with a mouth full of tomato (or something that looked like tomato):

“This is way better!”

Pidge grunted assent through a mouthful of toast.

“This is really good,” Keith said, quietly, slicing his potato (or whatever it was) into smaller chunks. He didn’t always turn up for breakfast, preferring to do something useful instead, and now that Shiro was gone there was no one to make him. Today, though… he needed the caffeine, if nothing else.

“I’m so glad you all like it,” Hunk said. 

He’d insisted on cooking all the meals because he said it helped his anxiety, and within two weeks of arriving at the Castle he’d found ways to make pretty much any dish you could want, from ice cream to garlic knots to hamburgers. What he produced was a lot more appetising than the food goo the dispensers provided and it was always greeted with huge enthusiasm, especially from Lance and Shiro. Shiro had been determined that Hunk wouldn’t have to do everything, though, and he’d organised a chore rota for putting plates and laundry in their respective washing machines. Now that Shiro was gone, the chores didn’t quite fall evenly. Keith was reminded that Shiro was gone even in these small details.

Keith chewed the potato-thing slowly, appetite gone (if it had even been there in the first place) and swallowed each piece with an effort. Soon enough all the plates were empty. He stood and stretched, the only uncomfortable one in the contented silence that had fallen. What would Shiro have done now?

He wanted to go and look for Shiro; that was all he wanted to do anymore, but the mission today was more important.

It hurt to think that anything could be more important than finding Shiro, but the universe needed Voltron, not Keith’s grief. 

“How long till the mission, Coran?” he asked, conscious of everyone’s eyes on him. Waiting for him to flip out, probably. He couldn’t blame them– he did tend to do that. He wanted to do that, to act before he thought.  But now, he was trying to be the responsible leader. 

Coran checked the watch on his wrist. “About a varga.” His eyes searched Keith, trying to read him, probably. It made him feel awkward and out of place. 

“Let’s suit up then, everyone.” The Shiro phrase felt wrong coming out of Keith’s mouth.

Everything about being the Black paladin felt wrong.

He couldn’t bear to face them any longer after that thought so he left.

Chapter Text

“Should she be taking this long?”

Hunk’s worried voice mirrored Keith’s own thoughts. He thrummed with impatience, tapping his fingers on Black’s flightwheels.

They were hovering in the shadow of one of the moons, at the edge of sensor range. Waiting for Pidge’s signal before they began the attack.

Meiloo was a small planet with a disproportionate Galra presence. The local rebellion had contacted Coran the week before, because they were planning a huge insurrection and wanted Voltron to back it up. 

After a planning session during which Keith had tried to lead the discussion like Shiro would (with mixed success) they’d decided on a course of action. Pidge would go in first, cloaked in the Green Lion, and take out the largest ground defences in the northern hemisphere. The rebels would attack as soon as Pidge’s cover was blown, and then she’d signal the others to start their efforts. Allura and Lance would deal with the three garrisons in the southern hemisphere while Hunk and Keith would take out the small fleet in orbit. After Pidge had destroyed the fifth base on Meiloo they’d converge at the heavily shielded Galra centre of operations which was geostationary above the north pole and form Voltron, destroying it, eliminating the Galra, and freeing the planet. It was the most efficient way to do it.

Keith knew he should be patient like Shiro would. But Pidge had been seven minutes on a mission that should’ve only taken three. “She shouldn’t,” he replied. “Something’s wrong.” He didn’t know that for sure, but he had a feeling. “Let’s go.”

They moved into the zone where both Pidge and the Galra would be able to contact them or detect them respectively. Allura and Lance, on the opposite side of the globe, did the same. 

There was no signal coming from Pidge. None at all. Not even a position. Was she still cloaked? Or was it something else?

Keith keyed on the main comms and spoke. “Pidge, report.”

No response. Pidge should’ve been able to pick up their signals, even if they couldn’t pick up hers. There was dead silence.

“Pidge, come in. Is something wrong?”

Nothing. Then there was a burst of static. Keith’s heartbeat broke into a gallop. “Guys, does anyone have anything from Pidge?”

“No.”

“Nope.”

“Nothing.”

He cursed under his breath, brain going into overdrive. “...Change of plans,” he said over the static. “Hunk, you go to Pidge’s projected location– where she’s supposed to be, see if she’s okay or if something’s wrong. Lance, Allura, you do what we planned, and I’ll deal with the fleet on my own.”

“But Keith—”

Keith snapped. “Not now, Hunk! Pidge needs help– go!” Without waiting for a further response he made the Black Lion leap forward, diving towards the cruisers. 

The jawblade formed, slicing through the fighters which poured out of the ships like insects, and with the lasers and claws they made quick work of the fleet, spurred on by the continuing static from Pidge. 

Finally they were alone in the debris. No sign of Pidge and nothing from Hunk.

Keith turned Black towards the surface. “What’s going on?” he demanded into the comms. 

The static grew and Keith urged Black through the upper exosphere. “Hunk, Pidge, anyone, come—”

A distorted reply came through and he broke off immediately to listen to it. Hunk. “We’re trapped—  don’t get too close— gravity well— destroy its—” The words had barely been audible and now they dissolved into white noise again.

A gravity well? That was like a tractor beam on a planet, right? Black rumbled affirmation. On her schematics a readout flashed up: a deep amethyst zone to avoid, and beside it a smaller dome. 

A generator.

Keith pulled into a dive.

The Garrison. 

When Keith had been a little kid, watching rockets launch from the house he shared with his dad in the desert, it had seemed like a perfect, untouchable place. All the cadets were, in Keith’s mind, smart and strong and brave, honourable explorers who would protect the innocent and discover new worlds like Ryou from Defenders of the Universe . They broke records. They were expert fighters and fliers. They were so, so cool. 

In real life? 

Keith, the paladin, laughed at how damn naive he had been. 

To be fair, it would be hard for anyone to live up to the god-like, superhuman image Keith’d had in his head, much less a bunch of hormonal teenagers. But it had still been a letdown when the Garrison cadets turned out to be just as much of jerks as the regular kids back at school. And the teachers had been just as indifferent, just as insensitive as any other he’d met. 

Yes, the Garrison had been disappointing… except for Shiro. 

Takashi Shirogane was hailed worldwide as a hero; strong, good-looking, brave, and with a few broken records of his own to boot. Despite being only twenty, he was already a good proportion of the way to going down in history. He had been destined for greatness, everyone said. A legend in his own lunchtime, the tabloids joked- but they still sang his praises. 

It would have been very easy for Keith to look at Shiro and think they belonged in different worlds. There was no way the golden boy of the Garrison would ever notice a discipline case like him. 

But what the media and the officers missed about Takashi Shirogane, what never made it into the interviews and the books and the legend surrounding him, was the most important part of him. His kindness. 

It hadn’t been Shiro’s strength or intellect that had caused him to get Keith out of juvie, hadn’t been his skill as a pilot that had meant he’d given Keith a second chance. Shiro was kind and selfless, and so he’d brought Keith -the discipline case, the screw-up- under his wing. Keith would never have made it in the Garrison without Shiro. 

It had been a year since he’d enrolled- the longest period of time he’d ever spent at one school since his dad had died. True to form, Keith had failed to make any meaningful connections with the other cadets. Which was fine by him, but for the first few months he’d regularly pissed them off. His disinterest in socialising and the attention he received from Shiro, together with the fact he was top of the year effortlessly, made him a target for any number of snide comments. 

The discipline the Garrison required hadn’t come naturally to Keith. (His teacher had been right: he wasn’t used to it.) That meant that despite his abilities he quickly managed to get on the bad side of most of the officers, too. 

These two things would’ve been fine on their own- the unpopular nerds and popular bad boys always seemed to do okay- but combined… Keith walked a fine line between being expelled and being seriously bullied. Not that Keith didn’t know how to deal with bullies- he’d grown up in the damn social system, after all- but his tendency to lose it meant things could escalate at the speed of light, and he would quickly become the one in the wrong. So he’d overreact, and end up nearly getting kicked out, and it was only Shiro’s influence and intervention for him that stopped that. 

Like now. 

Keith looked down at his standard-issue boots. They were hard black fake leather, polishable and stiff. A little uncomfortable, because either they were half a size too small or Keith’s feet were just the wrong shape. Whichever one it was, they squeezed slightly around his ankles and were a bit too short in the toes, though far too wide for Keith’s narrow feet. The soles were scuffed and dusted with the beige chalk powder from the cliffs and canyons outside the complex where he and Shiro liked to race. 

He stared at his boots for a while, gaze directed towards the smooth floor, aware of the conversation going on through the window behind him. 

“We’re willing to overlook this kind of behaviour once or twice, Lieutenant, but this is the fifth time!” The officer’s voice was loud and angry, annoyed enough to penetrate the military-grade glass which separated the office from the corridor where Keith sat. He cringed a little lower in his seat. 

A murmur, quieter, words unintelligible: Shiro. 

This afternoon’s debacle had involved Wilhelm, the guy who would be valedictorian, if this wasn’t a military school… and if Keith hadn’t been consistently ahead of him. It was pretty obvious that this rankled, and Wilhelm was desperate to put Keith down any way he could. 

To Keith, this made no sense, but Wilhelm was popular and that meant he was an unknown quantity. Who knew why he bothered to envy Keith? He’d cornered Keith during afternoon recess today and started commenting about Keith’s scholarship status to his two cronies. “Isn’t it strange that the only guy whose parents don’t pay for him to be here is Officer Shirogane’s favourite?” he’d sneered, and Joran and Jade had grunted in agreement. “So what’s the deal, Kogane?” 

Keith had taken a few steps back, knowing he should run, but something in him burned angrily, not wanting to give this jerk any satisfaction. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he’d growled, low and warning, “so shut the hell up and leave me alone. Or…” 

“Or what?” Wilhelm seemed to take Keith’s retreat as an excuse to get right in his face. “Will Shiro come and get me?” 

Keith’s resolve had broken, and, incalescent, he’d lashed out at Wilhelm’s conveniently close nose. Things had quickly dissolved from there, and now Keith was shuffling his boots as he heard the officer’s raised voice again: “I know that, Shirogane, but there’s more to being a cadet than grades and skills! This is unacceptable!” 

Shiro was replying and his tone was apologetic with a note of disappointment. Whatever he said must have been satisfying because the other officer’s voice, when he next replied, was less of an angry bark and more of an irritated retort. Shiro’s voice came again and there was no mistaking the repeated apology. 

Shiro was apologising, having to apologise for Keith. Again. Keith felt anger simmering at himself. He’d screwed up and lost control, again, and now Shiro was taking the fall for him. Again. 

What was wrong with him? What was it about Keith that made him flare up in anger so quickly? That made him do things he instantly regretted? Why did he always screw up? Why did he always have to be the problem they had always said he was? 

He rubbed his thumb across his first two fingers. It wasn’t fair on Shiro. Such a kind, brave, amazing person didn’t deserve to be saddled with a discipline case like Keith. He should’ve been enjoying his tenure as hero of the Garrison, getting the best missions, enjoying himself, and basking in the admiration and respect he’d more than earned through his almost superhuman feats. Instead, he was always cleaning up Keith’s messes, spending all his time around a burdensome kid, and worst of all, apologising to his superiors to avoid Keith getting expelled. 

It filled Keith with an acerbic self-disgust. 

The door opened to Keith’s right with a quiet whoosh, but he kept his gaze trained on the floor. He didn’t dare to look up, didn’t dare to meet Shiro’s eyes (because he knew by the footsteps that it was Shiro, that was the way he walked). He knew he’d eventually have to and yet he couldn’t bear the thought of Shiro’s disappointment, Shiro’s frustration at the fact that try as he might to improve, to change (and Keith had tried) Keith was still as bad as he originally was. Still unable to keep himself under control. And part of Keith was prepared, was willing to believe that now, finally, the last chance Shiro had for him was spent, and Shiro was about to give up on him, the way he should’ve when Keith had stolen his car. Because after all, that was how people worked; he knew that. Yet he still didn’t want to look up and see the truth of it on Shiro’s face. 

He pulled his arms protectively around himself. Shiro was standing in front of him; his boots were at the periphery of Keith’s vision. Waiting. 

Waiting for Keith. 

This was how it had always worked: Shiro would wait for Keith to look up at him, to make the first move. He was patient, calm, giving Keith space to take his time. And then Keith would glance up, finally, never sure whether this was it or if Shiro was stupidly kind enough to let the cycle continue. 

He had been, up until now. 

So Keith eventually looked up, cautiously and shamefully bringing his eyes to meet Shiro’s. Even after these months, still half-expecting a rejection; that Shiro had finally reached the end of his tether with Keith. 

Except that never had been the case. 

Because Shiro was Shiro, and his tether with Keith seemed to be limitless (he’d never even lost his temper with him) and even now, though he must surely feel a little disappointed in him, it was all swallowed by his kindness. Keith wasn’t the best at reading people, but he’d come to recognise the shade of forgiveness, in Shiro’s face at least. 

He was being given yet another chance. (What were they on now? Eleventh? Twelfth?) And even though his throat constricted at how he didn’t deserve it, he felt a rush of relief and gratitude and dangerous affection. 

Shiro had saved him once more, and Keith owed it to him to at least try and change himself. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I just- I’ll try harder. I didn’t… I’m sorry, Shiro.”

Shiro’s gaze softened further, if that were possible, and he held his arms out to Keith in the offer of a hug. Keith’s vision blurred as he stumbled forwards, because he didn’t deserve this, but Shiro was hugging him and his arms were wrapping protectively around Keith like a promise to keep him safe. “I know you tried,” he murmured as he pulled him in closely, “and I’m… I’m not disappointed in you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I saw what happened. The other cadet crossed the line before you did.” 

“But I messed up, Shiro. I shouldn’t have done that to him, shouldn’t have attacked him. He was just talking. Everything you tried to teach me… I just lost it, forgot about it. I- I still don’t know if I can change.” Keith’s voice wobbled, revealing how close he felt to despairing of his messed-up self, how close he was to giving up. 

“I know you can, Keith.” Shiro hugged Keith closer.

“But I just keep screwing up! Maybe you should just-” Keith began despairingly, trying to make Shiro see sense. 

Shiro drew back to hold Keith at arm’s length, fixing his grey eyes onto Keith’s own. “Keith. I’ve told you again and again, I’m not giving up on you.” There was no wavering in his voice, just determination. Maybe uncertainty lingered on Keith’s face, why did he find it so damn hard to trust Shiro? because Shiro added firmly, “I promise.” 

He was confident and reassuring and Keith decided again to trust him (was it messed up that that was something that he had to consciously decide?) because it had been a whole year and Shiro had always been there for him (the discipline case, the screw-up) so maybe he always would be, maybe he was different from all the other adults who’d given up on Keith before. (Well, that really wasn’t fair on Shiro, on reflection- he was definitely different.) Keith decided to trust Shiro. 

The now-Keith of the Black Lion scoffed at how foolish he’d been to expect Shiro to always be there, but the then-Keith accepted it as fact. 

Shiro had pulled him close again for another warm, kind hug and this time Keith didn’t hesitate to relax in his embrace because he’d given Shiro his trust and Shiro would always be there for him. 

Hadn’t he learnt from what had happened with his father? 

Shiro’s arms were gentle and strong, protecting Keith from the world. Keeping him safe. The hug reminded Keith of his dad: safety and love. 

Shiro would keep Keith safe. 

Keith raised his shield as the bolt raced towards him. He settled his feet more firmly to be able to stand his ground, but that turned out to be futile.

Pain lanced through his shoulder as he crashed into the rock’s side. His shield had protected him from the actual energy in the cannon’s blast, but the sheer force of the blow was enough to send him slamming against the cliff face. 

He swore. 

This mission was a total bust and he wasn’t sure if they’d even be able to complete it. The interference over the comms in his helmet (he didn’t dare turn it off for fear he’d miss something else) was more than enough to remind him that Pidge and Hunk needed him. 

The console he needed to destroy to end the gravity well was tantalisingly close. It was just visible behind the lines of sentries and the energy cannon. 

And that was the snag. Black couldn’t get through the shield that protected the generator, so Keith had gone in on foot. The tech had allowed him, with his Galra DNA, to pass as one of their own. He’d anticipated some defences inside- the Galra weren’t stupid, so a few troops, sure- but just as there’d been nothing in their intel about the gravity well’s existence, there’d been nothing to warn him about the nearly endless sentries and the energy cannon that sat just before the console. 

He was only about fifty feet away. Tantalisingly close. But his shoulder throbbed painfully, reminding him that a direct frontal assault (his usual tactic) wasn’t going to work against the force of that cannon. He’d need something more nuanced than just trying to hack his way to victory. 

Every muscle ached as he used his arms to bring himself to his feet, wincing at the soreness in his shoulder, ignoring it. If adrenaline hadn’t been in his system before, it was now, flooding his veins like an icy fire. Needed to be faster, more subtle. Avoid getting hit again.

The cannon’s muzzle began to glow once more- another bolt was coming- Keith leapt, moving purely on instinct, everything screaming at him to go go go- His body angled forward as the jets on his back began to fire, propelling him high over the enemy. Bolts sizzled upwards as the sentries reacted but they were too slow and Keith was too fast which was good because he couldn’t shield himself up here. 

His focus narrowed to the route he would take: a smooth line to cut the cannon in two, his momentum hopefully carrying him onwards to slice the generator apart as well. He sensed rather than decided his plan as he shredded a course through the air and, ready, fell into a barely controlled dive. 

His bayard gleamed as he summoned it with a pulse of energy and his perspective shifted as the ground approached. Slowing, sharpening. 

He saw what he was about to do and knew he’d strike true. This was freefall, but a deliberate one. For a brief instant the heat of battle was gone and peace and certainty filled him. 

Patience yields focus. 

The cannon crackled slightly as he struck it, already cleanly cleft in halves like the lower-level training bots when he got the right angle, and his feet crashed into the ground. He tumbled reflexively into a roll with the impact, rewarded with a stab of pain as his injured shoulder slammed into the ground bearing  his weight, and came up running. 

Everything was agony, but that was okay. Manageable. Keith moved with indecent speed towards his next target. 

Behind him, he was somehow aware, the sentries were turning, raising their guns to shoulder level and sighting him, robotic fingers clicking on triggers. More bolts shrieked towards him. He staggered slightly as one punched into his back, armour keeping him alive but it was still searing hot and burning him. Keith kept moving through the increase in pain because the console was mere metres away and he’d be damned if he’d ever let a little thing like pain keep him from doing what he had to do. 

The generator’s metal sheared easily before his blade. Sparks popped and the panels went dark as his bayard cut through its inner workings and stemmed the flow of quintessence. 

For a moment Keith wondered (not for the first time) what the actual hell his weapon was made of to be able to slice military-grade tech like cheese, but then he was back in the present. 

He’d done it. 

The shield and field of the tractor on the gravity well flickered and died simultaneously, and the clear signal of his teammates’ cries of relief confirmed that they were free. 

In his mind Black rumbled, cold and powerful: she was coming. Which was good, because the small army behind him was still firing at him. Quintessence-scent filled the air like ozone after lightning as more and more bolts whipped past Keith, too close for comfort. He summoned his shield again and turned. His shoulder shrieked, reminding him that if slamming into a rock face hadn’t fractured it then using it to do some insane parkour roll definitely had, but he kept the shield raised and his sword at his side. Pain was ignorable; wounds, healable. He had a job to do still, teammates relying on him to lead, and besides, there was no way he was going down in some insignificant skirmish. He was going to survive; more than that, he was going to win. 

There were times and places for frontal assaults, and now that the cannon was disabled and the generator behind him broken, it was probably a good time to charge. Keith raised his sword again and ran, complaints of his body fading into the background as the rhythm of battle drowned out all but his blood’s singing, his heart’s pounding, his mind’s focus. Slash. Dodge. Switch to backhand to eliminate the enemy behind. 

No time to think.

No space to plan. 

Focus burned like fire through his veins and he wove gracefully through the sentries, losing count of how many he’d cut down, losing track of time as he fought, always more to defeat but he was always- always - fast enough. 

He was almost in a trance. 

It was exhilarating and his blood roared for more, to continue this dance of destruction, to burn away all restraint, and he longed to do nothing else but— 

But he couldn’t. 

He was sure that had she been here (had she not left him but he clawed that unworthy thought away) Red would have been giving him more fire, more energy, more spirit, urging him on and assisting him, but she wasn’t here. No, in place of Red’s flames and anger there was Black. Black– strong, focused, distant. Responsible. Responsible above all. Responsibility which weighed on Keith and made it hard to breathe. Not free. Not exhilarated. Responsible. 

(Oppressive.) 

And Black’s maw was open above him, her message clear: leave. Leave the fight, and do what you have to as leader of Voltron. 

It was like chucking water on Keith’s fire. 

Or maybe oil. 

But he knew she was right and so regretfully he disengaged and leapt for her. She caught him and was already flying up as he clambered into the cockpit and settled his hands on the flightwheels. The screens glowed, purple not red, and in the new place where Keith felt their souls brush Black growled, disapproving of his yearning to stay and fight. In the thick of the battle with no regard for your own safety- that is no place for the leader.

That was the truth of it, and while his adrenaline was quickly shifting to acidic resentment towards Black that boiled under his skin till he was practically vibrating from the effort of not yelling about how it was his place, he knew she was right. It didn’t matter how he felt, what he wanted. All that mattered was the team, the mission. 

He had a job to do and he would damn well do it even if it felt like it was ripping him apart.

Chapter Text

‘Shiro would never have gotten upset with his lion.’ 

The ugly thought twisted inside Keith as he and Black entered the main hangar. He’d managed to conceal all the dirty feelings that kept welling up inside him from the other paladins while they completed the mission, knuckles white as he clenched the flightwheels and tried to project a calm he didn’t feel because that’s what Shiro would have done. But there was no way to fake his emotions with Black; his anger was scalding hot and singed the edges of their (still new and unfamiliar) bond and when he was trying to focus on being the leader they all needed him to be, all wanted and expected and needed him to be, there was no way to try to block the one-sided flow of resentment. 

Resentment, because the battle-song of his heart had not yet faded in Keith’s ears and yet he had to be calm and lead them. 

Resentment, because Black was quietly disapproving and that made her just another person in a long line of people. 

Resentment, because he had this new role, this new job that he was supposed to naturally be as good as he was at everything else. And he wasn’t finding it easy and no one hated him more for those failings than he himself did.

He’d never even wanted to be the leader. 

He hadn’t, he never had, he hadn’t because he knew he wasn’t a leader (was barely even a team player) and he knew he lacked focus and the ability to see the big picture like Shiro and he would never be a good leader. He was too impulsive, too unpredictable, and he just wasn’t suited for the position. He’d known that and made his peace with it. But Black had chosen him (out of all the paladins) despite his objections, despite his anger and lack of self-control, and now he was forced to lead. To make the decisions. To be the leader. Keith hated it. And part of him was still angry at Black for her choice. 

Even though it had been weeks since he’d replaced Shiro. 

(As if he could ever replace Shiro.) 

He was inadequate and failing and hurting in so many ways, emotions confused and knotted together, but for now, as Black’s paws touched down and she settled, he was upset with Black. 

Their wills tugged perpendicular to each other though because while Keith resented her for her decision Black stood by it, infuriatingly calm, cool. Disapproving, but still unyielding on the fact he was to be leader. 

“Screw you,” he muttered, instantly regretting it, but Black had heard. 

Her mouth opened and the cabin rumbled in a growl. Get out. 

So now he’d managed to piss Black off too. 

Fine. 

He wasted no time in getting out and her eyes flashed warningly behind him but he was already leaving, ignoring the throb and ache of his muscles. 

They’d have a team debrief— Keith realised with a twinge of tiredness and irritation that he’d have to take charge and organise it— but before that he wanted a moment to shower and change. He took off his helmet and started down the corridor to his room.

“Keith!” The voice came from behind him. 

Keith groaned inwardly. Lance. He really didn’t have the energy to deal with more banter and teasing; he was pretty sure that he wouldn’t be able to avoid erupting in anger, and he knew it wasn’t Lance he was angry at. “Not now, Lance,” he replied without looking back, trying to use a Shiro-like warning tone because Lance had always respected that coming from Shiro. 

“Keith, I need to talk to you!” 

Okay, so maybe Keith hadn’t spoken loudly enough for it to reach him, but seriously? Lance was supposed to be good at reading people and Keith was trying to give off obvious leave-me-alone vibes. 

Lance had clearly been running to catch up because he was now right next to Keith, pulling to a walk. “Not now, Lance,” Keith repeated, louder this time, trying to be more authoritative, but he’d gotten it wrong somehow and it came out as more of a yell. Quiznak.

Lance recoiled slightly. It was hard to mistake the hurt that flashed across his face, but he persisted, “I really need to talk to you.” 

“Can’t it wait till later?” Keith felt his self-control teetering towards nothingness. 

That had probably been the wrong thing to say though because Lance looked really hurt now. Keith could just imagine Shiro telling him off for being insensitive. He’d have had the right thing to say to fix this and get Lance to go away tactfully, but Shiro wasn’t here now and so Keith had nothing to guide him. What would Shiro say, he wondered. 

“Look, Lance,” he began, finally looking at him. He winced as the burns in his back throbbed. “I get that you have have something you somehow desperately need to talk about,” quiznak this was already failing as irritation was lacing his words with venom but his mouth was continuing, “and somehow, for some reason, you need to talk about it with me , of all people, but—” But what? But I’m so frustrated right now that I’m afraid I’ll just end up directing my screwed-up anger onto you? Because I have no control? Because I haven’t had any for weeks and months? That would be pathetic to say, but at the same time Keith felt a kind of longing to say something more vicious that would really hurt Lance and drive them into a no-holds-barred screaming match. A verbal strike, a slash in the place where Lance was most vulnerable. He had to inflict this anger on someone, and if Lance was in the line of fire, then why not…? All it would take was— 

Shit, what the hell am I thinking? Keith pulled his thoughts back before he did something he eternally regretted. He had to end this, escape before he slipped off the edge. “Just leave me alone,” he hissed. “We’ll talk later.” 

His self-control was hanging by a thread by the time he finished the car crash of a ‘reassuring Shiro speech’ and he knew it’d snap if Lance said or did anything else, but Lance didn’t. He was probably really upset and looking like Keith had just kicked Kaltenecker, but that was better than being scarred by something Keith lashed out with in anger. He had to leave, now. He moved his protesting muscles to a faster walk to avoid looking at Lance, to escape. 

Lance stopped walking behind Keith. 

“Oh. Okay. Later, I guess.” 

Damn it, he sounded so hurt. 

Keith’s anger mingled with a sense of guilt for making Lance feel like that, but he was at his door and he desperately opened it so that he couldn’t hurt anyone any more. It locked with a beep behind him and he growled in open frustration. Why was his natural inclination always towards the wrong thing? 

He punched the cold metal wall; it was even more of a punishment than usual, because his shoulder and back were already shot, but he did it again and again, never once leaving a dent but that didn’t matter because the impacts on his knuckles were what mattered— the vibrations travelling up his arms, his fists gradually becoming abused. He imagined all his frustrations and anger and filthy thoughts and feelings channelling themselves into the wall, tried to pretend that he was doing this for entirely valid reasons and this would somehow get rid of his pain, but in reality? That wasn’t it. It wasn’t. 

He wasn’t hurting himself for any reason but to punish himself. 

And it wasn’t the first time he’d indulged in this particular brand of atonement, either. He had often needed a safe way to let out the self-loathing which would hurt no one but the one at fault: himself. His walls were the easy, logical target. 

Keith was under no delusions: he knew that this, like the rest of him, was screwed up. It had made Hunk angry at him one night as he was going past Keith’s room on the way to the kitchen for a late-night snack. 

Hunk had heard the angry, repetitive thudding through Keith’s (unwisely unlocked) door and had burst in on Keith almost desperately pounding the hell out of his wall and knuckles. With a strangled cry Hunk had grabbed Keith’s sore, battered arms and met his eyes. (Keith had no idea how he’d looked in that particular moment but judging from the face Hunk had made it was pretty shocking.) 

They had stood there for a few seconds while Keith’s breathing had slowed down and Hunk’s had sped up and then— 

Then Hunk had yelled at Keith. 

“What the actual cheeseballs, Keith!” There was an edge to his voice that Keith had never heard from him before. Hunk was… upset? 

But in a different way to usual. During missions Hunk didn’t really hesitate to display his negative emotions; he frequently voiced his fear and worry, and his concerns were often well-founded— they had sometimes prevented the team from doing the wrong thing, getting caught. He was just an anxious dude, and that had definite upsides even though he was often scared. But now… Hunk’s voice was terrified, so shocked and concerned that it pushed its way into anger. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” 

His voice had been loud, angry, upset— at Keith— and it was too similar to all of the foster parents, the social workers, the teachers, the grown-ups for almost as long as Keith could remember, and for an instant it hadn’t been Hunk there but all of the other people who’d been angry at him. He’d involuntarily flinched away, hands coming up to protect his face with Hunk still holding the wrists (Keith’s fingers were still throbbing from how he’d abused them) and— 

Hunk’s yell had died. He quickly released Keith’s hands and took a pace back so that his shoulders were brushing the wall, noticing with surprise and concern how Keith was cowering instinctively. “I– Sorry, Keith,” he said, quieter, trying to sound calmer (but Keith could tell he was still angry or scared. “I didn’t mean to yell, it’s just— I heard you from the corridor, and you’re, you’re hurting yourself…” 

There was no way to hide that fact now. Keith’s black gloves were on his bedside table where he’d put them before brushing his teeth, so his now red and rapidly bruising knuckles were on full display, held between his and Hunk’s faces. He tried to recover himself a bit, lowering his arms to a less defensive position, standing up as tall as he could (which was still laughably shorter than Hunk). “It’s nothing.” 

Hunk’s expression grew darker, angrier, at the blatant lie, but he managed to reply controlledly, “No, it’s not ‘nothing’. You were willingly hurting yourself! Please, Keith, that’s just… does Shiro have any idea that you do this? It’s, it’s not the first time, is it?” 

“I’m fine.” Keith gritted his teeth, wishing that Hunk would just leave him alone. “And it’s really none of your business.” 

Hunk studied him with a face that, again, Keith couldn’t identify. “...Well,” he said finally, “will you at least let me deal with those bruises in the medbay?” 

Keith had glared tiredly at Hunk, but Hunk had stood his ground, unmoving; it hadn’t really been a question. Keith was exhausted so he’d given in and had been taken to the infirmary where Hunk had given him ointment and an ice pack. 

Shiro had cornered him the next day when they were loading the dishwasher and while he hadn’t pushed Keith exactly, Keith had found himself admitting what he’d done. The look on Shiro’s face was unusually difficult for Keith to read, but he decided it was probably concern (an emotion he still found hard to decipher). After a serious but gentle talking-to (“please come find me, don’t do anything like that again”) Shiro had let Keith go. It had been enough, together with other things the others were doing (Keith suspected on Shiro’s orders) to make him feel safe and at home, to stem the flow of ugly thoughts and feelings which led to that self-destructive urge. He’d been okay. For a while. 

Then Shiro had disappeared, and Keith had been pushed into the role of leader (by Black, he thought with still simmering resentment) and while most nights now, the training deck exhausted him to the point where he couldn’t act on his familiar old impulses, on the nights he didn’t train… well, there was no Shiro to scold him, no Hunk to stop him (as he was usually long since asleep), no one to hear because they were never listening. So Keith was free to punish himself for failing. For not being enough. For getting angry. For everything. He punched again and again, each blow a testament to his need to do better, fists slamming into the wall (with as much result as a toddler’s in a tantrum) because he deserved this, had earned every futile blow and the dulling ache of pain… 

There was no way to tell how much time had passed when he finally stopped. Fortunately, the bones in his hand were tough, so they probably weren’t fractured, but the skin was red and rough. He’d need his gloves.

His breath huffed out of him as he stepped back and the trance rose. This had been a terrible idea. His shoulder was absolute agony now (it was definitely broken) and all the injuries he’d accumulated earlier were causing him hell. He swore. He was going to need a pod. 

But he was too stubborn (or maybe too afraid) to tell the others that despite his reassurances that he’d gotten out fine, he’d lied. He’d been dumb enough to get hurt when he’d assured them he could do it alone. They’d never trust him again. He’d never trust a leader like that. What the hell was he going to do though? He was hurting, badly. He needed healing. A pod. Maybe… 

Maybe, if he could just wait until they were all asleep, he could get in a pod and be healed before morning. They’d never know. It could work. 

I’ll do that then, Keith decided. For now, to tide him over so he could last until later that night, he’d need to dull the pain. In his bathroom cabinet he had some painkillers that Coran had given him once. He took some, guessing at a dose, and the pain subsided immediately. Even tireder and sorer than before, he got into the shower and turned on the water. It made him flinch when it hit the burns on his back but eventually the stiffness in his muscles loosened. Washing himself was like a meditation, familiar and soothing, and he felt cleaner for it. Calmer. 

He dressed, gingerly to avoid agitating his damaged shoulder, and belted on his luxite knife. His gloves hid the rawness of his knuckles; his jacket hid the burns on his back. Now he was prepared to face them, to lead them. (Why did his regular clothes feel as heavy as his paladin armour?) 

He’d call the meeting, he thought hopefully. In it, he would be mature and self-controlled like Shiro, and then he’d talk to Lance about whatever it was he’d wanted to talk about, and he wouldn’t screw up. He wouldn’t screw up at all. 

…Yeah, right. 

The sourness and resentment towards Black was still there despite his attempts to quash it, and he could distantly feel her disapproval of him in return. On top of that, he was hiding so much from them; he was afraid and angry and despairing, and though he tried to ignore his emotions and express them quietly by himself, they were only hidden, not gone. 

His ‘good leader’ persona could only ever be a lie. 

“Admiral Sanda. We’re here about the assignments for the Kerberos Mission.”

Keith stopped in the corridor. He’d been on his way to talk to Shiro about maybe doing some martial arts training later (Shiro had been teaching him in their free time ever since Keith had enrolled) but as he’d neared the door to Shiro’s office he’d heard the voice. He recognised it as the voice of Commander Holt, the head of the science department and the man leading the Kerberos Mission. From his tone, it would probably be a good idea to wait until they were done. He leaned against the wall. 

“So that’s why you wanted me to come to Shirogane’s office.” Admiral Sanda’s voice was sharp. 

“Yes, Admiral,” Commander Holt replied. “As we discussed earlier, I want you to approve the Lieutenant here as the pilot for the—” 

“No! Absolutely not!” Her voice was loud and definite. Keith started listening in, curious and more than a little surprised by the admiral’s vehemence. Why didn’t she want to approve Shiro for the mission?

Commander Holt’s thinking was clearly running along similar lines. “Why not? He’s cleared all his physicals.” 

“I don’t care what the doctor says,” she snapped back. “This man is sick and he shouldn’t be sent on another mission, especially as far away as Kerberos!” Admiral Sanda’s voice was frustrated, like she’d had this conversat— 

Wait. 

‘This man is sick’? 

What? 

She couldn’t… 

She couldn’t mean… 

Shiro was sick? 

What? 

He couldn’t be… 

“No,” Keith whispered in the silence of the corridor, clasping the denial to himself to try and avoid facing the implications, “no, he, he can’t be…” 

But… 

…that was what the admiral had said. And that meant… 

Shiro was sick . He was unfit for duty. Shiro shouldn’t be sent on another mission. Shiro was… 

What. The actual. Hell? 

Keith’s blood was ice in his veins.

He didn’t want to believe it, wanted to clutch denial to himself for as long as he could to avoid the pain, wanted to pretend everything was fine and his world hadn’t just fractured. He didn’t want to believe what Admiral Sanda had said. But he did. 

He hated it, but everything suddenly made sense. 

The so-called ‘electro-stimulators’ Shiro claimed he wore ‘just to keep his muscles loose’.

The late-night arguments Keith had overheard between Shiro and Adam, which Shiro always insisted were about ‘nothing important’. 

The way Shiro’s breath would occasionally hitch (too quietly for anyone but Keith to hear) as if in pain. (He’d always joke that Keith had the hearing of a bat if he brought it up, changing the subject.) 

The fact that despite being the star and ace pilot of the Garrison, Shiro hardly ever spent time in an actual cockpit. 

All of it. 

The truth had been staring Keith in the face this whole damn time. 

How had he been so fucking oblivious? 

He stayed there, frozen in horror to the wall next to the office door, for the remainder of the officers’ conversation (argument really), half taking it in, half trying to process this new shard of reality. 

His world– his trust in Shiro– his safety, it felt like it was shattering, like when his father had died, except worse , because at least his dad had died a hero , his dad hadn’t chosen to leave Keith, but Shiro— 

Shiro… 

Shiro…Shiro had lied to him. Keith’s heart stopped as he remembered. Shiro had lied. Deliberately, and multiple times. 

What… 

What the hell had Keith been thinking, trusting him? Relying on him? Coming to see him as more than a mentor, more than a friend– as family, even?

He’d screwed up there. Because Shiro had been lying, lying all along, and if he’d lied about this then who knew what else he’d lied about? 

It was so messed up that Keith felt cold horror melt to give way to burning anger. Shiro had been screwing with him, had made him think that he was trustworthy. 

That realisation hurt. 

It hurt, but Keith let his fury build a wall between the hurt part of him that wanted an explanation and an apology and a hug, and the other part of him, the tough part that was all most people got to see: the armoured, powerful side of him that didn’t pull its punches because no one else did. It was the well-defended and distant part of him that wasn’t feeling betrayed and heartbroken, and he wanted it to take control. He didn’t want to be upset; he wanted to be damn incandescent with rage. 

He heard the clear sound of a dismissal from inside the office and bolted round the corner of the corridor. At that moment, he didn’t want to see Shiro or anyone else. He needed the only real safety in the world: the security of solitude that would never lie to him, never betray him, never disappoint him. His scalding anger didn’t blind him, it granted him clarity of sight. 

He would confront Shiro later. 

Chapter Text

Glowing embers of fury burned inside Keith as he left the main building and crossed the yard. It was a warm afternoon in late May and the air smelt of heated dust; a nice day for a walk or a hoverbike ride or a game of soccer with the other cadets. This particular area, however, was quiet and nearly empty, because it was right in the middle of Garrison grounds and most people preferred to get away on a weekend like this, if they had the choice. 

“Most people” clearly didn’t include Keith, nor Shiro. No one was enough of a friend with Keith to invite him to play soccer, and that was fine by him. Saturdays were usually his and Shiro’s sacred days that they spent in each other’s company: havens of time where he was safe to laugh, to race, to have deep, vulnerable conversations as they cleaned the desert dust off the bikes. They were precious. Sometimes they’d go to Shiro’s flat or Keith’s little shack and try to cook something edible for supper. That usually ended with them getting takeout delivered, because for all his adulthood and maturity Shiro was surprisingly terrible at cooking (he’d even managed to burn water once) and Keith was almost as bad (though he’d put it down to a lack of experience rather than an innate and uncanny ability for everything to go wrong like Shiro had). Then they would squash together at one end of the sofa and watch hours on end of their favourite TV shows (Shiro was obsessed with anime and had somehow managed to drag Keith into loving it too). 

To an ordinary person it might not have seemed like the most exciting way to pass time, but to Keith Saturdays were golden. Shiro had slowly managed to become someone important to Keith, making Keith lower his weary defences as Shiro changed from cautious mentor to a wary friend to… to something more dangerous. Keith had finally admitted to himself that he was starting to see Shiro like the older brother he’d sometimes wished for but had never gotten, and every minute Shiro spent with him was like a priceless fulfilment of his dreams.

But everything hadn’t been happy and carefree, not really. Shiro had been hiding the fact that he was ill, was unfit for duty. There’d been a reason he wore those electrostimulators.

Shiro had known and yet he hadn’t trusted Keith with the truth, had fed him a lie instead, had betrayed Keith and Keith should have damn known, should never have put his trust in Shiro because Shiro had been lying through his teeth all along.

He focused on that as he walked, trying to make the pyre of anger burn hot enough to block out the hurt and confusion and worry and sadness he knew he also felt. They weren’t useful to him. All he needed was anger, a fire that would rage and give him energy and strength to handle whatever Shiro was about to say. 

The almost-summer sun was hot on his back as he looked up and over to where Shiro was working on his bike. He was bent over, scrubbing at some barely-visible rust with a hard-bristled brush. His hair was in his face, slick with sweat; he took a pause, straightening up to push the bangs out of his eyes. 

And Keith didn’t think he was imagining it, but Shiro looked… worn. Weary. In pain. Keith almost faltered as the tide of still-fresh realisation and anxiety threatened to wash over him. Shiro was sick. Concern rose higher to drown his anger out— 

But he couldn’t let it. He had to get an explanation from Shiro about what was going on. Shiro lied to me, he reminded himself, reinforcing his resolve, determined to be strong. Cold fury powered him again and he shoved his hands in his pockets as he stopped, a few metres from the bike. 

“So, when were you going to tell me?” His voice was cool, sharp: perfect.

Keith wanted to be angry. 

Shiro glanced over, noticing him. He clambered down from the bike, confused. “Uh, hey.” Smiling. Like nothing was wrong. 

Lying. 

Something in Keith snapped. “So what is it, are you sick or something?” His anger was growing in incalescence, because Shiro was still pretending everything was okay.

“I’m, uh,” Shiro’s smile faltered slightly, “not sure I follow.” 

“I was outside your office. I overheard you and Commander Holt talking with Admiral Sanda.”

Realisation dawned suddenly on Shiro’s face. His eyes widened, and Keith felt a stab of regret but he had to continue talking because if he didn’t he’d never finish the speech he’d planned and then he’d never find out what was really wrong. 

“Tell me the truth!” Please. He forced his voice into a higher volume to try and stop it sounding so broken. 

“Tell me what’s wrong!” Please, Shiro. 

He was practically shouting now. “I’m not a little kid, I can handle it!” Please. I trusted you. 

Shiro sighed. 

It was a resigned sigh, like he’d seen the determination and desperation burning in Keith’s eyes and knew there was no point trying to fight him. Yet again, Keith was struck by the thought that Shiro looked so weary. 

There was a pause as Shiro collected his thoughts, preparing to speak.

“I…” Shiro swallowed, “have a… disease. And it’s getting worse.” His gaze was firmly fixed on the ground to his right. 

Worry curdled inside Keith, overwhelming the dregs of his anger. Here, at last, was the truth. Shiro… Shiro was sick. It was getting worse. Keith focused on his breathing, waiting for the next words, feeling anxiety unfurl inside him. 

Shiro continued, “I’ll only be able to maintain my peak condition for a couple more years, and after that…” His voice trailed off, but Keith could easily imagine an end to that sentence. When Shiro couldn’t be an officer anymore, what was he gonna do? Would he retire? Give up on his dreams? What would his purpose be? 

However angry Keith had just been with him, nothing had actually changed the fact that Shiro was his friend. More than that, really; Shiro was basically his older brother. And the thought that something was about to happen to him, something that bad… it scared Keith.

“The Garrison doesn’t want me up there,” Shiro admitted. He sounded so sad. “Neither does Adam.” 

Keith couldn’t remember ever seeing Shiro like this before. He was so strong, so cheerful. Now, though… it sounded almost like Shiro was despairing, about to throw in the towel. To believe what all the people who doubted his abilities were saying. To give up on himself.

Just like Keith had often been willing to this year at the Garrison. But every time he’d been on the point of quitting Shiro had been there, urging him on and encouraging him to reach for the stars. Having his corner. 

What kind of friend, what kind of brother, would Keith be if he didn’t reciprocate? 

“So…” he said slowly, trying hard to find the right words to give Shiro determination, “what’re you gonna do?” 

Shiro’s expression changed from one of thoughtfulness to one of steely resolve. “I’m going on the mission.” 

It was a stubbornness that rivalled Keith’s own, with Shiro’s jaw set and eyes flinty, like he was staring down all his doubters. Based on that, and what Keith was pretty sure he’d overheard Commander Holt threatening, he was certain that Shiro would make it onto the mission. 

After that… 

After the mission… 

It was best not to think about the far future when Shiro got back, Keith decided. Shiro had probably made plans for the worst-case scenarios already. He imagined stuffing the uneasiness he felt in a dark, distant corner of his mind. Tamping the fear down securely.

Instead, he tried to focus on the relief which was beginning to blossom in his heart. Shiro had returned his trust. He’d been open with him. Him. The troublemaker who Shiro always seemed to have to get out of trouble. He’d given Keith the whole, painful truth, a powerful secret whose sharing showed that Shiro trusted Keith not to abuse it. 

“Thanks, Shiro,” he said. Shiro looked at him and though he hated eye contact, Keith held his gaze. “You were honest with me. I,” he hesitated before continuing, “I really appreciate that. Not many people are.” 

Shiro’s resolute face melted into relief and something Keith wasn’t very familiar with. Fondness? 

“I’m sorry I lied to you in the first place, Keith,” he replied. “I… it was a mistake on my part. You’re right, you’re not a kid— well, not really” —Shiro smiled at Keith’s reflexive teenage frown before continuing— “and you deserved to know the truth. Lying to you was wrong. I’m really sorry. Will you forgive me?” 

Shiro understood Keith so well. Growing up in the social system, no one bothered to apologise to a problem kid or dared to bare their throat (metaphorically speaking) like this. No one had cared enough, or been close enough, to hurt Keith like Shiro’s lies had. But here Shiro was, admitting he’d been in the wrong, being humble enough to ask for forgiveness. 

The warm glow spread through Keith’s chest. It was another demonstration of trust. “Of course I forgive you, Shiro,” Keith said softly. 

Everything was all right again. 

Well, kind of. Shiro had lied to Keith, after all, so the trust their relationship was built on became a little shaky for a while, but the new trust they’d shown each other by finally being open went a long way to repairing the fractures in it. Keith’s world had shattered again, but the cracks were becoming less prominent, finally. 

The weeks passed steadily until it was the morning of the Kerberos mission. The sky over the desert dawned a charming azure, with a few wispy clouds scudding the upper atmosphere. On the main launch pad, the ship was waiting, ready to set off at midday.

“Hey, Shiro!” Keith called, feeling a smile break out despite his anxiety as Shiro turned from where he was gazing at the horizon. He jogged over to stand at his side. “How’re you doing?” 

Shiro’s voice was rueful as he replied, “I think I ate too much last night.” 

They’d gone to Shiro’s favourite sushi place the evening before in celebration of the last day Shiro would be spending on Earth for a while. The mission would last for three months (Keith felt a pang at how long that was) and the food on it would apparently ‘not be that great’, according to Shiro, so they’d feasted, savouring every bite. 

“Yeah, I had no idea you could stuff narezushi that fast,” Keith grinned, “it was actually kinda scary.” 

“Says the guy who ate an entire omurice in three seconds.” Shiro laughed quietly. 

“So, um…” Keith glanced around after a pause, “where’s Adam?”

He instantly regretted asking as the smile died on Shiro’s face. 

“He’s on duty.” Shiro spoke carefully. 

Wow. Okay, so Keith had known that Adam was pissed at Shiro for taking the mission, but it was so bad between them that he hadn’t even come to say goodbye? That was pretty messed up, though it explained a lot of things: Adam hadn’t come to the restaurant last night either and Keith had heard way more private arguments between them than usual.

“Oh. I’m sorry.” Keith wished he knew something more helpful to say but yet again his crap social skills let him down. 

“It’s fine.” Shiro forced another smile onto his face. “Come on. I want to show you around.”

Over the next half-hour Shiro gave him a guided tour of the ship, from the kitchen— “see, look at these supplies, I told you the food wasn’t going to be great” — to the cockpit— “she flies like a dream” — to the hold where all of the observation equipment was stored. His enthusiasm grew and was infectious; Keith found himself grinning at Shiro’s boyish excitement. The ship was pretty cool, a massive, high-tech vessel that was equipped for every eventuality Keith could imagine (and some that he couldn’t). It was better than the sims, and the shuttles that the cadets were sometimes allowed to fly into the stratosphere. 

But the sun crept closer to its zenith and soon (too soon) they only had a few minutes left. Keith was aware of Commander Holt and his son, Matt, who was the communications officer, behind them. They were saying goodbyes to a tearful woman (probably Mrs Holt) and a girl who looked so similar to Matt that she could only be his sister. It was nearly midday though, and nearly time for Shiro to leave, so he turned his focus to the man in front of him. 

“So this is it.” 

Shiro smiled at him. “Yeah, this is it.” 

Keith glanced over Shiro’s shoulder to look again at the ship that would be his best friend’s home. For the hundredth time he was washed over by the realisation that Shiro was leaving and that he wouldn’t see him for almost three whole months. Don’t be selfish , he scolded himself harshly. Shiro’s deserved to go on a mission like this for years, but he’s stuck around for you. He should’ve been free to do what he wanted without worrying that he won’t be around when you mess something up. Be grateful that he’s stayed. 

After all , whispered another part of Keith’s mind, this could be his last chance to do something great. Anxiety twisted sharply inside him as he thought of the disease that could end Shiro’s future. 

In a bid to squash the concerns he felt, Keith blurted, “Three months is a long time.”

Shiro looked at him bemusedly. 

“What I mean is,” Keith continued, trying to salvage the situation, “it’s gonna be three months till we see each other again. I’m,” he swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat, “I’m gonna miss you.” 

Shiro smiled, a smile that brimmed with understanding and fondness and love, a smile for his younger brother. “I’ll miss you too, Keith. But it’ll be over before you know it. I’ll be back in time for your birthday!”

It would be autumn then, the desert sun slightly less unrepentant, the sunsets a gorgeous artwork in pink and orange and red. 

Keith grinned despite his sadness and concern. “You’d better. Don’t you dare be late.” 

“Yeah, well, don’t you get into any trouble while I’m gone,” Shiro replied, grinning. 

Keith took a breath. “I’ll try, Shiro.” 

Shiro nodded, sombering. “Remember: patience yields focus. You’ve come a long way, Keith” — his eyes were soft— “so I’m sure you’ll be fine.” 

Keith didn’t have any words to respond to that. He spread his arms to Shiro in a silent request. Shiro obliged and enfolded him in a hug. His arms were wrapped securely around Keith’s back like a promise, and Keith returned the embrace, clinging tightly to his friend and not caring who saw. 

It would be their last hug for a while. Keith took in deep breaths and tried to memorise Shiro’s smell, his warmth, his voice. “Love you,” he mumbled into Shiro’s chest. It was an admission, and one Keith wouldn’t have made looking into Shiro’s eyes, but in the safety of the hug it was okay to speak his feelings. No one heard but him and Shiro. 

“Love you too, otouto,” Shiro’s voice rumbled gently. Keith’s breath caught; he recognised the word as being of Shiro’s native Japanese, and he understood what it meant: little brother. Shiro had just… he’d said… 

He hugged Shiro tighter. 

It was over far too soon, though. Shiro was stepping away, getting into the ship with the other two officers. He saluted, smiled, and Keith was left standing alone as he vanished through the door. 

He and the other onlookers took a few steps back to avoid any exposure to the radiation of take-off as the ship’s door slid shut and the engines powered up, glowing. With a blast of heat it rose majestically into the air, up and up, higher and higher, until it slipped into a small bank of clouds and was lost to sight. 

Shiro was gone. 

Keith scrubbed viciously at the moisture around his eyes; it was stupid to cry. They were only going to be gone for a few months, after all. 

The soothing effects of his shower and the painkillers were already beginning to wear off.

Keith sat alone at the table in the dining room, waiting for the others to arrive. He’d called them about five doboshes ago, but with a thought of what Shiro would have done, he’d said they could take their time. It would probably be a while before Pidge, at least, could drag herself away from her tech. (Actually, would she even have heard him if she was focused on her work? Maybe he should send one of the others to get her from Green’s hangar once they were here.) Lance was most likely also absorbed in his video games, but he’d seemed so desperate to talk to Keith that he was unlikely to be late. 

What had he wanted to talk to Keith about? Frustratingly, Keith had no idea, but he cringed as he remembered how he’d blown Lance off. Quiznak, he had not handled that well. Lance had looked so hurt. Guilt twinged across the raw knuckles of his hands; while he’d just managed to contain his irritation, he should have had the headspace to listen to his teammate. He was still the leader, even if he was tired. 

Still the leader. Keith grimaced. While the tension between him and Black had faded a little as his feelings cooled, it was still there. It was Black’s fault that he was leader— a position he’d never wanted, should never have gotten except for the fact that Shiro was gone— 

He felt his mind tip closer to despair again and with an effort wrenched himself out of that dark spiral. He had to be strong and lead, for Shiro’s sake, and that meant he would have to try and restore peace between him and Shiro’s lion. He would have to apologise. 

“Apologise. Be the bigger person,” he muttered, remembering the cliché from his childhood, and laughed slightly hysterically at the thought that he could be a bigger person than a 160-foot tall mechanical lion. (Man, he needed more sleep.) 

The door slid open to his right, revealing the two Alteans.

Keith choked his laughter back, straightening up. “Allura. Coran. Hi.” 

Welp, this was already awkward. Keith cringed internally but tried to keep his face calm. “Do you know if—” The door slid open again and Keith’s question was cut off by Lance and Pidge arguing loudly about Robot Phantasm LXIV. 

“ —Well, if you’re that good at video games, you should be able to deal with my mods!” Pidge smirked as she went to her seat. 

Lance was indignant. “Not if you make the bosses impossible to beat! No one could handle that Metatron!” 

“A bad worker blames his tools, Lance!” 

Keith sighed, trying to stay calm. “ —if the others are coming,” he finished under his breath. In another effort to inject Shiro-like authority into his voice, he called, “Guys!”

The room immediately fell silent. Better. Keith couldn’t tell if they were just upset with him though. “Calm down,” he continued, almost to himself as he was just barely keeping irritation out of his voice. “Let’s just have this debrief, then you can all go back to whatever it was you were doing before until supper. Okay?” 

You could’ve heard a pin drop. Keith was seriously beginning to doubt that he was doing this whole ‘leader’ thing right. “Now where’s Hunk?” 

As if on cue, the door slid open one last time. “Guys!” Hunk announced as he entered. “I have cookies!” There was a chorus of appreciation and the order Keith had tentatively gained vanished as everyone crowded around Hunk. 

…So much for that. Keith sighed to himself, wondering if he should order them all to sit down and listen up. But… no. As he watched them, he noticed the tension in their faces, the tiredness in every line of their bodies. Pidge, in particular, was drooping slightly. It had been a stressful mission in a longer war. There was no need to have military order here. The team could relax a little. Keith owed them that, at least, after how he’d continuously screwed up leading them, today and before. 

So he sat, arms crossed, waiting uncomfortably as they finally settled down again. Hunk glanced at Keith, noticing he hadn’t had any cookies yet. 

“Keith? You want one?” 

I’m fine, Keith went to instinctively snap. He knew he didn’t deserve one, but Hunk was looking hard at him, brow furrowed in concern… and suspicion. And now the others were also turning, looking at him. Expectant. 

“...Sure.” 

The atmosphere relaxed as Keith took a cookie (gingerly, with his right hand– his left shoulder was becoming agony again) and bit into it. Crumbly, melt-in-the-mouth vanilla with chocolate chips exploded across his tongue. (He decided not to question how Hunk had found chocolate in outer space.) “This is great,” he mumbled, chewing.

Hunk beamed. “Thank you!” 

“So, um,” Keith began, swallowing as soon as he could, “to business.” He tried as surreptitiously as he could to lick the crumbs off his lips. “The mission.” 

The mood darkened instantly. Keith had screwed up today, after all; he’d put them all in danger and now he had to face the consequences. His own brief relief was gone as everything was sore once more, making him extra-conscious of the fact that he was hiding his injuries from them.

“First of all, I wanted to apologise.” He avoided meeting anyone’s eyes; he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing how upset they were with him. “To all of you for what happened today, but especially Pidge and Hunk. You guys nearly got captured, and that was all on me. If I had just realised our intel wasn’t checking out sooner, we could have taken the gravity well out before you went for the shield generator, and then you wouldn’t have gotten trapped. I should have noticed that. And I should have listened to you, Hunk. I messed up. I’m sorry.” 

His speech had left him dangerously vulnerable. The silence which followed it hurt almost as much as the criticisms he knew his actions deserved. He’d let the team down, so he deserved whatever deprecation they were planning to give him. What he couldn’t bear was the anticipation. Couldn’t they just tell him off and be done with it? 

He was still studiously evading eye contact when he heard someone clear their throat. “I’m sorry, what?” 

Hunk. His tone had shifted from delight that everyone liked his food to incredulity, a colour of voice Keith was well familiar with from… well, pretty much every authority figure who’d seen his file, ever. Oh, quiznak. Of all the paladins Hunk was the most forgiving, so if he was still mad after Keith had apologised, they all would be. 

“I said, I’m sorry for what happened,” Keith repeated, noting with frustration how his voice had become defensive. 

“So, let me get this straight,” he heard Hunk say. “We nearly got captured because our intel was faulty, and you think that’s something you have to apologise for?” 

Keith bit back an impatient growl and raised his gaze to look at the others. “Of course I do! As leader it’s my responsibility to–” 

“To what, Keith?” Allura interrupted. He thought she sounded irritated. “To know what’s going to happen before it actually does?” 

“Well, yeah! That’s what Shiro did!” Keith’s voice rose until he was almost shouting at his team. 

He burned with frustration and confusion and the urge to protect himself, but he was going to get them to understand. 

“Shiro wouldn’t have let what happened today even come close to happening! He would have realised something was wrong and stopped you from flying into that trap! So I’m sorry! I’m sorry I’m such a shitty leader! I wish I was anything like Shiro was, but I’m not! I can’t do this, okay? You should just give up on me already!” He’d risen to standing as he desperately yelled, back and shoulder shrieking at him to stop but he’d ignored them, voice loud, defensive, tinged with insane despair because this was it, they knew now, they’d finally be done with him, how stupid had he been to let himself care about— 

“ –Keith? Keith, can you hear me?” He’d zoned out as his thoughts spiralled and was brought back to the meeting by Allura’s cultured voice. Heart thudding in anxiety, he met her sapphire-iridescent eyes, expecting to see confirmation of his fears, hostility and finality, but— was that worry? 

Keith finally brought himself to look at the others. Their expressions radiated concern, too; not a single one of them looked angry with him, more… shocked. As he watched, though, shock turned to realisation, and resolve. 

“You’re not a bad leader, Mullet,” Lance said without a trace of his usual banter.

“Yeah, our intel was wrong— that wasn’t your fault,” agreed Pidge. 

“But Shiro would’ve realised,” Keith said miserably, fight gone, sinking back into his seat. 

Hunk shook his head. “No, man, he wouldn’t. I’m pretty sure he would have been too busy with destroying that cruiser, just like you. And the only reason we didn’t end up getting captured was because you rescued us.” 

“Hunk’s right. Don’t give us that ‘I’m sorry, it was my fault’ crap,” Pidge finished. “You have nothing— nothing— to apologise for.” 

Keith sighed, confused. “But, Shiro—” 

“Please stop comparing yourself to Shiro, Keith,” Allura interrupted him again. “He’d be so proud of how you handled the situation today. After all, wasn’t he the one who wanted you to be leader in the first place?” 

Shiro would be proud? Keith’s eyes widened as he processed what his teammates were saying. 

“The Princess is right, Number Four,” Coran said gently. “You did well out there today.” 

This wasn’t going the way Keith had thought it would’ve. He’d thought that, well, none of them would be happy with him, and logically that meant they’d leave him. That was the way it worked. It would be the right thing to do, to choose a new leader, a better leader. So that they could win this war. Surely that was more important. 

But they seemed determined to keep him. More than that, all those kind words, the worry and care and concern on their faces, the way they were trying to reassure him despite his failings… It was like being bathed in sunshine, a strange feeling. A warm feeling, that cut through his hurt and fear and resentment and doubts and grief and gave him courage. Though he found it hard to believe that they could possibly think he was a worthwhile leader, that he wasn’t a failure or a terrible paladin— here was the proof in every word they spoke. Maybe they were right. Maybe Shiro would be proud…? 

“Um,” Keith said slowly, struggling with the nearly overwhelming melting-pot that was his emotional state, “okay. Thanks.” 

He couldn’t tell if he felt more relieved or confused– he still doubted his own performance, but they were giving him this warm, comforting feeling that swept away his guilt. It was like— 

His eyes suddenly welled up and he made himself snap out of the introspection. Focus. You’re still in charge. The debrief. “So… good job, everyone. We got it done despite the issues—” Pidge was raising her eyebrows at him so he conceded “ —which were no one’s fault. We freed the planet from the Galra, and that means they’ll join the Coalition, as promised. Right, Coran?” 

The Altean advisor nodded. “Indeed, Number Four. In fact, the government contacted me half a varga ago to ask us to stay tomorrow to attend their liberation celebration!” 

Keith sighed; he hated diplomacy (would rather be in the heat of battle than the ice of a formal event). “Okay. I guess we’ll do that, then.” 

There was a pause and he realised they were all still looking at him, expectant. “That’s everything I really wanted to talk about. Um… Hunk, when will supper be ready?” 

“In about twenty doboshes,” Hunk replied. “I made a casserole and put it on to stew before coming here.” 

“As well as the cookies?” Lance looked at Hunk incredulously. “That’s a lot of cooking, man.” 

Hunk shrugged. “I enjoy it.” 

“Okay,” Keith said awkwardly into the pause that followed. “Well, see you all then.” 

The team relaxed and stood up. Pidge started chattering excitedly to Hunk about some technological thing that Keith didn’t understand, and Allura began to murmur quietly with Coran, who nodded and led the way out the door. The room emptied until it was just him and Lance. Keith stood up painfully (concealing a grimace and thinking how stupid it was to keep hiding this from them, but too stubborn to quit) and tilted his head. “So. I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier, Lance. What’s up?” 

Lance put his hands in his pockets, eyes going distant. “Oh, it wasn’t that big of a deal,” he mumbled. 

“From the way you were sounding, it was important.” What were Lance’s emotions here? Not for the first time, Keith found himself wishing that he had Shiro’s skill at reading people. Other people might find Lance an open book, but to Keith that book was written in Altean or Spanish, a language he couldn’t figure out no matter how hard he tried. It was frustrating, but unfortunately the case for most people. Except Shiro. Shiro… 

He missed Shiro so much. The focus of a mission usually meant that Keith was relatively undistracted when flying Black, but at the times when they were off-duty, like now, Shiro’s absence was so close to unbearable that Keith was afraid to admit it, even to himself. It hurt. Maybe it was just another issue in a growing pile, but Shiro’s whereabouts were constantly on Keith’s mind. They had to find him. Who knew what was happening to him while they were just relaxing? 

Lance’s voice jolted him out of his painful thoughts. “It’s just…” He looked into the blue light emanating from the bands on the wall. “...I wanted to tell you. Red, she really misses you, Keith.” 

Red misses me? Keith couldn’t sense the lion in the way he once could (he no longer had that active bond as it’d been replaced by Black’s) but he thought of her with fondness. Their souls, touching in a bond laced with fire. Red was determination, loyalty, battle, and her spirit had matched his. Once he’d proved himself to her their connection had ignited in a blaze of understanding. 

Quiznak but he missed her like he might miss a lost arm. 

And she reciprocated? Oh, it made him wish more violently than ever that Black had never chosen him. 

“I miss her too,” he burst out. 

Lance looked at him, expression unfathomable. “I know.” 

If he meant something more by that it wasn’t obvious to Keith. 

Chapter Text

Keith had taken more painkillers before supper, still holding onto the ridiculous idea that his teammates didn’t need to know that he was so lame at fighting that he’d gotten hurt. The fear was irrational, he knew that– especially after the way he’d felt after their words earlier– but some part of him refused to let go of it. He didn’t want them to know.

It was now about 11pm (not that vargas and hours lined up exactly but that was his approximation of where they were night-cycle-wise) and, he reckoned, late enough that the others would be in their rooms. So he was moving stiffly through the darkened corridors to the medbay. 

He was pretty sure now that he’d broken the shoulder. When he was twelve, he’d broken his collarbone falling (well, being pushed) down a flight of stairs, and he’d scooped himself up and gone to the emergency room (he might’ve been stubborn, but he wasn’t stupid). He remembered how it had hurt, the ugly grinding that had sent pain shooting through him when he moved the shoulder closest to the break. This felt like that. He’d been slammed into that cliff face pretty damn hard, and he’d then used the shoulder to break his fall, supporting his entire weight, so it was no surprise it felt… bad. 

Awful, if he was being honest. The painkillers’ numbing effect had long since worn off, but Keith had been cautious of taking any more because the packet’s warnings were in Altean glyphs. Better to deal with the pain of a fractured shoulder for a few hours, he reasoned, than to overdose and become seriously— obviously— ill. It seemed though that he’d still taken too much. Now on top of the returned agony of shoulder and back he was shivering violently, shudders that wracked his entire body and sent chills down his spine.

It was pathetic. 

“Nothing that a night in a pod won’t fix,” he muttered to himself, but the cryofreeze could do nothing to help the grief or guilt or self-loathing that plagued him. This whole thing was pathetic, pathetic and dishonest. Keith tried to ignore that fact, push it aside like he tried to with most of his problems. He was pretty sure he knew how to operate the cryopods— he’d seen Coran do it a fair few times, after all— so he’d just key one to fix his injuries, get in for a few hours, and be out before anyone realised he’d been dumb enough to get hurt. It would be easy. 

It wasn’t easy. 

The console had readily started his touch, flickering helpfully to life with suggestions and settings for the pod. That was where he’d hit the issue— and he’d been stupid not to think of it. All of the interface was written in sprawling, confusing Altean, and he couldn’t make head nor tail of it. His fingers hovered over the controls, but with no way to tell what each symbol meant he didn’t know which to press. 

“Dammit,” he muttered. He stared at the keys as if there was some handy ‘translate to English’ button but of course there wasn’t. (English probably hadn’t even existed when the castle was built, after all.) “Dammit!” He slammed his fist into the console. 

Now what was he going to do? His shuddering had begun again and his shoulder was killing him, throbbing returning with a vengeance. The pain was getting steadily worse. 

Keith realised with a sinking feeling that he was going to have to get one of the others, one who could read Altean. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t let them see he was so weak as to get hurt and then stupidly stubborn enough to hide it from them, he had to return their trust, to be the strong leader like Shiro had been, and he couldn’t do that if they all realised he was so screwed up, what was he going to do— 

“Number Four?” 

Keith looked up, heart pounding wildly, irrationally. Coran was standing behind him, a few metres from the door. How had he not noticed it opening? 

But crap, Coran was here, and Keith didn’t have any excuse for being here this late at night. What was he going to say? 

“Are you all right, Number Four? What are you doing here?” 

Keith could still feel his heart beating heavily in his ears. If Coran found out— if anyone found out— how pathetic he was, what would they do? Would they finally realise that he always screwed things up? “I–” He flailed for words and came up with nothing. “I’m–”

Coran was scrutinising him. “Ah, you need a pod, don’t you?” 

It wasn’t really a question. Keith still tried to deny it. “What? No I don’t— what makes you think that?” 

Coran raised a ginger eyebrow. “You seem to be in a bit of a spot with the controls there.”

Dammit. Keith stepped backwards, away from the console, as if that would change anything. “No– I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong. I don’t need a pod.” He cursed his body as it chose that time to shudder.

Coran’s eyebrow went higher. “Really?” 

Keith flushed guiltily as even more tremors racked his frame. “Yeah…” He winced as the motions disturbed his shoulder. 

Coran crossed his arms and waited. His blue eyes regarded Keith patiently, staring him out. Part of Keith wanted to stubbornly keep hiding his injuries in the hope Coran would go away and he’d somehow figure out how to work the cryopods on his own. But the rest of him knew that that was never going to happen— at least, not until morning or later after hours puzzling over it. And then the others would notice his absence and look for him. They’d find out he’d lied about getting out fine. And when they did… Fatigued, in pain and slightly nauseous, Keith’s mind went spiralling into worst-case scenarios. 

But if he had Coran’s help… Coran could set up the pod for him so he’d be healed in time for breakfast. No one else would need to know. Anxiety shot through him at the thought that someone would know the truth, but it would only be one person if he let Coran help him. So after the bout of shivering subsided, he muttered, “How did you know I was here?” 

He really was crap at asking for help. 

“Ah, that’ll be my little secret,” Coran replied with what he probably thought was a mysterious smile. He seemed to have read Keith’s meaning by the question, thankfully. “Now then, if you’ll just step aside…” With a glint in his eye he stood in front of the console and began typing. 

The matter was clearly out of Keith’s hands; Coran swiftly took over. He directed Keith to sit on one of the beds and produced a scanner. “So tell me what happened, Number Four. Did you get hurt on the planet?” 

Keith swallowed. “...Yeah. There was this cannon…” 

He proceeded to tell Coran about the generator and its defences, hesitantly at first, wary of sharing too much, but then faster. Coran was a good listener. He didn’t interrupt Keith but stood looking calmly at him, face sympathetic in a way that reminded him of Shiro. 

He found himself saying way more than he’d meant to, talking about how Black disapproved of him and how much he missed Red’s bond and Shiro’s presence, as well as explaining the way he’d felt like it was all his fault that things had gone so wrong. It had been so long since he’d felt safe enough to admit everything that was wrong to someone, and the words came in a rush. They’d spent too long bottled up. Coran’s eyes were warm and non-judgemental, and even when Keith felt embarrassing tears in his eyes Coran just gave him a handkerchief and listened.

 “...so I didn’t want– want them to know, because I shouldn’t’a gotten hurt in the first place,” he finished, shivering violently. 

Coran had long since finished scanning and was seated on the bed opposite him. He was just looking at Keith. Comfortingly. “I understand, Keith.” 

Keith swallowed again, riding waves of nausea. “But– I shouldn’t be this pathetic.”

Coran’s jaw set. “You’re not pathetic, Number Four. If I hear you say that again, you’ll be scrubbing the invisible floors all around the Castle!” 

Invisible floors? Somehow, Keith didn’t want to know. “I… thanks, Coran.” That warm feeling was back. 

Coran nodded. “No need to thank me, Number Four. Now, for your shoulder and back– let me see…” He moved over to the cryopod console and his fingers flickered over the keys. “Set temperature, healing intensity, and atmosphere— tweaking it a little to compensate for the side effects of those slatint pills, of course– next time you need something like that, just come to me, got it, Number Four?” His head snapped round to stare into Keith’s soul, eyes ablaze with some inner uncleish fire. 

Keith shivered in a way that had nothing to do with his dubious use of drugs. “Okay.”

Coran returned to the console, apparently satisfied. “Powering up…” His cheery tone had returned. A pod rose from the floor. “You hop in that and you’ll be better in the twinkling of a yalexian eyeball!” he proclaimed. 

Weird metaphor, Keith thought, but he honestly had no right to judge Coran’s social skills. “Thank you, Coran.” 

“Never a problem, Number Four, as I said,” Coran replied cheerfully. “Now, in you pop!”

Keith walked stiffly over to the glowing metal capsule. It was cool inside; a guaranteed full night’s dreamless sleep, which was rare considering the war they were fighting, the nightmares they’d seen. He settled himself in, back leaning painfully against its padded rest, but as the pod’s lid began to materialise he stuck his right hand through it, preventing it from sealing and starting the cryo process. “Coran?” 

“Yes, Number Four?” 

“Coran– don’t tell the others about this…” A desperate note had entered Keith’s voice and he hated it. Still driven by fear, even after he’d tried to trust them. 

Coran pursed his lips; the frown lines made his blue eye-scales crinkle. “You have nothing to be ashamed of, Keith.” 

“Please,” Keith practically begged, mind foggy with pain and fatigue and paranoia.

Coran sighed. “All right. I won’t tell them.” 

“Thank you…” Keith’s arm dropped to his side and the pod closed. Immediately the temperature plunged and his vision became so hazy that he couldn’t see anything.

If he had been able to see Coran outside his pod, though, he would have seen the Altean’s lips form the words “Goodnight, Keith”, his expression fond. 

But Keith took a breath of the pod’s frigid inhalants and instantly fell into a peaceful rest.

Something was wrong. 

Keith knew something was wrong. 

(Well, he didn’t ‘know’ as in confirmed facts and official announcements, but he still knew.)

Shiro was late. As in, late back from Kerberos. Keith knew that because he’d counted down the days from the day in July that the mission had left until the earliest possible day it could’ve gotten back. 

It hadn’t. 

No need to panic, he’d thought to himself, because missions could take longer than expected, and it didn’t necessarily mean something had gone wrong. Commander Holt probably just found some really interesting samples. 

It was then that his uneasiness had begun to grow, though, small, young and weak, but there. What if something was wrong? 

He’d clung to the probability that the mission was behind schedule for a few weeks, until the day came and went where Keith knew the supplies on the ship would have run out, and there was still no sign of Shiro. That was when his uneasy feeling had had a growth spurt into adolescence, gnawing at him every second he wasn’t in class (and some of the seconds when he was, too). 

He’d gone to some of the officers for answers— Iverson, and a few others he’d seen Shiro with sometimes— but to no avail. They claimed to know as little as he did, although Iverson in particular had given his most talented student a strangely sympathetic look. 

Keith had even kept his promise to Shiro and miraculously stayed out of trouble, reining his temper in with an almost physical effort every time it flared up. He had avoided physical confrontation in the best way he knew: avoiding any confrontation at all. Most of his time was spent in the simulators or the gym, where he was usually blissfully undisturbed. But it was there he felt Shiro’s absence most keenly: he was alone, and his best friend had always been the one to come and find him, to see if he was okay. 

Shiro was still gone, and Keith felt more and more uneasy. Something was wrong. October 23rd had inevitably arrived, Keith’s 17th birthday. Still no Shiro. It wasn’t like any of the other cadets had known it was his birthday, and Adam (who had known)... well, Keith hadn’t seen Adam much since Shiro left, and when he had, Adam had looked exhausted, face darkened, so Keith hadn’t bothered him by mentioning it. Instead, he’d taken his bike out to the shack and nibbled at the blueberry muffin that Adam had left him in the cafeteria. Alone. Watching the stars rise and wondering if Shiro was somehow still on his way back in the blackness of space. 

It was mid-November now, and Keith’s uneasiness had grown and swelled to the point where it crowded out almost every other thought. Where was Shiro? 

“Kogane?” 

Keith blinked. “Yes, sir?” 

The teacher sighed and turned back to her board. “Nothing, Kogane. Just try and pretend to be paying attention more convincingly next time.” 

There was a giggle from somewhere behind Keith, and he gritted his teeth. When he was sure the wave of irritation had passed he replied as calmly as he could, “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir.”

The teacher returned to her explanation of quantum warp theory. Keith focused his attention as intently as he could on the lecture, diligently making notes in a studious effort that would’ve made Shiro proud, trying to absorb himself in his work despite Shiro not— 

“Cadet Kogane, report to Commander Iverson’s office immediately.” The voice crackled over the intercom, and Keith’s concentration vanished as his uneasy feeling flooded him again. He could vaguely tell that a bunch of his classmates were snickering, and that the teacher was looking at him with honest concern, but his heartbeat rose to a thunder in his ears. He wasn’t in trouble. 

Iverson should’ve had no reason to call him. 

Unless… 

Crap. There was only one thing this could mean. Anxiety and the uneasy feeling grew with his heartbeat in an uncomfortable crescendo as Keith stood up and pushed his chair under his desk. Picked up his bag. Left the room. 

This was actually happening. 

He became ultra-conscious of everything around him as adrenaline kicked in. Officers, passing on the other side of the corridor, muttering abruptly breaking off to stare at him. Murmurs coming from the offices and classrooms he passed. A clatter of lunch plates being washed in the cafeteria. Glimpses of the stark blue sky through every window, intruding into his peripheral vision. 

His pulse raced with what could be about to happen. He knew something was wrong. 

“Cadet Kogane,” Iverson barked as the door to his office slid open. “Enter.” 

Keith entered. Iverson was seated behind a hulking desk fitted with a monitor that was displaying something, screen washing his features in orange light. He glanced up, quickly, a cursory glance that revealed nothing before he returned his attention to the monitor. “Sit down, cadet.” 

Keith sat on the edge of one of the chairs opposite the commander. His heartbeat was galloping with anticipation, his palms were sweaty, and it was an effort to keep his breaths deep and even. Adrenaline charged his body, veins hot with the reflex, the choice of fight or flight. Usually when confronted with an authority figure like this, the right move was flight. To keep his smart-ass mouth shut and get out of there as soon as possible. If he was already in trouble the correct move was to keep his head down. (It was never a particularly successful approach for Keith- he was too impulsive to keep it up for long— but he tried, for Shiro's sake if nothing else.) But now... 

Now, Keith wasn't in trouble. And while the Garrison had prohibited communication between the mission and the general public (which had included him as a cadet), there had been no such limitation on its officers. Which meant... Iverson knew something. 

Of course he did; the way he'd avoided looking at Keith since he'd come in practically confirmed it. Keith knew the look of someone with bad news they really didn't want to impart all too well. 

So Iverson knew something about Kerberos. And Keith was done with being kept in the dark about where Shiro was. No way was he going to let the faculty keep pissing him off with the lie that they didn't know anything. 

(He hated being lied to.) 

He had to know what had happened. And he was damn well ready to fight to find out.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Keith kept the fear and uneasiness and anger out of his voice with a monumental effort; the words came out stilted, taut. 

Iverson made a show of poring over his screen. He's stalling, Keith realised. His frustration grew, and so did his uneasiness, rumbling then full-on roaring in anxiety in a way that matched the rising pulse in his ears. 

"Cadet," Iverson began, after a few moments of hedging, when he couldn't ignore Keith's question any longer, "there's no easy way to say this." His voice cracked slightly. "It's about the Kerberos Mission." 

About Shiro. Even though he'd been fully expecting to have this conversation for days, Keith's blood froze. 

"The Kerberos Mission... it crashed, Kogane." Iverson sighed, swallowed. "It crashed before it could confirm touch-down on Kerberos." 

All of Keith stilled. He felt himself tilting on the edge of an unknown abyss, his life at the Garrison on the precipice. It all depended on this moment. 

The mission… crashed?

What? 

Iverson shuffled uncomfortably, and Keith realised he’d asked the question out loud. “It crashed,” he repeated. “Due to… due to pilot error.” 

Pilot error. 

No-

No, that wasn’t right. 

Keith couldn’t believe it– didn’t want to, and couldn’t. 

“No it didn’t,” he said. It was insubordination to talk back to a superior officer, and Iverson was the most superior of them all, but screw that. “Not due to pilot error. That’s not true.” 

It was a reflex response. 

Takashi Shirogane was the best pilot of his generation, everyone had said that. A prodigy. The star of the Garrison. He wouldn’t just crash. 

Keith was dimly aware he’d said that out loud again; he could feel his control over his mouth, his breaths, his voice, everything, slipping away as uneasiness and fear turned to blazing fury (a much more useful emotion). Iverson was lying to him, he could practically smell it. “You’re lying.” 

It was exactly the kind of thing people expected the discipline case to say, but Keith didn’t care because he was sure he was right.

“Kogane— Keith,” Iverson began, “I’m going to ignore your misconduct on account of your relationship with Shirogane. But I’m telling you the truth. The mission crashed due to pilot err–” 

“You’re fucking lying to me,” Keith interrupted, and it was practically a snarl. “Why aren’t you telling me the damn truth? It wasn’t pilot error. Shiro didn’t crash!” 

He was standing, now, words forcing themselves through his lips, the kind of words he’d usually instantly regret but he was beyond that now, and– 

“Calm down and listen to me, Keith!” Iverson barked, rising as well, and the lying look on his face was just too damn much. 

Keith saw red. 

Next thing he knew, Iverson was between him and the wall, the larger man’s neck squashed beneath Keith’s forearm, both of them panting. Keith was anger, he was fire, he was being lied to and he needed the truth so he shoved his face close to Iverson’s noticeably paler one and roared, “Tell me the fucking truth!” 

Time stood still for a moment as Keith burned and Iverson flinched involuntarily and then– Then strong arms were hooking behind Keith’s shoulders and heaving him backwards. Keith was growling and still stubbornly trying to reach Iverson despite the impossibility of it and heaving deep, heavy breaths like he’d just run a marathon. Finding himself rendered immobile by the people behind him, he settled for a hate-filled glare directed at Iverson. He’d been lied to. 

Iverson was massaging his throat but more than that, he had a hand clapped over his left eye. Blood was trickling out from beneath his palm. 

His eye… 

When the hell had Keith done that? 

But now Iverson was giving Keith a stare out of his good eye, a gaze filled with sudden and fresh loathing and pain. “Cadet Kogane, this is indefensible behaviour. As of this moment you are stripped of your rank, and all privileges and duties that have been afforded you. I never want to see your sorry ass again.” 

Keith stared at him, not thinking, eyes wide. 

“I mean it,” said Iverson, voice cold and low. “Shirogane’s not here now, and we’ve tolerated these violent tendencies for too long. Whatever social worker is unlucky enough to have to deal with you will sort out your next situation immediately. Lieutenant-” his eye switched to one of the people holding Keith’s shoulders “-see that Kogane gets his belongings from his quarters, and then gets outta here.” 

“Sir.” 

“Iverson, you lied to me,” hissed Keith, finally finding his voice as they forced him to move. “Are you afraid of telling me the truth? What happened to Shiro?” 

Iverson shot him a contemptuous glance, but said nothing as Keith’s captors frog-marched him out the door. 

Yves and Laurence had never seen it coming. 

As he’d reached his dorm (with them in tow) to collect the rest of his meagre possessions, Keith’s breathing had steadied and the anger had lifted from his brain enough for him to be able to plan. His life at the Garrison was ending, that was clear enough, and not by his choice. It reminded him of every other time he’d been kicked out of a school: he’d lose control of himself, and then the situation would be out of his hands. He hated the feeling of powerlessness that gave him. So he planned, because this time, it would definitely end in the way he chose. 

Like all of Keith’s plans, it was simple. But it had a good chance of succeeding if he timed it right. 

“That it?” Yves, the lieutenant, snarked, seeing the small duffel bag and backpack Keith was carrying.

“Yes.” Keith had thought of his plan and went along willingly with the two, slumping his shoulders in a dejection he wasn’t truly feeling. There was no space for emotions, for dwelling on possibilities and regrets here, not while his blood coursed through his veins with the urgency of a job to do. 

They’d emerged into the frigid sunshine a good hundred metres from the fenced perimeter. “The Commander says there’ll be a car for him in ten minutes,” Keith had heard the taller one- Laurence- mutter to Yves. 

Yves had groaned. “Dammit, do we gotta watch him till then? We’re stuck babysitting this kid?” 

‘This kid’ has the best simulator scores in the whole damn Garrison, Keith thought hotly, but kept it to himself. They were still moving, closer and closer. His pulse thrummed with the need to go but they weren’t there yet. Patience yields focus . The adage flicked through his mind– Shiro’s mantra— but no, focus, think about Shiro later.

“I’m more worried about what he could do to us,” he heard Laurence reply from behind him. “You saw what he did to the Commander. Went for the damn eyes. He’s violent, dangerous. A real discipline case. Keep your guard up.” 

Yves growled. “Pisses me off that he’s just getting expelled, though. If he hadn’t been Shirogane’s favourite, I bet they’d’ve kept—” 

There was an end to that sentence, but Keith wasn’t going to stick around to hear it. They’d veered slightly left as they angled towards the gate, and now they were close to the warehouse that held all of the hoverbikes. Including Keith’s. (His dad’s old one, that he’d brought back from the shack with Shiro.) The door was ten metres away. Keith turned on his heel and sprinted for it. 

The car Laurence had been talking about would hold another social worker, taking him back to another home, to another school for another ‘new start’. There’d be therapy and suspicious teachers who’d read his file and a fresh set of bullies for whom he’d seem like an easy target. False sympathy and frustrated voices and no one who actually gave a crap about him. All of the things that had used to stifle Keith, before his dream seemed like it could actually come true at the Garrison, before Shiro, before he found a new home. 

Some home. 

There was no way in hell Keith was getting in that car and going back into the system. He was done with that, with all of it. With everything and everyone. 

It was time to escape. 

So he darted for the warehouse door, hearing startled swears coming from the two men behind him; they were giving chase now, but adrenaline and determination and desperation powered Keith and he was certain he’d make it. 

His bike was parked next to Shiro’s where he’d left it out of long habit (crap— Shiro was— couldn’t think about that now—) and it took him less than five seconds to mount it with his stuff and kick the engine into gear. Yves and Laurence burst into the warehouse, but Keith was already gone. He left the confinement of the building, of the grounds (surprising the guard as he accelerated through the entrance) and was out in the open desert.

It was familiar territory from his races with Shiro, so he opened the throttle and changed gears so that he was soon flying at breakneck speed through the rocks. The Garrison, civilisation even, vanished behind him. There was no way they’d be able to catch up with him now. 

He was free. 

He was free, but his heart ached as the adrenaline faded and the haze of purpose lifted from his thoughts. 

Shiro… 

Chapter Text

The sun was harsh and unrelenting. There was no shade on the roof, so Keith’s black t-shirt soaked up the heat and burned him as he worked. 

It was mid-June, and there’d been a storm a few nights ago. A bad one– Keith had thankfully heard the broadcast about it and had enough time to hunker down before it had hit, spreading protective dust sheets and screens across every gap and surface to prevent the air from becoming polluted. Then he’d spent a day and a half in the shack waiting it out.

Keith had never found it easy. He distantly remembered doing the same with his dad: sitting and waiting inside the small shack as the wind moaned and the dust battered at the window, trying to get in like some kind of evil spirit. The sunlight had been obscured by the billowing sandstorm, so all the light in the shack had come from Texas’s small paraffin burner. Texas had been patient. He would sit on the couch and read books, trusting the storm would come to an end eventually. Keith, on the other hand, had been desperate to move around, to get outside, to be free to fly with his dad on the hoverbike. He’d practically been bouncing off the walls at the end of each storm. Only his dad’s reassuring presence and the familiarity of the pot over the burner, the TV programmes Texas had stored, and Keith’s own astrophysics books, kept him from actually charging out into the clogging dust and sand in the sheer boredom of sitting still. 

But in the most recent storm Keith had been through it had just been him on his own. He’d gotten better at sitting still in the last eleven years— he had attended a military school, after all– but the feeling of isolation… it made him miss his dad, and Shiro. It was strange, still, to live in the rundown old house of his childhood with no one within a twenty-kilometre radius. 

He thought of the day he’d come back to it, ten years after his dad had been killed. 

He’d been out on a ride with Shiro one Saturday after lunch. Shiro had glanced back to grin mysteriously at Keith before veering off their usual track and taking a route Keith had never noticed before. The ground was a little uneven so Keith had found himself making swerves and adjustments to compensate. 

“Where-are-we-going?” The wind snatched the words from Keith’s mouth and dragged the hair from his face as he unsteadily accelerated to become level with Shiro. Shiro yelled something in reply but it, too, was lost in the wind. He shook his head at Keith, grinning. 

Huh? Keith didn’t know what that meant. He almost tried to bellow his question again, but was cut off when he saw Shiro was… winking at him? 

Huh? Keith felt even more confused but Shiro’s teeth were bared in a mischievous grin and he’d rolled the throttle to fly ahead, manoeuvres easy and familiar (nothing like Keith’s bumpy riding).

It was something Keith was unused to, this playfulness from Shiro. They’d only met six months prior– Keith’s first semester at the Garrison was only three months in— and while they’d been out on bike rides before, Shiro had always been cheerful but responsible, like all the other Garrison officers. It almost clashed with the image of the man that Keith was carefully building in his head, this boyish mischief. Almost…

He jerked the handlebars hard, narrowly avoiding a massive boulder, and on the other side— 

“What the hell?” Keith pulled to a stop next to Shiro and sat back, shocked. “What the– how did you— what?” He couldn’t find the words, because there on the desert plain sat his dad’s shack. The house he’d grown up in, the place he’d never been to since his dad was killed, the rickety old shack with dubious technology and featheredge walls. 

The last place he’d called home and meant it. 

His home. 

“What— I— Shiro, how?" He finally turned to look at Shiro and found him smiling at his speechlessness and shock. “Why— how did you even know —” He gave up on trying to articulate himself and just looked quizzically at Shiro, who was grinning even wider now.

“I found it on your legal file when you applied for the Garrison. It’s listed as your place of birth.” 

Place of birth... “You mean I was born here?” Keith slowly processed this. “As in, not in a hospital?” If that was so, then… “Wait— did the file say anything about my mom?”

Shiro shook his head, smile fading slightly. “Not really” –Keith felt himself deflate a bit– “just a name. Lilith Kim.” 

“Lilith Kim,” Keith repeated, tasting the name. Yes, he seemed to remember his dad talking about his Lilith once on a shadowy night, gazing longingly at the far off stars. It was a distant memory though, and this was the first time he’d heard his mom’s full name. It made her… more real to him somehow. Like she’d been a real person who’d lived in this house.

He was jolted out of his reverie when, to his surprise, he saw Shiro climbing down from his bike and making as if to enter the shack. “Well?” Shiro glanced back over his shoulder, tilting his head in a clear summons. “You coming?” 

Keith dismounted. “Does anyone live here?” 

“No.” 

“Then– whose is it?” 

Shiro’s grin split his face. “Yours, actually.” 

“What? Mine?!” 

“Well, kind of yours,” Shiro amended. “I did a bit more research, and it turns out your dad left you everything in his will. Including the house he built. Which means that when you turn 18, you inherit this.” 

“So this is mine?” Keith stared at Shiro, then the house, in wonder. “Or it will be…”

“Yeah,” Shiro said. “Technically it’s no one’s at the moment. But I’ve got a friend who owes me in the trusteeship agency, so I got access to it.” 

Keith traced a hand over the varnished old door, feeling the ridges of the wood’s grain. “I had no idea,” he said quietly. “That this still existed…” 

“Well,” Shiro smiled, delighted at Keith’s reaction, “shall we go in?” He dropped a ring of keys into Keith’s hands. 

It had been an ‘early birthday present’, according to Shiro. His duties would take him away on the actual day. Honestly, it had been the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for Keith, but when he’d said that Shiro’s eyes had gone really strange. He’d stopped smiling for a bit, so Keith tried to cheer him up by showing him around. He’d made a note not to say that kind of thing, because he hadn’t known Shiro for very long and didn’t want to upset him.

The highlight of the impromptu tour around his old home had been the discovery of his dad’s hoverbike in the lean-to. Keith had wanted to try it immediately but Shiro had stepped in with the very valid objection that it was unlikely to work after eleven years of disuse and that riding it before they’d had a chance to fix it would probably damage it further. “We’ll get it working, though,” he’d promised, and so it was that they’d triumphantly returned to the Garrison that evening with a dilapidated hoverbike in suspension between them. 

After the bike was fixed Shiro was determined to get the shack in good condition, too. “It’s your home , Keith,” he’d insisted, and with the stubbornness of a mule he’d patched holes, replaced window panes and put fresh nails in the doorframes. Keith had learned a lot from watching Shiro work. Mostly the Japanese cuss words Shiro hissed under his breath whenever he did something wrong, then glanced around guiltily. This had happened a lot because, despite having the flying reflexes of a superhero and proving himself to be really, really good at combat, Shiro had not been gifted with handiness. (He was slightly better at DIY than cooking, but it was a close-run thing.) 

Now Keith was perched on the roof of the shack and he was sweating. He’d been working for a good hour and a half and was soon going to have to call it a day, as noon was approaching and he’d learnt the hard way not to tempt heatstroke by being outside at the hottest time of day. 

Mid-May now— summer was almost here. The Garrison’s summer vacation would be about to start, but it had been months since Keith had been kicked out. Though it was less than thirty kilometres from where he sat, the cadet program– the dream Keith had entertained of going into space– had never been further away. 

That August would have marked the start of Keith’s senior year, but try as he might to be angry at Iverson for his expulsion he knew the blame for it rested on his own shoulders. Yes, Iverson had lied (that was something Keith had become even more sure about on moving to the desert), but Keith had physically attacked him. Iverson had tried to calm the situation, but Keith hadn’t let himself be calmed; he’d pushed himself into the anger and let it control him to the point where he’d done something he’d always regret. (Almost animal-like, to take an eye. Violent. Scary, even to Keith himself.) 

Keith had screwed up. Again. 

Shiro hadn’t been there to protect him and quite frankly Keith had deserved far worse than being expelled. He’d deserved jail time, at least. Iverson had shown him kindness, mercy, in a way. He knew that. 

He knew that, so why did he feel hurt? 

Why did he feel upset they’d kicked him out like a sack of unwanted bike parts? He was to blame, so why did he feel betrayed that he’d meant so little to them? 

Apparently his own expulsion was something that the Garrison had lied about too. They’d called it a ‘regrettable loss of the most talented pilot this institution has ever seen’. Keith hadn’t known whether to laugh or be angry when he read that online. Hadn’t Shiro been their most talented pilot ever? 

Keith brought the hammer down in a hard swing that drove the nail into the slats up to the head with a vicious bang. Done. The roof was intact once again. He pushed the sweat-soaked bangs from his forehead and gathered the remaining nails (he’d need them for the next storm). 

He climbed down the ladder and went to the lean-to to put his tools away. The digital clock read 12:07– no wonder his arms were beginning to burn red despite the sunscreen he’d used that morning. 

It was too hot now to do anything outside; he’d wait a few hours, do some more research, before heading out to work. Work… He glanced at his bike and sighed. He’d need to replace the fuel cylinder soon, and that would be expensive. His job as ‘Akira Kim’ earned enough money for the necessities- food and electricity- but precious little more. It would have to come from his paraffin savings, and that meant cold nights. Great . 

A few minutes later, he was in the main living room and opening a book. The old metal AC unit whined dustily in the corner; it was antique and temperamental but provided some comfort from the sweltering heat of outside. Keith spread the pages open at where he’d last been reading and pulled out his notes from the current stack. He was getting close to something now, something concrete. He could feel it. 

His research had begun as he took up residence in his shack. A strange energy had rippled over him, causing goosebumps across his skin. Something… someone… was out there, sending out waves of presence that Keith had never felt before but that filled him with a sense of longing, of urgency. 

With that feeling in his gut it hadn’t taken him long to find the caves. 

Filled with strange markings and carvings he didn’t understand or recognise, the caves seemed to be the source of the energy. Whoever was sending the signal was somewhere inside, he was certain of it, although after hours and hours of wandering himself he’d never found anything. Still, he’d carefully documented everything he’d found and was now comparing it with every book and article he could find. The markings had to mean something. 

Keith had always trusted his gut. His instincts were usually correct as he subconsciously picked up clues his logical mind missed. His sixth sense of things being true or false had been proven right so many times (by foster parents, by social workers, by bullies), that he relied on it to provide him with the choice he should make. It had known his father was dead. It had known that there was something wrong with those foster parents, even before the beatings had started. It had known something was wrong with the Kerberos mission. It had been right so many times that it seemed ridiculous not to trust it. 

And his gut was telling him that Shiro was alive. 

More than that, that Shiro was somehow connected to the energy, to the markings, to the presence in the desert. It was only a hunch, but his only hope, his only lead, and Keith was prepared to stake everything on it. 

Shiro was alive, and he’d never given up on Keith, even when Keith had deserved it, even when everyone else had. 

‘Love you, otouto.’

What kind of brother would Keith be to Shiro if he gave up on him?

Keith would never do that. He’d do everything and anything he could for Shiro, his best friend, his brother. He’d even spend his life alone out here in the desert, if that was what it took to get him back. That’s what he reminded himself, every morning, even when it was hard to get out of bed, even when he was tempted to plunge into despair. Shiro needed him. Needed him to put the clues together, to find him when everyone else believed he was dead.

After all, what did he have left to lose? 

Keith’s senses were returning to him one by one. He was surfacing from the cool depths of a fortunately dreamless sleep, darkness of his subconscious lightening as his awareness returned. 

“Hey, Keith,” someone’s voice said as he flopped forwards, and a pair of hands grabbed his shoulders.

In the still-blurred reality between sleep and awake he had no idea where he was, only that someone was grasping him, and being held like that meant being trapped, in danger. His instincts screamed into action faster than his hazy thoughts. He jerked backwards, trying to escape. 

Whoever it was yelped as Keith tried to pull away, and let go. “Whoa, man! I’m not gonna– it’s Hunk!” 

Hunk? Keith stilled. Slowly, his thoughts— and eyesight— returned. Memories of the battle… his failure as leader… “Hunk? What’re you doing here?” he slurred. 

Hunk’s face, with its well-worn expression of worry, swam into view as Keith opened his eyes. Behind him… Keith squinted against the harsh lighting. Four more figures. “What- why are all of you here?” he croaked. No one should have been here to see this; Coran had promised not to tell them! “Coran?” He tried to make it accusing, but his mouth was dry like he hadn’t drunk in hours and it came out weirdly crackly. Hunk guided him to one of the beds to sit down. 

“He didn’t tell us, Keith, if that’s what you’re thinking,” said Allura. She also looked concerned– an emotion Keith had never expected her to feel towards him, not after they’d discovered he was Galra. But no, she was worried– not about what threat he could pose to her, but about him . About him, Keith, and whatever messed-up part of him had gotten hurt and wanted to hide it from them. 

Actually, everyone was wearing that expression today. 

“We knew something was wrong when you didn’t turn up for breakfast,” Hunk explained, handing him a bottle of water. Keith took a grateful swig. 

“The training deck was the first place we looked, obviously,” put in Pidge. “But then we found you here.” 

Lance’s characteristic teasing grin was nowhere in sight. “We forced Coran to explain, Keith. About why you were in a quiznakking pod without any of us knowing.” He was quiet but tersely angry. 

“They were so worried about you, Number Four,” Coran said. He looked Keith right in the eyes as he continued, “They searched the Castle from top to bottom, but they found you here a few vargas before the cycle was due to end. I had to tell them.” 

It was supper the previous day all over again. Keith rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, feeling a surge of guilt that they’d been worried for him. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I should’ve told you I was hurt.” 

“You should have,” agreed Lance vehemently. 

Pidge fiddled with her glasses. “You didn’t tell us because you were scared we were gonna think you were weak, right?” 

“I…” Keith longed to deny it, but she was right. He swallowed. How were these people so good at making him admit how screwed up he was? “...Yeah.” 

“That’s fucked up,” she said bluntly. “So fucked up. It’s like something pathological with you, isn’t it?” 

Keith blinked. 

Hunk was nodding, though. “We don’t think you’re weak, Keith. You’re, like, crazy strong, and so good at everything. You got hurt saving us , for cheese’s sake– how could we ever think you were weak?” 

“Hunk is right, Keith,” said Allura. “You have our full support.” 

“You’re more than our leader,” added Lance. “You’re our friend, Keith. Get that into your mulleted head.” 

“Next time you get hurt, you tell us, got it?” Pidge frowned at him.

Keith blinked again. This didn’t make sense, but a warm feeling was growing in his chest. They were so determined to make him see what they saw in him… an awkward smile twisted his lips because he was so confused. He’d tried to push them away again, but they still wanted him to be their friend. He was nowhere close to the leader Shiro had been, but they still wanted him to lead them (had all along, he realised, ever since Black had chosen him). He kept screwing up, but they still wanted him. 

He’d been so damn stupid not to see how they wanted him.

His vision became blurry again, but it was nothing to do with the aftereffects of a pod. Damn, he was becoming sentimental. 

But they wanted him. He felt more than just needed for his flying skills, now; he felt wanted, as a member of the team and as a friend. How long had they been trying to show him that for? 

He would trust them. 

“...Sure. Next time, I’ll tell you.” 

Chapter Text

The following morning found Keith entering the central hangar. 

He’d spent the entire day before with his team– no, his friends – and while all the interaction had left him feeling drained and a bit awkward, it had been… nice. They’d played video games, gone swimming, and watched movies together, just the six of them. There had been pauses at times as the whole left by Shiro was still palpable in their conversations, but apart from that it had felt… fun? 

Yes, fun, kind of like when he and Hunk had laughed together at that banquet on Arus. Kind of like when he and Pidge had tested a ‘new simulation’ (only it had turned out Pidge had actually been playing a prank on him and the gladiator that had appeared had tickled him rather than attacking him– Keith had been annoyed at first but then literally couldn’t stop laughing). And kind of like the time he’d pretended his connection to Lance was breaking up over the comms (Lance’s indignant reaction had been totally hilarious). That type of fun— carefree, happy, reminiscent of his and Shiro’s Saturdays back on Earth.

Memorably, Hunk had dive bombed them all off one of the boards, and the awed but bemused looks on Allura and Coran’s faces had been equal parts adorable and hilarious. He’d smiled despite himself, and that was when he’d started to relax. The day had been more than nice; he hadn’t laughed or allowed himself to enjoy things much at all since Shiro disappeared again, so as he sat on the couch with Pidge leaning on one shoulder and Lance across the room making snide comments at everything the villain said or did in the movie, he’d felt strangely safe. Strange, because they were still in the middle of a war. Strange, because Shiro was gone again. Strange, because he would never be the leader Shiro had been. 

It wasn’t strange at all. 

These were more than just his teammates; that had begun to sink in as the movie reached its climax. These were his friends. 

“Took you long enough,” mumbled Pidge sleepily from his shoulder and he guessed he’d accidentally said that out loud. 

She was right, though. There were reasons why Keith found it hard to trust people, reasons why he found it hard to trust himself, too. But these people gathered around him had been trying to get him to understand that he could trust them for so long. As persistently as Shiro had, back when they first met. This team wasn’t going to give up on him. They weren’t going to leave him. They’d proven that. They were his friends.

And while ‘friends’ was a dangerous concept… Keith finally felt like he should risk it. “...Yeah,” he replied softly. 

The movie (a Western from Pidge’s laptop) had slipped into its final scenes, and Keith had begun to lose interest in the plot anyway, so he let his gaze wander over his friends. Lance, who teased him constantly, but had proved his worth more times than he could count; more than just a reliable teammate, he kept them together, lightening the mood with his ridiculous suggestions. Hunk, who worried for and about all of them; he saw many sides to a situation and had a heart full of kindness, not to mention godlike cooking skills. Pidge, small, young, but terrifyingly smart and dedicated and witty, as well as being fiercely loyal. Allura, who’d lost everything, but continued to fight for what was right. And Coran, who managed to simultaneously steer them away from international incidents and handle the Coalition’s coordination and spout weird nonsense, but underneath his strange exterior there was someone who really cared about them all. 

Had Shiro ever looked at them and seen this? 

They were all amazing in their own ways and Keith felt warmth towards each one of them. He’d try with everything he had to trust them, even though part of him was scared to. And in return, they could trust him. He would become worthy of their trust, become a leader they could rely on, the way Shiro had wanted him to. 

But there was one thing he still had to do before he could start to move on. (Not move on from hoping to find Shiro, of course; he would never give up on that.) There was one relationship left to sort out before he could lead them right. 

So now he was stepping through the door into the coolness of the main hangar.

It was the largest hangar, situated in the central spire of the Castle, and had four large openings to tunnels which, Keith knew, connected to each of the other lions’ bays. The ceiling would open when Black rose to leave or approached from the other side to land. The walls were grey metal just like everywhere else in the Castle, and softly illuminated by blue bands that ran parallel to the floor. 

In the centre of the space sat the Black Lion. 

Her presence was never totally gone from Keith’s consciousness, of course; the bond was too strong for that– but as they grew further apart the link grew weaker, going from audible words and shared thoughts to faint pulses of energy back and forth. He’d been angry before and had left her quickly, deliberately trying to detach himself from her reason and disapproval so he could stew in his own resentment and self-loathing. She’d grown smaller in his mind. 

Now though, as he approached her, their consciousnesses’ touch became stronger. He could feel her. She could feel him. 

Keith stood before the 160-foot lion. She gazed down at him with unblinking golden eyes, expressionless. (But of course she was expressionless; her face was solid metal, for quiznak’s sake.) She was patient. Waiting for him to speak first. 

It was silent. The only intrusion upon the stillness was Keith’s own breathing and heartbeat. “Um,” he began eloquently. “Black?” 

She was listening; Keith felt her attention on him through where their souls met, her presence vast and alien, but being brought to bear on his words alone. He went on. “I… I’m sorry, okay? I shouldn’t’ve gotten upset with you, the day before yesterday.” He thought maybe one of her eyes gleamed in recognition, but then again, maybe not. “You know how I wanted to keep fighting, how I resented you for dragging me away. Though… it was more than just that that I was upset about. I guess…”

He trailed off, unsure whether to add the next bit that he’d planned. This was already sounding stupid. And what he had to say next… maybe it would just insult Black, questioning her choice. Maybe he should just– 

Go on. Her voice echoed softly in his mind, tone a little chiding, but something else too. Gentle. Patient. It reminded him of Shiro. Go on. 

“Well, okay,” Keith finally continued. “I just felt…” He didn’t really have the words to describe it; what he’d written seemed inadequate. “Why did you choose me?” 

Why do you ask? 

The way she spoke reminded him of Shiro so much. (Shiro, who was gone. Again.)

“I just… I don’t get it,” Keith admitted, and his voice had become raw and broken at the thought of Shiro. The words started to spill out of him. “Why me? Me, of all the paladins? I’m terrible at this! I can’t lead them, not like Shiro did! How can I be the leader? I’m barely a team player, so why the hell did you think I could lead them?” His eyes were welling with the last vestiges of pent-up emotion, grief and hurt and anger.

“I mean– look at them,” he urged her, and he let his mind fill with his friends: their strengths, how they all found it so easy to get along, to trust each other, to understand each other. “You can see it. I’m the odd one out, the one who doesn’t fit. So why, Black? Why did you think I was cut out to be the leader?” He took a shaky breath, paced a little. “I’m nothing like Shiro. I’m never going to be as good as him.” 

The words fell like stones into the cool silence. Keith felt their weight, their truth. He believed what he’d said; Black probably did, too, although she’d pulled back a little from him as he spoke so he wasn’t sure. Maybe she’d understand, finally, that he couldn’t do this. Maybe she’d choose a new paladin. 

The other paladins have great qualities in them, Black murmured at last. Seeing that, though, is a sign that you have what it takes to command them. I commend you for recognising your own weaknesses, as humility is a trait of all great leaders, but you have your own strengths, too. I chose you because I saw those things in you… things that you don’t seem to take much notice of. 

Then Keith felt Black’s touch on his mind. She showed him the way he’d instinctively put himself in harm’s way by fighting Zarkon, by fighting off the reptilian creatures on the wasteland planet, by being the first to attack time and time again, all to protect his team, to save the mission. You’ve known all along that it was never about you, Keith, she said. You are capable of assuming command of Voltron. 

Keith processed that. ‘You are capable of assuming command’.

“But I keep messing up,” he pointed out. “I lose my temper, I get too caught up in the fighting, I miss the bigger picture. Are you… are you sure I can really do it?” His voice wobbled, because Black was like the final piece in a puzzle: people he’d assumed were criticising him, but were actually trying to help him… all the people he cared about, and they cared about him back. Could he be who they wanted him to be? 

Trust me, Keith, Black replied, and her voice was kind, reassuring, like how he’d sometimes imagined a mother’s. You can. Besides, you're still learning to lead. Understand your mistakes and don’t make them again. I’m not asking you to do anything else.

Warmth kindled again in Keith’s chest. Every part of their bond vibrated with the knowledge that Black believed in him. She cared about him. Not as much as she’d cared about Shiro, but Keith was her paladin now. Together they were the leader of Voltron, the leader of a team, of their friends (Black’s pride), of the people they loved. They were stronger together than apart.

A team is nothing without a leader, Black mused, but then so is a leader nothing without a team. Do you understand? 

“Kind of?” Keith tried to figure out what she meant, but the idea was just beyond his reach. “Not really.” 

You’re not doing this alone, Keith. Black sounded fond yet exasperated. “...Oh,” Keith mumbled. “...I think that’s what they’ve been trying to tell me, these past few days.” 

He could have sworn Black sighed. Yes, Keith. 

“We’re all parts of one whole, I guess.” Keith thought for a moment. “...Okay. You’re trying to tell me that I shouldn’t be going it alone.” 

Exactly. 

“And break the habit of a lifetime?” Keith smiled wryly, but Black was right. He had to trust his team, to keep each other safe, to not betray him. The bare minimum, and it was what he had to do as leader. “They’ll help me to do this– you’ll help me, won’t you?” 

Of course, my paladin. 

He would do it then. Not replace Shiro. He could never replace Shiro. But maybe, with everyone’s support, he’d be able to do some of what Shiro did. He’d be the leader, and he’d trust his team.

That was what Shiro had wanted.

That was what the universe needed.

Maybe he would be able to assume command. 

Chapter Text

“So anyway,” Pidge said, typing furiously, “that’s when Matt gave me the nickname Pidge. I didn’t like it much at first, but after he disappeared I guess I wanted it to remind me of him? Or something. It came in handy when I needed a fake ID, though. Pass me that hoojamaflip?” 

Keith passed her the hoojamaflip and she immediately began to attach dozens of tiny wires to it.

“Why did you need a fake ID?” 

They were passing time in the Green lion’s hangar before supper. Pidge had convinced Keith to take a break from flying around in search of Shiro; she wanted to finish working on her anti-gravity well gadget and had roped him in to be the person she spoke at while she did. 

Pidge finished hooking up the device and flipped its on switch. A line of alien output spewed across her monitor’s screen. “Hmm,” she hummed, “interesting.” She stared fixedly at the technological gobbledegook. Keith knew better than to interrupt her, especially when she seemed to be getting close to something. He waited wordlessly for her to answer him.

Finally, Pidge sighed and responded: “I was banned from the Garrison. Iverson caught me sneaking into the top-secret data room trying to find info about Dad and Matt, and long story short, Katie Holt was blacklisted. I still needed to find them, though, so I had to get into the Garrison. And as Pidge Gunderson I could enrol.”

“...Right.” 

They lapsed into a comfortable silence that neither of them felt a particular need to fill with words. Pidge squinted at the screen and Keith watched her, impressed at her concentration and the ease with which her fingers flew across her keyboard.

“Pass me that thingamabob?” Pidge gestured suddenly at the item in question, and Keith had picked it up to give it to her when—

Keith! Black’s voice was loud and startling. He dropped the thingamabob.

“Black?” A sense of urgency flooded him as Black’s uncharacteristic desperation swept into his mind. The need to act was so strong that he didn’t realise he’d moved until he was charging into the tunnel which led to her hangar, leaving a confused Pidge behind.

Keith! Hurry!

He felt the sense that something was about to happen running through him, like he’d stuck his finger into a live socket. Black’s feelings coursing through his blood. Urgency.

He didn’t know why he was running, but one thing was for sure.

The time was now.

Everything was ready.

A month had passed since he’d figured out that the ‘arrival’ the markings spoke of would occur on September 1st, 2414; a month where he’d planned and predicted with uncharacteristic focus, exploring further into the desert than he’d ever gone before, marking points on his map and triangulating coordinates, getting everything ready for whatever was going to happen. Because while the people who’d carved into the walls of the caves had had no understanding of what they were foretelling, Keith was convinced that the ‘arrival’ could only mean one thing.

Shiro. 

His hunch was strong and the facts, few as they were, lined up, so Keith was prepared to stake everything he had on the possibility of getting his best friend (his only friend, his brother) back. Shiro had been gone for over a year, but once he was back… well, Keith hadn’t actually decided what he would do when Shiro was back, but he burned with the urgency of his instinct. And the energy’s pull, filling him with a preternatural certainty.

So now he was prepared. All that was left to do was wait.

(Keith hated waiting.)

After he’d checked his bike was ready for the fifteenth time, he forced himself to drink some water. You’ll be no good to Shiro if you’re dehydrated , he told himself firmly. No good in a fight. 

He was expecting a fight. The Garrison, while they didn’t have his foreknowledge or reading on the presence beneath the caves, were a military organisation, and they had protocols for unidentified extraterrestrial craft. They would immediately try to control the situation, to cover it up, just like they’d lied to Keith about the Kerberos mission. Shiro would be put into lockdown. Trapped, for who knew how long?

Keith was determined not to let that happen. And with his preparations and plans, he was confident he could pull it off. Enter unseen. Rescue Shiro. Get the hell out of there.

It would work; it had to. If it didn’t, if the Garrison caught him and his attempt failed… well, it would be counted as civil disobedience, and with no Shiro or anyone else to fight his corner, Keith knew what the inevitable consequences would be.

So he was betting everything he had, even his life, on this. It was a long shot.

(It was the only shot he had to find Shiro, though. And it wasn’t like he had any other purpose to continue existing.)

Screw the odds. He had nothing to lose.

Keith!

Black was shouting in his mind. We do not have much time! Hurry!

Keith could think of nothing; his own thoughts were totally overwhelmed by the howling gale that was Black’s own consciousness, drowning him out like an afterthought. His legs and arms moved automatically as he sprinted into her hangar.

She was waiting for him, growling in rare impatience with her jaw on the floor and ramp lowered. Keith charged into the lion’s mouth without pausing, urgency crackling like lightning through him. Inside the cockpit, the mental tumult was even worse. Black was usually so controlled and self-possessed, but now… her emotions were uncontainable, discordant, battering at his sanity.

He grimaced and sat down. “What is it?”

Black was already out of the Castle, streaking through space at some multiple of the speed of light. Her reply was not spoken, merely a stream of her own alien awareness. And Keith knew.

The meteor streaked across the sky like the sweep of a paintbrush, leaving a brief glow that illuminated the night before touching down near the horizon.

Keith saw its path and knew where it must have landed. Closer to the Garrison than he’d anticipated. He swore. He’d have to move the explosives, and the closer to the Garrison’s sensors he got, the riskier his plan was going to be. It would be hard to make it in and out unseen.

Still, there wasn’t a moment to lose. He swept his hair back and tied his old red scarf over his nose and mouth to prevent anything getting in them. After checking again that his knife was secured to his back, he mounted his bike, and with the practised ease he’d learnt from Shiro he gunned it.

Minutes felt like seconds and soon he’d hastily moved the explosives (recklessly, as they were powerful for stuff he’d made from pharmacy chemicals) and was flying through a canyon to get to the other side.

When he judged he was almost at the crash he slowed to walking pace, although he didn’t dismount, and pulled out his macrobinoculars to see what was going on. He rounded a bend, bike practically silent beneath him, and it came into view.

The Garrison was laughably predictable. Anything they didn’t understand was a potential threat, and this crash was no exception. They’d swiftly surrounded the site and put up an isolation dome; Keith watched as personnel came back and forth, like insects around a carcass. He paused briefly on an officer, clearly in command. Could it be…?

He increased the magnification and his suspicions were confirmed. Admiral Sanda.

After Kerberos, she’d been the one to give the broadcasted address and subsequent press conferences, which Keith had watched from his shack. They’d reeked of lies.

Yes, lies, because this was proof enough, even without the other clues, that something more had happened than ‘pilot error’ (Keith still prickled with indignation on Shiro’s behalf). Something greater than the Garrison was willing to admit had disrupted the mission, and this crash site was evidence.

Sanda had lied.

Keith’s jaw set. It’s time.

Cold fury and intent burned in his veins.

He detonated the explosives.

“Keith!” Allura’s voice. Tinny through the comms. “Keith, what’s going on?”

“It’s Black,” he managed to say, despite the storm raging across their bond. “She’s– we’ve—”

They were going fast now, so fast that the Castle was falling behind, but what if it’s not fast enough? Keith wasn’t sure who the thought came from, but time was short, shortening by the microsecond, and if they wasted even a moment—

Black shuddered to an instant halt, throwing Keith against the flightwheels. The starlines faded back into stars, and there it was, in front of them.

A small, desperate wreck of a shuttle.

“Keith?!” Allura again. They must’ve wormholed to catch up. “What’s wrong?” 

Keith/Black’s own panic was swept away as Black’s sensors picked up on the signs inside the craft. Life readings, faint, but there.

We were in time.

Keith’s breath huffed out and his instincts and Black’s senses were telling him the same thing and while it seemed to good to be true after all this time it clearly was so—

He smiled in relief. “We found him.”

The instant he saw the transports leave, he was running.

It was too exposed for his bike here, so he’d ditched it behind one of the largest boulders that was hopefully still close enough for him to be able to carry a semi-conscious man to. The coast seemed relatively clear then (the Garrison was laughably predictable in its reaction to the explosions, he mused again) so he’d bolted for the isolation dome. 

Its layout was pretty basic and followed the standard schematic, so he charged straight into the central passage.

His feet pounded, and his heartbeat thundered, and his breath came in adrenaline-fueled pants, and he was totally in the moment, totally focused. Now or never, pulling out all the stops to save Shiro. He was sure that that was what he was doing.

He finally (it felt like ages had passed although it could only have been a few seconds) reached the end of the tunnel: the bulbous isolation chamber itself. Inside were three med-techs, all surrounding a table.

A table with some on it.

Someone who was strapped down and unmoving and seemed familiar.

Was that… had his instincts been right?

Keith’s heart crashed in his ears.

The med-techs were turning, surprised, reminding him to think later, act now, and he shifted his weight to a more stable stance as they advanced with shock morphing to open hostility. His arms came up in that instinctive guard, his eyes narrowed, seeing them move, and they were upon him.

The self-defence Shiro had taught him was far more effective than the standard course everyone had received at the Garrison. It was easy to deck the techs in quick succession, sending them sprawling, and his adrenaline roared for more. But he had a purpose for being here.

He scrambled over the unconscious bodies to reach the man on the table.

All his work, his instincts, the energy source’s signal, his hopes, the risks he’d taken— everything had led to this moment. Who was it he’d done it all for?

Oh thank God, it was Shiro.

He’d found Shiro.

Keith’s heart did something strange as he realised it, and his emotions became something confusing and distracting, so he compartmentalised himself and focused on the job.

He put a hand under Shiro’s chin, hoping the touch would wake him up. It didn’t (of course it didn’t– they would’ve sedated him) and the skin was cold and clammy beneath his fingers. Now that he saw it clearly, Shiro’s face was different. A harsh scar cut across the bridge of his nose, and his hair… some of it had changed colour. How had…

Not important, he told himself, and tried to refocus. Any minute now the Garrison would be back, and his opportunity would be gone. He could barely believe that this was real, after so long, and his voice was barely above a whisper as he spoke aloud, as if to confirm that this wasn’t a dream.

“Shiro?”

Chapter Text

It had been coming for a while.

Two months had passed since they’d found Shiro drifting in space, half-dead and barely coherent. Keith had known, even as he and Black carefully guided the pod into the Castle, that this meant change. After weeks and months without their leader, they finally had him back. Shiro would take on the responsibilities of the Black Paladin and Keith would gladly step aside for the superior leader. He’d be free to fly Red again, to just be the right hand and not the head of the team, and Lance would go back to Blue, and Allura… well, he was sure Allura wouldn’t mind going back to flying the Castle. Probably.

That hadn’t been what had happened.

Black had refused to accept Shiro as her paladin again. That alone had raised a whole host of questions that Black hadn’t been willing to answer, but it also meant that Keith was forced to remain her paladin. Forced to keep being leader.

He’d been getting the hang of it, before, working on trusting his friends to play their individual roles while he himself looked at the bigger picture. His decisions were becoming more and more secure as he realised he could rely on his friends to do what he asked them to. And he’d thought they were starting to trust him, too.

He’d sometimes wondered if he was growing into the leader Shiro had wanted him to be.

But then Shiro had returned, and it had all gone to hell.

If Black had just let Shiro fly her, there wouldn’t have been any discussion about who was in control. Keith had been sure that Black’s bond with Shiro was far stronger than her bond with him, and she’d immediately take him back— he’d caught glimpses into her being sometimes, and there was a lot of love for Shiro there. But Shiro, for whatever reason, was no longer the head of Voltron— Keith was, despite the fact that a much better candidate was ready for the spot.

So Keith was the Black Paladin still. Was he the leader even now that Shiro was back, though? Keith had reluctantly accepted that he was, because as everyone had reminded him when he started piloting Black, it was the lions’ choice, not the paladins’, who led the team. It seemed cut and dried, and so logically Keith had tried to keep giving the orders and taking responsibility for the failures. Even though with Shiro at the Castle it felt wrong.

He’d thought everyone would follow suit, but…

Shiro hadn’t adapted to the change in roles very well. He was a natural leader, used to commanding people in tough situations, and whether it was unconscious or not he’d tried to take control of the team. He gave orders, sometimes contradictory to Keith’s own, and while Keith had sensed uneasiness in some of the others, they’d usually chosen to follow Shiro’s orders in preference to his.

Why the hell had that hurt so much?

Shiro was a better leader than Keith; of course his plans would be better, of course the team should do what he said. It didn’t take a genius to see that. Keith would scold himself every time he suggested something only to have it belayed by Shiro. He forced himself to back down, even if his instincts were against it.

Gradually, Shiro had become the actual leader of Voltron, while Keith just flew Black. It created an uncomfortable friction between them that grated more and more on Keith. He wished that Black would just take Shiro back (or that Shiro would take Black back) and end the pain.

Because whenever Shiro did shut Keith down it hurt so much. He’d been trying to grow, to become the leader Shiro’d envisioned of him, and he’d thought that was possibly happening, but evidently not. Keith was still making crap decisions, and he appreciated having them corrected, but when Shiro overrode him it hurt because there was none of the kindness or safety that had been in their relationship before.

Quiznak, if Shiro was finding fault with him, then…

It had made Keith doubt everything he said or did.

And then there was also the way Voltron was becoming less and less relevant, as missions to free planets became rarer and more often than not they were just needed to show the Coalition’s strength. Flying at parades and forming Voltron on command. Keith understood the logic behind it— with such a terrible enemy as the Galra Empire, their newest allies needed reassurance that they stood a chance of succeeding— but his skin itched to do more. Voltron was the most powerful weapon in the galaxy; surely their time would be better spent actually fighting?

Shiro hadn’t seen it that easy, and neither had anyone else on the team. So Keith had gone to the Blade.

The Blade of Marmora’s clandestine operations spanned the entire chain of Galra command, and their guerrilla tactics were effective in taking out key targets. Keith had contacted Kolivan, the austere leader of the organisation, and had taken up the offer of training he’d been given a few months after he’d gone through the trials. The others hadn’t been happy when they found out, even though Keith had been sure to explain that it was only part-time and wouldn’t clash with his duties as the Black Paladin.

That had been a lie, of course, although he tried to think of it as a half-truth.

He’d ignored the stab of guilt he felt every time he inevitably missed a display, because with the Blade it felt like he was doing something worthwhile, something that had a tangible impact in the war.

He hadn’t meant for it to drive a wedge between him and his friends.

Well…

Maybe he had.

(It felt like a betrayal to even admit that.)

Maybe he’d hoped, somehow, that one day when he was gone Shiro would try sitting in Black’s cockpit again and she’d take him back as her paladin. That they’d be able to form Voltron without him. That Keith could step back from the assigned title of leader. Maybe he’d hoped that he could become more involved in the Blade with no restraints.

It wasn’t that he’d wanted to leave them, exactly, but there was no mistaking the easy relief of being just another cog in a machine as opposed to the pressure of being a galaxy-wide figurehead. There was no mistaking the satisfaction of another base destroyed as opposed to the frustration of shows and overridden decisions and false cheeriness as they neglected their duties in this war. There was no mistaking the gradual acceptance of the other operatives as he pulled his weight, and the approval of Kolivan at a job well done, and when Keith compared that to the (admittedly justified) irritation and downright hostility he faced in his ‘home’...

The Castle was feeling less and less welcoming.

(Which wasn’t to say that Keith felt anything like as safe in the Blade of Marmora. He’d never forget the way Kolivan had stopped him from saving Regris just before the cruiser had exploded, and that the Blade didn’t care about its people the way Voltron did was clear enough. It was dangerous, and operatives risked their lives, with no safety net. It was just… the Blade was useful, to the universe. Keith was useful, to the Blade. And in Voltron… were either of those things true anymore?)

Lance had surprised him, though, by offering to step down. Keith thought he’d handled that quite well, to be honest; after the initial shock that Lance thought that taking a back seat would be the best thing for the team had subsided, he’d reassured him that it would all work out. Lance had taken that at face value, probably, but what life had taught Keith was that things didn’t ‘work out’ unless there was someone behind the scenes doing the work. He hadn’t just said that to comfort Lance. In his head a perfect out had just been offered unwittingly.

So it had been coming for a while, as the reasons piled up.

That’s what Keith told himself.

It had still hurt when it had come, though.

The final straw had been when he’d missed a serious battle, when Voltron had actually been needed to protect some supply ships, and Shiro had been accepted again by Black. Keith had felt it, even lightyears away; a subtle shift in his link to her. He felt it change more as he travelled back to the Castle, feeling guilty that he’d missed the incident, that he’d let them down. But not quite as guilty as he might have done. Shiro’s bond with Black had been reestablished, and so Keith was finally the spare part he’d felt like for months.

He was flying through the void of space, now, and he knew it was time. Nothing was stopping him from going on that long mission Kolivan had mentioned. Nothing was holding him back from making a huge difference in the fight against the Galra empire. He made up his mind before he reached the Castle: he’d go, he’d tell them now, he’d make it quick; that would be less painful all round.

The thought of what he was about to do scared him in some ways, but he strode through the darkened hallways to the bridge where he knew he’d find them.

He entered through the bridge’s door, thinking about Regris’s death, and Kolivan, and the dark, secret life he was choosing for himself; the team he was about to leave; regret coiled in his stomach, twisting with the guilt and sadness and heaviness he felt.

Better make this quick.

“Guys, I–” he began, but then he looked up and broke off. It felt like he’d been punched in the gut. Six hostile pairs of eyes snapped to his face, and he became suddenly aware of how out of place his black Blade uniform was in the light and white of the Castle. All his friends, even Shiro (especially Shiro), were glaring at him with one expression. They radiated resentment, and the words he’d been about to speak crawled back down his throat as fiery knives of hurt and guilt stabbed him. These were his friends, the closest thing he had to a family (was he really about to do this?), but they were unanimous in their anger at him.

His gaze dropped to the floor and he curled in on himself involuntarily. He’d been stared like that a lot in the past. This time, they’re justified, though, he thought, which made him feel even worse. You missed the battle. They nearly died because of you. Because you weren’t there. They have every right to be angry at you.

“...I heard what happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help.”

It was inadequate.

“You keep saying you’re sorry, but your actions say otherwise. Do you realise that your absence put the team in jeopardy?!” Allura was angry, like she’d been when they'd found out he was Galra, but this time Keith had no defence for it. All the fight went out of him.

“And not just the team,” Lance pointed out in a heated voice that sent more guilt roiling through Keith, “the refugees as well!”

“Matter of fact, the entire quadrant was in danger!” Pidge was more incensed than he’d ever heard her before.

Quiznak, this was hurting so much.

The knowledge of what he was about to say sat heavy in Keith’s throat. He’d made this decision a few days ago, the decision to leave the team, because in so many ways it was the right choice, the logical choice, the choice that put the safety of the galaxy first. He’d rehearsed his speech a few times in the hope that he could just say it and go. To make a clean cut. But now, as he was on the brink of speaking it into reality… this wasn’t just his team. These were his friends. How could he do this?

The mission is more important than the man, Keith repeated to himself. It was one of the Blade’s favourite phrases, and he’d hated it at first. It led to a disregard of personal safety (which was admittedly attractive to Keith) and lack of care for your teammates (which decidedly wasn’t), the very opposite of what Shiro and the others held dear in Voltron. Its brunt pragmatism was what Keith had blamed for Regris’s death, because if the mission hadn’t been so much more important, Kolivan wouldn’t have stopped Keith from saving Regris. He closed his eyes briefly as the explosion flashed across his mind again.

After a while, though, Keith had seen the effectiveness and necessity of the prioritising of the mission. The Blade got results and intelligence, while Voltron was marshalling parades and putting on displays. Much as he still disliked the motto and kamikaze attitude of the Blade, this was war, and the Blades were making a difference.

They had to be prepared to sacrifice it all in the fight against Zarkon.

He’d made his decision. Now he had to act on it.

He swallowed. “This is not the way I wanted this to happen.” There was no way he could look at them, his friends; his resolve would crumple. How could he do this? Despair spread through him but he forced himself to continue, “But… if there’s a bright side to any of this, it’s that my absence allowed Shiro to re-establish his bond with the Black Lion.”

Yes, that was true.

It was good that Shiro and Black were back together.

He tried to compartmentalise himself. “He can finally be the leader I was unable to be.” He’d failed as leader, again and again. He should have been feeling lighter, now that the role was no longer on his shoulders, now that he was free to go, but he felt weighed down. Sad. “I’m not meant to pilot the Black Lion.”

Keith knew Black would disagree with that, were she there, but he was no longer her paladin. He tried to ignore their residual bond and the anger that emanated from her at his having forced her to take Shiro back.

Because he had forced her decision.

Had he meant to do that?

Allura’s mind was clearly running along similar lines. “Is that why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Pulling away from us. Keith felt a sad twinge. He had been pulling away from them, these past two months. They’d gotten so close to him, before. But everything had changed when they’d found Shiro. It had all gone south, somehow, and Keith’s old instincts had kicked in as a reaction to the growing pain and unhappiness he felt around his friends. Back off, his gut had cried. Back off to where it’s safe, where you won’t get hurt.

Now that he’d forced Black’s hand (metaphorically speaking), there was nothing to stop him from going. From rejecting them, before they could eventually reject him. Had that been his thought process?

“...Yeah,” he said brokenly. This discussion was shredding holes in him. “I suppose that’s part of it.” It took all his willpower to keep himself together. To stay strong.

“Part of it?” Hunk asked. “What’s the other part?”

This was it. From the looks on their faces as he’d glanced up at them, realisation was starting to dawn on his friends as to what was coming.

(Quiznak, he was actually doing this.)

The mission is more important than the man.

“The Blades have been making real headway tracking the source of this new quintessence,” he began quietly. “They’ve been able to piece together a large network of hidden supply lines that have been transporting it for– who knows how long!” His confidence swelled because this, this was fact, this was certainty, and no one, not even himself, could object to it. “And there’s good reason to believe it could lead us to Lotor.”

Now came the hard part. He looked down to avoid their eyes and his voice fell again. “A mission is being planned to infiltrate the supply line. It could take weeks, maybe months to pull off, but— if there is a chance, we have—” He stopped, corrected himself, because there was only one of them doing this, and that was him. Alone. “ —I have, to take it. I need to be on that mission.”

It was said. Every word, a truth.

It hurt to realise it, but…

This was the right thing to do.

He felt that inner determined fire as he looked up to meet Shiro’s stricken eyes. “Shiro. You are the rightful leader of this team.” That had always been true. It had always been Shiro leading, even when Keith was the one actually flying. “And you proved it today by reconnecting with the Black Lion. It was always meant to be yours.” Keith had constantly been aware of that; his spirit was a closer match to Red’s, after all.

Shiro’s face changed from shock to something like resolution. He stepped forward and Keith flinched instinctively as Shiro’s hand came down on his shoulder. (He wouldn’t have flinched the year before, but in the past few months… things had changed. Who would’ve known that Shiro’s reappearance would cause Keith to crack even more than his disappearance?)

“Keith. If this is what you feel is right… then we won’t stop you.” He looked Keith directly in the eyes. “But just know that we’re here for you whenever you need us.”

The hostility from before was gone; Shiro was giving him that big-brother look he hadn’t seen in so long. Relief flooded Keith. He saw some of the others nodding in agreement and he felt like he was finally home, for the first time since Shiro had reappeared.

“I know you are,” he replied, and he did. It wasn’t just Shiro, he knew that now. They were his family, all of them.

His family.

“And… I can’t tell you how much that means to me.” His voice broke on the last words, but he smiled, because he couldn’t.

He had a family.

As he clasped Shiro’s hand and was pulled into a hug he felt warm throughout, because he was here, he was home, with his family, and they loved him. Shiro’s arms wrapped around him like a promise in that way he’d missed so much.

“I can’t be left out of this!” He heard Hunk’s sob mere seconds before more and more arms wrapped around him. He couldn’t move, but he wasn’t trapped; they were clinging onto him, his family, and they loved him.

Pidge and Hunk and Coran were openly sobbing, he could hear Allura sniffling, and all he could think was not of how he must’ve screwed up this time to make them all cry but rather of how much they must’ve cared about him all along. It was warm, in the middle of them all, and he felt his mouth smile because it felt so safe and happy. So unfamiliar.

So right.

“We’re really gonna miss you,” cried Pidge from next to his ear.

He couldn't see Lance behind him, but he heard him agree, “Yeah. Who am I gonna make fun of?” It was a joke, Keith understood it was (maybe they’d always been jokes?) and he smiled because Lance was showing that he cared too.

“I know you’ll make us proud,” murmured Allura, and something swelled in Keith; they all loved him so much.

He loved them back.

They weren’t angry at him, not anymore, and any desire, any need to push them away and reject rather than being rejected, had left Keith. This was his family, and he would always belong.

Always.

Why did it take me so long to realise that? he wondered.

This was his family.

Fate had a strange sense of humour, though, because now, when he understood that, when he wanted to be with them most—

It was when he couldn’t be.

The knowledge was heavy in his heart.

He had to go.

To leave them.

He relished the hug for at least a full minute before reluctantly detaching himself. They all separated; the team, the family, on one side, in their gleaming white and blue, and Keith by the door in the black of darkness and secrecy and danger.

He had to leave them.

Keith tried to take in the sight of them, to engrave it on his retinae, because who knew when he’d ever see them again. (Or if. If something went wrong on the mission… Keith tried to catch the dark thought but he remembered the explosions and the deaths and the very real probability that he’d never see these people, this family that he’d finally found, flitted across his mind.)

Shiro and Lance and Pidge and Hunk and Coran and Allura. He drank them in, smile like a sudden lie across his face.

He was leaving.

Possibly forever.

Shit, he did not want to do this.

The mission before the man.

“I love you,” was what he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t even choke out a “Goodbye”.

He just smiled, a fake smile which didn’t show the rip and ache of his heart and how going was killing him, and nodded.

The door slipped open and he took a step before turning back, just to look at his family again. They were the sobbing mess he wanted to be but couldn’t.

He loved them.

He was leaving them.

Tears welled in his eyes but he blinked them back. The mission before the man.

Would he ever see them again?

I love you. I don’t want to go. I love you. I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to do this. I don’t.

The mission before the man. Some things were more important than him.

He turned again, before his resolve could break, and walked away from them, into the darkness.