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It wasn’t unusual for one of the Paladins to show up to a meal sporting new bruises. Part of the nature of training to the extent that they did daily was learning how to take hits. A lot of hits. Someone would settle into a seat with a groan and commiserate with the others how they had gotten their ass handed to them by the training bots, and the others would laugh and learn from their mistake.
Of course, some of them were more likely to come in bashed up than the others. Pidge barely ever came in with more than a bruised backside or ribs. She trained the least of them, and when she did, she focused on evasion and taking out the target with the smallest amount of effort. Hunk was a similar case, but his strategy was generally to just bulldoze his opponent into submission.
Lance, however, always seemed to have a tale of woe as a direct result of the training bots, which apparently had a vendetta against him. Keith had just assumed that Lance sucked at dodging, and liked having a story to tell the others that might garner some sympathy. Sure, the Red Paladin was sympathetic, but he just hoped that Lance would learn his lesson by the time it came to testing those reflexes in combat.
Seeing Keith or Shiro bearing bruises was not uncommon. They both trained the hardest and put in the most hours in the training room, so by the rule of exposure, they were more likely to get hurt. Their wounds were generally more defensive in nature, though; Shiro felt like his human arm was a giant bruise sometimes, from blocking and parrying so many blows, and he could see the same evidence on Keith’s arms. The younger man’s pale skin showed bruises much more easily than Shiro’s, but neither of them ever seemed to complain about their injuries.
It was unusual for either of them to have anything other than defensive wounds, though. Both of them generally had better reflexes than that. Which is why, when Keith showed up to breakfast one morning looking like he had fallen face first into a bucket of dark ink, the others took notice.
“Oh, I started level eight in the training room. I guess it got the best of me,” Keith said lightly, touching the bruise coloring his face. It had blackened his eye and painted purple down his cheek all the way to his jaw, as if he had been whacked on the side of the head with one of the training soldiers’ arms. Everyone winced in sympathy; something like that had to hurt, but it wasn’t serious enough to warrant a trip to one of the healing pods. Keith would just have to deal with wincing whenever he wanted to do something strenuous like open his mouth or indulge in a facial expression other than neutral.
“Now you know to be more careful next time,” Allura conceded, giving Keith a reassuring smile that took him a tick or two to return. Shiro found that odd, but did not comment. He just assumed that Keith was tired and sore, and that’s why he was quiet for the rest of the meal. He would keep an eye on the other, though. The Red Paladin was perhaps his closest friend, and he hated seeing him hurt like that.
Which is why he noticed that after that morning, Keith began showing up at breakfast with a different set of ailments that seemed outside the norm of the younger’s usual training injuries. A split lip, deep bruises on his wrists where one of the bots had held him down, the way he held his side tenderly as if there was some kind of injury there. It seemed that every other day, Keith had a new one-man war wound to show at the table. Shiro wondered if the other had started training in the middle of the night again. If he was having trouble sleeping. What he could do to help the dark haired man with his troubles.
Things came to a head about two weeks after the bruise to Keith’s face. It was breakfast as usual, and Keith was the last to shuffle in to eat. That in and of itself was not unusual, but the quiet and unassuming manner in which he sat at the table certainly was different. Lance was the first to spot this morning’s trauma.
“Christ, Keith. What happened to your neck?” Lance explained, half standing and leaning over the table to get a closer look at Keith. The Red Paladin stood his ground, but his eyes showed nothing but the desire to shrink away from the others’ intense scrutinization.
It took Shiro a moment to notice it, his head swiveling attentively towards said Paladin, but when he did, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. There, on Keith’s neck, were ten deep purple bruises, flaring out like watercolors on the other’s pale neck, tinged with an angry red. Ten bruises spaced evenly, like something had dug their ten fingers into his neck to choke him out.
“I tried a new setting in the training room. It didn’t go well,” Keith explained, his tone curt and dismissive, but Shiro couldn’t ignore how raspy and weak his voice was at the same time, as if talking hurt. And looking at those bruises, how could it not?
“Remind me to never use that setting for myself. My skin is far too delicate for that type of thing,” Lance scoffed, waving a dismissive hand at Keith, but he shot a worried glance to Shiro. Pidge and Hunk carried the same concerned expressions, but it seemed that no one knew how to express those feelings as Keith picked at his breakfast goop, not seeming to have an appetite.
The Black Paladin also noticed how Allura only narrowed her eyes at Keith, remaining quiet.
At the end of the meal, the others disbursed, left to their own devices for a few hours until they started the day’s group training exercises. Allura caught Shiro by the arm before he had a chance to walk out the door, her expression requesting a private audience with the man. The pair waited for the room to clear, Coran leaving with the used dishes. Finally, when the door clicked shut behind him, Allura spoke.
“Shiro, I have some… Concerns, about Keith,” she admitted, as if it was a difficult thing for her to say. They all had concerns about Keith, though, especially with his new training regimen. “I don’t believe that he’s telling us the truth, but I’m also not sure what the implication of that lie would be.”
Shiro tensed, brows knitting together. “I’m not sure I’m following, Princess,” he said, his tone wary and edging on curt with her. He didn’t know where she was going with this, but he knew that he didn’t like it. He watched as she ran a hand through her hair, the strands becoming rumpled.
“The wounds he’s been showing up with at breakfast are concerning to me. I know he has faster reflexes than to let himself get hurt like that. I had my suspicions, but this morning has given me evidence that I can’t ignore. Shiro…” she trailed off, breathing in, as if she was entirely reluctant to even sat this to him.
“Our training program does not have strangulation as part of it. Of course, it’s something that could happen in the heat of battle, but in the training room, a combatant would not be able to end the simulation if they were being strangled and could not get out. It’s a safety precaution. I have never seen one of our simulations inflict an injury like that,” Allura explained, looking to the spot at the table where Keith had been sitting.
Shiro felt his stomach lurch, thinking of the deep, angry bruises around the young man’s neck. That would mean…
“You think that someone did that to him,” he asked, a deadpan question that he knew the answer to already, even before she gave a small nod. That was certainly what she was insinuating, but he refused to believe it. There weren’t many people on this ship to even see as suspects, and the thought of one of them hurting one of their own so deeply was troubling.
“Maybe Pidge tweaked the program. Or even Keith; he’s a smart kid,” Shiro suggested, almost a little desperate, trying to find an excuse that didn’t leave him with images of Lance or Hunk leaning over Keith, choking him out with uncaring hands.
Allura wrung her hands together in front of her, her posture subdued. “Perhaps,” she conceded, but he could see that she didn’t believe Shiro’s theory.
“Just… Please keep an eye on him, Shiro,” she said softly, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder before walking away.
Didn’t he always, though?
He knew he was dreaming again. Everything had the same gauzy, surreal quality that distinctly separated the dream world from reality. But even though he knew it wasn’t real, it didn’t stop his heart from pounding out of his chest as he looked at his surroundings.
He was standing in the middle of the arena, the cacophonous cheer of the crowd deafening as his opponent to emerged from the opposite gate. He had fought this opponent before, time and time again in his dreams. They were small, agile like a cat, and had claws that ripped him to shreds if he wasn’t fast enough to dodge. The alien had reminded him of someone, although he could never quite put into words who that someone was.
The best plan of attack was to overwhelm them with brute strength. He rushed the alien, earning himself a few painful hits to the ribs as they collided. He caught the smaller alien by the neck, his fingers winding around it’s throat and holding on like a vice grip. If he could finish this battle up quickly, he could return to his room in peace until the next battle. The alien beneath him seemed to have different ideas, though.
“Shiro, wake up!” they cried underneath him, startling him. It wasn’t the voice he was used to coming from the creature, though. It’s frightened yellow eyes, staring up at him, had faded into frenzied amethyst, and the claws that scratched at his arms in an attempt to get him off were blunt, useless in an attack.
Human.
“Takashi!”
He was awake then, suddenly and with full force, but that didn’t change his position. He was kneeling on the ground, his hands wrapped around something soft. A warm column of throat.
“Shiro, please,” a hoarse voice whispered under his hands, and he felt nails digging into the wrist of his human arm, trying to pry him off. In an instant he was jumping back, stumbling onto his ass in an ungainly, panicked heap.
Just like in his dream, Keith had been the one laying under him, struggling to get out of his chokehold. The Red Paladin lay on his floor, panting and looking at Shiro with a wary sort of fear that made the man feel like he himself was the one choking. He couldn’t see in the dim lights of the bedroom, but he could bet that his fingers had fitted perfectly over the discolored bruises that had been on Keith’s neck this morning.
“Keith,” he breathed out, afraid to use his voice, afraid to draw attention to what had happened. Keith sat up slowly, moving in a ginger, deliberate way, like a nervous cat. He watched Shiro with unblinking eyes, and that almost made it worse.
“You’re awake?” Keith asked, his raspy voice a little incredulous as he righted himself. Shiro only nodded, finally tearing his eyes away from Keith to look down at his hands. His horrible, traitorous hands.
“What happened?” he whispered, flexing his fingers, wondering how they would betray him next. Keith moved slowly, standing and crouching beside him, resting a hand on Shiro’s shoulder. The man jerked back, shaking off his hand and looking up at the younger man, eyes blazing.
“What happened, Keith? Why are you here? Did I…?” he trailed off, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t even say aloud what had happened. Keith sighed softly, licking his lips and looking at his feet with a horrible, hangdog expression.
“You have bad dreams,” he started, sitting on Shiro’s bed. He noticed that Keith was in his pajamas still, his bare toes curling against the ground nervously. “I… It started a few weeks ago. I could hear you screaming, and thrashing. I thought you were in trouble, so I came to check on you.” Shiro had known about the dreams—he lived through them every night—but he hadn’t been aware that anyone else knew about them, too.
“It seemed to help when I was there,” Keith continued, looking at Shiro, his gaze unwavering. “If I sat with you for a while, you would calm down and go back to sleep. You’re kinda the worst when you don’t get enough sleep,” he said, quirking his lips up in a smile in an attempt to lighten the situation. His attempt didn’t work, Shiro’s face remaining a mask of worry and horror at his own actions, so Keith let the smile drop.
“I’ve been coming here every night. Most nights you settle down after I come in, and that’s that. I stay for a few hours, and leave before your alarm goes off. I think we both sleep better like that,” the other admitted, his voice soft, cheeks heating up in embarrassment. “But sometimes, you’re… Too deep in the dream. You lash out. I don’t know who you’re fighting in your head, but I can tell they get one hell of an ass whooping,” he said, touching the side of his cheek gingerly, where the bruise was still fading.
Shiro could picture it now. Keith creeping into his room in the dead of night, curling up near him and stroking his hair to soothe his dreams. The panic from his dreams setting in. His Galran arm lashing out at the other Paladin, catching Keith across the face. Pinning Keith to the bed by his wrists, growling out threats that he had used in the arena. Kneeing the younger man in the gut, busting his lip with a well-aimed fist, shooting out a hand and nearly cracking a rib. Grabbing the young man by the throat and trying to choke the life out of him. He could picture Keith, still soft with sleep, his guard down for the evening, being caught by surprise by the attacks, trying to avoid them to the best of his ability when all he wanted to do was go back to sleep. He hadn’t been conscious for any of these events, but he could picture them with startling clarity.
A sob wretched itself from his lips, surprising the both of them.
“No,” he murmured screwing his eyes shut, clutching his head in his hands. He couldn’t believe that he had done that, not to a person he cared so dearly for, and yet he knew that it was all true. Tears fell from his eyes, blurring his vision as his shoulders shook with the force of his grief. He was a monster. He was broken. He had hurt one of the few people whose trust he had implicitly. He felt a scream building in his chest, threatening to bubble over his lips and spill out.
Warm arms wrapped around his shoulders from behind, drawing him closer, and he leaned back into them, whimpering like a puppy as he twisted to hide his face in Keith’s chest. The other simply accommodated him, accepting his weight upon him, one hand carding through Shiro’s hair, the other rubbing his back in what he hoped was a soothing manner.
“Hey, it’s okay, Shiro,” he whispered, looking down at the other. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. We’ll figure this out, okay?” A litany of platitudes and kind words spilled from Keith’s lips, but all Shiro could think of was the terrified look on his face as Shiro crushed his neck under his hands.
“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” Keith murmured, listening to the sound of the other’s sobs starting to quiet as he wore himself out. “And I know that if anyone can get over this, it’s you,” he said, gently tilting Shiro’s face up to look at him. The man’s complexion was blotchy and red, his dark eyes boring into Keith’s full of guilt.
“We can do this together. Just like always, Takashi,” he said, leaning forward to kiss Shiro’s sweat-damp forehead, closing his eyes. The gesture was tender, a promise that he wouldn’t leave the other man’s side. Not now, not because of this. Reluctantly, Shiro nodded, squeezing Keith around the middle.
“Do you think you’re good for some more sleep now, though?” Keith asked tentatively, his eyelids drooping. He had been asleep when Shiro had attacked him, and he could feel the lure of dreamland calling him back, despite the excitement and the other’s breakdown. Hesitantly, Shiro nodded, picking himself up off the other paladin before gently catching him under his arms, lifting him off the ground and onto his feet before he could even think about standing on his own. Keith looked surprised for a moment before shaking his head a little, climbing into Shiro’s bed without a second thought.
The sight made Shiro’s heart clench in a too-tender way, something that felt raw and uncomfortable and wanting. He pushed it down; he had too many other feelings to deal with. He crawled into bed beside Keith, his movements hesitant until Keith rolled his eyes, folding his smaller body into Shiro’s arms like he knew exactly where he belonged. The Red Paladin’s strong arms wound around his chest and they both relaxed.
“I promise, Shiro,” he heard Keith whisper, just as he was drifting back to a hopefully non-violent slumber. “We’ll do this together.”