Chapter Text
Letting himself be enveloped by the cloud of darkness that had teased him so long wasn’t as horrible as Keith had previously imagined it might be. He was warm like this, more absent of cold than possesing a distinguishable heat, but a more than welcomed improvement regardless. Anything would be compared to the inferno he was slowly being consumed by when he was awake and alert.
Sounds came back to him slowly as his body recovered from the shock of yet another rapid plummet in blood pressure, his friends’ words sharpening gradually to where he could almost make out what they were saying, though too many bits were left out and passed over to come together as anything coherent to Keith.
“…keeps moving… waking up…”
He doesn’t know how many minutes he’d laid there already, but knew enough that he had to be laying on his stomach, could even begin to feel the sensation of something tugging at his back.
“…looks like he’s in pain…”
The more he came back to himself, the more distinct it felt, like someone was convinced that jabbing their fingers at a dozen different spots on his back would get him to wake up. It wasn’t so much painful as it was uncomfortable in his state of semi-consciousness.
“…too dangerous… sedatives…”
His brain was just too muddled to decipher what he was feeling when his body was working so hard at replenishing the blood supply to his brain while also still actively losing it.
“…Coran, I can’t… this piece… tearing the skin…”
The in and out of everything was making him anxious. It felt like some sort of cruel limbo, another thing held just out of his reach, teasing him with slivers of awareness but never allowing him to have it in entirety.
“…should will help with any discomfort…”
Whatever was meant to be helping definitely wasn’t. He was aware he’d probably been given some sort of drug or medicine, but he couldn’t seem to get himself relax. It didn’t matter that he was utterly exhausted, his body was reacting to the anxiety bubbling in his stomach whether he had the energy to support such a reaction or not.
“…easy Keith…”
That was just it though, he couldn’t seem to just take it easy the voices were telling him when his mind was absolutely wired but his body was going into shock.
“You’re alright number four… steady now, just breathe…”
He thought it was hard to breathe before he’d actually come up to the surface, but it seemed utterly impossible now.
“-us? Keith…? Keith, can you hear us?”
He could. He could hear everything and it was all so crisp and right there, the smallest noises sending tingles down his spine that made him want to cringe and he struggled to surpress the urge to.
“Quiznak! Coran I’m gonna hurt him if he keeps squirming!”
He was panting now, his mouth hung open against what felt like a towel that had been folded under his face to catch the blood still leaking from the wound above his eye. A cold hand came down on the back of his neck and he couldn’t help but flinch hard, which seemed to finally do it for the pain that had numbed. It hadn’t disappeared, just had been too far away for him to register, and now it was as close as all of the sounds around him were.
“Keith, listen to me. You have to relax,” he hears Shiro urge over all the others because his voice the closest, but it was slipping through his grasp like smoke with all the other commotion around him.
“I know that you’re hurting but you’re going to make it worse if you keep struggling.” Shiro was right, he knew that, but he wasn’t in control of his movements anymore or else he would’ve listened, he didn’t want to hurt anymore than he already was.
Keith tried to hold onto Shiro’s words, to use them as some sort of lifeline to pull himself back into some kind of clarity, maybe then he could get himself to relax enough for his limbs would actually listen, but more hands descended on him before he could get the chance. Their grips on his shoulders and hips unrelenting as he continued his thrashing and they continued pushing him back down until he was flat so his flailing didn’t make his injuries any worse.
He sobs loudly and unabashedly as the pain fights its way back to the forefront of his awareness once he’d been forcibly stilled, a strange warmth similar to what he’d felt right before he passed out the first time taking the edge off, but not able to stave it all when there was no final nudge to take him across the threshold. To make his body decide between the simple choice of remaining awake or not. He floats somewhere in the middle for a while instead, never quite managing to settle down as he does.
His whole body quakes under the torture of what he figured must be the team cleaning up his wounds, under the hands keeping him in place. Shiro’s could stay because his he could see, his he trusted, the rest felt like vices and scorched him wherever they touched. The shuddering in his abdomen was the worst, the muscles there in a never ending battle with tension, flexing with every flinch whenever cold, sharp metal prodded at his burning skin and making the clamps around his wrist and ankles double their efforts.
“Do whatever you have to do Coran.” It’s Shiro again, but he sounds funny this time. Keith can’t tell if it’s his hearing going again or because it came out as almost a whisper for his sake, he’s sure it’s probably some mix of the two.
“But Shiro—”
“I know, Lance.”
“You know that signing off on this means he’ll still be in pain and you’re just okay with that?” Lance clips, the bite of his words severe. The sudden uptick in volume that followed the jab bored into Keith’s skull like the bit of a drill, his body unable to contain the violent shiver that came with it.
He catches the last part of the small argument only because it’s Shiro whose talking again, and he doesn’t yell. “No, he’s right Allura, this is my fault. I was too focused on how hurt Pidge was to notice that he was too and now he’s worse off because of it. I didn’t listen to him when I should’ve. Give him whatever you have to, I’m on the hook to get him through it.”
Coran didn’t have to be told twice. The vile was already in his hand and he was pulling liquid from it with a syringe that he carefully administered into Keith’s neck. He wasn’t able to flinch from the pricking sensation or the mellow cool that swept through him after, the shudder it must’ve caused lost among all the others.
“Sh-sh-shir-Shiro?”
Hunk elbowed Lance in the gut to get him to break the death glare he was giving Shiro. “Not now, dude.”
“I’m right here, bud.” Shiro shushed him, the hand splayed over the back of his neck baring down as a gentle reminder. “Just relax. That’s it, I’ve got you,” he soothed as Keith took gasping breaths that only seemed to shallow further while whatever control he had left over his body dripped away. His body let out a series of last few furious twitches before he sagged into the table, the crushing hold he had on Shiro’s flesh and blood hand releasing until it fell limp amongst their tangle of interlocked fingers.
“I’ve never lied to you and I refuse to start today,” Shiro said plainly, thumbing circles on the outside of Keith’s hand because while he couldn’t return the grip, he could still feel how Shiro refused to let it falter. “This next part is going suck, but all you need to do is focus on me, okay?”
Keith couldn’t nod. He could barely move his exhausted body at all now, so he sighed instead, the tears that had welled at his eyes falling defeatedly and mixing with the blood staining his right cheek to make a slightly pinker mess on the towel beneath him.
“Just focus on me…”
The infirmary was both eerily silent and brimming with commotion, nearly devoid of any conversation or background noise at all aside from muted whispers and the gentle clink of tools as the sound of Keith’s pain filled every dreadful square inch and left little space for much else.
Shrio was still perched on a stool with both hands clasped securely around the one of Keith’s that was accessible, the other hanging over the edge of the table unmoving. The older boy spoke calm reassurances to him in a low voice, the sentiments themselves not so much soothing as the steady cadence of them were.
It was clear he was still suppressing every wince and grimace though his resolve to remain unbothered seemed to be weakening as he fatigued further. Shiro’s gentle murmurings the only thing working to ground him as his wherewithal plummeted, the neutral pressure on his hand giving him something else to focus on and keep him from panicking while he lay somewhat paralyzed.
He hadn’t moved much as they went on with cleaning his back after they gave him the muscle relaxant, not that he could if we wanted to, not when his whole body felt about as solid as jello. The only movements possible were occasional reflexive twitches or sudden bursts of gasping breaths that forced whoever was poking his back at that moment to pause and give him a minute to steady himself again.
That was until the team had separated him from as much of the undersuit as they could with just tweezers and saline because about thirty percent of what they’d sectioned off around each wound was still attached and not coming free no matter how hard they pulled or however much saline they poured.
It was then with everything cleaned away that they saw how severe it truly was, how little of the blur of soot around each blast could actually be cleaned away because it wasn’t his skin that was charred, it was the suit itself. They couldn’t fix that with tweezers, but they also had no choice but to remove the melted material so the pod didn’t heal around it.
Keith’s attention was pulled into a pleasant half rest when the disorienting haze of pain granted him a few moments of clarity once he realized the only hands still touching him were Shiro’s. It took him a while, but he was able to cut through the fog enough to tune in to what was going on around him. He missed the beginning of the conversation but it wasn’t hard to piece together what was happening.
“The process should be relatively seemless if I use this—“ Coran noted grimly as he presented Shiro with a scalpel that had a cord attached to the end of it “—the scarring will already be minimal given the pod’s capabilities and the fact that these are mostly second degree, but in order to remove the bits that remain I must burn number four again to sever what joins his flesh to the undersuit…”
Shiro had figured as much, but honestly, so had Keith. Well not quite, his addled brain hadn’t figured much of anything coherent in a while, he just wasn’t surprised to hear that this was the only solution they had.
Keith wouldn’t consider himself as handy as Hunk or Pidge, but he knew his way around tools from having a bike and living on his own for so long. And he couldn’t come up with anything other than a hot knife that would do that kind of job either. He also didn’t really care how they did anything anymore, he didn’t have the energy to when all he wanted was for this to be over.
Exhaustion seeped into his bones like radiation, clogging the channels in his marrow where his blood should flow and making his entire body feel so very heavy. It was the kind of weight that lulled you into a deep sleep, yet Keith remained awake, his nerves fried and his mind wired.
Shiro sighed, bowing his head to catch Keith’s pleading eyes one last time before nodding, giving Coran the go ahead. “Very well, number one. I’ll begin sorting out the proper arrangements.”
It’s not that Coran was hiding the tool from the other paladins or what it did, that much was obvious. It’s just that the question didn’t concern them, the decision wasn’t theirs to make.
Shiro was their unofficial health proxy now that they were in space and called these kind of shots for all of them, but that was especially true for Keith since he’d already been doing at the garrison before Kerberos. The paladins were of course privy to deciding what happened to their own bodies regarding altean remedies or lesser pod stays since some of the options available are pretty out there and if they aren’t absolutely necessary, then they aren’t mandated. But all decisions were passed by Shiro who ensured that their younger counterparts were entirely clear on what they were or were not agreeing to before Coran or Allura did anything, given the situation allotted time to take such measures.
This is one of the rare instances where Shiro had little choice in how to handle the matter. There was only one option and Keith would continue to suffer if he wasted time worrying about what none of them could control. And it wasn’t even that he was too out of it to know what this meant and be able to deliver the green light himself, the fear on his face when Coran said ‘burn’ had been more than apparent.
The kid was just so goddamned rational about things no one his age should be able to rationalize that it was clear he had already evaluated and come to terms with the predicament in those brief moments of hesitation before Shiro agreed. His eyes fall closed again and Shiro thinks he can hear the screams already. The gravity of the decision seemed to dawn on everyone else a beat later, an anticipatory silence replacing the anguished weight that hung on all of them seconds ago.
Everything moved slowly for a moment, the rise of chests halted, the chitter of mice quieting while they searched the princess’s face for answers until reality crashed back down on the castleships’ inhabitants like the tidal surge of a hurricane. The green tinge on Hunk’s face deepened several shades and Allura absently slid a waste bin closer to him, her movements robotic, like she wasn’t all there anymore. Pidge’s sobs from her helpless position on the adjacent cot were almost as painful to hear as Keith’s.
The only one to contest the idea was Lance, the awful horror of what was about to happen registering on the blue paladin’s face like it was a death sentence for his friend. “Now that, Shiro, is what is commonly referred to as torture. Back on earth it’s considered a fucking war crime—”
“Lance, I suggest you calm down.”
“How do you seriously expect me to be calm when your advocating to actively cause Keith more pain. That is insane, Shiro!”
Keith startles at the volume of Shiro’s next words. “There’s nothing else that we can do for him, Lance.” He isn’t able to flinch, but his breathing stalls and he has to work to get it somewhere even again.“Do you remember where the hell we are right now? We are light years away from human healthcare, we don’t have the luxury to be picky about the resources that are available to us.”
Lance looks at Shiro like he had hit him instead of merely yelling at him. The desperate panic twisting his face into anguish as he pleaded. “I still don’t—there has to be another way. I don’t understand why you’re not trying to figure something else out first—haven’t you hurt him enough today, Shiro?”
“Do it—” Keith punches out in a harsh whisper, “fuck, j-just do it already.” His voice was gravelly and weak from all the shouting, his waning energy evident in the exasperated punctuation of his words. He’s fairly sure he won’t remain conscious long enough to be truly traumatized by the a procedure and was growing more irritated the longer they delayed it.
Keith appreciated that Lance had a conscience but also knew full well that he was stuck on the agony he was emoting since he usually never emoted at all, and probably not imagining just how awful it must actually be if he was agreeing for more pain to be inflicted so the sweet relief of the pod came sooner.
Lucky for him, Coran seemed to grasp the concept well enough on his own.“Alright my boy, as you wish. Allura you might want to grab something for him to bite down on.”
What remained of the upper half of his under suit lay on him in tatters, his back bare except for the front section beneath him with strips of black littered over the table and floor. There’s a square of material missing on his thigh but the rest of the bottom portion was still in tact, and he lets the relief of not having to lay in front of his team in nothing but boxer briefs warm him.
Keith knew that the wounds looked worse free of his suit and all the blood, he didn’t have to see or be told how horrible it looked, he already knew that however bad it appeared it hurt a thousand times worse.
“I have a topical anesthetic here that should numb the surface tissue but I’m afraid I can’t make any promises about nerve pain that might go deeper, it will still hurt a great deal.”
Talking was hard. He didn’t have the energy to stay awake let alone speak, but since his body seemed entirely intent on denying him that mercy, he figured forcing himself to communicate might speed the process along.
“Kay… s’fine,” was all he managed in response, his head swimming slightly as he forced the words out. Allura’s face came into view then, smiling with so much sadness behind it as she lowered a hand to Keith’s flushed and tear stained cheek, gently coaxing him into opening his mouth.
He was sort of confused as to why until she brought a small hand towel folded in a tight roll up to his chin. His eyes widened a bit but he hummed in understanding and parted his blood encrusted lips so she could place it between his teeth.
They hadn’t had a chance to fuss over the gash on his face with everything else they were focused on. The cut itself didn’t appear to be giving him much of an issue, but the fact that he was resting his cheek in an ever dampening rag as it caught his blood was woefully uncomfortable, the swelling laceration above his eye endlessly agitated with every reflexive jerk. The sight might’ve been more alarming if his back wasn’t so horrific.
Shiro searched Keith’s lidded eyes when Coran pressed a button that had the tool whirring to life with an orange glow before he set it aside to warm up. They were sluggish and bloodshot and slow enough in meeting his gaze that would’ve had him majorly concerned should he not already have dozens other reasons to be.
“The spray will sting at first, forgive me lad.” Coran’s voice was pinched and level, his statements clinical and his hands deft.
He’d already gathered that Keith didn’t need things explained before they were done like Shiro who needed to feel like he was in control of his own body when being tended to, or Pidge and her unwavering need to know absolutely everything ever, or Hunk and his already debilitating anxiety regarding the unknown.
No, he was like Lance who didn’t want the details, didn’t need to know what was happening or when. In fact, he reacted worse when he knew. Keith needed things done without preamble. It didn’t matter how much it would hurt, he just needed it to hurt before the anticipation that it was about to could consume him. And Coran would do whatever he could to ease the red paladin then, so if that meant working fast than he would work fast.
“Nngh,” Keith choked out against the blockage of the towel, nearly gagging on it when his entire body jerked as soon as Coran started spraying despite the medicine running through his body to specifically lessen reactions like that. But the man didn’t slow once he started, not even for Keith’s muffled pleas.
His head flew back and his eyes screwed shut as he struggled to breathe through the application, jerking despite himself each time the liquid landed on his raw and burning wounds. The cloth trapped between his clenched teeth had him sputtering on the spit in his mouth and he almost welcomed the fear that flooded his body when his throat closed to keep from inhaling it.
“I know, Keith, shhh. You’re alright. It looks like just a minute more and then hopefully some relief.”
Shiro looked so young when he was like this, the knitted worry lines on his forehead almost out of place for the age he looked then. Keith didn’t like seeing him like that, it’s what he looks like when he’s having a rough day with his ptsd. He forgot that they were so young sometimes, especially Shiro, so he closed his eyes against the tears that were brimming in the corners of them and took in long, purposeful inhales while Coran finished up.
He felt it as soon as the anesthetic started working, a discernible cold partially quenching each tiny inferno that was at the center of all of his injuries. It didn’t do much more than place a lid on the fires, not putting anything out completely but it was something and had him sagging into the table at the small bit of respite.
“I’ll be right here the entire time, okay? Coran will work as quickly as he can, but I’ll be with you. I’m not going anywhere,” Shiro rambled, his timbre still subdued and settling.
“It’s going to be okay, bud.” Keith clung to his words like they were a broken board from a sinking ship, the only buoyant thing in sight that could keep him from sinking right down with it.
“It’ll be over soon…” He felt himself physically calming the longer he spoke until suddenly his chest didn’t feel as tight. “…and then you can rest.”
Because he believed him. He believed that Shiro wouldn’t tell him he would be okay if it wasn’t true. “We’ll get you set up in the pod…” And for just a second, he actually believed it would end, that it wouldn’t last forever. “…and then you’ll start to heal…”
The breaths he took were urgent, almost greedy as he relished in the temporary peace from everything. From the pain, from his anxiety, from feeling so fucking helpless. “…just a little longer, Keith. I promise.”
Shiro made a point not to make many promises to Keith, even if he never planned on being anything other than good on them. He knew that too many had been broken for him to trust a vow like that, knew that the words were empty no matter whose mouth they came from, convinced that they were just another tool for people he trusted to bait him with before they left, because Keith’s experience everyone always left.
It was nonsense. It was absolute nonsense he was babbling but the older boy’s voice never wavered and the constant presence of it hung on Keith’s battered body like a warm blanket, soothing the biting chill of anticipation that spread over it before the endless waves of agony started all over again.
“I am going to begin now, remember to breathe lad…” Before, Keith had been holding back most exclamations of pain, biting his lip or cheek and setting his jaw to swallow them back before they escaped. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made that impossible now, maybe since he knew the pain would be insurmountably worse or maybe because his body was too tired to expend that kind of energy anymore, either way the only thing muffling the sounds then was the towel keeping him from biting clean through his tongue.
The way his back arched when Coran brought the scalpel down looked like it shouldn’t have been possible in his condition. Keith didn’t know it was possible either but wasn’t too focused on the logistics with how intensely his lungs were screaming as he realized he could no longer move air in or out with how shocking the pain was. It was like he’d been electrocuted, his muscles spasming and his nerves glitching in override.
“Shit—someone help me hold him down,” Shiro ordered when it was apparent that Keith was incapable of controlling his reactions as Coran kept at it with the tool. “Come on damnit, hold him still!”
The movements were violent and quick, more convulsions than Keith’s own will, but they happened with each slice which made it difficult for Coran to work, so Hunk and Lance repositioned themselves on either side of the table and pinned his chest down wherever was most absent of injury while Shiro kept his head still and attempted to talk him through it.
Allura wasn’t having much luck in soothing Pidge either who was hysterical with her hands clamped over her ears. The guilt she felt over being the reason Keith was now in such intense pain was overwhelming, her reaction having the princess deeply concerned that she was going to make herself sick or reopen her only partially mended wound.
Coran ignored how his fingers were blistering from working around the red paladin’s struggles and apologies poured out of Shiro like his own spilling blood would. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” But Lance didn’t buy them. He couldn’t grasp how their infallible leader had passed over someone being injured this severely. And for it to be Keith of all people.
He’d spent half of his young adult life on his own, looking out for himself, no other support. He wasn’t used to having a team to look out for him especially since the last time anyone had was when Shiro had taken him under his wing. Shiro who had pretty much promised not to give up on him only to leave for Kerberos and never come back.
And what’s worse, as if anything could get worse at this point, was that Keith genuinely hadn’t wanted their help. He would’ve insisted he was okay whether or not his injuries were known regardless, but Shiro overlooking him in the heat of the moment had only fueled his warped view on taking care of things himself. It made him think he didn’t deserve any help, like he was being selfish for even suggesting he might not be okay when Pidge was also hurt.
It wasn’t true. But Lance knew that Keith couldn’t always decipher those kinds of things, the subtle messages in tonality that other people would’ve instantly picked up as, ‘no, I don’t actually hate you’ completely eluded him. And Shiro knew that, he knew that Shiro knew all of that about Keith and yet here they were.
His eyes were glossy and he was livid. It didn’t make any sense. They were supposed to look out for each other. It was Shiro’s whole philosophy and here he was, a complete hypocrite. Pidge let out a strangled hitch then that broke Lance’s focus on analyzing whatever the hell had gone down on that mission. The guilt was raging an almost identical fire in her chest, licking at her lungs like there was lighter fluid on them and threatening the sinews that had just barely latched across the chasm in her abdomen.
Hunk wished he could cry, wished he didn’t have to be so close to the terrible mess that was his friends’ back or the sounds he was making. He didn’t know how many more he could stand to hear. How many more times he could handle the pang of terror in his chest when one escaped the lips of either of his friends.
Anytime anyone was hurting he felt like he was too. Like he had an access pass to their pain or some wicked ability to envision exactly how it must feel. And between Keith bucking beneath his hands and the guttural groans smothered by the towel, Hunk’s stomach was flipping dangerously.
“Coran,” Allura deadpanned, her voice low and deadly. Keith’s strained huffs had turned into hysterical shouts. They’d started off with a sort of restraint but it hadn’t taken long for them to raise in volume.
He hated it, he was too tired to be so vocal and his throat was aching, but he couldn’t help it. If it was up to him he would’ve just relaxed and taken it. He was used to simply enduring in the moment and compartmentalizing as he went, but he had no experience in allowing such real reactions, in being so vulnerable against his every will.
Taking it silently would’ve been just as painful, there was no changing that, but maybe then he wouldn’t have had to see everyone so upset. But he couldn’t relax. And he couldn’t use his twisted reason to logic himself out of it this time.
“This is cruel when I can ease his suffering with my powers, move aside and let me—“
“Princess.” Coran sounded distressed, almost pained. It was the first hint of emotion he’d shown since they’d dragged Keith into medbay.
“You couldn’t heal him without going into a pod first or it would start depleting the quintessence of your life force and we don’t have time for that, you know what my answer is—“
“But it’s worth it! Just a second, even just a touch would make the world of a difference, please—“
“Allura,” Lance capitulated softly. “Come on, let him work.” He looked angry still, and Shiro wasn’t sure he blamed him anymore, but the princess’s voice was shaking and his hand on her arm was pulling her away from Coran gently.
And she let him, the sob that erupted from her throat startling everyone. But Lance was there, the usual smirk he wore when speaking to the princess noticeably absent as he braced his hands on her shoulders and squeezed because they were shaking too.
Shiro was pressing Keith’s chest down flat where Lance had been after he Coran hissed at the heat of the tool while he continued to thrash. The energy in the room was so dark and heavy it was almost sinister. But the worst part was undoubtedly seeing it on his face, the desperation in his expressions was gutting. It felt like a sort of betrayal, which in a way it was, but so was the alternative.
Shiro tried to keep up his rambles of assurance but found the sentiments catching in his throat. It had become wildly apparent that they were more comforting to him now than they were to Keith, but he repeated them still, the same nonsense over and over again like a prayer, the swipe of his metal thumb clearing the endless stream of tears out of his eyes was the only constant other than the sound of his own screaming sobs and the pain.
It was blinding and it was everywhere. He couldn’t get away from it. Couldn’t get away from himself or the terrible sounds he was making. All of it was suffocating. The fire poker dragging against his already charred skin, the hands holding him still, Shiro’s words, his own cries, all of it.
The air was filled with a bitter and nauseating heat, the smell of his own flesh burning permeated it and made him cry harder. He wanted to throw up, wanted to pass out, hell if he died right there he wouldn’t have even minded. He just wanted everything to stop. He didn’t think he could stand much more of it but his body wouldn’t give in. His screams had morphed into one piercing and continuous wail as every limit he had was tested and shattered. Keith thought he could handle pain fairly well, but this was absurd. This pain was otherworldly.
It’s only when he spits the rag out for the millionth time and begins chanting his own prayer that Shiro really wavered, his hand halting abruptly as he went to put it back between his teeth before they tore through his tongue the next time Coran moved his tool. But Coran had taken the glowing metal away for a moment and was fiddling with something, so when Shiro leaned in to replace the cloth he could finally make out what he was saying.
“…dad?… pl-please, dad… make it st-stop… dad…” The words were slurred and barely audible with how wrecked his throat was, but there was no denying it.
“Keith,” Shiro breathed before his jaw was working to muffle his own pitiful sounds over the fact that he was in such a delirium he was calling out for his father, the man who Keith hadn’t called out to in years because he was dead. He’d left him in the most final way someone could leave.
Shiro didn’t know how many promises his death might’ve broken, just that the words Keith was uttering were what finally broke him. Allura’s cheeks were still wet with tears but she stepped forward anyway and moved the towel back into place, her hands running through and smoothing down Keith’s wild locks all tossed out of place from writhing.
She bent down to speak softly into his ear. Shiro didn’t catch much over the ringing in his own while his eyes locked into place on the towel in his mouth and the blood staining his chin and neck, though he thought he heard something about him being strong, him doing so well…
“Shiro.”
The hand on his arm didn’t make him jump because he couldn’t feel it. The room was expanding and he was shrinking because Keith’s whimpering was beginning to sound like the despairing cries before someone or some thing died in the arena. The arena.
His eyes open wide and flit around wildly, the room abruptly fitting back to size. “Huh?” Shiro was usually good at snapping himself back to reality when he needed to, good at functioning at half capacity just to see through whatever he was in the middle of until it was safe to let the lights of the arena bleed into his present. Not that acknowledging his memories was ever safe. And not that reliving them in his cabin was any safer. Just easier. “What is it?”
“I’m starting again.” He hadn’t noticed that he’d backed up into Pidge’s bed or that her tiny hand had wound its way into his, “And he’s asking for you.”
“Right.” His voice was sturdy again, hands no longer trembling. He could do this.
The whirring of the tool sounded too much like his metal arm, it glows orange instead of purple but that doesn’t seem to matter because it’s cutting into Keith’s skin all the same and the screams that escape his mouth cut into Shiro just as bad. But he pushes it all away. He can unpack the emotions that rise up with it later, Keith needed him now.
The initial twitches that wracked his brutalized frame when Coran brought the tool back down had Allura turning away and the smoke that rose up with the first slice had Hunk clamping a hand over his mouth and nose. But the princess’s hand never stopped brushing through his hair and Hunk kept the grip on his shoulder firm.
They could feel his muscles loosening, could feel the power of each jerk dwindling. And then they watched with heavy hearts as even his steady cries quieted, his body finally waving the white flag.
“I’m sorry.” Shiro said it so many times that the syllables blended together and turned into something else altogether.
Keith’s breathing was more erratic than it ever had been and it didn’t seem like he could see straight anymore so Shiro lowered his forehead to Keith’s and draped his metal arm over his neck. Both were damp with sweat that created condensation on his hand, his hair wet with it and plastered all over, but Shiro couldn’t find it in him to care. He needed him to know that he was there, that he hadn’t left.
“I’m here, Keith. And I’m so sorry.” But his cheeks were flushing with something other than straight up exertion. And Shiro felt it, felt his hand go cold while all the blood raced to his head. He knew what was happening but he wasn’t worried, he was relieved. The rag falls out again because his jaw had gone slack and his eyes were rolling to the back of his head. Shiro didn’t move to fix it. His breathing still irregular but falling into a more even rhythm.
Lance looked stricken, and Hunk is a little greener when they let go and step back. Pidge had finally found the ability to relax abs was slumping into the bed, eyes glued to Coran’s hand who was still not done. Still not okay. Still not in a pod, but no longer in pain.
Hunk took exactly one deep breath before devolving into tears. He was done being strong, but Lance never seems to get the luxury and was pulling him into a hug that didn’t have him standing any straighter or have his chest working any less, but it was something.
Coran’s hands move slow now and he doesn’t seem to feel the red welts on his fingertips from wrestling with his tools, but he looked more at ease with Keith blissfully unconscious, like he was breathing again.
Shiro was still holding Keith’s hand. It was ice cold and looking sort of blue with the white blotches dotting it. He leaves his other hand on his neck where his skin is hotter, figuring if the cool metal could be useful for anything other than killing, it might just be that.
Lance eyes the distance in Shiro’s gaze, the rigidity in his movements, and he thinks he understands. He thinks he can overlook his anger to remember that the guy is still human. He’s almost scared that he was speaking out loud when Shiro rakes his grey pinpoints around the room, not appearing to actually see any of it before passing over Lance’s briefly. Hunk has his head burrowed in his chest as he fights to regain his composure but he musters up a small smile for him despite being otherwise occupied.
It’s a peace offering. A sad one at that, the corners of his mouth barely perking up, but it’s something. Shiro wasn’t sure if he returned it but his heart felt lighter once Lance did that.
The energy in the room was still buzzing but it was less stifling, not as heavy as it had been moments ago. The artificial sunlight above them starts to turn purple again, and he can hear desperation mix into the buzz. For a second Shiro is worried that Keith has woken up and in a bit of a panic drags his gaze back down to find that his eyes are still closed and his face is still scrunched up, like he hadn’t escaped the pain entirely with sleep. It was still infinitely better than him sounding like them, like the dying things he was hearing.
He vaguely wonders if the infirmary was a safe enough place to let the purple flood in, and ultimately decides that it didn’t matter. He’d staved it off long enough, had been strong for Keith when he needed him to be, so he lets himself drift.