Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

i.

Keith opened his eyes.

“Ah, you’re awake,” said a voice. A familiar voice.

The Druid.

What? The Druid couldn’t be here, not when Keith had escaped.

In spite of the impossibility of their presence, the Druid spoke again, fingers reaching around from behind to stroke Keith’s ears. “It’s been a few vargas…” They felt the top of each ear, noted “round” to themselves, and stepped around the table to be in front of Keith. “The flow of blood through your body is back to pre-procedural levels, which means we can move on to the really interesting stuff.”

Keith shuddered away from the Druid as much as he was able in the restraints, pressing himself weakly against the table. For what little good that would do. The Druid tilted their head, and Keith imagined them smiling behind that wretched mask. “Nothing to worry about, pretty one,” they said, sending fresh shivers of revulsion through Keith.

“How…?” he croaked.

This didn’t make any sense. He couldn’t be back here, in this chamber, on this table; he’d escaped. Escaped, into the coldness of space, back to the warmth of his friends, his team, Shiro, Voltron.

He remembered that, fresh and clear. He’d escaped.

He had escaped.

…Right?

“Oh, did you think you’d escaped or something?” The Druid’s eyes flashed in malicious humour, maybe reading Keith’s mind. “I had no idea that putting you into quintessence-sleep would give you such vivid, exciting dreams.”

Keith’s heart dropped into his stomach. Dreams?

The truth hit him like a ton of bricks. Escaping, healing, having food, being free of the Druid’s clutches… it had all been a vivid, desperate dream. Vhruk had been a figment of his imagination; no one was going to help him get free. Now he’d woken up at last, to reality, to impending death. To horrors anew.

He dreaded to imagine what the Druid had in mind for him, having had only a taste of what the Druid considered to be interesting.

“Anyway,” the Druid said, “shall we begin?”

“No,” Keith whispered, startling himself with his defiance. A spark of fire he thought he’d long since lost. He cleared his throat with what little saliva he could muster, and added, louder, “Leave me alone.”

“Oh, precious,” the Druid leaned in and Keith was unable to cringe further back, “I’ll never do that.” They stroked their fingers through his hair, sickeningly gentle. “You’re far too valuable to me for me to let you go.”

“No!” Keith gathered his strength and struggled, trying to shake the Druid off, to stop this.

The Druid grunted, displeased. “Shame. I’d wanted to have you awake to enjoy this, but…” they shrugged. “Fine.” The hand stroked down to Keith’s temples, and the Druid said in a voice different to before, laced with command and irresistible power, “Sleep.”

He tried to fight it, to keep his eyes open as the Druid turned and selected a knife, blade keen, but it was futile. He was pulled inexorably into the blackness of sleep.

He woke.

He woke, and it was dark, and he felt the warmth of a blanket over him, and clothes, and a hundred other things that told him that he was in the Castle, that he was safe. The fresh, cottony smell of the Altean fabric. The soft teal glow of the lights rimming the floor. He was safe.

He wasn’t on the Galra ship. He was fine, the Druid wasn’t here, it was—

What if he wasn’t?

Shit, that was a terrible thought. Keith winced, rolled carefully to upright. He brushed the blankets off him, just to check, and yeah, he was free to move. It certainly seemed that he’d really escaped. But…

He yanked the hem of his t-shirt up, just to check. Studied his chest, because he remembered looking down at it, looking down to see bones and organs and blood and–

He gasped, tasting bile, shuddering out of the memory. No, he remembered after that. After the Druid had put him to sleep, when Vhruk had arrived and set him free. He remembered things after he’d been bundled into the shuttle and autopilot had been engaged. He remembered drifting through space, staring out at the distant comets and pulsars, and his gaze inevitably falling to himself, to the raw, red lines across every part of his chest, the lines that throbbed still in pain.

That was what he’d been trying to remember. He studied his chest now, pale, bony. It was no longer freshly wounded— the cryopod had done its job– but it was covered in a patchwork of scars, white lines threading over like someone had drawn over it with a white pen, careless.

Well, not a pen. A knife. But anyway.

He looked exactly the way he should if this had been real. Not that that told him much, of course; it didn’t tell him whether this was reality or not, but it gave him hope, because if this was a dream, it was a pretty vivid one.

But then that just-passed dream, if it had been one, had been pretty damn vivid too.

Which was which?

Keith swallowed. Water, he needed water. He decided to put the thoughts out of his mind and do something useful; he had no desire to return to sleep/wakefulness.

The bathroom. He squinted at his reflection in the dimness, splashed some water on the hollow-eyed face. Better, a little. He turned on the tap and sipped some water out of his hands. It slipped down his throat easily, cool, fresh. Delicious. Keith was reminded of the sharp relief of refrigerated water after a day’s work in the desert.

Except this hadn’t been a day’s work, it’d been a night’s sleep.

Maybe.

It was too confusing; Keith had to do something.

He stepped out of his door, into the night-cycle darkened corridor, and walked. Not thinking about where he was going. His body was on autopilot, even if he had to stop for frequent rests (he was so weak).

It shouldn’t really have been a surprise when he ended up at the training room’s entrance.

Suddenly, Keith was reminded of the night he’d been taken. Defenceless, wandering the hallways on his own, vulnerable. What kind of fool had he been to have gone for a walk right now, when no one else was awake?

He felt for his belt, running fingers over his knife’s sheath. It was there, solid, reassuring. He took it out, just for the novelty of having a weapon in his hands again. Its blade shimmered in the dim lighting. Luxite. His mom’s blade.

The one that had proved that he wasn’t human.

It was a strange thought, still. Keith had had his suspicions for some months now, but it had still been a revelation when the blade had formed, when Kolivan had declared that he must be part Galra.

The way Allura had hated him had been bad enough. Keith still curled in on himself a little, remembering her scathing comments, the glares she’d shot him across the room. He’d tried to make himself as small as possible, just so she would avoid him, avoid taking out her frustrations with the Galra on him. It was a familiar song and dance, after all those foster parents, but that didn’t make her resentment any easier to deal with.

And then they’d been captured for the first time. The serum…

It was so messed up. Keith felt a pulse of anger and hatred and self-loathing, emotions tangled and confused, and he stabbed at the air with his knife, wanting to dispel those feelings.

Why the hell did he have to be a hybrid?

He came to a decision, swept the knife back into its sheath. Stepped into the training room and tossed his jacket to the side, like he had a hundred times before, like he always did. He ignored the nagging voice that pointed out that he was already exhausted from the walk, that he had lost all his stamina, and that Coran had advised him to avoid physical activity.

He ignored everything but the anger surging through him, giving him energy like fire in its power and transience. “Commence training sequence, level three.”

Keith’s eyes stung with the sweat trickling down his forehead, soaking his bangs. His breath came in huffs, legs burning, chest sore. This had been a really, really bad idea.

The gladiator approached, raising its staff, and Keith stumbled backwards, arms numb with tiredness. He had the energy for no other defence but retreating.

It was bad luck, that was all, that meant he tripped over nothing and fell to the floor with a painful thud. The gladiator wasn’t programmed to show mercy, of course; it raised its staff in preparation for a swing, high above its head, and Keith lost the will to fight and shrank back and the staff came down and—

“End training sequence!” The gladiator evaporated in a blur of pixels, weapon millimetres from Keith’s face.

Shiro.

As usual.

“Keith, what the hell?”

Keith winced at the tone of Shiro’s voice: so disappointed. A very familiar emotion. “I—” he started, out of breath, turning to look at Shiro.

“What the hell were you thinking?” Shiro’s face matched his voice: disappointed, with a hint of anger, and concerned (that wasn’t a regular thing though, that was just a Shiro thing; most people would just be angry at Keith, but Shiro was too nice). “Coran said not to do too much physical activity!”

“This—” Keith faltered. He’d been about to say that this wasn’t too much, but it would be a little difficult to say that, sprawled on the floor and out of breath as he was. “I’m sorry, Shiro,” he said instead, giving in to the well of disheartenment he felt because he’d disappointed Shiro.

Shiro sighed and offered him a hand, pulling him easily to standing. “Why are you up?” he asked, changing the subject.

“Nightmares,” Keith answered, direct honesty.

“Nightmares?” Shiro’s face swapped from disappointment to pure concern, and he looked closely at Keith. “Do you want to talk, or…?” He let the question trail off, watching Keith’s face.

Keith squirmed a little under the attention. “No.”

Shiro nodded, slipping an arm under Keith’s arms. “That’s fine. For now, let’s get you to the medbay.”

“The medbay?”

“Coran said to bring you there if anything went wrong, or if you overexerted yourself.” Shiro’s eyes were aimed ahead. His arm took most of Keith’s weight, which was fortunate, because Keith wasn’t sure he’d be able to walk himself. His legs, now that the adrenaline of sparring was no longer coursing through his veins, were wobbly, like his knees would buckle if he put his full weight on them. That fact somewhat undermined his desire to shove Shiro away and do it on his own. For now, he had to accept the help.

It was better than being on his own, after all.

ii.

It was cold, and chilly, and painful, and he knew at once he was not safe.

Keith opened his eyes.

Wrists restrained, ankles bound to the table; now gravity was wholly against him, because he was horizontal and it dragged him down into the table rather than slightly diagonal to its slant.

They must’ve tilted it.

The light was bright and above his head, a glare that reminded him of the dentist, hurting his eyes. He bit back a whimper of fear and pain, shrinking into himself as he saw the Druid’s mask looming overhead.

“You’re awake again, my pretty,” the Druid said, more of a croon in their voice as they gazed down at Keith.

So it had been a dream.

Fuck.

The Druid stroked hair back from Keith’s face, a practised motion. “So beautiful,” they whispered, prying one of his eyelids back as far as it would go— Keith flinched but was held in place— and caressing his cheek with their other hand, studying his eye. “Do you want to hear what we did while you were asleep?”

“No,” Keith said, under his breath.

The Druid ignored it. “We replaced your spleen!” they said cheerfully, as if this was something Keith should be happy about. “Just a test before we move on to the exciting stuff, you see. We need to make sure your body is capable of accepting Galra organs.”

Galra organs? Accepting Galra organs? Someone else’s spleen, inside of him, someone else’s cells, Galra cells, someone he’d never met, an entire different species, inside of him, connected up like a replacement battery, and if it hadn’t worked, what, what the actual—

Keith retched, painfully, twisting his head to the side and away from the Druid’s probing touch to cough up bile to one side.

“The flow of your blood shows that it has been a success,” the Druid noted, ignoring Keith’s retching and tracing cold, cold fingers over his chest, where the heart lay. “Perfect.”

Keith retched harder, but the Druid ignored that too. “I think we can really have fun now. What about…” They considered, sweeping fingers down Keith’s chest. “What about your stomach? What if we were to just… swap it?”

Keith shivered, deciding he hadn’t quite finished retching, which just made the Druid dig their claws in, right over one of the cauterised cuts. Painful.

That wasn’t a sob building behind the bile in his throat. It wasn’t.

The Druid nodded. “That’s what we’ll do. Just a few cuts, and—”

Keith heard no more. The thought of the Druid taking a knife and carving him open again was too much; the sob broke free, long and loud (more of a wail really) and he threw his head back, hitting the metal surface hard but he didn’t care, he didn’t care about the little explosion of pain, he didn’t care that it was futile, he just wanted out, out of this waking nightmare, and if that meant making the Druid knock him out again he’d take it, if only to escape.

He wailed.

He wailed, and he woke wailing.

The light was blue. Keith jolted upright, wrists mercifully free to move. He looked around wildly, cutting off the awful sound coming from his throat. No Druid.

No Druid, just a figure, blurry, coming through the door.

“Keith?”

Keith took in a few shuddering breaths, breathed. Clean smells, not the harsh cleanness of surgery, not the smell of antiseptic swabbed liberally over everything (including him), just natural cleanliness, just cotton and metal, just the smell of—

The medbay.

He was in the medbay.

And the figure rushing towards him (his eyes focused enough to see) was Lance.

“Keith?” Lance asked again, coming closer. “Are you okay?”

“I’m,” Keith hesitated, “I don’t know.”

“Was it another nightmare?” Lance’s eyes were caring. “Shiro told me about last night.”

“I–” Keith hesitated again before replying, “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Lance said, “that’s rough, man.” He indicated the side of the bed next to Keith. “D’you mind if I sit?”

Keith shook his head, thoughts hazy. Lance’s weight made the bed dip away from him, laws of physics working reassuringly, realistically. Like this was actually real life.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lance’s intonation was exactly the same as Shiro’s had been last night. Keith shook his head no.

“That’s fine,” Lance reassured hastily. “Just, I’m here for you if you ever do. Or I can go get Shiro if you’d rather tell him.”

“Thanks.” Keith nodded, words lost. His thoughts chased themselves round and round in an agony of is this reality, a question he could have no answer to, because if the chamber was the dream then it felt horribly real and if this was the dream then the chamber was…

He shuddered, imagining what the Druid might be doing to him right now as he slumbered.

He could feel Lance looking at him, but they sat in silence for a while, watching the lights brighten to dawn level.

“Don’t you need to get some sleep?” Keith asked finally.

Lance shrugged. “I slept well last night; I’m fine. Shiro didn’t want you to be on your own if you had a nightmare. Not that I got here in time to wake you up from that one…” He sighed. “Anyway, just let me know when you’re ready for breakfast.”

Breakfast… Keith’s stomach twisted at the thought of what the Druid had threatened.

If this was a dream, he didn’t want to wake back up. And, he thought blurrily, the only times he’d woken up were when he’d gone to sleep here in the dream-Castle. If he could avoid going to sleep…

It was a plan.

iii.

Of course, even in dreams, reality came to find him.

The brightness of his bedroom light shivered and faded into the light of the operating theatre, the empty wall he’d been staring at in an effort to stay awake melting into the cloak and mask of the Druid. “You’re such a fascinating being. We want to know everything about the way you work, what makes that fluttering little hybrid heart of yours beat.”

Keith shuddered away from the words, from the thoughts, but the Druid advanced, taking hold of his chin and stroking it. “My pretty,” they whispered.

Keith cringed back instinctively, but a part of him was angry at the Druid for describing him like he was nothing more than a pet, a senseless specimen that they could experiment with. They had no right to do that. The fury grew in size and intensity until he couldn’t just let this happen, couldn’t just let the Druid get away with touching him like that. He lunged forward, arms somehow free from the restraints, but his knees buckled and—

Keith was jolted back into the Castle-dream as he crumpled to the floor, bashing his knees on the metal edge of his bed, panting heavily, like he’d just gone a round with the gladiator. He felt like he was falling still, felt like he was trapped; his chest got tighter and tighter as he thought of what was waiting for him when he finally woke up. Pain. The Druid.

An unsurmountable wave of dread flooded Keith. What if…?

He shivered. And shivered. The shudders racked his bony body and he couldn’t stop them, couldn’t stop the pounding of his heart in his chest. Couldn’t stop the dizzy feeling, the choking. His body was out of control.

This whole situation was out of control.

He was crying now, scared tears that slid down his cheeks with stolen warmth. Sobbing with what little breath he could spare, with the constriction of his windpipe.

He just wanted this to end.

His vision was blurry and his heart loud in his ears, so he didn’t hear the door mechanism beep a warning, didn’t see it slide open to admit someone. He had curled up in a ball, clutching his knees to his chest, like he was hiding from the world. Like he was a kid again, able to pretend that that actually worked.

A hand descended on his shoulder. Keith jerked away instinctively, reminded of the Druid’s questing touch, but the hand lifted hurriedly. “Keith?” someone asked, voice almost drowned out by Keith’s breathing and pulse, but not quite.

Hunk.

That thought should’ve calmed Keith— it proved he hadn’t woken up yet, after all— but it didn’t help nearly as much as it should’ve. His breath still came too fast, too shallow; his eyes still leaked tears.

“I’m here, Keith,” Hunk said, loud enough to be clear. “I’m here. You’re okay, you’re safe.”

Keith heard the words, registered them, but they didn’t click, didn’t process. He didn’t feel safe, and he sure as hell wasn’t okay.

Hunk kept repeating them though, over and over like a mantra, sitting next to Keith and repeating “I’m here” and that, that at least was true, Hunk was there.

It took a few minutes but eventually Keith’s breathing and heart rate steadied enough for him to sit up, slow, wary.

“Hunk?” he asked breathlessly, wondering what Hunk would think of him after that display.

Hunk gave him a sympathetic look. “Yeah.”

Keith wasn’t sure what to do with that sympathy; an awkward silence descended. Finally, Hunk said softly, “You should eat something, you know.”

At the mention of food Keith’s stomach rolled again. Hunk must’ve seen something of it on his face, because he pointed out, “You haven’t eaten anything all day; I saw you picking at your food.”

“Oh.” Keith hadn’t been aware of the attention, too busy pretending to have eaten when he couldn’t stomach a single bite. It made sense though; as the cook, Hunk would be interested in how everyone found the food. “Sorry,” he said, inadequate, inappropriate, but unable to think of anything else.

“Let’s go to the kitchen.” Hunk smiled encouragingly at him. “I’m sure I can whip up something special for you.” He supported Keith as they stood up, taking most of his weight just as Shiro had, and together they went out of the door and into the night-cycle-dark hallway.

The kitchen glowed welcomingly to life as they entered, warm, friendly. Hunk set Keith down on one of the benches, stroking fingers along the stovetops like they were old friends. “What kinda thing d’you want?” he asked.

Keith swallowed back nausea. “Don’t mind.”

Hunk grunted, a hmm of consideration, and began to peruse the cupboards for ingredients and equipment while Keith watched. “Do you want to help?” he offered. “Or just to chat while I work?”

Keith wasn’t sure he wanted to do either of those things, but then he didn’t really want to sit and contemplate what awaited him when he returned to the waking world either. “Just chat,” he whispered.

Hunk nodded, selecting jars and pans. “Sure.”

Keith watched as Hunk focused, pouring unfathomable amounts of various substances into a huge wok and setting it to fry, wafting delicious savoury smells into the air. He moved with total confidence, like a ballet dancer who knew the steps by heart and was just dancing their emotions out.

“Who taught you to cook?” he asked, to break the silence.

“Who taught me to cook?” There was a smile in Hunk’s voice as he replied, “It was my mom, and my grandma. They taught me all the family recipes, all their secret techniques and tricks.”

Secret techniques? Keith wondered what constituted a secret cooking technique. Hunk said it like it was a state secret, to be protected at all costs. “You sure look like you’ve been doing it for a while,” he commented, surprised at his own social genius for asking the question.

“Yeah,” Hunk smiled over his shoulder even as he added extra powder to the mixture, “I have. Ever since I was five. I remember making cakes with my mom, before I was old enough to use the oven by myself. We’d measure the ingredients together, and I’d get to do the stirring. It was really fun, baking together. We still do it sometimes…” his voice trailed off and he stirred for a moment before correcting sadly, “did it, I mean.”

Keith frowned. “We’ll get back to Earth eventually,” he said, wanting to comfort Hunk, even if this was all just a figment of his imagination; he didn’t like hearing that desolate, lonely tone in huggable, cheerful, sarcastic, brilliant Hunk’s voice. “I’m sure your mom will be really happy to see you again.”

“She doesn’t know where I am,” Hunk pointed out. “She probably doesn’t even know if I’m alive. You know what they did when the Kerberos mission disappeared? I bet the Garrison’s done something similar with us. Our families probably think we’re dead.”

“I doubt it,” Keith said, although he wouldn’t put it past Iverson; ignoring the fact that he had no family and thus was kind of irrelevant. “They have no reason for three students to have gone missing, not like three pilots.”

Hunk sighed. “You’re right, probably, but I keep thinking about it. You know?”

“Does Lance know you worry about this?” Keith figured that of all the people on the Castle, Lance was the one Hunk would be most likely to confide in. They were best friends, after all.

“Yeah,” Hunk sighed, “but what’s he supposed to do? He worries about it, too. You know he has a huge family?”

“I didn’t know that, actually,” Keith said, because he didn’t.

He had the dreadful sense he’d just ended the conversation, and as Hunk stared at him for a moment before returning to the pan, stirring, his fear was confirmed. “Uh,” he started, scrabbling desperately for another conversational foothold, “what’re you making?”

Hunk added a pinch of something-or-other before replying, “Chicken korma. Or, since technically we don’t have any chicken, orso fruit korma. And since the spices are different, I’m not sure it’s really korma either. But anyway, I guarantee it’ll be delicious!”

“Sure,” Keith replied; it certainly smelt good. The only question was whether he’d be able to stomach it.

Hunk took two bowls and ladled liberal amounts of curry into each, adding a crust of bread to the edge. He gave Keith one. “It’ll be hot.”

“Okay.” Keith stirred the curry a little, trying to get some coolness into it. It was a smooth mixture, deep orange in colour, with large pieces of a starchy-looking vegetable floating in it. The bread was from one of the loaves that Hunk had made; brown, crusty. It smelt wonderful.

But when Keith raised a spoon to his lips, the nausea was too much. He set it down, swallowing and hoping Hunk hadn’t noticed.

Hunk had noticed, of course. “Are you okay, Keith?” he asked carefully. Like he was holding back his typical enthusiasm to be kind and quiet and look after Keith.

“I’m fine,” Keith replied automatically. “Just… not hungry.”

That wasn’t a lie, but Hunk squinted at him just the same. “After not eating, like, at all today?”

“I…” Keith sighed. “I'm not feeling great.”

By which he meant that the nausea was creeping up his throat, making him feel sicker by the moment.

Hunk’s expression shifted to instant understanding and sympathy. “I get it.”

Of course, Keith thought, Hunk’s always feeling sick for one reason or another.

“Would you like some water?” Hunk asked. “I find that usually helps me when I’m feeling sick.”

Mouth was dry, Keith realised. “Sure.”

He sipped from the beaker that Hunk brought him; it didn’t make the nausea go away, but it made it recede enough for him to be able to take a few sips of curry sauce. It was spicy and sweet and delicious, and eventually Keith was able to tentatively try a chunk of the orso fruit. And another after that. Hunk watched him between bites of his own serving, visibly pleased with Keith’s effort, even when he eventually ran out of steam and pushed the bowl away three-quarters full.

“That was delicious, thank you,” Keith said, because he thought that was the polite thing to say and it really had been delicious, even if he’d only been able to manage a little.

“I’m so glad you liked it,” Hunk smiled. “Do you feel any better?”

Keith hesitated, no on his lips, but actually, he did feel a bit better. The curry was inside him, warming him. The taste in his mouth was grounding, making him feel like he really was here in the Castle, like this wasn’t all going to be dragged from him the moment he lay down to sleep. “Yeah, I do actually.”

Hunk’s beam stretched even wider as he cleared the bowls away. “Great.”

iv.

The lounge was a nice, daytime brightness. Totally at odds with the actual time.

Keith figured it was around the equivalent of 3am by now, and he was sitting on one of the couches, alone.

He wasn’t exactly sure how long it’d been since he’d last fallen asleep/woken up, but he was intent on not letting himself drift off. After Hunk had gone to bed, he’d walked around for a bit; reassuringly, that seemed to be getting easier; he didn't need to lean against the wall every few strides.

Eventually, though, he’d had to sit down, and he’d ended up here. Here in the paladin’s lounge, on the couch, digging his fingernails into his palms to stop himself from falling asleep. Falling asleep meant waking up, and waking up meant returning to the Druid and the knives and the horror of being unable to fight back.

Fighting back was very important to Keith.

His eyes were heavy now; he clenched his fists tighter, tight enough that he could feel the nails cutting crescent-shaped indents into the palm. This was a fight, now, a fight against his exhausted body, and Keith was determined to win.

The door slid open behind him. “Keith?”

Keith twisted to see the speaker, though he recognised her from the voice.

Pidge’s face was tired but the surprise she felt at finding him here was evident. She was carrying her familiar orange backpack, half-open with wires trailing out the sides. “What are you doing here?”

Keith tried to smile, though he was so tired it felt like a lie on his face. “I could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out.

“I’ve been working on the Castle’s cloaking,” Pidge replied immediately, “and on the Castle’s defences. Allura, Coran and I have been trying to figure out how those Druids got in since they took you, pretty much, and we think we’re getting kinda close to creating something to keep ‘em out for good.” She put her backpack down on the opposite couch, sat, and frowned at him. “So, why are you up?”

Keith sighed, swallowed. “I’m trying to stay awake.”

“Stay awake?” Pidge’s eyes were exhaustion-bright. “Why do you want to stay awake? Is it…” she frowned, considering, “those nightmares?”

Keith couldn’t deny it. “Yeah.”

Pidge frowned harder, but she didn’t say anything more about Keith’s dubious nightmare-avoidance tactics. Instead, she pulled out a tangled mystery of wires and black boxes and said, “So, then. Seeing as Lance isn’t here… would you be interested in trying out one of the Altean videogames? I’ve been reworking it to make it compatible with my laptop and I think I’m there, but it’d be cool to have someone else testing if it works with me.”

“Videogames? But I don’t know how to play videogames.”

Pidge’s jaw dropped, like he’d just told her that he enjoyed mauling computers to relieve stress.

Oops. Keith supposed he’d never told her that he had never played a videogame before. The closest he’d ever gotten was the sims at the Garrison, but those were hardly games. They, as Iverson had repeatedly told giggling cadets, were a specialised training device and not to be fooled around with. Not that Keith ever had; the extracurricular time he’d spent with them had been used solely for improving his piloting skills.

“Really?” Pidge was doubtful.

“Really,” he shrugged. The foster parents had never let him play videogames. No big deal; real-life skills like fixing hoverbikes and making explosives were more useful than gaming.

“We’re fixing that,” Pidge said. “You’re learning how to play videogames, right now.” “Now?”

“Keith, if Lance finds out that you can’t game, then your life is over,” Pidge pointed out. “You’ll never hear the end of it.”

She had a point. Lance seemed to take pleasure in every little thing he could do better than Keith, even when Keith didn’t reciprocate. Keith knew it was just Lance being petty, but it made his own feelings of inferiority so much worse. “Okay.”

Pidge took out the console, switched it on. She found two controllers and passed him one, explaining what all the buttons did without looking as the holographic interface flickered to life. “The best way to learn is through experience,” she said, grinning, and pressed start.

Her gremlin-like expression was explained soon enough, as Keith, tired, floundered with the controls, with the speed of the gameplay, with everything. She wiped the floor with him for the first few rounds. But then Keith began to get the hang of it, weary eyes becoming intent on the computer-generated mayhem displayed in front of him, fingers becoming aligned with the buttons until it was almost easy. They became nearly evenly matched (Pidge had the advantage of a lifetime’s experience with games and sleep deprivation, so it was only logical that she remain the winner, but it was close).

The hours flew by until the lights outside the lounge were as bright as the ones inside; it was morning. “And we’re done,” Pidge declared, glancing out the doorway. “I now declare you a Katie-Holt certified gamer.”

“Thanks,” Keith said. His eyes were less heavy now, and he tried to ignore the fact that he’d been awake for a good forty-eight hours. He could avoid sleeping.

Because if he could avoid sleeping, he could avoid waking up.

Chapter Text

Lunch that day, and Keith was dangerously close to actually falling asleep.

You’d think he’d be an expert now at staying awake after all those days in that small, bright room on the Galra ship, but no. His eyes kept shutting of their own accord and it was an effort to keep them open, to keep himself sitting upright rather than slumping forward. There was a limit to how long he could keep this up, and he was fast approaching it.

“So,” Coran said, unaware of Keith’s predicament and swallowing a mouthful of rhuem salad, “we’ve been working on the Castle’s defences, as you all know. Pidge has been very helpful, programming everything–” Pidge smirked proudly “ – and we think the shields have been modified so that nothing can get through, not even teleporting Druids.”

“You think,” Shiro repeated, putting down his fork. “That doesn’t sound very certain.” “There’s no way to test it without a teleporting Druid,” Coran said regretfully. “As far as we can tell, though, this should be effective at keeping them out.” “Yes,” Allura agreed. “We’ve added a layer of soul quintessence— the purest form of quintessence— to the regular shield quintessence, and that should disrupt their own quintessence if they should try to come through.”

“I don’t like how theoretical this sounds,” Shiro sighed, “but okay.”

Coran nodded to Keith. “Rest assured, Number Four, we’ll do our best to keep you safe.”

“Uh, thanks.” Keith turned over a salad leaf with his fork, wondering if Hunk was still watching him not eat. He still felt sick to his stomach, and while he was trying to focus on the dream, the reality that was waiting for him to wake tugged at his thoughts.

Reality? Was it reality, though? When had he decided to think of that as reality, and this as the dream? He hadn’t had confirmation of either.

Frowned down at his plate, fork stabbing at a solanus fruit. So was this reality then? What was reality? Were both reality? Were neither? Grip tightening on his knife. Was this real? Or wasn’t it? What was it? Did real even exist, or…? Or…

Real or not real and the world was different for each and it was just a case of choosing but real/not real, dream/nightmare, real/nightmare, dream/not real, real/dream, nightmare/not real, real/dream/nightmare/not real/real/nightmare/dream/real/not real/real/not real but none of it was his choice, spinning out of control and he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t live in this agony of not knowing any more and—

He stood up, slamming his cutlery onto the plate. Conscious of their eyes on him. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t know if they were real, after all.

The door opened and he was through, walking away. No one came after him. Good.

He was walking, not knowing where he was going, just tracing the familiar routes in the Castle one last time, because while this might be a dream it was a damn good one. Or it might be reality. Who knew?

If it wasn’t…

That sick feeling in his throat was back, and he strode along, trying to ignore it. Trying to ignore the churning of his stomach, the light-headedness. He was walking and walking and he didn’t know where he was going but then the door opened in front of him and he was entering Red’s hangar.

He hadn’t been here since before. He didn’t really know why.

Well, maybe he did.

Maybe he was worried, deep inside, that Red wouldn’t want him to be her paladin any more. Not after he’d been so weak as to get kidnapped.

She was there, seated in the middle of the space. Tall and imposing, painted a beautiful shade of red which was scraped in places, showing the gleam of her metal body beneath. Eyes yellow, glowing with that inner fire they’d once shared.

Keith saw her, and it hit him. The sense of her presence; warmth, loyalty. She didn’t care that he’d gotten kidnapped. She was just glad that he was back, and that he’d come to her.

And for some reason, that was it for Keith’s determination, his stubborn resolve to stay alone, to do this without telling anyone else.

“Help.”

Asking for help wasn’t something Keith was particularly versed in, but here no further words were needed. Red could feel him, and she knew what he needed help with. She knew that he didn’t know, didn’t know anymore, and that he was on the point of breaking, of giving up. She knew he couldn’t tell what was real and what was the dream.

She crouched, eyes glowing a brighter yellow, a rumble building in her throat as her head descended to be only a few centimetres from Keith’s own.

Slowly, Keith raised his hand until the fingertips brushed Red’s snout, and the connection was all it took.

Fire and warmth and reassurance and knowing rushed into Keith like a wash of heat. Heat, and love. His knees buckled as their bond reignited and it was confirmed. The certainty, the certainty of being loved, of loving, of being with Red, all of it, he knew. This…

This was reality.

His vision blurred through a film of tears, but finally they were happy ones. Red was here, and he was safe. Her quintessence and his, merging and making him feel powerful, making him feel alive.

He could hear her purring over him even as he finally fell asleep.

And for the first time since before, his sleep was untroubled.

Chapter Text

Keith opened his eyes.

Red was purring still, but he knew instantly that he was not alone. Slowly, he sat up and looked around.

Shiro was seated on the floor by the door, a smile lighting his face. “Hey, sleepyhead.” “Shiro,” Keith mumbled, because he didn’t really have anything better to start with.

“Did you come straight here?” Shiro asked, standing up and coming over. “I only came here a couple minutes ago.”

Keith stretched. “How long’s it been?”

Shiro smiled brighter. “It’s been hours, Keith. Did you sleep all this time?”

“I, uh, I guess so,” Keith replied, taking the hand Shiro was offering and standing up. “Were you worried?”

“A little,” Shiro said mildly. “Black told me you were okay, though.”

Keith looked up at Red. Did you…? She gazed impassively back down at him and there was a tinge of amusement to the tilt of her head.

“What time is it, then?” he asked.

“It’s eight o’clock,” Shiro said, “we’re just gonna have supper.”

“Kinda late for supper.”

“We were waiting for you to eat with us.”

Keith swallowed, gratitude filling him. “Thanks.”

They’d insisted on ending the evening with a movie night.

“To celebrate you getting your bond with Red back,” Shiro had said. There wasn’t really anything Keith could say to that.

He was pleasantly full of food now; Hunk’s risotto was a masterpiece and without the threat of ‘waking up’, Keith had realised just how hungry he was. He’d scraped his plate clean, savouring the taste of the rice and spices. And even when he had thought about what the Druid had done (because there was no way to eradicate it from his mind completely), the others had noticed and distracted him with their own silly banter. Arguing about whether Lance or Pidge was the best gamer (Pidge had winked subtly at Keith as they fought over it), talking about weird things in the Castle, or discussing what movies to watch that night. They pulled him back to the present, back to reality.

Keith had no clue what the movies they were going to watch were about, but that, Shiro had said, was fine. They’d swept him along to the lounge and for once Keith was happy to be with them. They were real, and nothing could wreck his relief for that.

They were together on the sofa now, all in one big pile. Hunk sitting by one arm, Lance with his foot on Hunk’s lap and his arm looped around Shiro’s neck. Shiro was doing that dad thing where his arms were stretched across the back of the sofa, relaxed, and Keith was next to him. Pidge was on Keith’s other side, curled up next to him, and while normally the physical contact on both sides would freak Keith out, right now it felt like an expression of familiarity, of affection. Not the Druid’s twisted, cruel fascination; an expression of mutual trust and love. Keith leaned into Shiro’s side and felt the stirrings of the words he wanted to speak. The hologram flickered and Pidge sat up to fix the next movie— this was the moment.

“My nightmares,” he mumbled, hunching his shoulders and burying his face in Shiro’s shoulder. He felt them all stiffen, listening. “I didn’t tell y’all what they were about.” Took in a breath, trying to halt the tightening of his chest. “I dreamt that, that I was back there, back with the Druid. And…” he hesitated, and he felt Shiro’s arm come around him, a hug.

“Take your time. You don’t have to tell us yet if it’s too hard.”

“I want to,” Keith said, voice muffled in Shiro’s shirt. “I want to tell you that, that I wasn’t sure whether they were dreams or not. Whether they were the dreams… or whether this was the dream.” “Oh, Keith,” Shiro said, and he heard similar reactions from the other paladins. “You know this is real, right? You’re safe.” “I know.” Keith wrapped his arms around Shiro.

He emerged from the hug after a while, and Pidge took that as her cue to start the movie. Even after that hours-long nap, though, Keith was still tired. He tried to keep his eyes open, watching the movie for as long as he could, but eventually he lost the battle. His eyes drooped shut, drifting off with Pidge and Shiro pressed close to him, warm, comforting. Safe.

Real, Red purred in the back of his mind.

Real, Keith agreed as he fell into unconsciousness.

And he slept.