"Keith? What are you doing here?"

It's not the warm welcome Keith had been hoping for when he returned to the Castle, but it's not completely unexpected. He'd come back in the first place because of Lance's increasing concern that something might be wrong with Shiro; he's not acting like himself.

It's okay. Keith can't let it get to him. "Nice to see you too, Shiro."

Shiro turns away from the screen to face him fully. He softens a little. "Sorry. I just wasn't expecting you. I thought you were with the Blade of Marmora."

"I was gonna tell you I was picking Keith up, but I couldn't find you," Lance pipes up from beside him. "Kolivan thought it'd be a good idea for Keith to come back and spend some time with the team, 'cause he was lonely."

"Uh, yeah," Keith says, giving an awkward shrug. "I mean, I wasn't. He just thought I was," he adds, quickly, noticing the skepticism written on Shiro's face. Shiro may be colder these days, but he's no less perceptive. Hopefully, he'll just chalk it up to embarrassment on Keith's part.

"So you asked Lance to come get you?"

"We'd been talking anyway," Keith says, noticing Lance tense up beside him. "Just catching up."

"I know, I know," Lance says. "Chatting with Keith, weird, right? But I was bored, and everyone else was busy. …At least, it seemed like it. Not sure what you were up to," he adds, pointedly.

Shiro doesn't comment further. "Well, I'm sure everyone else will be happy to have you home."

Lance wrinkles his brow. "You're happy he's home, too. Right, Shiro?"

"…Of course," Shiro says, a half-tick too late to be genuine. It's fine; it's fine.

Keith hefts his meagre duffel bag. "I'm gonna go unpack." Without having had to pack rations or emergency supplies, there's barely anything in there, but still, it's something to do. "Catch you at dinner."

He leaves the bridge, but he waits a moment before heading to his room, hovering in the hallway outside the door. Lance had said Shiro was harsh and distant even when Keith wasn't around, but something in him needs confirmation that it's not just with him. He doesn't want Shiro to be like this with the others, but at the same time…

"The Blade of Marmora doesn't send their members away because they're lonely," Shiro says, as soon as Keith should be out of range. "Did you ask Keith to come back?"

"…Yeah," Lance admits.

"Do you think I shouldn't be leading Voltron?" His tone is sharp, accusatory.

"What? No! No, I was just—I was worried about you, okay?" Lance says. "I know you're going through some stuff, and I just… thought it'd be nice for you to have Keith around."

"I'm fine, Lance."

"Well, after what you said to me, when we were stuck in the Patrulian System waiting for Allura and Lotor to get back—"

"I said I'm fine," Shiro snaps. "I don't need Keith's help, and I don't need yours."

A pause, before Lance says, "If you don't want company, I'll leave you be."

Keith takes that as his cue to leave, darting to his room with the quietest of footsteps.

He's not surprised when, shortly after he's spilled the few contents of his duffel bag onto the bed, there's a knock at his door. "Come in."

"Hey." Lance makes himself at home, shoving Keith's stuff aside and flopping down on his bed. "I'm sure Shiro really is happy to see you, man. He's just… you know."

Keith pushes his things over further and takes a seat beside Lance. "Yeah."

"Well, he's right about the rest of us being glad you're home. When I told the others, they were super psyched, and Shiro's behaviour has been affecting them, too. It'll be good to have you around. I know you'll be able to get us closer to figuring out what's wrong."

"I'm not a detective," Keith warns. He doesn't want to give him false hope.

"That ridiculous evidence board you had in your shack back on Earth begs to differ," Lance says. "And, hey, even if you aren't? You're still his best friend, and that goes a long way."

Keith gives Lance a small smile.

"Oh, and maybe this'll help," Lance says. "There's another thing I forgot to tell you about, apart from the weird behaviour and the headaches. I thought it was just a fluke at the time, but maybe it's related. This one time when we were in Voltron, we were infected by this virus thing, so we had to 'tap into the energy that binds us to Voltron', or whatever. According to Allura, the bayards amplify each paladin's life force, or something like that, so we used them, and it brought us to this sort of mind space inside of Voltron.

"The rest of us had no problem getting there, but Shiro didn't show up at first. We had to really reach for him. We found him eventually, but it was like he wasn't… all there. It was, like, static-y; the connection was super weak.

"We did our thing to get the virus out, but after the others had left, Shiro was shouting at me. It was hard to hear, like he was really far away, but he said, 'Lance, listen to me'. It cut out before I could catch anything else. The weirdest part is that I asked him about it later, but he didn't remember any of it."

Keith lets Lance's story sink in, trying to parse the information, piecing it together. "The bayards amplify life force," he muses. "Has Shiro been using his bayard much?"

Lance considers. "Come to think of it, no. I've never actually seen him use it. He's just been fighting with his arm."

"The black bayard works fine, so it's not that. …Shiro wasn't able to connect with the Black Lion for a long time either, and it took her a long time to find him after he disappeared." Too long. He suppresses a shudder at the thought of how close they'd come to losing him for good. "If the Lions and the bayards are both connected to our life force or quintessence or whatever, maybe—maybe there's something going on with that."

Lance shoots him an impressed look. "Huh. I hadn't thought about that. You really are smarter than your haircut makes you look."

Keith rolls his eyes at the jab and pushes himself off the bed. "I'm gonna go try to connect with Black. See if she can tell me anything about what's going on."

"Good idea. Let us know if you come up with anything."

"Will do."

…

The Black Lion responds to Keith right away, lighting up for him. He closes his eyes, clutching at the controls. The gears thrum with energy under his fingers. He's missed this feeling more than he cares to admit.

"Please," he begs. "I need you to tell me if something's wrong with Shiro."

Black doesn't speak in words or pictures, or anything Keith can make concrete sense of. Instead, she feeds him vague sensations. A wave of unease rolls through him; in its wake, something cold and dark engulfs him. His chest feels hollowed out, empty. Something's missing.

"I don't understand," Keith says. "I don't know what you're trying to—"

"Keith?"

Keith startles, his mind link with Black severed abruptly. Shiro's face on the comm screen is nothing but angles and edges, not even a trace of softness lining his features.

"Keith, what are you doing?"

He stalls as he scrambles for an excuse. "I'm, uh…"

"Come out. We should talk."

"…Okay."

Shiro's waiting for him in the hangar, arms crossed over his broad chest. "What are you doing with the Black Lion? You gave up leadership of Voltron when you left."

"I'm not trying to take anything away from you," Keith says, trying to keep his voice even. "I told you before, I don't want to lead Voltron. I just… thought I'd see if Black could show me what you've all been up to. Thought it might be easier than having to ask you guys to explain it to me."

"I thought you had Lance to tell you everything," Shiro says, coolly.

"Yeah, well, maybe I don't feel like asking Lance."

Shiro narrows his eyes. "Really? Because I saw you two were talking in your room before this."

"Uh." Keith isn't sure how to respond to that. Keith is the worst liar, and Shiro can see through him every time.

"I don't know what Lance has been telling you, but everything is fine," Shiro says.

"He didn't say anything was wrong," Keith says. He didn't; he'd just strongly, strongly suspected it. Half-truths are easier to pull off than lies. "He was just telling me about the time you guys used your bayards inside Voltron. It sounded cool. I was hoping Black could show me what he was talking about, but maybe—maybe you guys could show me?"

Shiro opens his mouth to speak, but he snaps it shut as he winces, pressing a hand to his temple. He squeezes his eyes closed. They're sharper when he opens them again.

"You left, Keith," Shiro scathes. "Lance is the pilot of the Red Lion now, and Allura is in the Blue Lion. You don't have a place here anymore."

It cuts deep, and despite himself, Keith's eyes start to prickle. His instincts tell him to get out, fast; run and don't look back. But no. He's done running. He came back to help Shiro; he can't leave him again.

Desperately, Keith grasps at anything in his mind to calm him down. Black reaches back. She doesn't have Red's warmth, but something peaceful and soothing wraps around him. Keith is still a part of the team. He's important; he belongs here. Shiro misspoke. He's not himself.

"I'm not going anywhere, Shiro," Keith promises, even as his voice wavers. "I'm here for the team. I'm here for you. Even if you say things you don't mean."

He leaves the hangar in metered strides. When he reaches his room, he buries his head in his pillow and shuts his eyes, praying that when he wakes up, it'll sting a little less.

…

Keith doesn't quite fall asleep. He's pulled out of the space between wakefulness and dreaming by a knock at his door.

He doesn't want to debrief with Lance, not now. When the knocking persists, Keith asks, "Can it wait 'til after dinner?"

"I'd rather talk now, if that's alright." The strained voice isn't Lance's.

Keith opens the door and lets Shiro in. Shiro's head is bowed, his shoulders slumped, like he's trying to take up less space.

Keith sits on the bed and gestures to the spot beside him. Shiro joins him, collapsing more than taking a seat. "I'm so sorry, Keith. I don't—" His breath hitches. "I don't know how I could say something like that. It's completely inexcusable. I'm so, so sorry."

Keith wants to say it's fine, but he can't. Keith's not the only one Shiro's snapped at, and if he said something like that to one of the others, it could cause some serious damage. …That andit hurt. "It's not like I've never said something I didn't mean," Keith says.

"But I… I did, at the time," Shiro whispers. "Something was telling me that was the right thing to say. It's not true, of course it's not true, and now I don't know how I could possibly have believed it, but I just…" He shudders, shrinking further. "My head, it's such a mess. I have all these conflicting ideas. It feels like I'm constantly fighting with myself. I-I don't know what's going on. Sometimes, it's like I'm an entirely different person."

Gently, Keith leans against him, knocking their shoulders together. "I'm not sure how I can help, but I'm here for you, no matter what. I'm sorry I didn't come back earlier."

"It's not like I gave you much reason to," Shiro says. "You shouldn't have to put up with this."

"It's okay."

"It's not." Shiro draws a stuttering breath. "I've hurt you, over and over. And I don't—I don't know how to stop."

Keith rests a little more weight against him, solid and reassuring. "Why don't you let us look into it? See if there's anything we can fix."

"Look into it how? Where would you even begin?" Shiro asks, quietly.

"Well, we could start by checking out that Voltron mind space Lance was talking about," Keith says. "I wouldn't be replacing anyone. It'd just be a one-time exercise, just to see. Lance said you were yelling something but don't remember. Maybe it was important."

Shiro's lips form the beginning of a syllable, but he freezes before he can get the word out, jaw tensing up. He screws his eyes shut, clutching his head with both hands. A pained noise escapes through clenched teeth.

"Shiro?!"

Shiro pushes off the bed, staggering to his feet. "I have to go," he gasps.

"You should lie down," Keith says, gesturing back to the bed. He reaches for his shoulder, but Shiro wrenches it away. "Shiro, you don't have to deal with this by yourself."

"Yes, I do."

"I came back for you. Let me help you. Please."

"No, you don't understand," Shiro says, bracing himself against the wall. His metal fingers twitch. "The headaches, they… they usually get worse around you."

The blood drains from Keith's face. So many inadequate words form on the tip of his tongue—why, and I'm sorry, and please don't go—but what he settles on is, "We don't have to go inside Voltron."

Not expecting that, Shiro blinks his eyes open, meeting his gaze.

"I don't need to see it," Keith says. "Not if you don't want to."

Slowly, Shiro's shaky hand comes down from his temple to rest at his side. He takes an uneasy breath and sinks back down to the bed.

Cautiously, Keith sets his hand on Shiro's shoulder. He doesn't move away. When the strain in Shiro's jaw has visibly lessened, he asks, "Are you okay?"

"My head hurts less," Shiro says, "but I—I don't…" He curls in on himself. "What's wrong with me?"

Keith's not sure, but he's found a good starting point. The headaches definitely mean something, and so does this Voltron mind space. There's more to this than trauma alone. "We'll figure it out. Why don't you rest a bit," he says, coaxing Shiro into lying down. "I can leave." It's his room, but there are other places in the Castle he can go.

Shiro grabs Keith's hand before he can get up. "I don't want you to. I—I know I keep contradicting myself, and I'd completely understand if you did, but I don't want you to go." A glimmer of Shiro's old self peeks through, heartfelt and earnest. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too." Keith misses him more with every moment they're together.

Keith grabs his tablet and dims the lights, settling down at the edge of the bed. They've spent days like this before, when Shiro was recovering after they found him in the Galra fighter. Shiro settles against him in a comfortable position, in which Keith is reassured by each inhale and exhale, and Shiro has someone to ground him.

Keith messages Lance with what he's learned, half sit-rep, half conversation. Halfway into trying to decipher Lance's emojis, Shiro breaks the silence.

"Keith?" Shiro says, into the darkness. "I don't—I don't know what I might say or do in the future, but no matter what, don't ever think I don't care about you. You mean the world to me."

Intrinsically, Keith knows this, but it's always helpful to have the reminder. "I know."

"Will you do something for me?" The gravity in Shiro's tone is foreboding, and Keith doesn't like it.

"I can try. What is it?"

"If I'm ever about to do something that could hurt someone, will you stop me?" Shiro asks.

"Yeah. Of course."

"…No matter what it takes?"

There's the kicker. "Shiro…"

"I'm sorry. I'm putting you in a difficult situation again," Shiro says, "but I don't know how much I can trust myself anymore, and I'm—I'm afraid of what could happen. If I put someone else in danger—"

"It's going to be fine," Keith says. "You're not going to hurt anyone."

"Keith—"

"But if it really comes down to it, I will," Keith says. "You have my word."

…

When it does come down to it, Keith goes back on his word.

"Shiro, please," Keith begs. "I don't want to fight you."

"Then you shouldn't have taken the Black Lion," Shiro snarls.

"I didn't have a choice! The rest of the team was in danger, and—" And the Black Lion had shut Shiro out again. She would only let Keith fly her.

Shiro comes closer, predatory, his hand humming with violet energy. There's nowhere to hide in the Black Lion's hangar. "You took her from me. You took Voltron from me."

"Shiro, you're not thinking straight," Keith says. "Don't do this. Don't do something you're gonna regret."

Keith's fast, but he still barely dodges in time when Shiro strikes. He's sparred with Shiro, but this is nothing like sparring. This isn't like anything Keith's seen from him before. Shiro doesn't usually aim to kill.

Keith tries to deflect his attacks, but his defence has always been mired in offensive strategies, and he can't bring himself to actively use his blade against Shiro. It doesn't matter, anyway; even with his Marmora training, he wouldn't stand a chance against the Champion.

It's only a matter of time. Shiro feints, and, when Keith's side is exposed, he tears through Keith's suit with the hand hot enough to melt steel. Keith screams as the Galra weapon burns his flesh, his vision going white.

"Sh-Shiro," Keith stutters, twisting away, bringing his arms up in a pathetic attempt to protect himself. "You don't actually want to kill me. I know you don't."

The wrath on Shiro's face flickers. Keith uses the moment to drag himself out of Shiro's reach. Every movement is agony.

Shiro shakes his head and lunges forward, grabbing Keith by the throat and slamming him against the wall. Keith cries out as metal fingers sear his neck.

"Shiro," he gasps. "Fight it."

A war rages behind Shiro's eyes, until he staggers, releasing his grip. Keith collapses in a heap to the floor.

Shiro falls to his knees, clutching his head. "K-Keith," he gasps. "I'm not—I'm not in control. Please, you have to—"

"I'm sorry," Keith whispers. Even if he had the will, he's too weak to pick himself up, let alone draw his blade. "But you can fight this. I know you can."

"Keith," Shiro pleads, voice cracking. "I-I—"

"It's okay," Keith assures him, before he passes out. "It's gonna be okay."

…

The team is waiting for Keith when he falls out of the healing pod, catching him in a tangle of arms. In a tight little circle around him are Lance, Hunk, Pidge, Allura, Coran, and… Lotor.

"Where's Shiro?" Keith murmurs, swaying on his feet.

Lance holds an arm out, steadying him. "He, um…"

"He's locked himself up in solitary confinement," Lotor says, his voice icy smooth. "A bit dramatic, if you ask me."

"No one asked you," Lance grumbles. "But, yeah. He's really upset about what happened."

"You almost died, man," Hunk says. "By the time Shiro got you to the med bay, you were, like, cold."

"Shiro brought me there?"

"Yeah. He wasn't doing too great, though. He said something about his head hurting before he collapsed," Pidge says. "I think I heard him throwing up later, too, but that could've just been… you know. Haven't heard anything about headaches since then, but he hasn't exactly been talking to us a whole lot."

Keith winces. "So I'm guessing you haven't figured out what's wrong with him yet."

"We don't have much more than what you told us," Lance admits. "No point in trying to push the Voltron mind space thing if Black won't let Shiro in, not to mention Shiro won't leave his cell. We don't really have enough information to even know where to look next."

"Have you questioned Lotor?" Keith says, gesturing at the newly crowned Galra Emperor. "Shiro gave him his bayard and brought him to the Kral Zera."

"We have considered that," Allura says. "However, this all started before Shiro was ever in contact with Lotor."

"To our knowledge," Keith says.

"Yes, to your knowledge," Lotor says, his tone and smirk dripping with condescension. Lance was right: Lotor is a prick of the highest order. "Rest assured, I haven't done a thing to your Black Paladin. If I did have some way of controlling him, I'd never have ordered him to turn on you. All this guilt and self-punishment is highly counterproductive. There would be much easier ways to get rid of you, if I wanted to."

"You're not really helping yourself here," Hunk says.

Allura sighs. "Lotor was with me all day yesterday. I neither saw nor sensed him do anything."

"You see? Perhaps he simply supports me because he wishes for peace in the universe," Lotor says, revoltingly smug. Keith rolls his eyes. Lance growls next to him.

Coran clears his throat. "Erm, anyway, we weren't able to find anything physically wrong with Shiro, either. He allowed us to perform some tests on him, but nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. It's quite the quandary."

"And he hasn't said anything that could give us a clue?" Keith asks.

"We've tried talking to him, but he just tells us we can't trust what he says and should leave him alone," Lance says, sagging a little. The others don't know how to push, not yet, and Shiro doesn't know how to let them.

"Let me try," Keith says. "I might be more likely to get some answers."

"Uh, you also might be more likely to get murdered," Hunk says. "I mean, he's in a max security cell and we deactivated his arm, but Shiro seems to have a knack for escaping prisons and he gets kinda, y'know, rage-y around you. You sure that's a good idea?"

"I'll be fine," Keith insists. "If you have any better ideas, I'm open to them. But we've gotta do something. We can't just leave him there."

"Agreed," Allura says. "We don't seem to have any other options, and if he's… if he's himself, I'm sure he'll want to see that you're alright. Let us know if you need anything."

"I will."

As Keith walks down the hallway, someone follows, jogging to catch up. He spins around and waits for Lance.

"You sure about doing this right now?" Lance asks, walking alongside him. "Sure you don't wanna wait? You're barely standing, man."

"Waiting's not gonna help anything," Keith says.

"Yeah, but, I mean… it might hurt, talking to him like this. You're sure you're okay?"

"It's gonna suck, no way around it," Keith says. "But we need a starting point. I can't just stand by when there's a chance we could figure something out."

"…And you're sure you don't want backup?" It's a request more than a question; Lance wants to be helpful.

"I'm definitely gonna need your help after, when we've got something to work with," Keith assures him. "But it might be better if it's just me for this. Like you said, it's gonna hurt. I'm gonna press him for answers, which will probably trigger his headaches. It's going to hurt him. I don't want you to have to see that if you don't have to, and he wouldn't want you to either." Not to mention it could get emotional, and they would both rather jump off a cliff than let anyone bear witness to that.

Lance nods. "Alright." He places a hand on Keith's shoulder. The gesture stings a bit, a reminder of what he's lost with Shiro, but all the same, he's grateful for the support. "Be careful, okay?"

"When am I ever not?"

Lance laughs.

"But really, I'll be okay," Keith says. "Honest."

"Good. See you after, when you've got answers," Lance says, and splits off.

After a quick stop by the training deck, Keith heads to the cell where Shiro waits.

The elevator ride lasts for ages, endless storeys down into the bowels of the ship. They only ever really use a few rooms, and it's easy to forget just how huge the Castle is.

As he descends, a single round chamber comes into view below. There's nothing around it, nothing but darkness. Despite himself, Keith feels a pang of sympathy for Lotor—he can barely fathom spending a few days in here, let alone months. No stars, no sky; there's nothing here. How could Shiro willingly let himself be locked up here? How could he put himself back in a cell?

The doors open, leading to a large catwalk. His footsteps echo as he approaches the cylindrical chamber.

Shiro sharpens into focus as he gets closer. He's watching him with wide eyes, his right arm hanging limply at his side. When he gets close enough, Shiro's face crumples. "Keith…"

Keith's chest aches at the sight of the grief etched into his features, the broken sound of his voice. He wants so badly to erase it all, but it's hard from out here. The comfort they lend one another is predominantly tactile: a hand on the shoulder, a pat on the back, a nudge to the side. Words have never been enough.

Keith hates the distance between them. Pressing his palm against the barrier, he sighs. "The hell are you doing in here?"

"What do you think I'm doing in here?" Shiro says, voice hitching. "I nearly killed you."

"You didn't," Keith says.

"It—it was close. It was so close," Shiro whispers. His eyes are wet.

"Yeah, well, nothing new there," Keith says. "I come close to death on a pretty regular basis. Occupational hazard."

"That doesn't make it okay," Shiro says.

"I'm fine, Shiro," Keith assures him. "All healed up, good as new. Mostly just inconvenienced—it took me over half an hour to get here." He gestures at the space around them. "Lotor was right; this is excessive."

"It's not as bad as it looks," Shiro says. "The bed flips up; there's a commode, and a shower…"

"Can I come in? I want a tour."

It startles a half-laugh out of Shiro. "Do you have a death wish?"

"No, but I kind of want to sit down," Keith says. "My legs are tired, since I just got out of the healing pod—the one you got me to in time—and it took, like, a century to get here."

Another almost-laugh. "Well, tough."

"Get out of there, Shiro," Keith sighs. "Seriously, the time adds up—you really wanna take up hours of the team's day to bring you meals? And what happens if they're in trouble? What happens when they need you?"

"Well, they'd be out of luck anyway. The Black Lion's chosen you over me again," Shiro says, more resigned than bitter. "You can't possibly have forgotten."

"There are other ways you can help," Keith insists. "You know there are. You're not helping anyone down here."

Shiro grimaces—Keith knows how to get to him—but he says, "It's still better than the alternative."

"They turned your arm off," Keith says.

"I could find a way. Especially if you don't even try to stop me." Shiro swallows. In a hoarse whisper, he asks, "Why didn't you fight back? You promised."

"No one else was in danger," Keith says.

"So it's okay if it's you?"

"Tell me," Keith says. "If our roles were reversed, would you have done what you'd asked me to do?"

Shiro falters.

"Anyway, it doesn't matter now. It won't happen again."

"You don't know that," Shiro says.

"I do. We're gonna figure this out," Keith promises. "We're gonna need more to work off of, though, so I'm gonna need your help. …Do you trust me?"

"You know I do," Shiro says.

Keith nods. He holds up the metal headpieces from the training deck, the ones they'd used to see into each other's minds. "The headaches and the disconnect between you and the Black Lion started after you escaped from the Galra the second time." Other things started around then, too, but he doesn't mention those. "I know this might be painful, but I need you to show me everything you can remember between when you used your bayard in the Black Lion against Zarkon and when we found you."

"I don't remember a whole lot," Shiro warns him. "And I don't know how much we can trust my memory."

"It'll give us somewhere to start," Keith says. "I need you to show me everythingyou can remember. Even if it's incomplete. Even if you're not sure it was real. Can you do that?"

Shiro hesitates, but eventually, he nods.

"You're gonna need one of these," Keith says, holding up the headpieces. "Come out and get it?"

"No," Shiro says, firmly.

Keith shrugs; it was worth a shot. He pulls up the controls and makes a small opening at the bottom of the barrier, normally used for exchanging meal trays. He slides one of the devices to Shiro.

"What we're doing, it—it might trigger a headache. Let me know if it gets too bad."

"Sure," Shiro says, though they both know he won't.

"And don't hold back," Keith says, slipping his own over his temples. "I know it's probably not gonna be pretty, but I need to see everything. Okay?"

"…Okay."

Keith closes his eyes. "Ready when you are." He reaches out through the mind link, and Shiro lets him in.

Keith only catches a glimpse inside Shiro's head before his eyes fly back open and he instinctively tears the device off, gasping for air like a man seconds from drowning. Shiro's mindscape is completely overwhelming, a cacophony of noise and pain. He bites out a curse. He's not sure what he was expecting, but he hadn't expected the pain to be quite so corporeal.

Shiro winces. "Sorry. Whatever's causing the headaches doesn't seem to like what we're doing. You okay?" he asks, and Keith almost laughs. Shiro's the one living with it; Keith just got a taste.

"I'm fine if you are. Let's try again."

He slips the device back on, and Shiro lets him in again. He braces himself as he enters, easing his way in this time instead of diving headfirst.

He's more prepared for it this time, but it's still startling. A harsh, screeching sound runs through everything, interspersed with loud, angry static. Things flicker in and out, half-formed pictures and so many blanks. Little shards of memories hurtle out of nowhere, loaded with enough information to hurt, but not enough to make sense of. Something chips away at his skull, sharp and throbbing. Worse than all that is a deep, all-encompassing emptiness. It chills him to his core, unsettling beyond words; it pulls him apart piece by piece. This. This was what Black had been trying to show him.

"Ready?" Shiro asks.

Keith scrambles to pull himself back together. He's here for a reason. He's here to gather information. He's here to help Shiro. "Ready."

Shiro draws one of his intact memories to the forefront of his consciousness, and it begins.

He's in a tiny Galra fighter; he's been in here for a small eternity. No food, no water. Oxygen is low; so is all hope of rescue. The ship is shutting down; so is his body. His last thoughts are of his team. He wishes he'd had a chance to say goodbye.

The memory is devastating, harrowing and real. It leaves Keith reeling, but he has to stay focused, has to concentrate on facts over feelings. He can't let his emotions get in the way. Keith digs deeper, extracting a memory from a little further back.

Seven days before. There are explosions all around, the Galra fleet left a junkyard. Voltron flies away. They're all he has, but they're too fast for him. Desperate, he tries to chase them, but he can't catch up in his tiny stolen fighter. They leave him behind, with nothing around him but perpetual darkness and stars too far to reach. He's all alone.

Keith pushes down a swell of emotion before it can fully take form. He can't stop; he has to keep going. He takes another step back in time. Then another, and another.

Aboard a Galra cruiser, he sneaks through the halls. He's injured and exhausted, but he has to keep going. Taking down anything in his way, he continues until he reaches the hangar. He replaces a sentry stationed at one of the fighters and jumps in. The launch is aborted, but he can't lose this chance. Throwing caution to the wind, he shoots everything and everyone around him. He has to find Voltron.

He's at an outpost, somewhere cold. Two rebel fighters—part of the resistance—outfit him with a spacesuit and their shuttle. They wish him luck. He locates the Galra cruiser and comes in close. In a leap of faith, he sacrifices the shuttle and ejects himself into space. He sneaks past the automated defence system and lets the massive vessel swallow him up. He'll never be free of these ships.

The rebels still don't believe he's on their side. He's sick of this, so goddamn tired. He's on the verge of passing out, but he pushes through; he needs to get to his team. Words don't work; pleading never gets him anywhere. They don't believe him until he has them at gunpoint.

He wakes hanging by his wrists. Captured again. His captors this time are rebel fighters. He tries to convince them he's on their side, but they don't listen, leaving him to starve until he tells them what they want to hear. Listening to radio chatter in the next room, the rebels intercept a transmission: Lotor needs assistance at Thayserix. The fleet is passing through the rebels' quadrant; they log it on the klygarg. Another message comes through over the radio, an order to intercept Voltron. Voltron. He has to escape.

He stumbles as he makes his way across the frigid terrain, weak and dizzy and exhausted. The snow is inedible; he's dehydrated through and through. When he sees water, he runs for it, pain in his leg be damned, and he drinks without a shred of dignity. Before he can get his fill, a giant creature emerges from the water and attacks. It tosses him around, leaving him even more bruised and battered; its carapace protects it from his attempts to fight back. It wraps long, vine-like appendages around him, curling around his neck and holding him down. Hovering over him, saliva drips from its fangs. It's ready to feed. He croaks out a broken, "help," and miraculously, someone comes to his rescue: a blaster fires, and the creature flees. They approach, but he passes out before they come into focus.

He collapses when he reaches the skeleton of a long dead beast. He needs to get warm. He takes refuge in the beast's ribcage; though the massive bones are broken and scored deep, they're enough to protect him from the biting wind. By some stroke of luck, there's wood here, enough to build a fire. After he's staved off hypothermia, he unwraps the makeshift bandage around his leg. The wound is still bleeding profusely. He's already lost too much blood; he can't afford to lose more. He lights up his hand to cauterize his wound. His agonized scream echoes in the chamber of bones.

Keith feels sick to his stomach. He doesn't want to see or hear any more, doesn't think he can take any more of this. But he needs to go further, needs more information. He has to do this. For Shiro. Steeling himself, he pries further.

He wakes with a lurch. He's upside down, blood rushing to his head, trapped in the wreckage of the pod. It teeters at the edge of a cliff; he has to get out immediately. A blaster slides within reach. He shoots at the machinery trapping him, damaging his leg further but freeing him. He leaps out as the pod falls, and he just barely manages to catch the very edge of the cliff with his fingers. He pulls himself up, and he's tired—so tired—but he can't stay here. He ties up his leg and drags himself through the snow, one step at a time.

He staggers through the hall of the Galra ship. There are only a handful of sentries, and even in his weakened state, he's able to take them out with relative ease. He makes it to the pod bay without much resistance, and takes the closest one. He flies toward an elongated planet-like structure that takes the shape of a giant ice shard. It's got a ring, a thick halo of ice chunks. The ship he escaped from—a standard battle cruiser, from the looks of it—shoots him down. He burns through the atmosphere and crashes into the ground.

It's hard to go any further; it's like swimming against a tidal wave. Something is trying to keep Keith from getting past. The static and screeching gets louder, the pain white hot. He fights through it.

He wakes under purple lights, metal beneath him, surgical tools overhead. Everything is hazy. His arm, it feels wrong. At the controls… Ulaz? No. A similarly pale Galra with pointed ears and a sagittal crest, wearing a mask that obscures his nose and mouth; he fades like a phantom. Pushing himself off the metal table, he tries to stand, but his legs give out on him. He falls flat on his face, unable to even throw his arms out to break the fall. He staggers into the empty hallway; there's no one around to stop him from leaving. When he looks back, there are three masked Galra surrounding the table, standing around—himself? A corpse, maybe. It doesn't move a muscle, eyes completely vacant.

The safeguard in Shiro's head is screaming. It hurts, but Keith is no stranger to pain, and, clearly, neither is Shiro. He can't stop now. He can endure this. Just a little further. One more step, and…

A fully masked Galra shines a bright light in his eyes. "Subject Y0XT39 has normal response to optic stimuli. Approved for use in Operation Kuron."

A group of Galra stand around him, all their features obscured by identical masks and armour. He's in a tank; pink liquid rises until he's submerged. From behind glass, through the liquid, he can hear a voice. "Operation Kuron stage one successful. Begin stage two."

…

When Keith comes to, he's on the floor, cheek pressing into cold metal. He must have passed out. Gingerly, he pushes himself up. The pain has dulled, and when he slides the headset off, the headache goes away completely.

He swipes at his cheeks, finding they're wet. "Shiro," he gasps.

Behind the barrier, Shiro is curled in on himself, shoulders shaking.

"Shiro?" he asks, cautiously. "…How's your head?"

"I-it's—it's okay now," Shiro whispers.

"Okay," Keith says. "If it gets worse, I can leave, but I'm coming in, alright?"

After a moment's pause, Shiro gives the slightest nod.

Keith deactivates the barrier and sits down beside him on the bed. Keith wraps his arms around him, clinging fiercely. Shiro shudders, sinking into his hold.

Keith doesn't know what he can possibly say. There's nothing he can say to undo what Shiro had to endure. He can't change that, so what can he do for him now?

"Let's get you out of this cell," Keith says, gently. "There are safety precautions we can take. You can warn us if your head starts to hurt. We can deactivate your arm, revoke access, whatever you need. But I'll feel better if you're up there with us. We all will." He doesn't want him to be here, all alone. He doesn't want him to spend another second trapped behind glass.

"…Okay," Shiro whispers at last, though he doesn't move, doesn't pull away from the safety of Keith's arms. "Did you… did you find anything that could be useful?"

"Yeah. I did," Keith says. "It helped a lot. Thanks for showing me. I know it wasn't easy."

"I—I'd forgotten some of it, but I'm sorry for not telling you other parts earlier. I should've—"

"Ten to one, if I'd been in your shoes, I wouldn't have said anything either. You don't need to apologize, alright? This sucks, this whole situation sucks, but we're gonna figure this out. We've got some leads now, thanks to you. I've got some ideas for where we can go from here."

"…Really?"

"Yeah," Keith nods. He knows Shiro won't want to know the details in case he's compromised, but he's got a solid starting point.

They'll track down the rebels on that ice planet and look through the klygarg, to see what ships were nearby at that time. Keith has a good eye for detail, and he's committed what he saw to memory: the layout of the ship he escaped from, the sentry models onboard and the weapons they were carrying, the design of the pods in the bay, the armour the Galra in the laboratory were wearing. He'll cross-reference with the Blade's intel to try to narrow down which of the ships that passed through he could have been on. They'll track down that ship, and find out what they were doing. They'll contact their allies and scour the databases for every scrap of information they can find on subject Y0XT39 or Operation Kuron.

"We'll get to the bottom of this," Keith vows. "We'll figure out what's going on, and we'll find a solution from there." Knowledge or death; nothing will stop him.

"What if it's something that can't be fixed?" Shiro asks, in a bare whisper.

"Then we'll learn to deal with it," Keith says, simply.

With a slow exhale, Shiro's head comes to rest against Keith's shoulder. "Thanks, Keith."

Keith pulls Shiro in even closer, as if holding him tightly enough could keep him from falling apart, could dissipate the emptiness in him and make him whole again.

"I'm here for you, no matter what. We're going to get through this."