Wow, so. Where should I even begin?

I'm running on three hours of sleep, should've gone to bed long ago, but I wanted to finish this. Too tired to comment on the season aside from, g o d, thank you for the sheith, they both looked so good. Also Hunk, he deserves a special shout out.

Title's from Selena Gomez & Marshmello's Wolves.

Upping their injuries for the sake of a plot. Enjoy!

break down these walls and come on in

Keith's the last Paladin to wake up. He believes that because it's Krolia that tells him.

His vision swims when his eyes open, blurry and blinded by the light, but he seems her there sitting close to his bed when it clears, Kolivan occupying the seat by the window, one foot propped up on the bench. A little surge of relief in seeing him there wells up in his chest. Knowing that Kolivan has recovered from the hands of that horrid druid, and seeing both him and his mother wearing the same outfit, both of them the leaders of the Blade, makes some of his anxiety ebb away.

Kolivan stands up to join Krolia at his side. He seems a little lighter, the usual tight line of his lips gone, replaced by a smile that is so rare it makes Keith's head spin. A hand that would've been heavy on any other circumstance settles on top of his head, feather light, and disappears as quickly as it came.

He stays awake for long enough for a doctor and a nurse come check his vitals and ask questions, letting his mom and Kolivan do most of the talking, and then Keith falls asleep again, her gentle fingers brushing back the bangs from his forehead.

The next time he wakes up, dusk paints the sky shades of purple, but he doesn't know if it's a new day or not. Krolia doesn't say, and they're alone this time, only the faint chatter coming from the television she clearly hadn't been watching filling the room with noise. Well, aside from the machines attached to his body, beeping steadily to the beat of his heart.

"That thing did a lot of damage to you," his mother says lightly, her warm hand over his bandaged one where an IV pricks him whenever his fingers twitch. "Being the head of Voltron certainly has its downsides."

It does and he knows it very well when his side begins to throb. "What about the others?" He manages to croak out, lips twisted in a grimace.

She smiles sadly and strokes his cheek. "Bedridden still, but in better shape than you." Her fingers linger on his face, tracing the scar, and deep down he's so happy to see her again, but he can only register the pain that's spreading through his body from his ribs. Krolia pulls away, reaches out for the bedside table and a nurse enters the room less than a minute later, responding to her call promptly with a syringe in hand.

Keith smiles at his mom, as best as he can, the nurse injecting more painkillers into his veins. He has never been a fan of hospitals, despises even more how medicines make his head sluggish, but this isn't a pain he can bring himself to handle without help right now, so he takes it and embraces the unconsciousness that comes with it.

Pidge and Matt are in his room, their quiet chatter filtering through his brain and rousing him from sleep. They look apologetic for the briefest of moments when he wakes up, but soon Matt's ruffling his hair as much as the bandage around Keith's head allows and Pidge is trying to delicately pull him into a hug. He can barely lift his own arms to reciprocate the gesture, but he leans into her and hopes it's enough.

Keith finds that he doesn't mind the contact.

"Hey." Matt settles on the edge of the bed. "You gave us another scare again."

It takes him a while to remember that one and only time he almost rammed his ship into a shield, and when he does Keith only lifts his shoulder in a shrug. "Sorry."

"We're glad you're okay." Pidge leans back, eyes suspiciously bright under the artificial light. "We've been asking the doctors about you, but all they say is that you're stable, and despite how much time Krolia spends here, we can never run into her."

"I'm fine." His voice cracks and he clears his throat. "Everything is hurting, but I'm alive, so that's good enough."

Matt pats his knee, possibly the only part of his body that isn't thrumming unpleasantly right now, and fills him on all that he's missed, the progress they've been making cleaning up the mess left behind in the aftermath of their fight, with the help of so many different races that humans seem out of place on Earth.

Pidge jumps right in to tell Keith about Matt's new girlfriend, a mysterious figure that has yet to take off her helmet near the Holt family, but Matt swears on his favorite screwdriver kit that she's absolutely stunning and gorgeous. She teases him incessantly about it, to the point that Matt becomes red and flustered, and Keith finds a little humor in that and chuckles, tries to, chest squeezing painfully and forcing a grunt out of him.

With that single noise, it all stops. The visit is cut short, but he's enjoyed it anyway, waving goodbye as the Holt siblings leave the room after calling for a nurse.

Something warm and heavy rests alongside his legs. The wolf - Kosmo, his mind supplies through the haze - lies in his bed, on his side, just as he used to back in the Quantum Abyss, and Keith didn't know how much he missed him until he stretches his fingers and grazes the soft fur of his tail.

But he's not alone, he realizes, tilting his head to the side to see Allura lift a hesitant hand to pet Kosmo's stomach. Further down the bed, Coran scratches behind Cosmo's ear and Romelle runs her finger along his snout. Kosmo basks in the attention with a quiet sigh, but lifts his head to look at him when Keith touches one hind leg.

"You're awake." Allura is smiling gently at him, eyes soft and warm and full of care. "We've been worried about your recovery."

Keith is aware of all the bandages wrapped around his limbs, but doesn't know the current extent of his injuries. Hasn't bothered to ask for updates or to peek under the wrappings, content to know the amount of cracked and broken ribs and bruises scattered about his body as supplied by Krolia some time ago, which already feels too far away from the present.

"I'll heal," he says, because he will, eventually.

"It would've been so much easier if we still had the Altean pods," Coran muses, twirling a lock of dark fur around his finger like he does with his own mustache.

Easier, yes, but these were so claustrophobic that Keith often chose to deal with his wounds by himself, so he chooses not to comment.

"You'll be back on your feet soon," Romelle shoots him a smile, bright and wide, and he smiles in return.

Keith settles comfortably on his pillows to watch Allura try to pet Kosmo, but she can't bring herself to do it. She goes as far as splaying a hand on his flank, but doesn't move it, barely breathes. He doesn't think she's afraid of him, but maybe a little apprehensive that he's not as domestic as a regular dog - or in her case, her mice that cling to the orange fabric of her outfit, squeaking lightly as they make their way down her arm to nestle in Kosmo's fur.

He catches the first full glimpse of his injuries when a nurse comes to redress them. Purple blotches all over with yellows and greens in a sick painting that leaves his stomach upset, and the last time something like this happened had been so long ago on his one and only Trial of the Blade of Marmora, and even then it wasn't this bad. There's a cut on his forehead, angry red outlining the scab, that he isn't allowed to touch but can see through a hand mirror.

Lance walks into the room just as the nurse secures the bandage around his forehead again and packs up her stuff before taking her leave. He sits on the chair that never gets moved away from his bedside and studies him quietly for a moment. "Gosh, you're looking so much better."

"Excuse me?"

"I saw they taking you out of the Black Lion, Keith." Lance says, tapping his own forehead, and he's so serious Keith sobers up from his medicines almost immediately. "There was so much blood coming from that gash."

Keith runs his hands over the bandages, touch light enough not to press on the sensitive skin. "I really took a beating, didn't I?"

"We all did," Lance clarifies. Keith almost reels back when he isn't met with his usual teasing. "But we've been wondering why you were affected more."

"Mom thinks the head is too open and susceptible for attacks," he shrugs and his shoulders don't ache as much anymore - but the pain is still there. Besides, the Black Lion is bigger and heavier, so his descent back to Earth had been more turbulent.

Lance hums and rubs a hand over his ribs. "We got out of it with only light injuries in comparison."

"It's just a bad cut on my forehead. The scrapes, cracked or broken ribs and bruises are the same for all of us."

"Guess so," Lance beams at him and jumps to his feet, bidding him farewell and making a hasty exit, almost yelling over his shoulder his reason for leaving.

Keith tries to understand the jumbled mess of words that don't form a coherent sentence, but Allura's name is mentioned at some point, and suddenly it all makes sense.

His hands have healed enough that the bandages aren't necessary anymore, and he thumbs through a paperback, trying to focus on anything but his nerves. Truth is Keith is getting too antsy of staying confined to a bed, among other things that poke at him insistently even as he tries to block the thoughts from the forefront of his mind. It's getting hard to ignore it, but the visits he gets help most of the time.

Hunk is sitting on the plastic chair and they have bandages around their heads to match, which he points out with a wide grin. There's a fading bruise along his jaw, but other than that, he seems uninjured.

And he's happy, bright - radiant, even - ever since he reunited with his family.

"Mom said as soon as things settle, we can all have dinner together." His eyes shine and his smile is brilliant, and Keith can see how much he loves his parents. "You can invite Krolia too, Keith. And Cosmo. We can save some bones for him and he'll be like any other dog - wolf and bury these around in the yard."

Keith finds himself smiling, running a digit under his shirt and over the wrappings around his stomach, lying back in bed. "Sounds fun, Hunk."

"Maybe we can play Monsters and Mana again and you can finally join us. It's a very fun game but gosh - gosh, I hope Shiro doesn't pick a paladin again, he sucks."

His smile diminishes a little, unnoticed, and Keith rearranges himself in bed until something aches, until pain shoots up his spine and he focuses on it and drowns the ugly voice in his head, Hunk's chatter only a faint, distant sound that he tries to pick up once the pain fades almost completely.

"- Matt's been wanting to join us, but he's been kinda busy helping everyone out there and you're still here, but then again, nothing is stopping us from crowding your room to play, so I guess we can wait until he's got some free time for that and we'll come right over."

Keith forces his lips upwards when Hunk looks down at him and drops his hand from his face where it had been cradling his chin previously, an old habit the Yellow Paladin will never drop. "Sounds like a plan. Just let me know beforehand to go easy on the painkillers."

Hunk's smile is a little rueful and he bumps his fist lightly against the hand Keith has resting over his stomach. "Get well soon, man. It... It means a lot to me what you did, you know? Agree to look for my family, I mean. I'm grateful you're my friend."

"I'm grateful too," Keith replies after a pause laden with feelings that lodge in his throat and this time when his lips curl, it's purely genuine.

When Hunk leaves, it takes Keith some time to feel alone again, once more thumbing through the book to keep the thoughts at bay, but they come unbidden when his focus lapses.

It's been days and he hasn't seen Shiro yet.

Feeling and perception come to him slowly when he wakes up. The first thing he sees is the faint glow of a lamp illuminating the room, chasing shadows to the farthest corners, then he notices the quietness of it all, the stillness of the hallways and the world outside Garrison walls. It must be night and a glance to the bedside table confirms it's two-something in the morning, the numbers too blurry to make sense.

He lifts his hands to his face to rub his eyes and it's only later when the left one drops to the bed that he realizes the right hand never moved from its resting place. A weight is settled over it, warm and solid, trapping it between a callused palm and the sheets. Keith blinks up at the ceiling, brows furrowed, allows his head to loll to the side to catch glimpse of his companion. His breath catches in his chest, feelings crawling up his throat, leaving a knot in its wake, reaching his eyes and making them water.

Shiro.

He's here, a pillow shoved between his cheek and his oversized arm, occupying that uncomfortable looking plastic chair that never leaves his bedside, lips parted in his sleep, shadows under his eyes.

Keith breathes in deeply to rein in his emotions, all the relief and the fear and anxiety and everything else making his heart throb and threaten to explode. He's here, he hasn't left, hasn't abandoned him, and after so many promises it seems silly Keith would doubt it, but it's a fear that comes around sometimes when he feels vulnerable.

Shiro has been his greatest strength and biggest weakness for as long as he can remember.

He reaches over to card his fingers through his silver hair, indulges himself in the softness of it. It's been so long since he last saw Shiro and spoke to him, and seeing him now so at peace under this faint lightning makes his insides stir in the most pleasant of ways.

Shiro sighs, presses his lips together and squeezes his eyes before they open a sliver. He lifts his head off his pillow, straightens his spine slowly, bones cracking, rolls his neck and finally lets his gaze fall on him. Keith lowers his hand to his stomach and smiles, watching Shiro's brain scramble to catch up with reality, thoughts flickering in his eyes until they widen in recognition and he breathes in sharply and God, he's so beautiful, bags under his eyes and all. Keith could look at him forever.

"Keith." A whisper laced with emotion, loud in the quietness of the room. Shiro grips his hand tighter. "You're awake."

He nods, slow, turns his hand around so they're palm to palm, runs his thumb along the back of his hand. "Hey."

"I'm so sorry we couldn't speak sooner." And just like that he launches into a breathless apology. "We've been working hard to fix things and I'm required to be in two different places at once. I spend all day running around, but I spend the nights here-"

"Shiro," Keith cuts in gently, smile reaching his eyes. "It's okay."

He doesn't need to know what's been going through Keith's head, already has too much weight on his shoulders as it is. Shiro visibly relaxes on the chair, reaches over with that big prosthetic of his to rub at the nape of his neck, tries to hide a wince but fails.

"How are you feeling?" He asks before Keith can do the same.

"Honestly? Like I've been run over by a truck twice."

Shiro looks down at their hands. "You were jostled around pretty badly."

"I kinda miss the Altean pods, you know."

He laughs then, a little quiet sound that vibrates his chest and makes his shoulders quiver. "It was impossible to get you in one of them."

Keith's tone is light and playful, but he means it seriously. "I'd rather be in that than here for another day."

Shiro still has his attention on their hands, joined among pristine white sheets, and pulls away after a few seconds like he's just realized what they've been doing, like that gesture alone crossed the lines of platonic and went deeper into a territory they have yet to acknowledge. Keith immediately misses the warmth, but knows the slight flush on Shiro's face isn't a product of his imagination and this knowledge makes it so much harder. He clears his throat and picks at his pillow with his human hand, the robotic one set oddly on his lap.

Keith aches for more - more of his hand on his, more shoulder touches, more conversations and time spent together. More, more, more. He wants to reach out and caress his hair again, wants to run his fingertips along the scar on his nose and down the curve of his jaw.

He recoils his hand instead so both are resting atop his stomach. Shiro stops poking at the pillowcase, eyes darting to follow the movement, eyebrows slightly pinched.

Silence falls, a little heavy, a little awkward, and it's been so long since this happened between them for the last time - if ever. Keith closes his eyes, not planning on going back to sleep, but it's easier to ignore the tension he doesn't know how to fix when it's dark and he can't see from his peripheral vision as Shiro frowns at the mattress.

"I thought I was going to lose you," Shiro says a minute before the silence becomes too suffocating. "When I saw you on that stretcher, half of your face covered in red, hair drenched in your blood... That fear became very real."

Keith keeps his eyes closed. Shiro doesn't really need that to keep talking, but Keith doesn't want to see the pain etched on his face so clearly, pain he caused in one way or another.

"They patched you up and you were so pale, so... Fragile. That's definitely something you aren't," he huffs lightly, runs a palm to smooth the sheets, gives himself something to ground him to this moment. "They said you were stable and healing, but you wouldn't wake up and I couldn't sleep, so I began spending my nights here hoping I'd get to see you open your eyes."

Keith does that then, finds his gaze in the dimly lit room, faces the emotions swirling in his brown eyes head on. "I'm not going anywhere, Shiro." He promises, reaching out for his hand again and Shiro takes it firmly. "You should know that even death can't separate us."

"God, please," he breathes and brings their joined hands to his forehead. "Please, I don't want to test that theory and risk losing you for good."

"Shiro," he's trembling, both of them are actually, and Keith wets his lips with his tongue but it doesn't help. "I'll never leave you for as long as I live."

It's as close as he'll get to confessing, he knows, but it seems to be enough. Shiro inhales sharply, squeezes his hand tighter, and that's all the confirmation Keith needs, wordless as it is, that they both have the same fear of losing each other, that they will stay together and cling to one another for as long as life lets them.

No more hesitating, no more holding back, no more lying to themselves saying that they can't have this, that they can't have one another. No more pretending they haven't been wanting this for so long.

Shiro stands up, joints popping almost obnoxiously, but none of them really notice, too focused on his thumb running along the scar on Keith's cheek and his fingers combing his bangs away from his face. His lips press to his forehead, warm and chapped and firm, a sure touch that lingers and makes Keith's heart rate pick up, but at least now the machines aren't needed anymore to give him away. Shiro's breathing is uneven, hand cradling the side of his face with care.

Keith has his fingers curled around the soft cotton of Shiro's shirt when he pulls back, somehow pries his eyes open to look at him, at his furrowed brow and damp lashes, eyes so full of love Keith's heart stutters in his chest.

"Sleep with me," he whispers, already scooting over to give Shiro some room. "You're going to ruin your back if you keep that up."

Shiro doesn't protest, doesn't even hesitate to occupy the vacant space like it's where he's always been supposed to be. Keith moves closer, tucks himself into his side, sighs as Shiro's arm curls around his shoulder and lets himself melt into his warmth.

They don't fall asleep, not immediately, but they don't talk either, content on listening to each other's breathing and heartbeat. Shiro buries his nose in his hair, recently washed and forever unruly, presses his lips to his scalp once, twice, nuzzles his temple. Keith lets him and strokes his face in return, runs his fingers through his hair, whispers reassurances that they belong together.

They don't kiss. Someday they'll get there, but for now this is enough.