Ah finally! The next thing now that Sun's been completed!

I've had this idea bouncing around in my head so I spent a lot of my free-time writing out the plot and the story, so the full thing is actually completed. I'm actually really excited to show you guys this since it's been under wraps for so long. But it's finally here!

Now, a full warning here, I did a lot of research in preparation for this fic, but a lot of it could still be inaccurate. This is just an overarching apology for the whole thing in case I get something horrendously wrong.

Enjoy!

Keith's eyelids were heavy.

He tried to reach out, grasp some semblance of consciousness, but found it just out of reach, out of grasp.

His head hurt. Voices - very loud voices - echoed around him. He couldn't make out the words. They were panicked, scared.

Why were they so scared?

There was a shift underneath him (was he being moved?) and then something blinding, sharp and precise.

Pain.

Keith let out a quiet groan, trying to move his body away. There was a gasp, a pause of blissful, motionless silence and then-

"He's alive."

The voices returned tenfold. Louder still, someone shouting orders, his body being moved again. He couldn't struggle, though. He barely had the strength to make noise, much less even open his eyes. He was placed on something, something soft that cushioned his aching body for a few wonderful seconds.

He was moved, warm liquid dripping down…everywhere it felt. Keith couldn't pinpoint exactly where he hurt so much, since there were different points all over his entire body that seemed to ache the most.

His head was moved. Something was strapped over his nose and mouth. There was a rush of oxygen and then he faded away again.

Dying was a lot less peaceful than what Keith was bargaining for.

For one, dying was loud. It seemingly had a long droning beeeeeep noise that repeated every few seconds. Slow, steady, and annoying as hell. If dying meant he had to listen to this for the rest of eternity, Keith would have gladly forced himself back into the waking world.

Ready to confront with the noise, maybe even find a way to turn it off, Keith peeled his tired eyes open.

Above him, he realized, was not the whiteness of oblivion that he was expecting. Instead, there were tiles. Blurry tiles with no real originality to them. He could probably count them if he wanted to.

He turned his head weakly, drinking in his surroundings. He was in a hospital. Why death had hospitals was beyond him, but he was too sluggish to really think about the 'why' at the moment. He turned a tired gaze up to see the thing making that horrible, blaring noise was actually a heart monitor. He stared at it, listening to the noise, counting every beat.

It took him almost a full two minutes to realize it was his heart.

He was alive.

He was alive.

How the fuck…?

Keith angled his head to look down but found out very quickly that it was an awful idea. His skin pulled and stretched, fire spreading up and down his abdomen. He hissed in pain, squeezing his eyes shut.

Why on Earth was he in a hospital?

How had he survived?

And, most importantly, what happened to him?

Everything before waking up in the hospital was suspiciously blank. Like his memories were a film that was missing the most important part. He remembered being in his apartment, going to the cheap electronics store a few blocks away to fix his broken laptop and then…

Nothing.

It was blank. He had walked into the air-conditioned store and remembered smelling something that kind of resembled an overused circuit board and then everything drew a blank. But whatever happened after everything went dark… Keith was sure it had something to do with how he ended up in a hospital.

He let out a quiet moan and tried to use his elbows to prop himself up on the pillows a bit more comfortably, but fell back with a pained cry. His left elbow was fine, easily holding himself up despite the layers of bandages wrapped snugly around his forearm, but his right…

It just collapsed.

Unable to hold anything, it buckled under Keith's weight. While the landing back on the bed was at least reasonably comfortable, the pain had seared itself into Keith's head. His elbow was throbbing like it had a heartbeat. He shut his eyes tightly, trying to will the agony away, but it only became worse. Keith gasped in pain at the same time the door opened.

A doctor entered, holding a clipboard and a pen. His wire-frame glasses were a bit lopsided and his graying auburn hair was smoothed back neatly. He had a goatee and the nametag on his chest read 'Holt'.

Keith watched him warily through his labored, pain-ridden breathing.

"Mr. Kogane," the doctor said. He gave Keith a patient smile. A concerned smile. "It's good to see you're awake. My name is Doctor Holt. How are you feeling?"

Like shit, Keith wanted to respond but he bit it back. The pain in his elbow was still all-consuming.

"Not…good," he said instead.

"That's to be expected," Doctor Holt peeled back the first page on his clipboard. "Multiple lacerations all over your body, a torn tendon in your right elbow, a stab wound in your abdomen… it's a wonder you're alive." He gave Keith another tiny smile. It was probably supposed to help him feel better.

"Oh," he said weakly.

Doctor Holt cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. "Mr. Kogane, if it's alright with you, once you're feeling…more-able, a detective would like to speak with you."

"A…detective?"

"Of course," Doctor Holt gave Keith a bemused look. "You were nearly murdered after all."

Murdered?

That was certainly news to Keith.

Someone had tried to kill him. Who? And why?

Some of his confusion must have shown on his face because Doctor Holt gave Keith a strange look. "You…do remember getting attacked, right?"

Keith shook his head mutely. He tried to remember that night, but all that came back to him was entering the electronics store and then…

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Doctor Holt pursed his lips and when he spoke, his voice was nonchalant, like he was trying to ease his own nerves rather than Keith's. "Well, that's all right. It was a traumatic event, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if you blocked out the memory of your own subconscious will."

Keith didn't say anything back to that. He couldn't. What was there to say? He had nearly been murdered and couldn't remember any of it, much less who did it.

The silence that stretched between him and Doctor Holt suddenly felt a lot more tense.

The detective was a lot taller than Keith was imagining he would be.

He wore the standard-issue police uniform, his shiny badge glinting on his chest. A pistol hung from a holster on his belt, forgotten and untouched. The fringe of his black hair hung in his eyes and there was a scar bridging his nose. He was smiling at Keith like they'd known each other for ages but they'd literally just met not even forty-five seconds ago.

The detective drew up a chair and sat down in it. He leaned forward to where Keith was propped up on what felt like fifty lumpy pillows and stuck out his hand.

"Detective Takashi Shirogane of the Altea County Police Department," he said calmly, professionally. "Keith Kogane, right?"

"Yeah," Keith's throat felt dry. He reached over with his remaining good arm - his left one - and grasped Shirogane's hand. His grip was firm, calluses crisscrossing throughout his palm. Shirogane shook Keith's hand once and then let go, putting both hands in his lap. His fingers interlaced and he leaned forward, gray eyes sparkling with interest.

"So, Keith," he said. "Doctor Holt tells me that you don't remember anything of the night you were attacked?"

"That's right," Keith agreed. He'd lost count of the number of times he'd strained his memory over the past three days, trying to grasp at the events that were just out of reach.

Shirogane hummed, interested. "Well, do you mind if I tell you what we know?"

Keith shook his head. Hearing the events from an outsider's perspective, from the person clearly investigating the attempted murder, might help jog something in his memory.

"Please," he said weakly.

"All right," Shirogane leaned back in the stiff-wooden chair. It creaked and Keith was mildly afraid it would fall to pieces if Shirogane moved wrong. "November 15th, we got a call at around 9:30 pm from a very distressed woman. She said she found a body in an alley between two bars. Our forensics team was on the scene by 9:40. Paramedics were already there, swarmed around an unmoving body. You know who that was, right?"

"Me," Keith breathed.

Shirogane nodded grimly. "Exactly. You weren't moving, you weren't breathing either. Paramedics were ready to pronounce you dead at the scene when you moved. You made a noise. You were rushed to the hospital and remained there in critical condition for five days. In the meantime, we've discovered some… interesting facts about your case that mirror a lot of others recently."

"There are more like me?" Keith felt faint.

"Yes," Shirogane agreed. "But…out of all the previous cases, you're the only one who survived."

Keith blanched. "What?"

"You've heard of the recent string of murders, right?" Shirogane raised an eyebrow. "Some of the most brutal murders to date, actually. People on the internet are calling the killer the 'Butcher of Altea County'."

Keith paused, knitting his eyebrows. The name did sound familiar from the few times Keith had turned on his TV just to have a little background noise while he cooked dinner in his tiny apartment. He never paid them much mind, assuming that the murderer would turn themselves in or get caught in due time. Besides, he lived too far away from the murder sites to be really concerned about his safety.

Now, he was a victim of the same killer he was so unconcerned about.

"The murders are always particularly brutal," Shirogane was watching Keith carefully. Like one wrong word and Keith would fall apart. "But the one thing that remains consistent between all of these is the mutilation of the abdomen. The killer practically rips open the stomach and… I don't think I need to really describe what happens next."

Keith's fingers were drifting over to his healing stab wound. He tried to imagine the killer - cold, emotionless eyes and an excited grin as he rummaged around in their victim's stomach, pulling out intestines and-

Keith shook the image away before it could make him throw up.

"Looks like in your case though, they were interrupted," Shirogane continued. "It might be the reason you survived."

The reason I survived.

Keith's stomach was churning. His mind reeled, all the new information making him feel dizzy. The back of his mind tingled, memories just underneath the surface. He knew they were there, they had to be there. There was no way they weren't.

So…why didn't he remember anything?

Shirogane reached over to place his hand on Keith's shoulder. "Take it easy. I know this is a lot to take in."

"Y-You think?" Keith managed to say. He hadn't meant to sound so rude, but it was the only thing he could think to say that didn't make his head pound even more. Shirogane smiled a little.

"Keith, once you're discharged from the hospital, I need you to come to the station," he said suddenly.

Keith gaped at him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"You're the only person to have survived the Butcher," he said seriously. "You're an important piece of evidence. If we can get your memories back, then we can unmask the killer. I'm sure of it."

Keith leaned his head back into one of his many pillows. He had seen the killer. They'd probably been inches from his face, stabbing a knife into him and twisting it deep in his gut.

He felt sick.

He had seen the killer.

And he couldn't even remember their face.

Keith hissed in pain.

Doctor Holt stepped back, pursing his lips as he looked down at Keith's right arm. An unoccupied sling hung around his neck, Keith's injured arm resting in his lap. The elbow was curved like Keith was bending his arm. It'd likely remain that way for the rest of his life.

While most of the other wounds had healed up reasonably during his stay in the hospital, the elbow was the one thing that refused to heal. It made sense - Keith's tendon had been cut after all. There was no way to regrow it and Keith couldn't afford the surgery after all the expenses of his stay in the hospital. He'd have to live with a crippled right arm for the rest of his life. For the first time, Keith was grateful he was ambidextrous.

Doctor Holt sighed. His gaze flicked up to meet Keith's. "And are you sure you're alright with this?"

Keith looked down at his now useless elbow. It would take some getting used to, but he could do it. Things would just be…different. He'd have an eternal reminder of the time he was almost murdered in an alleyway. He could do this.

He looked up at Doctor Holt and nodded once.

"All right," he didn't look very convinced but motioned for Keith to stand. "Let's get you checked out. Detective Shirogane is waiting in the lobby to drive you to the police station."

It dawned on Keith that he probably wouldn't be able to drive as well as he could anymore. The thought definitely put a damper on his already foul mood.

He tucked his arm carefully back into the sling and let it hang there. His elbow throbbed with pain, which was just something else he'd have to learn to live with. This would be a lot more difficult than he was originally anticipating.

Going down the stairs was slow-going. While the lacerations on his legs weren't as deep as they were, they made walking uncomfortable. The bandages helped some but putting all of his weight on scabbed-over wounds was far from what could be considered 'nice.'

Detective Shirogane was sitting in the waiting room, thumbing through a magazine. A celebrity Keith forgot the name of was emblazoned on the front cover, some kind of ridiculous headline in bright pink letters stamped across the front. Shirogane looked up as they approached and smiled a bit sheepishly, putting the magazine aside. His gaze flickered to Keith's arm for a moment, but he didn't question. For that, Keith was grateful.

"We're going to finalize a few things and then you two can get out of here," Doctor Holt said. "Mr. Kogane, in a few days you'll have to visit a pharmacy to get the medication for your elbow." Keith nodded and Doctor Holt gave them both patient smiles. "I hope you find who did it, you know," he added.

"You and me both, Doctor Holt," Shirogane said. "Thank you for all your help. I'll tell Pidge you say hi."

"Remind her to visit, too," Doctor Holt added.

"Will do," Shirogane smiled. Doctor Holt returned it, clearly grateful, and headed toward the stairs once more. Keith turned to walk to the front desk, Shirogane trailing silently behind him.

Unable to stop his curiosity, Keith spoke. "Who's Pidge?"

"Doctor Holt's daughter," Shirogane said. "She's the technical analyst at the station. You'll be meeting her today." He fell silent, watching as Keith signed himself out. His signature was less refined with his left hand, but it was at least legible. His movements were fluid and sure, too. "Ambidextrous?" He guessed suddenly.

Keith's head snapped to look at Shirogane, blinking in surprise. "Yeah. How did you…?"

"I'm a detective," Shirogane's cheeks were a light shade of pink. He hadn't meant to say that. "It's my job to pick up on stuff like that." He watched as Keith handed the clipboard back to the receptionist, who wished Keith a good day. He smiled at her a bit hesitantly and followed Shirogane outside. "It's odd though," Shirogane continued. "Your file said you were right-handed."

"I'm more comfortable with my right," Keith said. "And I rarely use my left. Guess I gotta get used to it now." He waved his arm for emphasis, the sling bouncing against his still-healing chest. He winced.

Shirogane hummed, fishing a pair of car keys out of his pocket. The two of them crossed the parking lot together, headed for the police cruiser parked on the far side of the lot.

Keith turned his gaze up to the hospital that had been his home for the past three weeks. He'd had all the time in the world to recover from his gruesome injuries and to try to regain the memories he'd lost but, try as he might, Keith couldn't find them. No matter how deep he dug into every single detail of that day, the most important ones eluded him.

He wondered if he'd ever be able to regain them.

No.

It wasn't a matter of if. It was a matter of when.

He had to get those memories back. They were the one thing that could help not only the police but himself reach closure about what had truly happened that night. He'd help catch a murderer - a serial killer - and prevent what had happened to him from happening to anyone else.

Shirogane unlocked the car with the keys as they approached. They piled into the car - Keith in shotgun and Shirogane taking the wheel - and wheeled their way out of the parking lot.

Keith was very amused to find that Shirogane followed the speed limit to a T. Keith himself was a speed demon, going at least ten over at every given opportunity, but Shirogane gave every car a chance to go before him, barely went one over, and waited until he was absolutely sure it was safe to turn. Because of his careful driving, it took them almost fifteen minutes longer to get to the Altea County Police Department than it should have.

The precinct smelled like week-old coffee and was bustling with activity. The waiting room was packed with people looking to report something, a pair of glass doors serving as a window to the inside of the precinct itself. Shirogane took a keycard from his belt and scanned it at the doors and with a quiet beep, they unlocked. He held the door open for Keith, who walked inside, slightly overwhelmed at the pure activity.

He watched police officers interact, hand off papers, and discuss topics over the rims of coffee cups. Two of them were engaged in a heated argument until one slammed a pile of papers on the other's desk and stormed away. Shirogane winced as he watched them, and put his hand on the small of Keith's back. He steered him away from the main hustle of the office and headed instead towards an office in the back, clearly labeled with 'Unit Chief' in black, bold letters.

They didn't make it to the door.

Someone had stepped in front of it and was picking their way towards the two of them. He was taller than Keith, wearing a bright yellow sweater and a pair of faded jeans. He had an orange bandanna tied around his forehead, the long strings dangling behind him. In his arms were piles of papers, some of them falling out of the enormous folder they were tucked in and trailing behind him. Behind him, a boy in a wrinkled police uniform with mocha skin and dark brown hair was picking up all the fallen papers.

"Good news!" The boy waved his arm. More papers went flying. Keith raised an eyebrow. "We got clearance to the security footage! And the owners of the bars have offered to come in to give alibis for the night. One of them just finished giving his. Also-" He stopped dead, his gaze fixing on Keith.

Keith fought down the instinctual flight-or-fight response whenever he was the direct subject of focus. Instead, he stared back, fixing his gaze on the orange bandanna tied around his forehead. The two regarded each other as Shirogane placed a hand on Keith's shoulder. It took all of his willpower not to flinch away.

"Hunk," he said. His gaze flickered to the mocha-skinned boy currently scooping up papers. "Lance. This is Keith. The…victim we discussed last week."

Keith shifted awkwardly. The word 'victim' being used to talk about him felt… wrong. It was something he'd never associate with himself before all this. He was a fighter. If he started things, he finished them. Becoming a part of something he hadn't personally involved himself in…it was almost unheard for him.

Unless he had involved himself. There was still so much missing from this case, after all.

Keith looked up. The mocha-skinned boy - Lance, Keith remembered Shirogane calling him - was all but glaring at him. Keith almost flinched back until he realized it wasn't him Lance was glaring at, but his hair.

Keith lifted his chin, returning Lance's glare full-force. If he had something to say, Lance had better say it straight to his face rather than glaring and silently judging his hairstyle.

Hunk cleared his throat a bit awkwardly, tucking the unruly papers back into his manilla folder. "You'd better tell Allura about him."

Him.

They were talking about Keith like he wasn't even in the room. Like he wasn't standing a foot away, inches away from brushing Shirogane's arm. Like he really had died that night in the alleyway.

Keith tried not to feel hurt by it.

"We were just about to," Shirogane said with a smile. He gestured towards the 'unit chief' door and Hunk shook his head.

"She's not in there right now," he said. "She's with Pidge, confirming one of the bar owner's alibis with security footage."

"They're in the A/V Room," Lance spoke up for the first time. He hadn't stopped looking at Keith (or rather, Keith's hair) and he realized that there were traces of an accent upon his tongue. Spanish, perhaps?

"Great, thanks," Shirogane turned to Keith with another one of his smiles that made Keith feel like he'd known him for years. "Let's go talk to our unit chief. We'll get our next actions sorted out easier that way."

Keith nodded silently. Lance took a step forward, handing the stack of fallen papers to Hunk.

"I'll come with you," he said. "There's something I have to ask Pidge, anyways." Shirogane didn't argue, and Lance fell into step next to Keith. The two exchanged looks out of the corners of their eyes and Keith watched Lance's gaze drift to his hair once again.

"What?" Keith snapped, a bit harsher than he meant to.

Lance sighed, looking away. "Okay, I'm gonna ask you something - and don't blow me off because I'm being serious - but… have you ever… been to a barber?"

"Excuse me?" Keith's jaw dropped.

"Lance," Shirogane said, exasperated.

"It's an honest question!" Lance said defensively. "Mullets haven't been popular since like the seventies."

"I cut my hair myself," Keith said stiffly. He tried to cross his arms over his chest but his elbow twinged with pain when he moved it. "And last I checked, I didn't have a degree in cosmetology, so sorry my hair-cutting skills aren't up to your standards."

"You have a degree?"

Keith's face flushed with anger.

"Lance," Shirogane said again, his tone more warning. "Don't antagonize him. He's been through a lot."

"It's a legitimate question!" Lance cried.

Keith scoffed and Lance turned a glare onto him. Before an argument could spark, Shirogane pulled Keith gently down a hallway by his good arm. Lance jogged along behind them.

There was only one door at the end of this corridor, labeled 'A/V Room' in the same font the unit chief's was. Shirogane pushed the door open with a soft creak.

The room was surprisingly dark, illuminated only by a computer in the corner. Rows upon rows of different desks with keyboards and high-tech monitors reached into the far back where Keith could distantly make out a whiteboard of sorts.

But why in God's name was it so dark?

Shirogane sighed exasperatedly. "Pidge, keep the lights on while you're in here. You'll ruin your eyes."

"I keep trying to tell her the same thing," a voice called from over in the corner. It, like Lance, also had an accent entwining itself in their words, but was distinctly British.

Shirogane reached over and flipped a switch, flooding the room with light. There was a hiss from the corner where the computer was, and a girl flung herself away from a desk on a rolling chair. She peered around the woman still looking at the screen, turning an angry honey gaze to Shirogane.

Her hair was short and messy like she'd rolled out of bed and hadn't glanced in the mirror before she left. Keith didn't doubt that it was true, especially since she looked like she'd slept in her wrinkled green-and-white hoodie. Her glasses were slipping off the bridge of her nose as she glowered over at them. Keith spotted the resemblance between her and Doctor Holt almost instantly.

"Your eyesight is already bad enough as it is, Pidge," Shirogane said calmly. He wasn't even fazed by the death stare this girl was giving him. "Don't make it worse."

"We were on to something, Shiro!" The girl - evidently named Pidge - threw her hands into the air.

"Yeah, well, this is kind of more important," Lance spoke up. He gestured none-too-subtly to Keith, who tried to make himself seem as small as possible. Pidge's gaze fell upon him and her mouth opened into a silent 'o'. Her gaze shifted; first to his face, then to his arm in the sling, and she scrambled to her feet, dusting herself off. A few crumbs fell from where they had been tucked in the creases of her hoodie.

"You must be Keith-" she was tripping over her words in her…excitement? Awe? Keith couldn't tell what she was thinking, but let himself feel pleased that she at least recognized him like Hunk and Lance failed to do. "I'm Katie, but just call me Pidge. Katie is reserved for family members and when Shiro is really, really pissed off at me."

She bounced up to him and stuck her hand out and then quickly backpedaled when she realized she'd held out the wrong hand for him to shake. Keith took her tiny hand in his own and shook it once before retracting.

"Shiro?" He repeated, looking up at the detective next to him.

"My nickname," Shirogane didn't seem ashamed of it in the slightest. "Everyone calls me it. You can too if you'd like."

"Oh…kay?" Keith said hesitantly. The other woman drew herself away from the computer to place herself in between Pidge and Keith, sticking out her own hand as well.

"A pleasure to meet you, Keith," her accent flowed effortlessly through her words. She wasn't at all hard to understand. "My name is Allura. I'm the Unit Chief of the Altea County Police Department."

Allura was a striking woman with a presence that seemed to fill the room. Her dark skin was accented by white hair (he couldn't figure out if it was natural or not) that tumbled down her back in waves and gave off the appearance of a large fluffy cloud. Her eyes were a mix of colors, blue and purple being the most prominent ones.

"Y-Yeah," Keith forced his jaw to work. "Nice to meet you."

"I've got officers working all across the district on this case," Allura proceeded with business. Keith got the sense that she was a no-nonsense woman right from the get-go. "And you are the only one who has ever survived the Butcher. I want you to tell me everything."

She gestured for him to sit while Lance and Pidge went off back to Pidge's computer, speaking in low voices. Keith sat down uncomfortably in one of the chairs, squeaking in alarm as it rolled back. Allura lowered herself effortlessly into the one opposite from him, ever the picture of regality. It was no wonder she was the unit chief; her very presence practically commanded respect.

"Start from the beginning," Allura said. "I need all the details you can remember. Times, addresses, people. Tell me it all."

"Uh…" Keith licked his lips carefully. He was going to disappoint her with his lack of information - he knew that. He turned a distressed gaze to Shiro, who shrugged his shoulders and gave him an apologetic look.

"Go on," Allura prompted, but it gave Keith the impression that he was being swept along rather than pushed.

"So…" Keith swallowed. "At around seven-thirty that night, my laptop kind of short-circuited and wouldn't turn on anymore. I was writing a resume, too, so I needed it fixed as soon as possible. I looked up the nearest electronic store to see if they could fix it and headed off at about…eight-ish? I think?"

"So there was a thirty-minute interval in which you took the time to find this place and get ready, correct?"

"Yeah."

Allura pursed her lips. "Do you remember the name of this shop?"

Keith looked down. Another item to add to the 'List of Things Keith Doesn't Remember', he thought bitterly. "No."

"I see," Keith could practically taste Allura's disappointment. "And, if your laptop was broken, how did you manage to look up this shop?"

"My phone," Keith said. He felt more like he was being interrogated than giving helpful information. "I-I left it at home, though."

"Why?"

"I didn't think I needed it," Keith shrugged. "I don't exactly have anyone who's willing to talk to me." Allura raised an eyebrow at that and Keith felt color creeping up his neck again. He looked away, messing with the fabric of his sling.

"I see," Allura said finally, looking like she was taking a very long mental note. "And after you left the house?"

"I walked to the electronics shop. And after that…" Keith furrowed his eyebrows. He'd been dreading this part. Allura was looking for answers - the whole damn precinct was looking for answers - but Keith could not give them.

"After that?" Allura prompted. She was sitting up a little straighter in her chair.

"I don't know," Keith said honestly, deciding to rip the band-aid off before he lost his courage. "I don't remember."

"You don't…remember?"

There it was.

The disappointment.

Keith sighed softly. He had been disappointing people his entire life. Why should that have stopped now?

Allura looked up at Shiro, who looked a little more than guilty.

"Sorry," he scratched the back of his head. "You were busy all week, so I never had the chance to talk to you about his...uh…condition. I was hoping Pidge or Lance or Hunk would talk to you."

"You put your hopes in the wrong people!" Pidge shouted from her corner.

"Clearly," Shiro muttered.

Allura stood. "Well, it's not an issue." She said briskly. Keith's jaw almost dropped. He was pretty sure that it was an issue and the fact that Allura seemed so unconcerned about it was a little more than alarming. "The memories will come back in due time." There was an unspoken implication left hanging off her words. Foreboding and wrong.

I hope.

This was all a game of chance. Allura had thrown down her cards, had decided to believe in Keith and his missing memories and was willing to pay the price. Keith couldn't understand that. He probably never would be able to.

"Keith," Allura said. "Do you mind revisiting the scene of the crime?"

Keith's mind drew a blank. "What?"

"Going back to where it happened might jog something in your memories," Allura said. "I know this is monumentous to ask of you and remembering will be traumatic. But weneed this information if we are to solve this case and bring the killer to justice."

Keith swallowed down the apprehension as he stood. He braced his good arm against the desk, trying not to feel the rising panic. He knew that as soon as he remembered what happened, he'd have those memories forever. He'd go to sleep knowing that there had been a killer inches from his face, breathing hot air over his face and stabbing him.

He had to do this.

He had to.

He looked up at Allura, steeling his determination before it could slip away. "Okay."

Allura's smile was nothing less than brilliant. "Wonderful. Coran will drive you. Lance, do you mind coming along? There's always a chance that there's something new in a crime scene. Shiro can you-"

"I'll go too," Shiro finished her unspoken words effortlessly. "Pidge?"

"I'm staying," Pidge said. "Somebody-" She gave a pointed look to Shiro, "-interrupted me when I was on to something."

Shiro raised his hands in surrender. "Okay. I take it Hunk won't come either?"

"He's getting an alibi from the other bar owner," Lance confirmed.

"All right," Shiro said. "Let's get going."

"I'll go get Coran," Allura said cheerfully and left the room. Everyone followed her out, leaving Pidge and her computer alone.

Keith learned two things about Coran in the ten minutes it had been since he had met him.

First off, Coran - as it turned out - was the most eccentric man alive.

His hair was bright orange ("All natural, I assure you," Coran told Keith) with a magnificent mustache of the same color. He listened to old Katy Perry music that he and Lance sang to at the top of their lungs while Shiro and Keith crammed themselves in the backseat of the police cruiser.

Secondarily, Coran drove like a madman.

He swerved, he sped, he didn't use his turning signal, but god damn if his driving wasn't spectacular. Keith counted no less than three accidents Coran had avoided just by quick thinking and 'Firework' at full volume.

"Is he usually like this?" Keith muttered to Shiro as another swerve forced Shiro to practically pin Keith up against the window with his shoulder. Keith hissed in pain as Shiro accidentally put pressure on his bad elbow.

"Yup," Shiro grumbled.

"Brilliant."

Lance and Coran were now belching out the lyrics as loud as they possibly could. Keith wondered if they were trying to be this annoying on purpose.

The scenery they were passing was growing familiar. Something tugged at Keith from the back of his mind. He'd walked this same road on his way to fix his laptop. The electronics shop was just a few buildings away from the alleyway Keith had been found.

How did I get from the electronics store to an alleyway? Keith found himself wondering. His elbow throbbed with a forgotten memory of pain.

Coran turned the wheel much harder than necessary, miraculously managed to not flip the car, and parallel parked perfectly next to one of the bars. Lance cheered. Keith's head spun.

Shiro unlocked the door and nearly tumbled out, coughing. Keith followed suit, the world spinning wildly. He threw out both hands to rest them against the cruiser but found himself awkwardly flinging his sling out in front of him, the other one gripping the door.

Lance came around the front of the car and leaned down to grin at Coran through the window. "Stellar driving, as always."

Coran looked endlessly pleased. "Thank you, my boy! I'll wait here while you all do your investigating." Something sparked in his eyes. "Oh, yes! And before I forget-" He leaned over, the rest of his sentence muffled as he reached into the glovebox. He withdrew a pair of gloves and several empty evidence bags. He handed them out to Lance through the window. "In case you find something!" He beamed.

"Thanks, Coran," Lance said with a huge grin.

"Are…you even qualified to pick up evidence?" Keith found himself asking in-between heaving breaths. Lance looked insulted.

"Uh, excuse you, Mullet," he said. Keith bristled at the nickname. "I graduated from Garrison State with a ph-fucking-D in forensic science."

Keith couldn't even keep his head from spinning long enough to form a witty comeback. "Right. Got it. And you're not coming because?" He looked up at Coran, who gave him another absolutely beaming smile.

"Got an injury in my younger days, lad!" He said cheerfully. "Broke my knee, never healed right! Now I just go around and raise awareness in the high schools and the like, letting them know that the Altea Police Department is always on their side!" He thumped a fist on his chest proudly.

"...right," Keith said. The world had finally stopped violently spinning. Shiro was now picking himself off of his hands and knees on the sidewalk.

"See you later!" Lance called.

"I'll be here!" Coran called. He propped his feet up on the dashboard and pulled out a crossword.

Lance led the way into the alleyway and Keith followed him in with Shiro bringing up the rear. Keith took a deep breath, steeled himself for what he was possibly about to see in there. What kind of memories it could awaken.

He sucked in a deep breath and smelled metal.

Copper, to be specific.

Blood.

Keith peered around Lance's lanky form to see that half of the alley had been quarantined, police tape cautioning people not to enter. Lance lifted the ribbon above his head and held it up for both Shiro and Keith to crouch through after him.

Keith finally got his first good look at the crime scene.

Where he had been found.

Where he should have died.

There was so much blood. It was dried, almost rust-colored, but the stench of it still hung the air. Thick and enough to make Keith gag on it.

It hit him a moment later that it was all his.

All this blood, dried and coppery, it was his own. He'd bled this much. Enough to splatter red on the walls, enough for it to sink in between cobblestones.

He'd bled and he'd lived.

Keith didn't realize he was hyperventilating until Shiro set his hand on his shoulder.

"Keith?" He said. "You okay? We don't have to do this, you know."

Keith swallowed back the tightness in his throat and shut his eyes tightly. Shiro was wrong. Keith had to do this. It was what he owed not only the police department but the entire town. He was the only person who had ever survived an attack by this serial killer. He had to solve this.

And that started with facing where it all began.

"No," he said, his voice stronger than he felt. "N-No, I'm good. I can do this." He paused. "I have to do this."

Shiro didn't look convinced. He'd opened his mouth to respond, but Keith didn't give him the time. He stepped towards the dried, rust-colored blood and steeled his rebelling stomach.

"Hey, dude," Lance, who was squatting over the blood, completely unfazed, looked up. "Are you okay? Dios, you look like you just saw a ghost."

"I'm fine," Keith said firmly. "I can do this."

He stepped around Lance to get a better look at the crime scene. He could immediately pinpoint where he had been found, a thick circle of dried rust, larger than the rest in the center of the scene. He could imagine his own broken, bleeding body lying there.

He swallowed the apprehension and moved a bit closer.

"Keith," Shiro called out. Keith didn't hear him.

Because he wasn't there anymore.

He was pinned to the ground, screaming at the top of his lungs. Hot breath was washing over his skin. A knife was lifted above his eyes, covered in blood. His blood.

Voices, intermingling and overlapping each other.

His hands flailed, latching onto something and pulling. Something smooth, soft to the touch. The hem of a shirt.

There was a rrriiiiipp noise as Keith tugged, bucking back with a horrible scream and something fluttered out of his hand.

Keith stumbled backward. His back hit the wall as the crime scene gradually came into focus around him. The walls were sharp, jagged. There was a wound shaped exactly like them on Keith's back.

"Oh god," Keith whispered. He thought he might be sick.

"Keith?" Shiro was stepping gingerly towards him. Lance was hovering over his shoulder, forehead creased in concern. "Keith, what's wrong?"

"I…" Keith wrapped his arm around his middle. His stomach was churning. He felt gross. Tainted. "I think I know…how it happened."

"So you remembered?" Lance breathed. "Who did it?"

"I-I don't know," Keith shook his head, trembling. "God I just…" He clapped his hand to his mouth, shutting his eyes tightly.

"Hey," Shiro took a few steps forward. "You don't have to talk about it-"

"No, no I do!" Keith forced himself to look up, to ignore the writhing in his stomach, all to meet Shiro's gaze. He didn't understand - no one did. Keith had to do this. "I do I…"

"Whoa, take it easy there, amigo," Lance said, raising his hands as if Keith were about to topple over any minute and Lance was going to catch him. Honestly, Keith would not be surprised if he did. "Don't push yourself. We can wait for the answer."

"No, he-" Keith shook his head. He pressed his back firmly against the stone wall. The jagged edges bit at his skin underneath his shirt, against the wounds they'd made there several weeks earlier. "The killer he...cornered me in here, I think. I-I remember thinking something strange was going on and then…" He shook his head. "He pushed me against the wall right here and started attacking me."

Shiro took several steps forward. "Keith, you don't have to-"

"Yes, I do!" Keith squeezed his eyes shut. He forced himself to continue, ignoring the way his stomach protested. Ignoring the way it caused the headache pulsing at the back of his eyelids to pound. "I fell, I think because he tried to stab me in the legs and I moved out of the way. B-But I slipped and fell and he held me down and kept just…slashing and cutting me."

Lance was starting to look green in the face, but unlike Shiro, he wasn't trying to get Keith to stop.

"Keith-"

"I grabbed something," Keith continued, almost breathlessly. "The killer's shirt, I-I think. I ripped it. It's somewhere around here."

Shiro tried to grab Keith's wrist. "I think we should go."

Keith didn't offer him a response this time, staggering around the thick splotches of muted crimson. He tried to remember where he was, but all he had been aware of at the time was blinding pain. Maybe he'd thrown it, maybe the killer had, he really wasn't sure.

There was a green foul-smelling dumpster nearby. It jogged something in the depths of Keith's fuzzy memory. Had he bashed his head against the dumpster? Or had the killer thrown him against it? Was that what caused the injury to his elbow?

Keith knelt down, tucking his sling up against his stomach while using his left arm to prop himself up to look underneath it.

There, underneath the dumpster, was a scrap of purple fabric.

Keith, forgetting his right arm was completely out of commission, reached out to grab it. As he did so, his cheek smashed into the ground landing him in one of the most undignified positions he'd ever been in. Now supporting the appearance of someone who'd just run face-first into a window, he used his good arm to reach underneath the dumpster. He ignored how undignified he looked, instead choosing to tap desperately under the dumpster before his fingers closed in around the cloth.

He straightened up and held the cloth close to him. It was a pretty large strip, about the size of his entire palm. It was crinkled, too, dried blood that looked horribly like fingers imprinted over it.

"Holy shit," he whispered. The same profanity was echoed by Lance a moment later, who pulled on the gloves Coran had given him and plucked the scrap of fabric out of Keith's hand. He muttered something to himself in Spanish, unzipping one of the plastic evidence bags as he went.

Keith staggered to his feet, using his hand to brace himself against the dumpster's edge. The awful smell coming from it made his head spin, but he couldn't focus on it at the moment. All he could see was that purple scrap of fabric.

Shiro hovered over Lance's shoulder, looking between the fabric and Keith, his lips pursed. Lance, meanwhile, had gotten so excited he was forgetting to speak English as he handed the evidence off to another member of the forensics team. He turned to Keith, peeling the gloves off of his hands with an enormous grin.

"This is great, Mullet. We've got some real hard evidence out of this case that isn't you! I'm going to take that back to the lab for DNA testing. Hopefully, we'll get something from it. We might even find the killer!"

Keith nodded. His throat was dry, his head pounding ferociously.

"You should…get home," Shiro said, setting a hand down carefully on Keith's shoulder. "Rest after today. You can come back to the precinct tomorrow and we can keep looking."

Keith nodded numbly, holding himself tightly with his good arm. "Okay."

"I'll walk you home," Shiro said. "Lance, you head back and test that fabric scrap."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Lance did a mock salute. Shiro gave him a grateful smile, steering Keith back towards the tape.

The walk to Keith's apartment building a few blocks away felt shorter than it probably was. Keith unconsciously led Shiro as he'd taken the route dozens of times before. Hell, he'd been to one of the bars next to the alleyway more times then he could count. He wondered if he'd ever be able to go back after what had happened.

Somehow, he doubted it.

Keith was still reeling from what he had remembered. He could still feel the hot breath of the killer ghosting over his skin. Those garbled, overlapping voices. There was something much deeper about this case. Something that only Keith knew, but he just couldn't remember what it was.

Keith's feet carried him towards the apartment building. It was rundown and shitty, but all Keith could afford on his meager paycheck. Shiro followed him up the stairs and the two of them paused in front of Keith's front door. Shiro observed Keith, his amethyst eyes wide and unseeing.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked as Keith fumbled with the keys. "I can stay for a little while if you want-"

"No," Keith said. He shook his head so fast he almost got whiplash. "I can do this. I…need to be alone. Right now. If that's okay."

"O-Of course," Shiro narrowed his eyes but didn't press. He watched silently as Keith opened the front door to his apartment and stepped inside. The interior was dark. Keith turned around to wish Shiro well when he held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

"What?" Keith blanched. "Why?"

"I'm giving you my number," Shiro pursed his lips. "Just in case. As your detective, it would be better if I had direct contact with you anyway." He smiled through his teeth.

Keith adhered to Shiro's wishes without thinking too much about it. Shiro tapped in a few numbers and handed it back to him. Keith gripped the phone tightly in his hand; so tight he was worried he might break it.

"Take it easy, Keith," Shiro murmured. He stepped away from the door.

"I will," Keith nodded numbly. His voice sounded foreign to his own ears. "Thanks, Shiro."

Shiro paused, looking a bit surprised. Keith wondered if he hadn't been expecting to be thanked or was shocked that Keith had used his nickname. Either way, his expression softened, lips curving up into a smile.

"You're welcome," he said. "Stay safe, Keith. Lock the doors."

Without waiting for a response, Shiro turned and walked away. Keith turned his attention down to the phone in his hand and by the time he thought to look back up at Shiro, he was already halfway down the staircase.

Keith's apartment was anything but clean.

Spare pizza boxes littered the area around the trash can, his clothes were tossed everywhere over the futon, and his dishes were piling up.

But Keith couldn't think about how he really needed to vacuum. How he hadn't taken the trash out. All he could focus on was the overwhelming feeling that he was being watched. Followed. He felt like someone's eyes were burning into the back of his head but every time he turned to look there was no one there.

Keith locked the door tightly behind him, his breathing labored. Just for good measure, he used the chain lock too and then practically sprinted across the room to make sure the screen door couldn't be opened either.

He hadn't been home since the accident. Since he was almost murdered.

Did the killer know where he lived? Was he lurking outside, waiting for Keith to leave so he could make a move? Maybe he was inside the apartment, lying in wait for Keith to crawl into bed so he could finish the job he'd started.

Keith could hardly think straight as he stood outside his bedroom door. He felt like an outsider looking in. Nothing looked different but the fact remained that everything was different. He'd had left this place seeking to get his laptop fixed so he could finally quit his job at the diner. He'd come back as the biggest piece of evidence in a serial killer case and a right elbow that would never heal.

Keith's breaths were shallow and quick. He thought of the memory he'd awakened earlier, of the hot breath and growling words tried to hug himself as best he could. His elbow ached of a wound Keith could not remember.

The walls closed in. A shadow flicked in and out of Keith's vision behind him. He whipped his head around, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Nothing was in the room, nothing had changed. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he wasn't alone. That the apartment wasn't as empty as it appeared.

Keith took two enormous steps into his bedroom and slammed his door shut. The pictures on the walls rattled with the force of it.

Keith pressed his back to the door and slid down it. His sling was pressed in between his chest and his legs, elbow twinging with pain. He buried his face in the arm he'd draped across his knees, trembling violently.

The killer was coming back for him, wasn't he? Keith was going to wake up with a knife inches from his throat. He'd see the unforgiving gaze of his would-be killer and then everything would go dark. He'd be gone, swallowed by the cold embrace of death.

Maybe Keith really was destined to be another casualty in the deadly game the killer was playing.

And there's chapter one over and done with! It's one monster of a chapter but hopefully it piqued your interest! I'm super excited to show you guys where this fic goes!

So, just like with Sun this fic will have an update schedule as well. I'm shooting for every Monday, which should be manageable in-between my daily life. Updating every Saturday apparently won't work anymore, especially since I have a bad habit of scheduling things for Saturday. Whoops.

Regardless, if you liked this first chapter, drop a review! I'd love to hear your thoughts on this first chapter :D See you next Monday!