Chapter Text
The hum of the Galra ship’s engines vibrated through the metal floor beneath Keith’s boots. Every shadow seemed to twist with menace, the dim red lights casting elongated forms that made the corridors look alive, almost predatory. He moved quietly, the sound of his breathing loud in his own ears as he crept past storage bays and corridors that smelled faintly of oil and smoke. Something about this ship was off — way off.
The mission had been simple in theory: infiltrate, gather intelligence on a weapons cache, and get out before the Galra even noticed them. In practice, Keith had ended up separated from the team, drawn down a side corridor by the faint echo of a movement that didn’t belong.
“Focus…” he whispered to himself, the word barely leaving his lips. Even his own voice sounded distant, alien. A cold dread ran down his spine, but he pressed forward anyway. This mission felt more dangerous than expected.
As Keith rounded a corner, the corridor ended abruptly. A lone Galra soldier, towering and brutal, stepped out of the shadows. Its armor gleamed under the red lights, and its glowing eyes locked onto Keith with lethal precision.
Keith’s hand went to his Bayard instinctively, activating it in one smooth motion. “I won’t be the reason this mission fails”, he muttered, though his words carried more determination than volume.
The soldier didn’t respond. It sprang forward. Keith dodged, rolling along the floor and slicing at the enemy’s leg. The Galra was fast - faster than anything he’d expected. The next swipe caught him across the chest. Pain exploded as the claws tore, cutting through the fabric of his suit and into the soft tissue beneath.
The hit stole his breath. It wasn’t just pain—it was absence. His lungs stuttered, refused to draw in enough air. Each gasp came shallow, ragged, like trying to breathe through water. He staggered, chest tightening, panic blooming behind his ribs even as he forced himself to move.
He stumbled backward, gasping, clutching his side, blood smearing hot against the cold metal of his armor.
The Galra wasn’t done. It barrelled back into him. Keith twisted to avoid a deadly strike, but the bulkhead caught him, gouging jagged abrasions into his side. Every breath stabbing into him.
Keith pushed to his feet, but the soldier was already on him. A roar — then the impact drove him into the wall. Something cracked. Air whooshed out of his lungs in a sharp gasp, the world swimming in and out of focus.
“You… won’t…” Keith rasped, trying to pull back. The Galra grabbed him by the throat, claws digging in, crushing and twisting. His voice caught. Panic flared. He tried to shout, but only strangled rasps broke free. A searing fire lanced through his chest as he struggled. Sticky heat trickled down his jaw, down his neck. A shallow cough became a croak, blood spattering the metal floor.
I can’t… breath… I can’t…
The corridor tilted. Lights spun. Adrenaline kept him moving, but every motion left him more battered. Everything a blur of red light, black armor and agony. He swung his blade in desperation, narrowly grazing the Galra, but the enemy was relentless. Another blow, a crushing press against the wall. The last thing that registered, was the faint sound of alarms being activated. Hope they’re okay. This was my fault.
And then … darkness.
———
“Keith? Keith, status update.” The comms crackled with Shiro’s voice.
The mission had gone wrong — so utterly wrong. Not long after Keith had taken off — God knows where — they’d been discovered. The alarms had blared, notifying their enemy of the intruders. They had fought with desperation, trying to gain the upper hand.
It was sheer luck that none of them were hurt, and luckier still that Pidge managed to hack into the mainframe in time. Her quick thinking and proficient skills were the only reason, they were still standing, walking.
Now, the air on the Galra ship was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. The corridors hummed faintly with dying power, lights flickering in erratic bursts. Floors littered with disabled drones and sentries. Every footstep echoed too loudly, the silence pressing in on them. They still had to find him — find Keith.
Shiro led them, his expression tight, his voice commanding. “Stay sharp. Whoever’s left here… they won’t go down easy.”
Lance’s hand twitched near his blaster, eyes scanning the shadows. He tried to crack a joke to ease the tension but couldn’t get the words past the knot in his throat. Something felt wrong - too wrong.
Where the hell was Keith? Why hadn’t they heard from him yet? Why must he always storm off to play the hero?
They halted as the corridor split in two. It was an unspoken agreement that they wouldn’t split up now. They couldn’t afford to lose another member of their team. Shiro glanced at Lance just as he jerked his head towards the right corridor. Eyes worried. They continued their path.
They rounded the corner into what looked like a holding chamber. The door hissed halfway open before grinding to a stop. Hunk pried it wider, and the smell hit them first — iron, sweat, something sharp like burned ozone.
For a breathless moment, no one moved. The hum of the dying lights filled the space, uneven and ghostly. Their helmets picked up the faint echo of a slow, wet drip somewhere in the dark. Lance’s pulse pounded in his ears, each beat a countdown. Even Shiro hesitated, eyes sweeping the dim chamber, searching shadows that refused to give up their secret. The silence was a living thing — tense, waiting — until Pidge’s sharp intake of breath shattered it.
She gagged quietly, covering her mouth. “Oh … oh quiznak.”
And then they saw him.
Keith was slumped against the wall, half in the shadows, half under the weak flicker of the overhead light. His armor was shredded, fabric of his undersuit soaked in red. Jagged, fresh wounds scored across his chest and shoulders, angry and raw, still weeping. His hands trembled faintly where they pressed uselessly against his ribs. His hair clung damp to his forehead, skin ghostly-pale under streaks of grime.
“Keith!” Shiro’s voice cracked as he bolted forward, but he slowed at the last second, dropping to his knees carefully. His hands hovered, afraid to touch, afraid to hurt him worse.
Keith flinched at the sound, head snapping weakly up. His eyes were glassy, unfocused — fear flickered there before recognition broke through. His lips parted. He tried to speak, tried to reassure them — but only a hoarse, rasping sound came out. His throat felt raw, shredded. He opened his mouth again, desperate to say something, but all that escaped were low painful groans. Panic flared in his eyes, frustration and fear mixing in a way Lance had never seen before.
Lance froze mid-step, blaster hanging useless at his side. For once, his mouth had nothing clever to say. He’d seen Keith bruised, beaten from training — even from missions — but never like this. Never… broken. His chest ached with something he didn’t want to name.
The part of him that always reached for a joke twitched — habit, reflex — but the sight in front of him killed it before it formed. Humor was armor, and right now it felt useless, paper-thin against the sheer wrongness of Keith lying there. He swallowed hard, the laugh dying somewhere deep in his chest.
“Quiznak, quiznak,” Pidge muttered, fumbling for their scanner. “These readings are — he’s losing blood fast.”
“Hang in there, buddy,” Hunk said, voice shaking as he pulled out a medpack. His hands trembled too much to open it.
Shiro swallowed hard, but spoke calmly. “Keith… can you hear me?”
Keith blinked sluggishly, then gave the smallest nod. His body jolted when Shiro’s hand brushed near his shoulder. The sharp intake of breath was almost silent, but his expression said everything.
Lance’s stomach twisted. He stepped forward without thinking. “Hey — Keith. It’s just us, okay? We’ve got you.” His voice wavered on the last word. He crouched low, trying to catch Keith’s eyes.
Keith’s gaze darted to him, wide and glassy, then away again, ashamed. His chest hitched: half a sob, half a gasp. No sound followed. His hands curled tighter against his ribs, knuckles white.
“Quiznak,” Lance whispered, softer this time. He wanted to reach out, to steady him, but his own hands hovered uselessly in the air. Every place he looked — Keith’s shoulder, his chest, his arms — was torn open. Where could he even touch him that wouldn’t make it worse?
“Shiro, we need to move him,” Hunk said, steadier now but pale. “If we wait…”
“I know,” Shiro said tightly. He looked at Lance. “Help me.”
Lance nodded, swallowing hard. Together, they eased closer. Lance went for Keith’s uninjured side, whispering the whole time. “Okay, okay. We’re just gonna get you out of here, mullet. Nice and easy. You won’t even have to glare at me for once.”
When their hands touched him, Keith stiffened, a strangled sound escaping — raw, silent agony. His body shuddered, trembling so violently Lance thought he’d pass out.
“Hey…hey,” Lance said quickly, shifting his grip, careful not to press too hard. Warm hands despite the fear. “We’ve got you. We’ve got you.” His voice cracked, and he bit the inside of his cheek hard.
Keith’s head lolled toward him again, lips moving. A word tried to form, but no voice followed. His throat convulsed, and a flash of panic lit his eyes. His vision swam. He wanted to tell them he was okay — or at least that he was still there — but all he could do was let out soft, frustrated noises.
Lance’s heart stopped. He wanted to tell Keith it was okay. To make it better. But no words would come — not from him, not from Keith. He didn’t even realize he was holding his breath until Shiro spoke, low and grim.
“His voice…”
No one said the rest out loud.
As they hauled him gently to his feet, Keith’s knees buckled. Lance tightened his grip, whispering through gritted teeth. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you. Don’t you dare quit on me.”
Keith sagged against them, shaking, breaths coming in short gasps. Lance didn’t move, didn’t joke. He just held on — tight, unwavering — because for once, words weren’t enough.
———
They didn’t run back to the Castle — running would have jostled him too much — but it felt like the longest retreat of Lance’s life. Every second Keith sagged heavier between them, every step another reminder of how little strength he had left.
Keith drifted in and out of consciousness. The world was a swirl of pain, panic, and fleeting glimpses of Lance’s face hovering over him. He wanted to tell him something, anything — but the sound wouldn’t come.
By the time they crossed the Castle’s threshold, Coran was already rushing down the corridor toward them, eyes widening when he saw the state of Keith.
“Great galaxies, put him down — here, quickly!” Coran shouted, pulling open the pod chamber.
Lance and Shiro half-carried, half-dragged Keith to the nearest pod. Hot, sticky blood coated Lance’s gloves, seeping into his undersuit under Keith’s weight. When they shifted him to the pod’s platform, Keith whimpered — almost silent, with a sudden jerk of his body, as if bracing for more pain.
Lance froze, chest tightening. “Sorry, sorry — sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean…”
“Lance,” Shiro cut in, firm. “Let go.”
It was harder than it should have been. His fingers didn’t want to unclench from Keith’s arm. But he forced them open, and Shiro eased Keith back as Coran activated the pod.
The glass sealed with a hiss. Warm blue light bathed Keith’s body, already beginning to knit torn skin together. His face softened slightly in unconsciousness, his chest barely rising and falling.
The silence afterward was deafening.
Pidge was the first to speak. Their voice was too loud in the quiet chamber. “He… he couldn’t even talk.”
Lance’s head whipped toward them, glare sharp enough to cut. “Don’t.” His throat was tight, words harsher than he meant. “Don’t — you saw him, he tried. He just…” His voice cracked, and he bit down hard on the rest.
Pidge flinched but didn’t argue.
Hunk shifted uncomfortably, wringing his hands. “He — he’ll heal, right? The pod fixes… everything. Right?”
Coran hesitated just a fraction too long. “It’ll mend the body. But—” His moustache twitched. “There are wounds a pod cannot simply erase. Especially those that aren’t entirely physical.”
Lance’s stomach dropped. He stared at Keith’s still form behind the glass, a feeling of helplessness weighing him down. “So what? We just wait? And hope?!”
“Yes,” Coran said gently. “For now.”
Shiro put a hand on Lance’s shoulder. Lance shrugged it off. His eyes didn’t leave the pod.
He couldn’t unsee the way Keith’s mouth had moved soundlessly, the sheer panic in his eyes. That image burned behind his eyelids, looping endlessly.
Hunk was first to leave. Muttering something about needing comfort food. Pidge came second — surely there was a tech project still lying around somewhere. Lance watched as Shiro paced back and forth. If the situation had been different, Lance surely would have made a joke about him looking like a caged animal. But his humor failed him.
Hours later, when the others had drifted off to restless sleep, Lance stayed. He slumped against the wall, legs pulled up to his chest, staring at the faint blue glow. His gloves were still stiff with Keith’s blood.
“Stupid mullet,” he whispered hoarsely, resting his head on his knees. “Always picking fights. Always running ahead. And now — now look at you.”
His chest ached. Silence pressed heavier than any Galra ship, louder than any battle. Because for once, Keith had no words - and Lance had to carry them all.