Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rolling his shoulders with a sigh, trying to ease the ache between his shoulder blades, he stepped out of the room. With a flick of his wrist he despawned his dagger, chips of paint falling off its pristine blade. 

“And that is how you take out an opponent,” his teacher droned on, arms crossed. Iverson was a joy. Really. With his permanent scowl and thunderous stormcloud, he sucked it all out of the first years. But Keith was already in his third year and so the glare shot his way bounded off him harmlessly. “Good work, Kogane. Fast, clean, brutal.” 

He nodded and stood next to the other third years, stuffing the handle of his blade back into its sheath behind his waist. 

And that was the end of that because Iverson barked at the first years to form a line, and he chose his first victim. With a barely suppressed smirk, Keith watched the boy swallow thickly and step into the arena. The glass doors swooshed shut, lights flashing yellow to signal it was occupied, and the bot strode in from another slit in the wall. The victim shook as he took out the handle of his own weapon and gave it a shake, springing out a sword. 

And not a second too soon, either. The robot fixed its gaze on him and lunged into a sloppy thrust, leaving too much of its chest vulnerable. 

Not like the freshman got that. He squeaked and focused on the blade instead, parrying it, taking a step back. The bot pushed forward more, then struck its foot out and the guy came crashing down. Rolling to the side just as the blade sliced the empty space where his head would have been, he attempted to nick at its leg but fell short. 

Keith turned away, already bored. 

Across the hallway he noticed a broad shouldered body bend over to fix something on the floor.  It was like he knew the exact moment Keith was watching him when he turned around and they met gazes. He gave a friendly wave, and Keith awkwardly gave one back, their usual back and forth greetings, before the large man dove into his work again. Keith didn’t know how it started, but it happened, and every time they saw each other they waved. Like one of those people you know but don’t know enough, yet still say hi because it's weird without one. Somehow, though, he managed to catch the other’s name, Hunk. And Keith was 99.89 percent sure the mechanic knew his own name after hearing Iverson chew him out on a routine he landed flawlessly, if a bit rough. 

And then the guy gave a victorious ‘ha!’ and the robot finally flickered and disappeared, much like a hologram, and wiped the sweat from his face with a long breath. 

“Took ya long enough,” Iverson growled. “Your stance was wrong half the time and you were more focused on the sword, not the way the bot moved or any of its weak points. You should be ashamed!” As the freshman stumbled out of the rink, face flushed and panting, he was already moving on to the next one. “You! Get inside!” 

This guy gave a curt nod and took one step inside before the lights suddenly flashed blue in the entire room. 

And then Keith felt his blood rushing. 

Glancing around the rest of the third year’s, he saw the anticipation growing on their own faces. Their eyes flashed from behind their face masks, grins finally appeared, and as the first years looked on, apprehensive, Iverson gave a nod. “Go to your stations!” 

And he was off. 

The patter of running feet speeding down the hallway gives the first boost of adrenaline into his systems. He raced past them all, and while he hates to admit he’s the smallest in the group, it only makes it easier for him to slunk on without their heavy weight. So naturally he’s the first to pick up a gun from the wall, check to make sure its bullets are loaded, and sprint to the far wall that opens up to the real outside world. 

The blinking blue flashes fade away to the serene green plants decked outside of the training hall. A piece of reality cuts through all the dense foliage, other third years spilling out from the seemingly flat screen, but that’s just thanks to their invisibility the garrison managed to create. 

Keith doesn’t look back for long. He charges ahead, flicking his glasses to digital mode and dialing in on the route he’s been programmed to take. Either trust this navigation panel or crash face first into the invisible building. He would know. 

As usual, he’s the furthest out. But this makes his smirk wider. The more chance to spot the magea. The bigger the chance to actually kill it. His hands clutch the gun tighter. 

The leaves slap away as he jogs, paying no mind to their natural formation. Sticks crunch and birds scatter away, cawing out surprised screeches from the random intrusion. He silently begs them to shut up so they wouldn’t alert the magea. Keith needed this. Needed to do this to prove himself and move to level 4, the rare stage that warriors graduated to after bringing in a creature dead or alive. 

And then he’s here, touching the bark of a tree. Underneath the chips of wood it glows green, sending a message through the roots that he’s in position. Shifting the gun to lay on an arm he waits, eyes and glasses scanning the area. 

Keith’s never actually seen one in real life. He’s seen pictures, or at least from what the magea’s portrayed themselves to be at that moment. Some took on a human look, blending in with the crowd to stir up trouble, others took on animals, and some made a mash between them all. Large bird wings with a lion body. A lady with snakes for hair. Loch Ness Monster. But nobody knew what they looked like in their first and original form. Or, nobody lived to tell the tale. 

As he stood there, ears stretching as far as they could hear, he ran through the list of what he’d need to do if he ever saw one. Shoot first, ask questions later. They’re fast and ruthless, and if they ever let their guard down for a second, take it. After that, well, it’s been nice knowing you. After one is shot down, immediately call the ground control. They will handle it, your job is done. 

And, most importantly, don’t look one in the eyes. Ever. 

A stick crunched, making someone swear silently. Keith stiffened and edged around the tree trunk, stilling his breath. His heart hammered, it didn’t matter what the garrison put in their food to make all the army boys calm down because it sure as hell wasn’t working now. Slowly, slowly, he peeked around, wiping the sweat off his hands and onto his cargo pants as he dared to look. 

It was a normal boy he saw at first. Tall and thin with broad enough shoulders to make him look like a man. A long loose coat draped over him and his long legs stepped over the log with ease. The other boy didn’t seem to notice him, though, and the longer Keith watched him, the more sure he became. Nobody walked around these areas. Not unless they were part of the garrison but then he would be wearing cargo pants and a tight shirt, their regular style for any year. But if the dirt on the other’s jeans were any indication, this person had been walking for a while in those clothes. 

Keith swallowed. He looked so normal. 

And pulled the trigger. 

The boy’s wide eyes stared right into his own and all time stopped. Even though he was a good ten feet away he could see the bright blue tones of the guy, swirling with a deeper blue that left him breathless. They didn’t have an iris, yet it didn’t look so out of place on him. His breath was gone, vanished as he stared. He didn’t even seem hot anymore, his heart didn’t thump out of his chest, nor did his mind blitz out that he’s staring right at a magea! None of that registered as he took in the faint freckles, took in the arched eyebrows and wide eyes, took in the other’s thin lips open partly with shock. 

And then it was gone. 

The bullet flew through where he used to be and latched onto a tree immediately zapping it. Leaves fell off in chunks and all Keith could do was stare dumbly as the entire plant broke down and fell, dead. 

But not the magea. 

Hissing in disappointment, he reloaded his gun, feeling panic claw up his throat. He’s going to die. He should be dead. Breathing out shakily he braced himself to feel something, anything, eyes darting out to catch any sight of the tan boy— 

“Third years,” the voice in his comn started, making him flinch, “head back to base. The magea’s gone.” 

Giving a last glance around, Keith bit the inside of his cheek and huffed, spinning on a heel and storming back the way he came. He had been right there! How could he have missed it?! For once in his life it had been in his section and he killed a tree instead. “Ugh!” he groaned, wheeling around to punch a tree. The pain shocked his system but soon dulled down and he walked to another tree, giving it his punishment as well. And the next one and the next until his fist was stinging underneath his glove, obviously bleeding. 

He wasn’t dead, not if his knuckles had a voice. Giving out a harsh laugh he shook his head in wonder. Rule number one had said to never look in a magea’s eyes. Nobody said what happened after, and Keith had been dying to figure out how the garrison knew the eyes especially were a bad spot, so this stumped him. 

Keith should be dead. He looked into one’s eyes. Didn’t that mean, like, automatic death or was he going batshit crazy and imagined it all? 

Standing just in front of the opened wall leading back inside he gave a sour glance over his shoulder. A flash of blue and he was spinning around, heart pounding in the direction he thought it scurried off to. Was it back? But no further calls came from his comn, and other students were already trickling back into the door. 

He screwed his face for a moment, contemplative, before he shook his head. If it was back, he had to check it out, orders be damned. 

“Yo, Keith!” Ah, James the lames. 

He ignored him in favor of stalking the direction he thought the blue . . . thing went off in. He had to be sure, what kind of defender would he be if he didn’t check for the safety of the garrison? 

“What, did you forget something?” the voice taunted, much closer now. Keith muttered under his breath, still shaken up. He didn’t have the time for this. 

“Leave me alone.” 

He looked around again, searching for any footprints but nothing showed up. No bushes were broken, the birds still sang, and insects buzzed. There was nothing here. 

Shoulders slumping, he sighed and spun back around, dreading coming back inside. His gun stayed heavy in his hands, useless when he really needed it, so that was helpful. Plus, his oncoming headache felt like a bad omen. 

In all, it was a really shitty day. 

-----

“It was literally in your sector!” Iverson shouted, throwing his hands up to the ceiling as he paced back and forth, agitation rolling off him in waves. “You blew up a tree! You literally saw him!” 

“I did, sir,” he sighed, back ramrod straight along with every other student in his rank. They were all here to witness his embarrassment and he ground his foot into the floor quietly, just imagining it was the face of his commander underneath his boot. That was the only thing helping him through this. 

Apparently, that was not the answer his teacher was looking for. “THEN WHY DON’T YOU TELL ME HOW YOU, THE BEST SCORING STUDENT IN MY CLASS, MISSED?!”

He didn’t flinch, and noted with dulled amusement how that made his face darken. “Must have been the exhaustive training we’ve all been through, sir.”

Iverson’s eye twitched and the students around him jittered away, not wanting to be in the line of fire. “SO YOU’RE TELLING ME IT’S MY FAULT?!” Heavy boot falls and the commander’s face was right in front of his own. “TELL ME THAT AGAIN.”

Keith pinched his lips tightly, staring at the actual lividness boiling in his eyes. A vein popped out, pulsing with the rage that went through him. But the anger couldn’t hurt him. It didn’t matter. He had never known the love of his mother. He had seen his father die in a fire trying to rescue someone else. The cold, hard walls was all he knew about anymore as he cried himself to sleep. He didn’t have anything Iverson could take away anymore. “Did I stutter?”

It happened so fast. Slow enough to dodge, if you’re Keith, but he stood his ground as the hand slapped his face, leaving his cheek burning almost as much as his untreated hand. He simply shook it off and stood ramrod straight again, fixing his posture. The silence that stretched after was loud, Iverson’s heavy nose breaths the only thing heard. “Go,” he snarled, “to your room. You will have cleaning duties for a month!” 

Keith shot him a smile, stepping out of line and away. “Right, sir.” 

“AND you are skipping breakfast!” his commander shot after him, his words shaking the air. He simply gave a thumbs up and walked out. Iverson couldn’t take his dinner, too, not when they didn’t believe in lunch already. And Keith was sure he could steal some morsels from the first year’s pity, so he was fine. 

Walking through the hallways of the garrison alone was nothing new for him. His feet traced familiar steps out of the training room, past the cafeteria, up a flight of stairs and then deposited him to the long rows of Year’s rooms. First years slept all the way at the top, needed last in an emergency, then second years and third years. After that the years went down to five; that was the lowest any warriors could stay at the garrison for before they were shipped off to join the navy unless they caught a magea. Those people were kept and slept at the first level of dorms, but were never called to fight another creature again. 

He wasn’t entirely sure why they were kept, all he knew was that it was a prized position and everybody should work hard to achieve it. 

The chance had literally landed right in his lap and he still blew it. 

Picking up the same traces of anger from before he stormed all the way into his dorm and slammed the door shut. Throwing off his gloves, he barely winced as the dried blood ripped off his wound and made it bleed a little more freely. He is the best in his class. So how could he have missed the shot?! 

Magea’s killed people. Tortured them, and animals. The power in their bodies was unexplainable. Magic, some whispered while the government still scoffed at that idea. But, again, every magea they ever encountered was a dead one so they couldn’t say for a fact. 

Plopping on his bed on his side of the room, Keith groaned and rubbed his face, feeling the headache only grow stronger. He messed up. Big time. And Iverson wasn’t happy about that, which meant the government wasn’t happy about that, which meant the world was still in danger. 

And it was his fault. 

Slamming his hands against everything as he stormed into the bathroom, he turned the faucet on and began rubbing the blood off his wound. Looking up, he caught himself staring at his reflection. Violet eyes, deep enough to be mistaken for brown or blue, watched him right back. 

And he was back in the forest, seeing those eyes locked onto his once again. 

What had even happened? No irises, yet the other’s eyes seemed to swirl like clouds, like the ocean. It was fascinating in its own creepy way. He didn’t know how to feel about the whole idea, but he wasn’t dead, right? Sure, he was in trouble with the longest cleaning sentence he had ever received, but that was his own fault. 

Still, cleaning seemed like a shitty punishment for not killing one of the terrors of the world. 

A heavy sigh and he went back to scrubbing. At least the handprint was slowly fading. It might leave a small bruise, but Keith’s had worse. A lot worse. So he should thank his lucky stars he’s not dead in a ditch somewhere for the garrison to find and mourn over. That image made him snort, just imagining Iverson sniffling over his casket and wishing he hadn’t been so hard on his best student. 

… Maybe he hit his head somewhere, sometime. Unless Iverson did that on his own. 

The sound of a door opening startled him and it softly closed behind itself. “Hey, Keith.” They padded into the room and rested against the doorframe, an eyebrow arched. James. Also known as his roommate. Ugh. “So, what happened?”

He shook his head, muttering under his breath and shut the faucet. “I flunked out.” He grabbed a napkin from under the sink and pressed it gingerly onto his cut. 

James’ eyes held a strange glint. “Y’know, there’s this rumor going around about you now.” 

His head jerked in his direction as he seethed out, “What are they saying?” He’s had his fair share of rumors. After all, the moody emo kid with a mullet was the best in his class. Keith has heard whispers where they speculate he used to be part of a gang, maybe he took drugs back then, how he must have been hard on any ladies in the bed. He wanted to scoff at them all because none were true. Especially not the ladies, he was gay, and still a virgin because of that.

“Everybody’s talking about how you might be the first person to see a magea and live.” James’ smile finally grew. “Dude, we’re talking straight up awe and jealousy. And you should see the first years. Their eyes are so wide, breakfast won’t be a problem for you at all.”

Oh. Oh that? That wasn’t so bad, actually. Keith took the napkin off and threw it into the trash before grabbing a large bandaid and taping it on. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah! So how did it go, you have to tell me everything!” 

He nervously chuckled and sat on his bed, rubbing a hand against his slightly throbbing headache. If everyone saw him as this kind of deity, now, he didn’t know how that was supposed to pan out. He was naturally reclusive, only ever truly in his element in a fight. So with this added popularity boost, he didn’t know how to react to it.

So he did the easy thing. “I was hidden behind a tree . . .”

-----

With a soft groan, Keith grabbed a small towel and wiped the sweat from his forehead, his headache threatening to split his head in half. His stomach swirled angrily, for reasons he didn’t know, and frankly didn't want to. 

A group of guys approached him, their eyes both wary and in slight awe. James hadn’t been wrong when he said those rumors spread. “Hey, uh, are you good? You looking kinda pale.”  

Lidding his eyes he gave a shrug and a nod. Truthfully, he felt like shit. An eventful night of restless tossing and turning all because of his head, thinking about the magea and about Iverson, and now after their early morning workout with a hammering head he was just fine. 

He wasn't. He knew that. 

That didn't stop him from ignoring himself as always and powering through. 

Keith fell in line with the rest of the third years as they meandered to the showers, washing all the salt off his body. The water hitting him felt good, and he stayed just a little longer than usual. Glancing at the shampoo bottle he hesitated and drew his hand back. Not now. 

Then, as he slipped into the cafeteria, he eyed his first victim. Spotting a group of younger boys who were eying him from the corner of their eyes he nearly smirked. This was too easy. 

Hunching his shoulders and making a desolate expression, he slowly turned around to walk off when he felt something pressing into his hand. Looking down he smiled at the boy who flushed and ran back off, leaving him a pop tart. 

Not the healthiest of snacks, but when has he ever cared? So, with his shoulders raised higher he strode out, munching absentmindedly at his breakfast. Hopefully it would calm him down. 

Feeling a little more chipper he grabbed the keys to the janitors closet and unlocked the door, yoinking the cleaning supplies from within the deep and mysterious cavern that was, ironically, really dusty. He sneezed, which definitely helped his aching helm, thanks world. 

And then he was off, rolling the sloshing mop bucket across the hallways. He felt alone and small under the fluorescent lights, cleaning supplies tucked under his arms. Music would have been nice, he mused, glaring at the round and round rogue wheel of the mop. It was way too cheerful for his current mood, swinging around like it was. 

He gave a soft sigh, before he pushed open the bathroom door. And immediately regretted it. 

The stench overpowered him and Keith gasped, slapping a hand over his nose and mouth, wondering when the heck the last time someone cleaned this. Honestly, yesterday hadn't seemed so bad but for some reason the stench was worse, somehow, than he remembered. 

He barely stumbled into a stall, checking if some idiot forgot to flush before remembering they were automatic. The first one was clean, so was the next and the next. He barely crashed into the third clean one when he dove to his knees and hacked out his breakfast and last night's lunch. 

Shakily, he wiped his mouth and groaned, feeling the pulsing between his eyes now too. 

Maybe he really did get poisoned or something from looking the magea in the eye. He gripped the sides of the bowl tighter. Maybe he was dying slowly. In a tortuous way for daring to break rule number one. 

Damn it, couldn't they make better goggles?! 

Running an unsteady hand over his hair, pushing his bangs away, he stood back up to his feet much to the protest of . . . Well, everything except whatever the quiznack he was doing already standing. A sigh, long and loud, and the toilet flushed as he moved to check on the next one. 

That one received a chunky welcome too. 

By the time he barely crawled to his feet at the tenth stall, still trying to find the source of the stench, he was already dry heaving on his feet and decided he's had enough. 

His stubbornness had him crawling out of the bathroom and for what? To prove a point with Iverson? 

Slamming the door shut as much as his weak body could, he almost tripped over his own feet trying to escape. The whirr of the AC instantly soothed him and he gulped in breaths of fresh air, hand over his sorely empty stomach. 

What. The. Quiznack. 

He was dying. That had to be it. The magea was going to come back and kill him in his dreams--

“Woah, uhh, Keith? 

He barely turned his head. James stood in front of him with a group of guys whose eyes flashed pity. He bared his teeth at him. 

“Keith, are you good?” 

“Fine,” he rasped out, waving a limp arm to wave it off. He tried to grin but it wobbled. 

Puckering his lips, James nodded. “All right. You guys can go on ahead. I'm taking this bull to the doctors.” 

“Thank you for your consideration,” he sneered, half gagging at the vehemence he used. 

His roommate rolled his eyes and forcefully wrapped Keith's arm over his shoulder. “Trust me, you’ll thank me later. Can't have you barfing till you drop. Iverson would hand you your ass for that, you know.” 

He stifled a half laugh, half groan. “Oh, yeah. Can't have his best student dead.” 

Fear shot straight to his heart, clutching more painfully now that he finally admitted it out loud. It felt real. Final. His heartbeats thumped loudly, he could barely swallow with a thick tongue. 

James narrowed his eyes and dragged him on. “What exactly happened back there? Y’know, with.” His eyes bore into his. “With the magea. Clearly you didn't tell me everything.” How could he have known? Did Keith make it that obvious he left something out? Unless James simply speculated it had to be the magea because Keith had never been sick like this before in the garrison. 

He gave a soft hiccup, one that banged against his head. “I-I.” Well if he said that out loud, that he looked into its eyes, that would become real too. Haunt him. Kill him. His whole body shuddered. “Its eyes,” he whimpered pathetically instead. 

James’ own eyes widened. Large and brown, and he muttered a soft, “Oh.” 

Silence except for their footsteps. 

“What . . . did they look like?” 

He thought back to yesterday. “Blue. Both bright and dark at the same time.” Keith sighed, already set to his fate. If he had to die, there wasn't any going back now. “But it didn't have any iris, just blue. It seemed to move, like an ocean, you know? I don't know how.” He shook his head. 

His roommate was stiff next to him. “So it saw you. And didn't kill you then.” 

“Yeah, because I might be dying now anyway,” he argued, shuddering again. 

“Maybe,” he conceded. “But does anyone know for a fact what happens when someone looks a magea in the eyes? What if you, like, become one instead?” 

That . . . was infinitely worse. “W-what?” 

“Nothing! I'm just teasing.” His wide smile flickered, only serving to make Keith spiral even worse. 

“I-if I turn into one then-then I really will die! And I would be evil, and—oh my gosh, I might have magic—” 

James’ face scrunched up. “Shut up!” 

That stopped his rambling. 

“Just.” He sighed. “Shut up. That won't happen. If it did, well. I don't know what to say. But maybe you ate something wrong yesterday.” 

Keith deadpanned. “The same fried chicken as you, maybe?” 

“W-well maybe yours was raw. Yeah. That had to be it.” He set his face, turning to the door. Keith barely glanced around as it opened and he was being pushed to one of the tables. “Doctor! I have a patient!” 

A middle aged man walked in, already tightening throwaway gloves onto his hands. Takashi Shirogane was labeled on a card on his vest. The most striking thing about him was his white tuft of hair. Or his oddly muscular body, for a doctor. “Keith, again?” 

“Shiro.” His head didn't want to think past any other greeting form than a dead beat on a sentence. 

“Keith,” he muttered in the same tone, thumb under his chin to tilt his head up. “Who were you fighting this time?” 

Keith’s lips curled slightly at the ends. “The bathroom.” 

He gave me an unimpressed glare. “I'm serious.” 

“So am I!” 

“Um, Shiro, he got cleaning duties yesterday,” James stepped in, fiddling with his shirt. “He looked really pale and smelled, well, like barf.” 

Keith groaned. He didn't think he got some on himself, but that's just his luck. “I have a splitting headache. And, somehow, the stench got to me.” 

“Who did you fight before that?” Shiro asked, gesturing to lie down on the bed. It was a crappy, flat mattress but Keith laid down without a second complaint. 

“Iverson.” 

The doctor fixed him a strange glance. “He didn't actually fight you, did he?” 

Keith shook his head. “Just a slap. And lots of yelling.” Laying down helped him, actually, to a small degree. Now if the lights weren't so bright he might actually feel better. 

A heavy sigh. “James, you may go now. Thank you for bringing him in.” 

“No problem! This bull wouldn't have gone himself if I hadn't.” They both chuckled, but James’ felt forced. Then he opened the door and he left, leaving Keith with Shiro and all the anti-bacterial chemical smells. 

He only got to enjoy a moment of silence. “Does it have something to do with the magea?” 

“Not you too,” he hissed, placing his hands on his head. “And for the record, I don't know. Maybe?” 

“Look, nobody's survived an encounter. I'm frankly surprised you managed to break the rules, again, but I guess I shouldn't be.” Another heavy sigh. Keith was the result of a lot of gray hairs for a lot of people. “So what happened.” 

“Shiro,” he whined, removing his hands to look pout in the doctor’s direction. “Shiro, I broke rule number one!” 

“Frick,” the goody-two-shoes cursed under his breath, hands held still in the air like he didn't know where to put them. “Ah. Frick.” 

“I'm not turning into one of them, am I?” he pressed, his heart hammering inside his chest. “Like, how else would they always pop up everywhere? Shiro, I'm scared!” 

Shiro's eyes darted everywhere. From Keith, to the table, to his hands, back to Keith, the ceiling. A ping pong ball that never lost its inertia. “I-I’m going to take some blood from you and run a couple of tests. Nobody knows, exactly, what happens when you look one in the eye.” Eventually his useless hands crawled up to his hair and he tugged hard. “Frick, Keith, why didn't you just listen and not look into its eyes?” 

He sat up, gritting his teeth against the throbbing pain. “I didn't mean to! You know that!” 

“No, I don't!” was shouted right back at him. He began to pace. “I don't know, because this has never happened before, and you're always bending the rules! Staying out late, fighting with everyone, and now this! And now I'm worried for you because-b-because—” His voice choked out, making Keith blink in surprise. “For all the shit you do, for everything I put up to make sure you stay, to forge extra pills so you stay calm during class and this is what you hand me! Unbelievable.” 

With every word that Shiro spat out, his shoulders came closer and closer to his ears. “Y-you don't care,” he sneered, a last attempt, just to make sure everyone knows his walls. “Why should you-ou? I'm nothing but a troublemaker, a bitc—” 

“Language!” 

“—h, and now I might have dug myself into my own grave!” His voice definitely didn't crack twenty times over. He definitely didn't wonder if his own father had felt the flames, had second thoughts about going against everyone just so he could be a hero. Nothing good happens to heroes. His father had died as proof of that. 

He wondered if his father felt half as guilty as he did, and all Keith had done was look a deadly creature in the eyes. 

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, heavy, grounding, and he was looking up into the eyes of Shiro. They were hard, small and cold, but by now Keith had learned that the stoniest of looks came from those who cared the most. Either about himself or about the problem he had just blown up in everyone's faces. “Look.” His mouth stretched oddly to find the words. “We'll figure this out. Okay? I'll take some blood samples, we’ll run it through and go from there. James said you threw up? I'll give you a package of applesauce you can stomach, hopefully, and I'm also going to have to tell Iverson you’ve been medically discharged from cleaning at the moment.” He got lost in himself for remembering his patient. “But we'll get through this, and I'm going to do everything in my power to keep you here and alive.” 

Keith sniffled and wiped that away too, his throat tightly closed up. “O-okay.” His voice was scratchy, unsteady. But it was something. 

Shiro gave him a small smile. “Okay, what did you say your symptoms were?” 

“Headache, upset stomach.” Keith paused. “That's about it from what I can tell. But now that I'm out of the bathroom I don't feel so bad.” 

Despite the situation he removed his arm and gave a slight smirk. “Morning sickness?” 

He frowned up at him. “Ugh, no? I’ve had a headache since yesterday, after the magea.” 

Shiro stared at him. “N-no, but, like. You know? When a woman gets . . . You know what, never mind. Improper joke.” 

Keith just frowned, confused. “You mean women have a thing called morning sickness? That sucks.” 

He ran a hand down his face, sighing. “No, Keith. As I said, an improper joke.” Shiro began doing something at a counter. 

“Oh.” 

Nope, didn't clarify anything. 

The door swung open again and Keith almost fell off the bed. Almost, because when he tried to correct himself his foot fumbled against the blanket and he slid with a heavy thump. 

An unimpressed glance met his, blue eyes with no iris. Brown hair curled over his forehead, the same clothes Keith had spotted him in. The only difference was that now his face wasn't pure anymore. A blue trailing expanse of white stars framed the right side of his face, beautiful in its own glory if Keith could stop gawking like he was staring at a ghost. 

“Sorry, I'm busy right now,” Shiro said, barely turning around. 

“Oh, okay.” The boy’s (boy? Their? Its?) voice was smooth, an undercurrent of annoyance beneath. “But I wasn't looking for you.” 

“Shiro—” Keith barely managed to strangle out. That, finally, made him turn around, needle in hand. 

“What?” Then he saw him. Really, truly, looked at him. 

And slammed his hand down on the blaring emergency button on the wall. 

The building began to flash code red, startling Keith's poor heart and health to a new skyrocketed peak. The alarms crackled, signaling for help at the medical bay, but it was too loud, too much. 

A hand yanked him up and he froze, mouth flailing open but no sounds coming out. The magea frowned at him. “You’re so stupid,” it seethed, grip tightening a little too harshly over his arm. Keith shouted pitifully, and the magea actually winced, loosening his grip. “You dumb, stupid, idiotic creature, I want to hate you sooooo badly right now. I want to kill you.” It swiftly led him out of the room while Keith stumbled behind on what felt like newborn deer legs, vaguely hearing Shiro's panicked shouts behind him. “But I can't. And that's the stupidest part about all of this!” 

“W-what?” he croaked out. None of it made sense. Even if his head didn't hurt anymore, weirdly, his entire brain was fried. 

The magea pressed a bored, almost insulted glance. “Look, let's start at the beginning. Hi, I'm Lance, a magea who’s twenty years old. And you, you little dipshit, are the one who owns me now.” 

Chapter Text

Keith's brain fumbled, trying to understand shit at the moment. Currently he was being led down the stairs, hand held firmly by the magea, going off to somewhere. 

“Do you know how long it took me to finally get inside here?” Lance went on, obviously ticked off. “Like, I knew there was something going on here, no matter how clever the invisibility is. Nobody manhandled you to come inside, so why did you? Just to make my life that much harder?” 

“I-I don't understand,” Keith hesitantly mouthed, unsure if he was going to die within the next minute or if he already was dead. His heart pounded, so maybe he was still alive, but none of this was mentioned in the textbooks he read. He wanted to laugh, cry, and throw up all simultaneously. 

Lance threw his hands up, dragging Keith's along. “Of course! Of course he doesn't even know what he did! Ughhhhh, I hate you so much.” 

Finally, something he recognized. “Don't worry, buddy, I get that a lot,” he murmured, eyes scanning the length of the stairs. 

“HALT!” 

A soft t’ch and Lance vanished, again, leaving Keith to whirl open mouthed at the guards alone. “Wait!” he squeaked out, taking a step back. That foot went too far back, and he belatedly realized he forgot he was standing on stairs, but he was already tumbling, clawing at anything to stabilize himself. “Lovely. Lovely, lovely, damn!” he spat out, finally catching himself. He couldn't just catch a break! 

A few shouts from above and he barely looked in time to see Lance plant a fist into the last one’s face. His entire fist was blue, he noted, and that guard was down, weapons discharging. 

He screamed, high pitched and something he was going to share his grave with, when Lance teleported right in front of him, looking down with a concerned frown. “Wow. You can't fight to save your life.” 

Keith just stared. Typically, when a guy picked on him he would always have something to snap back. He could think of insults in seconds, second nature after said nature threw her worst at him so he did too. If someone hit first, he wasn't going to not hit second. And third. 

The point was, he was a fighter. In anything. And yet now, half splayed over the stairs, he couldn't muster up an answer past his parted lips. 

He was done. 

More footsteps thudded down the hallway and Lance sighed, grabbing his arm and yanking him ungracefully down the stairs. “W-wait!” 

“Can't,” he snarled, not bothering to let Keith find his balance. The other's longer legs made him trip more than not, unable to match. “We have to get out of here.” 

“These are my people!” he hissed, slamming his legs down. “I'm not leaving!” He didn't expect that to work, not with how abrupt and forward this thing was, but he was more than glad when they actually stopped. 

The magea offered a lidded glance and sighed. “Why did I get the hard one?” Then his eyes widened and he facepalmed, muttering something under his breath. Keith rolled his eyes. Apparently, even magea’s could rot their minds. “Doesn't matter. What exactly do you think the garrison is going to do to you once they find out you are in control of a magea?” 

That made whatever words he was going to say die on his tongue. All the bravado he held suddenly vanished, leaving him feeling empty and cold. In control of a magea. He wasn’t dying, no, but that was somehow worse because of the new possibilities that opened up. “N-no, they wouldn't—” 

“Are you coming or not?” Lance asked impatiently, tapping a foot against the floor. 

“Keith!” 

He looked up to see Shiro holding a gun. Pointed at them. Maybe not specifically him, but that was too far of a distance to judge correctly. “Shir—Hey!” he shouted when they grabbed his waist and picked him up. 

“Took too long,” the magea muttered, easily plopping Keith over his shoulder. And he sprinted the heck out of there, making Keith jump with every step. 

“Stop!” Hitting the other's back, clawing, legs kicking, all of that was fruitless, and all he got for his efforts was pained breaths and pain on his own back, somehow. “Stop, they won't kill me! LET GO!” 

“Calm down, of course they won't kill you,” Lance muttered, running through all the different rooms. Keith saw the pale faces of first years as they were being emergency herded into the cafeteria before Lance was already gone. Some second years huddled together, unsure what to do even as they held some small weapons. He even thought he saw some third years peeking around the corners, guns drawn, but he turned down another hallway. “They're going to torture you for information first, then run their medical tests on you until you do die so they'll learn what not to do with the next patient if one ever comes across them again.” 

“What the fuck.” Keith wished he had his normal garrison gear. Then he could have contacted someone, could have his weapons--

His knife. 

He never left without it. 

Before he could even begin to consider what fighting a magea might lead to he yanked his weapon out from its hold on his waist and flicked it, slashing down to create a long scar against the other's back. 

Pain. 

Hot and searing he screamed, dropping his knife. He could feel his own blood drip down his back, staining all his clothes, but he didn't know how he got it. As tears bubbled up he could clearly see Lance’s back was tan, pure, only visible through the tear Keith had cut. But where his blade contacted there was nothing. Not even a line. 

“Stupid! Ohh my gosh you are going to kill me one day because of your own stupidity!” 

“I don't understand!” Keith sobbed out, fists clenching. He didn't know how but suddenly his stomach was cold and he gasped, recoiling on the floor. Firm hands held his back down. 

“Don't move, damn it! I'm trying to heal your sorry ass! And maybe you won't try to hurt me in the future or this will happen all over again.” 

Blood was everywhere on the floor. His blood. Mocking and bright, seething under the overhead lights and Keith triggered his gag reflex which only had him spasming a dry heave on the floor. 

The tight hands relaxed. “Dude,” Lance muttered, calmer, actually concerned. “Are you okay?” 

“Keith! Lance!” A familiar voice called out. “Over here!” 

He didn't get to see who was speaking even though his mind urged him to look, that he knew him. He didn't even bother to answer Lance’s question, too caught up in his own whirlwind of everything that just happened and he wanted out. 

Luckily, nature found a way for that as his eyes shut close and he forgot where he was. 

-----

The first thing he thought of as he slowly seeped back to consciousness was that he was warm. Deliciously so and he curled deeper into the blanket with a satisfied hum. 

His head didn't hurt. That was a plus. His back had a slight ache from somewhere but he couldn't remember where and frankly didn't care. The ache in his bones made him feel exhausted and so he didn't fight it when sleep overtook him again. 

-----

“He's been sleeping for a while.” 

The voice was soft, barely there. Familiar, somehow, but he didn't know where. Sleepily, he listened in, his brain too tired to pick apart the words. 

A scoff. “He's fine. He got himself into this situation, I'd like to see him climb out of it.” 

“Lance, you know he can't. It's been two days and you're seriously still upset at him?” 

“Yes, Hunk! He took my freedom! Then this bastard tried to kill himself by staying away from me—” 

“Which was not his fault, by the way!” 

“I don't care! If I hadn't gotten in when I did it might have been too late. It's my duty to protect him and if I hadn't then I would have been kicked out! I would have been forced into the wild, and I probably would have died too!” 

The voice got louder and louder and Keith shuffled which deepened the lull in their conversation. But he gave a soft sigh and continued to listen, unaware he was accidentally eavesdropping. 

“So. You're upset you could have been kicked out. Not with him necessarily.” 

A long, drawn out sigh. “He doesn't even know what he's done. The garrison doesn't teach things like that, you were right. And him trying to kill me? I want to punch the first advisor I see for telling them shit and nearly killing Keith.” 

“Again, not his fault.” 

“But what am I supposed to do with him, Hunk? You didn't freak out and try to kill Pidge!” 

An awkward chuckle. “Well, yeah. I'm not a warrior. I'm a mechanic.” 

“So this makes it worse! I'm supposed to deal with a warrior who is no longer on the drugs they feed them there which, mind you, make them calmer and not as bloodlust-y and unruly, and who most likely won't listen to me if everything you said is correct. If drugged Keith is a monster to deal with, I don't want to know lucid Keith.” 

This time, the silence was tough, chewy. Almost hard to breathe in but then it faded and Keith felt the heaviness of the blanket over himself. 

“Come on.” The voice shook him a little awake. “Pidge and I want to binge the last of our TV show. Wanna come?” 

Angry mutters. Which only grew louder until it stood right in front of him. But the blanket shifted, covering his shoulders now, before they went off to mutter some more until the door shut. 

Keith didn't bother to keep himself awake any longer now that there was nothing to listen to. 

-----

A sound.

He was up in a flash. Eyes darting, fingers clenched, breath tight, he stared at the figure in front of him whose iris lacking eyes widened. Not only that but the stars on the side of his face threw him off. He couldn’t remember the last time a guy willingly face painted himself. 

“Woah, dude, chill. All I did was open the door.” 

He rolled on the balls of his feet, frowning at the stranger. “Light sleeper. Who the hell are you?” 

An annoyed sigh and a pointed eye roll. “Lance?” 

Everything came flooding back. 

Keith felt his knees grow weak. Right. He looked at this stupid magea in the eyes and the next day got a horrible headache. Then this Lance thing came back for him and he last remembered trying to fight but saw his own blood and passed out. 

Really, a wonderful sum of events. But as he saw the bright flash of Lance’s teeth as the other scowled darkly at him, he almost wished for the headache again. 

Lance said nothing this entire time. His gaze simply ran up and down him, scrutinizing every inch of his body, or what was shown, and Keith began to feel more self-conscious with each passing minute. He knew he was an okay-looking dude, if any of the heated whispers he overheard were anything to go by, but nothing said ‘hey you actually look good’ unless a magea literally said, ‘hey you actually look good.’ 

He must be going crazy. 

Eventually he couldn’t handle it and he glanced down at himself, furrowing his brow at what he saw. Or, really, the lack thereof. 

“You’re such a perv!” Keith snapped, feeling way more self conscious in just a pair of shorts. All right, the blaring red shorts weren’t the worst, but they felt tight against him. Plus, what else was he supposed to say to the guy obviously checking him out? Even if it was in a hostile way? 

Lance smirked, almost happy that he cracked and that ticked Keith off. “You're small.” 

Storming over, Keith shoved a finger into Lance's chest. “And I could probably beat your ass to the floor. Don't push me.” 

Hands shoved him away, using more force than necessary and Keith had to use more footwork to keep himself upright. “Woops.” 

He launched himself at the magea, throwing all caution out of the wind. Lance couldn't dodge him in time and slammed into the wall, yet it was Keith who gasped in pain, all the air forced out of his lungs. 

“Dude. We’ve been here before.” Disappointed. That was the entirety of the message and it made his blood boil. Staring up into the frowning eyes he threw a fist into that stupidly pretty face, only to have his hand completely blocked by the other's. Luckily, his other hand found Lance’s stomach. 

Keith gasped and grabbed his own, stepping back as he fought to breathe. 

What. The hell. Was happening?! 

“Keith.” 

He flashed the other a heated glare. “How do you know my name?” 

Lance waved that aside, like it wasn't important. But it was very important and Keith set his face, determined to nag him all about it until he got an answer. “Look, you can't hurt me, okay? Every time you punch me, only you are going to get hurt. Got that?” 

“Right,” he sneered, uncurling his body. 

Lance gave a dry sigh and pinched his nose between his fingers. “You're linked to me, dude. You can't hurt me because you’ll feel that pain instead. The same happens to me. Okay?” 

What the hell? Was that how he saw his own blood . . ? 

“My knife!” he yelped, uselessly feeling around his back even though he knew the strap wasn't there anymore. “No!” He began patting his pockets in a frenzy, not even caring anymore, and when he didn't feel it he began tearing the couch apart, flipping the pillows and blanket. 

“Who cares about a knife!” 

He whirled and nearly socked Lance with a good uppercut, barely deflecting it in time once he remembered what the magea had just said. “Where is it?!” 

“Okay, okay, geeze,” he said, holding his hands up. “You lost it back there in the garrison.” 

Keith immediately zeroed in on the door and stormed his way over. 

“You won't be able to open it, it's locked.” 

Okay, then, plan B. 

He kicked it, using all the force he could muster and smirked as the door splintered open. Lance squawked something but he didn't bother to check what that was as he bolted out. 

He froze when he saw other people who gawked at him from the kitchen, their movements frozen in time. The big dude, Hunk, Keith belatedly realized, was in the middle of lifting a bagel to eat. A shorter girl had her hand raised for a cup she had been about to get, but now all the coffee was being extracted without a mug underneath. All his anxiety and self-loathing slowly crept back up to himself as he stood there, probably in someone’s house where he literally kicked a door open while half naked. 

He dearly hoped he was next on the grim reaper’s list. 

Keith only snapped out of it when Lance yanked his arms back. He didn't even try to fight it. His dignity was long gone and he wanted this funny joke to end already. “Sorry, guys. Trying to contain this beast just off years of drugs isn't exactly a picnic. I'll get you a new door, Hunk.” 

“Years of . . ?” Right. The garrison. Keith knew he had been drugged from the food, even if it was a minor one. He took a shuddering breath which only threw the spotlight entirely back on him. 

“Don't worry about it, Lance,” Hunk said, taking a bite out of his bagel, finally. “I knew the risks of keeping a warrior here. Especially a third year.” 

Lance gave a long, tired sigh. “See, Keith, you're not only trying me, you're now upsetting other people's lives.” 

“How do you know my name.” 

“Irrelevant!” Lance snapped. “Now come on!” 

A snort made Keith look over at the girl. Her glasses slipped and she pushed them back on. And that was when Keith realized she didn't have an iris either. And on the side of her face was a flower. 

He wrestled himself out of Lance's grasp, only for the other to hiss and yank him back. “You're a magea too.” Threatening. Accusative. 

She simply grinned. “I'm Pidge, Hunk’s magea. Pleasure to meet you, Keith. I heard a loooot about you~” 

Behind him Lance sputtered a bunch of angry-sounding words before he purposely pushed Keith back down the hallway. “And all you heard were bad things!” he hissed. “Don't you dare twist it!” 

Pidge smirked and turned back to the coffee machine. That was short lived when she noticed the coffee had strained without her cup. “I didn't say anything like that.” She untwisted the coffee strainer and dumped the grounds into the trash before hooking it back up. “Even though he is a cutie.” 

Lance growled and flipped the bird, and nothing was teasing in his face when he slammed the broken door as shut as it was ever going to get, facing Keith. 

He definitely didn't swallow from fear. 

“So,” he started. His words were cold, clipped, just like his eyes. “Do you even understand what the hell happened these last few days?” 

Keith slumped back against the couch, body tense. “None of it.” 

“Okay.” Taking in a sharp breath, Lance began to pace. “Don't you know that rule number one is to never look into a magea's eyes? Or were you sick during all those trainings?” 

Keith shifted uncomfortably. “I know it,” his strained voice answered. 

“So why?” He didn't need to elaborate further. 

He shrugged. “I have a habit of breaking rules. Of course I didn't mean to look into your eyes, but you looked up and it's a natural human tendency.” 

A low, dragged on groan. “Fuck you. Fuck. You. Thanks to that, do you know what exactly this means for us?” 

“Well, I'm not dying,” he said, finding a thread in the couch and pulling it. It grew longer and longer and he kept on pulling. 

“Ha! I almost wish. But you could have.” 

The vehemence in his tone made him snap his head up. He felt like a small child under Lance's upset gaze where he didn't fully understand the context of the situation, but it was bad. 

He licked his dry lips. “Yeah. I'm starting to see that now.” 

Lance snorted dryly. “Good. Now. Since you own me and I'm more or less a glorified, badass servant, that doesn't mean I'll listen to anything you say. Since you don't even know anything right now, I'm not going to bother explaining just how you can control me. Which, by the way, works only sometimes. I'm still my own person. Not a puppet.” 

“Somehow I get the feeling our roles are reversed right now,” he said with a scrunched up face, going back to pulling at the thread. 

“Only because this situation is completely new.” The magea took a breath. “So I have to babysit you until you calm down. Or don't. Then I'll always have the upper hand.” A flash of teeth and Keith pointedly ignored his fake smile. 

But, that already gave him an inkling on how to possibly control his magea. Those words made him shudder. 

He was supposed to kill him. 

Yet now the tables had turned and if he tried to kill Lance he would end up only killing himself. Wasn't fate such a wonderful, cruel darling? 

“Watch me,” Keith muttered softly, tugging and tugging, blankly refusing to believe that destroying the couch might upset a certain homeowner. 

“Oh, I will,” he purred with a hard edge behind his words. “I'll watch real close and real hard because thanks to you, I don't have anything else better to do. So thanks for that.” 

He ignored that. “What happened to your face?” 

“It's a mark,” he sagely explained. “Once a magea makes eye contact with a human the right side of their face turns into a mark. There are a few different types: flowers, like Pidge; stars, like mine; suns; water; certain animals; and that's pretty much the gist of it.” 

Cool. Like that meant anything at all to Keith whose sole focus was on the string. 

A heavy sigh. “I would stop pulling on that. Doors aren't cheap in this economy. Last time I checked, couches weren't either.” 

Keith scowled and tossed the tiny ball of yarn to the floor, wondering why he bothered to listen. 

Typically, he could sit for hours without moving. Teachers droned on and Keith could sit there, perfectly content, and only when he got up did he feel the ache to stretch. 

So this constant need to fidget was killing him. In the past thirty seconds he had to stop himself from playing with his fingers, shirt, tapping his foot, and running his hands through his hair. 

He snarled at Lance's evil grin. “Shut up.” 

“Ooo, defensive, are we?” he snickered, flicking his hair to the side. “Feeling lost without your drugs?” 

No words slipped past his lips, yet Lance chuckled nervously and shuffled closer to the further wall. If looks could kill, the magea would have been blasted. 

“Anyway, moving on. About the headache—” 

“It can come back?!” Keith yelped, already placing a hand around his stomach. It rumbled, and only then did he realize how hungry he was. After purging his entire bowels and passing out a few days afterwards, no wonder his stomach felt hollow. 

He smirked. “Oh, the headache? That's not my fault I couldn't be around in time. You’ll get those the longer you stay away from me. And you need casual touches to make sure it stays away for the rest of the day.” As if to prove his point he strode forward and ran a hand through his hair before he seemed to realize something and backed off. “Right, you have a disgusting mullet." 

Keith just stared at him, half offended and half giving up on being offended at this point. “W-what? So I have to stay near you or I'll get sick?” 

A flash of teeth, bright and so fake. “Yup! Welcome to your new life of being shadowed by a magea. Every twenty four hours you need to be touched or you’ll get that headache again and die in a few days.” 

He felt the air whoosh out of him as he sat back, mind churning. This was horrible. Worse than horrible. Keith was kidnapped, held against his will and threatened with death he got himself into, and he was without his knife. 

Really, he couldn't do a lot at the moment. He was stuck. Lost. And starving. 

His stomach rumbled again, making him blush while he crossed his arms tighter over himself. 

Lance eyed him before slinking back to the broken door. “I'll get you some food. Without any drugs, trust me. But, seriously, you can't escape. If you do go back to the garrison, they are only going to kill you.” 

And he left, slipping past the creaking door. Keith flinched as a wood piece thunked to the ground, scattered right with its brothers. And now that he was thinking about it, his fist thumped dully from pain. 

Checking them over he frowned, surprised to see not a single scratch. Even his wound from punching trees was gone, his thumb brushing over smooth skin. 

Then, tentatively, he ran a hand over his shoulder and down his back. He only felt a thin trail going down, the only scar he had back there. His throat tightened. He had done that to himself. Unwillingly, unwittingly, but he had. 

He was so screwed. 

Groaning he slipped lower into the couch, tugging at the ends of his bangs. He just wanted to go back. But the fear of Lance's words kept him right here. What if the garrison did kill him? He was the only one they know about who is in control of a magea. And how did Hunk get one without anyone catching on? He always seemed so fine and carefree, so what on earth was he doing working inside the literal garrison? 

Nothing made sense. All Keith could count on for sure was that he was in big trouble, but he didn't quite know from where. 

The creaking door alerted him that someone was coming back and he opened his eyes. But it wasn't Lance. 

“Hunk!” he said, sitting up. 

The large man blinked at him. “Oh! Keith, you know my name? How did you find out?” In his hands he held a tray of food and it smelled divine. His stomach agreed. 

“Dunno,” he answered, tucking his hair away. Hunk set the tray down on the couch next to him and Keith picked up a sandwich. It was toasted beautifully with an egg that looked ready to pop and a slice of fried meat. A yellow sauce dripped from his fingers when he picked it up and dribbled down his chin with the first bite. 

Flavor exploded. 

He gobbled it down like a starved man who hadn't eaten in a week. Although, maybe he wasn't so far off in his estimate. 

“Have you ever had Eggs Benedict before?” Hunk asked, wearing a slight smirk. It took Keith a moment to reply, swallowing down the food and his initial shock at seeing this mechanic have that expression. 

“Never.” He guzzled down their orange juice. “They have things like canned oatmeal and soup for our food.” 

He shuddered. “No, no, nobody should eat those.” 

Keith dove for the second one. “So how long have I been out for?” Hunk felt safe. Familiar. Someone he felt like he could rely on in this crazy world. And he needed that more than he realized at the moment. 

Puckered lips. “Lance was worried you hit something major inside yourself so he sent you to sleep for five days—”

He choked. “S-so magea's do have magic!” he sputtered out at the risk of him dying. Everything the whispers had said were true! 

“Yes.” Hunk glanced away after making sure he was okay. “And I'm sure Lance will tell you more later, because I don't know much about him. All magea's are different, so I can't compare him to Pidge. Especially because of their markings.” 

Around a mouthful he asked, “So wha do’s it do?” 

“Their markings? Well, it basically says what sort of pack the magea's get defined into. Pidge has her flowers, and that means she can connect to the Earth. She said she always had a knack, more like a green thumb, but ever since then her magic has grown and so she can almost control the plants.” 

Keith shuddered, eyes darting around the room for any potted greenery. He didn't want to get murdered in his sleep, nosiree. Somehow, though, he got the impression that Lance wouldn't like it if Pidge did, despite all his talk. Still, he was relieved to find no plants in the bare room. 

“And Lance?” He gulped down more of the drink. 

Hunk shrugged. “No idea. But I would guess it has something to do with the stars? You can always ask him.” 

Right. Just ask an angry, magical being who he was so show tied to. No biggie. “Okay.” The simple crunch of his meal spilled over the room, until Keith glanced back at the large man. “Sooooo, what are you doing in the garrison? Especially with Pidge.” 

His eyes flickered wide before settling down. “Well, I need a job. I just finished my schooling to become a mechanic and with my high grades the garrison thought I could be of use to them. And I love the job.” His brow furrowed. “Pidge wasn't something I was expecting. On my drive there I nearly ran her over with my car. Obviously, I stopped to make sure she was all right, when we locked eyes and everything changed.” He shuffled, toying with his hair gimmick before giving another shrug. “Trust me, living with one isn't so bad. Yes, they don't understand that walking across roads isn't safe, and some human customs are lost on them, but if you're linked with one it really isn't all so bad.” 

Keith scoffed and licked his lips, finishing his second sandwich. He wanted more, wanted to eat until he felt like he was going to pop, but he pushed the tray aside, knowing that two would suffice for now. “You haven't had Lance as your linked.” 

Hunk grimaced. “Pidge is a gremlin in her own right. But it's all good in the end.” 

He stood up and before Keith could think about it his arm shot out to grab the end of his sleeve. “Is there really no way I can leave? Is this all real?” 

His face softened. “Unfortunately, you can't. The garrison might even send the level 4’s out on you now. I've seen the news. They're looking for you and the magea who kidnapped you. But once they do get you they're going to kill Lance and if the bond broken between you didn't kill you too, then they would study and pepper you with questions until you do.” He hesitated, looked away, and clenched a fist. “I . . . I’ve seen some things I probably shouldn't have. Just . . . Believe us. It's the only way to stay safe.” 

He scooped up the tray. “Well, I hope you can learn to be comfortable around here. Feel free to anything in the fridge.” And left him alone with thoughts swirling too fast, too confused. 

Instead of doing anything about it, Keith rolled on his side, wrapped the blanket around himself, and fell asleep. 

Chapter Text

When Keith awoke, plants were everywhere. Large and churning, they tightened around his skin and he yelped, sitting up. 

Fuck! 

He reached behind himself for his knife, faltering when his nails scraped his skin instead and looked down. Right. No shirt so now his bare chest was overflowing with large leafy plants, and no dagger. Quiznack. 

His heart pounded as he wrenched his arm out, bending it to twist out of the plant’s grasp as the warm, green tentacles sought to keep him down. It was tight, too tight, and he could feel it slithering up higher, tenser, so he wouldn't leave. Like he was a prisoner. 

“Help!” he shouted, writhing his body. The cold vines stretched, keeping him down to the couch as best as they could. 

This had to be Pidge. Hunk had said she could control plants, did he not?! So why was she trapping him now? 

The other rumors were true too, was all he could think of, grunting as he tried to slip off the couch, feeling a vine creep around his neck. It wrapped itself around and around, gentle as a caress and still somehow sharp. Keith's blood ran cold but he shook himself harder, reaching across his arm to rip it off his hand. It tore away with a thump and he threw it across the room. 

Magea's killed others. Pidge must be fulfilling her requirements or some other shit. 

“LANCE!” 

Lance swore he would protect him. Didn't he? Or was that just a lie to make him feel safer? He didn't know anymore, not when the vine tightened around his neck again and suddenly he couldn't breathe. 

His lips parted to shout, but nothing came out. That was truly when panic began to bubble up, hands clawing at the skin of his neck, desperate, too desperate to breathe. He had to live, he wanted to live despite his world flipping upside down so he didn't know where he was looking anymore. So that he didn't know what was right or wrong. 

He had a lot left to live for! 

His vision began to swarm together, the ceiling merging with the floor, the red of the couch mixing with the green plants. 

It was done. He was done. 

But just as he was about to fall limp to the couch his eyes snapped open and he gasped, blindly throwing the blanket off him and sucking in the cold air of morning. 

He glared at the offending piece of material, his fingers brushing the nape of his neck like he still expected the plant to be there. He thought he was dying because he had suffocated in it. Stupid, stupid—

Someone crashed through the door. Or, what was left of it. “What?!” 

He met with wide-blown blue eyes. “U-uhh, hi.” He coughed, his voice rumbly still from sleep. “Sorry, nightmare.” 

Still, Lance scanned the room, his eyes cold and ready to strangle someone, furrowing his brow when he noticed Keith’s fingers still at his neck. “Oh. Is this . . . Something I should be aware of?” 

“No.” He glared at him before rethinking it. He had been given drugs, who knew what else besides his attitude they had dampened? So, with a regretful sigh he cared his fingers through his hair, somewhat feeling vulnerable. “Maybe?” 

A jerky nod. “Ah.” 

Not wanting to bother with the awkward silence, Keith glanced around the room too, relieved to see no plants crawling their reedy fingers anywhere. The only window was shut so he slipped off the couch, bare feet padding to open it. 

The sun wasn't even out yet. A line of blazing gold was barely forming from underneath the trees and the clouds went from yellow to ash gray the further up it went. Which meant it was still early. 

“Sorry,” he said again, not sure why. But he didn't like the idea of Lance shooting out of bed just for him at what was probably six in the morning.

“You're good,” was all he got. He didn't hear him step away, and his bare back felt exposed. His skin began to prickle and he clenched his teeth. 

Spinning around, he frowned when he saw he was right; Lance was looking at him. And still didn't look away when caught. “So, uhh, why did you run in here?” 

“Slept on the couch. You screamed my name.” Like that was a normal and obvious answer. 

He felt his face heating up. Awkward. He was twenty one years old and screamed a guy's name in his nightmare. Like Lance was his protector or something. “Oh. Thanks?” 

“Turn around,” Lance said, walking up to him. 

Keith had to fight back the burst of panic that shot through him, and he definitely didn't grab the windowsill to hold himself up. “What?” 

He got an eye roll as a reward. “If I hurt you, I hurt myself. Remember? I just want to check your scar.” 

Heh. Right. Still, that didn't leave him feeling any better as he cast his gaze down, unwilling to look at the magea. His head still pounded softly and he wanted nothing more than to jump out the window and run away. 

A glance told him Hunk lived on the higher floors, killing that rebellious train of thought immediately. 

In front of him, Lance began to get impatient. “What do you think I'm going to do to you? Push you up against the wall? Stab you? Throw you out the window? If it makes you feel safer we can do it here.” He took a step to the side, grabbing Keith's arm and dragging him along. Then, while he still had possession of his movement he spun him around. “Don't move.” 

His skin prickled again, but now the pulsing in his head was gone. Still, that didn't stop him from hiking his shoulders up an inch, on guard for anything and everything. 

The soft finger against his back, tracing what must be his scar wasn't exactly what he expected. Goosebumps crawled over him, leaving him feeling cold in the AC air, and he wondered how thick the blanket actually was to suffocate him. He wasn't going to pull it over his head again. 

“Looks healed,” he murmured. “As much as it can be. You really cut it deep.” 

“Sorry,” he apologized for the third time that day and it wasn't even eight. But what else was he supposed to say? ‘I screwed up?’ 

A hum and the finger went back up, taking its sweet time. “Not exactly your fault.” 

Those words sounded familiar, somehow. 

The hand went away and he relaxed, about to turn around, when it latched to his shoulder so he couldn't move, and a cold, malleable something got smeared over his scar. He arched his back, hissing at the unexpected fright. “Relax, it's just some cream Pidge made. It's supposed to help you heal faster. Since you can't reach, I'm doing it for you. You're welcome.” 

It would have been a kinder gesture without the snark. Guess Keith was going to have to live in that, though. “For how much longer?” 

“Ahh, dunno. A week? My magic couldn't heal you completely, so hopefully her magic will be able to smooth it out.”

“What, did she kiss the cream and, whoosh! It's a magic balm?” he asked dryly, staring at the wall while he tried not to shiver and arch his back again. But it was so cold and Lance's hand was so light, almost ticklish. 

“There's things you don't understand,” was all he said in a quiet voice. 

Keith let out a huff. “What if I want to understand?” 

“Maybe you never will.” 

He chose to glare out the window rather than punch a certain someone. Even if he deserved it for speaking riddles. Didn't he know Keith’s brain wasn't functioning so early in the morning, especially after a nightmare? Or were magea's just built different?

Finally, Lance reached the end of his scar and drew away, capping the container he held and slipping it back into his pocket. “All done for the day.” 

“Can I have a shirt?” he asked, spinning back around. He crossed his arms in front of himself. Yesterday he hadn't felt like this, this vulnerable and open guy. But yesterday Lance wasn't touching him in the raw morning and he felt uncomfortable. 

“No. I just put the lotion on?” The magea tilted his head. 

Keith shuddered. He didn't look human without irises. It felt like he could see through him more, read into his mind, pick him apart piece by piece. 

Magea's kill people. That's all that Keith had been hearing the last two and a half years. They don't gently finger a human’s scar. They don't put a balm on it to heal faster. 

“Why am I not dead?” he blurted out, tightening his arms around himself. His heart hammered, telling him this conversation wasn't a good one. But he already signed his fate. 

“Because I healed you, duh,” Lance said, frowning. “You're my Linked, I can't let you suffer. Even if you deserve it.” 

“No! Like!” He let out an exasperated breath, hands reaching up to tug at his bangs. They were smacked aside a moment later and he stood there dumbly, arms in the air, letting Lance fix his bed head with a frustrated huff. 

“Like what?” he pressed after making sure his locks were all in place. He didn't step back and locked eyes with him. 

Picking up his courage from where it faceplated on the floor he muttered, “M-magea's kill people, don't they? So, like, why am I not, like, dead?” 

Lance regarded him curiously. “Is that what you believe?” 

He threw his hands up. “Yes?! That's all they taught! We have an entire special ops of people who had killed a magea in the past! They are praised for protecting our world!” 

His face darkened. “We don't kill for no reason.” 

Soft, careful words that made Keith flinch anyway. “S-so you’ve done it before. You’ve killed someone.” 

Lance's lips peeled back and he took a step away. “Like you're any better,” he spat, defensive. “Training all your life just for the chance to kill someone else. Does it make you feel good about yourself?” 

The cold realization sunk in. Lance had killed someone. The magea that he was linked to had murdered a human. And despite knowing that he couldn't get hurt if Lance attacked him he didn't know for sure. Keith had been the only one to hit. 

“Punch me.”

His scowl deepened. “You don't trust me.” 

“Of course not!” He grit his teeth together. “You literally kidnapped me, I don't have to trust you!” 

“After all I do for this guy,” he fumed, clenching his fists. “I won't hurt you. I can't hurt you.” 

He rolled his shoulders back. “Prove it.” 

Tense, shaky silence and then Lance was advancing. It took everything inside himself to squeeze his muscles, ground his feet into the floor so he wouldn't bolt. The invisible vine circled around his neck again and he had a hard time breathing. 

When the first came, he was ready. 

When the first hit, he was not. 

Staggering back, a mixture of pain-not-pain spasmed in his chest so he didn't know what he felt until it wiped away completely. Lance, on the other hand, grunted and massaged his own chest, glaring down at Keith. “Happier?” 

“Much,” he muttered. 

Still, the tenseness stayed, his breath still hitched once in a while. He wondered if he would ever get rid of this fear. If not, he was going to have gray hair soon. 

And of course Lance noticed it. He sighed, wiping a hand down his smooth face, the faint blush of stars replacing his freckles too, if he looked closely. “Look, as I said before, magea's don't kill just for the fun of it. We don't even get our hands dirty, we just use our magic.” 

Somehow, that was worse. 

Lance hissed at whatever face Keith was making and he smoothed it out but it was already too late. The tan guy was pushing him but stopped just short of the wall. Probably to keep all the hard work he did, but that didn't make Keith's throat feel any looser. “You want to know why I killed them?” 

Something shot straight into his heart, something cold and hard. 

Them. 

More than one. 

“Because,” his voice hissed, head leaning closer to his right ear but far enough away to see his reaction, “they were getting too close to our homeland. And if I didn't kill them, they would have killed us. Nobody wants their entire race to die, right? We protect each other.” He shook Keith as if to prove his point. 

By now, he didn't know what he felt. He knew his heart was pounding, knew his hands were sweaty and clammy, but his mind was surprisingly devoid of his usual rushing thoughts. 

Numb. He felt numb, he realized. A defence mechanism he had forgotten he even had. Nothing could hurt him this way if he simply didn't let it. He didn't even give Lance the satisfaction of having listened. He simply stood there, rigid and unmoving, gazing up at the creature that stood too close to him. 

His brows drew down further. “Aren't you going to say something?!” 

Keith gave a limp shrug. “What is there to say?” His tongue felt heavy in his mouth. 

Lance ran a hand through his own short hair, frustrated. “I don't know! You humans are so weird. So emotional!” 

“What do you want out of me?” Keith hissed, trying to understand why Lance cared. Why was he so desperate for his reaction? Maybe their linked bond thing was talking, but he didn't feel anything. 

He shut up and straightened, letting him breathe easier. “I-I don't know,” he admitted, gazing out the window. “I don't . . . Need anything from you. I—” He cut himself off, lips sealed into a thin line. “Whatever.” 

Spinning around he stormed out of the room, slamming the broken door behind him as he left. Keith watched, uselessly standing there like a doll on a shelf. 

Eventually his legs ached from standing in one place for so long and he moved back to the window. His bones popped softly. 

By now the sun was rising higher, finally peeking out from the treetops. He stared and stared as the bright ball of light turned black, until the sky around it began to darken, until his eyes felt dry so he turned away, blinking rapidly. The black dots followed his vision, clouding most of it. 

“Oh! Good morning!” Hunk’s cheery voice called, startling him enough to yelp and whip around. 

His eyes bore into Hunk’s warm brown ones, also wide. He awkwardly cleared his throat and nodded at the food tray he was brought this time. “Thanks.” 

He was given a shaky smile. “Sorry to startle you. I thought you heard me come in.” Placing it down on the couch he fiddled with his fingers like he had something he wanted to say but didn't know how to. So he aborted and threw an arm out at the food. “Waffles and bacon. Are you allergic to anything?” 

“Not that I know of,” he said, walking over to the food. Picking up a fork he pressed it into a waffle drizzled with enough maple syrup for diabetes in two people and held it up, watching as the syrup spilled out of the perfect squares in the mold and into the plate. “I guess we'll find out.” 

Hunk's horrified expression couldn't stop him from taking a bite, humming appreciatively at the warm, fluffy sweetness. “Y-ahh-well,” he sputtered, hands flailing around. “Enjoy.” His lips tightened together and he tried to find a smile but it didn't match his wide eyes.

Keith laughed, feeling himself revert back into his skin. Lance's sour taste was becoming a distant memory with the waffles to overcome it. Maybe he had simply been hangry this morning. Food, when done well, solved a lot of problems. “It's okay, Hunk. I'm just messing with you.” 

He grinned at how the other's broad shoulders slumped in relief. “Oh—man—I was actually worried for a second.” This time his lips carved a true smile, albeit a quizzical one. “You make jokes? Normally I see you scowl a lot. A-and sorry if I judged too quickly, I didn't mean to but you know—” 

Keith decided to save him from digging a hole into his grave. “It's fine,” he assured, taking another bite. “I get it. But my nerves are also frayed so I think it's messing with my head.” He gave a wink to soften his words. Even though he was eighty nine percent sure that was the absolute truth. 

That left him with a frazzled man who didn't know whether to smile and laugh it off or to actually be concerned. It was a weird feeling. “Well! How are you and Lance getting along?” 

Something about the question seemed like he already knew the answer. 

“We’re okay,” he answered with a shrug. “He put some of Pidge's balm on my scar. Do you think her magic will make it healed enough to go away?” 

“No, I don't know. They were talking to themselves a couple days ago, but only time will tell, I guess.” He began fiddling with his fingers, eyes trailing the floor. “He, uh, didn't push, did he?” 

“Push what?” 

“Well, you know. Push you? Do something you don't like?” Hunk’s eyes trailed back up to find his and Keith sucked in a breath at how worried he looked. Nobody looked at him like that. 

Slowly, after realizing that question warranted an answer, he shook his head. “I mean, no, not really. I'm just . . . Scared of him still.” He absent mindedly took another bite of his second waffle. “I know I've been trained to kill him, but I haven't yet. I haven't killed anyone. And to know that he had . . .” 

His expression soured. “Huh. Him too, then. Pidge herself has done that to protect her species or so she's said.” 

He grit his teeth together. “How do you just live with that?” he demanded, dropping his food. “Isn’t there some ritual you can do to undo this problem?” 

Wouldn't that be nice? To be his own person, then. 

But as he thought about it, Hunk's reply falling in the background, Keith realized it wouldn't solve everything. Yes, he would have his own skin back, but what else would it do? He couldn't just go back to the garrison and get a free pass. As much as he didn't want it to, he was worried about the possibility of being tested until he died. The sort of fear that seemed stupid in the sunlight, but once the moon crept up, lurked in every shadow like a ghost. 

It was ludicrous enough to be true if one looked deeply into what the garrison did. 

“—eith?” 

He snapped out of it. “Huh?” 

Hunk placed a hand over his shoulder, on the same one Lance had earlier. But this time it was firm with a friendly, brotherly touch. “It will be all right. I made it this far, didn't I?” 

He forced himself to relax. “Yeah. Okay.” Keith would make it out of this alive. It's as Shiro had said; he always was breaking the rules. Hopefully this one would work out in the end too. 

-----

He concluded that the only way for this to work out is if he did the impossible. And that meant straight up magic or something. The magic he didn't have. And probably never would. 

“Pidge! How the hell do you beat this level?!” he snapped, clutching the controller. 

She cackled while he grit his teeth, moving his avatar as he tried to find a way around the stupid obstacle he couldn't get past. “Sorry, I did that on my own. I'll leave it up to you.” 

He snorted out of his nose, eyes stuck on the TV screen as he tried it one last time. Jump, twirl, catch, aaaaand slip. Again. “Damn it!” Lance threw the controller onto the couch, huffing. “I'll never beat it!” 

“Ha!” she crowed, gently picking her precious up and putting it on her lap. She even had the audacity to stroke it. “Really, it's not that hard.” Her empty green eyes flushed with pride and a glint of mischievousness. “See, it's just like this!” 

He watched on as she moved the avatar and with the same flicks and movements he had done prior she made it through. Harrumphing, he crossed his arms and sat back on the couch. “I did the same thing! I swear, you hacked it or something.” 

She rolled her eyes but giggled. “Whatever you say. Y’know, you’ve been saying a lot of things, actually.” Her eyes slyly slid over to his. “Like how you and Keith aren't going to work out.” 

He shifted his gaze to her, groaning. “Pidge, the point of this was to help me relax. Don’t speak about him.” Sighing, he leaned more into the couch, letting it swallow him. “And, no, this isn't working out.” 

His eyes. So beautiful, a shade of violet Lance wasn't used to seeing on magea’s, let alone humans. And they had looked at him with fear. 

No, worse than fear. Horror. An absolute dread when he learned Lance had killed people. 

Damn it, people were sensitive! 

“What happened now?” 

He hated seeing the raised brow on Pidge's face. He debated not telling her at all. Let her stew in her quest to know everything about everyone. But, she had been linked with Hunk for a few months now, and she definitely would have more knowledge about humans than he did. 

“I told him how I killed people to protect us.” He fisted his hands, staring down at his lap. 

She snorted, though her eyes darted down and away, cast away to hide her own problems with this subject. “Yeah. People don't like that. They get defensive.” Shutting off the PC and TV, she placed the controller aside. “Just give Keith some time. I'm sure he'll come around eventually. Aaaaand if not, then he obviously didn't read his own job description in the garrison.” 

He huffed. “I just don't know how to make this work. He doesn't trust me, even after I put the cream on to show I wouldn't hurt him.” 

And that punched the breath out of him. More than he cared to realize. 

He was linked. To a human. Who didn't want him, who had been supposed to kill him. And Lance wanted his attention, wanted to be validated and appreciated. Awkward, much? But due to this whole linked thing, he had to protect his human. From anything. That was just how it worked.

 And now he found out that his human sometimes had nightmares. How the heck was he supposed to make those go away? He couldn't brandish a knife, flick his finger to make his magic work! And sleeping in the same room was a huge no-go. 

His skin felt like it was burning up again even though he had touched Keith a few hours ago. He was overreacting. 

“Just talk to him,” Pidge said thoughtfully. “Even if he doesn't respond back or even if he's not listening. Give him a warm drink. Make sure he doesn't feel alone. It's the small things that will really help. You're not the only one whose life flipped upside down.” 

Talking to thin air. Lance almost snorted. Yeah, cuz that was cool. “Thanks,” he still muttered, wondering why he had to slave over this relationship, why he had to mend their broken pieces together and Keith didn't. As Pidge said, his world was also upside down! 

But, if talking to thin air worked on humans, he had underestimated their emotions by a mile. 

She flashed a happy smile and got up, leaving him alone with his thoughts while she went to go talk to Hunk. 

The thing was, he wanted this to work. If it didn't they would both die because one of them would eventually snap and stay away. And he didn't want to. Not because he was afraid of death, or even because Keith looked cool, because he didn't. But it was something that was written in his code, now, to do anything in his power to get Keith's attention and keep it. One way or another. 

That wasn't to say he was going to chase forever, though. 

He stared down at the hand that had fixed Keith's hair. His fingers twitched, wanting to do it again, to feel the raven softness, so enticing even after not showering for a few days. Unless Lance was somehow biased. But then again he knew the beauty routine and remembered how confused he felt when fixing his hair. Nobody's hair was that soft after days of no washing, brushing, anything. 

And his skin. So pale like a canvas, yet it was broken by the scar on his back. A lump formed in his throat. It hurt almost physically to see it, to know Keith didn't trust him enough to do that, even if by accident. 

He hoped the cream would be enough to get rid of it. 

Sighing, he let his voice carry up in the air, swirling in the empty space around himself. He missed his old life. Then, he had been free to do what he wanted, free to go where he pleased. His friend circle was all the mageas who haven’t linked to anyone yet, because there had been no point. 

And the next time he saw them he would be carrying a loaded baggage across his freedom, forcing him to move in with the others that did have their Linked. Yayyyyy him. 

It wasn’t like being linked to a person or animal was bad. It was simply more of a hassle to conform to the ideas of their Linked, to try and accommodate for everything they might be missing when living together. Yes, there was the benefit of getting stronger magic, but what was the point of it all when they huddled away in their home town, away from ever needing it in the first place? Somehow, though, Pidge had managed to live here with Hunk. So maybe the rules weren’t as black and white as he thought? He’d have to ask her later. 

Glancing down at his hand he opened a palm and watched as pale blue sparks flew softly before they disappeared, only a small fraction of his true power. He was a magea, and a powerful one in his own right, and now even more so with his connection. Stars weren’t a typical mark to have, the very essence to shift reality and galaxies. It left him thrilling, his skin singing with all the untapped potential right at his fingertips. 

And Keith had done that for him, even if it was by accident, even if there had been a lot of kicking and screaming. They were Linked and Keith would have to figure his shit out because Lance sure as hell wasn't going to do it for him. 

No matter how much he kinda wanted to, to see if he could make Keith smile for once. 

With a low groan, Lance stood up and walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. So much for playing games to take his mind off the very real pressure of taking care of a human. Whatever, he decided. They were leaving tonight, under the cover of darkness so the garrison couldn’t track them as easily, heading straight into the heart of the magea land where he lived; Altea. Allura would know how best to make sure neither he nor Keith died. 

-----

People disappeared all the time. It was something everyone prepared for. Trained for. Expected. 

James had never seen this much commotion over a missing person ever in his time at the garrison, his eyes flickering between Shiro and Iverson. Especially since said person was Keith, the emo troublemaker that nobody much cared for. 

“I don't care how long it takes, we’re going to find him!” 

In that, Shiro seemed adamant, his jaw clenched, eyes cold and hard. He was the only one who could stand up to Iverson, the only one who dared to. And he had saved Keith's ass more than one time that very way. 

Iverson, on the other hand, didn't seem so inclined. “Look, Shiro, it's been a week. A magea found a way into the garrison, I can't risk any more of my students than these. I know how much you value him, but he broke rule number one. And now he's probably dead. Or worse. And I can't spend all of my allowance on finding your brother when it should go for making better goggles because ours are faulty. Clearly.” 

“He's not dead!” Shiro's words rang in the trainer, and the other third years shuffled and were ignored. “We both know looking into their eyes doesn't kill them!” 

James’ head snapped up and he narrowed his eyes at them. It didn’t kill . . . so what did it do, then? Because Keith had clearly been in pain before he vanished with Lance. Even now, he could still see the recording of the magea walking into the medical bay. Nobody had stopped him. Nobody had even known the magea was inside, walking among them. He shuddered, hoping that never happened again. 

“But now he's kidnapped, and bleeding when we last saw him,” Iverson growled, crossing his arms. “And last time I checked you are simply a doctor, not a trainer or commander. You are dismissed.” 

Shiro huffed air out through his nose before storming away, his shoulder blades drawn back behind himself. Every part of him was angry and tense. 

And why shouldn't he? His own brother and the golden child of the garrison third years had broken the rules and got kidnapped. 

James' open heart clenched with worry. 

During their last conversation, Keith had been scared. With a pale, ghostly face after throwing up, his steps wobbly and his words hesitant, it didn't take a genius to figure out the usually brooding guy was freaked out. 

And to know he was gone, not knowing if he was alive or not scared James too. 

They weren't buddies. Not quite. But James put up with his shit, sometimes even joining, and Keith tolerated him. And even though James would never admit it, he thought Keith could be cute sometimes. The way he stood straight after a match, sweat trickling down his forehead, violet eyes lidded as he glanced down on everyone else. James didn't know what exactly to call it, but it bordered admiration. For everything Keith went through, he bottled it up and shrugged it aside. 

The world needed more people like that. 

So when Iverson’s eyes swept past him and his small team, he held his chin high. “I can trust you boys to find him, can I?” 

He met the commander’s eyes. “Of course, sir.” 

As the leader of his five man team, James was going to get Keith back. And Lance had a target right in his head, between those soulless eyes he had seen on the video. 

He was going to get his friend back, one way or another. 

Chapter Text

He knew someone was coming before the door opened, heard footsteps through the broken hole, and he squared his shoulders from where he sat. His fingers curled on the edge of the book, and he was still thankful, if restless, that Hunk had given it to him to chase off the long hours of the day. By now the sun had set, and the house had gone through stages of life and silence again, and Hunk had stopped by to give him lunch and dinner, but that was about it. 

Keith wasn’t sure if not seeing Lance was a good thing or not, but the heaviness in his stomach at the thought of seeing him now seemed to take it as a warning. 

The door swung open in all its broken, fragmented glory, and just as he thought, Lance was poking his head through the door. Neither said anything, comfortable enough to watch and stare, dipping down to the book on his lap, and then back up. Eventually, the silence made his skin crawl and rattled his thin nerves and he snarled out, “Am I interrupting something?” 

An obvious ‘what the fuck’ statement. Shiro would sigh, if he heard it, and damn it, now his heart felt heavy too. Even though he was just a doctor to the garrison, he was so much more in Keith’s eyes than anyone might have realized. Shiro had been there for him, been the one to wrap his scrapes up and lecture him, then give him a hug and listen while he ranted. Sometimes, he would purposefully hit someone, just to be sent to Shiro and skip another useless class. 

He missed those times already. 

Lance, apparently, liked the unnecessary call-out even less than Shiro did, his face wrinkling in disdain as he stepped into the room. “We’re leaving. Pack your bags, ‘cuz we’re going in five minutes.” 

If Keith had more time, he might have appreciated the same level of sarcasm he often displayed. It wasn’t often anyone played along, and the times they did he made it his mission to win their petty argument. 

But he didn’t have more time and instead he scrambled to his feet, book cast aside and forgotten on the couch. “What?!” he demanded, storming after the magea as the other walked out, all caution thrown out the window. “The hell do you mean we’re leaving? Leaving where? How far away? Are we going back to the garrison—”

“No!” he snapped, shoulders hiking from the bombardment. “This isn’t an easy decision for me, so just please shut up. We’re not going to go back, are you stupid? They’d kill us first and ask questions later.” 

Pausing, Keith’s brows furrowed and he clenched his hands, feeling his thin nails push into his skin, no doubt leaving indents. “Well that’s cool,” he spat in a rush, barely even knowing what he’s saying. Leaving, the words spun in his head. He had honestly expected to stay at Hunk’s. While he didn’t trust Pidge on the sole basis of a nightmare, he knew Hunk and that was more than safe enough for him. And to hear they couldn’t stay, that they were gonna travel in the middle of the night to flit to somewhere else, somewhere he didn’t know, had his mind reeling. “Yeah, very well thought out, thanks for cluing me in earlier!” 

“You’re welcome.” Sharp, brittle, daring him to speak back against his choice. Like the magea wasn’t the servant but instead the master. Not like Keith understood the power play yet anyway, but even he was sure that this was something that had to be talked about. 

So he planted his feet and watched as Lance moved on, quietly picking up a backpack that clearly held something inside of it for their trip. He didn’t move when the tan guy walked into the kitchen, grabbed himself a cup of water to guzzle down, or even when he picked up a loose pillow from the floor to put it back in its spot. 

That was when the startling realization struck and he grit his teeth together, glaring a hole at the dumb pillow. Lance, a magical creature, was welcome to live his life like he wanted, able to drink water or fix a pillow, while he, a human, had to sit in a room and be brought food and entertainment, like he was the animal here. 

And that realization? It pinched something inside him harder than it should have. It hurt because even Hunk, who semi knew him, didn’t make a stand for him, didn’t bother to try harder than to be his cook. He let out a shaky breath, missing Shiro more than ever, the only one who ever understood. 

“Are you gonna stand there forever?” Lance asked, unbothered and bored as he leaned against a wall. Yet at eye contact he tensed, the muscles rolling under his thin, sturdy frame, but ultimately decided not to approach. 

Keith was feeling particularly spiteful. “Yes.” 

A raised, perfectly sculpted brow. “Cool, cool. No need to worry, it’s not like I have a life or anything. I’m sure the garrison will find your location soon enough, though, so not to worry!” His fake, plastered smile made Keith’s eye twitch. “I mean, if you’re cool with being experimented on—”

“Shiro would never do that!” he argued, his heart thudding despite himself. 

A crazed light shone in his eyes and Lance pounced. “Who, the doctor? As long as he’s working, your precious friend will have to follow orders. Even if that means testing you any which way the garrison or the government decides. And if it’s not him, then he’s fired, and it’s someone else.” 

He stumbled back, jaw working, grasping for straws, anything to say, but nothing came out. His mind fumbled, going through hoops, trying to think of why Shiro would risk himself, risk his job over someone who had broken rule number one. One day, Shiro had warned, he would reap his rewards in either victory or a loss, and that was up to Keith to decide. Why not decide now was the time he couldn’t be helped? “H-he wouldn’t do that,” he protested, still, but in a quieter, subdued way. 

Lance smirked, pleased that he had won. “Right. Anyway,” he went on, fumbling with a small load near the front of the door and throwing it at him. He caught half of it, the shoes and socks spilling from his hands before he realized what they were. “Here are your clothes. We’ll travel by car. See? We’re not so primitive that we don’t have vehicles!” 

Staring at the shirt and pants, Keith couldn’t do much more than think about how much he really didn’t want to do this. Lance was still a stranger, after all. No amount of spiritual bonding or whatever could change that fact. And, fuck it, what about Keith’s life? Why did Lance decide now was a great time to control it, to think he knew what he wanted? Well he didn’t, and he glowered down at the clothes for long enough to make the magea sigh heavily. 

“Is it not in the right color?” he taunted, shrugging a loose sweater on himself. “I’m sorry, but we’re kinda on a time crunch and—”

“You guys are leaving?” 

Keith flinched, whirling to glance at Pidge as she tumbled out of the room, glasses askew. But apparently she was alert enough to pull a non-satisfied frown, even as she ran clumsy fingers through her short bedhair. 

Behind him, Lance seethed. “If you’re gonna try and tell me to stop too . . .” His words were left hanging on a thread, just waiting for the fish that was Pidge to gobble up the dangerous worm and set everything into mayhem. 

Instead, she yawned, clearly not intimidated, and spun around. “Just let me call Hunk.” 

And they both watched her small figure trip down the short hallway, knock on Hunk’s food before stepping inside and closing it. Keith blinked, straightened, and decided to make use of the shirt, slipping it over his body while Lance tapped his foot, obviously unhappy with this situation from the tight pull of his mouth. 

“Look, if Hunk makes us stay, I’m blaming you if we get caught by the garrison,” he huffed. 

“Could have mentioned we were moving earlier,” Keith simply said, tossing a mean glance over his shoulder. He rolled his arms, feeling the shirt fit him nice and snug like at the garrison, and relaxed in it. Despite this late-night hour, it felt comforting to have something he could recognize. “And maybe we could have talked about it like normal people, but hey. Sometimes I forget you’re not normal.” 

“I am normal!” 

Before he could chase down that obvious weakness like a dog to a bone, the door burst open again and Pidge strode out, her shoulders held high. Behind her, Hunk was frantically shoving his shirt under the line of his pants, a backpack slung over his elbow, half unzipped. 

Keith got the feeling he was left out of a lot of conversations, and that made his heart sink slightly. Was he that scary they had to keep him away? The only thing that made him feel marginally better was when Lance squawked, hands flying everywhere as he darted past him, his own pack jumping with every messy step. 

“What are you guys doing?” he accused, throwing a finger in Pidge’s face. 

Owlishly, she blinked. “Um. Coming with you guys? Duh?” 

“We figured you guys might leave because we’re too close to the garrison,” Hunk hurried to explain, picking up his backpack and settling it in an easier position. “So, we packed away too. Besides, I’ve been dying to see the Bermuda Triangle for myself!” 

Keith’s heart stopped. 

Suddenly, a lot of things made sense. “Haaa, what?” he still asked dumbly, his mind spinning with revelations and more questions. Seriously, did his head ever take a damn break?! But all those plane crashes, all those missing people, all those boats that never made it back to land. They never were just stories. They had been part of a warped island. The breath got knocked out of his chest. 

Hunk’s aghast expression, Pidge’s half open mouth, and Lance’s wince snapped him back real quickly. 

“Lance,” Hunk started quietly, like he was afraid to spook anyone, “you never told him?”

“Oh, for the love of!” Lance threw down his keys like a child and jutted his bottom lip out, crossing his arms. “Can’t I do anything right at this point? No, I didn’t tell him because he’s skeptical enough of me, if I throw in the Bermuda Triangle on top of it all I’d be dragging him hissing and screaming!” 

So. He had been thought of when Lance made this spontaneous decision. Good to know. Still, that didn’t make his heart settle any better as he worried on his bottom lip. 

“I hate to say it, Lance, but that’s a horrible way to treat your Linked,” Pidge supplied helpfully, scrolling through her phone, her glasses glowing from the dim light. “If you want any of this to work out, then you guys have to talk.” She brightened suddenly, and snatched the keys before Lance could kick them away. “Which means I’m driving!” 

“No you’re not driving her!” he snarled, already chasing her through the house. The sound of their feet echoed in the further rooms, somehow so light and dangerous at the same time. 

A hand planted itself on his shoulder and he flinched, looking up into warm chocolate eyes. “Hey, you good? You kinda froze there.” Hunk said, pulling a candy bar out of his pocket. Dazed, Keith took it and unwrapped it. Nibbling on it helped, soothing his anxieties and also seeping him into the fact that, yup, this was all real. “I’m sorry things turned out this way. Really, I wished there was more we could do.” 

“Uh huh,” he said absent mindedly, wincing into himself when he heard Pidge’s shrill cry and Lance’s proud boast. It wasn’t like he was trying to brush him off or anything like that, but he couldn’t get the picture of the Bermuda Triangle out of his head. “And Lance expects us to drive there?” 

His pudgy friend grinned, though it still held the same softness to it. “Magea’s are magical, Keith.” 

He blinked. And blinked again. Then his hands, with the half eaten candy bar, were waving in front of him. “Wai, wai, wait,” he said, feeling a late-night headache coming on. “You mean to tell me Lance can teleport us? What type of magic does he have?” He stared at his own useless hands, scared from past fights, and gently fingered one that had gotten infected, nearly spiraling Shiro into overprotective mom-mode. In the end, he was fine, but his throat tightened. 

He wasn’t anyone special. He didn’t have magic, didn’t have the ability to change his world for the better. His only task had been to kill the very magea he was linked to, and now even that had been taken from him, leaving him with nothing but a scoff and a kick of fate. 

 “I’m not sure, he hasn’t told us much,” he admitted, looking up when the other two arrived. Pidge wore a smirk, if her hair looked even worse than it used to, and Lance sulked, his head hanging low over his neck. 

“I’m driving!” she announced, lifting her hand which clearly held the keys, only spiraling the other’s mood worse. “Let’s go!” She marched to the door, kicking it open, but nobody was quick to follow on her heels. 

“Are you ready for this, Keith?” Hunk asked, ever the one to try and smooth things out. 

He sighed, slowly reaching for the wad of socks he hadn’t been able to catch earlier. “I still have a choice?” he asked irritably. “I’ve heard it’s doom and gloom if I don’t.” Staring at the open door, he swallowed hard. He didn’t want to do this. Yet he had nothing left to lose, if what Lance said was correct. If Shiro had no choice but to turn on him, Keith didn’t want to have to be that person to make his best friend choose over a job or a person. Because he knew the choice. Shiro would obviously choose him. He’s done so every time. 

“Of course you don’t,” Lance growled, just as happy as he was, now. Hey, baby steps in the right direction, amiright? If they couldn’t agree on anything, might as well feel the same coursing hatred and unwillingness to do anything positive. Ban the thought of even trying. “But we can’t stay here. Especially if Hunk wants to come, the garrison will know we snuck out with him, or assume he’s tied in with us.” 

“There are cameras, genus!” he shot right back, shoving his foot into a shoe. “They probably already saw anyway.” In his fury, he missed why the room suddenly plunged into an icy bath, too insistent on tying the damn shoestrings that made it their life’s mission to refuse the bunny ears. In a scramble of pent-up energy, he fucking tied them into a knot and called it a day, mildly pleased with himself when he popped to his feet. Only to frown when he saw the identical ghost faces on both of them, staring at him. 

A nervous chuckle from Hunk and he inhaled shakily. “Right . . . right. Um. Say, Keith, if they didn’t attack now, how would our chances be of not seeing them at all? Even now? Like, if I was captured on video helping you guys to escape, do you think the garrison would be that mad? ‘Cuz Lance and I figured we’d be okay.” With every word he spoke, Keith’s stomach sank lower and lower. 

Lance snapped out of it with a firm clap of his hands. “Well! Pidge and Blue are waiting!” Though his legs shook when he spun to the door, shakily walking despite his strong voice a moment prior. 

“Idiots,” Keith scoffed, though he swallowed hard again. Of course there was a recording. And to think there might be people outside right now, ready to kidnap him back sent a shiver down his spine. It was exactly what the garrison might do. Stake out until he was safe enough, then shove their manpower down his throat. “Are we seriously just going to walk down just like that?” 

When Hunk moved, he forced his feet to follow, even though he was unsure and his heart pounded, telling him this wasn’t a good idea. What else could they exactly do? 

Down the rickety stairs of the place, which looked worse than Keith had thought. Stains in random spots, a weird mix-match of patterns in the carpet which barely quieted their urgent thumps. Keith couldn’t understand why nobody wanted to use the elevator, but seeing as he had been the renowned outsider for the past week, even unconscious, he didn’t bother to ask. 

The lights were dim, no doubt saving money and power with most people asleep, but it only made it feel worse. Dark and gloomy instead of warm and homey in the apartment, with their steps creaking very softly down the way. Lance led the way to the front glass, the reception area shut down and nobody there, and pushed against the glass. That gave way, and fresh air spilled inside. 

Keith inhaled it, stepping into the front lot right behind them, anticipation crawling inside him as he peered around at every shadow. Trees groaned, bushes shuffled, the wind slithered by, and the full car lot stared back at them, nobody inside the parked vehicles. 

“See!” Lance crowed, picking up his enthusiasm back up from the trash. “I told you guys everything would be all right! If the garrison wanted Keith, they would have stormed the building much earlier.” 

“A search warrant is needed, first,” Keith shot back, still feeling uneasy. “Even if it’s their own employee, they can’t just barge in without a good reason. What if they were wrong? What if Hunk sued them?” 

He whirled, lips peeled back into a snarl. In the pale lighting from the moon, Keith shuddered and took a step back. Mageas were dangerous, and this one had killed multiple people before. “Oh, so you think the government still cares about legal issues when they have all the money they could possibly need and more? They care about me,” and he shoved a thumb in his chest, “and you think they’re going to let some paperwork get in the way of obtaining me?” 

“I don’t know what they’re going to do, and I don’t care!” he snapped back, crossing his arms to defend himself. “Because unlike you or your people, we have a systematic way of doing things, and—”

“Is now really the time?!” Hunk begged, stepping between them. His gaze was earnest, wide, and troubled, and Keith jerked his head down, coughing. Lance gave a last warning in the form of a low growl, and spun around on a heel to stalk to his car, yanking the front passenger seat open. 

Keith swept past the other guy before he had a chance to open his mouth. Rude, sure, but he was getting angsty. His muscles tensed, ready to punch something, only there was nothing to hit, unlike back at the garrison, and so he was left to grind his teeth together as he yanked the seat belt over himself, curling up into the door to escape everyone and everything. 

“All right!” Pidge cheered, evidently happy with herself as she started the car. “Buckle up, keep your hands to yourself, and enjoy the ride! We have a five hour ride ahead of ourselves!” 

Five hours of torture in the same car. Keith huffed and stared out the window, trying to see through the dusty glass at the world he was quickly leaving behind. Was it worth it? Of course it was, his own life was on the line. But was it? He didn’t know anymore. All he knew was that this was happening and he didn’t like it. 

She carefully backed out the car, the world moving slowly, pausing, and shifting forward again. Then streetlamps were shining too brightly in his eye as the sky continued to darken, over and over again on their way to the freeway or wherever. He had a chance to be who he was supposed to be, to do what he was supposed to, and he had ruined that for himself. Like Shiro had said earlier, he always found a way to break the rules, and this was a good example of that. He wanted to say it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t mean to, but who would listen? Shiro didn’t, and if he wouldn’t then who else would? 

“All right, Lance, once I reach highway 81, you’ll only get a second to get us to fly like the crow,” she said, shuffling. “I have the angle all mapped out, so when I say ‘now’ go for it.” 

Lance grumbled under his breath. “I had done the math too, pigeon. I know how to use my own magic. Besides, nobody’s chasing us, we’ll have more than enough time to get out of here.” 

Blinking, Keith shuffled a little lower, biting his lip at the thought. The low hum of a motorcycle perked him up though and he sat straighter, peering behind through the dingy back window. The headlights pushed on through, a black blob with yellow-brown headlights that slowly got closer and closer. Seeing it made his heart throb with want. He missed his own garrison motorcycle, missed feeling the wind through his body, and the freedom to control a wild and dangerous machine to his own desires. 

He followed the bike, watching as it began to lane split, even though they weren’t driving next to anyone else for a good ten feet on either side. And still it pushed forward. The guy in the bike glanced at the car, his hamlet flashing from the street lamps, one hand pulling away to grab something from his belt. The black object flashed, and they aimed. 

The glowing insignia had him shoot up, panic clawing up his throat that made him squeak. “Guys, guys, guys, that’s them!” 

“Who?” Pidge asked. 

A bang. Glass shattered, the car swerved, and multiple shouts echoed in the car. Keith gripped the ‘oh shit handle,’ his knuckles turning white, watching as Pidge fought back control of the vehicle. 

“I think I figured it out,” she hissed through her teeth. With a damned squeal, the car lurched forward. 

“Hey, hey, go careful on Blue!” Lance chided, twisting his body to stare at the motorcycle rider. His blue eyes mimicked the knowledge Keith already felt grimly. “There’s no way my car can beat them. They’re too fast.” 

“What got hit?!” Hunk cried out, looking pale despite his deeply tanned skin as he clutched to his backpack. 

Surprisingly, Keith wasn’t losing his shit. His heart pounded, and sweat slicked down his body, but he swallowed and looked around for something to throw at the biker. “Hunk, you have another chocolate bar?”  It wasn’t big, and it wasn’t going to seriously hurt the man, but that was the point. Because even though this guy had shot at the car, he was still part of the garrison. Part of his life. 

Without question, Hunk began to frantically dig around, shoving things aside from their neatly-packed order, and Keith winced in sympathy. Just as he found it and cried out in triumph, holding it out, Keith heard a muffled shout from outside the window and turned to see the guy rolling off without his bike, already being left behind. The bike scratched against the floor, throwing up sparks, and in the street light he could see the twisting vines that strangled the tires. 

“Pidge!” he barked, yanking the candy bar anyway so Hunk’s efforts weren’t all for nothing. “Be careful with them!” 

“They shot the fucking window!” she sniped back, gesturing madly to the shattered piece. He realized with a start that her hands glowed green, extinguished when she set them firmly on the wheel. 

He grit his teeth. “The window has a second life, idiot!  People don’t!” 

“Tch,” Lance scoffed, crossing his arms, and Keith felt his blood boil over in rage at the other’s carelessness. “Well, we needed that window to save our own lives, so—” 

Bam! Bam! 

“There’s more?!” Hunk cried, devastated as wind suddenly whistled through the car. Three more motorcycle headlights dove away from the darkness and zoomed up. Any other day, Keith would have loved the powerful thrum of a group ride, but now, as he stared at the back window shattered from two bullet points, he found he didn’t like being the chased one. “Pidge, do your plant thing!” 

“No!” Keith hissed, kicking at the large man in retaliation. He wanted them all to fucking live, damnit! “They’re going eighty to a hundred miles per hour, that’ll kill them!” 

“On the freeway, what won’t?” Lance taunted, but he shifted so he could see behind himself and his hands began to glow blue. “Look, I can try to slow them down, but I don’t know for how long that’ll work.” 

Bang!

“Whatever you do,” Pidge hissed, cursing as she swerved around, trying to shake them off, “do it now because it’s hard enough to try and drive outta here.” She suddenly yanked the wheel to the right, cutting off a car that honked at her. “I DON’T FUCKING CARE RIGHT NOW, DUDE!” 

“Hunk, in the front, I can’t see as well there,” Lance demanded as he unbuckled himself, slipping to the middle seat. Keith scrambled to get away, snapping his teeth at him lest they touch while Hunk threatened to rip out the seat belt in his panic to take it off. “Go cry, baby,” he sneered at him, pointedly flicking him in the head. Keith slapped his hand away. 

“If you kill them, I will murder you.” 

As Hunk finally got his seatbelt off and tried to squeeze through to get to the front, Lance gripped a hand on the head rest to balance himself while Pidge swerved in and out, his linked magea scowled. “I’d like to see you try.” Then, when Hunk slipped through and shimmied to the front, Lance took his past spot, jammed his feet under the front seats for better balance, and lifted both his hands to begin his work. 

Keith looked back at the three motorcycles who were swerving with ease, nothing like the blundering mess of a car Pidge was managing. Though they weren’t shooting anymore, which was a relief. Briefly, he wondered how the other guy was, the one she had tripped up. That wouldn’t have been an easy fall, so he hoped their shock-absorbent suits had helped. At any rate, he was cleared for duty for the next month or two from his injuries. 

Then, the magic happened. Blue light shot out through the shattered glass to climb up the nearing bikes. The people riding them jolted, obviously confused about what to do next. Some wheelied to get it off, pushing their gas, while one braked quickly and swerved as if to duck out of its way. The magic followed. 

“What are you going to do?” he couldn’t help but ask, trepidation coloring his words. 

“Not kill them, apparently,” Lance grumbled, deftly plucking his fingers like there was something to hold in thin air. The blue glow was soft, yet strong, almost like fire as he watched it, glancing from his hands to the bikes, and over again. “I’m just getting into the brakes system of their bikes and I’m gonna apply it. Then, once they’re slow enough, I’m gonna destroy their engines so they can’t go after us. You still following the GPS, pigeon?” 

“Like I have anything better to do,” came the dry report as she quit swerving so much in favor of sticking it down an empty lane. 

“Attagirl.” Then, Lance fisted his hands and he watched in real time as the bikes began to slow down. Their drivers floundered, throwing up hands and glancing at each other in confusion, obviously talking to each other. “How slow do they need to go to survive?” 

Keith blinked, amazed that Lance would ask him that. In the darkness of night, the other’s face was lined with shadows, only deepening his determination, and he exhaled. “Go twenty miles an hour,” he decided. That was low enough to still throw them around for a little and definitely safe enough that everyone would live. Unless a car ran them over, but he wasn’t so worried about that possibility. 

“Always so delicate,” he grumbled, and squeezed his fist harder. The bikes slowed down again, so their creeping headlights disappeared among the slow throng of light pollution in the traffic. Then, once a tense, silent minute had gone by, he flicked his wrist and the magic disappeared. “There we go!” he announced, sliding down into the seat languidly, like the back window wasn’t shattered and still whistling. “Pidge, how much further until we reach the freeway?” 

A long, hard sigh of relief from both Hunk and Pidge, and even Keith managed to swallow the rock in his throat. He hadn’t heard any metal screeching and nothing blew up, so he could only hope that Lance had indeed kept his word instead of magically cutting off their air supply too. He didn’t know how his magic worked, but it seemed to be able to control even the tiniest things from so far away. If it wasn’t so scary, it might be pretty cool. 

“Lance, we’ve been on the freeway.”

“Wait, what?” he asked, gripping the front seat’s shoulder. “The hell are you talking about?” 

“It’s okay!” she cut in, patting the air with a free hand. It did little to ease his shock, though. “So, the trip will be a little longer. Besides, I wanna hit a gas station and check they haven’t placed a tracker on us, just to be on the safe side.” 

Keith shut his eyes and breathed out, losing his iron grip on the ‘oh shit handle’ and shaking it out. “What’s so important you guys need to calculate math and shit?” 

Lance groaned, burrowing the heel of his hands into his eyes. “Damn it. There’s a certain degree we have to be at, at the right speed for me to call up a teleportation spell. We’d be traveling for five hours in a tunnel that way, a much shorter and optimal way than taking the car the entire time. A drive from here to Miami, Florida is fifty-four hours away. But with stops, it’s gonna be that much longer.”

Hunk’s hand shook as he brought a plastic water up to his lips, and he took a big swallow. “S-so we can’t just, uhh, find that sweet spot again?” 

“With the garrison around here?” Pidge asked, shaking her head. “I don’t wanna risk it. We’ll go to a gas station right now, and figure out what to do from there.” 

Keith slumped against the chair, finally feeling the tension bleed out of him. From staying awake the entire day, to stressing about leaving and then having to fight for said freedom, he could feel his exhaustion take the place of his adrenaline. He yawned and curled up, but before he shut his eyes he saw the faint glow of blue melting off Lance’s fingers, disappearing just before he shut his eyes. 

If he wasn’t so tired, he might have pressed him for answers about what he just did, if the motorcycle people were still okay. But another yawn overtook whatever words he was going to say away, and he let his head rest against the cool glass pane of the window as he fell asleep.