He isn’t sure how long he has been out. All he is sure of is when he did come to, his head was wrapped up, cradled by a soft pillow. A blanket is draped over him, scratchy but somewhat warm. There is a quiet beeping in the background, no doubt registering the easy pace of his heartbeat. 

He felt like he slept a thousand years. His body is stiff from its stance, his spine aching to move into a different position. Keith tried to move his legs, but the most he can move is his feet. His shoulders even feel like he was strapped to blocks of lead. 

Except when his vision merged two into one, he registers he is not alone. 

Shiro is on a chair pulled up on the left side of Keith’s bed. His chin is resting against his knuckles, a forgotten book falling off his lap and his white hair in his face.

Hunk is on the opposite side, he too asleep with Pidge on his lap. Pidge’s glasses are slipping off, drool leaking onto his jeans. 

And Lance. Dear Lance has Keith’s hand in a death grip, afraid if he lets go keith will too. Becoming an anchor for Keith’s titanic spirit. 

He does not know where his mother and Allura are. Keith guesses she stepped away for a second, her blade jacket on a nearby chair. Maybe Allura is checking on his vitals with the doctors since he just woke up. 

A little slow from the drugs, he weakly squeezes Lance’s hand. 

His voice is raspy when he speaks, a desert without an oasis.

“Lance?”

It has been months since Lance has seen Keith awake. Since they talked, the two giggling underneath the sheets of their shared bed. Since they travelled to a far off planet for a date, lance trading keith that he wasn’t as fast as he used to be now that Lance had Red.

Since the mission the group went on. One that left the team scared shitless as they watched from their lions the enemy ship go up in raging flames. Lance had flown down to the wreckage as soon as it was clear, his heart a hammer in his chest as he flung Red around in a frantic search. 

It did not help his fear when he saw the escape pod empty, and for a moment—a black hole of a second—he believed they were too late. 

But Red hummed in his head of assurance, her thrum guiding him to floating red armor scratched and bent, but Keith breathing.

But while Keith’s body survived, they weren’t sure his head did. His helmet was extremely damaged, enclaves scattered about and the glass near to shattering. Allura said he was lucky. The doctors skeptical. But the team remained hopeful. Even as days turned to weeks. Weeks into a month, when sure enough six months had gone by since the incident. 

The day prior the doctors said there was a 70% chance he would never wake up. They said it was their call to pull the plug or not, slightly intimidated by the death glare Krolia gave them. 

Lance is glad they held onto their hope despite the odds, for he almost burst into tears as he met soft violet jewels, Keith looking like hell but nevertheless, alright. 

“Holy shit,” he exclaims, rising from his place and immediately checking his body, warm palms cupping his cheeks and combing through his hair. “You’re awake! Oh my god, Keith you’re awake!”

“I know.” Keith rasps, amused. He leans into Lance’s touch, recalling the last time they were like this, Keith was being kissed upon his brow and promising he’d be back in barely an hour. 

Keith kisses the inside of Lance’s palm, closing his eyes. Bathing in the attention. But he couldn’t keep them closed for long, for Lance quietly asks him to not go back to sleep.

“Please don’t go back to sleep,” he says, his lids burning. “Please stay a little longer. It has been...it’s been rough.”

Keith stares at him, noting the lines under his eyes. The dark circles. His chapped lips, and how his beautiful glow dimmed into a meek semblance. 

Lance isn’t okay, no matter the masks he puts up. 

Keith pulls him in, wrapping his arms around his thin frame. Lance nuzzles underneath Keith’s chin, listening to the sweet beat of his heart. It is music to his ears. A symphony compared to the nightmare silence he had been dealing with. 

To the day they brought him in, mangled, worn, and as white as death’s bones. 

----------------

“Keith!” Lance dove for Keith as Red opened her mouth. He activated his jetpack, pushing himself to snatch the collar of Keith’s armor. 

“Hang on, love. You’re going to be okay.” Lance settled Keith’s limp body gently. He moved his hair away from his eyes, silently hoping those dark lashes would flutter open and tell him the blood sticking to his curls was “just a scratch”.

But when Lance got him to a medical cruiser, all was not sound.

“The impact caused severe trauma to his brain. It has swelled to a significant rate and, at the moment, has affected his brain stem.” The doctor stated, overlooking the medical papers as the group digested the information in the waiting area. 

“You say he was in an explosion?”

“Yes. He was meant to be in an escape pod when the bomb detonated.” Pidge explained, hugging herself and avoiding eye contact. “But he was trapped. I had to get him out. I thought he...I thought...”

The doctor switched from technical to sympathy, alert of her distress. “The swelling may go down and he could wake up. There is a chance when he hit it, the helmet took most of the brunt.”

“But?” Lance asked quietly.

The doctor sighed. “But there is also a chance that his reticular activating system—the part of him that alerts and wakes him up—may be too damaged.” He paused. “The fluid is pushing up against his skull. It may even be bleeding. At this rate, there is no telling he will awaken.”

“What do you mean no telling?” Lance snapped. “You’re intergalactic doctors. Don’t you have a way of fixing this?”

“The mind is a sensitive organ. No matter the species, tampering it can be deadly.”

Lance veered to Allura. “Is there anything you can do?” Lance begged. “Anything? You healed me once. Can you heal him too?”

“I...I can try.” Allura said, hesitant. “But Lance...please be prepared in case...in case I can’t. With you, it was your body. With Keith, it’s more fragile.”

When Allura went in and came out, Lance sat down and put his head in his hands. There was nothing to do but wait. 

And as time went by, Lance practically became a resident of the hospital Keith was transferred to. He was closely monitored, but every time they would finish tests, every time a doctor would come out of the room, the update remained the same. 

Each time Lance would nod, walk in with a book in hand, some flowers, and sit there holding Keith’s hand. He would set up Keith’s favorite flowers in a case, aware he promised some on their next date. He would read to him, hoping if he could give anything, he could give keith an adventure only he can hear, and an escape for Lance. 

Yet even as months went by, pages of the books would be spotted with tears. The group would come in every week, but not nearly as much as Lance and Krolia.

Occasionally, if Lance was really struggling, the doctors would give him family status and let him stay the night alongside Krolia. He would always be found on the same side, holding onto Keith’s hand and conked out hunched over the mattress. 

Upon awakening, he’d pray to the Gods before he opened his eyes for the hand to be gone and the sleeping beauty alert and dressed, waiting to give Lance a soft smile.

------------------

On the morning Keith woke up, the doctors suggested pulling the plug. 

Lance nearly lost his mind. 

“The hell we are giving up on him!” Lance yelled, baring his teeth and shoving his body in front of the doctors as if they were the many galra soldiers they fought. “He still has a chance to pull through.”

The doctor lowered his voice, quietly talking to Lance and the nurse raised her eyebrows, used to Lance’s calm demeanor. 

“We understand. But with all the monitoring we have done, he shows no signs of getting better.”

“You said his swelling went down.”

“It did. And that’s good. But with how big the blast was, it...isn’t enough. His scans have been the same for the past six months.”

“He is literally still breathing!”

The doctor bowed his head. “That may be, but while his body lives, his brain could very well be...gone. The probability of him waking up has decreased.” He looked up to krolia, who stood behind Lance, brushing her fingers through her son’s hair. 

“You’re his mother, correct?”

“Yes.” She said, keeping her gaze on the sleeping boy.

“It is ultimately up to you on what you believe is best for your son. Whether to keep him here and hope, or...” he glanced at the heart monitor. “To let him go.”

“Krolia, come on. He’s your kid—the one who throws himself in front of danger to protect others. The one who got you out of the bad situation you two were in when you met. The same one who gave you a chance and fought nearly every blade member to prove himself. you know he’s a fighter. You can’t give up on him!”

Krolia said nothing. 

“Krolia, please. He can do it. I feel it in my gut. Please.” 

She waited a few ticks before answering. When she took in a breath and opened her mouth, he waited for the guillotine to fall or the pardon to be announced.

She was not able to spend the most time with her son. It wasn’t so long ago they reunited. For Krolia to take in she was meeting a fierce man, not the vulnerable baby boy she held in her arms. He had grown up. And she missed it all. 

Missed his tiny snores as he slept in his crib while her and his father laid nearby. Missed his first walk, where he waddled to a waiting father coaxing for him to make it. Missed his first words, the earth word “papa” easily coming out of his mouth rather than the sweet sound of him calling for Krolia. 

Missed his first day at school. Missed his first birthday. Missed his laughs and smiles. Missed the first time he road a vehicle, even if it was stolen from the garrison. Missed his first fight, his first friend, missed his everything.

Krolia missed so much of his life, and just when she was about to gain a taste of what she was absent from, it was ripped away from her grasp. 

Many times she had let go and let the universe make the decisions for her. Allowed obstacles to form. For bridges to burn. For paths to diverge.

But this time she would not stand for it. Would not relinquish her right as a mother. To abandon her beloved boy again, not to the destiny of a paladin, and certainly not to the end card of a fallen warrior. 

He was her son. He, like her, would fight tooth and nail to be alive. 

The world may give up on him. But Krolia would not.

“Lance is right,” she said, standing. “Regardless of the situation, regardless of the results, my son is not dead. He lives, both mind and body. It may be a percentage, but it is not zero. You will not unplug my son. Not unless he breathes his last breath and the monitor goes straight.”

Lance almost cried from those words.

Almost. 

-------------------------

“I’m not going anywhere.” Keith says, petting Lance from the top of his head down to his back. “My head hurts, but I’m here. Don’t worry.”

“Please stop being so reckless, it’s bad for my health.” Lance half jokes.

“I was only out for, what, a couple weeks?” He looks around, seemingly searching for a calendar. “How...how long have I been out?”

When Lance tells him, Keith is left speechless. A gaping fish out of water. And each detail Lance went into, the hold on keith tightens. If he wasn’t so scared of losing Keith, he could’ve crushed his ribs. 

“Wait, so if I was brain dead according to the doctors, how am I awake?”

Lance shrugs. “I don’t know. One moment you’re almost gone, the next you’re waking me up. I thought I was dreaming.”

“It’s...a miracle. I don’t usually believe in...miracles.” Keith absently began toy with the bandage around him, feeling for anything that could have caused him to defy the odds. 

“Maybe it was true loves kiss.”

Keith gave Lance a questioning look, to which he answered back with a mumble. 

“What?” Keith doesn’t hear him. Lance is stubborn in answering, prompting Keith to poke his side. “What is it? I just woke up from a coma, no secrets.”

“It’s cheesy.”

“Name one moment Pidge didn’t say we were cheesy.”

Lance purses his lips. “Point taken.”

“So?”

Lance dramatically sighs, burying his face in Keith’s neck. “I used to kiss your forehead before I left. You know, like when we got up in the morning.” 

Keith can recall those moments as clear as day, and he melts. And he can also recall, though it is covered in muddy waters and an echoing train station, a hint of someone talking as he dreamed away. 

He had no concept of time. No idea he was comatose, stuck in a state between life and death. 

He thought he was already awake. Believed based on the vivid sense of crisp hot wind caressing his cheeks, the sweat on his brow, and the overwhelming clutter of his father’s shack. Moments where his mother care by, his friends visited, and he road around on his motorcycle with Lance behind him.

He had no memory of the accident. Of being a paladin, for all that mattered was the days mirroring reality. When you dream, you forget you are in a dream. Convinced you are well. Normal. At peace.

But there were times when he was doing these normal things he heard a voice in the distance. His dream would become background noise. The faces of those he loved blurred and froze, a computer frozen due to an error. 

He would close his eyes and listen. Take in the far away voice speaking tales of adventure and woe. Keith would wonder how such a phenomenon could happen. How the disembodied stories sounded so much like his Lance when he was right beside him. 

It defied all logic. But he couldn’t help but disregard it, for who spoke to him was sad. He would be slow in his speech; a veil covering the truth with beauty to hide pain. And when the stories ended—when his dreaming began to resume and he fell once again to his injury—something soft kissed his cheek.

His forehead.

His nose.

His lips. 

It wasn’t all at once. The kisses would be different, depending on the day. Some days keith went without them, not being aware of their absence until it happened again. 

Afterwards there would always be a strange sensation in the back of his mind. Like he had forgotten something. Like he had a mission to complete, even if he wasn’t sure what that mission was.

He had to go home.

But...he was home.

Wasn’t he? 

It wasn’t until his surroundings began to fade away did he fight. 

Before he was lingering. Convinced the lie before him was reality rather than fantasy.

But then he stopped hearing his friends. Their faces became distorted, their features morphing into blobs than the stark angles and shapes ingrained in his memory. Their conversations became jumbled, a scratch in a CD that kept playing the same verse or skipping three songs all together. 

His home lost pieces of its defining features. The bookshelves melted away. The pictures on his walls shattered. The ground beneath his feet no longer was solid, holes popping up from corner to corner. 

He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t understand what was happening. 

Until he heard two very distinct voices.

Two very important people.

“My son, it is time to wake up. Wake up, my boy. I want to create more memories with you.”

“Keith, please wake up. We promised to see each other again. So I can tell you I love you.”

I love you.

I love you.

For that, he snapped out of his state of oblivion. His world was crumbling away. What he knew became dust. But as it did, he forced himself to fight the sensation for him to close his eyes. He clawed his way through the ruins of his dreams, refusing to be sucked in my death.

He refused to die. 

Somehow—he didn’t know how—he grasped a white ledge. It glowed, beckoning for keith to approach it. To touch it. 

The tips of his fingers barely grazed it when he was thrown back into his body, his consciousness gradually returning. 

He was numb all over.

But at least he could touch and talk to his Lance. The real Lance. 

----------------------

Krolia had been searching all of earth—the entire galaxy—for a way to heal her son. She, a member of the Blade who faced numerous ruthless enemies and an entire space war, was breaking down from the stress.

If she could choose what battle to face, she would rather fight a thousand galra enemies than the potential loss of her child. She would rather feel the cut of a sword or spark of an energy orb than the mental waterfall of suffering from the potential of the hospital bed being empty.

She was determined. In said determination, she enlisted Allura’s help, knowing if anyone could harbor ancient knowledge, it is her.

They just had to find the right planet. 

Or the right ripple in space.

“Do you really believe Oriande has the correct plant?”

Allura had her arms crossed, looking straight ahead. But while her posture was tense, her words were strong. “Positive. I don’t want to give false hope, but I know in my heart they have the answer. I’m sure of it.”

“You’ll be on your own. I can’t get in there.”

“I’ve done it once. I can do it again.”

“And if they deny you?”

“They won’t. Even if they did, I would break down their door.” She sealed on her mask, her glowing marks locked away. “Open the hatch, Krolia. I will be back soon.”

Krolia pressed the buttons, watching Allura carefully exit. Before the door closed, Allura gave her a reassuring smile.

“Don’t worry, Krolia. You and your son aren’t alone anymore. I promise to bring him back to you.”

Krolia liked this Altean. 

It felt like a millennia before Allura returned. Krolia feared something had happened to the kind woman with pink marks, afraid she would have to deliver a morose message to her father figure.

But just as she was about to push the button to let her out and risk Oriande herself, the door flew open on its own to reveal an unscathed Allura. 

An allura with a light pink flower in hand, it’s petals decorated with sunshine orbs and it’s pollen a deep magenta. It’s roots were carefully removed from its home, no sign of wear and tear. Allura’s hands and face was covered in dirt, but smiled through the grime.

“It took some looking, but I found it. There was three left.”

“You have my thanks, princess.” Krolia bowed. “I am in your debt.”

Allura, no longer considering herself a princess, settled a hand on Krolia’s shoulder.

“There is no need for that with me. I am Keith’s friend, and a diplomat. I am not your superior, Krolia.”

She was right. She wasn’t her superior. But she was someone who was helping her son come back to her. To prevent him from entering the land of the dead. Allura does not understand how deep krolia’s appreciation lies. 

They arrived back at the hospital later in the day, Pidge’s new technology in tracking, speed, and performance proving to be her best work. They made their way into the room, the group completely conked out by Keith’s bedside. Allura had to sneak her way past Lance, his body taking up most room on his side and making it difficult for Allura to navigate. 

Krolia watched out for the doctors, ready to fight them in case they tried stopping her and Allura from their plans. 

Allura held the plant in one hand and touched the top of Keith’s head with the other, closing her eyes as she murmured in her altean tongue. Both her and the plant radiated a blue essence, it’s soft hue coursing from her to the unconscious boy. It was almost like a lullaby. 

A sound someone could sleep through.

A voice so welcoming, animals and species alike would sit down and listen until their eyes grew heavy. 

By the time Allura finished, the plant lost its glow. It’s color sapped dry. The remnant of it ever being alive was the single petal falling from the bulb of the flower. 

When Krolia and Allura return to check on his progress, she nearly collapsed in relief to see her son’s violet eyes brimming with life.

“Hey, mom.” He croaked, his throat raspy from being unused.

She smiled. “Welcome back, son.”

----------------------

The rest of Keith’s friends are ecstatic he is no longer in a coma, spending most of the day catching up and giving keith many hugs. By nightfall, they left for home, saying they will visit him the next day when the doctors discharge him.

“Why can’t they let you out now?” Lance asks, the last to be asked to leave. “Your vitals are normal. Can’t you come home?”

“They have to make sure I am 100% okay. They don’t want me going home and then something bad happen.” Keith explains, squeezing Lance’s hand. “Go home and rest.”

Lance looks down at their hands, basking over it no longer being limp and unresponsive. 

“Maybe I can convince the nurse to let me stay. Be like, an alarm of sorts.”

“Lance, when was the last time you’ve slept in a bed? Did your skin care routine? Bathe?”

Lance upturns his nose. “Are you saying I STINK?”

Keith chuckles. “No, I’m saying you look just as bad as me.”

“Unlike you, who has been sleeping for months. It’s amazing I didn’t have to slay a dragon and fight through treacherous thorns for you.”

“And you won’t have to.” He motions with his chin. “Go. Sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Lance doesn’t move. His grasp on keith only tightens.

“Lance.”

“Do you need to pee?”

“What?”

“You haven’t gone in awhile. Or eaten. Do you need me to get you food?”

“I—no I’m fine. I ate when you did.” 

“Only five bites!” Lance says.

Keith lets out a breath, leaning his head against the pillow and leveling Lance with a soft but worried look.

“I haven’t eaten real food in awhile, it’s going to take time for my system to go back to how it used to. Just like with walking. I promise, I’m okay.”

“You made a promise last time too.” Lance whispers. Yes, Keith remembers the moments before the mission. His chest compresses from it; pained he broke his word.

“What is this really about, Lance?” Keith asks. Lance turns his head away, avoiding eye contact. But Keith reaches out, brushing a thumb against the apples of his cheeks. It is warm. Kind. Not a ghost lingering for too long when Lance couldn’t sleep for a week. Lance thought he would never feel this again. 

“Talk to me.”

“It’s nothing...”

“You know, when you’re sad or upset, I noticed your jaw becomes more apparent. A crease develops on your brow, and you force a smile,” Keith comments, causing Lance to bite his lip. “You’re doing that now.”

“I guess that’s why you’re in the Blade. You’re annoyingly observant.”

“It’s a gift.”

Lance gives a small smile, kissing Keith’s palm.

“If I start talking, I won’t be able to stop.”

Keith stares at him. Debating what he should do. Should say. Hating to see him suffer, wondering if all going through Lance’s mind is nightmares and illusions. Dark “what if’s” that would keep him up at night, defying Keith’s desire for him to slumber soundly.

He guesses it wouldn’t hurt for him to ask the nurses to let him stay. He is part of his family.

Keith moves over to the side, patting the space.

“Okay. Talk as much as you want. We have all the time in the world.”

Keith thought he wasn’t going to fall asleep since he had been in a coma for so long.