Chapter Text
“Went for the damn eyes. He’s violent, dangerous.”
No!! Keith screamed at the officers even as they escorted him out the door into the harsh sunlight, NO! IVERSON WAS LYING!
“A real discipline case,” the taller one finished, as if Keith hadn’t said anything.
“Pisses me off that he’s just getting expelled, though,” said the other officer, as if Keith hadn’t said anything. “If he hadn’t been Shirogane’s favourite–”
Keith saw red.
IT’S NOTHING TO DO WITH SHIRO! he roared, and though they paid no attention to the scream from his lips they had to pay attention to his attack. He charged.
The haze cleared eventually, and Keith looked down at his hands to see them dripping with blood. He stumbled backwards to see— to see—
He bolted upright in bed, heart racing and breaths coming fast. It took him a few moments to centre himself, to understand that he was in his room, in the castle. Safe.
Did I actually do that? It was dark and Keith could barely see anything. That strange part of the night where dreams and reality merged, and now he couldn’t tell for the life of him whether that was how he’d reacted all those months ago. If he’d…
You couldn’t dream about things that hadn’t happened, could you? Keith’s heart sank. That meant those atrocities in his dreams… they were what he’d actually done.
Shit…
Shit, I’m a fucking monster.
His hand went without permission to the knife under his pillow and he squinted at it in the gloom. His reflection… he had to see his reflection, to see if it was him or the monster he’d seen before looking back.
The handle was wet, he suddenly noticed, and Keith recoiled as he realised all of his sheets were soaked in something. Something sticky and metallic-smelling.
His bed was drenched in blood.
‘Monster.’
He screamed, a scream raw and full of pain and fear and confusion and—
The scream was actually scraping through his throat as he jerked to a standing position, adrenaline response flooding him and knife brandished ready for battle. He gasped air in as the lighting in his room gently lifted to the crepuscular level.
“Keith!” Shiro came through the door at a dead run, hand blazing in preparation to deal with any threats. He stopped abruptly, looking at Keith’s form: heaving breaths like a drowning man, but unharmed apart from a sheen of sweat.
Keith stared at the knife, stared at his hands, stared at Shiro. “I-” No blood anywhere. He pulled in more air. “I thought-” He choked on the memory, savage, violent, blood everywhere from where he’d spilled it, a monster, a MONSTER AND–
“Keith,” Shiro said, putting a hand on Keith’s shoulder and keeping it there when Keith tried to jerk away. “Keith, I’m here, you’re safe. You’re in the Castle. Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real.” Keith’s eyes were glassy and unseeing but after Shiro repeated the words a few times he seemed to come back to himself, stilling.
“Shiro, I–”
“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Shiro interrupted gently, “but if you want to talk about it then I’m listening.”
“I dreamt that,” Keith rasped, “I dreamt that I- I killed them.”
“Again?” Shiro didn’t need to ask who; this was a frequent occurrence that, Keith had admitted, had begun almost immediately after he’d moved to the desert. Shiro always felt bad that he hadn’t been there for him during those months of nightmares.
“...Yeah.”
Shiro guided Keith to sit on his bed. “You know that’s not what happened, right? You didn’t kill them.”
“How do you know that?” Keith spoke desperately, like he wanted to believe Shiro but was holding back.
“Hunk and Lance were still at the Garrison after you left, and they saw those officers. Alive.” Keith was still tense, so he continued, “They were fine. You didn’t attack them, Keith, I promise.” He put his arm around Keith’s shoulders and Keith leaned against him, breaths still juddering and eyes still wide.
“Are you sure?” He sounded desperate, pleading. Shiro hugged him tighter.
He nodded. “I’m absolutely sure. That was just a dream, like usual. Not a memory.”
Keith hesitated, then sighed and relaxed. “Okay.” They sat like that for a while.
Eventually Keith leaned away from the embrace, a cue that he had recovered, and Shiro let go of him.
Keith’s voice was steady and calm when he spoke. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
“I wasn’t asleep,” Shiro said grimly. Keith didn’t need to know about the nightmares that plagued him each night; they were Shiro’s problem and he’d deal with them on his own. No need to involve the younger paladins, who already had so much to bear. Yet again he felt a stab of regret that they were subjected to the horrors of being children in a war. It was rare to have a night when he didn’t need to reassure at least one of them after they’d woken up screaming. Shiro was older, though, and though his dreams were filled with the horrors of the Druids’ work– memories, not figments of his imagination— he could handle them on his own.
Probably.
Shiro tried to ignore the growing aches that came from dozens of nearly sleepless nights.
I’m fine.