Hunk pulls at the shackles until his wrists and ankles are raw; his hands and feet are nearly numb from lack of circulation. He needs to break free. Needs to break free and then… well. The engineer in him knows he won't be able to break through the thick glass wall in front of him. Just like the engineer in him knows he won't actually be able to break through these chains. Still, he pulls. There's nothing else he can do, and he can't just stand idly by while his friends drown.

"Hunk!" Lance pleads from behind the glass wall. He's banging on the glass with his fists, his eyes wild and desperate. Behind him, water pours in from the ceiling and continues to rise. "Help us, Hunk!" Keith, Pidge, and Allura are right there with him, trapped in a tiny room turned tank. "Please, Hunk, please help us. I don't want to drown," Lance sobs. Water creeps upward, licking his ankles, his shins, his knees.

"Lance! Lance, can you hear me?" Hunk shouts, but it's no use. There's no response, just more of the same frantic pleas and desperate pounding.

Hunk doesn't have a death wish, but right now he'd rather be in there than out here. He can't wrap his arms around Lance from out here, can't tell him everything's going to be okay. He wants to console him, tell him that they're in this together. They're not.

The water rises. "Hunk, please, you must get us out of here," Allura beseeches. She's been trying in vain to break the glass wall from her side, slamming her body against the glass with nothing to show for it but contusions and a broken shoulder. The way her arm hangs is wrong. The helplessness in her eyes is wrong. Everything is wrong.

The water rises. Hunk has never seen Keith so anxious. His eyes are wide; his face is pale. He's given up on trying to break the glass, and it frightens Hunk to see him standing so still. Blood blooms in the water around his white knuckles. "Hunk, do something!" he begs, voice tight. But there's nothing Hunk can do.

The water rises. "Hunk!" Pidge screams. She's on the tips of her toes, struggling to keep her nose and mouth above water. She's terrified. "Hunk!"

He can't help her, can't help any of them. Hunk feels sick with fear and anger. The chains rattle with his shaking hands.

The water rises. He watches as Pidge struggles to tread water. She's gasping for air, her breaths shallow and irregular. She's not a swimmer.

Hunk's wrists bleed as he pulls and pulls, but the chains don't give.

The water rises. Allura's feet leave the ground. Keith's next, then Lance's. They're panicking. They're sobbing, pleading, screaming at him, do something. He can't. "I'm sorry," he mouths. "I'm so, so sorry."

The water rises. It's nearly at the ceiling. They're running out of air. He's going to watch them drown and there's nothing, nothing, nothing he can do.

The water rises. There's barely any air left. Faces angled upwards, their lips graze the ceiling as they suck in their last breaths.

The water stops rising. It's reached the top and they're fully submerged.

They pound on the glass, their faces filled with terror. They move in slow motion. They're drowning.

They've gone silent, but Hunk screams for them. Please, please, he needs help; they need help.

Pidge goes still first. Bubbles escape her lips as the air in her lungs leaves her. She stops struggling, stops moving. Her body goes limp and she sinks.

Somebody, please, help.

Keith is next, limbs going heavy. He sinks to the bottom. Lance isn't far behind. Allura casts him one last, desperate glance, and then her eyes close and she's gone too.

Hunk falls to his knees, unable to bear the sight of the bodies in the tank any longer. He's sobbing so hard he can't catch his breath; it feels like he's drowning, too.

Faintly, he can hear hurried footsteps. Metal striking glass; again, again, again. Glass shattering. Rushing water.

Water and shards of glass lap at Hunk's knees. Steady hands are on his shoulders: one warm and gentle, the other cold and wet and decidedly not human. He dares to look up.

Shiro.

The adjacent room has drained, the water barely an inch above the floor. Pidge, Keith, Lance, and Allura are breathing; he can see the rise and fall of their chests. They're alive. "They're okay, Hunk," Shiro reassures him. "They're alright."

He envelops Hunk in a hug and Hunk clings to him with all his strength. He lets Hunk sob against his shoulder. "It's okay," Shiro soothes. "Everything is okay."

He lets Hunk give voice to all his anxieties, all his feelings of helplessness. "I was so scared," Hunk gasps, shaking. Shiro steadies him, holding him tightly. He nods in understanding. "I couldn't do anything. I was completely helpless, Shiro. They were drowning, they were so afraid, and I…"

"Ssh. It's alright. They're fine, Hunk. Everyone is fine," Shiro murmurs as he rubs his back. His voice is so calm and gentle, and Hunk can't help but relax. He is safety. He is strength.

"I know how awful that was to watch, but none of this is real," Shiro assures him. "They're all safe. This is all just a bad dream." Hunk breathes deeply as he settles, letting Shiro's words sink in.

"Just a bad dream?" he wonders. "But you feel so real…"

Hunk wakes.

-x-

"Hunk? You okay?"

"Huh?" He looks up from his food goo. Lance is staring at him from across the breakfast table, concern bright in his blue eyes. "Oh, yeah. Yeah. Just… just a bad dream," he says.

There's understanding in the silence that follows. Bad dreams are nothing new for any of them.

He doesn't tell them the specifics of his nightmare – there's no need for that – but he does voice what's been on his mind since waking up. "Shiro was there, in my dream, and it just… it felt so real."

Keith visibly flinches. It's been a difficult few days for everyone, but nobody's been quite so affected by Shiro's disappearance as Keith. He's lost Shiro twice now. The sadness in his eyes and shoulders is unmistakeable, and Hunk's heart wrenches at the sight.

The air hangs heavy and they need levity. Hunk provides.

"Okay, but more than that, this food goo. This food goo is so bland it's criminal," Hunk says, changing the subject, shedding the seriousness and making a face. "Hmmm. Maybe if I add some of that cinnamon-ish spice, and a bit of that sweet tuber extract, oh, and maybe a dash of whatever that purple stuff is…"

"Oh, yeah. Definitely add the purple stuff," Lance chimes in helpfully. "That stuff is great."

Pidge nods fiercely. "Agreed. Hey, what d'you think it's made of?"

"Well it's definitely some kind of saccharide…"

Hunk doesn't forget the nightmare, but it drifts to the back of his mind where it belongs. Like Shiro had said, it was just a bad dream.

-x-

Lance drifts in a sea of stars. He is very, very alone.

Pinpricks of light shift this way and that, weaving across the vast blackness of space until they've arranged themselves into constellations. The dots connect to form the outlines of former friends, tracing the edges of a team he doesn't belong to.

"We don't need you," Keith says, his voice harsh and cutting. It echoes all around Lance, reverberating despite the vacuum. "You're holding us back."

"Worthless. Inferior. An embarrassment to the team," Allura says bitingly, full of venom.

"You don't belong here," Pidge scoffs, looking down on him. "You don't even have any skills."

"Sorry, Lance," Hunk shrugs indifferently. "We just need someone better."

Coran looks at him derisively. "It's time for you to go."

He's Earthbound. He's headed there in a pod, not in Blue. He can't feel her, won't feel her ever again. The back of his mind is hollowed out and empty. Blue's not his Lion anymore; he's not her Paladin.

He approaches Earth, and the colour of the planet just serves to remind him of what he's not. He burns through the atmosphere and crashes into the sea. The pod is dashed to bits around him, pieces of it sinking beneath the waves until all traces of that life are gone.

He swims and he swims, arms and legs cutting through saltwater, until he reaches familiar shore.

He steps out of the sea and he feels the heat, feels the breeze, feels the warm sand between his toes. He's home.

It's not where he wants to be, but he's home.

Something's not right, though, he realizes quickly as he navigates through the streets. The roads are the same, but the buildings are all wrong. The structures are taller, condos and hotels where houses should be. His favourite pizza place has been replaced; his go-to ice cream stand is no longer. There's a distinct lack of green. Where are all the palms?

He breaks into a run, bare feet stinging against the hot, rough pavement. The strange buildings are disconcerting, but he pushes it from his mind. He's almost there.

A few more turns; closer, closer. And then he sees it. It's more weathered than he remembers, paint faded and chipped and concrete starting to crumble, but it's still his complex. "I'm home," he whispers.

He knocks on the door. His mother answers, and his eyes go wide. Her hair has gone completely grey; wrinkles line her face. Gravity has taken its toll and she stands a little shorter. Her expression is devoid of warmth.

She speaks three words and they shatter his existence. "Who are you?"

He tries to pull himself together. "It's me, Mama. It's me, Lance."

Her face shifts from a mask of confusion to one of cold anger. "My son died fifteen years ago."

"No, no, I'm right here," he pleads. "It might sound crazy, but I can explain-"

"You're not him." She says it with conviction, the obstinacy so familiar it hurts.

"I am," he insists. "It's me, I swear. A lot has happened, but I'm home now, Mama."

"You're not him," she repeats. "My Lance would never have hurt a soul." She's staring at his hands. He looks down and they're covered in blood. They drip, drip, drip against the pale concrete.

"I- I never wanted to," he stammers. "I promise, Mama, I-"

"My Lance would never have left us without so much as a note," she says.

"There was no time - I'm sorry, I wanted to-"

"My Lance would never have missed his sister's wedding, his brother leaving for school, the birth of his nieces and nephews, his grandparents' funerals," she says. "Not if he had been alive."

Tears sting his eyes. His lungs feel like they're collapsing. "Mama, please," he begs. "I wanted to come home, Mama, I did, but-"

"You're not him," she says, an air of finality in her voice. "My Lance is gone. We've all accepted that and moved on."

The door slams shut.

Lance can't breathe. Lance can't breathe, but he picks up his shaking legs anyway and he runs. He runs back through the streets, past all the wrong buildings, over the sand and back to the sea.

Red spills across the horizon, red like his rough, bloodied hands. He steps into the water and tries to wash them, but they won't come clean.

He walks further and further into the water, almost wishing the waves would swallow him whole, but the sea spits him back out. Even the sea won't take him.

There is no one here; there are no voices to be heard. The beach is empty. He is very, very alone.

Lance curls in on himself and he lets himself cry.

At some point, he feels a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't know who it is, but he's so starved for comfort that it barely matters.

"Lance." His voice is gentle, rich and deep and warm.

"Sh-Shiro?"

"Hey," Shiro says softly. He settles down beside Lance and wraps his left arm around his shoulders, holding him tightly as he trembles. "Hey, it's alright. Everything is okay," he soothes.

"Shiro," Lance gasps. "No, Shiro, I'm alone. I'm alone, I'm alone, and I-"

"Sssh." Shiro draws him in closer, letting Lance lean against him fully, his head resting on his shoulder. "You're not, I promise. You're not alone."

"But Shiro, Shiro, my mom doesn't recognize me, and my family, they've all moved on, and the team doesn't need me - I'm useless - and-"

"Sssh," Shiro calms him. He strokes his hair, soothing him. It's gentle and reassuring. Lance's shaking subsides and his breathing slows.

"None of that is true," Shiro says softly. "This isn't real, Lance. It's just a nightmare. I promise you, you're not alone."

"But… but what if…"

"Lance, do you really think your mother could forget you?"

Lance lets his eyes close. He shakes his head. "No."

"And do you honestly think the team doesn't need you?"

Of that, Lance is less sure. He hesitates. "I…"

"They do. They need you," Shiro assures him, squeezing his shoulder. His voice leaves no room for doubt. "Blue chose you, and she chose you for a reason. You're important to the team, Lance. You're their sharpshooter, remember?"

Lance lets out a shaky laugh. He nods.

"More than that, though, you help hold the team together," Shiro insists. "You lift their spirits. You keep them going. I promise you, Lance, they need you."

His voice is so calm, so confident, that Lance can't help but believe him. He breathes easier, relaxing more with every word.

"You keep saying 'they'," Lance murmurs into his shoulder. "Don't you mean 'we'?"

He looks up and Shiro gives him a small smile. He's paler than Lance remembers and there's a soft sadness in his eyes, but the smile is undeniably Shiro's.

Lance wakes.

-x-

Despite the miracles of Altean face creams, Lance's eyes are still red and puffy as he makes his way to breakfast.

Hunk finds him in the hallway and, with one glimpse at his face, throws his arms around him in a crushing bear hug. "Dude, what's wrong?"

"Bad dream," Lance murmurs, leaning in, but the loneliness has dissipated. Hunk's presence, his warmth, his voice, reminds him that Shiro was right: he's not alone. "Hey, remember how you had that dream about Shiro a week or so ago?" Lance asks.

He feels Hunk nod.

"Well, I had one too. And it felt real. It was like… it was like he was there."

Hunk's brow creases slightly. "Huh."

They walk to breakfast together, Hunk's arm still thrown over Lance's shoulders. He gives him a little squeeze before they join Pidge and Keith at the table.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Even though he doesn't feel alone anymore, vestiges of the intense emotion he felt still linger. Lance pokes at his food goo. He's not very hungry, not even for the purple stuff.

Hunk catches his eye from across the table. There's a question in the slight tilt of his head. Can I tell them?

Lance nods. Go ahead.

"Hey guys," Hunk says, breaking the silence. "Okay. So, you know how I had that nightmare a week ago, and Shiro was in it? Well, what's weird is that Lance had a bad dream last night, and he said his also felt real, and Shiro was in his dream too."

There's a pause. Pidge raises an eyebrow. "…And?"

"Well, like, don't you think that's kind of strange?"

"It's really not unexpected," Pidge shrugs. "People have vivid dreams all the time. And Shiro went missing not too long ago, plus we spend most of our time looking for him. He's on our minds, so of course he's going to show up in our dreams."

"Right. Yeah. That is true," Hunk concedes.

"I've had dreams about him," Pidge admits. "And I'm sure Keith has too."

All eyes shift to Keith. His eyes don't meet theirs.

"Every night," he says quietly.

They don't discuss it any further.

-x-

Shiro can't make sense of anything. Everything is a shifting mess. Things are there and then they aren't; things that aren't suddenly are. He drifts in and out, ghosting through memories and dreams.

He doesn't know how to control where he goes or what he sees, but sometimes he can sense one of the other paladins – Keith, Lance, Hunk, Pidge – in need of help. And if he concentrates on them, on their quintessence and their heightened emotions and everything he knows about them that he can remember to be true, once in a while, he can manage to find them. And maybe, just maybe, their mind will open up to him and he'll be allowed in.

He knows that their dreams may not be real, but they are. He can feel it.

But finding them is getting harder and harder to do. It's hard to focus on them when he can't quite remember what's actually true and what's just imagined. It's hard to tell dreams from memories. Everything is starting to blur.

He has no idea where he is or when he is; soon, he thinks, he won't know who he is. He doesn't understand any of this, and he doesn't know what's going to happen. All he knows is that he's running out of time.