A/N: This was going to be a one shot, but I got a little carried away with my thoughts... so now it's a short story.
This is a "sorta" AU, taking place loosely sometime around "Greening the Cube" and "Eye of the Storm" and... well, things go wrong.
Shout out to my friends Meritt and Rookblonkorules! They've encouraged me so much and have really helped me out with this. Thanks, guys!
I don't own Voltron Legendary Defender or any of the characters appearing in this chapter.
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One... Two... Three...
His mind was wavering as he tried to keep awake; he could feel it, drifting just over the edge of exhaustion.
Sleep seemed to just hover above him, weighing down on him, ready to let him fade away… All he had to do was let himself slip.
But he couldn't, he reminded himself. He couldn't give up yet; not when there was still hope of getting through this.
His eyelids stubbornly retained their strength, hanging over the narrow slits of his eyes as he stared up at the dreary grey that made up the sky, its dark cloud formations swirling in its vastness.
His left hand laid by his side, palm down, index finger tapping against the dark ground repetitively. Four... Five…Six... It wasn't helping to ease the pain. He wasn't even sure why exactly he was counting. Perhaps to take his mind off his injuries, or simply to pass the time. Or both. It didn't matter as long as it was keeping him awake; it was good to have something to focus on in his state.
..Seven… Eight… Nine...
Keith cast a pained glance down to his side, where the remains of something protruded from the armor, some sort of shrapnel poking out of his skin. He couldn't recall how or when that had happened.
Pain radiated through the mid part of his body, and Keith instantly stopped tapping, instead slowly reaching up to cup his hands around the wound and grimacing.
Stupid alien creeps.
It had been at least an hour since the crash. Maybe more. The cloud cover made it difficult to determine where the sun was, giving the planet he had landed on an almost timeless feel to it, a limbo of mist and dark soil.
One thing was for sure though; he'd been there too long. And the sluggish state of his mind couldn't mean anything good, never mind his busted side.
He probably had a concussion; that would explain the weariness and the headache.
The Galra would be there soon, and he was alone and vulnerable. If there was ever a perfect time to strike, this was it.
Keith mustered up the willpower to hiss into the air, frustrated with himself and the failures that summed up the day's events.
The Galra had found them, again. The teludav was damaged. And he had been an idiot trying to play "hero" with a stunt that could have cost them all their lives… if it hadn't already.
He wasn't even sure if everyone made it out okay.
The wormhole never did open. At least, he never saw it open.
Everything had happened too quick.
He stopped himself there and slumped further back against the rock formation he had managed to prop himself up against, a swarm of new thoughts overtaking his mind.
Keith squeezed his eyes closed, his lips curling into a sneer.
Perhaps if he had been better prepared, it wouldn't have happened like this.
He forced his thoughts aside and looked himself over the best he could.
Most of the armor on his left leg was shattered if not missing entirely. The rest of his uniform was hardly better, being beaten, battered, and dirty from trudging around in the blackish dirt of whatever this planet was.
His helmet was intact, for the most part.
But the visor was cracked, and the jagged edge of the Altean glass told him that there was at least half missing. The comm link was broken too, meaning he couldn't contact his team to see if they were okay and safe, and he couldn't call for help or to apologize or to explain.
They probably had no idea where he was, assuming they were still alive. And if they were, maybe they needed help. Help he wasn't there to give because… he didn't know where they were, either.
Where were they?
The question almost hurt as it pulsed through his brain.
Where are they? Where are they? Where are they?
The words echoed through his tired mind, refreshing the feel of his blindingly evident lack of knowledge.
He didn't know where they were or if they were alive and safe, and... it hurt.
It was almost funny in a horrible heart-twisting way.
He, Keith Kogane, the lone-wolf, living-out-in-the-middle-of-nowhere drop-out was worried over a group of people that was probably the closest thing he was ever going to get to the concept of "family."
A second chance that he might have lost already.
It was enough to make him want to growl in frustration, maybe even scream, if he had the strength and energy.
But he never got the chance.
Keith withered over his lap as the pain in his torso suddenly spiked throughout his body.
He wrapped his fingers tighter around the shard of metal? rock? in his side, itching to yank whatever it was free as he launched into a coughing fit, keenly aware of the strange taste and gurgly sensation hacking its way forward from the back of his throat. Blood, maybe? The landing must have been hard, much too hard.
It was only a minute before the retching subsided, but to Keith, it was an eternity.
He slowly sank backwards, gasping for much needed air, feeling even more drained and exhausted than before, sides burning.
Hopefully the rest of the team weren't in a situation like this. Hopefully they were safe.
They had to be. They were Paladins of Voltron after all, right?
They couldn't have gone out… like this. Shiro would have found a way to escape.
Keith let out a sigh as his fingers traced along the tear in his undersuit, right above his belt of his paladin armor.
The skin around the object was inflamed and slick with blood underneath, but he resisted the urge to rub at it. That wouldn't help, even if the shard wasn't that deep and in all probability he could stop the bleeding.
He just couldn't risk it now.
A damp breeze swelled in the misty air before it brushed against his body, causing him to shiver and bringing his attention to a very important issue.
The air of the planet was breathable, but that didn't help the fact that it was cold.
Very cold, and getting colder.
His position was probably offering the least amount of shelter against the wind. He could only hope it wouldn't snow-if snow was a thing on this planet. He didn't think he could handle any weird alien weather.
But Shiro and the others were going to be there soon, long before the snow or whatever the planet was going to throw at him. They were okay and they were coming…yes, they had escaped.
They had to have escaped. He had to keep up that hope.
But where are they?
Keith felt something between a hiss and a growl press against the back of his throat.
Curse his mind.
Tilting his head back, he looked up into the planet's atmosphere as faint droplets of precipitation collected on his cheeks. His eyes fixed into a daze on the black cliffs and ridges that seem to span the landscape, blurring into the distance as a fresh blanket of fog slowly descended.
Keith dropped his left hand to the ground, idly fingering a darkish pebble near enough for him to grasp.
Everything seemed to be black on this planet- from the ground to the mountainous formations on the horizon.
Dark.
Cold.
Lonely.
If he hadn't been in pain, Keith would have jumped when the distant sounds of a ship's engines suddenly reverberated throughout his valley-like surroundings. The clear, smooth humming betrayed the origin.
Galra.
So they had found him.
Keith sneered in disgust before rolling his head to the side to view the plane of land stretched out before him. Non-functional fighters already littered the terrain in a grotesque garden of twisted metal, smoke still billowing from their husks and mixing in with the remains of the battle not long ago.
The sight brought a determined frown to his face and a warm feeling within his chest as Keith reached to summon the bayard still loosely connected to his side.
He wouldn't go down without a fight.
He might have been bruised, battered, and tired as hell, but if he had any spirit left in him, they weren't going to have an easy time taking him.
Keith couldn't see the ship from his position, but he could still hear it somewhere off to his right. His gaze slowly drifted past the debris field in that direction, if only to keep a vague sense of security by knowing where the fighter was going.
He stopped short as his eye caught sight of the form on his right.
His heart skipped a beat.
The Red Lion was slumped on her side yards away from him, half buried under the pile of dark earth and volcanic rock she had dug into during their crash.
If she wasn't damaged badly enough during the battle, reentry and the hard surface of the planet had definitely tipped her over the edge.
Keith almost jolted in panic at the sudden realization. He couldn't feel her presence in his mind anymore, even though she was practically right next to him.
Their bond…
It felt nonexistent.
Like someone had just turned off a light... without him noticing.
A knot built up in his throat as his eyes frantically darted across her damaged frame, taking in every scrape and dent… every mistake he had made while piloting her, before finally coming to rest on her darkened eyes. Mirrors reflecting back on a world that suddenly felt even more like a graveyard to him.
Cold, dark, and empty.
Lifeless.
The barren landscape of a forgotten planet.
All the energy and determination from before seemed to drain from his mind in one fell swoop, replaced by a nagging throb at the prospect of forgetting Red as easily as he had.
How could he have forgotten her? His own Lion!
"I'm sorry, Red," he managed to groan out, resting his head back against the rock formation. It was the first time he had spoken in a while, and he wanted to say more, beg her to come back and wake up, but his voice was hoarse, weak from coughing and retching because he had screwed up bad this time.
Keith closed his mouth, his teeth grinding together as he tried desperately to reach out to her with his mind.
I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
Please come back.
He was sorry he dragged her into this mess.
Sorry he disobeyed Shiro. Sorry he couldn't hold the Galra off for them to escape. Sorry he hadn't moved in time to avoid that hit. Sorry he wasn't strong enough. Sorry he didn't think this through.
Damn, he hated himself.
Even if Allura had managed to create a wormhole, what were they going to do without the Red Lion?
Zarkon might not be able to track them anymore, if his suspicions were correct. But no Red Lion meant no Voltron. And no Voltron meant their chances of bringing the Galra empire down were lowered drastically.
Keith loosened his grip and let the bayard slip from his palm as he quit probing the hole in his mind where a mental roar or purr used to nudge.
She was gone.
He felt sick.
He had really messed up this time, despite whatever Red would have said.
She would have roared at him, told him he was wrong, sent him feelings of encouragement, contentment, confidence. He was her paladin, and she would stand by him in choosing to protect the team… because that was what he was trying to do, right?
Protect the team? Self-sacrifice for the good of all?
He didn't even know anymore.
He hadn't told anyone about all those dreams with the Galra.
He hadn't shown anyone his knife even though he knew it had something to do with the Galra, despite whatever Coran said about the improbability of the Galra being on earth.
The Blade of Marmora seemed to be the good guys, if Ulaz was anything to go by, but they were Galra all the same.
Too often he found himself thinking about them and even the other Galra, the bad ones, but he hadn't discussed it with anyone.
He couldn't deny the feeling that he was connected to the Galra in some way. And if anyone should've heard about it, it was his team.
But he hadn't told them.
Keith felt something tense within him as he dared to think about it.
Zarkon had been tracking them through him, and... His hands tightened into fists...he knew it all along.
And he should have told them earlier. He should have warned them before it was too late.
Instead, he put them in danger...because he was such a coward, too worried about what they would all think… or would have thought. What Allura and Coran would have thought if he told them? Or Shiro? Or any of them?
The Galra had brought destruction to so many worlds and peoples. They had enslaved Shiro, taken Pidge's family, destroyed Altea… They brought death and misery wherever they trampled and placed their name.
And to be connected to that!
He didn't want to face Shiro, or any of them, with that possibility. He was too scared. Weak, maybe, but it hurt too much to think about.
That he might share the guilt and shame of what had happened to them and their families.
That he had hurt them.
Maybe that was why he raced head first into danger, because it felt easier to kill off those nagging feelings that he suddenly might not belong and be left behind, again.
And if he was putting their lives at risk, maybe he could do something right to make up for being whatever he was. Keep the Galra off their tail long enough for the Castle to escape.
That's what he'd tried to do, right?
So they could escape the death, enslavement, misery.
Instead, he had brought it upon them. He had failed.
It was his fault Red was lying there, exposed, nonfunctional, awaiting recapture. It was his fault the others were probably hurt or dead or captured. And he would never get to tell them how sorry he was.
Because... he knew it, and he didn't tell them in time.
"I'm so sorry, Shiro." The apology was barely above a whisper. It vanished into the misty air, devoured by the wind, and meant nothing because no one was there to hear it, flickering out like a flame.
Keith curled in on himself as much as he could without causing himself unbearable pain, and lowered his head to stare at his lap and the edges of the torn, bloodied fabric hanging from his side.
Somewhere above him another Galra fighter joined up with the other, honing in on his position, but he wasn't paying attention anymore.
His head was spinning.
They were supposed to be a team.
Voltron was supposed to be the defender of the universe, perfectly formed, five becoming one, all working together, the head taking lead.
But he had let them down.
Shiro was wrong about him; he had to be. Shiro was right about many things, but this wasn't one of them.
A leader looked out for his team. And Keith… would never be like Shiro.
Shiro wasn't selfish like him. Shiro would never run away from his fears like a coward. Shiro didn't hide or keep secrets from his teammates. Shiro was a leader.
Keith had failed his team. He had failed Shiro. He had failed Red.
He could never be a leader.
The Galra fighters were circling above him, their sickly-colored forms silhouetted against the sky reminding him of vultures. It was strange that they hadn't landed, but Keith couldn't find it in himself to care anymore.
It was pitiable and pathetic, and he didn't care.
It wasn't like he could do anything anyway. He would die of frost-bite or hypothermia before he found the strength to do anything.
And if he was going to be captured or killed, he probably deserved it.
It was his own fault.
He only hoped that Red wouldn't suffer for his mistakes.
Hopefully, she'd find a new paladin, one who wasn't as screwy as he was. And he hoped she could forgive him for letting it happen this way.
For being a failure.
The sky was growing darker, and the wind seemed to grow colder every second.
Keith cringed as the breeze swept against him again. He numbly raised a hand in an attempt to shield his face, gasping as the chill found its way down to his unprotected side and bit into the wound like a knife.
They aren't coming back. Deep down, he knew, and he knew that he was probably the cause.
The fighters still didn't land. They hovered over him and the Red Lion, most likely reporting their position to their superiors, who, considering the circumstances, probably weren't too far away.
Zarkon and his fleet would be there soon, a pack of predators moving in for the prey.
Keith squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the image from his mind.
He was ashamed of himself for being so scared. So weak. But he was trembling, and he couldn't stop.
His throat burned with a suppressed sob at the shame of it all, that he was unable to keep a straight expression and accept his fate, the consequence of his actions.
He slumped limply as he reopened his eyes, watching as his breath steamed away into the cold atmosphere like little puffs of smoke.
A pathetic distraction, but he found it strangely comforting to have something other than the metallic monsters gliding above to look at.
Nearly five more minutes passed, and they still hadn't moved, his team hadn't come, and the guilt hadn't left.
Time was frozen, except for the sun this planet orbited, smothered behind a coverage of cloud, steadily descending.
Keith let his head slip against his shoulder, watching dully as the dark, misty world seemed to tilt and twist to one side, messing with his sense of balance as the weight of everything finally sank its way into his bones, latching on and dragging him further down… Like the light of day. Fading.
He wasn't going to make it.
His eyes could hardly focus anymore, and his eyelids were aching, threatening to seal shut any second now, ready to launch him into a darker world than even this.
He could no longer feel the pain in his side. Perhaps he was just going numb from the cold, but he couldn't help but be slightly relieved. It was probably better to go out without feeling.
Numbness seemed to fit the situation.
Everything blurred before him, gently pulsing black around the edges of his vision.
He was going to die there, alone, in the cold, in the dark, on a dead planet of black dirt and rocks, amid a graveyard of mangled Galra metal.
No one would ever know.
Keith, the Red Paladin, would be forgotten… or remembered as the idiot who led Zarkon straight to Voltron.
It didn't seem to matter anymore.
He hardly noticed when his eyes closed completely.
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A/N: Hopefully updates will come sooner than later.