I'm sorry I created this Sad™ thing.
Warnings: major character death
Disclaimer: I don't own anything and I'm glad I don't because it means Keith is still alive for season 5.
Enjoy the angst! Comments/favorites/follows are all appreciated greatly.
It starts like this.
Strong hands grip your shoulders in a way that's supposed to be comforting, but you feel how they tremble and shake along with your sobs, so you just cry harder. You're pulled in for a hug that's suffocating but necessary, because it's become obvious that the man holding you is just as broken as you are.
You're almost six years old and you don't remember much from before it was just the two of you, but you remember enough to know that it wasn't always that way, that Two used to be Three and Three meant happiness and not this despair that somehow crept into your life. Your father grips your shoulders while you cry and his shoulders shake and you want to tell him that's it's okay but your hiccups prevent you. Instead, he looks you in the eye, his own glistening and wet. He says, "We'll find her, son. Believe me, we'll find her." And while his shoulders shake and eyes leak, his voice is steady and firm. Your sobs turn into soft whimpers. He wipes the hair out of your eyes. "We'll be okay, Keith. We'll be okay."
His words comfort you, but the cold ache in your chest never quite leaves.
It starts like this.
You're eleven years old and you're outside your grandparents' house. A yellow lab sits at your feet while you absently scratch behind her ears. Arguing streams from the kitchen window behind you. You try to block it out, but the shouts grow louder and louder and you can't ignore the fact they're arguing about you anymore.
"He can't stay here, Mark."
"Mom, please, it's just for a little while. I'll be back soon, I promise."
"That's what you said last time and look where that lead you. He's your son, Mark. He's your responsibility."
"For fuck's sake, he's your grandson, Dad. I know what you think of me, but please, I can't drag him with me on this. He deserves better right now."
"Mark-"
"It's not permanent, I promise! I swear I'll be back. I just…I need to find her. Keith deserves to know his mother."
"She left-"
"No, something happened. I can feel it. I just…I need to find her. Just give me a week. One week, and I swear I'll be back."
There's a pause and you feel your breath hitch; your fingers stop scratching the lab's ears and she looks up at you, eyes wide and innocent.
"Okay. One week." The voice is low and soft.
"Thank you." Your father's voice is filled with relief, and dread creeps into your stomach.
A door swings open behind you, and your father, wearing his staple plaid shirt and ripped jeans, squats down beside you and scratches the lab's other ear. "She's a good dog, ain't she?"
You nod, waiting for him to shatter your world. "Yeah…"
He locks eyes with you, and you can't help but remember how empty they always look. You know they mirror your own. "I'm going to guess you heard all that."
You nod again.
"So then you know I'll be back. It's just a week, Keith." He wipes your hair out of your eyes. "Grandpa and Grandma are good people. Plus, you'll have Jess." The old lab wags her tail at the mention of her name.
"You'll have fun. I promise."
You look in his eyes. You want to believe him. You want to so badly.
So you do.
"Okay," you say, a small smirk playing at your lips. "It'll be nice having something other than burnt pizza for a change."
Your father chuckles, his eyes full of hope for the first time in a long time. "Love you, kiddo." He hugs you one last time before he hops into the old truck. "I'll see you in a week!"
You wave as he drives down a dirt road, leaving a trail of red dust in the air.
You never see your father again.
It starts like this.
You're sitting in the car, behind the passenger seat. Your grandfather is driving while your grandmother chats about nothing. It's raining. You're going nowhere significant. The grocery store. The gas station. The post office. It doesn't matter. All that matters is the squealing of tires and the crunching of metal and the rain and the smell of blood.
It's six twenty-four in the evening when your world stops for the third time.
You start to wonder if it was ever spinning in the first place.
It starts like this.
You refuse to leave Jess behind. The lab is thirteen years old, but you can't part with her. Your social worker tries reasoning with you, saying that there's no way they can guarantee that you'll be placed in a home that can care for an old dog. But you're fourteen years old and determined. When you run from your fifth placement, your social worker gives in. You're put on a farm that is a home to six other kids, three cats, two dogs, a horse, and a goat.
You're fourteen and for the first time, you feel welcomed in another person's house.
Mr. and Mrs. Miller are all blazing white smiles when you walk in the door. They hug you and say they're happy to have you in their home, that you can make yourself comfortable, that they're glad Jess came with you because they love dogs.
They feed you and clothe you and let you sleep in your own room and even though it's chaotic in a home with eight other people, you can't help but feel that you finally belong somewhere.
That is, you feel like you belong until you're caught kissing a boy behind the barn and instead of dealing with their prejudices they send you to a boarding school 700 miles away.
It starts like this.
You're fifteen when you start your first year at the Galaxy Garrison. It's a place filled with aspirations and ambitions and goals and they all expect you to have the same, so whenever your teachers ask you what brought you here, you shrug and say, "I always liked stars." It's simpler than saying you have nowhere else to go, that your foster parents don't feel like dealing with a gay boy in their home so they sent you to a place where you can't ruin their Good Christian Reputation.
Besides, you're not lying. You've always liked the stars. They are far, far away from this place, from Earth, from pain, from people leaving, leaving, leaving all the damn time. So yeah, you like the stars.
But what you discover is that you really love piloting. The level of independence it brings you is thrilling, exhilarating, breathtaking.
You also discover Takashi Shirogane.
Meeting Shiro is an accident. You don't just meet people like him, people who care, people who accept you. It's a fluke in the pattern that is your life. You cling to this fluke with everything you have. For two whole years your life begins to be filled with color again.
But of course the universe realizes its mistake.
Just like your mom, just like your dad, just like your grandparents, just like Jess did the month prior, Shiro leaves.
And it doesn't look like he'll ever be coming back.
Everything returns to shades of dismal gray.
It ends like this.
You refuse to be left again.
No, if anyone is doing the leaving, it's going to be you.
So you leave the Garrison, you leave your foster family,
You leave Earth.
It's almost poetic, you think, finding Voltron. Yes, it's about saving the world, the universe, even, but it's more than that, for you. It's an escape. A fresh start. The end of an era, the beginning of a new one. You won't be left again.
Except you are.
Of course Shiro disappears again. Of course you're forced into a position you never wanted. Of course you screw up when you go after Lotor. Of course there doesn't seem to be a place for you once Shiro's back.
Of course, because you're Keith Kogane, and you don't get to have things as good as a fresh start.
But you made a promise to yourself. You won't be left.
So you leave first.
Joining the Blades is the most logical, sound decision you could have made. At least, that's what you tell yourself and everyone else. That's what you say when you watch the Voltron coalition propaganda, it's what you say when you take an extra hard hit to the side on a mission, it's what you say when you hear the distress of the paladins on Naxzela.
It's what you say when you're about to run your ship into the shield.
In order to save the universe, sacrifices must be made.
People must leave.
But you refuse to be left again.
So, logically, rationally, stubbornly, as only the ex Red Paladin of Voltron could do, you decide to save the universe.
The shield is coming closer now.
Will this hurt them? You hope it doesn't. You know the sting of abandonment never truly leaves. The thought of leaving them feels like an open wound. But you've done it before, you can do it again.
Will it hurt you?
You don't dwell on the question.
Any moment now.
You close your eyes.
In order to save the universe, sacrifices must be made. People must die. It's either leave or be left behind.
You refuse to be left again.
So, with years and years and years of being left behind, you take this small victory, this small, insignificant choice. Finally, you get to choose. Leave or be left? For you, the answer is easy.
.
.
.
(The light of the shield burns behind your eyelids)
.
.
.
(You hear Matt screaming in your ear)
.
.
.
(Will it hurt?)
.
.
.
You leave.
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.
(It burns)
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