Voltron doesn't belong to me, nor it's characters. I'm not making money with this. I just wrote this story, with many creative liberties.
One-shot that was supposed to be about what Matt's glasses meant for Pidge, but it had a mind of its own. Sorry. This is a translation.
They wondered why she kept wearing spectacles if she really didn't need them. Not even once they expressed this openly, but she perceived the question hanging in the tip of their tongues. However, they never had the boldness of letting it slip, due to the knowledge that she had her reasons. They probably thought she did it so there wouldn't be a disruption in the group's dynamics, since if she were to change her appearance from on moment to another, it would be weird and it would feel as if she were a completely different person. That was the most logical and feasible explanation, although it couldn't be farther from the truth.
Because those weren't just any glasses, they were his glasses. They were more than just some simple objects designed to improve eyesight, they were a direct connection with her brother. The added weight on top of her nose reminded her of those times in which he would cover her eyes with his hands so she would stop watching the computer and doing her job, it reminded her of those occasions in which he would pinch her nose to get a grimace out of her, it reminded her of when he was right beside her. She had poured all her memories of Matt, both pleasant and plaintive, in that plain and worn out artifact. His existence itself was linked to that bare metal frame.
Only that wasn't their sole purpose. She could have easily kept them locked, without the need of having them on her person to remember the one that was far away from her reach. She wore them day in and day out, because every time she looked at her reflection, whether it was in a tiny drop of water or a mirror, she saw him. The features were slightly different, but the similarity was enough for her mind to confuse the owner of that visage. It was a bit masochist from her, but still, she believed she needed to feel the constant pain of loss in order to not forget about her mission.
Besides, she wanted to preserve them, so when she found her brother (because she would, there was no other alternative in her imagination) she could deliver them to him, with the lenses already adapted and prepared to be used by their legitimate owner. Pidge hoped that by returning them, she would also give him back the possibility of observing the universe as it really was, without a blurry and unforgiving film that only showed him the cruelty and vileness of outer space.
Never did she imagine those specs would end up being her demise.
It all happened so fast. They had finally located the prison in which Matt was, and without thinking about it twice they decided to proceed. It was a reckless and rash move, barely having the vague instructions of getting in and rescuing whoever they could. There were obviously custodians that guarded all the recluses, but they didn't count on the fact that there were so many of them. Shots plowed through the air and missed their uniforms by millimeters, groans and howls were emitted by those injured during the crossfire. Between all the confusion, Pidge split up from the group of paladins, locating he who shared her blood the single purpose prowling her head.
Hall after hall, beaten guard after beaten guard, rescued prisoner after rescued prisoner. Her body seemed to know exactly how to respond to each obstacle that faced her, taking automatic decisions in less than a second. Her muscles took her from one place to another without her realizing this, however, her brain was focused on one thing, looking for the familiar countenance that haunted her. When she finally did, she wished with all her might she had never achieved it.
Matt laid on the floor of a deserted corridor, fragile as a dry leaf that falls of a tree, his hair now more sandy than golden, with strings for limbs. But the cherry on top was the blood that sprouted from his abdomen, tinting his clothes a lurid, sickening scarlet. Pidge ran to succor him, her knees attracted to the ground by something stronger than gravity. Desperation penetrated each of her pores and refused to leave until this particular situation had a denouement. The girl took the teen in her embrace, cuddling his gaunt being and protecting him with her warmth.
"Matt," she heard herself say softly while pressing her palm against the wound from which the vital liquid emanated. She tried to lift him and take him so he could be cared for in the castle, only to be halted by a whisper that resembled a lot the word "No". She lowered her sight to discover his dull eyes fixated on her, begging her with silent screams to stop. On that instant she knew, that no matter how hard she tried to save him, he had already given up, and there was no human or alien power that could change his mind.
"Katie," he said with the tough and parched voice of someone who hadn't used it for a long period. "I want to see your face one last time". And that was when she remembered he couldn't observe shapes clearly, that he needed his spectacles. She groped her uniform, but there was nothing there. In her hurry, she had forgotten to take the damned specs. Carrying them for so long, only to forget them when she needed them the most.
Thick tears of impotence began to run down her cheeks for not being able to fulfill his last wish, for not being able to please him after all the suffering he had endured. At the end, she just shook her head in a negative gesture and held him tighter, careful not to crush him. He immediately understood that she couldn't do anything for him, so he hugged her weakly with his thin arms until his weight fell completely over her, an indicator that his misery was over.
Matt died seeing distorted surroundings, the mist not allowing him to focus on the light and kindness that stared straight at his face.
After that, everything was like a swirl of colors and emotions for her. Only snippets came to her memory. Somebody straightens her and pulls her away from the stiff corpse that threatened to take her into the darkness, which seemed cozier than ever; a voice yells her name in a useless attempt to pull her out of her stupor; a fluffy surface that her numb soul accepts as a temporary salve.
Nevertheless, nothing could extract that horrible sensation of having lost a piece of her. When he departed, there was nothing on his face. The features were slightly different, but the similarity was enough for her mind to confuse the owner of that visage. Every time she remembered those minutes, she saw herself agonize, and she knew he hadn't been the only one to abandon this place.
She had died with him.