[ closed ]

[earthshine]

Who: shiro + keith
When: perm log for these idiots
Where: all over
Summary: say, say o playmate from the august tdm. the butcher's camp from the september tdm. quarter pounder from the september event. keith's birthday. hermy the wormy from the december tdm. in the hive from the december event.new year, new you from the january tdm. end of january, references january event.
Warnings:
say, o say o playmate: hallucination, blood, ritualistic sacrifice, claustrophobia.
the butcher's camp: animal death, animal mutilation, both human and animal butchery, implied cannibalism, stripping ( nsfw ).
quarter pounder: blood, animal attack, consumption of human flesh, violence, gore, body horror, potential for severe injury, including puncture wounds and broken bones, potential for choking, potential for animal death.
keith's birthday: boys being stupid.
hermy the wormy: worms, decay, altered mental states/compulsion, emotional corruption, potential for violence, body mutilation, attempted murder.
in the hive: insects/swarms, bites, vomiting, body horror, death ( npcs ), mental and physical trauma
new year, new you: self-doubt, body dysmorphia trauma, cringe talk about sex safety, hook-up culture, body modification ( steroid and synthol oil use ), mention of drug use
end of january: implied animal death, self-doubt, body image issues, body dysmorphia, self-harm, body mutilation, skin burning, drug use mention ( tren steroid ), implied extreme dieting ( starvation & dehydration ), nsfw ( heavy petting and nudity ). reference to shiro's scars.

Comments

[earthshine]

[ it happens so fast. it’s such a rookie thing to think. he’s a seasoned warrior with too much experience to quantify and yet, here he is, at a loss of how he got from point a to point b. keith comes to his rescue, of course, and there’s bitterness that chases the thought even as the blows subside and the sky opens up above him, no longer obscured by hands and hands and hands. god, so many fucking hands.

he pushes himself up and again, he’s stuck, thinking about hands. thinking about his hand. stupidly, he looks to his right, instead of looking to his left where keith is tussling with two beasts. one, two -- it’s his arm, it’s his hand, it’s his weapon, get it the fuck together, shirogane. shaking free of the remnants of unease tangling tight inside his soul, he twists to the left, rolling into a ready stance of one knee down and leg propped up, he thinks help him, only to pause once his gaze lands on him.

oh. oh no.

he only sees the tailend of that first death. the second is similarly a gruesome mess of blood. a word comes to him then and he hates himself for putting it anywhere near keith: champion. shiro’s never seen this kind of brutality from him. the kelpies -- briefly. but a well-aimed swipe of the bayard-sword is different than the franticness of repeated stabbings. it reminds him of a younger him, stuck in a situation when survival was the only thing that mattered. not how drenched in blood he became, not how much he mutilated the body of his opponent, not how fair his fighting was. nothing mattered beyond killing whatever and whoever stood in his way.

it was only a matter of time. here or back in their universe, in the war, keith’s innocence would keep being chipped at until he lost it completely. shiro swallows and pushes himself up, trotting over the distance toward keith’s side. ]

Yeah. [ sorry. ] Thanks, I -- [ confusion wrinkles his expression and in the next blink, he’s frowning, eyes squinted. there’s something wrong with keith’s eyes. the thought pings but it goes nowhere, not right now, because the hogs are regrouping and shiro’s attention swings toward them, body moving to twist ‘round to keep an eye on the two circling behind them. ]

You’re two ahead of me, but think you can handle two more? [ of course he can, he thinks, and reactivates his arm, stubbornly refusing to give into that barraging feeling that it’s innately wrong to have this weapon a part of him. ]

I’ll handle these and loop back. [ to help. if keith needs the assist. a beat. a breath. ] We’re almost done. Just a little more. [ just a little more blood, a little more death -- heh. he leaves on that point, going for the hard drive forward as he did before. unlike last time though, he doesn’t falter. the first boar is sloppy in its coordination; the arms are still a mess to get through, but when shiro has a punching power equipped with heat capable of searing flesh, it isn’t too monumental of a feat to get through the hog’s defenses.

shiro pulls his hand free of the lifeless body and gives it one, hard shake to dislodge some of the blood. the hog crumbles to the ground and it’s -- strange, how the human limbs simply fall away from the carcass. he turns then, fully anticipating to take on the next hog who should be closing in to back-up its fallen comrade but… ]

Shit -- Keith! [ it went to back-up the other two instead, running straight for keith. ]

IDK why there is so much knife meta here.....

[marmoron]

[ if thered'd been even a small window of opportunity to grab his bayard-sword, keith would have done so. alas, the chimeric boars leave no such windows open as two come barreling towards him, arms flailing wildly to grab at hair, limbs -- anything, those stolen appendages can possibly reach. the sword would have made it easier to zone and hack his way through, but the knife in his hands is going to have to make do.

holding the blade firm and steady in both hands, keith takes a single deep breath before letting it out in a loud, fuck you shout as he charges forward to meet the first of the two boars. a near constant fear of having it confiscated and stolen has made keith keep the knife out of sight for most of his life. his dad had given it to him for protection and while keith had never really understood what exactly the knife was meant to protect him from, he wasn't going to have the one item that's been by his side going as far back to his earliest of memories get taken from him either. it'd only been after his dishonorable discharge from the garrison that he'd started wearing it brazenly, like an extra middle finger to the world at large, even if he'd been careful to keep the strange glowing insignia covered up in cloth. just in case some thug sees it and thinks it might be worth some money -- had been his more cautious rationalized thought, but in truth the fucking symbol had bothered him for years because he'd never been able to place what the hell it was meant to represent and not for a lack of trying. so what, he should have been used to his life being full of fucking mysteries by now, but there's still a bolt of frustration lodged deep in his chest that's never truly settled with time.

but right now, that's not the point. right now, the knife is in his hands and keith spares an idle thought for his dead father. is this what he envisioned the knife would keep him safe from? somehow, part of him wouldn't even be surprised if so at this point. between the man's inexplicable galra connections and all too vivid stories about aliens, keith's only just beginning to scratch the surface of just how much of a stranger the man who had raised him, poured peroxide on his scraped knees and tucked him into bed every night for nine years had really been.

there's a chasm here, always has been, but it gets wider and wider and it seems the larger it gets the less keith wants to look at it. losing himself to wandering the desert in search of a voice, then losing himself to a space war and finally, losing himself to some other reality's war against the apocalypse has all been a very convenient distraction.

at the very last second of his charge, keith slides low, kicking out a hoofed leg out from under the boar, sending it toppling. another beat, another hard rush of adrenaline and keith's rolls to slice is knife straight down the boar's exposed back, pulling with both hands with unrelenting force to sever the spinal cord. the paralyzed beast shrieks hideously, half hauling itself up on its many human hands like a centipede to knock keith off and right into the second boar.

the second boar wastes no time pummeling, twisting and frothing at the mouth to get at keith. the blows land hard on the paladin armor. a few land on his stomach, punching the air right out of his lungs with a pained gasp. we're almost done, shiro had said. just a little more. the words ring through his head just as the taste of iron splashes his tongue from where he's cut the inside of his mouth.

he raises his knife and stabs. or tries to at any rate. he slices off a few sausage like fingers from a blocking hand and takes another punch from another hand. why the fuck are there so many hands? teeth grit and increasingly pissed off, keith lets out another goddamn yell as he stabs yet again like his life depends on it. maybe it does -- but a reality in which he dies because a fucking mutated pig gets the better of him isn't one he's ready to come close to entertaining. but the stabbing never quite seems to be enough when there's always a spare hand to block, and a meaty arm trying to praise his arms out of the way. ]

Not today -- [ hissed between slices ] I'm a paladin of Voltron!

keith couldn't even say what the hell is happening or why it happens, buta retina searing flash of purple light makes his eyes water. the hog shrieks and staggers back, now with a full length sword wedged deep in its chest. ]

Huh?

[ the syllable is barely out of him when the ripping sensation hits in the next beat. keith screams, his now definitively clawed hands reaching up to cover his face. fangs pinch over his lower lip, sclera yellowing as the sudden sensation of being pulled and twisted from the inside out spreads along his back, his arms, his legs. ]

Shiro -- [ he manages, trying to pull himself back together. shiro, shiro i need you is what would have come out given more time, but there's a third boar and this one is quick to put an end to keith's misery by charging right at him. this time, keith isn't quick enough to dodge, and one of it's tusks lodges deep under keith's ribcage in a glancing blow that sends keith flying before he hits the ground rolling.

he doesn't get up. ]

every time keith thinks about his dad, i just get sad...

[earthshine]

[ ask the voltron team: who’s the strongest? who’s the most dependable? who’s the one you’d want by your side in a fight? cocky or not, shiro is certain the vote would come back a unanimous shiro. he has the reputation to carry him through but honestly? shiro knows he isn’t the best pick. he has holes in his memory and unresolved trauma that has him lapsing at the worst of times. he’s not mentally strong. he’s not dependable in a pinch. the only person on the team who has a record of forcing himself to victory despite the odds and obstacles unpredictably tossed in his face is keith.

it’s been months and it still throws shiro how the once familiar routine of their friendship has changed. but that’s him being stubborn, isn’t it? it started changing before he even left for kerberos; he simply refused to fully acknowledge how the carefully constructed mentor and mentee touch to their friendship was quickly evaporating.

i’m not a little kid. right. seventeen and determined, keith stepped out of the box shiro kept him in that day and cemented himself as more of an equal. they’d been equals, in shiro’s mind, for a good while as pilots, keith made sure of that by chasing down shiro’s sim records. however, at that time, they hadn’t been equals in honesty. they still aren’t, truth be told, but keith’s wormed his way under shiro’s defenses, similarly to how shiro has done the same to him, to at least receive more than anyone else does. it’s strange, he thinks, because keith’s been supporting him for a long time now, more so than a best friend is meant to, and yet, shiro hasn’t done the same. encouraging him to kerberos despite his disease, rescuing him from the garrison, taking on sendak for him, the fucking alien lizards of monsterous size…

what has shiro done? squeezed his shoulder and told him he can do it? does he get credit for black picking up red in that standoff against zarkon? considering it kept keith close to later save shiro, shiro feels like it’s a wash.

the point is, shiro is the weak link here in their partnership and it’s proven true not more than three breaths later when the third hog -- the one shiro is responsible for -- drives home to catch keith with his tusk. shiro makes some kind of sound; it’s anguished and wounded, high-pitched despite its weakness. but in the next breath, it twists and it matches the frantic beat of his feet as he closes in on the hog.

once upon a time, shiro had finesse to his fighting. light on the feet, twist, turn, dodge, duck -- nowadays he relies almost exclusively on his mass and the stopping power of his arm. he merely bullies his way into his opponents to overwhelm them, almost on par with a beast. here is much the same. no concern for himself, he body slams into the hog and takes it down in a tangle of limbs. the hog desperately tries to grab at him but shiro’s fueled by a far more potent desperation to kill this thing.

left hand holding tight to a tusk and right lit up, shiro shoves his fist in between the hog’s eyes. crunch. there’s a sickening squelch in there as well but the rage pounding in shiro’s skull mutes how the bone crumbles. the hands grabbing at him fall away then and for a long breath, shiro is free, hunched over the dead hog, hand still embedded in its head.

keith. he rips his hand out and pays no mind to the brain matter and slickness caught in the joints of his metal fingers, instead turning all his attention to the side. he climbs to his feet and starts running that bit of distance. ]

Keith. Keith. [ he skids and hits the ground, so hard that if it weren’t for the paladin armor he’d be sporting bruised knees for a week. are you okay? is the reflex question but he’s silent, already knowing the answer, even before he’s gotten his hands on keith and carefully turned him over.

this is my fault, he tells himself, first seeing the wound and then looking to keith’s face. again, there’s something wrong with keith’s face; the feeling that something is innately off settles deep in his brain but he’s too frantic to fully understand it yet. first, he’s much more focused with swinging his gaze back to the wound, hands hovering as he tries to figure out how deep it is and what his next course of action needs to be. ]

Keith -- hey. Are you with me?

lol you rhymed

[marmoron]

[ is it strange to think that for whatever bizarre reason that out of nowhere red would swoop down from the sky and roar at the last second? it's been months since they've been together as paladin and lion, but the thought of their bond resonates in keith's head with alarming clarity that cuts through the more visceral twisting and tearing of his body.

that is ... until the impact to his chest knocks him right off his feet. shock does a lot to insulate from pain at first. mind refusing to wrap itself around what the fuck just happened, keith hits the ground with an undignified oof, and then everything hits all at once. the blast of adrenaline, the all encopassing burn at his right side, the steady drip of warm blood trickling down the front of his undersuit, the renewed punch of metallic odors in his nose and of course, the way breathing suddenly got really fucking hard.

the facts are slow to add up while he lays there face down, one foot still in some isolating blanket of disbelief, but there are strong hands grabbing at him, twisting him around and it's shiro looking down at him, expression knotted with concern and -- ]

Shit. [ it's the first word keith can manage, choked out through grit teeth as he's jostled before being restabilized. he tries, then, for a more reassuring i'm fine, but the words don't come when he weakly fumbles with his hand to feel around a deep puncture wound that's smashed through his two loweest ribs.

his eyes widen in alarm then as he tries to push shiro away to sit up. he gets maybe a half an inch up off the ground before excruciating painn makes him yelp and lie back down, beads of cold sweat now trickling down his forehead. calm down, calm down,, calm dowm -- keith tries to chastise himself but when has that ever been effective? he instead accomplishes the opposite, starting to hyperventilate, wheezing as air whooshes into his chest to further choke out his breaths. ]


Sh-Shiro.... I [ breathing hard, keith tries to grip his friend's hand tight, gasping the words out: ] My knife... my knife did somethingw weird an' I-- I...

[ so maybe he really is going into some kind of shock if he's talking about his knife right now as opposed to the injury, but his thoughts don't stay there for too long. if only to point out the obvious. ]

Hurtts. [ fangs scissoring his lower lip, he squeezes his eyes shut and squeezes what he hopes are shiro's fingers. ] C-can you get my knife?

that's how distressed i was. i turned into a poet.

[earthshine]

[ yes, those are shiro’s fingers and it’s relieving in a way that there’s some strength in that squeeze. still, it’s a short lived comfort. shiro knows there isn’t a lot of time to waste, which is why he should be scooping keith up this very second and running. keith isn’t the only one weathering shock though and for his part, shiro isn’t as clear-minded in the moment, instead hazy with panic and indecisive from the slow creep of despair.

knife? keith wants his knife? he has enough sense not to immediately jump to his feet. first, he detangles from keith’s grip and redirects keith’s hand to rest over the wound, waiting a tick before pushing down to increase the hold. ]

Keep pressure on it. [ and then he’s off to find his knife. sword. keith’s right, his knife really had done something weird. similarly to the bayard, it’s taken on an entirely new shape, though, this one is mildly familiar to shiro. a yank at the hilt has the blade sliding free of the corpse. the length and shape aren’t exact to the blade he stood across from not too long ago but the metal seems to be the same. and the insignia… -- he bites his lip and starts running again, only not toward keith.

his helmet, his bayard ( which transforms back once shiro pulls it free ), and his backpack -- shiro collects all the loose items, putting them in the bag and then running back to keith. he knows he’d be faster without the baggage but he can’t just leave this stuff here either. he’ll manage. he’ll still get them back in time.

he has his own phone out by the time he’s at keith’s side again but he doesn’t dial just yet for some intercepting backup. the fangs digging into keith’s lower lip are just as concerning as this sword is, the one shiro places in keith’s free hand, but there’s only so much shiro can unpack right now. get keith to safety first, then piece together what everything else means. ]

We need to get to headquarters. They’ll fix you right up. [ he keeps the fear out of his voice, trying to pull off something more certain and comforting. ] I’m going to need you to keep the pressure on while I carry you, okay?

[marmoron]

[ keith realizes his mistake when there's an uncontrollable need to say don't go, even though he's the one that asked shiro to bring him his knife. it's paradoxical, it's stupid and keith hates it almost as much as he hates trying to breathe. fingers shaking over the wound in his chest, he tries again for another series of deep breaths. instead, he only coughs weakly, breathing shallower as his head spins with a strange kind of grogginess? delirium? shivering, he tries not to get too caught up in the vortex of thoughts. peeking down at the gore, but not being able to see much beyond the constant outpour of red blood, keith closes his eyes, face pale and pallid.

his whole life has been tainted with the echoes of death and loss. weird that for the first time in eighteen years, it's finally come close enough to touch him personally rather than those in his periphery. there'd been close brushes with it during the space war too, but even those times had been fleeting, adrenaline rushes full of holy shit we made it afterwards. this right now, doesn't feel like something he'll be high fiving over later. if there even is a later.

he coughs again, weakly opening his eyes when he feels something pressed into his free hand. instinctively, keith closes his fingers around it, seeking some kind of familiar reassurance, but that sense of comfort never filters in properly between the throughlines of blood loss and choking. not that shiro seems to realize. shiro keeps talking about being carried and it souunds an awful lot like maybe he doeesn't fully grasp that this could be it.

so if shiro doesn't get it, then.....

keith takes his hand off the wound, feebly trying to paw at shiro for his attention. the wors are gasped, laborious in his need to be heard. ]

Shiro.... [ he tries then, to lift up his knife, presenting the handle to his best friend. ] I-if I don't make it. [ he coughs, clears his throat and tries to push the handle of his knife into shiro's free hand. ] ... promise me you'll take care of this?

[earthshine]

[ god dammit keith. he just said -- he draws in a sharp breath through his nose, trying to quell the ill-timed frustration. don’t get mad at him, don’t. he tells himself this as keith paws, blood slick fingers adding to the mess already splattered at his armor and it helps, partly, enough that he doesn’t immediately snap at keith to follow orders. in the next few moments it doesn’t even matter though. the frustration ebbs and the anger drains, leaving him sounding exasperated in his stubbornness as he starts off with a firm: ]

Stop talking like that.

[ … and then it clicks. four words strung together in a fashion that is eerily familiar. stop talking like that, you’re gonna make it. fuck. is this how keith felt when shiro was making jokes, desperately trying to make light of the fact that he was quite possibly dying? shock, guilt, grief…? the tangle of emotions have his fingers reflexively curling tight on the hilt being forced into his hand and somehow that makes everything feel worse, like him taking it gives greater weight to the probability of keith dying.

is that why keith immediately brushed him off? why he refused to accept shiro’s desire for him to lead? heh -- of all times for him to understand.

he shakes his head, lips pressed tight through one, steading breath and then: ]

You’re gonna make it. [ again, he echoes keith’s words, hoping that the same kind of luck that found them then, will find them here. he sets the sword to the side then and redirects keith’s hand back to the wound, his hand staying to cover his as he dials with his other. ]

Just… [ his voice breaks and he needs a moment, just one, to harden his composure again. ] Just keep the pressure on. [ please. and then the call goes through. on speaker, he gives the shortest of briefs -- fellow agent bleeding out, need emergency assistance, dogtown. the rest can be acquired through his phone’s tracker, he just needs to get keith as far as he can before the emergency evac meets them. ]

[marmoron]

[ the smidge of relief gained when shiro takes a hold of the knife again proves to be incredibly short lived. the blade goes back on the ground and an already ill at ease keith feels even worse for it. like shiro really isn't taking this seriously at all. struggling to catch his breath, keith gasps and coughs his way through his words, albeit on a more frantic note in some desperate need to make shiro understand. ]

I- I've had it m'whole life. [ keith winces, hand flattening over his injury. ] Ever since I was a kid. My- m'dad gave it to me. Said it was mine.

[ keith pauses to take several shallow breaths. heart pounding, he feels dizzy, sick to his stomach and .... scared? stop talking like that, you're gonna make it. he doesn't know where shiro's finding that faith from, but as with so many things shiro says keith wants so badly to believe. whether it's making it through one more battle against impossible odds or finding the resilience not to give up on himself, following shiro and trusting in him is just about the only reason keith is alive at all.

but there's a counter narrative spinning wild in the back of keith's head. the one where he knows all too well that in reality, people don't always get to say what they want to their loved ones before they they're gone forever. fuck. sometimes you never even get to meet them at all because they walk on you before you've even formed a single memory of them.

not that it matters now. what matters is just ... ]

I don't wanna die. [ the words come out before keith can even fathom where he's going with this. but he grips shiro's hand tight in an unspoken plea for him to stop looking at the phone and look at him. ] There's so much we still have to do. Together.

[ it hurts to speak, but saying all this out loud hurts differently, deeper than bone and muscle. ]

I don't wanna go. I don't wanna die for nothing. I wanna -- [ fuck. teeth grit, keith tries to pull it together to stop sounding like such a fucking kid. i don't wanna go. i don't want to die -- yeah right, like reality bends to all of his selfish little desires. ]

I just -- I never paid you back. For-- for anything. Anything you did for me, y'know? Fuck.

[earthshine]

[ it’s a fact that’s always churning on the edge of his awareness: keith is young. not a kid, no he has more respect for keith’s maturity than that, but the point is the same; even with the war experience, he hasn’t quite lost all aspects of his innocence and naivety. one can’t fight death by mumbling don’ts and pleas, it doesn’t work like that. he knows keith knows that too because he’s had a childhood that abruptly ended with no parents. still, here he is, breaking down on desperation to mumble through, just short of bargaining for more time. to pay him back? fuck, where did he even get that idea? more importantly, he supposes, is how long has he believed that?

having finished the call sometime in-between one i don’t wanna die and the next, shiro now works on shoving the phone into keith’s pack, which is harder when one of his hands is captured in a ( thankfully ) tight grip. it’s done in the next moment though and he’s already shaking his head, again settling on firm just to keep his voice from giving away his panic. ]

You don’t have to pay me back for anything. You’ve been… [ dammit. emotion sneaks into his voice anyway, and immediately, he cuts off. there are no words for that statement anyway. keith’s been…? a little bit of everything to him. his prodigy, his best friend, his confidant, his right-hand man -- more than that though, he’s been there to see shiro through low points, unknowingly helping him rediscover aspects of himself, slowly but surely, as he tries to become who he used to be. if there was ever a pay-back counter between them, shiro is convinced that the nonexistent debt would've been paid dozens of times over by now.

if anything, the scales have tipped and shiro is the one who owes keith at this point. ]

Don’t give up. [ abandoning his earlier cut-off, he slips up and falls into something more desperate. ] The Keith I know never gives up. [ and he needs to get them moving; he keeps thinking this, but he stalls like the fool he is, instead selfishly cupping the back of keith’s head, lifting him marginally as he bends down the rest of the way to press their foreheads together -- or what would be their foreheads because his helmet is very much in the way.

it’s embarrassing really, that the move isn’t solely for keith. he needs a moment of closeness to center him and give him more strength. ]

We’re gonna get through this. I’m gonna save you like you’ve saved me. I promise, okay?

[marmoron]

[ so many words keith could say, so few breaths with which to say them. keith hiccups on his next gulp of air, grip loosening on shiro's hand as his best friend encroaches further into his space. for half a second, keith gets it into his head that shiro thinks it's bad enough that cpr has to be started and his lips part of their own accord. the next beat is sobering as the cold visor bumps against his forehead. keith stares up, struggling to keep up with what that's about if not cpr, but it's barely another half tick before keith decides he doesn't care.

shiro is close enough to fill up the entirety of his vision, and even through the helmet and the concern knitting his best friend's brows together, there's a steady flicker in his chest -- something comforting and familiar that brings a weak smile to his lips. ]

Heh. Guess you do keep those....

[ the words are a little faint, but the sincerity and faith is there loud and clear. after all, shiro had come back from a year's long stint as a captive of the galra to come back to earth. keith's old enough to know that shiro didn't come back for him specifically, but sometimes having the last member of your family return from oblivion has that effect. he winces though as shiro shifts him up a little higher and jostles his ribs. ]

Nngh. Hurts. [ another gasp, then he closes his eyes and murmurs. ]

Know I've been a pain in the ass. Stealing your car. Ask-ah.... asking you to dance. Thanks.... for everything.

[earthshine]

[ yeah. keith is a pain in the ass, now especially, because what did shiro say about giving up? those sound like the beginnings of a goodbye and -- no, shiro refuses to accept this as the end. they’ve survived worse. time after time, keith’s proven he’s a survivor; if keith paused long enough in all this finality talk, then maybe he’d have enough sense to remember that.

and shiro needs to remember to stay on course. how much time has he wasted selfishly seeking his own comfort? at the expense of keith’s own? ]

Stop it. [ he doesn’t mean to come off short. frustration and worry have wrung his patience to oblivion and he lacks the ability to stomach anyone here, keith included, talking like this is the end. ] It’s not over yet.

[ carefully setting keith back down, he hates himself for it, because he knows it’s only a short reprieve until he’s jostling keith again. he’s quicker now, taking the sword -- no, knife now and shoving it into the backpack before zipping it right back up. as he works, he keeps talking. ]

We still have so much left to do together. [ he heaves a strained laugh in the interim, adding with forced optimism: ] Even more dancing. Gotta get you ready to woo that boy of yours.

[ shiro’s desperate, adding any possible incentive for keith to hold on. remember the crush, keith? remember wanting to try for a hint of normalcy and open up for the possibility of romance? if keith can’t hold on for shiro, then hold on for that.

please. please don’t leave me. it’s the plea that keeps looping in his head, amongst the other calls of get up, hurry, focus. he has the straps on his shoulders now and his arms slipping underneath keith: one under the bend of his knees and the other supporting his upper back. ]

This is gonna hurt. [ is the only warning he gives, though there’s no time to process it as he immediately hoists keith, leg muscles straining for the long way up. he makes it though. standing, he feels weighed down both from the pack and from his precious bundle, but other than drawing a steadying breath, he doesn’t let himself think too heavily on how difficult this is going to be. instead, he simply starts running, cradling keith close and trying not to jostle him more than what is already impossible to avoid. ]

[marmoron]

[ woo that boy of yours? keith cracks open one eye, lost on why they're talking about other boys now of all times, but doesn't get any closer to solving the mystery before shiro's cruised right past the subject to warn about impending pain. there's only so much that keith can really brace for though when the jostling makes it feel as though his side has been doused in kerosene. he grits his teeth, now somehow less fanged, and breathes in sharply, flinching at every step shiro takes.

so maybe that's why boys are being brought up? as some kind of distraction from the agony shooting up his ribs? as cold sweat trickles down his forehead, keith manages to hiss through clenched teeth. ]

But you're the only one I wanna dance with -- ow. [ sucking in another breath, he coughs, grimacing even harder through the next few words. ] I wanna hear you singing again. And -- [ another pained hiss as keith tenses in on himself. [ Fuck. You're the most amazing person I know.

[ biting his lip, keith turns his cheek towards the cold chestplate of shiro's armor, eyes squeezed shut again. in the back of his mind, alarm bells are going off about having said too much, and needing to shut up, but dizzy and slightly nauseous, the words keep pouring out. ]

You're my best friend though -- think that means you're made of unwoonium.

[earthshine]

[ every pained sound coming from keith earns a tally in shiro’s head. the counter is filling up fast; he’s sorry. he’s so sorry. options are few and a straight shot sprint is, unfortunately, the best they’ve got, so shiro doesn’t slow or pause despite the obvious pain keith is in. keith’s babbling now, seemingly fighting shiro on some point of importance. at least it doesn’t quite sound like a goodbye, not like before, although shiro is still tempted to shush him. to tell him to save his breath and brace through the pain, rather than wasting his focus on calling shiro amazing of all things. shiro feels so far from such right now.

this is his fault. how could he let that boar slip by?

not now. later, when he’s delivered keith into more capable hands and he’s on the mend, then shiro can widdle away at himself. until then, he needs to keep his focus where it needs to be. namely? remembering the path they took, so he doesn’t stray into any other traps. memory serves him well, as well as the hints of disturbed dirt, leaves and underbrush. he’s on the right track, despite keith’s best -- unintentional -- efforts to distract him.

if any of that is meant to enlighten shiro, it’s a failed attempt, because shiro lacks the attention and care to dig below the surface of what he deems to be obvious. mostly, it’s the dancing that is immediately brushed off with an of course keith only wants to dance with him until he has the skill set to approach someone else. singing, amazing, best friend -- those are expected in a way. unwoonium though? that… what is that? mentally running through the periodic table and -- no, that’s not…

what?

in the end, she doesn’t shush keith as he originally intended and neither does he question him. the words simply tumble out, the first few low, yet vehement. ]

I’m not made of anything.

[ being keith’s best friend means he’s his best friend; it doesn’t mean there are limitations or conditions or changes to either one of them. frankly: ]

I’ll do anything for you. You are -- [ again, he catches himself tongue-tied on how to respond. you've been. you are. it’s much the same in sentiment and meaning, and everything pops back into his head. when did he become so overly attached to keith? he’s always been fond of him, always wanted the best for him; that’s still all true today but shiro’s quickly finding out that somewhere along the way he let his need get away from him. he’s existed without him, in the worst of circumstances too, so shiro should be able to pull though even if the worst happens. can he though? being here with keith’s death hanging heavy on him and then, someday, being sent back to lead voltron without keith…

he doesn’t think he can do it.

his chest burns all the way up through his throat. he tells himself it’s the sprint, that he hurts and labors through each breath because of all the weight he’s carrying and the strain of his muscles but he knows better. ] You’re amazing too. [ he finishes after an obvious delay, voice heartsick. ] You don’t even realize.

[marmoron]

[ with conversation being the only source of distraction from the pain reverberating with each hurried step, keith clings to the words harder than he otherwise would. he can't tell shiro to stop, but the part of him hat registers how nonsensical that would be is heavily challenged by the part of him barely keeping a scream to himself. mangling his lower lip, tensing up and trying not to breathe too hard is just about all the self discipline he can manage in the moment, which means his brain to mouth filter stays offline. ]

I'm not. [ amazing, he means, completely glossing over how that might just prove shiro's point about not realizing. but the truth of it is pretty self evident, isn't it? ] Nobody else -- not Garrison brass. Not even my parents. It's just you. You're the only person who thinks that and I -- [ he sucks in another gasped breath, grimacing hard through the next few steps. but wherever the rest of that train of thought was going, it's hard to pick back up. rambling is easy to start, but just as easy to disrupt and keith is lost in a head full of spinning thoughts.

he's in so much pain and it's so hard to breathe. that has to mean that he's dying, even though shiro promised he wouldn't. but say he makes it out alive by some miracle, what if he never fully recovers? what if the injury is permanently debilitating? what if he can't actually keep up with shiro anymore? would shiro even want a best friend like that? stop it -- keith tries to tell himself, but even the self admonishment falls to the wayside with another round of coughing.

i'll do anything for you.

keith swallows hard, fighting back another chorus of dry coughs. words like that aren't meant to be tested. they're pretty and cliched, and meant more to offer comfort in the moment. but in looking up at shiro, who isn't even looking back at him because he's straining and working hard to get them out of dogtown, there's a deep pang somewhere behind keith's ribs from how much he fucking wants that to be true. as the forest starts to thin out heading back onto the main trail. keith keeps his eyes on shiro's face, hopelessly in awe of how the sunlight filtering between the branches makes it look as though shiro is glowing.

fuck. it's almost funny how goddamn inappropriate the thought is, but he doesn't manage a laugh. instead, he tries to reach up. is it weird to want to touch shiro right now? really touch that is. some warm skin to skin contact instead of pressing his bloodied gloved hand to the white paladin armor. ]

Hey Shiro... lift up your visor?

[earthshine]

[ well other people are fools, that’s shiro’s uncharitable opinion on the matter. if they can’t accept that keith has that special something to set him apart from the more widely understood mundane, then it’s their loss. and shiro’s gain. monumental gain, honestly. it’s not as though shiro wants to share keith with every tom, dick and harry. despite the good show shiro puts on, he’s not so uncaring as to not want things for himself, he merely tries not to act on such greedy desires. but keith -- shiro would and will take any bit of time keith sets aside for him. shiro only worries that inevitably his companionship won’t be enough for keith, that he won’t only want other outlets of friendship in his life, but he’ll need them. isn’t that what the whole boyfriend talk had been about? keith needs other people. of course he does; even if he chooses to lie to himself that shiro is enough.

the conversation is lost without a conclusion though. keith’s grimacing and shiro’s huffing through his breathing, setting his attention to tapping into whatever reserves he has left in his already exhausted body. the next, short while is filled with the frantic beat of his feet, the contents rattling around in the backpack, and armor clicking together. all of that chaotic noise is dwarfed once keith starts coughing anew. using that as fuel to keep going, he bypasses the earlier pit without so much as a care for the bodies still trapped at the bottom and mentally tells himself, almost there. they hadn’t been off the beaten path too long before hitting this and even then, they’d been walking -- slow. five, maybe four minutes, he keeps telling himself, knowing that once they hit the trail they’ll be well on their way to home free.

the trees are thinning now, to the point that it’s noticeable how close they are. selfishly, shiro is thankful the oddities of dogtown never seem to venture too deep into the forest, as though the evil, unnatural happenings specifically stay close to the commonly traveled areas. it’s terrible of him, he knows. it means the unsuspecting populace are more likely to wander into danger, like the photographer he knew, but -- shiro has his favorite, he’s long past being impartial and fair.

he is immediately tempted to tell keith no though. hands are a little full here, bud, is the teasing remark a less dire situation would call for. instead, he thinks of how he just said he’d do anything for keith and how keith is already testing the statement. he doesn’t dare stop. he sets his jaw and clenches his teeth on the next heavy exhale and on the inhale, bends his head low, simultaneously lifting his arms, keith in tow, higher so he can smack the mechanism on his helmet. the transition isn’t quite as streamline and smooth as alien technology -- and space magic -- but this world’s modification has the visor retracting into the helmet panels itself.

the breeze on his sweaty face feels almost nice.

returning his arms to the more comfortable, lowered position, he keeps right on running, starting up the slight slope that’ll bring them back up to the main trail. briefly, he wonders why keith even wants his visor up, but shiro has no mind to question keith now of all times. he merely starts breathing out faint encouragements, both for keith and himself. ]

Almost there. A few more ticks. [ doboshes, depending on how far they have to go before adi meets them. either way, he repeats: ] Almost there.

[marmoron]

[ if shiro were going to brush aside that request, keith probably wouldn't have blamed him for it. a bit of self indulgence that otherwise does nothing to improve the situation shouldn't exactly be high on the list of obligations to fulfil. but without so much as bothering to ask why, shiro heaves muscular arms and then keith gets to look at his best friend's face, unimpeded by the distortions of the visor. despite every single reason that keith shouldn't be fucking smiling right now, there are twin tugs upwards at the corners of his lips. the physical gesture is fleeting and quick to be wiped clean from the next stamp down on the ground, but the comfort persists a while longer.

shiro's told him multople times already not to be fucking morbid, but keith can't help thinking that if this is it, maybe he's lucky in getting to spend the end of being alive bundled tight in his best friend's arms. almost there gets repeated like a mantra, but keith isn't listening. instead, he slowly, painstakingly reaches up, fingers resting light on the strong cut of shiro's jaw. the stupid undersuit keeping his hand covered up is in the way, but through the fabric, he still thinks he can feel the heat radiating from shiro's skin, as warm and reassuring as the steady pulse of the arteries in his neck. ]

You really do look like a hero, Shiro. [ there's a trace of admiration in keith's voice, though it's strained and quiet. he really shouldn't be touching shiro at all, seeing as his gloves are smeared with blood both from his own wound and from the boars, but the deed is done and it's with some afterthought that keith manages: ] ....Sorry. I'll clean you up nice and shiny. Like a ... a trophy? [ heroes have trophies, right? with the slow churn of his thoughts, keith struggles with that for longer than he should. heroes meet sticky ends. heroes die trying to rescue other people from burning buildings. panic sets in like a bucket of cold ice then, and keith's grip tightens fractionally, throat straining to put more force into his words. ]

But you're not allowed. You can't be a real hero, no matter what. If somethin' bad happens you gotta just drop me and run, kay? Being together's not as important as you making it to me. You're... you have to go back home and tell your family that you love 'em and all that sappy stuff.

[ all that sappy stuff that keith never got to hear himself after something like this happened. brow furrowing, he sniffs heavily, part confused and part delirious. ]

Cuz if you don't, m'gonna cry.

[earthshine]

[ the rush to get keith away from the massacre in the meadow has helped distract shiro from every ill feeling of dissociation he has for his own body. getting keith to safety is a priority that trumps all else. but trophy triggers something in his brain that brings him right back, allowing just enough room for him to jump from trophy to champion. champions receive trophies. shiro’s won himself a lot of those. his mostly came in the form of broken bodies and another tally mark on his growing winning streak, but he did get one trophy that can be considered shiny. at the present, it’s hooked underneath keith’s knees. that roiling sensation is back; the one that agitates and churns, frothing just below the surface of his understanding. he hates that arm. he doesn’t want it attached to him.

but he needs it. not just for his continued usefulness for voltron -- and adi, really -- but right here, right now, he can’t save keith if he starts pitying himself as the abomination that he is. so again, he shelves the feeling as best he can and ascends the rest of that incline, boots finally back on the dirt-packed trail.

keith is still rambling. he tells himself it’s delirium stemming from the blood loss and so, he shouldn’t divide his attention trying to figure out how to deal with or respond to any of it. still, it’s difficult to ignore when keith’s gloved fingers are still resting at his jaw and that already dimmed voice goes more broken around a sniff.

ah fuck. ]

Don’t cry. [ of all things to be worried about right now -- shiro heaves a mental sigh as he continues to heave for breath. it’s tempting to simply agree to whatever point keith is trying to make, just to prevent the possibility of keith’s chaotic emotions unraveling. to put words to shiro abandoning keith though? even in a blatant lie? ]

But I’m not leaving you. [ he promised to never give up on him, remember keith? true, shiro wasn’t envisioning carrying out a bloodied keith after a monster encounter when he made that vow all those years ago, but shiro fully accepts the unexpected challenge. keith isn’t going to convince shiro otherwise. ]

You’re my family too and I… [ it’s true. it’s been true for… how long? since being brought to this universe, where they are just about the only sense of familiarity and dependability each other have? or maybe voltron, where he needed help in corralling their dysfunctional team while simultaneously keeping himself from falling apart? or maybe, when he was in a cell, looking for hope and purpose beyond simply surviving? no. no, before all the terror and turmoil of his life. his affection for keith isn’t born out of necessity or dire situation. he’s adored keith since hoverbike rides into the desert and smirks behind iverson’s back. when sim scores were a joy of competition between them. most of all, when they genuinely wanted the best for each other and supported one another throughout, despite what anyone else said.

with that true, then why is he hesitating? ]

I love you. [ exertion has his words sounding punched out anyway but this comes out raw, desperation for keith to understand -- and more so, accept -- adding a heaviness to his voice. ] So just…

[ shut up? hang on? stay with him? all of the above? shiro doesn’t have to pinpoint how to verbalize all that, because they’re rounding a bend in the trail that should lead them toward the trailhead not far off and with the view opening up -- ]

Hey. Hey! [ he’s been around headquarters long enough now to recognize a good portion of the staff base. here, he catches sight of a familiar face. even without that, the relief would come with the way the group of them immediately quicken their pace toward him. adi. good. they made it. well, mostly. ]

Where’s the medic? [ he looks beyond them to a large, black escalade parked down the path, pulled right up to the trailhead. that’s… not legal; shiro doesn’t care though. actually, he’d care if there wasn’t some kind of vehicle there. ] He needs the medic right now.

[marmoron]

[ there's a real narrative being painted in keith's head, something not all that dissimilar from those stupid hero parades lance used to be so fond of prattling on about. the scope and scale are smaller though, more of a nice reunion with friends and family back home. he hated thinking about it really because his own would have been so devoid of people in his life, but that doesn't mean he can't want some fancy reunion for shiro and his grandfather. ultimately keith may not know a whole lot about the old man, but it makes him happy to imagine shiro getting bearhugged by his family.

except -- wait. you're my family too? and i love you? keith doesn't mean to, but his eyes go wide, staring up at shiro's face, breath caught in his throat. wait, wait, wait -- he half wants to say, but shiro's attention has shifted again, calling out to adi agents that keith suddenly could care less about. [

Shiro, wait --

[ he tries to say, but his words get lost in the sudden commotion of agents running up to meet them and so many extra pairs of hands on his chest trying to prise his hand away from the wound. reflexively, keith bows in on himself, turning as far away as possible. bad enough to be getting grabbed by strangers in masks, the fact that they're whitecoats and medics makes the situation worse tenfold. technically keith knows they're meant to help, but some lizard brained instincts about avoiding the doctors sets in hard as he flails his arm out to deliver a weak slap across the cheek to the nearest adi agent. ]

Ow! Someone hold his arms steady so we can get him on the stretcher!

[ the agent barks out an order, and suddenly there's another pair of hands grabbing at his wrist and neck, this time with some token reassurances from a second agent. it's gonna be okay, honey. we're here to help.

not that keith's listening. eyes frantic, he looks to shiro, grip vice tight around his best friend / brother's (????) wrist. ]

Shiro, you'll stay with me, right?

[ even as keith gets lowered onto the stretcher and there's a flurry of tubes and clips and people trying to pull off the pieces of his paladin armor, keith doesn't relinquish his grip. instead, it has to be forcibly broken by some other adi agent who shouts where's the healer? just as someone slaps a nask over his face. within seconds, the world starts to go fuzzy, blending into darkness like an impressionist painting. keith tries to yank off the mask, but finds his hand caught tight and secure in the palm of a familiar hand. he blinks blearily, just quick enough to get one final glimpse of shiro.

i love you. the words echo in his head played back slow, soothing, and keith tries to speak or do something to acknowledge it, but drifts off into an unconscious little fog. ]