Keith-centric voltron oneshots

Nightmares And Knives

TW: S/H, talk of self unaliving, self unaliving attempt

Upon first glance, one would believe that the occupants of the Castle of Lions were all fast asleep. Not a single room emitted light, and the mechanical hum of the weird Altean tech were the only sound to be heard. Earth time would dictate it to be about eleven at night. For the most part, one would be correct to make such an assumption.

Unfortunately, though, nothing is perfect. Not even the peacefulness of night. The red paladin sat in the corner farthest from his door, facing the room's only way in or out. He bit back a sob, trembling as he buried the blade of his Mamora knife into the meaty flesh of his thigh.

He only dug so deep, not wanting to waste a chance of escaping on some pathetic mistake. If he ever truly wanted out, he'd make sure to execute it precisely. He let the object drop to the floor, letting out a shaky sigh. He hugged his knees close to his chest, listening to the soft drip drip drip of his blood landing on the tile floor.

He didn't move for hours, not until he heard Lance's obnoxious voice ring through the hallway just outside his door. He trudged into the connected bathroom, removing his boxers and his brother's shirt before getting in the shower. He watched as blood trickled down his leg, swirling down the drain as it mixed with the scalding water.

He basked in the excessive heat until his skin turned pink from the temperature. He dried off and wrapped his thigh in bandages, then redressed himself with the same clothes as before, adding a pair of sweatpants. He grimaced as the fabric rubbed against his wrapped leg, but lumbered to the dining area regardless.

As if his morning couldn't get any worse, he was met with a table surrounded by people, staring at him. He grumbled, growling deep and low in his throat as he sat in the only remaining seat, which was thankfully next to Shiro. "I didn't know you still had my shirt." Shiro teased, faltering when he got a good look at the boy.

Messy hair, definitely towel dried, pale, sweaty skin, his gaze distant and pained. Definitely not Keith's usual. "Are you okay?" Shiro asked, earning silence as an answer. "Keith?" He tried again. The ravenette grunted. "M'fine. Jus' tired." He muttered, the accent he'd aquired during his time in Texas rolling thick off his tongue.

The others gave him confused looks. "Uhh, what's up with the accent?" Lance deadpanned, shrinking in his seat when Keith's growling picked up in volume. "Wassup with the whiney voice?" He spat, glowering at the Cuban. Lance shot a glare of his own. "It is not whiney! It's just high!"

"Sure, keep tellin' ya'self that." Keith stood, body slightly swaying as he walked for the exit. "Keith!" Hunk exclaimed. "Are you not going to eat?" Said male didn't respond, walking away with heavy footsteps. "Geez, who pissed in his coffee this morning?" Lance grumbled.

This went on for a month. A whole month of Keith waking in a fit of fear every night, slicing his skin open to keep himself grounded. A whole month of he and Lance fighting, ranging anywhere from insults to physical altercation. The boy only ate three meals within the span of thirty days, and Shiro only grew more and more worried.

The marking of the second month is when everything went to shit. When Keith fell asleep that night, after a harsh training session with the others, who were undoubtedly taking their frustration with Keith out on him, he had his worst nightmare yet.

There was fire. Hot, smoldering fire that made the air so hot it hurt to breathe. Smoke poured into the room Keith sat in, eyes wide with fear. He watched from a third person point of view as his father picked his child self up, rushing for the one door that hadn't been surrounded by fire yet.

The ceiling was crumpling, chunks landing next to them or in front of them, sending smoke and ash flying in their faces. Keith watched as his child self cried and coughed, how his father's eyes watered from the heat. The man watched as support beams came crashing down, sending the final door flying open.