2019 Voltron Whumptober Collection

11 Stitches

Word Count: 1,637

Keith loved hoverbike riding.

He loved it more than anything else in the world.

He loved the feeling of exhilaration that came with it, the feeling of the air rushing through his hair, the wind kissing his neck, the cloud of sand that flew the faster he went over the desert terrain, the world flying by in a blurr.

When he was riding, he felt miles away from his own life.

Miles away from the trouble.

The stress.

The anger.

Here he was away from it all.

Here he was free.

Here he was flying.

His hands tightened over the handles as he pushed the throttle harder, faster, further.

He was flying.

Something caught the corner of his eye, and he glanced over in time to see Shiro shoot ahead of him, dust flying into the air, goggles glinting in the sun, hunched over the handles as he flew past, hair flying wild in the wind. Keith figured he looked much the same but he could care less for looks in that moment.

He was going to beat the old man this time.

He pushed to go faster relishing in the feeling that came with pushing the throttle down as far as it would go, speeding ahead as Shiro laughed over his shoulder, "Come on, catch up," as he flew into a narrow canyon branching from the path, zipping between rocks that jutted from the ground as if he'd done it every day of his life.

Keith smiled at the challenge.

Catch up.

Oh, he was.

He was going to win this race this time, to prove to Shiro, to the world that he was the best racer out there.

It was funny when he thought about it though, he never believed he'd ever get the chance to be here, doing this months ago, if someone had told him where he would be now, racing with literally one of the best pilots in the Galaxy Garrison, he would've laughed. Because then- then he was just trying to survive, make it through the day without pissing anyone off with his presence, and trying to get through life with as little hits to the face as possible.

Then things changed.

But, then a lot of things changed when he met Shiro.

Shiro pushed him in ways no one ever had, he'd seen him, not the overly moody, destructive teen everyone else had seen him for, he actually saw the small scared kid hidden under all that, just trying to live through the day. And without a second thought, the man offered him a hand to his feet from the wreckage of his life, pushing Keith to live for himself instead of cowering from it.

So, here he was, weeks after they met for the first time, racing through the desert for the majority of the day, laughing, chasing, running, not having a care in the world.

And Keith was flying.

Until he suddenly wasn't.

He startled when his bike nicked the edge of the canyon with no warning, his thoughts dropping to his current situation, control jumping out the window as he fought to keep the suddenly swerving bike under his control.

That didn't last very long.

The next thing he knew he was flying over the handlebars, airborne before crashing down on a particularly sharp edged rock, the end slicing into his upper arm, his left leg landing wrong as he came down and Keith could hear a loud snap echoed through the canyon followed by complete and utter calm as dust and gravel came down from skidding onto the ground.