VOLTRON ONE-SHOTS

Keith - Ache

Word Count: 4,110

Keith remembered the day his dad died.

He remembered it with so much vivid detail it hurt.

He hurt.

He didn't like this.

He didn't want this.

He'd been perfectly content staying put where he was before they found him: worn boots kicking through the dusty, and smoke-choked wreckage that had once been his house, fingers shoved as deep as they could go in his jacket pockets, nails clenching uncomfortably into his skin, the uncontrolled tears spilling down his cheeks as he fought to realize his dad was gone.

His dad was dead.

And he wasn't coming back.

Keith, he- he wanted to stay in that place, having no urge to run from this horror that stared him straight in the face. Instead, he was more than ready to live in the small shack that had remained standing during the fire, it's dusty, boarded up windows intact and standing.

He knew it wasn't the most pleasant looking roof over his head, but with a bit of fixing, it would do. His dad had taught him enough about living on his own, heck, they'd lived in the middle of a freaking desert for crying out loud. He knew he was more than capable of staying here, forced to stare out at the same wreckage that had killed his father, mind already working up a plan to keep him going for just a little long enough for him to find a job at least.

A six-year-old could find some steady place to work, right?

It shouldn't be that hard.

He'd be able to get by on his own, there was no doubt about that-

But then they showed up- social workers- if Keith remembered right- kindly knocking on the door to take him away, with fake smiles and even faker sympathy for his situation. He'd been staying with the fire chief, who had offered to take him in for the night when they barged in on him, insistent they take him away from the only town he's ever known to be "put into the system" as they put it so plainly.

The foster system.

No.

No, no, no, no.

He knew what that was.

There was no way he was going with them.

Of course, after a failed argument of not letting him stay in a burnt house wreckage on his own (and including an explosion that would make the atomic bomb look like a firecracker), he'd been drug to the car kicking and screaming, the fire chief standing uncertain by the door as the took him from the house. Keith didn't like moving away from the place Pop had died, he wanted to stay, dammit.

He wanted to stay.

But, of course, no one ever listens to the kid, so he was forced to be put in a situation he preferred not to be in (like being driven away in an unfamiliar car, seated behind two very unfamiliar people, taken to an unfamiliar place, his old town quickly shrinking out of sight from the unfamiliar back window) instead of sitting in a dirty shack on his own, watching the sunrise over the familiar yet burned remains of his old house (something he'd much rather be doing).

That burnt and smoldering wreckage was all he had left now.

It would remind him of his pop.

His pop was the only man who ever seemed to fully understand him.

And now-

Now he was gone, thrown mercilessly to the very same flames he'd fought so willingly against.