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Shiro stood in the graveyard, staring at the gray slabs of stone that stared right back at him. The breeze whispered through the silent park, ruffling his hair and unlodging the white bangs he had tried so hard to hide back on Earth. They tickled his eyes and the scars on his face. They attracted too much attention and curiosity. Yet, he could never bring himself to dye them; that would be denying what happened. That would mean forgetting the loss of his family.
The four tombstones sat there, unaware of the burden and guilt and grief that they caused. Unaware of the legends that they stood for. Unaware of the sacrifice for good, for victory. It was too much.
Sometimes Shiro wondered what he would bargain to have them back. Some days Shiro thought that winning the war wasn't worth it. Rarely did Shiro go long before they came back into his mind. Never again did the man believe he deserved to have a smile on his face.
They were too young, Shiro thought as he crumbled to his knees. The dirt barely gave way, making certain that his knees would be bruised in the morning. Shiro knew that they had been too burdened. His single hand dug into the wet soil, and he wondered how long he would have to dig before he hit the caskets. Or how long before he forgot their faces.
Shiro didn't even try to stop the memories from flooding his conscious, taking over his mind and body.
He had lost his hand the moment he lost the Red Paladin, his almost-brother. He stuck out his hand to stop the deadly blade from reaching the dark-haired paladin. With a shout of "Keith!" he launched himself in front of the attacker and enemy, instinctively shielding the younger man.
He had not been too late. He had been too weak. The Galran technology fell to the floor, instantly severed from its human counterpart; the blade that cut it kept on going and going and going until it hit pale flesh and wide eyes. At the exact moment, Keith willed his formerly flung bayard towards himself, efficiently cutting the Galran general in half on its way back. The red weapon looked strangely fitting in the red-stained hand that it landed in. The cold hand that it landed in. Shiro wished he could've remembered the last expression on his brother's face, not crushed muscle and flesh and bone. He wished that violence had not followed him to the grave. He wished that he was strong enough to carry both Paladins back onto the Castle, but the blasts that they planted earlier meant no more time and his arm was gone. He wished he could have carried them all. But he was too weak.
He remember coming back onto the castle, holding the weight of the smallest of the group and hoping that the cyro-pod would save her in time, save the little girl who sacrificed everything for her family and friends. He remembered pounding on the glass, demanding both vocally and physically for it to open. He remembered Coran explaining that it only opened for the injured; the dead could not be healed.
Back then, the only one who had made it into the pod aside from Shiro himself was Lance. The talkative sharpshooter became nothing more than a living corpse inside the healing pod. His tan skin paled in illness and for the longest time his eyes refused to open. Shiro had spent most of his time staring at the face of the young boy who had miraculously made it out. No, he corrected himself. It was no miracle. Shiro was the one who pulled Hunk's weight off of Lance, detecting a pulse in only one. It was no miracle; it was a sacrifice.
When the teen had gotten out of the pod, he looked around for his friends and family.When his gaze turned from the empty pods to Shiro and Allura and Coran, he knew. His first words were if their plan had been successful in defeating the Galran empire. Allura nodded. His next question was whether or not he could see their bodies. After that, he never spoke again. Even back on Earth, Lance was too haunted by the war and the guilt of being alive that he had coped in the only way he knew how. Shiro remembered getting a call from an elderly woman with a Spanish accent, voice hysterical and incoherent. In the end, it had been only him who had enough stomach to bring the corpse down from the attic of the house, and loosen the noose from the pale and thin neck.
The horridly sweet smell of the flowers and moaning of old trees grounded him back to the present. Four tombstones stared back up at him. Shiro wondered why it had to be him. He cursed every deity and entity that claimed omniscience. Had he not suffered enough? Why was it him who had to grovel through more pain and suffering, each a more devastating blow then the previous one?
Shiro didn't try to stop the sun from setting, nor from rising. He simply knelt there, too tired to crawl away yet too broken to cry. The gray stones stared back at him throughout the entire night and stared at him again when the sun rose behind him. They never moved and never changed, only stared back.
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Katie "Pidge" (2051-2065)
"A beloved sister and an irreplaceable friend. She used her intellect to become the best in the universe yet used that knowledge to help anyone and everyone in need."
Hunk (2049-2065)
"A man larger than life who had a big mind and a bigger heart. He fought with reason, gentleness, and peace to bring hope to those who had nothing more."
Keith (2048-2065)
"A brave soldier and a braver friend who used his fierce personality to fight for what was right with his family until the very end."
Lance (2049-2066)
"A bright boy that brought smiles to everyone around him and lifted spirits with nothing but his attitude and words, whose friendship brought warmth and laughter."
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Shiro (2044-2068)
"A man who suffered enough for two lifetimes, yet had enough heart left to care for all those that had both left him behind and that he left behind."
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