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Keith didn’t leave his bunk for a solid week after the news of Kerberos broke. Why should he? The only person he cared about, the only person who cared about him, was dead and gone. What point was there in it?
Of course the Garrison had other ideas, eventually forcing him to return to class. He felt the stares, the eyes following him in the hallway, and ducked his head to hide the evidence of mourning on his face. Everyone knew how close they’d been. Everyone knew that Keith was nothing without Shiro. Everyone knew how vulnerable he was now without Shiro to vouch for him or back him up.
It only took them three days to take advantage of it.
Keith knew the moment he saw them lingering at the end of the hall. Nearly all of the fighter class pilots were there, bunched up at the end of the hall to avoid the roving gaze of the security cameras. At the head was his primary antagonist, the Asshole-in-Chief, James Griffin. He wore a predatory, triumphant smirk on his lips, and it was then that Keith realized they were in the same hallway that Griffin had cornered him in all those years ago.
It was a sickening feeling. Seeing all these people he’d managed to piss off over the course of the years, all waiting so eagerly to take it out on him now that he didn’t have anyone on his side. But all the same he didn’t bother to turn aside or change his route-- if this didn’t happen today, it would happen tomorrow, or the next day. And he was too tired to care.
He was too tired to care about anything.
“Well Kogane,” said Griffin once Keith had drawn close enough to him and his gang. “Looks like Shirogane’s not around to protect you anymore. Too bad.”
Keith just sighed. He felt like he had back in the foster homes-- he knew the pain was coming and couldn’t even be bothered to be scared of it. He just wanted it to be over already so he could go to bed.
“Fine,” he said in a dull, dead tone. “Just get it over with.”
A few of the other pilots moved forward at Griffin’s sides. One of them was a girl with black hair and a smile sharp like a shark’s.
“Aw, you’re not excited?” she taunted. “That’s no fun.”
Keith didn’t answer. Griffin’s smirk grew, and he paced towards him, stopping only a step or so away. He gave Keith a long, evaluating look, like he was planning where to best plant the bruises.
Then he started swinging, and all the rest of them followed suit.
Last time this had happened Keith hadn’t fought back because he was afraid of being expelled. This time he didn’t fight back because he couldn’t work up the strength to care. The pain of the punches and kicks and being forced to the floor barely registered-- it all felt like faraway fireworks, just dim booms in the distance.
It felt like eons before they finally stopped. The group of cadets stood in an orange circle around Keith’s prone form, some dropping insults and others laughing along.
He blocked them all out until Griffin got his attention again by nudging him right where he’d taken an especially hard hit to the ribs.
“Better get used to it. We’ve all got four years of extra drills for you to make up for.”
Well, the joke’s on him. Keith was already used to it.
Then the group dispersed, and after a few parting nudges and taps of steel toed boots, Keith managed to pull himself upright. And just like the last time, he leaned on the wall for stability and limped to his bunk.
Just like the last time, he used his stockpile of medical supplies to treat himself, grimly satisfied that he’d kept it despite Shiro’s reassurances. Then he went to bed and dreamt of Shiro, floating aimlessly through the stars.
None of the teachers noticed the bruises on his face or his split lip or his limp, and he didn’t bother to hide them. He caught some of the professors giving him chiding or disappointed looks, probably thinking he started a fight, and technically they weren’t wrong.
At lunch he couldn’t find it in himself to eat. So he also didn’t mind when the shark toothed girl sauntered by and slyly slid the tray away from him. And he didn’t care when the same thing happened at dinner, and at breakfast the next morning. Ever since the news broke he’d been going through the days in a haze, even the pain of his bruises feeling dull and far away.
That night, as he stood in the bathroom mechanically spreading bruise cream on his body, he stared at his reflection with apathy and detached disgust.
He’d been right, all those years ago. This was never going to end any other way than this way-- him, alone and hurting, and no one to help. Maybe he should’ve gone with that plan and run away. Then this wouldn’t hurt so much. Then he wouldn’t have been an idiot and grown attached to Shiro.
Then he wouldn’t feel so empty.
It was another three days before they struck again. Same time, same place. But this time wasn’t a regular beating; he knew that as soon as Griffin knelt and flipped his bruised body over.
“You always carry this knife around,” he said, almost conversationally, and Keith’s breath froze. “Must be special. One of your parents give it to you before they kicked the bucket?”
Keith felt an ember of anger flare in his chest, but still he didn’t say anything. At least until Griffin started to pull the knife out of its sheath. Then he struggled, tried to push himself up and turn around, but someone had a heavy boot right between his shoulder blades, keeping him pinned to the floor.
“You know, it’s kind of funny, if you think about it.” He felt the cold touch of sharp metal, just above his collar. “Your parents presumably liked you, and they either died or left. Shirogane said he cared about you, and he acted like it too, at least until he flew off into space and died, too.” Keith couldn’t tell if the tears that welled in his eyes were from the words or the feeling of the edge of his own knife cutting into the back of his neck. “You ever consider that it might be you? ‘Cause that’s the only common denominator I’m seeing.”
He gave a half hearted moment of struggle, just for the principle of the thing, before Griffin applied even more pressure to the blade and made him stop with a hiss. Warm blood was beginning to slide down his neck now, the pain making his skin thrum. The blazer was probably going to be stained later.
Just another entry on his list of infractions.
Griffin finally let up on the knife and tossed it carelessly to the side. The act made Keith feel another brief flare of rage, but it quickly dissipated again. He had to conserve his energy for later, when he would have to bend his arms every which way to try and bandage the wound. It would probably take forever.
“Your days are numbered, Kogane. Your simulator scores are slipping. Pretty sure there won’t be a point in keeping you around anymore. Hope you missed the desert.”
WIth that parting remark the pressure on his back lessened, and his aching head rang with the sound of footsteps as the crowd dispersed, until finally Keith was alone again, bleeding onto the floor.
Griffin reported him for the knife.
Contraband of any sort was strictly prohibited at the Garrison, and with the addition of his ever-lowering grades and simulator scores, as well as all his previous misdemeanors, the powers that be came to a quick unanimous decision.
That afternoon he left the campus, a single bag over his shoulders and the keys to Shiro’s hover in his pocket. He held his head high, refusing to hide the truth any longer.
It was as he’d suspected when he joined. He was a wild thing that belonged in the desert, and no matter how you dressed him up, he was never going to amount to anything else. Shiro had wasted his time on Keith, and he would never get that time back.
And so he disappeared into the rolling dust and the shadows of the cliffs, leaving nothing behind but a whispered legend about a piloting prodigy that was never going to make it, and taking nothing except pain, loneliness, and an itching scar on the back of his neck.
“You have a new scar.”
Keith went still. They were in the Altean version of a locker room, it would seem, peeling off their armor and flight suits after their first successful battle as the Paladins of Voltron. Pidge had locked himself in a cubicle to change, and Lance and Hunk were in the far corner, talking and laughing as they got dressed. Leaving Keith with Shiro, who even after all this time, could read him like an open book.
“Yeah,” he said, hoping that would be enough, and pulled his shirt back on. For a moment he considered bringing up Shiro’s collection of new marks, but discarded the idea. He couldn’t be cruel to Shiro. Even when it would probably have protected him, he could never be cruel to Shiro.
“Where’s it from?”
Keith grimaced a bit to himself and bought time by putting on his jacket, carefully fiddling with the sleeves and the high collar that had hidden the scar from view until now. Shiro probably already regretted Kerberos enough, the last thing he wanted to do was add to that guilt, but he was a historically bad liar. Shiro would see right through him.
“After Kerberos,” he eventually admitted, putting way too much care into putting his gloves on so that he wouldn’t have to look at Shiro’s face. “Before I got kicked out. Turns out I’d managed to piss off all of fighter class.”
There was a heavy pause before Shiro replied, “They did that to you? The other cadets?”
“Mhm.” Keith tried to make himself sound nonchalant. “But I’ve had worse.”
There was another moment of silence, then Keith felt a large hand wrap around his wrist, and before he could react Shiro had pulled him into a hug. It was a little awkward, since Shiro was still half in his flight suit, but all the same Keith felt tears burn his eyes and melted into it. He hadn’t realized how much he missed being held.
“I’m sorry,” Shiro murmured in his ear, dragging his human fingers through Keith’s hair. Keith shook his head as best he could with it pressed against Shiro’s shoulder.
“It was my own fault,” he mumbled. Shiro squeezed him.
“It wasn’t,” said Shiro, “You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to be hurt.”
If they had been alone that would’ve been the last straw that sent Keith careening into full blown sobbing. But they weren’t alone, the other Paladins were still in the room (including one that seemed to have it out for him for some reason), so the tears refused to spill. He squeezed Shiro back as hard as he could.
“I missed you,” he heard himself whisper. Shiro hummed low in his throat.
“I missed you too, otouto.”