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The very first memory Keith had was red.
Red, coating the walls of the van; coating his parents, and, he had realized with a jolt, himself.
After that, red had always been his color. It painted his knuckles after a rough day, it was the color of his favorite jacket; it was the dying sun on the horizon and the hovercraft he stole from the Garrison.
And then, it was his lion.
It didn’t stop there; red was as wild and fierce as he was; as passionate and reckless and driven. He didn’t particularly love to fight, but when his body ached with the burn of exertion and his hands and sword were coated, he couldn’t hate it. It was the closest memory he had to his parents, after all.
So he wrapped his hands and readied his bayard, and he dashed into the fray and swung and slashed and punched, again and again, over and over, maybe to feel something, maybe to remember, maybe to forge something inside himself; but always, always, always, to be closer to that which seemed to elude him.
{--+--}
Of course everyone noticed the way Keith’s eyes glazed during a fight. How could they not? They decided, however, long ago, that they would leave it be. Shiro was aware it was a ticking time bomb, but for the moment, they had more pressing matters, like liberating the people of a strangled planet or protecting the lions from the Galra or forming Voltron.
It wasn’t until this habit manifested in a different way that they knew they had to do something about it.
They were infiltrating a Galra base on a rocky planet when it all took a turn for the worse; the paladins were all scattered in the fray, and Keith was a whirlwind of red, as usual. Although this time it was even more erratic, and the paladins all convened outside; panting heavily, back to back to back, shoulder to shoulder.
“Hold your ground,” Shiro hissed, as the Galra soldiers closed slowly in. He didn’t need to say it; they all were poised and ready.
“We should scatter,” Pidge suggested, and Shiro gave the slightest of nods. And that was what they did, each and every foot pushing off at the same time, exploding like a five-point star.
They held their own, the multitude of Galra slowly thinning; and Keith slowed down, panting hard, into a lull of battle. It only took him a fraction of a second to realize that the Galra were pulling back slightly, not engaging, and another fraction to know why.
“Grenade!” He shouted, throat raw and voice booming across the din of battle. Keith looked across the battlefield to see Hunk duck behind a rock, Shiro grab Pidge; but he didn’t see Lance. His head whipped around until he saw that familiar shade of blue, and saw Lance stumbling backwards. A commander was standing a ways away; a wicked smile showcasing his gleaming canines; a shine in the air caught Keith’s gaze and with a sinking feeling, he realized it was headed straight toward Lance.
He moved without a second thought, everything slowing down as his calves pushed harder, his blood roaring through his ears; Lance caught the movement in the corner of his eye. Those deep brown eyes pleaded at Keith to stay put, but with his mouth set in a hard line, he spurred himself even faster.
Then it began to speed up; Keith slid in front of Lance, and the bomb began to flash a couple feet in front of them. There were several shouts of his name, but he paid them no mind, feeling Lance’s fists curl into his belt. He snarled at the commander as the light became too much; and then he could feel himself tumbling, a kind of disorienting void engulfing him. Keith knew the bomb went off, knew that he had protected Lance, but couldn’t really feel much of anything else.
His hearing returned with a sharp ringing, and he cracked an eye open to see Lance leaning down on top of him, face contorted in an ugly sob. He opened his mouth to say something, probably about how stupid the other was being, but he choked on something hot and sticky as he tried to breathe, and Lance’s expression crumpled.
The rest of the paladins entered his field of vision, and he guessed he didn’t have to ask how bad he was. He was being lifted up, and that was when the pain started, and he let out a strangled sound. Lance was lifting him under the arms, and he felt the blue paladin lean his forehead into his shoulder blade, letting out another fit of tears. Keith frowned, his chest constricting.
“Lance,” Keith tried to say, but the word became stuck in his throat; Hunk, who was shielding them away from the enemy fire and carrying his legs, looked back with such a broken frown that Keith dared not to speak again.
He looked down at himself, and he couldn’t even tell where his uniform was and where his body began. It was a wash of bright red, and Keith suddenly felt himself droop. The pain now buzzed at him like flies around his head, and he brought his hands up to inspect them. They were just as torn up, skin burnt and blistering, a thin sheen of blood on top. He was pulled back into the memory from years ago, and he closed his eyes.
It was like he was there again, the pain throbbing in his shoulders and ribs instead of everywhere. He could just recall how his parent’s bodies fell limply at his prodding, at how much blood was on the windshield, on how much of it was on him.
He thought, briefly, as the cold enveloped him and voices rushed in and out and around, that he didn’t regret it. If he had to choose, no matter what day it was, he would definitely sacrifice himself every single time.
Anything was better than being left behind.
{--+--}
And then he was falling forward, out from the cold, his limbs warming up. Someone caught him in their arms, and he had to summon an enormous amount of will to open his eyes. He didn’t have to see to know it was Lance that caught him; that familiar smell of lavender hair product and a sting of teatree mint was all the confirmation Keith needed. He still opened his eyes, though.
“Hey, buddy,” came Lance’s soft voice, and it looked like he was trying hard to smile and not to cry. It was amazing how he managed to have tears streaming down his cheeks, but the corners of his lips tug up. It was just like Lance.
Keith didn’t say anything, a bit shocked at the emotional reaction, and instead straightened slightly, leaning back to wipe a tear from that familiar tanned skin. Someone cleared a throat beside him, and his hand jerked back.
“So,” Pidge said, their voice disrupting the silence of the room, “that wasn’t okay.” Keith stepped away from Lance, a bit unsteady, and sent the smaller paladin a confused look. “And don’t play dumb,” they snapped, pointing an accusing finger. “You almost died, Keith.” He frowned, glancing down at his hand, now healed and clean of blood.
“If it wasn’t me, it was going to be Lance.” Keith’s remark was painfully loud, even though his throat was still raw and rough from disuse. This seemed to sink into the others' heads, and Lance’s shoulders slumped slightly. If he looked closely, Keith might have been able to see the deep purple bags that marked his eyes, and the stubble that had procured on his chin. But he didn’t, because his mind was foggy and he had done nothing wrong.
“It doesn’t matter who it was going to be,” Shiro said, diverting attention from a very irritated Pidge, “Keith, you need to stop throwing yourself to the dogs.”
“Throwing--Shiro, I’m not throwing myself away. I’m just--”
“You don’t see the harm in yourself dying, is that it?” Pidge stomped forward while Hunk flinched, and Keith blinked owlishly at them. “Well let me tell you something, you daft, oblivious asshat; we need you. Without you, we can’t form Voltron. So you better shape up and stop this self-sacrificial bullshit. You’ve done it to Shiro, Hunk, with me even--and with Lance more times than I can count on my damn fucking fingers.”
Keith was shocked into silence, the words still processing in his brain. Shiro didn’t even bother reprimanding Pidge for use of language, and the Alteans shifted awkwardly in the background. Suddenly, Keith was hit with a simmering wave of emotion; the same scene of red flashing behind his eyelids.
“So, what, Pidge; I’m supposed to let you all just--be hurt in front of me? I’m supposed to stand there like an idiot and run away or cover for myself? I’m not supposed to help? That seems to me the opposite of what a team would do.” The ferocity of Keith’s words seem to set the very air ablaze with tension; and Pidge stuck a finger into his sternum, causing him to take a step back.
“You--I don’t give a shit about you helping, Keith. Your self-serving version of ‘helping’ isn’t helping at all--it’s getting yourself into messes that render you almost dead--”
“So what!?” Keith rounded on the paladin, his tired mind flooding with warning flags and pushing past all the stops; “It’s better than seeing any of you go through--”
“No, but, Keith--” Hunk tenses slightly as Keith’s intensity is suddenly directed towards him. “I’m just--that’s how we feel about you doing stuff like that. It’s hard to see someone we care about do something like that.” Keith opened his mouth, but the fire in his eyes died a bit. He still ground his teeth, looking down at the floor and clenching his fists.
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” he gritted out, and then stomped out of the infirmary, leaving Lance to look after him with a gaze that could block out the sun.
{--+--}
Keith went into his room and breathed deeply; cradling his head in his hands and sliding down the metal of the door, counting. Breathe in, breathe out. 1, and 2. In, out. 3, 4.
Eventually, when his hands had reduced to just a slight tremor, he peeled off the healing suit and was shocked to find a huge scorch mark that extended from his sternum to his right thigh. The skin on his left arm was also marred; from his bicep to a lick just below his elbow. His breath caught as he ghosted a hand across the discoloration. It was red.
He bathed, trying hard not to think about the scar, and about Pidge, and Lance, and the color red. He tried; and obviously, failed.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his head to the ceiling under the scalding hot water.
When he got out, he quickly put on his clothes, and was glad for once that the paladin uniform didn’t require them to wear shorts or any other more revealing clothes; he’d have to make sure that he wore long sleeves or his jacket at all times around the others, for as long as he had to.
If they knew of the scars… Well.
Let’s just say Pidge would be more than pissed.
A knock on his door jolted him out of his reverie, and he quickly shrugged on that familiar leather jacket, the metal whirring past with a soft hiss. Keith started slightly when he saw Lance standing there, looking tired and worn and just… worried.
“Keith,” he murmured, and Keith stepped aside to let him in, the door slipping closed. They lingered in silence for a short while, Lance’s gaze raking Keith’s body, and narrowing at his jacket. Keith held his tongue. “You… Allura told us the healing pods wouldn’t heal you completely.” Lance dropped his gaze. “A little cold in here for you?” Keith frowned, subconsciously pulling his jacket tighter and crossing his arms.
“I’m healed, Lance,” he said, but even to his ears it was a blatant lie. Lance sighed, running his hands down his face, and that was when Keith noticed. He noted the droop of those usually sharp eyes, the sluggishness of his movements, and the pallid color of his skin.
“Keith.” Lance took a breath and then his eyes bore holes straight into Keith’s. “Strip.” There was a painful amount of time where Keith was frozen, wondering if he heard right, until Lance stepped quickly forward and yanked Keith’s wrists from where they were tucked defensively into his chest. “Take it off.” He licked his chapped lips, adding in a softer, more pleading tone, “please.”
So, Keith did.
And Lance was horrified. He took Keith’s left arm and ran his fingertips over the scarring; all the while the two of them refusing to look at each other. Keith’s eyes wandered all around his room, while Lance’s roamed the angry red skin that was such a contrast to the usual light flesh.
“The rest,” he demanded, a bit hoarsely, and Keith took a deep breath before taking off his shirt. Lance muttered a string of words in spanish, sounding suspiciously like curses, before stepping even closer and pressing his palm to Keith’s chest. His head whipped around to look at Lance, who was glaring very hard at him, even as tears pooled in his eyes. Keith felt the same terrible sensation in his chest. It was painful. Seeing Lance like this was painful.
“You,” he growled, shoving Keith back, “better not pull this shit again.” His shoulders shook and tears fell, and Keith sighed, pulling Lance into an awkward hug. But then Lance’s arms came around him, and Keith was being crushed, but in a good way; even as his shirt was being soaked, he found that it was calming. Having someone care. Having someone care so much that they cry.
Keith never really had that before.
And so, with a bit of awkward maneuvering, he guided the two of them to the bed, letting the blue paladin relax more into the embrace; Keith figured he must’ve done something right when Lance’s crying turned into wet sniffles. Still not completely gone but an improvement from the choking emotion he had witnessed just minutes before.
“When I was a kid,” Keith began, voice quietly rustling Lance’s hair, “I was in a car crash.” He waited until Lance’s body stopped shaking with sobs, before he continued, shifting a hand to stroke the hairs at the nape of the blue paladin's neck. “I don’t remember much of it, just that when I came to in the back seat, both my parents were dead.” At this, Lance stiffened, and moved so he could look Keith in the eyes.
“Keith. You don’t have to…” But Keith shook his head. If he didn’t say it now, it would be never. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.
“There was a lot of blood, Lance,” he said instead, the image dredging up once again, from the confines of his mind. “It was all theirs.” Keith closed his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Lance said softly. Keith took a shuddering breath, and then shoved the rest out, practically through his nose; his jaw locked slightly out of apprehension.
“I don’t want that again. I don’t want--the blood. If it’s mine, I can deal with it. I know it’s selfish, but I--I can’t be left behind.” He looked away, Lance’s open expression too much. “I can’t.”
Lance placed both his hands on the side of Keith’s face, and Keith shocked at the touch, instantly looking back. Lance’s mouth was set in a hard line, and although his eyes were puffy and raw from the tears, he also looked… angry. It was such a stark difference than the sadness, that Keith almost thought he was imagining the fierce set of his eyebrows.
“You idiot,” he hissed, and Keith frowned. “You completely oblivious, fucking amazing, wonderful asshole--you’re a fucking dumbass.” Keith sighed, suddenly drained and tired from trying to figure people out.
“Hey, Lance, cut to the chase.” Lance seemed to grow even more furious at that, and Keith blinked as he was being tugged rapidly forward. He grunted in pain as his face crashed into Lance’s; but then, Lance shifted slightly. As their lips met with a lot less force, as Keith’s eyes widened and then fluttered shut--as he began to realize just what this action meant, it short-circuited all his thought processes. Lance’s hand burned in an entirely different way on his scars, and he suddenly was very conscious of their proximity.
When Lance pulled back and Keith opened his eyes, the only thing he could manage was a very short, very eloquent, “Oh.”
“We care, Keith. I care. And if you don’t get that through your thick skull--”
“I’m sorry,” Keith blurted, and Lance blinked.
“Oh. That was easier than I thought.” Keith squinted.
“I’m still gonna do whatever I need to do to protect you guys--” Lance let out a frustrated groan, “--but I’ll do it with less risky behavior.” Lance smiled, but then it fell slightly crooked as Keith added, “Or--well, I’ll try. Old habits die hard.” He yelped as Lance whacked him.
“Oh, the only thing that’ll be dying hard is you, and I swear if you die on me I’ll kill you so hard you wish you’d never died!” Keith laughed at that, and Lance couldn’t maintain his pout for very long, especially not when Keith pulled the other into a proper kiss.
“So,” Lance said, leaning back, “no more shitty self-sacrifice?” Keith flicked Lance on the forehead.
“No more,” Keith promised, and Lance raised his pinky. With a shake of his head, the red paladin complied, and twisted their smallest fingers together with a chuckle.
{--+--}
“Keith, you jerk!” Lance yelped as a blast from a Galra sentry flew right by his ear. He returned the favor by dropping three soldiers with his own gun.
“Oh, come on, Lance--Just because I’ve killed more than you doesn’t--”
“Shut up! You’re totally cheating, you miscounted!”
“I did not!”
“Uh, guys!” Pidge hollered from across the battle, “would you stop being in gross gay love for two seconds so the rest of us can focus?”
“I second that,” came Hunk, and Lance whined.
“Aww, bros!”
“Just because you’ve figured out your undying love for eachother doesn’t mean the rest of us have to suffer.” Keith frowned as he swung into purple, slicing cleanly and precisely.
“Pidge, we’re literally just arguing about a competition. It’s no different than what we did before, I don’t get why it’s suddenly gay--”
“Oh no,” came the reply, following by a grunt, “you two were just in denial before.”
“Denial!?”
“Yes, Lance, that’s what I--”
Keith wheeled suddenly, effectively yanking Lance out of the way of a soldier’s blade. He ran his own blade through the armor, thick, warm liquid dripping down. Lance glanced at the dead Galra with wide eyes and then back at Keith, who flicked his sword and spattered the excess blood onto the ground.
“Thanks, babe,” Lance recovered, completing the statement with a wink. Keith rolled his eyes, turning away and hopping right back into the fray.
{--+--}
Keith looked at the red that coated his hands, and he regarded it for a brief moment as they all walked back to their lions, a battle well fought. Shiro and Hunk were talking lightly, discussing strategy; Allura and Coran radioed in on them, complimenting their fighting ability, and Pidge and Lance filled the space with snarky banter.
This time, though, staring at the red, Keith didn’t think of his parents as he sat helpless in the back seat; he didn’t think of failure, and he didn’t get a thrill as he wiped the blood from his hands.
Instead, he turned back to his team, his family; and he laughed as Pidge cracked a joke at Lance’s expense, and knew now that red defined him, through and through, in more ways than just one.
Red was the color of passion; the color of life, and subsequently death as well; but all things in the universe had good and bad, and Keith was no exception. He was quick-witted and quick to anger and reckless to boot, but he was also careful when he needed to be and would protect Voltron with the Red that chose him. Red was the color of the hot blood that ran through his veins and kept his heart beating, day after day, battle after battle, night after night.
Red was his color, his lion’s color; the color of sunsets and the color of the desert and the pen he used to write Lance little notes; red was wild and fierce and reckless and driven.
Keith’s smile grew as he stared at the paladins around him; inside his chest a warm feeling spread, as if he was slowly being thawed by a fire. A new realization came to him, and he found he much liked this more than the rest.
Red, no matter where they were in the universe, no matter what star system they were hurtling through or what battles they were fighting--red was the the color of love.