Don't Forget About Me (Previously, Keith Isn't Dead)

Chapter 8

Keith woke up in agony. He was sprawled out on the damp stone floor of his cell. It was hard for him to breathe and, thinking he was having another panic attack, went to put his hand over his chest. This was a bad idea.

Keith screamed as his injuries flared up. His insides felt like they were on fire, and every cut burned as if someone had dumped rock salt in there. Thankfully, he was at least bandaged up but the tight material tugged at his skin. Keith was also unimaginably sore. He felt like he had just woken up after the biggest fight of his life. Bruises had formed all over him, the teen twisted around, ignoring the sharp pains of protest. Black, blue, yellow, and green bruises littered his small frame. Some looked like rock imprints and Keith figured they came from the Dwellers restraining him. He shivered.

After fully inspecting his body, he found many more small cuts from the Dwellers, they were apparently fascinated with blood according to Clat. Speaking of the Balmerean, Clat was shouting Keith's name over and over.

"Keith! Keith! Kid, are you okay? C'mon answer me! Keith!" Pushing himself up Keith made his way to the cell door. He didn't get very far. Apparently, the Dweller's had 'observed' his legs. They didn't seem to be any lasting damage, but they were so sore he couldn't support his own weight. He called out to Clat in a raspy voice. "I'm fine. Just sore I guess..." Keith trailed off. He was lying, but Clat couldn't see him and had sounded really worried. Keith didn't want to bother him by being hurt.

"Kid, I've been here long enough to tell when people are lying about pain. I've got nothing but time, I might as well spend it helping someone else." Keith heard Clat call a Dweller over, as the creature approached, Keith scooted to the far wall of his cell, curling in on himself. He was so scared of the massive Dweller standing mere feet from him that he could barely breathe. He could hear his blood pumping in his ears, and that blocked out Clat's conversation with the Dweller. Keith flinched violently when he heard the loud click of Clat's cell door opening. Keith when white, his mind began to race as he expected to hear Clat's screams as he was dragged off. But the screams never came, at least not from Clat.

Keith let out an embarrassing shriek when his cell door opened to reveal the huge Dweller. It was holding Clat by the wrists and the Balmerean was thrown to the ground. Clat hissed in pain when his face collided with the stone floor. The Dweller grunted that they had five minutes.

Keith started to freak out. 'Was he going to die? Were they going to kill him in five minutes? Is that why they let Clat in here? Was Clat going to die?' The barrage of dark thoughts slowed when Clat pulled the smaller male into his arms. Keith, though he would absolutely never admit it, leaned into the soft touch. Clat calmed the teen down, assuring him he was okay.

"You and I are okay. We are not going to die, I've convinced the Dweller's that humans need social interaction to survive. They will not mind that I stay with you, Keith." Taking a deep breath, Keith looked up at Clat for the first time.

Clat was tall, a Balmerean trait he inherited, he was also quite thin, a result of the harsh treatment of the Dwellers. His face was slender and reminded Keith a little of Lance. He was dressed in rags that bore the prison logo. He had told Keith that after prisoners stay at the prison a while, they get 'upgraded' to rags. His voice was deep, but soft when it needed to be. Keith was surprised at how comfortable he was around the guy. Clat was also surprisingly warm, and his deep brown eyes were soft, another trait that reminded Keith of Lance. 

Clat rubbed Keith's back soothingly, eventually, Keith moved from his curled position. Leaning against the wall and letting his head fall onto Clat's shoulder.

Clat bean to speak softly as if he was talking to a frightened animal. "Hey, may I take a look at you? Your injuries I mean. We don't want to risk you making things worse." Keith found himself nodding, feeling comfortable and safe now that he wasn't alone.

Clat turned around while Keith wrapped his gown around his waist, revealing his battered torso. Taking a deep breath, Keith turned toward Clat, allowing his friend to look him over.

When Clat first saw his young friend's chest he felt an enormous urge to kick down the cell door and kill every Dweller he laid his eyes on. 'That is, If they could die from being attacked that is', He thought bitterly. Directing his attention back to Keith, Clat began to check for anything out of placement. His jaw was set the entire time. Fury bubbled up inside him as Keith looked up at him, asking in a small voice if he was alright. "Everything seems to be in the right place, but the Dwellers never really got the hang of stitches. That area will be sore for a while." Keith nodded, Clat was impressed, either this kid was amazing at hiding things, or he had an extremely high pain tolerance. Either feat was impressive for someone so young.

"So kit, how did you get yourself here? Humans are rare. The only ones who have successfully left their galaxy are the Paladins of Voltron and two or three poor souls who were taken by the Galra. How did you manage to get here?" Keith felt another wave of comfort flood through him when Clat called him Kit, it was a nickname he received in the Blade because of his size and age. Brushing it off, he told Clat a short version of his story. He tried to leave out Voltron and the Blade, aware of the fact that every room had a camera and microphone installed.

Clat listened patiently as Keith told him he was sucked into a wormhole unexpectedly when he and his friends had stolen a ship from Earth and flew it around. He said he had ejected from the ship in an escape pod because he thought it would be fun. That was when the wormhole popped up. He crashed here and was imprisoned a day later. Clat knew Keith was lying, but it was none of his business. Keith fell asleep shortly after, the day's events catching up to him. Clat stayed awake most of the night, used to sleeping only once or twice a week. Throughout the night he felt Keith shiver and saw the boy grimace. Clat hoped Keith was able to escape, he deserved to be happy and live without consequence.