Chapter Text
It was incredibly rare for Keith to wake up before 9am; he had no reason to commit to the daytime classes seeing as he would be studying later that night. He’d found that he functioned surprisingly better at night, perhaps it was the lack of distraction from classmates. It was more likely that his newly acquired night vision was made more bearable in the dim haze of the darkened classroom but he would never accept that part of him. Despite the routine lateness of his awakenings it was a surprise to find the surrounding desert dully lit, a telltale sign of the degree to which he’d overslept.
He shrugged it off; maybe he was meant to be nocturnal.
He admitted to feeling far more alien as days went on; though now his isolation felt more justified as changes to his appearance became more apparent. His purple irises were slitted and catlike; his nails had hardened into claws; dark blood clinging to his raw cuticles. He’d considered documenting his metamorphosis, the thought of flustered government agents attempting to disprove his existence was kind of funny. Almost.
Morning classes were to start shortly, meaning he had a small window of peace before his fellow cadets would start making their way to lectures.
Keith paused, he could feel metallic pain make its home in his now bloody mouth. He cursed silently, rolling his eyes as he made his way to his desktop mirror. Shiro had called it a vanity yet he felt as far from vain as humanly possible.
His deep copper blood clung to his milky cream carpet; his dorm looking like something straight out of
mouth oozing with crimzon lifeforce. The looseness of his teeth was made apparent as he inspected one of his canines with his tongue.
It wasn't as though he wasn't used to his body throwing these sudden alterations at him, ever since he was a child he'd held an inkling that something about him was a little strange. The image of the twisted horror plastered on the faces of his foster parents’ when he lost his third set of baby teeth. Maybe he was going to become some sort of alien shark.
He snorted morbidly. How the universe loved to find creative ways to screw him over.
Tentatively tending to his obliterated gums he found himself wincing; it was unusual for him to be so acutely aware of pain. However much it seemed that even in his broken alien state he was now able to feel more deeply, his existence was split, his dreams were plagued by Shiro’s disappearance. He sighed, sharped tipped hands brushing his tousled hair out of his face, if anything he had become more cognizant of the importance of contact as a result of his deprived state.
After a few seconds he managed to move his disheveled mass to sit down, eyes level with his reflection. As he gazed into the mirrored surface he felt himself desperately wishing this was just another of his nightmares, that the dead, yellow scleras that gaped back at him were simply an illusion brought forth by the absence of sleep. Unsurprisingly, no matter how long he willed for it, nothing changed. He tried to suppress the caustic feelings, no matter how hard he screwed his irritated eyes closed there was still the infuriating scratch of tears pushing under his lids. There was nothing he could do stop this, everything he'd tried failed, only worsening his state. He had to just accept that he was going through some serious weird alien shit and that the universe just really fucking hated him
He briefly considered asking someone to bring some antiseptic to his dorm,if he was going to face this, he was at least going to make sure he didn't get the alien equivalent of gum disease from not treating his wounds. (Also, although he wouldn't admit it he paled at the idea of Shiro coming home and seeing what a mess he'd become). He’d always seen himself as independent, after his father had left him alone in the desert hed learnt to clean and care for his own injuries- plus explaining how his teeth had mysteriously shifted would be too much hassle to weed past the garrison matron.
He supposed there was still Adam, but he hasn't spoken to the superior officer since the Kerberos mission vanished.
He was better than crying at the knees of someone who he’d broken away from.
As he considered the potential choices he had, he moved his hands as though physically weighing out the eventualities. Shiro had vanished, making him automatically a null option. The garrison would likely freak out and try and use him for some twisted experiment. He’d only spoken to his classmates the day earlier, he smirked at the idea of throwing that sort of bombshell at them. ‘Hey guys, nothing much up, just casually losing my teeth again only this time they're kind of pointy and I need to put some antibacterial cleaner on them or something lol’.
He concluded that was definitely not an option right now.
This left him with two choices:
- go to class with half of his teeth, claws and slitted eyes and potentially risk an infection (which from his years in the desert he knew was not at all desirable.)
or
B: go to the supermarket, grab some cheap gloves and sunglasses and hope for the best.
In all honesty, both plans read pretty weak. B, however, just ever so slightly more reasonable to carry off cleanly. It wasn't exactly like he had the option to stroll around the galaxy garrison crowned in blood without raising questions anyway.
It seemed as though he wasn't able to have a single moment's peace anymore: Keith’s phone shook violently, text notifications’ screams plead for him to silence them. It was a surprise when he would receive even a garrison issued text, his inbox was generally a pretty desolate place. He must have been dreaming when he saw 2095 messages waiting for him.
Of course: the chemistry chat was a thing.
Hunk’s Dank Chemistry chat of Bitchcraft and Misery.
Potentially-Mothman: Morning guys ;)
Potentially-Mothman: How the fuck have i missed 2095 messages.
He sent a screenshot of the flashing number as proof.
JustLance3: Unlike you we actually check the group chat.
Snideness resonated from the black font.
Potentially-Mothman: oh.
PidgeON: Ignore Lance- I have a free period if u wanna hang out. I’m running errands so we could go to the shopping centre or something.”
Keith didn’t want to hang out, especially under his current circumstances. Pidge didn't seem to be one to let something like slowly and painfully becoming an alien go down lightly.
Potentially-Mothman: I'm kind of caught up in something rn.
PidgeON: You don’t have to say no just to be polite you know.
JustLance3: He’s onto you Kogane
PidgeON: thx Lance.
Potentially-Mothman: I mean i'm actually busy. Can't make it.
PidgeON: Ok, suit urself. I’m going to get a smoothie- the mall has the best tropical blend so like hmu if u find urself less busy.
Keith felt the corner of his mouth twitch upwards, the loose tip of his canine tooth caught on his lip jauntily forcing him into a smile.
JustLance3: Catch me coming, unlike mullet i make an effort to hang out with classmates.
Lance’s blunt texting read pretty repugnant, it was like the guy had a personal vendetta against him or something. Though he had zero recollection of ever actually talking with Lance before this whole manic chemistry chat situation.
He considered it pretty tragic that Lance, who had so so much potential to be attractive with his athletic figure and glowing skin, could be so repulsive in his mannerisms.
Sucks to his soulmate, he disparaged.
Despite the far than ideal group arrangement he couldn't deny that he was just a little bit proud of his milestone achievement of communicating with classmates.
However, he’d just given himself the far greater task of braving actual shopping. Not to mention carrying out his excuse whilst completing said shopping.
…
There was something arcane about the mall slightly outside of campus. Off white isles buzzed with dim artificial lighting; soulless shop endoskeletons were juxtaposed with the sweet spiced scent of freshly baked pretzels. It was certainly a shock to his system entering such a densely populated location, it was uncalled for for garrison cadets to bunk class in order to visit the shopping centre, yet finding himself surrounded left, right and centre with shop goers in a colour other than orange was pretty nostalgic.
Keith made a mental note to avoid the juice bar, deciding that as much as he loved the recherché atmosphere of the strangely named drinks he would much rather keep the sanctity of his friendship with Pidge.
Not to mention the hell he’d suffer if Lance spotted him...
The mall was large, however it was easy enough to navigate. He spent time considering the masses of branded clothing stores, ice cream bars and cafes plastering the larger building. Much of the produce sold there was outdated, it was as though the stores had not been changed since the mall had first been built, which must have been thirty years ago at least.
After what felt like hours trawling through the shopping centre he came to an inconspicuous looking clothing shop. The blank articles that adorned the window mannequins brought him back to times when Matt Holt would playfully criticize the modesty of Keith’s clothing choices, suggesting more colourful graphic options. He didn't put much thought into his choice of black T-shirt, a dark colour to mask any future blood, and red bomber jacket.
He found himself trawling through the streams of eyewear; opting for a, hopefully stylish, pair of yellow tinted aviator sunglasses. He considered them a success in terms of covering his freaky eyes, though they probably looked a little out of place paired with his heavy winter jacket and newly purchased biker gloves.
He felt a new wave of confidence as he clasped the thin plastic handles of his shopping bags. This rekindling of energy, however, was cut out abruptly when he heard an obnoxiously loud voice turn around the corner.
‘I mean It’s not that I don't agree with you that Brotherhood was superior to the original anime, it's just that nostalgia you get when watching the 2003 version ya know.’
‘As a diehard fan of the manga it really feels like you've stabbed me in the heart there Lance’ a disgruntled feminine voice responded.
Of course it had to be Lance and Pidge approaching. Why did his life feel like something straight out of a crappy B movie right now?
Without really thinking he lunged past a crowd of people queueing for the escalator, mentally cursing as the moving staircase way in no way moving fast enough. He just had to pray that they didn't get a good enough look at him to recognise him. This was the kind of thing that he would never have been able to live down.
…
At the top of the escalator was a pair of incredibly confused garrison students, one clad in a green, the other dressed rather inappropriately in blue swimming shorts despite it being the beginning of autumn. Lance placed his hand into the pocket of said blue shorts, brushing cleanly cut brown locks out of his face. If there was something he had been expecting to find at the mall, it certainly was not Keith.
Although he was never one to question his own understanding of a situation, he turned to his shorter companion inquisitively:
‘I could have sworn that was Keith just then, I mean I’d recognise that mullet anywhere.’
The other cadet snorted, ‘For someone that calls him a fashion disaster you sure do seem to look at his hair a lot Lance.’ Pidge retorted.
That was uncalled for.
Though he decided it was far better to keep to non verbal offense at that or Pidge would never let him live through the embarrassment.
The duo had just returned from the gimmicky ‘Rocket Fuel’ juice bar, feeling much more energised just by holding the space themed smoothies. It wasn't as though he didn’t want to SEE Keith, it was more that they'd been turned down by the other boy, therefore he could not deny his slight offense at sighting him. He huffed, not everyone had to be as nice as himself he supposed. He retracted that thought, Hunk was better than everyone in the universe combined.
‘You know Pidge, with the rate our buddy ran down those stairs you’d think he was one of those, uhh what do you call them cryptic things you’re into?’
He could hear Pidge’s eyeroll in her tone, ‘Cryptids Lance.’ She brushed some of her chestnut hair out of her glasses. ‘But yeah, it was kinda like he was trying to hide?’
‘Smells like embarrassment to me.’ he half joked.
‘The only thing embarrassing around here are those shorts? Like what is that print? Whale sharks?’
Lance flushed, unsure what his (indisputably fashionable) shorts had to do with cryptid Keith. ‘I guess our friendship is built upon a throne of disagreements, you kneel before my almighty fashion sense as you are but a mere fashion gremlin, you socks with sandals wearing monster.’
Pidge simply responded by folding her arms, look of disappointment plaguing her entire face. ‘Ok fine you win. Seriously though, I thought Keith was busy? He ran with such urgency.’
‘I vote we follow him’ Lance pressed, eyebrows raising jauntily.
‘A total invasion of someone else's privacy? Sounds risky: I'm in.’ Pidge coerced her hands together with cartoon mania.
With the achievement of confirmation, Operation Cryptid Keith was ready to commence.
It took mere minutes to conclude that their companion had likely headed towards the exit of the mall, though given the size of the place it was immensely unlikely that he would have managed to leave. Busses to the Garrison ran once every half hour, so if anything Keith would likely have plenty of time trying to evade them.
Pidge whipped her phone out of her pocket ‘I’ll shoot him a message in the chat, maybe then he’ll realise we’re not mad at him?’
It was a sound plan.
Hunk’s Dank Chemistry Chat of Bitchcraft and Misery.
PidgeON: Hey Keith, are you sure you don't want to hang out with us, we’re not mad.
Lance poked Pidge in the side, ‘Not very subtle.’
‘Got any better ideas?’
‘Nope.’
‘Then let me type.’
There was a moment of silence between them as they stared at the blank chemistry chat, the quietness was to be expected from Hunk who was currently in one of Iverson’s classes, yet Keith usually had something snide to say.
They didn't have long to wait for the silence to be broken, behind them they could hear the scramble of fast movement.
‘As Fred would always say, we need to split up’
‘Roger that!’
At first it felt incredibly difficult for Lance to find a lead on Keith, after all, he’d only known the guy for like 24 hours. However, the distress that plagued his new friend’s face as he bolted past him was symptom enough that he needed the Lance treatment and he needed it fast.
He surveyed the area he last saw keith, there was still a minute chance that his companion may have tried to bamboozle him by returning to a place he’d been sighted before, however the dimly lit emptiness behind the escalator told him that was not the case. So much for that plan.
He contemplated everything he currently knew about Keith:
- Wears fingerless gloves
- Emo
- Possibly hates him.
Perfect, that would definitely help in this situation.
…
After what felt to be an eternity of searching, Lance decided that it was likely Keith had gone home. According to Pidge, she was still searching the surrounding car park- leaving Lance as alone as he could be in such as place, to bask in his disappointments.
He moved himself towards the less populated area of the mall, known for mostly being a storage centre for unsold merchandise.
This section of the mall was more mundane, vivid colours becoming the murky brown of dusty cardboard packaging. The walls were lined with a fortress of shipping crates, filled to the brim with sorrowful products that he assumed were dated far before his time.
He remembered as a kid his brother had called it the shipment graveyard. ‘Where wrong orders go to die’.
It was for this reason that he did not act as shocked as one normally might have upon coming into contact with a warm, crimson liquid tainting one of the shelves.
It was sticky in his hand.
He brought the substance closer to his face to further examine it. When he tentatively rubbed the liquid he instinctively recoiled at the strong metallic smell.
It was blood.
Looking more closely at the room he was in he could see the blood dotted around, as though the perpetrator had struggled into the shelves.
Lance was never one to shy away from something of interest, particularly when whoever had shoved their way into the room covered in blood may have encountered Keith at some point. Operation Cryptid Keith was now something far more sinister: no emo mullet was going to be harmed under Lance McClain’s watch.
Following the tight weaving path between boxes was not an easy task, especially with the looming fear of a potential threat lurking around any cardboard corner. However, he soon found the vermillion taint came to an end outside the entrance to the (most likely off limits) section of the mall. He’d never ventured this far before.
The trail of sticky red liquid lead to a dark, uncomfortably humid store room, the vents whirred in some sort of intangible dialect, shelves packed with stock groaning, near to collapsing from the ammassing weight of cans and other abandoned produce. If it weren't for the dull scratching of something sharp against the laminate flooring it was likely that Lance would have abandoned this room to continue his search elsewhere.
On the floor lay a pair of cracked yellow aviator sunglasses, a hunched figure and a set of glowing, soulless golden eyes.
‘...Keith?’