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He’d learned a while ago how to keep it in, how to force it into a cage and close the door. Sometimes someone would say something, and he’d clench his fists and feel his nails dig small crescents into the palms of his hands. A teacher. A superior. A stranger. He’d absorb what they’d said and punch it out on some training dummy.
On the rare occasions, there was too much to force back. When Shiro had been presumed dead and the cause of death said to be pilot error, it erupted. One of the only people he’d ever felt like he could trust himself to admire didn’t just die. Didn’t just disappear. It didn’t happen. And that anger got him kicked out of the Garrison. He wouldn’t have said that the Garrison was all that great. Most of the officers talked shit and it wasn’t all that glorious or stable. But at the Garrison, he’d kept in the anger that always seemed to ruin him, and had had ambitions that he’d never dreamed of on his own. He’d been able to set himself to a higher standard, to do probably the one thing he was good at: fight.
He’d sat in that cabin for days, running everything over and over in his head. How his fucking inability to keep his cool took over his life. How he didn’t have a purpose anymore. How he’d be alone, again, the silence feeling like a nail driving into his skull.
In an attempt to find something, anything, to get him back to life, he went on a walk around the canyon. The desert wind harshly pulled at his hair and blew dirt into his eyes. When he felt that surge of energy, he knew that there was direction for him again. He threw himself into that spike of energy, the way he threw himself into just about everything. He drew the lines of the drawings of the blue lion into his head, trying to replace the sound of Shiro’s laugh, a picture of a woman, growing fuzzier by the day.
Everything went so fast once Keith was hefting Shiro’s arm over his shoulders. Lance, the blue lion, the castle, Allura and Coran, Voltron. More had happened in a few hours than had happened in the months since he’d been kicked from the Garrison. Suddenly, he had a purpose, and he was more than willing to accept it.
At first, Lance’s quips were hard-hitting and tinged with his version of poisonous jealousy. There were a few times when Keith had wanted to acquaint Lance’s face with his fist, but he chewed at the inside of his cheek and moved on. He threw himself into his new position as one of five, spending most of his waking moments training.
As time moved, they all slowly learned how to live with each other. Lance’s words grew softer and Keith figured that they were more a projection than anything. He knew when to leave Pidge alone and when they needed someone else more than anything. He had found a friend in Hunk. He’d learned that Shiro wasn’t perfect, and that, sometimes, he needed to feel like the others had his back. Keith had grown to admire Allura. He’d started to admire Coran, for his ability to keep himself up, to keep everyone going.
Maybe, just maybe, he’d found a family that would stay.
Whenever Lance got that look on his face that he only got when he thought of home, Keith’s vision started to tint red. When Shiro’s voice wavered with self- consciousness, Keith had to focus his energy on keeping his face from contorting with anger. When Pidge took a glance at the photo of their brother, his heart started to pound. If Hunk’s wavered in fear over the radio frequency, Keith felt his hands clench at his Lion’s controls.
There was always something to focus on, someone to put on a disillusioned pedestal. But, most of all, there was always something to be angry about.