Don't Forget to Breathe

AN: First of all, heads up on a slight trigger warning for hints of attempted suicide. Also accounts of severe depression and anxiety. Make sure you take care of yourselves! 3

This is a short piece based off an AU fic I've been working on for about a year now. In this fic, Keith is a "subject" in government custody, and the story takes place in Area 51. This story is also one of the first pieces of writing that I started working on for the fic as a whole. :) The reason I'm publishing this now is because I decided to participate in a Voltron Bang on Tumblr, and after months of consideration, I decided to write a short story for this fic! The bang was a lot of fun by the way, and I totally recommend it!

SPEAKING OF WHICH! Go check out Sarcasticbirb on Tumblr. He's a really good artist and he drew some really awesome fanart for my fic. Seriously like holy crap I wish I could draw like that.

If you like this fic, keep an eye out for the full version, which will be called Specimen 48! I'm getting pretty close to finishing the first chapter, and I'm hoping it'll be up by September or October!

Don't forget to leave a review! If you see something that could use some tweaking, please feel free to let me know! Or hey, if you wanna stroke my ego a bit, that'd be fine too. (Haha.) All joking aside, I have very thick skin when it comes to my writing, so please let me know if there's anything I can do to improve!

Drowning; that was the only thing he was ever able to feel anymore. What little control he had had over his own life had finally slipped from his grasp. Before, he felt that at least he was able to breathe, to cling to whatever hope that remained, like a float in the water.

Now, even his own hope had managed to slip from his grasp. He tried to hold on tight, he truly did, but the current was just too much for him. All he was able to do was thrash blindly in the water and cry out for help.

Of course, his cries went unheard, muffled by the darkness all around him.

Sometimes, he would manage to resurface, to catch a few breaths; but the current, fingers chilled and strong, always found a way to pull him under once more, leaving him gasping and choking in the dark.

Keith wasn't sure why he was still fighting. He wondered if there was even any point, if, regardless of whatever amount of effort he put in, he was still trapped to a life of meaningless struggle. At this point, the only reward he received from his endeavors was just more needles to the arm.

He wondered if his younger, more stubborn self would have been able to push forward, in spite of everything that the doctors threw at him. Maybe he would have been able to stand strong, or at least go down kicking and screaming.

But, now…

It was just so hard. It was hard to see any light at the end of the tunnel. He was always left to feel doomed, to feel the walls caving in.

In his darkest moments, he was never able to answer the voice that asked him why he even bothered. He just wanted to live a normal life.

Of course, he didn't believe that was even possible. Even if he did find a way out, he had nowhere to go. No family, no friends. Not even a place to call home.

For the most part, Keith was alone. It was all he knew. His mother had abandoned him—who could blame her, he often wondered—the foster care system had often lost him, and most people he had come into contact with throughout his life just didn't seem to care enough to bother keeping track. The few who did often were the ones who left behind the deepest scars.

And yet, despite the loneliness he had felt for the majority of his life, it couldn't prepare him for the true isolation he was dealt in this place. Before, at least there were places he could go, people to observe from afar, smiles he could pretend to understand. The only thing he was able to observe now was the lack of color. Grey walls. White coats. Dull people. An unbearable silence. The doctors who poked and prodded him hardly spoke a word, except to talk among themselves about Keith. As if he wasn't in the room, as if he wasn't often dull and lifeless himself. So what was the point if nobody else cared? His cries had gone unheard for so long that he had learned to swallow the blood back down, breathe in the scent that meant pain like it was nothing. Because to these people, it really was nothing. Nothing other than the habits of a broken lab rat.

And yet...even now, there were still times he hoped someone would at least acknowledge the change in personality. He had never been one to talk much, but there was a difference between quiet and mute. Sometimes he would cast one of the doctors a glance, hoping they would notice the bruises that never showed. His heart ached just a bit more after every avoidance of the eye, after another scribble to a clipboard.

It took his refusal to take part in any more tests that the doctors had finally started to notice something was wrong. They threatened to stop giving him meals, but he wouldn't budge. Out of fear of his starvation, they gave in and brought him food once more—but Keith had long lost his appetite.

He was done.

Keith took a deep breath and held it. He briefly wondered how long he would be able to keep it, numbly thinking to himself about how easy it would be if he could just stop breathing.

"If only," he thought numbly to himself.

Keith let out a deep sigh, tiredly staring off into space. The wall beside him offered nothing in particular, but he was used to staring blankly. When he couldn't sleep off the boredom, he would lay around in wait for the doctors to come and try to drag him away. Sometimes the doctors would come frequently, other times they left him alone for what seemed like weeks. He lived in fear for every attempt at another test, but the breaks in between, which meant not knowing when they would come back, was almost worse.

No matter what, he was always prepared for a fight.

Pulling him out of his trance, the mechanic swoosh of the door filled his ears, followed by a pair of footsteps. Keith didn't move, staring blankly at the wall before him. He listened to the footsteps come closer, until they stopped at his mattress. There was a slight squeak of boots rubbing against the floor, before he felt a large hand gently grab his shoulder.

He was too tired to draw away.

"Keith?"

That made his heart skip a beat. It had been the first time in almost two years that anyone had used his name. Hearing the name spoken, aimed at him, felt foreign. Yet at the same time, it brought back old memories. Despite all of the pain associated with those memories, it still brought on the ache of longing, of a time where he could pretend to be human.

"Keith," the voice repeated. "My name is John. Can I talk to you for a moment?"

Keith squeezed his eyes shut. He longed to hear his name continue to be used, and longed to be directly spoken to, not as if he were a prisoner or a lab rat, but a person. But, seemingly out of his control, he found himself shaking his head, before pulling the covers protectively over his head.

"Leave me alone," he said, his voice cracking from lack of use.

Despite the loneliness he felt, he was too afraid to let this man inside. Afraid that this was some sick trick. Another test. Even in his own cell, he knew he wasn't safe from their tests. If he wouldn't come out, then they would have to bring their tests right to him.

"I want to help you," John spoke softly. His voice held the warmth of a father's voice. A father he never had. "I know you've been through a lot."

Keith swallowed, his throat feeling tight. Having his pain actually being validated, not brushed aside, was almost too much for him. He blinked back the tears flooding behind his eyelids, refusing to let them spill.

"There's nothing to help."

John sighed. He placed his hand back on Keith's shoulder, and gave it a small squeeze. Keith didn't draw back.

"I've talked it over with the others," John continued. "They said that, in exchange for your cooperation, they are willing to give you anything you want. All you have to do is ask."

It took Keith a moment to process these words, his brain getting snagged on the request for his "cooperation".

But one thing popped into his mind. The one thing he had missed more than anything else.

"I-I..."

Keith paused, unsure. He didn't know if it was worth saying. John had said they would give him anything, but he was afraid that this would be too much, that it would simply go, unheard.

He just couldn't take that anymore. One more reminder of how much of a prisoner he truly was, a reminder of what he had lost, was just too much. It was the last straw, the final push into his own grave. He could no longer live like an animal in a cage.

"You can tell me, Keith."

Maybe it was okay. Maybe there was no point in being afraid anymore. He was most likely already done. The scar going down his wrists surely proved this to be a fact.

The truth was, things couldn't get any worse. He had nothing to lose by telling John even this little thing that he knew he could never have again.

"I want to go outside."

John was silent for a few beats.

Keith didn't have to brace himself.

It didn't matter. Nothing did.

Finally, John spoke.

"Okay," he said softly. "I'll see if I can get that arranged."

Without another word, he stood and left the room.

Keith pulled the sheets even closer to himself, relaxing into the warmth. He tried to let his mind wander elsewhere, but the possibility of actually being outside, after all this time, just wouldn't leave him be. He missed looking up at the sky, counting stars or looking at white fluffy clouds. Forgot what freshly cut grass smelled like. Needed to feel the heat of the sun on his face.

Keith shook his head furiously, and buried his face into the pillow. No. It was dangerous to let his hopes get too high. All it would do was cause more pain.

A few hours passed. Keith was starting to ponder how they would let him down. He wasn't sure what he would have preferred. If they just told him it wasn't happening, then at least he wouldn't be left wondering for days.

Then again, hearing an official "no" would just make it all too real.

At least, if it actually was real, and he hadn't simply imagined the whole thing.

Finally, the door opened once more. He couldn't recognize the tall, dark skinned man. But when Keith's eyes locked with dark brown ones, the man offered a warm smile. A warm smile that matched with the warm voice from earlier.

John came up to Keith, setting down a water bottle and a tray of food. Keith didn't bother to look at what was in the tray, instead looking up at John, waiting for him to put him out of his misery.

"All right, Keith. First thing tomorrow morning, we'll take you outside. On the condition you eat, and keep your food down."

Keith blinked. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. This couldn't be real.

He still tried not to believe him, wondering if this was a false promise. But it was a losing battle. Hearing John say that he could have this was just too much to overlook. There was actually something to look forward to, something to make his heart race with excitement.

"Okay?"

Keith nodded immediately, sitting up. He scooped up the tray into his lap and started eating.

John stayed for a few moments, watching Keith, before he left once more.

Keith hardly registered the carrot sticks he was nibbling on, suddenly feeling jittery and restless for the first time in weeks. He wasn't even sure if he could wait until tomorrow. He wished he had asked John to see if he could fix the clock, so he would know how long he would have to wait.

It was hard to get all of his food down. He was aware that he was hungry, but his appetite still hadn't received the message. Had it not been for the cameras, he would have given up on his meal completely, even with John's promise.

But, finally, Keith managed to finish. He wasn't sure how long it had taken him, but he knew it wouldn't have been enough to keep him occupied. Now that he was done, he could only wait.

After what felt like several hours of pacing around the room, and tossing and turning in bed, somehow, even with his mind racing, he managed to fall asleep.

When he was woken, he jolted, preparing to run for cover into the bathroom, until he recognized John. Keith was told that they could go, as soon as he ate the meal that John had brought for him.

Keith ate breakfast as fast as he could, almost too fast. When he started hiccuping, John told him to slow down, but he just took a swig from his water bottle and continued eating. Despite how quickly he ate, it still felt like it took forever to empty his plate.

As soon as he finished, he sprang from his bed, stepping ahead of John to get to the door. John chuckled lightly, meeting him there to unlock it.

Leaving the room, Keith immediately noticed several military personnel waiting for them. Iverson was among the group, holding two sets of shackles, along with a restraint mask.

Keith shuffled uncomfortably.

"Oh my—is that really necessary?" John asked, exasperated.

"You know how he is when he lashes out," Iverson said gruffly. "I'm not taking any chances, especially with him being out there, even for a second. Get over here, Forty-Eight."

Keith chuckled dryly. He found it ironic that he was being told that he would be able to go outside, but only in chains. He had been locked inside his room, and he would be bound outside. Once again, nothing seemed to make a difference.

Keith silently stepped up to Iverson, and tried to remain still as he allowed the man to chain his hands and feet. It took everything in his power not to even make a sound as Iverson secured the mask. The mask was fastened tightly against the bridge of his nose, and even with air holes, Keith felt like he could hardly breathe beneath the thick leather. His chest felt tight and compressed, as if someone were pushing down directly against his heart.

He took a deep breath, and tried to relax his rigid shoulders.

The walk seemed to take forever.

They walked down several sets of hallways. Each hallway felt longer than the last. Keith quickly lost track of where they were, his thoughts too scrambled and blurred to keep a grasp on any clear thoughts.

He tried to remain as calm and quiet as he could, terrified that Iverson would hear his heart pounding. But he was crumbling. He was terrified that he would lose control over himself, that he would completely lose his mind. He wanted to scream, to try and run away. He had nowhere to go but back to his room, but he almost wondered if that were better than this. Iverson's eyes had him pinned like prey, and he couldn't even seem to think straight. Everything was just slowly spiraling, and he was losing his grip on it all.

Keith suddenly flinched at the hand on his shoulder. He jerked his head towards John, who gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Keith? Do you need to stop for a minute?"

Without thinking, Keith shook his head. Immediately, he regretted that, but he was unable to bring himself to tell John what was going on. This wasn't the first time he had had this feeling of losing control—in fact, he was more than used to it. But the feeling was different this time. More intense. It wasn't something he was sure he could just brush aside this time.

He looked away from John, down at his bound hands.

That was when he saw that his hands were turning purple.

"Oh god," he thought to himself. "Please, no. Not now."

Keith took another deep breath, but all he could focus on was the suffocating smell of leather from the mask pressed so tightly against his face. He pulled helplessly at his chains for a moment, feeling unbearably closed in, but stopped almost immediately after he heard Iverson grunt beside him.

Keith inhaled again, feeling dizzy, his legs wobbling beneath him. He feared they wouldn't be able to carry him all the way; he was already struggling to walk and keep up with everyone else, having his ankles bound just a couple inches apart.

They reached a large flight of stairs and stopped. Keith couldn't help but shudder as a chill went down his spine.

"We should take the elevator," John said suddenly, pulling Keith out of his stupor. "He can't walk down the stairs with his feet bound like that."

"No," said Iverson. "We can't all fit in the elevator, and I'm not leaving him with any less guards. One of you will have to carry him."

Keith yelped at the sudden hands of the soldier that grabbed him, before he was quickly hoisted over the shoulder like a sack of flour.

"Sergeant, Sir," John said carefully. "I really don't think this is necessary. At the very least, we sh—"

"I don't care what you think," Iverson interrupted. "Let's move."

Keith squirmed uncomfortably; his arms were pressed tightly against his chest, and he was quickly growing dizzy from being held practically upside down. He tried to even out his own breathing, but no matter what, he just couldn't catch his breath. He tried to convince himself that this would be worth it, but he was quickly forgetting what they were supposed to be doing in the first place. All he wanted to do was hide.

He tried not to think about how unstable he felt after every step. He wondered if he was just paranoid.

But then, suddenly, he felt himself beginning to slip from the man's grasp.

It started too fast for him to stop.

Before Keith could even speak, he was falling. First from the soldier. His head smacked right into the stairs beneath him, and he was unable to raise his arms to protect himself. He had no time to react as he was already falling down the stairs. He clawed desperately at any surface he could as he tried to break his fall, but in an instant he was tumbling down. All he could do was scream as his body slammed hard over and over again against solid concrete. He was helpless and trapped to this horrible fall.

Finally, he came to a stop as he fell flat on his chest at the first landing between the stairs. He barely noticed the sets of footsteps following after him. The only thing he knew was that he couldn't breathe.

"Keith!"

All he could do was gasp in desperate breaths that wouldn't reach his lungs. No matter how hard he breathed, it just wasn't enough.

Keith couldn't help but wonder if he was dying.

John was suddenly before him, helping him to his knees. Keith could only heave.

"I-I c-can-n't—" Keith sputtered.

"You're okay," John insisted, loosening Keith's mask. "You had the wind knocked out of you. Just try to breathe."

It took several minutes for Keith to finally regain control over his breathing. By the time he was able to take deep breaths once more, Iverson and the rest of his men had already made it down long before he was able to recover. Iverson's harsh glare on him had made it even harder for Keith to set his breathing right.

"Keith," John started gently, "are you hurt?"

Keith groaned. His entire body was throbbing with pain, and his backside was so sore, he was afraid he wouldn't be able to stand. Yet, he didn't think there was anything to truly worry about. He doubted he had a concussion. He had survived. Keith just wanted to get back to his room to sleep as soon as possible. He wasn't sleepy, he was just drained. This terror, this constant feeling of an impending sense of doom, was just too much for him to handle. He just wanted it to stop. Sleep was the only way he knew how to cope.

"I'm fine," Keith said weakly.

"Are you sure?"

"I just want to get this over with."

John paused. Keith looked away to avoid the older man's gaze.

"Okay…"

John helped Keith up, who let out a strangled grunt at the shooting pain running down his backside. He was barely able to stand, and it took everything in him not to give in to the lump lodged deep in his throat. How was he going to make it back to his room?

Keith let out a shuddering breath.

Iverson cleared his throat, glaring at both Keith and John.

"Put the mask back on," he said harshly. "He looks like he's about to attack."

Keith looked back down at his hands. His arms were completely purple, and he was sure his ears had morphed. Keith took another deep breath in an attempt to calm himself enough to get his features normal once more. He could feel every weary eye on him, cornering him.

John sighed. He turned to Keith, frowning deeply.

"Are you ready?"

Keith nodded.

He allowed John to fasten the mask back against his face; John secured the mask much looser than Iverson had. It was still thick and suffocating, but it was much more comfortable to wear now that it wasn't bound so tightly.

Still, Keith was uneasy, and only grew more so when he saw the same guard who had picked him up before starting to walk towards him. He looked to John pleadingly, but Keith was unsure of what he would be able to do.

John put a hand on Keith's shoulder.

"Sir," he spoke. "I can carry him."

But Iverson just laughed.

"You're too soft, Wilson."

Keith was then grabbed by the guard and lifted from his feet, before being once again hoisted over the shoulder.

He wanted to be able to remain calm. Surely through will power, he had to be able to stay calm, at least that's what he thought.

But as they started to move, he thought he felt himself beginning to slip from the man's grasp once again. He didn't want to slip. Didn't want to fall.

He felt completely out of control. Bound and muzzled like a dog, carried with no care, like a dead body.

He thought he was slipping again.

All he could do was scream.

"LET ME GO!"

He couldn't escape from the man's iron grasp, but he had to try. All he could do was try.

He kicked and screamed, and everyone came to a halt. The guard carrying him kept a strong hold on him, but Keith knew he was losing his grasp. He just wanted to be put down, just wanted to be stable. He wasn't sure he could handle another fall.

They hadn't even taken more than a few steps when Keith was tossed roughly to the ground, back on the landing. Keith curled up on the floor, and started gasping for breath once again, but this had nothing to do with the drop. He heard John shout at the man who had dropped him, but he couldn't decipher a word. His entire world was closing in, and Keith wanted to start screaming again.

"Keith!"

Keith was firmly pulled into a sitting position, which drew out a cry between gasps. He could barely register John's face as the man placed two hands on his shoulders.

"Listen, I know you're scared, but I need you to try to calm down."

Calm down? Keith had no idea how to do that. The request only made him panic further as he shook his head furiously. How on Earth was he supposed to calm down?

John went to unbuckle the mask once more, but Iverson was quick to respond;

"WILSON!"

"He's hyperventilating!" John snapped, removing the mask as Keith choked back a sob. "What's wrong? Try to breathe."

Keith took a deep breath, but the lump in his throat burst. His walls came crashing down, and the tears came before he could stop them.

With a whimper, Keith buried his face into his bound hands.

"I can't dothis," Keith whimpered. "I want to go back. I can't do this."

"What—"

"I CAN'T DO THIS!"

Keith let out a sob, his own scream having even scared himself. At the sound of what he thought was someone cocking their gun, Keith fell silent, and began to shake.

"Keith, look at me."

Hearing his own name was still just so strange. He realized, he didn't even know how John had found his name. The man had known before even speaking to Keith. Surely it must have taken some work to find. The fact just made it all the more strange, yet equally personal, even managing to have a calming effect on him.

Slowly, Keith removed his hands, and looked John in the eyes. It was difficult for him to keep eye contact, but he tried as hard as he could.

"I-I'm listening," Keith said softly.

John nodded.

"Listen...I know this is a lot for you. I know you just want to go back to your room. But you need this. If not for you, then please, do it for me. Please."

Keith held his breath.

For him?

It didn't make sense. A man he had just met, asking him to take care of himself, as if that would benefit him personally.

The negative voice in Keith's head told him that this was because Keith was such a burden when he got like this.

But nobody had ever talked to Keith the way John was doing now. Nobody had ever taken the time to knock on his door, to ask what was wrong. For the longest time, he had assumed that nobody was even supposed to care. That he was just meant to be hated.

Keith couldn't help but cling to John's sincerity.

"Okay," he said. "I'll try."

John smiled softly.

"Okay."

Carefully, John helped Keith to his feet. He gripped John's arm for support, trying to keep quiet at the pain radiating around his lower back.

John turned to Iverson.

"I think we should let him walk himself down the stairs."

Iverson scoffed.

"And why should I take orders from you?"

"Would you rather him have another panic attack?"

Iverson was quiet for a moment, before letting out an agitated growl. He dug into his pockets and pulled out a key, before shoving it into John's hands.

"Fine. You deal with him. He better not cause any more trouble. And you make sure he's fully restrained by the time we reach the end of the stairs."

John looked back at Keith.

"You're okay to walk, right?"

If Keith was being honest with himself, he was doubtful. But it was the lesser of two evils, and he had dealt with worse pain in the past.

"Yeah."

The rest of the way down was much easier. Keith was in pain at the start, but he quickly became accustomed to walking the more steps he took. They let him stay close enough to the railing to grip, while John stayed by his side, ready to catch Keith if he lost his footing.

By the time they got down to the first floor, Keith's heart had begun to pound for a different reason. When his feet were re-bound (the mask, John wouldn't put back on, claiming it would burn Keith once outside—Iverson was too impatient to argue any further with John), it took everything in him not to race to the front door.

When they got to the front, John reached out to the keypad beside the steel door, quickly entering the code in, before hitting a large green button. There was a quick beep, Keith watching with bated breath as the door slid open.

The dim room lit up as the light from the outside world flitted through.

Everything suddenly slowed down, and Keith had to squint. He was too unused to the brightness of the sun, though the discomfort faded as he took the first tentative steps outside. A strong wave of heat was the first to greet him as he stepped onto hot concrete, but he didn't mind. He liked the heat. It was always so cold inside, that the heat radiating from the sun felt like a warm embrace.

He took a deep breath. Although the air was a bit heavy and dry, he didn't mind that either.

They let Keith take a few steps ahead, and as he made his way past the taller sets of heads, he could finally see the sky above him. There were no fluffy clouds, but the sky was a bright shock of blue that took his breath away. He had almost forgotten that there was such a color. It was completely unheard of inside the large building filled with grey.

Keith took another step, onto the sand. It was even hotter than the concrete, but he didn't draw back. He let the sand seep between his toes for a few moments, before he sank to his knees. He cupped his bound hands, digging them deep beneath the surface. When he pulled them out, he watched the small mound of sand shrink and spill back into the ground.

He felt his lips curl into a small smile.

Although it took him an extra moment, he managed to get himself back on his feet. He looked ahead of him, into the desert that continued outside the fences, and spotted a group of cacti. He tried to swallow the new lump growing in his throat, wishing he could get close enough to see the bristles, but he knew he had to take what he could get.

Suddenly, a small breeze passed through him, pushing his hair into his face. Keith laughed, shaking his head to set his hair right.

He looked back up at the sky, his smile broadening. His chest became tight at the overwhelming sense of joy, which caught him off guard. A few tears streamed down his face, and a light chuckle bubbled out from inside.

Keith had never believed in the term "tears of joy". It just never seemed possible. When he read about characters crying "tears of joy" in his books, he had always rolled his eyes, believing that the author was simply exaggerating. It seemed like a fantasy.

Now, he knew this to be true. Before, he had never known that such raw happiness could be this real. His world had always been filled with such darkness, even before he had been taken.

But this was real. This was possible. If he could feel so alive from just a few moments outside, then he could only imagine what it was like to feel this way on a regular basis. To see the sky every day, to feel the wind and sun on his face.

Maybe he was strong enough to keep going.

Maybe he could find a way out of the darkness that had kept him in its grasp, without abandoning the light as well.

If it was possible to feel this happy, then that meant other things that he thought were impossible, were possible.

He didn't know how. He didn't know when. But he knew that he could pull it off. He knew that he was smart enough to think of a way to escape.

He just had to try.

Keith savored every moment he could, trying to memorize every detail, from the number of arms on the cacti, to the softness of the sand that swallowed his ankles.

Finally, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Heart sinking, he looked up at John, who looked solemnly back at Keith.

"It's time to go back."

He took one more moment to glance back up at the sky. He had to remember that shade of blue. He never wanted to forget it ever again.

"Okay," he sighed. "I'm ready."