Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8254231.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Voltron:_Legendary_Defender
  Relationship:
      Keith/Shiro_(Voltron)
  Character:
      Keith_(Voltron), Shiro_(Voltron), Pidge_(Voltron), Sendak_(Voltron)
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Magic, Alternate_Universe_-_Werewolf, Slow_Burn,
      Eventual_Romance, Eventual_Smut, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, No
      Underage_Sex, Underage_Kissing, Age_Difference, Gender-Neutral_Pronouns
      for_Pidge_|_Katie_Holt, Trans_Keith_(Voltron)
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-10 Updated: 2016-10-17 Chapters: 3/? Words: 7316
****** Made of Fire, Made of Heat ******
by antivanitas
Summary
     Keith Kogane is balancing school, social ineptitude, and his powerful
     magical ability. No one knows that Keith could raze the quiet town of
     Winder, Georgia, if anyone pissed him off enough. He's never met
     anyone else like him. Then again, he’s never met a werewolf, either.
     And now, he's ready to burn down the world with a werewolf named
     Shiro if it means saving the only person that matters.
Notes
     this is heavily influenced by one of my favorite stories, new_night.
     idk how frequently it'll be updated but hopefully i can keep it up
     while i still feel excited about the idea.
     i'm on tumblr @ genderfluidstanmarsh so hmu
     have fun!!
***** Chapter 1 *****
 
Keith has to close his eyes, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to turn Lance
into a burning ball of flames.
He won’t shut the fuck up.  He’s going on and on about how much he studied for
the last test and still failed, while Keith sits there, not even having a test
to talk about.  His teacher gives him a disapproving look, but that’s about it,
because it’s expected by now that he won’t do the work required of him. 
Whatever.  He fucking hates physics, anyway.  It’s not like he follows the
rules.
“I spent, like, five hours studying the light refraction bullshit,” Lance
whines to Hunk, who looks like he couldn’t care less, but nods along like he
does.  “I still don’t really get it.  I mean, the focal point and all that or
whatever.  Why do I need to know this, anyway?”
An excellent question, Keith thinks.  He slumps forward and rests his head in
his hands.  It’s difficult to tune him out, even with all his time practicing
over the last few years.
It’s his last class of the day.  All he wants to do is get out of here, meet up
with Pidge, and go over their house to play some shitty video game.  It’s the
only thing he really finds solace in, anymore, because high school is getting
so mind-numbingly boring in this last year.
And that’s assuming he even graduates, which is up in the air, according to his
guidance counselor.  He knows he should be a little more concerned, but he
can’t bring himself to worry about it for more than a few minutes before he
gets distracted by something else.  Usually, his job.  Usually, keeping away
from his foster home as long as humanly possible.
“I have no idea how I’m pulling a passing grade in this class,” Lance says,
huffing and pushing back onto the back two legs of his chair.  How Keith would
love to add that little extra force to send him flying backwards.  “I mean, I’m
almost doing as badly as Kogane, over here.”
Keith deadpans, so when he turns around, Lance looks visibly steeled behind his
quirky smile.  “Keep my name out of your mouth before I punch it out.”
He wouldn’t use a punch, though.  More like an unnecessary amount of
supernatural force, that would knock all of his teeth out.  There has to be a
spell for that.  Keith feels his wand burning against his shin, tucked into his
boot, like it’s anticipating the chance to finally achieve retribution. 
Finally, before the teacher can say anything about how badly everyone preformed
as a whole, the bell rings.  Three electronic tones that are, undeniably,
Keith’s favorite tones of the day.  He shoots up, slinging his beat-up backpack
over his shoulder, and darts out of the room before anyone else.
Pidge is waiting for him outside by the flagpole, because their last class is
in the library, which is right by the exit.  Otherwise, they’re the only two
outside.  Keith makes it a point to be the first one out of school.  He hopes
it’s obvious how much he doesn’t want to be there.  Maybe if he makes enough of
a statement, they’ll finally expel him. 
“Thought you’d never show up,” the freshman jokes with a grin.  They’re
fiddling with their phone, scrolling through Twitter.  “Ready for League?”
Keith groans and starts walking, knowing Pidge will follow.  “I wish it were
Friday.  I’m suffering.  This week is taking forever.”
“Tell me about it.  I wonder if these actually are the best years of our lives;
if they are, we’re fucked, because I can’t imagine anything more mundane.”
Pidge does that, sometimes.  Uses words like “mundane,” and it’s weird, because
if Lance said something like that it would just provoke Keith to plot his
demise.  But Pidge saying such a word makes them sound so intelligent.  Keith
gives a half smile and throws an arm around their shoulders.
It’s an outcast thing, why they’re friends.  They don’t separate lunch periods
by grade, so there are four shifts, and Keith got assigned to the first one at
11:30.  He wouldn’t dare sit with Hunk and Lance, considering he can barely
handle fifty minutes a day of Lance in physics.  Pidge was sitting all alone on
the first day, the smallest freshman he’s ever seen, and Keith just plopped
himself down like it was the most natural thing in the world.
He’s protective of Pidge.  Always will be.  He’s considered failing on purpose,
just to keep an eye on them.
They walk home, mostly in silence.  Eventually, they have to step away from the
sidewalk into the cracking leaves of the forest.  It’s relatively thick, he
supposes, and they have to cross a few streams, but it beats wandering the
extra mile down the main road.  Kind of sucks in the winter, though.  But,
right now, at the cusp of autumn when the cold barely bites at their noses,
it’s peaceful.
Keith is about to ask Pidge about how their computer is doing after its blue
screen the other day when he hears a very prominent growl.
They both freeze.  Pidge’s eyes grow wide behind their glasses.  That was not a
growl they’ve ever heard before, and they’ve been walking through these woods
for years.  Keith’s eyes dart around, trying to spot the source, but it’s too
thick.  Too many trees.
“Just keep walking,” he mutters to Pidge.  “Probably just a coyote.”
“Oh, just a coyote,” Pidge hisses back.  “Yeah, whatever, I was definitely
planning on getting ripped to shreds today.”
Keith shushes them.  The growl picks back up, starting low and gradually
getting louder and louder until Keith’s skin starts to crawl.  It sounds
closer.  Fuck, like…really close.
His wand, trapped underneath his boot and jeans, grows incredibly hot.  Christ,
Pidge is right next to him.  He’s not about to whip it out.  How would he
explain that?  Yeah, sorry, I heard a growl and this piece of wood I have
started getting hot.  Yeah, it lets me cast magic.  It’s whatever. 
Keith swore he’d take his secret to the grave.  He swore.  Though, it’s not as
much of a moral dilemma if you break a promise you made to yourself.
But he doesn’t have time to reach down to his ankle before something crashes
into him from behind, and he hears Pidge scream his name.  Hitting the ground
is actually a lot more painful than it looks in the movies, and Keith is
momentarily stunned, gasping for breath.  Heart pounding, he tries to roll over
to face his attacker, but he’s pinned down by his neck.
It feels like a paw.
Okay.  Okay, wandless magic.  He can do this.  He’s been practicing.  Lately,
just with turning the lights on and off, but maybe he can warp that energy into
a force.  He hears Pidge struggling, like someone’s holding a hand over their
mouth—Keith suddenly stops caring about his dumbass secret.  He has to act,
now, or they’re both dead.
He clenches his eyes shut.  Focuses.  Draws his energy from his center, tries
to imagine it building and building within him like a swelling balloon.  He
feels hot breath on his neck, and something wet drip down the column of his
throat.  And as Pidge cries out in absolute terror, Keith surges his energy
out.
He feels like his eyes fall out of his head with the force, but it knocks
whatever is holding him down to the side with a solid thump.  Gasping, Keith
scrambles, trying to stand and run before tripping.  He blindly reaches for his
wand.  His fingers graze the leather of the handle.  And he manages to pull it
out before a searing pain strikes through him, and everything goes dark.
===============================================================================
 
Keith discovered his magic when he was seven, and playing in the backyard of
his orphanage.  The other kids were joking.  A few had snuck in copies of Harry
Potter, and were on the current high of finishing a new book.  That was about
all the excitement they got, really—the thrill of defying their religious
captors and reading up on so-called Satanic literature.
And when they all picked up sticks to wave around, pretending to battle with
magic spells and curses, Keith’s actually worked.
He had pointed his wand at a kid he particularly disliked.  Imagined that he
was casting a spell, one that would knock him back into the tree behind him. 
And when he jabbed the stick forward, some kind of force shot out and thwarted
the kid in the chest.  He hit the tree so hard that he knocked out for ten
minutes. 
Everyone saw, but they didn’t say anything.  The force.  It looked like the air
rising above pavement on a hot day.  The stick was unassuming; about eleven
inches long, maple wood, covered in knots.  And while Keith should have tossed
it away and forgotten about it, he couldn’t.  He kept it.  He shaved off the
knots and made the wood smooth.  He wrapped leather around the bottom three
inches, because occasionally, it would get too hot to hold. 
And Keith didn’t really have friends, so much as he had a few acquaintances who
didn’t want to beat him up or tease him.  So, he’d spend his free time waving
around the stick, experimenting, learning that different motions created
different things.  At first, it was just the basics; that force thing he pushed
out, and then fire, then water.  He accidentally caught the library’s front
desk on fire, but no one blamed him, because who would?  Yet, they never found
out why it suddenly burst into flames.
He’s had several bad falls and a few minor accidents that should have snapped
the wand in two.  But it’s seemingly indestructible.  Keith doesn’t know what
the fuck it’s made of.  He kind of just assumes his own power channeled into it
and made it that way.  He’ll never know for sure, because he’s never met anyone
else like him.
Then again, he’s never met a werewolf, either.
===============================================================================
 
Keith wakes up to a man hovering over him.  The man is shirtless.  In his
bleary state of disorientation, he focuses on his appearance—he’s got an
undercut, with black hair and stark white fringe.  There’s a pale scar
stretching across the bridge of his nose.  He’s got cool grey eyes, filled with
concern.  And he’s shirtless.
That last detail causes Keith’s gay ass to wake up.  He scrambles back,
hoisting himself up onto his elbows, kicking his feet against the slippery
leaves to create distance.  His nose feels stuffy, and his hand flies up to his
face, only to come away coated in blood.  Shit.  Fuck.
Where’s Pidge?
“Where are they?” Keith seethes.  The guy looks confused, but also deeply
worried.  He opens his mouth like he’s about to offer calming words, but Keith
doesn’t want to hear it.  “Where’s Pidge?  What the fuck did you do with them?”
“I don’t know who that is,” the guy says, and his voice is deeper than
expected.  Smoother.  Keith swallows dry.  “Look, you’re bleeding—your
shoulder.  You shouldn’t be moving around so fast.”
Keith only glances down for a second, and even though he sees that his shoulder
is fucking mangled, he’s still too high on adrenaline to feel the pain. 
Instead, his eyes scan the ground for his wand—fuck, where is it, fuck—and
starts to panic.  He shoots his hand out in front of him and jolts when the
wood flies into his hand from about twenty feet away.
There’s blood lining a path from where the wand came from.
Keith jumps to his feet.  His heart is having palpitations.  His wand is
burning, and would probably be on fire if it weren’t enchanted.  “Pidge? 
Pidge!”
“Stop shouting!”  The guy rushes over, and his eyes flick between Keith’s wand
and his shoulder.  “Would you be quiet?  We have to get you out of here.”
Keith rounds on him.  His wand is pointed like a sword, stance defensive, black
strands of hair hanging in his eyes.  “I’m not going anywhere until I find
them.”
“Who’s ‘them’?” the stranger asks, and he actually seems wary of the wand,
probably because Keith looks insane holding it towards him.  “Look, I smelled
blood—there are wolf tracks everywhere, but I didn’t see any sign of another
person.  I’m sorry.”
Keith, in his frantic state, barely comprehends any of that.  “What the fuck
are you talking about?”
The man tries to take a step forward, but Keith backs away, and the tip of his
wand glows orange.  He’s not fucking around.  He knows he’s being irrational,
and he knows this man might be the only connection he has in regards to finding
Pidge, but he doesn’t understand.  He’s never even been mugged before.
This?  This is out of his league.
“I’m Shiro,” the man says.  “If someone took your friend, it’s the same person
who hurt your shoulder.  I just want to help.  I think I know who it is.”
Keith’s eyes rake up and down Shiro’s bare chest with scrutiny.  “You said—what
attacked me.  It felt like an animal.”
“A wolf,” Shiro nods.
“How could a wolf take Pidge?”
Shiro gives him a tight smile, almost like a grimace, and shifts his weight. 
“Maybe point that thing away from me and we can talk somewhere safe.”
Keith hardens his gaze even more.  “And why should I trust some random
shirtless guy in the forest?”
“Because I might be the only one who can help you,” Shiro says.  “And sorry
about the shirtless thing.  I have one in my bag.”
Keith keeps the wand trained on him until he’s got a black t-shirt over his
chest.  It’s got a deep collar, which distracts Keith, because he’s not blind
even though he’s terrified.  Shiro is gorgeous.  Tall, handsome, muscular—he’d
be turned on if he weren’t in this situation.
As Shiro zips his backpack, he gives Keith a knowing look, like he can read his
mind.
Keith flushes.  “Lead the way, then.  Apparently, you know all about safe
spaces.”
“We should wrap up your shoulder first,” Shiro suggests, reaching for his bag
again, because maybe he has bandages in there or something.
Keith takes a chance.  This guy has already seen his wand.  “No need.”
He takes his wand, concentrates, and drags it over the wound.  He winces as the
skin stitches itself back together, as he feels the blood start to flow.  When
it’s done, he’s just pissed that his jacket is ruined.  It’s probably the most
expensive thing he owns, aside from his phone.
Shiro raises an eyebrow.  “And you’re questioning the fact that a wolf took
your friend?”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     probably should have mentioned from the start that this'll be a
     trans!keith fic. i'll add a tag lmao i didn't even think about it.
     but anyways thank you for the kudos and hits!!! you are awesome
Six Months Ago
Keith wanders into the cafeteria on the first day of school, convinced he won’t
be eating today.  It’s too embarrassing to sit by himself while munching away
on some sandwich.  He can wait until he gets home.  He’s always done that; but
it leaves the interesting dilemma of figuring out where to sit at lunch when
he’s not actually eating lunch.  For a while in his freshman year, he tried to
sneak outside to enjoy the peace and quiet of the Georgia air.  It immediately
backfired when he realized his bully—who doesn’t have a name, because Keith
never bothered to learn it—did the same thing.  He moved around, from the
library to the bathroom to sitting in the hallway pretending to be taking make-
up exam.  Eventually, he became notorious, and he couldn’t hide anywhere.
He settles for the end table in the far right corner of the cafeteria, which is
lined by windows on one side that lets in an absurd amount of morning light. 
There’s only one person sitting there.  Keith figures they’re an outcast,
too—being by yourself during lunch is a good indication.  The kid doesn’t even
notice.  They just keep reading their book, behind huge circle glasses and
ginger fringe.
Keith takes out his phone.  They finally got rid of the stupid ban that stopped
them from using phones during lunch, so he can actually have something to do
with his time other than study.  It takes a good ten minutes of him playing
Jelly Splash before the other kid even looks up.
“Oh!”  They look so taken aback that Keith almost wants to laugh, but that
would be cruel, so he just bites his lip.  “Um.  Hi.  Are you waiting for
someone?”
Keith is thrown.  “Er…no.  Just me.”
They smile at each other for a moment, and then go back to their respective
tasks.  Keith wonders if it would be polite to introduce himself.  He’s not
usually concerned with being polite, especially when it comes to other students
and what their opinion of him is.  Usually, that just consists of Lance, whom
he normally tells to fuck off.  Hunk is okay.  He doesn’t really have anything
against that guy.  Actually, he kind of admires him for being able to tolerate
Lance.
After a few moments of silence, the sound of a chip bag exploding echoes
through the cafeteria, and they both snap their heads towards it.  Once
everyone laughs, they lock eyes accidentally, and now it’s awkward.
“I-I’m Pidge,” they say, a little awkwardly, stumbling over their words.  Keith
gives a half smile in return.  “I’m a freshman, so…this is kind of
overwhelming, you know?”
Keith nods.  “I’m a senior, but I’m probably not graduating.  So, we can sit
here like outcasts together as long as you want.”
Pidge beams at him.  Their front teeth are crooked, but it’s cute.  Keith
thinks that, maybe, he’s just made his first friend.
===============================================================================
 
Present
They end up in a Starbucks, and Keith tries really hard to not think about the
implications because he’s still worried about Pidge.  Maybe they just ran
home.  But they’d never leave Keith in the dirt like that, alone and
unconscious.  Plus, the last time Keith heard from them, they were screaming.
He gets a text from his foster mother as they walk inside.  Something trivial
about being home before eleven.  Keith texts back a quick confirmation, though
he’s not intending to stick by that curfew tonight.  He won’t sleep until he
finds Pidge.
Shiro orders a chai latte, and Keith insists he doesn’t want anything, but he
doesn’t let Shiro know it’s because he can’t afford it.  The last thing he
needs is this guy buying him coffee.  Christ, he’s already in too deep by
following him from the middle of the forest to a Starbucks.
“So, what?” Shiro asks as they sit by the window, away from prying eyes. 
People seem to notice Keith’s bloody jacket more than he would like.  “You’re a
wizard or something?”
Keith stutters over his next few words.  “I’ve, uh…I don’t have a name for it
or anything.  No one really knows about it.  I think I’m the only one.”
“Not even—Pidge?  Was that his name?”
“Their name,” Keith automatically corrects.  “Yeah.  I mean, no, they don’t
know.  They’re kind of the first friend I’ve had in a while, so I don’t really
know them that well.”
Shiro nods thoughtfully.  “Well, I’ve never met someone with magic, either. 
I’m not surprised, though.  I could sense it from you.”
Keith’s eyes narrow.  “Sense it?”
Shiro takes a quiet sip from his latte.  “Yeah.  I’m a werewolf.”
Keith blinks.  He expects a joke.  Or an explanation, or something.  But
nothing comes.  Shiro doesn’t even look fazed.  He stares out the window at
passing cars, like it’s the most natural admission in the world.
“Dude.”  Keith mutters.  “Come on.  My friend is missing.”
“I know.  I’m trying to help you.”
“So, stop fucking around.”
Shiro seems to realize that saying he’s a werewolf is not a normal thing to
say.  Or, at least, he seems surprised that Keith wasn’t immediately aware.  He
shifts uncomfortably, placing his latte down in favor of running his hands
through his hair.  “Shit.  I just—I assumed you would know.  The whole magic
thing.”
Keith blanches.  Shiro is dead serious.  And he did feel a wolf bearing down on
him earlier; the paw print, the hot breath cascading over his neck, and that
wetness on his neck must have been drool.  The growl—even he said it was a
coyote, a canine, but they don’t get wolves in Winder.  Keith assumes that
wasn’t Shiro, because the force that held him down was not friendly enough to
take him out for coffee.
How is that possible, though?  Magic, yeah, that’s probably just some
undiscovered energy that Keith, for some reason, can channel.  At least, that’s
how he’s explained it to himself over the years.  As far as he’s researched,
there isn’t any real evidence of magic throughout history.  It’s all just a
crock of shit.  People lying for attention, and Keith can tell, because they
never describe what it really is.  Their “spells” never work like the ones
Keith makes himself.  The potions are fake as hell, and don’t hold up to the
ones Keith cooks up in his bedroom.  He always heard of magic in media as being
centuries old, with entire hidden worlds dedicated to it.  But Keith’s always
been alone.  He’s always been without a source.
Werewolves?  Yeah, no.  He’s never heard of them.  And maybe he could believe
it, if he thought hard enough, but it’s a lot to take in.
“Why would werewolves want Pidge?” he asks, almost disturbingly calm.  “And why
were you just there when it was convenient?”
Shiro stiffens, like he’s embarrassed.  “I…I just heard screaming, and I
smelled fear and blood.”
“Do you live here?”
“Yes.”
“Just out for a stroll, then?”
“I was running,” Shiro mumbles.  “I don’t usually do it during the day, but
I’ve been…stressed out.”
Keith decides not to ask.  They’re not here to discuss Shiro’s mental health. 
They’re here to find Pidge.  Or, at least, that’s why Keith is here—it’s all he
cares about.  Pidge is all he cares about.  He’s clung hard and fast to the
kid.  Favorite Person status has been achieved within a matter of months, which
is odd and doesn’t usually happen with Keith.
“The guy who took your friend is called Sendak,” Shiro explains.  “He’s a
werewolf, like me, only he’s…different.  He’s on the other side.  The dangerous
side.”
“There are sides?” Keith asks, deciding against asking about the guy’s weird
name.
“There are werewolves who believe that humans are a disease and need to be
eradicated,” he says.  His voice is suddenly very dark.  “I mean, for thousands
of years, we’ve been hunted by humans.  They’re scared of us.  And eventually,
it turned into this resistance movement, and it was kind of like…if they’re
going to think we’re monsters, then we’re going to be monsters.”
Keith swallows, because he’s not sure if that means Shiro is agreeing with the
genocidal side.  His wand heats up.
“I’m on the other side of the argument,” Shiro says, and Keith relaxes. 
“They’re confused.  Humans are scared of what they don’t understand.  And no
one on Sendak’s side is willing to listen to reason, because they’re too
blinded by hate.”
“Humans do that, too,” Keith points out.  “I don’t think all of them would be
too keen on werewolves, to be honest.”
Shiro bites his lip.  Keith’s eyes are drawn to the action.  He presses his
thighs together.  “I know.  It’s a risk, and I get that.  But we barely tried,
y’know?  And now, we’re just in horror movies and books and stuff, and we’re
always the bad guys.”
Keith nods.  He can’t really relate.  Sure, there are evil depictions of
magical beings, but he’s got Dumbledore and Gandalf on his side.  He knows
that, if he revealed his powers, he’d get a lot of attention.  And it’s partly
why he’s never told anyone.
“So, Sendak…if you can smell my magic, maybe he can, too.  Maybe he wants to
bait me or something.”
Shiro looks confused, pensive, and stares at Keith’s hands fidgeting on the
table.  “It looks that way.  But that doesn’t make sense, either.  I’ve never
actually met someone with magic before, so it’s not like you’re a threat.  And
if he wanted to take you, he would have.  Just like Pidge.”
Sendak left Keith in the woods on purpose.  Maybe he just wants Pidge, and
needed Keith out of the picture.  Keith didn’t say anything about his magic to
Pidge, so maybe they’re some kind of supernatural being and they’re in hiding,
too.  There are so many possibilities and not enough answers, and Keith doesn’t
know where to start.
“Okay,” he huffs.  “So, how do we find him?  Sendak.  Can you…sniff him out or
something?”
Shiro’s returning expression is not amused.  “The trail was cold when I got
there.  But it’s not a good idea to go after him.  I can sense your magic—it’s
everywhere.  You can barely keep it in one place.  And I’m just one guy.”
“You don’t live with anyone?” Keith asks, ignoring the insult.  “You’re just
here, alone?”
Shiro shrugs.  “It’s not that bad.  Kind of quiet.  I live at the edge of
town.  But yeah, I’m alone.  It’s a long story.”
For some reason, that piques Keith’s interest.  It’s incredibly intriguing;
this lone werewolf, wandering Winder, living off the paw-trodden path.  He’s
being embarrassingly gay, right now, but he can’t seem to will himself to shut
up.  He feels like he can’t stop focusing on the way Shiro’s eyes kind of soak
in the light and draw him in like a black hole.
Shiro glances up at him with a raised eyebrow.  “I don’t know your name.”
Huh.  He hadn’t even thought of introducing himself.  Keith clears his throat. 
“Uh.  It’s Keith.”
“Keith,” Shiro repeats.  His face breaks into a gentle smile.  “For a magician,
I was kind of expecting something with more flair.  Xavier, or something.”
“I’m not a magician, asshole,” Keith retorts, but he’s smiling too.  There’s a
comfortable silence, afterwards, and the air between them is light and free. 
Keith feels like he can actually breathe for the first time since realizing
Pidge was gone.
And there it is.  The remembrance stabs him in the chest.  Pidge could be
anywhere, alone, and it could be because of Keith.  And maybe he’s just
trusting Shiro out of desperation, because he doesn’t know what else to do.  He
looks up through his lashes, and he’s pleased with himself when Shiro pauses
mid-sip to stare. 
“Why are you helping me?” Keith asks.
Shiro’s expression is hard to read.  He’s actively trying to hide his emotion. 
But, he composes himself, and looks Keith in the eye.
“Sendak killed someone I loved,” he says.  The emotion, the look on Shiro’s
face, blindsides Keith and he feels like crying.  His entire body language
right now is practiced.  Shaped with grief and molded by the need to survive. 
Keith knows that look well; he’s learned to wear it as a fashion accessory. 
“I’ve been looking for him for a long time.  So, helping you find him means
maybe I can finally—well.”
“Kill him,” Keith finishes.
“If it comes to that,” Shiro says boldly.  “His hatred is toxic.  If I don’t
get rid of it, he could hurt a lot of people.”
Keith knocks their feet together under the table, as if to offer comfort.  “A
common enemy, then.  Sure.  But where do we start?”
Shiro leans forward.  “I think I’ve got an idea.”
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     sorry this took a few days i had car trouble ):
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Shiro walks him home.  It’s endearing, but also a little strange, because of
the circumstances in which they met.  Keith is still trying to adjust to the
fact that Shiro is a werewolf, or might be a werewolf, considering he’s never
seen the man as anything other than a man.  And he seriously is a man,
too—like, in his mid-twenties, which is above and beyond what Keith should ever
be interested in.
They reach his front gate, and Keith hesitates.  The faded wooden fence lines
the yard, and it looks peaceful, with a little sign on the door that’s supposed
to welcome people inside.  The porch light is on.  It casts a gentle glow over
the lawn, and reminds Keith that he has to go inside, like a moth to a flame.
“I’ll text you,” Shiro promises.  They exchanged numbers during the walk home,
and Keith tried very hard not to see it as something more implicit.  Shiro kept
looking at him with a knowing expression, the damn mind-reader.  “It’ll be
okay.  Hopefully, you won’t have to miss school.”
Keith groans.  “Hopefully?  Come on, tell me I’ll get to skip out on a period
or something.”
Shiro laughs, whole-heartedly.  “You’re cute.  Now, go inside.  I’ll see you.”
“See you,” Keith responds, and as Shiro walks away, he’s absolutely glowing
from the man’s words.  Cute.  God, he’s like a schoolgirl.
He enters the house and tries to shut the door as quietly as possible, so he
can rush up the stairs in front of him, but almost immediately, his mother
calls out from the kitchen.  “Keith?  It’s a little late.  Where’d you get
caught up?”
Fuck.  Keith pokes his head into the narrow kitchen, and he sees his mother,
Karen.  She’s got an apron on, with her gray-blonde hair in a bun while she
washes the dishes.  It’s clear he just missed dinner.  But that’s nothing new;
he’s been missing dinners since he first arrived here, six years ago.
“Just hanging out with Pidge,” he says, and he doesn’t stumble on the name, so
he’s quite proud of himself.  “It’s only eight, though.  Ma said eleven.”
Karen clicks her tongue in disapproval.  “It’s a Tuesday.  You’re not eighteen
yet, mister.”
“I was just gonna go do homework,” he says as he starts to wander off.
“And you’ll have to introduce us to that man who walked you home!”
“Mom!”
Flushed with embarrassment, Keith rushes up the stairs and into his room.  It’s
not exactly his favorite place to be in the world.  There’s only one lamp in
the very far corner, so it’s always a little too dark.  The ceilings slant,
because he’s technically in the attic, although it’s furnished.  His posters on
the wall are of old video games.  He also has a habit of hanging up the jackets
of the books he likes.  But no matter how much he tries to decorate, it still
feels off.
He’s got a mixing bowl on the floor from the night before when he tried to make
a potion of sleeping.  Keith suffers from pretty awful insomnia sometimes, and
nothing OTC seems to help, so he decided to rely on his own ability.  It didn’t
work out too well.  He nudges the entire set-up, which is placed on a scrap
piece of cardboard, under his bed.
He can’t believe his mothers couldn’t agree on a damn curfew.  Frustrated, he
falls onto his mattress and pulls out his phone.  Mom is Karen, and Ma is
Justine.  Yes, it’s confusing.  Yes, the constant questions are annoying.  Yes,
they didn’t even think for a moment that he could possibly be heterosexual. 
It’s a good thing he’s nowhere close.
Speaking of, his heart leaps when he sees Shiro’s name pop up on his phone with
a message.  He immediately taps on it.  It’s a full paragraph, so he settles in
and gets to reading.
I wanna meet you tomorrow after school and YES you have to go to school.  I
wont be that guy who helps high schoolers skip class.  Anyway I’ll probably be
waiting outside for you??  I’ll probably be on my motorcycle so I hope that’s
okay.  I need to get up high to try and catch Pidge’s scent.  I think you can
help kind of amplify it.  Do you have something of theirs that you could give
me?
A fucking motorcycle.  Really?  Is he rolling in money, too?  The heir to a
billion-dollar estate?  Keith wonders how much more perfect this guy could
possibly get.  He’s about to respond when there’s a tiny vibration and another
text pops up.
Also sorry about the cute thing, it’s probably creepy
Keith actually laughs.  It’s the opposite of creepy, even though it should be a
little terrifying.  As a seventeen-year-old, Keith has no business with someone
Shiro’s age.  Though, he’s eighteen in two months.  Maybe it’s not that big of
a deal.  Keith types back, and feels confidence pushing his fingers forward.
It’s not creepy (: haha no one really calls me that
but yeah I have a hoodie they left at my house a while ago, idk if it will
still have their scent but that’s all I got
He doesn’t even deviate away from the messaging app while he waits for a
response.  He feels his palms sweat.  Shiro has been in his life for maybe five
hours, and Keith’s already crushing on him.  It’s embarrassing, really.  How is
he supposed to hide his feelings from Shiro?  The guy’s a fucking werewolf;
surely he’s got good perception. 
The phone buzzes.
We can use that then.  Bring it tomorrow
More people should call you that.  Small and tiny humans are cute :P
They spend the next two hours texting until Shiro tells him he has to shower. 
At that point, Keith wants to jokingly text if he can join.  But he knows that
wouldn’t end well; their conversation has been mostly platonic, about trivial
things, like where Keith grew up and his experience in the foster system. 
Keith talked about his mothers, and his high school career.  What he wants to
be when he grows up and all that.
Conversing with Shiro is unbelievably easy.  Keith didn’t even feel this
carefree talking to Pidge, and they’re Keith’s closest friend in probably a
decade.  And it’s marginally easier being away from the werewolf’s prying eyes,
and annoying mind-reading expressions.
Keith takes the opportunity, then, to practice his wandless magic.
He’s going to need it, after all, if they’re going up against Sendak.  He’s not
sure if Shiro actually intends for Keith to step into the fray at all, but he
wants to be prepared, anyway.  He was caught so off-guard today, and it took
every ounce of his energy to throw that wolf off him.  And even when he did,
the effort was enough to make his nose spurt blood. 
He places his wand gently on his birch nightstand, where it rattles and
vibrates like it’s upset it isn’t being used.  Keith gives it a warning look
until it stops.  It’s odd, really, how an inanimate object can have such a
personality.  But it just feeds into the theory that Keith brought magic into
the wand, and not the other way around.  He still wonders if any old stick
would have been good enough.
Keith doesn’t have any books to learn from.  He doesn’t have any age-old spells
to recant.  He just has his tiny notes, scrawled in a spiral pad, that probably
sound nonsensical to anyone normal.  Talking about focused energy and expanding
thoughts.  But he doesn’t want to work with force today—he wants to play with
fire.
There’s a candle on the far side of the room that Keith picks up and puts on
the hardwood floor.  He sits cross-legged, and keeps his eyes trained on the
wick.  If he just concentrates—like using force.  Maybe that will work.
He brings the energy up into his mind and pushes, which probably isn’t the best
choice, because all he manages to do is push the candle across the floor a few
feet.  That’s not the magic he wants to do, damn it.  He picks up the candle
and tries again.
Think.  Hot.  Fire.  Flames.  He closes his eyes, pictures the wick lighting on
its own again and again, with all of his energy focused and steady.  Using a
wand takes much less effort; it acts as a lightning rod, meaning all he has to
do is pour energy into it, and the wand shapes it into something recognizable. 
Without it, his magic just floats around his body like an aura, messy and
incomprehensible.
So, he draws that aura in.  Pictures his energy condensing, absorbing into his
skin, and he even feels his arms prickle with contact.  While he holds onto the
energy, he thinks, flameflameflameflameflame—
He smells smoke.
When he cracks an eye open, he sees that the entire candle is on fire.  Which
is not good, considering it’s sitting on a wood floor, and perhaps this wasn’t
his smartest idea.  He calls for his wand, which flies into his palm, and he
immediately summons water to douse the flame.
In his rushed state, it creates a splashing wave, that covers his bedroom
floor.  The candle is soaked and smoking.  But he did it.  He fucking did it.
Keith can’t stop the smile from spreading on his face.  Yeah, he’ll need more
practice—obviously he won’t be able to draw in his aura quite so meticulously
when he’s in battle.  But, Christ, it’s a start. 
He runs to the bathroom to gather towels and he doesn’t stop smiling.
===============================================================================
 
Shiro is waiting for him, helmet by his hip, leaning against his motorcycle
that’s still running.
When he spots Keith, he gives a gentle smile.  Keith purposefully waited a
little bit before leaving today.  His number one reason was that it would hurt
too much to not meet Pidge at the flag pole.  It’s such a routine part of his
day, and being reminded that they’re missing would send Keith either into a
rage or into a depression.
But the other reason was to show off to Lance that he’s got a hot older guy
waiting for him with a motorcycle.
And so what if he wore tighter pants today?  It’s not a crime.  He glances back
at Lance, because they were having a one-sided conversation, and waves his
goodbye.
Shiro’s got a helmet for him, and Keith wonders why he even has an extra if he
lives here alone.  Does he go on dates with this thing?  The thought leaves
Keith’s throat dry, so he clambers on to hide his obvious jealousy.  And Shiro
does that mind reading thing again, and reaches back to pat Keith’s thigh. 
It’s such a simple action, yet it ignites such fire.
He feels the engine rumble, and it’s kind of really vibrating in a way that
Keith isn’t used to.  He shifts a bit uncomfortably.  Please, please don’t let
him get all hot and wet while he’s got his crotch pressed to Shiro’s back.  But
he knows that’ll be a bit difficult, because Shiro instructs Keith to wrap his
arms around Shiro’s waist.  So, he basically has to plaster his body against
Shiro’s, on a constantly vibrating vehicle, knowing that this guy came to the
school for him.  He really needs to work on a spell that will restrict sexual
thoughts, or something.
He doesn’t even know the highest point in Winder.  He wasn’t aware any spot was
raised more than four feet above sea level.  But he realizes, after a mile or
so, that they’re headed towards Fort Yargo Park.  It’s just a wooded area,
mostly, with a beach and some golf courses.  Nothing special.  The lake is nice
in the summer, but that’s about it.  Keith raises an eyebrow, but he wouldn’t
be heard over the roar of the engine, so he stays silent.
They reach the highest point, which is just north of the beach.  Keith guesses
it’s a little higher than everywhere else, but not by much.  They park in the
lot, which is surprisingly pretty full, considering it’s a weekday.  It’s sort
of nice out.  Keith is more of a rainy day guy, so this whole sunny-cloudless-
sky thing isn’t doing it for him.  Still, he stretches in the sun like a cat,
glancing out over the water.
He hands Shiro Pidge’s hoodie from inside his bag, and watches the strange
sight as Shiro proceeds to sniff it.  Keith raises an eyebrow.  “Really?  From
that, you think we can find them?”
Shiro pauses, and starts walking towards the top of the hill.  Keith rushes
after him, curious about where this could all be going.  He seems very
determined.  Shiro’s stance is that of concentration, and he stands almost
eerily still, with his face towards the wind.
Keith’s breath catches.  He sees the clear outline of Shiro’s jaw, and the way
it leads down his neck so smoothly and gracefully.  He’s got a muscular
body—not overly so, but enough to show that he could definitely get the upper
hand in a fight.  Certainly a fight with Keith.  He swallows at the thought of
being shoved to the ground in a spar, Shiro’s forearm against his back, Shiro’s
breath cascading down his neck, Shiro’s knee pressed squarely between his—
Shiro turns to him, brow furrowed.  “I can’t get a scent on anything if you
keep thinking about me like that.”
Keith chokes, turning bright red as he takes a defensive step backwards.  “Oh,
come on, you actually can read minds?”
The werewolf tilts his head, and realization dawns on him, then he starts to
laugh.  Keith fails to see what’s so funny about this situation, considering
his urges are being put on display.  “No, oh my God.  I’m catching your scent. 
Different emotions have different scents.”
Keith stares, blankly.
“Lust kind of reminds me of cinnamon.”
“Dude!” Keith exclaims, and Shiro laughs at his expense, which is very rude. 
“That’s private shit, man!  You’ve been doing that this whole time?”
“It’s very distinct!”
“Fuck,” Keith curses.  His thoughts about Shiro—which have gotten increasingly
dirty—may not be laid out for Shiro to read like a book.  But he’s getting the
abridged version, isn’t he?  Sneaky bastard.  Keith vows to make some kind of
spell that’ll stop that from happening, because feels fucking violated right
now.
Pouting, he moves to sit on a stump.  Shiro gives him an approving look, as if
to congratulate him on keeping his thoughts pure and wholesome.  Keith kicks
around a few rocks and leaves with his chin in his hands.
As he sits there, painfully repressed, Shiro concentrates.  He frequently
presses his nose back into the fabric, brow furrowed and stance like steel. 
Keith waits.  And waits.  He’s getting impatient and starts tapping his foot
and his mind wanders.  Pidge could be out there, right now, getting hurt.  They
could be screaming Keith’s name.  They could be dead.  His heart jumps and
restarts at the thought, because no.  He’s not losing Pidge.  He’s not losing
anyone.
“I can’t get it,” Shiro’s voice rings out.  It shakes Keith from his reverie,
and his shoulders droop in defeat.  If a werewolf can’t find Pidge, Keith
can’t, either.  He stands, frowning, and wanders to Shiro’s side.
“Nothing?” he asks.  He takes the hoodie from Shiro, who is shaking his head. 
“Damn.  Was that your only plan?”
Shiro looks sheepish and ashamed, and Keith’s heart breaks, because none of
this is his fault or anything.  “I’m sorry, Keith.  Trust me, I wanna find
Sendak just as badly as you do.”
Keith is burning up, wanting to ask why, but he knows it’s not the time or the
place.  He barely knows Shiro, after all.  It’s probably a terribly sensitive
subject, and Keith shouldn’t encroach on that.  But even still, his mind
wanders—dead parents?  Dead sibling?  Dead friend?  Dead boyfriend or
girlfriend?  God, it could be anything.
He glances back to the hoodie, and he focuses on a single hair that has been
left behind.  Hazel in color against the olive green of the fabric.  Is this
really the last of Pidge he’ll ever see?  The last time he’ll ever come close? 
And then, Keith gets an idea.
“I think I might know how to find them.”
Chapter End Notes
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