Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The image flickers. Reminds them that this isn't real. That he's not real.

It's a full bodied hologram, but this one doesn't move. Doesn't interact. It's just a memory. He stands in the middle of the room, taller than they've ever cared to notice. His hands are on his hips in a classic hero pose, signature grin showing off pristinely straight white teeth. An eye is dropped in a wink, he looks happy. He looks alive.

But it's just a memory.

*

They're on a particularly large Galra battlecruiser. It's size an indicator of its importance, but according to Allura there had been an energy source here that was emitting powerful waves, too strong to go unexplored. Then suddenly it had disappeared, almost all the energy going with it. So, of course they're sent down to investigate. The need for information outweighing the risks.

They've already fought their way down halls and halls of sentries and occasional Galra soldiers. They’re tired and hurt, but there's nothing they can do but keep forging forward. “Not much longer,” Pidge informs them after looking at her scanner. She's at the forefront with Keith while Shiro takes the lead. Hunk and Lance rearing up the back as cover fire and support. “The central hub is just a couple more feet down this hall, and through some doors,” 

“What if there's nothing there? What if it's empty?” Lance asks, arms cramping up from how long he's been holding his bayard. They haven't encountered any resistance for a while so the rush of adrenaline isn't there to distract him from his sore muscles. “I swear I'll cry if it is. Full on ugly sobbing,” Lance tacks onto the end. It's been a tiresome mission, one that could be for nothing.

“If it is I’m sure we’ll still be able to get data about whatever they were working on from their mainframes. Plus, we have Shiro’s arm, and now Keith’s DNA to make the download of info go faster,” Pidge answers, shrugging her shoulders but not bothering to turn around.

“Oh Galra Keith, you really are more useful than Human Keith,” Lance jokes, grin growing wider when Keith turns from his focused walking to glare at him.

“I am literally the same person!” 

Lance blows him a kiss to show that he's just messing with him, but also to further annoy him. Keith works his jaw, but ultimately turns around when Shiro clears his throat. 

They've reached the doors.

“Shields up,” Shiro commands, activating his bayard and shield. “Proceed with caution,” He warns, before motioning to Keith to open the door with the scanner on the wall. With a nod the red paladin moves to it, making eye contact with their leader before slipping off his glove and pressing his hand against the scanner.

They'd been expecting an ambush, but it's practically empty. Practically being the operative word. With caution they move alongside the walls, bodies pressed flatter and flatter into the shadows of the room to remain unseen by the figure whose back is turned to them. It wears the signature robes of the Galra Druids.

They press forward, feet silent against the floor. Lance notices that there are a lot of containers, the same type they'd seen being used to contain quintessence. The glass cases are cracked, as if there'd been a fight and they'd been destroyed. But then where was all the quintessence? Shouldn't it be spilled on the floor? Or is it like a gas, disappearing into the atmosphere?

“She's too far gone,” The Druid says, back still to them. The distinctly female voice makes them freeze. Who is she talking to? Does she know that they're there? “I tried to reason with her, but sh-she’s so angry.” Lance holds his breath, looking to Shiro for directions. Their leader looks equally confused, he straightens from where he's half crouched behind a control panel and makes a signal with his hand that means: stay in position.

“Who are you?” Shiro starts, foregoing any pretense of stealth. “What are you talking about?”

Lance blinks, and then she's facing Shiro. The movement so fast that it could've only happened through magic. To his credit Shiro doesn't even flinch – then again the man has dealt with the likes of Haggar and this is no Haggar. “Black Paladin,” Her head tilts in acknowledgement. She doesn't wear the same mask the other Druids they’ve encountered do. No like Haggar, the shadow of her hood is the only thing obscuring her features. “She's mad with grief. Emperor Zarkon is badly injured. It has made her all the more determined, she cannot be stopped,” She shakes her head, raises shaking hands to point at the empty containers. “She has it all.”

Lance watches as Shiro deactivates his bayard and holsters it. Even from his hiding spot he can see the older man’s confused expression under his visor. “Who has the quintessence? Haggar?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you telling me this? How do I know what you're saying is the truth? I don't trust you” Shiro says, his voice eerily calm for someone who's facing the race that tortured and abused him. It's a bit chilling.

The Druid’s arms come up slowly, a gesture to show that she won't hurt him. She drops the hood and reveals purple fur, and yellow pupil-less eyes. She’s a Galra female - not an Altean- something they haven't encountered in all their travels. “I don't need you to trust me. That does not matter now. You cannot stop her.”

Lance's legs are cramping, but he remains hidden at Shiro’s order. From his position he can see Keith fidgeting, like he's dying to fight the witch whose intentions feel ambiguous at best.

“Most of the others have already left this ship. It's far too damaged to fly safely. Haggar did that in her haste,” The Galra woman tells Shiro, she hasn't moved but her eyes seem sad. Which is strange, the fact that they can be expressive without pupils or irises. “My name is Yeza, and you may not believe me, but I am a member of the Blade of Marmora,”

Shiro bristles, probably sensing Keith’s dwindling patience and reckless curiosity when it comes to all things Galra resistance. “I don't believe you.”

“You probably won't after this either,” She shakes her head solemnly, “But I must do what I can to preserve Voltron. It is my duty,” Shiro scoffs, but before he can say anything the Galran witch disappears.

Lance watches and holds his breath, waiting to see where she’ll reappear as minutes tick by. Shiro stands tense, doesn't say anything in case she really hasn't noticed that the other paladins are here.

“I am sorry for what will happen,” Her voice says right behind him, Lance whips around and yelps. He loses his balance from his crouch and goes careening on the floor. The witch stands above him hands outstretched towards him, he hears Shiro shout his name. “The least I can do is provide you with a bridge,” She smiles sadly at him, but all he can do is gape. She's tall, like all the Galra, and her eyes are a bright yellow, like all the Galra. And like all the Galra she attacks, she blasts him with energy so powerful that he feels like he'll burst with it. The tendrils of her magic wrap themselves around his mind. Digging roots there, the pain is immense, he can feel his mouth drop into a silent scream. His brain not figuring out how to function his vocal chords. It lasts an eternity before he can feel her magic receding, his head throbs and he has to roll over on his side to vomit. “I'm sorry, it will eventually bring you comfort.” Lance can hear her, but his mind feels like it's been stretched to the size of the universe and then snapped back far too quickly.

“What did you do?” His voice is barely above a whisper, his fingers digging into his temple as he tries to put pressure on this horrendous headache.

“Like I said. I have given you a bridge. It'll provide you with comfort. I'm sorry I cannot tell you more,” He cracks an eye open, to look at her. She's got one hand extended away from him, strange pulses coming from her clawed hand. “Thank you.” She says meaningfully, and far too genuinely. He feels like there's something important about those two words, but his head hurts.

“You're sick,” Lance spits at her, figuring she's thanking him for the entertainment of torture. It's the most plausible reason.

“Be brave Blue one.” Are her parting words, and then she's gone in a mist of blackness.

The second she leaves it's like time thaws from its frozen state, which makes sense. He hadn't heard his team, and the interaction with the witch had been far too long for them not to have reached him by then. Damn those witches didn't fight fair.

But there's too much noise, he's too sensitive and it's just all so overwhelming. He feels like his mind is on overdrive now, his friends concerned voices asking him things he can't answer because this headache is unlike anything he's ever experienced. And then, something soothing touches his forehead. It's cold, and it alleviates his pain by a margin of an inch. When he opens his eyes he meets the gray one’s of his leader. The outline of his face illuminated by the purple lights above him, his lips move, but Lance can't hear a thing. Suddenly the light changes into something much more gold. A shimmering color that he's never seen before. He wouldn't be able to find it any color spectrum. It's unique and it looks a bit like it's alive as it surrounds and engulfs Shiro in what seems like a hug. The light seems sentient.

It feels safe.

*

“The scans say he's fine,” Allura says, fingers tapping on the screen as her mouth dips with worry.

“He passed out!” Pidge retorts, frustration seeping into her tone. Shiro had had to carry Lance’s limp body out of the abandoned battlecruiser and now Allura was saying nothing was wrong? 

“There is nothing wrong with him. Physically or mentally. Whatever the Druid did was only temporary,” Allura explains, but even she doesn't seem happy with the answer. “She didn't leave anything behind; I cannot feel her magic in him. If she's corrupted him, or done something of that sort I'd be able to feel it.”

“So he’ll be fine?” Hunk asks, hovering alongside the rest of the team at Lance’s cot.

“I'm sure he will be; she was probably trying to dig for information. His mind most likely resisted at a subconscious level and that's why the experience was painfully draining for him,” Allura says, that she believes. She'd seen it a dozen times when they'd rescued prisoners off ships that traveled with Druids onboard.

Lance was fine.

*

Whatever Yeza had done left behind no permanent damage. Lance had slept off the massive headache, which felt strange. That something so horrendous could be easily cured with some rest. Allura and Coran had run a million diagnostic tests on him, it’s a lot of poking and prodding. They even make him take Blue on a test drive, to prove that it's still him. That the giant mecha lion will still accept him – spoiler alert she does.

There's no residual effects, but his mind feels different. Nothing to cause alarm, it's still his own thoughts and actions so there's no one controlling him. It's just that - metaphorically speaking - he feels like a door has been left open in his mind. Yeza’s words run through his mind, “I have given you a bridge.” Lance keeps his concern to himself.

That is until he can't.

*

It’s rare for all five of them to be asleep at the same time, but it starts then. The first sign that something is off. A dream that they experience collectively. A dream that they should've taken as warning.

There’s the feeling of being underwater. It's not cold, wet, or suffocating, but they’re still surrounded by an endless expanse of water. It's crystal clear, and when they look up they can see sunlight filtering from above. They try to move towards it, figure out what they're experiencing, but the water makes their limbs heavy. A futile fight against a current.

Then it changes, the sunlight disappears. The surrounding area going from clear, to blue, to navy, to black. A pitch black that they can't escape from, this time it does feel cold.

It's then that they first see her. She appears like a light. Distant at first, but she grows brighter with every step she takes. The closer she gets the more they see, she brings other pinpricks of lights with her – stars. The blackness leaves, a galaxy of color replacing it.

There's a regality to her posture. She stands with a certain poise, hands clasped in front of her. She's wearing a black dress, high collared, long sleeved, and down to her ankles. Her hair is inky black, reaching her waist. It's shiny and straight, a stark contrast to the smooth pale expanse of her skin.

One of them feels a familiarity, they're not sure who. Can't differentiate between who’s who in this dreamscape. And when they try to look at her face, it ripples. Like a stone’s been dropped in water, they can't see her face. Don't even know if she has one. The harder they try to look the more unrecognizable she becomes.  

“We will wait for you,” Is the first thing she says. Her voice warbles, but they can still hear her. Understanding her is another matter. She extends a hand, like she's waiting for someone to take a hold of it, “Become a star with us,” It sounds like she's offering something, but her words don't make sense.  

There's a pause and then they all collectively feel a question asked. They don't know who's asked it, or how since they can't seem to get their own mouths to work. In fact, they don't even know what they've asked. The woman laughs, it’s a gentle thing.

“We will wait for you,” She repeats. There's a bit of frustration from whoever asked the question, but they drop it. She drops her extended hand to her side and takes a step back. “It won't be much longer till we meet,” It's an ominous thing, but they're not afraid. It doesn't feel like a threat, just a fact.

She presses a hand to her chest, right above where her heart should be and then she turns. Walks away, taking the stars and the color with her. Leaving them with nothingness, a void so deep they can't fathom it.

*

(They sit on the soft grass of Lance’s backyard, the grass tickling their bare feet. The silence between them is a bit longing, Señor Álvarez has only shipped out a few hours ago. Hunk watches his best friend warily, waiting for tears that never come.

Lance’s head is tilted upwards; he's looking at the night sky. “I want to be like my dad,” he says after an eternity.

Hunk thinks his words over, scratching at the band-aid on his knee, “You wanna join the navy?”

Lance laughs, “No. I wanna be brave. I wanna be a hero like him,”

Hunk laughs with him; the other boy is in a good mood. He usually isn't so soon after his father’s deployment, but maybe he's grown out of it. “Then are you going to join the army?” Hunk asks because what other option is there when it comes to becoming a hero. Maybe a firefighter?

“I'm not joining the army Hunk!” Lance bumps his shoulder playfully with his own. There's a pause, where he reaches a hand up towards the sky, like he's going to touch a gleaming star, “I'm going to join the Garrison.”

Hunk gasps, they've all heard of the Garrison. It's extremely elite, and training starts early on. Their requirements age two years lower than the standard eighteen years. “But that's so tough!”

Lance's hand drops, “I know. But I can make it.” And he says it like he knows this for a fact.

“It's in Arizona,” Hunk adds, because yes that's a deciding factor. They’re twelve and he's a little naive, he'd thought he'd always live right next door to his best friend. He can't picture a time in which they're separated by miles of states.

Lance seems to follow his train of thought, “Apply with me. I know you like to build stuff, plus you're super smart. It'll be so easy for you. We’ll be together,” His answer seems like it's prepared. It warms Hunk’s heart a bit to know that his best friend had already thought about convincing him to do this together.

“Sure,” Hunk says. Doesn't really think there's another answer.

Lance grins, showing off the spaces where some of his teeth are missing. “I can't wait to be with the stars.”

“Technically the Garrison mission statement is all about exploring the stars,” Hunk jokes about the semantics. It's what they're learning in school – he can't admit he's a bit of a nerd. 

Lance’s entire demeanor changes at that though. Suddenly he's got a seriousness far beyond the capabilities of a twelve-year-old. It's a bit unnerving, but there's a quirk to his lips and his eyes twinkle, “No. I'm going to be with the stars, because I am one.” At the time he simply nods, not understanding what Lance is talking about but all the same happy to stargaze and talk about the future with his childhood friend. His brother.

Later he’ll get the implications, the foreshadowing of the moment. It'll be much too late then.)

Chapter Text

Before:

“The dream is simply a manifestation of the Voltron bond,” Allura assures them, steady as always. “There is no need to worry, collective dreaming has been a side effect of the bond for many generations of Paladins.”

And they trust that, because there’s never been a reason not to.

*

Sometimes Shiro gets this feeling. It curls in the pit of his stomach, cold and dreadful. More often than not it’s followed by disaster. The last time he’d experienced it he’d been standing on a faraway moon, the shadow of an enemy ship looming over him. He’d lost friends then – family.

He knows the feeling well, has learned to take it as a warning. It amps up his paranoia, but he’d rather be vigilant than unprepared. Funnily enough during the year of his capture, this sixth sense of sorts, was easy to deal with. He was only looking out for himself then, what with Matt and Dr. Holt carted off to different sectors. But now, he has four teenagers – kids really – under his protection. Things are harder.

Shiro never knows what sparks up the feeling, not until it’s too late anyway. So, when it unexpectedly sinks its claws and wraps itself around his heart he panics. Not for himself, those days are over, but rather for his team. Disaster and wreckage awaits them and Shiro’s willing to do anything in his power to figure it out, but everything seems fine.

It starts to take a toll on him, but still he says nothing. Makes the fear and anxiety his own, unwilling to spread something so unfounded to his team. If he weren’t so gripped by dread, he’d find his new habits bordering on over-protective. Things like making sure to take the hardest hits during a fire fight, counting the paladins off when they’re headed back to the hangar, even going as far as wandering the halls at night and peeking into their rooms. The last one doesn’t really help quell his fears all that much. Sometimes Pidge will be up late into the night in the labs and when he checks her empty room he freezes, conjures up every horrible outcome he can think of. He can’t breathe until he finds her hunched over her laptop, manically typing away.

Thankfully, no one’s noticed his new ticks.

But then again he’s always underestimated Lance. He pretends not to notice the arched eyebrow sent his way when he’s caught mouthing off his count sequence. 1, 2, 3, 4.

Still, he’s more than a little shocked when the younger boy corners him as they’re exiting the hangars. Actually, he doesn’t exactly ‘corner him,’ that’s not Lance’s style. Instead he nonchalantly matches Shiro’s pace, humming a little tune.

Shiro waits, hoping the look on his face is passive.

“You know,” Lance starts after a while, dropping the pretense that they’re just taking a casual stroll to the bridge together, “my Ma does that too.”

Shiro wrinkles his nose in confusion, side-eyeing Lance’s side profile, “Does what?”

“The whole counting thing,” He shrugs, “She didn’t always do it. Before when it was just my older brothers, she never did it. It was easier for her then, because it was only two kids so she could hold both their hands when they went out together. But then I came along, and she didn’t have enough arms to keep me from wandering. And then one day she couldn’t find me fast enough at the park, didn’t know where I’d gone. I was only lost for thirty minutes at most, she started counting us off after that.”

Shiro’s eyebrows furrow, drinking in all the words, but not fully understanding their purpose. “Why are you telling me this?” He asks, not unkindly.

Lance sighs, dropping a hand on his shoulder to stop them from walking any further. “I’m telling you because you’re doing it for the same reason my Mama did it. You’re scared.”

Shiro averts his eyes, not really knowing how to respond. He’s starting to feel awkward, mostly because he’s never been at the receiving end of a talk. Usually, it’s him dishing it out. And what makes it even weirder is that it’s Lance giving it to him .

“Look man,” Lance starts up again, clearly noticing that Shiro’s not going to say anything. “Whatever’s making you worry, just get it off your chest. It doesn’t have to be with me, even though I’ve been told I’m a really great listener. Just talk,”

It’s a good idea… in theory. To share the burden of worry, but how is he meant to explain something as ridiculous sounding as: ‘I have tons of anxiety, because the sixth sense I developed after years of trauma is telling me something bad is on the way.’ Still, Lance looks expectant and if he’s going to talk to anyone about this then it might as well be the one other person who suspects something’s already off. No need to drag anyone else into it.

“I have this feeling,” He pauses, searching for the right words, “it started a couple of days after that dream, I think something’s going to happen. This feels like the calm before the storm.”

Surprisingly, Lance doesn’t seem all that worried or thrown off. Credit to him, for taking Shiro’s ridiculous whims with stride. There’s also an incomprehensible understanding in his eyes. “Oh I get it,” He says, “look don’t worry about it dude. Allura said that the only reason I experienced the dream differently was because as the Blue Paladin I’m more receptive to the bond. Nothing bad is going to happen—”

“Wait,” Shiro cuts him off, “what do you mean you experienced the dream differently?”

Lance frowns at him, his eyes seemingly searching for recognition about whatever he’s talking about. “That’s why you’re worried right? Cause I could talk and see the woman from the dream perfectly, when the rest of you couldn’t.” He tilts his head in question.

And when they try to look at her face, it ripples. Like a stone’s been dropped in water, they can't see her face. Don't even know if she has one. The harder they try to look the more unrecognizable she becomes.

Suddenly the feeling intensifies, makes it feel like a ton of lead has just been dropped on his chest. “You could see her?”

“Yeah…” Lance says, slow in understanding. “I mean I asked Allura about it because she knows more about this stuff than you,” He looks sheepish, “but she said she’d talk to you about it—”

“Well she didn’t.” He snaps, choosing to focus on anger instead of fear as he whirls in the direction of the ship’s command center.

*

He doesn’t get to talk to her about it immediately; for all his irritation he’s mature enough not to blow up on Allura when he first sees her. Mostly because when he’d gotten to the command center he’d remembered that they were meant to do a debriefing – meaning that everyone besides Lance and him were already there. He’d faltered, and ultimately decided that the timing was off. But he didn’t forget, just pushed the anger down and filled her in on the details of the mission through gritted teeth and hard eyes. She’d narrowed her own, at his snappish attitude most likely sensing that he wasn’t particularly happy with her at the moment. That’s one thing she had in common with Lance, they were both dangerously good at reading people.

So he’d waited, days passed by and his hostility continued to simmer. It was a combination of the ominous feeling taking up residence in his gut and the betrayal he feels from Allura for keeping this from him. She’s always going on about how he’s the paladins’ leader, and that means he has a right to know if something is wrong with one of them. It’s his responsibility! Lance being able to see let alone communicate with the woman smelled like trouble. All of a sudden it doesn’t feel like just a dream anymore. He knew something was wrong, that there was a certain stillness to the air that didn’t belong.

She should have told him.

Everyone seems to pick up on the mood he’s emitting, even Keith doesn’t bother poking the bear. Lance is a different story, he’ll chatter away, nervous rambling that tells Shiro he hadn’t meant to go around Allura. Which is annoying unto itself, because it plays up the whole mom and dad dynamic that the princess and him had unwittingly fallen into.

Eventually he learns that despite the massive size of the castle, he will most likely never find Allura by herself. That means he has to create the opportunity to confront her instead of waiting for it to present itself.

“Princess, could we talk for a moment?” They’re all in the common room, and from his peripheral he can see Lance freeze from where he’d been lording Pidge’s laptop over her head. His pause earns him a kick in the shins, Shiro pointedly ignores it this time.

“Speak freely,” Allura tells him, but the team is still in the room, and she’s not getting that the talk they’re about to have should be confined between them.

“I was hoping we could talk in private,” He meets her eyes first, and then cuts his gaze to Lance who seems to understand that it’s his job to wrangle everyone out of the common room.

With a defeated sigh the younger boy grabs Pidge – and Keith who’s the second closest – by the collars and starts dragging them out the door. “Keith do you think your knife could cut through the tension in that room?” He hears Lance ask as they turn the corner and into the hall. Hunk scrambling after them, an uncomfortable frown on his face.

“Princess?” Coran questions, warily wringing his hands like he doesn’t want to be here, but he’ll stay if she wants him to.

“I’m alright,” She tells him, Shiro waits until the older Altean leaves before meeting her gaze again. She doesn’t look surprised, which further confirms that she had been expecting this confrontation. “Yes?” She inquires, voice trepid.

He’s still angry, but it’s more like embers than the raging fire it once was. “Lance informed me that he’d experienced the mind-meld dream much differently than the rest of us did. He also told me that he’d already filled you in on it. Mind telling me why you didn’t clue me in?

Allura winces, “…I didn’t want you to worry,” It’s a feeble attempt, but he can read between the lines. Knows that she’s hiding something bigger, because he’s attuned to her and sees that there’s guilt building up in her crystalline eyes.

“You lied to him didn’t you?” It’s not a question, the way her hand comes up to pinch the bridge of her nose tells him that what he’s just said is not a question, it’s a fact. “ Why?”

A beat passes, she says nothing. Another, her hand drops. Then, “I very well could not tell him that I do not have the faintest idea as to why he could see that apparition when no one else could.”

And because he’s trying to be an optimist he asks, “But what you told him, about the Blue Lion making him receptive made sense.” He’s trying to wrap his head around this. Initially he’d thought that coming into this she’d reassure him that she hadn’t said anything because it simply wasn’t that big of a deal. Which would still have been problematic, but marginally less so than what she’s admitting to right now.

“It makes sense, because it is true. But when it comes to the Voltron bond, you are all equal. One person’s strength should be all your strengths. Lance’s quintessence means that he is more receptive to communication bonds; it is the reason that the Blue Lion took so quickly to him. Meaning that if it had truly been a mind-meld dream like I had first suspected you would all have had to experience it the way Lance does. It’s the only way the bond works, you either all feel it or none of you do…”

Shiro swallows roughly, pushing down the feeling of having his insides frozen over. “If you don’t think it was the bond then what is it?”

Allura’s gaze is heavy. “Like I said I do not know.”

*

They don’t tell the team anything, the hypocrisy burning a hole in Shiro’s conscience. But he’d rather the guilt eat him alive than let this type of unknown consume the team with fear.

Lance grins when he sees them talking amicably again, it’s bright and it’s carefree. It only solidifies their joint-decision to keep this from the others even more.

*

The dreams don’t stop.

She’s waiting for them this time. Black wispy dress, and even blacker hair billowing. Her face ripples in rhythm to the breeze they feel. She stands in the middle of a cobblestoned street, either side lined with the blushing pinks of cherry blossom trees. The soft petals gently falling from dark branches. She’s a stark contrast of inkiness against the natural light atmosphere – yet they don’t feel threatened. “Hello again,” She calls to them, but her voice sounds far away, like it’s being carried by the wind.

They feel a question being asked from within the bond. They can’t differentiate themselves from each other, here they are one person. Together they ask something.

The woman sounds affectionate when she answers, “You don’t know all of me. But you do know a part of me.”

Frustration sparks from the bond. Her riddled words only making the experience much more confusing. They must say something along those lines because she laughs, it sounds like wind chimes. Familiarity ignites. And then it dies.

She steps forward, hand outstretched to them. “Will you walk with me?” She asks, the breeze picks up. There’s a strong aching within them, this need to follow her, so they do. They walk along the cobblestone path with her. “I thought this place would be more comfortable,” she says gesturing to their surroundings. Her sentence almost lost on them when the rustling of the blossom trees occurs.

They feel her squeeze their hand. Her fingers soft against their skin.

“My offer still stands,” They stop walking. As they stand beside her, they can’t help but feel like she’s impossibly tall. Or is it the other way around? Are they impossibly small? There are too many thoughts crashing against the bond, it’s getting harder to focus. The woman blurs in front of them. She sighs softly, elegant hands drawing away as she clasps them in front of her. “You’re not ready to join us are you?”

They reply, the image of her steadies – save for the mystery of her face.

She laughs the wind chime-y laugh again. “I like your candor. Still, remember that the stars await you.” Her fingertips brush against their temple affectionately, she almost sounds sad. “You will be so bright.”

Their response is formed before they can truly think about it, something that feels like they're confirming her words. Making it a truth. 

“You're right,” She agrees easily, her hand dropping back to lace their fingers together. They can’t quite help but feel like she’s bright too. They walk in silence, hand in hand until they wake up. There’s no darkness this time, just a soft breeze and a cool hand against their own warm one.

*

Lance falls asleep on the couch around mid-day. Which is a rarity in and of itself seeing as the boy prides himself on his nightly eight hours of sleep. Shiro knows the truth though, Lance doesn’t even have to tell him. The dreams, they’re weighing on him. He’s mentally exhausted since he’s taking the brunt of the experience, so of course he’s falling asleep anywhere and everywhere. It’s worrying as much as it suspicious to the other paladins. Hunk who’s known Lance all his life offhandedly comments on the strangeness: ‘Weird Lance never naps. In his house napping makes you an easy target for pranks, so… he never naps.’ Pidge’s eyes had narrowed in a sort of calculating way, he’d sent them to run Lion maintenance in order to stop them from thinking too much on it. Worrying about Lance is his and Allura’s job now.

Which is easy enough to do in the vulnerable position Lance is currently in. His legs and arms splayed and hanging off the edges of the couch. He’s far too tall to be comfortable. Shiro’s suddenly hit with the realization that the boy is hedging on his height – already having caught up with Hunk months ago.

“He still dreams by himself,” Keith’s voice interrupts his reprieve, footfalls soft as he goes to stand next to him. His voice is low like he’s trying not to wake up Lance. It’s strangely considerate given their history.

“What?” He asks, unsure of what he’d heard.

Keith gestures to the boy sleeping in front of them. “Lance, he still dreams even when it’s only him asleep.”

Shiro’s entire body goes stiff, “Oh.”

“I saw him after the first time,” Keith tilts his head, eyes regarding as he stares at Lance. “He fell asleep on one of the training mats. I woke him up, he looked like he was somewhere else for a couple of seconds.”

“Did he say anything?” Shiro asks, voice carefully void of the sizzling worry in his chest.

He turns to look at Keith, the other boy’s eyes are strangely soft, but then he blinks and it’s gone. “Nothing much, just said that he’s more receptive to the bond because of the Blue’s quintessence,” He shrugs, there’s no hint of worry on his face because he truly believes that. Shiro doesn’t have that luxury.

“Did you notice, this time we could talk?” He asks, trying to divert from the subject they’d been on. Keith merely hums in acknowledgment, Shiro has the sudden understanding that they’re both watching Lance for completely different reasons. He tears his gaze away from the foreign expression Keith wears, forging forward with the new topic. “Do you think we’ll eventually be able to see her face?”

Keith makes an ‘I dunno know’ sound.

A silence settles around them then, something that’s not rare between them. But this one feels different, a touch heavier, like they’re both hiding secrets – Shiro already knows Keith’s because he’s learned to read him like a book. He half debates leaving him to his own devices in order to inform Allura of what he’s learned. Wondering if the news is good or bad; he’s leaning towards bad.

But then, “What do the dreams feel like to you?” Keith sounds like he’s been building up to that, which is strange. Seeing as it’s a perfectly normal question, but Shiro knows when to push and now is not the time so he answers honestly.

“She feels like a welcome home.”

Keith looks at him then, his eyes are deep with sadness.

*

Northern California, 2075:

Takashi rides his bike down familiar streets. It’s spring and the air is fresh, school has just let out for the weekend and he’s ready to relax. He’s on the brink of adulthood, counting down the days till he reaches the end of his senior year in high school. In a month’s time, he’ll be getting his acceptance – or rejection – letter from the Garrison academy.

It’s always been his dream, and now it’s just within grasp, his fingertips brushing against it. He’s always wanted to go beyond the sky’s limit. Knows there’s more than meets the eye up there, and he’s ready to experience all of it.

“Takashi!” Someone calls out to him, he brakes his pedals and smiles at the little girl standing on the curb of the street. Her own bike rests on the lawn of her pink trimmed house. “Wanna race?” She asks, jumping up and down, pigtails bouncing wildly, and sneakers lighting up endearingly.

“You’re not allowed to cross the streets yet Janie,” He reminds her. Last time he’d taken her up on the offer the eight-year-old had gotten in so much trouble when they’d raced to the stop sign on Fermont Ave.

“Oh fine,” She sticks her tongue out at him, but bounds up to his bike nonetheless. She rings his bell playfully, “Oh, by the way my mom told me to ask you if you could babysit me and Vic next Wednesday?”

Takashi smiles at her, remembering the troublesome six-year-old she calls her brother. “Sure, I don’t have practice that day anyway. Tell her it’s fine.”

She grins, blindingly. And then she squints at one of the patches on his backpack. “What’s that?” She pokes at the one he’d accidentally sewn on lopsided, it has the Garrison insignia on it.

“It’s a military academy, I’m going to be a fighter pilot.” He tells her, because Janie’s fiercely curious for her age, and if he doesn’t give her a straightforward answer right now she’ll just look it up herself later anyway.

“That’s where you become a fighter pilot right?” He nods at her. “I saw that on the news,” He has half a mind to ask why she even bothers watching the news, but she rambles on. “Don’t you have to be super smart and strong to become one?”

“What?” He flicks her forehead teasingly, “Don’t think I can do it?” She glares up at him, far more indignant than she has any right to be.

She ignores him in favor of asking more questions though, “Aren’t you scared? Isn’t it dangerous.”

He finds himself shrugging, “Sure, but I’m doing it to protect people.”

She smiles and shakes her head, like she knows something he doesn’t. Her pigtails flap about. “My mom says heroes can’t protect everyone.”

He laughs her response off, knowing that her mom had said that when Janie had been inconsolable about some comic book character. He waves at Mrs. May when she calls Janie back inside for lunch from her white decked porch. She calls out a thanks for agreeing to babysit, and he pedals his way home. Cherry blossoms fall down onto the street in a cacophony of pink.

Years later, after Matt, after Dr. Holt… after Lance, he’ll remember. Janie’s words, they won’t be a comfort. They’ll be a warning given far too early.

Chapter Text

When Katie was younger, she'd watched a documentary about a space mission that was a little over a century old. It had been funded by the Garrison - they'd gone by NASA back then - and it'd been a highly anticipated moment for the entire country. Even now, it was still talked about. Not because it was revolutionary, but because it remained the Garrison’s biggest failure. It had claimed the lives of six crew members and one civilian aboard the shuttle. 

The documentary always showed the grainy live footage from that time, a newscaster with an outdated beige suit sat behind a desk. His hair was sleek and combed, before the image changed from him to where the shuttle was stationed at the old Kennedy Launch Center. She remembered thinking that of course it would malfunction, the shuttle was ancient. It's bulky exterior nothing like the sleek flight ships they had now. Still, her eyes were glued to the screen the second the classic count off had started. Despite everything, the shuttle had taken of slowly but stable. It soared upwards, leaving plumes of smoke in its wake. She almost believed it would make it, the newscaster chattered away, his voice drowning out every time launch control reported aeronautical jargon.

Then out of nowhere, the shuttle exploded. Smoke and fire filling the sky above Florida, the newscaster’s horror filled voice as he stupidly said ‘this was definitely not planned.’ The rocket boosters shot off in different directions, and the shuttle just disappeared. It didn't plummet down into the ocean, nothing that dramatic happened – it simply vanished. Debris fell down, and Launch Control in monotone confirmed the explosion. They went on to mention that recovery procedures were being put in place. There was a silence, the footage cutting back to the newscaster in the studio. He looked stunned, his mouth agape as he tried to digest the information. ‘We must assume that the crew is not alive,’ was the last thing he managed to say before the documentary’s narration took over again.

Not only had that mission been the Garrison's biggest mistake it had also been its most prolific. Katie’s dad always said that the loss of the space shuttle ‘Challenger’ was when space travel really reached its turning point. Not because of new technology, but because something like that could never happen again. The Garrison hated talking about it, no one knew if it was out of embarrassment or because they really had nothing left to say.

“Remember what I said?” Matt had asked on that day; he was frowning – upset that she wasn't taking his warning seriously.

Katie groaned and stifled the urge to accompany it with an eye roll. “Yes! It's so stupid though. Just like that dumb Macbeth curse in the theater community.” She trudged behind her brother as they made their way towards the Garrison Cafeteria. Some important higher up had interrupted her visit to her dad’s office so Matt had been forced to babysit her since she was a visitor who couldn’t walk around unsupervised in a military academy. She didn't mind though, she'd missed him. It wasn't the same at home, she didn't have anyone at home to bounce her ideas off of. Mom just didn't understand, which left her feeling pretty isolated.

“Look,” Matt started. He headed towards the lunch line. “Shiro believes in it, so don't be so mean.”

This time she did roll her eyes, “Only a fighter pilot would believe that talking about the Challenger would curse a mission.”

She'd only barely gotten out the name when horrified gasps filled the air around her. Matt whipped around and stared at her with huge eyes, “WHY!” He screeched. The mess hall quickly filled with disturbed murmurs, some of the cadets even fled the scene like she'd literally just murdered someone in front of them. “I told you not to!” Her brother hissed, tugging her towards the nearest exit by the wrist.

“Oh c’mon,” She whined. He couldn't honestly be serious; it was just a name. It didn't have any power over the outcome of a mission. “That was so ridiculous!”

“You couldn't have done it at a worse possible time!”

Katie’s brows furrowed in confusion, she picked up her stride so she could walk next to her brother instead of behind him. “What do you mean? Is it worse if I say it on a Saturday?” She poked him in the ribs teasingly.

“No, we’re not that dramatic.” The corner of his mouth had twitched in an almost smile. It meant he wasn't actually mad at her, he probably didn't put any stock in the curse either. More than likely, he didn't say it out of respect for his fighter pilot Takashi Shirogane. Katie had never met the man, but she knew that Matt admired him and that her dad practically considered him family. “It's just that today’s the day missions are going to be announced and there's a good chance that our research for Kerberos is finally going to be funded.”

“What no way!” Katie had smacked his arm in excitement. “It's been years since you two first presented it to the board!” 

Matt had grinned, his annoyance fading with the prospect of his long awaited mission. “I know,” he’d sighed.

“Is Shiro still going to be your pilot? I know a crew traveling past Neptune has never been approved of before and he's pretty young—”

“Of course he’s still going to be our pilot!” Matt interrupted seemingly offended on his best friend's behalf. “He's the best the Garrison has to offer. Still,” He glared at her, “He’s gonna freak when I tell about what you said back there.” He jabbed a thumb in the general direction of the cafeteria, but they were long gone.

“So just don’t tell him,” She’d offered, she’d shrugged nonchalantly and he’d hummed back at her noncommittally as they turned to enter through the open door of their dad’s office. Behind his desk, the older man seemed to be brimming with excitement. The second he noticed them in the room he jumped up, and wrapped them up in a group hug.

“Guess who just got funded!” He shouted, his voice absolutely elated. There had been a second where Katie’s heart stopped, a single word repeating through her mind. Challenger. Challenger. Challenger. Then she'd immediately felt stupid for worrying about some silly old curse.

Her dad and brother would be fine in Kerberos. Shiro had taken them on countless missions to space and brought them back safely, and he would do it again!

She was sure of it.

*

 It's not uncommon for her to get lost in her thoughts. What is uncommon, is for someone to break her from her reprieve without having to bodily smack her. Matt was the only person who could simply break through to her with a call of her name. It'd taken a while after joining Voltron for her to learn that Lance could do it too. A simple “Pidge!” would grind her hyper focus to a halt. She has this theory that it's the way he says her name that gets her to actually listen. He says it like he's genuinely happy to see her, every single time. Which is how her brother had always sounded, and it makes her heart ache but it also creates a unique sort of fondness for the blue paladin. She’ll vehemently deny it, but Lance has steadily become one of her favorite people.

A sort of bright spot in all the darkness of space, she kind of has a feeling the others see him like that too. If the way Keith hovers around the other boy when he's feeling particularly grumpy is anything to go by. She should probably comment on that at some point, embarrass the both of them in order to keep her instigating reputation. Maybe she’ll do it when this weird pocket in time that they're currently inhabiting blows over. Something off, just kind of hovers in the air and she's not sure what to make of it.

“You're in my spot,” Lance says, appearing in the lounge as if though her thoughts had summoned him. He kicks off his shoes before settling crisscrossed on the couch.

“What are you doing here?” She squints at him, checking her watch. It's around noon, and usually this is when Lance helps Coran clean around the castle. It's part of his routine, they all have to keep up some sort of schedule in order not to go stir crazy.

“Came to nap,” He tells her around a massive yawn. And there it is, that feeling of missing a couple dozen puzzle pieces that keep her from seeing the full picture. “‘M, tired and you're in my spot Pidgeon.” He flops down unceremoniously onto her lap; she has to tug her arms out from under his back.

“Now?” She asks, poking his cheek. “You don't even like naps.” Suddenly she remembers a couple days ago, when her and Hunk had first noticed. Was this a common thing now? “You don't like naps.” She reiterates to state her confusion. 

“Yeah,” Lance mumbles, turning on his side to get more comfortable. She should probably leave so that she's not trapped here when he eventually falls asleep, but this is nice if not rare. “My brain just needs to recharge, y’know all that hard thinking I do. You wouldn't understand.” She snorts,

“Why aren't you sleeping in your bed?” She asks eventually, he starts like he'd been on the verge of falling asleep. It instantly makes her feel bad, but it also makes her all the more suspicious because Lance has never been one to fall asleep easily even in heavy bouts of exhaustion. He's constantly wired, needs a while to settle down before his breath evens out. She knows this because of the impromptu team sleepovers they sometimes had after a particularly grueling battle against the Galra. “Is something wrong with it, are you not sleeping well?”

He snaps an eye open to look at her. Frowning he sits up and regards her like he's trying to figure something out. She misses his warmth instantly, he just felt like her older brother whenever he cuddled her. “You're smart right?” He asks, leaning so that his shoulder nudges hers. It's like he can read her brother-longing-sad-sad mind.

“Only all the time,” She responds easily, wondering where this is going.

Lance pauses before asking, “Is it normal to feel tired even when you've slept a lot…”

She digs up everything about sleep she’s stored in her mind, because she likes giving people answers. Mostly, she just likes knowing stuff. “Hm, not usually. Unless the person is depressed,” She tacks on the end. “Are you?” She asks, tentatively.

“Only all the time,”

“Seriously?” Pidge turns to look up at his drowsy looking face. He gives her a lazy wink.

“Nah,” He starts, fighting off a yawn that leaves his eyes watery. “Sometimes a little sad and homesick, but nothing like that.” He tells her sincerely, because he's nothing if not an open book. She wonders how he's able to tell her things so easily? Is it trust or is it just his nature? She thinks it's both.

“But you are tired all the time, right?” She prods, because there's something there. She knows there is, it's kind of obvious in the way Shiro and Allura look nervous every time he falls asleep in the middle of the day. Lance seems to know the look on her face, because he grins and pats her on the head. 

“I’m sure it’ll pass.” He reassures, which doesn't really help. Obviously, he'd asked her about it because he was worried enough to want answers. Which was something she hadn't given him, it feels a little like failure. “So, you going to let me sleep on you or are you off to do whatever Pidges’ do at this time of day?”

Contemplating for a minute she wonders how long she can sit still for. In the end she finds that today’s one of those days where her brother is just running through mind. Maybe she needs this, “I guess I could chill,”

Lance pats her head again, and settles onto her lap again. Like a fat cat dozing in the sun, he's running a little warm but it just makes her feel more sluggish. She's about to join in on the napping when she realizes he effectively derailed her interrogation by distracting her with a question.

Something is definitely off, Lance never uses his people skills against her. 

* 

Naturally, she only grows more suspicious after that. She ends up trailing behind the older paladin more often than not now, trying to find one of the missing puzzle pieces so that she can just understand. Lance of course takes it in stride, doesn't even comment on how weird it is for her to follow him around on his everyday chores. She’s never felt more like the annoying little sister than she does at this point, but it's a sacrifice she's willing to make for answers.

Here's what she learns:

1. Lance is almost always tired, but he seems better after his nap. Although they tend to last a worrying four hours, for someone who gets a proper eight hours of sleep.
2. There's a lot of talking during his naps. He seems to be dreaming about something constantly – she hasn’t been able to make out any of his ramblings...yet.
3. Apparently Lance is even more stubborn than her, because when she asks him anything concerning his dreams he derails the conversation with so much tact she doesn't even know it's happening until much later.
4. When she's making ‘Lance rounds’ as she's so cleverly dubbed it, they tend to run into Shiro a lot. (Needs further investigation, since he always seems strangely relieved when they run into him – may be unrelated).
5. Lance has crazy stamina, because “cleaning with Coran” is actually code for death.

In her family it's kind of a given that they'll do anything for their research. Pidge figured that half of them being captured by the Galra was enough penance on that front, but apparently not because she's currently rubbing the skin of her fingers raw. And her elbow is starting to lock up from how long she's been trying to scrub out this particular stain — Christ! They didn't even get injured enough for the healing pods to be this grimy!

“I told her she should've gotten the gloves from the kitchen,” Lance tells Coran, he doesn't even sound winded from all the maniacal scrubbing the older Altean has forced them into. Pidge feels like her arms are going to fall off, and Lance is already on his second pod.

“You really should consider getting them number 5,” Coran chirps, she doesn't reply. Mostly, because she's afraid that if she leaves to go get them she’ll either miss something important or she’ll never come back which just guarantees she’ll definitely miss something important. “We’re cleaning the training deck next!” 

“No!” She snaps, pointing her steel brush in the direction of Coran. “Keith practically lives there, no just no!” She scowls at Lance, willing him with her mind to pick something else to do so that she can follow him around and do that. “Why are we even doing this, obviously Coran’s freaky Altean strength lets him do a much faster job than us.”

Lance raises an amused eyebrow in her direction, not even pausing in his cleaning. It's absolutely maddening. “I’m keeping our friend here some company, plus I like his old-timey stories,” Coran places a hand over his heart at the words. It's half teasing, half sincere. “Also, it's kind of like training. After the first couple of weeks of scrubbing, I was able to hold my bayard up for hours during long missions without getting sore muscles the next day,” He shrugs turning back to inspect his pristine work. 

“Oh,” Pidge says lamely, she's only a little bit impressed. “What are you the Karate Kid?”

“Wax on, wax off,” Lance recites the line, grinning brightly at her for referencing one of his favorite prehistoric movies. He'd made her and Hunk watch it once at the Garrison, it was so old they'd had to watch it from a DVD.

Cursing, she goes back to the stain of whatever that she still hasn't been able to remove. Later, when the healing pod she’d been working on practically sparkles she can't help but feel proud. That is until she realizes that the other two are simply waiting for her – they’d polished off the other rest in record time while she’d been stuck on the one. Assholes.

After three hours of cleaning the med bay and the training area, Pidge can barely hold up her spoon of food goo at dinner. And for once she falls asleep around the same time the rest of her team does, and she should have experienced the best sleep of her life. Instead it's addled, by the presence of the mysterious woman in black. A puzzle piece falls into place that night.

* 

The scene changes, they’re somewhere different. This time it’s a field, the grass is halfway to yellow – it’s dying. There’s not much to the clearing, but the sun beats at them with an incessant rhythm. It’s too bright and there’s nothing to shade them here, the relentlessness of the sun must be what’s drying up the once green grass blades.

She arrives with the horizon as her backdrop. Same black dress, same long silky hair. She’s pristine in a way they can only compare to Allura, but she doesn’t seem like royalty. They notice that she moves like the wind, a soft breeze. The spark of recognition is back from one of them, it’s a tad bit stronger this time. They can’t form the words to ask, they’re not even sure they know what their question is?

Like before her face is unrecognizable, this time it’s far too bright to look at. A sunbeam that burns their corneas when they try to look past it. A gold glaze over where her face should be. It doesn’t fit with the dark dress she wears.

“You seem brighter,” Her voice carries in the wind, it feels distant even though she’s standing right in front of them. Someone, all of them, ask a question, she laughs at it. Wind chimes. “It’s good to see you,” 

You? Who is ‘you’? Is she addressing all of them? Is she seeing only one? Which one? Why them? What is this? All these questions collide against each other, it’s confusing and makes the vision before them start to waver. 

“I invited a friend,” She says after the dreamscape resettles. “It’s good to know all of us, it’ll be easier that way,”

She beckons someone over her shoulder with a neatly clipped finger. Like her, he comes from a distance, but there’s something different about him. He’s a sharp contrast to the woman’s regality, he looks more relaxed. Footfalls quiet against the weeds, he wears blue jeans – it’s disconcerting. He stops when he reaches the woman, bumps shoulders with her in a friendly way. It’s entirely too human, this encounter is far more unnerving now.

There’s a difference to the way his face is hidden too. Like it’s set ablaze. A sunspot exploding.

Someone asks (Lance, but only Shiro will know that) another unknown question. Maybe it's a comment, but they really have no way of knowing. The man leans forward with piqued interest, hands stuffed into the pockets of his jeans. He’s so human.

“Man,” His voice doesn’t float, it’s strong in their minds. Too strong – it’s just as distracting as if it were being carried away. “You’re different than I was expecting.”

Their mind hums with curiosity, there's a stab of recognition at the sound of his voice but it's gone just as fast as it had appeared. They say something, whatever is, it takes a while to get it all out. It's almost like they're rambling. The sun is a harsh sting to their collective existence, it feels like it’s pulsing hotter than before.

“Can't answer any of that,” The man shrugs, broad shoulders moving lazily. “You remind me of my kid, too many questions I can't tell the answers to.”

“No,” The woman in black says, voice still managing to sound alarmed even as the whistling of the wind suddenly tears through the field. “You shouldn’t have said—”

They feel it then. The suffocating heat, it wraps around their mind in an overwhelming sense. The sun feels a million times closer, their skin blisters, the grass goes from a pale yellow to a dead brown. It’s hot, too hot. Their minds burn together, it's excruciating and they can't focus on whatever the apparitions are saying. They disappear in a blinding flash of white light – most likely not by choice – the bridge is collapsing. There’s nothing there, but emptiness and pain.

They wake up to the castle alarms blaring and flashing their red warning lights.

* 

“The Castle scans showed a dramatic increase in the temperatures of your respective rooms,” Allura tells them, she's in her nightgown and her hair is disheveled. Pidge notices the way her eyes flicker from Shiro, to Lance’s absolutely drained face.

“I think the proper wording would be dangerous increase in temperature,” Coran says, frown hidden behind his mustache. “We tried to wake you, you were too hot to touch,” 

“The alarm system was our last resort; your human physiology would've made staying under those conditions a minute longer extremely damaging.”

Pidge follows the princess’s line of sight again; she finds the puzzle piece. It fits. “And you're saying this is the Voltron bond?” She words it like a question, but her tone implies that she doesn't believe it for a second. 

Allura hesitates, her eyes automatically going to Shiro. “Perhaps, it was a memory from a past paladin.” It's a lame excuse, but the others seem to buy it. Mentally she jots down the confused furrow of Coran’s brow, he might not be falling for it like the others. It could prove to be useful information.

“Maybe,” She concedes, mostly because it's late and she’s definitely not in the mood to go head to head with Allura at the moment. It doesn't mean she’ll forget, something is happening. Pidge knows at least that much.

* 

Southern Arizona, 2082: 

There's a lot of static coming through, but Pidge lets her eyes close in order to focus. The nighttime desert giving her a soft breeze that she inhales as she listens to all the garbled noise pollution being filtered through the tech she built. She knows what to expect now, how to differentiate between earth chatter and alien chatter. The radio waves are different, they come from the edge of the solar system so the tech does what it's meant to do and hones in on it. These aliens have to be the reason for the Kerberos failure. They have to be.

Emper---------kon--

---night’s lucky caller for myAM radio is-----

---lost ‘im. find the champi--------

-earth, going back to home pl---

---♪said-----more counting dollars--------- be counting stars♪----

--------vol------voltron. if he finds it first--

----powerful weapon--- lions, lost----

-an electrical storm seems to be passing near SoCal-----meteor shower, perhaps---

---♪think--spaceship knows where--go♪---

---rth gravitational pull--------- follow him? voltron--- lions--paladins, voltron-

-♪floating round---- tin can♪----

---hurry up--need backup jimmy!---------

--sent Mercy, she’s got the wings---fuck! Reaper----

--jimmy you suck-------died cuz of death blossom----------

------one lion is more-----enough--

---if they find it-----voltron’s too powerful------

-man, weapon is Emp----belongs to him---never find it-----

--something has just entered the airspace above-----unidentified aircraft---ou are not authorized to fly---overhead. turn back---

-will be here---not responding to------

--voltron----legendary defender--lost-----find it for Emperor----can’t stop His power---voltron--never stop---looking--voltron, universe’s mightiest weapon---voltron---voltron---vol--torn---------------

-----2,1 and liftoff--- three engines running normall------------------ccccccc----vehicle has exploded-----shuttle Challenger has exploded---chchch--Challenger has exploded---exploded--Challenger——

She can hear herself, her voice. The day she said the name of the cursed shuttle, when she'd awakened death and destruction. Invited it into her home and let it sink its claws into her family. 1986, Space Shuttle Challenger explodes over Cape Canaveral, Florida. The panic hasn't settled in yet, her mind working twice as hard to understand what she'd just heard. Aliens and the Challenger. Today, someone’s been cursed….

Her eyes are still squeezed shut, but her earphones shift gently and, “You come up here to rock out?” A voice too close to her ear asks.

It's startles her just enough to forget, her brain scrambles for an excuse. Anything to tell her all too nosey crewmates, “just looking at the stars,” she hears herself say. Lance smirks, like he's in on something she's not.

“Please,” He flaps his hand in the air, “I’m the only star worth looking at around this place.” The fighter pilot is teasing she knows that, but he says it with so much confidence it sounds like a, like some sort of….well, prediction.

But Pidge never believed in fate or omens. Things cannot be predicted, unless there’s enough empirical data. It's a scientific rule, and there's no changing that. It'll occur to her, when the gaping hole in her heart that was reserved for two people turns to three in order to accommodate for Lance; it'll occur to her then that maybe she was wrong.

Chapter Text

Back on Earth, mornings had been spectacular. The way the sun rose slowly over the horizon, bathing everything in its golden light, it was without a doubt one of the things Hunk missed most about home. It was different in space, the castle’s artificial light never warmed him like the muted rays of sunshine that filtered in through his moms’ kitchen window did. Sunrise was the reason he’d developed a healthy sleeping schedule; he couldn’t help but want to witness every single one. He’d wake up, just as the sun began peaking over the mountains and he’d let it all wash over him. It was his favorite thing to do, and now he’d missed so many that he’d already lost count. 

Hunk still managed to more or less keep up with his sleeping routine, it established some semblance of normalcy. Sure it was difficult, especially when the Galra attacked during their simulated nighttime, but he managed. Now it wasn’t for sunrise that he woke up early, it was for his team. He liked to beat Coran to the kitchen, cook up all the things he could manage so that his friends could have at least one constant.

At the Garrison he’d never really had the time or the freedom to explore his culinary talent, instead that was reserved for his visits back home. Where his moms and him usually signed up for cooking classes in the summer, he’d learned a lot of things that he put into practice for the team’s breakfast even if he’d never seen any of the alien ingredients in his life. It also made him feel closer to his moms, he thought of them every single time he stepped into a kitchen.

It’s where his thoughts are when he enters into the Altean staff kitchen he’s been working out of since they’d first left Earth. He’s so deep into his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Pidge until she clears her throat. He jumps five feet in the air, before whipping around towards her a 'soup' ladle pointed at her in what’s supposed to be a menacing manner.

“Why!” He asks, pressing one hand to his chest in a feeble attempt to slow his racing heart. She shouldn’t be in here, not because she’s not allowed – which should be a rule because whenever it’s just the two of them together in the general vicinity of the goo dispensers a chill runs down his spine. It’s just too early for her to even be up, unless she never fell asleep, but event then that's because she's working in her lab. So she shouldn't be here? “Was this a murder attempt?” He jokingly asks.

She scoffs, her feet swinging from where she’s perched herself on the counter. “No,” She starts, narrowing her eyes at the ladle. “I just needed to talk to you.”

He can’t help but frown at that, he discards his weapon in favor of freeing his hands to gesticulate. “We could’ve talked at breakfast.” He reminds her, his arms thrown up with far too much dramatic air. He blames Lance.

Pidge shakes her head, watching him as he begins gathering ingredients to cook whatever his imagination comes up with today. “I meant I needed to talk to you alone.” 

Hunk hides his wince by crouching down and sticking his head into the cupboards for the cutting board. “Listen, I think it’s been thoroughly established that I cannot keep secrets. I just think they cause more harm than good. And we’re supposed to trust each other now, we’re a team—” 

“Hunk.” Pidge cuts him off pointedly. She jumps down from the counter to shut the cabinet door that he’s just pulled his head out of. He yelps a bit, standing to his full height in surprise. The younger girl’s glare makes him feel a little nervous, he doesn’t know how the Galra manage to stand up to her. “I’m not the one with a secret.”

“Huh? Then what are you talking about.”

Pidge pushes her glasses up, an indicator that what she’s about to say is theory more than anything else. “I think,” She pauses her eyes glancing towards the entrance. “Allura and Shiro. I’m almost 100% sure they’re hiding something from us.” She says.

Fiddling with the ties of his apron, he tries to think of anything that could lead her to believe that. “Why would—”

“It’s about Lance. I know it is, it has something to do with those dreams. Don’t you see it?” Her eyes are wide urging him to believe it, he vaguely remembers the loaded looks that the princess and their leader had shared last night. “Something’s up and they’re not telling us. I just need your help to figure it out. You’re always good at finding out secrets.”

He laughs sheepishly at the last part, “Right, sorry about that. Okay, let’s just run through it. Maybe you’re just reading into things…” He tries, but the look Pidge gives him only further confirms that whatever this is she isn’t dropping it. It also means that she’s more than likely right, and Hunk’s always been on the winning team. So when she inhales deeply, looks to the door again and begins speaking:

He listens.

*

At breakfast he can’t help but shoot suspicious looks towards Allura and Shiro. There are worry lines creasing their faces that he’s almost sure weren’t there before the dreams started happening. Pidge’s words replay in his mind like a broken record, his usually pristine cooking comes out a little crisper than usual, but no one seems to mind.

Hunk chews methodically, eyes cutting from person to person and trying to understand how they got to this point. It’d been drilled into them, by both the princess and black paladin respectively, that keeping secrets at this point was both dangerous and pointless. The truth was always bound to come out, which is why Hunk found it so hard to believe that both their leaders would so naively put Voltron in danger like this. Fissures were created when secrets were being kept, it just didn’t make sense to go through all that risk. Unless they both felt like they had good reasons. Which brought him to his next point of worry, both of them had a strange sense of duty when it came to protecting the team. Shiro because he was older and he was the leader, Allura because she’d lost so much and in her own right was just as much an equal as Shiro. That meant that whatever secret they were keeping it was to protect them, which normally he’d let slide and even be grateful for.

His anxiety made him a firm believer of the phrase: ignorance is bliss – in moderation of course he still managed to know the essentials.

Either way, this secret left him feeling on edge. Mostly because it seemed to revolve around Lance. Now that Pidge had pointed it out, it was almost impossible to miss the way the blue paladin was tracked by both Shiro and Allura. Their eyes seemed to follow his every movement, as if they were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He leaned over to Pidge, “They’re watching him again.” She hummed back conspiratorially, her own eyes flickering from where Lance was yawning over his food to the intense stares that Shiro and Allura were giving him.

“I’m gonna try something,” She whispered, letting her gaze rest on Allura. “Follow my lead.” Hunk nodded, hoping that she wasn’t about to antagonize the princess like he noticed she’d been ready to do last night when the “mind-meld dream” had gone haywire. 

“So princess,” Pidge started, her voice all innocence. Hunk sighed, this wasn’t going to be pretty but over the edge with her he went. “About last night, has something like that happened to other paladins.” There’s a side-eye from the smaller girl, which naturally means he has to back her up so that she’s not immediately dismissed.

“Yeah,” Hunk swallows roughly, he’s never really been one to question authority. “You seemed really surprised by it…”

Allura’s jaw works itself, she doesn’t look angry by the line of questioning, just frustrated. It looks like she’s actively trying to avoid eye contact with Shiro, probably suspecting that they’re already sensing something off. Before she recovers Coran chimes in, “Actually, now that you mention it, it is rather peculiar that the dreams affected your direct environments. It is unprecedented.”

The older Altean nods to himself, brows furrowed as he twirls his mustache in thought. Allura laughs nervously, her hand going out to reach Coran’s shoulder from where he's standing next to her chair. He looks at her with questions in his eyes. “You are correct, there is much about the bond we still do not know. I have never been a paladin, so for all I know this could be a natural occurrence.” Coran looks like he’s about to say more, but Hunk notices the slight squeeze Allura gives his shoulder before he forgoes commenting altogether.

“Maybe it’s because we’re human.” Shiro cuts in, “The paladins before us have never had the same genetic makeup as us, it probably affects us differently.” His voice is eerily calm, as if he’d practiced this before.

It’s Pidge and Hunk’s turn to exchange a significant look.

“Sure, I’d believe that.” Keith says from the end of the table, his expression passive. “Except that I don’t think the lions – at least not Red – would let the bond manifest like that if they knew it’d hurt us like it almost did last night.” Keith shrugs, completely oblivious to the hole he’d just punctured in their leaders’ excuses.

Hunk can’t help but point at him excitedly, “Exactly!” The other boy seems a bit startled, but he manages a smile tentatively. Bless his little conspiracy loving brain. 

“Lance what do you think?” Pidge asks very pointedly. Hunk cuts his gaze to his best friend, he’d forgotten he was there, he’d been strangely silent the entire time.

“Hm,” Lance hums, lifting his head from where he’d propped it on his hand. His face is twisted in mild discomfort, his other hand rubbing at his temples as he squints in Pidge’s direction. “Sorry I wasn’t listening. What is it?”

It’s like a flip switches, instantly Shiro and Allura go from deflecting to overtly concerned. It’s enough that even Keith notices, his back instantly straightening and his eyes looking back and forth between them before settling on Lance – like they always do. “Is something wrong?” Allura questions, which is odd in and of itself because she’s never one to coddle them, but this particular softness in her voice is only reserved when one of them is sick or injured. Hunk feels his pulse spike, interrogation forgotten in favor of worrying for his best friend.

“No, yeah.” Lance answers, in that completely contradictory way of his. “I-I just,” He pauses, his eyes scrunching shut in obvious pain. There’s a few seconds of silence, before he laughs it off. “Me and my sensibilities,” He says, snapping his eyes open again, the action seems a little automatic. “I didn’t sleep well last night; I have a headache is all. I’ll feel better after I nap.”

Hunk feels his heart flip. He recognizes the way Lance is trying to downplay whatever he’s going through in order to keep the unwanted attention off him. He doesn’t want to play along. “You’ve been napping a lot lately, something’s wrong.” It’s a statement not a question. He ignores the uncomfortable shift from the head of the table. Lance first, secrets second.

“I’m f-fine.” Lance insists, even as his hands come up to cradle either side of his skull. “Maybe it’s a migraine.” He suggests, his eyes still partly closed as if though reacting to something blinding. They’re also seemingly trying to track something through nothing but empty space.

“Lance—” He’s immediately cut off.

“The lights. They’re too bright.” Lance’s voice is breathless with pain, but he doesn’t seem capable of shutting his eyes. Hunk feels a cold stone of fear drop in his stomach, he makes to reach for the other boy. “T-Too bright, like on the ship.” The words make him freeze for some reason. His arm dropping heavily back onto the table. “Fuck.” Lance hisses through his teeth, his stare finally fixing itself on a point behind Shiro. “Like on the ship.” He repeats.

“What ship? What are you talking about?” Shiro asks, already rising from his seat not even sparing a glance over his shoulder to whatever Lance must be seeing. “Just try to…” He seems at a loss, not really sure how to help, he takes a step forward towards the younger boy. 

“No!” Lance recoils from the older man. His face twists in pain, eyes narrowing even further like he’s looking directly at the sun. “It’s all-all-all around you. It’s s-so bright,” Lance’s hands grip at his hair, but he doesn’t close his eyes. “It h-hurts.” Lance whimpers. His eyes brim with tears, but he doesn’t blink them away. Hunk doesn’t think he’s seen him blink at all since this had started. “Like back on the sh-ship.” He repeats. Inhaling sharply when Shiro unconsciously moves forward again, tears actually manage to trail down his cheeks this time. 

“I’m sorry.” Shiro says helplessly. He moves backwards in an effort to relieve Lance’s pain, but it doesn’t matter because despite it all Lance’s gaze seems glued to something behind him - no matter where the man moves.

“How can we help? What do you want us to do?” Pidge asks, her voice has a watery quality to it. It makes Hunk want to pull her to his side, but he can’t.

He feels like he’s watching this through a film, as if he’s not really there. Worry has frozen him over, he can only act as a bystander. It’s something he thought he’d worked through, back when his anxiety was far worse than it was now. Lance had even helped him through it, but it’s like he’s back at square one. Hands shaking, but limbs still locked.

Lance’s lashes are shiny and wet, his blue eyes progressively becoming red rimmed. His face is ashen, and there’s pain written on every inch of his face. His hands finally drop from his skull, “It’s her.” He whispers, hand outstretched in the direction of his locked gaze. There’s a collective gasp as they all watch Lance’s nose begin to drip blood.

Keith’s the one that reacts first, always the fastest out of all of them. He swipes at it with his thumb before impulsively pushing Lance’s face into his chest. “Don’t look. Just don’t look.” He says, arms protectively hugging the other boy into him. Lance makes an agonized noise of relief, his shaky fingers curling into the fabric of Keith’s shirt. Keith desperately looks towards all of them, his hands moving cautiously to brush at the other boy’s hair in an effort to comfort him further. There’s worry and fear in his very stance, but they can’t help him. Shiro looks like he’s afraid the reprieve Keith’s offered Lance will disappear if he so much as moves an inch. Allura’s holding onto Coran’s arm, her knuckles white in their grip and mouth pressed into a thin line. No one has any answers, no one knows what to do.

They stay like that, for a minute, for two, for five, for ten. All too afraid and confused to move.

Then Lance pulls back slowly, the first movement in a while. Keith looks down at him. His hands moving to cradle either side of the other boy’s face in an imitation of what Lance had done to himself much earlier, but this is far more gentle. The dried smeared blood makes him look more gruesome than he had been at the start of the morning. Lance doesn’t seem to notice; he only looks up at Keith. Hunk can see that his eyelashes are still sticking together with salty tears. “Like on the ship.” He whispers, his gaze imploring.

“Like on the ship.” Keith parrots back for no other reason than because it seems like Lance is trying to get him to understand something. It seems to be enough to satisfy the other boy because he manages a small approving smile before subsequently passing out. A limp, deadweight in Keith’s arms.

Hunk reacts then, his bones thawing and heart madly thumping away as they all jump into action.

* 

The healing pod wouldn’t take him, the diagnostic reading as if there was nothing wrong with him. They’d had to set up a sort of triage, Coran hooking the Altean equivalent of an IV into the juncture of Lance’s elbow. Hunk sat at the head of the medical cot, his fingers curled around his best friend’s wrist, the soft beating of his pulse a nice reassurance. Pidge was on the other side, her own hand twitching like she wanted to hold his hand but wasn’t sure if she was allowed to.

Hunk was just about to murmur some reassurances when her fingers curled into a fist and she shook her head. She looked at him, across the slumbering body of their friend and said. “I’d like to see them try to dig their way out of this one.” Hunk winces at her tone, but he understands where she’s coming from, he wants just as many answers.

Pidge turns her skeptical eyes toward where Keith is reclining against the wall, he’s too far to hear what they’re saying. Although, Hunk doubts he’s interested in eavesdropping, the other boy’s eyes are glazed over and glued to the monitors keeping up with the rhythm of Lance’s heart. It’s healthy and steady, but Keith stands there in his blood splotched shirt and refuses to leave. In all honesty, if the situation didn’t feel so dire, he’d be gossiping about it to Lance when he woke up. There was something definitely there.

Hunk doesn’t bother to wait for Pidge to make up her mind about whether she wants to trust Keith on this particular issue or not. He already knows that if it involves Lance, Keith will go to about any length to figure out what’s wrong with him. “Hey,” Hunk says, beckoning him over to them. “We gotta talk.”

Keith takes cautious steps towards them, he stops at the edge of the cot right where Lance’s feet are. “About?”

“You're close to Shiro right?” Pidge asks with no preamble whatsoever. Hunk has to hold back a deep sigh, this isn’t what he’d meant by calling Keith over. 

“Uh yeah?” Keith answers, brows dipping in confusion. His gaze flickers over to Hunk, all he can offer him is a meager shrug. “What’s going on?” He asks again, there’s a scowl coming on and if Lance were awake he’d be diffusing the situation with absolute ease. He tries not to think about that. He also tries not to think about how awkward the three of them are without Lance. 

“Has he said anything about,” Pidge gestures to the sleeping boy with one fell swoop.

“No.” Is all Keith says, his nose scrunching in confusion.

Hunk of course takes pity and cuts Pidge's oncoming interrogation off at the pass. “We think he’s hiding something about Lance’s condition. Him and Allura know more than they’re letting on.”

Keith takes a step back, his confused expression changing to one of insult. “Shiro wouldn’t do that!” He scowls at the both of them. “He doesn’t know anything, if he did then he wouldn’t have looked so…” He looks like he’s fighting for the right words. “He looked surprised today, he doesn’t know anything.” He reaffirms. 

Hunk waits. He taps a rhythm on Lance’s wrist, a calming gesture for himself. “I know you’ve noticed that he’s been watching Lance a lot more than usual. Allura too. I’m not saying they know anything about today, but they know something.” Hunk insists. He really hopes that Keith can see it from their side, because if anyone can dig answers out of Shiro it’s going to have to be Keith.

There’s a moment where he thinks Keith’s going to continue arguing, but then he just deflates. “Yeah, I-I…” He scrubs a hand over his face in obvious frustration. “I thought he just felt guilty cause Lance took the hit back on that Galra cruiser and not him.” Hunk nods, something about that sentence feeling a bit off, but he’s not sure why.

Shiro and Allura were currently at the bridge trying to figure out a safe route for the castle since clearly Lance was out of commission. At least that’s what they said, Hunk had his suspicions that they were having a similar conversation about Lance back on the bridge, except that they had more information than they did. The thought only made him resent them, which wasn’t something he enjoyed.

“Wait what did you say?” Pidge asked, her head tilted in question towards Keith. Maybe something about the statement had left her with this feeling, like they were both missing a vital clue and it was staring them right in the face.

He blinked at her. “Um, I said I thought he felt guilty.”

“Right,” Pidge agreed, she chewed on her lip pensively before talking again. “Because Lance took the hit on the ship instead of him.” She tacked on, sounding more like she was trying to work through a problem than anything else. 

It hit him then, the realization. It took all the breath out of him, and he instinctively looked to his best friend. “Didn’t he...?” His voice was winded, he tried again. “Wasn’t he mumbling something about a light right after the witch hit him? I’m pretty sure he was, and…” 

“Oh.” Pidge said, Hunk met her wide eyes. They’d just come to the same conclusion. "Shiro was there too. He went through this before..."

“Like on the ship.” Keith said, a mirror of the mantra Lance had been repeating. There wasn’t any confusion in his voice now. They all understood now. Whatever was happening was because of the Galran witch Yeza.

*

Sleep came to all of them fitfully that night, but it came all the same.

They’re at the bottom of a canyon, the ridges of rock towering above them and encasing them in a valley of stone. There’s a dry warmth to the air, but it’s not the same blistering heat from before. It’s cooler here, the shadows of the gorge spilling over them with a softness they can almost feel.

She’s there already, because she always is. Her composure is a little wrought, her fingers twisting into the fabric of her skirt. Guilt comes off her in waves, settles around them in greeting. Even with her face hidden they can almost picture shiny gray eyes looking back at them with remorse. It’s an odd feeling, because they can’t see her features but it feels like something is becoming clearer. Are those really her eyes, or are they imagining it? It’s like the ripples disturbing her image are slowing down.

“I’m sorry about before. I should’ve warned him before I introduced you two.” The woman in black says, something makes them look to a formation of boulders to her left. The man from the previous dream is there, his face still disturbed by turbulent waves. He’s sitting on the lowest rock, picking nonsensically at his fraying blue jeans.

“Just got carried away last time I guess.” He shrugs, but his booming voice doesn’t sound as loud as before. They can hear the twang of an accent better, sharp recognition ripples through them for a second before it’s dismissed. “Shouldn’t have mentioned my…” He trails off.  

There’s a brief pause, and then there’s this feeling like they’re watching this from behind a screen. It had never felt that way before, but when they look they can see the watery apparition of Lance standing before them. “Your son. That’s who you mentioned last time. You can’t talk about him. Why?” He asks, he doesn’t seem to be aware of them. It’s like they’re not really meant to be there, they’re just intruders. Panic runs through them, this isn’t—  

“Please,” The woman cuts their thoughts off, but the barely there eyes are looking at Lance not them, steadily becoming clearer. “You’re digging too deep. It isn’t the time.” There’s an imploring edge to her voice. “I beg of you, don’t focus on that.”

“Isn't the time for what?” Lance asks, his voice is muted as if they’re listening through glass. “No offense, but this isn’t fun for any of us.” He gestures behind him towards where they are. So he is aware of them, he just seems used to it then. What do they look like to him? Are they all there as individuals or is he seeing one entity? Why are they here? Why can Lance speak when they feel like their throats have been hollowed out of vocal chords?

The woman’s gray eyes flash to them, it leaves them stunned because they’re…familiar—

“Listen kid,” The man says standing up and brushing imaginary dirt off of him. “If we tell you more, this,” He gestures to the expansive canyon surrounding them. “It ain’t gonna be as pleasant.” There’s something blunt about this man.

Lance’s apparition seems to be crossing his arms. “Like it’s pleasant now? Your little riddles aren’t any fun.” He huffs, his words startling a laugh out of the man. He goes to stand by the woman as a show of solidarity.

“I like you.” The man says. It only seems to annoy Lance.

The woman pats the man on the shoulder. “He sure is gonna give him a run for his money.”

Lance looks like he’s about to ask about that, but the woman tilts her head up at the sky. They do too, trying to see what she sees, but coming up with a blank. She sighs, looking back down. “What don’t you see?” She asks.

“I don’t know?” Lance supplies, his voice taking on an irritated tone. The woman doesn’t seem bothered by it. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m tired.” He says, voice sounding defeated. The woman moves forward, putting her finger under his chin and making him look up at the sky again. They stay like that for an eternity, before: “The sun, where’s the sun?” Lance asks, he sounds further away. The invisible wall thickening.

There’s light, but they’re not sure where its coming from. Maybe the canyon is hiding it—

“Good.” She says, approvingly. Her hand brushes away his hair in almost a…motherly way. “We don’t need it. You’re the brightest star here.” Her gray eyes glisten, and then there’s a moment where she looks past him and towards them. The familiarity grows stronger; it feels like she’s looking at one of them…

“I’m not ready.” Lance answers, it sounds just as vague as everything that’s been said in these dreams. Another surge of panic rushes through them.

The woman in black tears her eyes away from them, almost reluctantly. “I know.” She soothes one last time before moving back to the man’s side. “These stars aren’t going anywhere," She sounds like she's talking about herself. "We’ll wait. It’s not the time yet, you said so yourself.”

“The bridge it’s here so we can talk, get to know each other.” The man adds, shoving his fists into his pockets. He’s the only one who’s ever given any real answers and they’ve seen him less than the woman. “You can’t cross yet.”

There’s a beat. Then: “But I will…” Lance doesn’t sound totally against the prospect when they both nod.  

“You were always meant to.” The woman says at last, she’s fading and she’s fading quickly.

A shadow falls over the canyon, drenching them in darkness. They’re finally alone, a familiar coldness seeping into their skin. There’s a deep rumbling in the darkness, a sound they’ve heard a thousand times. There's a flash of yellow light separate from the void.

A pair of golden lion eyes stare right at them.