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Barely clothed and thin as a skeleton, Lance shook violently clutched in Keith’s arms. He held on tighter, worried that if he loosened his grip even a fraction Lance would go running back to that monster.
He should have killed Lotor when he'd had the chance. A few non-lethal wounds were not punishment enough, not even close. Keith vowed, in that moment, that Lotor's death would be by his hand. And he'd make sure it was agonizingly slow.
It was weeks before Lance emerged from the healing pod, and days before he woke in a fit. His skin glistened with sweat, his cheeks sunken and pale; he was a mere shadow of himself. Lance muttered incoherently. Pleading and begging Lotor for something, but what, he wasn’t sure. Either way it only flared the anger deep in his stomach.
Keith was able to get him to eat and drink before he fell back to sleep. He barely left Lance’s side anymore, not since they got back. Possessiveness burned next to the hate, hot and quick. It’d been days since anyone tried to relieve him of his post. Not since the blow up at Pidge.
Each moment pulled at Keith's heart and steeled his resolve to punish Lotor. He'd hunt him to the ends of the galaxy if he had to. Lotor would pay for everything he’d done.
Lance was quit as he slept, though his brow was knit with tension. Keith dabbed a damp cloth over his forehead and watched as the muscles relaxed. If only he knew what locked Lance in his dreams.
-=-
He was here again. In the back of his mind he knew this was a dream. Yet, it was all too real, the feeling of the bars pressing against him, the throbbing pain from his wounds, and the smell. What was the difference between reality and dreams anyway? If he was crammed into the too tight cell and covered in his own filth, if he could feel his heart thud against his ribs and his throat constrict as panic rose up inside him; then it was real enough.
His prison was more of a cage for a dog and it didn’t matter how Lance tried to fit, there was never enough room to stretch out. The beatings were routine and his muscles cramped in anticipation of the next one. He breathed in the stench, in and out, trying to calm himself even as footsteps sounded down the hall beyond the door. Coming for him.
Lance shifted, trying find a position that would stretch his legs and bit down on a scream. Paralyzing pain shot up his spine; he banged his head against the bars trying to distract himself. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth; it’d become more common to him than food.
“Fuck.” He was pretty sure that the last beating had left one or both legs dislocated or broken. Tears stung his eyes as they welled, threatening to spill over. How he still had enough water in his body to cry, he didn’t know.
The cage door swung open and Lance scrambled back. His hands slipped on the muck staining the floor. The grime covered his arms up to his elbows as he wiggled to the furthest corner. Anything was better then what the Galra on the other side had planned for him. It was no use; sharp claws tore at his skin as they wrenched him from the cage. They held him upright in a bruising grip.
Lotor turned to the guards, his cloak whipping Lance in the face. “Get him cleaned up and sent to my chamber.”
Lance was practically dragged from what could only be called a dungeon. He hung limply from the Galra’s grip, unable to conjure up any strength. The occasions that Lotor called for him were tests that Lance never passed.
He was stripped and left freezing in the middle of a large tiled room. A warm bath steamed in the corner that smelled of lavender. The sweet scent only punctuated his own odor, making him queasy. The large Galra shoved him forward and pulled out the dreaded hose. There was no time to react before freezing water shot out, spraying him from head to toe.
The water ran dark streaming into a large drain. He watched it, numb. Every time this happened he was shocked at how dirty he’d become. What did he even look like?
The freezing water only stopped once the runoff was clear. Then a rough hand was tugging him, limping to a wooden stool. His leg wasn’t broken then, a small blessing. Lance almost welcomed the treatment, leaning into the warmth of the Galra’s hands. Soap and a scrubbing brush that seemed more suited for fur than skin dug into his flesh. The Galra washed him methodically and he didn’t pause at any protest or cry from Lance. That didn’t stop him from cursing the beast to hell and back.
He whimpered as the bristles rubbed him raw, digging into his fresh wounds and opening up old ones. The brushing stopped as the Glara reached his leg. He didn’t say anything as he wrapped both hands around the bruised leg and snapped it in place with a sickening pop. Lance screamed. Head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as the pain threatened to push him into unconsciousness.
He slammed against the tile, bouncing on his shoulder as the stool clattered across the room. Disoriented, he blinked a few times before he realized that the Galra had backhanded him.
He lay there, wet and naked and panting through the pain. He was going to throw up or pass out, he wasn’t sure, but he could feel something trying to overtake him. The rest was a blur. He never did get to soak in the warm tub and his teeth chattered violently.
It was a full hour of cleaning, scrubbing, and bandaging before the Galra approved of his state. Lance was handed clothing that could only be described as skimpy and left to fend on his own. His muscles ached as he pulled on the tunic. Such large movements had only been allowed during his sessions. He tugged on the hem to cover his softest parts only for it to ride up in the back. After some struggling he gave up and figured that out of everything that had happened to him, his modesty was the least of his worries.
His hand ran over the soft fabric. It felt like ages since he’d touched anything clean, how long had it been since Lotor had called for him? Time was such a strange concept, so useless to him now. He used to care so much. Allura would time them to see how fast they could get ready and it always mattered so much.
Memories of Voltron and the paladins rose unbidden. No one came for him, he’d been so sure. So sure, until it’d been beaten out of him, until the days turned into months and he couldn't tell day from night.
Worries turned from his skincare regimen to survival, Lance let out a shuddering laugh. Skin Care. Had there really been a time when something so petty was so important to him? A time when food was an afterthought and sleep was more than a welcome escape from pain? It was too strange to believe. That Lance was dead. Beaten into submission and buried in abandonment.
He wasn’t stupid, he knew what was probably in store for him. This outfit wasn’t built for hard labor, there was only one thing he’d need such skimpy clothes for. It didn’t matter. Whatever Lotor had planed for him was better than the cage. He had clean clothes and a bath, he might even get fed. Pride was a luxury he no longer possessed. Stranded here, he'd make sure Lotor was happy and hopefully, all he could do now was survive.
The guard burst into the room, rough hands and harsh words as he grabbed Lance by his arm. Lance let himself be dragged dragged out, ignoring the pain in his legs with each step. One hand pulling his tunic down so it covered as much as possible.
-=-
Keith dipped the washcloth into the warm bath water. Lance could probably do this himself if he really wanted to. The problem was, Lance didn’t want to do anything except sleep. It’d been a few days since the rescue but his blue eyes were dull and he refused to talk about what happened.
Lance’d been shying away from Keith’s touches since his return. The only time it seemed that his touch was welcome was late at night in the throws of nightmares. Then, and only then, would Keith wrap his arms around Lance, holding him close as he cried in his sleep.
So it was with gentle fingers and a soft touch that Keith pressed the washcloth to Lance’s bony spine.
Lance jerked away with a hiss. “Don’t touch me!” Turning blazing eyes on Keith, Lance spat his words like poison, “Filthy Galra.”
Keith pulled back, holding both hands in the air as the washcloth dripped down his forearm. Frozen in place, he squeezed the cloth in a white knuckled fist. Not sure if this was one of Lance’s episodes or if his Galra heritage had caused the outburst, he didn’t know how to react. It hurt either way. He may not look like them but that didn’t change his blood, and to think that Lance put him in the same category as his abusers, well--
Lance’s eyes cleared for a moment before dulling again. He looked away, red staining his cheeks.
“Sorry,” Keith murmured, letting his hands fall into his lap. He should probably go. Get Hunk or someone to finish Lance’s bath. Why did he even think he was the right person to take care of him. Of course Lance despised him.
A wet hand touched his cheek, light as a feather. Keith looked up, locking eyes with Lance.
“I didn’t mean--” He squeezed his eyes shut and started again, “I’m sorry, it’s okay. You can touch me.”
Keith bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. Lance’s thumb brushed over it and Keith released it in surprise. Lance was staring at his mouth.
“Really, it’s okay.” He licked his lips before tearing his eyes away and dipping his hand back under the water. He was staring at the wall as if lost in thought.
Keith felt like he was made of too many joints and fumbled to pick up where he left off. The muggy air of the bathroom felt even heavier and hotter. He dipped the cloth into the water to warm it back up. His hand shook as he touched it to Lance’s spine once more.
This time there was no outburst. Lance sighed, melting under his touch.
He wasn’t one for filling in silences but Lance’s strange behavior made him want to blather on about nothing. Anything to distract from the darkness that crept into his soul every time Lance turned dull eyes toward him.
“Pidge said we should be arriving any day now. We’ll be able to have some time off. Shiro said that Allura said that the planet will have a festival going on to celebrate some kind of local holiday. If there’s rides, maybe we can convince Hunk to ride one and watch him throw up on Coran or something. It’ll be fun.”
Lance didn’t say anything but his shoulders relaxed and he was leaning into the wash cloth as Keith scrubbed small circles. He wasn’t really trying to clean as much as he was trying to comfort.
“Do you want me to wash your hair?”
Lance nodded. His hair was cropped short again thanks to Shiro, the bottom half buzzed clean. Probably the only haircut he knew how to do.
Keith lathered the shampoo in his hands until it foamed. He ran it through Lance’s short strands. They tangled around his fingers as they fell out. Keith never said anything, didn’t want Lance to realize that the malnutrition had affected him so much. Heck, he probably already knew. It was better if they both ignored it. Hair would grow back and Lance would heal. Keith would make sure of it.
-=-
Lance was practically thrown into Lotor’s quarters, scraping his knees as he skid across the floor. He scrambled to sit up so he could check his knees. Dirt stood out against the fresh blood beading in shallow cuts, just minor scrapes. Though his once beautiful long legs were black and blue, one slightly crooked, a few more scrapes were nothing. He was already damaged inside and out.
He winced as a slender hand reached out to brush cold fingers along his jaw. The first gentle touch he could remember in what seemed like a lifetime of beatings. Gasping, he shied away from it. He knew the routine; this was some kind of trick, a ruse to make the next blow hurt more.
“There, there,” Lotor’s voice was soft and smooth as it ran over Lance’s frazzled nerves. “You’re safe now because you’re mine, isn’t that right?”
There it was, the test.
Lance wanted to retch at the words. This was how it always went. They’d clean him up and present him to Lotor, he’d mouth off and get himself thrown back into that filthy cell. Over and over they played out the scene, this interaction his only true measurement of time. Yet, no one came. He was forgotten and left to Lotor’s will. Lotor was pleasure and pain, life and death, cage and freedom. Lance swallowed the bile burning his throat and nodded. He was Lotor’s possession, he couldn’t fight that anymore.
“I want to hear you say it.”
“I’m yours, Lord Lotor.” His voice came out scratchy with disuse, and he couldn’t help the coughing fit that followed.
“Good.”
A soft hand combed through his hair, which fell to his shoulders in wet ropes. Lance jumped, scrambling back. Lotor stood over him, impossibly tall and impossibly kind. His face was absent of any harsh lines. He almost looked sad.
“It’s all right. It’s me. I’ll protect you from Voltron.”
“Voltron?” Lance couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard that word out loud. It sent a fresh wave of pain and longing through his chest.
“Yes. Voltron abandoned you. Left you to me.”
“No,” he breathed out the word, more disbelief than sound. There was no way. His friends, Hunk, Coran-- Keith wouldn’t do that. But-- If that were true, then why was he here? Why hadn’t they come for him?
Lotor lifted Lance's chin so that he was staring into sharp and unforgiving eyes. Eyes that held nothing but the harsh realities of life.
“Yes, they abandoned you, and I saved you. You can trust me.” Lotor stepped closer, cupping Lance's cheek and running his thumb along the cut of his bone. His breath hitched, but this time Lance didn’t pull away. He leaned into the touch like a puppy.
He didn’t say anything, he couldn't. Lotor, of all people, was right. The only reason he sat here alive was because Lotor wished it. Tears tailed down his cheeks as he clung to Lotor’s robes. He was finally, truly alone.
-=-
Keith walked alongside Lance as they made their way to the mess hall. Their knuckles brushed now and then, making Keith hyper aware of his body, worried that their contact would make Lance run back to his room. It was the first time he’d made it outside and seemed ready to face everyone. Keith didn’t want to be the reason the little expedition failed; he distanced himself, making sure there was a good foot of space between them.
The table was set with all of Lance’s favorite foods. He could smell it before they reached the hall. Lance licked his lips, his pink tongue darting out, wet and glistening. Keith looked away.
“I’m glad you’re joining us. Pidge has missed you a lot and Hunk is beside himself.”
Lance looked down at him with cold eyes, the ocean blue frozen over in winter. Keith shivered.
Clearing his throat, he continued, “I think we should be able to start training again soon. Red’s missed you, I can tell.” It was a lie. Ever since the day he’d rescued Lance he hadn’t felt Red at all, the connection completely severed. It made him feel hollow.
Upon entering the room, Keith relaxed a little. Other people could talk now and he could sit back. He watched as Lance forced a smile and nibbled at his food. Hunk hovered over Lance, piling his plate higher and higher even though he was barely eating.
The whole room felt stiff and tight. No one was enjoying themselves. That was when Coran strode in with a plate full of tube-like animals in mush. He placed the dish in front of Lance with a flourish.
“I know you’ve been feeling like a Snarzeblarff in a rainstorm, so I made you a paladin special.” Coran then did what they’d all been too scared to do; he wrapped Lance in a warm embrace. The room gasped and held their breath, waiting for something to happen. And it did.
Lance seemed to melt into Coran, a small but genuine smile blossoming on his lips. “Thanks, Coran. It’s perfect,” he whispered. Probably the first full sentence since he’d been back. A sniffle, and then great tears rolled down his face as he grabbed a spoon. He shoved a squirming tube into his mouth and cried harder. Ugly and loud, food half chewed and falling out of his mouth as he sobbed.
Keith breathed a sigh of relief. They all seemed to act as one, rushing to join Coran in the hug. Lance wasn’t ice. He’d be okay as long as they were all together.
Somehow Lance ate the entire plate of tube-goo as Coran explained the history of the dish. It wasn’t long before he was yawning and looking at Keith expectantly.
Keith stood up with an ‘Oh!’ and made Lance’s excuses for him.
They were shoulder to shoulder as they walked out, Lance bumping into him every other step. Their knuckles brushing as they walked. Keith wanted to make space but Lance was so tired he was practically holding him up.
Lance interlaced his fingers with Keith’s, sighing heavy and long. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. But for what?” Keith let his fingers squeeze ever so slightly, to reassure that he wasn’t trying to be mean but genuinely curious.
His eyelids fluttered as if Lance could barely keep them open. “Mhmn, yeah. You came for me and I never thanked you. So.”
Keith smiled, his face heating and his stomach flipping. He pulled Lance closer, touching as much of him as he could, reassuring himself that he was real and he was here. Lance looked over at him, eyes lidded and tired but warm and ocean blue.
“Let’s get you to bed.”
-=-
The Black Lion clawed through fighter after fighter. Lotor’s ship was so close Keith could almost feel the evil that radiated off of it. Each dead Galra only meant he was one step closer to Lance.
Lance.
Keith'd fought the team tooth and nail to do a rescue mission right away, but Shiro and Allura were against it. Even Pidge said it was too risky; that they needed a plan. Keith understood Shiro and Allura's hesitance, but wasn’t Pidge his friend?
Unfortunately, he’d listened to them-- to Shiro specifically. He really did try to follow the plan. Pidge gathered intel, Allura planned the attack, and Keith waited impatiently for them to get their shit together. But the Galra weren’t letting them rest, they seemed to attack at every given opportunity. Almost like they were trying to distract the Voltron team, as if they knew.
It was a month before Keith’s temper gave way to action. They were in the middle of the plan, on their way to rescuing their comrade when a full scale Galra invasion struck a nearby planet. Everyone turned to respond; everyone except him. That’s how he ended up here, on his own, killing fighter after fighter.
This mission was probably suicide without the others. Even now, on his own, he was probably-- No. He wouldn’t think that. He’d save Lance and bring him back. He needed his second-in-command. He needed Lance.
Lance’d become more than a paladin, more than a friend. After Shiro left, only Lance had stepped in-- to care. They became closer then the others knew, there were nights that he even thought that-- No. Keith pushed down the feelings that threatened to drown him and focused on the fight. He’d make it in time, or else he’d destroy the Galra and let himself go down with them.
An opening. Keith swerved Black with all his might and tore at Lotor’s ship like a tin can. It opened easily under the lion’s claws. Urging Black in, Keith jettisoned out and rolled to a stop in some kind of cargo bay. He could still hear the fighters outside but Black’s shield went up and the lion would be safe for now.
The only thing to help him was a rough map that Pidge made for him of Lotor’s ship. The one they’d all be using if the Galra hadn’t distracted them. Even though he’d abandoned them, Keith hoped they were all okay. Two lions short wouldn’t be easy, but Allura was there and he trusted her to lead.
He didn’t need a plan anyway. At least that's how he’d always felt until Lance was by his side. The Red Paladin always seemed to hammer it into Keith’s stubborn mind that they needed a plan. And without Lance, well-- Here he was, diving in head first with reckless abandon like he used to.
Keith ran down the hall following the map. Lotor’s quarters were up ahead; he could see the ornate doors. He crashed through, sword raised and--
And Lance stood brushing Lotor’s hair and laughing. The emotionless sound made Keith stop dead in his tracks. Lance’s own hair brushed his bare shoulders and his frame was almost skeletal. Keith averted his eyes from the almost non-existent outfit and focused on Lotor.
“Let him go!”
Lotor’s face darkened.
Keith shook himself and strode forward, sword out and pointed at Lotor. He only let himself take small glances at the Red Paladin, not trusting his eyes to wonder. “C’mon, Lance, we’re getting you out of here.”
Lance stepped back behind Lotor’s chair as if using him as a shield. The tunic shifted, riding up to expose the whole length of his thigh. The flash of skin had his face burning. He needed to get his feelings under control and get out of here. Why was he always like this? Patience yields focus, he thought, but it only increased his frustration.
Holding out a free hand, he motioned toward Lance. “Don’t worry. I’ll protect you. If he tries anything, he’s dead.”
Lance shook his head, turning away so his face was hidden from view.
“You’re too late. Lance knows you abandoned him. He’s chosen me, now. Isn’t that right, pet?”
Lance fell hard to his knees, bones cracking on the floor. “Yes, Lord Lotor.”
Keith winced. What was going on? “Lance, we don’t have time for this; we gotta go!”
Lotor smiled and placed a hand on top of Lance’s head. “You’ve lost. You only want him so that you can form Voltron. But here, with me, he’s useful and appreciated, isn’t that right?”
“Yes,” Lance answered at the same time that Keith yelled, “That’s not true!”
“Prove it. Prove that he is more than a tool used by you to form Voltron. Convince him, and he’s yours.”
Keith’s eyes traveled to where Lance was curled up. His face was set in stone, anger and betrayal written clearly across it.
He’d fucked up. They’d all waited too long. And really in the end, Lotor was right, at least for the others. Maybe that’s why no one was in a rush to save Lance. Maybe only Keith felt something more. If only there was a way to show Lance. To pull out his heart and lay his emotions at Lance’s feet.
He closed his eyes and concentrated, Lotor’s condescending voice filtering into the background. He needed to show Lance how he felt, how he’d become etched into Keith’s very soul.
Warmth radiated through him. He could feel the power of his lion. The link between Black and Red. The way Red linked him with Lance. How Lance lifted him up and made him a better leader, a better person.
Something inside him shifted and he heard a gasp.
Keith opened his eyes and there, in the place of his sword was a black blaster, identical to Lance’s. He looked from the blaster to Lance. The hardness from before was gone, melted into awe and shock. The link between them was almost tangible and Keith pushed on it to test it. Lance’s eyes widened and looked at Keith. Keith sent all that he felt through the link, all the complex emotions he’d hidden deep inside; he let them flood out of him, unchecked.
A moment of pause and then a timid warmth returned his push.
Lance knew. He could feel Keith.
Lotor’s voice came into focus at the same time that he lunged. On instinct, Keith raised the blaster and aimed. One shot to the shoulder and one to the leg. Both missing their marks. He was no sharpshooter, but that’s why he was here, to get his sharpshooter back. Lotor fell with a scream, cursing Keith.
“Lance!” As he said it, he pushed his feelings through the link again.
And Lance ran. He ran straight into Keith’s arms.
Black burst through the wall, blowing debris in every direction and letting atmosphere escape. Keith scooped Lance into his arms and ran for Black’s waiting jaws.
“Don’t worry, Lance. I’ve got you and I’m taking you home.”
-=-
Keith woke up to Lance screaming, again.
His neck cramped from huddling on the floor, knees pulled in as a makeshift pillow. There wasn’t a night that didn’t end too early because of nightmares, so Keith had taken to sleeping curled up on the floor.
Lance was trembling, his fingers groping in the dark for something. They open and closed, crumpling the sheets between their elegant bones.
Maybe it was the terror in his eyes, or the slope of his neck. It might have been the way it seemed like he was reaching out, just for Keith. Whatever it was, it tugged at something inside him, something that’d been sealed shut.
He uncurled himself from the floor, knees popping in protest. “Hey, I’m right here.”
Lance whipped around, pinning frightened eyes on Keith. “You’re still here.”
Keith nodded, already crawling into the bed. He said this every time, as if one day he’d wake up and it would be Lotor instead. If there was some way to erase it and heal his mind, well, Keith would give up anything for that. He sat next to Lance and rubbed his back in soothing circles. “I’m here. Shhh, go back to sleep.” It was the same reply he always gave. What happened to Lance was too horrific to actually be addressed with simple words. He knew his comfort was empty but had no idea how to truly help.
He could feel Lance lean into his touch and he scooted a little closer, just enough so their shoulders brushed. Lance must have seen this as an invitation because he let himself fall into Keith’s chest, head tucked under his chin. Keith wrapped his arms around the sobbing man as tears soaked his shirt.
The same tug at his heart happened again. It wasn’t his imagination; it felt a lot like what’d happened in Lotor’s quarters. Relaxing, Keith closed his eyes and concentrated. The flood gates opened and Lance’s feelings washed over him like a rainstorm, violent and cleansing.
Lance must've felt it too because his shaking stopped. Blue eyes looked up at Keith, a question that he didn’t have an answer for written clearly across them.
“What?” Lance placed a hand over his heart, looking down as if he could see the connection.
“I--”
“Sorry.”
Keith grabbed Lance’s hand in his own. “No, never apologize for your feelings.”
“But--”
Keith cut him off, tilting his head up with the crook of his finger until they were eye to eye. “It’s okay. I want to know. Please.”
Lance bit his lip, but he must’ve decided to let Keith in, because all of a sudden Keith was there. Not there there. Not even there in the way that Black could astral project. No. He was there in the way only Red could do, he was there emotionally. Everything that Lance felt; his hopelessness, fear, thankfulness, and relief were all there. Real as if they were Keith’s own.
Tears spilled down his cheeks and he hugged Lance to him, shaking as he processed the flood of conflicting feelings. Lance returned the embrace so tightly that Keith wasn’t sure who was holding who.
“Sorry.”
The word was whispered against his neck and he felt it more than heard it. The whole world turned incorporeal, like the only real thing were the feelings that washed between them.
Then, at the very end, as if it was trying to be held back, was something warm and light and a little bit scared. Tentative and careful, Keith reached for it, trying to understand what it was. It ran from him for a moment, but Lance sighed and it seemed to grow. Lance was going to let him see it and it made him giddy.
It encompassed Keith’s being like a burning flame, but it didn’t hurt. It was inviting and beautiful and it made him want to giggle of all things. Lance snorted and Keith realize that he was giggling. The whole world turned a shade brighter and all his worries were that much lighter. The strangest part of it all was, he recognized the feeling. His was a slightly different hue and heft but close enough that it became obvious to Keith exactly what this was.
He pulled Lance out at arm’s length, fingers gripping his shoulders for grounding. Keith searched Lance’s face for an answer. Lance smiled in reply, soft and shy.
“I love you,” Keith’s voice was raw, but as he said it he realized it was true. That it’d been true for a long time. There was no way to hide it now, not with their strange connection. He pushed his own feelings forward so that they spiraled together. It was euphoric.
Lance’s smile wobbled. “I think, I love you too.”
Maybe he should have been more tentative, but Lance didn’t seem to mind when Keith crushed him to his chest, needing him close again, needing his warmth, needing to feel that after all this time Lance was there and what they’d discovered was real. When soft lips pressed to his in what felt like a question, Keith opened his mouth to welcome it. After so long wondering if Lance would ever really come back to them, to him, the kiss was like a promise.
It was clear now. There was no easy path to healing, but they had each other. They needed each other. They broke apart, slow and lingering. Not quite pulling away and not quite touching. In their new silent communication, they lay down, tangled around each other. Fingers fisting cloth as if they were scared the other would disappear. That this might all be a dream. Wrapped in the other’s embrace, they drifted to sleep. The first deep and true sleep since Lance’s return.