Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Blades’ plans were going nowhere.

Or, rather, Keith silently amended as he sat in the conference room full of the high ranking Blade of Marmora members, in a circle.

He was glad he’d worn his mask to the meeting as besides the benefit of not everyone giving him doubletakes and some scowls as his peach skin tone gave him away as a halfblood and what he’d learned was looked down upon by the majority of Galrans ally or no, it hid his impatience and mounting frustration at the giant waste of time that could have been over with already if they’d just let him talk. 

He’d tried to interject once and Kojak — a high-ranking Blade commander and who had made it clear he had no lost love for Keith and no desire to hear opinions from a “kit” — had cut him off and told him he was to be seen but not heard and it was a privilege for him to even attend this meeting. 

Keith had glowered — mask hiding that too — and held his tongue for the moment, waiting for his chance to speak without talking over one of the commanders as despite the fact most gave him none Keith was trying his hardest to show the Blade of Marmora respect.

They were his last chance, after all. And if he couldn’t find a place here then…

Then he didn’t belong anywhere. 

And so for the last thirty minutes he’d listened as the same points kept being brought up with no viable solution.

The Blades’ intel had located an Empire facility on the planet of Peachin.

Said facility was manufacturing poison from the flora there.

The poison was not only deadly once inhaled or ingested but due to its compound once perfected it could seep through masks and clothing no matter how airtight and that, Kolivan had said grimly, poised a biological warfare component that they had not yet seen. 

They had to stop it before it reached that stage.

However, there was just one small problem.

Peachin was located in the center of a system of suns.

Plural.

Eight suns total that gave off such high levels of  heat that their strongest shields would not be able to insulate against and even their fastest ship and best pilots wouldn’t be able to traverse it quickly enough before the ship’s systems either went dead or the pilot was cooked alive.

The Blades might subscribe to the belief of the mission before the man but they weren’t suicidal and certainly weren’t going to lose members and ships in the slim chance somehow they got through. 

They’d been tossing out the idea now for lying in wait and taking out the Empire ships when they appeared, but it would take more members than the Blade had by more than ten times to watch every potential exit and there was no guarantee they’d even be able to stop the shipment. 

Then they’d gone on to trying to infiltrate an Empire ship — at most one a movement and again, the same issue of not being able to know where exactly the ship was going to head into the system from and needing to have constant surveillance — and take command over it. 

And now they were debating sending one of their undercover agents into trying to find out how the Empire ships were shielding themselves from the suns so they could steal the plans and do the same to their ships.

What all of their ideas had in common — besides being failures and a waste of time — was that the Blades didn’t look outside of anyone in this room even though they had resources inside the Coalition and with Voltron.

They were too proud to ask for help.

And, admittedly, Keith could say he understood that feeling, and he understood too the Blades’ current desire to do this on their own because as he’d witnessed in his few short months here the Coalition liked to take credit for efforts as a whole. And he understood that — the Garrison did it too, focusing on the group rather than any particular individual with a few exceptions because it represented a united effort — because the Coalition had to present a united effort and especially when so many of their members were still, after all this time and all the Blade had proven themselves, wary of Galrans.

But they were being stupid. 

They needed to shut the threat down now.

Keith knew how they could do that.

If they would just listen. 

And…

He swallowed.

If he could find the courage to speak. 

Not to the Blades though.

But…

But Voltron.

Or, more specifically, to Lance, who he needed for his idea.

He hadn’t had contact with anyone from Voltron now in well over a month and while that wasn’t unusual as his missions could last weeks and Keith had never been very good at communication anyway, Lance had surprised him and tried to remain in semi regular contact, even if it was just messages updating Keith on little things around the castle.

It had meant more than Keith would ever be able to say. 

With Voltron he’d finally felt like he belonged and it still hurt, some days more than others, at the fact he’d had to leave — at the fact Shiro, who had always wanted the best for him, had practically forced Keith out but if it helped Shiro then Keith would do it a hundred times over because he owed Shiro everything and he’d been through so much and if Keith and his position as Black Paladin was causing a rift then Keith would go — and it hurt too that outside of Coalition meetings and the occasional food package from Hunk and Lance’s texts he never heard from any of them.

Never heard from Shiro.

But Keith was used to being the outsider, he’d known it was too good to be true, and so he’d accepted that was the way it had to be and done his best to move on, even if he’d found that the Blades as a whole weren’t all that welcoming to him either.

He just never belonged anywhere.

And while given the above Keith was far from good at communication he always made it a point to respond back to Lance’s messages, just to at least let him know that he’d gotten them and that he was…

He was okay.

But he hadn’t responded to Lance’s last message from over two weeks ago now and normally Lance would follow that up within a day or two with something like “You still alive, mullet?” and despite the lighthearted tone Keith could always tell there was that baited breath of not knowing what exactly Keith had gotten caught up in with a Blade mission.

No one from Voltron still knew about Naxzela and Keith was going to keep it that way because he didn’t even want to reflect on what he’d almost done.

He’d always been a survivor no matter what life had thrown at him.

But in that moment, in that instance…

It terrified him.

And there was no use thinking about it because it hadn’t happened and that was the end of it.

But there had been no follow up text from Lance a couple days later.

Then a week.

And now it was almost two and that wasn’t normal and Keith knew he should reach out, should make sure Lance was the one who was okay this time, but…

But he hadn’t.

Because maybe…

Maybe Lance had realized as everyone always did that Keith wasn’t worth his time and his concern. They’d sort of become friends during Keith’s stint as leader but now Keith had failed at trying to keep that burgeoning friendship going and if he reached out and Lance didn’t reply…

It confirmed it.

And so Keith stayed silent, anxiety and excuses building each day. He had confirmed via a Coalition briefing log two days ago that Lance and all other members of Voltron were indeed alive and some of the pit of worry had abated because even if they weren’t friends any longer Keith still cared about them and he wanted them to be okay.

And that should have been the push he needed to reach out because what if the next time they weren’t okay and his own fears and doubts had removed any last chance for a kind exchange to where he wouldn’t feel this guilt. 

But he didn’t.

And now, if this worked, he needed to reach out to ask a favor and that made him the shittiest person in the universe and he should never have let it come to this. 

But it had and he wasn’t going to let the universe suffer for it.

And so…

“The Red Lion,” Keith announced, voice far clearer than he felt and to his relief the multiple muted conversations around him dwindled and the attention turned to him. “The Red Lion of Voltron,” Keith repeated into the silence, “has shields that can withstand the heat.”

“That is all well and good,” Kojak scoffed, who had championed the idea of ambushing an Empire ship and overtaking it, “but as you just so clearly noted it is Voltron who is in possession of the Red Lion and they would not be willing to—”

“They would,” Keith interrupted, trying not to bristle. “Voltron would be happy to—”

“Yes,” cut in another Blade, face masked but words cutting, “they would be happy to take all of the credit, again, after the Blades of Marmora have done all of the hard work.”

 “Viron,” Kolivan rumbled, warning in his voice and the Blade member fell silent although Keith had no doubt he was still scowling behind his mask and based on the low grumblings around the room he was not alone in his criticism. “We will not speak of our allies in such a fashion. Princess Allura and Voltron have shown themselves to be honorable persons and they are not responsible for all the decisions of the Coalition.”

Kolivan turned to Keith. “Can all of the Voltron Lions traverse in this way?” he asked.

Keith gave a shake of his head. “Just the Red Lion as she’s fire-aligned.”

Kolivan hummed. “It is a good idea,” he said, which coming from Kolivan was praise of the highest measure, “but such a plan would hinge on both Voltron and the Red Paladin’s cooperation.”

“And someone,” Kojak sneered, “is no longer a Voltron liaison and whose words to them now mean nothing.”

Keith knew Kojak’s words had been meant to hurt, to try to remind Kolivan that Keith was nothing special now, that the one unique advantage he’d brought to the Blade was gone and he should not be privy at these meetings.

But they hurt more than Kojak could ever know.

“Let me try,” Keith said, trying to swallow down the pang of hurt at the harsh reminder he wasn’t with Voltron anymore (and never would be again), meeting Kolivan’s gaze through his mask.

“It is the most viable solution that has been presented,” Kolivan inclined his head. “Go. Report back to me in a varga if we are able to proceed.”

“Sir,” Keith saluted.

And pointedly ignoring Kojak and all the other Blade members, Keith left the conference room with a confident step that faltered as soon as the door closed behind him.

Now came the hard part.

He took a breath.

Dissolved his mask.

Forced himself to release his hands from the fists they’d curled into.

And he headed for the transmission room. 

A few minutes later he was slipping into an open booth, trying to quell the trembling in his fingers as he typed in his personal transmission code for the Castle of Lions as this request at the very least deserved a face to face meeting rather than a text message, especially one in which he’d never sent a reply at all to Lance’s still pending one. 

Keith shuddered out a breath as the satellite relay pinged the connection, trying to figure out what he should say.

Start with an apology, maybe, for the delay. Tell Lance he’d been on a mission and hadn’t—

No, Keith squashed the white lie immediately. He wasn’t a very good liar and Lance didn’t deserve a fake excuse. Apologize for the delay, say he’d been busy — and busy being anxious over the response was still busy — ask Lance how he was, make some anxiety-ridden awkward stilted small talk that Lance excelled at and Keith hated, before he broached the idea of using the Red Lion to—

The screen shot to life with a burst of color that had Keith wincing and even moreso at the bright shock of orange as Coran’s visage took center stage.

“Number Four!” Coran greeted jovially and despite the circumstances Keith felt his own lips pulling into a small smile at the moniker he hadn’t heard in months and the reminder that even if he wasn’t with Voltron, at least to Coran, he still in a way belonged, “what a pleasant surprise! How are you, my boy?”

Keith blamed the sudden, hot stinging prickling in his eyes on the bright screen and God, he was such a mess. One kind inclusion, one person actually happy to see him, and he acted like this.

“Fine,” his voice cracked and Keith swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat. “Fine,” he repeated, steadier. “And you?” 

“Oh, perfectly peachy,” Coran beamed. “And I do so appreciate you asking. But I know you probably didn’t call the bridge to talk to me, hm?” 

Keith felt a wave of relief towards Coran, who saw a lot more than he let on and wasn’t going to make Keith feel awkward or bad for not engaging further. “Um, yeah. Is… is Lance around? And Allura?”

Because Keith both needed to get her or Shiro’s permission for the mission as they were the ones leading Voltron and he was admittedly too much of a coward to ask for Shiro when all of his messages to Shiro had gone unanswered and maybe… maybe Shiro didn’t want to see him. And, even more cowardly, with Allura there he didn’t have to fully face Lance and the reminder of what a bad friend he was.

There’d be plenty of time for that if Allura approved the mission and they were aboard the Red Lion together. Keith shoved that new pang — he hadn’t allowed himself to visit Red since the switch let alone ride in her — away before it could take root as there was no time for that.

He was fine.

It didn’t even hurt anymore.

He’d just keep telling himself that.

“Hmm, I do believe most of the Paladins are currently partaking in lunch in the kitchen so they should be easy enough to round up,” Coran said, tapping his chin and thankfully pulling Keith from his thoughts. “Hold on for one swing of a garsnap’s tail please.” 

Coran exited the transmission screen and Keith could faintly hear him off to the side where he knew the castle communications were located and reappeared a moment later. “I am going to send you to the transmission screen in the conference room off the kitchen,” Coran said. “One tick please.” 

But the screen remained on Coran and the bridge and Keith realized a moment later that was intentional as Coran’s face softened. “Don’t be a stranger, Number Four,” Coran said softly. “We’d love to see you. Perhaps for dinner sometime next movement, if you are available?”

Keith’s eyes stung again and he managed a jerking nod, that enough for Coran. “Take care, lad,” Coran murmured.

And a second later the screen went dark to reform in a slightly dimmer setting of an unused conference room with Lance and Allura settling down into two of the chairs at the end of the table that faced the screen.

“Keith!” Lance’s face broke into a grin. “How are you, man?” 

There was no lie, no deceit in his gaze, pixelated as it was, and Keith’s stomach unclenched the barest bit. 

Lance wasn’t mad at him. 

Or, at least not showing it in front of Allura.

His stomach went right back to rolling.

“Um, good,” he replied, launching right into what he’d come for before Allura, her mouth poised to speak, could do so and derail him any further.  “I, um, well, the Blades actually, have this mission. And I think Voltron, or, actually,” his gaze shifted towards Lance, “the Red Lion, could help us with.”

“We are of course always happy to assist. What is the nature of the mission?” Allura asked, inclining her head with a small smile. 

Keith was relieved when explaining the mission and the complications posed from it rolled off his tongue far easier, able to answer their questions without tripping over his tongue or speech punctuated by pathetic sounding ‘ums,’ although when he got to the timeline of when he was hoping to launch— tomorrow morning — both of their expressions dimmed ever so and Allura shot Lance a look Keith couldn’t quite decipher while Lance’s hands had paused in their movements as he could never just quite sit still.

“Um,” and damn it it was back, “if, if that’s too soon—”

“No,” Lance waved a hand, a small smile that looked a bit strained on his face, “of course not. The sooner the better if this stuff is as dangerous as it sounds. I’ll check with Coran,” he turned to Allura, “and make sure Red is all ready to go. He said he was almost done with the shields yesterday so, hopefully…” He looked back to Keith, looking slightly nervous and… guilty? “We had a bit of an… incident last week at our last mission. Red took a pretty heavy hit. But she’s okay, I promise.” 

Keith gave a slow nod, not quite understanding. He wasn’t Red’s Paladin any more, wasn’t even a member let alone leader of Voltron where his opinion meant anything.

Lance’s pinched expression didn’t entirely fade but it lessened some and he nodded. “Okay then. I’ll come to you? What time and which base?” 

They hashed out the details — and Keith proceeded even without Kolivan’s final approval as there was no way he’d turn this down — of Lance arriving and Allura volunteered Altean pixel technology to contain an explosion and that was brilliant considering the material the bombs would be releasing into the air and Keith wasn’t sure if any of the Blades had even thought that far in advance — and they closed out the call, Allura telling Keith to take care and, echoing Coran with nothing but kindness in her eyes, that she hoped he might visit soon as they would love to have him over, and Lance signing off with a more casual, “see you tomorrow, mullet,” and a grin and a wave and still no sign of being upset with Keith to the point where Keith really thought he wasn’t at all and maybe Keith had been overthinking all of this.

He still hadn’t been a good friend.

And tomorrow he could try to make up for it. He and Lance would be stuck down on the planet for Red’s shields to recharge for about a day — Lance said he’d bring plenty of snacks courtesy of Hunk — and they could hopefully catch up. 

Then again, Keith had never been very good at friendships and he’d probably just fuck it up more, but…

But he’d try.

He owed Lance at least that much for still trying to be his friend and for helping him on this mission.

And with all of that settled…

It was time to talk to Kolivan.

Chapter Text

Being inside the Red Lion was a lot harder than Keith had thought it would be.

It wasn’t even that Lance had really made any changes to Red’s cockpit — and he knew Lance used to store blankets and snacks in Blue but apparently Red had kiboshed that idea the first time Lance had tried — other than that the pilot’s chair was pushed just a bit farther back than Keith had it to account for Lance’s longer legs and a temporary chair had been installed to the right of Lance’s so Keith didn’t have to sit in the back by himself the whole trip. It was just…

He could feel Red, her presence butting up against his own just as he remembered it. Sharp and hot and passionate and he could not only sense a tinge of longing but also…

Also pain.

And it was taking everything he had to shut her out, to not find out what those things meant, because she was not his Lion, she could never be his Lion again, and he couldn’t — wouldn’t — do that to Lance.

Lance, who had grown quieter and quieter the closer they grew to their destination, and now, even though his hands were covered by gloves, Keith had no doubt they were white-knuckled on Red’s controls and his jaw clenched and something, Keith could feel it, was wrong.

It hadn’t been to start, despite Keith’s fears that Lance had been putting on an act for Allura and he was actually upset that Keith had never messaged back or reached out once.

But Lance had been all smiles since they’d left the Blade base after a debriefing and the Blade command had had no issues with the mission parameters, just as Keith had predicted. This was the best chance to shut down the poison facility and like it or not Kojak knew that to be true. Lance had confidently walked them through how the Altean particle barrier technology would work alongside the Blades’ explosives to contain the poison and any debris, and Kolivan had provided what little they knew of the building’s layout and where best to set the charges. The mission however was going to be just the two of them as while having more Blade members to help set the charges would be helpful there was a greater risk of trying to coordinate an explosion with additional members.

Kolivan had been straight-faced as he said that, tone giving nothing away, but Keith knew that was far from the case as Vaopik’s unit had just suffered that exact fate on a different seek and destroy mission and five Blade members had been lost.

It was not a mistake they could afford to make again. 

Keith personally was fine with both the reasoning and the decision as having Blade members would mean he, as one of the lowest members for both his time served and his age, would have to report to a team leader and he knew, he could feel it, that that person would have been Kojak and the man was an asshole and Keith had no desire to work underneath him for this mission. And, most importantly, it gave him the opportunity to try to show Lance he did want to be a better friend, even if Keith wasn’t sure how to do that. 

Lance though had acted as though no time had passed, chattering away about ongoings in the castle, about what Hunk had been cooking, some project of Pidge’s, how he’d unlocked a sword form of his bayard and there he had hesitated, shooting almost guilty, apologetic eyes over to Keith.

Keith though had been ecstatic as that was something he understood and it was really cool that Lance had not just his bayard gun options but an actual close combat weapon and they’d passed nearly an hour of the flight — four total from the teleduv teleport Kolivan had arranged — talking about combat skills and Keith sharing what he knew from dual blades to a two-handed broadsword as Lance had.

It had…

It had been fun. 

He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this easy banter and conversation and reminder that Lance was far from the same person who he’d been blasted up into space with to start. 

He was a friend.

And Keith didn’t need to prove himself to call himself such. 

But now…

Peachin was not yet visible but four of the eight suns were and even from this distance out and inside the shielded Lion Keith could feel the very air getting warmer and he really, really hoped this plan of his worked or he and Lance were both dead and it would be Keith’s fault.

A hot ember touched his mind, almost affronted, and he realized belatedly he’d projected his worries to the point Red had picked up on them and he mentally slammed shut that cracked open mental door between them, even as he sent back a quick and silent thank you at the prickly reassurance.

But still…

Something was wrong.

Not with Red and her shields though, but with Lance.

Nerves, maybe?

It was a big mission and there was a lot riding on it, but Lance hadn’t seemed worried earlier and Keith had been on enough missions with Lance and Voltron that if Lance was actually nervous he tended to get even more talkative and would ramble and tangent and brag and it had always annoyed Keith until he’d realized once he’d become the Black Paladin that that was Lance’s way of trying to calm himself down.

But he wasn’t talking now so that couldn’t be it. 

Keith’s gaze flicked from Red’s front window showing the looming suns and back to Lance.

He didn’t see anything.

No asteroid belt, no enemy ships, nothing that indicated danger outside of the heat from the suns and something the Red Lion could handle.

What was he missing?

Had Keith said or done something that had offended Lance?

No, he gave a small shake of his head. If he had Lance would have said something or would have looked angry or maybe hurt.

Not…

Not scared. 

Keith’s breath caught as the pieces clicked.

Lance was scared.

But scared of what? 

He looked around the cockpit for some sort of clue, landing on the screen displaying the shield output that was reading 92% and dropping as they drew closer and closer to the blazing suns.

Keith’s eyes widened.

Oh.

Oh. 

Lance had said Red had taken a hit in the last mission, a bad one, and her shields had been damaged but Keith knew at that point the Lion herself would have been damaged and with their connections to the Lions Lance had no doubt felt it; it could even be the sense of pain he’d glimpsed from Red. Seeing that number dropping now — and Lance had grown quiet once the suns had come on their radar and that’s when the shield integrity would have started going — had to be a reminder of what had happened last time.

“Hey,” Keith’s voice was quiet but it still sounded like a gunshot in the now too quiet cabin and Lance gave a start, head whipping around to look at Keith. Keith tried for what he hoped was a comforting smile. “Red’s gonna be okay.”

“...what?” Lance croaked, but he didn’t deny it.

“Red’s gonna be okay,” Keith repeated. “You’re… you’re worried about her, right?”

Or had he gotten that wrong too?

Lance’s expression gentled. “Thanks, Keith,” he said quietly. “I… I needed to hear that.” 

And while his hands loosened some on the controls Lance still didn’t look entirely relaxed or comfortable and Keith watched as his gaze darted to the shield output — 88% — before he let out a breath.

“Okay,” he gave a decisive nod of his head, the shield ticking down another percent. “Let’s do this. Ready, Red?”

Keith felt the roar echo both outside and wash across his mind and his own smile became more natural.

That was better.

But as the Red Lion advanced towards Peachin — now a speck on the monitor — with a burst of the thrusters, despite Lance’s words he was still holding himself in check, fear still lingering.

Keith didn’t push. 

Lance had to know that Red nor Keith (even though he wasn’t sure why his opinion mattered for this) didn’t blame him for whatever attack had disabled Red before because if Red did Keith could say with one hundred percent certainty she would have refused to let Lance fly her until he’d made the proper amends. So this was on Lance’s end and Keith thought he understood. Lance didn’t like to see anyone hurt, even giant metal Lions, and Red had, in a sense, been hurt. 

He was scared it would happen again.

But it wouldn’t. Fear could be a powerful motivator — and he wished he didn’t know that truth quite so personally — and Keith knew that if Lance was this concerned about Red getting hurt again he’d do everything in his power to prevent it from ever happening again.

Everything was going to be fine.

And it was.

The shields continued to drop — 64% as they began to actually pass the first of the three suns they’d have to actively maneuver around — and the inside of the cockpit grew warmer, Keith feeling sweat beading at his hairline, but Lance piloted Red without issue, hands steady and while quiet he was focused.

Keith didn’t disturb him, focusing instead on making sure he was prepared for when they landed on Peachin, as there was no doubt the Empire wouldn’t see them coming given the fact they couldn’t use cloaking as the shields were drawing on all excess power. They’d need to move quick; setting both the charges inside the base and the pixel technology outside of it and there still wasn’t any good order in which to do it.

Set the pixel technology and accidently wind up trapped inside when it activated meant they’d be caught in the explosion and most definitely die. But set the pixel technology too late and the building blew and they died anyway when the poison dispersed. The optimal solution would be to do them concurrently but that wasn’t feasible either as someone would need to be setting charges while the other watched their back as they had no idea the defenses the base had but Keith would bet there were at the very least sentry squadrons and while overall easy to defeat they were no joke, especially to an unprotected back.

And especially if they had incorporated the poison into any sort of attack. Sentries didn’t need to breathe after all and they had no way of knowing if the poison had made it to the stage yet where it could get through their own masks.

So they had to stick together, which honestly, after all the Blade missions where Keith knew he was on his own, was a nice sort of thought. 

It made him feel safe.

It made him miss being on Voltron.

And, Keith gave a small shake of his head, it was time to shove that thought back into the dark recesses of his mind where he buried every other dead hope.

Focus.

He shoved the echo of ‘patience yields,’ into the same dark corner.

The other problem they faced was a timing issue as the charges had to be set to detonate as they couldn’t run the risk of the Empire base having interference that would prevent the charges from communicating wirelessly. So each charge — of which they needed to set approximately eighteen based on the scope they knew of the base — had a twenty minute detonator. They had to somehow set all eighteen charges and all of the pixel shields and clear the building in maximum twenty minutes from the first charge. 

It wasn’t impossible, but…

But it’d be close. 

There was a built in kill switch to turn off the detonators — assuming it worked as for the same reason of the timer they couldn’t rely on it — in the event everything completely fell apart, but if that was the case then it meant they’d likely been overrun and it was either death by the Empire or death by explosion.

They’d decided they’d rush through the base first, go to the very back and set the first charge then after hopefully clearing out enemy troops because it’d be far safer to be rushing against the clock unimpeded (or, more likely, less impeded). 

He had both his Blade issued blade and his luxite strapped easily on his waist and the bags containing the charges — black for the detonators and gray for the pixel shields — with thick, easy to carry straps in multiple ways were sitting at the base of the console so he and Lance could easily scoop them up when they landed. Lance’s bayard was tucked out of sight and both of them would need to summon their masks / helmets. 

They would take turns setting the charges; Keith to start while Lance provided long-range defense and they’d switch when the enemy got close enough that close-range combat would be more effective. It was a solid plan and Keith knew it would work; he and Lance were both highly skilled in their respective weapons and if he had to do this mission with only one other person…

He’d pick Lance over anyone else he knew.

They really did make a good team.

And it didn’t matter because this was the last time they’d be on a team together because Lance was a Paladin and Keith was a Blade and that was how it had to be.

Keith gave himself another shake, glancing up to the dashboard.

48%.

The shields were going fast.

Faster than he’d thought considering they were just passing the first sun and it was only going to get worse the deeper they went in.

He looked over to Lance, who had gone back to lips pressed thin and hands tight on the controls.

Hands that were trembling ever so.

A look to the control board showed that Red was operating on full thrusters and Keith could see for himself that Lance was flying the best possible route, hugging as close as he possibly could to the suns without threatening the integrity of the shields based on the heat outputs.

It was really, really impressive flying.

And Keith had the sudden, sharp realization that he wasn’t sure he’d ever actually told Lance, once, point blank, that he was a good pilot. Or shooter.

Or… or good at anything.

Shiro had once imparted to him that a good leader encouraged others and Keith had tried to do that, but it always felt so stilted and awkward and in any case actions spoke louder than words and him trusting Lance to have his back, to complete a mission objective, was proof enough.

But…

But maybe he should say something.

It couldn’t hurt and, maybe, it would help.

“You’re doing really good,” Keith said and Lance jerked on the controls, nearly careening Red into the heat ring before he yanked her back as he sent wide, surprised eyes in Keith’s direction.

Keith wondered if maybe it had been a bad idea.

Had it come across as condescending? He hadn’t meant it like that but maybe it had sounded like that because he wasn’t the leader anymore and why had he said that, that had been stupi—

“Thanks, Keith,” Lance said, voice quiet just as he had when he’d thanked Keith earlier. His lips pulled into a small, hesitant smile but it wasn’t faked in the slightest. “I think I needed to hear that too.”

He took an audible breath and turned back to piloting.

The shields read 42%. 

But the tense silence had been broken and something warmer — and not related to the constantly heating cockpit — and more relaxed despite the situation outside the ship permeated it. 

And they flew. 

Chapter Text

“Switch!” Lance’s shout was barely audible over the rapid sounding gunfire echoing in the base’s narrow hallway. 

“Ten seconds,” Keith responded back, nearly done with setting this charge and he didn’t dare release it until he’d finished lest he blow them both up now.

More gunfire answered him, the harsher whine of sentry blasters louder and closer than before and Keith knew the newest squadron they’d encountered was coming faster than Lance could pick them off.

Apparently poison wasn’t the only thing the Galra were making here. Sentries shielded with some type of magic forcefield around their heads and chests — that could be taken out but it took multiple hits and therefore valuable time — populated the base.

And as they’d also discovered as they’d concentrated on removing limbs so the sentries couldn’t fire with their own blasters or take swings with their swords, the sentries could shoot lasers from their eyes now.

Of course that hadn’t been on the intel. 

Keith grit his teeth and tried to move faster. 

They’d set six charges now and he was afraid at this point there was no way they were going to get all eighteen as despite clearing out as many sentries — and no Galran soldiers yet but Keith knew there had to be some on the base to oversee it and it was only a matter of time — as they could going in more and more just seemed to keep appearing. 

Eight seconds.

The fighting was growing louder and he could hear Lance’s short, harsh gasps interspersed with his bayard firing as he had to pivot both ways, and the clank of heavy footsteps closing in and God, they were going to get overrun.

Five seconds.

Almost the— 

And then there was the sharp ring of metal on metal along with a burst of white light and Keith jerked his head up to see that Lance had transformed his gun for a sword to catch the one that had been aimed at Keith. 

It left his back completely exposed.

And Keith could do nothing as a bright laser beam hit Lance from behind and the boy stumbled forward with a high yelp, the underarmor burned away in a perfect circle and revealing reddened, burnt flesh.

Lance didn’t lose his grip on his sword despite how much that had to hurt.

He didn’t falter from where he was holding back the sentry that had wanted to impale Keith.

Keith set the charge in the same instant he surged to his feet, luxite shifting, and reflecting the next laser back at the sentry who had fired it. 

“Switch!” he yelled, already pivoting for the sword-wielding sentry and Lance moved in not just perfect tandem but with complete and utter trust as he dissolved his bayard, sending the sentry’s now unblocked sword sweeping forward in a strike that could so so easily hurt him, and turned, trusting Keith to catch it while he openfired with his reformed blaster on the other sentries. 

It was over in a matter of seconds as Keith dispatched the two sentries on the left — and the magic shields didn’t work at all against luxite — while Lance took out the four remaining on the right, their shields weakened from earlier strikes.

“That, that seven?” Lance panted, catching Keith’s eye and he nodded. 

Far from their planned eighteen and the timer flashing in his mask indicated they only had fourteen minutes left. 

“Then we better hurry,” Lance grinned tightly, pain creased in the corners of his face, and he turned and headed for the next hallway. 

Keith fell into a loping jog next to him, both swords drawn and bags of explosives and shields bumping against his back. 

They got the next three charges set with no issues and Keith wondered if they might actually be able to pull this off as planned. 

They encountered sentries for the next set but Lance was able to take them out before they even got close to Keith and somehow, as though the universe was finally deciding to cut them a break, with with five minutes to spare they made it back outside so they could set the shields to contain the explosion.

Where the universe decided to show them that no, it was not actually on their side.

“Fuck,” Keith cursed aloud while Lance inhaled sharply next to him at the sight of the Galran officers — two of them — and at least two squadrons of sentries lined up waiting for them, guns at the ready but not firing yet.

“Blade and Voltron scum,” one of the Galrans began to speak. “Surrender yourselves imm—”

Keith tuned him out.

There was no way they could fight all of them and set the pixel shields in time.

They couldn’t guarantee they could turn off the detonation and even if that was possible they’d wind up either captured — where they’d no doubt die or wish they had — or dead anyway.

And so the mission was a failure in one of two ways.

It just depended on what exactly failure meant.

Option one; The mission failed completely as they turned off the charges, didn’t destroy the base and they were captured or killed by the Galra but had a chance to survive.

Or Option two; the base exploded without any type of shield in place and they for sure died but, in in a dark, roundabout way, the mission succeeded.

“—lower your weapons or—” 

Keith swallowed thickly, the Blade’s mantra echoing in his head.

The mission before the man. 

He knew what they would expect of him.

He knew what the best thing to do for the universe was.

Naxzela floated in his mind.

But…

His gaze shifted to Lance.

Lance hadn’t signed up for this.

Lance had to get out of here.

He couldn’t let Lance di— 

“Keith,” Lance’s voice was barely audible and yet so much louder than the Galran still shouting in the background, “go.”

Keith startled.

What?

“—last chance to—” 

“Go,” Lance whispered. “Set the shields. I’ll,” his throat bobbed, “hold them off.”

What Lance was suggesting...

It was a suicide mission. 

Well, for one of them.

04:32 blinked in Keith’s mask.

“Keith, go,” Lance met his eyes and there was something Keith couldn’t identify in them but it made his stomach clench. “I’ll be okay.”

He wouldn’t though.

There was no way.

But Keith had the shields.

Keith was the fastest.

Keith had the best chance of getting them set and completing the mission objective as they had outlined.

And it therefore meant Keith had the best chance of survival.

It wasn’t right. 

It wasn’t fair. 

But it was logical and God, Keith hated logic right now.

“ — count of three we will open fire—”

And to that note, arguing and stalling would only endanger them both more.

He trusted Lance.

He had to believe him when he said that he’d be okay.

“You better be,” Keith said, hoping the words didn’t come out as desperate as they sounded.

“—three…—”

04:18

Keith’s grip tightened on his luxite.

His feet bunched beneath him.

And in the same breath of Lance pulling the trigger he pelted in the opposite direction. 

Not a single laser struck him despite the fact he could hear them firing and he risked a single glance over his shoulder to see that Lance had exchanged his bayard for his shield, deflecting the shots away.

But that left him exposed to the rapidly approaching sentries armed with swords.

Keith forced himself to turn away and keep running.

Lance said he’d hold them off.

He said he’d be okay.

He had to believe that. 

It was still almost a relief to Keith when he heard a number of sentries pursuing him as while it would make his job harder it meant the numbers around Lance had lessened. 

He got the first shield set — fortunately just a matter of palming the capsules out of the bag, hitting the activate button (that would deactivate in ten minutes and hence why they couldn’t have done this part first and why for such advanced technology did they have such shitty timeframes?), and throwing it at the base hard enough that it stuck to the wall and they were shielded themselves to attacks and it’d be nearly impossible to pry them off — before having to whirl around and dispatch the closest sentry with two quick strikes before pivoting and taking of again.

03:26 blinked at him.

Laser blasts flew past, two impacting his armor but while not as strong as the Altean outer armor it was better than their underarmor and while he felt sharp thuds that he knew would leave bruises they weren’t worse than that.

He kept going.

The second shield went up, Keith opting to form a square with four pixel shields rather than the hexagon of six they’d originally planned that would have the best chance at encapsulating the entire base.

This was going to have to work though as he didn’t have time to pause for six.

Lance didn’t have time.

He thought he might faintly be able to hear the sounds of fighting from the other side of the base and God he hoped that was the case because if Lance was fighting then he was alive and not…

Not… 

A stitch was forming in his side, sweat streaming down his face inside his mask that he didn’t dare retract for both any potential poison exposure and because he couldn’t afford to not see the countdown timer.

02:14

Lance had been alone for two minutes now against an army.

Hurry.

Hurry hurry hurry. 

He took out another sentry setting up the third one, and was then forced to take out a third a fourth and fifth as he was slowing down and they weren’t and God, he wasn’t going to make it.

He had to make it. 

01:01

He still had to set at least one more shield, one hundred feet away on the easternmost side of the building, or it wasn’t going to form properly, and then still program them all to engage before the bombs went off.

Keith forced himself to go faster. 

He couldn’t stop now.

Even if he were to cancel the detonation…

It would only mean he for certain lived.

Lance…

Lance could already be…

And no.

No. 

He couldn’t think like that.

Lance was fine. 

He was.

Keith chucked the last shield, hands fumbling inside the bag past the remaining two particle barrier capsules to find the remote that activated all of them.

00:28

He had to stop running, hunched over to make himself as small a target as laser blasts struck around him, as he calibrated the control for only four shields.

Let it work.

Please let it work.

Please let it be in time.

00:19

Keith hit the button.

The capsule nearest to him glowed bright blue and a bright white line shot out on either side of it, zigging around the building and seeking to connect to the matching ones on either side of it. 

Keith began running again, heading for the corner of the base that would lead him back to the main battle.

Keith raced both the clock and the pixel shields, as they began to rise up in perfect blue hexagons around the building to form the same dome that Red and erected around herself when they landed, even if Keith knew it was at a fraction of its normal health as the shields had been at 12% by the time they landed.

He hoped these shields made it in time.

00:07

He reached the corner, eyes frantically looking for Lance.

And Lance…

Lance was inside of the Red Lion’s pixel barrier, which was still holding, more scorch marks blackening the white of his armor and another peek of burnt flesh from another laser wound that had caught his stomach, but he was alive.

He was safe. 

And Keith, standing out in the open and attracting the sudden attention of what remained of the army — a handful of sentries and one of the Galrans — with a pixel barrier that not yet formed a dorm was not.

Lance’s scream of his name was swallowed up by the sudden boom from behind him and the ground rolled under Keith’s feet, sending him stumbling forward.

Another concussive explosion went off and then another and Keith hit the ground with a jarring thud, brain rattling and what little breath he had knocked out, and he felt his mask dissolve, colors becoming brighter and blistering hot air buffeting his exposed skin.

But the fact said heat seemed to be coming from the climate of being surrounded by suns and not a wave of fire and debris from an explosion… 

Keith turned his head and looked towards the base.

It was fully ensconced in a bright blue shield while red and purple colored blasts and debris and smoke buffeted it from the inside.

He’d made it.

They’d actually done it.

The base with its research and product and poison was no more.

A roar sounded above the explosions and Keith turned his head to see the remaining Empire soldier — and if there was only one then it meant Lance had been forced to kill the other and Keith’s stomach clenched because he knew how much Lance hated killing and he vowed that he would not make him do so again —  charging in his direction, a large sword in hand and face twisted with rage.

Keith struggled to his feet, trying to keep them as the ground continued to shift and he didn’t have the weight the Galran did to keep himself planted, summoning his luxite sword and drawing his Blade issued one. 

He barely caught the soldier’s sword between his, arms screaming at the pressure and Keith found himself deadlocked.

“You,” the Galran snarled, spittle flying and hitting Keith’s cheek, “I will kill you.”

Keith’s lips pulled into a tired smirk and he let that speak for him.

Just try.

The soldier let out another roar, shoving down harder on his sword and sending the ground cracking further beneath Keith’s feet.

His smirk widened.

Brute force was never the answer.

And he shifted his luxite blade back to a knife, ducked to the side as the Galran’s momentum and lack of resistance sent him stumbling and spun around, reforming his luxite blade and plunging it backwards without even looking.

He always tried not to look.

Contrary to how good he’d gotten at it — and that scared him, he would admit it — killing was not something he liked to do. But sometimes leaving the enemy alive wasn’t an option.

And he would not make Lance have to do it again.

He felt the blade pierce through the armor, felt it sink through the Galran’s back and out his front and he felt the Galran shudder and then go limp.

Dead.

Keith shuddered too as he retracted the sword back to a knife, flicking the blood off it in a too practiced motion and the Galran thudding with a clank of armor to the now quiet ground as the explosions came to a halt. 

He looked up, preparing to reflect any incoming sentries as even without a soldier to direct them their protocols would have them still attacking a deemed enemy, but the few remaining had been taken out by Lance, who was limping slightly towards Keith but a large grin was on his face and Keith felt a smaller version pull up his own lips.

They’d done it.

They’d actually done it.

“Dang, mullet,” Lance’s voice carried a teasing lilt that even still could not hide his relief, “could you have cut that any closer?”

“I ran as fast as I could,” Keith defended, and to his confusion Lance only chuckled, shaking his head and he realized that maybe he’d interpreted the question wrong. 

“Well I certainly hoped you weren’t taking a casual stro—” Lance cut himself off with a sharp inhale, eyes widening in horror in the same moment Keith heard a clank of armor that should not be moving. 

Apparently the Galran was not quite dead.

“Keith!” Lance’s shout was lost as Keith threw himself sideways, hitting the ground himself and rolling a foot, sensing the whisper of a blade pass over where he’d just been standing. 

One second later and…

But it wasn’t over as the Galran, blood pouring down his front and dripping out of his mouth and in the back of Keith’s mind he could hear the whisper of victory or death and he was forcibly reminded that such a belief had to come from somewhere.

The Galran was going to die, no doubt.

But he’d be taking Keith with him. 

Keith had no time to draw his second sword — thrown somewhere to his left when he’d rolled —  but he threw his right hand up, luxite blade lengthening just in time to catch the slash aimed to cleave him in two. 

But even fatally wounded the Galran was stronger than him and Keith could feel his arm shaking.

A blast of red-tinged light sailed over him, crashing into the Galran, punching a hole straight through his chestplate.

He didn’t so much as flinch. 

He only pushed down harder and Keith could let out a gasp as his own luxite was pressed flush against his chest, sinking into his armor and trying to reach flesh. But if he retracted it then the Galran’s sword would go into him.

Another red-white laser blast went past, striking deadcenter on the Galran’s helmet.

But just like Keith had seen with the sentries, there was a purple flare, a magic shield. 

Lance’s bayard couldn’t get through.

Keith let out another gasp as he felt the hot sting of blood from his own blade, red bubbling up around the sword to merge with the hot purple-toned drops hitting him from the looming Galran. 

The soldier’s fangs pulled into a bloody smile as he lifted the pressure slightly and even with that Keith had no opening.

Just as he knew what was coming as the Galran prepared to drop all of his weight down for one, final, blow.

“Die,” he breathed.

And a blur of blue and white plowed into Galran with a ragged shout, shoving him away from Keith, and Keith shot to sitting as the Galran staggered backwards, Lance’s bayard — a broadsword now — shoved straight through the wound Keith had previously made and coating Lance’s hands and arms in purple spatter. 

Lance looked like he was about to be sick. 

The Galran, still somehow not dead, let out a hoarse cough, blood spraying from his mouth and speckling across Lance’s helmet, right hand dropping to his side and fingers barely gripping the hilt of his sword and that should comfort Keith because he clearly had no strength left to wield it but…

But the Galran’s other hand had latched around Lance’s sword, squeezing tight and sending more blood bubbling as he carved into his own hand, and Lance seemed to be in a state of shock as rather than dissolving his bayard he only pulled back on it, going nowhere though as the Galran held on tight.

Keith realized in that instant that this was the first time Lance would have used his sword in battle.

It was the first time he’d have hurt someone with it.

And this…

This was horrific for even a seasoned swordsman.

“For…” the Galran gurgled, swaying and making a squelching noise as he stepped forward, impaling himself further as he drew closer to Lance, who was still standing there, staring, breath coming in sharp, shallow pants.

“Lance,” his voice barely sounded like his own as the Galran struck the hilt of Lance’s bayard, nearly flush now with Lance, and he desperately struggled to his feet but he was too far, he wasn’t going to reach them in time, “get away from—”

“— the Empire,” the Galran choked out, in the same breath lifting up his sword just as Lance let out a sharp inhale, clarity returning, and dissolved his bayard as he stumbled backwards.

And the sword plunged down. 

Chapter Text

The sword missed Lance’s chest as he backpedaled.

But it didn’t entirely miss.

Lance screamed as the sword sank into his right thigh straight through his outer armor and out the back of his leg, limb immediately collapsing beneath him and Lance following it down to the ground, but he was alive and that, considering the strike had been aimed for his chest, was all Keith could ask for.

The Galran fell too, yellow eyes sightless and dull, as he hit the broken ground in front of Lance, sword falling from his grip.

Dead.

Maybe.

Keith would never forgive himself for not checking before and it was that reasoning, that fear, that had him not going to Lance first but to the soldier, luxite extended, and he made himself look that time as he removed the soldier’s head from his body.

There.

Now he was dead.

And that taken care of he turned towards Lance, who was staring at his leg and the sword quivering in it with wide eyes that turned to Keith as he entered Lance’s sight line.

“Keith,” his voice wavered, blood-stained hands curled into shaking fists at his side, “there’s a sword in my leg.”

“Yes,” Keith acknowledged, crouching down next to him and studying the wound for himself and recalling all he could from the medical books he used to read that Dave, the fire station’s medic, tended to leave lying about the shared apartment at the station.

It was in the meaty part of Lance’s thigh far enough down it shouldn’t have hit the femoral artery, further evidenced by the fact while there was a small puddle of blood forming beneath Lance’s leg and around the blade it wasn’t gushing. 

It could have been worse.

It could have been so much worse. 

It was no doubt painful, moreso than Keith’s own cut from his luxite across his chest, but it wasn’t fatal and the bandages in the emergency kit aboard the Red Lion would be enough to treat it until Lance could go into a cryo-pod. 

He was honestly far more concerned about why the sword was in Lance’s leg because he had had time to retreat if he’d thought to dissolve his bayard and he’d frozen. But Keith’s stomach gave a roll of guilt because Lance had only been put in that position at all because Keith had messed up.

He looked up, meeting Lance’s eyes through the blood-splattered helmet and trying to keep his voice soft and even asked, “Are you okay?”

Lance blinked at him.

His gaze darted back down to his leg and then back to Keith.

“There’s a sword in my leg,” he repeated, tone starting to rise in pitch. “K-Keith, there’s a sword in my leg.”

Shock, Keith identified, hating that he’d been right. 

He was probably the last person who should be qualified to handle this but he was what Lance had and it was because of him this had happened and so it was up to fix it.

And, somehow, not make it worse.

He always tended to make things worse.

“There is,” Keith agreed again. “And I’m going to take it out, okay? And then it won’t be in your leg anymore.”

He knew sometimes it was best to leave projectiles in the body as they helped contain blood, but a sword would only continue to cut Lance and given that it had gone through his leg it would be best to seal it up. 

“Lance, look at me,” Keith summoned Lance’s attention as the other boy’s gaze drifted back to the sword. “It’s going to be okay. It’s not bad. I promise.”

Lance blinked at him again.

And a rush of clarity returned to dark blue eyes and Lance inhaled sharply, the sound followed by a low moan and his eyes squeezed shut tight. 

“K-Keith?” he asked, but while shaky the words didn’t sound as distant as before and Keith let out a quiet sigh of relief, “I’m not sure I like swords anymore.” 

The sick feeling returned full force.

Swords had been the one thing they’d sort of had to talk about on the trip over and now Keith had ruined that.

He’d ruined Lance’s new bayard.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered and Lance gave a start, followed by a choked moan as his leg jolted. 

“What? No,” Lance shook his head. “Why are you apologizing?”

“Because this is my fault,” Keith gestured at Lance’s leg. “If, if I hadn’t fucked up and made sure he was dead then you’d never have had to…” he gave another flop of his hand, trying to indicate all of it.

“What, save your butt?” Lance grinned even if there was a tightness to it. His expression sombered a moment later. “I’m glad you’re okay, Keith. That’s what matters.”

“You shouldn’t have to get hurt because I fucked up,” Keith snapped, anger at himself heating his words.  “You could have died, Lance.”

Lance flinched. 

And, as Keith had feared, he’d just made things worse.

“Sorry,” he said again, running a hand through his sweaty hair and trying to figure out the best way and deciding honesty and just spitting out the words as they came was best as he had already made a hole anyway. “That was at me, not you. I’m just… you scared me, okay? Staying behind like that—” and while Lance had somehow gotten out of that firefight with only a few superficial wounds was amazing it could have gone a completely different way and Keith had practically abandoned him to the role of bait and God, this mission had gone sideways so many times, “—and then, here,” he gave another gesture to the sword and reminder of how close it had been again , “and, and I’m sorry you got hurt.”

“It’s okay,” Lance said quietly. “Really. I’m alive, right?” and he smiled at that as though it was supposed to be funny but it did not meet his eyes whatsoever and Lance hurriedly dropped it along with his gaze, a bare dusting of pink on his cheeks. “But, um… maybe we could move onto the removing the sword part? I think I’d really like that.” He winced. “I’d really, really like that.”

“Let me go grab the med kit,” Keith said. “Stay there.”

“Wasn’t planning on moving,” Lance said and Keith felt his cheeks heating at that, but it had taken away Lance’s earlier expression and had him lifting his head so it was okay.

He hurried to the Red Lion, relieved when she dissolved her particle barrier without issue, eyes trained the entire time for any movement from any of the downed sentries or the other Galran slumped outside the particle barrier, who on closer inspection had a perfect circle between his eyes.

At least Lance, even if he didn’t like doing it, could make a kill shot.

Keith was going to keep kicking himself over it, but there was nothing to be done for it now and all he could do was resolve to not mess up like that again and to treat the wound as best as he could and focus on the positives.

The mission had been a success, the base a smoldering wreck of smoke and lingering fires inside the still holding steady particle barrier, not a single wisp of smoke escaping to poison the air. 

The Red Lion was charging up her shields through the very sunshine rays that had almost crashed them as the beams were absorbable at this distance from the suns and she’d be fully operational by late tomorrow morning. 

And outside of Lance’s stab wound they had only minor injuries that some burn cream and bandages would take care of.

All good things.

And, most importantly, despite how badly he’d messed up Lance wasn’t blaming him and wasn’t angry at him. 

When he returned with the med kit Lance had only moved so far as to take his helmet off and peel off his bloodied gloves and his hands were shaking ever so where he had them clenched in his lap, his gaze trained past his leg now and at the dead Galran a few paces away and Keith really should move Lance from this scene.

“Does it get easier?” Lance asked softly, not looking away. 

“...yes,” Keith admitted, thinking back to his own body count and how with the Blades he couldn’t spare the time or energy to dwell on how many. “But… but I hope it never gets too easy.”

Because if it did…

Then Keith had lost all of his humanity. And while his human half was looked down upon on the Blades, seen as a weakness… it was also the side of him that tied him to Pop and Pop had been a hero who saved people and Keith would never, ever, regret being his son.

Lance hummed in quiet contemplation and understanding.

And then…

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “That… that with the Blades you have to…” he gave a jerk of his head towards the headless Galran. “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

“Some people are too dangerous to be left alive,” Keith said, repeating the words Kolivan had drilled into him following his first mission and where Keith had gotten a sharp dose of reality that he’d been shielded the worst from with Voltron.

Another reason why he didn’t belong with them. His hands were stained beyond measure and they didn’t need someone like that to be a defender of the universe. 

“I’m still sorry,” Lance said quietly. “If… if you were with Voltron you wouldn’t have to… to do that. Not like that. And, and I’ve been thinking...” His throat bobbed and Keith’s stomach turned over at what he could feel Lance heading towards.

And no.

He couldn’t.

It couldn’t work. 

He could never go back.

No matter how much it was what he wished for and longed for and God, if Lance asked he didn’t know if he’d be strong enough this time to walk away.

There were still too many Paladins after all. 

And this was the way it had to be.

“That, maybe,” Lance’s hands curled into fists, “if you wanted to, you could—”

He cut off with a sharp gasp of pain, hunching over his extended leg with a whimper.

Keith took the out like a coward.

“Let’s focus on the sword,” he said. 

Lance only hissed out a breath and Keith took that as his cue, setting the med kit down and crouching next to Lance, bracing one hand on Lance’s leg and the other on the quivering hilt.

“Wait wait wait,” Lance’s voice was high. “You’re just going to pull it out like that?”

“It’s not a serrated edge,” Keith said, “and there’s no hook. It’ll come out clean. Just don’t,” his eyes met Lance’s, “move.”

Lance audibly swallowed.

“Don’t look either,” Keith’s voice gentled and it spoke to the situation that Lance didn’t even try to argue or protest or tell Keith he couldn't tell him what to do as his eyes squeezed immediately closed.

Keith took a steadying breath.

Straight up and out. 

Then have Lance lie down, prop up his leg, remove the damaged armor, cut away a swath of the underarmor so he could get to the wound, and slather it with antibiotic cream and then wrap it up. 

And go.

Lance made a strangled sounding cry as Keith pulled the sword out, entire body tensing under Keith’s hand and he could feel the effort Lance made not to move more than a tremble, as Keith wanted and needed to go both fast and slow so he didn’t injure Lance further, but a too long eight seconds later the sword was on the ground and a new crimson stream was trickling down Lance’s armor.

“Lie down,” Keith instructed, helping Lance to do so on the rough ground and realizing he should have grabbed a blanket and grabbed the med kit box — needed items already removed — and propped it below Lance’s right foot. 

It had been a while since Keith had encountered Paladin armor and he wasn’t sure he’d ever removed it from another person, but his fingers instinctually found the clasp to the upper leg piece and he removed it as gently as possible, setting it aside as hopefully Coran would be able to fix it. 

There were scissors in the med kit that he opted to use rather than his knife as it still had his own blood on it, and he carefully slipped them between the bloodied black underarmor and Lance’s flesh and Lance gave an involuntary jerk, leg nearly slipping off the med kit.

Keith took a quick glance up at Lance’s face, eyes still squeezed shut but that action not able to prevent a tear from sneaking out and trailing down his cheek, brow furrowed with pain and lips thin, wavering lines.

“Almost done,” Keith said, hoping it was comforting as bedside manner was not his forte. He snipped away the material, revealing bloodied flesh and Keith focused his attention first on the entry wound as it was infinitely worse than the exit, using a water pouch to dampen some of the bandages and blot away the blood.

And while the blood cleared away there was a strange, dark red discoloration all around the wound. 

Keith frowned.

Birthmark?

He blotted at it again and Lance twitched, a whimper breaking free from tightly sealed lips.

Something icy started to fill Keith’s stomach as he looked at the dark flesh again and he hurriedly turned his attention to the back of Lance’s leg, pulling back the underarmor there and blotting the area around the wound clean.

Please.

Please don’t let it be— 

The same dark, reddened flesh greeted him there perfectly circular around the exit wound.

Keith’s breath hitched.

No. 

“K-Keith?” Lance lifted his head up, “what’s, what’s wrong?”

Keith didn’t answer, setting Lance’s leg down and hurrying to the sword he’d yanked free, crimson blood still coating it.

It wasn’t the only thing though.

He could see it now that he was looking, the thin grooves carved into the blade where something even darker red than Lance’s blood was dripping.

Keith wavered.

No.

It, it was supposed to be injected. Inhaled.

It was still supposed to be in production, in research stages.

Not…

Not... 

God, not...

“Keith?” Lance’s asked, tone high. “What’s—?”

“Poison,” Keith choked out, cutting Lance off. 

Horrified amethyst eyes met terrified ocean.

“You’ve,” Keith’s voice shook, “you’ve been poisoned.”

Chapter Text

The silence was deafening as Lance stared at him, mouth gaped, before he gave a small shake of his head as he sat up, eyes skimming over the wound. “No. N-no,” he denied. “It’s just, just a stab wound. It’s not bad.”

Keith’s words, his promise, of the same that he’d told Lance not even minutes ago sounded in his head.

‘It’s not bad. I promise.’

He’d been wrong.

He’d been so wrong.

This…

This was…

“I need to flush it,” Keith said, already reaching for the opened water pouch as if he got it somehow on his hands too…

They’d both be in trouble.

And, maybe, maybe it wasn’t that bad. 

Lance’s skin was definitely irritated and it seemed tender, but he had also been stabbed and that in itself was painful. The poison might not be at a stage where it did anything, maybe it didn’t work on humans, maybe it wasn’t as fatal as the Blades intel had indicated.

There was no use panicking until it got worse. Panicking never helped.

Calm.

Focus.

Patience yi—

Keith cut that part off.

Just focus. 

“This might sting,” Keith warned, cutting off the top of the pouch. “Hold still.”

He didn’t give Lance much of an option to move as he kept one hand braced above the wound and poured the water pouch with the other.

Lance hissed and other than some shaking remained still as Keith finished off that pouch and grabbed another, using most of it on the entry wound and then instructing Lance to roll onto his side so he could reach the back of his leg easier.

The blood for the most part was washing away, not a ton more coming up and at least bleeding out was not a worry even if it would be best to bandage it so blood loss did not become an unnecessary complication, but it was revealing the dark red skin that…

That was growing larger, little tendrils spreading from the wound site almost like flower petals and vines up and down Lance’s leg. 

“That doesn’t look good,” Lance whispered and Keith could feel his leg shaking along with the rest of him.

“Does it hurt?” Keith asked, reaching out a finger and gently pressing down on one of the dark tendrils that was a little further out from the wound.

Lance whimpered, shuddering.

That would be a yes.

That would be a not good thing.

“Does anything else hurt?” Keith asked. “Head? Stomach?”

All poison was obviously different but he knew common symptoms were headaches and dizziness, fevers, upset stomachs, confusion and sometimes drowsiness. 

Lance gave a mute shake of his head. “Just, just the other injuries. All gunshots,” he clarified, and that was a bit of good news (not that gunshots were good at all) that they weren’t looking at any other potential sources of poison. 

Keith took whatever positives he could get.

“I’m gonna get the antibiotic on it,” Keith said, “and wrap it up. We should probably move back to Red too.”

As the inside of a metal ship was far more sterile than the outside and if Red could pull up even a bit of her pixel barrier it should help with the heat, as Keith could feel his hair sticking to the back of his neck and Lance had sweat — and God, he hoped that was just from the sun and this stupid planet and not something worse — on his forehead and his bangs were hanging limp and damp. 

Lance’s hands darted out, grip far stronger than Keith had been expecting, to latch about his wrist before he turned to pick up said items. “Um, thank you. For—”

“Don’t thank me,” Keith interrupted, only guilt churning his stomach. “I’m the reason you got hurt.”

That Lance almost died.

That for all they knew he might be dying.

Lance shook his head at that, for reasons unknown to Keith seeming determined to take the blame for Keith’s mistake. “If, if I’d just dissolved my bayard—”

“And if I’d made sure the Galran was dead the first time,” Keith scowled, “then you wouldn’t have even needed to attack him. I fucked up, okay? Not you.”

Lance just shook head again.

“Let’s just… let it go,” Keith sighed. “We need to focus on your leg.”

At that Lance’s eyes lowered back down to it and he gave a small shudder. 

He didn’t offer any further protest, lying back down on the hard ground with a small grimace, as Keith put a generous coating of antibiotic cream on the first bandage strip and secured it around Lance’s thigh and then proceeded to use about half of the roll to pad and secure it. Outside of a few twitches Lance didn’t move and Keith tried to take comfort in that.

“I feel like the pillsbury dough boy,” Lance said as Keith called out that he was done and he helped guide Lance back to sitting. “It’s so…” he reached a finger out and poked the bandages, “squishy.”

A year ago Keith would have rolled his eyes at the random chatter and another mark on Lance’s childish behavior, but now he found it comforting as Lance tried to lighten the mood and no doubt push away some of his own fears.

“Pretty sure the pillsbury dough boy is supposed to be poked in the stomach, not the leg,” Keith said and Lance’s eyes widened, mouth dropping with surprise. “...what?” Keith asked, resisting the urge to roll his shoulders uncomfortably.

“You actually knew something from pop culture,” Lance said, incredulous. “You never know anything.”

“Gee, thank you,” Keith did roll his eyes at that but a small smile tugged up his face.

“Seriously though,” Lance continued. “How come you never know anything like that? Books or movies or tv or memes?”

“I guess I was just never interested,” Keith said.

Or, rather, his foster families never let him have access to televisions or electronics and he’d missed out on most of the references that Hunk and Pidge and Lance would drop save for a few — like that one — that he’d heard back when Pop was still alive and family had been a word to describe loved ones and not the people who thought he was both a paycheck and a punching bag.

“Huh,” Lance said quietly, face thoughtful, and Keith had the sudden swooping sensation that Lance didn’t entirely believe him, but he didn’t push and just nodded with a quiet, “okay,” and that for some reason made Keith feel a new wave of guilt.

He just couldn’t do anything right. 

“Let’s get you up,” he said. “I can carr—”

“I can walk,” Lance said quickly and Keith bit back the smirk as he’d had a feeling that would be Lance’s reaction and it helped calm him down because if Lance was protesting being carried then he wasn’t feeling too bad.

But as Keith crouched down to let Lance sling an arm about his shoulders and pull the other boy upright, he was nearly uprooted as Lance tipped sideways with a low moan and Keith barely kept them upright.

“Sorry,” Lance whispered, slumping some in the hold. “Just… just a little dizzy.”

And like that Keith’s heart rate shot right back up. 

It could be vertigo, could be the heat, could even be dehydration stemming from said heat and the exertion, but…

But it could also be…

“Okay,” Lance said a moment later, shifting a little bit and his hand tightening around Keith’s shoulders, voice steadier too. “Ready. Hop and a skip, right?”

“Slow and steady,” Keith retorted because no one was hopping or skipping here. “Stay off your leg as best you can.”

They made their way just like that across the broken up ground, Keith steering them as best he could around the worst protrusions, and then even slower up the Red Lion’s ramp as while smooth it was a much steeper incline and Lance let out a gasping huff that he should not be making.

They made it through the cockpit and Keith helped lower Lance down into the pilot’s chair, Lance slumping into it and tipping his head back, eyes closed, and a small flush on his cheeks.

The heat, Keith told himself. It was the heat.

Unless it wasn’t.

“I’m gonna go back and get the kit,” Keith said. “You good?”

Lance hummed. 

“See if you can pull some of your armor off,” Keith instructed. “I’ll be right back.”

He made it a quick trip of picking the med kit back up along with Lance’s discarded armor piece and helmet and, after a moment of thought, gingerly picking up the poisoned sword by its hilt as if this poison was dangerous enough to need an antidote they would need a sample. 

He dropped the sword off in Red’s cargo hold and made his way back to the cockpit through the Lion’s body, pulling down the bed located behind said cockpit.

Lance was just as he’d left him.

Literally, just as he’d left him, not a single armor piece removed and head still tilted back and eyes closed that cracked open as Keith entered his field of vision.

“That, that was fast,” Lance said. 

There was the barest slur to his words and Lance seemed to hear it at the same time as he shot straight up, which sent him tipping forward with a moan and Keith dropped the med kit and lunged, catching Lance by his shoulders before he could topple out of the chair. 

“Keith,” Lance’s breath was hot and fluttery on his neck, “I… I don’t feel so good.”

Keith swore.

And without waiting for Lance’s permission he used the hold he already had on the other boy’s shoulders and leaned forward, pulling Lance onto his shoulders in a fireman’s carry from the chair.

Lance only groaned. 

Keith made it back to the bed in eight quick steps, sliding Lance off his shoulders onto the surface and immediately reaching for the rest of the leg armor ensconcing Lance’s right leg, yanking both it and the boots and even Lance’s socks — yellow and orange polka dots.

Lance barely moved even with the rough handling.

“Lance,” Keith called, voice sharper than he meant it to but Lance’s eyes flew open.

They were hazier, brighter than before.

And they were filling up with fear.

“Stay awake,” Keith ordered, not sure if Lance was about to fall asleep but he had the sudden, sick fear that if Lance did…

He wouldn’t wake up.

“Keith,” Lance  whispered and Keith had never heard him sound like that.

So…

So scared. 

“You’re gonna be all right,” Keith said, not because he could promise such but because he wouldn’t let anything else be true.

Lance was not going to die here.

He wasn’t going to die because Keith would not let him.

Even if…

He had no idea what he could do.

For now though it was important to see where the poison was at and what they had to work with.

Keith grabbed hold of the underarmor he’d already cut through and dragged down the lower portion to expose Lance’s knee.

The dark red tendrils had already reached it. 

Keith cursed again and turned his attention then to Lance’s upper body armor. He got the chest piece off, Lance still lying on the back piece, and unhooked the utility belt, and leaving the rest for now dug his fingers into the nearly invisible hem that connected the shirt to the pants, ignoring Lance’s choked, “H-hey!”

It released as he pulled up, revealing a solid pane of tan flesh minus the laser wound to the left of Lance’s navel. 

Keith shuddered out a breath.

Okay.

The poison hadn’t reached Lance’s stomach—

A fleck of dark red appeared at the tip of Lance’s waistband as though waiting for someone to witness its arrival. 

And that answered Keith’s silent question that he hadn’t let himself even consider because the poison hadn’t seemed bad at first.

Amputation would be useless. The poison had already infiltrated Lance’s bloodstream and was only going to move faster, no doubt why he’d gone from fully coherent to this disoriented, hazy version in under ten minutes.

And, at this rate…

It wouldn't be more than a couple hours.

Keith didn’t know where the shield status was but it was far, far more than a couple hours. And all that even meant was they could leave; they’d still have to fly back to the Blade base and pray that someone there could do something before…

God, before…

“Keith?” Lance asked again, his hands spasming at his sides. “Is, is it…?”

“I need you to lie still,” Keith said, mind racing.

The movement had no doubt made it worse and maybe (hopefully) less of it would help. Fluids too to help flush Lance’s system.

“Keith—”

“Lie still,” Keith snapped, pushing out a hand as Lance made an attempt to rise and Lance froze, hurt crossing his face. “Lie still,” Keith said, softer. “I’m gonna get the rest of your armor off and you’re gonna drink a water pouch. It’ll help.”

Saying so Keith prepped another one — pleasantly cool from the cooler Lance had brought snacks courtesy of Hunk in — and propped Lance’s head up with the two pillows that had been below the bed so he wouldn’t choke, and returned to pulling off the pieces of outer armor, hands shaking all the while.

Would a tourniquet help?

No, not now.

Did he try to keep Lance’s fever — as his cheeks were definitely flushed now beyond sunshine and exertion — low or let it climb in case it helped fight the poison like fevers fought infection?

He’d let it run its course for now, just in case it helped, but take action if it got too high.

He paused after he got Lance’s left leg and the rest of the armor on his torso off to go to the cockpit and retrieve the fallen med kit and to check the shield status.

14%.

It had gone up 2% since they’d arrived almost forty minutes ago now. 

“Come on, Red,” he muttered, prayed, pressing a hand to her console, even though he knew there was nothing she could do.

He hurried away before she could even try to respond.

He fumbled out the thermometer back at Lance’s bedside, pressing the device to Lance’s still sweaty forehead.

A quick conversion later with what he hoped he was right as it had been a while since he’d tried to convert Altean, the number read 100.1.

Definitely a fever. 

He pulled off Lance’s arm and shoulder guards, Lance now in just his underarmor pants minus the majority of the right leg, and the thick bandages — still unstained — wrapped around the stab wound that had become the least of Keith’s worries. He wanted to help sweat the fever out, but practicality said it’d be a good idea to keep track of where the poison was reaching — even if there was nothing he could do about it — and so his hands went back to the rolled up hem of Lance’s shirt.

Lance startled, a breathless sort of huff passing his lips from where the drained water pouch had fallen away.

“St-stop,” a hand batted at Keith’s and Keith immediately did as he realized in that moment, that while he’d never witnessed Lance shy away from any sort of touch, what this could look like in Lance’s confusion.

“Sorry,” he murmured, “But I need to see where the poison is— ”

“Ticklish,” Lance wheezed.

And oh.

Okay, that was more of a Lance answer. 

“I’ll try my best,” Keith promised.

“Don’ tell Pidge,” Lance said, fever bright eyes landing on Keith’s and despite the circumstances Keith felt his lips quirk up and God, how did Lance manage to do that? 

“I won’t,” Keith promised and Lance’s head dropped back on the pillows, offering no further resistance as Keith rolled his shirt up and then more painstakingly pulled it over Lance’s head and arms and he’d forgotten how difficult and tight the underarmor could be.

“You know,” he grumped, “you could help with this part.”

“You said no moving.”

Keith rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. At least Lance was listening to him.

But a minute later the underarmor shirt was off and Lance’s skin was glistening with sweat and the dark tendril even more pronounced where, for the moment, it had not crept any further.

Keith shuddered out a breath.

Movement really did seem to make it worse, which meant lack of movement, while not making it better, would slow its progression. 

“Are you still feeling dizzy?” Keith asked as he plucked up the empty water pouch and prepared another one.

“A little,” Lance admitted. “‘s better now. Lying down.” 

His speech was steadying too, lending weight to that and Keith breathed a silent sigh of relief because seeing Lance that disoriented and confused was not something he wanted to see again.

He had the sick feeling he would before this was all over.

He shoved the thought aside.

“Stomach?” 

“Um, fine?”

“Then another water pouch,” Keith held up the new one and Lance let out a groan. “Fluids are good for you,” he said. “Drink.”

“You’re so bossy,” Lance muttered but he accepted the pouch and popped the straw between his lips with a raised eyebrow at Keith.

Keith took the opportunity to get a pouch himself — and they still had thirteen left, Hunk apparently thinking he was packing for an army and Keith really appreciated that right now — and drained it in a few sips. 

While Lance was still occupied with his pouch Keith took to shedding his own armor and undershirt, fingers gingerly prodding at the several inch long cut his own blade had carved into him and sending a rivulet of blood running down his chest.

Ow.

But considering what it could have been…

“You’re hurt,” Lance’s whisper brought Keith back from his semi-daze and guilty eyes stared at him.

“It’s fine,” Keith said, reaching into the med kit and pulling out a gauze pad.

Nothing like Lance’s, he added silently. 

Lance didn’t look reassured. 

“I’m gonna take a look at your burns,” Keith said, feeding a bandage around his chest with practiced ease, Lance tracking his movements with unnerving intensity. “There’s some burn ointment in here that should help.”

And it was at least one thing he could treat. 

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Keith asked, setting the bandages aside once more and rummaging for the ointment he’d seen. 

Lance gave a slow shake of his head.

“Lance,” Keith said warningly.

“No,” he said it aloud. “I, I sort of sprained my right ankle earlier, but, um…”

But Lance’s entire right leg was sort of out of commission so it really was a moot point. 

“All right,” Keith said, unscrewing the ointment cap. “Hold still.”

Lance startled as Keith brought ointment covered fingers down on top of the burn, but he relaxed with a groan of relief a moment later, eyes fluttering closed, and not moving even as Keith gently shifted him onto his side so he could treat the burn on Lance’s back — and no visible red tendril there, yet, but the burn was another reminder that Lance had used his body as a shield to protect Keith and if that had been shrapnel or something other than a laser he could be dead from that too —  and then as he settled Lance again Keith looked one on Lance’s front, which had moved maybe a centimeter over the last couple minutes.

He could work with a centimeter at this rate. 

“You tired?” he asked quietly and Lance let out a hum, eyes still closed but the sight didn’t panic Keith like it had a few minutes ago as this was Lance’s body trying to fight the poison, not succumbing to it. “Try and sleep then,” he said. “I think the slower your heart rate the less quickly the poison will travel.”

And time here was their other enemy as they could not go until Red’s shields were full or they’d never make it out of Peachin’s atmosphere. 

“Can’t,” Lance said, eyes cracking open. “No blanket.”

“Blanket?” Keith parroted.

Lance gave a shiver that Keith was fairly certain was exaggerated but Lance was also wearing pretty much a single pants leg and Keith was aware the other boy had had a collection of quilts and blankets so…

“Fine,” Keith agreed, lifting up the thin blanket that had been next to the pillows under the cot as he didn’t want Lance under the heavy emergency kit one and flipping it over Lance. “Now sleep.”

“So bossy,” Lance mumbled, but a small smile was pulling up his lips and Keith found himself matching it.

He began to pack up the med kit so he’d be able to easily find the items if needed again when Lance let out a quiet, “Keith?” and Keith hummed that time, not wanting to break the peaceful silence. “‘m glad you’re okay.”

Lance’s breaths deepened a moment later before Keith could figure out what to say to that. At face value it was sincere and well meaning, but… but there was something darker to it.

There was allusion to the fact that if one of them had ended up hurt… Lance was glad it was himself. 

A shiver unrelated to his lack of dress ran down Keith’s spine at that implication, at realizing it was three times now Lance had endangered himself to save Keith in a single mission, had put someone else’s life above his own.

Keith closed his eyes, practically feeling controls in his hand, the radio silence from Voltron, and the sensation of hurtling his ship forward with no plans to come back.

He opened his eyes before his imaginary ship could crash and shuddered out a breath, looking to Lance.

It seemed they had some other things in common besides swords. 

And, he was realizing, it was something they needed to talk about.

Before either of them did something there was no coming back from. 

Chapter Text

It had been about three hours now since Lance had been stabbed.

Keith had nothing good to report other than the fact no blood had yet dotted Lance’s bandages.

Red’s shields were only at 36%.

Lance’s fever was rising, just shy of 102 degrees now, and the higher fever seemed to have accelerated the poison, negating the benefit of lack of movement.

The red tendrils were creeping and growing; Lance’s entire right foot and lower leg were a sick mask of dark red and there were lines down his left leg now too from where there was a near solid section of dark red from Lance’s waistband to his navel and stretching even higher on his right side nearly at his underarm. 

And Lance’s speech had slipped to an even more breathless, confused version than Keith had witnessed in the cockpit as the fever and poison ravaged his systems.

Keith could honestly say he was as terrified as he’d ever been in his entire life as Lance literally burned up and slipped away in front of him with the echoes of his own promise to talk to Lance before something happened haunting him.

He hadn’t meant it like this.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

Lance should never have been hurt like this.

This was his goddamn fault. 

And somehow, God, somehow, he had to fix it.

He had no idea how.

He had to try.

And right now that meant trying to bring down Lance’s fever with the limited supplies he had and knowing there was nothing outside of the Red Lion that would help them on this arid, burning planet.

“N-no,” Lance whimpered, turning his head on the sweat-soaked pillow and away from the cool rag Keith was attempting to put back onto Lance’s forehead. “C-cold.”

He shivered as though to emphasize that even though his body was anything but and Keith had taken the blanket away over an hour ago when he’d realized Lance’s temperature was not just steadily creeping up but rapidly. 

“You need it,” Keith countered. “C’mon, Lance, it’ll feel better.”

“Cold,” Lance said again and a tear trickled down a fever-flushed cheek. “Don’...” he let out a sob, “don’ wanna…” the next word came out a whisper. “Die.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Keith refuted even as his heart skipped a beat at how… how sudden that had come on.  “You’re going to be fine.”

Lance rolled his head against the pillow. “Don’ wanna die,” he repeated. He exhaled a heavy breath and with it a word.

"Again.”

Keith dropped the cloth.

What?

What had Lance just…?

He’d misheard, he shook his head. It was just fever talk. Those two sentences weren’t connected. Not at all. Lance hadn’t… he hadn’t— 

“C-cold,” Lance choked out, another tear sneaking out of scrunched shut eyes. “‘s cold.”

His hands had gravitated up to his chest, right above his heart, holding them there, and curling up on his side.

He looked so small like that.

He looked…

He looked like a child.

Keith swallowed, picked up the cloth from the thin mattress and put it again back on Lance’s forehead, sliding it beneath damp bangs, and other than a breathless moan Lance didn’t try to avoid it.

Leaving it there and hoping it stayed, Keith picked up another water pouch — and for all his thoughts that they had a lot he was starting to fear they didn’t have enough — and poking the straw in pushed it between Lance’s lips with a quiet, “drink,” that had had mixed results as sometimes Lance sucked on the straw and other times he tried to spit it out.

This time he took a sip.

After two though his face scrunched up and Keith guided the pouch away. Lance had made that face three times now and he’d gagged one time, spitting out a string of watery bile and Keith was grateful that had been all he’d managed as Lance was sweating badly and needed the fluids in him, not out, and vomiting, contrary to popular belief, did not expel poison. 

“Easy, easy,” he murmured, bringing a hand that had grown less tentative each time to rub at Lance’s back, red streaks — that really did look like flower petals and vines — halfway up it now.

Lance shuddered out a heavy breath and rolled his head back in Keith’s direction, brow furrowed.

“Keith?” he rasped.

Keith knew not to get excited. Lance’s clarity came and went with no real rhyme or reason he could determine and it was not a sign that he was getting better as the fever only kept climbing and the rash and poison spread and Keith still had no idea what the fuck he was doing.

“Keith,” Lance said again into the quiet, words accompanied with a shiver. “‘m cold.”

“I know,” Keith said quietly. 

He didn’t know what else to say.

He couldn’t offer a false reassurance right now, saving those for when Lance wasn’t capable of hearing and understanding because if he said that now it would be a lie. 

He didn’t know if Lance was going to be okay.

He couldn’t say things would be fine.

“‘m sorry,” Lance mumbled, eyes sliding closed again and Keith startled.

What?

No.

Hell no. 

“No,” he refuted the apology. “You don’t have to apologize for, for anything.”

Lance hummed.

“‘m cold.”

“I know,” and hot tears pricked Keith’s eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Lance shivered. 

And then he pushed his back further against Keith’s hand still resting there with a mumble of, “warm.”

Keith didn’t have the heart to pull away and gave another gentle rub over sweaty skin as while any additional body heat couldn’t be good if this comforted Lance for the moment, he could spare a few seconds.

“Like… like ‘llura.”

Keith yanked his hand back as though burned.

And nope.

Absolutely not.

Keith did not need or want to know anything further about what was going on between his two former teammates and Lance wasn’t in his right state of mind to be saying something that was probably supposed to be private.

“Lance—”

“Wonder… wonder if…” Lance cut Keith off, “if this time…” he trailed off with a whimper before a breathlessly mumbling, “don’ wanna die again.”

And that time there was no denying the words that removed any embarrassment from the ones uttered before.

‘Die again.’

What…

What did that mean? 

Lance shuddered out another breath and went limp under Keith’s hand.

Keith’s heart leapt into his throat.

But a frantic check of Lance’s pulse — beating strong if far too fast — revealed he’d just drifted off.

Not dead.

Again. 

The word echoed and echoed in Keith’s mind.

Again.

Lance didn’t want to die again. 

Meaning he’d died. 

But he was alive, obviously, now.

For now, his mind whispered treacherously and Keith shoved that thought away.

But…

But when? 

How? 

Had this been recent? Keith hadn’t heard of any close call missions—

He cut his own thought off with a sharp inhale.

No.

The Blade hadn’t heard of any close call, dangerous missions.

But just yesterday, Lance had said…

“ We had a bit of an… incident last week at our last mission. Red took a pretty heavy hit. But she’s okay, I promise.” 

And Allura had looked at Lance with, what Keith realized now, was concern.

And also…

Fear. Fear for Lance.

Whatever that mission had been, it hadn’t just affected the Red Lion. Something had happened to Lance.

Something tragic. 

And, somehow, Allura had been involved, had saved Lance’s life.

But Allura wasn’t here now.

Lance only had Keith to save him and Keith was completely and utterly useles—

A burning hot tendril brushed against his mind and Keith yelped, hands clapping to his head as though that had any effect against Red’s searing quintessence and her roar echoing in his head.

And while Red didn’t use words she couldn’t have been clearer.

Keith was not alone.

She was here.

And she would help.

She would not…

She would not fail Lance again.

Red knew, Keith realized, what had happened. 

How Lance had died.

But it was not for her to tell and he sensed her pride at his decision not to press because that didn't matter right now.

“How?” Keith whispered. How could they save him?

And fire seemed to burn his very soul. 

If Keith was screaming he couldn’t hear himself over the crackle of flames and the inferno roaring in his ears and the sheer agony as he felt like he was burned alive.

And that was Red’s plan. 

Burn the poison.

Incinerate it.

It was insane. 

Red roared louder than the inferno. 

And the flames disappeared with a whoosh and Keith found himself on the ground, chest heaving, sweat pouring down his face, breath coming in harsh, ragged gasps, splayed hands in front of him glowing red with what he knew through Red was his quintessence and head pounding and to that he felt Red send a small ember, a tendril of flame meant to soothe.

Apologize.

She had not wanted to hurt him, but it had been long since they had connected.

And, Keith panted, they had connected, staring at his still glowing hands. It had been months and he’d piloted a different Lion and he’d done all he could to shut Red out and yet… yet it was like he had never left.

It had felt…

It had felt like…

He belonged. 

Red purred her approval.

Keith gave a mute shake of his head, the glow fading.

He couldn’t.

This wasn’t right. 

But, right now was not the time for this. That would come after he’d saved Lance.

And Red’s plan…

Would work, she thrummed in his mind, if Keith helped her. 

Together they would burn the poison.

This poison was nurtured by the sun, thrived in it. But Red’s fire was even hotter and with her connection to Lance, to his quintessence, and using Keith as a conduit...

She would make it burn. 

Keith lifted his head up, making out Lance still curled up on the bed and not roused at all by Keith’s screaming.

The dark red tendrils were at Lance’s chest, two creeping to circle around his heart. 

He didn’t have time.

“It’ll hurt him,” Keith said quietly and Red did not deny it.

It would hurt.

It would be agony.

But it would save him.

And it was his only chance.

Keith swallowed.

“What do you need me to do?”

Chapter Text

Lance’s screams were burned into Keith’s mind as surely as his skin was burning beneath Keith’s hands where he was pinning him down on the bed.

He wasn’t sure if he was grateful or not that Lance didn’t seem to have any idea what was going on because if he did wake up the only thing he’d probably think was he was trapped in an endless sea of flames between the pain, the heat and the fact both of them were glowing red hot that in other circumstances would be really, really cool but right now all he could feel was burning beyond speech.

This just…

Just needed to end.

Soon.

Keith wasn’t sure how much longer he could—

Red roared at him, making the heat flare even hotter and Keith screamed in tandem with Lance, even if the other boy’s were silent now, his voice gone, and somehow that was even louder.

Push through.

Fight. 

“I am,” Keith choked out.

He had been.

For almost two hours his world had been confined to burning pain and holding Lance down as he writhed and screamed and the poison tendrils just kept climbing and climbing, wrapped around Lance’s neck now almost like a chokehold.

He had no idea what happened if the poison took over every last bit of tan flesh, at first thinking that might be Red’s plan, but the icy jolt of fear he’d felt that was not entirely his own proved that theory wrong.

If Red didn’t burn the poison out before it overtook Lance…

It was too late.

And yet their efforts were seemingly only speeding the poison along.

They were killing him.

But this was his literal last chance. Even if Red’s shields were charged enough — and they weren’t, only at 46% — they would have no time to fly from this planet, get back to the Blades, and somehow come up with an antidote to a poison they didn’t know.

Keith choked back his next scream, tasting blood as he bit through his lip, and bowed his head, crown pressing into Lance’s chest and his fingers tightened on Lance’s shoulders, no doubt leaving bruises.

Lance twitched beneath his grip, legs weakly kicking out but going nowhere as Keith had had no choice but to practically throw himself atop the other boy as movement did make it worse and Lance’s kicks were only helping the poison spread, and he squeezed his knees against the outsides of Lance’s legs, stilling them further.

“Pl-please,” Keith panted, not sure who he was talking to. 

Maybe to all of them.

The fire burned hotter.

The red glow of quintessence that had lost any sort of awe for Keith pulsed with it, glowing brighter as it ebbed and flowed.

But this time…

This time it didn’t stop.

The red was giving way to white flames that burned even more and Keith squeezed his eyes shut, still seeing the glow even then.

It hurt. 

It hurt more than anything else had.

“R-Red—”

He broke off with a strangled scream that overlapped Lance’s attempt of one as he writhed anew at this newest pain.

The world seared white.

And then it stopped.

The light.

The burning.

The pain.

And…

And Lance’s movement.

Keith’s eyes flew, spots of red and white blinking in his vision, and he tried to peer through them to where Lance had gone completely and utterly limp, the quintessence glow gone.

And the red lines of poison…

Were fading.

Keith blinked.

The dark tendrils continued their retreat, unwrapping from around Lance’s neck, shrinking from his feet and revealing tanned, if almost sunburnt looking, skin.

Keith let out a sob as Red’s presence brushed against his own, relief and pride in equal measure channeled to him.

They’d done it.

Lance…

Lance was going to be okay. 

He was really going to be okay.

Keith rolled sideways, flopping onto his back next to Lance, whose breaths had shifted to deep and slow and not the thin, shallow ones of before.

Still alive.

Not dead.

Not dead again .

And Keith was going to keep it that way.

Whatever it took.

xxx

Lance was in no hurry to wake up but that was fine with Keith, who was in no place to have a serious conversation when his limbs all felt like they were made of wet noodles.

It had taken all of his energy to pull himself off the bed and practically crawl over to the cooler, sending a silent thank you to Hunk, as he tore into the first thing his hand grabbed — some sort of pizza-like bread — and chugged a juice pouch before tipping his head back to rest against the doorframe and just breathe. 

From there he’d found the strength to get up, change the bandages on his chest wound as they’d become damp and compromised from sweat and blood, and then he’d given Lance’s leg the same treatment, his bandages spotted too with blood from all of the thrashing.

Lance didn’t so much as twitch as the wound was exposed.

And while it was not pretty by any means and would require a cryo-pod, the angry redness of poison was gone and it was just a wound.

A formerly fatal wound Lance had gotten in saving Keith.

And another reminder to Keith that he could not put off talking to Lance about it.

About…

About everything. 

Lance didn’t move either as Keith hauled him off the bed to strip the sheets, put the emergency blanket down atop the mattress, and then put Lance back on top of that, doing what he could to wipe up the worst of the sweat and sickness.

And then he waited.

His body told him to sleep, that he needed rest, but Keith stubbornly stayed awake, lumbering between the cockpit to check the shields — 56% — and then back to the room behind it to check on Lance.

His thoughts went on a circle with him.

Talking had never been his strong suit and the very thought of it made his stomach clench and he was pretty sure he’d say something stupid and probably make things worse, but tiptoeing around wasn’t an option anymore.

Lance had almost died to protect Keith.

He had died with something involving Allura and given what he’d witnessed in this mission alone he had no doubt it had involved Lance putting himself in danger to protect Allura.

It wasn’t okay.

Neither was planning a kamikaze strike at Naxzela, Keith’s mind pointed out.

Keith shushed it.

That was different.

How, he wasn’t quite sure, but it was.

And not the point right now. That had been a one time thing, a new sort of recklessness for Keith that had been borne of complete desperation because there was no other way to save them.

This was a pattern for Lance.

It was different.

Completely different.

Keith kept telling himself that.

He was on a current pause break in the cockpit watching the shield status when a soft groan sounded behind him.

Keith was at the bedside within a few steps, just in time to see Lance slowly blink open his eyes, staring at the ceiling.

He blinked again.

And then he sat up with a yelp followed by a groan and his body tipped sideways.

Keith caught him by the arm before he could fall off the bed and that drew another breathless shout, Lance’s head whipping around so fast Keith winced.

“Keith,” he gasped, eyes wide. “I… you… Red…wh-what?”

“Breathe,” Keith instructed as Lance floundered for both words and breath. And he said the words he hadn’t allowed himself to promise yet. “You’re okay.”

And at that Lance slumped forward and for a second Keith feared he’d passed out but Lance only brought a hand up to press against his heart, trembling and, as Keith had instructed, breathing.

He didn’t interrupt, letting Lance collect himself, and stepping back to give him space.

He still didn’t know how to say what needed said. 

Reckless, he’d been called.

Instinctual, Keith preferred.

And hopefully that would be enough for what came next. 

A few moments later Lance looked up, dark ocean plagued with none of the fever or haziness meeting Keith’s. “You saved me,” he whispered. “You… you and Red. I… th-thank you. I…”

But Keith didn’t want gratitude.

That wouldn’t keep Lance safe.

“You almost died,” Keith said, and apparently blunt was the direction he was going to take. And he didn’t regret it. 

Lance flinched at that.

Keith didn’t let himself stop.

“But that wouldn’t be the first time, would it?” 

Lance’s mouth dropped even as he paled. “Wh-what? I—”

“You died,” Keith cut off any attempt at denial. “Last week. In the attack that hurt Red.”

And while he’d only sort of been guessing at that Lance’s widening eyes confirmed it.

Keith kept going.

“You died,” he repeated, alarmed to feel his hands shaking and he curled them into fists. “Protecting Allura. And, and you almost died here. You should have died here. Because you protected me .”

Lance just stared at him, tears starting to pool in his eyes.

And saying it aloud…

Keith was realizing that the pattern he’d pegged Lance for in the last two weeks…

It went longer than that.

A lot longer than that.

“You almost died saving Coran,” Keith continued, “when the crystal exploded. You could have died shielding Hunk when you first went to get the Yellow Lion.”

More and more instances were creeping into Keith’s memory, whether he’d witnessed them himself or, like the story with the Yellow Lion, being told to him and none of them, none of them, ever realizing what was going on right in front of them.

Keith had even watched Lance play bait early on up in space, throwing himself out and attracting gunshots and even then he had never realized.

Lance didn’t deny it. 

Just sat there, tear now trickling down his cheek, and looking so small. 

“Why?” Keith whispered.

Lance gave a small shake of his head.

“ Why?” Keith pressed. 

Lance visibly swallowed. “I… I just…” his voice cracked. “People were in trouble. I, I had to—”

“No you didn’t,” Keith snapped. You’re supposed to be a sharpshooter, Lance. Not... not a shield. A human shield.”

“They could have die—”

“And you did!” Keith shouted, resisting the urge to grab Lance by his shoulders and shake him. “You fucking died, Lance!”

Lance shrank back as though struck and it was like cold water had been doused on Keith, hot anger evaporating.

This wasn’t right.

He… he was scaring Lance. 

Breathe.

Focus. 

Connect, just like he had with Red.

“And don’t,” Keith whispered into the thick quiet, “don’t you dare try to tell me you aren’t absolutely terrified by that. Because I am.”

The silence stretched.

“I…” Lance’s was barely audible, gaze trained down at the thick bandages circling his leg. “I a-am. B-but…” 

Keith didn’t interrupt.

Patience.

“But if, if people are in trouble and I can help… I have to. I have to, Keith.”

“I know,” Keith said softly and Lance lifted his head up at that. “I know,” Keith said again, holding his eyes. “But why does that mean you have to get hurt?”

Lance looked away again. 

“No one wants that, Lance,” Keith continued quietly. “There, there are so many people who love you. And care about you. And there’s no way any of them… no way I, ” and Lance looked back up, “want you to get hurt, to, to die, to save us. None of us want to live because you sacrificed yourself.”

Lance sniffled.

“What… what would you have done then?” he asked. “If, if it had been you?”

Keith’s eyes widened.

What? 

“If,” Lance continued, “if you knew someone would die if you didn’t do something. If,” his voice broke, “if you couldn’t bear the thought of losing them? What would you do?”

It was Keith’s turn to stare, feeling his stomach clench uncomfortably, as how could he answer that?

And in that pause a too sharp realization dawned over Lance’s face.

“You,” Lance’s words shook, “you, you almost died too. To save someone.”

Keith swallowed.

It was different. 

But, but maybe…

Maybe not so different.

And if he was demanding Lance answer the question…

He should know the answer too.

And maybe, finally, admit what he’d been prepared to do to himself. 

“Naxzela,” he said, lowering his eyes. “It was going to explode. And, and all of you were still too close. You’d all have died. And so I…” he swallowed. “So when the energy weapons weren’t working and we realized the only way through the barrier was with a direct hit… I took my ship and I… I was going to…”

“No,” Lance breathed. “Keith, no.”

“Lotor’s ship destroyed it just before I reached it,” Keith finished. “But, but if he hadn’t—”

Keith let out a gasp as he was practically dragged into a hug, Lance’s arms tight and trembling around him, fingers digging painfully into Keith’s bare back.

He didn’t care.

And he found his own arms lifting up to wrap lightly around Lance, shuddering out a breath.

“The, the pot can’t call the kettle black,” Lance whispered, breath hot on Keith’s neck. He let out a sort of sobbing laugh. “You, you do know what that means, right?”

Keith nodded against Lance’s shoulder.

“It’s different,” Keith mumbled. 

“It’s not,” Lance protested. “You have a pattern too.”

Keith looked up, pulling out of the embrace at that.

What?

No he didn’t.

“You do reckless things all the time, mullet,” Lance said. 

“Reckless isn’t the same as—”

“And just as reckless as Naxzela?” Lance interrupted him. His voice hitched. “Giving up Voltron. Be, because of me.”

Keith’s breath caught. 

“I, I know that’s not all of it,” Lance said, and it was Keith that time who had to look away, “but you left because there were too many Paladins and not enough Lions. You,” a sob broke through his words, “you said to leave the numbers to P-Pidge. And then you… you just l-left.”

Keith bowed his head, repeating the words he’d told himself so many times. “It was for the best.”

“No,” and there was fire now in Lance’s tone and as Keith looked up he almost swore he saw the red quintessence glow. “No, it wasn’t. We, we miss you. I miss you. And we, we need you. If, if I have to step down—”

“Absolutely not,” Keith snarled, eyes narrowing even as his heart ached at the very thought. “You belong—”

“With Voltron,” Lance filled in, glare just as hot even if tears were springing at the corners again. 

They scowled at each other, saying nothing.

And a few seconds later Lance let out a strangled sounding laugh and Keith blinked, the strange spell broken.

“Look at us,” he wiped at his eyes. “Two stubborn, self-sacrificial idiots. Must,” he mustered up a small smile, “must be a Red Paladin thing.”

Keith surprised himself by letting out a huff that released the tightness in his chest.  

Lance sobered a moment later. “Keith, please. Come back to Voltron. Come,” he swallowed. “Come home.”

Home.

The word echoed in Keith’s head.

Home. 

“Please,” Lance whispered. “We’ll figure it out. But you belong with us, Keith. With, with your family. Where,” his lips quirked up, “I can keep an eye on you, you reckless mullet.”

“Pretty sure that’s my line,” Keith said, throat treacherously thick. 

He couldn’t.

It would never work.

But…

But at the same time…

A touch of fire brushed against his mind, echoing Lance’s pleas.

Come home.

Come home where he could protect his family.

Come home where he would be protected.

Come home where he belonged. 

Keith swallowed.

It wouldn’t be easy.

But…

But it felt right in a way nothing with the Blades ever had or ever would.

And he ever so slowly inclined his head.

“Okay,” Keith said quietly and his hands were shaking as he said it again. “Okay.”

And then his arms were full of Lance as the other boy  practically threw himself off the bed to wrap Keith in a hug. 

That time Keith returned it with the same force, Lance wheezing.

He still didn’t know how things were going to work out, what Voltron would look like now.

But he’d go back.

Because if he and Lance were both going to be human shields, put themselves in harms way to save others because that is what they did and it wasn’t such an easy thing to stop as Keith had thought...

Then this way the shield had a shield to defend.

And the shield had a sword to attack.

And together they would protect each other and help save the universe.