Archive of Our Own

Keith was pretty sure he was going to die. He was stranded away from his whole team on a planet he'd never heard of, bleeding out of nearly every limb. He knew it was bad when the question in his head stopped being "What hurts?" and started being "What doesn't hurt?"

It had all started a few hours before. Keith stood in his room. He wouldn’t really classify it as a room, it was more of a bunk. Although, it wasn’t like he minded much. He really kind of preferred it.

He had rolled out of his shelf bed about an hour ago. Korila had woken him up rather shakenly, saying something about an alien planet. He was still mostly groggy and didn’t have much of a clue about what he was going to be doing. 

Getting up wasn’t easy. He was having a particularly good dream that left him nostalgic at best, and melancholy at worst. He could remember through the fuzziness of his rude awakening the basic plot. He was in the red lion, accompanied by a certain paladin clad in blue. 

He had pushed that thought away, letting the cold floors of the ship jolt him awake as the last memories of his dream melted away. 

He dug around in his closet and began fighting with his armor, cursing the blades for giving it so many layers. He rarely had anything other than his armor on, but Kolivan had decided to call a mission on the one day he decided to peel back a few layers and attempt to relax.

After managing to get all his layers on, he reached for his belt, sitting up on the shelf he always kept it on. It just happened to be sitting by a picture of him and the paladins of Voltron tacked up shamefully on his wall. 

He mostly put it there because it was the only picture he had of him and Shiro in space. At least, he convinced himself of that. Keith allowed himself to look at it for a few fleeting seconds before tearing his eyes away to focus on more important things.

The thought lingered. The dream hadn’t helped much. He couldn’t seem to push it away, and the reality of everything sunk in. 

He missed Voltron. A lot. 

He furrowed his brow. He liked being a blade. He was forced into Voltron without much of a choice. Of course, he would prefer the blades. He should prefer the blades. 

Still, the picture put a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach. He reached up, peeling the tape gently. His hands brought the image closer, tracing over his old teammates. He tried to convince himself he was just looking at Shiro, but he knew he wasn’t. 

He was staring at his dream, and his dream was staring back through the lens of a camera. 

The door to his right slid open without warning. Korila stood, dressed in her armor already. “Ready?” she asked. 

Keith’s hands flew to move the picture behind his back, somehow embarrassed for being…whatever awful emotion this was. He’d never really felt it before, and couldn’t seem to have a name for it. All he knew was it sucked, he hated it, and it was probably Lance’s fault. 

“Almost,” he managed to answer, sounding semi-confident.
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you alright?” With a mother’s intuition, she picked up on the subtle tones of his voice.
“I’m fine,’ he said, a little too rushed to sound convincing. 

He nodded swiftly, turning his head to dismiss her. Like any mother, she hovered in the doorway uncertainly, reading Keith like a book she memorized years ago. After a few short moments, she gave up and walked away. Her footsteps retreated down the hall, though they lacked their usual certainty. 

Keith waited for the door to click shut before sighing, giving the picture one last glance, and setting it face-down on the shelf. Something about that made it easier to leave it. He pushed down any lingering thoughts of his old team and walked out of his room to face his new one.

He walked down too-quiet halls into an equally quiet meeting room. A table with not enough chairs sat in the middle, a screen behind the head of the table. What Keith assumed was supposed to be a plan was scribbled desperately, a firm contrast to the usual neatness of the Blade’s plans. 

As people filled in and Kolivan started to explain the mission, Keith busied himself with staring at the floor and not paying attention in the slightest. He didn’t realize his mind was wandering until all the agents were standing and walking to the ship's hatch. He scrambled to follow, earning a slightly furrowed brow from Korila. He wasn’t sure if the look on her face was concerned or annoyed, but decided both were equally bad.

His thoughts were nothing important. They felt scrambled as if they could overlap and happen at the same time. Keith was used to a sense of quiet within him during missions, and this was a far cry. 

His racing mind carried him to the open doorway of the Blade's ship. Krolia and the rest of their team for the mission milled around behind him. His eyes scrutinized the surface of the planet, looking for something to focus on outside of his mind. 

From what he gathered from eavesdropping after the meeting, there was word that there was a secret base for Zarkon's best soldiers, but they weren't too sure which planet it was on. They'd landed here and were getting ready to explore it. 

Everyone was head to toe in gear. Keith could feel that familiar buzz of uncertainty going off in his head, though it was accompanied by a hundred other thoughts. 

His brow furrowed as he looked out at the vast expanse of nothing. A firm hand clapped his shoulder, silencing his brain at last and making him jump so hard he was surprised his armor didn’t fall off. 

He whipped around to find Klovian. He stood authoritative as always, tall and certain. Keith felt small next to him like he did when he stood next to Shiro as a kid. Of course, he felt small next to most of the blades. His ego could usually make up for it, but not with Klovian. 

"We need to stick together here," Klovian said, gruff. "I know you have a habit of wandering off. We don't know what is out there.”

Keith nodded, biting back his quick tongue and looking down at the blade in his hands. He resisted every urge to say something along the lines of "Maybe you guys should just keep up," and focused his eyes back on the horizon.

Kolivan took notice of the severe lack of snippy responses from Keith and looked down at him. “Are you alright?”
Keith attempted to look normal. He failed. “Yeah,” he mumbled.

Kolivan removed his hand from Keith’s shoulder and walked away, decidedly giving him some space.

Once it was decided that they weren't getting any more ready than they already were, they were all hopping out of the ship and onto the rough, sandy terrain. Keith patted Kosmo's head bye, hugging him extra tight and giving a commanding "Stay," over his shoulder.

Everything on the planet was dead. There was no greenery, only dirt, and dust that found its way into Keith's eyes no matter how far he pulled his mask down. His mind screamed that it would be easier for them to find something in the wasteland if they split up, but a glance at Kolivan from behind him told him that may not be the most welcomed idea to bring to the table.

The dirt was red, and not in the southern way he was used to. It was too red, too cracked, too littered with metal, pollution, and the vague stench of death. 

Keith shifted uneasily between human and Galran, not quite sure which would aid him for now. His Galra ears were too sensitive for the tumbling wind, and his human eyes couldn't see through the blowing sand. He was thankful he had the gift of fine-tuning, switching between human and alien, while the rest of the Blades suffered with their simpler genetics.

Keith wasn't mad at his sensitive ears for too long, though. He whipped around swiftly at a small sound off in the distance. Everyone else stopped in their tracks, heads swiveling towards the little movement. Their eyes pierced through the blowing sand easily, identifying nothing.

Keith wrote himself off as paranoid and kept walking. His hands gripped his blade a little tighter, jittery. Something he hadn't felt in a long time tugged at him, begging him to turn around and go back to the ship and act like this hadn't happened. He convinced himself in two seconds that:
1. He could go back to the ship and the mission would disappear.
2. That would absolutely not happen because he is a headstrong asshole and cannot give up on anything ever, no matter how dangerous it was. 

So, he picked his way over metal scraps behind his fellow Blades, much like ducks in a row. He was smaller than the other Blades, even in his Galran form. Right now, he felt especially like a little kid dressed up in armor. He wasn’t used to that feeling. He hated it.

Keith scrutinized the ground as he walked. Something about the terrain fueled his natural skepticism. It didn’t look natural. The bits of scrap and tattered environment put him off, like a haunted building left to rot for years. 

Keith didn’t believe in ghosts, but it was a creepy place and he kept hearing something off in the distance. 

Suddenly, before anyone could draw their weapons, a shot rang out. Purple lasers whizzed right by Keith’s head, and he would’ve had brain toast for lunch if he hadn’t been stepping so cautiously over the metal. 

Every Blade member drew their weapon, pressing their backs against one another as a Zarkon soldier made itself more noticeable in the flying dusty wind by walking forward. 

Keith attempted to make a headcount of the agents in the circle, but the realization that they were missing a few people made him too scared to count the rest. All he knew was Korila stood on his right and Kolivan was on his left. He realized they had done that intentionally, both agreeing he seemed off and needed extra protection. He knew there was currently a gun aimed at him, and he should be a little more focused on that, but he couldn’t help but feel a smidge patronized.

Still, the bullets were relentless. It was when they suddenly started multiplying that Keith realized they had been surrounded under the cover of the impossibly sandy air. 

The agents were faced with a decision, and it seemed to be a split one. Half the team ran scattered, while the other half stayed planted in place and pulled out their weapons. 

Keith felt both Korila and Kolivan tense beside him, realizing just how few of them had stayed within the circle. Keith decided if they wanted to stand there and get shot, they were free to do that, and he dragged out his knife to run headfirst into more danger. Shortly after, he heard the footsteps of the remaining members running to dodge lasers as they persisted.

Keith’s eyes locked onto a soldier who was directly aiming for him. He strained his eyes against the sand flying in the air, suddenly having a new appreciation for his mask, and ran forward with the conviction of a man who thought he was immortal. He was soon to remember that he was not.

He managed to get closer, swinging his blade to both deflect the bullets and attempt to graze his opponent. The soldier was smart, though, and began to run. 

Keith, of course, followed. He didn’t know what he was hoping to find. All he knew was this guy had shot at him specifically and he was going to find out why. 

He really should’ve known it was a trap. There were a lot of signs, such as the soldier running just fast enough for Keith to keep up and ceasing his shots. 

Of course, he didn't actually realize until four more soldiers were surrounding him, each one with a gun pointed at a different part of his body. 

He panted under his mask, cursing himself for such an easily avoided situation he was now put in. He looked over his shoulder and was met with a laser gun and the sandy abyss of the horizon. The sinking feeling in his chest came back, watching as the soldiers moved closer.

One poked him in the back with their weapon, nudging him forward harshly. The barrel was still hot, warm enough to send a slight shock through all the layers of his armor. 

Keith stepped forward begrudgingly. The soldier nudged him again once the others shuffled forward a few steps. Keith realized with a sudden jolt that he was being escorted somewhere, and he felt his heart racing in his chest at the thought of being held captive.

The only thing stopping him from fighting back was the guns pointed around him and the fact that he had no clue where they were or how to get back to the ship. 

His hands weren’t bound and his knife stayed gripped in a gloved hand. Keith was currently doing the one thing he hated, waiting. 

He had always been an impatient person. He had been that way his whole life. Shockingly, having multiple guns pointed at his head didn’t make him any more forbearing. 

Still, he waited. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but his eyes still shifted between the soldiers as they walked. 

By some stroke of luck, two of the soldiers noticed the lights on their guns go off. They both banged them against their palms, trying to get them back on. 

Keith wasted no time in slashing his knife. The soldiers shot at him, but with there being only three it wasn’t too hard to evade the lasers. 

Keith pushed one to the ground, dust flying up around them. He sliced through the sand but nothing happened. There was no blood, no scream, no pain. Nothing but the clank of metal against metal. 

The dust settled and he saw the soldier beneath him, completely unbothered by the knife poking pathetically at his armor. 

Keith spun around, looking between all the soldiers and their impenetrable armor. Two barrels looked back at him.

Keith scrambled to his feet and put his faith in his middle school track and field skills. Laser bullets whizzed past him until they weren’t going past him but instead going into him. 

A red-hot pain shot down his arm as his shoulder was zapped. The Blades armor was supposed to be bulletproof, but Keith was fairly certain now that they weren’t. 

He attempted to duck behind a chunk of metal scrap, but apparently, that wasn’t bulletproof either. He took another laser to the side. It seared into his skin, making him feel like he was boiling. 

Keith panted, lungs feeling like they just couldn’t get enough air. He was faced with two options. He could either stay here and get shot at until they caught up to him, or he could run and risk bleeding out in the middle of nowhere. A tough choice, really. 

He decided to run, forcing himself to his feet and kicking up dust. The lasers dwindled until finally, he was just running. He didn’t dare stop, though, and kept running until he spotted an abandoned and weathered ship in the distance. 

It sat half sank into the sand, metal scrap surrounding it under the light of the setting sun. Keith would’ve thought it was interesting or maybe even pretty if he wasn’t currently bleeding out. 

He finally stopped running when he practically collapsed into a little nook of the battered ship. 

He ripped off his mask, lungs begging for more air. It ended up being a bad idea as dust and sand flew into his eyes and mouth, but he squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t stop panting until he had enough air in his system to register the pain searing through his body. 

He looked down at his armor. It was chipped and torn, charred at the edges from the lasers. A sickening amount of blood poured out of his wounds, reminding him that he had never been hit so directly with a bullet before. 

The whole world was spinning, and Keith was fighting his abnormally heavy eyelids. Sweat forced sand to stick to his face, but he couldn’t care less about it. 

His whole body ached. Even worse, he was just met with the realization that he could die from this. Keith had, over all his quests, forgotten he was capable of that. Sure, mortality dangled in front of his face on the daily, but he had never come so close to it before. 

He coughed into his hand and tried to ignore the new blood in his palm afterward. He wheezed until a voice pulled him out of his pain for half a second. 

“What’re you doing?” It asked. It was familiar, a voice he couldn’t remember if he liked or hated. There was a slight hint of amusement to the tone, but Keith didn’t have it in him to be mad. 

“Dying, probably,” he answered intellectually, coughing in the middle of his words. He laid his head back on the hot metal, which certainly didn’t make his brain feel less like scrambled eggs. 

The voice laughed, a familiar laugh that was almost snarky. Keith forced his eyes open. 

They landed on Lance, of all people. The surrounding area was a beautiful grassy plain. The sunset cast shadows across Lance’s frame, lighting him like an angel. He wore a blue flannel, one Keith had only heard him talk about as being his favorite. His clothes were well worn, jeans that turned white at the knees and threatened to bust and a shirt so old the graphic had mostly come off. 

Worst of all was his smile. Keith rarely got to see much of it, but it looked just like it did in the few fantasies and daydreams he allowed himself. 

“Lance?” Keith asked as if the obvious appearance wasn’t enough. He’d recognize Lance anywhere, even while he was bleeding out in the middle of nowhere. 

“Who else would it be?” Lance chuckled. He walked over and sat beside Keith. He leaned back on an oak tree, but Keith could’ve sworn there were no trees for miles. “Aren’t the flowers nice?” 

Keith forced his eyes away from Lance and towards the horizon. Among the grassy hills were a thousand flowers. The wind blew through the grass, filling his lungs with something other than sand. 

Keith, for a brief moment, had forgotten about his pain. It came flashing back in a second. Lance leaned his head on Keith’s shoulder, which didn’t help. 

“Close your eyes,” Lance said, sounding giddy. 

Keith couldn’t help but oblige. Sleep sounded good right now, too good. He leaned back and shut his eyes. 

“Keith!” The same voice yelled though it was torn with distress. Keith forced his eyes open, the image from before melting away and into a much different one. 

A new Lance stood before him. He had lost his flannel and now wore their armor. His armor, Keith corrected in his head. He wasn’t a paladin, Lance was. He found it in himself to frown at the realization they no longer matched. 

“Lance?” Keith asked again, voice groggy and a little desperate. It couldn’t be Lance. Lance’s armor was blue, not red. This was most certainly a clone or an illusion because that made way more sense.

“Who else would it be!?” Lance asked, flailing his arms. He practically ran to his side, boots kicking up dust with the urgency of his steps. 

He knelt beside Keith, who would’ve protested if he wasn’t so tired. He felt what he assumed to be the last of his blood rush to his injuries and practically fell into Lance’s arms. 

The last thing he remembered was falling to the ground and the sharp pain of Lance grabbing him desperately to stop him from face-planting. He also remembered that he failed, and his nose hurt. 

Keith woke up to the sound of Lance and Korila talking. He grumbled, voice hoarse and memories hazy, and forced his eyes open. 

He found himself inside the red lion. It was too familiar to be mistaken for anywhere else. He was in the cockpit, but the voices from the back of the lion were audible through the open door. 

He attempted to sit up, and instantly regretted it. Lance said something to Korila, the sound of footsteps now filling the chatter as he came closer to the cockpit. 

Lance leaned into the doorframe, looking at Keith with a softness Keith had never seen on him before. He decided through groggy thoughts that he liked that look. 

“Hey, buddy,” Lance greeted awkwardly, walking in and sitting at the end of the uncomfortable cot. 

Keith didn’t bother trying to talk and instead busied himself with looking around through half-lidded eyes. Lance looked exhausted, armor scraped and a bandage wrapping his hand unsuccessfully. He also wore Keith’s old armor. The red clashed with Keith’s mental image that exclusively painted him in blue. 

Keith wasn’t fully awake yet, but he felt himself wake up a little more at the feeling of Lance’s hands undoing the bandages wrapped around his shoulder. His armor was half on, the top layer removed but his undershirt stayed stuck to his skin with blood and sweat—a truly sickening combo. 

“Same old Keith,” Lance mumbled, brows furrowed as he unfurled a new bandage. 

Keith coughed to the side, watching Lance’s nose scrunch in disgust. He’d rather he had a little more sympathy, but he could understand not wanting to be coughed up blood on. 

“You’re…not real,” Keith mumbled, words blurring together just like his thoughts. He wasn’t entirely certain what he was saying, but he was pretty sure he was in heaven or something. 

“What?” Lance asked, hands pausing what they were doing.
Keith coughed again. “I’m dead,” he said, as if he were saying the sky was blue. As if he was saying Lance’s armor was supposed to be blue.
Lance raised his eyebrows and continued working. “If you say so. You look pretty alive to me, though.”

Keith took that into consideration. He decided that if the pain rushing through his body was any indication, he was most likely alive. 

He sat up again, watching as Lance rushed to attempt to spot him. He shooed his hands away, as stubborn as ever to do everything alone. Keith managed to push himself up so he was leaning against the wall, the cool metal helping to ward off the incessant heat. 

“You need stitches,” Lance said.
Keith squinted at him. “You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“Besides the point.”

Lance sighed, reaching for the med kit on the bed beside him and picking up a hooked needle. Normally, Keith wasn’t so squeamish, but his already sick stomach was churning at the thought of the oncoming stitches. 

He pushed Lance’s hand away. “Not yet,” he heaved.
Lance raised an eyebrow but lowered his hand. “Alright. I’ll let you get your bearings.” 

Keith didn’t know where to look but at him. He examined his armor, the same armor that Keith used to wear. 

“Red isn’t your color,” he said before he could stop himself. 

Lance gestured at the dried blood on Keith’s body. “It doesn't look particularly good on you right now either.”

Keith scrunched his face up. The Lance he had last seen would’ve said that with a slight lift in his voice, letting him know it was a joke. The Lance in front of him didn’t seem to be finding this situation very funny. 

“Are you mad at me?” Keith asked, trying to make himself sound more confused than upset.
Lance nodded. “Yes.”
“…why?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you abandoned Voltron when I— we —needed you.”
Keith looked confused. “You guys are handling yourselves just fine?” 

Lance just rolled his eyes, picking up the needle and holding it to his skin. Without warning, he pressed it into Keith’s shoulder. Keith tried not to yell in pain and failed. Lance seemed to relish in his agony. 

“Ow, ow, stop. I wasn’t ready,” Keith said like a kid getting a bandaid ripped off. He wiggled away, which didn’t help with the pain. 

“I wasn’t ready to pilot the red lion. You don’t hear me complaining.”

Keith scowled, but let him go on with his stitching. Between the occasional stabs into his shoulder, he found himself reflecting. 

Lance looked the hollowest Keith had ever seen him. His blue eyes looked less like the ocean and more like stormy skies, as if a hurricane had come through and wrecked the one person Keith was certain could never change. 

“How did you get to this planet?” Keith asked if only to distract himself from the guilt building in him.
“Red brought me here. She said you were in danger.”

“And you came?” Keith asked again, putting his hand on the metal as a thank you. The machine seemed to hum in acknowledgment, making the both of them shiver. 

Lance looked up at him for a split second before looking back at his shoulder. “Of course I did.”
“I thought you were mad at me.”
“Not mad enough to let you die. We may not be on the same team anymore, but you’re still my teammate, Keith. Even if I’m not yours.” 

His fingers worked softer than they had before, no longer aiming to cause minimal harm and now aiming to cause none. Keith was tempted to ask when he had the time to learn first aid but decided through half-loopy thoughts that was probably not an appropriate conversation switch. 

The new silence forced Keith to reflect more, which he wasn’t happy about. Lance had moved on from his shoulder to his side by the time Keith had made a final realization:

He felt really bad for leaving Voltron. 

Sure, the Blade’s work was more his speed than Voltron's ever was, but it didn’t feel right. No matter what he did, it still felt wrong. He was among his friends and family, what was supposed to feel like home, but it didn’t. 

Maybe it was the blood loss, maybe it was the pain shooting up his body at every tiny movement of the needle, but words poured out of him before his barely working mind could stop them. 

“I don’t miss Voltron—”
“Good for you.”
“—I miss you. ”

Lance didn’t respond until he had tied off the last of the stitches. His hands pulled away, and he looked at Keith with big, watery eyes. 

“Don’t say things like that,” Lance said quietly.
“Why not?”
“You shouldn’t lie.”
“I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Lance stared at him blankly for a second. He reached a hand up to wipe away a tear, but Keith’s good arm was faster. He wiped his cheek with the back of his knuckles. 

Lance looked away, a painful but understandable rejection. 

“I don’t think I can forgive you for leaving,” Lance said, voice smoothing itself over with an emptiness Keith wasn’t used to on him.
Keith looked like a kicked puppy. “Could you try?”
“I have tried.”
“Try again?”

Lance looked over at him, tears still sitting in the bottom of his eyes stubbornly. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Keith. 

“You’re such an asshole.”
“I know.”
“I’m really pissed at you.”
“I know.”
“I’ve loved you for a long, long time.”

Lance’s voice cracked on the last statement. He pulled away to look at Keith’s face, studying him. 

Keith hadn’t known that. He wished he had.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said. He had never been very good at apologies, but he hoped the two simple words could carry the months of regret that had been bubbling inside him. 

In a rush, Lance leaned forward and pressed their lips together. Keith leaned away at first, but upon realizing just how badly he’d been secretly wanting this, he let it happen. 

Lance's lips felt so soft against his own that he was pretty sure this was just another hallucination, or a dream, or maybe even some kind of afterlife he’d stumbled into. Whatever it was, he let it linger. 

It lingered too long, as Korila walked into the cockpit and cleared her throat. 

Lance shoved him off, cheeks bright red. Keith’s would’ve been too if he hadn’t bleed most of it out. 

“Ow, ow,” Keith said, hand flying to his side.
Lance looked between the two, not sure who to focus on. “What?!”
Keith winced. “I think one of my stitches ripped.”
“Oh yeah, I’m not very good at giving stitches yet.” Lance shrugged, as if that was a perfectly acceptable response, and looked to Korila. 

“Sorry for…interrupting,” Korila said, looking between her son and the boy she’d only seen before as his biggest rival. “One of our members needs some medical attention when you get the chance.”

She walked away awkwardly, shutting the sliding metal door behind her. 

“Where were we?” Keith said, turning his head back to Lance and trying to ignore the flaming pain in his side. 

Lance scoffed and flicked the edge of his shoulder, sending a light but painful jolt through him. “I’m not kissing you again. I’m still mad at you.”

Lance stood from the cot and walked away. Keith kept his eyes on him as he left, trying to figure out his emotions. He still seemed a little upset, but he lingered in the doorway for a split second, like he didn’t want to leave. Keith could’ve sworn he saw the edges of his mouth turn up into a smile as he walked away. 

Keith, despite being banged up and suffering injuries he would remember for the rest of his life, felt oddly peaceful at the sight of the tiniest smile. He didn’t need to feel at home in Voltron, or with the Blades. All he needed was Lance.