Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Like a strike of lightning, Voltron’s flaming sword finally ripped through Zarkon’s mechanical suit, splaying open the metal and leaving the serrated edges sparking. A harsh cheer, grating with ferocious victory, unanimously rang through their communicator.

Swinging again, the sound of distorting metal vibrated through the sword. Keith’s hands trembled with adrenaline as his grip tightened on his lion’s control, knuckles white. Red was a constant supporting presence that hummed alongside the feeling of his teammates minds working in tandem with his.

“Again!” Shiro commanded, and Lance and Hunk pushed their lions forward, following Zarkon’s retreat. With a bellowing cheer, Keith and Pidge swung the sword, slicing through the severed chest of the mechanic suit. Gritting his teeth against the impact, Keith pushed Red farther, carving deeper into the metal and revealing Zarkon tangled in the wires.

Debris from Zarkon’s suit clattered against Voltron, scratching metal against metal.

Silence settled between them, relief rushing through their veins as they took in the sight of Zarkon. The suit was flayed open, the metal curling outwards like flower petals and exposing Zarkon nestled in a tangle of wires that twisted around his arms and torso. Portions of his armor crumbled around a shard of metal that pierced his stomach, colored with streaks of violet.

“Did we do it?” Pidge whispered, a disbelieving reverence in her tone.

“We can’t be sure. We have to check the body,” Shiro swallowed. “Voltron disband.”

The lions pulled apart, and the soft reassurance of everyone’s minds diminished into a faint buzz. Without hesitating, Keith was plunging out of Red’s mouth and jet-packing to Zarkon. Activating his bayard, he ignored the questions his teammates yelled through his helmet communicator.

Zarkon had to be killed. There was no other way to ensure the safety of the universe and everyone in it.

Keith understood the danger of examining Zarkon’s corpse — exposed in the middle of space, surrounded by enemies with only his bayard for protection.

Flying closer, Keith dodged the debris from Zarkon’s collapsing suit. Taking a deep breath, he charged forward, bayard poised in attack. The sword sank deep into Zarkon’s neck and embedded into the metal of the surrounding machine.

He swore that in this haze of vengeance and his mind just imagined the choking gurgling noise the emperor exhaled around the blade of his sword. Imagined the scent of blood and the suctioning squelch the sword made when he yanked it free from the Emperor’s flesh. That all of that was some fevered imagination, and that he hadn’t taken his first life with his bare hands.

Fear and disgust roiled his stomach, hands shaking as purple blood floated to the surface, darkening the color of the Galra armor.

A flash of memories colored his mind, saturating it with a series of emotions he fought to bury. The state of the Balmera, crying out in pain as the Galra harvested crystals and enslaved her people. The way the Olkari were oppressed and betrayed by their leader who sold and sacrificed his people for his own personal gain. How Shiro was plagued with PTSD that haunted his gaze and dreams, trapped with a permanent reminder of his year of captivity fixed to his arm. How Pidge was still struggling to find her family, lost to the endless Galra empire and expanse of space. How Allura surrendered the last living memory of her father to the people who had murdered and plagued the universe for the last 10,000 years.

The Galra were nothing but the parasites of the universe.

Like a surge of fire in his veins, his emotions overwhelmed him, drawing him under a sea of red like an undertow. Unadulterated Rage.

Thrusting his sword again, he slashed through the remains of Zarkon’s armor, relishing in the spray of blood that dotted his hands and armor. The blade sank deep into the emperor’s stomach, paralleling the piece of metal protruding between his ribs. As Keith ripped his sword from the soft flesh, a large splatter of blood sprayed on his visor. All he could see was blood.

A wave of disgust and fear — of his devouring rage, of his actions, of himself — coiled his stomach. But Keith swallowed it down, only focusing on the fury that burned like embers in his lungs.

His hands shook, and he stabbed into the emperor’s neck, hacking away at the fabric of his armor and the corded muscles of his neck. With a guttural scream, he thrust straight through the sternum and into Zarkon’s heart.

Keith didn’t realize he hadn’t stopped screaming until there were firm arms around his chest.

“It’s over, Keith. It’s over,” Lance whispered as he slowly pulled Keith away from Zarkon’s mutilated body. His head tilted to the side, pooling blood that seemed to drift with the momentum of slashed skin.

Squeezing his eyes closed, Keith focused on the blue paladin’s voice, a calming breeze in the sea of rage and disgust that threatened to drown him.

The firm grasp of Lance’s arms lessened across his chest as they drifted away from the emperor’s corpse. Each breath was ragged as his ribs trembled from the force of steadying his heartbeat. Swallowing harshly, he winced at the sheer rawness to his throat.

Pulling out of Lance’s grasp, Keith turned to give him a shy smile.

Lance just smiled in return, slapping Keith on the arm. “Come on, Mullet. We still have a job to do. Let’s get back to our lions,” Lance stated, starting toward the waiting mouth of his lion.

Keith’s gaze followed Lance, and he noticed that the other paladins were guarding them from the advances of the remaining fighter jets. Gritting his teeth, Keith was reminded that this battle wasn’t over yet.

There was suddenly a charge to the air, an almost palpable energy that danced down his arms and made his hair stand on end. His head snapped toward the origin of the rush of energy, he saw the bolt of purple lightning charging directly toward him — unprotected, floating in space with nothing but his armor for defense.

The energy hit him directly.

“Keith!”

Electricity fried his nerve endings, an endless searing that corroded his lungs. All of his muscles contracted at once, threatening to snap under the resistance. And the only sound left echoing through the comms was his fading screams.

Disorientation hummed in his mind, a fog that ebbed and flowed between unconsciousness and wakefulness. There was the constrictive pressure of his suit across his fingers and his chest. A small breath. Agony like scalding heat rocketed through the marrow of his ribs and down the length of his legs. A moan sounded deep in his throat, instinctual and guttural.

“Keith? Oh god, Keith.”

Flickering lights. A soft touch to his cheek. The brush of hairs against his raw skin. There was the sensation that he had opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. Black and gunmetal grey, and a familiar shape with softened edges like tears had clouded his vision. He couldn’t focus his eyes. He slowly felt them slipping closed.

“No. No! Please, please keep your eyes open. No, I don’t know what’s going on, Shiro! I can’t even think with everyone talking.”

Anxiety tingled in the tips of his fingers and the corners of his mouth. He couldn’t remember anything beyond pain that still danced along his bones, but he knew that he needed to be doing something — something important. With trembling limbs, Keith forced himself to sit up, but every movement was uncoordinated, muscles contracting and struggling independently from the others. It was as if his body was struggling to regain normal functions. Pushing his elbows into the metal flooring, a moan reverberated against his ribs. Every nerve fiber was a conduit for torment. His arms gave out, and he fell back to the floor, head bouncing slightly.

“Just shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!” The voice was growing louder over the softening high pitched hum.

Keith laughed slightly, more of a huff through his nose than anything else, quickly followed by a weak whimper.

There was the soft touch on his cheek again, “Keith! Buddy? You awake?”

“Lance?” He croaked, eyes opening and finally focusing. Lance’s features sharpened, and Keith could see how the blue paladin’s eyes were wide and glossy, tears glistening on his bottom lashes. His face was pale, and there was this slackness to his features that betrayed true fear.

Dark eyebrows knitted together as Lance leaned closer, “You okay?”

Keith struggled to sit up again, but rather than protesting his movement, Lance guided him, hands bracing his torso. He would have fallen back to the unforgiving metal floor of Blue’s cockpit if Lance didn’t have a firm grip on his shoulders.

With a shaky hand, Keith brushed his bangs back, sticky with sweat. His gaze slid from Lance’s pinched features to look around Blue’s cockpit, he hadn’t been in here since the day everything changed, since the day they found Shiro. His gaze landed on his helmet, thrown to the other side of Blue’s cockpit, visor shattered and comms sparking.

An impact forced the lion to shake, drawing Keith’s gaze to the front window, portraying the still raging battle outside.

Red was standing sentry, taking hits and shooting lasers at ships that dared venture too close. Bolts of energy from the base of the Galra command center destroyed any of their own ships that got in the way. They became drifting hunks of metal, lifeless and perfect target practice.

“I need to -”

“You need to rest.” Lance commanded, leaving Keith’s side as he took his seat in the pilot’s chair. He tightly gripped the handles of the blue lion and whispered something into the comms with a broken voice. Keith couldn’t hear what it was over the ringing in his ears.

He stumbled to his feet, hands grabbing at the wall for any form of a crutch. His body still ached, but with each moment on his feet, the pain seemed to diminish.

Without warning, Lance took off, directing Blue into the heat of the battle. But there was a tentativeness to his actions, not daring to take as many risks as he dodged fighter jets and took out lifeless fleets. When a single laser shook Blue’s hide, he turned with a ferocity that rivaled that of a mother lion. With a swinging tail, he iced over a dozen fighter jets.

Lance kept mumbling into his helmet either to their teammates or to himself as Keith gripped the back of his seat, “Bring me to Red.”

There was only silence and the sight of a fighter jet exploding. “No, Keith. We can clean this up.”

“But Voltron -”

“Keith!” Lance barked, shoulders rising quickly as his hands tensed on the controls. “Trust us to handle this,” he whispered in a firm tone that Keith had never heard before, shaped by battle and death and the terror he had seen on the blue paladin’s face earlier.

Keith ground his teeth and tightened his grip on the back of Lance’s chair. Of course, he trusted his team, but if he could get to Red, they could form Voltron — granting them a higher possibility for success and a diminished risk of any of his teammates getting injured.

But it took all of his energy just to steady his legs enough to stand, even with the support of his grip on Lance’s chair. His head swam as he watched the battle through the eyes of the blue lion, nausea threatening to overcome him as Blue took a sharp turn. He knew that he was in no shape to pilot, let alone fight.

So, he could trust his team. He could support Lance from behind. He could stay safe and not distract his teammates from the current battle.

At least that was what he was trying to convince himself to think until he saw an ion cannon strike the black lion in the back.

“Shiro!” Lance screamed, thrusting the Blue lion towards their leader, only to be stopped by a dozen fighter jets. “Shit. Shiro, come in!”

Whatever pain had saturated his muscles vanished, adrenaline buzzing in his veins as he snatched his helmet off the ground. Only stumbling slightly, Keith sprinted out of the mouth of the blue lion and called Red to his side. The last thing Keith heard before bursting into tremulous space was Lance calling his name.

Red snatched him up, open-mouthed and desperate for her paladin.

“Good kitty,” he purred, grabbing the controls and relishing in the blinding fury that had ignited when he stabbed Zarkon. “Shiro!”

“Keith,” Shiro breathed through the static that echoed through the red paladin’s communicator. Gritting his teeth, Keith watched the black lion flail for control through his shattered visor.

“I’ll protect him until he can recover,” Keith directed, guarding Shiro from any Galra that attempted to take advantage of his wounded state. “Everyone else, focus on the other fleets.”

There was a static-filled reply from all of the paladins.

Keith thirsted for blood, taking dives and turns too sharply and digging his jawblade deep into the sides of ships even after Shiro had recovered enough to fight.

But there was only crackling through his communicator, allowing several words with screaming static to slip through. He thought he heard Lance call his name.

“Team, form Voltron!” Shiro called, and it was the first clear sentence Keith heard. But as they began to fly in formation, there was a scream that crackled through all of their comms. It burst with static and the taste of dread, heavy on his tongue.

“Lance!” Hunk’s scream was half crackling. And Keith couldn’t tell if he had only yelled it once or if the crackling had drowned out any of his other cries.

They watched in stunned horror as the bolt of purple lightning enveloped the blue lion. With hungry tendrils, it seemed to devour everything that was Blue until she stilled, floating in space with no light in her eyes.

Was it just static or Lance’s distant screams distorting everything that filtered through the comms? Whatever it was vanished to quiet monotone hums.

Pidge whispered, “Lance?”

There was no response. Hunk dove towards the blue lion, and they all feared the worst. Shiro said nothing, turning with ferocity to shoot his laser at an oncoming fighter jet. Keith heard Pidge take a shaky breath over the quiet hum of white noise.

Hunk began flying closer, “There is a chance that the energy just knocked out his comms. I mean, Keith’s alright after receiving a direct hit!” The desperate hope he held shook in his voice.

Before Hunk could even fly close enough to Lance to check, the singeing sound of an ion cannon fired. The force sent Hunk careening backward, hitting the Blue lion directly in the face and shearing off her jaw. Debris colored the space behind Blue like a small asteroid field, drifting in the beauty of the Milky Way, like ink diluting and drifting in the current of an ever-flowing river.

There was a deafening silence between them, a fear that saturated every breath.

“Lance!” Hunk sobbed, propelling the yellow lion to Lance’s side.

With a scream, Keith tore through the remaining fleets separating him and Haggar, fingers in a white knuckle grip on her controls as she purred encouragements into his mind.

Someone may have called his name, but he could only hear the sound of his blood pumping in his ears and the static of his communicator. Using his jaw blade, he slashed a space big enough to enter through the side of the Galra command center.

Red’s lava melted the walls and the sentries that fired lasers that merely bounced off her hull. Keith ravished the inside of the ship with a twisted smile contorting his features. An explosion shook Red and caused his ribs to bruise against the armrest of his chair.

Snarling with fury, he felt nothing but adrenaline and bloodlust.

He tore through the command center, finding the area where the Druids performed their spells, where they cultivated the blasts of energy that had threatened to tear him from the sky and had sent Lance careening to the earth.

Standing in the middle of the room was Haggar, the witch who had threatened to strike him from the sky. Keith watched her hooded eyes drift from Allura, shrouded in a pink aura, to the snout of the lion that threatened to engulf the room in flames. While she was distracted, Allura sent a blast of aura at the witch, blasting her in the chest and sending her spiraling from the platform and into space.

With a smile, he pivoted Red and incinerated every other druid in the room.

But it still wasn’t enough.

He ignored the pleas of his team through the comms: that it was time to stop, that this was already over, that they had already lost Lance, and they didn’t want to lose him too. But he couldn’t hear them over the rage in his heart and Red’s purring.

Turning his back on them and silencing his comms, he focused his anguish on the castle itself.

He didn’t leave until there was only fire and debris left of the Galra fleet. Swerving around half-charred galra bodies and the mere fragments of nearly-unidentifiable corpses, he flew Red home. The black lion flew close to him, almost escorting him back to the Castle of Lions.

There was a detached sense of reality that saturated his mind, the gossamer-thin veil of a dream. Was it over? Had they truly saved the universe?

With measured steps, he walked down the hallway, helmet held under one arm. He followed the sound of rushing footsteps and cries, finding himself outside the yellow lion’s hangar.

The door was already open, and he could see pieces of blue metal scattered through the threshold. Before stepping into the room, he picked one up with numb fingers and enjoyed the grounding pain that flared through his system as he squeezed the piece with trembling frustration.

Hunk sat perched outside of the torn open face of the blue lion. Her eyes were dull and lifeless, a mirror of her paladin’s. Allura stood with a single hand on a twisted paw, steadying herself. Her features were pale, and not simply from the exhaustion of operating the teludav.

Pidge huddled close to Allura’s side, almost afraid to take a step closer to Blue or Hunk.

Shiro took several steps forward, placing a cool, metal hand on Hunk’s shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking tell me it’ll be okay, Shiro!” Hunk yelled, snapping his head to the side. The limp body in Hunk’s arms flailed slightly at his sharp movement.

Lance’s head lolled over Hunk’s arm, their chests pressed tightly together. His legs were haphazardly draped over Hunk’s other arm as if he’d given up halfway after pulling Lance out of the cockpit. The smear of blood across the white-tiled floor.

Keith’s eyes focused on a droplet of blood that fell from the gnarled metal of Blue’s mouth to the growing puddle on the floor. Taking a small step forward, his feet stuttered and his throat clenched.

“The last of the Galran forces have been eliminated, Princess,” Keith declared, holding tight to the last edges of his threadbare composure.

The group flinched at Keith’s steady voice. Allura turned wary eyes on Keith, nodding firmly. She removed her hands from Blue and folded them in front of her, “Thank you, Keith.”

Keith nodded sharply, clenching the piece of Blue’s hide in his hand.

“Why are you so calm, Keith?” Hunk’s voice cut through the uneasy silence that had settled over them. With features pinched in rage, he stood, cradling Lance in his arms. Keith watched the way Lance’s limbs swung lifelessly against Hunk’s armor, blood dripping faster down Hunk’s chest. “Don’t you care about the fact that Lance just fucking died?”

Keith squeezed the helmet under his arm tighter, hearing the already fractured plastic creak. “I thought it might be comforting to know that we won the battle. To know that Lance’s sacrifice wasn’t for nothing,” Keith exhaled, trying to find any form of patience in this scenario.

“Lance wouldn’t have had to sacrifice himself,” Hunk spit out the word like venom on his tongue, “if you’d just thought about what you were doing for once in your fucking life before diving into things. If you weren’t just as bloodthirsty as all of the other Galra, this -”

“That’s enough!” Shiro announced, voice firm and authoritative. Hunk turned a scathing glare on Shiro, and Keith couldn’t fight the way his gaze drifted to Lance for the first time. The hair that Lance always styled with deft fingers was matted hair on the side of his head, thick with coagulated blood. Lance’s suit dripped blood down the front of Hunk’s armor and onto the ground, pooling around Hunk’s feet. His limbs shook slightly with the trembling of Hunk’s arms.

There was a small sniffle, and Keith’s head snapped to look at Pidge. Her bayard was clutched desperately in her hand, as if she was aching to do something with it, as if there were anyway to fight her way out of this situation, as if there were any way out of this situation.

Ducking her head so that Keith’s couldn’t see the gleam of tears in her eyes, her chin trembled and her voice was a warble, “I - I think I’m going to go check with Coran to make - to make sure that the castle doesn’t need any immediate - uuh - repairs.”

She quickly marched to the door, head down and bottom lip clamped tightly between her teeth. The second she was out of the hangar, Keith heard her run. Heard the desperation in her footsteps and the wracking sobs that echoed down the metal corridor.

He envied her. Envied how she could leave, how she could mourn Lance so acutely. But from the high of the battle, the moments of disbelief still weighed heavy in his chest. Even looking at the limpness of Lance’s body only brought back easily ignored surges of memories from a long-forgotten time on Earth.

Hunk hadn’t moved since Shiro had spoken.

Shiro cleared his throat, “I think we each need to take the time to process this in our own way. Okay?” Keith could see the quiver of Shiro’s chin and the nervous way he licked his lips. Hunk nodded stiffly, and Allura stepped forward. With a calming hand, she directed Hunk out of the hangar - directed him as to where to place Lance’s body.

Lance’s body. No longer just Lance.

Keith stood still, only feeling weighed down by the small squeeze of his shoes on his toes and the piercing pain of the metal in his hand.

“Keith,” Shiro’s voice was barely a whisper. He had taken several steps closer to Keith, but the red paladin didn’t look up to meet his eyes. “You know that what happened to Lance isn’t your fault.”

Keith swallowed thickly and squeezed his eyes closed. And he saw the lifeless sway of Lance’s limbs and the reverence with which Hunk cradled him to his chest. His eyes met Shiro’s. There was a concern in the set of Shiro’s features intertwined with a barely held mask of control.

He felt his chin tremble and the tightness of unshed tears constrict his throat. It was all he could do to just nod. Turning away from Shiro and his watchful eyes, he let grief mar his features. All he wanted was for the black paladin to leave, to let him come back to reality in pieces.

He didn’t want to cry, let alone in front of Shiro. They may have become more than just mentor and mentee at the Garrison, like brothers, like the only family Keith had. But the kind of comfort they were both seeking now wasn’t an aspect of their relationship, not when Keith’s grief was so intertwined with rage and rebellion. And a year of separation and constant anxiety did not cultivate the kind of vulnerability this situation required.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me, Keith,” Shiro spoke softly, always open, always willing. Patting him firmly on the shoulder, the Black Paladin left the hangar.

Tucking the piece of metal into his pocket, Keith walked to Blue’s side and placed a gloved hand on her chipped hide. He ignored the smell of blood and the faint sound of the droplets hitting the floor. With a sigh, he placed his forehead against the cool metal and wished for strength, allowing his first tear to fall.

The next few hours were absolute hell.

Allura had called everyone together for an announcement in the command center. Kolivan stood tall, features stone and steel, even in the wake of Antok’s death. (Victory or death: this had certainly been a victory, and there had certainly been death). But there was a tightness to his jaw and a glossiness to his eyes.

It seemed as though some of the remaining outposts of Zarkon’s forces had surrendered to Voltron, thus calling an official end to the war. They had “officially” succeeded.

However, not all of the bases had surrendered, not all of the planets freed, and not all of the commanders were weakened by the news of their emperor’s demise.

Stepping forward, Kolivan cleared his throat and spoke, “There will be a bloodthirsty battle for the throne.”

“Kral Zera,” another Blade of Marmora member added.

“Yes,” Kolivan nodded, arms crossing as he addressed Allura. “However, with the death of Haggar and the druids, the komar cannot be used to harvest quintessence, which greatly diminishes the force of the Galra Empire even if a corrupt leader claims the throne.”

“The komar,” Allura questioned, fingers clenching at her sides.

“The bolt of energy that struck the blue lion prior to,” and Kolivan didn’t finish the statement.

Purple like lightning as it enveloped the blue lion, consuming and dangerous and rendering Blue defenseless against the ion cannons that sheared off her jaw, killing her pilot. The komar that had struck him in empty space, that had stolen his breath and knocked him unconscious.

Swallowing harshly, Keith shifted in his seat, feeling the piece of the blue lion that was buried in his pocket dig into his hip.

Allura quickly spoke, directing the conversation away from the loss that had weighed their shoulders and settled around them like a fine layer of dust.

She paraded around minor technicalities, directing their attention here and there until Kolivan dismissed the other Blades and exhaustion hung heavy on their eyelashes. Reluctantly, she had to ask about funeral details, her hands clenched so tightly around the control panel that the metal creaked. Hunk had placed Lance’s body in a cryopod that would prevent his body from rotting — oh god, rotting — until they reached Earth.

The Yellow Paladin sat in his seat, hands clasped between his thighs, head hung and shoulders trembling. “He would’ve wanted to be buried on Earth,” Hunk’s voice broke, fracturing around the words. Behind his bangs, several tears fell to his shaking hands, “He would’ve wanted his family to see him at least one last time.”

Keith flinched at the unexpected scream from Pidge. She just turned around and thrust her bayard deep into the back of her seat, slashing through the metal with frenzied strikes. Only after the back of the chair sparked between strips of metal and leaked wires did she stop.

Shaking her head, she collapsed to an undamaged portion of the couch, bayard clattering to the floor as her head dropped to her hands.

“How long until we reach Earth?” Shiro asked, voice tight.

Keith could easily see the despair in the stiffness of his shoulders and the slight puffiness of his eyes. It was a sensation that consumed all of them, settling deep into the marrow of their bones and weighing them down like cement.

Allura cleared her throat, unclasping her trembling hands from the console to bring up the map of the stars. “If we stop at the prison in the Quintar galaxy to receive your father and at the rebel encampment on Tragoch to receive Matt, we should reach Earth in what I believe is 70 Earth hours.”

Pidge raised her head, eyes rimmed red and still glossy from tears. “If you can’t wait that long, I understand. I could just -”

“It’s fine, Pidge.” Hunk’s smile was a weak, broken imitation of every warm smile Keith had ever seen grace his features. “I have to think about what to tell his family first anyway.”

Allura’s eyes quickly darted to Kolivan, clearing her throat and drawing everyone’s attention once again. “However, that time was calculated considering there will be no major disruptions to the plan. And considering the new information that we were just provided about the stability of the Galra Empire, I’m unsure if we can complete this without interruptions.”

“The Blade of Marmora shall attempt to keep the remnants of the Galra Empire from disturbing your mission. However,” Kolivan’s gaze danced across all of them, settling on Keith long enough to make a shiver traverse his flesh, “your job as Paladins of Voltron is not yet complete.”

Keith clenched his fists, reminding himself that he would not let Lance’s sacrifice be for nothing. They weren’t finished, and Keith wouldn’t stop until they were.

Keith had readied himself for bed, avoiding the training area, because he couldn’t forget the sounds of Zarkon choking on his sword. Slipping on a robe similar to the one that Lance always wore, he laughed when he looked at himself in the mirror, thinking about how ridiculous he looked. Lance would love to see him in this - would have loved to see him in this.

Without a second thought, he was stalking through the hallways to the pod bay, squeezing the piece of the blue lion tightly in his grasp.

The room was cold and abandoned, even more uninviting than it had been when they first entered the castle with 10,000 years of dust settled on everything. The scent of Altean cleaner had permanently seeped into the walls and floor, making Keith’s nose wrinkle in disgust.

Exhaling a large sigh, Keith walked up to the nearest cryopod, tentatively peering in at Lance.

The blood that had matted his hair was gone, leaving tendrils to curl around his temples like he had just stepped out of the shower.

Part of him was convinced that Lance would stumble out any second, just like he had when Sendak invaded the castle. He had hated seeing him in there, thinking about how Lance had looked at him, the soft smile on his face that made Keith hopeful that they could be more like comrades, more like friends.

Keith was also very aware of how frightened the paladin had been after accidentally being trapped in a cryopod when the castle went rogue. How he’d talked to Keith in the hallway while they were running for Coran and Shiro. How sweat had dampened their shirts from the adrenaline and fear that coursed through their systems.

Slamming his hand on the release button, he watched the door slowly slide open.

He waited for Lance’s eyes to slowly flicker open or for him to fall forward as Allura had. He waited for the blue paladin to wink one eye open and smirk as if this was all some big prank, as if he was just sneaking out of the Garrison.

But the blue paladin didn’t move.

“Hey,” Keith breathed, flinching at how awkward his voice sounded echoing in the empty pod bay. “I don’t know if you can hear me. Fuck, this is stupid, but I just want you to know that I’m sorry. I know what Hunk said earlier, and just - just - I’m not calm, okay?” Squeezing the fragment of Blue’s hide tighter, he glanced away from Lance’s expressionless face. “Even though we weren’t the closest of friends, I wanted to be - you know, friends with you. I - I’m sorry, Lance.”

Cursing under his breath, he turned away from the Lance and gripped the piece of metal in his pocket harder and harder until in a flash of dulled pain, the skin of his palm split. He hissed, dropping the metal to the floor as he clasped his bleeding hand. The wound wasn’t deep, slicing along the crease in his palm that ran from the base of his hand to his fingers. Papercut-like cuts dotted his fingertips as he shook out the pain.

“Shit,” he mumbled, pressing his palm against his jeans to dry most of the blood before picking up the piece of metal to tuck it into his pocket.

Turning back to face Lance, he smiled weakly, reaching out to stroke Lance’s cheek as if to tether down this feeling of disbelief that had surrounded his mind like fog since the end of the battle.

The moment their flesh touched, there was a large electric shock that flared in his fingertips and warped his entire body. Stumbling backwards, he grabbed at his wrist as the room spun. Axis tilting and walls undulating. Nausea tightened his stomach. His head pounded. Fingers trembling, he grappled for support as his vision distorted. His skin felt too tight, and there were flashes before his eyes of scenes he could have never imagined or found the words to describe: ash and blood and a million things that made his heart shudder.

Gripping the control panel with shaky arms, Keith finally caught his breath. “What the hell,” he muttered to himself as he slowly walked back to Lance’s side.

Tentatively, Keith reached for Lance’s face again, expecting to feel the same electric shock, see the same images. He flinched pulling his hand back, but nothing happened.

With less caution, Keith brushed back free strands of Lance’s hair. His hair moved easily, curling delicately around the shell of Lance’s ear. His skin was cool to the touch, almost bitter and biting against the calloused skin of Keith’s fingertips.

Keith noted how Hunk had cleaned Lance up nicely, washing the blood from his hair and the wounds on his face. But Keith refused to note how Lance was wearing the clothes that he had left Earth in — fitting that he would finally be returning to Earth in them. They all had avoided wearing the clothes they wore when they arrived at the Palace of Lions. Seemingly too precious to just wear around the palace. However, Lance wore his jacket more often than any of the other paladins wore their clothes. The hem had been worn down from frequent use and washing.

There was a relaxed set to his lips that Keith had never seen before. Lance had always been smiling or smirking or laughing or frowning. He was always so expressive - even down to his fingertips.

There was a small huff of laughter as Keith remembered the last time he and Lance had actually been civil to each other. Last week in the middle of the night with the lights dimmed and the castle as quiet as space, Keith had been stumbling back from training, only to see Lance rush out of the kitchen with a plate of Hunk’s cookies in hand. They had both blushed, embarrassed to be caught in that moment - Keith shirtless, sweaty, and positively reeking; Lance in boxers and an open robe with a dozen stolen cookies.

Lance’s face had so many expressions that night, ranging from embarrassed to shocked as he sputtered, “What’re you doing here, mullet?” Keith opened his mouth to say something, but Lance cut him off, stepping in close and shushing him, “Neither of us mentions this. Ever! Deal?”

Keith nodded and watched Lance run down the corridor to his room with a perplexed expression.

Now Keith was laughing at the pure obnoxiousness of the interaction, hands gripping the side of the cryopod for balance. Glancing at the ceiling, he closed his eyes and felt the soft trickle of tears burn down the side of his face.

He took a few minutes to breathe before he wiped away the tears and stood up straight. Lance wouldn’t have wanted him to cry over his sacrifice — anyone but his “rival.” It was a noble sacrifice that ensured the safety of the quadrillions of organisms in the universe and the billions of people on Earth. It ensured the safety of his family, and if he knew anything about Lance, it was that he would do anything for the ones he loved.

Keith tucked a loose strand of hair behind Lance’s ear before closing the pod and leaving the pod bay, feeling the weight of the fragment in his pocket and the weight of Lance’s sacrifice settle on his shoulders.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to fall asleep tonight, but he would find a way. They had to liberate a prison camp tomorrow and rescue Sam Holt. He needed his strength.

Keith woke with a blurry sense of déjà vu. His neck protested his sleeping position, propped against the training room wall. A thin blanket had been draped over his chest, and he blinked his eyes open to see Pidge sitting cross legged beside him.

“I won’t tell Allura if you won’t,” she commented, not looking up from her computer.

Keith groaned and rolled out his neck. Pidge’s eyes were red-rimmed, and it was obvious that she had stayed up all night. He was honestly surprised that he had gotten any sleep at all. Anxiety was already singing in his blood, and he had barely been awake for a minute.

He groaned and got to his feet, stretching out his body that had been hunched for the duration of last night.

“Oh,” Pidge started, still completely focused on her computer.

“Yeah, I know.” Keith commented, and Pidge looked up, surprised to watch Keith pry the training room doors open with his fingers. In an attempt to prevent late-night training the day before their largest battle yet, Allura had locked down the training room — not realizing that Keith had already entered.

Sometime after midnight, Pidge had overridden the command and slipped in behind him.

“What’re you doing up, Pidge?” Keith grunted as he defended against another attack from the gladiator.

“Could ask you the same thing,” she grumbled, positioning herself against the wall and tapping away at her computer.

Keith was about to say something else, but the robot charged forward with the intent to kill, so Keith was thoroughly distracted.

Slumping against the wall hours later, Pidge had announced that using the keypad would alert Allura that someone had been in here.

Neither of them wanted that, especially since Shiro and Coran would most definitely be on her side.

After giving Pidge a half-hearted wave, Keith slipped through the opened doors and sauntered down the hallway. The feeling of déjà vu became more consuming the further he walked and the more awake he felt.

He walked into the kitchen, clothes rumpled and hair still pulled back in a messy bun, hungry for anything to settle his stomach. Hunk stood by the food goo machine, talking expressively with Lance, who was hunched over the kitchen counter. There was a warm mug of the closest thing they could find to coffee cupped in Lance’s hands.

Lance.

He smiled a weak smile at Keith, and by the way his eyes drooped, it was evident that Pidge and Keith weren’t the only ones running low on sleep. But how could one sleep easy knowing that the battle with Zarkon was today?

A flash of Zarkon’s head tilted to the side, blood floating in space. Drifting and splashing purple on his skin.

Keith jumped back and quickly swiped hands down his chest, breath seizing in his lungs.

Hunk raised an eyebrow, “You okay, buddy?”

Keith looked at Hunk and could hear the echo of a conversation in the back of his mind. “Lance wouldn’t have had to sacrifice himself if you weren’t just as bloodthirsty as all of the other Galra.” It was warbled and a poor imitation of Hunk’s voice. A made up memory from a shitty night of sleep.

Lance.

The blue paladin stiffened, tilting his head to the side as he searched Keith’s features with eyes that were blue and expansive and alive.

“You okay, mullet?” His voice was quiet, and there was a lightness to the nickname that Keith hadn’t heard before.

“Keith?” Hunk placed a warm hand on his shoulder, shaking him out of the disorientation that threatened to take route in his consciousness.

Keith realized several tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes, but he couldn’t pinpoint why. Couldn’t pinpoint why seeing Lance’s eyes open or the almost uncomfortable warmth of Hunk’s hands was so comforting.

“Yeah,” Keith whispered, closing his eyes and leaning into Hunk’s touch, “Just a bad dream, I think.”

Lance cleared his throat, nodding as he took another sip of his coffee. “I totally understand that. I don’t think last night was easy for any of us.” Coughing after that statement, Lance turned his gaze to his alien coffee, breathing in the scent and closing his tired eyes. There might have been the slightest blush to his cheeks and ears, but Hunk’s hand dropping from his shoulder distracted him.

Hunk squirted him a large plate of food goo and shoved it into Keith’s hands.

His smile was large, nothing like that broken imitation that sparked in Keith’s mind. “You need to eat. We all need energy if we are going to beat Zarkon.”

“We will,” Keith claimed, sitting down at the table. He wasn’t sure where the confidence in his voice came from, but he just knew they would defeat Zarkon.