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Chapter Text

The last time Keith tried to excuse himself from a conversation where someone was clearly flirting with him, he insulted the princess of the planet they were trying to win over and almost cost them the alliance. That’s why he’s still participating in this conversation he has absolutely no interest in, if nodding and occasionally humming counts as participating.

“That’s when Mother realized that I, too, had the ability,” the girl says. Keith can’t remember her name, but she — like the rest of her people — has a third eye in the middle of her forehead. It blinks out of sync with the other two and is blue rather than black.

“Fascinating,” Keith says, even though it’s not. More than half the people on this planet have the ability to do what this planet is literally known for.

Across the room, Shiro looks genuinely interested in the conversation he’s having. He has a smile on his face, and as Keith watches, he seems him laugh, his grin growing wider. The noble he’s talking to raises his glass in a “cheers” motion and they both shake their heads, amused.

Allura is near the queen’s throne, where the queen herself has been standing for most of the night. She’s most likely schmoozing it up, listening to all the queen’s boring stories now that they’re allies. Keith’s never really understood this part of the night.

Inviting someone to the coalition usually goes like this: they either receive a distress signal and show up to help, the planet joining the coalition out of gratitude, or they receive a transmission along with an announcement that a planet wants to join. About half the time, once they arrive, the planet has a secret agenda and wants Voltron to do some extra task for them — one that’s not life-threatening to their people and is honestly a waste of Voltron’s time.

With either scenario, the end result is almost always the same. The planet is ecstatic to now be a part of the coalition and wants to show their gratitude in some special way — a party, they decide. Except it’s not even special because they have to attend these kinds of parties all the time. And instead of being fun, they’re just exhausting and political and unavoidable.

You can’t say the wrong thing and you can’t retire early because then you might hurt the new alliance — go figure.

Although, when Keith scans the room as the alien keeps talking to him, he realizes that Pidge is nowhere to be found. She must be the only person who ever gets away with it. At some point during most of these parties, she somehow manages to slip away. And no one ever yells at her after the fact.

It looks like Hunk has succeeded in escaping the sorts of conversations that bore the hell out of him by standing near the drinks table. There, the majority of people are holding glasses of something fizzy and they’re laughing louder than most. In fact, Hunk seems to be laughing quite a lot as well. Huh. Lucky bastard.

“Of course, I didn’t tell her that because I didn’t actually want her to know,” the girl says, followed by a trilling laugh. Keith has totally lost the thread of the conversation. He makes his best effort to look amused.

The girl waits, an expectant look on her face, and Keith realizes that he’s probably supposed to respond. Oh God, he has no idea what they’re even talking about. And while he almost ruined an alliance once by excusing himself from a conversation, he’s come much closer many more times by simply being bad at conversing — either saying the wrong thing or making it obvious that he wasn’t listening in the first place.

He opens his mouth, hoping that some combination of words will just fall into his head, when an arm lands on his shoulders and pulls him into someone’s side.

“Look at you, chatting up the pretty ladies!” Lance interrupts. His voice says teasing and obnoxious but his touch says comfort and escape. He knows Keith is gay, and he knows even better that Keith sucks at this part of being a soldier. The talking, schmoozing, interacting part.

“Wow, you are way too pretty for our Keith here,” Lance continues, leaning closer to the girl and turning on the charm. Helpful, in that he’s drawing her attention away from Keith. Downright painful, in that Keith would much rather have him flirting with him, as embarrassing as it is to admit it.

Keith flushes, glaring toward the opposite side of the room even as Lance squeezes his shoulder just a little bit tighter.

The girl giggles. “That’s not true,” she says, flattered anyway.

Lance just grins. “Anyway,” he says, “I’m really sorry to interrupt, but I need to borrow Keith for a second. Is that okay?”

“Of course!” the girl says, and Lance flashes that bright smile at her before dragging Keith halfway across the room.

“What’s going on?” Keith says. “Why do you need me?”

Lance scoffs, shooting Keith a look. “I was saving you from that conversation,” he says. “You looked so bored I thought you were going to fall asleep.”

“Thanks,” Keith murmurs. Lance just hands him a drink, swiping it off a tray as a waiter walks by.

“I’m excited for the afterparty,” Lance says, sighing and leaning against a pillar behind him.

“If you can call it that.”

“Dude, it’ll be way more fun than this,” Lance says. “An alternate reality! We’re gonna get a peek just for helping ‘em out. How awesome is that?” Very awesome, is clearly Lance’s opinion of the whole thing, because he lifts his drink and waits until Keith taps it with his own before taking a sip.

“I think it’s creepy,” Keith says. “The thought of other versions of us, experiencing slightly different lives…”

“No way,” Lance says. “I bet they’re drastically different! I bet there’s versions of us that, like, never found the blue lion. Maybe there’s versions where we’ve beaten Zarkon already!”

“Or got defeated,” Keith mutters.

“Shut up, we’re awesome in any reality,” Lance says.

Pidge steps into view from behind the very pillar Lance is leaning on at that moment, also holding a drink. “Have you guys seen Shiro?” she says, her eyes darting around.

Keith finds Shiro talking to the same people he’d been talking to earlier. He gestures toward them.

“Ugh, thank God,” Pidge says, right before taking a swig of her drink. “Ever since he found out it’s only been four years since we left Earth, he’s been trying to stop me from drinking.”

“I still say those calculations are wrong,” Lance says. “It feels like way longer.”

“That would make you eighteen now anyway, right?” Keith says. “That’s a legal drinking age in some places.”

“I know!” Pidge says. “Are we really going to follow one country’s laws? While we’re in space?”

“Shiro is such a stickler for the weirdest rules,” Lance says, amused. “Remember that time when he almost talked us out of an alliance with those whatchamacallits? The Sinstras, or whatever?”

“Well, they were trying to force their religion on us,” Keith says. “It’s not right.”

“Sure,” Lance agrees. “But normally he’s all, anything to secure the alliance, you know?”

“Shiro follows his moral code,” Keith says. “He’s probably afraid that Pidge is ruining her brain’s development by drinking this early.”

“I have several objections to that,” Pidge says. “First of all, the brain isn’t done developing until you’re twenty-five, so if that’s the case, none of us should be drinking,” she says. “And I’m already smart — my brain’s fine.”

“No argument there,” Lance says.

“And I’m fighting in a war. I was basically a child soldier. I think I deserve a drink every once in a while.”

“Hell yeah you do,” Hunk says, showing up out of nowhere. He’s still holding that drink from earlier. Or maybe it’s a new one. He’s grinning easily, and he slings an arm around Pidge’s shoulder, shaking her lightly.

This part of the coalition parties, Keith doesn’t mind.

It doesn’t happen always, which is why Keith dreads these parties in general. At least half the time, they end up being as boring and horrible as Keith expects. (Borrible, Lance would say, if Keith said this sentence out loud. He does stuff like that sometimes, combining words, and it somehow always earns him a laugh. Horing, Pidge would probably reply, causing a bigger laugh.)

They’d all end up trapped in different parts of the room, suffering on their own. Keith would blunder his way through conversations he had no interest in, wondering if the others were genuinely enjoying themselves. His eyes would probably find Lance at some point, and he’d be stuck watching him for a minute — grinning and laughing and looking perfectly at ease.

It would make him angry. Wondering how he could possibly be enjoying this boring planet with their weird customs, which they are somehow always expected to follow, even though they never ask anyone else to follow their customs.

And then, like always, Lance would find something to complain about on the way back to the castle-ship. And then Keith would realize that Lance hadn’t actually been enjoying himself back there. He’s just a good actor, and he’d have managed to fool Keith — along with the rest of the people he talked to at the party — once again.

But sometimes, this happens. Lance will snag Keith from a conversation. Or Keith will see Pidge slipping away and be lucky enough to have an excuse at the top of his head, good enough to follow her.

And on nights like those, they almost always end up like this. Maybe it’s some kind of sixth sense they all have, but the second two or more of them are gathered, the rest of them start to show up.

They’ve had their own parties on the castle before. Sometimes Lance will score a bottle of a planet’s finest wine after they’re done visiting. Or sometimes they’ll come back from a space mall and Allura will very innocently set down a bag that clinks, and they’ll all look at her expectantly.

Their parties are always enjoyable. It’ll be just the seven of them. There’ll be no one to impress, no blunders they can make, and they’ll actually have fun. They’ll loosen up and laugh and play games and Keith always goes to bed sated, feeling warm and happy and thankful for this family he found.

“Hunk!” Lance says. “Please tell me you tried their appetizer things. They’re like hotpockets but better. We should get the ingredients!”

“Done,” Hunk says, that easily convinced.

Pidge takes another sip of her drink, just as someone clears their throat. They all turn to find Shiro standing in their circle.

“Shit,” Pidge mutters.

“Pidge,” Shiro says, sounding long-suffering.

“Can it, team leader,” Pidge huffs. “If you want me to stop, you’ll have to stop everyone else, too.”

Shiro gets this pinched look on his face. Probably thinking about how impossible that task would be.

“She’s fine, Shiro,” Lance says. The fight goes out of Shiro — pick your battles, and all that — and then Allura’s rushing up to their group, a smile on her face.

“There you all are,” she says breathlessly. “The queen’s ready for us.”

Lance and Pidge share wide, excited looks. The whole team looks excited, actually, which Keith still can’t understand. The whole concept of what is about to happen just creeps Keith out.

Their people, the Peervida, have a rare ability. And they’ve met plenty of people before that can do weird, fantastical things. They’ve met with oracles and future-see’ers. They’ve talked to people that can clearly see the outcome of any choice — able to tell them with zero doubt what will happen if they have toast for breakfast, or if they engage in a risky undercover operation. (The only problem is they hibernate most of the year — they’re asleep for 90% of it.)

And while some of those abilities creeped Keith out as well, it at least felt more, like, in the realm of possibility. Or less like trespassing, maybe.

Hearing things about their own future felt wrong, like skipping a few too many pages in a book, but at least those people were limited in their ability. They could only see so far into the future, is the thing, and it was at least their future that they were spying on. Same with the people who gave prophecies. Sure, it was knowledge they wouldn’t normally have access to, but at least it was directly related to them.

But peeking into alternate realities? It just feels wrong. Weird.

Keith can’t imagine what they could possibly do with whatever knowledge they receive. Like, if there’s a version of them still on Earth… what can they do with that? Just, know that there are other, safer versions of them out there? A Keith, still without any friends or family? A Lance, still surrounded by all of his?

Or maybe there really is a version of them that’s already defeated Zarkon. How will it help them — especially their motivation — to know that they missed a chance at winning? That it’s their fault they’re dragging this war on even longer?

From Keith’s understanding, there are slightly less alternate realities than one would expect. If Keith had tried to guess how many there were, before meeting the Peervida, he’d have said an infinite amount. Because in his mind, every single choice that any person could make would automatically split into another reality. A reality where he took a shower last night splitting from one where he didn’t.

But the Peervida explained it differently at the meeting prior to this.

For one thing, they have to keep in mind that they’re the same person in every reality. They may have experienced different things, but they’re bound to act the same way. When presented with a choice, they choose what the majority of the versions of themselves would’ve chosen. Which negates the need for millions upon millions of realities in the first place, if the majority of them would just be following the exact same paths anyway.

So, the Peervida explained it a different way. It’s not that realities are created, splitting off from one another to make room for all the choices they could’ve made in any situation. It’s more like… these realities were pre-determined. They all started around the same time. And then, somewhere along the way, something different happened.

Each reality is like an outlier in its own way. Because in each reality, a choice was made — somewhere — that was different than what should’ve been chosen. A version of themselves, or of someone else, made a choice that the majority wouldn’t have. And that’s why different realities are different in the first place.

There’s still a lot of them, apparently. Probably too many for their minds to comprehend. But it’s small and manageable enough for this species, at least, to sort through them. To see all the possible realities at once.

Keith realizes out of nowhere that he’s walking — that he’s been following his friends through the throne room without being wholly present. The queen is no longer by her throne, and Keith assumes she’s wherever Allura is leading them now, through a somewhat secret door behind the throne, and into the hall beyond.

It’s a short hallway, the walls made of stone and lit with interspersed glowing lights, and they arrive in a new room at the end of the hall. It’s bigger, but not by much. An intimate chamber, the lights softer here. There are cushions on the ground for seating — enough for all of them — and a throne-like cushion on the opposite side of the table. (If Keith’s being completely honest, it’s a beanbag).

The queen is already seated. Before her on the table is what can only be described as a crystal ball. It’s completely clear, reflecting the lights that shine on it. She’s sitting with her hands in her lap, two of her eyes closed but her third one wide-open.

“Welcome,” she says, the second they’re all in the room. “Please, take a seat.”

Keith sinks onto one of the cushions, cross-legged.

“As you know, my people can view every alternate reality,” she begins. “But it takes a long time. Normally, our scholars split up the realities and focus on just a few. It’s an admirable profession.”

“Of course,” Allura says.

“Today, I’ll just be observing the reality closest to our own.”

There’s another thing about the Peervida’s abilities. They can see into the alternate realities, but they can only see what’s happening in those realities to people they’ve met before. Mostly, they spy on their own planet. Sometimes enemies and allies they’ve met. Now, they can see what’s happening to Voltron.

Keith doesn’t doubt that all the people at this party — those with the ability to See, anyway — will have a grand time spying on them tonight. They’ll probably watch whatever realities are most interesting. Ones where everything is completely different. Ones where they’re celebrating the war’s end or suffering its losses.

And there’s one other thing they were told during the meeting, when discussing the Peervida and their abilities. It’s not so much like watching what’s happening over there at that very moment. It’s more like… flashes, they said. And not just of the present. It’s like getting glimpses, seeing where they are at this moment, but also seeing where this moment will lead them.

From Keith’s understanding, time and realities aren’t perfectly aligned. They might actually be a year or two ahead of another version of themselves. Or behind.

“So… they’ll probably be in space,” Lance concludes.

“Correct,” the queen says. “There are realities far different from ours. Realities we can hardly comprehend. Circumstances that led us down completely different paths. It’s rarely of use to base our decisions off those realities, because we’re not even close to them.”

“Right,” Allura says.

“The realities we observe most often are the ones beside us, I guess you could say,” the queen informs. “These are the realities that we are most likely to line up with. The ones that we sometimes mirror directly. They’re also the ones that are most dangerous to us.”

“Why?” Keith blurts. See? He hates this. It’s wrong to know what’s happening in another reality.

“It’s because of how close we are, that they’re dangerous,” the queen explains. “We mirror each other sometimes, sure. But the fact that they’re different realities means that we don’t mirror each other all the time. It means that there are vast differences, and if we’re not careful, the things that we want to be different won’t be. We might mirror them.”

“Well then,” Allura says, finally sounding a little bit worried. They should all sound a little bit worried, in Keith’s opinion. “Let us hope that the alternate reality follows a fortunate path.”

The queen smiles, nodding elegantly. “I will begin,” she announces.

Her third eye blinks shut. Smoke starts to fill the crystal ball. When the queen opens her eye again, it seems to be glowing.

She’s deathly still. Not a part of her moves, or twitches, or anything. Her eye just stares into the smoke in the crystal ball, unyielding.

Keith shifts, uneasy because of her stillness. Beside him, Lance is far more fidgety. But then, he’s always fidgety. Twisting loose strings around his fingers and bouncing his knees and tapping his hands. Lance is like a person who’s made to be in motion. Every time Keith’s seen him asleep, it feels creepy. Not just because he’s looking at a sleeping person, but because Lance is stiller than he’s used to.

It takes longer than Keith would’ve expected. He’s not sure why. He kind of just thought that it would take her a minute or two. That she’d jolt in terror, or open her eyes and smile at them. Instead, minutes pass. The smoke continues to float through the crystal ball. Keith exchanges awkward looks with Pidge, then Lance.

Allura reaches up and runs a hand through her hair, a clear sign that even she is feeling a bit weird sitting here in this silence. Maybe the queen should’ve told them before she began if silence was required. Maybe they won’t even be distracting her if they start talking.

But then, it finally happens. The queen’s third eye shuts, and then all three snap open at once. She stiffens, inhales, and then all her eyes dart to the side and back.

Shit.

“What is it?” Allura says quickly. Keith can feel the tension leaking out of her. Leaking out of all of them.

“It’s… not good,” the queen admits.

“Well, it’s their reality, right?” Lance says, laughing awkwardly. “Their problem?”

A weird look passes over the queen’s face as Lance talks. When she responds, she’s not even addressing him. She’s looking at Allura again.

“Not entirely,” the queen says softly. “As I said, their reality is very close to ours. Without the proper precautions… well. I don’t doubt that you’re likely to follow the same path.”

“We’ll mirror them,” Keith realizes. There’s a sinking feeling in his gut. Horror. Fuck.

He doesn’t know how to feel. Part of him is vindictive. Like, see! I knew we shouldn’t have spied. But then, if they hadn’t, how would they take any precautions at all? They might just mirror their alternative selves blindly. Follow the exact same path, whatever it is.

“What… happened?” Shiro asks.

The queen shakes her head. “Not yet,” she says. “First, we must make a decision.”

“A decision?” Pidge echoes.

“My people… we have a procedure,” the queen says slowly. “It’s slightly… unorthodox. I didn’t tell you about it before. I— I didn’t suspect we’d need it.”

They’re all looking around at each other. Surprise. Suspicion. Fear and unease.

“What’s the procedure?” Allura asks.

“On rare occasions,” the queen starts. “I mean, very rare occasions — never even in my lifetime have we — well. There’s a way we can ensure that we don’t mirror the, er, drastic parts of our sister realities.”

“Tell us,” Keith commands. “We’ll do it. We can’t risk — whatever it is.”

Hunk’s nodding in agreement. Shiro looks similarly convinced, his face determined. He would be, Keith thinks. He’s the leader of their team. He’d do anything to protect them. To keep them safe, to win a battle.

“It’s extreme,” the queen warns. “We’d have to switch one of you. That is to say, one of you would switch places with your alternate self. And they would be able to steer you away from making the same mistakes. Their reality is almost a year ahead of ours, you see.”

They’re all silent. Shocked, Keith thinks. He definitely is.

Is that really… possible? They could just switch one of their team members for an alternate self? Jesus. How would their alternate version even react? Would they really want to help them? They already had to suffer some terrible fate, apparently.

How would Keith feel, if the worst had happened? If they’d, like, lost to Zarkon. Doomed the universe. If he was sucked into some alternate reality, would he be happy to steer them in the right direction? Or bitter, that they’d get to have what he’d missed out on, avoid the mistakes he’d made?

“You’ll switch back, of course,” the queen says quickly. “It should only be for about a month. That’s — that’s when, well. When the biggest changes happened. The rest shouldn’t matter to you, if you’re able to avoid them.”

Shiro’s taking charge. He’s got his leader face on.

“I’ll go,” he tells them. “Whatever’s happened over there, I can deal with it. I’ll be fine. And I’m sure any version of myself would be happy to help you guys. You’re my team,” he says.

Ah. So Keith wasn’t the only one worried about that. He’s not sure whether he should even volunteer. He’s confident in his own skills, of course. He’d probably be fine in some alternate universe, even if there was a lot of fighting involved.

But he couldn’t be sure about his alternate self. He might be too angry. Volatile. Jealous.

Well. Maybe it’s a good thing he knows himself so well.

“Are you sure?” Allura says gently. “You’d have to trust him to lead the team. And, I mean… you’ve been through a lot.”

“Even if he wasn’t fit to lead the team, you’re all capable soldiers with or without me,” Shiro says, looking at them, now. “And I’ve been through a lot here, too. I’m still sane. If that’s what you were getting at,” he adds, looking at Allura. She seems embarrassed.

“I just mean… I’m sure it’d be a lot for anyone,” she says. “Whatever happens.”

“I could also go,” Pidge offers. “If an alternate me knows what’s coming, I might be able to make something to prevent it. Or — she might be able to, I mean. Devices and whatnot.”

“If it’s all the same, I don’t want to go,” Hunk says, shuddering. “I’m sorry. It really creeps me out.”

“I’ll go,” Shiro insists. “The rest of you will stay here and ensure we get it right this time.”

“If you’ll allow me to interrupt,” the queen says, and they all fall silent. She clears her throat. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” she says.

“You said you could switch us,” Keith points out. “Is this not what you meant?”

“It’s not that,” the queen says. She looks guilty. “It’s… There’s just…” She clears her throat. Sits up straighter. “Unfortunately,” she says clearly, “there’s only one paladin who can go.”

That weird look comes over her again. She’s staring right at Lance.

And Lance… he might as well have been asleep. For once in his life, he’s sitting perfectly, impossibly still.

Chapter Text

Lance has a list of things he hates. Seriously.

As a kid, his mom told him not to use the word hate. Hate’s a strong word. It’s a bad word. We can dislike things, mijo. We can disagree. But we don’t hate things.

But part of growing up is rebelling, right? Some kids sneak out at night. Some lie to their parents, or do drugs, or date people their family doesn’t approve of. For Lance, he hated things. In secret.

The very first thing he hated was a person. His mom’s boss. She worked at a hospital, which meant long hours and sad nights, whenever she lost a patient. Abeula was always home, so it was fine that Mama worked long hours. Plus, since her shifts were so long, it meant that she got more days off during the week. She loved her job.

She’d worked there for twelve long years when a new higher-up was brought in. His mom was one of the employees that’d been there the longest, at that point. Well respected. And this new boss… she was horrible.

She started firing people left and right. She was racist. Angry. She started giving his mom worse and worse shifts — making her stay up all night and sleep all day, even though that was supposed to be her time with her kids. Mama would come home even more exhausted than usual. She looked older. You could see how much this woman was making her hate her job, and it just wasn’t fair.

Lance hated his mom’s boss. He couldn’t help it. He hated her silently, fervently, and he thought that would be it.

But eventually another thing came along. A boy in Lance’s grade, who always picked on girls. Not in an I like you way, which is hardly even acceptable, but in a you’re weird and I’m gonna draw attention to it kind of way. And Lance hated him, too.

His list grew. There are certain planets on his list, now. Definitely way more people. A few customs, shit like that.

But the third thing he ever put on that mental list still rings true. One of the things he absolutely hates is not being in on the joke.

Lance added it to his list the very first time it happened to him. He was in middle school and a classmate came up to him. It was stupid, honestly. She was asking him random questions, asking him to agree or disagree, and Lance was playing along. It took him too long to realize that the other kids were laughing. That she was asking him questions that, in a roundabout way, applied to him.

Some kids in our grade are still bad at English — isn’t that embarrassing? I heard that Stephanie’s Dad isn’t around. I bet he cheated on her mom, don’t you? Did you see the soccer game last night? There was this one kid and I’ve never seen anyone that skinny before, it was gross! Right?

Stupid, like Lance said. The other kids were laughing at him. And Lance wasn’t in on the joke. Shitty.

Anyway, this feels a little bit like that. If Lance had to compare it to something.

It feels like he’s waiting for the punchline. Like everyone else is holding their breath, grinning, waiting for his reaction. Like the spotlight is on him, and Lance is supposed to say the right thing. Because if he says the wrong thing, they’ll all be laughing. He’ll look like a fool. Not in on the joke once again.

Well. This isn’t a joke. Clearly. Lance is maybe just in shock. What, there’s an alternate universe where he’s the only one left? Like, not only does it sound unlikely — c’mon, him? The lone survivor? — but it also sounds depressing as hell. All alone, failing the universe, no friends with him… How horrible.

Lance barks out a laugh. Whoops. Sometimes, when things get a little out of hand, the wrong reactions escape from him. This is clearly a serious moment. But it’s like sitting in a funeral, isn’t it? You’re supposed to be crying. You are sad. But someone shifts in their chair, and the squeak sounds like a fart, and suddenly you’re holding in laughter.

Even still, he’s the first one to speak, so at least he has a reaction. “Me?” he says. It comes out incredulous. Probably because he is incredulous. It takes another second or two for his brain to keep working — it’s like it’s buffering in there. His speech is loading, the video paused on his face — freeze-frame. “You’re not telling me that everyone is dead,” he finally says. Better clear this up before he agrees to shift realities, or whatever. “You’re not saying that, right?”

The queen grimaces. Her eyes glance away again. “What we see isn’t always clear, exactly…” Ugh, she’s hedging. People are always hedging when they don’t want to give you a straight answer. Snip, snip.

“Holy shit,” Lance mutters. Usually, that would earn him a sharp look from Allura. Cursing in front of newly acquainted royalty? Bad move. But Allura isn’t even looking at him. No one is.

Their faces look exactly how Lance feels. Shell-shocked. Stricken. Scared and queasy and frozen and incredulous.

“I’m serious,” the queen says, more firmly now. “I don’t know anything for sure. But I do know that you’re the only one I saw clearly. You’re the only one that I’m sure is still alive.”

Fuck fuck fuck.

Lance swallows, because his throat is dry. He sneaks another glance at his team, and— yep. Still echoing his own emotions clearly on their faces. Now, they just look horrified. Lance isn’t sure who has it worse… He runs a quick scenario in his head.

Imagine it.

What’s worse…

There’s him, real him, right now, him. He imagines following the wrong path. Doing the mirroring shit, or whatever. He imagines that happening for real, to them, and he wants to throw up. Because that would mean literally the worst thing ever.

What, he’d have to live through all that? He’d have to witness all his friends dying? Fail to save them, again and again? Jesus. Could it even get any worse? He can’t imagine living past that. How are you even supposed to go on?

Then there’s the alternative. He tries to think about it from their point of view. If this fails, they’ll be dead. Gone forever. And then, it’s likely that they don’t even all die at once. Some of them would probably have to witness it first. They’d also feel that failure, that horror, and then they’d die.

It feels like a philosophical question, kind of. Objectively, who has it worse: the person who dies, likely knowing that they’ve failed their mission, or the person who lives? The person who has to mourn, and survive, and feel it all — the guilt, the sorrow, the everything? Which is worse?

Lance has his answer, but he’s not sure whether that’s because he truly feels this way, or if it’s because he knows it’s what’ll happen to him if they don’t fix this whole mess.

He’d much rather be the one to die. Fuck the after. He doesn’t want to be alone, no way.

Plus, he’s already a little scared. He can probably make it in the other universe just fine. But what about the other him?

Yikes, back to imagining. Okay. That’s fine.

Say, if he were to be the sole survivor of Voltron, all of his friends dead… what would his mental state be like? Would he still be hanging on? Would he even still be fighting for the fate of the universe? Or would he be, just, bat-shit insane? Literally driven crazy by grief?

Let’s assume he’s still sane. What then?

Remorse, or anger?

Wanting to save his alternate self and friends the same pain, or… wanting them to suffer the same?

No. There’s no way he’d want that. But there’s no way this isn’t going to hurt him. That sucks. Like, honestly. He’s definitely gone through it enough. Lance really hates to do this to him, but he’s going to. He’s simply not going to let the same thing happen to him and his team. And the other Lance… he’ll probably understand. Hell, he’d probably do the same damn thing.

“All right!” Lance says finally, overly chipper. Think-tank over, he’s come to his decision. “Let’s do this. Who wouldn’t wanna see an alternate universe?”

It’s like this was the magic phrase to kickstart his friends. They reboot, shifting, talking, turning to look at him.

It’s Shiro who talks first. “Lance,” he says carefully. “You don’t have to do this. We don’t know what it’ll be like for you there. If… if we’re not there to help you…”

Lance shrugs him off. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’m going. If I don’t, the same thing’s gonna happen over here. I don’t want that to become our reality — no offense.” Honestly? He’s not sure who he’s apologizing to. The other Lance, on the off-chance that he somehow knows about this conversation? His own teammates, for not wanting to have to deal with their deaths? They probably shouldn’t be offended by that anyway. That he wants them to live.

“None taken,” Pidge says. Her voice sounds small. Her eyes are still glassy. Right, it definitely must be weird for them as well. If the alternate Lance isn’t successful, their lives are all in peril. Maybe it’s impossible to decide which side of the coin is worse.

“I don’t want to influence your decision, of course,” the queen says. “But I recommend you go. For everyone’s benefit,” she clarifies. Greeeat. Is this a fate of the universe thing, too? Makes sense, Lance guesses. They are the ones protecting it.

“I’ll go,” Lance assures her.

The queen smiles — it doesn’t reach any of her eyes. This is freaking her out, too. “The procedure — well, it’s more like a ritual, to tell you the truth — it can be done anytime. I can perform it now. Whenever you’re all ready.”

If Lance speaking was a kickstart, the queen’s words are like the shot of a gun. Everyone’s moving, the race has begun.

His team is on their feet in seconds, so Lance follows, trying not to feel numb.

Allura reaches Lance the fastest. She doesn’t even wrap him in a hug, at first. She just grabs his shoulders and holds him at arms’ length, looking stern.

“I don’t care what you have to do, just survive,” Allura instructs him. “I don’t care if that means breaking your moral code or failing to help others or hiding in a cave the whole time. Your mission is your survival alone — their universe is already fucked.”

“Woah,” Pidge mutters. Woah is right. Allura doesn’t say fuck.

“You got it, Princess,” Lance says, smiling weakly. He’ll definitely survive, he’ll make sure of it. Although, if someone needs his help, he’s probably going to help them. That’s just who he is.

Next comes Hunk with a bear hug. He’s already teary eyed. His goodbye is watery, and Lance assures him it isn’t a goodbye.

(He’s realizing something more terrifying. The other Lance might still fail — he failed the first time, didn’t he? Lance could come back here, and they could all be gone. That’s a terrifying thought, so he shelves it. The other Lance won’t fail. Not again.)

Pidge curls around him tightly, shaking. She tells him to be careful. To be wary of making any friends. To not trust anyone, because he won’t know what that world is like. She says she’ll see him in a month. Lance says it back.

Shiro has more instructions. Some repeats of what Allura said, to really drill it into Lance’s head. He reminds Lance that he has good instincts and to trust his gut. That they all love him and will be waiting for him, and that they’re gonna be the reality to get it right — don’t worry.

Keith is last. How did Lance know Keith would be last? For the first time, Lance feels like he’s the one who’s clinging.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Keith says.

“Am I ever?” Lance jokes.

“I’m serious,” Keith says, hugging him tighter. He’s practically talking into Lance’s shoulder. “Don’t be an idiot. And don’t be a hero.”

“I’m not sure whether to be offended that you think I’m both of those things.”

Keith pulls back, shaking him slightly by the elbows, and then steps back into the circle.

Weird. Lance is usually a part of that circle. Now, he’s standing separate from it.

The ritual, just like the queen said, is simple. She takes some of Lance’s blood, so that the ritual has a target — a person to replace. And then she’s drawing a circle on the floor with chalk, and she writes this equation on the floor around it, explaining as she does.

Lance’s blood finds the target, and the equation specifies the reality. It also specifies the length of time. It’ll activate again, automatically, one month from now. The two Lances will be switched back, returned to where they belong.

That kind of sucks. Maybe it’d be kinder to just… let the other Lance stay here. Sure, they’d be stepping on each other’s toes, but Lance feels pretty bad letting another version of him suffer like that. Then again, maybe you can’t replace your team. Your family. Even if they’re almost exactly the same people.

The queen has him step into the circle. She throws his blood onto the floor, right into the center of it, and the chalk lights up, glowing just like those lights mounted on the walls. Lance looks at his team, all standing there, illuminated eerily in the light. They look worried, and he’s not sure whether it’s for him or for them.

Actually, knowing his team, they’re probably worried for him.

Lance braces himself. Closes his eyes. Heat swirls in his gut, overcomes him, burns him, and then—

Imagine a radio

A burst of static—

Crackling—

There are voices, indistinct

What are they saying?

They won’t catch

You’ve driven out of range

Twisting the dial, waiting for something that reaches

And then the voices flood in

You can hear them, clearly, and—

Lance stumbles to a stop, his dagger raised. The fuck? Where the hell is he?

The lights are too bright in here. Did Uropa steal some kind of mindfuck device? Maybe Quuav is betraying him. Maybe that wasn’t really a lucky crystal, but some other thing. Something that teleports?

He falls out of his fighting stance, unable to help it, and turns.

Ghosts.

They’re all standing there, staring at him. Gaping. What business does a ghost have, acting shocked? Have they not been watching him this whole time? Honestly, Lance might be a little offended.

“Lance,” Shiro says, sounding choked.

Ghosts shouldn’t talk. In fact, ghosts shouldn’t be seen at all. It’s unnatural. Maybe that crystal was a ghost-seeing crystal. Or maybe it was like that stone from Harry Potter, that let him see dead people. Jesus. What was that called again? Damn, it’s been so long since he’s thought about anything from Earth. Where are the Harry Potter trivia facts when you need them? They used to be lodged in Lance’s brain, he swears. Taking up valuable space when he should’ve been learning Altean, or remembering battle drills, or—

“Lance?” Shiro repeats.

Right. Shit. Stop it brain! Now’s not the time to go on an insanely long tangent. We’re dealing with ghosts, here.

“What is this?” Lance says. “Where are we? How much time do you have?”

“Wait, what?” Shiro says.

“Before you disappear,” Lance says. “Is this a visitation? Oh, FUCK. Jesus — am I dead?”

“What? No!” Shiro says.

A visitation, then?

Lance looks at them all. They look… good. Not very ghost-like, honestly. Allura’s there, Shiro, Hunk, Pidge. His heart fucking aches. It squeezes into a tiny ball inside his chest and then pounds unrepentantly. Like it can beat enough for all of them, maybe. Or like it’s trying to speed up the inevitable — send him back to his team.

Keith is standing there, his eyes wide, and—

Wait. Keith?! No, that can’t— that’s not right. That’s not fair! He’s the only one Lance has left, how can— how is this— it’s not, it won’t, fuck, it can’t, is he d— no, don’t think it, shut up brain, fuck you, it’s not real, this isn’t real, don’t think it, don’t think it, don’t think it—

Is Keith dead? Is he dead? Is that why he’s here? Keith is dead, too. He’s gone. He died. Lance left him behind — he always leaves him behind, because he has to, how can he not? — and he’s dead now. Lance left him for the last time. He killed Keith. Fucking Christ, he killed Keith.

Lance is grabbing his hair. Practically tearing it out. It’s a bad habit, probably. But he’s stressed. He can’t think. He needs to hold onto something. And then someone touches his arm — what the fuck.

“Try to remain calm,” Shiro says. Lance is shaking. Ghosts… they can’t touch people. Can they?!

“Touching me,” Lance says. His tongue feels heavy. His voice feels thick.

“Lance, you’re in an alternate reality. We pulled you here because… we need your help.”

Fuck.

Lance isn’t insane, okay? He can understand what Shiro’s saying. But he still seems like a ghost to him. He crashes into his arms and hugs him tight, and it hurts. It hurts because it’s not his to have, and it’s been so long since he’s been able to hug his friends. Since he’s even seen any of them.

Almost as long since he’s let himself think about them. It just hurts too much to think about. It’s easier to forget.

(That’s a lie, of course it is. It hurts to forget, too. To force himself to stop thinking of them. To stamp down on the memories that try to arise, when someone says something and it sounds so similar to something Hunk would say. Or when someone laughs, and it sounds like Pidge’s laugh. But it hurts worse to indulge in those memories. Lance is useless whenever he lets himself think about them.)

“You guys are idiots,” Lance laughs. It’s not true. “You just sent your Lance into the fight of his life, probably.”

—

Lance isn’t crazy, he promises. And he would be the one to know. He’s the expert on all things Lance, seeing as he is Lance. So. He would know if he were crazy.

Still, he does know he’s a little worse for wear. He and this team… they don’t match. They used to — in his universe. Before — just. Before.

But he doesn’t match this team. He’s more scarred, and not just on the outside. His insides are all messed up. His brain. Not in a crazy way, but in a so-depressed-he’ll-probably-never-not-be-depressed kind of way. And maybe, just a little bit, in the crazy way.

Fuck it. Can you blame him? Imagine losing everyone you know and love, and practically in one fell swoop. The human brain is almost certainly not up to it. That’s just too much. So. It protects itself, obviously.

What else is the brain to do? Just bear all that pain, all on its own? If Lance broke every bone in his leg, would it just keep walking, if he simply ignored the pain? Obviously not.

And if his brain had bones, he would’ve broken every single one of them, too. Nearly a year ago, now. But brain’s don’t get casts, and space-soldiers with absolutely no resources don’t get therapists, so it solved the problem in a different way.

Lance would have to be an idiot not to have noticed. For one thing, he sure as hell thinks different. It’s like… well, it’s hard to explain. Imagine if your brain were a record player. Except the record is all scratched and cut up. Sometimes, it skips. A chunk of the song is just gone — who knows where it went?

Other times, it gets stuck. Repeats.

Marry had a little lamb— lamb— lamb— l-l-la—lamb— LAMB— LAMB— LAMB— LAMB— LAMB- L-L-L-L-LAMBLAMBLAMBLAMB—

(Only, replace “Mary” with “Lance” and “lamb” with “unthinkable trauma”).

Wow. The brain must be in tip-top shape today, huh? That was a great metaphor!

There are certainly other problems. Like, how do people even sleep? Well, normally. Lance feels like he’s always waking up. Falling asleep, he can’t remember, but he must wake up more than anyone else in the universe. Someone’s dying and he’s awake! Someone’s screaming for help — he’s awake! His team, he’s losing them, Jesus Christ, it’s a nightmare — and he’s awake! Oh, but the nightmare isn’t over. Oof. Ain’t that the worst part?

If Lance is feeling particularly honest, he sometimes hallucinates. But he’s not feeling honest. So. He never hears or sees anything that shouldn’t be there. Only crazy people see and hear fake things. And Lance? Not crazy. Pshhh. Totally and completely sane, up in this steel trap.

But the rest of his team? This alternate universe team? They might be crazy.

They took him right on up to the castle-ship. Lance only hugged Shiro, because — well. He’s realizing this is weird. He misses his friends unfathomably. Seriously. When he tries to think about how much he misses them—

Skip!

The record player deleted that part.

But they’re paladins of Voltron, too. They should be smarter than this. Like, c’mon.

Haven’t they at least done some worst-case scenario theorizing? What if they all died in his universe, and Lance went crazy crazy. Like the kind of crazy where he’s vengeful and dangerous. What if he’d shown up here and been scared of them all? His first thought was ghosts (because what else are you supposed to think when you see your dead friends, standing right in front of you?) but he could’ve had a different first thought.

He could’ve thought, trap. Or imposters. People that looked like his team, somehow. A trick that some assholes were playing on him. An attempt to get under his skin, or kidnap him, or something.

But that’s not even the worst case scenario. What if they’d summoned him from a different universe, and he’d been evil now? Maybe all his teammates died and he said, you know what? Fuck it! Me? I’m gonna live. What if he’d gone ahead and joined the Galra, huh? What then? He could take down a second team, in this universe.

Lance didn’t join the Galra, of course. He fell into a depressive spiral. He took his one and only lion and hid it where no one would ever find it, because yeah, he’s depressed, but he might just have to kill himself if he ever sees Voltron in the hands of the enemy. And then he sequestered himself on a planet that might as well have never seen the light of day. He gave up, just a little bit. The universe? There’s probably no saving that. But he can protect his own. He can protect the community he’s found.

Anyway, this team clearly didn’t think of any of those worst cases. And they definitely didn’t think before sending their Lance to his universe. Right now, that poor bastard is in the middle of a heist with two strangers. Lance is friends with them — tentatively, because betrayal is surprisingly common on Nzelia — and he was going to take that crystal right back to the asshole who’d paid him for it.

(Not in money, but in information. Lance is in the middle of a search for a Goddamn miracle. Yaxley promised he had a lead, if Lance could bring him some shitty stone).

Long story not-so-short, Lance is in the castle-ship. Another ghost. He thought he’d never see this thing again, mostly because the last time he saw it, it was destroyed.

It looks exactly the same. And honestly, he’s glad the team doesn’t think he’s dangerous or somehow evil. He doesn’t know how he’d hold up during an interrogation, after seeing his team brought back to life and feeling a little more crazy than he usually does.

Same old hallways and doors. Same lights lining the ceiling. Same bridge, same team.

God. He’s going to hug them all, and soon. Just — not yet. He just wants to make sure he actually wakes up here tomorrow morning. Just in case.

It’s impossible to sort out how he should be feeling. Ecstatic, maybe? It’s probably not often that someone who’s lost everything gets to have it back for a moment. His friends are dead. Most of them, anyway. And now they’re alive.

Then again, maybe he should feel heartbroken. Maybe it’s not fair. He’s already lost everything. He barely processed it the first time! Now he’s… wow. He might have to go through it again.

Feelings are too hard right now, so Lance is just… not. If there’s a side of his brain that controls all his emotions, then he’s mentally lobotomizing himself. Just for a bit. Future Lance can figure out the feelings. Present Lance can figure out the survival.

(Bad mantra? Lance knows. He’s been dealing with it… Hm. For about a year now, maybe.)

“Do you understand?” Shiro says. His voice is careful. He’s sitting on the couch, along with almost everyone else. Lance chose an armchair, because he’s scared of touching them again.

They’ll be there they’ll definitely be there I can touch them, right?

If I touch them they won’t disappear because they’re real I’m—

I’m real I’m real this is real they’re real it’s fine this is fine I’m—

“I think so,” Lance says carefully.

“I’ll run through it again,” Shiro says. He’s patient, for someone who knows Lance’s fate. His own fate. They know what happened in Lance’s universe.

Ugh. How embarrassing. They’re just sitting there, knowing that Lance failed them all. Why’d they bring him? They should’ve found another universe, where it all went right. Borrow that Lance! He clearly knows what he’s doing.

“We have a month,” Shiro clarifies. “That’s when the ritual will end. You’ll return to your universe, and Lance will return to ours.”

“Right,” Lance says.

I’m Lance, says Lance’s brain. Stupid. Duh.

“The queen said that you’d be able to help us,” he continues. “That we’d be able to avoid—” he flushes.

Lance grins. Ah, humor. The one thing that stuck with him. Did Shiro say this out loud the previous time he explained it? Let’s be honest, Lance wasn’t listening all that well. “My mistakes?” Lance says, finishing the sentence. “I’m sure I can help. We had everything go completely wrong — you guys can just do the opposite.”

Shiro nods. “That’s — yes,” he stutters. Awkward. “We would be very grateful if you could help us to… follow a different path.”

Jealous. Whoops! A feeling slipped through. Naughty. But it’s true. Lance is jealous. Where was his knight in shining armor? Totally not fair. They should’ve gotten to avoid it too. Or is that not fair, in love and war?

“Can you do that?”

Keith.

Honestly, Lance has been avoiding looking at him. Just in case these people really are ghosts. Spectors. Phantoms. Spirits. Monsters. Shadows, wraiths, demons, visions-apparitions-souls-hallucinations—

Stop it stop it stop.

Keith isn’t dead. He shouldn’t be, at least. He’s not yet. Lance has lost everyone and everything — except Keith. And even then, he’s kind of half-lost him. He’s still here, but he’s not…

Whatever.

He’s not here here.

This Keith isn’t like his present Keith. This Keith is like his past Keith. Glare-y and fire-y and demand-y. Can you do that? He didn’t say it. He demanded it. Do that, he’s saying. Is he afraid of death? Or is he afraid of Lance’s future? Of their Lance becoming this — him.

“I can do that,” Lance assures him.

There’s a part of him, deep down, that’s kicking and screaming. Lance ignores it, because that part of him is bitter and jealous. That part of him wants to be this Lance — the one coming back to a living team, saved from a horrible future. That part of him is very fervently pointing out the unfairness of it all.

This team gets to do it right? How come? What’s wrong with my team? Why did they all have to suffer, and die, and leave me alone to struggle and be scared and be alone and be scared and—

He ignores that part. Because the other part is louder and braver and better. And that part doesn’t want any of his team to die, in any reality. His team had to go, and it sucked — it’s the absolute worst thing ever ever ever — but he doesn’t want it to happen again. He wants to save this team, to succeed, this time, to do it all right.

And God, he wants that other him to get to have it. He wants that other him to have his team, his family, and to never lose it. That version of him should get to win. It’ll be good to know that there’s a version of him out there, at least. A version that’s thriving and living and happy.

Lance wants that for him. Of course he does.

“Lance…” Allura says softly. “It goes without saying that we’re sorry for your loss. And for forcing you to live through this again.”

Lance’s eyes snap to her. He’s panicking. No, he’s going to be fine. But yes, he is panicking. Right. Living through this again. Sure. What’s some more trauma when it’s already immeasurable?

Funny. Sorry for your loss. Sorry for their own deaths? That’s funny.

“S’okay,” Lance gets out. “I mean, I already lost you guys once. I guess I can do it again, when I go back to my universe.”

Pidge lets out a sob.

Fuck! Guilt tripping. That was— Lance didn’t mean to do that. It was supposed to be a joke. He doesn’t tell too many out loud, these days.

Pidge stumbles off the couch and toward him. She literally climbs on him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her face into his shoulder. Lance hugs her back, but only because he can feel her — really feel her. Not hallucinating. He’s at least 80% sure. 70%.

“I’m sorry,” Pidge babbles, squeezing him tighter. She’s sniffling constantly. “I-I shouldn’t even be the one crying, I’m so sorry. I’m just — I’m. I’m sorry for everything you had to go through. I wish we could change it for you, too.”

Lance is stunned. Silent.

Hunk — right? That’s what his hand feels like? — Lance looks, from the hand on his shoulder and up to its face, and it’s Hunk! He can’t believe he remembered that feeling. He’s squeezing Lance’s shoulder pretty hard. He’s crying, too, but he’s silent about it.

“Buddy,” Hunk says, “I know you. And I know that your mind’s probably all—”

How dare he think I’m crazy that’s not fair I haven’t even done anything—

“—twisted up on all of this. You’re too noble. And nothing, no matter what happened, is your fault,” he says.

Oh.

“Thanks, man,” Lance says. Thanks man. Thanks man. Not gonna cry, man. Wow, it feels so normal. Talking to Hunk. Real Hunk.

Pidge climbs off of him, wiping her eyes. She looks heartbroken, staring at Lance. Weird, because Lance is also heartbroken, staring at her.

He stands up right after her, surprised when his legs work.

“Um,” he says. Don’t sound crazy. “Not for nothing, but this is all… a little overwhelming.” Is that crazy? No. Normal people get overwhelmed. “And I know you’re all gung-ho about not dying—” Definitely a crazy thing to say “—but it’s not going to happen tonight. Or tomorrow. If it’s okay, I kind of want to go lay down. And maybe we can start planning and everything tomorrow?”

Plans. Lance remembers plans. They used to have lots of plans. They’d gather on the bridge. Allura would pull things onto the holoscreen. They’d all sit in there, either tense or too relaxed, for being in the middle of war. There’d be laughter, sometimes. For the easier plans, or the ones that sounded ridiculous. Other times, short sentences and tight, clipped words. All of them sitting on the edge of their seats. Plans made quickly, but efficiently.

Always efficiently?

No

Obviously not

Not when—

No no no nononono—

“That’s fine,” Allura says. “Of course that’s fine.”

“We’ll meet for breakfast in the morning and we’ll get down to business after that,” Coran says. First time he’s spoken, Lance thinks. He’s alive, too. Wow. All of them are here and alive. He knows this. He realized this an hour ago, when he was standing in a palace instead of a cave.

Coran speaks softly, and it’s definitely weird. Coran — the way Lance remembers him, at least — is loud. He’s energetic and excited and determined. He has good advice and he says crazy things sometimes. Lance loves the guy. Loved.

But Coran’s lost people, too. And Allura. Their whole planet. Coran might’ve spoken to survivors this way, if there were any.

“Thanks,” Lance says. He takes one last look at them—

—Is this his last look? No, not unless they disappear in the morning. But also no, because does it count? His real last looks were worse. They were—

Skip!

They were bad, let’s assume.

He’s only halfway out the door when he earns a shadow.

“Keith,” Lance says.

Is now the time? Probably not.

Lance remembers part of the conversation that he was zoned out for, all of the sudden. Memories can happen like that. Or his brain can happen like that. Something happens like that.

But during the conversation — the first one, where Lance wasn’t responding, and he was thinking that maybe he was crazier than he realized even though he’s not crazy, c’mon, he’s fine — they explained some stuff he never knew.

Lance has been to this planet before. The one with the Peervida. He remembers it, if not vividly. But they were there, doing this mission, and. He doesn’t quite remember what happens after “and”. Something happened, a failure of some sort, that’s for sure. The alliance wasn’t secured. Whatever these guys had, that weird meeting where they got to peek into his tragic universe, didn’t happen to his team.

So they explained the stuff he didn’t understand. There are alternate realities, and they aren’t infinite. They’re somehow a manageable number. And some of those realities run closer to each other than others. Similar in some ways, different in others.

They explained that they — this team, this Voltron, and this Lance, him, not their Lance — have shared history. Not all of it, they said. Parts of it. Probably similar missions. Probably days that were almost exactly the same. Probably periods of time that are nearly indistinguishable.

And there are also parts that differ in big ways. Parts that don’t match up the same.

This, they want to match up quite differently. Lance loses his entire team and hides his lion and lives out his life on an abandoned planet. And they skip that part and live an entirely different life. Maybe Lance’s reality will be shuffled out of reach, no longer one of the close ones. If that’s how that works.

But like they said, not every part of it is the same. And not just the huge things like this, like the team being killed. It can also be other things.

Lance thinks Keith is probably an “other” thing. He’s not going to test it.

“I’ll walk you to your room,” Keith says.

“Funny, but I think I remember my way there,” Lance says. Keith shrugs.

“I’ll walk you anyway,” he says.

Lance does remember his way there. He sees other things he remembers, too. The training room. The hallway that leads to the bridge. The kitchen. The airlock that was the first to blow—

“So,” Lance says loudly. “Should I assume that this is bonding time, or are you suspicious of me?”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Keith challenges.

That’s another one. His past Keith was challenge-y.

“Definitely,” Lance says. “I could be evil now. None of you even asked. What if I joined the Galra?”

Keith shoves him against the wall immediately. Lance panics and almost stabs him — hilarious. Imagine if he came here, and he made their universe just like his, only on accident?

Don’t startle the alternate Lance! He might kill you before the Galra can!

Lance doesn’t stab him, though. He leaves his hand on his knife and grips the handle so hard that his fingers ache.

“I’m not evil,” Lance promises him. “But I am a little jumpy. Don’t go shoving me around, dude — I-I’m not used to shit like that, anymore. I stab most of the people who touch me, these days.”

Keith pulls away, careful. “You’re really not evil?”

“Would you be?” Lance says. “If the Galra killed everyone you knew and loved, would you join them? I think I’d jump out an airlock first, myself.”

Keith nods. He looks guilty.

“Feel free to interrogate me further in the morning,” Lance says. “I just can’t handle it right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith says. Lance blinks and realizes that they’re standing outside their rooms. That means that they already walked all the way here, because they haven’t walked since Keith pinned him, but Lance’s brain was stuck on seeing the kitchen. He was thinking about the food they used to eat in there, together.

This probably isn’t healthy for him. He really, truly tries not to think about all this. About the castle-ship. About his friends.

He’s just — he’s clinging. To whatever he can cling to. Not the memories, no, but to anything else, to anything that’ll keep him from sitting there and having a panic attack and imagining a million different scenarios, a million different outcomes. He might as well be the Peervida — he could come up with all those different realities if he let himself.

Besides, he’s saving all that thinking, that remembering, that working through his trauma — for when Keith wakes up.

Whoops. Said too much?

Whatever. He’s not doing it alone. And if Keith never wakes up, then he’s never doing it. End of story.

All of the sudden, Keith is hugging him. Lance is pretty sure he didn’t say any of that out loud, but… Jesus. It really is hard to be sure of things sometimes.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through… everything,” Keith says. He’s practically talking into Lance’s shoulder. “But thank you. For letting our Lance have it differently.”

“And you guys,” Lance whispers. “You’ll have it different too.”

Keith nods, then pulls away. He doesn’t wipe his eyes, but that’s fine. Lance knows too well what he looks like when he’s crying.

“Good night,” Keith says, and then he disappears into his room. Lance does the same in his.

Sheets, walls, bed, bathroom, dresser. It’s all the same. Mostly.

He lays on the bed and closes his eyes and he’s not sure what he hopes is real. Does he want to wake up and be back, squarely in his own universe? He’ll chalk this up to a fever dream. He’ll tell no one, and he’ll dwell on it a bit. Think about how realistic it all was.

Or does he want to wake up right here, in this very bed, on this very ship? It’s only a month. And he’s going to lose them again. Not the extra bad away — not his way — but a new way. He’s going to get to say goodbye this time, which will be nice. But he’ll still be losing them. He’ll be gone, and he’s never going to see them again. That’s the truth.

Which one is worse?

Impossible to tell. So he just rocks, curled into a ball. He closes his eyes and breathes through his mouth and prays that, at the very least, he’ll sleep through the night. No waking up, no nightmares, no ghosts. That would be pretty nice.

Chapter Text

Keith is an obstinate person. That’s been clear to him ever since the sixth grade, when a teacher said it to him. This was after his dad died, but before he started cooperating with any of the foster parents he got shunted to.

How could he cooperate with them? It was all like something out of a nightmare. The worst thing of his life had just happened to him, and he was expected to move on and keep on living, as if everything wasn’t different now.

On Earth, death is unexpected. Sometimes less so — like when someone has a terminal illness — but, in general, death just comes out of nowhere. The same is true in space, Keith supposes, but it’s less of a surprise. When a new ally kicks the can, it’s sad and stressful, but not shocking. They’re in a war. People die. They expect people to die.

It was a car crash that killed Keith’s dad that day. So ordinary, for someone who’d seemed so extraordinary. His dad used to drive him to school, both ways, because the bus didn’t come anywhere near them. They’d listen to ‘80s rock and Keith would either study for tests at the last minute or tell his dad about annoying kids in his grade. The drive home from school had been the latter, and then his dad had asked him if he wanted to run to the grocery store with him.

“I just need to pick up a few things,” he’d said, persuasive. “And if you come, we can get you a candy bar.”

Keith hadn’t considered it very long. He wasn’t particularly in the mood for candy, and less so in the mood for shopping, so he’d passed on the invitation. His dad had given him a pat on the shoulder and told him he’d be home soon for dinner, and then he wasn’t.

Hours passed. At first, Keith wasn’t worried. He was just watching TV, not really realizing how much time was passing. And then he was hungry, and it was getting pretty late for dinner. But he waited anyway.

Eventually, Keith couldn’t help falling asleep, anxiety gnawing at his gut. He’d never spent the night on his own before. His dad had never left him home alone for that long before. And the next morning, he and his car still weren’t back. Keith was late for school, with no way to get there, so he’d stayed home, trying to make sense of it all.

Traffic couldn’t be that bad, could it?

Maybe a part of him, deep down, had known that something bad had happened. But Keith had clung to the not knowing. The waiting. He’d clung until he couldn’t anymore, until he was hungry and scared and clutching the phone in his hand, dialing 911. He hung up immediately, because it felt drastic and he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say, but then the cops showed up anyway.

They had a lot of questions for him. How long has your dad been gone? Where was he going? What grocery store? What does his car look like? Keith gave them all the answers, expecting them to go out and look for his dad, but they didn’t. Their faces just grew grimmer. They exchanged more and more looks.

Turned out, they already had all the answers to their questions. They were just making sure that Keith’s answers matched up with theirs.

That very same day, they told Keith that his dad was dead. And that very same day, they had Keith packing up his stuff, taking him elsewhere, arranging everything for him to be put into foster care. All of that, all in one day — surely that’s just… too much?

So Keith was obstinate. He was resistant to foster parents, cold to his new teachers, mean to his new peers. He was angry and depressed and how is a kid supposed to express any of that stuff in the first place?

It’d been in the middle of class when the teacher had said it to him — Keith can’t remember her name now. But he’d been downright rude to her ever since he’d arrived at the school, and when she’d asked him a question, Keith had refused to answer. (Truthfully, he just hadn’t known the answer. But he’d been too embarrassed to admit that.)

“So obstinate,” she’d muttered, loud enough for Keith to hear. He’d felt something like embarrassment and vindication in his gut, and after the school day let out, he’d headed straight to the library. The word had stuck in his brain all day. He’d needed to know what it meant.

Stubbornly refusing to change one’s opinion or course of action, the dictionary had said, despite attempts to convince one to do so.

Stubborn. Hard to convince. It fit.

And when the queen said that there was likely only one of them left in that alternate reality, Keith was obstinate. That can’t be true, he’d thought. Because death was expected in a war, sure, but only other people’s death. He’d refused to prepare himself for it happening to any of them. They’re different, they’re Voltron, and they’re going to win the war and live to tell the tale.

Keith had just stared at the queen, unable to truly process it. They might all die in the next month, if they don’t take certain steps to prevent it? And then Lance will survive, completely on his own, forced to live with the knowledge that they’re all dead? That’s harrowing.

Lance had agreed to it, of course, as any of them would have, being the only survivor on the other side. He’d looked pale in that eerie light, a little fearful, and then there’d been a bright flash.

A different Lance, standing in his place.

Keith isn’t sure why, but he wasn’t expecting the change to be so… drastic. But even at first glance, Keith could tell that Lance was changed. That the past year had done a lot to him. Too much.

He’d arrived facing away from them, poised like he was in the middle of a fight. He’d been holding a dagger Keith didn’t recognize, and after a moment, he’d straightened up, assessing his surroundings.

Too skinny, was Keith’s first thought. Lance has always been a lean guy, but this Lance… he looked starved. He’d been wearing new clothes, none of it seeming particularly fit for fighting, but maybe he doesn’t have his paladin armor, wherever he is now. Keith had been able to see his ribs through his T-shirt.

Lance had turned, slowly, and he’d frozen when he’d spotted them. He’d paled, and Keith hadn’t missed the way he’d subtly shifted into a fighting stance.

His hair was unkempt. Eyes a little wild. There were scars… everywhere. Evidence of fights and injuries long after healing pods, all having healed the normal way.

He’d ignored Shiro the first time, seeming to not even hear him. And then he’d asked if he was dead. It made sense. What else might you think, when you see your dead friends suddenly surrounding you?

His eyes had scanned them, first quickly — flicking over them, like they couldn’t stay in one place — and then slowly, actually taking them in. When his gaze had landed on Keith, his expression had morphed into one of horror. Keith had even stumbled a step back, scared by that look on his face.

And Lance had just… well, he’d… his reaction wasn’t exactly reassuring. Keith’s pretty sure that Lance isn’t all there.

He’d grabbed his hair, curling into himself, and he’d been muttering something, low and quiet and hurried. When Shiro had reached out to him, he’d flinched.

Basically, yesterday was a shit show. Seeing Lance felt like having his heart torn into shreds. It was terrifying, because he still looks like Lance, acts like Lance, but just… broken. And it hurts even worse to know that this is how Lance would actually end up, if they all died. It’s probably how any of them would end up, if Keith is being perfectly honest.

But they’re going to save Lance — their Lance — from this same pain. He’s going to come back and he’ll live whole and unbroken. Or, at least, as whole and unbroken as you can be when living through a war that’s still very traumatic in its own right.

When Keith comes out of his room the next morning, he finds Lance already standing there. Right in front of the door to his own room.

He’s staring off down the hall, completely still. His hands are clenched into fists by his sides. He’s shaking, just a little bit.

There’s nothing down the hall — Keith looks, to be sure. But Lance clearly sees something.

Keith almost reaches out and touches him. If it were his Lance, he would. He’d shake him out of it. But he remembers that incident from last night and his hand falls.

He’d shoved Lance against that wall and Lance had just let him. His arm had ended up pinned right along with the rest of him, no doubt to grab his knife. But Keith had seen the emotions playing out on his face. Fear, for a second, and then anger. And then he’d clenched his eyes shut and taken a breath, calming himself. His voice had been carefully controlled.

Keith had felt horrible, afterward. This Lance has been through a lot. He really shouldn’t have shoved him.

“Lance,” Keith says now, because it feels like the safer option, rather than touching him. Lance jolts, his head jerking to the side. He takes half a step back before steadying himself, and then his body falls into a relaxed position. A little bit slouched. Keith has seen Lance stand like that a million times, but never before has it looked so forced. It’s like Lance is pretending to be Lance.

A lazy grin spreads across Lance’s mouth (it looks wrong, because it doesn’t reach his eyes), and then he nods his head. “Look at us,” he says. “Guess I’m still on the same sleep schedule as you guys.”

Keith wonders how long he’s been standing here. Staring.

“Hungry?” Keith asks.

“Starved,” Lance says. When Keith starts off down the hall, Lance catches up to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder.

That’s another thing Keith can’t figure out. Yesterday, after Lance hugged Shiro, it looked like he was making an effort not to touch any of them. Not even the brush of an elbow. But then Pidge hugged him, and Hunk grabbed his shoulder, and each time he looked a little bit shocked. Like he wasn’t expecting to be able to touch them again. Or maybe like he expected their hands to go through him.

Keith isn’t sure why Lance is touching him now. Whether it’s to make sure he’s actually there, or because he wants to be able to touch them all as much as possible, while he still can.

Either way, Keith would let him. He wants Lance to feel safe during this month with them, and that includes mentally. If he needs to reassure himself that they’re still there, and still real, then Keith wants him to take every opportunity that presents itself to him. And if Lance just wants to touch them while he’s still here, then that’s fine, too.

The weight of Lance’s arm feels the same around Keith’s shoulders, at least.

Breakfast is a fancy ordeal, thanks to Hunk. Keith isn’t even surprised. Hunk’s love language is food, and he clearly feels just as torn up about Lance. He cooked a breakfast of champions for him. Seriously, it’s, like, all of Lance’s favorites. Their best imitation of empanadas, pancakes (if pancakes turned into chalk in your mouth if you chewed for too many bites), and a spread of fruits from a variety of planets. Lance is obsessed with finding foreign fruits, because they’re always obviously fruit-like, but they usually taste nothing like any of the fruits they have on Earth.

Lance hugs Hunk before he even sits down. He just walks up to him and leans against him for a moment, before remembering to bring up his arms. Keith can tell how tightly — securely — Hunk is hugging him back, and the big guy blinks rapidly, as if to ward off tears.

They can all see that Lance isn’t exactly okay. He’s definitely not insane, and he’s still capable and moral and loving. But the hurt and the wariness and the walls — he must be living with a million walls around his heart, now — are visible as well.

And this is just coming from Keith. Yes, they’re all a very close team. A family. They’ve been friends for years, and Keith knows these people almost as well as he knows himself. He knows just as many stories from their childhoods as his own. He knows their stances on insane topics that no one even really needs a stance on. Keith knows these people better than he’ll ever know anyone else, and he loves them.

But Hunk has known Lance even longer. They were friends before the Garrison — they went to the same middle school — and they’re best friends. They’ve seen each other grow up. They’ve been there for a lot of the stories Keith has heard. Oftentimes, they’re told in tandem, one of them starting the story and the other interjecting with details or corrections.

And if it hurts Keith this much to see Lance like this, he wonders how it feels for Hunk. Who knew him as a kid, bright and happy and energetic. And is seeing him now, a little standoffish and distant and small.

“Oh my God, spempanadas,” Lance groans, shoving a bite into his mouth. Pidge snorts, and Lance’s eyes flick up to her, glad for the reaction. “Space empanadas,” he says, concluding the joke. It’s not even a joke, really. He just likes to point out the words he combined after combining them. It really does make it more funny.

After that, it’s like the tension bleeds out of the room. Keith didn’t even know it was there until it was gone. But it’s like that interaction alone eased everyone’s minds — Lance will always be Lance. He might be hurt and traumatized but he’s still Lance, in the end.

Everyone digs in for real after that. It’s a breakfast buffet and they eat until they’re full and aching. It feels like a celebration almost. Like they’re celebrating the fact that Lance made it out alive, at least, and that he gets to see them all again, even if it means he’ll have to say goodbye too.

It’s probably the exact opposite of what Keith was expecting, after Lance’s behavior last night and the way he found him this morning. In his mind, Keith was preparing himself for a stilted, awkward breakfast. One where everyone spoke too softly. Maybe moments where Lance got spooked, where he froze and stared — where he visibly got pulled into his own thoughts, like Keith swears he saw last night.

Instead, they’re talking and laughing. They’re avoiding the obvious — nothing about what Lance is up to now, what the universe is like, how it all came to happen — but the usual kinds of conversations they have. Like old, crazy missions they remember, and stories from before space, and arguments about what really constitutes a sandwich.

Keith keeps waiting for the good mood to break. He’s waiting for a slip up, on anyone’s part. Maybe Pidge will mention that mission from last month, where Shiro very nearly died, and maybe Lance will fall silent. He’s waiting for Lance to be yanked out of the present, for something to happen in his head that none of them are privy to, and for an awkward silence to fall, none of them sure how to navigate it.

But the good mood stays. Lance seems light and airy and fine. He doesn’t even grimace when Coran pops into the kitchen, holding an empanada in his fist — they’ve told him a million times that that’s not how you’re supposed to eat it — and asks whether everyone is ready to meet in the bridge.

When they get to the bridge, Lance automatically takes charge. He steps up to Allura’s usual spot, and in return, Allura leans against Hunk’s station, watching attentively.

“All right,” Lance says, seeming to ground himself. “Yesterday marked the first day of what I’ve been calling the Month of Hell.”

Keith swallows. He crosses one leg over the other and then tries to sit still.

“When my team tried to meet with the Peervida, we failed,” he says. “Our mission wasn’t successful and we didn’t get to view any other realities. I guess that’s why we weren’t allowed to avoid our fate,” he adds, his voice quieter.

“Is that the only difference?” Allura asks. “That mission?”

Lance looks at her, frowning. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I mean, I don’t know everything you guys have done before I got here. But I’ve noticed a few differences already,” he says. His eyes flicker to Keith, just for a second.

“Like what?” Pidge says.

“I don’t think it’s important,” Lance says.

“Anything could be important,” Shiro argues. “It might be a deciding factor.”

“Correction: I know it isn’t important,” Lance says. “I know it didn’t have anything to do with your deaths in my reality, and also, it’s private. So, I’d rather not say.”

Shiro looks on the verge of arguing again — and Keith kind of agrees — but Hunk speaks up first. “Sounds good,” he says. When not everyone looks convinced, he adds, “Lance was there. He would know if something was important to the upcoming fights. Um… assuming there are fights?”

“Yeah,” Pidge says suddenly. “How does it happen, anyway? Is it all at once?”

Lance’s eyes get stuck. That’s the only way Keith can explain it. It happens as Pidge is talking — his gaze is sliding from Hunk toward her, and then it just stops in the middle. His jaw is clenched, and Keith notices something new. The last time he saw Lance frozen still like this, he thought it was just that. Like he was cemented in place, not moving a muscle.

But actually, his fingers are moving. Clenching into fists. Rubbing against each other. Tapping his palms. The movements are so minuscule that it’d be hard to notice.

“I—” Lance says. His voice cuts off and it’s another couple of seconds before it starts back up, his lips parted the whole time. But then he blinks harshly, shakes his head a little bit, and directs his eyes elsewhere. Somewhere on the floor.

“Um,” he says, and this time his voice is slower, careful. Keith has never heard him like this, like he’s putting thought into each and every word. Normally, Lance runs his mouth like a marathon, only stopping when he runs out of things to say, gets interrupted, or ends up with his foot in his mouth. “That’s not something I can tell you,” he says to the floor.

This time, Shiro really frowns. “I feel like these are pertinent details,” he says. “We’ll need to know the exact situations we’re getting into if we want to avoid them.”

“I understand,” Lance says. It’s even quieter. His fingers are still tapping and clenching. “But I can’t — I can’t — I ca—” he takes an audible breath and then looks up at Shiro. “This was very traumatic,” he announces.

Shiro looks stricken. “Of course,” he says quickly. “Of course, it was.”

Lance nods, like they’re getting somewhere. “It was a lot,” Lance says. “And it messed with my memory.”

Keith can’t look at him anymore. It’s too hard, too foreign. He’s looking at the others, now. Pidge has gone completely pale. Hunk — he looks furious. Not at Lance, because there’s no way he could be mad at Lance. Keith thinks that he’s just angry, like, in general. That Lance had to go through any of this at all.

Maybe he’s mad at his alternate self for dying in the first place.

“Most of the time, I can’t remember how it happened,” Lance says. “I try to think about it, and — I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Right,” Allura says. Maybe she understands. Maybe parts of what happened on her planet are blocked from her memory, too.

Keith can remember that day his dad died pretty well. Although, there are parts of it that are a blur. Like, he knows that the police officers told him that his dad died. But he doesn’t remember what they said. He remembers staring at their shoes. He remembers that one of the cops did his laces wrong. His left shoe was double knotted, but his right shoe wasn’t. It was ridiculous.

His dad was dead.

But those shoes…

“Sometimes, I do remember,” Lance says. “Something will remind me, or something will happen, and suddenly I— I remember it. I can’t stop remembering it.”

“A trigger,” Pidge says.

“Exactly,” Lance breathes. “So, I remember parts of it. And where some of it happened, and when. When the time comes, I’ll definitely know it’s happening. And I can tell you things we need to do, to avoid all of it, but — if it’s — I’m not — I —” he clears his throat, twice in quick succession. “If possible, I’d appreciate it if I didn’t have to try to remember every little detail right now. I’ll be useless for the rest of the day.”

“Yes, of course,” Shiro says. “That’s fine.”

“Do you think you’d be able to tell us the order it happens in?” Allura asks. “Maybe a general timeline?”

“Yes,” Lance says. Keith finally musters up the courage to look at him again. Lance is standing up straight. His voice sounds mechanical and his eyes look empty. Keith wonders if he’s really seeing them. He wonders if he’s seeing different versions of them. Bloody versions of them.

“Pidge,” Lance says abruptly. She freezes, sitting up straighter in her chair. “She died first. It was — soon,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. “A mission. Not long after we messed up with the — the Peervida.”

Pidge’s mouth flattens. She looks determined instead of afraid.

Lance looks around. His eyes have gone wild. “Then Shiro,” he says. “I can’t — um, I don’t know. It was some time after Pidge. I don’t think too long.”

Shiro nods.

Lance takes a deep breath, steadying himself. “And then Allura and Coran,” he says. “Both at once. Maybe a week after.”

“And then Hunk,” Lance says. When he looks at Hunk, Keith can only see his profile. A tear escapes from his eye, slides all the way down his cheek, and then hangs from his jaw, refusing to fall.

Everyone’s silent for a moment.

“And then me,” Keith concludes.

Lance jerks around to look at him. “What? No,” he snaps.

“Did you get the order wrong?”

“I think I’d remember the order in which you died,” Lance says. He laughs, the sound harsh and grating in his throat.

“Then when did I die?” Keith asks.

“You’re not dead!” Lance yells. He looks furious.

“Wait, he’s not?” Pidge says.

“I’m still alive?” Keith echoes.

“You’re in a coma,” Lance says. “It’s stupid — you were reckless. It happened months after the Month of Hell. You’ve been asleep ever since.”

You know that saying, about the straw that broke the camel’s back? It was carrying so much already. Right up to its limit. And then someone tried to add just one more little thing, but the camel couldn’t take it anymore. One extra, tiny thing, was too much. In comparison to all the other things it was already carrying, anyway.

Well. This is that. The words escape Lance’s mouth and this time, when he tries to suck in a breath, it doesn’t come. For a couple seconds he’s just standing there, his lips parted, and then the breath comes all at once, and then out, and then in. He sinks down to the ground, gasping and tugging at his hair.

“You know,” he says, and his voice is wobbling. “We never — none of us ever — e-ever talked about what to do. Why didn’t we ever talk about it? The whole situation, with pulling the plug?”

Fuck. Keith’s blood runs hot, then cold. He didn’t mean to be the final straw. He didn’t mean to break Lance, to push him into this crisis.

Keith rises, not really thinking about it, and crosses the room. He sinks down next to Lance and reaches out slowly, carefully, not wanting to startle him. But Lance isn’t startled. He grabs Keith’s hand before it can reach him and intertwines their fingers, squeezing hard. A moment later, Keith realizes that he’s not the only one who moved. The whole team is surrounding them, sinking to the ground around Lance.

“I understand if you d-don’t want to live like that,” he says. He wipes his eyes carelessly with his sleeve. “If you want me to, I can — I can — but I don’t want to. You’re all I have left! And if you want me to let you go, I will, ‘cause sometimes, sometimes I think that you’re… that you’re not coming back, or already gone.” He gasps. Wipes his eyes. He’s rambling, but he’s stringing it all together. “But you’re what gives me hope. You’re the thing I’m fighting for, and coming back to. You’re all I have, and I don’t want — I don’t want to pull the plug. I don’t want to kill you, too.”

He’s looking at Keith, desperate. Keith squeezes his hand hard, as tightly as Lance is holding his.

“Don’t pull the plug,” he says. “I’d want to be able to keep trying. Keep fighting.”

A wave of relief rushes over Lance. It’s visible in the way he slumps, leaning toward Keith. He wraps an arm around Lance’s shoulders, pulling him into his side.

That wasn’t even a problem Keith ever imagined Lance dealing with. Partially because he’d just assumed that the alternate him was dead, too, but also because it never would’ve crossed his mind. Lance has been dealing with enough guilt, surviving where the rest of his team didn’t, but Keith can’t imagine even this smaller, added guilt.

Being the one who has to decide. Watching the time slip by, and knowing that you’re the deciding factor. Keep them alive, artificially? Pumping them with nutrients and oxygen? Or let them leave? Pull the plug and say goodbye and let them move on, to the next world, or life, or wherever you go when you die?

Keith keeps thinking that it can’t get any worse for Lance. He keeps thinking that he knows it all, and that it’s horrible, but that that’s all. But that’s clearly not true. Obviously, Lance has experienced worse horrors than any of them ever have. Probably than they ever will.

And yet Keith doesn’t even know the extent of it. Lance can’t remember most of it, apparently, but it’s worse than just his team being dead. It’s that he lived through it — probably saw it — and that alone is worse than just existing after the fact, knowing that they’re gone.

But what else?

Lance lost his team, and he’s been keeping Keith alive in a comatose state. What else has he been doing? He arrived with a knife in hand, standing in a fighting position. So, he’s still fighting. But what’s the planet like? The people? What else has Lance suffered through, since he lost all his friends? He’s covered in scars. It clearly hasn’t gotten any easier.

Keith wishes he could just… fix it. At the very least, he wishes he could do something for Lance, like erase his memory or something. The problem would still exist, but maybe it’d be better if Lance didn’t know. If he couldn’t even remember what he’d lost.

Ugh. A shitty solution, Keith is aware. He just aches for Lance. And yet, there’s nothing they can do for him. It’s already too late.

—

It took a while to come back from that breakdown. Eventually, Lance wiped his eyes for the final time, got to his feet, and apologized. He apologized for being upset after having to talk about their deaths.

Allura, Shiro, and Coran stayed behind. They’re no doubt making notes. Mapping out the timeline Lance described and coming up with plans, figuring out how they should operate when it happens. They probably won’t be able to finalize the plans until the day Pidge is supposed to die, though. Now, they just have to wait for Lance to realize when the day is upon them.

Keith assumed that the others would try to stay with Lance. They’d want to be there for him, to continue to be able to comfort him, and Keith was planning on tagging along with them. He still felt bad, like he’d caused this whole thing.

But Lance rushed out of the bridge, and the second the rest of them got to the hallway, he was gone. They exchanged kind of awkward goodbyes — offered clearly made-up excuses of other things they had to do — and went their separate ways.

Keith’s going back to his room. He’ll either change and head down to the training room to get his emotions out the old fashioned way, through sweat and adrenaline, or he’ll curl up on his bed and wallow in them. He hasn’t decided yet.

But when his door slides open, he freezes.

Lance is sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, with one of Keith’s pillows hugged to his chest. He looks up when the door opens.

“I hope this is okay,” he says abruptly. “I kind of need you right now. For months, it was just you and me. You’re who I want, when I want comfort.”

It’s more explanation than Keith expected, and there’s absolutely no way he was going to say no, even if Lance hadn’t said all that.

“Yeah,” Keith says quickly. He joins Lance on the bed, hoping that that’s what Lance meant, and is blindsided a second time. Lance abandons his pillow and scoots toward Keith, pulling him into a hug and burying his face in Keith’s shoulder.

(What Keith wouldn’t give to experience this for real. With his Lance. And maybe not in a comforting way, but in just a be close to me way.)

Lance is shaking, just slightly.

“I really need you to wake up,” Lance confesses. “I can’t do it alone anymore. I think I’m losing it.”

“You’re not losing it,” Keith tells him, rubbing his back. That’s what he settles on saying, because he doesn’t want to make promises he can’t keep. He has no idea if the other him will wake up, but he hopes he does. For Lance’s sake.

“I am,” Lance whispers. He squeezes Keith tighter. “It didn’t used to be this bad. Like, I was depressed as shit. Everything hurt, every day. Like, on the inside,” he explains.

Keith hums. He stops rubbing Lance’s back and just holds him.

“But it’s been bad ever since the coma. I was fine at first. I thought I had some good leads, and I thought I was making progress. But I wasn’t, and then I was back at square one, and — it’s been a really long time.” His voice is hushed. Secretive. Keith doesn’t interrupt, because he’s not sure that Lance will continue if he does.

“I’m alone. And I’m not crazy. But… I think I will be. If you don’t wake up soon, I think I’m going to lose it. Completely.”

“You’ll find the right leads,” Keith says. “You know how these things work. We make progress, and then we fuck up, and when it seems like all hope is lost… that’s when we break through.”

“Yeah,” Lance agrees. “I just need a breakthrough.”

Chapter Text

Lance is bleeding. He accidentally punched a mirror.

(Look, it was a legitimate response, okay? He was washing his face and he closed his eyes to splash water over his skin, and when he opened them, he swore he saw something standing behind him. And — okay, yeah. He should’ve turned around if he was trying to punch the thing successfully, but your fight or flight response doesn’t always act that accurately in the moment. Lance saw the weird shadow thing and he threw a punch and that was it.)

There wasn’t actually anything behind him, which is good. And Lance’s hand isn’t too messed up — there’s a piece of glass lodged between two of his knuckles, but it’s not like it’s a fatal wound.

His biggest problem now is what to do about it. If he bandages his hand himself, someone is bound to ask him about it. And he really doesn’t want to step into a healing pod. They kind of give him the creeps, now (they’re a little too similar to the machine Keith’s hooked up to these days, and what if Lance goes in and he doesn’t wake up, either?), and he doesn’t want to waste his little time here in a pod, besides.

It’s already been almost an entire week, and that freaks Lance out because he knows that time has a mind of its own. He feels like time can look and act differently depending from which angle you come at it.

Like, Present Time takes the longest time. Lance has been standing in his bathroom for who knows how long, staring at his broken mirror with blood dripping from the ends of his fingers. He can feel each second drag by, if he really wants to.

And Future Time doesn’t exist. Partially in the sense that, technically, the future doesn’t really exist — you can’t get to the future, and every event that’s planned to happen in the future eventually becomes the present, where you actually experience it. (Lance knows this is all a bit ironic, considering he’s a year ahead in his own reality, but still). But Future Time also doesn’t exist in the sense that Lance doesn’t really think about the future much, anymore.

He used to think about it a lot. Like, all the time. He’d say things like, when we defeat the Galra and when we’re back on Earth. Future things. Stuff he’d expected to happen, one day.

Now, he lives solely in the present. Today, I’m going to take out the nest of parasites on the outskirts of town and bribe a trader with the spoils. Afterward, I might take a shower.

But there’s also Past Time. That’s where time gets the trickiest — it’s both long and short, all at once.

Like, it’s been forever since he’s been on his own. Centuries. Millenia. It feels like he’s never not been all by himself. Time has stretched endlessly since his friends died, and even more since Keith became Sleeping Beauty.

At the same time, it was only yesterday that he was living on the castle-ship. His castle-ship. Bugging Pidge as she worked on her latest invention or begging Allura to take them to a space-mall, his face wash having run out.

A week has passed since Lance was pulled into this reality. Each day felt like Normal Time. He spent a lot of it surrounded by his friends, talking to them and pretending not to have breakdowns and occasionally actually being okay, just playing board games in the rec room or watching old Altean movies.

But now that an entire week has slipped by, Lance can feel it weighing on him. It felt like Normal Time, but it moved too quickly, now that he’s looking back on it. Like it was Past Time all along. And if he’s not careful, it’ll just keep moving that fast. Soon enough, the month will be over, and he’ll be shunted back to the reality where he belongs. He’ll be facing every problem on his own again, with no team to rely on.

Sure, it’s what he’s used to, but behind the trauma and pain that’s come with this whole reality-shifting mess, he has to admit that part of it has been… kind of good. When he’s not freaking out, he’s enjoying himself, sometimes remembering things about his friends that he can’t believe he forgot. (And not the stuff that he’s purposefully forgotten, but instead random stuff, like how Pidge genuinely can’t stand the sight of spiders, or how Allura enjoys and frequently misuses Earth slang. Little things that he’d want to remember.)

He’s just not ready to be alone again, is all. And it feels like the responsibility is entirely in his hands to make what time he has left not feel like it’s passing in the blink of an eye.

That’s mostly what Lance is thinking as he stands there, staring at the piece of glass in his knuckle. Like, maybe if he just keeps standing here, time will keep moving this slow. It’ll keep being the syrupy, manageable kind of time.

Then again, his hand is starting to sting. And he’s pretty hungry. He should probably just get a move on with his day.

Lance takes himself to the infirmary, bypassing the pods and sitting himself down on the examination table. They’d rarely needed to use it in all of Lance’s history on the castle-ship, but it’s there, and there’s an assortment of supplies in the table beside it.

He digs a pair of tweezers out of the drawer and uses them to pull the glass out of his hand, and then he dabs alcohol onto the wound before wrapping it with a bandage. He flexes his fingers a few times, making sure that everything is working properly, before hopping off the table.

“Everything okay?”

It’s Allura. She’s standing in the doorway, her head tilted to the side.

Everything okay. Everything okay? That’s a good question. In the general sense, or…?

“Yes,” Lance says. He holds up his hand, waving it around a bit. “I tripped. Into my mirror.”

“Do you need a pod?”

“I should be fine,” Lance says.

“Everyone’s finishing up breakfast,” Allura says. “Hunk said he’d bring you something to eat. We were going to meet in the bridge.”

“Sounds great!” Lance says. Any excuse to be surrounded by his friends and not actually have to talk about his problems is a win in his book. (It comes with a slight loss, in this case, because he didn’t realize how much time passed while he was standing in the bathroom — he definitely woke up early enough to make it to breakfast).

The bridge is already full when they arrive. Pidge is sitting at her seat, a holoscreen already pulled up and filled with recent reports. Hunk is hovering awkwardly by Lance’s chair, holding a bowl of food goo, and Shiro’s leaning over Keith’s station, watching as Keith points something out on his screen. Coran is already standing in the center of the bridge, waiting for Allura to join him.

“Thanks, buddy,” Lance says, accepting his breakfast from Hunk. He sees movement out of the corner of his eye, and when he turns, it’s only Keith. Their eyes lock, and Keith’s immediately dart away from his, focusing on Allura instead.

“Sorry to cut breakfast so short,” Allura says. (So maybe Lance wasn’t late for breakfast?) “We received a transmission early this morning and I wanted to have a brief as soon as possible.”

Lance settles into his seat, pulling his legs up onto the chair and setting his goo in his lap.

Man, he missed this chair. It’s really the little things that get to you, and in the most random ways, too. It’s not even a comfy chair, nor is it very central in the bridge. In fact, Lance used to be jealous of Shiro’s seat — right smack-dab in the middle of the place, ready for all the action.

But Lance grew to love his chair. For one thing, it’s the closest (on his side) to the windows. Meaning that he’d been able to gaze out into the universe whenever he felt like it, even if that meant accidentally zoning out far too often and needing a plan reiterated for him. Just feeling the sides of the chair press into his knees feels nostalgic, even though he’s experiencing it right now.

“The transmission came from a small planet in the area, the Wexterians,” Allura says, pulling up a wall of information onto the screen behind her. It’s way too much text to hold Lance’s attention, which is exactly what he thought last time—

His spit sticks in his throat, which immediately dries and then spasms, and Lance chokes on a cough. Goosebumps erupt all over his arms and neck. What little of the goo he consumed threatens to come right back up, but Lance bites his tongue and concentrates on the pain, trying to figure out if he’s breathing or not.

Last time. Last time. Last time.

Way too much text, they should’ve included pictures. Maybe a voice message. They read through it all anyway, and Lance stared out the window a bit — not enough to get distracted. He understood the mission. It’s not like he went out there blind, and caused—

Not the point that’s not the point because the point is that he experienced this before and that’s bad because if it’s happened before and it’s happening again then that means the time is now, and Lance doesn’t want the time to be now because that’s too soon and he can’t do it again, he can’t, can’t, please don’t make him, he doesn’t want to see it again, doesn’t want to feel it again—

“Lance!”

The voice rings out sharply through the room, echoing a bit because of the high ceilings. Lance’s brain itches toward that thought, trying to cling on — he could go on a tangent about the castle and its architecture, all the weird little random things he’s noticed since living here — but he manages to clamp down on that panic response. Someone said his name, and he needs to pay attention.

When Lance succeeds in dragging his eyes away from his jeans — he could’ve counted the threads there, he was staring so intensely — he finds the bridge looking like some sort of shadow realm. It’s darker, except that’s actually the spots swimming in Lance’s vision. He’s not about to faint, but only because he won’t let himself. How ridiculous. Former paladin of Voltron, former defender of the universe; people like that don’t pass out because history is threatening to repeat itself.

“Yes?” Lance says, responding to the room at large. He doesn’t know who said his name, because everyone’s eyes are trained on him. Instinctively, he looks at Pidge. Can’t help it. This is her mission. The one that puts an end to her story and wipes all traces of normalcy from the rest of their lives. This is the beginning of the end, and it starts with Pidge.

“Oh, shit,” Pidge says. “Is this the mission?”

Lance’s tongue feels thick, so he nods.

“It’s okay,” Shiro says, loud and commanding. He’s taking control of the situation. “It’ll be different this time, Lance,” he says. It’s probably something he should be addressing to the whole room — maybe to Pidge, especially — but Lance must look more panicked than the rest of them. “We’ll know what we’re up against and we’ll take precautions.”

“We should still go over the details of the mission,” Allura interjects. “And perhaps after that, Lance can add anything extra that we might want to be looking out for.”

“Yeah,” Lance rasps. “I can do that.”

The terror is roaring up like a volcano in his mind. Threatening to explode and destroy everything. Lance can almost see it in his mind’s eye. If he lets it happen, he’s going to be no help at all. He’ll fail them completely, and then Pidge will die, and they’ll realize that it was a mistake to bring him here. That they would’ve been better off on their own, facing unknown threats with a sane version of their Lance, because then at least the chances would’ve been better.

He knows exactly what’ll happen if that terror explodes in his head. It’ll look like this:

He’ll dissociate. They’ll be talking and planning and Lance will just be sitting there, feeling like he’s observing everything from afar. He’ll still respond when they talk to him, because he won’t want them to catch on, but even that won’t feel entirely real. No, it’ll feel more like a dream, because dreams are safer than real life. You wake up from dreams, and then it’s over.

Instead of freaking out over everything, he’ll be strangely calm. But with nothing feeling real, he’ll be slower in his reaction times. He’ll mess up. Cost them everything, maybe.

So Lance takes ‘Any Other Option’ for 500. The jeopardy-style card flips over in his mind, revealing ‘a subconscious psychological defense mechanism used to avoid cognitive dissonance, or the mental discomfort and anxiety caused by a person having conflicting values, cognitions, emotions, or beliefs within themselves.’

What is ‘Compartmentalization?’ he thinks. Ding ding ding!

Lance shoves emotions and fear and Memories Of Before into a box, leaving him with fighting skills and analytical thinking and reactionary times. He concentrates on the now, refusing to think of anything else.

“The Wexterians are not a fighting people,” Allura is saying. “They have no weapons or skill in battle, which is how a small army of the Galra took over their planet relatively easily. They don’t know how to fight back or resist.”

“So, it’ll be just us out there?” Keith says, sounding pissed. “That’s a lot to ask, even from Voltron.”

“Yeah,” Hunk suddenly chimes in. “And, I don’t know… maybe the Peervida had something different in mind when they helped us bring Lance to this reality. Maybe we’re destined to lose this battle, and we should just avoid it entirely.”

“No,” Shiro says firmly. “I know this is a scary situation — for Pidge more than anyone,” he adds, looking at her. “But we’re Voltron. We protect the universe, and that means responding to distress signals like these. We can’t just back down whenever the risk seems greater than usual.”

“I don’t know,” Keith says. “I mean, of course we’ll help them, but we have to think of ourselves, too. We can’t help anybody if something happens to us first.”

“Shiro’s right,” Allura says. “The Wexterians need us — that should be reason enough for us to help them. But if it’s a greater incentive: we need to save them before the Galra discover what they can do. They may not be fighters, but they’re still a great asset in this war. With enough preparation, the Wexterians have the ability to skew the odds of chance.”

“That’s creepy,” Hunk mutters.

“How come so many alien species have crazy powers?” Pidge says suddenly. “You’d think most of them would be like us, just normal civilizations that can’t do any crazy shit. But half the time we’re meeting people that can do things that shouldn’t be possible.”

“It only seems impossible because you’ve never heard of it before,” Coran interjects. “Besides, most of these aliens would find certain abilities that humans possess extraordinary in their own right. You can endure both hot and cold temperatures, yes?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, when no one else responds.

“Most of the planets we visit are either very far or very close to the nearest star,” Coran explains. “They’re only able to thrive in one extreme.”

“That’s a lame power,” Pidge says.

“Regardless,” Allura says, drawing everyone’s attention back to her. “There’s only a single Galra unit on this planet, so the numbers won’t be something we’re wholly unused to. However, Pidge, if you want to sit out from this battle, I won't stop you.”

“No,” Lance says, finally speaking up. “This will be a hard enough mission with all of us. If we leave Pidge behind, there’s no telling what might happen. Someone else might die in her place.” He clears his throat, looking at Pidge quickly. “Not that I’d rather have you die, or even expect it to happen this time,” he adds.

“Of course,” Pidge says. “And it’s fine. I want to come. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“Lance, could you tell us anything of importance about the upcoming battle?” Allura says. Her voice is gentle, like she’s expecting Lance to freak out again. He’s fine, though.

“First of all, we won’t be surprising them,” Lance says. He twists in his seat, slinging his legs over the arm and getting a better look at his team. “Not sure why, but they’re already expecting us. I think someone must’ve seen the Wexterian who sent this message.”

“Damn,” Hunk mutters.

“The battle will take place in their city,” Lance continues, “so we won’t be able to fight with our lions. The Galra are controlling the streets and they’re spread out. Whenever you think you’re in the clear, they’ll surprise you by jumping out of the nearest building or alleyway. They’re everywhere.” He casts his mind back, remembering. Granted, he does have to open that box in his mind just a tad — he went ahead and threw his memories in there, but it’s fine this time. He keeps his emotions far away.

“Last time, we got separated. We kept having to run to find new places to hide and fight. Pidge and I were one of the last pairs still together,” Lance says. Normally, when he thinks about that — it’s over.

Curtains drawn, walls punched, something destroyed — whatever. If Lance thinks about that detail, it always grips him and refuses to let go. Most of the time, he never even gets that far. He forgets that he was the last one who saw her alive, because that knowledge is just too much to handle. Maybe that’s why it destroys him so completely every time he does remember, only to forget again the next day, just knowing that he’d remembered something horrible from this time.

Still, Lance can’t wrack his brain much farther than that at the moment. It’s like he just hits a wall. He and Pidge got separated, and then— full stop. Something happened, obviously. He’d probably know, too, if this were one of those bad days.

“Everyone needs to stick together,” Lance says firmly. “At the very least, Pidge must never be alone.” He directs this instruction to Pidge, because while it’s a responsibility that all of them share, it’s also one that she needs to follow the most strictly. No matter what, she can’t let herself get separated. “Communication will be key.”

“That is very useful information,” Allura says. “Thank you.”

The brief ends and the team falls into their regular form of before-mission chaos. Everyone’s rushing around, changing into paladin gear and checking and double checking their supplies. Med kits are full? Bayards functional? Jetpacks fully operational?

When everyone’s set and ready to go, they rush to their lions for battle. Seeing Blue would probably be enough for another freak-out on a normal day. Lance has been avoiding her like the plague since he got here. But he makes himself feel fine and boards her anyway, silently grateful when she actually opens up for him.

The overwhelming strength of Blue’s emotions is almost enough to break him. It pushes against that box in his mind, threatening to tip it over, but Lance holds on tight. He can’t feel right now, because he’d feel too much, too strongly.

Blue’s emotions probably match what his would be, though.

Love. Comfort. Heartbreak, forgiveness. There’s an unspoken agreement between them. She can feel who he really is, and she’s not angry with him for leaving her behind and hiding her from the universe.

That was another big regret that Lance was struggling with. At the time, when everything was happening and he decided on a whim that he’d have to hide her, she’d been very understanding. She’d comforted him through the loss and the pain, one constant in his life that was like a tether to everything he’d lost.

He’s too far from her now to feel anything at all. As Lance had left that planet where he’d abandoned her, he’d felt their connection grow weaker and weaker. Like a rubber band, stretching much too far. Even today, he’s not sure if that thread snapped. If he’s even her paladin anymore, broken as he is.

He’d wondered if this was how the paladins of old had felt, hiding their lions throughout the universe. But they must not have carried the same sense of failure as Lance did. They were pushing off the war to another generation, but Lance had dropped the ball. Hiding Blue had seemed the last and only thing he could do.

But it’s fine. Because his Blue would feel the same as this Blue, and this Blue doesn’t blame him. He shouldn’t have forgotten what she was like. How she trusted him and loved him and wanted him to run away, too. She wanted him to be safe.

The flight to the planet is quick, as is their disembark. They land right beside the city and they take off into it as a group, weapons drawn.

The Galra are expecting them, but this time, they’re expecting to be expected. The fighting breaks out immediately, lasers flying and swords swinging through the air.

An eerie feeling creeps through Lance, and it’s eerie because it’s both familiar and not. It’s familiar, because it always feels this way when it happens. It’s not, because Lance always forgets that this happens to him until it’s happening again.

Lance has enough crazy to deal with, that’s obvious. His brain is mush, constantly distracting him from his inner issues or erasing them from his mind entirely. The hallucinations aren’t good either, but at least they’re pretty infrequent. When they happen, they freak him out, but then they disappear and he gets to rest assured that they weren’t real and that he was crazy for thinking they were.

At times like this, Lance gets the special treat of realizing that not only is he insane, but his very brand of insanity forces him to forget the extent of it all.

PTSD comes with a whole gang of fun symptoms, from insomnia to difficulty concentrating to memory loss. Lance just has the pleasure of experiencing almost every one of them, including flashbacks.

Great.

“Look out!” Shiro shouts, diving to the side as a group of Galra soldiers burst into the street, jumping out of alleys and off of balconies. Suddenly, they’re surrounded.

The fighting starts immediately, bayards flashing to life as shouts fill the street. Wexterians hide and watch, peering through cracked doorways or slotted blinds.

It’s a mess, shit coming at them from all sides, and it’s Keith who barks, “Split up!”

They break into two groups of three. Lance, Keith, and Pidge dart into an alley, scrambling up a wall and onto a roof to get away from the fight, while Hunk, Shiro, and Allura charge down the street, the Galra splitting to follow the groups. Lance snipes a few of the enemies following his friends down the street as Keith clambers onto the roof, and then the three of them are running, too.

Lance stays glued to Pidge’s side, feeling wild. It’s all coming back to him. This day, this fight. In these moments, it always seems impossible that he could forget all the excruciating details.

They mow through the Galra, determined and unsurprised, and this time the fight feels equal. They’re pushing the Galra back, deeper into the city.

The Galra are everywhere, even deep in the city. It’s not a huge army, but they make their numbers seem greater than they are. They could’ve held Voltron off at the entrance of the city if they’d all been there, but they’d scattered throughout it instead, luring them in and making it harder to escape.

Everywhere they turn, there’s another enemy, stepping out of hiding or shooting them from elsewhere, unseen. They left the rooftops after running into more soldiers up there, simultaneously an easy target for those on the ground, but now the snipers have clear sights of them on the ground again.

There’s nowhere to hide or catch their breath, and it’s at another intersection when they’re separated even further. A huge group of them come out all at once, overwhelming them, and Keith gets pushed back as he fights.

He opens a door to a random house and darts inside, slamming it behind him, and Lance shouts his name as he disappears.

“Go!” Keith says over the comms. “I’ll meet back up with you.”

Worry gnaws at Lance’s chest, but he sprays the Galra before them with laserfire, no longer having to worry about hitting Keith, and takes off down another street with Pidge by his side.

“Four o’clock!” Keith shouts. Lance whirls around, picking off the group that just jumped out of a window, and then Keith’s hand clamps around Lance’s arm and yanks him to the side, out of the way of a stray blast. Lance squeezes Keith’s waist in a silent thank you and then shoots the enemy Pidge is brawling with, even though she’s more than capable of taking him on. No chances.

This fight is going better than the other one already. They’re more than halfway through the city, where the numbers begin to dwindle, and the whole team is still together.

They’re pinned. They took what they thought was a side street, but it’s actually a dead end. They’re pressed against the wall, barely holding the Galra off.

“Climb up,” Lance says. “I’ll follow you.”

“No way,” Pidge says. “If anything, you should climb up. You can shoot them when I climb up after you.”

“They’ll overwhelm you while I’m climbing,” Lance says. “I can take out enough of them to be fine when I follow you — just go!”

Pidge growls, frustrated, but she doesn’t argue. She stabs one last Galra in the neck and then starts clambering up the wall behind them, bits of brick crumbling from the wall and raining onto Lance’s helmet. He kicks out at an enemy that gets too close and then shoots him in the head, followed by the two that immediately replace him.

By the time Pidge calls down to him, he’s barely made a dent, but they’re not getting any closer to him. If he can keep this up for a few more minutes, he can have the alley cleared.

“I’ll be up soon!” Lance shouts. “Just keep an eye out!”

No way it’s this easy. This is all it would’ve taken? Their team, slightly more prepared? The six of them, side by side, rather than spread throughout the city, taking on this many soldiers in ones and twos?

That hardly seems fair. This was an impossible fight. It felt endless, like they were constantly fighting for their lives. This time, it feels like an easier mission. The kind that they finish up quickly and return from in good spirits. Another job well done.

“Everyone holding up okay?” Shiro’s voice crackles down the speakers. Lance is panting, having had to resort to some close combat maneuvers. He keeps switching his bayard between his sword and his blaster, the Galra getting too close for his gun to be of any use far too often.

Pidge left him, too, only after he assured her it would be okay. A group of Galra climbed onto the roof from the other side, all armed with guns, and she’s leading them away from him, since there’s no way he can take on an assault from both sides.

“Just great,” Lance answers. “Nothing a seasoned paladin like myself can’t handle.”

“I finished up with the group following me,” Keith says. “Who needs help?”

“Me,” Hunk says. “I got separated a while ago and these assholes keep joining the original group. My gun can’t break through their shields.”

“On my way,” Keith says.

“This quadrant seems clear,” Allura adds. “I can assist elsewhere as well.”

“I could use some help,” Lance admits. “Pidge might need it, too. She took off on the roofs.”

“Pidge, how’s it looking on your end?” Allura asks.

A rasp answers them. “S-sorry,” Pidge gasps out.

“Pidge?!” Lance shouts.

She doesn’t talk again. Lance thinks he hears another rattling breath. Chills snake down his spine and his fingers tremble, but he fights harder. He slashes through three enemies, his shoulder aching, and then changes his bayard back to the blaster. He just holds his finger on the trigger and guns through the crowd, which is a horrible technique. It overwhelms the gun and starts sending blasts askew, missing targets entirely, but it’s enough that it takes out a good chunk of them and pushes others back. It’s enough that Lance can turn and scramble up the wall, his heart in his throat.

Outside of his own battle, he realizes that the city sounds quieter, like the fighting’s dying down. His head whips back and forth, trying to figure out which way Pidge went — and then he hears a scream.

“Is that all of them?” Hunk says, the first to speak. Bodies litter the street, but none of them belong to their team. They’ve reached the heart of the city and no one else has appeared. It’s quiet.

“So… we succeeded?” Pidge ventures. The surprise in her voice is a dagger in Lance’s heart. This was easy. They were expecting worse. For Lance, it was so much worse.

Lance chases the sound. It was Allura. He leaps a gap between two buildings and almost trips over a third, because Allura’s kneeling over something in the street below.

“Allura?” he says.

“Help,” she sobs, and Lance scrambles down the wall, kneeling beside her.

Something escapes him. A scream, maybe, or a thread that was holding him together. Something vital is definitely gone.

What he’s seeing doesn’t even compute in his brain. It’s just colors, images. It reaches his eyes and no further — at least for a few moments — because the shock of it all puts a stop to Lance’s brain. It refuses to decipher what’s before him.

And then, like a dam breaking, it all rushes in.

He’s never seen an injury this bad before. He’s never seen this much blood before. Pidge is pale. Way too still. Allura’s hands are red, covered in—

Some part of Pidge is gaping open, it’s—

“What,” Lance says. Is he trying to say something? What words should even come after that? What’s happening? What does this mean? What can I do to help? What, what, what.

“She’s not breathing,” Allura gasps. That’s a lie, obviously. Lance drops to his knees, scoops Pidge into his arms, and runs. The ship isn’t too far away, and the pods have never failed him before. Pidge is fine.

“Is that everything, Lance?” Shiro says. Echo-y. Faraway.

“I think so,” Lance says.

As if to confirm it, the Wexterians pour into the streets, cheering. Did they celebrate last time? No. The situation was too dire.

Some Wexterian comes up to Allura — a man who looks important — and he’s thanking her profusely, asking what he can do to help the coalition, explaining how grateful they are.

Allura thanks him and tells him they’ll be in contact, but that they have another mission and must return to the ship now, and that’s unusual. Usually they stick around, to talk and celebrate and appease their new allies. But they leave. They go home, where everything is normal.

It’s a celebration. The team is laughing and hugging, talking excitedly. Pidge is alive! They escaped the terrible ending, they’ve practically done it already! One down, four to go. They can do this!

Lance follows them numbly to the lounge. He accepts a hug from Pidge, and he holds her tight. It really is a miracle. He really is happy that he could help, that he saved her from the fate she suffered in his reality. It just doesn’t feel real.

(It isn’t real, for Lance. It won’t be, when he goes back home.)

Coran announces that this is a situation that calls for some bubbly, and he disappears to grab space-champagne. Lance says something to excuse himself, maybe he even mentions a bathroom, and then he slips out of the room.

He feels like he’s straddling two timelines at once. He’s in the hallway, walking past the kitchen, and his brain is tugging him in another direction. The flashback is trying to grip him, but Lance doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want to see it. He doesn’t want to feel it.

Every time this has happened before, he’s never succeeded. The only way to make it go away is to let it happen. To experience it all over again, and then thankfully, blissfully, forget.

He makes it almost all the way to his room before he can’t go on anymore. He just sinks to the floor, and the second his back touches the wall, he’s there.

Everything is different now.

It hasn’t sunk in. It can’t. It doesn’t feel real.

This doesn’t… happen.

Coran stopped him before he could put Pidge in the pod. “They’re powerful machines, Lance,” he’d said gently. “But they can’t work miracles. Pidge is gone.”

The team was back already. They’d followed him to their lions, to the ship. Lance doesn’t remember what was said in that room. Did they shout? Protest? Or was it as silent as Lance’s mind?

They’ve had bad missions before. Tense atmospheres afterward, where one of them was in a pod and things looked dicey. But never anything like this.

They were all crying. No one could speak. They were trapped in their minds, unable to escape. The feelings too big to handle.

No one even stayed together. They can’t seek comfort for each other right now, so they all split off, walking aimlessly down different hallways. Lance sits out front of Keith’s room, but Keith isn’t in there. He might be inside his lion.

“Lance,” Keith says.

Keith’s not in there.

“Lance,” Keith repeats, and Lance is in the present. He’s sitting in the same place — woah, that wasn’t even on purpose — and Keith is squatting in front of him, looking concerned. Lance’s face feels wet.

He couldn’t seek comfort then. It was too new, and he didn’t know how to handle it. This time, comfort is all he wants. He reaches out and pulls Keith into him, hugging him hard.

“Sorry,” Lance says. “Um. It’s all coming back to me, right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Keith says. “It isn’t fair.”

Funny, that’s exactly what Lance had been thinking. It’s isn’t fair, truly. That they get to be fine, and happy, and for him, they’re dead.

“C’mere,” Keith says, and he pulls Lance to his feet. He intertwines their fingers, and Lance—

He almost thinks about the thing that he tries not to think about. He plans not to think about it again, at least until Keith is awake.

Lance expects him to take them back to the team. They should be celebrating with all of them, toasting to Pidge’s continued survival. Lance is supposed to thrive when he’s surrounded by them, and normally, he does.

But Keith doesn’t take him there. Instead, he brings Lance to Pidge’s lab, of all places.

“Some of us got to talking, and we realized how unfair this all is,” Keith says. “It’s not much, but we’ve been working on helping you, too.”

He pulls up a holoscreen that looks like one of those red-string theory boards. Lance recognizes his teammates’ writing — most of it belonging to Pidge.

There’s a lot of research splayed out before Lance. They’ve been looking up planets and theorizing, looking for all kinds of different artifacts. Things that could help someone come out of a coma.

“We could use your help,” Keith admits. “We don’t know what planet you’ve been living on, or how easily you’re able to travel. It might also help to know how and why your Keith came to be in a coma. And if we have time, maybe we could try to get some of these supplies while you’re here.”

Lance laughs, the sound watery and breathless. The only way he’s been able to look for solutions is through word of mouth. They don’t have anything like the castle’s resources where he’s been living. But this could work. This could be a breakthrough.

Lance barely stops himself from kissing Keith.

Chapter Text

Most days, Keith has a good idea of where he can find his teammates, no matter the time. It’s something that he didn’t really notice at first, when it just started happening. And when he did notice it, he was equally freaked out and impressed with himself.

There are obviously a few factors that play into it. For one thing, they’re all living in one confined space. Sure, it’s a big castle, but there are still only so many places any one person could be. Anyone could find someone in here, given that they search hard enough.

But finding them quickly? That comes down to knowing them well, knowing their habits.

When they first ended up on the castle-ship together, Keith never thought he’d be as close with his friends as he is now. It wasn’t because of anything they did, but just because of who he’s always been as a person. Standoffish. A loner. He’d expected to like them more than they would ever like him. To form nothing more than surface-level friendships, and maybe a bit of camaraderie that comes naturally when a part of a team that’s working to save the universe.

Unsurprisingly, he greatly underestimated everything. Himself, his friends — even what that camaraderie should feel like.

He wasn’t best friends with them all immediately, but their friendships grew quickly. First came the team bond, which was all Keith had allowed himself to expect, and it came much sooner than he’d thought it would. Almost instantly, there was this deep-rooted sense of togetherness with his team. A willingness to do anything for them, to protect them and fight for them — and that went both ways.

Friendship came right on its heels. Suddenly, Keith didn’t just feel close or appreciated when he was in his lion or on a battlefield. He felt that way simply being at home, sitting at the table eating breakfast or joining his friends in the lounge.

Keith had never really had friends before Voltron. There was Shiro, but he didn’t actually count — he was practically a brother, looking out for Keith after they met, after Keith joined the Garrison.

He learned more about his friends than he thought was possible. He hadn’t realized that you could know other people almost as well as you know yourself.

If Keith had to write a list of facts he knows about any of his teammates, it would take him forever. It would probably be impossible, actually. He’d be able to fill pages and pages about them, from Pidge’s childhood to Allura’s culture to Hunk’s brief obsession with horses in the fourth grade and Lance’s hatred of the sound of two pieces of metal scraping against one another.

When Keith first realized that he could hunt down almost anyone in the castle-ship at any time of day, it all clicked for him. How well he knew his friends.

Like, if they train as a team in the morning and eat breakfast together beforehand, Pidge can most likely be found in the bridge. She likes to use that time to figure out what planets are around them and crosscheck them with the castle’s databases, in case any of those planets are known for having certain minerals or parts that she needs for any random invention she’s working on. At the same time, Hunk is most often having a chat with Yellow (in the guise of working on her, but he never actually is) and Lance — if he didn’t take a long shower, in which case he’ll still be in his room — can be found in the lounge, patiently waiting for someone to join him so he can have company.

After lunch, Allura and Coran are usually in the bridge, catching up on any correspondence and planning the team’s next moves, whether that be a supply stop or a wormhole to a different sector or a Galra ship that they need to attack. Shiro usually heads to the training deck to spar with the bots.

It’s like this elaborate formula that Keith unintentionally solved, but it’s true. If he’s wrong on the first guess, he’s almost always right on the second.

But if it’s a formula, then Lance — the alternate one, here with them now — is an undetermined variable. Keith keeps guessing wrong. Whenever he tries to find him, Lance is almost never where Keith expects him to be.

Yesterday, he was searching the complete opposite side of the castle, thinking that Lance would be sequestered away with Hunk or Pidge somewhere after dinner. Instead, Keith eventually found him on the training deck. He was doing a battle simulation, which they almost never do on their own. It’s supposed to simulate an actual battlefield, which they should never be experiencing by themselves. It’s a way for them to train as a team, communicating through the chaos and watching out for each other and making sure they can take down enemies without hurting their friends.

Keith tried it on his own once, out of curiosity. It was insane, and stressful, and immediately obvious as to why it was an event that they’re only supposed to take on as a team.

Watching Lance do the simulation… it was heartbreaking. Maybe if it was their Lance, who hadn’t gone through everything that this Lance has, it would be impressive. It certainly is impressive, being able to take on a whole host of enemies by yourself. But it’s because of the fact that Lance is good at it — has been forced to be good at it — that it was so painful to watch.

Keith had stood in the doorway, not wanting to interrupt or distract Lance. The first time Keith had seen this Lance fight, it was obvious that he was looking at a different Lance. Now, he knows the reason. Lance had explained to him — in not so many words — that he’d been having flashbacks that day. Probably during the battle, too.

The team had managed to stick together the entire time, and Keith had been worried before they’d even landed. Not just about Pidge, who’d died that day in Lance’s reality, but about Lance as well. He couldn’t imagine what it was like to fight in a battle that you’d lost before.

Lance had fought the whole time, but at moments, it was like he wasn’t really there. Keith would glance at him, and Lance would be expressionless. His eyes glazed over. Sometimes, he’d freeze for a second or two, his whole body going stiff, and then he’d blink hard and aim his blaster and shoot some Galra in the face.

But Keith could’ve been watching his Lance in the training deck. Without being plagued by flashbacks, they fight the same. Keith recognized that look of determination, the way Lance would roll out of the line of fire, the split second before he pulled the trigger, lining the enemy up in the crosshairs. Just like his Lance, but a little more experienced, able to take on this simulation all on his own.

That wasn’t the only time Keith has been wrong trying to find Lance, either. The day before that, he’d been sure that he’d find Lance in his room, and an hour later he’d finally sought him out in Pidge’s lab, surrounded by books and holoscreens, having added his own notes to the board.

When he’d thought he’d find him in the kitchen, Lance was with Blue. When Keith looked for him in the lounge, he later found him in the bridge. This Lance just doesn’t follow the equation at all.

That’s why Keith’s currently looking for him in a maintenance closet — he’s basically out of options. He has no idea where else he can find him, and he hasn’t seen him since this morning at breakfast. Maybe he shouldn’t have been the one to volunteer when Allura asked someone to go find Lance, a new transmission having come in.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” Lance says, and Keith spins around, flushing when he realizes how closely Lance was standing behind him. Now, they’re practically chest-to-chest, and Keith takes a hasty step back.

“You, actually,” Keith says.

Lance cocks an eyebrow. “In the closet?”

Keith shrugs. “You’re hard to find.”

“Maybe you’re just bad at looking,” Lance says. “What’s up?”

“Allura wants us in the bridge,” Keith says. “This planet contacted us, and we want to know…” he trails off. It’s already obvious, anyway, and he doesn’t want to be the one to say it. From the way Lance’s expression goes blank, he doesn’t need Keith to spell it out for him anyway.

“Right,” he says. “Let’s go check it out.”

They walk to the bridge together. When they arrive, everyone’s already seated, waiting. It feels horribly reminiscent of the last time they did this, and Keith hates for Lance to have to go through this again. How much can he take? How much can any one person suffer until they can’t help but break?

“Wonderful, you’re here,” Allura says. “Lance, do you recognize this planet?”

She pulls it up on the screen. It’s purple, labeled “Cruteria,” and accompanied by the message the leader of the Cruterians sent.

Hailing Princess Allura of Altea and the Paladins of Voltron:

This is Queen M’Tiq of Cruteria. Granted that you’re not on an important mission right now, I would love for you to visit our planet to discuss the coalition. We have a vested interest in joining and are eager to know what would be expected of us should we join.

Please let us know whether you’ll be able to make it. It’s the holiday of our Saint Herenthia tonight, so there’ll be plenty of food and celebrations.

Yours truly,

Queen M’Tiq

“Huh,” Lance says.

“Is that a good ‘huh’ or a bad ‘huh’?” Hunk asks immediately.

“It’s a ‘huh’ huh,” Lance says. “I don’t recognize this.”

“Really?” Pidge says, sitting forward in her seat eagerly. “Do you think that we already altered our reality enough from your own? Was that all it took?”

Lance shrugs. “I’m not sure,” he says. “We were a mess at this time, in my reality. I don’t think we went on any missions or stopped to negotiate with neighboring planets. If we got this correspondence, we either didn’t see it or didn’t attend.”

“Interesting,” Allura says. “Well, then. I guess there’s no harm in going.”

There’s a flurry of activity immediately after. Allura fires off a response, letting the queen know they’ll be attending and organizing a time and destination for their arrival. The rest of them throw themselves into research, figuring out their customs, the way they dress, things that they consider to be sleights.

Lance is the one who suggests remaining in paladin armor instead changing into formal wear, just in case, so they at least don’t have to worry about finding clothes that even slightly resemble the Cruterians’ formal wear, and then they’re ready. It’s only an hour or so before they’re landing on the planet and disembarking from the castle-ship to a crowd of excited people.

“Welcome,” Queen M’Tiq says, bowing her head. “We appreciate such a quick response. And right in time for the celebration of Saint Herenthia!”

Keith glances around, taking in the crowd. Based on the research they did before landing, everyone seems to be dressed differently from how they normally dress. People everywhere are wearing necklaces and bracelets and earrings adorned with clay beads. Colorful ribbons are tied in women’s hair and around the men’s heads. Stark makeup decorates many of their faces, drawing lines from the corners of their eyes and into their hairline. Some of them have painted one side of their face, divided right down the middle.

Keith directs his attention to Lance next, which unfortunately isn’t even a new habit. It’s not that Keith is trying to gauge how the new, traumatized Lance deals with any and every event — it’s that he’s always looking toward Lance, curious about his reactions.

To Keith’s surprise, Lance looks… excited. His eyes are lit up, taking in their surroundings quickly. A smile is tugging at the edge of his mouth. Lance — his Lance — has always loved stuff like this. Celebrations, festivals, other planets’ cultures. While he can pretend to love the oftentimes boring, political parties they attend, he genuinely likes these kinds of things.

Keith can hardly count the amount of times they’ve landed on a planet hosting some kind of celebration only for them to lose Lance immediately. He’d always find them again later, holding some kind of street-food and decked out in the outfits of the celebrators.

It seems that the same is still true for this Lance. This is probably good for him, Keith realizes. Something different, that he didn’t experience during this Hell Month in his universe. Something good and fun, instead.

Keith feels a smile growing on his face, partially because Lance’s smiles are contagious, and partially because he’s just glad that Lance can still enjoy things like this. Granted, he probably wouldn’t still feel like Lance if he wasn’t capable of appreciating the good things, even amidst all the bad.

The rest of their friends seem giddy, too. They’re all exchanging looks, eyes flashing with excitement.

“We’re grateful to be here,” Allura says. “We’re always happy to discuss the coalition with potential allies. And the celebration of Saint Herenthia seems lovely.”

The Cruterians are more than happy to have them participate. People hand them beaded necklaces and colorful ribbons. A woman pulls Keith into the crowd and he stumbles back out with blue paint smeared under his eyes. The same treatment was done to his friends; Pidge has black lines from her forehead to her cheeks, Hunk has pink right down the middle of his nose, and Lance’s eyebrows are lined with red polka-dots.

The queen wraps an arm through Allura’s and leads them off down the street, where it seems the majority of the festivities are taking place.

“This is fun,” Lance whispers, bumping his shoulder into Keith’s.

“I know,” Keith says. “I can’t believe we’re skipping the whole boring-negotiations-in-a throne-room part.”

“That’ll probably come later,” Lance says. “But I don’t mind celebrating first.”

“So,” Allura says ahead of them. “How do you celebrate Saint Herenthia?”

They’ve caught up with Allura and the queen, and they seem to be taking a meandering path through the city toward the palace. Hunk managed to snag some sort of food on a stick from a street vendor. Shiro has noticeably more beaded necklaces than he did before, and someone gave him an orange-paint-equivalent of a black eye.

“In our religion, Herenthia is the saint of Lhet’iv Mal — the naked truth.”

“Interesting.”

“We celebrate with food and gifts and decorations, of course,” Queen M’Tiq says, “but mostly, we celebrate by telling truths we’ve yet to admit out loud. It cleanses the spirit and pleases Saint Herenthia. On this day every year, lovers confess and murderers turn themselves in and mysteries solve themselves.”

“That’s amazing,” Allura says.

“Indeed. The most dedicated to earning Her favor drink Potions of Truth at sundown.”

“What a lovely holiday,” Allura says.

Keith can’t help but disagree. He doesn’t make a habit out of lying, but generally, he has no interest in coming clean on the lies he has told. And a potion of truth sounds horrifying.

“Shall we proceed to the palace to begin our discussion?” the queen proposes. “We can stop at any booths you’re interested in along the way.”

“There goes our fun,” Lance mutters to Keith. He bumps into him again, lingering against his side for a moment too long.

The actual negotiation goes like almost every negotiation Keith has ever been a part of. They’ve all witnessed so many that sometimes they get sent to smaller planets in groups of twos or threes, acting as a representative for Voltron.

When planets reach out to them of their own accord, and not because they’re in danger, they either join easily or after requesting some kind of favor from Voltron to prove their faith or strength or whatever. Allura goes on and on about the coalition, how big they’ve grown, how wide-spread they are.

It’s a great sales pitch. In joining the coalition, the planet promises to help out with battles that end up in this area and provide Voltron with supplies should they need them. In return, Voltron will help them with any conflicts that come to them, either themselves or by sending allies from nearby.

Keith spends the majority of the meeting staring off into space and standing in place looking soldierly. At one point, he makes eye contact with Pidge, who stifles a yawn.

“Perfect,” Queen M’Tiq says. Keith zones back in just in time for her to agree to join the coalition. She pulls Allura into a hug, whose eyes widen as she gives a little laugh, and then she releases her. “Would you or any of your paladins be interested in participating in the sundown event?” the queen asks. “I’ll announce our alliance at the celebration, and I think it would be a show of good faith.”

“Great idea!” Allura agrees. “We’ll send one of the paladins on stage after your announcement.”

They bow their heads and the queen departs to rejoin the festival. Allura immediately spins to face them. “Be glad I said only one of us has to do it,” she says darkly.

“You don’t wanna spill your secrets either, Princess?” Lance teases.

“I think we all have good reasons for keeping the secrets we have,” she says stiffly. “But I figured refusing would seem like an insult to their customs and their holiday, and a bad way to start our new alliance.”

“Makes sense,” Shiro says. “But I don’t like it. We have a lot of sensitive information we could be putting at risk.”

“I don’t think so,” Pidge argues. “It has to be a truth we’ve never told, right? So if we all know the sensitive information about the war, it wouldn’t be pulled out of us.”

“That’s a relief,” Hunk says.

“Should we draw straws?” Allura suggests.

“If you don’t mind,” Lance says suddenly, “can I sit this one out? I’m not hiding anything specific, but if I say something alarming about my reality, it’ll just confuse the Cruterians.”

“That should be fine,” Allura says.

The rest of them draw straws. Allura has some on her, because honestly, this sort of thing isn’t an anomaly when it comes to new alliances. They’ve all gotten the short end of the stick on occasion, doing embarrassing or unappealing things for the sake of appeasing their allies.

Shiro draws first, pulling what is probably the longest stick in the bunch. Hunk follows, with a medium-looking one, and then Pidge, with one just barely shorter than Shiro’s. Keith pulls a stick, wincing at the short length, and he watches Allura’s hand pathetically. She reveals the last stick in her palm, which is about an inch longer than Keith’s.

“Phew,” Pidge says.

“Fuck,” says Keith.

“Don’t sweat it,” Hunk says, clapping Keith on the back.

“Yeah, don’t worry, dude,” Lance echoes. “I’m sure it won’t be so bad.”

Keith doesn’t answer. He just swallows, following his friends numbly through the palace and back onto the streets. Allura’s leading them toward the big stage where the queen is already standing, greeting her people. Keith hears her mention Voltron, probably talking about the alliance, but he feels numb.

What secrets does he have? Things that he’s never told anyone?

One answer comes to mind. But surely, he has more, right? It’s not a sure thing that he’s gonna go up there and blurt the one thing he’s very purposefully kept to himself?

Oh, who is he kidding? Of course that’s exactly what’s going to happen. He stands stiffly in the crowd as the queen speaks. He realizes a moment too late that someone is patting his back sympathetically, and Lance’s hand is already gone before Keith has a moment to appreciate it.

Allura hisses something at him — her eyes wide — and Keith jolts. The queen called for him and he totally missed it.

He slinks through the crowd and up the steps to the stage, trying not to look pale and shell-shocked.

The queen smiles at him, looking pleasant and genuine, and hands a glass to him. “May Herenthia bless you and your team,” she says. “The truth prevails!”

The crowd echoes that last bit, and Keith makes a cheers motion with his glass before raising it to his lips. The potion is room-temperature, but it tastes cold. It’s like a shock to his system. It feels clean, sliding down his throat and into his stomach. A burst of energy washes through him. He swears he can see the crowd, the decorations, with more clarity.

Admissions bubble up in his throat, but he wants to say the best one. The biggest truth. Telling the truth is like lifting a weight off your shoulders — it’s freeing and relieving and Keith wants it, can’t wait to get rid of it.

He spots his team in the crowd. Allura’s hair has been pulled up into a pony-tail with a bright ribbon. Hunk’s normally yellow headband has been replaced with a blue one. Shiro has only continued to gather beaded jewelry, somehow. Bracelets are making a valiant climb up the length of his arm as well as his prosthetic. Pidge has paint smeared on one side of her glasses.

And Lance—

Keith feels his whole body tighten. It’s like his nerves constrict, and then explode. His throat moves as he swallows. He wants to tell him, he has to, Lance deserves to know—

He looks beautiful. The polka-dots around his eyebrows look playful. Lance raises an eyebrow and the polka-dots move with it, climbing up his forehead. He looks vaguely amused, which makes Keith’s heart hurt, but in a good way. It’s been hurting in the bad way too often lately, seeing Lance so sad, so hurt. But today seems like it’s been good for him. A good memory, maybe one that can replace some of the bad ones. Or at least exist alongside them.

“Paladin of Voltron,” the queen says, her voice ringing out across the crowd. “What truth do you have for Saint Herenthia today?”

Keith grins. He can feel the words bubbling up in his chest, trying to spill from his mouth. “I’m in love with Lance,” he says. He was right about how it would feel. He’s so light. He feels like he could jump all the way out of the atmosphere! He could run for miles, or fall from the sky and land on his feet, or catch a star. He’s never felt like this before and it’s amazing.

He can feel himself smiling, his cheeks sore from it. His friends don’t look exactly the same. Pidge has a hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes wide. Hunk is gaping, and Allura looks shocked. Shiro’s face is very carefully schooled into a casual expression. Lance… still looks amused.

Terror rips through the weird elation that’d taken up room in Keith’s chest. Jesus, that potion was like some sort of drug. Humiliation quickly replaces every good feeling he’d been having and he feels himself go bright red. It takes all of his composure to smile at the queen and nod before excusing himself.

The second he’s off the stage, his feet back on the ground, he takes off.

“Keith!” he hears someone shout — Pidge? — but he ignores them. God. Fuck. What the fuck. That was never, ever supposed to come out. He was planning to hold onto that horrible little secret forever. Now everyone knows!

It’s maybe, slightly less bad, since at least it’s not his Lance who knows, but still. Everyone else does. He doubts they’ll be able to keep this a secret when Lance returns, and even if by some miracle they could, Keith doesn’t doubt that he’d suffer just as much anyway. They’d probably shoot him all these embarrassing looks, all the time. They’d have knowing grins and mirth-filled eyes and it would just suck.

Stupid fucking planet. Stupid fucking truth potion. Stupid fucking short stick!

Keith reaches the castle in record time. He has no idea if anyone followed him — either to tease him or to comfort him, maybe — but part of him thinks they might’ve stayed behind to make a good impression at the celebration. Still, Keith isn’t going to risk being out in the open where anyone could find him. He doesn’t want to see anyone until tomorrow at least, and even then, it’d be nice if he could avoid them for longer.

More than anything, Keith wants to go to his room and curl up in his bed and wallow in his embarrassment. But that seems like the least safe place to go. For one thing, everyone would expect to find him there, and for another, it’s right across from Lance’s room. He absolutely cannot risk bumping into him.

Keith cringes, remembering Lance’s amused expression. God, how pathetic. He thinks Keith’s crush is… cute, or funny. It seems impossible that Keith felt so light and happy when he’d said that shit out loud.

He’s speed-walking through the castle, searching for a place to hide himself away. Red’s too obvious, as is the training deck. People won’t look for him in the kitchen right off the bat, but they’ll find him there eventually.

It’s as he’s passing that closet that he opened randomly this morning while looking for Lance that he pauses.

It’s stupid. And really fucking lame. But Keith feels lame enough right now to hide in a stupid maintenance closet. He has nowhere better to go, anyway.

He sinks down against the wall inside there, pulling his knees against his chest. He hates when stuff like this happens. Anything embarrassing or cringe-worthy. It’s just that his mind is unable to give it a rest. He keeps replaying it over and over in his head, feeling new and improved waves of embarrassment and revulsion washing over him.

Some time later — minutes or hours, he really has no idea — he hears someone walking down the hall. He holds his breath, holding himself impossibly still, until he hears them pass the closet and continue down the hall. He breathes a sigh of relief, tipping his head back against the wall behind him.

It happens again, not too long after the first time. And then again, even sooner after the second time. The next time, the footsteps pause right outside the closet.

Keith considers reaching up for the door handle and holding the door in place, but he decides he’s not that pathetic.

It swings open a moment later. Lance stands outlined in the doorway, looking down at him.

“So there’s a reason you looked for me in here,” Lance says. “I didn’t realize it was such a good hiding spot.”

Keith groans, burying his face in his knees.

“Alright, it’s not the best hiding spot,” Lance says, as if that’s the reason why Keith is groaning. “But I probably wouldn’t have thought to check here if you hadn’t this morning.”

“Great,” Keith mutters.

Lance steps into the closet, closing the door behind him, which is not what Keith expected. If anything, he thought Lance would convince him to leave. Instead, he slides down to sit across from Keith, even though it’s a pretty cramped space. Their legs end up slotting between each other, which only serves to embarrass Keith further.

“You have no reason to be embarrassed,” Lance says.

“I’m pretty sure I have every reason.”

“Honestly, I’m relieved that you’re in love with me. Or, well — him.”

Jesus. It’s worse, hearing him say it.

“Why?” Keith croaks.

“It means your reality is more similar to mine than I thought,” Lance says.

“What?”

“We’re dating, in my reality,” Lance says quietly. A little whimsically. “We got together a little more than two months before the Month of Hell. I just assumed we didn’t have feelings for each other, in your reality.”

Keith is reeling. They’re together? In Lance’s reality?

Oh, God. That just makes the other Keith’s situation even sadder. And Lance…

At least that makes this whole thing a little bit less embarrassing.

“Wow,” Keith says. “That’s actually kind of a relief.”

“Yeah?” Lance says. He sounds excited. He’s trapped Keith’s knee between his legs. Keith feels hot all over, and like his stomach is wriggling with nerves or butterflies. “So?”

“So… what?”

“So,” Lance says, dramatic. “How are you gonna tell him?”

Keith scoffs. “Please,” he says. “I caught a break, having this happen while he isn’t here. I’m not going to say anything.”

Lance gasps. “You have to!” He leans forward as he says this. His hand lands on the knee he’s not already trapping, and it feels like a brand on Keith’s skin, even through the undersuit of his paladin armor.

“No way,” Keith says. “I have no idea if my Lance feels the same. I don’t want to risk it.”

“Don’t be a pussy,” Lance says. “I’ll never forgive you.”

Keith snorts. “You’ll go home to your Keith with the perfect recipe to wake him up. You won’t have any reason to be mad at me.”

“Yes I will,” Lance argues. “I’ll know that you’re making my alternate self suffer. He’ll be pining after you, and you won’t even do anything about it.”

“We have no way of knowing how he actually feels,” Keith argues.

“I do,” Lance mutters.

Keith ignores him. “Besides,” he says. “Who knows if something like this might ever happen again? We’ll avoid it this time, but who’s to say we won’t face something horrible in the future anyway, you know? I’d rather not… lose a boyfriend. It’d be better to just lose a friend.”

Lance is silent.

“Don’t you regret it?” Keith demands. “Being with me, now that I’m practically dead?”

He doesn’t know why he says it. He doesn’t really mean it. At least, not like that. He wouldn’t have helped find all those resources if he thought there was no hope for his alternate self. It’s just that he’s been in a coma for months. It’s probably harder for Lance, being in love with someone who’s completely unresponsive.

It’s the exact wrong thing to say, though. Lance is furious.

“First of all,” he says, his voice scarily low. “You’re not dead. Don’t you ever fucking say that to me.”

“I’m s—” Keith begins, but Lance talks over him.

“You’re going to wake up,” Lance says, his voice harsh. “Because if you don’t — if you don’t, I’ll have nothing left to live for.”

“Lance,” Keith starts.

“And furthermore,” Lance interrupts. “I cherish every moment we had together — the good and the bad. I regret not getting together even sooner. So, fuck you. You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Keith swallows. Lance seems to be done talking, but Keith is still afraid to speak. He didn’t mean to say something so horrible. He didn’t mean to make Lance so mad.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “I— I didn’t mean that. I just… I’ve kept this to myself for so long. I don’t want to mess it up. And I’m afraid that you’re wrong about him, and the way he feels.”

“I don’t think any version of me could resist you,” Lance says lowly. He sounds tired. Keith feels wretched. Lance had such a great day, it seemed like. He enjoyed that whole festival. He smiled more than Keith is used to seeing. And Keith went ahead and ruined it by saying something horrible.

Keith doesn’t know what to say. He feels so small. So stupid. He doesn’t know how to make Lance feel better — especially being the one to make him feel bad in the first place.

It’s Lance who reaches out. His hand snakes in between them and grips Keith’s. He intertwines their fingers, and Keith goes hot. He squeezes Lance’s hand. Wonders, briefly, what it was like for Lance and the other Keith, before all the tragedy struck.

Holding hands. Kissing. Probably… more.

“He’ll wake up,” Keith whispers. “I’m sure of it.”

“You better, you asshole,” Lance says, laughing quietly. “You’ve left me alone far too long.”

“What’s it like, where you are?”

Lance hums. “Lonely,” he says. “I have a few… allies, I guess you could call them. We’re not really friends, but we work together. There aren’t many laws, or people that uphold them, on the planet I’m on. And most of the money I make goes toward keeping you in the hospital.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Lance says, squeezing his hand. “It’s not like I really need the money, anyway.”

“What are you gonna do when I wake up?” Keith asks.

Lance’s thumb traces the side of Keith’s finger. He hums. “Well, I think first, we’ll get off that shitty planet,” he decides.

“And then?”

“Then, I’ll find somewhere to hide out for a bit. Take care of you, get your strength back up.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ll fuck you silly, and then we’ll go get Blue.”

Keith chokes on his spit, coughing harshly into his elbow. Lance giggles, tightening his grip on Keith’s fingers when Keith instinctively goes to pull away.

Keith does his best to ignore that comment. “Where’s Blue?”

“Hidden,” Lance says, sighing loudly. “Shit’s not so good, over there. For a while, I thought I’d given up. That I’d keep her hidden forever. Fuck the universe.”

“And now?”

“I don’t know,” Lance says softly. “I… I kind of forgot. You know, what this all felt like. Fighting the good fight. Protecting the innocent.”

Keith stays silent. Lance usually fills the silence, given enough time.

“It’s a good feeling,” Lance admits. “I thought I wasn’t a paladin anymore, after I hid Blue away. But maybe defending the universe is still my job. So I think, after you wake up and we get Blue, maybe we’ll get Red back. And then, maybe, the other lions.”

“And some new paladins,” Keith points out.

A sigh drags out of Lance. “I guess,” he says.

“Hey,” Keith says. “None of us would want to replace one another. I know it feels wrong, but… it’s not replacing a friend. It’s not erasing their memory, or their contribution to this war. It’s like… making sure their sacrifice was worth it. If someone else has to finish the fight, so be it. At least then, no one died in vain.”

Lance sniffles, the sound sudden and loud in the silence.

“Shit,” Keith says quickly. “I’m sorry.”

“N-no, don’t be,” Lance says, his voice thick. “I just — I’d never really, um. I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

He pulls on Keith’s hand and Keith lets his body follow the motion. Lance’s legs slide down and Keith ends up pulled against Lance’s chest, settled in his lap. It’s so dark in this closet — he hasn’t been able to see anything the whole time — but now he knows where Lance is acutely. His breath is in Keith’s ear. His arm around Keith’s waist.

“Thank you,” Lance whispers, hugging Keith tightly. “I’ve been alone for so long, and it’s, like. I forgot that you just have a great head on your shoulders. You always know the right thing to do, and the perfect thing to say.”

“I put my foot in my mouth, like, five minutes ago,” Keith points out.

Lance chuckles. “You said exactly what I needed to hear,” he says. “Thank you.”

They stay there for a while. Sometimes talking, sometimes just appreciating the feeling of each other, hands running lightly over one another.

It’s late, when they finally leave the maintenance closet, but they still don’t go their separate ways. They end up in Keith’s room, because they stopped at the kitchen first for food and walked as they talked and ended up there, each with their respective bowls of food goo.

Keith isn’t arguing, though. Nothing happens, when they end up in the bed together. Nothing besides cuddling, anyway.

He never realized how easy it would be to fall asleep with someone by his side.

Chapter Text

Keith has imagined cuddling with Lance before. When you’re in love with someone, you tend to imagine almost anything involving them. First kisses, lovers quarrels. Sex.

But imagination doesn’t hold a candle to the real thing.

When Keith imagined sleeping in a bed with Lance, he always oscillated between making himself the big and the little spoon. Both seem to have their merits, though Keith has never actually experienced either. He loved the idea of having Lance behind him, curled around him. An arm wrapped around Keith’s waist and just feeling completely enveloped in Lance, safe and warm and protected.

Other times, when he made himself the mental big spoon, it was just as good. Being able to cling to Lance just like he wants to in real life. Having an armful of Lance, his hands free to do whatever he wants, touch him anywhere he pleases.

In real life, neither of them are any kind of spoon.

Instead, Lance is sprawled on his back. He’s snoring quietly, his face relaxed in sleep and his lips just barely parted. At some point in the night, Keith apparently decided that Lance was a better bed than the actual mattress they’re laying on.

Keith’s head is rising and falling with the motion of Lance’s chest, thanks to the fact that he’s using it as a pillow. Lance’s shirt migrated up his chest in his sleep, revealing bare, warm skin that Keith’s arm is wrapped around. And Keith has a leg thrown over one of Lance’s, just wedged in between Lance’s legs like his unconscious self was trying to make space for himself there.

In Keith’s mind, this is usually the part where it ends. He can’t think of much more to add to the imaginary scenario. But in real life, it continues.

Lance groans as he wakes up. Keith pretends to be asleep in response, not wanting it to be over just yet. He thought that was how something like this would go. That if Lance woke up and noticed a sleeping Keith sprawled across him, he’d go instantly still, maybe play with Keith’s hair a bit. That he’d draw it out to keep Keith asleep, not wanting to bother him and wanting to draw out this moment for a little while longer.

He’s wrong. Apparently, Lance wants to end the moment right away. Change it into something else.

He groans again, and then he’s moving — wrapping Keith up in his arms and rolling them over. Keith gasps as Lance’s mouth immediately finds his neck, hot breath and hotter tongue roving across his skin as Lance’s hands explore elsewhere, one seeking skin under Keith’s shirt and the other sneaking underneath Keith to grab a handful of his ass.

The feeling has Keith arching up, his face flushed and his blood hot. It feels good. It’s been far, far too long since Keith has enjoyed the touch of another person, and he almost forgot what it felt like. And Lance… well. He clearly knows what he’s doing. He clearly knows what he’s doing to Keith — what Keith likes, what he wants.

He’s moving against Keith purposefully, kissing higher up Keith’s neck, when Keith finally finds his voice.

“Lance,” he squeaks, forcing himself to open his eyes and not just succumb to the pleasure.

“Mmm,” Lance responds.

“Um,” Keith says, and then almost chokes on a breath, because Lance grinds against him and they are both very much awake, in a sense of the word. “You know I’m not your Keith, right?”

Lance freezes, just laying against Keith for a second, and before Keith can even blink Lance is sitting on the opposite side of the bed, against the wall. He has a hand pressed to his mouth, his eyes wide.

“Holy shit,” Lance says. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Keith says quickly, sitting up.

“No it’s not,” Lance says. “I — how does someone even forget that? I haven’t woken up next to you in months, and suddenly I think I’m-I’m—”

“It’s okay,” Keith repeats. “You were half asleep. And you’re used to waking up with… with me,” he says, the realization hitting him even as he says it.

Lance huffs, rubbing the palms of his hands against his eyes. “Still,” he says. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

You don’t need to apologize, Keith thinks. I liked it.

Instead, he tells Lance it’s okay for the third time.

“We should probably meet the others for breakfast,” Lance says, scrubbing a hand roughly through his hair. “You want to use the bathroom first?”

Keith clears his throat. He averts his gaze, finding that the paneling on the floor is actually very interesting. “Yeah,” he says slowly. “In a minute.”

“Oh,” Lance says, obviously realizing Keith’s predicament, and Keith immediately regrets letting himself look back at Lance. He’s blushing, but even that isn’t enough to distract from his amused expression or the little quirk of his lips.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking something.”

“I’m always thinking something,” Lance points out.

Keith doesn’t know why he says it. If anything, he should be thinking about any topic other than sex. But it’s at the forefront of his mind, now, thanks to Lance.

“So,” he says. “You and him… definitely have had sex before.”

Lance grins, clearly having no problem with the turn the conversation has taken. “I mean, we’re not prudes, Keith.”

“Right,” Keith says. He imagines it for a second and then immediately has to stop. He stands abruptly, turning away from Lance and marching toward the bathroom. “I’m going to take a shower,” he says.

“I’ll do the same in my room,” Lance says. Keith doesn’t respond, letting the door slide closed behind him. He isn’t sure whether Lance expects him to have a more… thorough kind of shower. And Keith isn’t sure whether Lance meant to intend that that was what he would be doing, on his own.

Keith decides not to think about it, for the sake of his own peace of mind.

In fact, he decides not even to act on it, when he first gets into the shower. He’ll just wash his hair and his body and get out of there, like he’d originally planned.

He almost succeeds, too. He washes his hair without incident, staring determinedly at the far side of the shower, stubbornly not thinking about anything. Trying to work up the courage to change the temperature of the shower from hot to cold.

But it’s as he’s lathering his body with soap that his mind drifts. He can’t help but think about Lance. In the shower across the hallway, and what he might be doing at this exact moment…

For Keith, it’s back to his imagination. The best he has otherwise is that encounter from this morning, the feeling of Lance’s weight pressing into him, Lance’s hands on Keith’s body and his mouth on his neck. But for Lance, he has memories. Hell, he definitely knows what Keith looks like naked, what he sounds like when they’re—

Keith gasps, realizing too late that he’s doing exactly what he was determined not to do. It’s too late now, though, and he’ll be out of the shower faster at this point if he just gets it over with. He ends up with his head tilted back, his lips parted as he strokes himself quickly.

Lance is probably thinking about him too. Remembering past encounters he and his Keith have had.

It doesn’t take long. Keith’s mind races almost as quickly as his hand. Soon, he’s hunching over himself, moaning as the shower carries his release away.

And then he’s getting out of the shower and schooling his expression into one of normalcy and hoping beyond hope that there’s no way Lance will be able to tell what he’s just done.

Keith dresses in record time, determined to make up for the time he wasted in the shower, and he comes bolting out of his room just in time to surprise Lance, whose door is closing behind him.

Lance blinks. His eyebrows scoot an inch up his forehead.

“You look red,” he comments. Keith flushes violently, spinning away from him and starting down the hall.

“Shut up,” he says. Lance, perhaps having mercy, doesn’t pursue the topic.

They’re almost to the kitchen, Keith’s mind on whether it’ll be food goo or a lucky day where Hunk decided to cook, when they’re drawn up short outside the bridge. There’s an insistent beeping from inside and they both exchange looks.

“That can’t mean anything good,” Lance says, pivoting on his heel and striding into the bridge instead.

The holoscreen is on, a message announcing an emergency correspondence flashing across it. Lance reaches the controls first and establishes the connection.

“Voltron! Thank the stars,” a man says, slumping across a desk on the other side of the screen. He has three eyes and a slitted nose. Keith vaguely recognizes the appearance, though he can’t remember the name of the planet this ally is from. Probably someone that joined the coalition a long time ago.

“What’s going on? What’s wrong?” Lance says. His eyes have gone hard, his posture straight. Soldier-mode.

“It’s the Galra,” the man says. “They had one of our kind as a prisoner, but she escaped. She came with a warning, though; she said there’s a Galra fleet headed your way.”

“Thank you for the warning,” Lance says. “We’ll take care of it.”

“Wait!” the man says. “One of those ships contains a super-weapon. It has to be deactivated before you destroy the ship, otherwise it’ll release harmful radiation. A blast so big, it could affect galaxies.”

Keith is silent for a moment, waiting for Lance to answer. He’s been leading the conversation the whole time, so Keith just expected it. But Lance remains silent, and when Keith looks at him, he’s pale.

“We’ll be sure to deactivate it,” Keith assures the alien, and then he ends the transmission. “You recognize the mission?” he then says, turning to Lance, who nods jerkily.

“Shiro,” Lance gasps.

“He’ll be fine,” Keith promises. “Come on.”

Lance has already sunken into some kind of haze. It’s alarming how quickly it can happen. How he can go from a Lance Keith recognizes to the one he’s just recently met, faraway and irreparably scarred. Keith grabs his hand and leads Lance from the room when he doesn’t immediately go to follow Keith.

The worst part is that Keith doesn’t even know if there’s anything he can do. He knows that Lance gets like this, and that he had horrible flashbacks the last time this happened, but can he do anything to combat it? Or is it something that Lance has to work through solely on his own — something that Keith will just have to witness, and not be able to help prevent?

Fuck. It’s useless to ruminate whether he can do anything or not. The best he can do is try, and know that in trying — even if it doesn’t help Lance avoid whatever terrors attack him in his mind — he might still be helping in some small, meaningful way. In letting Lance know that he’s not alone, at the very least.

“Guys!” Keith says, bursting into the kitchen. Lance is a silent presence at his back. If Keith looked at him right now, he knows what he’d see. So he doesn’t look. “A transmission just came in.”

“What is it?” Allura says, pushing her breakfast away. Not food goo. Damn.

“There’s a Galra fleet headed our way. One of their ships has a super-weapon that we have to deactivate before we can destroy the ship.”

“I can scan for the super-weapon,” Pidge says. “If it’s dangerous enough, it’ll let out a traceable energy.”

“Go,” Shiro says, and Pidge jumps up from her seat and races to the bridge.

“Shiro needs to be extra careful this mission,” Keith says meaningfully. That gives everyone pause, for a second. The flurry of movement stills and everyone’s gazes automatically drift toward Lance.

“Is there… anything specific we should know?” Allura asks, her voice tentative.

“Yeah,” Lance says. His voice lacks any warmth, any emotion. It’s turned mechanical. Another method to protect himself, Keith thinks. “But I-I can’t remember clearly. Can’t remember clearly.”

“That’s okay,” Keith says. “Maybe you can update us as you remember?”

“I remember some of it,” Lance says, after taking a shuddering breath. “We still weren’t ready when this fight came. We needed more time to mourn, but we didn’t get it. And when we got on those ships, we were wary about splitting up. Because that’s how we lost Pidge.”

“Makes sense,” Shiro says.

“But we should have split up,” Lance says. “The situation clearly called for it, but we ignored our better judgement. We didn’t want to risk it.”

Jesus. Keith tries not to think about it too much, but just imagining what Lance went through — and in such quick succession…

“Something happened to Shiro,” Lance concludes. “I think he deactivated the weapon, in the end.”

“Well. It’ll be different this time,” Allura says.

“And we already have an advantage,” Hunk adds. “We still have Pidge. We’re not down a paladin.”

Lance answers with a weak grin. Keith wonders if this is what he’s really seeing — this scene in the kitchen, or some alternate scenario. One where Pidge isn’t in the bridge, scanning for the super-weapon, but gone altogether.

Pidge reappears in a flash, bursting into the kitchen behind Keith and Lance. “I found it,” she says. “But they’re close. We need to get to our lions.”

They suit up and rush to their lions with practiced ease. Over the comms, Pidge explains that the ship is toward the middle of the fleet, so they’ll have to be careful to fight their way there without destroying that ship by accident.

“It’ll be easiest if we form Voltron,” Shiro decides. “That way you’ll be able to tell us when we’re getting close to the ship.”

“Roger.”

They fly in formation, letting their minds and their lions’ consciousnesses connect. It’s only just before they merge together to form Voltron that Keith remembers that this is their first time doing it with this Lance, and wonders whether that’ll change anything.

It does.

On the surface, it feels normal. Despite how long it’s been since Lance formed Voltron with his team, he clearly still knows what he’s doing. He flies normally, his mind melding with theirs easily and responding to Voltron’s needs with accuracy.

But on a deeper level, there’s a stark difference.

It’s like… when you’re doing a puzzle. There’s a piece that kind of, almost looks like it fits. The shape is right, and the colors seem to match up. But when you push it into place, there’s resistance. Something about the piece just doesn’t fit right, and if you keep it there, you’ll fuck up the whole puzzle later on.

They’re disjointed like that. Part of Keith thinks it might just be because Lance isn’t from this universe. That somehow, someway, the lions know that this isn’t how it should be.

Another part of Keith wonders if it has to do with Lance.

It’s like there’s a film over his mind. Whenever they form Voltron, all kinds of thoughts and emotions seep through. Keith will feel a spike of fear, but he’ll know that it wasn’t from him — it was from Hunk. Or he’ll suddenly feel emboldened with determination, courtesy of Shiro. He might suddenly be able to relax, to take a deep breath, and that’ll be thanks to Lance.

The thoughts they share are constant. A general mix of their emotions, certain ones occasionally seeping to the forefront. But with this Lance, it’s long stretches of silence, and then sudden bursts of emotion.

Panic. Fear for Shiro. A strange, forced calm. And occasional… images.

They must be flashbacks. They’re so vivid, so alarming. And they’re clearly not from this time, because although they’ve formed Voltron right now, the images Keith sees aren’t from a leg of Voltron, but from the Blue lion. From when there weren’t enough paladins to form Voltron anymore.

Images of the lions fighting the fleet. Of the long, familiar stretches of the inside of a Galra ship. Fighting and yelling, panic and deep-rooted, paralyzing sorrow. The sorrow of losing a friend.

“Let’s concentrate, team,” Shiro says. Fierce and unyielding, like always. If he feels any apprehension about this mission, it’s not seeping into the mind meld.

Keith has no idea how he would feel, going into a mission where he died in an alternate universe. And he’ll never have to know how it feels. He’s the only one Lance didn’t have to lose. Not completely, anyway.

They fight with the familiarity they always do, Lance falling into the rhythm naturally. There are plenty of ships they have to take down, in order to clear the way to the ship holding the super-weapon, but even that’s not too difficult with the help of Voltron. By the time they make it to the ship in question, Keith is buzzing with the usual feeling he gets during battle, adrenaline coursing through him.

“We’ll keep the rest of the fleet from interfering,” Allura says, her voice reaching them over the comms. “Get in and get out of that ship quickly.”

“You got it, Princess,” Pidge says.

Together, they direct Voltron to the ship’s hull, disembarking from their lions and landing on the metal below them. Shiro breaks the locking mechanism on an entrance, holding it open for all of them.

“I don’t know where the weapon is,” Pidge says, the last to enter the ship. “But the signal was definitely coming from this one.”

“Near the engine room,” Lance says. “But it’s guarded well. Our best chance of destroying it quickly is splitting up — we need the distraction so that someone can get there first and catch them by surprise.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Keith says. He’s not exactly worried for Shiro. Despite what happened in Lance’s universe, things here are already in better shape. They have Pidge with them, and altering something that big already means that Shiro’s less likely to die, in Keith’s opinion.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s still a little worried for Shiro. But at the same time, he’s also worried for Lance. He doesn’t like the thought of Lance fighting through the ship on his own. What if a flashback grips him, and he freezes, and he gets hurt?

One of the worst case scenarios here would be if Lance died. For one thing, there’s no telling what that would mean for when they tried to switch the Lances back again. And for another, it would be dooming Lance’s universe. Without Lance there to continue fighting, there’ll be no return of Voltron, no new set of paladins. The Galra really will have won. That universe needs Lance.

“Splitting up is what needs to happen,” Lance assures him.

“We’ll remain in contact over the comms,” Shiro decides. “If anyone needs backup, ask immediately.”

They’ve invaded these kinds of ships enough times to know where the engine rooms are. If the super-weapon is somewhere down below, there are plenty of paths they could take to end up down there. Knowing that, they split up immediately, each heading a different way into the depths of the ship.

Keith strains his ears the whole time, listening for the occasional gunshot from Lance or grunt from Pidge as she slices through an enemy with her bayard. Keith deals with his own Galra quickly and easily, sneaking up on them whenever he comes across one. He’s almost to the engine room when Lance comes stumbling out of an adjacent hallway, his eyes wild.

“Whoops,” Lance says. “I didn’t realize our paths connected.”

“It’s fine,” Keith says. “Let’s just get there quickly and finish it off.”

Lance nods, but he’s frowning. His eyes are darting around, and Keith wishes he knew what he was remembering. Is he straining his mind, trying to decipher the details of this day, or is he suffering some kind of memory attack, pushing his way through it?

It’s when Shiro lets out a muffled scream over the comms that everything goes to shit.

“Was that real?” Lance demands. His eyes are wide, his pupils dilated.

“Yes. Shiro, are you okay?”

“I will be — just need a pod,” he huffs. “I’m almost to the engine room.”

“So are we,” Keith says.

“Was that real?” Lance whispers. His hands are shaking, his eyes darting around. But they lock onto Keith’s eyes and stay there, desperate.

“I don’t think so,” Keith says. “I didn’t hear anything else.”

Lance flinches, his head jerking in the other direction.

“Shiro needs to go back,” Lance says. “Last time, he was the one who destroyed the machine. Last time.”

“Maybe you should go back, Shiro,” Keith says.

“I don’t see anyone around. I could wait here as back-up.”

“Someone’s in the room,” Lance remembers. “They’ll stab Shiro as he walks in. And this time, they won’t miss.”

“I’m close,” Hunk suddenly chimes in. “I can deactivate the machine.”

“Someone’s in the room,” Lance repeats.

Keith listens intently as Hunk presses forward into the room. There’s a brief commotion, the blast of a gun, and a grunt. “He’s down,” Hunk says. “Thanks for the heads up, Lance.”

Lance presses his hands to his ears, but he’s wearing his helmet. He can’t actually block out any of the things he’s hearing.

“Okay, this looks easy enough to deactivate. If we destroy the ship after, they definitely won’t be able to fix it.”

“Where’s Shiro?” Lance demands.

“I’m right here,” Shiro assures him over the comms. “He didn’t even get me that bad. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s deactivated,” Hunk says, a minute later. “We can head back out.”

“Stay with Shiro,” Keith suggests. Then he grabs Lance by the arm and leads them back through the ship. They bump into Pidge near the exit, and she claps Lance on the back.

“You’re doing great, Lance,” she tells him. “You remembered everything important.”

“Oh my God,” Lance whispers. “Pidge.”

Her expression melts, a little frown taking over her mouth. “Yep,” she says. “You saved me, Lance. Shiro, too.”

Hunk and Shiro meet them by the exit, Shiro with an arm over Hunk’s shoulders. He’s bleeding, but it’s definitely something a pod can heal.

The rest of the battle is a blur. They keep fighting as Voltron, so the distraction from Lance stays with them. It’s worse, now. More jarring, more disjointed.

But there are less ships, and the super-weapon’s deactivated, and Shiro made it out alive. Keith keeps reminding himself that, over and over. And if he’s pushing the mantra through the mind link a little bit… then so be it. Lance could use the reminder, too.

Still, it feels like an eternity before they finally return to the castle, the battlefield a mess of floating, broken ships behind them.

The last time they did this, there was a celebration after. Coran was ecstatic, insisting on Altean champagne, and everyone gathered in the rec room. Granted, Lance snuck out immediately to have a breakdown in secret, but still.

This time, Shiro limps out of his lion with a hand pressed to his side, blood covering his fingers. Lance is the first one to reach him, and he wraps an arm around Shiro’s waist and supports him all the way to the medbay.

The situation certainly seems worse. Coran isn’t insisting on celebrating, but instead setting up a pod and asking Shiro questions about the pain. They aren’t all hugging Shrio, grinning and laughing about him living through the mission, but Lance isn’t slinking off to be alone, either. Instead, he sticks by Keith, right after they get Shiro into the pod.

“Paladins,” Allura says. “Good work out there today. And Lance—”

“I know,” Lance says quickly, interrupting her. “It was all getting to me, a bit. I wasn’t… in the moment,” he hedges.

Allura frowns. “No, I was going to say thank you. I know you mentioned that you have a difficult time remembering the specific missions, but you remembered when the transmission came in today, and the details you knew of were invaluable. I appreciate it.”

“Oh. Of course.”

Keith reaches out and squeezes Lance’s hand. He’s not sure what makes him do it. Maybe it’s because they cuddled this morning, and holding Lance’s hand doesn’t seem so intimidating in response. Maybe it’s because he wants to comfort him. Or maybe it’s just instinctual — Keith wants to touch him, and so he does.

“And it’s still early yet!” Pidge says suddenly. “We destroyed a super-weapon and a Galra fleet, all before lunch time.”

She’s right. And with so much time left in the day, Keith doesn’t know what to do with himself. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t know what to do with Lance.

Part of him is still waiting for the breakdown.

“Are you following me?” Lance asks, when Keith slips into the same room as him for the third time in a row. The first time, it was the kitchen. He at least had a reasonable excuse then, because neither of them had managed to eat before going out on that mission. The second time, it was harder to defend. He’d followed Lance to the lounge, and whereas Lance had gone with a tablet to do research on, Keith had shown up empty-handed. He’d had to pretend he was looking for something in the couch cushions.

Now, apparently, it’s obvious. Then again, Keith doesn’t really have any business being in Lance’s room.

“No,” Keith says anyway, stubborn as ever. “I… wanted to talk to you,” he says.

“Come on in,” Lance says. He looks amused. And unconvinced.

The last time Keith was in Lance’s room, Lance was here. The other Lance.

Keith can’t remember exactly when that was, but it was probably a while ago. They don’t have much reason for going into each other’s rooms. Keith can’t even be confident that he’s been inside all of his friends’ rooms, even if he knows where they’re located.

Lance lives right across the hall, however. Sometimes, it just happens.

Like, one time, Lance pissed off Shiro and burst into Keith’s room unannounced, claiming he needed to hide. Not even ten minutes later, Shiro knocked on the door and asked if Keith had seen Lance recently. He’d lied.

Another time, Keith had stumbled out of the bathroom in a towel to Lance’s incessant knocking — apparently, Allura had called for a meeting, which Keith had missed, and Lance had been sent to retrieve him.

So Keith has only been to Lance’s room on random occasions like those. Last time, it was because Lance had stolen Keith’s bayard. He’d done so in the name of revenge, claiming that Keith had cheated while they were sparring. When Keith barged into Lance’s room to demand for it back, Lance had been lounging casually on his bed. He’d pretended to have no idea what Keith was talking about, even after Keith started searching his room (and eventually found it under Lance’s pillow).

“So,” Lance says, hopping onto the bed. He looks totally relaxed. Leaned against the wall with one leg extended, the other bent. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Um.”

Lance smirks. “You’re waiting for me to freak out,” he says. “Admit it.”

“No,” Keith says. “You were really upset last time,” he adds, answering Lance’s question anyway.

“I’m exhausted,” Lance says simply. “A guy can only sob and freak out so many times in a week. Plus, you don’t react the same way to trauma every time. Sometimes when I’m really goin’ through it, I’ll just be sitting completely still. Silent.”

“I guess that’s true,” Keith admits. He invites himself to sit on Lance’s bed. Lance just turns to face him, not seeming to mind. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“I’m not worse than I usually am,” Lance says, smiling wryly.

So Keith drops it. Lance surprised him, but it feels like he’s always doing that lately.

Keith surprises himself, too. He ensured that Lance was okay, even got a straight answer out of him. He’d convinced himself that he was following Lance around to make sure that he wouldn’t be alone if all the feelings hit him at once, and Lance clearly doesn’t need Keith to babysit him. But Keith makes no move to leave and Lance makes no move to kick him out.

Instead, they boot up one of their few downloaded movies on a datapad and set it up against a pillow. All the movies are in Altean, which means that they understand bits and pieces of it and use context clues for the rest.

It also means that they’re way too easily distracted from it.

Keith doesn’t intend to make the first move, but he realizes it’s his fault. They’re both leaning against the wall, and at some point, Keith slumps down enough that his shoulder ends up pressed against Lance’s arm. Not long after that, Lance moves that arm so that it’s around Keith, and he’s using Lance’s chest as a pillow instead.

Then Keith’s leg ends up thrown over Lance’s. And Lance’s fingers find their way into Keith’s hair, until he’s playing with the strands and Keith’s dealing with tiny, electric shocks jolting all the way through his body, starting from the nerves at his scalp.

It feels like something incredibly familiar, even though Keith isn’t familiar with it at all.

There’s just the warmth of Lance’s body. The visceral comfort of his touch. The longing to be closer, somehow.

It crosses Keith’s mind — not for the first time — that he should probably feel weird about this. This isn’t his Lance. If it were his Lance, he definitely wouldn’t be doing this.

And this Lance has completely different experiences with his Keith. He’s used to touching him, cuddling with him, kissing him. But he hasn’t been able to do anything like this with him in so long. Is he, like Keith, just taking what he can get? While he can still get it?

That’s how Keith feels, he decides. He’s just taking this opportunity to get it out of his system. Sure, Lance is confident that the Lance from this universe must feel the same way as he does, but Keith’s not convinced. And he still doesn’t plan on confessing his feelings.

So. Why not get it out of his system? This Lance is here, and he’s in love with Keith, too, and he’s hurting. He needs the comfort more than Keith does. And maybe Keith will be able to get over him, this way. He’ll know what he’s been missing out on, get his fill, and force the encounter from his mind. When their Lance returns, Keith will go back to acting completely normal with him. Maybe he’ll even be able to feel a normal way about him again.

“Is this wrong?” Lance says suddenly. Jesus. It’s like he can read Keith’s mind.

“I don’t know,” Keith says. “I mean, I don’t mind on alternate me’s behalf. I don’t think I would consider this cheating.”

Lance hums. “I wouldn’t, either. But what about you?”

“Huh? What about me?”

“I mean, maybe I should be letting you experience this for the first time with him. Cuddling, and everything.”

“Or, maybe you’re wrong and he’ll reject me when he gets back. Maybe this is the only chance I’ll ever get, and you were destined to end up in my universe for a month, just so I wouldn’t have to live without knowing.”

It’s a stretch. Keith knows it is. But he also doesn’t feel like admitting that he’s still not planning to tell his Lance all about how he feels, because he doesn’t want to get into an argument about it again. That, and he wants this. It feels like he’s been waiting forever. And now that he’s allowed to have it, at least in some weird, roundabout manner, he doesn’t want it to stop.

“Maybe it’ll take you a long time to wake up, even after I get back,” Lance says, his voice low.

Ah. So they’re both thinking worst-case scenarios.

They’re silent for a second. A minute. Keith isn’t sure what it means, at first. They’re just staring at each other, and there’s this tension between them. Keith can feel every inch of where they’re touching. The movie’s still playing in the background.

And then Lance moves. He ducks his head, and it’s hardly the right angle, probably isn’t even the right time, but their lips connect and Keith can’t even remember how to breathe. Lance’s hand presses against the side of Keith’s face, holding his head comfortably in place, and Keith’s brain just grasps at anything it can register, anything it can find.

Like how Lance’s hand is warm. One of his fingers is slotted just along his jaw, creeping up behind Keith’s ear. Or how Keith is kissing him, his lips moving against his. Or how his fingers found Lance’s shirt, at some point, and he’s grasping a handful of it.

Or how Lance’s tongue glides against Keith’s lip, and Keith gasps, and then Lance is pushing him, rearranging them, and somehow Keith ends up laying against the bed, parallel to the wall, with Lance on top of him.

It’s how Keith expected Lance would kiss. Not this exact nuance of it, his imagination isn’t that in depth, but just… the general feel. That he would be this good at it. That Keith would feel breathless and tingly, from head to toe.

Unlike this morning, there doesn’t seem to be anything sexual about it. There’s no desperation. It’s soft and careful and loving. Kissing for the sake of kissing alone.

And God, was Keith wrong.

Honestly, he’s fucked.

Because now that he’s kissing Lance, he realizes the truth of it all. The extent of his feelings. The fact that he will never, ever get Lance out of his system.

Chapter Text

In the third grade, Lance fell in love for the first time, twice. He fell in love with Maria Torres first. She was the most popular girl in their class, and Lance was genuinely well-liked, in the class clown kind of way. One day at lunch, a girl named Tara had told Lance that Sarah had told her that Elizabeth told her that Maria had a crush on him, and did he like her back?

That’s how they became boyfriend-and-girlfriend, in the way that elementary schoolers can be boyfriend-and-girlfriend. Lance would bring an extra pack of Oreos to give to her at lunch. At recess, they’d hold hands and walk around the playground. Sometimes, they’d even have playdates outside of school.

Maria Torres introduced Lance to the second love of his life: Space.

She was obsessed with it. She’d gotten a telescope for her most recent birthday, and she knew a few constellations off the top of her head and even let Lance come over to her house and use her telescope one weekend night.

Their relationship didn’t last all that long. It was over in just a few weeks, when Elizabeth told Lance that Tara had told her that Sarah told her that Maria liked Jacob, now, and that she was breaking up with him.

Even without Maria, Lance’s interest in space remained. See, back in the second grade, he’d been convinced that he would grow up to be a marine biologist. He’d loved anything and everything that had to do with the sea. Well, he loved going to the beach, at least.

But by third grade, he knew that becoming a marine biologist was a silly kid’s dream. Becoming an astronaut, on the other hand? Now that was real.

Okay, fine. Lance didn’t have his whole life planned out from that day in third grade. It was an intense fascination at the time, but other obsessions obviously replaced it. Still, none of the others lingered as a continued interest in the back of his mind. When Lance was obsessed with Pokémon they were practically all he wanted to talk about, but he’d still correct someone when they tried to say something stupid about space. Actually, our orbit is elliptical, Sam. It’s not a circle.

In middle school, Lance heard about the Garrison. He learned all about it. How hard it was to get into, how intense the entrance exams were. How you lived at the school instead of going home, and could do your entire high school career there, rather than at a normal school.

Long story short, Lance decided that he wanted to go and he studied harder than he’d ever studied in his life. He got in, and he was ecstatic, and then he got shuttled off into the galaxy aboard a mystical robot lion. And then, some years later… he fell in love with Keith.

Lance isn’t sure how much truly differs between his universe and the one he’s currently occupying. They didn’t really take the time to go back and compare, and besides the obvious, it seems like most of what they experienced was the same, or at least vaguely similar.

But there’s one thing that Lance knows happened differently, and without the help of an alien race to make sure of it, too.

In Lance’s universe, he and Keith got together.

It’s one of the items on Lance’s long list of things that he tries not to think about. A lot of the time, when he tries to reminisce, his brain just… fizzles. He hits static, and so he moves along to safer topics.

He’s not entirely sure what’s different now. It could be the fact that he’s remembered a few of the other things he doesn’t think about recently. Granted, when Lance tries to recall what exactly he remembered… static.

He knows that they were planet-side not too long ago. They did that mission, and Pidge survived. Even more recently, they invaded a Galra ship where Shiro should’ve died, but he didn’t. And Lance knows both of those days were hard for him. He remembers that he was frazzled and feeling unbalanced. But now when he tries to think back, it’s just gone. He can’t remember exactly how either of his friends died, can’t locate the specific details that he knows are locked away somewhere in his mind.

It’s probably for the best. There’s a reason he doesn’t want to remember, he’s sure.

So that’s one of his theories. He opened the vault and now his mind is willing to take a trip down memory lane regarding Keith.

Or, possibly more realistically, maybe he’s just more open to it at this moment in time. Considering he’s currently cuddling with Keith, and all.

Truth be told, his lack of memory regarding Keith isn’t too similar to his memory-loss with the rest of his friends. It’s more like a habit. Muscle-memory. The longer Lance spent on his own, with Keith asleep and time passing, the more it hurt to think about him. Lance flinched away from that pain, and eventually, he learned to stop remembering. To stop thinking about it.

But right now, it doesn’t hurt. Not too much, anyway. It’s more like a dull-ache, or a satisfying kind of pain. Like pressing your tongue against mushy-gums where a tooth used to be.

Lance fell in love with Keith in increments. At first, Keith wasn’t even on his radar as a potential crush or anything. He was just that annoying show-off from the Garrison, broody and rash and angered too easily. And then he was Lance’s teammate, still broody and rash and angry, but a good paladin and a determined fighter. Even if they’d been bickering at breakfast, Keith would still fly head-first into an enemy ship in order to save Lance from a laser beam.

After that, he was Lance’s friend. Still broody and rash and angry, but also funny in a dry way and thoughtful and — to Lance’s surprise — shy. He hadn’t realized that Keith was so quiet so often because of shyness, and not because he was standoffish.

And then, a good while after that, he was Lance’s crush. Yes, still broody and rash and angry. But also red-faced when teased and concerned more than Lance realized and sweet when he wanted to be.

Lance was the one to confess to him. He doesn’t think Keith ever planned to do it himself, not that Lance realized Keith had liked him back at the time. But after it came to Lance’s attention that he had a crush on Keith, it was practically all he could think about. Lance felt giddy and excited being around Keith, which was just ridiculous, because he was around Keith all the time. They lived together.

It didn’t happen the way Lance had imagined it. And boy, had he imagined it. He’d thought it would happen in a burst of emotion. He thought they’d be fighting, and Keith would say something that bit down to the bone and Lance would throw his feelings at Keith’s face, just to watch his mouth drop open and to feel a hint of satisfaction before the embarrassment swiftly followed. Or he thought he’d say it dramatically as he was carried into a pod, his wounds so bad that he didn’t know if he’d survive. He’d touch Keith with a shaking hand and confess with a whisper, and then he’d black out so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath.

Instead, his confession was gooey and embarrassing and quiet. They were sitting in a hallway alone together, just watching the stars pass by. There’d been an intense battle earlier in the day. A victory, but one of those kinds of victories that felt like a failure. The kind that reminded them how many lives were being lost in this war, and how far from the end they really were. The kind that made them quiet and sad and that they had to somehow reconcile themselves with before morning, because life had to march on, and they had missions to attend to.

The hallway was dark and the stars twinkling in the distance were dim. Keith had just said something that Lance resonated with, though he can’t remember what it was now. This silence had stretched out between them. Keith’s shoulder had been pressed against Lance’s, and that’s when the words had bubbled out of him, unwarranted.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he’d said. Keith had stiffened next to him — in surprise, Lance learned, but in the moment it seemed like a bad thing.

Whereas the silence that had sat between them before was comfortable, this one was insufferable. Blindingly painful. Lance realized that he could hear his heartbeat in his ears. And then, finally, Keith turned to him. Lance turned back, expecting rejection, and got a kiss instead.

There’d been more talking after that. They’d started dating almost immediately. But that was how it all started. That was the beginning of their few months of bliss, before their friends all died and Keith became comatose.

That obviously didn’t happen in this universe. Maybe the other Lance didn’t have the guts to tell Keith. Or maybe they just didn’t end up in that hallway together that night, and the other Lance still plans to confess in a shocking, major way. There’s no way he doesn’t feel this way about Keith, though. Because if most of their lives have been the same, then it happened. That other Lance will have developed feelings the same way that he himself did.

And Lance isn’t an idiot, for the record. He and Keith had that talk in the closet, after Keith had his big confession moment. Lance doesn’t think that he magically fixed things in that moment, and that Keith is going to confess for a second time when his Lance returns.

In fact, Keith probably thinks that this whole thing they’re doing, the kissing and touching, is just a way to get it out of his system. Lance knows him. But he also knows that Keith is an idiot if he thinks that doing all of this will make his feelings any bit more manageable. If anything, he’s just going to become more desperate.

Maybe it’s all part of a master plan, on Lance’s part.

(It’s not, really. He just misses Keith a lot. And while this Keith hasn’t had the same experiences, he’s still the same person, in essence. Lance loves him like he would love any version of Keith. And if Lance steals a few kisses while he has the chance, then so be it.)

Maybe Lance is just opening Keith’s eyes. Making him more desperate. This way, when his Lance comes back, it’ll be all he can think about. If he doesn’t have the guts to confess on his own, maybe the other Lance will at least pick up on it and make the first move.

All in all, Keith’s confession on that planet was a good thing. It restored some kind of balance in the universe, in Lance’s mind. And if Keith keeps getting these little looks from their friends, then so be it. That also might help the other Lance realize what he’s dealing with.

Besides, it’s kind of helping Lance.

For one thing, he’s finally managed to think about the good times with Keith again. And for another, it’s helping Lance clear his mind. There’s less dread in his heart than before. When he thinks about going back to his universe, he isn’t weighed down with anxiety, thinking about his failures and how badly he misses Keith and how much he wishes he could just… check out. Instead, he’s determined. He thinks about how he’s going to save Keith, and how the two of them are going to retrieve their lions and rebuild Voltron.

These days, he’s spending less time just sitting around, his thoughts running rampant. And when he wants a distraction, it’s easily found. There isn’t much thinking involved in kissing.

“Lance,” Keith gasps, tilting his head back as Lance kisses down his throat. God, he even looks the same. His face is flushed, his eyes a little bleary, and his hair is beginning to stick to his temples with sweat.

Lance hums something resembling a question. Keith answers by gripping Lance’s shoulder and then arching up into him, his whole body trembling.

Lance sucks Keith’s earlobe into his mouth and then pushes up his shirt with one hand. Keith’s skin is soft and warm, and Lance traces his fingers over it, relishing in the feel of his body. He smooths his thumb over Keith’s nipple and then pinches it between two fingers, grinning as Keith squeaks.

This dynamic of theirs isn’t exactly fair. Lance knows every little thing that Keith likes. He could make him fall apart without even having to think about it. Keith, on the other hand, is still stumbling around like when they first got together. He lands somewhere close when he threads his fingers into Lance’s hair and tugs.

Lance follows the movement, allowing Keith to maneuver him so that they’re looking at each other. The sheets on Keith’s bed are disastrous — kicked to the foot and spilling onto the floor. Keith is just as disheveled, his hair an absolute mess and his shirt wrinkled where it’s pushed halfway up his torso.

“Hello,” Lance says, grinning, and Keith huffs out a laugh. The sound turns into a whine when Lance slides his hand down Keith’s stomach, stopping at the waistband of his boxers. “This okay?” he asks. It’s more than they’ve done before.

“Yes,” Keith gasps. His eyes are a little wide — wild in excitement. Lance eases his hand into Keith’s boxers, drinking in every minuscule change in Keith’s expression. In the way his breath hitches, his body twitching against Lance.

Keith’s eyes close when Lance actually starts jerking him off. His lips are parted, his breaths coming quick, and his eyebrows furrow as if he’s confused. Keith jerks up into Lance’s hand every once a while, involuntarily. Lance just lays on his side beside him, content to take it slow and watch.

A lot of the time, Keith’s impatient. He wants it faster, more, now, please. But other times, like in the morning when he’s still soft and sleepy, he lets Lance take it slow. Lets the pleasure creep instead of thunder. Lets the heat in his gut build carefully.

Lance jerks him off lazily, hiding a grin in his pillow. Keith’s breathing gets faster and faster, until he reaches the point where he’s making little, accidental noises. Huffs and short, quiet moans.

At that point, Lance finally picks up the pace. He starts stroking Keith faster, so that Keith’s gasping, arching into his hand. Keith’s eyes fly open and he’s really starting to wake up now. The sleepiness has vanished from his gaze — he’s intense and desperate and he curls into Lance, gripping anything he can reach.

“You close, baby?” Lance whispers.

What escapes Keith’s mouth isn’t English, but it amounts to a “yes.” Lance doubles down, flicking his wrist and pulling Keith even closer. Keith jerks into Lance’s hand with every stroke, moaning for real now, and then his whole body goes stiff and still. He shudders as he cums, spilling into Lance’s hand as Lance strokes him through it.

Afterward, Lance lets him lay there for a second, catching his breath. And then Keith peeks up at him, flushed in both satisfaction and embarrassment.

“Wow,” he says.

“Who knew handjobs could be so good, huh?”

“Jesus,” Keith mutters, immediately hiding his face in Lance’s chest. Classic. He used to get all shy about this stuff when they first started doing it in Lance’s universe, too.

At least Keith has his manners, though. Despite his embarrassment — and the fact that he’s very clearly trying to hide from Lance by getting closer to him — he finagles his way into Lance’s underwear and starts jerking him off. Lance rolls his hips into Keith’s fist.

“You’re cute,” Lance whispers. Grunts. “I missed this.”

“Clearly, I’ve been missing out on this,” Keith says dryly. Lance laughs, and then he slips his hand into the back of Keith’s underwear and squeezes his ass. Keith makes an embarrassed sound and heat flares in Lance’s gut.

He pants into Keith’s ear and Keith strokes him faster, tighter. Lance lets his middle finger slide between Keith’s cheeks, just to hear the sound he’ll make, and then he’s cumming, muffling his moan in Keith’s hair.

A minute or two later, they both sit up. Keith holds his hand away from the sheets awkwardly, literally holding a handful of Lance’s spunk.

“You’re useless,” Lance laughs, leaning past him to grab a tissue. Keith cleans up, red-faced, and then clears his throat.

“We should probably go get breakfast soon,” Keith says.

“Man, if I’d known you were hungry, I wouldn’t have settled for handjobs,” Lance jokes. Keith scoffs, slapping him, and Lance pulls him into a kiss before getting up and stretching. “See you at breakfast!”

—

One, two, three, four.

There’s an explosion of light and Lance leans down on Blue’s thrusters, jerking out of the way of a laser beam and into empty space. He whirls right back around, targeting the fighter ship and sending it to high heaven with a blast of his own.

One, two, three, four.

Yellow careens through the space before Lance, the lion’s jaw opening and then closing around another ship, crushing it to oblivion. Pidge is hot on Hunk’s heels, Green scraping through two ships following him with her jawblade.

One, two, three, four.

It was an unplanned attack. A few Galra cruisers showed up and released a steady stream of fighter jets — enough that they needed to diminish the numbers before they could actually concentrate on any of the cruisers.

One, two, three, four.

Keith and Shiro fly past in tandem, separating just long enough for Keith to flank a group of ships and for Shiro to plow through them in a blaze of light.

Lance lets his eyes scan throughout the battlefield again and again and again. One, Shiro. Two, Keith. Three, Pidge. Four, Hunk. And… well, five, counting Lance. But he doesn’t need to count himself. He’s not the one he’s worried about.

It started just a few minutes before they all sat down for dinner. It’d been a lax day, in which Lance had spent a lot of his free time just hanging out with his friends. He was in a better headspace than he is most days and he could actually, almost fully enjoy it. It was nice.

And then the alarms were blaring and their attack plan followed the new step that didn’t exist in Lance’s universe — react, check with Lance, then go to their lions.

When everyone looked at him, he shook his head. He didn’t remember this battle. Didn’t remember this happening when the next deaths occurred. With that, everyone rushed to their lions gratefully, thankful for what promised to be just another normal battle.

But Lance can’t shake his unease. Something is gnawing at him, itching at the back of his mind. What’s wrong?

Maybe it’s just a general bout of anxiety. Something left over from his time in his universe, when he still had a lion but didn’t have Voltron. When he could still fight, but had no one to watch his six.

Is that why he’s counting?

One, two, three, four.

At this time in his universe, he’d only be able to count to two. Three, if he included himself.

He should probably just push the unease away. It clearly has no place here, and he should at least be thankful that Shiro has yet to find Voltron necessary. God, Lance doesn’t want to have to endure that again.

It felt… wrong.

A very small part of that is because these aren’t his teammates. Not really. He could feel the difference, in some indescribable way, but it was barely noticeable. Just a small sense of out-of-placeness.

Lance could blame that entirely, if he wanted to. He could delude himself and pretend that it would be normal, if he were back in his universe. But that’s not true, and he knows it.

Really, the problem was Lance. He forgot what it felt like, to join the mindmeld and be Voltron. The syncing of their thoughts, the way someone else’s emotions would drift across the link. It sent Lance into a panic.

It’s an argument he’s had with himself a million times over. The how crazy am I, really? argument.

Sometimes, he embraces it. He lets himself just decide that he’s crazy, completely. Far beyond help. That his mind is shattered and if any of his dead teammates could see him now, they’d be freaked out by him. They’d realize how crazy he’d gone and there’d be no more hiding it.

Other times, Lance stands up for himself. Yeah, his mind isn’t the same anymore. It probably never will be the same again. And sure, he has a lot of mental struggles these days, with memory and intrusive thoughts and his mind going blank and a whole host of other things — but he’s not crazy. He still has morals and he can still love and he can be broken and fucked up but that doesn’t make him crazy.

When he really wants to torture himself, he’ll imagine what it’ll be like when Keith wakes up. Lance wasn’t this crazy when Keith went comatose. He was depressed and broken in other ways but he wasn’t alone, at least.

And he knows he’s gotten worse, but he doesn’t know what Keith would think about it. Is it super noticeable? Is it a dealbreaker? Is Lance so far gone that Keith won’t be able to relate to him anymore?

Forming Voltron was like plunging headfirst into those horrible ruminations, but with the entire team having a bird’s-eye view of his brain.

How well was he hiding it from them? Did they know already, or were they learning it for the first time right then, with the sudden access to Lance’s thoughts? Would they think he was beyond helping? Regret bringing him into their universe in the first place?

The anxiety and panic bombarded him. Lance spent half the time trying to block his thoughts from the rest of his teammates, which isn’t conducive to fighting as Voltron. There’s a reason their minds are supposed to meld, and Lance was doing his damndest not to let it happen.

He knows it happened at least a little bit. He still doesn’t know what everyone thought about whatever they saw.

There was also the fierce longing for his own team. He can’t even remember the last time he formed Voltron with them.

After Pidge died… God, it was horrible. Not just the usual stuff, the depression and despair and all that, but also the way it seeped into every little aspect of their lives. From the empty seat at breakfast — do we leave it empty? Out of respect? — to Shiro barking, “Form Voltron!” without thinking.

No one thought about forming Voltron after Shiro died. How could the thought even cross their minds? So whenever they were out in their lions — him, Hunk, and Keith — they just fought by themselves. Communicating over the comms and never once giving voice to their treacherous thoughts, about how a difficult battle would be easy if they were all here. If they could form Voltron.

One, two, three, four.

God. Fuck. What is he so stressed out about? His thoughts are wandering, and they shouldn’t be. He directs a laser at a ship and it blows up and that’s all Lance should be concentrating on, anyway. They’re in the middle of a battle and for some idiotic reason Lance is counting his teammates.

“What’s that?” Hunk says.

Lance sees the ship approaching, unlike any of the ships they’ve seen before, and the realization hits him like a gunshot.

“Oh, fuck,” he says.

What’s that?

I don’t know.

Hunk, can you—

I’m not good with that kind of tech, that was…

Oh.

Yeah.

Lance should say something. He needs to say something. He has to warn them, he knows he has to, but his mind’s caught in a riptide and he can’t just escape by swimming parallel.

It’s just. Okay, you know those doctor’s offices you go to as a kid? You get hurt and you complain to your mom and she straps you into your car seat and totes you off to the doctor’s office. They tell you to sit in the waiting room and the whole time you’re sitting there and sniffling because you fell off your bike and busted your knee and maybe it’s broken.

But then, finally, the doctor’s ready for you. They take you in and sit you on that bed and you crinkle all that paper as you shift on it so you try to stay still. And then the doctor asks you how much it hurts on a scale from one to ten.

That’s kind of hard to conceptualize, though. No worries! There’s a chart on the wall.

One is a happy face. A no-pain, why-are-you-even-here kind of face. Five is this wiggly, uncomfortable face. And ten is this balling, distraught face. You’re not sniffling anymore, finally in the doctor’s office. You’re definitely not balling. Your knee still twinges a bit, maybe, but it doesn’t hurt as bad and you honestly can’t figure out how bad it hurts when confronted with a number system.

What would make you ball? Would you sob if you broke your arm? But, you’ve never broken your arm before, so you don’t really know. If your arm was cut off, though, you’d be sobbing for sure. And they wouldn’t have made you wait in the waiting room for an hour while other kids played with little blocks trapped on wires that loop-de-loop. So getting your arm cut off would be a ten, for sure.

Finally you pick a number and the trip continues from there. If you’re the balling face you probably get x-rays. If you’re Lance, you get an ice pack and a sticker.

Lance was never good at rating his pain. And it didn’t help that he had a pretty high pain tolerance, either.

But, see, when Pidge died — that pain was a ten. The mental pain. She was gone and he’d never been so hurt in his life. It was finally easy to pick a number. He was balling, and his arm wasn’t cut off, but it hurt that bad anyway.

The only problem is that after that, Shiro died. And God, that hurt so bad. Just as bad as Pidge. Except now Lance had lost two people, and that was objectively worse, so maybe that was a ten. Did that make losing Pidge a nine? Or does the number just stay the same? Losing Pidge hurt this much, and it’s actually not getting any worse. It’s just more of the same pain, piled on top?

That was Lance’s whole issue. It hurt new and the same every time he lost someone. So then he was dealing with guilt on top of everything else. Eventually, it was like he couldn’t locate the pain. Couldn’t find the bruise and press on it and make sure it was there. And he couldn’t tell if it was hurting less the more he lost people. And, if it was hurting less, if that made him a horrible, despicable person. Or if it just meant he was getting desensitized from it.

At what point did it stop coming as a shock? At what point was his immediate reaction not horror and sobbing, but lifeless silence and maybe the slow, blinking kind of tears?

And how much does Keith being comatose hurt him? There’s the hope that he’ll wake up soon. People always talk about hope being a good thing, but Lance can’t deny that even the hope hurts him. But also, Keith isn’t dead. So Keith being knocked the fuck out for half a year can’t be a ten, can it?

“I’ve never seen a ship like that before,” Shiro says.

“Cover me,” Pidge says. “I’ll try to run a scan.”

They’re not following the script, but that’s because they weren’t on the script last time.

Lance finally clocks back in. The tidal wave of his thoughts relent and he’s back in control and jabbing the button to connect him to the castle.

“You have to get out of here!” he barks.

Last time, they had no idea. Lance can’t even explain how it happened, really. The castle-ship has a shield it can activate. And they’ve never seen anything that could conceivably be strong enough to take out the shield and the castle-ship in just one hit.

But one moment, he, Hunk, and Keith were waiting to engage the new ship, and the next, the castle-ship was just an explosion in the distance. Absolutely nothing left.

“What?” Allura says.

“Wormhole,” Lance demands. “Leave us! That ship’s after the castle. All it takes is one laser beam.”

“But—”

“Just go, Princess,” Keith says. “We’ll get in touch with you later. Go!”

Relief washes over Lance as Allura listens. A wormhole opens up and the castle slips through into safety.

Time distorts and the battle blurs, for Lance. Shiro calls for Voltron and Lance complies. Their new focus is that warship, because they can’t allow a weapon like that to roam free. But it’s a hard and long battle and Lance thinks he answers a question, once. Says something about how they can’t get hit — not if it destroyed the castle so easily, before.

Lance is exhausted and his mind is in shambles but eventually they manage to take it down. Without the warship to spearhead the battle, the rest of the cruisers and fighter jets flee. They disband Voltron and Lance’s thoughts are his own again and Shiro says something about finding somewhere to set down until they can get in contact with Allura again.

They find a nearby planet that Lance vaguely recognizes. They had nowhere to return to after the castle-ship was destroyed, and he and Hunk and Keith probably landed on this same planet. Having no idea what to do anymore, no clue how to contact their allies in the coalition or how they should continue from here.

But this time there’s five of them. And Allura will come back for them, and she and Coran will still be there, alive. They’ll have a home to return to and a team intact.

No, their situation isn’t the problem. Right now, it’s Lance.

Because why did it take him so long to realize that Allura and Coran were in danger? Why didn’t he realize when the call came through?

It shouldn’t have been something so last minute. If it’d taken him even a couple minutes longer, he could’ve ruined everything. What’s wrong with him?

The scary thing is that Lance couldn’t even remember how the castle-ship got destroyed. He knew it happened, and that Allura and Coran were destroyed with it, but no amount of digging revealed that to him.

He knew that Pidge died planet-side and that Shiro died in a Galra ship. And he knew the castle-ship was destroyed, and obviously he wasn’t on it. And of course he knows that his memory isn’t exactly the most reliable thing these days, but he just didn’t realize the extent of it. That he might have literally no clue what led to their deaths until it was directly in front of him, ready to do the deed.

He can see his friends exiting their lions through Blue’s eyes. Gathering in front of the lions and milling around. Shiro’s talking, gesturing as he does. Keith nods and Pidge turns around to look into the distance at whatever Shiro said. They’ll probably be looking for some food, soon, so they won’t have to rely on their stores. Maybe they’ll look for firewood too.

Lance should join them. Should go out there and be with his friends. But there’s just one thing that he’s trying to figure out, first.

How did Hunk die?

He knows that he did. He can remember the sorrow. The last death that he had to witness. But how the hell did it happen? What led up to it? What even did it?

How is he going to be any help to his team if he can’t remember? If he can’t prevent it? And how are they supposed to trust him after he nearly screwed it all up today?

Chapter Text

They try to give Lance space, at first. They know he’s fine, at least physically, in Blue. That underlying link to their lions would be acting up if something had happened to Lance in there. Each and every one of their lions would be screaming at them to go and collect him immediately.

And it’s not like he’s usually in tip-top shape after experiencing what should’ve been their deaths. Lance even warned Keith last time that they shouldn’t expect the same reaction every time.

You don’t react the same way to trauma every time. Sometimes when I’m really goin’ through it, I’ll just be sitting completely still. Silent.

But there’s really only so much time they can give him. Partially because they’re a team, and even now there’s stuff that they need to do in preparation for Allura and Coran’s return, but mostly because they know that whatever’s going on with Lance in there can’t be good. It just doesn’t feel right to leave him alone when he’s suffering.

“I hope he’s okay,” Hunk mutters, dropping a handful of logs onto the pile of firewood they’ve been collecting.

“I hope he’s reflecting on his own reality,” Pidge adds, grabbing a log and immediately taking a seat on it. She rips off her helmet and wipes the sweat off her brow. “That was a close call. He usually warns us before we even enter the battle.”

“Maybe the warning we got sounded different than the warning they got,” Shiro chimes in. Instead of reprimanding Pidge for taking a break, he joins her, tossing his own helmet in the direction of his feet.

“Doubt it,” Pidge says. “We’ve all felt what his mind is like. We’re probably lucky he even remembered in time.”

Hunk plops to the ground, looking queasy. Pidge definitely isn’t helping the situation, seeing as Hunk’s the one who’s supposed to die next.

“I think you’re being a little harsh,” Keith says. He crosses his arms, glaring down at Pidge. “He warned us when this whole thing started that he has trouble remembering this part of his life.”

“Yeah, well, we’re kind of banking on those memories,” Pidge says. “I’m sure if he just thinks hard enough—”

“No, I agree with Keith,” Shiro says, his voice quiet. “There are entire chunks missing from my time in captivity. I’m not sure I could remember even if I wanted to.”

Pidge looks cowed. She glances away.

“Not to mention, Lance is doing way more for us than we’re doing for him,” Keith says. “He could’ve told us to fuck off, but he didn’t. Instead, he’s reliving his trauma. That can’t be easy.”

“I know that, okay?” Pidge finally snaps. “I’m just worried!” Her gaze betrays her when her eyes flick toward Hunk and then quickly away. Keith melts a little bit, finding it hard to blame her.

“Look,” Keith says. “We’re already facing better odds than his team was. Even if Lance can’t remember exactly how it happened to Hunk, that doesn’t mean we won’t be able to prevent it. We’ve had close calls and escaped certain death a thousand times before Lance was ever here to warn us. Whatever happens, Hunk’s going to be fine. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Keith’s right,” Hunk says. To Keith’s surprise, he actually looks relieved. “This is nothing new. Right now, the person we should be worrying about is Lance. Can you go talk to him?”

He’s still staring at Keith, so Keith knows the question is directed at him, but he still says, “Me?”

Just like that, the tension drains out of the conversation. Hunk blushes, Shiro finds something interesting in the distance to stare at, and Pidge turns toward Keith, grinning.

“Well, you’re the one who has a crush on him,” she says.

Keith splutters, feeling heat crawl up his face. He honestly thought that his friends were having mercy on him, and that they might never bring up his feelings for Lance.

Sure, there’s been a lot of other stuff going on. Preventing deaths left and right, and the fact that Keith has been spending the majority of his time either alone with Lance or with the entire team as a whole, wherein his friends apparently have enough mercy to not bring up his feelings. But he still thought they might let it slide, just out of the kindness of their hearts.

“Guys,” Keith says weakly.

“Actually, he didn’t say it was a crush,” Hunk says. “He said he was in love with him.”

“Yeah, how long has that been going on?” Shiro chimes in, because apparently they’re talking about it now.

“Shut up,” Keith says. “I’m not telling you guys anything. You better keep your mouths shut when our Lance comes back.”

“Fine,” Pidge mutters. “But you better go help the Lance that’s here now. Who knows what he’s doing, shut up in Blue?”

Keith grumbles for the sake of grumbling, and then turns to go. He was already planning on going to talk to Lance if he didn’t come out of his lion soon, but he doesn’t like being told what to do.

Blue’s standing tall and imposing when Keith approaches her. Unresponsive. There’s evidence of a sloppy landing — Blue isn’t in line with the other lions and she isn’t exactly resting on her haunches. Instead, she’s almost crouched, as if she’s ready to take flight at any time.

Of course, neither the lion nor the paladin can fully function without the other. If the lion is shut down, they can’t do much at all, other than pull at the thrusters and maybe slightly alter their course. And while the lions do sometimes operate without them — to open their mouths and let them in, for one thing, and actually flying on their own, in extreme cases — they can’t perform at the same level.

What Keith’s saying is that Blue’s sloppy landing is on Lance. And while he and Lance have argued about probably everything under the sun, including the nuances of flying their lions, he knows that Lance is a good pilot. Something like this comes naturally to him. Even in the midst of a huge battle, Lance could land neatly without even trying.

“Lance,” Keith calls. “Can I come up?”

Nothing happens, not that Keith is really expecting it to. So he reaches out to Blue instead.

Blue is incredibly protective of Lance. Red’s protective of Keith, too, but definitely in a different way. In an angry, righteous way. Blue is different.

The best way Keith can describe it is by saying that Blue is like water. Vast. Sometimes welcoming, sometimes violent. She’s fiercely on Lance’s side, no matter what — one-directional.

For example, a few years ago, Lance locked himself away in Blue when he was upset. He’d gotten into a fight with Hunk, which is as surprising as it sounds. The intricacies of the fight are hard to remember now, especially since Keith wasn’t directly involved in it, but he knows that it happened after some difficult mission, and that Lance and Hunk both said some things they didn’t mean.

But whereas Keith could probably say something along the same lines and be totally disregarded — hot-headed, asshole, brash, rude, fiery, short-tempered (all things Lance would say to explain away words that Keith really didn’t mean) — it was different coming from Hunk. They hit a little harder. A little deeper.

He didn’t come out of Blue for days. The whole team was worried about him, but he was completely unresponsive. They thought he wasn’t eating, until they realized there were rations in there with him. And they thought he wouldn’t help them with missions, until he formed Voltron with them — his thoughts angry and abrasive — and then parked himself right back in the hangar.

Blue just wasn’t letting them in, no matter what, and Lance wasn’t coming out. It wasn’t until Shiro finally got through to Blue, somehow conveying that simply eating and sleeping aren’t enough, and that she was hindering him more than protecting him by allowing him to stay in there, that she finally opened up.

By the end of the day, Lance and Hunk had made up and all was right in the world.

Still, those few days were a lesson for all of them. Blue was on Lance’s side, first and foremost. His needs came first. Keith sometimes wonders whether she even truly opened for Shiro, or if Lance had just finally decided that he was ready to confront Hunk.

So, it’s not with a lack of trepidation that Keith reaches for Blue now. That he tries to express how he wants to help Lance, too. How Lance needs him, and how Keith knows that he can help, and that while Blue can protect Lance from everything he’s trying to avoid outside, she can’t protect him from what’s going on inside. From the attacks he’s withstanding in his own mind.

At first, Blue isn’t very responsive. It’s like Keith is encountering this wall, stoic and unmoving. Keith pushes and Blue pushes back. Keith tries to express that he wants to help Lance and Blue expresses that she’s already helping Lance, protecting him.

It takes more than that. Keith presses her with his mind for a good minute or so, and he basically lays himself bare. He draws the love he feels for Lance up to the forefront of his mind — a feeling that he typically shies from and tries to ignore — and it gives Blue pause.

The next thing he knows, Blue is bending down to let him in. Her mouth gapes ominously, and Keith thinks a silent thank you to her before going inside, Blue closing back up behind him.

Like always, it’s weird being in another lion. When you spend all your time in just one of them, you get used to that lion’s particular intricacies. The color of the inside and the slight layout differences, at least between the arms and the legs, due to their different functions. Not to mention the energy that surrounds him, the aura that’s wholly Blue’s thoughts instead of Red’s.

Keith has only been in the others’ lions a few times in his life, and most of those times, it was because of an injury. Something that left him incapacitated enough that he had to be flown back to the castle-ship on someone else’s lion, unable to pilot his own.

Of course, there’s one distinct time that Keith was in the Blue lion, with no injuries addling his thoughts. The very first time he was in a lion at all, in fact.

He didn’t really recognize the presence around him as belonging to Blue, back then. He’s not sure if he even noticed her mental link that day. Now, it’s practically all he can feel. Worry and concern and the desperate need to do something bleeding into Keith’s own head.

It’s immediately obvious why.

Lance is still sitting in the pilot’s seat. His whole body is rigid. His hands are placed almost casually on his thighs, but Keith can see the divots his fingers are making, the way he’s digging his fingers in, trying to ground himself.

He hasn’t taken his helmet off or done much of anything since landing, it looks like. He’s not even blinking, Keith realizes, watching as Lance stares — unseeing — at the screen before him.

Outside, their friends are still sitting together in a loose circle, taking a break from collecting wood and searching for food.

“Lance,” Keith says, softly as if not to spook him, and Lance sucks in a breath. His body immediately loosens, the tension bleeding out of him, and he slowly turns to face Keith.

“Keith,” he says. “Sorry, I was about to come out. I was just thinking.”

“Are you okay?” Keith says, inching closer.

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

Keith abruptly stops, thrown for a loop.

“What?”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Lance repeats. He’s staring at Keith, but it’s not like he’s really looking at him. It’s like he’s seeing through him. He laughs, the sound sudden and jarring. “When I first got to your reality, and I saw you all standing there, I thought you were ghosts. That you’d either come to haunt me or take me away. And then, when I saw you, I really started to lose it — because you aren’t supposed to be dead.”

Keith doesn’t think that Lance is really looking for an answer from him. Still, he answers anyway.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I think ghosts could be real.”

“I think about it, sometimes,” Lance admits. His voice carries no emotion, monotone. “If ghosts are real, a-and all the others are ghosts, are they watching over me?”

Keith doesn’t answer.

“Maybe they’d go back to Earth, where they belong. Watch over their families and all that. But sometimes when I’m anxious, I like to think that they’d be watching over me, instead.”

“I think they’d watch over you,” Keith says carefully. “They’d want to be there with you, whether you realized it or not.”

“Yeah,” Lance mutters. “But then, sometimes I really, really hope that they’re not. Y’know, watching over me. Seeing all the ways I’ve failed.”

Lance’s knee starts up a jig. His whole leg starts bouncing, slowly at first.

“They probably think I’ve lost it,” Lance whispers.

“You haven’t lost it,” Keith says. “I can’t think of anyone as strong as you. And I know they’d be thinking the same thing.”

Lance laughs. “I know at least one person as strong as me.”

“My Lance has been lucky,” Keith says. “All of us in this reality have. But if the same thing happened to him, I’d be relieved, knowing he’d turn out like you.”

This time, Lance’s laughter is more like a bark. His leg is bouncing faster now, and his fingers join in on the dance, tapping at the armrest to his left. “I keep thinking,” he says. “It took me too long to realize what was happening, back there.” The sudden change in the conversation is like whiplash, but Keith tries to adapt with it. He knows Lance will get to the heart of what’s bothering him, in his own way.

He’s always been like this. Lance likes to talk around his problems first, a lot of the time, and then delve into what really matters.

“Still, you realized,” Keith points out.

Lance nudges his helmet off, removes his glove, and then fixes the edge of his thumb nail between his teeth. Chews. “Yeah,” he acquiesces. “But not soon enough.”

“Allura and Coran got out of there,” Keith points out. “They’re fine.”

“That’s the thing,” Lance says. “They wouldn’t have been fine if I didn’t realize, and I almost didn’t. I could’ve gotten them killed!”

“Or the rest of us would’ve realized something was happening, and we would’ve done something to prevent it. Everything isn’t solely on your shoulders.”

“That’s not the worst part,” Lance says suddenly. When he looks at Keith, it’s the first time he’s really, truly looked at him. Now, without his helmet on, Keith can see the way his eyes have gone bloodshot. How pale he looks, a result of all the feelings eating away inside of him.

Keith perches on the control panel across from Lance, realizing that this might turn into an even more drastic conversation than he was expecting.

“What’s wrong?”

Lance avoids his gaze. His knee starts bouncing at hyperspeed, so fast that Keith can’t imagine it even feels pleasant anymore.

“Hey,” Keith says. “Whatever’s going on, it’ll be okay. We’ll figure it out. You can tell me.”

Lance forces the air of his lungs in a huff. “I can’t remember how Hunk died.”

Fuck. That’s exactly what Pidge was afraid of.

“It might come to you,” Keith says.

“Yeah, too late. It’s getting worse every time. I — I can’t let Hunk die, Keith. Not again.”

“He won’t die,” Keith says. “We’re all on alert now, not just you.”

“I should remember, though,” Lance says. “I know I try not to think of these things. And usually, when I do, they’re pretty fuzzy. But... I can’t even remember if I used to be able to remember,” he says, his voice hushed.

“It’s your mind protecting you. Sometimes it’s better not to know.”

“Not when it could cost Hunk his life,” Lance rasps. He finally looks at Keith again, and Keith sees the horror there. The despair.

Lance doesn’t know how Hunk died, it’s true. And Keith has no way of guessing. But he wouldn’t be surprised if — somewhere in there, at least on a subconscious level — Lance knows exactly what happened. If the terror he’s seeing in Lance’s eyes now isn’t just a reflection of the fear of not being able to help, but the fear of what actually happened to Hunk.

“Hey,” Keith says, and his voice comes out sharper than he intended, but he can’t help it. He wants to protect Lance, but it’s hard when the thing he’s protecting him from is himself. “I promise you, we’re going to keep Hunk safe. So, can you come outside with me and help me find something for us to eat? I keep bringing back poisonous plants.”

A smile wavers across Lance’s face, followed by a snicker. “How are you so bad at foraging?” he says. “I swear we used to do lessons on those every few months.”

“We do,” Keith grumbles. “But the plants are different on every planet! I don’t know what you guys expect.”

The distraction works, miraculously. Keith gets Lance out of his lion, and he gets him to focus on something else instead.

Allura and Coran have already been contacted, and they promised they’d be back in the next few vargas, just to be safe. They probably don’t actually need all this food or fire wood, which all of them realize, but it never hurts to practice a survival scenario.

Plus, keeping busy is helping all of them, not just Lance. Though, Keith hasn’t quite managed to stop worrying about him. He keeps having moments of sudden silence, and Keith can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head.

Not that he’ll have to wonder for long.

—

Coran and Allura’s return is hectic. Not in an emergency, terrifying kind of way, but in an oblivious-uncle-discusses-tender-topic kind of way. Keith can only imagine this is what it must feel like, having bickered with parents on a car ride to some relative’s house only to have that very topic brought up abruptly, and much too soon.

See, Allura and Coran are showering Lance with praise. Coran actually bows to him, and then gives a dramatic speech about how lucky they are to have Lance with them, and how thankful he is for Lance, and how much they all owe him.

Allura pulls Lance into a hug even as Coran is giving this speech, and the second he’s done, she’s plowing off into another oblivious conversation. She talks about how they’re almost done with all this nonsense, that now they just have to ensure Hunk’s survival, as if that’s not the very thing Lance is panicking about (and, Keith realizes, as if saving Hunk isn’t simultaneously some sort of deadline for all of this — a reason to send Lance back home, where he’s alone).

The whole time it’s happening, Keith is standing there panicking. Watching it all like some kind of train wreck he can’t prevent. Watching the pieces collide, Lance’s expression growing more and more distant all the while.

Finally, Lance explodes.

“I can’t remember how Hunk dies!” he snaps.

Allura and Coran fall silent. Pidge stiffens, glancing desperately at Shiro, and Hunk immediately pales while trying to pretend he’s unaffected.

“I told you,” Keith says, trying to keep the peace, “we’ll be fine. We can still protect Hunk—”

“But what if we can’t?” Lance interjects. “I’m sorry, Keith, I know you’re trying to comfort me. But if Hunk dies, it’ll destroy me. Living through all of this again… it’s really, really hard. The fact that I get to see the alternative is the only thing holding me together.”

“We feel horrible, making you live through this again,” Allura pipes up. They’ve said it to Lance a million times, it feels like, but apparently it bears repeating.

“I know, and it’s fine,” Lance says. “The thing is, I can’t tell if my memory about this is worse than it was before. At this time for me, it was like all hope was lost.”

Everyone falls silent, in the fashion they always do whenever Lance talks about experiencing this in his reality. They can’t help but be enraptured. It’s unreal, whenever Keith stops to actually think about it. The fact that this Lance is from another reality… living proof that alternate realities not only exist, but can be so drastically different…

“We were already just barely making it through the motions,” Lance says. “After we lost Allura and Coran… it was over. I don’t even know what we did from there. I think we stopped fighting. Instead we were just trying to survive. Running, sometimes, I think.”

“Lance…” Pidge breathes.

“I’m not looking for pity,” Lance says suddenly, almost harshly. “Just — I’m trying to think of what to do. I need to remember.”

Fuck. Keith’s already expressed his thoughts here. He really doesn’t think Lance needs to remember. He knows that it’ll help them with Hunk — might even be necessary — but Keith is scared for Lance’s sake. His brain’s protecting him for a reason.

“If you’re really sure that you want to remember,” Shiro says carefully, “I might have an idea.”

“I’m sure,” Lance says. “I’ll do anything.”

Shiro barely gets the words “mind meld” out of his mouth before Keith — and Hunk, surprisingly — are protesting.

“We can’t do that,” Keith says.

“They’re too realistic—”

“If Lance lives through that again—”

“—we could think of something else—”

“—it could do more harm than good—”

“I want to do it,” Lance interrupts, louder than both of them. They both try to speak again, voices overlapping, but Lance cuts them off. “Guys, it’s my decision,” he says. “I’m telling you, without this, it could be worse. For all of us.”

Keith is furious, the entire walk to the training deck, as Shiro digs up the mind meld devices, and as he attaches it to his own head.

The thing is, this tech is insane. It’s unlike anything they have on Earth — unlike anything Keith has experienced elsewhere, even in all his time in space.

It’s not like watching a screen, some third-party observer just seeing your own memories play out before you. It’s like being in the memory. The sights, the sounds, the feelings — everything’s there. Allura even gave them this whole spiel the first time they used them about how they’re only allowed to use them with supervision. Apparently, there used to be Alteans who would get addicted to them. People who wanted to escape life, to just relive the past, and they would spend countless hours hooked up to them, just reliving their own memories.

Those people wouldn’t eat, wouldn’t sleep, wouldn’t drink — they didn’t realize they needed any of it. The mind meld devices are that strong.

It’s a little different, entering someone else’s mind, because at least you recognize that the things happening aren’t your own memories. But for Lance, all of it is going to feel very real. And it’s not like they can do this without Lance, either, the memories being his own.

“Are you ready?” Shiro asks, once Lance is hooked up and seated in the circle. He’s across from Keith, which is just another thing Keith hates. He wants to be beside him, so he can rip the damned thing off if he has to.

“I’m ready,” Lance says.

“All right, go ahead and try to remember. Anything as close to that time as you can, and we’ll try to guide you as well. Everyone else, clear your minds.”

Keith hates that this actually might work. It’s part of the devices’ magic. Something about teamwork, and all that. It’s just more likely that Lance will be able to remember with them there, as well.

Lance closes his eyes, and Keith is sucked into a memory.

“Hey,” Lance says. “What are you doing in here?”

Keith is sitting in the Blue lion, curled up on the floor with his back against the pilot’s chair. Keith has never seen himself like this. This version of him looks thinner. There are deep, purple bags under his eyes. His armor is dirty, his hair long and desperately in need of a wash. He looks exhausted, but not in a way that sleep could fix.

“Have you realized that we can’t feel their lions anymore?” he says. “I don’t know when I first picked up on it. But I can’t feel Green or Black anymore. We don’t even know where they are.”

The memory ends, maybe more abruptly than they usually do. Lance’s memories are obviously sparse and choppy around this time in his life, as he’s said, but it’s different seeing it first-hand.

It’s the three of them, sitting around a small but lively fire.

“Things that are still good in the world: marshmallows exist,” Lance declares.

Hunk snorts. “I’m not sure that these count as marshmallows.”

“Hey! Don’t knock anything we have left to live for!”

It’s dark humor, but obviously the kind that the three of them are used to by now, because they all laugh.

“Well… I guess they feel kind of like marshmallows,” Keith admits. “Even if they don’t taste like them.”

The memory skitters away. There’s another.

“Sometimes I just want to go home,” Hunk says. “Like, can we really do this on our own? We never even signed up for it.”

“The universe needs us, buddy.”

“Yeah… I’m just not sure we can do anything for it, anymore.”

Then another.

“Keith! Sorry, you surprised me.”

“You know you don’t have to hide to cry, right?”

Lance sniffles. “I don’t like crying in front of you guys. I don’t want to be sad all the time.”

“We’re all sad all the time,” Keith says. “But it’s only when we’re all together that we manage to have happy moments. So, come be sad with us.”

Another.

“I’m sick of this,” Hunk rants, pacing. “Why are they even following us? We haven’t fought anyone in days. We have no way of contacting anyone in the coalition. Can’t they just leave us alone?!”

“I know, big guy. Let’s just keep moving. They’ll give up eventually.”

And then—

“Fuck!” Lance pants. “This fucking asshole—”

“Same,” Hunk says. “They won’t get off me.”

“We just have to outmaneuver them,” Keith says.

Lance laughs, the sound harsh. “Yeah, let’s outmaneuver an entire fleet.”

“Let’s just push through,” Hunk says. “We’re faster than them, we can escape — we can make it to that planet you were talking about.”

And then—

Lance screams, the sound heart-wrenching, the worst sound Keith has ever heard come out of Lance’s mouth. It takes a second to register the fact that Lance isn’t just screaming, he’s screaming a name. Everything is blurry. Something hurts. It doesn’t matter.

And then—

Hot, slippery hands. Lance is begging, and someone else is sobbing, low and guttural. Everything hurts, the feeling sinking, spreading, ripping, tearing—

And then—

“We have to go,” Lance is saying, pulling someone’s shoulder. Keith.

“No,” he sobs. “We can’t just leave him!”

But they do. They’re crying, falling apart, and they need each other, but they have to separate. They go to their own lions, and then they fly away. They leave the yellow lion, its link fading from their mind.

They leave Hunk, too. Broken and battered, laying beneath his lion like he’s being guarded by it, even in death.

It takes a moment to return to their own bodies, to leave the mind meld.

Everyone looks pale, shell-shocked. Lance is staring at nothing again. His eyes glazed over, his body impossibly still.

They learned enough from the mind-meld, probably. They know it happened on a planet, even if they don’t know exactly which one. They were surrounded by a fleet in a battle that either led to or ended planet-side. It’s not a lot to go off, sure, but it’s enough that they’ll know when to be on their toes. They’ll be able to react, because of it.

Keith still isn’t sure if it was worth it.

After all, Lance clearly couldn’t remember most of it. Even with his friends sharing his head, nudging him toward the memory, his mind was blocking a lot. Instead, it seems he remembered just some of the worst parts. The hope, that they might get away. The heartbreak, of actually losing Hunk. And the guilt, having to leave him behind.

“I remembered something important,” Lance says. His voice sounds scratchy, as if he screamed the way he did in his memory. Maybe he did.

“What?” Pidge says. Her voice wavers, and they all pretend not to watch as she wipes the tears from her cheeks.

Lance smiles. It looks out of place. And then he laughs. “Hunk’s injuries could’ve been healed by a pod. They were bad, but not bad enough that he had to die.” He laughs again, his grin growing wider.

None of them know what to say. It obviously isn’t funny, but it’s not like Lance doesn’t know that. He’s just hysterical. No wonder his brain wouldn’t let him remember that.

How many times have they come close to death before, only to be healed by a pod? It has to be countless. Like, to the point where — despite the severity of an injury — they can almost disregard it. They can realize that something that should be fatal is no big deal to them, because they can just stuff them in a pod and then sit down with them at breakfast the next day, no big deal.

But to see an injury no worse than hundreds they’ve healed from before…

Keith can’t imagine what that moment would’ve been like. Probably relief, at first. Realizing that it’s bad, but not that bad. Thinking that Hunk will be fine, that he just needs to get to a pod — and then the second realization hitting. Knowing that there are no pods, not anymore. Knowing that he’s going to die, and there’s nothing any of them could do. Hunk was probably conscious before he died, too. Maybe he was even able to say something to Lance and Keith, not that Lance seems to remember…

“Thank you, Lance,” Shiro says, finally breaking the silence that’d fallen after Lance stopped laughing. “Your dedication to us, and helping us alter the course of our reality… it’s invaluable. We can never thank you enough.”

The others murmur similar sentiments. Hunk crosses the circle to help Lance to his feet, and then he draws him into a hug. Lance melts into his best friend, sinking into his arms.

Keith rises after a minute, going to join the hug, and the others shortly follow. Even still, Keith isn’t really in the present moment. His mind is just circling around those stolen memories… the feeling of losing his friend, and seeing that alternate version of him go through the same thing. Somehow, it feels more real than ever before. Knowing that Lance has memories and feelings like that trapped inside him, but not just of Hunk. Of all of his friends.

Chapter Text

Keith is no expert on healthy coping mechanisms. In fact, he could probably be used as a prime example for what not to do to cope.

It’s almost like some wires in Keith’s brain got crossed. When he’s upset, he tends to act angry. Like when his dad died, for example. Instead of taking the time to mourn, maybe to talk about his feelings and vent about how hopeless he felt, he just started acting out instead. Getting into fights at school, arguing with his foster parents, the whole nine yards.

Or like when he realized he was part Galra. It answered a question Keith had had about himself all his life. Had finally shined a light on that feeling of otherness he’d always harbored, and hid, and secretly despised. But the answer was terrifying and surreal and scary and then Allura hated him all the sudden, on top of everything else Keith was already feeling.

Rather than figuring out some way to deal with it all… he just tried to escape. He thought that running away was the answer.

And on and on it goes.

Falling in love with Lance? Easy — bicker with him more, shove every trace of affection into an abyss, and try to pretend it doesn’t exist.

Relieved that someone survived a mission where the odds seemed entirely against them? Act like you weren’t even scared. Avoid them, even, because that’ll help the situation.

Keith obviously has no idea how someone is supposed to properly cope with their hardships, which is why he isn’t one to judge. If someone deals with that shit in a different way than Keith would, then he just lets them be, because maybe it works for them.

That is to say, if Lance is still freaking out over having to relive his memories of losing Hunk, and having sex is in anyway helpful for him, then Keith has nothing against that.

“Fuck, I want you so bad,” Lance mutters, already breathing heavily behind him. He has three fingers inside of Keith. It’s been a long time since anyone other than himself has done this to him, and even longer since he’s been able to have sex.

“Me too,” Keith gasps, trying to clamp down on the urge to moan. His insides are warring against each other. There’s the part of him that realizes that Lance has seen him like this plenty of times. He obviously knows exactly what Keith likes, and how Keith likes it, and Keith doesn’t doubt that he’s heard every noise imaginable from Keith. Despite that, there’s still a part of him that feels embarrassed at the thought of moaning in front of Lance. Of letting him know that he’s hitting every single button, and hitting them perfectly.

He can’t believe that he’s about to have sex with Lance. It’s something he’s only ever been able to imagine, and even then, very sparingly. It was just too embarrassing to let himself want that.

“It’s been so fucking long,” Lance rants. He’s fingering Keith without even having to think about it. His fingers press and rub against Keith’s prostate thoughtlessly, as if out of habit, and his other hand comes up to jerk Keith off a couple times, also completely thoughtlessly. He’s still talking, as if he’s unaware of Keith choking down little moans and whimpers as he pleasures him so habitually.

“Almost half a year,” Lance continues. “Actually, probably more than. Neither of us had much of a libido after everything.”

“Uh-huh,” Keith gasps, and then buries his face in the pillow.

“So it’s just been me and lefty over here picking up the slack. Except all my fantasies include you. I imagine you just waking up and randomly showing up in my room, and I’d stop because obviously I’d stop, we’d have so much to talk about and catch up on, but you’d see me and be so turned on and you’d just — join me.”

Lance sighs. “And then I usually feel guilty for thinking about having sex with you when obviously the priority is you even waking up.”

“I f-fantasize about you,” Keith admits, turning his head. He’s grinding back onto Lance’s fingers, but he truly, honestly can’t help it. “Sometimes.”

“Oh yeah?” Lance says. “What do you imagine?”

Keith feels himself flush. “Something kind of similar,” he says. “Like y-you’d walk into my room without knocking…”

“Spicy,” Lance says. “And you’d be jerkin’ it?”

“Yeah,” Keith says, and then can’t help it — he whimpers, writhing on Lance’s fingers.

“Finally,” Lance breathes. “I thought I’d lost my touch. You holdin’ back on me?”

“Maybe,” Keith gasps, and then moans.

“So, what would I do after seeing you?”

“We’d both panic,” Keith says. “I’d want to die. But you’d say something — ah! — um, witty. And you’d either touch me or ask if you could watch…”

“That’s hot,” Lance says. “Fuck, yeah, that’s really hot.”

“Lance!” Keith gasps. He’s getting too close, he realizes. That fire’s building up in his gut and he’s racing toward the edge and he’s not going to be able to stop—

Lance grips him by the base of his cock, hissing through his teeth when Keith stutters uselessly into his hand, his orgasm staved off.

“Shit, sorry,” Lance says. “I just love fingering you. I always forget that you cum really easily like that.”

Holy shit, that’s mortifying. How the hell did Keith ever let someone get to know him so well?

“My bad,” Lance continues. “Promise I’ll make it up to you.”

He pulls his fingers out and then the world spins, because Lance flipped him over in an instant. He’s kneeling between Keith’s legs, grinning down at him, and this is way better.

Lance is naked, and — wow.

After all their time in space, they’ve obviously seen a lot of each other. Sometimes they have to strip one of them out of broken paladin armor, which is impaling them, or even get dressed in a hurry on the way to their lions. Keith has seen Lance naked before. He even saw his butt, once, and spent the rest of the day trying to erase that image from his mind, because otherwise it was going to make an appearance in his fantasies.

But he’s never seen Lance like this.

Intentionally naked. So totally comfortable in his own body. Warm skin pressed against Keith’s, sweat glistening on his body. Holy shit. Keith is never going to be able to masturbate without thinking about Lance ever again.

“You ready?” Lance asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says.

Lance snatches up Keith’s lube again. When he first pulled it out of Keith’s (very secure) hiding place, Keith almost had a conniption. Of fucking course Lance knew where it was.

Now, he lubes up and then lines up against Keith, and then he starts pressing into him.

“Fuuuuck,” Lance groans, his eyes closed in bliss. “Way, way too fucking long.”

Keith has never had sex with Lance before, but he can’t help but agree. They’ve wasted every single moment since they’ve met by not using it to have sex.

Lance fucks into Keith just a couple times, getting a feel for it and making sure Keith’s truly ready, before he’s switching up their position. He manhandles Keith like he’s done it a million times before, so that Keith’s legs are up over Lance’s shoulders and Keith is bent into the bed like a pretzel. He’s never had sex in this position before and it’s immediately obvious why — it’s humiliating.

“Stop blushing like that,” Lance says, only serving to make Keith blush harder. “I promise you like it like this.”

One day, Keith is going to get tired of Lance being right. But not now. Oh, holy hell, definitely not now.

Lance is lined right up with his prostate in this position, and he can fuck Keith hard. Keith is bouncing against the bed, his knees pressing into his chest with every couple of thrusts, and he can hardly find it in himself to feel embarrassed about this anymore.

He’d always imagined his first time with Lance to be more tame. Not that he really thought he’d have a first time with Lance, but just… if he were to have one. He’d imagined it slower and sweeter, and maybe that’s how their first time really was, but…

Well, this Lance has had a lot of sex with Keith already. And this Lance is still trying to cope with the shit he had to go through yesterday. Clearly, he needs to fuck Keith hard and fast and desperate right now, and Keith doesn’t have any complaints.

He knows he’ll be embarrassed about this later. He’s making these little sounds with every one of Lance’s thrusts, like some kind of broken record. Just, unh, unh, unh! High and whiny and practically begging for it. Lance is grunting too, his hair flopping against his forehead and partially sticking to it with sweat, but somehow it’s hot when Lance does it.

“Lance,” Keith moans, gripping Lance’s elbows where they are beside Keith’s ribs.

“Yeah?” Lance pants. “Do you feel good?”

Keith just whimpers, unable to find his voice again, and he tilts his head back. Lance angles his head down just enough for his mouth to find Keith’s throat, his lips and his tongue hot against the sensitive skin there.

Lance groans, his hips stuttering into Keith, and Keith can feel him cumming inside him, can feel Lance panting against his neck and kissing the skin there. He slows down, his thrusts becoming lazy, but Keith is still practically vibrating, still on the edge.

Lance pulls out, kisses him quickly on the mouth, and lowers Keith’s legs back to the bed. He pats the side of Keith’s thigh twice.

“Roll over,” he says.

Keith’s doing it before he can even think about why. It’s like he just implicitly trusts Lance, trusts his experience in bed and with sex, especially in regard to Keith. But it’s not until Keith is laying on his stomach, Lance’s hands suddenly spreading his cheeks, that he thinks to question why Lance wants him like this anyway.

“Wait,” Keith says, turning to look over his shoulder, and — fuck. Lance is laying between his legs, his face incredibly close to Keith’s ass.

“Sorry I came before you,” Lance says, as if that’s what Keith is worried about. “But I’ll make it up to you.”

“Okay,” Keith says, his voice wavering a bit. “It’s just — I, um. No one’s ever…”

Lance grins, a wild delight filling his eyes. “Oh yeah,” he says, and his grin settles into something smaller. Hotter. He’s smirking at Keith, looking a little bit amused. “Well. Prepare to be amazed.”

With that, he buries his face in Keith’s ass, his tongue immediately laving against the rim. Keith chokes on his breath, burying his face in his pillow when a surely monstrous sound tries to escape from his throat.

Lance has him spread open, speared around his tongue, and Keith thinks he might die. Despite his attempts to muffle himself, needy, desperate, agonized sounds are escaping him. He’s grinding against Lance’s mouth, and when Lance pushes him up — so that his ass is in the air, unable to grind his cock against the bed — he can’t even find it in himself to care.

Jesus, he’s practically sobbing. Lance is licking into him, sucking on the rim of his hole, and every once in a while he chuckles, like this was exactly the reaction he was expecting. His mouth is so hot against Keith, and Keith feels like he can’t spread his legs far enough, like Lance can’t get close enough.

“Please,” Keith realizes he’s saying. “Please, please, please, pleasepleaseplease—“

“I gotchu, baby,” Lance murmurs, his lips still moving against Keith, and then his fingers plunge into Keith as well. He spreads two of them within Keith, his tongue snaking in between them, but his fingers are deep enough that they’re nearly brushing his prostate, until—

“Lance!” Keith screams, and then he’s shaking apart, twitching all around Lance and cumming all over his own stomach, up his chest. He feels hot and loose all over, his orgasm rushing through every nerve, until he goes limp, finally collapsing back against the bed.

He manages to open his eyes after a minute, peering at Lance blearily.

“Told ya you’d like it,” Lance says proudly. Keith still feels Lance all around him, inside him. He just groans, holding out an arm until Lance flops into his embrace.

That whole first day is spent like that. They don’t talk about what happened in the mind meld, because they don’t need to. When Lance is feeling sad, they fuck slow and sweet, taking their time with it. When he’s overwhelmed, he bends Keith over the counter in the bathroom, fucking him hard and fast, the both of them watching each other’s faces in the mirror. When he needs to be distracted, Keith rides him, until all Lance can possibly concentrate on is Keith bouncing in his lap.

It’s not a perfect coping mechanism. And it certainly doesn’t erase all the pain that’s still there. But it helps.

—

The next day, Lance spends the majority of his time buried in research about space-comas with the help of Hunk and Pidge, or taking a break and de-stressing with various space-board games they’ve collected in their travels. Keith stops by to help them research for an hour or so at a time, but spends the rest of his day being productive in other ways, like training.

In fact, the first time he sees Lance on his own isn’t until the evening.

“Hello?” Lance calls, the bathroom door sliding open. Keith’s almost certain he locked it, but it seems in character for Lance to know all of Keith’s passcodes.

“Um,” Keith says. “I’m in the shower.”

Lance snorts, probably because Keith stated the obvious, and then slides back the curtain. He’s naked on the other side, and then he steps into the shower with Keith, whipping the curtain closed behind him.

Keith’s never showered with someone else before.

“Hi,” Keith says, squashing his embarrassment down.

“Hi,” Lance says. He glances around the shower. “Two-in-one shampoo? Really?”

“There’s not a lot to choose from.”

“There is, and you know it,” Lance scoffs. “I can’t wait for your Lance to guide you in your grooming habits.”

Keith rolls his eyes. “It’ll be a long time before I let him in my shower,” he says. I will never let him in my shower, he thinks. Partially because he still doesn’t plan to tell Lance about how he feels, great sex be damned, but also because he’s not sure he wants to add another step to his shower routine. Sounds like a lot of work.

“Tell me more fantasies you have about him,” Lance demands.

Keith splutters. “No!”

“Not sexual ones!” Lance says. “I’m kind of chafing anyway. But, like, normal ones.”

“Still no,” Keith says. “Fuck no.”

Lance grabs Keith’s shampoo, maneuvers Keith around and out of the stream of water, and then flicks open the cap. The next thing Keith knows, Lance’s hands are buried in his hair, massaging his scalp, and Keith feels like he could sink into the ground. Is someone else washing your hair supposed to feel this good?

“C’mon,” Lance begs. “I wanna knooow.”

“Your Keith has probably already told you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Lance says. “Or maybe he told me different stories.”

Keith huffs, glaring at the wall in front of him.

“I guess you could tell me more sexual fantasies if you really wanted,” Lance says, his finger now circling Keith’s nipple. Keith swats his hand away, flushing. Lance isn’t the only one who’s chafed.

“Kissing you,” Keith mutters.

“What?”

“Or you kissing me,” Keith adds. “I don’t care who starts it.”

“How do you want it to happen?”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t know. Any of the ways I’ve imagined it would be good.”

“Tell meeee.”

“Like, maybe we’d be arguing about something stupid. And then I might do it… and realize I finally figured out how to shut you up.”

“Rude… but cute,” Lance allows.

“Or maybe you’d be the one to kiss me. Except you’d be all annoying and bold about it. I think you’d just come out and say it, and I’d be at a loss for words. Maybe you’d kiss me while I was still figuring out what to say.”

Lance aw!’s at that, wrapping his arms around Keith’s waist and pulling him into him.

“What else have you imagined?”

“This is embarrassing,” Keith huffs. “Nothing else.”

“Liar.”

“You’re a dick.”

“I bet you’ve imagined cuddling,” Lance whispers, right against his ear.

Keith is about to scoff, to tell Lance to fuck off, but then Lance practically speaks a thought Keith has had many times out loud. He talks about big spoons and little spoons. Talks about touching casually, just pressed up against each other. About how Keith would find it hard to concentrate on anything else.

About how sometimes when Lance touches him, it really does make it hard for Keith to concentrate. He’ll just be thinking about the warmth of Lance’s fingers on his elbow, or trying to figure out a scenario that would convince Lance to hug him, or—

Keith gasps. He elbows Lance in the gut, ignoring his laughter.

That asshole. The other Keith must’ve told him this stuff before. Must’ve had the same exact thoughts Keith has had…

“Tell me what you imagined about me,” Keith demands.

“Nah,” Lance says. “I think I’ll leave that as a surprise. Let your Lance tell you.”

“That’s not fair.”

Lance hums, running his nose up the side of Keith’s neck. “Guess you’ll just have to tell him you love him,” Lance sings, his sentence ending with his lips pressed against Keith’s ear. Keith hates his guts.

—

“Is that a hickey?”

It’s Shiro who says it, and Keith’s only response is to slap a hand over his neck, his eyes wide.

“No,” he says idiotically.

Shiro just stares at him, deadpan.

“It’s not,” Keith insists. When you’ve dug yourself into a hole, the only solution is to dig deeper, right?

He didn’t realize that Lance gave him a hickey. Or, okay, that’s a lie. He did realize. And it was really hot to see in the mirror the next day. But then Keith went and trained and honestly forgot about it until this very second, so.

“Follow me,” Shiro says, and turns on his heel. Keith follows him like a student following a teacher to the principal’s office. He follows him all the way to a room he’s honestly never stepped foot into in his life. There are tons of them around the castle-ship, but they never have any reason to use small meeting rooms like these.

“Lance gave you that hickey,” Shiro concludes.

“Fine, maybe he did,” Keith snaps. “What about it?”

“I just want to make sure you don’t get hurt,” Shiro says.

“What do you mean?”

“Lance’s reality is similar to ours, but it’s not the exact same. If he and his Keith happen to be together…”

“They are.”

“Okay. If they’re together, that doesn’t necessarily mean that you and our Lance will be together,” Shiro says. “We won’t know until he gets back.”

“I know that,” Keith snaps. “That’s why I’m getting it out of my system now. And we won’t know when Lance gets back because none of us are ever going to tell him — okay?”

Shiro sighs. “And you’re sure you’re not hurting Lance, either?”

Keith crosses his arms. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Lance is still waiting for his Keith to wake up. I just don’t want him to feel worse when he goes back to his reality.”

“I appreciate the concern, but we’ve already talked about all of this,” Keith says. “I lo— have feelings for this universe’s Lance, and he’s with his reality’s Keith. But it’s been a long time since his Keith’s been awake, and I’m never going to tell Lance about all of this. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.”

“Okay,” Shiro says, the tension seeming to deflate out of him. He looks satisfied, having warned Keith about his potential impending heartbreak. “Just be safe.”

“Ew! Gross,” Keith snaps. “I’m going to train.”

“Didn’t you train this morning?”

Keith just spins on his heel, stomping out of the room. “No.”

—

At this time in Lance’s universe, the Galra must’ve been finishing Voltron off. They’d had several successful attacks, and now there were only three paladins left for them to eliminate. They must’ve been having a field day.

But, in this reality, they’re failing horrifically. They’ve had several opportunities, have launched several huge attacks, and Voltron has thwarted them every time. They’re getting desperate.

That much is obvious from all the false alarms they’ve been having. Yesterday, there were three different attacks. They were able to wormhole away from the first one, but the next two they actually had to fight in their lions for. Each time, they thought it was happening for real, that it was the attack, but it never was.

Lance still can’t remember the details of the attack all that well, but he says he’ll know for sure after it happens, if not during.

“I just don’t understand why there have been so many attacks,” Allura says. Her arms are crossed and she’s staring at the projection before her angrily, as if that will force it to make sense.

They’re all gathered in the bridge, and they’re staring at a timeline Allura put together shortly after Lance arrived in their reality.

For the most part, the events line up. The timeline from Lance’s reality is a little more shaky, but the order of events is right and all of the attacks are within a couple of days of being correct.

But they’re approaching the thirty day mark, and Hunk still hasn’t faced his supposed peril. The end of both of their timelines is just this huge question mark. Lance’s has an asterisk beneath it, which says Keith ends up in a coma months later.

“You said there was only one attack, when it was you, Hunk, and Keith?” Allura says, her voice careful.

Lance rubs the bridge of his nose, his eyes clenched shut in concentration. “I can’t remember,” he says. “We were on the run, but I don’t know how many fights we actually got into.”

Allura hums, staring at the projection again.

“It might be different here, though,” Lance says. “It’s not like they’re trying to finish you off. I mean, I guess it could be possible that one of those attacks was supposed to be the one that killed Hunk. Or, I don’t know, maybe that attack won’t happen here. Or maybe it’ll be something completely different.”

“You think that could happen?” Pidge says. “All the other attacks matched the ones from your universe.”

“But you guys still have the castle-ship,” Lance points out. “That changes everything. Maybe our paths have truly diverged, now.”

“Well, we can’t afford to be any less vigilant,” Allura says. “We can’t relax until we know Hunk’s safe.”

“Lance makes a good point,” Keith says. “I think we should expect a different kind of attack. They probably won’t use the same tactics, going up against the whole castle-ship rather than three lone lions.”

No matter how vigilant they might’ve been, Keith doesn’t think anyone could’ve expected the attack when it actually happens.

He jerks awake in the middle of the night to the sound of alarms blaring.

“Fuck,” Lance says, sitting up beside him.

“Let’s go.”

They jump to their feet, and Lance starts getting dressed in his paladin armor immediately. Keith goes to leave the room — his own armor being across the hall — but Lance stops him with an arm across his chest.

“Just wait,” he says. “Don’t go out there alone.”

So Keith waits, bouncing on the balls of his feet as Lance gets dressed, and then they leave the room together. Lance goes first, gun raised and pointed down the hall. He looks both ways, then motions for Keith to go, standing guard while Keith runs to get dressed in his own room.

“This definitely didn’t happen in your universe,” Keith huffs once he’s back.

“I guess we don’t have to worry about the overlap anymore,” Lance agrees. The alarms are still blaring, red lights flashing against Lance’s face.

They run into Pidge first. Or, rather, she runs into them.

She clearly didn’t have time to change into her armor, though she managed to grab her bayard. “Duck!” she shouts, immediately after barreling into them, having just turned a corner. They duck, and when a Galra soldier turns the corner after her, his shot goes over all of their heads, and then he trips over Pidge’s extended leg. “Dick,” she says, before stabbing him with her weapon.

“They’re inside the castle?” Keith says. Then he realizes that Lance must’ve already guessed that. No wonder he wouldn’t let Keith leave his room alone.

“Apparently,” Pidge huffs. “I was gonna go to the bridge, but then this asshole caught me as I was coming out of my room.”

“I’m sure there’s more,” Lance says. “C’mon, we should find the others.”

They find way more than just their friends.

In all their time in space, they’ve rarely had any invaders on the castle. There was that one time in the beginning, with Sendak, and a few other minor instances that were easily dealt with, but this…

God. It’s like when they invade a Galra ship. It’ll be them against a whole crowd of enemies. But now that crowd is here, in their home, and it feels viscerally wrong.

They’re all fighting in the bridge. Hunk, too, managed to put on his armor, but no one else seems to have been as lucky. Shots are flying through the bridge, and it’s loud. Yelling and cries of pain and the sound of laser-fire.

Coran is fighting expertly with one of the sparring staffs from the training deck, though he’s only doing it with one hand, the other pressed against his side, which is covered in blood. Allura’s hair is escaping her bun. There’s a cut on her cheek and she’s laying into the soldier she’s fighting with a whip, her mouth twisted in a snarl.

Keith, Lance, and Pidge join the fray immediately. Lance goes straight to Hunk’s side, likely still worried on his behalf, and Pidge darts around like a maniac, which she’s best at. Half the time, she takes down her enemies before they even know she’s there.

Keith cuts a path toward Shiro, the crowd of Galra especially thick around him.

“Nice of you to join the party,” Shiro grunts, before plunging his sword into a Galra’s chest. “Hopefully we didn’t interrupt a different kind of party.” Shiro spares a second to glance at him, his eyebrows raised, and Keith feels his mouth drop open. It’s not like Shiro to insinuate that he and Lance might’ve been having sex.

“You’re disgusting,” Keith snaps, and then takes his anger out on an enemy. “And the alarm literally just went off.”

“Well, we had to fight through the crowd a bit to get to the alarm,” Shiro says. “Luckily me, Allura, and Coran were still awake.”

“We’re here now,” Keith says. “So, I’m sure this will be over shortly.”

It’s not.

The crowd is thick, and it takes them a while to realize why it’s not getting smaller. The seven of them are trapped in the bridge, fighting for their lives, and they’re not defending the entrance where the Galra got in from. Obviously, they’re funneling more soldiers into the castle-ship.

It’s Pidge who realizes this first, and once she does, she immediately disappears to get to her lion. They manage to staunch the flow after that, Pidge taking care of the Galra’s ship and Allura closing the doors to the bay they’d entered from, but there are still countless more Galra that need to be dealt with.

Worse, the Galra are in better fighting shape. There are more of them, so they don’t have to fight as hard. Meanwhile the seven of them are running on fumes, having been fighting with everything they have this entire time.

That’s probably why it happens. They’re exhausted, their adrenaline finally leveling out, and they don’t have reinforcements. Someone’s bound to get injured.

Coran already is, and he’s been slowing down ever since Keith got to the bridge. Allura won’t leave his side, and Coran has gone pale — either from the pain or the blood loss.

But it’s Pidge who cries out, just once, when a stream of laser fire hits her from across the room. They’ve all been shot by it before, and it’s never fun. But they’re usually at least wearing armor when it happens. Even their undersuits have protective qualities in them that lessen the effect of injuries.

Pidge, however, is still wearing her pajamas. She’s crumbles when she’s hit, and the Galra nearest to her goes to finish her off for good, but then Lance is there. He barrels out of nowhere — Keith didn’t even see him leave Hunk’s side — and then he’s standing over Pidge, his expression furious and his weapon mowing into all the Galra around him.

But the injuries don’t stop. Next it’s Allura, her scream cutting through the room even as she continues to fight. Then it’s Shiro, and there’s blood, but still a manageable amount. An amount that he can heal from, as long as they can wrap this up soon. Next is Hunk, and from the way Lance goes eerily still, just staring at him… Keith knows that it’s an injury he’s seen before. One that Hunk couldn’t survive, last time.

But the crowd is lessening and they’re going to be able to get Hunk to a pod. An injury like that isn’t good, but it isn’t a death sentence, either. 

“Lance!” Keith shouts, because Lance is still just standing there and an enemy has noticed him, is raising his sword, slicing it through the air—

—And is vaporized by the close-range blast of Hunk’s weapon.

“I’m fine, buddy,” Hunk says. “We just gotta finish ‘em off and then I’ll get into a pod.”

Lance shakes his head like he’s shaking off the trauma, the terror. “Sorry. You’re right.”

Finally, they make progress. Bloody and battered, and with a huge fucking mess they’ll have to clean up in the morning, but progress.

Most of the team has slowed down. They’re clutching injuries, leaning against chairs, and in Pidge’s case, sitting on the floor and tripping people with the grappling function of her bayard. Hunk looks like he shouldn’t be able to stand with a wound like that, but his face is set in determination. He’s not going to let Lance lose his best friend twice.

Keith and Lance are the only ones still uninjured. They’re picking up the slack where their friends can’t, fighting with everything left in their reserves because they’ve finally almost won. The Galra left are countable, now, and soon they’ll be able to stop, be able to breathe.

That’s what Keith’s thinking about when it happens. He’s fighting with these two Galra before him, blocking and parrying their blows on pure instinct alone, when a sword erupts out of his stomach.

At first, Keith just feels — shocked. He sees it sticking out of him, feels this rush of warmth down his skin, and he can hardly believe it. Can hardly make it make sense, this entire sword just hanging in the air before him, because he’s impaled on it.

After that comes the pain. It’s an all-at-once, debilitating kind of pain. So harsh and sudden that Keith can’t believe he couldn’t feel it at first.

He stumbles back a step, watching as the sword comes with him, and his hand comes up to his stomach as if to do something about it.

Finally, he remembers that he’s not alone — he was fighting two Galra, and apparently there’s a third one behind him — when there’s a flash of light. The enemies around Keith drop to the floor, dead, and Keith looks past them to find Lance. The look on his face is one of horror; pure, unadulterated fear.

Don’t worry, Keith wants to say. It’s not as bad as it looks.

That would sound stupid as shit, but he still has to say something. He opens his mouth, but then he’s choking on something. He coughs up blood, watching as it splatters onto his hands, and the act of coughing hurts. He’s convulsing around the sword buried inside him, and Keith realizes that he’s dizzy. That he can hardly see his feet, all the way down there at the ground.

“Not you,” Lance snaps. He’s pointing at Keith, and through the haze that’s come over his eyes, Keith makes out his expression. He looks angry. “You’re not on the list, idiot. You don’t get to die.”

Keith nods numbly. Somehow, it makes sense. He was never supposed to die — not according to Lance’s universe, at least — so obviously he’s not allowed to die now. Here.

The shock rolls back in, the sudden remembrance that they’re fighting Galra, but when he looks around, there’s no one standing. Maybe Lance was shooting them that whole time. Maybe Keith has been standing here, wobbling on his feet, far longer than he realized.

Oh, wait. He’s leaning against Shiro. Maybe that’s how he managed to stay upright.

“To the medbay,” Shiro barks out. “Everyone who can walk on their own, help someone else.”

The world goes dark and fuzzy. Keith’s feet feel like they belong to strangers. He endures the longest trek of his life in just two seconds, and when he opens his eyes, he’s leaning against a pod in the medbay.

Almost all of the pods are glowing, ready to be used. Coran has an arm around Pidge, steadying her, and he’s setting up her pod. Allura’s by Hunk, doing the same, and Keith realizes that both Lance and Shiro are beside him. Lance is holding Keith’s shoulders, as if to steady him.

“Think I… can stand,” Keith mutters, tasting blood in his mouth.

“That’s nice, babe,” he says. “Ready Shiro?”

“Ready. Brace yourself, Keith.”

Keith screams, trying to jerk away, but Lance holds him in place as Shiro slides the sword out of him. Immediately, blood bubbles to the surface, racing down his skin, and Lance shoves him into a pod, his expression grim.

All at once, everyone else seems to get the memo. They’re all stepping into their own pods and shutting the doors behind them.

That usual wobbly, overwhelming feeling encroaches on Keith, just like it does every time he’s in a pod. It’ll knock him out until he’s healed. But Keith isn’t asleep yet — he’s staring through the tinted glass of the pod, blinking slowly.

Lance stands in the middle of the medbay, alone. He’s covered in everyone else’s blood, his gun hanging from a loose grip at his side.

Chapter Text

“Sorry, kid,” the barkeep says. He’s drying a glass in his hands and ignoring the clamor of other customers trying to get his attention. “But I’ve already let you stay here two nights, and I have other paying customers that want that room. I don’t rent it out.”

“Please,” Lance says, pushing himself further over the counter. He takes a bag of coins out of his pocket and places it between them. He has another bag of coins in his other pocket, and Keith has his own bag too, but it isn’t smart to flaunt how much money you have on this planet. Better to keep it separate. “We made more money today, we can pay the fee. But if you let us rent out the room per movement, we could pay you a bigger sum. And we’ll — we’ll run errands for you. For free.”

This planet will be good for them, if they can just find a stable living situation. They realized they’d have to settle down somewhere and hide after the Galra managed to steal the red lion. They bought a cheap but functional spacecraft, hid Blue where no one would ever find her, and set off into the stars in search of a place to live. A place to regroup before they figure out… Well. Everything they need to figure out. Everything they’ll need to confront, once they’re not too fucked up to do so.

That’s how they found Nzelia.

The people here have heard of the war, but it’s never affected them, so they don’t really care about it. They don’t know who Voltron is (or… was), so Lance and Keith are safe here. The Galra won’t come looking for them.

“Tell you what,” the barkeep says, setting the glass down. He’s not just the bartender, but also the owner of the bar. There are rooms upstairs, one where he sleeps, and another that he usually lets people crash in for a considerable fee. “You pay me two hundred per movement, plus run my ‘errands.’ If you do it discreetly, I might even give you a tip.”

“Deal,” Lance says. He and Keith can’t afford to be picky, these days.

“The room’s yours,” the barkeep says, sliding the key back across the table. “Make enough of a name for yourself, so that people stop picking fights in my bar, and I’ll even lower the fee.”

“Thank you,” Lance says. He leaves his coin bag on the counter for the barkeep to pocket, knowing it’ll earn him and Keith some favor, and returns to Keith’s table in the corner of the room.

“We’re good,” Lance says, sliding into the seat next to his boyfriend. Keith immediately tucks his foot behind Lance’s, so that their ankles are touching.

“I found some work for us, too,” Keith says, surreptitiously sliding a card toward Lance. He nods his head in the direction of a man sitting a little ways from them, alone at the bar stool near the window.

“We can make this work,” Lance promises. “We just need a few months to… recuperate.”

Keith doesn’t answer, except to lean his head on Lance’s shoulder.

—

When Lance was eleven, his mom took him to a therapist. Lance kept having “asthma attacks,” but when the doctor told Lance he didn’t have asthma, his mom decided to take him to someone else who could help.

His therapist was a kindly older lady, Ms. Jenna. She had these reading glasses with decorative metal chains that looped behind her ears, and she always wore her hair up with a bandana. Lance took an instant liking to her.

“Do you usually feel nervous when you get these asthma attacks?” she’d asked.

“A little,” Lance had admitted. “And then I can’t breathe. And my friend Julian, he has asthma. He needs an inhaler to breathe again.”

“Sometimes, people can have trouble breathing not because they have asthma, but because they’re so nervous,” Ms. Jenna had told him. “But there are tricks to stop being nervous, did you know that?”

Lance hadn’t known that, so he’d shrugged.

Ms. Jenna had taught him a few tricks to help him calm down that day, and he’d been diagnosed with anxiety shortly after. Back on Earth, he’d taken meds for his anxiety, once he was older.

Some of the tricks have stuck with him, though. Counting. Breathing. Grounding himself in his body.

There are six pods currently in use. Every 11 seconds, the machine that powers them beeps, signifying they’re still working. Lance breathes in for seven seconds, and then out for ten. He can feel the floor beneath him. His legs are crossed, and the weight of his left calf is digging his right ankle into the floor. He hasn’t taken his helmet off yet, and he can feel it squeezing the sides of his temples. He can taste blood, can smell his own breath. Breathing, four seconds in, five seconds out. Two seconds in, one second out. In and out, in, in, in—

Not an asthma attack, a panic attack.

Fuck. Acknowledging it helps, that’s the first step.

Ms. Jenna told Lance to concentrate, to rationalize the situation. Is what he’s anxious about actually likely to happen? Will all his friends die in these pods?

Maybe. Probably not. But they’ve died before. Most of them…

He needs to calm down. He counts again. There are six pods. The machine beeps, and Lance counts to 11, and it beeps again. He breathes in for seven seconds, then out for ten. He’s fine. He’s fine.

His friends will be out of the pods soon. Once they are, they can start cleaning the bridge, disposing of all those bodies. Or maybe he’ll change first. But he’s not thinking about the blood that’s on him, the blood that’s not his, because that’ll make him panic, so— there are six pods, 11 seconds, he breathes in for seven…

—

“Do you think it ever stops?” Keith asks. His footfalls are muted on the dirt path, a step to the left and behind Lance.

The walk back home is a long one, but it’s a trek they have to make, thanks to their speeder deciding to die on them the second they completed their mission.

Lance slows down, just enough so that he falls into step beside Keith, and then he reaches for his hand. He squeezes, and Keith squeezes back. That means, I love you.

“No,” Lance admits, his voice quiet. There are alien animals chittering in the forest around them. Something not-quite owl-like hoots in the trees above them. “But… I think one day, it’ll hurt less.”

There are times when Lance wishes he could just… erase the pain. Make it disappear. Get rid of the constant weight of sadness, and loneliness, and heartbreak. There are times when he’s reminded of his friends; the inflection in a stranger’s voice, the expression on a clerk’s face, even the sound of a laugh from across the room. These moments are always unexpected, biting and chilling in the worst way possible. They grip Lance’s heart with a sudden ferocity, leaving him feeling unanchored. Like he could just drift away.

Or when Lance is trying to fall asleep at night, Keith either silent beside him in sleep or a similar state of wakefulness, and he’ll wish for it then. He’ll wish that he could just sleep without having his mind race without his permission, bearing the burden that hasn’t left him since that very first death. Forcing every nerve in his body to ache. Feeling like he’s lost more than just his friends, his family… feeling it so acutely that it’s like he’s lost a limb. It’s gone, and yet he can still feel the pain.

Those moments. Those are the ones that strike Lance with a sudden, desperate fury. When he bargains with himself, or the universe, and silently wishes that he could just forget them all. That he could start anew with Keith, and be happy again, somehow.

Other times, Lance berates himself for ever thinking like that. For ever wishing that he could get rid of the bad if it also meant sacrificing the good.

How could he ever want to forget what he’d had? How could he have the gall to think that the worst parts, the parts at the very end, could possibly outweigh the good of everything else?

Of course he wouldn’t want to forget them. He wants to live with them in his memory. Wants to be reminded of Shiro when he sees someone do something embarrassing and then glance around to see if anyone was looking. Or to think of Pidge when someone laughs in sheer delight, surprised by their own brilliance. He wants to remember Hunk when he meets someone incredibly selfless, who’s willing to spare kindness to a stranger. He wants someone’s bravery to bring back the memory of Allura, and when he meets a person as eccentric and kind and smart as Coran, he wants to think of him, too.

“People say that,” Keith says, after a good minute or more of silence. “They say it gets easier, but I don’t see how.”

Lance understands it as a concept, even if he can’t say that he’s experienced it for himself, yet. “I think, one day, remembering them will make us happy,” Lance says. “We’ll still miss them, and the sadness will still be there, but… I think we’ll realize that the good outweighs the bad. One day.”

Keith sniffles. Lance releases his hand and wraps his arm around his waist instead, pulling him into his side.

“You’re probably right,” Keith says, his voice wavering with unshed tears. “I just wish it didn’t hurt this much right now. Sometimes it feels like I won’t be able to take it anymore.”

“I know. But we have to make them proud. We have to keep going, every day, for them. For each other.”

—

Shiro’s the first one out of his pod. He steps out, blinks away the confusion, and then sees Lance sitting on the floor.

He doesn’t say anything, but he crosses the room and sits beside Lance, their shoulders touching. Lance leans into him, realizing for the first time in hours how stiff and heavy his body feels. Shiro just pats his back, a rock for Lance to steady himself against.

Next comes Allura, and then Coran. They, too, join Lance and Shiro on the floor. They become a huddle, surrounding each other and leaning against one another and waiting in silence for their friends to finish up in the pods.

Pidge is the next one awake, looking dead on her feet as she always does after exiting a pod. She plops down on the floor right in front of Lance, leaning against his chest. Pidge always pretends that she hates cuddling, hates touching, but in rare moments like these, she’s the first to initiate it. Lance can’t count the amount of times he’s come across Pidge, looking exhausted and world-weary and beaten down, and suddenly found himself with an armful of her, her face pressed into his chest and her arms wrapped around his back.

Then comes Hunk. He offers up a smile, then settles down on Lance’s other side. He grabs one of Lance’s hands and they hold onto each other like that, a silent comfort. Lance is beyond relieved that Hunk’s okay. He was terrified last night. Could barely catch his breath, after Hunk was injured. Was anxious all week, waiting for the moment of truth to finally catch up to them. But it’s over. Hunk was hurt but he’s fine, now, and Lance did it — he succeeded. He kept all his friends alive.

Keith, though — he was the one that almost sent Lance over the edge. When Lance saw him standing there, that sword sticking out of him, he could’ve sworn he’d felt time stop.

Icy terror dripped through his veins. He’d watched as Keith wobbled there, unsteady on his feet, and thought that this was it — he was seeing Keith’s last moments. He’d been spared from it in his own reality, instead forced to watch Keith sleep unendingly, but now he was seeing the real deal.

It was worse in the medbay. Watching all of his friends step into the pods. Lance knew they were in there to heal, and that they got everyone there quickly, and that the pods had healed injuries just as bad before. But the second the pods closed on his friends, he’d felt this overwhelming fear. It was like he was alone, just as alone as he is in his own reality.

Stranded. Adrift.

Finally, Keith’s pod opens in a whoosh of cold air. Fog floats away from the pod and Keith takes an unsteady step into the world of the living. He squints in the brightness of the medbay and then spots them all there on the floor, waiting for his late arrival.

Part of Lance expects him to break the silence. He’ll talk, and then the world will be in motion again. They’ll all get to their feet and get on with their day. They’ll clean up the bridge and find something for breakfast and sleep like they’re all probably dying to do. They’ll realize that Lance is done here, that all of them have been saved, and that they can send him back home, now.

But Keith doesn’t talk. He just joins their pile on the floor, shoving himself close so that he’s leaning against Lance and Shiro’s arms, and lets out a sigh.

The universe remains on pause, just for a little bit. They sit and enjoy the company, the togetherness. They silently celebrate their survival, and that’s enough.

—

Something’s wrong.

Lance has never been so aware of his heart before. Each beat feels like thunder in his body. It feels like it’s expanding, pushing his lungs aside. He can barely breathe and he’s frozen on his feet. His finger is still on the trigger, no longer remembering why he planned to pull it.

“Lance!” Keith shouts, but his voice sounds distant. He could be on another planet, he sounds so far away. And there’s no way he’s seeing what Lance is seeing.

They came here to kill some leader of a prostitution market. He’s been kidnapping a lot of girls that used to be regulars at the bar, so it’s losing business. That’s why the barkeep sent Lance and Keith to kill the asshole.

They tracked him down just fine. The fight itself wasn’t even too hard, if Lance is being honest. He’s spent years being a paladin, fighting in harsher, more deadly fights. He’s gone up against enemies way worse than this piece of shit, and it honestly wasn’t hard to get him into this position now, lying on the floor before Lance, a hand raised as if that’ll stop the bullet Lance is planning to put into his head.

Fuck. Is he still planning to do that?

“Please,” the guy says. But it doesn’t sound like his voice. It sounds like Hunk’s voice. And the guy looks like Hunk.

What if he really is Hunk? What if Hunk somehow managed to survive? What if something healed him, and he hopped into the yellow lion, and he tracked Lance and Keith down? What if Hunk went through all of that and survived against all odds, and Lance goes ahead and kills him right now?

The gun is trembling in Lance’s hand. It probably isn’t possible. He knows that. But then why does this man look exactly like Hunk right now? Hurt and bleeding and sounding like Lance’s best friend?

“Lance!” Keith barks again. “It’s not him! That’s how he lures in his victims, remember?”

Shit. Lance forgot. Or… maybe he didn’t forget, but maybe he’s fucked up enough that a simple trick like this is enough to make him lose it. That’s a scary thought.

Hunk is grinning — just for a second — before his smile is wiped away and he’s looking at Lance desperately again.

“Lance,” he says. “It’s really me. Please, I need your help.”

It’s not him. It’s a trick. That’s not Hunk, because Hunk is dead, and Lance saw him die, and he knows he saw him die, so he knows that this isn’t Hunk because Hunk can’t be here because Hunk is dead and—

Lance gasps, pulling the trigger just before Hunk can pull his. He didn’t even see him take out a gun. Didn’t even realize he had one on him.

Terror strikes through Lance, emanating through every inch of his body, before the illusion fades and the man goes back to looking how he should, like a creep who snatches women off the streets.

Lance sinks to the floor, his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around them. He’s breathing shakily, feeling like he can’t actually get any air in his lungs at all.

“Hey,” Keith says, suddenly beside Lance. He was up on the balcony of the warehouse before. They’d split up, trying to find the guy. “Maybe we should go talk to Madame Rez again.”

Lance nods, the movement jerky.

Madame Rez is an acquaintance they’ve made on this planet. She sells these calming teas, infused with certain ingredients that actually, physically calm you down.

She’s also able to find answers to questions that shouldn’t be possible to know. It’s an ability that her species had, but she’s the last of her kind, her planet destroyed in the war a long time ago. The answers are nice, because it can offer peace of mind when you need it most. But there’s always a hefty price to pay. She can’t work with nothing, and so you have to give her a memory. Only with that memory can she scan the universe for answers.

“You’re still worried about him,” Keith says, just confirming what he already knows.

Lance nods again and accepts Keith’s hand, letting him pull Lance back to his feet.

He knows Hunk is dead. But Lance keeps having these nightmares about him, anyway. With the rest of their friends, it was immediately obvious. They were able to absolutely confirm that there was nothing they could do, back on the castle. They were able to bury Pidge and Shiro, on different, obscure planets, but marked with gravestones nevertheless.

There was nothing they could do for Allura and Coran, but at least they knew they were really gone. There was nothing left of the castle after that explosion.

But Hunk…

They just left his body there to rot. There was absolutely no closure there, and it haunts Lance still.

If he offers up his memories of the end, or at least the most distinct parts, Madame Rez will be able to confirm what he already knows. That Hunk is really gone. She could also tell him what that planet was called, and they could go back and give him a proper burial. Or, if there’s nothing left… she could tell them that, too.

“Come on,” Keith says, tugging Lance’s hand gently. Lance falls into step beside him, his feet feeling like they weigh a hundred pounds each.

—

They’re gathered in the lounge, hours later. The bridge is finally clean, but the battle feels too recent, too fresh. They needed a change of scenery.

No one has said what they’re all thinking, but they’re slowly making their way toward it.

“What about Keith?” Allura says, sitting cross-legged in an armchair. “Don’t we still have to prevent him becoming comatose?”

Lance shakes his head. “That won’t happen in this reality, I can guarantee it.”

Allura purses her lips, tapping her nails against her knee.

“Everyone here should be safe now,” Lance says, jumpstarting the next part of this conversation. He’s tired of waiting for the others to bring it up. “I can go back to my reality whenever we’re ready.”

Lance sees the tension that fills the room at these words. His friends stiffen. Some of them glance around at the others. Some just stare at the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“But, I was wondering if I could stay an extra day,” Lance says. “I have an idea of how I can get my Keith to wake up, but I’d like to check it out here before I go back. If that’s okay.”

“Of course that’s okay,” Allura says, breathing a sigh of relief. “We can start right away. What do you need us to do?”

That’s how they end up going to Nzelia.

It’s only been almost a month since Lance has seen the planet, but it feels weird seeing it again. It feels weird, knowing he’ll be able to go back to the castle-ship after he finishes up here.

He has Allura keep the castle-ship in orbit. It’d be alarming for the people down there if a ship this big were to land on the surface, so this is safer. He also has most of them hang back. Nzelia can be dangerous, and he doesn’t want to put any of them in danger. It’d be too hard to keep his eye on all of them, and to help them all navigate the social norms of this planet.

Keith, however, he's bringing with him.

Part of it is because he thinks having Keith will help, that he might even be necessary for what he’s trying to do. Another part just wants Keith on the planet with him. Even though Keith’s been in a coma for a lot of the time that Lance has been on this planet, it feels weird to go there without Keith being somewhere on the surface with him.

They take an escape pod from the castle to get to the surface, and then Lance is back. He’s on Nzelia again.

“Down this street is a bar; we rent out a room in there,” Lance explains, pointing down a side street. “And on the other side of town is the hospital where you’re at right now. I visit you most evenings.”

There are people on the sides of the streets shouting and trying to sell them things. Lance keeps an arm around Keith’s waist as they walk. Both of them have their bayards tucked into their pockets, though they’re not wearing their Paladin gear. Something like that would look out of place here.

“What are we looking for?” Keith asks, glancing around the city as if he’ll spot it immediately. Or maybe he’s just realizing how weird it is to be surrounded by this many people and recognized by none of them.

“An old friend,” Lance says. “She might have answers for me.”

To be completely honest, Lance forgot that Madame Rez existed. But something jogged his memory today, and he realized that she might be able to complete the puzzle for him.

He and Keith used to stop by and visit her sometimes, either to share tea with her or to employ her for her more serious services. But after Keith ended up in a coma, Lance’s life lost a lot of focus. He was just accepting jobs to make money, and then searching for answers on his own in his free time. There’s also the possibility that Madame Rez intentionally made herself hard for Lance to remember.

She always got a worried look on her face whenever he and Keith came back to her for more than just tea. She’d warn them that memories were precious things, even the bad ones. They couldn’t just give them all away.

“Lance,” Keith says, his voice slow and careful. “How did I end up in a coma, anyway?”

“Oh,” Lance says. “I guess I never told you, huh?”

—

Lance storms into the cabin, his hands shaking with rage. He’s soaked to the bone thanks to the storm, but despite that, he’s still covered in blood. There were plenty of monsters he had to fight through just to make it to this cabin, and that infuriates him even more. Imagining Keith making this same trek. Why would he bother, after seeing how well this place was guarded?

“What did you do to him?” Lance demands, his chest heaving. The witch is standing toward the back of the cabin, either cooking herself dinner or brewing some kind of potion on the stove.

“Honey, I see a lot of customers,” she says without bothering to look at Lance. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

“Keith!” Lance shouts. “What did you do to Keith?! He’s been in a coma for a week, and after asking around, I found out that he came here to see you. So what did you do to him?”

The witch finally turns to face him. She’s holding a wooden spoon in one hand, and she eyes Lance up and down, her expression cold.

“Well, I put him into a coma,” she says. “Obviously.”

Lance growls. He pulls out his gun, desperate. “I heard that killing a witch breaks her spell.”

“You heard wrong, child,” she snaps. “Kill me and he’ll never wake up.”

Lance’s fury dissipates. It reveals what’s been hiding underneath it this entire time. Sorrow and fear. Horror, because he needs Keith. Because Keith is the only thing he has left.

“Please,” Lance says. “Just — tell me what happened.”

The witch sighs. She puts down her spoon, lowers the heat on the stove, and then washes her hands. Just when Lance thinks that she’s planning to ignore him for eternity, she speaks up, turning to face him as she dries her hands.

“Your lover came here with an idiotic request,” she informs Lance. He doesn’t bother to ask how she knows what Keith is to him. “He told me this tragic story about a war. About its heroes, their own stories cut short.”

Lance swallows, his mouth suddenly full of saliva. He feels nauseous.

“He begged me to do something,” the witch says. “Begged me to bring them back to life, said that he’d do anything. But any witch worth her salt knows that necromancy is an evil that shouldn’t be messed with. It never works the way you think it should, anyway. You might just force shades of themselves to wander the universe. Or you might bring them back, just for a moment, only to force them to relive their dying breath. So I said no, of course.”

Lance nods shakily.

“Well, your lover wasn’t satisfied with that answer. He demanded that I help, even went so far as to threaten me. So, I lied. I told him that I would do it, but that the price was a large one.

“‘Anything,’ he said to me. ‘I’ll do anything, just bring my friends back. Please.’

“So I told him, ‘It’ll cost you your soul.’

“And he agreed.”

Lance pulls out a seat from the witch’s table, sinking into it harshly. He feels sick. He can’t breathe. Oh, God—

“I didn’t actually take his soul,” the witch snaps. “I’m not so cruel, especially to those clearly as desperate as him. But I did want him out of my hair, and I wanted to teach him a lesson. I pretended to do a necromancy spell, but I was actually putting him to sleep.”

She falls silent, then. For long enough that Lance realizes she isn’t going to continue without prompting.

“But… how do I wake him back up?”

The witch laughs. “Coming to me with a request like that?” she says. “No, he deserves to be punished for a while. You won’t be waking him.”

Lance launches back to his feet, fuming. “Please!” he says. “You’re not just punishing him! He’s all I have left, don’t you understand?”

“He will awaken when the time is right,” the witch tells him. “Try all you want to find some other miracle solution, but you will fail. I promise you that.”

Lance leaves the witch’s cabin just as angry as he’d entered it. Fuck her. Spouting useless bullshit at him. He’s not just going to sit around and be patient and wait for the right time, apparently. He’ll find a real solution. An immediate solution. He’s sure there are other people with magic on this stupid planet, or on nearby planets, and he’ll find an answer through one of them.

—

“I… tried to bring them back?” Keith says.

“We were grieving. You were desperate.”

“Still,” Keith says. “It seems wrong.”

“It is wrong,” Lance says. “But your morals can change, if you’re pushed hard enough.”

“Is it still as hard?” Keith says, glancing at Lance tentatively. “As it was back then?”

“It wasn’t all that long ago,” Lance says. “Only about a year. And it’s still hard, it still hurts, but… surprisingly, no. Every once in a while, I realize it’s just a little bit easier than it used to be. Waking up and living.” He stops on the road, turning to face a little building tucked in between two larger ones. Madame Rez’s place used to just be an alley. “We’re here.”

The inside is just as Lance remembers it. Plush beanbags on the floor for seating, all pressed closed together with barely any walking room on the side of them. The walls are covered in shelves all the way up, making up for the lack of floor space. The building is skinny but deep, and in the back there’s a haze of smoke, thanks to the herbs Madame Rez always has burning. Lance can hear a tea kettle shrieking somewhere back there.

“Madame Rez?” Lance calls.

She emerges from the haze, already holding the kettle and three tea cups, as if she were expecting them.

“Hi,” Lance says.

“I don’t recognize you,” Madame Rez says. “But your aura feels familiar to me. Why is that?”

Lance laughs, feeling weirdly abashed. “I know you in a different reality, actually,” he says. “I’m a little displaced at the moment.”

Madame Rez hums. “It’s hardly a good thing, to know me,” she says. “Most of my acquaintances are haunted by something. They’re too willing to sacrifice even more.”

“Memories,” Lance says.

She sighs. “So, you’re here for more than just tea, then,” she says sadly. “And I’m sure I’ve warned you against my services in the past? You know that what you’re giving up is precious?”

“Wait, what are you giving up?” Keith whispers.

Lance ignores him. “Yes,” he says. “But it’s needed. This is Keith, he knows you in another reality, too,” Lance says. Madame Rez nods her head at Keith. “But in our reality, a witch put him in a coma. I’m going back soon, and I want to help him wake up.”

“All right. Concentrate on the memory.”

“You’re giving her a memory?” Keith realizes.

“Yes,” Lance says. He can feel his palms sweating. It’s never a great feeling, to give up a memory. You’re aware of the loss, at first, and then… nothing. It’s gone, like it was never even there. “She can use it to scour the universe for answers relevant to the memory. It’ll be worth it.”

Lance probably won’t remember anything about the witch, after he gives Madame Rez his memory. He’ll likely just remember that Keith found one, and that she put him in a coma. But it won’t matter, losing those little details. Not if Lance gets an answer in return.

“Hey, Madame Rez,” Lance says. “You don’t have to try to erase yourself from my memory, this time. I promise the next time I come, it’ll just be for the tea.”

Madame Rez smiles. And then she dips into Lance’s head.

It’s as if his thoughts and memories are a series of threads, and Madame Rez is a weaver. He can feel her picking at those threads, running her fingers along them, and then snipping. Something drifts away, and Lance is disoriented for a second, feeling hazy. He blinks, and his head feels normal again. Madame Rez’s eyes are closed, moving rapidly beneath her eyelids. She’s finding the Answer.

Keith grabs Lance’s hand, squeezing once. Lance squeezes back. I love you.

Madame Rez opens her eyes slowly.

“The witch didn’t tell you everything,” she says.

Lance frowns, confused, but figures he must’ve talked to the witch. Must’ve found her somehow.

“She told you that you wouldn’t be able to do anything to wake him. That only time would release him from his sleep.”

That’s… confusing. But Lance must’ve had good reason to doubt her, right? He spent months searching for cures and remedies. Hunting down dead end after dead end.

“But it’s more than that,” Madame Rez continues. “When she put him in a coma, she linked his healing to another. To you. It could’ve been months or years before he woke, thanks to that link.”

Black spots. Six of them, floating across Lance’s vision. He remembers to breathe. “He’ll never wake up,” Lance gasps. “I’m fucked up. He can’t wake up if he’s depending on me—”

“You have the wrong idea of what healing is,” Madame Rez says. “Healing doesn’t mean returning to the person you once were. You’ll likely never be that person again, not after what you’ve experienced. Healing is simply improving.”

Lance is still panicking. And the fact that he’s panicking is making him panic even more, because how the hell is he supposed to heal enough that he’ll stop having panic attacks all the time, or seeing hallucinations, or having nightmares?

“There’s something else,” Madame Rez continues, frowning. “But I can’t see the answer clearly. It’s like he’s linked to you twice, yet only one thread actually connects to you.”

“Lance,” Keith says. Lance glances at him.

“No, sorry, I mean — Lance. The other Lance. The other thread might be connected to him.”

Madame Rez hums, nodding. “It’s possible,” she says. “Your Keith… he will wake. That’s all I can see. The thread connected to you is the clearest — the others must lead to another reality, which is why I can’t see them.”

Maybe Lance can offer the Madame Rez in his universe this memory. That might be enough for her to figure out when Keith will wake up…

“I look forward to tea,” Madame Rez says, raising her glass toward Lance. He smiles, forcing himself to breathe. She did him a favor, letting him remember her. He shouldn’t take advantage of her like that. From what he remembers, she’s always been a good friend to him.

“Come on,” Keith says, tugging Lance’s hand. “Let’s go home.”

Keith leads Lance back through the streets of Nzelia, toward their pod. Tonight will be Lance’s last night here. His last night with his friends.

When Lance first got here, the thought of leaving terrified him. He was experiencing everything that had only existed in his memory for so long. Seeing his friends was like seeing ghosts, painful in the best way.

There’s a part of him that’s still sad to leave. Going to another reality doesn’t seem like something that happens more than once in a lifetime. He’ll never talk to his friends again. Never experience another one of Hunk’s bear hugs, or Shiro’s lectures. He won’t get to watch Pidge lie horribly when she’s hiding something, or witness Coran’s terrible attempts at Earth slang. Never again will he hear Allura over the castle’s speakers, telling them to gather in the bridge immediately because someone needs to kill the space-spider on her control board. Never again will Lance form Voltron with these paladins. He won’t fight by their side, or laugh with them so hard that his stomach aches.

But they’ll live. They’ll survive in this universe, and maybe they’ll win the war soon. Maybe they’ll get to finally move on with their lives, either returning to Earth or deciding to just explore the universe, offering help to any planet that needs it.

And Lance… well, he’ll keep them alive in his memory. It’ll hurt, of course. It always hurts to remember them. But maybe it’ll hurt less. Maybe it’ll be that good kind of hurt, overshadowed by the joy of their memory.

And anyway, that’s not a problem he has to deal with until tomorrow. For now, he gets to spend one last night with his friends.

When they get back to the castle, everyone’s already gathered in the lounge. They’re dressed in pajamas, perfect for a slumber party, and Shiro’s already carried in a bunch of spare pillows and blankets. Hunk made a bunch of snacks, and Coran provided champagne that no one else can ever find — he must hide it somewhere. Allura set out everything they’ll need for face masks, and Pidge brought out seemingly every board game they’ve ever collected in their travels.

Lance’s last memories of them will be this. This night, the kind of night that they used to have together all the time, just for fun. It’ll be happy. This is how he’ll remember them. The way they would’ve wanted him to remember them.

Chapter Text

“Here we are,” Allura says, her voice slightly stilted. No one says anything. They just stand still and silent, staring through the windows of the bridge at the view before them. The planet of the Peervida.

It feels like it happened too fast. Like it lasted forever. Like Lance has been here for months and just minutes at the very same time. Like he got here yesterday, lived here for years, and is leaving within seconds. Time always has a funny way of being experienced. Just like that, Present Time has become time for him to go, and all the time he’s spent here has become Past Time. Just like he knew it would.

Their walk to the palace takes twice the time it should. They’re all walking slower than they usually would. Hunk stops, twice, to poke around at a vendor’s wares.

Somehow, it’s his friends’ dread that inspires him. Lance forgot that that could happen.

Everyone would be scared for a mission or reluctant to enter a certain battle, and it would trigger something in Lance. Push his own fear and reluctance to the wayside in order to alleviate everyone else’s.

“I’m gonna be fine, guys,” Lance says, finally bringing everyone’s attention to the very thing they’ve been avoiding talking about. “Plus, I bet your Lance is eager to come home.”

Pidge snorts. “He’s probably bored out of his mind. I don’t know how he could operate without us,” she jokes, and then immediately freezes. “Um.”

“It’s fine,” Lance says. “But I don’t doubt he found a way to entertain himself.”

They’re climbing the palace steps, now. Getting closer to the end. Keith’s hand reaches out and squeezes his briefly.

A flutter of excitement rushes through Lance. It’s been a while since he’s felt hopeful for his Keith, but it’s trickling back in, now. Maybe Keith will wake up soon after Lance gets back.

And maybe this Keith will get his shit together. Actually tell his Lance all the feelings he’s been keeping locked up inside himself.

Two guards swing the palace doors open for them, and a third inside immediately falls in step beside them, leading them to the throne room. He opens that door, too, and then they’re standing before the queen.

“You’re right on time,” the queen says. “I didn’t know whether to expect you.” She explains that the original transfer was done with an equation, which specified the length of time Lance would get to spend here. Lance didn’t know that. He didn’t realize he was going to be zapped back into his own reality automatically. The thought is almost chilling. He might’ve wanted to spend an extra day here, but it was never even up to him.

“We wanted to be here, with your guidance,” Allura explains. “If for some reason Lance is returning to a dangerous situation in his reality, we want to know about it.”

The queen smiles, gracious. “He’ll be perfectly safe in his reality,” she promises. And then, her voice graver: “I suggest you say your goodbyes now.”

A sense of panic infuses them all. Their dillydallying on the way here didn’t delay anything. It just shortened the amount of time they actually have to say goodbye.

“Lance,” Shiro says, the first to speak. He steps forward and places a hand on Lance’s shoulder, squeezing him gently. “No matter what, you’ll always be a Paladin of Voltron. You bring hope to the universe. It’s not over yet.”

Lance feels his eyes water. He pulls Shiro into a hug before any tears can fall.

Just like that, Lance is passed around the circle, each of his friends having something meaningful to say.

“You’re doing great,” Allura promises him. “I’m glad your reality got to keep you.”

Coran hugs him tight, a hand pressed firmly against the back of his head. “We’re still with you. We’re cheering you on. I know it.”

And Pidge: “I’m gonna miss you. Don’t do anything stupid. I love you.”

And Hunk: “I’m sorry I had to leave ya, buddy. But I must’ve known I was leaving the universe in capable hands.”

And then, finally, Keith. He smiles, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder. “I love you,” he says simply. “And I’ll wake up over there soon. I’m sure.”

Lance snorts. “Thanks,” he says. “But tell the other Lance that. I know you, and I know you don’t plan to tell him how you feel. But you should. He needs you, too.”

Keith just nods, but it’s the best Lance can do. Keith will either dig up the courage to do it, or wait and suffer until the other Lance does it himself.

There’s still a circle of chalk on the floor, the same circle that Lance appeared in when he ended up in this reality, and it began to glow at some point during their goodbyes. It’s pulsing now, and Lance can feel some sort of pull deep within himself. Something calling him to come home.

“You did well,” the queen says, appearing by his side. Her hand rests on his shoulder, and Lance lets her lead him to the center of the circle. The pull is stronger here. “You untangled our reality from yours. They won’t suffer the same fate.”

“Good,” Lance says. And he means it. He doesn’t feel bitter about it anymore.

It feels like his nerves are twitching. His blood pulsing. The room starts to blur and Lance focuses on Keith’s face. Catches a glimpse of his expression. And then heat swirls in his gut, burns, and the world spins away from him—

Imagine a radio—

A burst of static—

The station goes quiet and fuzzy—

But you turn the knob precisely—

Manage to stay in range—

You don’t lose the channel, but stick with it—

Needing to know what happens—

Nausea floods through Lance’s gut, quick but already dissipating. He’s in his bathroom, surprisingly. The air is humid, the mirror foggy. It’s obvious that the other Lance just took a shower in here.

Lance sighs, rubbing the heels of his hands against his eyes. It wasn’t a dream, and he knows that. He knows it was real. But it’s already gone. His friends are gone, and they’ll always be gone. And yet… it hurts a little less than it did before.

Keith will be at the hospital still. He’ll be sleeping peacefully, a reassuring beep piercing the room. But Lance can talk to Madame Rez — not for answers bought from his memories, but just for advice. He can hit up Quuav and Uropa, maybe go on a mission just to get back in the swing of things. He’ll fuel up his pod and retrieve Blue, maybe. Get her nice and close by for when Keith wakes up, so that the two of them can get a move on.

It’ll be hard, but when has Lance ever backed down from a challenge? It’s definitely not hopeless. Not anymore.

“If you don’t hurry up, I’m just gonna come in. Hopefully you’re wearing clothes.” The doorknob jiggles. Lance watches it jiggle, his mouth completely dry.

Hallucinating. That would explain it. That would explain Keith’s voice, coming from the other side of this door.

Lance doesn’t want to open it. For two reasons, actually.

The first is that, when he opens it, it’s very likely that Keith won’t be out there. And then Lance will either have to accept the sudden and abrupt downward spiral he’ll find himself in, or somehow fight past it and actually continue on with his life like he was intending to.

The other reason is that Lance has taught himself not to interact with any hallucinations. They’re best left ignored. They go away faster when he doesn’t pay any attention to them.

“You have five seconds before I see you naked,” Keith warns. “Five. Four.” The doorknob turns. Lance’s heart thunders. “Three. Two.”

Lance can’t help it. Even if it’s a hallucination, he wants to see him.

He yanks open the door, feels it pull out of someone else’s hand, and finds himself staring directly at Keith.

“Lance?” Keith says, sounding incredulous.

“Keith,” Lance breathes. Please be real.

“It’s you,” Keith says. “Like — you, you.”

“Please be real,” Lance tells him. And then he rushes forward, prepared to slam into the wall behind Keith, and ends up wrapped in his arms instead.

Somehow real. Somehow here. After all this time—

God, his mouth. It fits perfectly against Lance’s. Their kiss is exactly the way it should be. Perfect and familiar and Keith — his Keith — here in the flesh and kissing him and awake and—

“He said you were in his reality,” Keith gasps, pulling away from Lance. “That you were helping them—”

“I was,” Lance pants. “Shut up.”

Kissing again. Hot and desperate and I missed you and we’re alive and I’m sorry and you’re here. They’re on the bed and Keith is arching under him one moment and hugging him desperately the next, apologizing into Lance’s shoulder as Lance tugs softly on his hair, forgiving him with every kiss. Having never been mad at him in the first place.

They have so much to talk about, to catch up on, but they don’t actually manage to get any full sentences out until after. They’re tangled together under the sheets, naked and sweaty but finally together again. Lance’s heart aches, but in the best way. He didn’t realize it could feel this good to come back.

Lance tells Keith his side of things, first. Finding out Keith had been cursed into a coma and trying to find some way to get him out of it. Ending up in an alternate reality, months later, only to help their friends avoid their own deaths. It somehow feeling both traumatic and cathartic at the same time. How the other Keith was in love with his Lance, but they weren’t together yet.

He spends a long time reminiscing, sending them both into giggle fits. Like, “Do you remember how Hunk would just make up the words he’d forgotten in songs?” and “I totally forgot that Pidge was such a messy eater. She knocked over a glass almost every other day — do you remember?”

And they do remember. They remember more and more, talking about old missions, forgotten parties, stupid inside jokes.

Keith tells him his version of events, after. How he woke up just a few days ago, groggy and confused, only to check himself out of the hospital and wander home. How he walked through the door and kissed Lance, who immediately blushed and laughed and stumbled a step away, confused and embarrassed.

He tells him about the other Lance. How he’d forgotten what it was like to be so determined to save the universe, but how Lance reminded him of that. How Lance talked relentlessly, sympathetic to their losses but determined to infuse Keith with purpose again. How he’d drift closer as he talked, his gaze occasionally slipping to Keith’s lips, only to shoot away with a distracted stutter.

And how, more surprisingly, Lance got in contact with their old allies. How he apparently befriended someone on Nzelia who had access to a long-distance communicator, and then was able to contact someone in the coalition and convince them that Voltron wasn’t done for.

“He got Blue,” Keith adds, and Lance feels his mouth fall open.

“What?”

“He found your journal and figured out where you hid her,” Keith says. “And then he went and got her.”

“No,” Lance says.

“Yes.”

For the first time in a long time, Lance reaches with his mind. Opens that part of himself that he’s kept closed off. Just as he does, Blue comes roaring into his mind. Flooding him with love and excitement and determination. Scolding him for giving up and enveloping him in warmth. A laugh, surprised and tearful, shoots out of Lance’s mouth.

“We have to rebuild Voltron,” Lance says. Finally putting it out there.

“I know.” Keith’s smile is soft. Pained.

“The other Keith convinced me,” Lance says, grinning fondly at the memory. “He said that we had to do it for them. That we’re not replacing them. We’re just… making sure their sacrifice was worth it.”

“I bet someone in the coalition could help us get a new ship.”

“We could probably find Paladins among our allies, as well. The lions can help us, once we get them back.”

Keith sighs, pressing his face into Lance’s chest and relaxing into him. “But just this, for now. I just need more of this. Saving the universe can wait until tomorrow.”

Chapter Text

I know you, and I know you don’t plan to tell him how you feel. But you should. He needs you, too.

Lance’s words echo through Keith’s head as Lance steps into the circle, the light pulsing around him. He meets Lance’s gaze one last time, feels frozen under his stare, and then Lance is gone.

Replaced with Lance.

He stands there in a towel, bent forward as if he was just looking into a mirror, and he flushes as he suddenly finds himself no longer in a bathroom but a throne room. The blush crawls from his cheeks and down his neck, down his chest, still damp from a recent shower…

“Wow,” Lance says. “A little warning would’ve been nice.”

“Lance!” Hunk rushes forward, enveloping Lance in a hug. Lance laughs, hugging Hunk with one arm and clutching his towel a little tighter with the other.

“Good to see you’re all still alive and well,” Lance says, his eyes skipping around the room. Keith feels like he’s going to choke on his tongue when Lance’s eyes meet his, and he swears Lance flushes even more — imagines it? — and then Lance clears his throat. “But, uh, it’d be cool if I could get some clothes.”

Lance is genuinely relieved, despite his joking. Keith knows him well enough to see through his deflecting humor. No doubt he was shoving little bursts of panic down the entire time he was in the other reality, secretly scared that his counterpart would mess up and send Lance back to a universe without his friends.

“Here,” Keith says, pulling off his jacket and stepping closer to Lance. He doesn’t know how else to help the situation, short of just giving Lance his pants, but the queen eventually has a servant hurry off to retrieve clothing for Lance, and they return with black, flowy pants that Lance slips on gratefully, his chest still bare underneath Keith’s jacket.

And then — that’s it.

Well, basically.

They get back to the castle-ship, and Lance changes, and then… that’s it. They exchange stories — what it was like to have the other Lance here, how they avoided (sometimes narrowly) their own deaths. And Lance tells them what it was like over there, on a planet where no one knew Voltron. How he became friends with a guy at a bar, whose brother had a girlfriend that the other Lance once saved from a bandit, and that girlfriend’s best friend had a younger brother who worked at a communications center — where Lance contacted the Olkari.

And then, probably because Lance likes to save the best for last: he tells them that Keith was alive over there (which they knew, but he didn’t), and that he woke up from his coma. The rest of them burst into cheers at the news, surprising Lance, who continues a bit quieter, refusing to make eye contact with Keith for the rest of the story.

Keith… doesn’t know what to make of that.

What if the other Keith told Lance that the two of them were dating? What if Lance thought that was really weird? What if he’s afraid that Keith feels that way, too, and is hoping that Keith doesn’t know, or at least doesn’t bring it up?

But, legitimately, that’s all. They celebrate their continued survival over dinner, and Lance jokes about how much he’s missed having a quality bed, and nothing happens.

Not that Keith should’ve expected anything to happen. Lance — the other Lance — did tell him to tell Lance how he felt. But Keith doesn’t want to do that. He especially doesn’t want to do that now, what with the way Lance has been avoiding him.

He must know. He must be freaked out by it. Keith stews in humiliation and anger the entire time he’s falling asleep that night, cursing the other Keith for probably giving it away, and cursing the other Lance for thinking that the two of them were so similar after all.

Anyway, Keith obviously isn’t getting the most restful sleep. Maybe that’s why he hears it — the tentative knock at his door, well into the early hours of the morning.

By the time Keith stumbles out of bed to answer it, Lance is already turning away from his door, ready to disappear back into his own room. But he pauses at the sound of Keith’s door sliding open, light spilling into the hallway, split in two by Lance’s shadow.

“Hey,” Keith says.

“Hi,” Lance returns, spinning back around on his heel. “Look — can I come in?”

Here it comes, Keith thinks, bracing himself. Premature rejection. That’s got to be worse than plain-old, regular rejection.

“Of course,” Keith says anyway, stepping back and allowing Lance into his room.

Lance, being Lance, makes himself at home immediately. He sits himself down on Keith’s bed and snatches up one of Keith’s pillows, holding it tightly to his chest. Keith joins him, mostly because he doesn’t know where else to go.

“Do you think he’s going to be okay?” Lance says, peering at Keith over the pillow. It’s weird, Keith realizes. Weird and yet somehow normal, to see this Lance again. The one who belongs here. The one Keith fell in love with. “The other me?” Lance clarifies.

This isn’t the conversation Keith was expecting to have, so he’s a little slow on the uptake. It doesn’t matter. Lance is already filling the silence like usual.

“Like, I found other me’s journal, and I thought it’d be fine to read it, you know? I mean, it’s not an invasion of privacy if it’s me.”

“Sure,” Keith allows.

“And I wasn’t even reading it just to read it. I was tryna figure shit out, like where all the lions were and stuff, and — whatever, anyway, basically: I just feel scared for him,” Lance says. “Like, he feels so alone. And so helpless. And I hate that he went through everything that he did, and it isn’t fair, and I just — I don’t know how he’s supposed to keep going.” Lance huffs, tugging at his bangs. Keith elbows him and he stops.

“I think he’ll be fine,” Keith says, surprised when he realizes he truly believes it. “I think being here might’ve helped him, in a way. Besides, he has me, now. Other me.”

Lance flushes. Interesting.

“Yeah,” Lance says. “You’ll — he’ll — probably be good for him.”

“I think he woke up because you were there,” Keith says. He didn’t want to admit it to the other Lance, back when they were exploring Nzelia. But he had an inkling, then, that this whole reality switch would result in the other Keith waking up. “We talked to some sort of magical truth-finder alien,” Keith explains. “She basically said that he would wake up when the time was right, and when the other Lance was healed enough. I think he needed to come here to improve, and that the other me needed you.”

Lance frowns. “Really?”

“Well, I think you definitely didn’t go there and watch him wallow in misery and not even attempt to cheer him up.”

Lance laughs, shaking his head. “I couldn’t stand to see you all broken and mopey like that.”

“They’ll both be fine,” Keith insists.

“Thanks,” Lance says. “That actually really helped.”

“You don’t need to sound so surprised.”

“There was another thing,” Lance blurts. He then clears his throat and fixes his eyes on the door across the room.

“What?”

“I, uh — um. Nothing.”

“What?”

“I forget what I was going to say.”

“That quickly? You just forgot?”

“Yep,” Lance says, and he scrambles off the bed, dropping Keith’s pillow onto the comforter behind him. “Good night!”

“Wait!” Keith shouts, jumping to his feet after him.

I know you don’t plan to tell him how you feel. But you should.

“What?”

Keith shifts from one foot to the other. He tries to slide his hands into his pockets but he’s not even wearing his jacket — it’s still somewhere in Lance’s room, probably tossed into his laundry basket by now.

Fuck it.

“I kissed him,” Keith says. “You.”

Lance’s eyes widen, just barely. He’s standing still, which is an anomaly. “Really?” he says. “Why?”

Keith could scoff. Oh, no reason. Just felt like it. But he’s doing what the other Lance told him to do. He’s chasing this chance, this nugget of possibility, because if there’s even the slimmest hope that getting this off his chest could result in the two of them being together, then it’s worth the risk.

“Because I love you.”

The silence that follows after this statement can’t be more than a few seconds. Keith’s aware of that, and yet every second feels like an eternity. He sees the look of surprise on Lance’s face, the way his shoulders jerk with a sudden inhale, even the way his fingers twitch by his sides. Keith is seemingly trapped in an endless moment, waiting for Lance’s inevitable rejection, when he sees Lance’s expression soften into one Keith recognizes, though only because he’s seen it on the other Lance’s face.

“The other Keith kissed me,” Lance says. “I’ve kind of always wanted you to kiss me.”

It’s every cliche in the book. Heart-stopping, too good to be true, cloud-nine, pinch me I’m dreaming. But Keith can’t help it. That’s how it actually feels, after all this time.

And, well — he’s always had trouble knowing when to stop. “Did you have sex with him, too?”

Lance’s mouth drops open, his face going red. “No!” he snaps. “Did you?”

Keith splutters. “Um — no, obviously not—”

“You fucking liar!” Lance shouts, stomping toward him and shoving him back. He’s obviously flustered. Looks maybe a little turned on. Mostly embarrassed.

But no one can save face like Lance can. “Was he at least good?”

Now the tables are turned; Keith’s the one who’s embarrassed. “Um.”

“You have to tell me,” Lance insists. “It was my alternate reality dick.”

“Yes! It was fine!”

“Fine?”

“Shut up!” Keith snaps. “You’ll find out what it was like eventually.”

Lance cackles, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “Oh?”

“I’m going to hit you.”

Lance ignores him. “Who would’ve thought you’d be the promiscuous one,” he huffs, plopping down beside Keith on the bed.

He stays a while longer, after that. They spend the time talking, Keith not catching the hint. Not realizing that Lance is waiting for him to kiss him.

(Lance breaks, eventually. Just grabs Keith by the chin, says, “Do I have to do everything myself?” and pulls him in for a kiss. Careful and tentative and sweet.)

“We’ll tell everyone tomorrow,” Lance says, his hand buried in Keith’s hair. He’s playing with the strands and Keith’s trying to pretend like he’s not melting because of it.

He wonders what the other versions of themselves are doing right now. Maybe they’re lying in a bed together, too. Catching up and cuddling. Or maybe they’ve already set off on their next adventure — taking to the galaxies in the blue lion, ready to save the universe.

Keith buries his smile in Lance’s chest. Whatever they’re doing, at least they’re doing it together. At least, like them, they’re not alone.