Crash…
o-o-o
- Scratch presses a little red button on the right page and it starts to animate. As it does, a voice pipes up. Comic voice-over: Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall, Humpty Dumpty had a great fall.Robotnik swaying on the wall wailing until he falls as said in the rhyme.
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The first thing he notices is that he feels like he's stretched out, arms and legs reaching impossibly far, feeling the extremities only distantly. Black rumbles uneasily and he corrects himself; he only feels one arm. The left arm.
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The right is missing.
Shiro starts shaking, and it's all he can do to aim Black for the nearest planet, processing the read-outs absently as he aims for an unpopulated, remote area. He doesn't know who lives on this planet, nor does he care.
Do you know the difference between dead and disappeared? Keith's dull voice echoes back, taunting. Voltron's right arm is missing. His right arm, one and the same in the end.
Black lands, nose hitting the ground before his back legs fold and Shiro is stumbling out, falling to the ground and yanking off his helmet. It hits the ground several feet away as he collapses, knees hitting the ground as tremors wrack his body, ripping control from him. There's no one to hear, no one to care, no one to see, and he lets the ragged sobs loose, allows his throat to catch and whimper. The world shrinks to the black fear that takes over, and he falls back off his knees, drawing them close and seeking to fall into himself, hide from the reality of what had just happened.
I need to get something back, he had told Keith, and Keith had understood and said ok. But Zarkon had taken it all.
His right arm is missing.
He doesn't know how long he sat there, curled around himself, when he finally comes out of the trembling fit. Long enough that he feels stiff and his legs tingle with restored blood flow as he eases them out of their cramped position. He feels raw, shattered. Humpty dumpty comes to mind, the children's rhyme echoing inanely in his head, and he cuts off the nervous laughter that the rhyme sets off, barely.
But all the king's horses and all the king's men…
Shiro exhales shakily, tries to push the rhyme and its ominous meaning out of his head. But like pink elephants, it just won't go away. Tears leak from his eyes, and he falls forward, stiff knees falling under him as he leans his forearms against the ground, cradling his head against his arm. His only arm, his actual arm. Not the metal monstrosity that mocks him, reminds him that he had been the plaything of the Galra and a witch who saw living things as fodder for her experiments. That reminds him he is broken.
I am not broken, he protests silently, repeating the words over and over but they feel hollow, insubstantial in the face of the evidence that is his bastardized arm.
…couldn't put Humpty back together again.
Something shifts behind him, but he doesn't look. Doesn't care enough to look. He remains where he is, silent tears falling onto the dry earth, breathing ragged and labored.
When he finally regains control, the sun is setting. On this world, dusk looks much as the desert sky outside of Garrison did, only stained with deeper purples and less of the burning reds. Shiro stares at it dispassionately, too drained to respond to the ache that the sight raises, a dull thud to knock against the pain in his side that throbs to its own beat. It is only when the cold breeze that beckons nightfall blows by, causing him to shiver, does he move, turning to look around him.
The first thing that he notices is that Black has curled around him, the great Lion pressed to the ground and arced so that his head lays watching over Shiro. As Shiro stares, shocked, at Black, something inside him falls down and suddenly he feels Black. Feels the hurt, the confusion, concern; understands the Lion's own loss.
Trembling slightly, Shiro reaches out and places his hand against Black's nose.
'He hurt you too, didn't he?' he whispers, voice rough. 'He took away your trust.'
And then Shiro can feel the Lion's relief, that someone understands, and it's all he can do not to lose himself in the acceptance that suddenly radiates out. He shifts, moves so that he's leaning against Black and tips his head back. He hears the hum of the particle barrier go up, relaxes in the knowledge that Black is protecting him, them both, and he starts to talk. He doesn't make sense, the words coming out in no logical fashion and there's no order to his sentences. But it doesn't matter; Black doesn't care, it's ok all the same.
Just talk to me, ok? Or anyone, really. That's what Keith had said, and he had pretended to promise that he would. Later is better than never, his mother would always say ruefully; Shiro hoped that this would be one of those times.
Disappeared is not dead. He had to believe that. Needed to. Otherwise, he didn't know what would happen.
o-o-o
When Shiro had caught him and Red, Keith allowed himself to relax a little, turning his attention to getting something of Red's systems back on line. Preferably the coms. But then the wormhole disintegrated on them, and the next thing Keith knew, he watched the other three Lions pulled from the conduit, exiting at random points before he too felt himself yanked from Black.
He entered a system he didn't know in a Lion that was flying dead, drawn into the gravitational force of the small planet circling a yellow star. The descent into the planet's atmosphere pulled every which way, hammering at the already battered body of the Red Lion. Keith pulled frantically at the control handles, called to Red, tried everything he could to get the Lion to respond. The ground kept getting closer, and a cold hand reached to clench at his heart, his gut, and he felt himself stiffen.
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'No!' he screamed against the fear, reaching out somehow to that familiar-yet-unfamiliar feeling that was Red, refusing to give up, refusing to let the cold fear win. He reached and reached and found the spark that fired the Lion and shared his own restless fury with it, his refusal to give up, to give in. Willed Red to fly again. And the Lion roared in defiance of gravity, jets firing weakly, but firing all the same, and between the two of them, Keith and Red managed to stave off a crash that would have killed them both. They still crashed, but the Lion's jets had slowed the descent sufficiently and cushioned the blow enough that though they carved a furrow through the fallow land and despite the fact that Keith was thrown from his seat to slam into the ceiling and wall of the cockpit, they survived.
Keith lay on the floor of the cockpit, breathing shallowly as he registered the pain across his chest and the pounding in his head. He grinned weakly as his eyes slipped into unconsciousness; he could still feel Red, they had survived.
o-o-o
Zarkon stared emotionless at the dull spot of space which had once held the wormhole that Voltron and the Alteans had escaped through. A search was on for whoever had opened the barrier; he did not concern himself with it, only when the traitor was found would he turn his attention to the matter.
It was a pity they had captured the Black Paladin, not the Red one, in the sweep through the Terran system. The Red Lion's Paladin fought like a Galra; what a sight he would have been in the arena! How much easier he would have been to turn. And there would have been no doubt that the temperamental Lion would have accepted him, as there had been with the other human.
Turning back towards the courtiers who waited, hangers-on, Zarkon dispelled his regret for what could have been. There was still time to gain Voltron, especially now that the Red Lion and its pilot were likely dead.
o-o-o
When Shiro woke, a small girl was watching him through the particle barrier. Or, he thought it was a girl. The child had long hair, bound in fabric and braids; her face the colour of dark adobe dust, her hair the burgundy stain of the sunset from the night before. She smiled when she saw him looking at her.
'Lion-man,' she giggled, her voice high and her dark eyes with their lack of whites bright and joyful. Shiro smiled weakly, still feeling raw from his break-down and the hours of babbling to Black. The giant lion remained in the position he had found it the previous day, relaxed but watchful.
'Lion-man eat?' the child asked, cocking her head as a cascade of hair braids fell over her layers of clothing. Shiro shivered in the chill of morning and then nodded, standing shakily. His head throbbed and his side felt like it was on fire. He dimly remembered fighting Hagar; his mind shied away from it, but the pain from her claws refused to let up and allow him to exile the memory as he had with so much else.
'You think this'll be ok?' he asked Black softly, resting his arm on the metal muzzle. The particle barrier came down, and Shiro's lips quirked; there was his answer. The alien child turned as soon as she saw Shiro move towards her, skipping ahead, stopping occasionally to make sure her charge still followed.
She led him to a wide-mouthed cave, where more aliens with dusky-red skin and hair of deep burgundies, maroons, and even indigo moved, some young and what he assumed was middle-aged; far more moved with the stiffness of age. He tried not to flinch when a wizened old one, bent at the middle, looked over at him. He could only hope that the alien wouldn't take offence at his behaviour.
They fed him and gave him water, hospitality in the strange desert land. When the high noon came, they ushered him into the cool of the deep cavern. His side protested loud enough then that he had to acknowledge it, the fight, the loss… Pale, he asked for dressings, and the aliens, the Setsi they called themselves, looked concerned, sat him down. 'Lucky no poison lingers,' one said, shaking her old head. 'Druid magic here,' another hissed, packing a stinging salve the wound before he gave Shiro a vile liquid to force down. As the medicine took effect, Shiro felt himself falling asleep, the heavy, lingering drowse he remembered from his stint in the hospital on Earth, from when his tonsils were removed. He tried to protest, to insist that he could not afford the time, because someone needed him, but the drug proved more potent than his will (and what wasn't these days?), and the last thing he remembered was tipping his head back and falling asleep.
When he woke (after how long?), most of the aliens were gone. The cave was cool, cold, and a blanket had been thrown over him. The two old aliens who had tended him stood watch nearby, the old female the one who had originally reminded him of Hagar, but whose eyes held none of the witch's cruelty.
'I am Rae'tna, Old One of the Setsi.' She said softly, upon seeing him wake. 'And this is Syg, Old One as well.'
'My name is Shiro,' he said, remembering after a moment to introduce himself.
'And Paladin of Voltron, yes.' Rea'tna nodded, smiling sadly at his surprise. 'Come, there is a tale to tell, though it is not the long noon.'
'A … tale?'
'Yes, Shiro, Paladin of the Sky,' Syg rumbled, his old face expressionless. 'A tale the Galra do not wish to be remembered, and one that may be of use to you in your search.'
'You cried out in your sleep when the Druid's magic held you,' Rae'tna said softly, explaining. 'You must find the Red Lion, yes?' Shaking slightly, Shiro nodded. How did they know so much? 'Then come. We will not hold you long.'
A moment of thought, and then he stood, knees weak from whatever had struck him. The Druid's magic, Rae'tna had said. Hagar's? But what did that mean, 'Druid'? He frowned; likely not what it meant on Earth (the white robed figures from a comic book he had read as a child came to mind, but surely not that). Had Allura and Coran known about Hagar, about what a Druid was?
o-o-o
When Keith woke, all he could process was a dull pain throughout his body and the taste of blood, iron, in his mouth. Then he moved, and it was replaced by sharp pain in his head, across his chest, and at his shoulder junction.
Breathing shallowly, he lay still and tried to take count. Concussion, broken collarbone, he blinked slowly, and I guess ribs. He'd had the former two before, remembered how they felt, the need to more gingerly, to stay awake. Too late for the last, he'd see if the situation allowed the first.
Red lay unresponsive around him, but Keith knew that the great Lion, while unable to move, would be ok. He also knew, somehow, that Red's injuries were far more extensive than his. His mind started to reply the fight with Zarkon, the king's attacks with sword and whip, the energy biting into the Red Lion's metal exterior, the pain that lanced through and reached the dim recesses of Keith's mind, setting his own nerves on fire. He jerked away, turning his attention to the present pain and not the reason for it.
Is this what Shiro's been doing? He wondered bleakly, figuring it must be. How else to deal with a year of what Keith had experienced over not even an hour (or whatever the Altean equivalent was)?
Propping himself up with his good arm, Keith looked around him, attention back on the task at hand. The solid fixtures of the Altean tech meant that the cockpit was relatively clear of debris; only one of the storage cabinets had popped open in the crash. Medical gear lay strewn about. He grinned weakly, grabbed the thick bandage that had landed near his feet.
'One bit of luck,' he mumbled, tying the bandage so that his left arm, the side of his broken collarbone, would be pinned to his side. He felt awkward, but it was better than letting the arm hang useless. When his work was down, Keith stared at the effectively dead arm. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach, and he wondered where Shiro was, if he was okay. Shoving it down, Keith shifted to make his way to the controls and his seat. He couldn't focus on that right now; Red needed him as much as Shiro did, and the former was closer to hand. And more likely to actually tell him what was wrong.
It wasn't that he was angry with Shiro for being so closed mouthed; he understood the reluctance to talk, to share emotions better than most. He was frustrated though, that the man who had once trusted him, talked to him, teased him about not opening up to those around him, had become withdrawn and wouldn't let anyone, let alone Keith, help. Shiro before Kerberos had never twisted truths, never lied; after Kerberos, Keith could tell he was doing so to try and maintain what composure he had left, and he tried not to take the lies personally, no matter how hard that was, tried to let Shiro have what little peace he eked out for himself. He had throttled down his anger and hurt as best he could, but, well… the hurt remained. Keith had been lied to all his life, first by adults who didn't realise how fast a child grows up once they hear the words I'm sorry kid, but your parents are dead, who didn't understand how much that child resented being treated as if he was helpless, then by well-meaning social workers (you can only hear it isn't you, things just changed for them so many times), and the instructors at Garrison, who had their own motives, especially after Kerberos.
He frowned, thinking suddenly again of the fight with Zarkon. How the king had fought, and what that meant for Voltron's past, what they had, and had not, been told. Shaking his head, he turned back figuring out what to do, or at least tried to. His concussed head pounded a distracting rhythm, and his thoughts seemed to have their own plans at the moment.
The night he had first fought with Shiro about sleeping, he had paced the hallways on the other side of the castle, frustrated at Shiro and angry at his inability to talk calmly. Fair, he was still on edge from the 'team bonding' that had revealed just how inept Lance really was, but he knew he shouldn't have snapped, not right off. Coran had found him, given him a long, uncharacteristically serious look, and then sat him down. I don't like talking about this, the man had sighed, but I think you need to hear it. Coran's eyes had been distant, troubled. Ten thousand years ago and a bit, my son was captured by the Galra with his crew. He wasn't in their hands as long as Shiro, but the results were much the same. He withdrew on himself, started having nightmares. He couldn't move on from whatever they did, and he wouldn't talk about it. Heart-sickness, it was called on Altea. Be patient, the message had been, with both of yourselves. You'll need someone to talk to soon, Coran had sighed. Because you'll feel a frustration that can't be denied, or taken out on Shiro. A lesson born of experience, Coran's eyes told him, and Keith had winced, nodded, shrunk in on himself; vowed silently to apologize to Shiro in the had said if Keith ever needed to talk, all he had to do was ask. Keith hadn't taken him up on that yet, but he appreciated the gesture, deeply. He knew how hard it had been, for Coran to trust a young man he barely knew with one of the hardest moments of his past: a dead child, one spiraling away, that no one could catch.
He didn't talk to Coran, but he did talk about it with Red. Service tunnels linked the hangers to the castle, longer to get to but easier to access if you didn't want the Princess or the Terrible Trio to know what you were about. While Shiro stalked the corridors, Keith curled up against Red, voicing softly his frustration, his doubts, his worries. The Lion listened as so few did, a steady, warm presence behind Keith.
It seemed like forever ago that Keith passed Red's test. Had anyone asked the great Lion, it would have said the same about Keith's.
o-o-o
Lance eyed the foreign sky around him. Blue cut through the clouds easily, though neither Lance nor his Lion felt comfortable. For the first time he could remember, he was alone. Back tense and shoulders hunched, his eyes darted side to side, silent in the cockpit. 'Keith would never believe this, me, quiet!' Lance laughs nervously, trying to fill the silence with sound. But the echo only makes the loneliness more oppressive, so he shuts up for once. Alone. Five letters, two syllables. A tidal wave of pain. Alone. Then, suddenly, pressure on the back of his mind, familiar. He relaxes, laughs self-consciously at the rebuke.
'Yeah, sorry buddy. Not alone; I've got you. It's just so quiet. You got some tunes wired in there that we can blast?'
o-o-o
Shiro followed Syg and Rae'tna, nervous, eager but not ready to hear the tale they had promised. How could it help him find Keith and Red? Why was he even here, still? Keith could be— he jerked away from the thought, refusing to acknowledge the possibility, refusing to let himself fall back into the black pit of fear. He caught Syg's eye on him, smiled weakly; Syg only nodded in response. They travelled through a maze of twists and turns, feeling the coolness of the deep cavern rock. Then, suddenly, it started getting hotter, until a steady warmth radiated all around them, comforting and just on the good edge of 'too hot.'
'There is a lava pit just on the other side of this room,' Syg said, his deep voice echoing in the chamber. But Shiro wasn't listening; he was staring at the carved lions that decorated the room, that led down a dark passageway to the other side of the room and the lava pit that could have only held one Lion.
'Red… was here?' he asked, voice shaking. He had never noticed with the other carvings, but those of the red lions radiated a steady heat that had nothing to do with the lava pit. He placed his hand on one, shaking as he realized it was his metal arm, that it was reacting, processing, noting the energy that emanated from the carving. Briefly, he felt the ghost feeling of the Red Lion, the right arm of Voltron. The missing right arm.
'Sit, Shiro of the Black Lion. We will tell the story, though it is not time, and then you might find your missing friend.' Rae'tna's voice commanded firmly, and stunned, he sat, back pressed against the domed wall and its carvings. The ghost arm faded; he tucked his metal arm under his real arm, hating the sight of it, hiding it, wishing it could disappear as quickly as the ghost arm had.
He paled. No, never. The ghost arm could not disappear. Disappeared was gone. It had to remain, a dim map to the missing Lion and its pilot.
Rea'tna and Syg began to speak, chanting slowly and trading off with one another. They told of how the Red Lion had come to the desert planet, ten thousand years ago, and how their ancestors had found it. This cavern became the place of choosing, when the ever-changing fires that ordered their lives laid their mark on the northern Setsi; here children changed to adults, individuals to pairs. Here story-holders were born. The Red Lion watched over it all, silent and watchful. Children reported wondrous tales of the Lion rumbling in greeting, of stopping them from falling into the lava. The Setsi had made the Lion part of their lives, of their families, and all played under its shadow.
Five years ago, the Galra came. They ran over the desert planet, searching for a part of Voltron, killing those who resisted. The Setsi went underground, hiding in the caves that looped under the sandy surface and cutting off access to the scarce water that the Galra needed to remain on the surface. Eventually, though, the Galra found the cavern and its precious occupant. Moons later when the Galra ships finally left, the Setsi came back to a ransacked home, destroyed tunnels, and a gaping hole above the volcano pit that bore witness to the terrible fact that the invaders had finally found one part of Voltron.
Shiro sat with his legs tucked up, one arm hidden, one wrapped around them. He regarded the Old Ones steadily, thinking he understood the point of the story.
'Our stories go back generations,' Syg explained as the tale ended, his dark eyes serious. 'Our lives are long, those who are born to hold the stories. Rae'tna and I are of the twentieth generation of Story-holders since the Lion came.'
Shiro stared, and the two Old Ones chuckled. 'Yes, Paladin, that old,' Rae'tna smiled. 'Now you know the story, and you can share it with your companion when you find him.' Her smile faded as she regarded Shiro.
'The stories tell us the Altean war with Zarkon was something the universe had never seen before and has never been seen since. It was brutal, and the Galra fought with the conviction of those who know no peace, know nothing of the land's cycles and the shared origin of the stars. You have a long fight ahead of you, young Paladin.'
He nodded, tired and terrified, yet committed all the same. His mind knew that it must be so; his heart cringed and protested that it was tired. But he wasn't important; one more cog in a wheel, expendable for the universe to go on. The universe that the Galra sought to control, to destroy. Fight he must.
Syg regarded him steadily. 'There is a sickness that eats at the heart,' he cautioned. 'You know it well, your eyes say. Know this too: the only cure for that sickness lies within you.'
Pale, Shiro nodded, trying not to shake. Syg and Rae'tna rose, beckoning for him to as well.
'You will want to leave while it is still cool, before the long noon makes it too hot for you to reach your Lion. The Black Lion is the heart of Voltron, yes?' He nodded, and Syg gestured to the nearest carving. 'Then you are connected to all. Trust in the Black Lion and the connection between the five parts of Voltron.'
As he trudged back to Black, Shiro felt the confidence Syg's words had inspired fall into the sands, to be lost for all time. What if he couldn't find the line that connected Red to Black? What if he did, but all that it told him was what he feared?
His right arm was missing … Shiro shook his head sharply, trying to get the thought out. He couldn't help anyone curled up in fear. He would find Keith.
Humpty dumpty…
o-o-o
Keith leaned his back against the controls, trying to breathe deeply and force the dizzy spell to pass. He had manhandled the heavy metal cover off of the access point to the machinery within, and the effort had nearly caused him to pass out again.
'I … can … do this,' he hissed, eyes hard. He knew he was probably pushing himself too hard (hah, what a laugh that was, after badgering Shiro about doing that very thing), but he didn't have much choice. Red couldn't raise the particle barrier, the coms were down, and Keith had some rations, but little water. And he couldn't look for it by setting off blind. One of those things needed to be fixed, and all necessitated that he open the access point.
'Ok Red,' he sighed, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. With his concussion, the lack of light helped him reach further; Red could only speak so loudly right now. 'What's next?'
The images that flashed through, pale and insubstantial in a growing proof of the Lion's damaged state, showed an array of crystals. Keith wouldn't be able to see them; an apologetic 'I'll know it when I feel it' sense accompanied the images. Keith laughed bleakly. 'No, that would be too easy. Alright, let's see.'
His damaged arm made it difficult to reach far into the machinery, to hunt for the crystals. He settled for bracing his feet against the seat and using that leverage point to shove his arm as far as it could go. As his fingers searched, he thought, suddenly, of the vet he had seen on a school field trip, who had her arm up a cow's rear (checking on the baby, his teacher had said, trying to calm the fit of giggles that had hit the children); he likely looked just as ridiculous.
Good thing Lance isn't here, he told himself, Otherwise this would really be impossible. But he didn't mean it; just a thought to keep his mind from dwelling on the impossible situation he found himself in. Anything would be welcome, even Lance's annoying commentary. Hell, he'd almost take Iversson at this point. Almost.
Finally he heard something clink, and Red rumbled. As Keith pulled his arm out, the particle barrier went up, though the flickering of its supposed to be steady light told Keith that it, like him and Red, wasn't at full strength.
'Something's better than nothing,' he whispered, catching his breath. 'Now,' he eyed the controls. 'Water?'
But they stubbornly refused to work. Keith sighed. He had listened to Coran's lessons on Altean tech, and unlike Lance, he had actually paid attention. But with the wonder twins in the class, the 'basic lessons' quickly became advanced; Hunk commandeering the lessons on mechanics, Pidge on technology. When there was time, Shiro and he would go over the material, try to grab Coran, but there hadn't been much of that lately.
His injuries protested, and Keith fell back into his seat, forced to listen to them. He stared at the alien land outside, silent and watchful. He didn't mind the silence, or the feeling of utter isolation. Or so he tried to tell himself, tried to ignore the chill that clamped at the back of his throat. He tried to think about past days, happier times. He tried to send his thoughts far away from the pain of the moment, and the realization that he would be here for a while that settled uneasily, uncomfortably, around him.
Outside, the sun was rising, staining the sky of the small planet scarlet. He stared, his throat tight and his pulse hammering against his ears. Those had been good days, those stolen moments at Garrison, when he and Shiro could just sit and watch the desert sun rise. They had a spot, off on the eastern side of the main administration building, which was one of the few buildings empty during non-working hours. They could see the desert stretch for miles there, cut by gullies and spires of rock, crumbling on their way up to the sky. Keith loved the freedom of those mornings; he could be himself then, released from the press of Garrison's walls. Shiro had just soaked in the sky's show, happy to be surrounded by nature after the man-made environment of Garrison and its ships. It was there that Shiro had asked if they might try being something. It was there that Keith had agreed, starting the tortuous journey to where they were now that he wouldn't trade for the universe, no matter the pain. But it was also on one of those quiet, red-stained mornings that Shiro had told him that he was leaving for the farthest moon, Kerberos.
Shiro had left him in the calm of morning, the shuttle leaving the desert sands and a skinny cadet behind. He had promised to return, but for a year Keith had tried to move on from 'disappeared,' the salt in the wound of loss that was glimpses of familiar faces and memories of happier times.
He watched as the grasslands around him came alive with living creatures of all sorts that he had no name for. The sun stained the sky red, and he tried to quash the hard ice of fear, of loneliness, that the sight and the memory, the pain of the past year, had raised. He had taken some solace in the desert sky's show at first after Shiro had been marked as 'disappeared,' swallowed by piloting error, but that solace had dimmed all too soon, the red sky becoming saline solution, more pain to add to the ache. Out in the desert it had been easier, a little, immersed in the sands instead of watching them from afar. But the taste of abandoned lingered, coppery to join the iron of the blood in his mouth.
He had not been abandoned, he told himself. This was something different; the others would come for him. He turned to Red, but the Lion was silent, it's strength exhausted from raising the particle barrier. Keith was on his own, for now.
His body started to shake (was it shock?), and he exhaled uneasily. They would come. This would be the time that things would prove differently, would prove that sometimes, you could count on others. That's what being part of a team was supposed to mean, wasn't it?
The memory of that day came up, unbidden, and he stiffened, pressed his eyes shut, tried to focus on the great lion, something else, anything else. But he couldn't drive the past away, and he shook as the anger of so many years ago returned, the guilt. He had been so angry, at his parents, the police who came to tell him that they were dead. He had screamed at the funeral, begged them to get up, that he would behave if they would only come back. Death is a foreigner to children, but Keith learned his face quickly enough after that day. Adults, family friends of a sort he supposed, though none had claimed him, looked on, embarrassed, until one took him away. When the anger faded, it had been replaced by overwhelming guilt, and fear.
Keith bit his lip, exhaled uneasily. He had not been left behind. He had not.
o-o-o
Pidge hopped out of Green and looked around uneasily. She didn't know where she was, or for that matter where the others were. She'd set up a tracking program with Green soon, but right now a heavy fog lay over the area and was playing havoc with the sensors. Gripping her bayard, she looked around nervously, feeling the weight of her small stature and single number. A lumbering crash to her left caused her to jump, turning nervously to face whatever giant approached.
'Pidge?' Hunk's voice cut through still air, staticky in the mess the fog played on communications.
'Hunk!' The Yellow Lion came into view, its huge form a comforting sight to Pidge and, she realized with a shock, the Green Lion.
'Man, are we glad we found you!' Hunk exclaimed as he clambered out. 'Thought it was just the big feller and I.'
Pidge grinned, then gave Hunk a look. 'We?' Hunk just shrugged and nodded behind him to the giant lion, and Pidge blushed. Of course. Who else but the somehow sentient metal lion?
o-o-o
Shiro has another fit when he tries to reach for Red and Keith. He can't feel anything, and it sets off all sorts of memories that he would rather remain forgotten. Of fingers probing, calls for him to release his past for inspection. Of cruel eyes inspecting, judging, cutting away at him. Black lands on a passing asteroid, curling up in a crater and waiting him out.
When he comes out of it, Shiro can't grab the controls, and Black remains in the crater, a silent, dark spot on the mottled space rock. Grabbing hold of them again means that he'll fail, one more time, that the ghost-arm will raise itself again, mock him for his loss: his arm, Voltron's… the Galra tech that reminded him again and again that he would never be whole again. That he had been broken, changed, altered. Taken apart.
He tried to focus on Syg's words, tried to turn his mind to the task at hand, but every time he reached to take the controls, the shakes started and he'd yank his hands—one flesh, one metal—back, hating himself for his weakness. Keith needed him, and all he could do was sit here, helpless, immobilized, panicked.
'I'm sorry Black,' he whispered, falling forward to cradle his head in his hands, pressing his eyes shut to keep the tears in. 'You deserved so much better than this broken pilot you got.'
There. He'd said it out loud.
'Are you happy?' he suddenly hissed, feeling something shift in him, shatter. Black despair boiled up, mixed with bleak fury. 'Are you happy, Zarkon?!' He was shouting now, raging against the futility of it all, against the hand that fate had dealt him. 'Are you happy?!' Sobs mixed with his demands, rack his body as he tears at his throat.
Outside space continued undisturbed, unaffected by the railing of the Black Lion's pilot and the turmoil that rocked him.
o-o-o
He's back in the desert; never left. Keith feels the roughness of the cheap sheets that he has in the cabin, is woken by the harsh light of morning. He has overslept, for once. An ache settles in, heavy and familiar. Shiro is gone, disappeared, likely dead.
'It was all a dream,' he whispers hoarsely, staring at the ceiling. Finding Shiro, the annoying cadets who helped, the fantastical trip to the furthest reaches of the universe where the Lions of Voltron waited for them. It had felt so real… sure Shiro had been distant, confused, hurt, but he had started coming back to Keith. Funny how loss only makes you realise how much you need someone, how tightly they're woven into your life. Tears leak from the corner of Keith's eyes, and he raises his arms to press his hands against his eyes, push the tears away.
No, no, no, he cried silently. Not again, that couldn't be a dream.
And suddenly he is thrashing, trying to flee the hurt and ache that eats at him, but something is holding him in place and he can't move his left arm. Panic sets in to complement the fear the dream set off, and Keith heaves himself, frees himself, starts falling and then sharp, sharp pain rockets through his body, radiating out from his shoulder; he can hear himself screaming, but from far away.
He wakes with a gasp, shuddering from pain, fear, and confusion. Cold sweat drips down his back, his face, and it's all he can do to remember to breathe deeply to calm down. But the pain keeps distracting him, forces his breaths to shorten, the panic to remain.
It had felt so real, that dream that everything was a dream. The pain, the loneliness… he remembered them too well from that year when Shiro was listed as 'disappeared.' He cut back a sob; it wasn't real, Shiro was back, and they were all now fighting some damn fight that they were not only woefully unprepared for, but had been kidnapped by Lance's goddamn Lion to fight in.
Eventually he calms his breathing, slows his heart beat. He shifts, winces as another wave of pain radiates out. He had managed to throw himself out of his seat and, luck of all luck, landed on his bad shoulder. The pain drums steadily, lancing whenever he moves, even the slightest, turning the bile in his stomach and sending it up his throat. But there's nothing for him to retch up, though his stomach tries its best; his ribs scream as his core contracts, stomach trying to void what little it has left. Shutting his eyes, he tries to push the pain down, get it under control. When it's manageable, his eyes snap open. Planting his right hand on the floor and gritting his teeth, he pushes himself up slowly, twisting into a sitting position ever so carefully. His ribs protest as well, and his concussed head pounded its own rhythm to the pain. No one's there to see him, but he's pale by the time he managed to complete the shift to sitting, shaking from the pain. Closing his eyes, he leans back slowly, resting his back on the wall.
It hurts… so much. He clenches his eyes shut, trying to keep in the tears and the sobs. His ribs won't appreciate it. Shiro, where are you?
o-o-o
Allura pushed herself off the floor, looking over to check that Coran was alright as well. He looked shaken, but steady.
'Did any of them make it through with us?' she asked, heart sinking when Coran shook his head, face worried.
'We took a beating, Princess,' he added, checking the controls. 'I don't think we'll be able to find them until we get this fixed.'
Biting her lip, she nodded, worried. 'Let's be quick about it. We don't want to force them to protect themselves alone for too long.'
Coran just nodded and went to work. Allura sighed, then joined him, thankful that he hadn't voiced what she was thinking, fearing; that the Red Lion, and possibly the Black Lion, might not be able to do so for very long.
o-o-o
Shiro wakes exhausted, drained. He feels like a husk, empty and curled up against the wall of the Black Lion's cockpit. His throat is on fire, his head pounds, and he feels sick.
'I can't keep doing this,' he mumbles, head bowed, staring at his hands. They start to shake, but he forces himself to stare at them, watch, acknowledge that the metal monstrosity is his. His hand, his arm; a part of him, not alien, not foreign. Not anymore.
This is the hand that Keith always grabbed, whether out of old habit or to prove a point. He had never asked; tried to ignore the fact that his right arm was metal as much as possible. This was the hand that Keith had held while Shiro finally slept, that day in the common room that seemed so long ago.
His lips tighten, and he feels the resolve within him slowly, gradually solidify into something that he can use, stand on. Breathing deeply, he straightened his back, closed his eyes and started working through his past year as best he could.
The Galra made me fight. Yes. But I fought on my terms, as best I could. That was true; he had never been cruel, never toyed with his opponents. If he killed, he killed cleanly and quickly.
I lost the Holts. That hurt, it hurt hard. But it was true as well. Shiro opened his eyes and stared bleakly at the opposite wall. They went to a work colony. They might still be alive. The resolve hardened some more. I will find them.
Hagar took my arm. He gripped his right, his metal arm, with his left. Flesh over metal, registered how each felt, how the metal arm perceived sensory feelings slightly differently. He shivered, sighed. This is my arm now, he told himself. Mine. He repeated it until he believed it strongly enough for the moment; he'd work on it more later.
Zarkon wants my Lion. He was the Black Paladin. Black rumbled uneasily, and Shiro shared the Lion's unsettled feeling. That would take some getting used to.
'We'll work on it,' he heard himself promise the Lion. 'I don't know how or when, but we'll figure out how to get a bond strong enough to keep him out, forever.' A rumble, an echoing promise; Black didn't want Zarkon in the driver's seat any more than Shiro did.
He still felt drained, weak from the emotional toll of the past days, but also stronger. It wouldn't last, he knew, but the confrontation of his demons had helped.
'I'm sorry Keith,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry it took you being ripped away for me to get over myself.' He laughed bleakly. 'I finally talked, to Black, to myself. And I promise …' he sighed, clenched his hands. 'I promise, and I mean it, I will talk to you. If you'll still let me.' He stared, shifted his gaze to stare at the stars outside of Black's view screen.
He was calm, steady. Sure of himself in a way that he had been pretending to be since the Princess was captured, probably even since before then. Sighing, he pushed himself up, returned to his seat. He hesitated only a moment before grabbing the controls, knowing that he couldn't count on his composure to last long enough to indulge second thoughts. Black took off, leaving the asteroid behind as Shiro shut his eyes, searching for the dim feeling that would lead him to the Red Lion.
Blue and Yellow … felt impossibly far away, separated from one another and him. Green was also far, but near Yellow? He frowned, curiosity at how Altean tech worked perking up. Something to look into later.
He searched and searched, focusing on the task at hand, trying not to let the sharp fear resurface, He couldn't afford to let it, not now. Maybe later.
Voltron's right arm was missing. His. But missing wasn't gone and it wasn't disappeared. He narrowed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Missing could be found.
o-o-o
He knows that he should get water, but all Keith feels is dull, steady pain, but from far away. He feels slightly detached from it all, floating almost.
Where his pain ends and Red's begins, he doesn't know, but he's pretty sure that he pain in his legs is Red's (he doesn't have four legs, after all), that in his head is his. All the rest is fair game, shared between the two.
His thoughts drift back, to years that were a steady stream of loneliness, mixed with bright moments of joy, and he lets them for once. Someone had donated a copy of Peter Pan to the home, one of the preferred nighttime stories that would become make-believe during the day. Keith read it over and over, a tale connecting him to his mother's stories, wishing beyond all else that Neverland was real, that Peter Pan really did bring boys who fell out of their prams ('strollers,' one of the workers had explained) to Neverland. Surely being in an orphanage would count as well? If he did get taken to Neverland, Keith dreamed, he'd play all day with Peter Pan and the Lost Boys. He'd be the bravest, go up to Captain Hook even. Nothing scared him anymore, nothing except being left behind, and he'd never tell anyone that. That was his secret.
How wonderful a world where all you need is belief is for a child who has little else.
But Peter Pan never came, and the other boys wouldn't let him be a Lost Boy when they played. Keith was too quiet, they said, not loud and brave enough to be a Lost Boy. He could be an Indian, or perhaps John or Michael Darling. But he didn't want to play those parts, and so he'd take the book and retreat, escape reality in the best way he knew.
Keith shivers, suddenly cold, and the movement sends him back to reality, away from the memories of his childhood, such as it was. He peers groggily through Red's viewscreen, notes that the daylight has been replaced by the deep violet of night. The Lion gives off a slight heat, the effect of its fiery core, but Keith barely feels it. He hurts and he is cold.
Suddenly he wonders if he's dying, if this is it. The thought doesn't scare him, but he feels a stab of regret that this time, it will be him leaving Shiro. Without telling him. Keith stares blankly ahead of him. Was this how his parents had felt, or had their passing been quick, too quick for regrets and thoughts of their abandoned child? Or not abandoned, but left behind all the same. He remembers reading somewhere that the body will slowly shut down, sleep shielding the mind from the irrevocable fact that its light will dim. There's a momentary panic at that, but he's too tired to sustain it. He remembers reading from some guidebook that ended up in the charity books donated to the home about a man who laid himself down to die, to be lost on the ice. Had he just faded into oblivion, or had it hurt? Keith frowned, couldn't remember if the body had ever been found, just the wooden gaff (some sort of ship's pole, he remembered looking it up in the dictionary) that the farewell had been carved into.
The thought of death sends his fevered mind back to Peter Pan, the uncommon child who saw death and life as equal adventures. Who had been, really, his only friend until Katherine had come. And then again once a family adopted the little girl, looking for a child all smiles and curls, not one that watched the world suspiciously, unsure of its constancy. And again and again … Keith, silent and guarded, protected the new children, the small ones who came to the home frightened and unsure of life's kindness. And they always left, adopted, fostered long-term.
He closes his eyes and sighs. Best thing would be to sleep; tomorrow he can try getting up and searching for water. He doesn't remember, but he said the same thing the night before, when he finished the rest of his water.
All children, except one, grow up. So the book had said, and Keith, just turned eight, serious, thoughtful, had agreed.
o-o-o
Hunk jumped as the swamp groaned, hating the feeling it gave off. Where was the solidity of the ground? Yellow lingered in the back of his mind, uneasy as well.
Pidge seemed weirded out by the sentience shown by the Lions; Hunk had always dreamed about sentient robots, and was more excited than not that he had finally met not just one, but five. And to be honest, not the weirdest thing that had happened since he agreed to follow Lance on the 'team bonding' expedition that turned into snooping on Pidge, crashing Keith's rescue of Shiro, and then the search for those weird lion carvings and Voltron that had led, one way or another, to him and Pidge being stranded on a swamp planet. That stank.
Weirdest thing was probably the fact that he actually liked the green goo that Coran loved to serve.
'Ok, think I've got it,' Pidge called, and he walked over to where she sat, hunched over her laptop (did she carry it everywhere?) which was hooked up to both Lions. They had both agreed on this, though on little else for the set-up; between the two, they could reach farther than with just one Lion.
'Alright, little buddy,' Hunk eyed the laptop. Pidge looked up, nervous but in askance at the nickname. He shrugged. Seemed to suit her. 'Fire her up.'
Biting her lip, Pidge pressed a key, and they began to watch, hoping for a ping that would register one of the other Lions or the castle.
o-o-o
When Shiro feels the faint pulse of fire, he has to fight the rush of relief and excitement to hang onto it. Black is already heading that way, responding to Shiro's excitement and the need of the missing Lion. Their trajectory shows him that Red is much closer than any of the other Lions, but the dim pulse tells him that the other Lion is in trouble, and that Keith likely is too.
As Black flies, fast as he can, Shiro worries his lip, unable to do more and feeling helpless all the same.
'The first time I saw him,' he says softly, feeling the need to speak, to share, to ease the still silence that pressed in, 'Keith was fighting with three other guys in weapons.' He laughed quietly, nervously. 'The instructor had had enough, and let them go, free for all. Keith had them all out in under two minutes. He was fast, even then. Faster now,' he ended pensively, 'just like Red.' Black rumbled, the Lion's uneasiness mirroring Shiro's, who couldn't dodge the feeling that he should be able to feel more of the other Lion, reaching like this. 'Actually met him a few days later, staring at the sun as it came up. He didn't say much, not at first.'
He can feel a trembling fit lingering in the back of his mind, and he glares at it. Not now, he tells himself firmly. Later, once I've got Keith. It feels ridiculous, bargaining with his broken mind, but it seems to work. He feels it recede, knows it's still there, but is okay with that for now; hadn't it always been lingering, ever since the Galra crystal took over and Sendak's words set off the first fit? He just hadn't acknowledged it, admitted it. Hell, maybe it would always be there. Shiro frowns at that thought, then sighs. Maybe it will be, he thinks, feeling his chest clench. But that would mean he would never be back to normal. But could he ever? His eyes glance down at his right arm, and his face hardens.
'The arm is mine,' he tells himself firmly. 'If the fits are as well, if they remain, then so be it.'
Brave words, cardboard facings on a ghost town. But one day, he promises himself, he'll come to peace with them, believe them. The Galra took enough. They weren't taking him as well.
Black roars, and Shiro blinks. A small planet orbiting a yellow star is in view, and he knows, suddenly, that Keith is down there, with Red.
'Let's go buddy,' he breathes, eyes bright. For the first time since the botched attack on Zarkon, he lets himself hope that things might be okay. At any rate, he's going to find Keith, and that will be good.
The Lion rumbles, and they're cutting towards the planet, scanners searching for the Red Lion and its human companion. They find them, on a deserted point in the northern hemisphere; the planet appears to be occupied by a pre-technology civilization, and Shiro alternates between thanking their lucky stars that no one had noticed Keith (and attacked) and worrying that no one noticed (and helped).
Worry wins out when they land, and he can see that Red's particle barrier flickers erratically, betraying the low power that supports it. He gets Black as close as he can, and then walks over to the barrier. He can't see Keith, but that doesn't mean anything; the safest place, barrier notwithstanding, would be in the cockpit.
Shiro looks up at the barrier, uncertain as to what to do. Black waits, patient, behind him. You will have to earn the Red Lion's respect, the Princess had told Keith when the assigned them all to their Lions. Keith had opened a hatch on the Galra trying to prevent him from freeing the Lion (Shiro winced at the thought, and the memory of the almost-fight they had had when Keith told him about it). There was no hatch and, thankfully, no Galra to contend with, but Shiro only needed Red to let him in, not let him fly. Feeling a little foolish, he places his hands on the barrier.
'Red,' he begins, unsure that this will even work. 'Let me in. Black and I are here; we'll protect you and Keith. I need to get to him, see if he needs help.'
Nothing changes, but he becomes aware that something is watching him, sizing him up. A shiver runs down his spine; is this how Keith had felt, under the Lion's gaze?
'Please,' he whispers, leaning his head against the barrier as well. 'I promised I would return, and I know I've been horrible at keeping it, but I need to know he is safe…' A ragged sigh escapes. 'Please Red. He is special to me as well.'
Another moment of that hair-raising feeling of being judged, and he hears the sputtering hum that signals the falling of the barrier. Black's immediately goes up, wide enough this time to cover both Lions. Shiro doesn't have time to consider how that works, because he's rushing towards Red's cockpit, the way in exposed by the Lion's ajar mouth.
Inside he finds Keith leaning against the control panel, face battered and left arm pinned to his side by one of the medical bandages. Shiro feels his heart fall out from under him, eases in beside Keith, hoping that his worst fears, never admitted or acknowledged until this moment, will prove false. His right hand cups Keith's cheek, registering the faint pulse alongside Keith's neck and the soft breath that escapes. Shiro exhales, light-headed in relief and suddenly so thankful for the heightened senses of his mechanical arm.
He smiles when Keith's eyes flutter open. But then Keith only looks at him confused, eyes bright with fever and unfocused.
'Shiro?' he whispers roughly.
'I'm here Keith, you're going to be okay,' he reassures hastily, but Keith still looks confused.
'You were gone,' he says, voice shaking.
Shiro tries to maintain the smile. 'I'm back. Rest, you'll be okay.' Keith stares for a moment then complies, eyes shutting. Only then does Shiro let the smile fade, let his face fall as his heart screams.
o-o-o
Keith floats, dimly aware of someone talking to him, of warmth that spreads out to counter the chill that has set in, from where he can't remember.
He floats, somewhere, and lets the snippets of half-forgotten songs, of memories remembered imperfectly, come and go. He feels someone, something share in the mirth of the better ones, in the annoyance at songs that just won't get out of his head.
'Why do you come here?' Shiro just grins, shrugs. 'Maybe I like the company.' Admonishes that he isn't like everyone else when Keith responds. Smiles in a way that makes Keith turn back to the desert, hide his blush in the dim red of the dawn sky.
There's a place deep inside, where the precious memories hide.
'Keith,' Shiro's voice is soft.
'What about you, what will happen if we're found out?' But Shiro only shakes his head, eyes fierce and sure. 'I don't care about that. I care about you.'
And that's all that matters, isn't it? He remembers what Nan had said about family, about finding those you love. Besides, he feels the same.
'Then yes,' and he's angling up because he's impatient and stupid and just once he'd like to get one on Shiro. Their first kiss would be his fault, for better or worse.
The older, the deeper.
He holds onto two hands, one larger than the other, rough, and they hold him tight. Every few steps they pull him up, swing him. They laugh, he and his parents.
The sun beats hot, comforting, a blanket to envelop and carry him home. His skin pricks at its touch, chilled when the spring breeze rushes up. Dust motes dance in the sunbeams; his mother smiles, points, tells him of fairies from Neverland that sometimes come to play in the sunbeams as they search for lost children.
His father laughs, ruffles his hair, smiles, and Keith is free and safe and whole.
Somewhere in between Red and himself, Keith floats. He had reached and reached until he could fire the Red Lion's fading spark that would see them land as best they could. Now Red stretched all around, pulling him repeatedly from the dark abyss that promised an end to hurt and the cold. He hangs on as best he can, not quite ready to fall all the way in.
o-o-o
Coran breathes in relief as Pidge and Hunk leave the hangers, in one piece. They've already picked up Lance; three of the five. Unfortunately, the three who suffered the least damage of the five. But that's how the universe worked, he figured ruefully.
'I've got the Black Lion!' he hears Allura exclaim, and they all rush over, the Paladins' faces a mixture of relief and worry. 'Hold on!' The wormhole opens, and they're through, arriving at a small planet, a single orb revolving around its yellow star.
'Shiro?' she calls, trying to connect through. Static responds, and then Shiro's on the other end.
'Keith's with me,' they hear, and Coran feels the tension leaving his body, only to ratchet back up with the Black Paladin's next words, 'And he needs medical attention now. Red's down as well.'
The connection cuts, and Allura aims the ship for the coordinates now showing an operational Black Lion and the dull figure of the Red Lion. They're all silent, tense, until Pidge breaks the silence.
'Guys…' she pauses, pensive. 'Is there… anything between Shiro and Keith? It's just, I dunno. Shiro sounded different.'
He keeps silent; it's not his secret to tell. Allura purses her lips, Hunk shrugs.
'There were rumours, back at Garrison,' Lance said quietly, eyes locked on the screen. 'Never paid them much attention; Mullet-man always looked like he'd rather watch paint dry than spend time with anyone. Then, well, they faded away. Y'know.' Pidge and Hunk wince, nod. Kerberos.
'Well,' he steps in, halting the discussion as best he can. 'Either way, let's get there and get out, before Zarkon finds us a Lion short. He can't be thrilled with Keith right now.'
'No, he can't,' Allura echoed, the tone of her voice suggesting that she wasn't either. Lance raises an eyebrow, but stays silent. Coran turns his attention to the castle's descent, tense, worried.
He should have told them about Zarkon.