Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

There were voices. Indistinct, mumbled.

Unfamiliar.

Light. He blinked his eyes open, wincing.

Too bright. So bright it hurt. He whimpered at the pain, closing them.

The voices grew louder, something cold pressed on his forehead.

That hurt too. He shifted, trying to dislodge it.

It pressed harder, digging into his skin.

He opened his eyes again, blurred figures in white appearing.

He did not know them.

His heart beat wildly as he took in more of the bright, white room.

Table. Syringes. Scalpel.

He moved.

Or.

Tried to. He couldn't. His arms were locked at his sides, his feet the same.

What was happening?

Where was he?

"–spiking, increase the–"

A sharp prick on his arm.

He moaned, the sound muffled.

Something was in his mouth.

He couldn't talk.

He pulled against the restraints. One of the figures pushed down on his chest, another indistinct mumble.

Where was he?

What was happening?

"Its species is resistant. Up the dose."

No. No please.

Another prick, ice flooded his veins.

It hurt.

He tried to speak but his tongue wouldn't move.

His entire body was growing heavy, his attempts to pull free sluggish.

Where was he?

He couldn't remember.

Why couldn't he remember?

His heartbeat thudded in his ears, louder than the voices.

What had happened?

Where was he?

Stop  he tried to say.  Please.

He barely made a sound.

The bright lights were dimming.

No.

That wasn't right.

He was closing his eyes.

They were so heavy. They hurt to keep open.

He struggled to do so.

The light hurt but the darkness was worse.

Where was he?

The voices were talking again.

Ice touched his throat, thin and hard.

Pain. Pain pain pain  pain.

Stop. Please. Please. Por favor.

What was happening?

The light disappeared.

One last voice cut through the encompassing darkness.

"Begin devoicing."

xxx

Lance sat up with a breathless gasp, hands flying to his throat and ocean eyes blown wide.

His heavy pants echoed about the chamber and he buried his sweat-dampened face in his upturned knees to muffle the sound.

They didn't like it when the slaves made noise.

Just the thought had him trembling anew and a low garbled keen built in the back of his throat as tears stung his eyes.

It had been… been months since he'd dreamed about the devoicing.

It left him as rattled now as it had then.

Long fingers dug into his arms, pressing so hard tanned skin turned white and he bit his lip whole as though he could make everything disappear just like it.

No one came over to him though and he forced himself to heave out a breath and then another. He hadn't disturbed the night guard. He could at least be thankful for that.

When he finally pulled his face free though he caught the narrowed amber gaze of 1AW6 and he tried to muster up a smile of apology. She made a curt gesture with her clawed hand and rolled over on her narrow bedroll, large brown ears flopping with the action.

Lance's smile fell and guilt rolled his stomach. He knew how hard sleep was to come by, even as exhausted as they were most nights. He hated that he had disturbed hers but 1AW6 – or Amber, as he called her in his mind – was never happy.

Although were any of them, really?

He carefully laid back down, dragging the thin blanket up to his chin. The action made the manacle on his wrist clank against the chain as it lost its give and he curled up around it.

ID number L7S8. That was him. Or, well, he thought that was his name here. The seven looked more like a shepherd's hook and the S had a weird squiggle through it. It's not like they ever actually called him by it anyways; it just seemed to be how they kept track of the slaves for assignments each day.

His fingers ached and he had a sinking feeling it was back to actual mining with him tomorrow. Today. Whatever time they forced him to get up.

Lance liked the jewel sorting and cleaning days best. On those days he actually got to sit down, chained to the work table, and check each gem over for flaws and make them really shine. He'd learned though to not take advantage of the more sedate task early on. The deep scar that cut from his right shoulder across his back from the whipping when he had failed to meet their quotas multiple times had reinforced that lesson.

He'd had a lot of lessons enforced, some with more permanent reminders than others. The guards here were too easily provoked, too quick to strike. Even looking up and accidentally making eye contact could result in lashes or a beating.

Lance had at first tried to keep track of the days that way, as the sense of time was skewed down in the ever-dark tunnels and their meal schedule too repetitive to recall. He got five lashes for tripping and stumbling into the guard, that was Monday. Two days later he got five more lashes for breaking his pick-axe even though it hadn't been his fault. The black eye later was because he'd been moving too slow.

He made it he thought about sixty days before he stopped counting as bruises overlapped with cuts and he no longer remembered which one was the cause of what. The only untouched skin left on him really were his hands and feet outside of the wear and tear from work. The guards never struck there; to do so would be to slow down their work. As though having your back ripped open didn't count (and it didn't, not to them. You just got more lashes for being slow.)

But although he wasn't counting Lance knew he'd been here a long time.

A long, long time.

He wasn't sure if he was ever going to actually leave.

Well, alive. Everyone left eventually. They'd carted out Barney (44K8) – a large, purple alien who had gotten sick a week ago, just missing Doctor Day – and between the continued labor and lack of clean air his lungs had just given out. He'd looked peaceful when they hoisted him onto the trolley, despite the fact he'd died wheezing and shaking. Lance missed him already. It's not like he got to really know anyone down here but Barney would smile at him and it was brighter than any of the blood jewels they toiled for. Most other slaves just kept their heads down and he got scowls when he tried to say hello in a mixture of hand motions and smiles.

He'd finally just stopped trying although his heart ached at how lonely he was, even though he was surrounded by others.

It was better though that way. Maybe. Most slaves didn't last very long. The conditions were awful and although they were decently fed it wasn't enough after a long day of labor. At least this way he didn't get attached, didn't mourn and fall into despair when another body was carted out of the tunnels.

He wished he could leave the tunnels.

He wanted to see the sky. He'd forgotten what the sun felt like. He wondered if they even had sun here. He had no idea what planet he was even on. He did know for sure it was a planet; the mines the obvious clue. It had to be a big one too, as they dug deeper and deeper day after day and it never ended.

Lance found himself sometimes wishing the entire thing would just cave in.

He pushed those thoughts away most of the time, but hope was getting harder and harder to hold onto. It was more of a wish, a dream. He rarely dreamed anymore. Nightmares, sure, but the solace he'd found in his dreams had been slowly fading as his memories of them did too. He couldn't remember; had Allura's pupils been purple or pink? What direction did Coran's moustache twist in? What did food taste like? He'd even take food goo, he thought, over the substance they called food here.

It'd been months at least. Maybe a year. Maybe longer. He hoped not longer. But with every day that passed he found his hope waning. They'd have found him by now if they could, right? Surely they'd have rescued him. They missed him, right? They must miss him as much as he missed them. Hunk's hugs and Pidge's shoulder punches and Keith's rare soft smile and Shiro's warm hand on his shoulder and Coran's jubilance and Allura's bright gaze.

But they hadn't come.

And if they hadn't come then...

Then they weren't.

Not at this point.

He couldn't blame them, not really. The universe needed Voltron. Voltron need the Lions. The Lions needed Paladins. None of those except for the Paladins were replaceable.

He, Lance, had been a Paladin.

Therefore, he, Lance, was replaceable. He had to be. Because otherwise the entire universe was doomed. Zarkon had had ten thousand years to grow his empire unchecked and they needed to stop him.

Lance had given up on the team finding him because they were searching for him. But he did hold onto the sliver of hope that they would locate him when they came to this planet and saw the slavery and Allura's righteous anger and Hunk's compassion would take down the one called "King" and they'd free the slaves and find him and… and…

And what would they think?

He knew he looked different. He'd changed. And not for the better.

His face felt mostly the same and he had been able to set his nose (or at least it felt like he had) straight after one of the guard's had broken it. His hair was definitely longer, shaggier, and the doctors roughly cut it each time they saw him but not well. He had scars too, mostly regulated to his back and chest, a few along his legs and a jagged line in the center of his right palm from where he'd sliced it open on one of his first days before learning how to use the pickaxe.

He'd seen his reflection once; one of the guards had been on the transmission datapad – his entire back and carved in lines from the heated whip flared in remembrance of his failed attempted to retrieve one – and the light had caught just so on the black surface and it became reflective at his angle.

And Lance…

Lance had looked dead.

It was his eyes. He had to note that it was a black surface and the lighting still wasn't great, but there was no missing the dullness to them. The lack of spark, the ocean shades muted as surely as the rock dust covered his skin in a near permanent coat.

It had scared him more than anything else here had.

Because that was not him.

But… but it was.

And Lance was terrified.

He saw the same look now in all of the slaves and to know he was sending the same back out made him just want to close his eyes and never open them.

If only it was that easy to escape.

But there was no escape. Not from here.

The prisoners were shackled to the floor at night to sleep by their wrists. They were chained by the ankle in front of whatever section they were working on that day; be it carving into the tunnel or picking at the walls or shoveling debris away. Chains everywhere. His ankles were permanently scarred from the tight metal cuffs digging into flesh whenever he moved too far and the chain jerked him back.

And if the chains were not enough there were the guards. Unlike the slaves, a mixture of so many alien species Lance had been boggled upon first seeing them, all of guards were the same.

He'd taken to calling them Toads, although that was an insult to toads and he apologized to them for it. But they sort of resembled them; wide in girth with flappy jowls and pocked skin in the color from a sick yellow to a pale green.

They were large though, nearly Shiro's height, and each one carried a whip, a blaster and a device that at Lance's best description functioned as a cattle prod and they would shock slaves for their own enjoyment. Lance had lost count of how many times he'd been zapped while he was working and the back of his arms were covered in small burns.

The Toads were dressed each day in sharp boots that an unfortunate slave was tasked with shining instead of dinner that night even though they'd be caked with dirt and rock dust the next day without fail. Their uniforms were large green and black chestplates and cavalry skirts that only made them look even bigger. Some wore helmets, some went without, showing of their shiny bald heads and tiny little ears that stuck out like little plants. Broccoli, maybe, Lance thought.

The ones in charge had capes attached to their shoulders and they were particularly violent. Lance was glad they did not often visit; normally only when a new section of tunnel was determined to be excavated or there a particularly precious gem unearthed.

Compared to them the slaves may as well have been clothed in rags. Lance figured though there was no point in outfitting them with anything better. It's not like anyone else saw them.

He'd come to from the devoicing stripped naked and lying on the dirt-covered floor that he found was near the entrance of the mine. It was the closest he'd ever gotten to freedom and he hadn't known until it was far too late.

They'd given him a pair of ill-fitting pants, already torn and stained from the previous wearer and they ended at his calf. A cut off sleeve tunic in the same ugly brown had been the only other clothing item. He'd tried to ask for shoes around the pain emanating from his chest and neck and it was then he'd found two things.

One; the pain from before had been nothing compared to the agony that had alighted inside him as he tried to speak.

And two; he no longer had a voice.

The devoicing, that horrible, horrible operation he'd apparently woken up in the middle of prep for, had stolen his voice. He still didn't know what they did. Based on the pain for the first week whenever he tried to speak he had a feeling it had something to do with his vocal cords and voice box.

He could make sounds still in his throat, clack his tongue against his teeth and hiss out air. But his words had been stolen from him.

Everyone's had.

And the guards did not like it when the slaves made noises with their limited resources. Unless it was the breathless gasps and mangled screams some could still produce of a nature when they were whipped or beaten. They relished those noises.

He'd never gotten the shoes.

His feet were hard and calloused now, covered in so much dirt that he felt he may have actually grown a half inch from the accumulation. He had tried at first to clean himself up after work was finished for the day, using his allotted two dobashes of bathroom time – and bathroom was generous; a small hole in the floor that led somewhere and a trickle of water from an underground stream that had been rerouted and dripped down the stone wall and a guard cramped into the small room with him as though he was going to go anywhere – a day to scrub up.

The guards had laughed and laughed; a full-bodied croak that made their lips wobble and showed off a giant yellow tongue inside. Lance had understood their mirth within the week as there was no being clean here. There wasn't enough water, enough time. And having wet skin just seemed to attract even more rock dust and Lance generally was dirtier than when he went in.

The only time he was any semblance of clean was on Doctor Day. It had only happened four times since he was here – and that he could count, for it was such a rarity – but it was the best day there was.

Doctor Day as he was calling it was the only time that he felt like something resembling a person rather than a piece of property. It wasn't that the doctors were kind. They were a sort of tree-looking species wearing white coats and Lance was pretty certain they were the figures he'd seen from the operating table.

But they treated them. Not everything. That would be too much, but the gaping wounds, the incisions that had begun to show signs of infection from the lack of treatment and cleanliness, those they addressed. They slapped a foul smelling cold poultice on them but after the initial chill had been absorbed it was an almost pleasant tingle.

Bandages wrapped about those, protecting them for at least the day, sometimes a couple if you could avoid angering the guards and keep them intact. One time they'd forced Lance to drink something that had tasted as he imagined pond scum would, but within a few hours the harsh tickle and dryness that he had been stumbling through that week had cleared up and Lance realized had they not come then he probably would have succumbed to whatever illness it was within the next few days.

Like Barney.

Because despite clearly having access to doctors with a bevy of remedies, whoever ran this operation had money to spare and lives to waste. It was the only reason Lance could come up with as to why the doctors didn't come more often to treat them. An infection to an exposed deep whip lash or over exhaustion could kill an alien as the guards, when the slave collapsed and wouldn't wake to the cattle prods or the whips, they took their blasters and just...

Lance didn't like to think about it.

He supposed at least it was quick.

He wondered what they did with the bodies. Mass grave? Burned them? Sent them into space to float until they disintegrated?

He wondered if the team would ever find his body out there. He wondered if they'd even recognize him if they did.

Doctor Day had an added bonus too of new clothes. When you were constantly being zapped and whipped the threadbare clothes didn't stand much of a chance. Lance had gone nearly one whole week without a shirt after it had been torn into so many tatters it had just fallen off one morning and he hadn't had time to try and tie it together before he'd been ushered from his bedroll.

It had of course been disposed of when he came back that evening.

Then he'd gone and – he stopped the thought there, back aching again and he bit down the whimper of pain – but, well, he supposed he had lived by the grace of God as the doctors had come the next morning before he got a shot to the head and they had patched him up to at least being able to stumble and his own stubbornness had kept him on his feet. He'd gotten a new shirt too and he liked to pretend he could smell the rain-scented detergent his mamá bought special for him when he'd first slipped it on over his bandages. It was blood stained and tattered now though weeks – months? – later.

He wondered on really dark, long days if it would have been better if he'd just met his end there from his sickness. He wasn't sure what he was living – struggling – for at this point. There was no hope here. No smiles or laughter. If the slaves had been able to talk to one another, or at least convene and draw comfort maybe from a gentle touch or a shared pain, Lance wondered if it would have been better or worse.

Every day was the same. Roused from bed by the sound of the gong and given a cup of water that he had to somehow ration for the entire day. Find out what station he was assigned to that day and work until they said stop, back screaming and arms aching and head pounding. The only ever break from the work coming in the form of the guards' taunting and teasing and sick games, and as awful as it was when the guards turned their attention to their chosen victim everyone would pause as much as they dared, limbs trembling and trying to find their breath before they continued.

When work was over they were ushered back to their living quarters. Sometimes they stopped at the blood-stained pole and mesh net and were forced to watch the punishments dealt out for the day. Lance used to flinch at every thwack of the whip or chains or implement of torture, even when it hadn't been against his flesh, but now he just stood there with the rest and waited for it to be over. The best days were when they were able to bypass it completely and they'd been on a lucky streak of two days without incident.

Then it was dinner, a larger meal at least of a mash that didn't even have a taste anymore and Lance shoveled into his mouth like a starving, rabid animal, interspersed with the trip to the bathroom. They were going to need a new bathroom and living quarters soon, Lance thought, as the trip to and from each from the current operation site was growing longer to walk as they tunneled deeper. They'd get the joy of digging it out themselves, he was sure.

After that it was to bed, chained where they had eaten. The beds shifted nightly as it all depended on what shift you had been assigned that day and when you came in. There were roughly fifty slaves at any given time and Lance estimated about ten of the pallets still had blankets intact.

He snuggled further under the one, threadbare and holey as it was, that he had been lucky enough to get that night.

But that was life. Rinse (but not really) and repeat day in and day out.

The worst was when a new alien came in and he had to watch the despair sink into their eyes until they became just as dull as the rest of them.

It never changed.

Everyone broke.

He didn't know why he was still holding on.

Lance cuddled his arms to his chest, pressing the blanket to his nose.

He didn't know why.

But he still was.

That had to mean something.

At least, he hoped it did.

If hope had any meaning any more.

Lance pulled the blanket up over his head, hiding himself.

And in the self-inflicted darkness he silently cried.

Chapter Text

Lance's nearly empty bag of GAC was clinking sadly in his pocket as he strolled through the last aisle of the planet's marketplace, but his arms were weighed down with the many food purchases Coran and Hunk had requested he pick up. And since they had asked so nicely Lance hadn't minded being the errand boy.

He was the only one who really had time to do so anyhow. He wouldn't say the Paladins had lost in their last battle against Zarkon's forces, but… well, they certainly hadn't won. The castle hadn't even emerged unscathed and was the reason for the not-quite-but-sort-of-was emergency landing so Coran and Hunk could repair the rear shield that had been nearly completely destroyed even though Hunk should really be resting. He'd taken quite a hit in Yellow before they formed Voltron and had a bump the size of a kiwi (it had been a grapefruit) on the back of his head, but he'd insisted.

He was better off than Pidge and Keith in any case. Lance's stomach churned unpleasantly at the thought of them. Pidge was due to come out of the pod later that afternoon from her broken femur and Keith hopefully later that evening from a cracked skull and shattered arm. Lance really thought they needed to check the padding inside the helmets as clearly they were not very good at protecting their skulls, to which Coran had apologized near a thousand times over as apparently a human's bone density was not half as thick as an Altean.

Allura had been invited to meet with the Council that governed the city they had landed near and she had taken Shiro with her. That left Lance and he was of little help in the shield construction other than to hand off items and watching Pidge and Keith float in pods was more than a bit creepy, so when Coran had suggested he pick up some food items in the bustling market Lance had been more than eager for the distraction.

That was until he realized how much Hunk and Coran had compiled on the list – mostly food but a few other random odds and ends that Coran insisted were essential although why a sort of swirly straw was required Lance still had no idea – and he was near staggering now with his purchases that had taken him from one end of the market to the other.

But he was done. And he would admit it, he'd had fun. Other than the space mall this was the most modern shopping district they'd yet stopped at and while it wasn't quite Earth it had had buildings and stores to pop into and actual roads and some weird type of transport that looked like a go-kart but they were levitated on bubbles. Lance would have loved to ride one but the natives here were gigantic and there was no way he'd have been able to reach the pedals.

He was walking along the back edge of the marketplace, the buildings here more of warehouses and storage as the crowds had gotten to be a bit hard to navigate with all of his purchases, when he heard the scream.

Lance paused, cocking his head as it disappeared within the second. Had he misheard something? Maybe it was the sound of a really creepy bird? He didn't see anyone else really down here and – it sounded again before it cut off with a yelp and Lance's eyes narrowed. That wasn't an animal.

It sounded like someone was in trouble.

He set his packages down carefully in the mouth to one of the many back alleyways and crossed his fingers no one wandered by and stole them while he was gone. But he knew without a doubt that if someone did actually need help then some groceries were a small price to pay.

Lance wished he had his bayard. Hopefully his presence in whatever this was – a mugging, maybe? – would be enough to scare off the offender. He hoped so. Otherwise, his hand clenched into a fist at his side, it was off to a fistfight for him.

He winced. That would probably not end well. But he couldn't just leave, not when someone might need help. Even if he hadn't been a Paladin his mamá had always told him that it was his responsibility as a human being to help those in need when he was able to.

Deep breath. He could do this.

There had been no more screams but as he went down the length of the alley, deeper into the warehouse area that was beginning to darken with long shadows, he heard scuffling followed by a muffled thump.

He'd heard that enough in the last few months to know a body had just struck the ground. He prayed it was one that was still alive. Caution was his friend – he was not a reckless hothead like Keith, thank you – and despite the urgency he continued his slower, silent movement along the wall.

"Get her up," rumbled a low voice, disdain clear. "We're behind schedule."

A sound then of someone being dragged and a low moan. "Pl-please. Let me g-go."

And that was definitely the sound of someone in trouble. It also sounded like there were at least two offenders. Lance gulped. He really should run for help but whatever was happening was happening now and if he left then it would be too late.

He could do this. Lance took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, trying to project as much confidence as Shiro had.

Go time.

He pushed out from the lip of the alley, sharp eyes taking in the scene in an instant. Two aliens, one a native of the planet and the other sort of resembling a spider were there and the arachnid one had a limp female alien trussed up in several of its other limbs. She was neither of their species but had canine features and the fear in her eyes and tears matting her fur were clear. It was dragging her towards a transport ship that was resting in the open space behind the building.

He didn't see any weapons.

He could do this.

"Hey!" Lance shouted, relieved when it came out a bellow and not a squeak and all sets of eyes – and eww, spider alien had at least ten – were drawn to him. "Let her go."

Lance wasn't quite sure what his declaration would result in. One of the aliens pulling out a hidden weapon perhaps, shouts of surprise, a cocky stare as yes, he was very aware he was outclassed at the moment in terms of size, or maybe even (if he was really, really, really lucky) shouts of alarm and they would flee and drop their victim.

What he did not expect was for them to grin and look as though Christmas had come early.

That… that was probably not good.

"How much do you think he will fetch?" hissed the spider and Lance's eyes widened, his determined step faltering.

What?

"The King put out a call for more able-bodies," said his companion, looking Lance up and down like he was a piece of meat. "He looks abled to me."

"I said," Lance repeated, clearing his throat and pushing past the rising unease, "let her go. Otherwise you will regret it." He shifted into a stance that he'd seen Keith and Shiro adopt before they sparred and hoped it looked at least somewhat threatening.

The aliens did not look intimidated. The female canine met Lance's gaze with a tremble to her muzzle and it was that look that made his blood freeze. She no longer looked just scared. She looked terrified.

For him.

"Run," she whispered.

But Lance could not do that. Even as every instinct screamed at him that this was so much more than a mugging and he was in danger he couldn't leave her. Not when she was just as scared as he was and she did not deserve whatever fate these two had planned for her.

"Get him," ordered the native and the captive was dropped without ceremony to the ground. She did not attempt to get up even though she was not bound. Lance had only a second to wonder why before the spider alien was closing the distance, large fangs glistening in the fading sunlight.

Ah. Venom. Paralysis, likely.

That would explain a lot.

He ducked beneath the spider's first set of arms and rammed his fist up against the alien's ugly chin, surprising himself with the contact as the head snapped backwards. Ha!

But even as the alien stumbled one of its many arms snagged on Lance's jacket and he yelped as the momentum dragged him along with the flailing. He saw the native alien, hulking form casting an even larger shadow, coming behind him and he threw himself to the side, hitting the ground hard to avoid the long limbed punch.

In one movement he was rolling back to his feet, shoulder aching from the impact, and pivoting to escape another long strike.

He pivoted right into the path of the spider.

Yelling, Lance threw his left hand forward to strike and the punch connected solidly with the alien's body.

But its fangs connected too with his forearm.

The effects were immediate and Lance could do nothing as his legs gave out beneath him as what felt like ice flooded his veins.

A meaty fist smashed into his head a tick later and he went down in a tangle of limbs, not even air left to scream as a vice seemed to be closing about his heart. The two aliens stood above him, looking down with matching smirks that even the darkening spot on the spider's chin could not dim.

The large alien raised a booted foot and Lance didn't even have a chance to say anything as it came down on his face and he knew no more.

xxx

Lance hated that he had been right. He'd been untethered from his pallet and re-chained to a group that was being sent to work at the actual mine today. His new ankle chain clinked on the ground as he and his group moved single-file down the tunnel, a slow shuffle of bodies who knew what back-breaking work awaited today.

He had not slept again after the nightmare and he could feel the effects of even the couple varga of missing sleep. His body felt sluggish as though he'd suffered a whipping even though he'd been keeping his head down the last couple weeks and his only fresh injuries were a few taser burns and an assortment of bruises from the guards, plus the small cuts and jammed fingers from the actual work.

"Move!" snarled one of the guards as Lance was apparently going too slow and the sharp crackle of the prod lit across his shoulder through the current tattered shirt as motivation.

He stumbled away from it, keeping his feet about him as if he went down he knew they'd just shock and beat him until he got up. His shoulder ached with a fierce fire and he bit his lip to keep the harsh breathless gasp inside. Too often the meager sounds of pain the slaves could make only spurred the guards further.

It was sad to say that walking to and from the work site was the best part of his day, minus dinner and finally sleep. So long as one kept up with the pace set – he forced his feet to go faster even though it felt like someone had tied boulders to them – the guards ignored them and he had a few more minutes of relative peace before the forced labor started.

Lance had at first tried in these few minutes, as all the slaves were herded along the same narrow, winding tunnels, to make eye contact with those alongside him, so close if he reached out he could touch them but such an action would result in retaliation from the guards and likely only scare the slave not expecting the touch. It was his one chance to find something in this hell to remind him that kindness, even if it was only a smile, existed.

But the eyes that looked back at him when the slaves did pick their heads up had been dead ones, ones that he recognized now in himself, and not a smile to be seen.

There was no point in it. He hadn't understood it then but he understood it now.

It had been a lesson he'd slowly grasped as time went on. Because while they were alive no one here lived. There was nothing to live for except that tenacity that all creatures seemed to possess to cling to life for no other reason but to exist.

For some that pull had not been so strong. Lance almost envied them. They had escaped from this place on their own terms – or, well, as much as one had here. Daffy – a black and white feathered alien – had blown himself up in one of the controlled blasts when they were carving out a new tunnel.

Jasmine – named for her triangle shaped golden ears – had slit her throat with one of the rough cut gems and bled all over the pile she had been sorting. Lance had been one of the slaves tasked with washing her purple blood off the gems and he hated himself for the brief joy he'd felt as he'd dipped his hands in actual water to wash it away.

Most though couldn't do it. Lance knew he couldn't. As miserable, as horrible, as life was here he could not bring himself to take a permanent out. Something stopped him, some bubble of hope that maybe, just maybe, this would be the day of a rescue. He'd stopped hoping to escape. Not anymore. His back and chest ached in memory of the failed attempts.

So he and the others trudged on. They suffered and some eventually found escape not by their own hand but by a Toad blaster or work accident. Lance had still not gotten the image of Pineapple – with their tufted green and yellow spiked comb – flattened beneath one of the mine carts. They'd been forced to scrape his body off the ground with shovels.

Lance had memorized the faces of every single alien that came into the mines. There were only twelve left of the near fifty that had been there with him since the beginning. Barney had been number thirteen.

His stomach clenched at the thought of the older alien. It's not like the two had really ever communicated beyond the small smiles but those had meant the world to Lance when no one else (except Amber, but she just glared) would ever even meet his eyes. He dearly hoped Barney had found peace out there.

So he kept his head down now, shuffling along with the rest of the group and more than aware of the blasters and prods always aimed at them. He honestly didn't think the Toads had any actual measure of aim – they were fat and lazy and only ever used them to shoot a slave point blank in the head – but that was almost scarier in a way. Assuming they didn't kill him with an errant shot and merely downed him, he'd be alive for them to punish, and, well…

He hugged his arms about himself and they pressed against the marks carved into his torso. He couldn't go through that again. He had survived only through sheer stubbornness last time, but now…

Now he was not so certain he'd be able to convince himself it was worth it to do so. And he hated that those thoughts were even there, but he couldn't help it. It wasn't the same as the self-doubt that reared its head every now and then when he saw just how amazing others were and found himself wanting, but it was the same cold and sick twisted feeling, except this one was worse.

He had tried to find small pockets of positives where he could. Barney's smiles. The beauty of the gems. The sensation of getting to curl up under one of the rare blankets. The times he dreamed and they were of his family and friends.

But the dreams were gone. Barney was gone. The gems only represented pain and hurt and despair. The blanket was no substitute for a proper hug.

He hurt. All the time. His soul ached for comforts it could not have, his body cried out from the wounds and the toil and the stress placed upon it.

There was no hope here.

And yet he still stumbled on.

All too soon Lance found his walk coming to an end as his group was halted at one of the walls. They were ordered to turn and face it while standing on the narrow black bar that was bolted into the ground with hands on their heads.

Lance had found there was no use in resisting. Not anymore. He remained silent and still as the guards moved down the line, clipping the chains from the bar to their permanent ankle cuffs. Only once they were secure, a few feet of chain giving them movement to shift and better strike the wall, were they ordered to then turn around and given their supplies for the day.

The water cup was the one he was grateful for. It was about the size of a coffee mug and made of hard clay, which when he'd first arrived had made him gag at the earthy taste of the water inside. Now he didn't even blink at it. Everything here tasted of nothing now. It was all they were given for the day and Lance had gotten decent at pacing himself in drinking it. That he set down on the floor against the wall to the right of where he would be working.

The other item was a short pickaxe. When he'd first arrived he'd thought they were absolute idiots for arming the slaves like that. However, as his first escape attempt had shown, the guards had really nothing to worry about. Maybe if the slave was like, the size of a bulldozer with super thick skin, they'd have something to fear but they never brought anyone like that in here.

No, the makeup of the aliens ranged in sizes but most were at least about Lance's height although often bulkier. Everyone slimmed down though under these conditions even as they gained muscles, corded things, from all of the labor. Lance couldn't quite count his ribs – the food, as awful as it was, did have a lot of protein or something to it and sustained them decently even if his stomach never felt full – but he could definitely feel them more pronounced.

Ages were hard to tell across aliens. Lance had stopped trying to wonder if there were any children here – the thought even now making him feel sick – because he couldn't even fathom such a thought. It struck him that he was honestly probably one of the youngest ones here; both in terms of actual years and of his species make, not that anyone knew. They didn't know anything about him.

He'd gone from being essentially kidnapped in the marketplace to waking up on an operating table. There had been no time, no coherency as he laid there, drugged, to tell them what he was, or even who. He wondered if he'd been able to tell them he was a Paladin of Voltron if it would have made a difference. Would he have been just another slave then? Or would they have let him go as the universe needed Voltron?

He had a dark feeling it was the former. This "King" he'd been sold to had no love of life. He was obviously wealthy, evidenced by the sheer number of slaves he could go through and the precious gems they mined for him, and the rich were the ones who could afford to escape a war. Honestly, Lance wouldn't have been surprised if he worked with the Galra. Only someone evil like that could destroy so many lives like he did and not care.

"Begin," ordered the guard and Lance dutifully hefted the axe into his hands, shoulders already aching.

He swung it forward, the familiar clang of metal on stone reverberating in the air and all around him sounds of work began.

Lance's section for the day was yielding nothing of interest. Just more rock chips that fluttered down as he made a small dent before working in a circular pattern to widen it. It's not like it mattered whether his section ended up yielding any stones or the golden colored ore line that always excited the guards. There was no reward for any such find.

But as much as he had come to hate the gems, Lance could not deny there was something satisfying about finding one buried in the wall and the excavating it whole. It was a hollow satisfaction but it was one nonetheless and he needed little moments like that.

He'd been going at it for about three varga, timed based on the two sips of water he'd allowed himself, when he heard the sounds of a scuffle. He'd all but learned to tune them out at this point as there was nothing he could do about it and when the guards were aware they had an audience it invited them to be even crueler. Normally it was time to rest for a moment other than the miniscule breaks for water, which is what Lance decided to do.

Still, he turned his head slightly to see where the commotion was to best keep an eye on the guard even as he leaned his pickaxe blade into the wall and tried to relax his aching shoulders in the brief respite.

The commotion was from the front part of the tunnel and he could make out two guards tugging viciously on a length of chain. A new prisoner. He hung his head. He remembered what that was like. He wished he could offer words of comfort but he literally couldn't and even then they would likely fall on deaf ears. No one here wanted sympathy; it meant absolutely nothing.

The guards fully rounded the bend and the new slave was pulled stumbling behind.

Lance nearly lost his grip on the axe handle, stomach twisting and ocean eyes widening as he saw the newest member.

A Balmeran.

A Balmeran child.

It was fruitless to pretend otherwise. Thanks to their visit on Shay's planet he knew what a Balmeran looked like and their approximate ages. And this alien, a little girl, looked nearly identical to the children he had joined in a game of rock skipping with.

She looked terrified, yellow eyes taking up her face and tears dripping from them. He could see the long puckered scar – nearly identical to everyone else's – on her neck and based on the choked sounding gurgles coming from her she was both in pain and not yet understanding the loss of her voice.

The Toads were talking excitedly amongst themselves, clearly pleased with this newest addition. Lance vainly hoped they would not hurt her. Not because she was a child; no, he knew they lacked that sense of humanity, but because a Balmeran in a mine would be invaluable and her small body would not function long if they abused her as they did the rest.

Lance couldn't even pretend not to stare, jerking around from his section of wall and trying to catch the little girl's eye as though it would actually do anything. She didn't see him, her head down now as the guards dragged her past and towards a further section at the end of the row to chain her down with instructions on what she was to do. He could see her arms shaking even from here as the manacles on her hands were released and an axe was thrust into them.

She glanced over her shoulder, confusion and pain and why just stretched across her face, and she was rewarded with a sharp slap of the end of the prod. She let out a strangled gasp even though, fortunately, there had been no shock to it, and turned to the wall.

A tick later her axe was striking the stone.

The guards had finally noticed Lance's inactivity and he received a zap to his back for his staring with orders to get back to work.

He barely even noticed.

His stomach was swimming and his mind was racing even as he turned back to his section. There was a strange feeling rising up in him. Something he hadn't felt in a long, long time.

Determination.

He had thought that spark had been extinguished following his last failed escape attempt, worn down from the constant never-ending pain. He had stopped caring about himself. But her…

That little girl…

Dark eyes narrowed at the wall and he struck it with more force than was needed, rock chips scattering.

He was going to save her.

Or he was going to die trying.

Chapter Text

Two weeks of hell later (or thereabouts) Lance made his move.

He knew he probably needed more time. Probably should pick a day where he hadn't just been freshly whipped the night before and the five long welts on his back screamed every time he raised the pickaxe. But if he'd learned anything in his time here it was that anything could happen at any time and if he waited he might not be in a state to attempt it again for a long while. If ever.

He'd had to wait until he was assigned to the excavation team again – having spent the last several says digging out the tunnel – and then arrange himself so he managed to be the last one on the row and nearest the entrance to the tunnel (although whether that was a quarter mile or a two to the exit he had no idea).

His plan was simple. He would be the first slave armed with the pickaxe when they handed them out. He would wait until the Toads had made it halfway down the line distributing the remainder and then strike out at the chain holding his ankle to the stake. He'd been examining the chains and while thick and sturdy enough to yanking if he hit the link with the axe it should snap off after a strike or two.

From there he needed to escape out of the tunnel, avoid recapture and then get a hold of a communication device and radio Voltron, whose transmission signal he had memorized, and they would come and rescue him and all of the other slaves. He'd have the pickaxe to use as a weapon if he encountered any guards further up the tunnel and despite the pain he knew adrenaline would kick in and he could (hopefully) avoid any blaster shots. As he'd observed, the guards carried the guns mostly as show pieces and he doubted they were very good shots.

It was a risky plan, he knew. But he hadn't come up with anything else since arriving here and every day he spent was one too long. He'd already witnessed two executions of slaves who had collapsed and the horror at their deaths was only overridden by the sheer apathy displayed by both the guards and his fellow slaves.

No one here cared. About anything. And that was almost more terrifying than the thought of living out the rest of his (probably very short) life as a mining slave.

Lance mechanically accepted the pickaxe as it was thrust into his hands, bobbling it for a second as the handle slapped against the still healing incision on his palm that he'd sacrificed part of his already raggedy shirt to make a dirty bandage to protect it a little bit.

This was it.

He sucked in a deep breath, the sound a calm reassurance. On the exhale he swung the axe.

A shower of sparks greeted the strike against the chain. It didn't break. Lance hit it again. And again. And again, a new sense of desperation fueling his swings as the Toads became aware of the commotion and one was closing in, cattle prod at the ready.

On lucky strike seven the chain was severed.

In the same instant the taser connected with his shoulder. Lance twisted around, swallowing the not audible scream, and slammed his makeshift weapon against the Toad's chestplate with a reverberating clang.

The force sent the Toad stumbling backwards with a throaty yell and Lance used the momentum to continue his pivot into the expanse of tunnel, the end of the chain dragging but otherwise there was nothing to restrict his movement.

All work had come to a screeching halt and there was a pregnant pause as slaves looked, blank expressions morphed everywhere from fear to horror to a few flickers of actual life that if Lance hadn't been in such a situation he might have returned with a grin.

Before the Toads could regain themselves he turned on his heel and ran.

There were a few blaster shots sent his way, pinging on the ground both in front him and behind and Lance just prayed that none hit him because he had absolutely no idea how to block.

He hit a bend in the tunnel, momentarily shielded and he put on an extra burst of speed. He raced past the whipping post, then the bathroom and the communal room. The next part of the tunnel started to become unfamiliar, an older section that had been excavated enough to the Toads' standards, and he tucked his head down and ran faster.

There were more offshoots here, winding passages that could lead anywhere. Part of him said to duck down one and lose the Toads in pursuit, of whom he could still hear giving chase and keeping up better than he'd have thought but he also wasn't at his own physical best, but the other part said to keep to the main path as it had to go to the exit.

He chose to follow the main path.

And it did lead out, he was certain of it, the tunnel widening and cart tracks clear in the stamped down dirt.

It also led to a full battalion of cloaked Toads. While no alarm system had blared to life they had been alerted some other way and Lance was facing a legit firing squad as they stood abreast across the tunnel, blasters raised.

Lance had no choice but to keep going. If he stopped he had no doubt he would die. He had to do this.

There was no battle cry from him, just harsh pants and a whistling noise out his nose, as he raced the guards head-on. Blaster fire rang out and Lance managed to dodge one and deflect another that had come too close. His axe was there a moment later, swinging and smashing into the ranks.

He didn't have time to look at where he was aiming, just striking out and each impact making his arms tremble but the shouts of surprise and pain well worth it. The Toads didn't seem to know how to fire in close quarters and Lance felt a sharp smile stretch his features.

He could do this.

And then a shock prod dug itself into his lower back, full voltage. He stumbled as pain whited out his vision, and that momentary slip was all the Toads needed. There were more prods then – shoulder, stomach, arm, leg, everywhere they could reach – and Lance screamed although all the action did was tear at his throat and came out a gasp of air.

They did not relent.

Lance's last thought as blackness stole across his vision was how horribly, horribly he had failed.

xxx

It had been five days since Hope had arrived.

That was the name Lance had given the little Balmeran girl. She had rekindled his hope, given him a new purpose. He had nearly resigned himself to living out the rest of his life in the mines but no. Not now. Not her. A child did not deserve this.

None of them did.

And it was time he did something about it. It had been… months, he'd guess, since his last attempt. The first one with the pickaxe had not gone well. After he'd been caught by the Toads he had, to his surprise, woken up.

He sort of wished he hadn't. He'd found himself stretched out on his back, hands and feet tangled in the mesh cording next to the whipping post that he had yet to figure out its purpose. He hated that he got a front row seat in discovering it.

The netting was there to hold slaves on their back so that blows could be delivered to their front instead. In Lance's case it had been repeated smashes of a pickaxe against his stomach, so many times that the blunted edge had begun to cut into his flesh and the bruise had turned into an incision and they had still not stopped.

It had gone on for at least an hour. The others had been forced to watch. Lance, when he found the strength to open his eyes against the beating, wondering if he was going to die from blunt force trauma, could not find a kind eye. Most angled their heads down and those that did watch did so with that blank mask.

He had found a smile. Barney had mustered up one; it looked pained and scared and the older slave had shook, but he had caught Lance's tear-lined eyes and given him one. It had been that smile that had sustained him.

When he'd finally been released from the netting his stomach and lower torso were a solid black and blue mass save for the weeping wound that the axe had eventually carved into him. Lance spent the night in agony, curled up on his pallet and not expecting to survive the next day. Guilt and regret had plagued him – he should have waited, the team could have been coming soon and he'd just ruined his chance and he never got to say good bye – and between it and the pain and the bitter scent of his own blood coating his hands as he pressed them to the wound to keep it inside he did not sleep.

Doctor Day, his very first one, had fallen the next day. He didn't remember most of it but he'd been injected with something and woken up back on a pallet with a sharp but dulled ache and bandages wrapped all about his torso and a strange smelling cream lathered into his skin on every wound he had received.

Lance had tried to escape one other time and it had ended just as badly. This time though… this time would be different.

It had to be different.

He could not afford to fail again.

It was why, as much as he wanted to bust Hope out now, he was waiting and figuring out the best way to successfully escape.

Unfortunately, all of his plans kept coming back to one crucial detail. He had no idea what was outside of the mines. And it was going to be hard enough to keep himself alive and free, let alone a child, and he didn't even have a clue how to factor another body – one that couldn't even fight nor did he want her to – into his escape. It's not like she had any idea of what he was planning either to go along with it.

They had made eye contact though, several times actually. Lance had managed to meet her gaze on that first day and her yellow pupil-less orbs had widened at the sight and he had given her a soft smile that she had hesitantly returned before she'd been yanked forward and lost to sight.

Every morning now if they passed one another Lance had felt his heart warmed as her green-tinged face would seek out his and she would offer up another smile and one time even a little wave when the guard had been turned away that Lance had returned.

The spark was growing to a fire now. It was kindled with every smile, every look that wasn't one of despair, that Hope gave him. And he hoped he was giving her at least some measure of the same feeling. She had yet to take a lashing, a fact he was beyond grateful for, and aside from a few bruises he could see dotting her arms from strikes from the butt end of the prod she was remaining unharmed.

She was a valuable slave, Lance knew. He wondered how much she had cost. He wondered sometimes how much he had cost before he decided he really didn't want to know.

But he had to leave her behind. Just for now. He would be back for her and for all the others, if they would follow. It was only for a little bit, he promised himself. And Hope was not a high profile target for abuse. She would be okay.

As okay as anyone could really be.

First things first, he needed to escape. Then the plan was to get access to a communication device and contact Voltron. The Toads' datapads were secured but someone in town – there had to be a town of some sort, right? – had to have one that wasn't password protected. He still winced at that. If he'd only been Pidge or Hunk he had no doubt he'd have already escaped from here.

But if he could get out a transmission to Voltron then they would come and they would absolutely free Hope and the other slaves. It was the best bet he had as going up against all those guards again would be suicide. And this time he doubted they would let him live. Humans were only supposed to have one life and Lance had already used up three.

He had to focus tough. Escape first. And Lance had a good plan.

Or, well, it wasn't a completely awful plan.

Pickaxe during forced labor had failed.

Picking lock cuff from bed had failed (his most recent attempt although recent was a relative term at this point).

But escaping during the limited bathroom break?

He was going to make it work.

That was the one time in the entire day that he was not chained in some way. They were released from their bed spots, walked by gunpoint to the bathroom, let inside and then observed by another Toad with a blaster the entire time (the breach of privacy still gave him the creeps, especially the one Toad with the weird dimple because he leered and Lance tried desperately not to think about it more than he had to) and then released back out.

Inside the bathroom it would be just him and the guard. And of all the guards in the compound, that one was generally the most complacent because even though the slaves were unchained no one would dare to waste their limited time on anything else and no one would definitely try to overpower a guard with a blaster with mere bare hands after having worked all day.

Lance did love to prove people wrong.

For this to work though… he was going to need the guard's blaster. That part was non-negotiable because he needed a weapon with long range capabilities. He just… he hadn't decided yet what to do about the guard.

Killing was not something Lance liked to do. He understood that Voltron had undoubtedly killed many when they blew up bases and ships, but those had always been so removed from him. He knew Shiro had killed in close combat, but anyone else? Nope. Just wounds so they could escape.

None of the Toads deserved to live. They were not good people. They were absolute monsters.

It was just… pulling the trigger, literally, was so final.

But he couldn't afford to show mercy. Not to them. He had to focus on those that mattered, those that deserved a better life. Those like Hope. Even… even those like himself. None of them deserved to die in the mines.

None except the Toads.

He could do this.

And tonight was the night. He was relatively healed from any recent beatings and he'd spent the last two days on jewel sorting so his stamina was as good as it was going to get.

His palms still felt sweaty when the guard unlocked him from his pallet and escorted him over to the bathroom entrance, shoving him into the room and closing the door behind him.

The interior was as dim as normal and Lance cast a quick look to the guard in the corner. Not the gross leering one and he was a tad disappointed at the discovery, and then immediately sickened by his own thoughts. He wasn't killing them out of revenge. It was a necessity.

He needed to remember that.

He did his business first, quickly, counting down ticks in his head. Twenty ticks later he was retying his ill-fitting pants and moving towards the water wall where he generally spent the majority of his time, letting the trickle trace over his fingers and smear rock dust away.

The guard yawned, revealing his thick tongue, clearly disinterested in Lance's regular routine.

Lance struck.

In one movement he was pulling away from the wall, fist cocked, and slamming it with more force than ever before, corded muscles visible on his slender arm, right into the Toad's face.

The alien let out a low bellow, hands instinctively flying to his face as cartilage gave under Lance's hand. He held onto the gun but the grip was tenuous at best.

Lance reached forward, latched his own hands about the blaster and fingers trailed instinctually down the barrel to the trigger. He didn't allow himself to think as he pushed down and a burst of yellow light seared from the barrel…

Right through the Toad's head. He dropped like a boulder and Lance backed away from the body, gun clutched in trembling limbs.

He'd just killed a Toad.

There was no going back now.

He was either going to escape… or he was going to die. There was no in-between.

There was a pounding on the door, the gruff voice of the escort Toad demanding to know what was going on. Lance winced. The door was not as soundproofed as he had hoped.

He shouldered the gun. It was like the clothing here; ill-fitting and unfamiliar but he would make it work. It wasn't too much smaller than his bayard blaster although the trigger was a longer stretch. The door to the bathroom opened and Lance took the shot, downing the Toad as soon as he had crossed the threshold.

His legs were shaking, a mixture of adrenaline and fear and what did he just do?, while his brain was screaming at him to get going because there were most certainly going to be other guards coming soon when no one returned and his plan did not involve being cornered in the bathroom.

Lance stepped over the body and into the narrow hall, shelf of rock separating it from the living quarters with a secondary passage leading off to connect back to the main tunnel. Lance took one last breath, willing his legs to steady, and headed down the tunnel.

He ran, blaster cocked and ready on his shoulder. So far there were no signs of pursuit, no yells of the discovery of two bodies, but it was only a matter of ticks at this point. He needed to be at least a good distance away as he could not fight pursuers and defenders at the same time.

His pulse was pounding so loudly in his head he could barely even hear his rough panting and he desperately tried to quiet them. He needed to listen for the Toads and if his own breathing made him stop breathing he was pretty sure ironic did not begin to describe it.

He was about thirty ticks in when he heard the first shout, a bare echo that only carried due to the tunnel. He smiled grimly. Thirty ticks? He could work with that kind of lead.

The tunnel kept going and going, twisting in some places and widening in others and he made sure to stick to the main path. He had yet to encounter any resistance and Lance prayed it remained so.

A moment later he found his prayers were not answered. Lance wondered for a half-second if he'd jinxed himself, but jinxes needed to be said aloud, and, well, that had certainly not been the case.

But unlike last time he had gotten this far there were only two Toads. The evening dinner hour had definitely been the better option, he congratulated himself. The Toads hadn't been prepared at all.

Lance didn't even blink this time as he pressed down on the trigger. He fired two shots in quick succession as bolts peppered the air around him from the Toads.

They didn't fire again and he rushed past their bodies. He caught the glint of one of the tablets and he nearly paused before urgency won out over the unlockable tech. He hadn't managed it the first time; he knew he hadn't improved in his hacking since. No, stick to the original plan.

The path was evening out now, dirt giving way to smooth stones that stung his feet, calloused as they were, but Lance didn't allow himself to falter even as a stitch was stabbing like a knife into his side.

Almost there.

There were rooms now on his trek and he spotted Toad uniforms in one, armor gleaming for the next wearer, while another room his mind recognized even in the split second he as he past it for the threadbare clothing stacked in haphazard piles was not one he would forget.

Almost there.

He could hear shouts growing closer as he sped past more rooms; guard quarters, likely, and another Toad, this one wearing a cape appeared out of one door. Lance made the headshot before he could even raise his gun and leapt over the corpse as it fell in his path.

The light in the tunnels had always been made from a glowing white stone in brackets along the walls. It was a dim light though, like a light bulb on its last legs. The light coming towards Lance as he made around another curve was not that wane, pale color.

It was a soft blue, as though looking at sunlight bouncing off water.

It had to be the moon.

If Lance had had the air he may have let out a sob. The air was clearing too; the earthy dead scent giving way to something fresher, a bit of a bite.

And then it was there.

The end of the tunnel.

There was no door to the mine. It was an open hole, large enough to fit the Green Lion, and it led to the outside where Lance could see a star-studded sky past mounds of rock.

He crashed into the night, almost tripping in his haste and breathed.

The stone path wound away from the entrance to the mine, which was part of a mountain chain that stretched into the distance. Down below Lance could make out what had to be the town, silhouettes of buildings illuminated in the bright blue moon overhead and a twinkling of lights from those still awake at whatever hour this was.

And beyond that…

A castle.

It rose above the town as though presiding over it, spires striking the sky. That, Lance's eyes narrowed, would be where the king lived.

But it wasn't his goal. His goal was the town but right now he knew striking for it was a bad idea. There was no cover from the mine down the mountainside and although the Toads had shown to have terrible aim there was no way they could miss from the height advantage if they all shot.

He would be dead before he was even halfway down.

New plan.

The rock of the mountain mine was covered with grasses that went off into the distance, trees dotting the landscape before giving way to a thicker copse and then a forest. Lance had no idea what kind of creatures lurked in there but he would take his chances over rabid squirrels than trigger-happy Toads any day.

Lance left the path, long grasses brushing his lower legs and tickling his feet, and running as fast as he could for the treeline. The Toads would be emerging any second from the mine and he needed to be gone from their sight.

The grasses were growing taller the further he moved out, making it harder to walk through as they were thick. He also realized as the shouting became audible, that he was not going to make it to the safety of the forest.

Without missing a step Lance dropped to his knees and then his stomach, heart thumping so hard he thought it might pop out of his chest. He glanced over his shoulder, vision slightly obscured by the stalks, but he could see Toads pouring out of the mine now, their angry croaks filling the air.

He shivered, pressing himself more fully into the dirt, gun uncomfortably digging into his stomach.

They weren't looking in his direction, all of their attention on the path as they spread out. Still, it would only be a matter of time before they ventured into the grass. Lance awkwardly hefted the gun under his right arm and began a one-armed crawl, keeping as low as he could in the grasses and praying that the light breeze that whispered in the air would be enough to keep them from noticing a few stalks moving with a bit more force.

Sweat was beading his brow even in the cooler air and every snapped blade beneath his hands made him freeze as they had to have heard that even though it was barely a crackle.

The dirt and grass began to give way to root systems and Lance winced as his knees hit the rough knobs. But he was almost there.

Just a little further.

He kept expecting something to go wrong. It always had before.

But he had to have hope.

For Hope.

One breathless exhale later he was clear of the high grasses and in the cover of the trees. Lance shifted himself around one large trunk before carefully standing, his legs and left arm shaking from the crawl. He stood there for a few minutes, the canopy under the trees too thick for the moon to penetrate and only the barest outlines of more trees visible in front of him.

He couldn't afford to get lost in the forest, but even more than that he could not afford to get caught. Just like with any potential wild animals, he would take his chances.

Lance moved slower now, each step careful in the dark and the gun held loosely in hand rather than tight on his shoulder. With every successful minute in which no search beams penetrated the forest, where the shouting grew quieter and quieter until it disappeared entirely, he felt his heart slowly start to return to normal.

Light began to filter in more heavily up head and Lance beelined for it, wondering if there was some sort of clearing. It would at least give him a bit of direction. He could get his bearings there, mark a tree maybe with what direction he'd come from, and then shimmy up one of the trunks and hide up there until daylight when he would make to go back to the town and figure out how to contact his team. His stomach clenched painfully as he had made his escape before dinner and he shushed it with a pat. He'd dealt with worse.

The clearing came into view and Lance was brought up short, eyes widening.

For it was not a clearing of grasses like he'd imagined.

It was a lake.

A lake.

Water.

He knew Hunk would insist he check it for both acidity and creatures and bacteria and a host of other things that could kill them in space. Lance A; had no idea how to do any of those things and B; he did not care. The water was a gleaming mirror, brushed only by the ripple of the wind across its surface.

He was splashing in before he even realized he'd reached the shore, blaster abandoned on the beach.

Droplets reached up as he sloshed deeper into the lake, striking his chest and face. The water was cold. It was wet.

It was perfect.

He let out a gasp of delight even as his teeth clacked together at the temperature and dove head first in. The water was dark below, thicker than the beaches on Earth. Lance shot up out of the water like he imagined a dolphin would, scattering water droplets as his head whipped backward.

With another happy, hoarse cry, he dove back beneath the surface. He could feel the dirt growing muddy and he surfaced to scrub at his limbs, shrugging out of his nearly gone shirt and using it as a rag. His bangs, grown long again, dripped into his eyes and he pushed them back with a careless hand before lifting said hand up into the light of the moon, marveling at the clean flesh that stared back.

A wide grin stretched his face and he flopped onto his back, floating and staring up at the moon. Just for a minute, he promised himself, idly kicking his feet to propel himself in lazy circles, relishing in the water flowing over his body, the tug on his hair, the scent of the forest and clean air and freedom.

Hot tears stung his eyes then and Lance didn't even try to blink them away nor muffle the distorted sobs tearing out of his throat as reality sunk in.

He was free.

He had done it.

He had actually escaped.

But…

Lance shifted to stand back on his feet, arms wrapped about himself as he shivered in the light breeze and gazed up at this planet's moon.

It wasn't over yet. Far from it.

This was only the beginning.

But Lance liked beginnings. They were a fresh start, a blank page. Anything could happen.

And in this story… he was going to be the hero.

It was time to get started.

Chapter Text

Lance needed one of the datapads.

The Toads carried them around attached to their belts, occasionally pulling them into their large hands to thumb through screens, but otherwise the only time they were in use was at the start and end of the day when slaves were assigned their tasks and then during check-in as they were secured to the floor to sleep.

But the datapads were the only link to the outside world in here and Lance… Lance was done waiting. It had been at least a month since his failed escape attempt and with every day that passed by the idea of his team finding him dwindled lower. He hadn't had any more ideas on how to escape again and the guards had taken to chaining both of his ankles down now and even had he been able to get one cuff off in time there was no way to take down two before they were upon him.

If he could just get one of the pads and get a message out… Voltron would be there within the varga, he knew it.

He'd been spending all of his time watching the Toads as they moved, sharp eyes scanning for an opening. He'd found his target three days ago; an olive-colored Toad who most days oversaw the jewel sorting station. He was on his datapad more than the other Toads, propping it up on his extended stomach as he leaned back on his chair and Lance swore he was watching movies or something as he would occasionally let out a wet gurgling chuckle.

He also sometimes fell asleep. It wasn't for more than a couple minutes, normally jolted awake by the clanging of pickaxes or the rumble of the carts. It generally happened towards the end of his shift – because guarding slaves was apparently both very boring and tiresome when you weren't walking around antagonizing them – and Lance knew he would have to act within that few minute window.

He just hadn't figured out how to quite reach it. He'd been experimenting, standing up from the table and testing the length of the chain that secured him to it. He had some give as he had to be able to get up and put the jewels in the proper containers after they'd been cleaned and polished and then to retrieve new rough ones and repeat.

But no matter how he extended himself, even when he was chained at the spot closest to the guard, he couldn't reach. One of the other slaves – Donatello as he sort of looked like a turtle – had given him a side eye when Lance was extending his leg out, toes pointed, but had only hunched over his own jewel pile and pointedly looked away when Lance had caught his eye.

Lance got it. No one wanted to be guilty by association if the guards saw him clearly A; not working and B; doing something suspicious, although honestly Lance doubted pretending not to see would save anyone. It made him feel a bit guilty that he might be roping others into it but he had to try.

He thought it had been a sign from the universe when he'd gotten jewel cleaning duty two days running and this time actually shackled to the last spot, and the guard asleep complete with a rumbling snore, but unless a miracle happened to bring the tablet within his range then–

With a clunk the datapad fell off the Toad's lap, bounced twice and came to rest right next to his foot.

Lance blinked at it. If that wasn't the sign he'd been waiting for he didn't know what was.

He carefully bent over and pulled the pad onto the table and behind the current bowl of cleaning solution, hunching over to further hide it. His heart was racing as trembling fingers pressed on the screen. It lit up with a keypad in foreign characters and what he knew was the universal blank box for a password.

Quiznak.

He had absolutely no idea what would even constitute as a password here, as even typing 'password' was impossible due to the fact none of the characters actually looked like they made out any alphabet he was familiar with. Typing a random sequence wasn't a good idea either as Lance had no idea if it would trigger an alarm.

Did he just put it back? His hands clenched on it. It seemed like a failure then. He had it, a way to communicate if he could just unlock it.

A notification of some sort flashed on the screen and before it could dim Lance tapped it. It was some sort of message, written again in a language he didn't understand, but it had opened up the main page of the datapad. Lance felt a grin tugging up his face. Pidge would have a field day if she knew how poor this security system was to allow for such an easy workaround.

He pinched the screen and was faced with a bunch of icons and text. Which one? His fingers hovered. One sort of looked like a ship outline and there was another that maybe was a scroll? Could that be a communication field?

Lance pressed it. Another text box popped up along with a keypad, but this one was in numbers and he sucked in a breath. It was for a transmission code. It had to be. He reached out, pressing on the '7' and then the '2.' He was going for the '4' when a slimy hand clenched about his wrist with a bruising force and twisted it backwards.

His heart stopped. He hadn't even heard the guard cease his snoring.

He let out a wordless gasp as his arm was wrenched more and he desperately threw out his right hand, swiping at the '5.'

Another Toad was there then, grabbing onto his other hand and another was removing the tablet. They were all shouting, a mixture of common and their own native tongue, and the ones holding onto him were doing so so hard he could feel bruises already forming beneath their fingers as they yanked him up, his ankle unchained somewhere in there, and dragged him away from the table.

Lance barely even noticed, despair swelling to fill every part of him and traitorous tears stinging his eyes and blurring his vision, the winding tunnels of the mine passing in a kaleidoscope of browns.

He'd been so close. Three more numbers. Three more numbers and he'd have been able to send something and Voltron would have been here and...

And now…

Now…

They secured him to the whipping pole, not even an audience present. He was stripped of his shirt, cold air tingling.

It was replaced a moment later by a hot cord, fire burning into his skin. It was hellfire, cutting deep into him from a heated whip and the Toads shouting and taunting him but the words did not register.

The pain, the agony, slicing into him had nothing on the shattering inside his heart.

He had failed.

He was never going home.

xxx

Lance's stomach was growling. He put a hand on it as he hunkered down on the outskirts of the town, waiting for the shadows to lengthen into night.

He'd woken up that morning, fortunately still secure in the bough of branches, and had remained there for over an hour, just waiting for the sound of a pursuing party and still unable to believe he'd not just escaped but had remained that way.

Eventually his bladder had won out from what felt like half the lake he'd consumed and he'd descended back to the ground level and taken care of business. There were plenty of strange looking plants here in the forest, a mixture of jungle greens and teals in the daylight, but he had no idea what, if any, were safe to eat. And unlike his foray into the lake last night he was thinking a bit more clearly now and did not want to die from a poisonous berry.

He'd filled his stomach as much he could on the water – as if that wasn't safe then he was already screwed – and decided he would be better off waiting until dark to approach the town. So he'd taken to exploring the woods, carving little "L" symbols into the trees with a rock from the lakebed to mark his path.

He'd found a cave set back into a lower set of mountains. He had no idea if they were part of the same chain or a different one, but unlike the mines this one did not seem to have jewel deposits; just a low hanging entrance that gradually grew taller until it widened into a cavern. It didn't look manmade, the walls rough stone and nothing to signify craftsmanship, and Lance took it as a good sign.

He hated the idea of being underground at all after living for however long with only rock to look at instead of sky, but it was a safe place to retreat to and if he were to gather some tree branches he could pretty much disguise it. He had done so and spent the majority of the day sleeping on another pile of hauled in grasses in a sort of nest. It was the most comfortable thing he'd felt in months. He hadn't wanted to sleep but his body had begged for it, his legs still aching from the running and the rest of him sore and exhausted.

He'd slept like a dead man and when he'd awoken it was definitely darker outside. Lance had refused to give into panic and had grabbed the blaster, which he thought still had decent charge but he couldn't read the symbols on the side to know for sure, and then following his trail of marks had gone back to the lake – a quarter mile away – and then further still through the forest the way he'd come, marking it now as he went.

He'd emerged much further down the slope than he'd gone into the treeline, but that was fine with him as the further he was from the mine the better he felt. He'd stuck to the edge of the forest, wary of any Toads who might be patrolling the stone road and on the lookout for him, but to his surprise there was no additional movement. They were apparently stupid and lazy in addition to beyond cruel. At least the first two could work for him.

His stomach growled again and Lance shushed it. His skin tingled unpleasantly as a light breeze stirred the air and goosebumps broke out on his exposed flesh. First order of business after locating a datapad and sending a distress call was clothes and then food. His stomach gurgled at the reminder.

He didn't dare rush in. The streets were empty as far as he could see but the houses - dwellings of an architecture he might have found pretty if they hadn't housed Toads - still had a number of lights on in both the lower and upper levels and he didn't dare risk getting caught now because of a little cold and hunger.

Patience yields focus. A bare smile quirked up his lips as he heard Shiro's intonation, the words devolving often into a mantra as his leader pinched the bridge of his nose and seemed to pray for said patience when dealing with some of their rowdier antics.

Lance couldn't wait to see them again.

He hugged his arms about himself, rubbing his hands on the raised flesh. Just a few more dobashes.

Nearly fifty dobashes later it was finally time to stop saying that. Nearly every set of lights had gone out save for a series of glowing stones - like the ones in the tunnels - that were embedded in monuments that acted as light posts.

Lance moved.

He crept noiselessly forward from the forest and onto the cobbled streets, heart racing with a mixture of anticipation and fear and blaster in hand.. Within a few ticks he was pressed up against the side of one house, hidden slightly from view by a large decorative stone statue next to the door. Trembling fingers reached out to the door knob and Lance sent up a quick prayer that it opened. Otherwise he'd have to resort to other methods that involved bashing out a window and he really would like to avoid the possible noise.

The knob turned and the door slid open without a sound, revealing a darkened interior. Lance gulped and stole inside, easing the door shut behind him. His eyes slowly adjusted to the weak moonlight coming in through the toned windows, which illuminated a sort of gathering room complete with large squishy looking poofs to sit upon and an assortment of knick-knacks. He didn't see any sort of datapad or computer set-up.

Lance bypassed it and headed further in, a short hall leading past a staircase and into a kitchen. It was not the sleek modern of Altean ones but it was more than a cookpot and sink. There was a basket sitting on the table with an assortment of what Lance could only assume was fruit.

His stomach demanded he eat it.

Lance cocked his head in the direction of upstairs where the inhabitants - from what he'd observed in his stakeout would be a male and female Toad (females, or so he gathered, had even larger broccoli ears and additional tufts on the crowns of their head making them look even more like a vegetable) and no children - would be sleeping. There was no sound.

Carefully he reached out and selected the first one he touched; a purplish round orb. A plum, maybe? He raised it to his lips and then tentatively took a bite.

A weak whine was pulled from him at the sheer taste as sweet and sugar and juices exploded on his tongue. Lance scarfed it down in a few bites, no pit his brain barely registered, and licked his fingers clean. He desperately wanted more but he had priorities first. But, he nodded at the bowl, he would be back.

The only other room on the lower level was what he guessed was the bathroom; a low tub taking up most of it with something he supposed was a toilet and a wash basin next to it. There were handles and he tentatively pressed on one, a dribble of water coming out of the spout. Plumbing existed here, good to know.

Unfortunately there was still no sign of a datapad and so he had no choice but to go upstairs. Lance swallowed. It was one thing to have killed the guards, it would be another entirely to kill an unarmed civilian. He'd bash them over the head, he decided, if it came to that, holding the blaster tighter. He didn't want to shed any more blood. Not if it could be prevented.

The stairs did not squeak, carved of stone, and Lance found himself in another short hall with two doors. He eased open the one closest to him, breath catching as it revealed the Toads, sprawled out on a low bed and large stomachs rumbling with their snores as they curled up against one another.

He scanned the room from here but other than a dresser on the far wall and a small table next to the bed, glowing with the lighted crystals, there was nothing. With a sinking feeling he moved to the other room, which revealed some sort of studio complete with an easel and a bevy of paint supplies and brushes.

No datapad.

He hoped he'd had the rotten luck to visit the one house that had older Toads who didn't believe in technology because otherwise… otherwise he was in trouble.

Okay, deep breath. He took several. No datapad here didn't mean this was a complete bust. He still needed clothes and food and those things were available. He'd just have to check another house. It would be fine. He was going to be fine. Everything was going to be just fine.

Lance didn't dare try to sneak into the Toads' bedroom to raid their dresser, so he made do with grabbing a clean dark brown painting tarp off the shelf and also nabbed a pair of scissors (or what he thought were scissors although the handles were huge). The studio also seemed to double as a linen closet and he snatched a pillow case from the stack and dumped his ill-gotten goods into it along with a towel that he spent perhaps a minute too long cuddling against his face and reveling in how soft it was.

He made his way back downstairs and grabbed another one of the fruits, propping the remaining ones up to hide their missing fellows. A small closet pantry held an assortment of goods in wrappers he didn't understand but he grabbed a couple from the back, praying they weren't freeze-dried flies or something of that nature.

A cursory check outside the windows revealed no one in the street and Lance, pillow case in one hand and blaster in the other, exited and carefully moved down the street to the next house. It too was unlocked (and a check on the door revealed there wasn't actually a lock and Lance silently snorted; they were so concerned with security and locking the slaves down for every minute outside of the two for the bathroom and here they couldn't even lock their front doors) and Lance crept in to the near identical house.

There was no datapad here either.

He ended up visiting four different homes, darting over to a second cluster just in case he'd found the senior citizens or something, but there was not a lick of technology to be found in any of the houses.

The fruit he'd eaten earlier churned unpleasantly in his stomach as reality sunk in.

There was no way for him to contact Voltron.

He knew the technology existed, but for whatever reason the citizens of this planet did not seem to be privy to it. He glanced up the large hill towards where the castle sat, lorded over by the king he heard the Toads often talk about with great reverence.

The castle would have technology.

It also had guards, he discovered upon making his way towards it.

A lot of guards.

Lance ducked down, heart hammering at the sight, but despite his head popping around the corner of a large archway that led to the path none of the guards seemed to have noticed him.

Even if he'd had his bayard Lance didn't think he could have taken them all out and they were too closely spaced around the entire front gate and wall to duck through. The back side was out as well as the castle sat atop a mountain of its own that a careful skirting around of the castle revealed and he had no hope of climbing up.

He was not getting into the castle undetected. And even if he did manage to get in, tripping alarms and alerting guards in the process, there was no guarantee he'd even be able to access their transmission system to send a message due to their security.

And that meant…

That meant he wasn't getting off this planet.

That meant he wasn't going to go home.

He was never going to go home.

A strangled sounding sob worked its way up his throat and he dropped the pillowcase to fist a hand against his mouth to hold it in, even though it was doubtful anyone could hear him out in the fields.

He'd failed. He'd gotten this far and it didn't even matter. All those months – years? – of pain and labor and dying hope were for nothing.

Hope.

He raised his head, ocean eyes blurred with tears.

That was right.

He'd only tried again, only tasted this freedom because of the hope that Hope had restored in him.

And she was still in the mines. She was still hurting and scared and lonely and he had made a promise to save her.

Maybe he couldn't get her off this planet but he could certainly get her out of the mines. He could get all the slaves out of the mines.

What came after that he had no idea but he knew he'd have done anything to breathe fresh air again and see the sky and to escape the chains. Surely they would be the same. Surely they would all wish to join him in even this extent of freedom where their lives were their own.

Lance picked up his dropped bag and straightened, squaring his shoulders.

He had no idea what the future would hold except for one thing. And that thing? That would be a jailbreak. Or, well, mine break but a jailbreak sounded way cooler.

Either way things were about to break.

And maybe…

He grinned sharply.

Maybe they'd blow up a little too.

Chapter Text

It had been obvious early on that the jewels were the basis for the Toads' livelihood. Lance had noticed on good days, where a deposit was found or a particularly beautiful gemstone was cleaned and unearthed that the Toads were not quite kinder, but were a little less prone to shows of violence. They spoke often, not caring if the slaves overheard or not, about values and markets and current demands or deals their king had made.

They relied on the jewels.

And therefore, they relied on the slaves.

Unfortunately, whatever value they got for their precious gems outweighed the life of a slave as other than Doctor Day there was practically no effort to keep them alive and one slave was as good as another. Lance had only seen one exception since he'd come here; a larger alien, as large as the Toads in girth but resembling more of a rhino but with no horns and huge paws that almost looked like shovels that he'd taken to calling Stampede.

Stampede had been injured in a mine blast, part of the ceiling coming down on his group. The Toads had had them free all of the slaves but while two that had been badly crushed had been shot on sight – Lance would never forget the sound of Petunia's terrified squeals and way her hooves had scrambled into some semblance of a prayer as the blaster was leveled at her head – they had taken Stampede away and two days later he had been back, a swathing of bandages upon him and the guards had not even bothered him for sport for the whole week.

Some, Lance learned then, were more valuable than others, just as the jewels.

And, he'd discovered upon his escape attempts, he may for whatever reason be one of them. He could think of no other reason why they had not just killed him on sight, showed the other slaves that there was no escaping them.

It might have been his eyes. He'd always said he was the team's sharpshooter because of his impeccable aim, but a large part of that came from his eyesight. He saw things that others didn't. Openings, emotions, flaws, secrets… Hunk may be known as the nosy one but Lance knew if he wanted to he could say a lot about what his teammates kept hidden (or thought they did).

In the mines his eyes had led him from the assigned section directly in front of him to ones he would pivot to, following an anomaly in the stone and more often than not revealed a deposit and one time the golden ore line. When he'd found that he had avoided beatings for almost a week.

He spotted defects in the uncovered jewels when he cleaned and polished them, setting them aside from the true beauties. After the punishment from going to slow, Lance turned out to be one of the quicker sorters, nimble fingers dancing around the gem and eyes cataloguing every facet.

He hated that he had become that.

It didn't really spare him the beatings or the punishments. It didn't grant him extra favors or comforts. All it did was help the Toads and their economy and yet he couldn't stop himself. Finding that ore line, carefully polishing a perfect stone until it nearly glowed were the few satisfactions and brief moments of feeling something other than despair and pain that existed down here. He couldn't give that up. He honestly couldn't have even if he'd wanted to.

It also told him that unless he died in a mining accident or from over exhaustion or became so mangled that there was no hope of repairing him, just like Stampede he was not going to get out of here from a blaster to the head. It was both a comfort and a horror.

And all he could do was keep on as he had been. He listened whenever the Toads would speak, hoping something they said would be of use to him. Some indication of where he was, the size of the town, the disposition of the rest of their people.

It was always jewels. Eight of the red jewels had brought in four new slaves. The gold ore vein had secured the next month's entire food stock. The small bright white gems had been inlaid by some craftsman in town and had gone for such a sum that they were hiring contractors to repave road to the palace.

Jewels, jewels, jewels.

But…

Everything on this planet was dependent upon the jewels.

Which were dependent upon the slaves.

Which…

Which meant that if there were no slaves.

Then there were no jewels.

And then there was no livelihood for the Toads.

Which would mean no more Toads.

Lance had smiled sadly and shaken his head. It all meant nothing. Not to a bound and chained slave like him.

And trembling fingers had reached for another jewel.

xxx

It all may have meant nothing then but right now it meant everything.

The idea had come to Lance that evening after he'd made his way back to his cave and had been laying out his stolen supplies.

Supplies that the Toads purchased with their jewels that the slaves mined for them.

Supplies that they could only get with jewels. Lance had seen, in his perusal of the town and escapades through the forest and fields, no signs of agriculture or livestock, indicating that they did not grow any of their own food. He had seen a few more studios in the homes so it seemed as though the Toads here were skilled with artistry of a sort but other than that?

Nothing.

There were no stores despite the fact he'd circled the entire town when he came back away from the castle. No restaurants. No clinics.

There had been parks with beautiful archways and gleaming pools decorated with fountains. There were paintings and murals and carefully tended flower arrangements.

But that was it.

The Toads exported nothing except the jewels and craft made from them and imported everything else.

Take away the jewels… and the Toads had nothing.

And nothing meant they couldn't continue as they had been. They couldn't buy more slaves.

No one else would have to suffer the fate he and the others had.

And all the ones that had already tasted the Toads greed and rage… he would free them and they could live out the rest of their lives as peacefully as they could.

As much as it pained Lance to wait, he knew it would be best to enact his plan in the overnight hours, which meant he had to wait an entire day. It was simple in concept but he knew it would likely not go so smoothly and the cover of darkness and less guards (assuming they hadn't increased ranks) stationed by the slaves the better.

He would go in hopefully undetected and make his way to the mining area first which should be empty at the late hour (although he had no idea if they stationed guards in the hall and in that case he'd be firing his blaster a little sooner than planned upon). He'd commandeer the explosives they used in the tunnel making and set some of them to go off in about twenty dobashes and destroy what he could of the mining setup.

Then he'd go to the slaves' quarters. He'd kill the few guards stationed in the room; he knew exactly where they would be and the blaster would easily have enough charge to take them out.

Then he'd grab their guns and keys and free the slaves chained to their pallets, arm the ones that looked like they could fire the gun and then hightail it out of there, setting more explosives as he went along the hall.

Once they were all out he would set the last few charges at the front of the mine and then blow the whole thing up. He doubted it would actually bring down the mountain but it would hopefully be enough to block in the entrance. He'd trap the Toads who survived the other detonations in there for at least a while and halt the mining operation for a good chunk of time.

It wouldn't be over then. Not if he wanted to topple the Toads economy and prevent them from being able to buy any more slaves to just start the process again of digging out their mine.

But that would be enough for now. He would focus on the other steps later.

Right now was freeing Hope and the other slaves. Of giving them their first taste of freedom in however many months they'd been down in the mines and Hope the tightest hug he could manage.

Everything else would come later.

Lance didn't waste the morning and afternoon though. After another solid night of sleep, hidden in the cave and away from any search parties although he doubted at this point they were coming, he'd spent the daylight hours fashioning himself a sort of long tunic shirt that he tightened at the waist so it didn't look like he was wearing a giant bag.

He did know the basics of sewing but no matter how hard he looked he had been unable to find anything resembling a needle or thread. Clothes were apparently all imported too and none of the homes he visited did needlemaking. He'd ended up holding it together with a sap from one of the trees that seemed to work as a very thick adhesive.

The tarp was not the softest of materials but it was sturdy and despite the rough edges on his armsleeves and neck hole (the scissors were not made for human hands and his cutting had been very jagged) that descended a little further down his chest than he'd have liked, it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever worn because it was his.

He'd had no choice but to keep the threadbare pants for the moment as without them he'd be running around with nothing down there and while the tunic did cut to mid-thigh… his cheeks darkened thinking about it.

He'd debated trying to cut his hair; it wasn't half as long as Keith's horrible mullet, but it was shaggier than he'd like and his bangs were starting to hang long again, but after the (not quite success) of cutting the tarp he decided he'd rather not slice his head open. He had tried out the towel though, along with a bar of soap he'd nabbed from one bathroom.

It had been heavenly. The cold water didn't even bother him as he'd splashed around in the lake, a light sort of fruity scent emitting from the soap and he lathered himself so much he'd created small waves of foam about him. The towel was as soft as it looked and Lance had spent probably too long of a time wearing it wrapped about his waist as he drip-dried in the afternoon sun, relishing the way it warmed his skin and brought a hint of mocha back to the pallor he had developed in the mines.

The one thing the water did reveal though that he wished it hadn't was the sheer amount of scars covering him. He'd known it was a lot; he'd seen his torso and arms whenever he'd lost his shirt and was forced to go without.

But they were everywhere. Long ones, thick ones, brown and pink and white. He'd caught sight of a few strips across the back of his shoulder blades, on the small of his back from when he'd twisted to look. They were accented by bruises in varying colors and burn marks and scratches and some still healing lacerations.

His face was one of the only untouched things, save for a small scar just above his right eyebrow that he'd bet had been from a piece of flying rock. It was hardly noticeable though unless you were really looking and for that he was grateful.

But it still made him feel sick.

He'd pulled his tunic on then to hide the ugly sight of his torso, arms wrapped tightly about his stomach in as much a hug as he could give.

All of those scars still had nothing on his lost voice, marked physically by the two long thin raised lines that ran from his collarbone and up the length of his neck.

Here, out in the open without fear of retaliation from the guards for making noise, he'd tried speaking. Screaming. Crying. The latter yielded a sort of garbled whining noise along with heavy sniffling from his nose, which worked just fine. He could still make panting noises and gasps and click his tongue loudly against his teeth.

Whistling too, still worked. He had spent several minutes doing so until he'd silenced himself as besides the Toads he had no idea what other creatures might live on this planet and he didn't really want to attract anything that saw him as dinner.

But his voice was gone. His words his laugh, even humming… all gone. Devoiced, they'd called it. He at the very least had that knowledge since he'd woken up on the lab table. He doubted most understood at all what had happened to them and that was probably worse.

It still didn't make his own situation better.

But he was about to make everyone's better. He may not be a Paladin of Voltron right now – and, he wondered sometimes what had they done when they couldn't find him. Were they still looking? Had they found a replacement? He hated how such a thought made his heart hurt even though he knew such a course of action was necessary for the universe – but he could still help people. He could still save them.

Thanks to Hope he had the spark to try once more.

And now he was doing it.

He'd made his way without trouble back to the mine, the dark color of his new tunic blending near seamlessly with the tall grasses and the patchy stone. There were no Toads stationed outside of the mine and he'd entered without issue, bare feet landing silently on the paved stone.

Unlike during his escape his breath was not coming out in those desperate gasps but was quiet, barely a whisper. He felt in control this time. Ready. The nearly two days of freedom had done something to him; given him back the peace of mind that had allowed him for hours before to wait for the perfect moment to take a shot.

And this time he had a plan. A really good one, he thought. He knew the layout this time around, as even in his heart-stopping escape his eyes had tracked the curves of the tunnel, the location of each offshoot and room. So long as he got past what seemed to be the guards' rest area of a sort he should be in the clear.

He moved quicker this time along the path, ears straining for any sound of boots on stone or the guttural laughter he'd come to despise.

Nothing.

He passed on from the stonelaid floor to the rough stone and dust where the lighting grew dimmer. It was almost too dark after two days outside in the actual sunlight and Lance blinked rapidly to readjust to it.

This part of the path was longer with more winding paths cut off to the sides where slaves had once worked before moving even deeper into the mountain. He bypassed abandoned work stations and what was likely once a slaves quarters before the work progressed deeper in.

He continued further into an area that was intrinsically familiar; the slave quarters that he'd lived his entire time in to the right and down the widened tunnel and then just past it the offshoot to the bathroom he'd used to escape last time. A couple hundred yards later he saw the whipping pole and the mesh netting and hurried past them even faster, stomach and back aching at the memory.

And beyond that, about a quarter mile down, was the current mining operation. It was there that he hurried to, hands tightening on the blaster and empty pillowcase bouncing against his leg at the sudden change in pace.

There were no guards.

Lance let out a loud breath that he immediately regretted, but there was no reaction anywhere around him. The mines were not occupied here. The lights were fortunately still on (Lance had a feeling they never actually turned off as they certainly didn't in the sleeping quarters) and he hurried past the jewel sorting table – empty now of gems – and further into the deeper part of the active mine.

They'd been focusing less on blasting out new spots as there were plenty of areas to mine right now, but the charges for blowing out more stubborn areas were always on hand. And, Lance's grin sharpened, there they were.

He'd only used them twice himself as he was not often on the excavation crew, but they were simple enough in theory. They were nowhere half as advanced as an Altean version would be but they were a step up from the cartoon dynamite and lighting a fuse. There were three knobs on each charge, which was the shape of a brick and about the size of Lance's hand, that could be turned to a detonation sequence.

There we no numbers but Lance had paid enough attention to figure out the approximate times. The green was for two minutes and meant for quick projects, the blue just shy of ten and the red nearly twenty for when they were to be laid deeper into the tunnels. Lance knew that one firsthand as he had been forced to crawl and place those ones as he was more slender than most of the slaves down here.

He was loathe to let go of the gun but it was foolish to handle the charges as anything but death blocks and he needed both hands. He carefully set the blaster on the ground behind him, heart leaping into his throat, and proceeded to untie the pillowcase and shake it out.

Very, very carefully he began to load up the charges into the bag, doublechecking each one to make sure it was set to the gray knob of "off." He ended up with thirty-two total in the bag and left eight out.

Licking suddenly dry lips Lance held one of the remainder in his hands. Once he set it… he would have less than twenty minutes to get down the hall, take out the guards, free the prisoners and get out of the mine all while setting more charges along the way.

He could abandon this plan. Just free the slaves and get out and leave the mines intact. But that would just invite the king to buy more slaves, for more people to suffer. No. He had to do this and this would be his one opportunity.

With a shuddering exhale Lance set the charge to red. He placed them all about the entrance to this section of the mine tunnel and along the one wall where they looked to be in the process of building supports but had not finished.

He gave a nod at his handiwork, several dull red pulses greeting him, and took off back the way he came, blaster in one hand and the other holding the bag of charges as steady as he could from where he'd retied them on his belt, hating how the entire thing was tugging uncomfortably on his tunic.

He paused three times to set more twenty minute charges the length of the hall on his way to the slaves quarters, one on each side of the hall.

Oh Dios, he hoped this worked.

It was right outside the entrance to the bathroom offshoot that he paused and slid his bag of explosives to the ground. There was no noise coming from beyond as it was well into the night now and everyone save the four guards on duty should be asleep.

He was about to send them into a permanent one. His hands were sweaty on the blaster as despite having done so already and committed to killing again it wasn't such an easy thing to simply do. In practice, yes, just a push of the trigger but in theory? No.

But he was on a literal countdown now and he had no time to waste. It would be over in less than ten ticks.

And go.

Leaden feet surged forwards, stepping out from the alcove into the room. He took in the slaves, hunkered down on the floor in one blink and the four guards, stationed in each corner in the next.

Two were dead before they'd even had time to realize he was there, the third managing to pivot on his seat and the fourth raising his blaster with a strangled croak before a beam got him between the eyes before he could fire.

Six seconds.

The only sound as Lance's last shot fell away were the thumps as the bodies hit the floor and the clanking of chains as two slaves who had been awake – Amber and Stampede – sat up. Amber's eyes were not narrowed as normal but wide with something Lance had only seen in himself a few days ago.

Hope.

He offered her a tight smile as he stepped fully into the room, gun still at the ready, and while she did not return it there was a tremble to her lips. As Lance made his way to the closest guard to relieve him of his keys, he was grateful to see both other slaves begin to rouse those around them and within the minute the clanking of chains and harsh gasps and some sounds of crying began to sound about the room.

Lance turned and pressed a finger to his lips, hoping the universal sign for quiet applied and to his relief many stifled their cries and the worst of the clanking stopped.

There were so many slaves to unchain – forty-six total – but Lance only had eyes for one little girl as she was roused by her neighbor, yellow eyes glowing in the dimmer light. They caught his and a smile brighter than any sun stretched across her face, a soundless word passing her lips.

Lance wasted no more time, kneeling next to her pallet with the key and a moment later the chain was falling loose from her manacled hand. Before it could even hit the ground he was reaching forward, wrapping his arms about Hope's small but broad shoulders and having to blink back hot tears as he felt her own rough hands encircle around him.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her bumpy head, gave her one last squeeze, and then released her despite how hard that action was, but they didn't have time to linger.

When he looked back to the rest of the room though it was not impatience he saw in the faces but a softness, even to Amber. Hope had clearly not only brought out the best in him.

He moved quickly then through the ranks, unlocking cuffs and two others – Kuzco and Marble – took it upon themselves to relieve other guards of their keys and Stampede and Lemonade grabbed blasters. Lance dropped his probably nearly empty one and took up a third and handed the fourth to Zebra, who with steady hoof-like hands had nodded her head and shouldered it with a look of determination.

To Lance's relief, everyone remained in the room once freed even though they all had bunched closer together with Hope safely ensconced in the middle. He inclined his head towards the door and made his way towards it. They all fell into a line behind him, their de facto leader.

Lance paused to retrieve the bag of explosives and set about handing them out to slaves with free hands, their own eyes widening in surprise and then settling into a grim realization. There were nods and some fellow harsh smiles.

They moved as quickly as Lance dared with such a large group, as no matter how hard they tried that many bodies were going to make noise as feet – and a two of the aliens had hoof-like ones – tapped the ground and clothing rustled but otherwise they were pretty silent.

It didn't take them long to realize Lance's plan with the charges and every hundred yards or so two slaves would set the charges, now on the ten minute mark, at opposite points in the tunnel.

They had about four minutes now by Lance's count from when he'd set the first charges and he ushered them forward with a bit more haste, only slowing when they were about to encounter any of the blind curves.

It was around one such bend that they spotted the first Toads, likely en route to swap out with the nighttime guard.

Lance didn't pause even as he felt his heart rate spike as all four of the guards went for their own guns with shouts of alarm that would likely rouse others.

He shot two through the head before they could even lift their guns and he was surprised to feel the heat of a laser come from behind him and past. Zebra took out her guard with a single shot through its large mouth and Stampede laid down a small barrage that sent the fourth one down in a pulpy mess. Lance's stomach turned as green ichor oozed on the ground and he was relieved when Dorito placed one of his large orange wings on the side of Hope's head to block her from the gore.

He gestured for them to move quicker now and they needed no second urging. The blasts had not been silent but they did have the advantage of the guards all likely being asleep. They had a couple minutes but they were going to need all of those. Fortunately, they had hit the paved floor and it was but another minute at the current pace to the edge of the tunnel.

Lance saw the moment his fellow now former slaves smelled the fresh air, felt the breeze waft on their faces. Despite the direness of their circumstances he felt a smile bloom as similar expressions crossed their faces, weariness giving way to a hope and peace.

Yes.

This was right.

A moment later they were stepping out of the mountain and onto the path, blue moon shining above and night air crisp and welcoming after the cloying halls of the mines. Lance nudged Zebra, who had remained on his flank the entire time and he knew he had not been remiss in giving her one of the weapons as her jewel-black eyes spoke of someone who had seen battle before, towards the grasses.

She made a whuffling sound of confirmation through her muzzle and began to usher the aliens into said grasses. Stampede and Lemonade remained next to him, guns trained inside the dark mine while Lance knelt and dug out the last six remaining charges, flipping them all to the two-minute switch.

A pair of brown hands took one from him and he looked up, Amber looking down at him. She nodded and began to place the charges in higher spots than he could reach on the mine entrance and he placed his lower on the face. Within the minute they were done and Lance stumbled back to his feet, empty pillowcase in one hand and blaster back in the other, and down the side of the mountain after the other slaves.

The three who had remained with him hurried to follow. They all knew the potency of the blast and you did not want to be next to one when it went off without proper shielding. They'd just set six.

They were about halfway to the treeline when Lance felt the first rumble shake the ground. It wasn't from the cave mouth entrance though and he smiled grimly. That would be the first charges then.

A moment later a near concussive blast rolled beneath them and Lance would have fallen had Stampede not caught him by the back of his tunic and held him steady.

That would be the front of the mountain.

Lance turned to watch it, unable to look away from the destruction as one after the other the charges went off, each one sending a new ripple through the ground and a thunderous crash as rocks tumbled down and dust rose and the faintest sound of possible screaming could be heard before it was overwhelmed by more explosions and rocks falling.

Only when the bursts of explosions seemed to stop did Lance turn his back on the mountain and look towards the trees where the slaves had also all stopped, some in the process of picking themselves back up.

He didn't quite know where he was going to go from here. The future was uncertain and as obscured as the mines covered in debris and dust behind him.

There was no going back now. The only way to go was forward.

And so Lance did.

Chapter Text

Caring for forty-seven people himself included was just as difficult as Lance imagined it would be.

It was also, he thought with a smile as he wiped a hand across his sweaty forehead from digging out a section of their garden plot, absolutely worth it. Ocean eyes looked out over the camp they had all made for themselves; tent-like structures built of trees and boughs took up one section outside the cave where many chose to sleep rather than inside the rock walls, even though they had been decorated with pebble inlays and wreathes of sticks and leaves.

The cave they used mostly to store their stolen food and supplies as untouched by the sun and elements it was the most convenient place to do so, although they had another tent structure outside designed to hold both towels and cloths for bathing as well as an assortment of stolen clothes and tarps and the like that they were still constantly trying to find ways to outfit themselves. It hadn't rained once yet in the twenty-six days they'd been out – and Lance had been marking that time with tick marks inside the cave – and if the skies ever looked like they might they could move their textiles in then.

There was always a full guard on watch in any event, so be it weather or Toads they would be ready. Sort of. They only had eight blasters and there had been no luck in procuring any from the town when they'd gone in as the citizens were not armed. But it had not yet mattered as no Toads had come after them.

Lance wasn't sure why. If he'd been in the king's shoes he'd have sent an army to roust them out. Perhaps the Toads were ill-equipped to really fight outside of bludgeoning chained slaves, but there would be plenty of mercenaries happy to do the job for a price.

Lance grinned then. He knew why there were no mercenaries at least.

The king had no money.

It had been one of the first things he'd communicated to the slaves (and communication was hard too as no one here spoke the same language written into the ground with sticks and they were all voiceless) through a series of gestures and pictograms of jewels, the castle and whatever else came to mind to get across that he wanted to stop the king from buying any more slaves. To do that they needed to steal all of the remaining jewels that Lance intrinsically knew would be housed in the castle, although how they were going to do that was anyone's guess.

But his fellow ex-slaves had surprised him. Lemur, as Lance had guessed accurately by his naming of him, was an excellent climber and had indicated he would scale the mountain back with a long length of rope, procured from Lance's raids in town that only he allowed himself to go on despite the eagerness of the others. For while they Toads had not stepped up security in town from just him on the run, it was crawling with guards now and the more people involved the more dangerous it would become.

And it was becoming dangerous for sure, but not as much as Lance had expected because the Toads? They had no idea what to do. That was the gist Lance was getting from his forays into town and eavesdropping while hiding in the woods and waiting for darkness. Nothing like this had ever happened before and he was pleased his hunch had been correct; the Toads were not fighters. They had not yet once tried to venture towards where the slaves had vanished into the forest and the talk seemed to be because they didn't know how to try and fight back (as well as the fact there was some confusion as to who had blown up the mine and if the slaves were trapped inside or if they had rebelled and done it).That and none of them had apparently ever ventured from the town and mine so the forest terrain, despite being part of their home planet, was as foreign to them as it was to the now freed slaves. Lance couldn't believe such a bunch of incompetent idiots had managed for so long, but he supposed on the same token that's how sheer numbers of Toads and hopelessness in the slaves evened it all out. He silently thanked Hope again for what she had done for them all.

Lance had spent every evening since the escape sneaking back into the town, Zebra accompanying him to wait on the outskirts with a ready blaster and a keen eye, and collecting food, bandages, clothing, towels, and everything he could get his hands on. While the Toads didn't have rope in the traditional sense the curtains they all hung in their front rooms were of a thick burlap texture and Lance had been happily snatching sets of those from every home to use instead. He had wanted to go the next day before the Toads could really regroup, but the mine collapse had created quite the confusion and it had taken two days for the Toads to really spot the path that almost fifty people had made cutting through the grasses (no hiding that). Lance took full advantage of the confusion and on day three had determined they had collected enough curtains to make the rope and continue onto the next phase.

Lance didn't necessarily like stealing, but it was a necessity right now as they had nothing and although they were working to plant the seeds from the fruits and vegetables he'd taken none of them had any idea how long it would take to grow for their own use, not to mention the need for clothing and bandages and salves to care for the open wounds that most of them sported.

But the main thing they had needed to steal was the jewels, as with them the king could just replace the missing supplies and his missing slaves.

So Lemur had gone up the back of the mountain with the rope and Lance, Zebra, Kuzco, Marble, Snoopy and Stampede, armed with both blasters in some cases and empty pillowcases in others, had traversed it once it was secured. The back of the castle was still unguarded and Lance had felt Marble's eyeroll at that and he'd shared a small grin with her.

Kuzco was apparently a master lockpick – even if Lance had had his voice he knew not to ask why the dark haired sort of llama-looking bipedal had never tried to escape as those eyes were heavy with regret and pain – and armed with a set of small twigs he'd sharpened to various points with the weird scissors, he'd jimmied open a vent covering and in they went, Stampede barely fitting but shoving his broader shoulders in anyways.

Entering the actual castle was one of the scariest things Lance had ever done and he had never been so grateful for the vent to emerge them in a back hall unpopulated by anyone. They hadn't had any idea of where to go then but Snoopy had taken point, tapping his large nose, and led them through the winding halls. Lance left a little "L" marking carved into the wall at each junction so they could find their way back.

Snoopy could apparently smell out nearly any scent and while Lance wasn't sure what he was sniffing – jewels didn't have scents but the cleaning material they used on them did and maybe? – he brought them by the end to a large vaulted looking door.

There were several Toads stationed outside of it.

Lance and Zebra took down all six before they even had a chance to aim their own blasters. Lance's stomach had twinged at the wash of fear that had stolen across one Toad's face before a headshot took him out.

He'd done that. He'd made himself into a monster to them.

Lance had shoved the queasy stomach and thought away as he relieved the Toads of their blasters and Kuzco set about opening the vault, large ear pressed against the door to listen to the tumblrs. The Toads were bad people who had done horrible things. At least their deaths had been quick and painless. It was more mercy than they'd ever show a slave.

They were lucky that the vault was not encrypted entry like the datapads. Lance had tried asking, sketching out a keypad in the dirt, to see if anyone here had any hacking knowledge. He'd gotten only head shakes of either confusion or a negative answer. He'd tried not to be too disappointed as had they had someone who understood technology in that regard they could have reached out to Voltron then and been able to actually go home.

Lance hadn't wanted to give up so easily. Not when they were in the castle and he was so close to the possibility of reaching his team. He'd taken Lemur with him to scout out more of the castle while the others waited on Kuzco, desperately hoping to find some communication center or loading dock with a ship.

The loading dock had been a bust as the Toads apparently had an airfield but not any ships of their own. They hired ships as they did everything else. Lance shouldn't have been so surprised but he was still disappointed.

The communication room he had found, to his utter excitement, but it had fallen a moment later as every screen in the room was fixed with a rotating string of numbers and unlike the datapads there weren't going to be any notifications that popped up to unlock it. He hadn't dared even attempt to guess a random string in case it set off an alarm and really, he had no idea what even to guess.

He'd already acknowledged the fact he was not getting off this planet in his lifetime, but having it so close and yet so far out of reach was like a punch to the gut, a reminder of all he had already lost and would never see again. He'd pressed one slender hand to the console, feeling the hum, and could picture Hunk standing next to him, Pidge on his other side and both talking technical jargon that he could not follow but loved to listen to because it made them happy.

Only Lemur's tugging on his arm had jolted him back to what reality actually was and he'd given an apologetic nod and left the room and back towards the others and the vault.

Kuzco had gotten it open and the others were already inside, Stampede standing guard. He'd met Lance's eyes and he'd shaken his head, already reining in the worst of his disappointment. It was as he'd already concluded. He wasn't going to get off this planet but he was going to make the best of the situation. And that right now was making sure no other alien ever ended up here as a slave again.

They emptied the vault, leaving a pile of forty-seven cut off manacles displaying prisoner numbers inside to replace the gems.

It took several long trips, having to drag the jewel bags behind them down the vent before they hefted them over the side of the mountain to where a bunch of other slaves waited below to intercept them, but they took every. Single. Last. Jewel.

In a moment of vindictive glee, Lance had carved the "L" he'd been using to mark their path into the vault doors as they closed them, reminiscent of Zoro. Ha. He'd started using it then on every home he raided, feeling a bit like a real life Robin Hood.

The king and his Toads would not be buying any more slaves. They would not be hiring mercenaries to hunt them down. They would not be able to care for themselves.

Their only option was to dig out the mine themselves and start over as their own laborers (and Lance had seen their pitiful attempts at digging already and after two days they'd managed to clear a few boulders from the front and there were thousands more where those came from hopefully clogging the halls; Lance tried not to think of how many Toads had been killed in the explosion and collapse and told himself again it had been necessary and they had deserved nothing less). And if they chose that path Lance wouldn't interfere, unless they used the uncovered gems to then buy more slaves. But he knew from his own time in there that they damage the explosives had wrought would be beyond extensive. It would take years for them to get through.

He personally hoped they gave up. He hoped they pooled whatever resources that remained and hired a transport ship and left the planet. Then he and the rest of the ex-slaves could leave here, peacefully. Maybe someday a kind ship would stop and they'd be willing to take them somewhere else (or they could pay them with their stolen jewels). Maybe if the castle was left operational Lance would find a distress beacon signal or go through every combination of code until he unlocked the right one to send a transmission.

Those were a lot of maybes. They were still more hopeful than anything previous and Lance would hold to them.

And if he never left, if he never saw his family again… well… he would just have to make a new one here.

As if summoned there was the stampeding sound of tiny feet and Lance didn't even have a chance to brace himself before Hope was launching and tackling him into the upchurned garden with a sort of breathless squeal.

Lance was knocked flat on his back and Hope perched on his stomach, bouncing up and down – and he would never tell a lady she was heavy, child or no, but owwww – and extended her hands out to him, a grin taking up her entire face.

Inside her rough hands was a small polished stone and Lance knew without explanation it had come from the lake. As his fellow aliens had seen, Lance loved the water. When he wasn't working on fortifying their camp or showing ex-slaves how to hold the blaster and fire or sneaking back into town for supplies, he was at the lake splashing around and losing himself for at least a few minutes in the familiar sensation of water about his skin and carding through his hair.

The stone was prettier than any jewel he'd ever laid eyes on, a dark blue with a very pale near white streak through it that resembled a V. His breath caught. It looked like the Voltron symbol.

Hope held it out more towards him with an excited sort of grunting noise and he carefully sat up, sliding her down his stomach onto his legs, and gently took it between his thumb and index finger.

Tears came unbidden to his eyes as he held it up, the sun washing through its near opalescent color now and making the V seem to glow. A small hand was on his cheek a moment later, the excitement faded away to concern as Hope brushed at his tears and glanced between his face and the stone that he'd clutched into his palm.

In answer Lance wrapped her up in a hug, burying his face in the rough fabric of the dress Plaid had made for her to hide his tears although his shoulders would not stop shaking.

He didn't even know really why he was crying over this and it just made him sob harder, broken gasps choking his throat and his nose tingling unpleasantly. He was aware that he was drawing attention as more hands and paws descended on his shoulders and in his hair, soothing caresses and murmured sounds of comfort.

He cried harder.

He had to stop. He couldn't afford to break down. He hadn't let himself do so once since he'd freed everyone because he had been made their leader by his actions and they looked to him for guidance and leadership.

He could not go to pieces like this. He had to remain strong. Just like Shiro. It didn't matter that he was still a kid. He wasn't one anymore, not really. He'd seen too much, endured too much, to be considered a child even if his seventeen – eighteen? – years still made him one.

By the time he was finally able to get his hiccupping breaths under control and lift his eyes from Hope's completely damp shoulder, it was to see that every single ex-slave had gathered around. He felt his face flame even more than the blotched cheeks had done, but there was not a hint of judgment in any of the gazes and several were tear-lined liked his own.

Someone tapped his shoulder and he turned slightly to see Amber, hers one of the many hands that was pressed against his back. She opened her free hand to show her palm and held it out towards his own clenched fist.

Lance uncurled his own fingers, revealing the stone.

Amber took it.

Lance must have made some sort of expression because Amber sent him a smile, a real smile, that was soft if sad and she patted his back with her other hand. She lifted the stone up towards her own neck and held it there, raising an inquiring eye brow.

Lance blinked, confused.

Lemur was there then, holding out a loose thread from his tarp-tunic to make a sort of loop above the stone and Lance understood.

A necklace. Amber wanted to make him a necklace.

More tears swam blurred his vision and he heard her make a sort of throaty sounding laugh, although there was no ill intent behind it, her amber eyes dancing. He managed a nod of consent.

That was the signal for everyone to get back to what they had been doing, but none went immediately to their tasks. Each one stopped, offering Lance a shoulder squeeze or a pat on the head and a sign of understanding, of thanks, that made his eyes sting for the third time.

After a few minutes it was just him and Hope and she scrambled off his legs although remained by his side as he pulled himself to standing, dusting the soft dirt from his clothes. She captured his hand before he could return to the improvised shovel they had made from sheet rock and logs and pulled him after her towards her "play" area of loose rocks and carved lines after Lance had demonstrated hopscotch.

Lance had looked over his shoulder at his unfinished work, but Dorito waved at him with a long orange wing in the direction of Hope and Lance had needed no further urging.

Later that night, while they were eating their meal of stolen fruit and chewing on pieces of rough bark that Marble had assured them were edible (even if they didn't taste very good but they couldn't be picky), Amber had approached with an almost giddy step.

Everyone had been watching as she seated herself across from Lance and just as Hope had done opened her hand to show what was inside.

The stone was wrapped about with thin pieces of silver wire (he'd stolen some of the crafting supplies on a whim for Hope to play with but other ex-slaves had been taking to it with a gusto to create decorations and details for their new home and clothes) with a loop at the top and in such a way that it didn't pull away from the wavy V symbol. It was threaded then through with a thick brown cord that had been intricately knotted to seal the loop.

It was beautiful.

Amber was stretching the necklace over his head before Lance could even blink and the stone came to nestle on his chest, gleaming against brown skin. He raised a hand to it, rubbing his fingers over the smoothness of the stone, the detailing of the wire, and looked up to meet Amber's eyes, a silent 'thank you' on his lips and a nod and smile on hers.

Lip reading was hard here; even if they all somehow spoke the same universal language not everyone had the same lip structure or typical mouths at all (beaks and muzzles and large fangs) but Lance tried anyway, looking about the assembled slaves. They nodded and smiled back at him, Lance picking out a "welcome" or "thank you" from a few of them.

His hand tightened over the stone, which almost seemed to be pulsing with a warmth that was filling him from the inside out.

He had indeed found a new family.

xxx

Something was wrong.

Lance could feel the prickle on the back of his neck as he crouched with Zebra on the outskirts of the town.

Forty-two days of freedom later had resulted in thirty-six evenings of raids. The six unaccounted for were because on those nights the Toads had finally tried raiding parties of their own, crashing into the forest with all the grace of a baby elephant. They had been stopped before they'd even caught sight of the camp each time. They were just not soldiers. They were bullies and torturers but they had no actual fighting skill or knowledge even of their own forests. But they came anyway. It almost felt wrong killing them but Lance knew they would not be shown any sympathy if they were caught.

Lance could understand their desperation. He'd seen it in town when he visited; the fear as the citizens hurried through the guard-lined streets (guards that were becoming smaller in number with each visit after one of their attempted attacks) and the way there was much less food in the homes and none of it fresh. The Toads had taken to blockading their doors and locks had been installed in nearly every home, but Lance just used the windows that did not have such latches and they had yet to catch on.

The Toads were scared.

Lance both hated and delighted in it.

With every passing day he hoped this would be the one where the Toads gave up, where they boarded a hired transport ship (they had no ships of their own or he'd have already tried to commandeer it) and left the planet behind.

And although the town was eerily quiet right now, Lance did not think that was what had happened. It seemed so…. Sudden. Too perfect.

But facts were facts. There were no guards patrolling the roads, no lights on save for the glowing rocks of the street lamps.

Even the castle was dark.

This could be it.

Lance backed away from the quiet town and skirted around it towards the castle, pulling the hood of his cloak Plaid had made for him down tighter as he shivered in both the night air and the sudden adrenaline mixed with fear and hope racing through him.

No guards.

Not a single one was lined up across the gate that led to the castle's winding front path.

They really were gone.

It was still too early to celebrate. Lance gestured for Zebra to stay put, hidden still in the long grasses and spattered trees. He'd just take a quick look. He could make it up the path pretty quick and he was nearly invisible with his black cloak and the moon hidden behind cloud cover tonight.

Just a peek.

And…

And if it was actually abandoned then…

Then he could try and get a signal to Voltron.

His heart leapt into his throat. This could be it.

He carefully stepped out of the cover and onto the cobbled street, blaster clutched tight in his hands.

Nothing happened.

He cocked his head, straining to hear any sort of sound. The Toads always had a sort of throaty breathing to them that they could not seem to control.

Still nothing.

He eased himself from the shadows and further onto the path, heart thumping as loud as it had when he had made his final escape. He willed it to be quiet as he crept forward towards the archway and wall.

Every near soundless but still too loud noise of his bare feet – shoes had been something they had had no luck with yet – had him wincing and holding his breath, but nothing else moved.

He halted his trek right on the last stone pillar before the expanse of clear courtyard between it and the normally guarded wall. Once there he would be completely out in the open.

Lance took a deep breath. That didn't matter. There was no one here. And even if there were Toads hiding, none of them had anything close to accurate aim, especially at a moving target. He would dash across and be at the wall in… ten ticks. He'd have cover again then if there was something.

Okay.

Go.

He was three ticks across the plaza when he heard it; the faintest whine of something charging to fire.

Someone was there.

This was a trap.

He was in danger.

He was so stupid.

Dios, he was so stupid.

It was too good to be have been true.

He needed to go.

Now.

Now now now now now!

Lance managed to pivot on count four the same time he heard a voice scream "NOW!" and a flash of green and white light sizzled in the corner of his eye.

He couldn't dodge it.

He tried.

He threw himself to the right but whatever it was was too large, too fast.

It clipped his shoulder and he would have screamed if he could have as what felt like the Toads shock prods went off along every inch of his body and his vision whited out at the sheer pain. He crashed onto his stomach and the blaster went flying from his grip to skid across the ground.

Above the sounds of his wet gasps he could hear multiple voices shouting and a cacophony of footsteps. He put all he had into pursing his lips into one shrill whistle to Zebra. Her aim was impeccable but as soon as she fired she'd give away her location and these were not Toads. These were some sort of mercenary – and how? How had they paid them? – and she could not fight all of them and live to tell about it.

She had to go.

She had to go before he killed her.

He heard her garbled whinny in return but that was it and even as his body twitched from the aftermath of the shocks he breathed out a sigh of relief.

She had left. Knowing her, knowing the loyalty of his new family, it was to get them and get help.

He prayed they didn't come. They were as safe as they could be out there although he knew the mercenaries would go for them eventually. Not only were all of their slaves hidden out in the woods… so were their jewels, buried in bags at the back of their compound. Their best bet was to defend from home field advantage. He prayed it would be enough. Otherwise… he hoped their deaths were quick. He had a feeling his would not be.

The voices were starting to sound like words now as the harsh buzzing in his ears slowly faded as the worst of the shocks wore off. Lance tried to shift but whatever it was that had hit him had wrapped about like wires, tightening with every attempted motion and his hands trapped below him.

He shook at the feeling of utter helplessness.

The voices grew closer.

They were not the rasps of the Toads though. They were clearer, less throaty.

"—so hard," came one voice, a tinge of worry on it.

"I wasn't taking any chances," was the retort, higher pitched. "Besides, this is better than what the king wanted."

Lance's breath caught.

These voices.

They weren't just clearer.

"He's secured?" a third voice, more authoritative in tone but still kind sounded.

Lance's eyes watered.

These voices…

"Of course. I know what I'm doing," the same higher-tone voice sounded, a little smug.

"Then let us get to the bottom of this," came an accented tone.

These voices were familiar.

He knew these voices..

"Rebel," the accented tone, beautiful and deadly, sounded again. "Do not resist and we shall not harm you further."

Lance stilled his trembling as much as he could, all attempts at movement gone.

"That was fast," a fifth voice muttered, suspicion clear.

Tears pricked Lance's eyes.

He thought he'd never hear these voices again.

"Roll over," instructed their leader, "and go no further. We will shoot if we must."

Lance took a deep breath, heart hammering and tears streaming down his cheeks now to plop onto the cobblestones with little plips.

What were they going to think? To say? Would they even recognize him?

There was only one way to find out.

He splayed his hands on the ground and rolled his body to the right, awkwardly landing on his side and hood falling away. From this angle he could see them.

All of them.

Hunk. Pidge. Shiro. Keith. Allura.

They looked the same and yet different; older, wearier.

But they were them.

His family.

They were looking at him as though seeing a stranger and he felt his heart thump harder.

They didn't know him.

Had they forgotten him?

But there was a choked sounding inhale then from Hunk, his entire face crumpling behind his visor. Lance could see the others in his peripheral looking to the Yellow Paladin but his own ocean gaze was locked entirely on that dark honey brown.

His best friend. His brother.

Hunk's lip wobbled, tears gathering in those warm eyes, and he let out a sob.

"Lance…"

Chapter Text

The whisper of his name seemed to be all the others needed to see him; to see past the long bangs and the age that he knew had settled on his own features and the label of apparently rebel and the enemy and see him.

"Lance," Pidge breathed. She repeated it, higher in pitch and there was the sudden whir of a cord and Lance felt her bayard being retracted from around him as she raced forward.

Hunk beat her, his arms already lifting Lance off the ground and pressing him against his armor in the tightest embrace Lance could remember. It hurt and Lance did not care one bit. He let out a choked sob and stretched his own arms as much as he could about Hunk's girth, feeling Pidge latch about him, her tiny hands digging into his side.

The others were there then, a series of hands and arms wrapping about him, clinging to him as though he was a ghost and would fade away if they did not. Even Keith, the normally no-touch mullet that Lance remembered, had clamped near iron-clad hands about Lance's right arm and did not seem inclined to let go.

Lance had no idea how long they sat there for; a press of armored bodies all around him and his name mingling with sobs and sounds of disbelief.

Eventually, likely a signal from Allura or Shiro, Lance felt them all start to withdraw some, to give him some space although he was not quite ready to remove himself from Hunk's embrace and the safety it offered. They would have questions, he had questions and right now…right now he didn't want to face any of it. To see what they had become, for them to see him and no doubt the pity and horror that would follow. To learn how much time had actually passed and how much of his life had been spent as a slave.

Right now he just wanted to stay wrapped up in Hunk's arms forever where it was safe as it always had been and pretend that everything up until this moment had been a horrible dream.

But he couldn't do that. Zebra had last seen him being attacked and had run back towards camp. They were going to be so scared. Hope was going to be scared.

He had to reassure them it was all right.

They were saved.

So he picked his tear-stained face free of Hunk's chest plate and released his own desperate grip about Hunk's middle, sliding back to sit on his legs although Hunk himself did not seem so keen to let go and moved with Lance, holding him to his side.

Lance didn't mind.

His gaze traced each face again, closer this time and free of their helmets, studying the differences from when he'd last seen them as he tried to calm his racing heart and figure out what to say.

Pidge's hair had grown long, he noticed first, nearly shoulder length although it was pulled halfway back to give her a small little ponytail on the back of her head. Her glasses were missing too and if he wasn't mistaken the little beansprout might have grown a couple of inches.

Keith's hair was longer too pulled back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, and a scar cut across his right cheek, but his purple eyes were as sharp as ever, if this time a tad bit shiny with a sheen of tears.

Hunk… Hunk had lost weight, Lance could feel it. He was still big, no doubt, but his cheeks had lost the playful chubbiness and was replaced with a more serious face. But his eyes were warm and a familiar orange headband, a little more ragged around the edges, was still held wrapped about his head.

Shiro and Allura were the least changed, save that Allura was wearing Paladin armor but in shades of pink. Lance had a feeling he'd just found Blue's new pilot. Shiro's face had grown a little sharper, a little more angled, his eyes a little harder, but his smile was the same.

"We thought you were dead," Keith spoke first, blunt as always and the familiarity of it pulled a silent, sad laugh from Lance, and a shake of his head, but nothing further.

They all looked more than perturbed at his response and Lance sobered completely, biting his lip.

"Can… can you not talk?" Pidge asked after a moment, voice small.

Lance paused, swallowed thickly and then shook his head.

"…what?" Hunk whispered, grip tightening and distress clear.

In answer Lance reached up a hand, trembling from both the aftereffects of Pidge's bayard and his own nerves, and tugged down the cowl of his cloak, revealing his neck and the two raised scars that covered the whole length of it.

Harsh inhalations followed and he cast his eyes down, throat bobbing as he felt another garbled cry trying to work its way up.

"Oh, Lance," murmured Allura and a hand darker than his own tipped his chin back up, coming to rest along his cheek and he leaned into it and the comfort offered. "What have you suffered?"

He shook his head again, pressing his face against her hand. Even if he'd had the words he didn't know how to answer that.

"I think it's safe to assume King Rospo lied to us," Shiro said, voice low. "I don't think—"

His words were halted by the sound of a soft whine and they all turned as one. Two toads, both wearing the cloaks of the higher-ranked guards, were there, blasters pointed directly at Lance. Lance didn't know how he hadn't heard their guttural breaths, so obvious now. He'd let down his guard, he realized. The first time in ages outside of the camp.

But even then he didn't give them the chance to fire, to permanently silence him more than they already had. He could see it clearly in their faces; the horror and fear that he was still alive and in some way communicating with the Paladins of Voltron, who it sounded as though they'd sent out a call for help. If he told them, showed them, what was really going on here then it was all over.

If they had their way Lance would never speak again.

His blaster was in his hand and two bolts were lighting up the darkened sky, direct bullseyes through the toads' heads.

It was only after the bodies thumped to the ground that Lance became aware of Pidge's short gasp and the otherwise tense silence, Hunk's arm loose now on his shoulder.

Oh.

That was right.

Paladins of Voltron didn't normally kill, did they?

And they had just watched him point-blank murder two people.

Lance dropped the blaster like it had burned him, a new tremble to his limbs and he covered his mouth, stifling the broken sounding cry.

Oh Dios. They were going to be horrified. Scratch that. They were horrified. They were—

Strong arms wrapped about him then, one heavier than the other, and he felt himself pulled flush against Shiro's chest.

"It's okay," Shiro murmured to him, breath warm on his ear. "It's okay, buddy. It's all right."

"This area is not safe," Allura declared, sounding unshaken by what had just happened, but rather sad. "We should return to the castle."

At that Lance pulled his head free from where he'd hidden it in the crease of Shiro's chest and shoulder, shaking it fervently. No. He couldn't leave with them. The others would be so worried. He needed to tell them it was all right, that he was safe. That they all were safe now.

"Do you have someplace we can go to?" Allura asked, her jewel eyes meeting his head-on and a soft, sad smile on her lips and understanding written on her face. The corpses laid beyond her and Lance pushed his gaze back to her and away from them.

Lance nodded. He would take them to the camp. There they could tell him what was going on and he could show them the Toads' cruelty and what was really happening. And then…

Then he could go home.

It had been a dream for so long he honestly wondered if this was one.

But no, as Shiro helped him to his feet and Pidge and Hunk each reclaimed a spot by his side, Hunk's arm slung across his shoulders and Pidge pressed to his side without an inkling of fear or disgust for what he'd done – and Hunk had gotten taller too, Lance realized, even with Shiro now – and Keith and Allura unflinchingly dragged the bodies of the two Toads into the darker shadows cast by the wall where they had emerged from, this was real.

This was really happening.

Once the bodies were hidden Lance turned them into the fields, hating that he had to shrug off Hunk's arms and Pidge's hold but the tree roots were thick as they entered the forest and everyone needed both hands for balance on them.

No one spoke as they traversed save for a few grunts from Hunk as he lost his footing a few times and Allura's quiet remark that she had not seen porcelbai trees since Altea.

When they were still a ways out from camp but close enough that Lance knew the perimeter guard would be able to make them out once he cleared the next stand of trees, he gestured for them all to stop. The last thing he wanted was them shot on sight.

He stepped forward and let out a trilling whistle, the one he had been trying to teach Hope how to do as she delighted in the sound, letting it echo about the forest.

A moment later there was a flurry of movement and a flash of orange before Dorito landed in front of him, his eyes blown wide and beak clicking rapidly as his wings reached out to pat at Lance to assure him of his safety. Lance offered up an easy smile and inclined his head behind him and gestured with a hand for the Paladins to come out.

They did so, carefully stepping from behind trees and Dorito let out a whisper of a squawk but Lance shook his head, holding onto the feathered wing.

It was all right.

Dorito inclined his head and Lance was once more warmed by the sheer amount of trust his new family had in him.

"Hello," Allura greeted, stepping even with Lance and meeting the alien bird's eyes. "I am Allura." Lance frowned at the drop of address, familiar with Allura's normal title. But he could say nothing and so did not. "You are one of Lance's friends?"

Dorito turned and at that Lance offered another smile and pointed at himself with a nod. Yes. He was Lance.

He would never get tired of hearing his name.

It had been so long.

"He has the same scars," Lance heard Pidge whisper quietly as Dorito gave a nod of acknowledgement to Allura's question, the feathers on his coat having never grown back to hide his own devoicing.

Lance swept his arm forward and Dorito nodded, springing back into the trees. He could not quite fly anymore, his left wing irreparably broken, but he could still glide and move faster than anyone on the ground.

They passed the lake and a few minutes later camp was coming into view, a hive of activity at the late hour. No doubt Zebra had woken everyone up but Dorito should have made it back to assure them that it was all right, somehow.

Lance's thoughts were proven right as a small shape detached itself from the masses and launched herself at him as he came around the bend. Lance barely caught hold of Hope before she knocked him to the ground as she generally did.

She was crying, little whuffles, and clung to him with her babbles. Lance bent down and pulled her into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her bumpy head.

"A Balmeran," Hunk breathed.

"A child," Keith said, voice hard.

Hope was showing no signs of letting him go and Lance couldn't blame her. Just a few minutes before she thought he was all but dead. He dropped his blaster and ended up hefting her – and she was heavy but he managed – onto his hip and Shiro collected the gun.

Lance looked at his Paladin family over Hope's head and there was a collective of misting eyes at the clear show of affection but also a grim realization from Keith's observation that this was indeed a child and she, like Lance, did not have a voice.

From there they made their way into camp, the previous banked fire back to full light and all of his ex-slave family gathered from their tents and around it standing, none relaxed enough to sit on the log and rock benches. Lance's arms were already hurting though and he was still slightly shaky from Pidge's bayard, so he made his way over to one of the logs and sat with a thump, Hunk tentatively waving at the gathered aliens and joining him and Hope.

His lack of fear and whatever Dorito had been able to convey about their visitors seemed to have been enough as around him the others slowly began to relax and sink down onto seats as well.

Only Allura and Shiro remained standing, looking out over the gathered aliens with flames decorating their faces. Shiro turned in his direction and held out a hand, just like he had done so, so long ago in Keith's shack, marking them as equals in whatever it was they were getting themselves into.

But this time Lance swallowed thickly and shook his head. No. He couldn't.

Hunk though gave him a little nudge and Hope scrambled off his lap after patting his hands and going to sit next to Stampede, while Shiro kept his hand extended, waiting.

Lance slowly rose and made his way over to the two of them, they standing so tall and polished and proud and he feeling so much smaller next to them. But Shiro drew him in with his hand on his shoulder and Allura took his left hand into her own, pressing it between her gloves as though trying to make sure he could not fade away.

There was confusion across the faces of the ex-slaves, but a quiet pride too and he saw a few heads nodding, realizing already the relation of himself to those in the armor as humans, no matter their shape or size, were all intrinsically alike in aliens' eyes.

"Greetings," Allura called out and every face turned to her. "I am Allura…" she swallowed then continued, raising her chin a little higher, "Princess of Altea and Paladin of Voltron."

There were gasped murmurs from those that had not put together the symbol and the armor, but everyone in the universe knew Voltron, whether it be fact or legend.

"This is Black Paldadin Shiro," she introduced, inclining her head toward Shiro, "and in the audience with you are Yellow Paladin Hunk, Red Paladin Keith and Green Paladin Pidge. And…" her voice grew slightly higher, tears clogging it. "And this is Lance," she raised their joined hands slightly, "our Blue Paladin."

Lance's breath caught. She couldn't… she didn't mean… He didn't dare try to ask, to confirm, because surely she was Blue's pilot now, the new Blue Paladin, and it was just an inclusion, a better way to explain who he once was.

But still…

Our Blue Paladin. The words echoed and he felt warmed by them.

"He has been missing for a long time," she continued, clearing her throat. Lance squeezed Allura's hand, cocking his head.

How long?

He both needed and never wanted to know.

"Fourteen months and twenty-four days," Shiro said quietly, the number said without hesitation as though it was always on their minds.

Lance was glad Shiro's hand was on his shoulder and Allura's grip so tight and strong as he felt his knees buckle and only they kept him from crumpling to the ground.

Over a year.

He had been here for over a year.

They had thought him dead for over a year.

"Lance, hey, hey" and Shiro's worried face was swimming into his view, Lance ensconced now in the crook of his arm and they were somehow on the ground. "Buddy, breathe, come on, breathe with me."

Lance took a noisy inhale, not sure of when he'd stopped doing so, and his chest both tightened and released.

"There you go, and another one," Shiro coached, taking in a noisy breath himself. He was aware of Hunk crouched next to him as well as Zebra and Lemur, all looking beyond worried as he gasped like a dying fish. His cheeks were darkening as his breathing slowly evened out, embarrassment taking place of the stark horror that had pervaded a moment ago.

He'd just had a panic attack in front of everyone.

But Zebra was making her soft whuffling noises of comfort and Lemur was petting his hair and Hunk was rubbing his thumb across Lance's shoulder in small circles and past them there only was a mixture of worry and understanding, as well as a shared horror on several faces as they too came to realize just how long they had been there too. How much they had endured at the hands of the Toads, how much of their lives had been stolen from them.

"I'm sorry," Shiro apologized softly once Lance had had the courage to meet those charcoal eyes, which he found overflowing with guilt. "That was rather stupid of me."

Lance shook his head, denying it. Shiro was never stupid. Shiro was strong and brave and amazing and everything Lance wished he could be.

Shiro let out a wet laugh. "It was," he insisted. "I just… it's been so long, Lance. We've all… We've all really missed you."

Lance blinked back his own tears. They really had missed him, as much as he had them. He had known they would have to move on because the universe needed them to, but to hear that they'd been counting the days, thinking so often of him… still calling him the Blue Paladin.

Dios, he was about to cry again.

"We have much to ascertain about what has happened," Allura said gently, and Lance had no idea when she had knelt on the ground with them, "but right now we must focus on the present." Lance nodded to that. Yes.

Allura remained on the ground but knelt taller so she could see the rest of the audience gathered around still on the logs. "I shall make this brief. King Rospo, the leader of this planet," – and there were a series of hisses and sounds of hatred at the name, their first time hearing it in full – "summoned Voltron with a distress beacon. He claimed that a force of rebels was terrorizing his people and they needed help.

"He further said that the rebels had destroyed his town's jewel mine" – Lance nodded, owning up to that with a small grin and matching ones around the camp – "stolen his food and supplies" – more nods – "raided his vaults" – even more nods – "and killed many of his citizens," Allura's voice grew more somber at the last note and Lance this time offered a minute nod, but raised his eyes to Allura's, hoping she understood. She had already seen him kill two guards, after all.

She met his eyes. "I think it safe to assume those citizens mentioned were a variety of armed ones and they sought to harm the so called rebels," and Lance nodded, grateful.

"The rebels were led by one who called himself "L" in the common language," and Lance grinned at that and Hunk chuckled next to him, gently squeezing his shoulder, "who left his mark behind on each raid. Voltron was requested to kill L on sight," here Lance stiffened, "and end the reign of terror."

"The entire thing seemed a little off," Shiro entered quietly, but his voice was strong. "And Voltron is not in the habit of killing without cause." Lance tipped his head down at that but it was lifted by cool metal fingers and steady eyes. "There is no guilt to be found in protecting yourself and those you care about," Shiro said firmly. "You've done nothing wrong, Lance."

But—

"Nothing," Shiro repeated, thumb brushing over his jaw. "Understand?"

Lance turned his face into the hand with a bare nod, the guilt not entirely absolved but lifted some.

"We wished to speak with this L and determine if there was a peaceful solution that could be sought," Allura picked up. "Clearly, the story we were given is not entirely truthful and I will be blunt with my words. I feel that the king is the aggressor here and you, rebels, are the victim. Am I correct?"

Lance nodded. Yes. Dios, yes.

"Oh!" Pidge's exclamation drew their attention. She was scrambling off the log next to Keith with a small datapad in hand. "Here," she thrust it into Lance's hands, so hard he nearly dropped it. "Use this to write. Since you…" her voice trailed off, shoulders slumping.

Lance gave her the best smile he could manage. When he was surrounded by the ex-slaves, none of them capable of real speech, it was easier to accept the loss of his own voice. Now, with the Paladins here and speaking and he silenced… it was hurting fresh all over again even though he was desperately trying not to let it.

He brought a trembling hand to the blank screen, swiping it on the orange surface and a dark green line appeared. He stared at it, entranced.

"Button on the right clears it," Hunk said, words thick.

Lance did so and carefully squiggled out an "s", the one letter taking up a good chunk of the small screen. He followed it quickly to spell out "slave," the "e" scrunched in at the end.

"Slave," Shiro read the word over his shoulder, tone chips of ice. "You were a slave."

Lance bit his lip and nodded. He wiped out the word and squeezed in "mines," followed by "gems."

He painted the best picture he could in single words, with clarification of nods to their questions. Punish. Escape. Rescue. Blow up. Economy (that one took two screens). Camp. Protect. Stuck. New family (two screens again).

At that one he'd heard Pidge sharply inhale and Hunk let out a small sob, hand tightening on his shoulders.

"And… and your voices?" Allura queried, horror clear.

Lance paused, before scrawling out "no" and "noise" on the pad. He added "devoice," the only way he knew to really describe what had happened.

"They didn't like you making noise?" Shiro clarified, and his tone had grown even colder and only knowing it wasn't directed at him prevented Lance from shivering. "So they," his hand lighted on the scars on Lance's neck, making him swallow, ""devoiced" you?"

Lance gave a small nod.

"I'll kill them," Keith growled, having shifted to stand over Hunk's shoulder and read the pad as Lance wrote. "Those bastards, how dare they call us for help. I'll—"

"There will be no killing, no matter how deserved," Allura cut in.

"Allura—"

"We do not kill, Keith," Allura's eyes flashed, "not needlessly."

Keith fell silent, disapproval clear and Lance felt a flicker of worry for the other boy. Keith had always been hotheaded and reckless, and yes, prone to some violence, but never had he been quite so… harsh. Lance was alarmed to see a mirror of disappointment to on Pidge's face and it hurt him to know that his disappearance, his "death," had hurt and changed them all so much too.

"Death can be a kindness," Shiro offered up quietly, words both soft and hard. "And one that monsters like them don't deserve so easily. There will be justice and it will be dealt out fairly for the crime committed."

Lance did shiver then and drew every eye, Shiro's ice melting away to warm embers.

"Is… is that all right with you, Lance?" Allura asked. She turned to look at the gathered aliens, a mark of hesitation in her words. "With all of you? It is you who have suffered and I would never wish to overstep whatever justice you yourselves believe is right to pursue."

Lance looked to the group, silently asking them their opinion. He knew he didn't want to kill any more. Not even the king and he agreed with Shiro; he had seen that there were things worse than death. The Toads were already desperate and on their last hope with Voltron; when they removed themselves from the equation they would be left with nothing.

They might die anyway, he realized. Starve to death, kill themselves in despair as the last of their resources dwindled away. They might turn on each other, rise up against the king if they blamed him enough.

It would be a horrible way to go; stranded and cut off from the rest of the vast universe.

A year ago Lance would have been horrified at the idea of anyone suffering so.

Now…

Now he understood. This was justice. For Barney. For every other slave who had died. For every single one who had suffered at their hands, scars both visible and not carved permanently into them.

The Toads would be the ones now with no hope.

It curdled his stomach but they had brought this on themselves. They could maybe still find a way off; pool whatever remained to hire a ship. Learn to live off the forest and start over. They could do it.

And if they did not… if they gave into despair like he had almost had allowed himself to do at the bleakness of their future…

Then that was their choice and that would be justice enough.

Lance could live with that solution.

His fellow ex-slaves were nodding too, satisfied.

Lance turned to Allura and gave a decisive nod. Yes. They would go along with whatever plan Shiro and Allura had in mind.

Allura's smile turned sharp. She rose then to her feet, fire backlighting her hair and making her seem to glow. Lance stared, mesmerized.

"Ready yourselves," she instructed the assembly. "I cannot say what the future holds, but Voltron will protect you. We will do all we can to see you reunited with your loved ones." She turned to the group sitting around Lance. "Hunk, Pidge, Keith; remain here and assist as you can. We shall be back within the varga with the castle and we will then leave this place behind. Forever."

"What about you?" Keith asked.

Shiro's eyes were hardened bits of charcoal as he rose, flames casting half of his face in shadow. He looked to both Lance and Allura, who both nodded in agreement, even as Lance's stomach did a flip-flop.

This was it.

"We're," he said, voice fierce with promise, "going to dethrone a king."

Chapter Text

"Coran, are you with the king?" Lance near startled as Allura spoke as they exited the forest, cutting through the thick grasses back towards the castle. It was just him, Shiro and Allura and the two were flanking him like they were his bodyguards that both comforted and unnerved him.

He would have liked for Zebra's calming presence too or Stampede's quiet strength and size at his side, but it was dangerous to offer the Toads more targets and Lance did not think Allura's announcement was going to go over well.

He almost wished he wasn't going either, but it was something he needed to do. He needed to see this king, this person, who had so easily enslaved and tortured and killed others without remorse, but had the gall to seek out Voltron's help.

Who had put a target on his head and had anyone other than Voltron responded to the call (perhaps with a promise of payment later for if the amount was high enough it was possible someone would take up the job) Lance knew he would not be standing here now.

He may have been devoiced but he had not been silenced. Now the king was going to face justice. And he would see it firsthand.

Coran must have responded in the affirmative because Allura pursed her lips. "Tell him we will be there shortly with an update. And Coran?" her voice grew quieter. "Do not react to this, but… we found Lance. He's alive, Coran. He's here." Lance couldn't hear Coran's response but Allura's lips turned up, a soft, gentle thing, and she hummed a confirmation noise.

They reached the outskirts of the village then, lights still dark, which Shiro had explained was part of their plan to catch L and everyone was under strict orders from the king and Voltron to not emerge until an all clear was given.

Lance had a feeling Voltron would not be giving any such signal.

"Ready?" Shiro asked him as they paused at the base of the winding path. To the right Lance knew were the two guards he'd killed earlier and he kept his gaze firmly forward to the still darkened castle.

He wasn't sure if there was ever being ready for this but he nodded regardless.

"Stay close," Allura cautioned and Lance had no plans to do anything but.

He could feel his pulse beginning to race as Shiro pushed open the front door to the castle, lush tapestries and intricate stone and jewel work lining the hall. Sitting at the end of the long entrance way he could make out the silhouette of a large throne where there were a few pale lights glimmering, illuminating a large Toad and…

And Coran, who despite Allura's warning to not react had visible tear streaks on his face even at this distance and his jewel-gaze caught Lance's over Allura's shoulder with a muffled choking sound.

"Well?" intoned the Toad and Lance's attention was drawn back to him against his will. "Did you kill L?"

He was nothing impressive. Same size as the other Toads, skin a puce green. He wore a short cape like the high-level guards and the only real difference was a crown dripping with jewels that sat between his broccoli-like ears.

His voice though, although the same croaking rumble, felt… colder. Lance shivered. This was the alien who had bought him, bought all of them, and condemned them to a life of slavery and pain all so he could live in the lap of luxury.

"No, we did not," Allura's voice rang clear and Lance felt comforted by it. "We brought him here instead." She placed a gentle hand on Lance's back and steered him forward as they came to rest a distance from the dais.

The king's eyes bugged and had it been any other situation Lance might have laughed at the comical expression.

"Wh-why have you not killed him?" he sputtered, rising from his throne and pointing a pudgy finger in their direction.

"Because he does not deserve death," Shiro said, deceptively calm. "And you," his gaze hardened, "are not worthy of such a quick end."

"Wh-what are you saying? Bl-Black Paladin, I—"

"Quiet," Shiro snapped and the king's mouth snapped shut with an audible gulp.

"You have deceived us, false king," Allura spoke, voice dripping with ice. "The rebels you spoke of are not who you alluded to. They are slaves, abused and tortured, who escaped from your mines."

Sweat was shining on the king's face. "I—"

"They are victims who have done no wrong," Allura continued. "They are who Voltron will be saving today."

"He lies!" the king croaked. "He—"

"He may not speak thanks to you," Shiro snarled, "but he has told no lies."

"He—"

"He is one of us, false king," Allura growled. "He is a Paladin of Voltron and I trust him with my life."

Beneath the sweat the Toad paled.

"He… he… is… is what?"

"A Paladin of Voltron," Allura repeated. "And someone beyond dear to me and for whom I would do anything to protect. And that begins with you, false king."

Allura withdrew the blue bayard, a thin rapier that was no doubt stronger than it looked. Lance stared, both with awe and longing and despair.

"N-n-no," the king backed up, collapsing in his throne. "Pl-please, spare me!"

"We will not be taking your life," Allura said, stepping forward and eyes darkening and Lance shivered again. "No. You will carry on as you are; as the king of nothing."

With her words she brought the sword down and the king let out a terrified shriek, ducking. Allura though was not aiming for the Toad but the throne upon which he sat, slicing the top clean off and shattering the giant jewel embedded in it in a burst of white crystal.

"Live out the rest of your miserable life however you able," Shiro said harshly above the pattering of broken crystal striking the floor. "Explain to your people how your lies and greed have condemned them all."

"You can't do th-this," the king whimpered, huddled at the base of his destroyed throne. "You are Voltron. You must help me—"

"We help those deserving of it," Allura interrupted. "We have seen much in this universe, false king, and the Galra are not the only monsters that pollute it."

She turned her back on the cowering Toad, Coran moving to her side in a few long strides, and faced Shiro and Lance. "Come." A soft smile pulled up her lips. "Let us go home."

xxx

The next hour passed by in an absolute haze to the point Lance felt like he was in a dream. Lance remembered Coran embracing him once they were outside, a kiss pressed to the top of his head and a whispered "my boy," and tears anew had sprung to Lance's eyes.

They'd boarded the castle – gleaming halls and bright lights and it had felt so foreign and familiar all at once – and when it lifted off Lance had stumbled, body having forgotten what such a thing felt like and Shiro had coaxed him to sit down on the bridge in his old chair. Lance had hesitantly done so, shooting looks at Allura who was driving the castle, but she had met his eye and nodded without hesitation and so he had.

They'd landed the ship at the camp and Lance had gotten up, helping to load in the few possessions they wanted to take with them.

And all of the jewels.

Bag after bag had been dug up – and Hope was covered in mud but looking positively gleeful, smearing dirt all over Lance when she jumped up for a hug in both delight and slight fright of the giant Altean ship she had boarded – and secured in the cargo hold. Coran had made some note about exchanging them for the aliens to all have actual currency, but Lance had sort of tuned out at that point, aliens all around him blurring into shapes and sounds.

He still couldn't believe this was real.

It felt too surreal, even as he had sank down to the floor on the bridge with Hunk on one side, Pidge on the other and Hope curled up on his lap. It couldn't have been real when Keith pressed a mug of something hot and spicy and delicious into his hands to drink, when Zebra had come over and pulled him into her arms and Dorito wrapped them up in his wings and Lemur butted in for Hope to curl her fingers into his soft fur.

It was too good to be true.

"Sleep," Allura had murmured to him, bringing blankets over to their group and tucking one about him and Hope, pressing a kiss of her own to the top of his head that had his cheeks darkening. "You are exhausted. We will speak more when you awaken."

Lance was grateful no one had suggested he go to his room. He didn't want to be alone right now; he hadn't been alone, not truly, in so long, and he drew comfort from the press of warm bodies snuggled all about him.

He'd drifted off, Hunk's soft snores a soothing lullaby in his ear, and dreamed only of bright smiles and a brighter future.

xxx

Lance awoke to the sensation of someone carding hands through his hair and a soft beeping. He frowned at the latter one as it grew louder and he felt his head being turned.

Sleep-crusted eyes blinked open, making out the forms of Hunk next to him and Coran kneeling, a scanner in his hand the source of the beeping.

"Ah, sorry lad," Coran apologized. "I did not mean to wake you. Just taking a few preliminary scans. You can go back to sleep."

But the drowsiness was fading and Lance sat further up, noting that he'd been moved from the bridge and was in the main lounge of the castle. He was in grand company as it seemed all of the ex-slaves were there, sleeping in spots along the floor and on mismatched couches that had likely been procured from other unused lounges. He had no doubt Allura would have tried to offer them rooms to spread out, but they were a pack now. They stayed together.

Lance was on the floor but he was pressed up against the couch and above him Hope was sleeping, curled up with Amber.

Pidge had given him a larger datapad right before he'd succumbed to sleep and they'd moved it with him, resting just underneath his hand. He pulled it into his lap and scrawled out "scans?" and turned it around.

Coran hummed. "Yes. We communicated with the other aliens and determined there were no major injuries that would require a cryopod at this time and we thought we might try and take a look at this devoicing you mentioned." Coran's tone darkened on the word and Lance brought his eyes down to stare at the datapad.

"I was telling Coran a bit about debarking," Hunk said quietly, hand tightening on Lance's shoulder and pulling him flush to his side, Lance gratefully sinking his head against Hunk's softness and still relishing that Hunk was here. "The cords are normally removed completely and only in bad surgeries do they tend to remain partly in where they can fuse back. But… but I've heard some of you guys," Hunk's voice caught there, "making noises and I think… I think they might not have removed them. Not completely at least."

"I am using the humans as my base model to compare their own structure to yours," Coran said. "If what Number Two suspects it may be possible to restore your voice, to at least some degree. I don't wish to get your hopes up lad, but…"

The fact there was even a slim chance was more than Lance could ever have imagined and even if it didn't work, the fact they had tried meant so much already.

"It'll take me a bit to go over the scans," Coran said, giving Lance's knee a squeeze before rising. "In the meantime, why don't you grab a bite to eat or the showers? I freshly laundered some of your clothes too and they are ready when you are."

Clothes.

Real clothes.

Lance glanced down at the tunic he'd cut and sapped together, hidden beneath the light cloak and beneath that the pants from the prisons, although patched with enough fabric scraps they resembled more of a child's craft project than clothing.

He nodded his thanks with a soft smile and with a "cheerio," Coran turned to likely head to the infirmary.

"I made a big pot of oatmeal," Hunk offered when Lance made no motion to move yet, "raisins and cinnamon and everything too." His hand moved down Lance's shoulder to grip at his arm, which despite the muscle was even thinner than it already had been. "Everyone seems to like it so far."

Lance rolled his eyes at that and scrawled, "b/c your cooking is amazing," to his datapad and added a little heart before he turned it around. It took longer than he'd like but Hunk waited patiently, not rushing him at all, and when he saw it he chuckled.

"Thanks, hermano," and Lance butted his face up against Hunk's arm at the address, warmth tingling in him. "I… I'm gonna make all your favorites, all right? We found a sort of chili pepper I know you'll like and… and…"

Hunk broke off with a noisy sob and Lance found himself being pulled nearly into Hunk's lap as Hunk buried his face into Lance's shoulder, mumbled apologies sounding above his own shaking and cries.

"I can't believe you're here," Hunk whispered. "L-Lance. We thought you were dead. We looked and looked and l-looked…" Red-rimmed honey eyes pulled themselves free. "We never stopped. But, eventually, we…"

Lance inclined his head. He understood. The universe needed Voltron. It was the same as Pidge looking for her dad and brother; as much as they would want to they couldn't stop everything to do so when so many were counting on them.

"I tried to go on my own," Hunk said, cuddling Lance back against his chest. "We were down Voltron anyway and… and you had to be alive. I never gave up hope. But then the Blue Lion, she…"

She had accepted Allura as her new Paladin. Lance bowed his head. He was happy for them both; Allura was beyond amazing and he knew she was a better Paladin than he could ever be. And… and he was all right with it, right now. Right now he was so grateful to be back with his space family, to have his ex-slave family safe with him too. He had known they would need to move on, that his seat would be taken if he ever returned. And he could think of no one he'd rather have it than Allura.

"I had to stay," Hunk whispered. "I'm so sorry, Lance."

Lance squeezed him tight. It was okay. He wrote as such, words shaky, but Hunk shook his head.

"It's not. You were suffering so much and I wasn't there for you."

Lance tapped the screen again, emphasizing his previous message.

Hunk hugged him tighter.

"I missed you so much," he breathed. "Oh, Lance, hermano, I missed you."

Lance butted his head against Hunk's chest. Him too.

"Everything was wrong," Hunk whispered. "Pidge almost left too, before Allura and Blue came together. Keith… you think he was reckless before, man… Every Galra prison, every outpost, every planet we looked and Keith even got captured that one time and…" he trailed off, shaking his head. Lance wondered if that's when Keith had gotten the scar and felt guilt pool hot and heavy.

"Hey, none of that," and Hunk nudged him. Lance had forgotten how much of an open book he had always been to Hunk. "You've got nothing to feel bad about, okay? I'm just so glad you're back. We all are."

Hunk cuddled him again and Lance would have been content to remain there for the rest of his life, but he was becoming aware of the scent of dirt and stale sweat coming from him and all of a sudden he wanted nothing more than the hottest shower he could withstand. He didn't even remember what hot water felt like on his skin but he would bet it was heavenly.

He shifted Hunk's arms to get at his pad and wrote, "bath first, then food," and Hunk read it and nodded.

"Sounds good. How about you go to the shower and I'll grab you some clothes?" Hunk didn't ask him if he remembered where the washrooms were and Lance was grateful for it; he felt enough like a stranger already back on the ship.

Hunk still walked with him to the Paladins' bathroom, as it was en route to his old room, but Lance entered the quiet tiled room on his own, relieved to find it empty. It felt strange to be alone, but, well… the other aliens he knew would be using the main hall bathrooms as these were private so the only ones who would be in here would be the other Paladins.

And they had not yet seen him. Not really.

He shucked off his clothes, leaving them an abandoned pile on the floor, and viewed himself in the mirror on the sink and the full length one behind him reflecting his backside, wearing only the necklace that he had never taken off once Amber had placed it on him.

He…

He looked awful.

Worse yet, he knew none of it would improve. There were no current bruises or injuries. Everything here was a scar. The stomach one he knew well from the pickaxe, a thick line carved into him, and surrounded by smaller, thinner welts and lashes that had scarred from typical beatings.

There were a smattering of burn scars that had darkened to a deep reddish brown across his shoulders and about his arms from the tasers, thin lines on his ankles from the manacles and another set on his wrist where the ID tag had dug in, and of course the two lines on his neck.

But it was his back that was truly frightening. He'd known it was bad but the glimpses he'd gotten of it in the lake were nothing. Scars dissected it every which way, a large few strikes in particular standing out from near hip to shoulder; the punishment he'd gotten between his second escape and then his datapad theft. They were a mixture of white and brown and red; some raised and some flat but all hideous.

He fled to the safety of the shower before he broke down crying naked in the middle of the bathroom.

It wasn't so much about his vanity, not at this point. It was the fact that he had so many reminders of pain, of horror, that would gaze back at him every time he glanced in a mirror. That he knew his fellow ex-slaves had similar marks of their own and although they were now free they would never be free of the memories. They would carry them always. The Toads had taken so so much from them – time, hope, freedom, happiness – and only replaced it with pain and horror and fear. The scars were a physical reminder of it all.

Lance gripped at the stone around his neck, drawing comfort from its smooth surface and the fact it had been found and then crafted with such love, with the support of his entire new family. He let that calm him, along with the pounding of warm water that he gradually raised until the entire shower was foggy with steam.

There were a few bottles of shampoo in there – Hunk's, he would guess based on the scent of a sort of honeysuckle – and he borrowed them and the soap bar, lathering himself so much he felt like a giant bubble. He was going to need a haircut, eventually. He knew he had had scissors in his room as he'd trimmed his hair a few times since being launched into space and he hoped he might be able to get some semblance of his old cut back. The shaggier style was too rough, too much of a reminder.

He didn't know how long he'd been in the shower for, but no one disturbed him. Eventually though, when he finished the soap bar, he knew it had to be time to get out. He left the water running, a comfortable backdrop noise, and grabbed the big fluffy teal towel that had been left on a hook outside the shower.

He held it in his hands after rubbing it, so soft on his cheek, debating what to do. He knew Hunk would be in the bathroom still. He could either cover himself up completely, hide what the Toads had done and the guilt and shame and horror from the marks, or he could go out there and expose himself now and get it over with. It might be better that way; to show Hunk while he had some manner of control rather than accidentally showcasing them further on if Hunk burst into his room or when they saw the marks on the other ex-slaves and realized Lance would no doubt have the same.

Lance sucked in a deep breath... and then tucked the towel snugly about his waist, leaving the majority of his scars exposed. This was it. He would show Hunk his scars and try and pretend they weren't really all that bad and he didn't care about his new appearance. He knew Hunk, while he would be upset, would not judge him for them, and as nosy as he was if Lance didn't want to talk (write) about it he wouldn't push.

He could do this.

It was just Hunk.

Lancepushed back the curtain and entered the cooler part of the bathroom not permeated by the steam from his shower looking to see where Hunk had set up to wait with actual clothes.

However it was three pairs of eyes that stared back him instead; honey brown, sharp purple and warm charcoal. Hunk, Keith and Shiro.

Lance froze as he felt said eyes widen, focusing with laser intensity on the scars that crossed his body like a horrific painting and no doubt getting a second look from the mirror reflecting his back to them.

Dios. They were all here. He hadn't even heard them talking because of the shower and they were all here and they were staring and what they must be thinking and he had to go, he had to hide, his earlier conviction faltering at the audience and he couldn't let them see what had happened, he had to –

Lance wasn't aware he had been stepping backwards until he hit the full length mirror next to the shower in his retreat.

Hunk and Shiro both surged forward but it was Shiro, stride still longer, who reached him first and arms wrapped about damp shoulders and practically dragged him off the mirror and into a hug against the broad chest.

"Don't," Shiro murmured into his hair. "Don't hide. You have nothing to hide, Lance."

Lance weakly shook his head, hands feebly pushing against Shiro, but Hunk was there then and wrapping him into a hug from behind and there was no escaping.

"Keith," Shiro called and the smaller boy (but not really to Lance, not anymore), who had been hovering as though unsure of what to do, moved closer. Shiro freed one arm from around Lance and in a blink and swapped himself with Keith, leaving one startled Red Paladin with his arms tentatively about Lance.

"Come on man, hug him," Hunk mumbled and Keith awkwardly did so, hands going to wrap about Hunk's back and ensconce Lance between them. Lance gave up his attempts to get away and rested his forehead against Keith's shoulder, at least hiding his face so they couldn't see his tears and shame.

There was the rustling of fabric and after another moment Shiro murmured out Lance's name. He shook his head, rubbing his forehead against the ribbing of Keith's jacket.

"Lance, buddy, look at me," Shiro called again, and there was a shaky quality to his voice that Lance had never really heard before. That prompted him to lift his head and a half-strangled gasp climbed out of his throat as his gaze went over Keith's shoulder to Shiro.

"Look," Shiro said quietly, standing there bare-chested as well. "It's okay."

Lance had always suspected Shiro might have a scar or two he didn't want to show as he'd never seen him in anything less than a full tee-shirt, but this… this…

There were lash marks across his stomach, a bite mark of some sort on his shoulder. More lines and punctures and all colors of scars across his chest and down his back as Shiro slightly turned.

"Sh-Shiro," Hunk stammered, whereas Keith had a knowing if sorrowful expression.

"I got these when I was a slave to the Galra," Shiro continued, keeping his eyes locked where Lance had met his eyes. "I'm not proud of them; I don't know where most of them came from, to be honest. They're not pretty. I don't like to look and I imagine they make others uncomfortable too. But they are a part of me and a testament to what I survived. I don't have to like them to acknowledge that fact."

He let out a soft sigh, crossing his arms over his stomach where an angry burn scar ran the length of it. "I'm not saying what to do one way or the other; that is up to you and as you can see, I'm not the best at taking my own advice. But never," charcoal bore into ocean, "be ashamed of them." He took a thick sounding breath. "All right?"

Lance was almost glad he couldn't speak as he had no idea what to say. His throat was clogged again, his legs trembling and only Hunk and Keith's holds were keeping him upright. Shiro… Shiro was just like him. The scars were from a different sort of slavery, a worse one Lance thought, where he'd been forced to fight and kill just to stay alive himself, but he had them too. And even if he didn't display them, didn't talk about them, Shiro did not let them control him. He rose past the marks and history and looked forward.

Lance knew about looking forward.

And so he nodded, tears spilling down his cheeks, and released the breathy sob as Shiro came back over and gently pulled them all into a hug.

"Things are going to be different," Shiro said quietly, "no matter what happens next. But I know we'll get through it. Together. As a team, as a family."

And Lance knew without a doubt that such a thing was the absolute truth.

Chapter Text

Lance touched the edges of his hair, cut short and back to a more familiar length. Yet, upon looking in the mirror, it wasn't so familiar anymore.

It was his eyes, he decided. Hope may have restored life to them and the relatively peaceful days of the camp had been a balm on his soul, but they were still weary. They had seen too much horror in too short a time. A year may not sound like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but it had been a long, horrible year.

It hadn't been just he who had suffered either.

Hunk had touched on the bare bones of it earlier and Shiro had quietly expanded a bit on that missing year as they sat around the kitchen table eating Hunk's oatmeal. About how they had found Lance's purchases but no sign of him and had spent the next week combing the planet for any hint before expanding their search elsewhere.

They'd checked Galra prisons and their logs, not trusting Zarkon's silence on the matter, with no luck. They had not wanted to believe it true, but they had hunted down several leads on slave trade rings, breaking up several in the process and freeing many grateful aliens, but none had been Lance and none had seen him either. They had even asked the Blades to join in their search with negative results from their intel.

Because of who he was though and because Voltron was the only thing keeping Zarkon and the Galra in check, they could not plaster the universe with their search. To do so would be to announce that right now they could not truly fight back.

Lance had tried to console them at that, as given what he recalled he'd been picked up and sold immediately without any in-between and none of the citizens on the Toad's planet would have received a missing persons notification in any case nor would they have cared.

Still, Shiro had sighed bitterly, it had felt like a failure.

The team had started to splinter without him, Shiro admitted quietly. Lance had held them together; his laughter and optimism a light in the darkness of space and war. They may have indeed done so; Pidge and Hunk one way, the others another, except the Blue Lion had called out to Allura and with her acceptance of a new Paladin they had come together once more as a team.

And it was that thought that was weighing heavily on Lance's mind.

What was his role in the team now?

Allura had called him a Paladin of Voltron, their Blue Paladin. But… but he wasn't. Not really. Blue had chosen Allura as her new Paladin and she was an amazing choice. Lance didn't – couldn't – upset this new balance. Not when Allura shone so bright.

But he found too that he couldn't just walk away. Not without at least a good bye, a sense of closure.

He needed to see Blue.

But his feet were heavy and it was not because of the socks – so strange on his feet after almost a year of running about rocks barefoot and he'd been unable to put on shoes, they feeling even worse.

Things were going to be different, Shiro had said. Lance was a little afraid to find out how much so. Once he saw Blue he would have his answer and he didn't know what he wanted that to be.

He didn't want to hurt anyone.

He pushed away the niggling thought that by doing nothing he was hurting himself.

He took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders in the bathroom mirror, giving himself one last once over even though Blue would hardly care what he looked like. His Earth clothes – his jacket, he mourned – were long gone but he'd had a similar baseball style shirt in creams and brown and a pair of sweatpants in dark green (that he'd had to cinch extra on the waist although they had not changed in height). Keith had offered him a pair of not quite jeans but similar (and the fact Keith was offering him clothes as he'd grown to just an inch shy of Lance's height had made him realize again just how much they had all changed) but the material was too stiff right now following the paint tarp tunic and Lance reveled in the softness of the sweatpants.

His necklace hung to rest against the top brown line of his shirt and he reached up a hand to grasp at it, drawing strength from the stone imbued with so much love that reminded him that even if not now, even if not ever again, he had once been the Blue Paladin of Voltron and he could take pride in that.

When he'd told the small group at the kitchen table with him his plans to see Blue, Hunk had immediately volunteered to go with but Lance had shaken his head. This was something he had to do on his own.

Now though, as he paused outside the Blue Lion's hangar door, he wished he'd accepted the offer.

But he'd faced far more terrifying things than this.

Even if this meeting was about to dictate his future.

He rubbed his fingers once more against the stone and before he could hesitate any longer pushed open the doors and silently entered.

Blue was sitting regally on her haunches, yellow eyes dim and offline. No barrier surrounded her though and Lance took that as an encouraging sign even as blood pounded in his ears and he felt faint.

He could do this.

He was just here to say hello.

And… and maybe goodbye.

He swallowed the thought and made his way to stand next to her massive front paws, metal gleaming in the overhead lights. He could not greet her as he normally did with a "hello, beautiful," but he still reached out a slender hand and placed it on her paw.

Feeling pulsed through him then like an ocean wave and Lance gasped as yellow eyes lit up like small suns and Blue angled her head to gaze down at him.

Her expression did not change but Lance could feel her smiling, her joy and happiness merged too with a great sense of loss and despair and hurt and why and it was so much, too much, and Lance was only dimly aware of his legs collapsing beneath him past the pounding in his head and the overwhelming feelings and power coursing down their link.

He formed her name on his lips, pressing against the base of her paw, trying to weather through the storm of her emotions and projections, his mind no longer merely his own.

He had forgotten what it felt like to have an ancient magical being trying to share headspace.

But he made room, ever-changing and flowing as water was and he sent back his own feelings; love and hope and fear and hurt and confusion and peace, not holding back a single one.

And above the maelstrom he heard a word, a purr, a promise.

Mine.

A sob stuttered its way out of his chest.

Mine Blue repeated and just like that all of the negative fears, the worries, vanished like raindrops upon sand, replaced with a feeling of wholeness, of protection of sheer and utter love and safety.

Blue had chosen him.

She had chosen him to be her Paladin.

Again.

Lance pressed his cheek against her paw, metal cool but warming beneath his skin, tears of salt trickling down his face and calling to mind sun-warmed beaches and feeling completely ensconced in Blue's presence.

He had no idea how long he remained there until the sound of soft footsteps echoed in the hangar and he pulled himself free of where he'd curled up, Blue's other paw having come around to hold him between them.

Allura.

He straightened, rubbing a hand across his eyes and feelings of guilt stirred.

But Allura was smiling, a soft, quiet thing.

"Peace, Lance," she murmured, kneeling next to him and placing her own dark hand against Blue's paw. Her eyes closed a moment later, head tilted up and looking like an angel gazing at the heavens. Lance felt his breath catch at the sight, further compounded by the stirrings he felt from Blue of love and compassion and thank you that he realized were coming from Allura as well.

The feeling passed as Allura opened her eyes and met his gaze. "You are her Paladin, Lance," she said, reaching out a hand and placing it atop his own. "Both she and I would have it no other way."

Lance could feel Blue's rumbling acceptance of Allura's words and the peace and how right both princess and Lion felt about the decision even though there was still so much unknown, so many things that could go wrong.

They had chosen him.

Him.

Lip trembling he reached for Allura, wrapping his arms about her and after the initial "oh!" of surprise he found her holding him just as tight.

"I am so very proud of you," Allura whispered, breath tickling his ear. "You are the truest Blue Paladin I have ever had the honor to meet." She pressed a kiss to his cheek then and sat back, eyes dancing as pink stole across his features. "Now come; lunch awaits and your company is much desired."

She pulled him easily to his feet but did not release his hand upon doing so, merely giving it a squeeze as he glanced up at Blue's towering form.

He knew his own thank you would never be enough to tell the Lion how much her acceptance and love meant, but Blue understood. He sent her a tear-bright smile and allowed Allura to tug him away.

They did not go to the kitchen as he had expected but a large conference room attached to it where he discovered many tables had been dragged in and everyone was waiting.

Allura released his hand, giving him no indication of where he was to sit, but Hope made that call for him, scrambling off her seat and kidnapping his freed hand for her own and dragging him lower with her sheer strength to the sounds of both clear and garbled laughter.

Lance didn't mind at all, settling down with her as she steered him next to Pidge at one of the longer tables.

Pidge pushed over the datapad that he'd accidentally left behind in the kitchen. To his surprise there was already a message scrawled on it and he tipped it towards him.

"I love you," was written in what he recognized as Pidge's messy script and when he looked over the younger girl met his gaze straight on, the beginnings of tears in the corners of her eyes.

Lance added a "too" to the message, earning a wet laugh before he draped an arm about her and pulled her flush to his side along the bench, pressing a kiss to the top of her auburn locks, hanging loose now down her back.

"Missed you too," she murmured and he nodded, the feeling mutual.

Hope curled up on his other side and Lance beamed for the sheer joy of just smiling.

He was home.

xxx

"You'll just feel a prick," Coran said, sending Lance a comforting smile that he could not return, hating how he could feel himself trembling. "No pain, I promise."

Lance clenched at Coran's hand, trying to stop his tremors so they could proceed.

Coran had finished his analysis the next day and determined that Lance's vocal cords had not been removed completely but rather cut and then pinned backwards. Humans cords functioned as many bipedals did, he'd explained, where when they were adducted, or closed, speech occurred and when opened they allowed for breathing. Lance's had been forcibly made to remain open rather than closed, sutured in place.

It was something that Coran said had to be corrected before he went into the pod, or they would heal and scar over as they were. They would need to reopen his neck and access his vocal flaps to remove the stitching and free them, before sealing him back together and then placing him in the pod for it to heal what it could of the scar tissue and damage.

Coran did not know how well it would work; if Lance would be capable of some sounds but not speech if it worked at all, but Lance had been more than willing to try. He'd try anything.

That had been before he'd had to lie down on the medical exam table with the infirmary's bright lights shining and so white and clean and even though he knew there would be no pain and it was his family all around him he could not help but remember the last time he'd found himself in a similar situation.

"It'll be just like working on a robot," Pidge said in her way of assurance, white medical gloves up to her elbows. "In, out and close it up."

"Pidge!" gasped Hunk, but Lance felt a silent laugh burble up at her words and some of the fear leave. Pidge had become Coran's assistant in this as she had the steadiest hands outside of Coran and Lance's own and Coran had said he needed a second pair.

When Lance had asked her about the possibility of blood she'd shrugged and said she wasn't squeamish over anything. Hunk though… The larger boy had offered a shrug at that with a laugh and not denied it. It was fine though; after they sedated him Coran was ordering everyone else out of the infirmary and they would be allowed to return when he exited the cryo-pod.

Hopefully with his voice.

Zebra and Lemur had come to see him off and Zebra chortled herself with that garbled whinny and Lemur's eyes crinkled up. Coran had said if this worked he would see about what he could do for all of the other ex-slaves, although given the vast makeup of species he could not promise anything.

His offer though had been met with tears and joy when he'd made it and Coran had ended up buried in a pile of bodies and had to be rescued by Stampede.

"Ready, lad?" Coran asked, squeezing Lance's hand and Lance squeezed back with a nod.

"All righty then," and Coran held up the small syringe he had previously explained held the sedative. "On my mark then. Three… two… one…"

He injected it into the back of Lance's hand and true to his word there was only the barest prick. Lance slid suddenly heavy eyes about the room, taking in each face of his gathered family, before gravity took hold and they fell shut, his consciousness along with it.

xxx

There were voices. A lot of them.

Lance shivered, cold. The voices both quieted and grew louder and he became aware of a source of heat all across his front. He snuggled into it, something warm too wrapping about his shoulders. A deep inhale gave off the scent of oil and honeysuckle and he smiled around his confusion. Hunk. He knew that without a doubt.

"Lance, lad, can you open your eyes for us please?" came Coran's accented tones and Lance blearily tried to do so, mind fumbling for what had happened.

It came back as he finally got his leaden eyelids to lift, taking in the infirmary filled with Paladins with Zebra and Lemur there as well.

That's right. They'd been rescued. He was home.

And they were trying to restore his voice.

"Go ahead and take a nice deep breath for me," Coran instructed, placing one of his hands on Lance's back below where Hunk was hugging him and the source of warmth.

Lance did so, head clearing with each one and each one accompanied by a tingling feeling in his throat. Hunk had released him from the hug at this point, a thick blanket taking his place but one arm still draped about his shoulders. Lance swallowed thickly then. He was about to find out if it had worked.

"All right now," Coran said and Lance felt his heart pick up its thudding pace. "Nothing strenuous and make sure not to whisper as that'll strain your cords, but let's hear you say something."

Lance licked his lips.

What did he say?

"Say 'something'?" Pidge suggested, swinging her legs from where she sat on the exam table, and Hunk gave a weak sounding laugh at that and Keith snorted.

His eyes went past Pidge then to where Zebra was standing next to Allura with…

"Hope," he croaked, zeroing in on the little Balmeran girl who was clothed in what must have been one of Allura's childhood dresses of pale pink and holding onto Allura's skirt.

It took him a moment after the surprise of seeing her here, in the infirmary, to realize that word had come from him.

"Hope," he repeated, swallowing past the lump in his throat.

"That's a beautiful first word, lad," Coran wiped at his eyes and Hunk sniffled, nodding his head.

It was more than a word though. It was a name, a spark, an inspiration.

Lance took a stumbling step forward, Hunk letting him go, and he crossed the expanse to the little girl, who had let go of Allura and rushed to meet him, just as his legs gave out and he ended up crashing to his knees.

"Hope," he murmured, pulling her into shaky arms and she squeezed him back.

"Hope," Allura said softly, Lance hearing her realization. "That is your name for her."

Lance nodded, cupping the back of Hope's head against his chest and raised tear-lined eyes. "Yeah. She…" he coughed, voice still raspy, "she restored mine."

"Then she restored all of ours," Shiro said quietly. He knelt down next to them and placed his own hand atop Hope's head. "Thank you, Hope."

Yellow eyes lifted and silently repeated the name that had been attached to her, smiling and nodding and letting out the garbled sounding laugh that Lance had come to absolutely adore.

"Hope," Lance whispered, holding her gaze. "Thank you."

xxx

"We are about to land," Allura announced quietly. "Are you both ready?"

"I think so," Lance replied softly. "Hope?"

"Yes," came the small reply even as she clung tightly to his hand to the point Lance thought he might have a broken finger. He didn't dare try to pry her off though and squeezed back just as tight.

It had been almost two weeks since the rescue and so much had happened. After Lance's successful revoicing (the term Coran had chosen for it) many of the other aliens had undergone a similar operation.

They were not all successful.

Some had had their way of speaking completely removed, others so damaged that not even the cyro-pod could heal it after all this time. But twenty-two including Hope had had their voices restored and those that had not, while disappointed, had been grateful for what the fresh start still entailed.

Lance's voice had come back, but it was definitely raspier than before and while he'd hoped it would clear up with time it had not. But he'd take sounding like he was recovering from bronchitis any day over not having any voice at all.

Coran had in that timeframe taken the jewels and converted them into GAC, which divvied up into an impressive sum for each ex-slave. It was easily enough to start life over anew and then some and Lance was grateful that all of the blood jewels had at least been able to do that much.

They had been going to each alien's home planet if they requested to go home and otherwise dropping them off at more city-like planets where anyone could start fresh.

Lance had cried so many times in the past few days he was surprised he wasn't a shriveled husk. Zebra, or rather Lani, had hugged him so tight, whispering in his ear with her throaty whinny, that she had suspected he was more than he appeared but she had never imagined a Paladin of Voltron. It fit him, she whispered, and she was honored to have met him.

Lani had been a lieutenant in her country's army and had been captured after falling in battle and sold off by the enemy. She was eager to return home and rejoin the fight as she had only been missing for about four months and had been the first ex-slave dropped off despite Lance wishing for her to remain as long as possible. She had become a close friend and he missed her presence the moment she had disembarked.

The ex-slaves had loved hearing Lance's names for them and the explanations of their origin. Telling Dorito (Ralitán) he was named for a cheese-flavored chip had made the bird laugh so hard, a high delighted squawk that had Lance grinning for hours after hearing it. Kuzco (Blath) had taken a bit of a roundabout depiction and Lance sorely wished they'd had a copy of his movie, but the llama-looking alien Lance thought had been more amused by Lance trying to explain it than what it actually meant. Blath was one who had never regained his voice, but he was leaving with Plaid (Sessia) who had and she had assured Lance they would both be fine.

Allura had created a channel with a transmission code specifically for Lance and had given each alien the address so they could reach out at any time to him. Lance already had a few messages from those they had delivered to their homes first; calls of thanks and introductions of their own families and Lance had cried so hard when Lemur (Ateo) – had shown him his large family and how happy they were to have their dad back.

Lance had been beyond excited to meet Hope's family, but hers was not a happy tale. She was an orphan, she had whispered, curled up in his lap following dinner with her voice returned, and had been given the name of Mousi – meaning garbage – by the matron of the orphanage she had been picked up by. Her parents had been traders for her Balmera (of which Hope only knew as "Balmera" and nothing more) and had been killed by thieves over ten years ago. She could not recall the name they had given her.

She had asked voice small, if it was all right she kept the name of Hope instead and Lance had squeezed her and said thickly he'd be beyond honored if she wished to.

Amber (Nakila) had offered for Hope to come live with her on her home planet – a peaceful farming village with great plains of grass and wheat – and several other ex-slaves too had made the generous suggestion, but Hope had clung to Lance and he didn't have the heart to force her away. He'd wanted to keep her with him, but Allura had sadly pointed out that she would be in harm's way if she remained with Voltron and none of them wished that for her.

Ultimately they had decided, with Hope's permission, to bring her to a Balmera they were familiar with (and whose environment would be the most comforting and familiar thing to a Balmeran that they could offer) and Shay had coordinated with them for a family to take Hope in, one with a daughter already of their own who would love a sister.

Hope was the last one to leave the castle, which had grown quieter and quieter without Lance's new extended family. He missed her already and she was still in his arms, ruffles of the child's gown bunched over his knee. Allura had put together an entire trunk of dresses for her to keep and the absolute delight on Hope's face at the present had brought Allura to tears. The two of them had spent hours in Allura's chambers trying on dresses and holding tea parties (those of which Lance partook in along with Hunk's delicious cookies) and Hope had taken quite a shine to the princess. Lance wasn't surprised; everyone in the universe loved Allura.

The entire team had grown fond of Hope in the couple weeks she'd been aboard the ship. She cooked with Hunk, took piggyback rides on Shiro, tinkered with Coran, watched with utter fascination as Pidge dismantled and created robotics and to Lance's utter delight had an obsession with Keith's hair and often requested to play with it and braid it, to which Keith had agreed with surprisingly very little reluctance.

But now it was time for her to go.

Lance wasn't ready. Even as he felt the castle dock and his legs robotically propelled him and Hope, who still clung to his hand, forward he was not ready.

As they hit the warm but still pleasant surface of the Balmera and Shay called out a cheerful greeting followed by many others, pressing in to say hello as it had been months since Voltron had last stopped, he was not ready.

He was never going to be ready... but he had to be.

He was dimly aware of Shay bringing a couple over towards he and Hope, where they were standing off to the side of the main throng, with another little girl in tow who gave a shy wave that Hope returned, even as she hid behind his leg.

"Lance," Shay stepped forward and he found himself pulled into a tight hug before she released him, hands staying on his shoulders as soulful yellow eyes met his. "It is so good to see you again."

"You too," he managed.

"And you must be Hope," she knelt down in front of the child. "I am Shay."

"Hello," Hope whispered.

"I would like to introduce you to some very special Balmerans," Shay continued. "This is Lia and her husband, Tamo. And this is Kalinda, their daughter. She is only a few years older than you!"

"Hi!" chirped Kalinda.

Hope murmured back a greeting.

This was Hope's new family.

Lance was not ready.

But he couldn't keep holding on to her. He had to let her go.

Hope seemed to sense it too as she clung tighter to his leg and Lance knelt down as well, pulling her into a tight hug.

"I'll see you again, right?" she sniffled.

"Of course," Lance pressed a kiss to her head. "You can call me every day if you want to, okay? And I'll come visit at least once a month and we can hang out and play hopscotch and… and…" He trailed off, voice becoming even raspier as tears clogged his throat.

He was going to miss her so, so much.

"You are welcome any time, Paladin Lance," Lia said quietly, her eyes soft. "Our home is always open to you."

"Thank you," Lance whispered, knowing it wasn't enough for what they were doing but it was all he was capable of offering. The Balmerans understood though and smiled gently.

"This is good bye for now then," Lance turned back to Hope, pressing a kiss to her bumpy head. "But I'll see you soon. And I'll think of you every day."

"Every day?"

"Mhm," Lance pulled the necklace out from beneath his shirt, the blue stone catching the light and the symbol near glowing in the middle. "Whenever I see this I think of you, Hope."

She smiled, eyes crinkling. "It's your treasure."

Lance shook his head. "No." He released the stone and pulled her back into his arms, pressing a last kiss to her head. "You are."

Hope was indeed the truest treasure the universe had to offer.